Yes

1969: Yes. 1970: Time and a Word. 1971: The Yes Album. 1972: Fragile * Close to the Edge. 1973: Yessongs. 1974: Tales from Topographic Oceans * Relayer. 1975: Yesterdays. 1977: Going for the One. 1978: Tormato. 1980: Drama * Yesshows. 1983: 90125. 1985: 90125 - The Solos. 1987: Big Generator. 1990: Union. 1991: Yesyears. 1994: Talk. 1996: Keys to Ascension. 1998: Open Your Eyes.

Jon Anderson: 1976: Olias of SunHillow. 1980: Song of Seven. 1982:
Animation.

Steve Howe: 1977: Beginnings. 1979: Steve Howe Album. 1980: The Bodast Tapes.

Chris Squire: 1975: Fish out of Water.

Rick Wakeman: 1971: Piano Vibrations. 1973: Six Wives of Henry VIII. 1974: Journey to the Centre of the Earth. 1975: King Arthur * Lisztomania. 1976: No Earthly Connection * White Rock. 1977: Criminal Record. 1978: Best Known Works. 1979: Rhapsodies.

Anderson Bruford Wakeman Howe


Yes is responsible for some of the most complex classics popular music has managed thus far. That they've sold a ton of records without simplifying is quite an achievement for pop and roll, but there is a bedrock of audience-pleasing art in their melodic flair, instrumental dexterity, thematic other-worldliness and sonic flamboyance. By 1972, Rick Wakeman, Steve Howe, Chris Squire, Bill Bruford (and, later, Alan White) were virtuosos playing at a level beyond and above their peers. A general audience seemed to recognize this virtuosity, while rock critics contrived ways to prove it didn't count. Jon Anderson's role as bandleader, songwriter, music architect has been woefully unappreciated. Although it's a privilege listening to these guys play, certain rock and roll precepts have tended to drag discussions of their art onto avenues of banalities. The first volume of Rolling Stone's Record Guide was properly respectful when analyzing the band's work, but felt compelled to point out that "perhaps, most importantly, it rocks." But a summation of the band in a later volume of the Guide was the sad product of post-"punk" dogma and is much more reactionary: "Pointlessly intricate guitar and bass solos, caterwauling keyboards, quasi-mystical lyrics proclaimed in alien falsetto, acid dipped album-cover illustrations: this British group wrote the book on art-rock excess." The writer's preference is for the "I live down in Queens; eating refried beans" type of non-mystical entertainment. The most biased distaste in the review - "quasi-mystical lyrics" – attempts to corner and dismiss the charm of Anderson's writing. What the critic meant to do was equate "mystical' to "superstitious," knowing that the hipster's jump from superstitious to just plain goofy would be a forced necessity. The mystical is unacceptable unless the artist is an old blues man like Muddy Waters, an exotic, foreign troubadour like Bob Marley, a quaint country artist like Johnny Cash or ethnic talents like Al Green and Aretha Franklin. Sophisticated white boys playing "rock and roll" aren't supposed to be spiritually inclined - in fact spirituality as a theme is sure to attract derision from rock critics who assume that "rebellious" rock and roll is above all that. What makes Jon Anderson a pop rebel is his unselfconscious aversion to hip generalities and his compulsion towards the imaginative spiritual terrain that has given Yes distinction. By allowing the band to play (how could he hold them back) Anderson allows Yes to render the otherworldly in concrete correlatives. Other artists swirl recklessly around the realists with no apologies: Van Morrison, Jim Morrison, Bono, Peter Gabriel, Stevie Wonder, Bob Dylan, Diamanda Galas, Sinead O'Conner and Prince are examples. Compared to some of these artists, Jon Anderson is less denominational, less demanding of piety; he's sometimes more intellectually metaphorical and, usually, more musically (thus more purely) metaphorical. Anderson's work is somewhat akin to Van Morrison's work - intimation, intimation, intimations. If there is expressionist/impressionist flair at work in pop music, these artists are the place to start considering it.

The least irritating assumption from the review quoted above - "acid-drenched" album covers - seems disingenuous since Roger Dean's graphics are more influenced by science-fiction fantasy/fairy tale landscapes, than by drug-binges; but it's the "pointless solos" complaint that seems mystifying considering the band's conceptual clarity. Almost every Yes album comes with a concise explanation of what the solo/ensemble work is attempting to evoke, and the lyrics are generally pretty lucid. A legitimate lack of enthusiasm may greet the optimistic Yes "message," although given rognrolls’ tendency towards the downbeat one is forced to admit that, at least, it's different. At times Anderson's effusive "cosmic" consciousness becomes witless chattering gibberish. In fact, on later quasi-Yes albums like Anderson, Bruford, Wakeman and Howe, or the Trevor Rabin influenced Yes albums like 90125, one tumbles into irritating thickets of lyrics like the following:


Many moons cascade one river
They light from side to side
As we cross in close proximity
Like rivers our hearts entwine
How we talk - How we teach our children
How we move - We direct our eyes
All the senses tuned discovery
As and as and when our hearts decide
Be ready now - be ye circle
Be the central force ye life
As the game extends the cycle
Be ready to move.

Actually, now that it’s put down and considered, maybe this lyric isn’t so bad after all. Anderson's lyrics are often the opposite of poetry. They don't offer conciseness; they favor a vague expansiveness, a repetitive suggestiveness (as do Bob Dylan's lyrics, but usually with more consistently flowering expertise). We don't love Anderson because of his earthy street smarts. We don't want Anderson to lighten up. He tried that on his solo album Seven, and revealed an embarrassingly clumsy grasp of doo-wop retro ("Don't Forget"), funky swing ("Heart of the Matter") and lighter pop fare which matched in ineptitude the assault on raggae (including synthesized steel drums) on "The Life and Times of Bobby Dread" and the fruitless consorting with the aboriginal on "Birthright" (both from Anderson, Bruford, Wakeman and Howe). Not that Anderson can't swing, he's proven he can any number of times, and a later solo album, Animation, features tightly wound band/vocal dynamics. But when he swings it has to be on his own terms, in the context of his own creative personality - not somebody else's. There has always been counter-balancing intellect present in Anderson's work. Despite the positive nature of the message, Anderson doesn't turn a blind eye towards negativity: he just incorporates it into his overall strategy. On the black and white side this includes the sonic good and evil battle on "Ritual (Nous Sommes Du Soleil)" from the puzzling underrated Tales from Topographic Oceans."

(stay tuned for Yes: Pt. II; a look at the band’s technique)

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