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Rating: Of course, a non-vote is in itself a vote, especially at a live performance. But here it's about not wanting to shoot the red cross, or rather the dying it carries. It's a non-vote out of respect for the History and the Legend, the one that Yes brought to life and spirit over decades, a vote that necessarily ranges from periods of 10, 5, 15, and 2. By the way, isn't it about time to stop? It's been over two decades.
But having said that, with an average age near 70, the quartet Howe-White-Squire-Downes, plus the new singer Benoit David, appeared at a Teatro Smeraldo full of expectations and admiration, ready to forgive the inevitable (or perhaps very avoidable) wrecks caused by time. A performance by Howe and a eager Squire is not enough to cover the rubble of a magnificent past. Neither is love enough to hide the unclassifiable 'singing' (in this case the root is "dog", not "singer") performance of Benoit David, the youngest, who as the newcomer is called to create and not destroy. A pity for the absence of Wakeman’s prodigal son. It never rains but it pours, as the poor acoustics do not help, nor do the songs from the new album.
Standing Ovation to History, and those who wrote it. But the pleasure only comes at the end of the concert, slipping into the CD player "Close to the Edge" first and "Fragile" later, for a long and unsatisfied return home.
Alan White (drums): RATING: 5 From the very first notes of "Yours is no disgrace," it's clear that things are not (and will not be) going as they should. The convoluted and irregular rhythms become simplified, terribly flattened, totally devoid of the verve and brilliance that once was. At times, his surrender is evident but redeems himself with "Heart of the Sunrise." Advice: a nice little garden, not too big, and watch out for sudden movements. Bulky.
Chris Squire (bass): RATING: 5 Brilliant, eager, rock still runs through his veins and he handles it well despite being 63. Hampered by the acoustics, he is often caught in the frenzy of overdoing it. Terrible the semi-dance during "Starship Troopers," worse how he manages to destroy its melody and the final crescendo with axe-like blows on the strings - which he manages to miss as well. Retirable.
Geoff Downes (keyboards): RATING: 4 He has 17 keyboards distributed over 3 levels, which he can’t even reach. He’s not exactly a giant and the choice of the flaming red Napoleonic jacket doesn’t help, making him resemble Sleepy dressed as Little Red Riding Hood. A constant naughty puff of air moves his thick mane, so white it seems dyed, or so oxygenated that it seems white. He moves with the elegance of an oompa loompa. Embarrassing the performance at "pianola" in the grand finale of "Starship Troopers", where he winks menacingly at the audience with a murderous look. His face resembling Donatella Rettore made up by Tim Burton. Stiff.
Steve Howe (guitar): RATING: 8.5 He looks as if he's come out of "Mars Attacks", and hearing him confirms he is really a Martian. The initial impression is that he too is in the same boat as his companions, and that some notes are too much or not there. But then he pulls off an exceptional performance. He plays all and well, wielding two guitars and playing a third in the same song. His ten minutes solo, where he masterfully interprets "The Clap", is the high point, or maybe the only one, of the entire performance. Anxiety arises when he bends on his knees, letting himself get carried away by the moment, one fears he might stay in that position forever. Present.
Benoit David ("voice") RATING: 1 We pray the Lord that Jon Anderson never has to witness one of his performances. Dear Benoit, you had the fortune to have a voice - vaguely, very vaguely - similar to that of the divine Jon. You had the unmerited privilege of becoming part of one of the most monstrously prestigious bands in rock history. His performance is simply pathetic, causing the audience conscious of being in front of the Legend to grumble. It does not help being a chubby with the same virility as Alfonso Signorini caught in disabilléé in Lele Mora's bedroom. He does better on the songs of the new album, tailor-made for him, which however are terrible. Frustrating how he misses 80% of the notes, even those most easily reachable. Disarming how he walks and declaims on stage like Katia Ricciarelli while perpetrating the holocaust of Progressive Rock’s milestones, from "Yours is no Disgrace" to "I've seen all good people", from "And You and I" to "Heart of the Sunrise". Unforgivable.
We heard what is. We definitely prefer what was.
Today’s therapeutic session with massive listening of albums from the golden age.
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