Yes

Yes are perhaps the band most identified with so-called "progressive rock". While Genesis eventually veered towards leaner, undeniably more commercial sounds, and King Crimson never stopped seeking an evolution in their music by experimenting with different approaches (isn't that, after all, the true meaning of progressive music?), Yes instead remained faithful over the years - aside from the contested modernizing attempts led by Trevor Rabin - to the formal canons that had carried them to the top of the progressive movement in the Seventies. The band probably stopped growing after the release of the intricate album "Close To The Edge" ('72), but that didn't stop them from writing excellent compositions in the years that followed.

Preceding the aforementioned "Close To The Edge" is "Fragile", regarded by many - including this writer - as their absolute masterpiece. By this point the band had matured, leaving behind the symphonic pop indebted to Moody Blues that had marked their first two, still enjoyable, albums; the gear change had already happened with "The Yes Album", and here it's confirmed. Note for the record: the lineup had recently welcomed keyboard ace Rick Wakeman (ex-Strawbs); an eccentric musician of great talent, whose classical training fits perfectly with the "pompous" imprint of the Yes sound.

But let's get to "Fragile". The album opens straight away with a statement of intent: a swelling piano note introduces a delicate acoustic guitar arpeggio, and "Roundabout" kicks in; a driving rhythm and pace provide the ideal terrain for Chris Squire's powerful bass, mixed so loud it practically overshadows the guitar. But that's not all: the track is packed with variations - harder breaks (with Wakeman in an unexpectedly rocking guise), flawless harmonies, and strikingly effective slower passages. The class and technical skill of the five musicians combine to conjure over eight minutes of wonder.

Next comes "Cans And Brahms", an excerpt from Brahms' Fourth Symphony performed entirely by Wakeman: an enjoyable reinterpretation, not at all heavy-handed to listen to, that highlights the keyboardist's classical roots. "We Have Heaven" is short (a minute and a half) and intense; here Jon Anderson's voice can unleash all its beauty, experimenting with fascinating interplay between overdubbed parts and angelic vocalizing.

But the heavenly atmosphere is abruptly interrupted by the sound of a thunderstorm that opens "South Side Of The Sky", a track much closer to hard rock, enriched by a long, deeply emotional slow section; once again the harmonies, beautifully written and performed, and Anderson's vocal inventions are an added value. Then gusts of wind sweep away the storm, and with it the track's roar, closing out side one of the record.

Side two opens with the thirty seconds of "Five Per Cent For Nothing"; a moment of fun for the musicians, who let loose in this brief preamble over a sketch written by Bill Bruford. Then comes the refined turn of "Long Distance Runaround", which sounds as if lifted from an eighteenth-century harpsichord composition; another classic from the band's repertoire, it's a song (since, ultimately, these are always compositions in song form) that's simpler and especially elegant in its phrasing: fresh and light. Linked to it is the appendix "The Fish", built entirely around the blend of sound effects and harmonies.

With "Mood For A Day", on the other hand, it's Steve Howe's turn to shine; the guitarist performs a solo study for acoustic guitar, dazzling with the harmoniousness of the composition and the skill of the performance (far more so than he managed on "The Clap"). It's a fitting prelude to another masterpiece: "Heart Of The Sunrise", ten minutes of rare intensity and emotional depth. Bruford pounds the drums with incredible expressiveness (and yes, because drums too can be played in a unique, unmistakable way...). The track opens in a burst of instrumental chaos, before making way for a cascade of notes from Wakeman's mellotron, underpinned by Bruford's extraordinarily imaginative and effective drumming; then everything explodes again as the musicians chase one another through a whirlwind of daring instrumental passages. Calm returns with the entrance of Anderson's voice, but the track never loses its underlying tension, only briefly subdued, which is released in the grandeur of the finale. This might just be the masterpiece of "Fragile".

The record ends leaving a deep sense of fulfillment. With "Fragile", moreover, Yes began their symbiotic collaboration with painter Roger Dean; Anderson's dreamlike, imaginative lyrics would pair perfectly with Dean's depictions of metaphysical landscapes. From then on, Dean would sign virtually every one of the band's album covers, the two together building those "impossible worlds" that still live on in their work today.

Ride the wave of great music

Add OndaRock to your favorite sources on Google Discover. Don't miss our reviews, milestones and latest news straight in your feed.

Follow on Google

14/11/2006