Jethro Tull



I don’t know too many millennials who call themselves Jethro Tull fans, so I feel the need to explain my interest in Tull:

  1. My mother plays the flute. Serious flute. Had she chosen to continue her education and pursue a career in music, she would have made first chair in a world-class symphony orchestra. She gave it all up because she couldn’t bear the thought of such a cloistered life.
  2. My mother is my role model, and so I picked up the flute and began formal training at the age of eight (simultaneously with piano lessons). I am classically-trained but was too restless to stay there, so in later years I studied flute and piano in the context of jazz music.
  3. I love the fuck out of Martin Barre—his attack, his tone, his incredible feel for always playing just what a song needs.

You may have noticed I didn’t mention Ian Anderson, who for most people is Tull. I think he’s one-third genius, one-third control freak and one-third butterfly. Tull went through a series of radical transformations, all driven my Ian Anderson’s insatiable restlessness. Listen to these five albums consecutively and you’ll see what I mean: This Was, Aqualung, A Passion Play, Songs from the Wood and Crest of a Knave. Five different albums, five different genres . . . unless you count Tull as its own genre, which is probably the best way to classify a band led by Ian Anderson.

I haven’t reviewed two of the albums noted above, but here are the Tull albums I have reviewed:

Stand Up!



Thick as a Brick

A Passion Play

War Child

Minstrel in the Gallery

Songs from the Wood

Broadsword and the Beast

Crest of a Knave

The Deep Cuts

Music Reviews and Discussions

Bands on the Rise

Rad music you've never heard before


"Find what you love and let it kill you." – Charles Bukowski


Just a girl who loves music

Pasquinero virtual

Periodismo con un Plus...

Miss Diagnoses

Life with assorted ailments

Brickbat Enterprises

Writings About Music - Mostly Old, Sometimes New

The Fraudsters' Almanac

Pretenders to the the throne of informed criticism

Waiting for wonderment

A Postgraduate's journey into the world of writing

Her Diffident Way

The only way I know

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