Jethro Tull

A breath that has lasted 40 years.

Even Jethro Tull have reached that notorious milestone birthday, and to celebrate their first four decades of activity, Milan opened the doors of the Arcimboldi to Ian Anderson and company - no less than the city's prestigious 2,400-seat "grand theatre", built a few years ago on the outskirts of Milan with the initial aim of hosting La Scala's productions while that venue was closed for restoration work, before going on to become an all-round concert and theatre venue with an extremely rich, and perhaps overly eclectic, season.

The last time I'd seen Jethro Tull was at the Teatro Smeraldo in 2003, also in July, but between the two shows I sensed a chasm - decisively in favour of this latest evening at the Arcimboldi. The band struck me as revitalised, in great shape, with a partly renewed line-up that felt tighter, more powerful and hungrier. Because while the story of Jethro Tull is above all that of the minstrel Ian Anderson - vocalist, flautist, composer, undisputed leader and image/icon of the band - and a little bit also that of his trusty guitarist Martin Barre, by his side since 1969, the other musicians who have come and gone over the years have always played a secondary role, far, as they say, from the spotlight. Yet exactly five years earlier, at the Smeraldo show, I'd noted a weakness in the quintet as a whole, which felt too fragile, academic, and unmotivated; maybe it was an off night, maybe the acoustics were poor, maybe a lull in a long career, or maybe simply a lack of chemistry between musicians and instruments. Because from a band caught between progressive and folk-rock, as Jethro Tull are mostly described, what you expect above all is a sound you've internalised after years of listening, a sound that is a trademark in itself.

At the Arcimboldi, alongside the two historic members already mentioned, Jethro Tull took the stage with Doane Perry on drums, in the band since the 80s, keyboardist and accordionist John O'Hara, who has often worked alongside Ian Anderson on his solo projects, and new bassist David Goodier, whose contribution I particularly appreciated: a precise, powerful rhythm section whose intensity and dynamism reminded me of the band's historic first live album, that 1978 release "Bursting Out".

The prevailing impression I got from the evening was one steeped in the atmosphere of the '70s and thereabouts. It started with the setlist, which drew from the band's earliest and most famous albums, without neglecting their hit singles; it continued with the slides projected onto the backdrop screen, showing archival images and photos in a spectacular parade of rock iconography from that era; but the old-time mood also came through in some slightly self-celebratory moments, such as when Ian Anderson, following the script, ceded the stage to his bandmates for their turn at solo spots – not exactly the most original, truth be told – or in the typically thunderous, crowd-pleasing endings of the songs, punctuated by the drummer's accelerating crescendo of hits.

The concert opened, perhaps not by chance, on the sturdy notes of "My Sunday Feeling", the opening track of "This Was", the band's debut album from 1968, before winding through classics and lesser-known numbers, true to the group's habit of drawing freely from its vast musical output. The packed venue followed the flow of the straightforward, smooth-running setlist with passion and involvement, getting particularly excited over warhorses like "Bourrée", Anderson's celebrated rearrangement of Bach.

Ian, the mad piper, though somewhat unsteady of voice, appeared in full form as a frontman. The theatre's large stage allowed him to move freely and strike his most sculptural poses, above all the classic one-legged "flamingo" stance. His flute style is the same as ever, made up of trills, flutter-tongue effects, double and triple tonguing, multiple tongue strokes, guttural and onomatopoeic sounds mixing with pyrotechnic scales across the instrument's three octaves. What's striking is Anderson's ability to move from the cleanest, most crystalline melodies to distorted rhythmic gusts "dirtied" by an arsenal of unconventional techniques developed over decades of music-making. What I've always loved about the "Ian Anderson" style of transverse flute playing is that direct link to the player's own life-breath, to the most intimate and varied moods of the soul, from tenderness to the tumultuous surge of passion. It's perhaps no coincidence that the flute has always been one of the instruments closest to the mysticism of so many cultures.

The crescendo finale was predictable, with a light version of "Thick As A Brick", certainly one of the band's finest compositions, followed by the group's ultimate signature song, "Aqualung", which sets off the audience – a varied mix of old and new fans – in a frenzy. The only encore granted, a prelude to a general standing ovation, is "Locomotive Breath", still capable of raising goosebumps. Ian's breath has accompanied us for 40 years, but it remains, now more than ever, a vital one.

(07/07/2008)

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