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Wow, what great discoveries one can make while surfing the Internet at night, taking advantage of downtime while working... I stumbled upon a site that seems to capture all my desires as a discussant of the sublime art. I take note and immediately sign up, and after reviewing two albums of another artist, I move on to my absolute favorites.
mmmm... so: scrolling through the already reviewed JT albums, I realize there’s really little left for me to review. But I also see that perhaps their best work in the '90s' is still not there; I seize the opportunity and, bouncing on it, I begin to mentally retrace this album from 1995.
"Roots To Branches," that is, from roots to branches. From the roots in which the magic of Mr. Anderson's art is rooted to the branches soaring high into the ether, spreading that blend of a thousand genres that has been delighting us for 38 years. But the magic is timeless, ageless, and above all, it has few faces, among which is that of the pied-piper and his squires: JETHRO TULL.
After 4 years of absence from the recording scene (in '92, to be honest, there was the release of "A Little Light Music," semi-unplugged live, which, however, adds nothing and takes nothing away from JT’s life), the group of the Scottish showman presents themselves to the millions (yes, millions) of fans who were waiting, tongues hanging out, for a new work for too long. From Ian’s endless hat of ideas comes this work that I feel I can define without a doubt as still a piece of pure art that rises above the previous "Catfish Rising" (by the way, this is also not yet reviewed... I’ll fix that....). Decidedly captivating cover art that, in a sense, continues graphically what Ian musically did with his previous solo work (Divinities).
In my opinion, from the first tracks of the opening song, which is also the title track, a decidedly airier atmosphere can be felt production-wise compared to 'Catfish Rising.' The timbres are bright, and the intro of the piece immediately introduces us to all the members of the group, making an opening similar to an appetizer. On a keyboard carpet by Andrew Giddings, float suspended notes from the flute, the bass by Steve Bailey (a master), and the magical twelve-string by the trusty "Lancelot" Barre. Doane Perry’s drum roll, and we’re in Tullian navigation as Tullian as can be. The melodic line is clearly steeped in an oriental atmosphere, and the song full of little breaks and never bombastic virtuosity unfolds to the end. Well, as a start, it’s not bad.
"Rare and Precious Chain" is the next track, and here we are really in a full oriental mood, at least at the beginning, with Martin Barre’s distorted guitar introducing us to the delicate sung melody. Afterwards, the song develops at rock tempo but always with semi-mystical keyboard and guitar influences. Maybe it's not the top, but what the heck! It’s still very classy.
Almost as a reminder that He is a master and that noise in every sense never belonged to him, old Ian and his introduce us to "Out of the Noise". Here we are really in the presence of something exceptional that rises to the level of the best Tull production. There’s everything: flute and guitar intertwine almost chasing each other in a joyful game, and Doane Perry's drumming is really exciting, refined, full of embroideries, accompanied by keyboards that almost seem not wanting to interfere too much and yet are very precious (I sincerely like Andrew Giddins a lot for his mastery and sense of moderation). "Free Will" is the next piece, a fairly anonymous electric ballad certainly pleasant but nothing special, notable mainly for the prominently featured guitar.
Let us bow instead to the next song: "Wounded Old and Treacherous". Strongly jazzy with Anderson’s voice leading us by the hand through a truly ironic and "nasty" text, in the best sense of the word. Old, bad, and treacherous, this is the translation of the title, and it almost seems like seeing again the diabolical and sweet grin at the same time of old Aqualung (Oh my, the legend....). Beautiful class breaks growing up to the end characterized by a majestic and rhythmically "strong" presence of all members. A jewel.
Another absolute jewel is "Valley" where the beginning is strongly folkish based on skillfully arpeggiated acoustics followed by a hard explosion where Barre's guitar and Perry’s precise and essential drumming offer moments of pure emotion. Giddings also paints well with an old Hammond, and the ending, which develops in an almost pastoral atmosphere, has its strength in the violent and sweet breath of Anderson on the flute. "Dangerous Veils" is perhaps the most incredible instrumental piece by the Tull (together with Bourrée and The Martin pine’s jig). There are a thousand breaks and exceptional tempestuous rhythms played on the drums with absolute vigor, and the rest of the group crowns this piece on the throne of progressive-jazz-rock (it’s always hard to catalog Tull’s music). I can say that the title track, "Out of the Noise", and the three recently named songs justify the purchase of "Roots to Branches" on their own. But it's not over: we continue with "Beside Myself", a very delicate piece about a child prostitute from Bombay (the Tull had recently returned from a triumphant tour in India). Nothing exceptional but still very listenable. A ballad that then develops in an electric manner with the intervention of synthesized violins by Giddings. "At Last Forever" is a very delicate love song sung with great emotion and beautifully executed, but I find it avoidable.
The concluding "Stuck in August Rain" and "Another Harry’s Bar" are nice, light pieces but executed with the usual class that demonstrates how Mr. Anderson & co. can also entertain while far surpassing that consumer-pop syrup that invades the radios worldwide, and unfortunately also many young and not so young people’s minds (I have already instructed my wife that, in case of post-50 senile dementia, she should kill me without notice). The conclusion to this work? Can we always demand absolute masterpieces from someone who has produced them in abundance? NO, we can only demand plenty of good music with very few declines in tension, and that's exactly what "Roots To Branches" is in my opinion.
For all the neophytes of Anderson and company, it’s obvious that there are at least half a dozen albums to buy before this one.... But in the '90s, who could express all this class and artistic rigor from the greats of the past? Only those who have never been past. Jethro Tull.
Tracklist and Lyrics
01 Roots to Branches (05:11)
Words get written. Words get twisted.
Old meanings move in the drift of time.
Lift the flickering torches. See gentle shadows change
the features of the faces cut in unmoving stone.
Bad mouth on a prayer day, hope no one's listening.
Roots down in the wet clay, branches glistening.
True disciples carrying that message
to colour just a little with their personal touch.
Home-spun fancy weavers and naked half-believers --
Crusades and creeds descend like fiery flakes of snow.
Bad mouth on a prayer day, hope no one's listening.
Roots down in the wet clay, branches glistening.
Roots to branches
Roots to branches
Roots to branches
In wet and windy priest-holes. Grand in vast cathedrals.
High on lofty minarets or in the temples of doom.
I hope the old man's got his face on.
He'd better be some quick change artist.
Suffer little children to make their minds up soon.
Bad mouth on a prayer day, hope no one's listening.
Roots down in the wet clay, branches glistening.
Roots to branches
Roots to branches
Roots to branches
Roots to branches
Roots to branches
Roots to branches
02 Rare and Precious Chain (03:35)
Rare and precious chain --
Do I have to tell you, tell you once again?
Under red lights, on soft nights, it all comes back to you.
Rare and precious chain --
Binds me to your soul round gently pulsing veins.
Shackled tight, feel love's bite coming back to you.
No gold of fools.
No hostage taking.
No engagement rules.
To leave you forsaken.
Tiny beads of sweat --
thin diamond glistening, glistening around your neck,
forgotten rooms, dark catacombs
they all come back to you.
No crock of glittering prizes.
No sharply worded telegram.
No excuses for the word-weary.
No excuses for who I am.
It's a rare and precious chain.
Around your neck I place it, place it once again.
Drawn finger tight, feel love's bite coming back to you.
Under red lights, on soft nights, it all comes back to you.
Rare and precious chain.
04 This Free Will (04:05)
She peeled from a stretch black snake
which slipped up to the hotel door.
Darting looks from piercing eyes --
The stir of memory and then no more.
Well, you know how I have to believe --
She can almost remember my name.
It's been a long time coming, babe --
Long time loose amongst foreign hills --
Shaking my faith in this free will.
Years ago in a coastal town,
mosquitoes buzzed in her hair.
Schooldress torn and bare feet brown --
Then the rains came and she wasn't there.
You're closing your doors on me
when you had almost remembered my name.
It's been a long time coming, babe --
Long time loose amongst foreign hills --
Shaking my faith in this free will.
Sharp points in an ink black sky --
Faint words collide, then are lost.
I'll follow you beneath this dome --
Win you back at any cost.
I know we were children then,
but you can almost remember my name.
It's been a long time coming, babe --
Long time loose amongst foreign hills --
Well, let's be children still --
Don't shake my faith in this free will.
Don't shake my faith in this free will.
06 Dangerous Veils (05:35)
Desert candle in a tented space
throwing softer shadows on a covered face.
Sister, silent to the likes of me --
Pay my respects to her propriety.
Is this some crazy woman here,
dancing behind her thin black veil?
Am I misreading those mysterious eyes?
Duet impossible to harmonize.
I'm not inviting any stiff reaction.
I'm not one for naming holy names.
And I won't peek behind those dangerous veils.
Though you might hate me just the same.
Name of the Father ringing in her head --
Thinking over what the prophet said.
Words and tradition bind her in their spell.
Don't drink the water from this holy well.
I'm not inviting any fierce reaction
and I'm not one for naming holy names.
I won't peek behind those dangerous veils.
Though you might hate me just the same.
Desert candle in a tented space
Softer shadows on a covered face.
Sister, silent to the likes of me --
I tip my hat to her propriety.
I'm not inviting any fierce reaction
and I'm not one for naming holy names.
I won't peek behind those dangerous veils.
Though you might hate me just the same.
07 Beside Myself (05:50)
Small child messing down, messing down.
in the streets of Bombay.
Cities like this have no shame, no shame;
indeed, why should they?
Out in the middle distance, several tragedies are playing.
I'm beside myself.
Big sister, can you hear him, can you hear him?
I'm beside myself.
Big sister, can you see him cry, see him cry?
I'm beside myself.
I saw you taking money in the shadows --
in the shadows by the station there.
I'll wish you up a silver train
to carry you to school, bring you home again.
Strip off that work paint and put a cleaner face on.
I'm beside myself.
Hollow faced mother with her babe in arms,
babe in arms-looks through me.
Behind forgotten charms,
forgotten charms to soothe me.
Between the guilt and charity --
I feel the wimp inside of me.
I'm beside myself.
Out in the middle distance, still more tragedies are playing.
I'm beside myself.
I'm so proud of you --
Swimming up from the deep blue.
Which one of me do you run to?
I'm beside myself.
Small child messing down, messing down.
in the streets of Bombay.
Cities like this have no shame, have no shame;
indeed, why should they?
Out in the middle distance, several tragedies are playing.
I'm beside myself.
09 At Last, Forever (07:55)
So why are you holding my hand tonight?
I'm not intending to go far away.
I'm just slipping through to the back room
I'll leave you messages almost every day.
And who was I to last forever?
I didn't promise to stay the pace.
Not in this lifetime, babe
but we'll cling together:
some kind of heaven written in your face.
So why are you holding my hand tonight?
Well, am I feeling so cold to the touch?
Do my eyes seem to focus
on some distant point?
Why do I find it hard to talk too much?
And who was I to last forever?
I didn't promise to stay the pace.
Not in this lifetime, babe
but we'll cling together:
some kind of heaven written in your face.
So why are you holding my hand tonight?
I'm not intending to go far away.
I'm just slipping through to the back room
I'll leave you messages almost every day.
And who was I to last forever?
I didn't promise to stay the pace.
Not in this lifetime, babe
but we'll cling together:
some kind of heaven written in your face.
10 Stuck in the August Rain (04:06)
Brings jasmine tea on a painted tray
and bends to kiss my frown away.
But I'm still still stuck in the August rain;
stuck out in the cloudburst once again.
The cover's on, the coast is clear.
We're all battened down, only us here.
But I'm still still stuck in the August rain;
stuck out in the cloudburst once again.
She walks between the lines
and she can read my signs.
Stuck out in the August rain:
Out in the cloudburst once again.
Single-minded in my gloom.
I appear to revel in this darkened room.
But I'm still still stuck in the August rain;
stuck out in the cloudburst once again.
She walks between the lines
and she can read my signs.
Stuck out in the August rain:
Out in the cloudburst once again.
11 Another Harry's Bar (06:21)
Wet wind on the sidewalk: I'm staring at the rain. Walking up the street, yeah, and walking down again. And my feet are tired and my brain is numb. See that broken neon sign saying, hey, in you come. Got the scent of stale beer hanging, hanging round my head. Old dog in the corner sleeping like he could be dead. A book of matches and a full ashtray. Cigarette left smoking its life away. Another Harry's bar -- or that's the tale they tell. But Harry's long gone now, and the customers as well. Me and the dog and the ghost of Harry will make this world turn right. It'll all turn right. God's tears on the sidewalk: it's the mother of all rain. But in the thick blue haze of Harry's, you will feel no pain. And you will feel no soft hand slipping on your knee. You don't have to pay for memories, they will all come free. Another Harry's bar -- or that's the tale they tell. But Harry's long gone now, and the customers as well. Me and the dog and the ghost of Harry will make this world turn right. It'll all turn right. Now when Harry was a young man, Harry was so debonair. He walked a bouncy step in his shiny shoes. And when Harry was a young man, well, Harry could walk on air. He mixed a mean cocktail and he talked you through the late news. You want to hear some great news? Harry's still here. Wet wind on the sidewalk: I'm still staring at the rain. Walking up the street, and I'm walking down again. And my feet are tired and my brain is numb. See that broken neon sign saying, hey, in you come. Another Harry's bar -- or that's the tale they tell. But Harry's long gone now, and the customers as well. Me and the dog and the ghost of Harry will make this world turn right. It'll all turn right. Another Harry's bar. And another Harry's bar. And another, and another Harry's bar.
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