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In 1984, the era of JETHRO TULL as we knew them, both praised and criticized, probably comes to an end...
After the Under Wraps Tour, Ian Anderson had to come to terms with about 20 years of rock behind him. Crest of a Knave was released in 1987, inaugurating what I describe as a new, low-cost TRILOGY... Along with Rock Island and Catfish Rising, it would form a trio of albums dedicated to a new era of more commercial rock, often with a NON-formation. The band would rally around the trio Anderson-Barre-Pegg, with home production and a certain desire for lightness applied to the music of a group that no longer needed to prove anything to anyone...
Elsewhere I said that from here on, Anderson would opt to direct a COVER BAND of itself, recovering the elements that made the group great. But beware, this album is a source of so much history and topics that can distract from the actual content of the music within...
In fact, the band dismantled the Metallica (in perfect BIMBIMINKIA version) by being served a Grammy for Best Hard Rock Album of that year... Metallica didn’t know how to lose, let alone win, since the following year, after endless whining, which only pumped up the more cynical Anderson (a savvy rock man who filled crowds when metalheads were still bursting pimples in the mirror) accepted a reward by uttering a phrase like perfect wankers (Luckily this year Jethro Tull did not release an Album), Metallica would deliver other gems like the Napster embarrassment-torment.
This record also presents news of a completely different nature. Anderson adopted a new writing method, the voice of the golden years had been lost. It was never understood what spoiled a splendid voice which had already been declining for years but was always superb. It was hypothesized an alternative singing technique, but I recall only one occasion where Anderson (with astounding results) attempted, and that was in Cross Eyed Mary in 1971.
It was said that the pitches for the pieces of Under Wraps were too high, but I point the finger at the concert activity of that year. Anderson inexplicably raised the pitch on some songs, probably making a mistake. Songs like Fat Man from Stand Up, hardly played over the years and therefore with little experience; it wasn’t the only mistake. At the end of Live, with an already hoarse voice, he would conclude with Locomotive Breathe with a chilling Robert Plant-style scream...
Until 1976, Anderson smoked a pack of cigarettes a day, then those who go with the lame learn to limp, and with the arrival of David Palmer, he was ALWAYS AND EVERYWHERE PIPPA...
But the voice simply declined. This is about a lost voice, and the final blow came when, in 1985, after vocal cord surgery, Anderson didn’t heed the doctors who advised a year off. Instead, the band made a single (and poor) appearance for the commemoration of J.Sebastian Bach...
The new voice would suit the new pieces well but would suffer increasingly with the old compositions, worsening over time. Today Anderson is assisted by another singer.
Crest Of a Knave is a decent album with good songs, sometimes liberatingly fun. The computer programming remains, for example, drums and keyboard in some pieces are handled by Anderson. But what becomes evident is Martin Barre's sound; this time my cautionary finger points at him. If before he was a skilled tailor and a delightful finisher and master of the riff, here he pumps up distortion and effects a lot, becoming a bit "metallic" in ZZ Top style. In my opinion, he would lose something on electric, becoming, however, a SUPER on acoustic.
There is a desire for rock without disorienting or provoking the fans, and it is felt in pieces like Steel Monkey (a fine radio hit) Prog Blood and Origin (Farm on the Freeway, Budapest), Rock nonetheless AOR (Mountain Man) balance fails (The Waking Age) and Hard folk that is not entirely satisfying like Jump Start... Re-listened to, the whole album slides away honestly and with pleasure, the pleasure of a group that even recycling itself knows how to propose something attractive.
Curiosity, this was supposed to be Doanne Perry's debut album on drums, but it seems the death of his mother interrupted his contribution to drums on 3 songs. On two others, Anderson's samples return, and in the remaining 4, Gerry Conway, already present in Broadsword And The Beast, returns...
Martin Barre appeared leaner and sprightly instead for his new passion for Marathon and running, the album's title was a pun like "Crest of a Wave" and was decided only after the graphic work for the cover.
An album, therefore, so to speak...debut...remains a work without real cultural demonstration compared to the Art Films of the '70s, but it would be great to have undemanding albums like this. The music is old, but it is the way of interpreting it and the characteristics, acquired over the years, that make it new. Not authentic like the true Jethro Tull, not important or ambitious as Under Wraps should have been but easily enjoyable years later when we all got over the Progressive hangover...
The Hard Rock and a little Metal cut will also be the sound of the new Live concerts where, having a certain age, the group will reduce the muscular work of the golden years, always providing great entertainment... A band that once again surprised...
MUSICIANS' OPINIONS ON THE ALBUM:
Anderson confirms that Budapest is his most successful composition of the entire repertoire, the one that encapsulates all the JETHRO TULL verb. This album is one of Anderson's 5 favorites according to a statement from 1997 where he included it along with Stand Up, Aqualung Songs From The Wood, and Roots to Branches.
Martin Barre will put it in black and white that from 1987 onwards, every Jethro Tull riff will be his...
LIVE:
The most considered ever Farm on the Freeway, Budapest, Steel Monkey immediately, in '90 Said she was a Dancer, and in '91 also present Jump Start...
Tracklist Lyrics and Samples
01 Steel Monkey (03:39)
As the moon slips up, the sun slips down,
I'm a highrise jockey, and I'm heaven bound.
Do the woorkboot shuffle, loose brains from brawn.
I'm a monkey puzzle and the lid is on.
Can you guess my name? Can you guess my trade?
I'm going to catch you anyway.
You might be right. I'll give you guesses three.
Feel me climbing up your knee
Guess what I am. I'm a steel monkey.
Now some men hustle and some just think.
and some go running before you blink.
Some look up and some look down
from three hundred feet above the ground.
Can you guess my name? And can you guess my trade?
Well, I won't rest before the world is made.
Arm in arm the angels fly.
Keep me from falling out the sky.
Steel monkey. (x3)
I work in the thunder and i work in the rain.
I work at my drinking, and I feel no pain.
I work on women, if they want me to.
You can have me a climb all over you.
Now, have you guessed my name?
And have you guessed my trade?
I'm cheap at the money I get paid.
In the sulphur city, where men are men,
we bolt those beamsthen climb again.
Steel monkey
03 Jump Start (04:55)
In the dark of the city backwoods, something stirs then slips away.
Law and order in darkest Knightsbridge. Crime and punishment at play.
Hey, Mr. Policeman won't you come on over. Hook me up to the power lines
of your love.
Jump start, or tow me away.
And through the bruised machinery, the smoking haze of industry.
Another day with ball and chain. I do my time, then home again.
Hey, Mrs. Maggie won't you come on over. Hook me up to the power lines
of your love.
Jump start, or tow me away.
Well, should I blame the officers? Or maybe, I should blame the priest?
Or should I blame the poor foot soldier
who's left to make the most from least?
Hey, Jack Ripper won't you come on over. Hook me up to the power lines
of your love.
Jump start, or tow me away.
You can blame the newsman talking at you on the satellite T.V.
And if you're fighting for your shipyards, you might as well just blame the sea.
Hey, Mr. Weatherman come on over. Hook me up to the power lines
of your love.
Jump start, or tow me away.
05 Dogs in the Midwinter (04:37)
You ever had a day like I had today,
when things are stacked up bad?
You look around and every face you see
seems guaranteed to send you mad.
And you peer into those hallowed institutions.
And they bark at you from every side.
But the bite goes wide.
I see them running with their tails hanging low
like dogs in the midwinter.
The prophets and the wise men and the hard politicos
are all dogs in the midwinter.
Let the breath from the mountain still the pain,
clear water from the fountain run sweeter than the rain.
Dogs in the midwinter.
The boss man and the tax man and the moneylenders growl...
like dogs in the midwinter.
The weaker of the herd can feel their eyes and hear them howl
like dogs in the midwinter.
Though the fox and the rabbit are at peace,
cold doggies in the manger turn last suppers into feasts.
Dogs in the midwinter.
You ever had a day like i had today ---
dogs in the midwinter.
You look around and every face you see ---
dogs in the midwinter.
And you peer into those hallowed institutions.
And they bark at you from every side.
But the bite goes wide.
We're all running on a tightrope, wearing slippers in the snow...
we're all dogs in the midwinter.
The ice is ever thinner. Be careful how you go
like dogs in the midwinter.
And it's hard to find true equilibrium
when you're looking at each other down the muzzle of a gun.
Dogs in the midwinter.
06 Budapest (10:05)
I think she was a middle-distance runner...
(the translation wasn't clear).
Could be a budding stately hero.
International competition in a year.
She was a good enough reason for a party...
(well, you couldn't keep up on a hard track mile)
while she ran a perfect circle.
And she wore a perfect smile
in Budapest... hot night in Budapest.
We had to cozzy up in the old gymnasium...
dusting off the mandolins and checking on the gear.
She was helping out at the back-stage...
stopping hearts and chilling beer.
Yes, and her legs went on for ever.
Like staring up at infinity
through a wisp of cotton panty
along a skin of satin sea.
Hot night in Budapest.
You could cut the heat, peel it back with the wrong side of a knife.
Feel it blowing from the sidefills. Feel like you were playing for your life
(if not the money).
Hot night in Budapest.
She bent down to fill the ice box
and stuffed some more warm white wine in
like some weird unearthly vision
wearing only T-shirt, pants and skin.
You know, it rippled, just a hint of muscle.
But the boys and me were heading west
so we left her to the late crew
and a hot night in Budapest.
It was a hot night in Budapest.
She didn't speak much English language...
(she didn't speak much anyway).
She wouldn't make love, but she could make good sandwich
and she poured sweet wine before we played.
Hey, Budapest, cha, cha, cha. Let's watch her now.
I thought I saw her at the late night restaurant.
She would have sent blue shivers down the wall.
But she didn't grace our table.
In fact, she wasn't there at all.
Yes, and her legs went on forever.
Like staring up at infinity.
Her heart was spinning to the west-lands
and she didn't care to be
that night in Budapest.
Hot night in Budapest.
08 The Waking Edge (04:49)
As I wake up in a room somewhere...
dawn light not yet showing.
There's just a thin horizon between me and her...
the edge of a half-dream glowing.
Well, you know, I felt her in my dream last night.
Strange how the sheets are warm beside me.
Now, how do I catch the waking edge?
As it slips to the far and wide of me.
Didn't I try to hold it down?
Freeze on the picture, hang sharp on the sound.
Catch the waking edge
another time.
Familiar shadows in my hotel room
are still here for the taking.
They seem to linger on as the street lights fade
and the empty dawn is breaking.
Private movie showing in my head...
which button do I press for re-run?
And how do I catch the waking edge?
The edge of a dream about someone.
Well, you know, I felt her in my dream last night...
now the sheets are cold beside me.
09 Raising Steam (04:06)
Over high plains, through the snow...
roll those tracks out, don't you know
I'm raising steam.
Thin vein creeping; hot blood flow...
spill a little where the new towns grow.
I got my whole life hanging in a sack,
heading out into that wide world wide.
You got your locomotive sitting on your track
and I don't care which way I ride.
I may not be coming back.
Left a lady with a heart
all in pieces come apart
raising steam.
That engine up front must
have a heart big enough for the both of us.
Riding shotgun on the sunset, stare it in the eye,
rocking on my heels out to the west.
Funny how the whole world, historically,
feels the urge to chase the sun to rest.
We may not be coming back.
Let me be your engineer...
have you smiling ear to ear
raising steam.
And will you tell me how it feels
when you're up and rolling on your driving wheels?
I got my whole life hanging in a sack,
heading out into that wide world wide.
I'll be your locomotive blowing off its stack
and I don't care which way I ride.
I may not be coming back.
Raising steam.
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Other reviews
By Egli
"Budapest" is a stunning song, the masterpiece of the record, with its amazing riff that sticks in your mind forever.
So, what is ‘Crest Of A Knave’? Simply an album... it may not be a masterpiece, but manages at least to stay afloat.
