Yes – Fragile – Classic Music Review
The inspiration for this review came from multiple sources: Cork County rain, the in-house handyman, Paul McCartney, an old outhouse converted into a tool shed, and my unusual brain wiring.
A wintry mix of rain and sleet had lingered for several days, and the Met Éireann forecast indicated more of the same in the foreseeable future. One evening, while Alicia and I were about to start our preparations for a night of unbridled passion, we heard the sound of hammering close by. I peeped out the window and saw my father in the gloaming, perched at the top of a ladder, wearing rain gear and a hard hat equipped with a light, and pounding away on the roof of the toolshed. I opened the window and shouted, “Hey, Dad, what the fuck?” He turned to look at me and broke out into song: “I’m fixing a hole where the rain gets in to stop my mind from wandering.” “In the rain? You’re nuts!” “Don’t want my tools to get rusty,” he replied, and returned to his hammering.
A couple of days later, when I had finished my review of Up to Here, I opened my spreadsheet to see what I had planned for the following week. The album I had scheduled wasn’t particularly challenging, so I decided to put it aside for the time being, leaving a hole in my schedule. I could have moved up one of the albums I had scheduled for later, but that would still leave me with a hole to fix. For the next twenty-four hours, my brain played “Fixing a Hole” on repeat and even wound up in one of my dreams!
The next day, I woke up determined to fix that fucking hole. As the album I passed on was of British origin, I needed something from the Brits because I had set the rotation to avoid back-to-back reviews from the same country of origin (Canada is exempt from that rule due to the Tragically Hip Series). As I combed through my list of possibilities, Fragile caught my eye. I had skipped over it and moved from The Yes Album to Close to the Edge because I felt the latter was more challenging, and I had always regretted that decision.
As I thought about it for a minute, my brain lit up like a Christmas tree. “Hey! I left a hole in the Yes narrative, and if I do Fragile, I can fix two holes in one fell swoop! Thanks, Dad!”
*****
Bill Bruford claimed that the album titles Fragile and Close to the Edge reflected the band’s inherent instability. As Steven Lambe explained it in the expanded edition of Yes: Every Album, Every Song, “I can think of few groups that have had so many line-up changes, and yet so many members that have left the band and later rejoined; a band that have had so many different methodologies and motivations for creating music; a band that has been so divided by inter-band politics and squabbles over money.” The rehearsals for Fragile kicked off with the sacking of classically-trained pianist and organist Tony Kaye, who refused to expand his reach to include electronic keyboards like the Moog and Mellotron. While discussing possible replacements, manager Brian Lane recommended Rick Wakeman, who was with the Strawbs at the time. Chris Squire reached out to Wakeman, but the first attempt didn’t work out too well. (NOTE: “Berk” is a British term for a “stupid, foolish, or irritating person.”)
“I had been doing a lot of sessions and was lying in bed after having done a three-day stint with about six hours of sleep. And that was typical. I had just arrived home having had no sleep again, and fell into bed. It was one of those things where the minute my head hit the pillow, I fell asleep. It felt so good, and then the phone rang. I couldn’t believe it. I covered my earholes up and Ros picked up the phone. I could hear the conversation. ‘He’s only just come in. He hasn’t been back for three days – you know he’s really tired.’”
“I was awake by then and let me tell you I was furious. ‘Gimme that phone . . . who’s that?’ I said. And this voice said, ‘Oh, hello. It’s Chris Squire from Yes.’ It’s three in the morning mind you, and he said, ‘How . . . how are you?’ I said, ‘You phone me up at three in the morning to ask how I am?’ I told him I was very tired and asked him if he would phone back. ‘Well,” he said, ‘We’ve just come back from an American tour and we’re thinking of having a change in personnel. I saw you doing some sessions down at Advision Studios and all I wanted to know was if you’d be interested in joining the band.’ And I like a berk said, ‘No!’ and slammed the phone down. I was furious.”
“I woke up the next morning and said, ‘Who the hell was that on the phone?’ Ros told me what had happened. So, I raked through my record collection and pulled out Yes’s Time and a Word. I hadn’t really got into it that much and I had hardly played it. So I played it and thought, ‘Yeah, this is interesting. Maybe I shouldn’t have said no . . . to Yes after all.”’
Wooding, Dan. Caped Crusader Rick Wakeman in the 1970’s (Function). Kindle Edition.
Rick agreed to meet with Lane and the band members at a pub, where the negotiations began with a Cool Hand Luke moment: “What we have here is a failure to communicate.”
As he walked in, the group, as a man, gasped, ‘Oh my God, is this supposed to be the new keyboards genius?’ Then one of them added, ‘He’s a bit big isn’t he?’ And as the conspirators chatted amid the smoke and foamy pints, Rick threw them all with a rather strange request. ‘If I join the band I’d like to bring my paint rollers,’ he said firmly.
Commented a tongue-in-cheek Lane: “I didn’t really know what he meant by that. I thought he wanted to be in charge of decorating the band’s bus or something! It later transpired that Rick used to like walking up and down the keyboards with his paint rollers. I’ve heard of people like this. You read about them every Sunday in the News of the World. So I thought I had better humour him and go along with his paint rollers, though I thought, ‘The first sign of a tin of Dulux, and I’ll elbow him.'”
But, all humour aside, it was not just paint rollers that Rick was interested in. He pointedly asked Jon Anderson: “How much do you earn a week?” Jon told him and Rick, in return, told him of the £35 a week he had been picking up with the Strawbs. Anderson’s reaction was: “Well our offer’s a sight more than you’re getting and everything we’ve got, we own.” Rick’s next question was: “What plans have you got?” Anderson said they were going to America and Rick surprised all of them by saying he didn’t want to go. He left the pub having said “No” to the possibility of becoming a member of one of the world’s most brilliant groups—for what? Apparently, life with the Strawbs and the chance of more gruelling sessions.
“Anyway, I went home and thought ‘I must be mad.’ said Rick. “I mean, someone had offered me a really good job with a band I really admired, and I was holding out. I thought, ‘What a berk’ and went back and joined immediately.” (ibid)
As they prepared for the recording sessions, Wakeman noticed the signs of instability Bruford had perceived, but had a completely different take on the value of conflict. “Shortly after joining the band, he revealed in a Sounds interview with Penny Valentine how difficult it had been to fit in with Yes. ‘It’s not been an easy band to just slide into because we don’t really mix socially, which is good, really, because I don’t think music and social life mix very well. I mean, we all argue after gigs anyway. The first time I met them, I couldn’t believe a group could argue so much. I thought they were about to split up and thought, ‘Oh well, there’s £100 and a job out of the window.’ But then I found they just argue; everyone tells everyone else when they think they’ve played badly on a gig. They’re all total individuals.’” (ibid)
It would seem that the legendary conflicts leaned more towards healthy conflict than wrestling matches—at least when it came to making music. Healthy conflict “occurs around ideas and encourages open discussion of different viewpoints. Healthy conflict strengthens teams by allowing members to voice their opinions openly without fear of judgment. This type of conflict is constructive, driving creativity and leading to more refined and well-thought-out solutions.” Rick Wakeman learned to view the conflicts in that light, while Bruford found the arguments an irritating distraction. In the end, Wakeman proved to be the perfect fit for the direction the band wanted to take, and later he would name Fragile his favorite album from his first stint with the band (he came and went several times).
Fragile is split between four “group arranged and performed” tracks and five “individual ideas, personally arranged and organised” by each of the five members (as described in the liner notes). Bill Bruford suggested the “individual ideas” approach to showcase each band member’s talent, and Chris Squire heartily endorsed it to “save time and reduce studio costs” in response to the heavy investment in electronic keyboards for Wakeman. Given the allegedly troublesome group dynamics, it’s somewhat ironic that the strongest tracks are the group efforts, while the “individual ideas” are a mixed bag. As is usually the case with Yes, the lyrics can be problematic, but the music more than compensates for that deficiency.
*****
“Roundabout” (Anderson-Howe): According to Songfacts, the bones for “Roundabout” emerged while Anderson and Howe were sitting in the back of a van, traveling from Aberdeen to Glasgow near the end of a tour. The full story about how an acoustic guitar instrumental suite morphed into a progressive rock masterpiece just happens to demonstrate the value of healthy conflict.
While Steve Howe used an acoustic guitar to create the musical structure, he had some misgivings about using his Martin 00-18 when it came time to record the piece. From Jazz Guitar Today via Guitar Player: “I thought, Wow, this is risky. I could start to feel that my electric playing had a certain style. But never had I stuck my neck out so much as to have Bruford, Squire, Rick Wakeman, Jon Anderson all playing, and all I’m doing is playing acoustic guitar.” At first, I found his trepidation rather odd, given his stellar acoustic performance on “Clap,” but that was a solo piece. Howe sensed that “Roundabout” had the potential to become much more than a one-man show and was concerned that the acoustic guitar would get lost in the mix.
Using his now famous Martin 00-18 for the first time on a Yes recording, the prog rock innovator laid down his unforgettable acoustic lines. “It was adventurous, and the risk paid off!” he concludes. As well as the addition of acoustic guitar to Yes’s sonic palette, the band’s experimental approach involved shifting parts from one instrument to another. Blending seamlessly with Howe’s fluid lines, some of Wakeman’s organ parts were written on guitar. “I gave my lines to other people,” he says. “That meant that a song like ‘Roundabout’ was definitely going to stand out. It was not going to go unnoticed with the opportunities we had.” (ibid)
Steve also noted with due modesty, “I was big on intros back then, and the classical guitar intro I came up with for ‘Roundabout’ was one of the most signature things.” No shit, Sherlock! My mother is a huge Yes fan who played Fragile frequently during my youth, and whenever I heard Howe’s opening harmonic stroke on the 12th fret, I often stopped what I was doing and headed to the living room to listen more closely. If you’re interested (and you damn well should be), Damon Wood reproduced the entire acoustic performance in a guitar tutorial on YouTube, a wondrous mix of ghost notes, upstrokes, downstrokes, hammer-ons, and solid rock rhythms.
The other band members loved the acoustic intro but felt it needed a bit more drama. Using the studio as an instrument, Wakeman and producer Eddy Offord came up with a clever solution: “Wakeman alternated an Em chord and a C chord on the piano that Offord recorded and played backwards, creating an effect that Howe described as ‘if it’s rushing towards you.'” The contrast between beauty and “something wicked this way comes” results in a compelling overture that holds the listener’s attention and increases the sense of anticipation.
Howe closes the intro with a sprightly, upbeat arpeggio, signaling the band to launch into the song. The most noticeable sound comes from Chris Squire’s bass, a performance that earned well-deserved kudos from Guitar World: “For countless bassists, there’s nothing better than the late Chris Squire’s hard-driving, sixteenths-heavy bassline on the 1972 Yes classic, Roundabout. It’s a showcase bass riff that flies by so fast that many are content to just listen in awe.” The article also reveals that Squire was just as fussy (in a good way) about his picks and strokes as Steve Howe: “I always preferred a clean sound as opposed to the boomy, dull tone finger players were getting at the time,” Squire told Bass Player in December ’93. “I use heavy Herco picks and hold them so the pointed side is facing away from my bass and the rounded side extends slightly past my thumb. When I play a downstroke, I hit the string with the side of my thumb. As a result, you hear the initial pick attack and immediately afterwards, a rounder, smoother tone.” Squire also employs ghost notes throughout the song, tiny rhythmic hiccups that forestall boredom while Bruford’s energetic drumming preserves the flow.
Jon Anderson then enters with his lead vocal, gliding along with the rhythm set to the central chord pattern of Em-F#m-G-F#m-Em. At the end of the third line, the chord pattern leaps to Am-Bm-C-Bm-C-Bm-Am for Jon’s held note, then devolves to Bm7 variants with Wakeman providing Hammond whirls. Instead of closing the verse on a resolution chord, the composition calls for an F9 chord, maintaining the song’s palpable sense of drama. The musical pattern remains intact during the second verse; as for the lyrics . . . well . . . they make a bit more sense when you take these influences into consideration:
- Anderson came up with the lyrics while skirting around Loch Lomond on a partly cloudy day.
- Jon and Steve claimed to have encountered forty roundabouts along the way.
- Jon was high on marijuana.
- After a lengthy tour, he missed his wife terribly.
Here goes:
I’ll be the roundabout
The words will make you out and out
I spend the day your way
Call it morning driving through the sound
And in and out the valleyThe music dance and sing
They make the children really ring
I spend the day your way
Call it morning driving through the sound
And in and out the valley
Not the most lucid poetry, but Jon sings it like he means it, whatever that means.
We now arrive at the chorus, one of the most rocking and memorable passages in progressive rock history. The decision to let Squire and Bruford sit out the first two lines was a stroke of brilliance, as the minimalist arrangement of Jon’s vocals and Steve’s electric guitar grabs the listener’s attention with its sudden shift in dynamics. Wakeman makes his appearance after the second line, and the rhythm section returns after the third line, completing an exciting build.
In and around the lake
Mountains come out of the sky and they stand there
One mile over we’ll be there and we’ll see you
Ten true summers we’ll be there and laughing, too
24 before my love you’ll see I’ll be there with you
For a very long time, the line “Mountains come out of the sky and they stand there” bugged the crap out of me. Well, duh! What else does a mountain do but stand there? It’s not like a mountain can dance or tiptoe away and pay a visit to its other mountain friends. Unless they’re volcanic or standing on a fault line, mountains just fucking stand there! So what? Learning that Jon was high on grass made the line more acceptable, and Songfacts helped complete the picture: “Awed by the scenery, Anderson came up with lyrics like ‘Mountains come out of the sky and they stand there,’ as the mountains would disappear into the clouds.” Awe often results in emotionally-powered gibberish, like when the woman you’re about to fuck lets her bra drop and reveals a mountainous pair of tits.
After another round of verse and chorus, we arrive at the bridge, opening with Squire overdubbing his bass with Howe’s Gibson ES-150 to give his sound more crunch. With Bruford operating at maximum intensity, Wakeman blasting away on organ and Anderson’s lead vocal enhanced with vocal harmony from Squire, this is the most intense passage in the composition. It ends with Bruford gradually easing up on the drums like a wind-up doll running out of battery power. A reprise of the introduction follows, sweetened by Wakeman’s organ arpeggios and Mellotron flute. Jon takes advantage of the relative stillness to deliver a softer vocal in the truncated verse, and when he reaches the line “24 before my love and I’ll be there,” Squire returns to strengthen the vocal, cueing Wakeman’s fabulous one-take organ solo. After Howe gets in a few good licks on electric guitar, we get one more rousing performance of the chorus before the arrangement shifts to a vocal collage of three-part harmonies (Anderson, Squire, Howe) with light vocal support from Wakeman to provide contrast. With impeccable timing, Howe closes the piece with a slight variation of the arpeggio that originally kicked the song into high gear.
Lyrical puzzlers aside, “Roundabout” is simply one of the greatest collaborations in progressive rock history. While the single version helped the band extend its fanbase, I consider it an abomination, and I hope I never hear it again.
“Cans and Brahms” (Johannes Brahms, arranged by Rick Wakeman): The first individual idea is an electronic interpretation of the first section of the third movement in Brahms’s Symphony #4 in E minor (the “cans” in the title refer to the headphones Wakeman wore during the creation of the piece). The tempo directive of the third movement is Allegro giocoso, which roughly translates into “lively and playful,” and Rick follows that direction in both tempo and spirit. The liner notes tell us that his one-man orchestra consists of an electric piano used for the string section, grand piano for the woodwinds, organ for the brass, electric harpsichord for reeds, and synthesiser as contrabassoon. As a classically trained pianist who “passed all the Associated Board of Royal Schools of Music exams from Grade I to Grade VIII in both theory and practical” (Wooding), the piece itself would not have presented much of a challenge, but it took fifteen hours for Rick to translate the original into electronic orchestration to his satisfaction. I will close by noting that the Steven Wilson 2024 remix/remaster noticeably brightens the sound of this piece, but the original vinyl will suit most listeners just fine.
“We Have Heaven” (Anderson): Jon described his individual idea as a “rolling idea of voices and things,” which tells us that his explanations are as elusive as many of his lyrics. The repetition of chants in what might as well be a foreign language (“Tell the Moon dog/Tell the March hares) gives me the impression that the piece could have served as a hymn for one of those religious cults that believed a spaceship was coming to take them to an extraterrestrial paradise, and frankly, it gives me the creeps. The piece ends with the sound of a door slamming followed by rapid footsteps, which tells me that it’s all systems go for the spaceship, and at the last minute, one of the faithful realized he was in a loony bin and got the hell out of there.
“South Side of the Sky” (Anderson-Squire): From Songfacts: “When Yes performed at the Montreux Jazz Festival in 2003, lead singer Jon Anderson said, ‘This is a song about climbing mountains. It’s dangerous, but we all must climb mountains every day.’ The liner notes to the remastered edition of Fragile aren’t so optimistic, describing the song as about a tragic polar expedition that ends in death.”
To add to the confusion, there is a third interpretation in Tim Morse’s
Move forward was my friend’s only cry
In deeper to somewhere we could lie
And rest for the day, with cold in the way
Were we ever colder on that day, a million miles away
It seemed from all of eternityThe moments seemed lost in all the noise
A snowstorm, a stimulating voice
Of warmth of the sky, of warmth when you die
Were we ever warmer on that day, a million miles away
It seemed from all of eternity
However you feel about the lyrics, there is no doubt in my mind that the composition is exceptional and the musicians are at their best. After the intro of howling winds and a closing burst of thunder, Bruford kicks the song into high gear with a stuttering drum line on snare and toms, then syncs up with Squire to establish a hard rock rhythm that mimics a tough slog through the ice and snow. Anderson and Howe enter simultaneously, with the latter enhancing the roughness with blistering counterpoints. Shortly after the two-minute mark, Rick Wakeman pierces through the winds with an extended piano solo that makes full use of the keyboard’s range, changing the mood from gritty to relatively calm. A minute or so later, the choral trio of Squire, Howe and Anderson engage in a series of wordless harmonies over Wakeman’s piano, perhaps hinting at the “death can be beautiful” theme. The sequence ends with a return to the hard rock slog, enhanced by layers of sound and a stunning electric guitar performance by Howe before the howling winds move in again to bring the piece to a close.
“Five per Cent for Nothing” (Bruford): Yep, that pretty much covers it: thirty-three seconds of nothing remotely interesting. On the plus side, I’m relieved that they didn’t do the other ninety-five percent. Bruford admitted he could have used more help with the composition in Yesstories: “A quarter-century later, Bruford described ‘Five per Cent for Nothing’ as ‘completely naive—but we’ve all got to start somewhere’.” In the band bio Close to the Edge – The Story of Yes, author Chris Welch characterized the piece as “33 seconds of Brufordian angst which seems to say ‘I don’t like the music business that much, and I’d rather be with King Crimson.'” Burn!
“Long Distance Runaround” (Anderson): In an interview with Songfacts, Jon claimed there were two driving forces behind the lyrics to “Long Distance Runaround.”
- “‘Long Distance Runaround’ was all about the craziness of religion. You’re taught that Christianity is the only way. All those people in China are going to the devil [laughing], stupid doctrine, you know. And when you’re a kid, you’re 9 years old, you don’t know any better.”
- “There was one song that I did, ‘Long Distance Runaround,’ the second verse is all about Kent State and the government cracking down on young people because they were trying to tell the truth about the war in Vietnam. It was just one of the crazy fears of time.”
That seems like a lot of ground to cover in one song, but it’s easy to verify or dismiss Jon’s assertion because the two six-line stanzas only differ in the first two lines, and those two stanzas are repeated verbatim.
- Craziness of religion: “Long distance runaround/long time waiting to hear the sound.” Unless the long-distance runaround is a reference to heaven and he’s waiting for the sound of celestial trumpets, I call bullshit on the “craziness of religion” interpretation. I think most people would read those lines as being put on hold by the doctor’s office and bemoaning the fact that there’s no muzak playing to help pass the time.
- Kent State Massacre verse: “Cold summer listening/Hot colour melting the anger to stone.” Huh?
I think Jon-boy gave us the runaround and fell more than a little bit short when you compare his work to Phil Ochs’ “Canons of Christianity” and “In the Heat of Summer.” The problem with many of Anderson’s lyrics is his failure to supply background information or identify the milieu to enable the listener to fill in the blanks. There is no way in hell that anyone would connect “Cold summer listening/Hot colour melting the anger to stone” to Kent State or any of the Vietnam era protests. Rick Wakeman liked Anderson’s lyrics because they allowed listeners to “derive your own meaning.” (Woodman). I think that’s a poor excuse for lyrical laziness. No, a lyricist doesn’t have to spell it all out, but a few hints of meaning would have been of enormous help to listeners trying to make sense of it all.
The upbeat music is a poor fit for either of Anderson’s alleged themes, so I suggest that listeners ignore the lyrics and enjoy the solid work of the rhythm section, the memorable melody, Jon’s well-executed vocal and Steve Howe’s nimble guitar runs.
“The Fish (Schindleria Praematurus)” (Squire): Had Chris Squire turned the amp up on his bass a few steps, I might have liked this piece for its interesting rhythms. As it is, I struggle to explain why it was so important for Jon Anderson to call Michael Tait (the band’s lighting director) and tell him, “I want the name of a prehistoric fish in eight syllables. Call me back in half an hour.'” Tait followed up on the request and found Schindleria Praematurus in the Guinness Book of Records. I would have told Jon to chill out and get a good night’s sleep.
“Mood for a Day” (Howe): I’ll turn things over to Steve Howe, who reviewed his contribution in an interview with Guitar World:
GW: You have another solo-guitar spot on the record, “Mood for a Day.” What absolutely gorgeous flamenco playing!
HOWE: Thanks for saying that. I’ve played the song many times since recording it, and I think I was pretty heavy-handed back then. I don’t mean reckless, but more heavy-going. That did give it a really strong flamenco feel, which I don’t relate to now. I think the guitar should sound beautiful. Period. As far as “Mood for a Day,” the way I play it—or learned to play it—over the last 25 years is far superior to what I recorded.
All I can say is that if I ever managed to reproduce the original version, I would have been one happy camper.
“Heart of the Sunrise” (Anderson-Squire-Bruford): Chris Squire described this lengthy piece as “the most complete but precise example of what Yes was doing.” Combined with Jon Anderson’s assertion that the music was partly inspired by Stravinsky and Weather Report, we can conclude that “what Yes was doing” was expanding their musical playing field to include more complex rhythms in multiple time signatures and different tempos, improvisational freedom to explore the possibilities in given modes and sudden twists and turns in direction and dynamics. Without a grounding in compositional basics, those features could easily result in a bloody mess, but Yes had brought Rick Wakeman into the fold, and his knowledge of sonata form and the importance of recapitulation (restating the themes, melodies and rhythms presented in the earlier sections of a piece) gave the composition a solid structure.
One quick look at the sheet music might scare off most musicians. Depending on the source, the tempo clocks in between 147 and 154 BPM in the intro, and the speed will change several times throughout the piece. Time signatures include 6/8, 4/4, 5/8, 9/8, and 3/4—and plenty of syncopation from Bruford and Squire.
I suggest that you put down your drink sometime during the few seconds of silence that ends “Mood for a Day,” because this sucker kicks off with a bang that may cause you to spill your beverage and ruin the carpet. The overture consists of a series of manic-speed bursts containing the main riff with sudden stops to allow Wakeman to provide contrast in the form of shimmery electronic wizardry. The first two riff bursts last for only two or three seconds, but after the second appearance from Wakeman, the team of Howe, Squire, and Burford extends the riff, and pictures of Bill Bruford’s arms flying off his body fill my head. Fortunately, the loss of limbs was only my imagination working overtime, and Chris Squire gives Bill some time to heal by launching a slower 4/4 funk passage over a Mellotron wash from Wakeman. A longer and somewhat more elaborate recapitulation of the main riff follows, eventually giving way to a gentle guitar and Jon Anderson’s vocal. The music in this section varies widely, with segments in 6/8, 5/8 and 9/8, diverse instrumentation, sudden stops, and restatements of the main riff, a melange I find quite interesting.
Once again, Jon gave us multiple interpretations of the lyrics, as noted in the Wikipedia entry on the song: “According to Anderson, the song is about being lost in the city. This was explained on many tours. In the “Big Generator” tour (1987), Anderson said that the song is about the power and energy of the sunrise. In 1978, however, he had said that the song was about the power of love. Sometimes, he made other comments regarding its meaning.” I think Songfacts came closer to the truth when they noted “This is a very spiritual song for Jon Anderson, who has talked about how it gives him a feeling of completeness and ‘rings true to my chakra energy, my consciousness.’ The Earth and the cosmos are where Jon gets a lot of his inspiration and energy, which is reflected in this song.” All you have to do is listen to Jon’s marvelous vocals to understand how much the song meant to him on a personal level.
The piece ends suddenly on one final burst of the main riff, followed by a lengthy silence leading to the album’s hidden track, a short reprise of “We Have Heaven.” I suppose they had to put something there to soften the impact of the abrupt ending of “Heart of the Sunrise,” but a fragment from “Roundabout” would have been a better choice, taking the album full circle.
*****
Fragile is essentially a well-above-average transitional album with a combination of highs and lows, but with Rick Wakeman fully integrated into the band, Yes would give us Close to the Edge, my personal favorite in their discography. Alas, the Bruford-Wakeman lineup wouldn’t last long, as Bill left for King Crimson shortly thereafter, and Wakeman would split after Tales of Topographic Oceans. The revolving door would become the modus operandi for Yes, with Stephen Lambe noting that “Until his death in June 2015, only Chris Squire had been in every incarnation of the ‘official’ band. Overall, eighteen musicians have been ‘official’ members of Yes.”
Yes was not the only rock band to endure a steady stream of departures and arrivals, as band shake-ups became common in the 1970s (curiously coinciding with free agency in baseball). Some people might view lineup changes as a sign of instability, but as any baseball manager with a brain knows, sometimes you have to shake things up if the lineup isn’t clicking. Personnel changes were quite common in post-war jazz ensembles, and even with all the comings and goings, Yes managed to adapt to the new reality and continued to give their fans plenty of reasons to stick with them over the years.
For my next review, I’ll be heading over to the Anglo-Scottish border to do some kite-flying. Because many of my readers will be engrossed with Super Bowl party preparations next Sunday, that review will be published on Saturday.
What? Who am I rooting for? That’s easy! I’m rooting for Green Day to blast the crap out of the true American Idiot!
