Yes 11: Tormato

We will admit to having approached Tormato with some trepidation, as its reputation preceded it. For one, that cover—rendered so realistically we always want to grab a sponge and paper towels. The title didn’t help either; puns that lame seemed beneath Yes. (The inner sleeve depicts a topographical map centered on Yes Tor, an actual outcrop in the southwest of England, but that wouldn’t have been a much better title either.) The band seemed to have wanted to forget it too, as it wasn’t made available on CD in the U.S. or Europe until the ‘90s.

Back then, they had managed to keep the lineup the same, but they were still producing themselves, without Eddie Offord. Musically they’re also keeping up the energy generated on the last album, beginning with the utopian vision of “Future Times”, which is coupled with the separate but similar-sounding “Rejoice”. The suite, and the album as a whole, succeeds when the instrumentalists play with instead of against each other. “Don’t Kill The Whale” is a nice sentiment, of course, but Jon Anderson doesn’t quite have the earnest quality of, say, Graham Nash to pull it off. Plus, the backing borders on disco, especially Chris Squire’s bass effect, which doesn’t suit them. Much better is “Madrigal”, based around a classical-sounding harpsichord with acoustic guitar touches, and much more like their classic sound. “Release, Release” is a call for revolution of sorts, in terms free of metaphor; indeed, the lyrics throughout this album are their most literal yet. A roaring crowd is heard during the drum solo, which seems more than a tad gratuitous, and it only increases once Steve Howe joins in.

Speaking of literal, “Arriving UFO” describes exactly that, and if you’ve seen the movie, it’s basically a recap of Close Encounters Of The Third Kind; thankfully they don’t use the five-note motif from the film, but they come dangerously close once the ship lands. “Circus Of Heaven” might be close to metaphorical, except that he’s talking about a circus he’d really like to see, with unicorns, centaurs, fairies, and the like. But did he really need to have his young son do commentary at the end? Just as on the first side, “Onward” provides a dreamier interlude in a song of devotion, to a woman, to a higher being, who knows, and it’s quite moving. This and the last track sound most like the Yes people came to hear. “On The Silent Wings Of Freedom” begins with two minutes of that jamming we mentioned, everyone adding flourishes and what sounds like yet another quote of the “Close To The Edge” riff from Steve. But once the vocals kick in everyone starts playing over each other, and there’s just too much going on, until it whips itself into a frenzy and stops.

So Tormato isn’t terrible, just a little full of itself. In addition to the sound supposedly improving, once the album was recognized again as part of the pantheon, it too received expansion the second time the catalog was remastered. Following the B-side “Abilene” and the previously released silly outtake “Money” (rendered unlistenable by Rick Wakeman’s narration) were eight unfinished tracks, some of which would turn up on future Anderson or Howe solo projects. (“Everybody’s Song” would reappear as “Does It Really Happen?” on the next album, but we’re not there yet.) The unlisted “orchestral version” of “Onward” is lovely, but oddly not included was “Richard”, which had been a hidden track on certain cassette and 8-track releases back in the day.

Yes Tormato (1978)—3
2004 remastered CD: same as 1978, plus 10 extra tracks

Yes 10: Going For The One

Whether or not their self-imposed break did them any good, Yes was back after a nearly three-year gap in a musical climate that had little patience for prog. They did some kickstarting, first booting Patrick Moraz in order to get Rick Wakeman back in, and ran off to Switzerland like good tax exiles to record there without Eddy Offord. Once Going For The One appeared in stores, fans would likely have been shocked to find that Roger Dean didn’t do the elaborate triptych cover, his sci-fi landscapes replaced by skyscrapers courtesy of Hipgnosis. (Their Gill Sans typeface contrasts with his logo.)

The music was a little different, too. After an audible count-in, the title track just plain rocks, with lots of slide guitar but enough Jon Anderson and keyboards to keep it sounding like Yes. His words go by too fast to discern at times, but listen closely and you’ll hear a sense of humor about himself in the third verse. All the while, Steve Howe goes nuts on the slide. “Turn Of The Century” is more like what people would expect, Jon singing wistful mystical lyrics over layered acoustic guitars. A piano solo threatens to drive the whole band into gear, but that doesn’t happen, and it just fades away. Then “Parallels” rocks almost as hard as the title track, even with the prominent church organ, and we can hear Chris Squire letting loose on his while singing (this being a leftover from his own solo album). Most of it drives in four-four, but by the end everybody’s accents—especially Steve’s constant soloing—are competing with Alan White’s busy meter.

We hear Beatlesque touches in the verse of “Wonderous Stories”, a happy hymn along the lines of “And You And I” and “Your Move”. It’s even short enough to be a hit single. But just in case you thought they’d forgotten their roots, “Awaken” runs for 15 minutes, almost as if to prove they could still do complex epics. It begins with a grandiose Wakeman piano part, then Jon wafts in before the rest of the band appears at another brisk (for them) tempo. If anything, the band sounds a little bit like recent Zeppelin. That church organ returns in the mid-section, not as grandiose as on “Parallels” but augmented by Jon’s new harp and even two real choirs (as opposed to voices from a Mellotron) as the band fills in the space. And just when you think it’s all ending on a grand major chord, Jon comes back for a coda that we think resembles post-Gabriel Genesis.

So while it had every reason to be awful, Going For The One isn’t, seeing as it contributes two standbys of Classic Rock radio and uses everyone’s strengths without being a retread. In fact, the only thing really wrong with the album is Alan White’s mustache. (The eventual expanded CD was packed to the gills, with three interesting albeit previously released outtakes, plus extended rehearsals of four of the album’s tracks, including an electric take of “Turn Of The Century”.)

Yes Going For The One (1977)—3
2003 remastered CD: same as 1977, plus 7 extra tracks

Jon Anderson 1: Olias Of Sunhillow

Unlike his colleagues in Yes, Jon Anderson’s first solo album was exactly that. He played and sang everything on Olias Of Sunhillow, a dense collection of songs inspired by a previous Yes album cover—namely, Fragile. The titular hero builds an ark-like hang glider to carry the four tribes of his home planet to another before the first is destroyed. (This isn’t clear from the songs, but explained in the narration within the elaborate packaging.) As he was working completely on his own, with only an engineer for assistance, it took a while, but when complete it turned out to predict the kind of New Age music that would be dominated by synthesizers as well as esoteric instruments, with only his distinct voice (and ecological lyrical concerns) tying it all into Yes proper.

“Ocean Song” rumbles into form with a wash of keyboards and harp-type things, then layers of voices bring in “Meeting (Garden Of Geda)”, a mere prelude to “Sound Out The Galleon”, a proper song. More harps play “Dance Of Ranyart”, supposedly the navigator, and he’s gotten quite proficient at the instrument, but this is another prelude, this time to the bloops and beeps that begin “Olias (To Build The Moorglade)”, another actual song that helps us pronounce the guy’s name right. He follows the Tolkien path of creating his own language in “Qoquaq Ën Transic/Naon/Transic Tö”, a suite of synth beds interrupted by indiscernible chanting over tribal drums. “Flight Of The Moorglade” is suitably trilling and hopeful.

Presumably they got airborne, as “Solid Space” nicely evokes the sensation of flight, or at least watching such a thing. The aural journey continues for the lengthy “Moon Ra/Chords/Song Of Search” suite, wherein the notes tell us fear and discord took hold of the refugees, yet Olias was able to quell everything with his music. (The music itself, however, stays lofty and progressive throughout.) “To The Runner” provides another trilling celebration of something, culminating in music we’re sure we heard on the Narada label at some point or another.

Olias Of Sunhillow is one of those albums that provides an immersive, multi-sensory experience should one choose to delve so deep, but it also works as a nice album to listen to for the sake of enjoyment. This too was mostly ignored in the digital era in this country, but has since been given the deluxe treatment with remastered sound and 5.1 surround content. He’s been threatening a sequel, so who knows if that will ever happen.

Jon Anderson Olias Of Sunhillow (1976)—3

Chris Squire: Fish Out Of Water

Released only weeks after Steve Howe’s solo debut, Chris Squire’s own effort got somewhat lost in the shuffle. Part of the problem was the cover art, which resembled that of the first John Entwistle album. But like Howe’s album, Fish Out Of Water relied on contributions from former cohorts, yet was intended to stand on its own.

His bass was always a key part of Yes compositions, so one needn’t be concerned that the album would be overly dominated by the instrument. Also, his vocal support was also very much part of the band’s brand, so he sounds that much more familiar. Along with Bill Bruford and Patrick Moraz, his main collaborator on the album was one Andrew Pryce Jackman, a pre-Yes bandmate who’d gone on to a career in arranging and conducting. Being recorded when it was, each side is something of a suite, and flows accordingly.

The pipe organ from London’s St. Paul’s Cathedral drives much of the busy “Hold Out Your Hand” along with the bass. An orchestra comes in at the end for a sharp segue into “You By My Side”, a near power ballad for piano with a gravitas similar to that of Zappa’s “Strictly Genteel” until the flute comes in. His vocal blend is nicely constructed too. Another pastoral passage opens “Silently Falling”, with a wandering flute distracting from the verse until the drums come in. A fairly straight section gets more complicated meter-wise to set up a Moraz organ solo that builds to a frenzy before spiraling to stop. A moment of silence allows the piano and voice to come back in, slowly joined by drums and even a couple of stabs of guitar. At its core, it’s a simple motif, but moving.

A funky electric piano appeals to Bruford’s jazz tendencies for “Lucky Seven”, while Mel Collins (also formerly of King Crimson) gets to add saxophones to the groove, and yes, there’s plenty of bass. After the jam peters out, we have another pastoral passage for “Safe (Canon Song)” to grow on over fifteen minutes. Portions of this a very reminiscent of other Yes epics, in the melodies and syncopated pianos, but the orchestra dominates. It’s another track that spirals into a wall of sound as different instruments navigate the odd time signature. But like the best prog, it all comes together rather than sounding like a mess. After the final chord fades, the subdued bass solo provides a coda that somehow matches the pipe organ when we started.

For all its popularity among fans, Fish Out Of Water was ignored for much of the digital era. Unlike Steve Howe’s albums, it was not included in 1994’s Yes catalog revamp, only appearing a decade later on the Wounded Bird label (a home for similar castoffs), followed shortly by an expansion that included one bonus track plus DVD content. In time for what would have been his 70th birthday, it got a new mix by King Crimson’s Jakko Jakszyk, which was issued alongside a remaster of the original mix, plus bonus tracks in the form of single versions of two songs, and both sides of 1981’s “Run With The Fox” Xmas single with Alan White. (A limited edition added DVDs with the expected 5.1 mix and previously released content, plus vinyl versions of the album and singles.)

Chris Squire Fish Out Of Water (1975)—3
2018 Deluxe Edition: same as 1975, plus 9 extra tracks

Steve Howe 1: Beginnings

With the idea that everyone in Yes was teeming with ideas that strained the limits of vinyl, the band went on a brief hiatus so everyone could do a solo album. First out of the gate was Steve Howe, whose Beginnings got a visual boost with a Roger Dean album cover, and utilized longtime band engineer Eddy Offord along with a few ringers like Alan White to handle the handful of instruments he didn’t play himself. Unfortunately, he also insisted on singing.

After some chatter from (presumably) one of his children, lots of strummed acoustics propel “Doors Of Sleep” into place, with a poem by an English suffragist poet sung where the solo should have stayed without competition. “Australia” is even more intricate, and awfully overwrought for what seem to be impressions of touring that continent. After a near-jazz intro, “The Nature Of The Sea” follows some intriguing dynamics, and best of all, it’s all instrumental, supported by members of Gryphon, who’d opened for Yes on recent tours. But for its trilling intro section and vocal sections designed for Jon Anderson, “Lost Symphony” should have stayed that way, drenched as it is in honking saxophones.

The title track is based on a classical guitar piece, given a very twee, faux-baroque arrangement by Patrick Moraz. It would be very nice to hear unadorned. Speaking of faux, “Will O’ The Wisp” has a brief backwards intro nod to “Roundabout” in its own, and some very challenging meters, so there’s potential, but he hits about every sixth note he tries to sing. “Ram” is fun, a snappy pickin’ piece that’s a cousin of “Clap”, overlaid with slide guitar, banjo, and washboard for even more hokiness. “Pleasure Stole The Night” is mildly medieval, but “Break Away From It All” sounds the most like Yes, with harmonies, choogling bass, and particularly Bill Bruford on drums.

As his guitar arguably had a lot to do with the band’s appeal, that should be enough for most fans to give the album the benefit of the doubt. But they’d also likely think Beginnings would have better benefitted from another singer. Apparently pitch wasn’t the concern of anyone involved.

Steve Howe Beginnings (1975)—2

Yes 9: Yesterdays

By now Yes were ready for a break, and who could blame them. While the key members worked on the requisite solo projects, the label bided their time with a compilation. Yesterdays didn’t have to stretch too much for a title, as it was built around tracks mostly from the era of their first two albums, a.k.a. the ones before Steve Howe. The big draw—outside the Roger Dean artwork, and we could do without the kid taking a leak on the back—were the non-album tracks making their first appearance on a Yes LP, and which bookend this one.

“America”, here in its full ten-minute splendor, is a molecular reconstruction of the Simon & Garfunkel album track, incorporating motifs from the unrelated song of the same title from West Side Story (clearly an influence on the band from the beginning). This is the only track here with Howe and Rick Wakeman, who are revved up and restrained, respectively. Of their epics, it’s not their best, but it’s still a good setup for “Looking Around” from the debut, which is itself followed nicely by “Time And A Word”. “Sweet Dreams” interestingly sits in the same side-ending slot as it did on the second album. Unfortunately, side two drags a bit, although “Then”, “Survival”, and “Astral Traveller” are undeniable harbingers of their later developed sound. The orchestrated “Dear Father” was the B-side of “Sweet Dreams” and a good place for it, as the religious hand-wringing doesn’t really suit them.

Yesterdays is redundant in the CD era, as the first two albums have never gone out of print, and the rarities have become standard bonus tracks. But it arguably chose the best tracks to satiate those waiting for the next big statement—or spur new initiates to fill in their racks—while sending some cash Peter Banks’ way.

Yes Yesterdays (1975)—2½

Yes 8: Relayer

Suddenly Yes was in flux again, in search of a keyboard player. Rick Wakeman was gone, more content to compose, record, and perform Journey To The Centre Of The Earth and The Myths And Legends Of King Arthur And The Knights Of The Round Table over the space of two years because he thought Yes music was getting too fruity. They ended up hiring one Patrick Moraz, who apparently not only copped some of their existing material, but was able to collaborate from the get-go.

While he does have a distinct style, what he provides Relayer is very much in line with the Wakeman brand to date. It’s a cold album, matching the gray landscapes in the cover art. It’s back to the Close To The Edge template of an epic on one side, and two shorter tracks (albeit nine minutes each) on the other.

“The Gates Of Delirium” is that side one epic, and something of a piece with Tales Of Topographic Oceans. Jon Anderson allegedly wanted to base the whole album on Tolstoy’s War And Peace, but was talked back to just the one track referencing just one battle. It begins with a whirlwind of sound, with a lot of harmonics on guitar, that soon turns into something of a fanfare. When the lyrics arrive, they’re more direct than impressionistic, and darker, as befits impending bloodshed. The bulk of the track is instrumental, with lots of activity and polyrhythms to illustrate the scenery, and Moraz is given plenty of room to stretch. (We even hear what sounds like crowds cheering, but maybe those are merely supposed to be bombs bursting in air. Also, it’s clear the sections have been edited together rather than played straight through, which is fine.) About fifteen minutes in the action finally calms for a more dreamy atmosphere, for lack of a better term. While it’s not notated as such anywhere in the packaging, a piece referred to ever after as “Soon” provides both a finale to the piece as well as a moment of beauty capping a very dense side of music. Hearing this part on its own is nice, but it really is more powerful in the context of the full piece.

Flip over to side two and it’s easy to think you put on a fusion album by mistake, with rippling electric piano, diminished chords right out of Bitches Brew, and panned paradiddles, despite Chris Squire’s distinctive bass. But once the guitar and vocals kick in, “Sound Chaser” is clearly a Yes tune, albeit a frenzied one. Everyone is playing at top speed, yet still well in sync, with Jon and Chris singing on top. About three minutes in the others drop out, leaving Steve Howe to wander around his fretboard towards more pastoral themes and a suitable Jon melody, but the respite is shortlived, bringing back the fusion and discord of the intro. It actually seems to speed up and slow down, punctuated occasionally by a very loud “JAH JAH JAH, CHA-CHA” motif that’s frankly pretty annoying. After all that, “To Be Over” is a breath of fresh air, with a gentle melody played on quiet keyboards, volume pedal guitar and even a sitar; by the middle Howe has added pedal steel as well as his trademark riffing and solos. While still intricate, it's not anywhere near as harsh or jarring as the rest of the album, and doesn’t even seem to take up nine minutes.

Relayer is Yes at their proggiest to date, if you can believe that. It’s not an easy listen, nor very accessible, and requires as much attention as Topographic Oceans did to sink in. The instrumental interplay can be very dense at times, to the detriment of the players, each of whom add a lot when you notice them.

The eventual expanded edition added the single edits of “Soon” and “Sound Chaser”—the former simply that excerpted segment of “The Gates Of Delirium”, the latter the last three minutes of the song and entirely instrumental save the “JAH JAH” chant—plus a “studio runthrough” of “Gates”. Only the two single edits were carried over to the CD of the later “definitive edition”, which sported a modern Steven Wilson mix lacking some overdubs. In addition, runthroughs of not just “Gates” but the entire album were included with new and surround mixes on the DVD and Blu-ray; the latter offered even further mix variations and live material. (The Wilson mixes for this and the previous four studio albums were eventually released on vinyl in a box set, as well as streaming, where the side-long tracks are split into parts, or their stated segments in the case of Close To The Edge. The guy does good work.)

Yes Relayer (1974)—3
2003 remastered CD: same as 1974, plus 3 extra tracks
2014 Definitive Edition: “same” as 1974, plus 2 extra tracks (plus DVD or Blu-ray)

Yes 7: Tales From Topographic Oceans

After releasing a triple live album, how could a band like Yes possibly scale back to something simple like a single LP? Certainly a double album was within their grasp. But to make it worthy of the “epic” tag, Tales From Topographic Oceans consisted of four side-long “songs”, with Jon Anderson’s lyrics and commentary printed in the gatefold to help us along. Or so he hoped. Inspired by a sacred text of sorts, he and the band, but mostly Steve Howe, attempted to encapsulate all of creation in eighty minutes. (There’s a lot to take in here, and since we haven’t spent half a century doing so, we are quite aware that we are likely missing subtleties and not-so-subtleties aplenty.)

“The Revealing Science Of God” is a bold title for anybody, even when subtitled “Dance Of The Dawn”. Jon sings what sounds like the same note for a few lines, which is improved when Chris Squire and then Steve Howe begin to harmonize. This gives way to a nice Rick Wakeman synth riff that’s as simple as it is catchy. “I must have waited all my life for this moment,” Jon sings, which is odd because we thought this was all taking place before the origin of time. There’s a funky break that threatens to take over the proceedings, before a more stately theme comes through, then the riff comes back, and the cycle repeats. This is precisely the type of “padding” that detractors cite as for why this didn’t need to be a double album, especially since the more placid section that arrives is more effective. This has to get funked up too before they go out they way they came in.

“The Remembering”, helpfully subtitled “High The Memory”, begins with some arpeggiated and Leslie’d 12-string that dominates while Jon and Chris Squire chant underneath. It builds slowly and deliberately, eventually adding melody, but not drums for at least six minutes. After a spacey interlude, a completely separate folky section built around the 12-string. This gets rocked up, and alternates with the spacey section. Here we have another suite with a lot of parts that probably should have each been developed on their own, rather than jerry-rigged together, since the sections are all pretty strong. (The word “relayer” figures a lot, possibly predicting their next album.)

Perhaps to make up for being quiet through most of side two, Alan White is given lots of space to display his drumming ingenuity all over “The Ancient”. Percussion dominates, with a lot of distorted, atonal guitar, as befits a piece subtitled “Giants Under The Sun”. It seems to go on for far too long before a vocal comes in, and there’s a lot of stopping and starting to keep you from nodding off. We hear a few more melodic moments, but mostly Steve meanders for several minutes while the percussion keeps trying to beat its way through. Finally there’s an abrupt switch to a nylon-string guitar paired with a vocal, which thankfully silences so Steve can take an extended classical-type solo, which soon descends into a pretty melodic sequence now known as “Leaves Of Green”. This redeems the side, but they still insist on reprising one of the heavy riffs.

“Ritual” boldly begins with the threat of a majestic fanfare, and tries to deliver, but it’s not easy due to the tricky time signature and wordless melody that defies singing along. So they give up, leaving Steve to wander by himself for a while—we even get a quote of the “Close To The Edge” riff—before Jon comes to the realization that that “Nous Sommes Du Soleil”. There’s another decent rocking section about twelve minutes in, albeit reprising that odd time signature and melody at the start of the side. It gets more frenzied until everything stops and the proceedings descend—again—into cacophonous percussion with effects that sound like tapes being sped up and run backwards, until finally it all fades to reveal another peaceful Howe segment with piano accompaniment to restate the thesis of the French subtitle. The whole band shows restraint as the suite comes to a close.

Back in the vinyl days it was easy to get lost in a side at a time, and just keep sending the needle back to the start. That would be the most efficient way to ingest Tales From Topographic Oceans, but even that can be considered a chore. It’s one of those albums that demands attention, because there’s a lot going on for a long time. Also, while they were busy crafting all these sections to fit together, there is a severe dearth of hooks. Did it really need to be this long? It’s not a bad album by any stretch, despite the hype and hindsight backlash, but it is definitely not for everyone.

Thirty years after it was first released, the remastered version restored about two minutes of music to the start of the first track, so now there’s a growing sense of this particular world being created before our ears, and better setting up Jon’s vocal entry, which now seems abrupt in its original context. This addition actually improves the album. (They also lopsidedly but understandably put the first three tracks on one disc, and added “studio run-throughs” of sides one and three to the second disc. One jettisoned segment seems to predict the theme from The Rockford Files. Later “definitive editions” offered the usual surround sound re-imaginings in various channels and resolutions.)

Yes Tales From Topographic Oceans (1973)—3
2003 remastered CD: same as 1973, plus 2 extra tracks
2016 Definitive Edition DVD: “same” as 1973, plus 2 extra tracks (plus 2 DVDs)
2016 Definitive Edition Blu-ray: “same” as 2003, plus 8 extra tracks (plus Blu-ray)

Yes 6: Yessongs

In keeping with the big-ness of prog, when it came time for a live Yes album, a double album wouldn’t do. Yessongs was a three-record set, in a package sporting three Roger Dean landscapes and a booklet full of photos of the band as well as the crew.

Vinyl constraints meant that the order of a basic show was shuffled to fit the six sides. Also, the music was culled from their two most recent tours, and Bill Bruford only appears on the three tracks from the first one. He took off after recording Close To The Edge to find more intricate challenges with King Crimson, whereupon his replacement was one Alan White, most familiar from playing on a few John Lennon and George Harrison records. Would he be able to handle the polyrhythms Bruford left behind?

The album begins with the sound of an expectant crowd clapping through an excerpt from Stravinsky’s The Firebird as the band takes the stage. The music gives way to Rick Wakeman’s Mellotron, and eventually Steve Howe fumbles his way into “Siberian Khatru” (don’t worry, he catches up by the end). Just before “Heart Of The Sunrise” we can hear an audience member yell “louder!” “Perpetual Change” comes from one of the Bruford shows, and is extended for him to take a drum solo. “And You And I” begins not with the harmonics intro from the studio, but a quote from the majestic “Eclipse” section before going back for the vocal. Plus, Steve plays it all on electrics, so something is lost. (Since he gets a solo spot to play “Mood For A Day”, it’s not like he didn’t have an acoustic handy.)

Speaking of solo spots, Jon Anderson warbles alone for a few seconds before introducing Rick, who plays what are listed as “exceprts” from that year’s The Six Wives Of Henry VIII solo album, a multi-keyboard showcase that was neither as prog nor as pretentious as it could have been, the concept notwithstanding. He even throws in a few familiar classical and silent movie quotes to tweak the crowd. Somehow it all works into the intro for “Roundabout”.

“I’ve Seen All Good People” is wisely played to the accompaniment of a trilling acoustic, until the loud section. “Long Distance Runaround” comes from one of the Bruford shows as well, as does “The Fish” that follows, beginning with more noodling from Steve that becomes a basis for Chris Squire to solo, before the band comes in, then they drop out again, then eventually they join again. Altogether this section goes for about nine minutes. “Close To The Edge” takes up all of side five, complete with sound effects, and is still pretty majestic. “Yours Is No Disgrace” seems to start mid-performance with some jamming before the riff starts proper, but they manage to keep the energy going at a galloping pace throughout, through extended sololing, and “Starship Trooper” is delivered fairly close to the record, with the addition of the choral voices from Wakeman’s Mellotron.

If anything, Yessongs proves that the band could tackle their complex material just fine in a live setting. And yeah, the new guy could keep up pretty well too. Fans weren’t thrilled with the occasionally muddy sound of the album—neither was the band nor the producer, for that matter—but they only had to wait 42 years until Progeny: Seven Shows From Seventy-Two delivered on its title, going back to the source tapes for nearly identical Bruford-less setlists across 14 remastered discs. (A two-disc “highlights” package distilled from five of the shows replicates a basic concert for those wanting only a taster. Also, 1975’s Yessongs feature film, which offered a truncated glimpse of one of the shows on the tour, has since made it to DVD and Blu-ray.)

Yes Yessongs (1973)—3
Yes Progeny: Seven Shows From Seventy-Two (2015)—3
Yes Progeny: Highlights From Seventy-Two (2015)—3

Yes 5: Close To The Edge

Seemingly at full strength by retaining the same lineup for two straight albums, Yes put all they had into Close To The Edge. To prove they weren’t kidding, the album consisted of one side-long epic backed with two other lengthy pieces to establish themselves as the prog trailblazers. (The simple green cover with the band photos on the back—including one shot of co-producer Eddy Offord—may seem oddly ordinary, but fear not: a trademark Roger Dean landscape takes up the gatefold.)

After bird song and water effects fade in, the instrumentalists take a couple of minutes to see how fast they can play and still keep in sync, and eventually a theme emerges on Steve Howe’s guitar. This first part is titled “The Solid Time Of Change” and sports lyrics and a chorus that will recur in the others. The second part, “Total Mass Retain”, is similar musically, except that the chorus hooks are sung faster. Rick Wakeman’s organ takes over the earlier theme, and we move to the more ethereal “I Get Up I Get Down” interlude, which ruminates on that theme with interlocking vocals before a massive pipe organ provides a very churchy atmosphere. A bleepy synthesizer shifts the proceedings back to the original theme and the final “Seasons Of Man” portion. After eighteen minutes, the “I get up I get down” melody is something of a relief and a release, and too brief before a calliope brings back the birds and water.

While “Close To The Edge” may seem indulgent and an acquired taste, we can’t say the same for “And You And I”. For our money, this is the quintessential Yes track, from Steve’s initial harmonics to check his tuning while the organ provides a melodic bed, and then that wonderful 12-string intro. This song too has parts, beginning with “Cord Of Life” over three simple chords played ad infinitum until finally there’s a switch to a pre-chorus that sets up the transition to “Eclipse”, an almost symphonic theme. A simple (for them) Leslie effect on the guitar brings in a slower repeat of the chorus, which hangs there until the 12-string intro returns. “The Preacher, The Teacher” speeds up the musical themes to a more jaunty backing, eventually building up to the pre-chorus for a reprise of the “Eclipse” section, which reaches a fermata (look it up), and “The Apocalypse” is the odd title given to the final 45 seconds and the final chorus.

All that happens in ten minutes, but we’ve still got the rest of side two to go. While it’s certainly intricate and complicated, “Siberian Khatru” is comparatively straightforward and rocking. A strong guitar riff always helps, and the band comes in with a driving rhythm of its own while Howe tweedled-ee-dees on top. They keep the energy going for the duration, there’s a harpsichord solo, and the lyrics make absolutely no sense.

Close To The Edge is a lot of people’s favorite Yes album, which we can understand. There is a lot going on, and most of it is, well, edgy and distracting, so it’s not the type of thing we can throw on at any hour of the day. As we’ve probably said before, we do respect certain prog performers because it does take a lot of work to write lengthy compositions with multiple parts that fit together, and Yes does that here.

Naturally the album was expanded when its time came. It’s always interesting when bonus tracks outnumber an album’s original tracks; while the single version of their cover of Simon & Garfunkel’s “America” may seem redundant as the expanded Fragile included the full version, more interesting is the edit of “Total Mass Retain” used as its B-side. Early mixes of “And You And I” and “Siberian Khatru” just sound empty, because they are. Steven Wilson helmed the stereo and surround mixes for the later “definitive edition”, which had even more extras on the Blu-ray. He gave the album yet another new mix and an instrumental mix—which is frankly astounding—to go along with another remaster for the Super Deluxe Edition a decade later, which also included the extras from the other expansions, a few fresh edits, and two discs devoted to a Rainbow Theater concert already mined for the Yessongs album and film. (Note: the drummer on those discs is Alan White, who replaced the departed Bill Bruford.) A Blu-ray contained everything in hi-res, plus Rhino insisted on including the remaster on vinyl in the package as well.

Yes Close To The Edge (1972)—3½
2003 remastered CD: same as 1972, plus 4 extra tracks
2014 Definitive Edition: “same” as 1972, plus 2 extra tracks (plus DVD or Blu-ray)
2025 Super Deluxe Edition: same as 1972, plus 27 extra tracks (plus Blu-ray)

Yes 4: Fragile

Growing up with classic rock radio meant we’ve been prejudiced against not just certain songs, but certain bands. That’s why we think this little forum of ours has been so important; not only can we put certain things we love in context, but we’ve also come around on songs we, frankly, hated with a passion.

Fragile begins with one such culprit, the immortal-despite-our-better-efforts “Roundabout”. Once upon a time we would hear those twelfth-fret harmonics and lunge to change the station as soon as possible. It’s still not our favorite song by any stretch, but time, patience, and the determination to review albums no matter what has allowed us to see why so many Yes fans and fanatics love it so damn much.

The album has something of an apt title, since the band had just bounced Tony Kaye because he didn’t want to venture further than piano and organ. To both replace him and better attain their vision, they convinced Rick Wakeman to give up sessions and bring his arsenal of keyboards into the fold. Under pressure and short on funds, they concocted an album consisting of four mostly long songs, interspersed with “individual ideas” from each band member. Pink Floyd had already tried this, and Emerson, Lake & Palmer would one day get several albums out of the method; the trick is to have such statements fit into a larger collaborative concept (think the White Album or Déjà Vu).

“Roundabout” does indeed start the album, and those beginner harmonics only slightly disguise Chris Squire’s monster bass. Wakeman’s keys come in on the second verse and we start to appreciate just how intricate the tune is. Its structure repeats sections with mild variations, so that it’s never quite over when you think it is. And after all this time, while we’re not sure how mountains would come out of the sky, what else could they possibly do but stand there?

Wakeman gets the first solo spot, a piece called “Cans And Brahms” that reassigns instruments in a symphony to different keyboards and overdubbed. These days it sounds more canned than Brahms, mostly since Switched-On Bach had already blazed the trail. Then Jon Anderson does a vocal round called “We Have Heaven”, which gets pretty busy until a door slams on it and footsteps run away into the wind. (Again, this was two years after Pink Floyd did it.) This brings us to “South Side Of The Sky”. This never got as much radio play as the rest of the album, yet that shouldn’t suggest it’s no good. The first verses have good rocking tension, and Wakeman’s completely solo piano interlude (which likely kept it off the radio) cleverly sets up an extended vocal chorale with good band support before the verses come back again.

Bill Bruford has been fairly constrained thus far, but side two starts with “Five Per Cent For Nothing”, a 35-second burst that really is in 4/4, but syncopated with competing atonal lines from Squire and Steve Howe and a few stabs from Wakeman. It’s a mere prelude to that other song you might be sick of, “Long Distance Runaround”. Here again we can marvel how well the players double each other, and Wakeman appears to be playing a primitive electric piano rather than something more advanced. (The internet tells us that Bruford is playing in 5/8 over the band’s 4/4 in the verses, which explains the off-kilter effect.) It’s deceptively short, ending on a flourish that segues into “The Fish”, which almost always got airplay as a result. This is Chris Squire’s statement, which we’re told is all layered bass parts, but there are drums, some wah-wah, and a chant of the song’s subtitle (“schindleria praematurus”, for all you marine biologists out there). Steve Howe’s solo spot is the longest, the Spanish-classical original “Mood For A Day”. It gets busy but is mostly pastoral, which belies the furious intro of “Heart Of The Sunrise”, wherein everybody gets to blow (in the jazz sense, that is). The track seems to slow down, but then the riffing returns with a vengeance. The vocal doesn’t come in for almost four minutes, for almost another song completely. The interplay increases with precision, until finally the main riff swallows the tune whole. But wait! After a few seconds of silence, a door opens to return us to “We Have Heaven”, already in progress.

Fragile really is better in context as an album than parsed out in a rotation, and despite its fragmented genesis, just plain works. Also, this was the debut of Roger Dean as their go-to album art guy, and his other-worldly ideas fit the music perfectly. More of his designs appear in a booklet that came with initial pressings, featuring the now-customary shots of each band member on stage and with their families. Anderson offers four lines of a poem, while Wakeman offers a dense paragraph of thanks to various individuals, organizations, and a pub.

The initial expanded CD added two timely tracks: the full-length cover of Simon & Garfunkel’s “America”, which will be discussed in a different context, and a rough mix of “Roundabout”. Only the latter was included when the album was reissued in a “definitive edition” with new mixes by Steven Wilson, along with other rough mixes and outtakes. Then nine years after that, a Super Deluxe Edition sported yet another remaster of the album, plus a disc of even newer Steven Wilson mixes of the album and instrumental versions of the songs that weren’t instrumentals originally, a disc with the same bonus tracks from 2003 and 2015 plus single mixes, and further alternates and some live tracks on a fourth. Plus a Blu-ray. And an LP.

Yes Fragile (1971)—4
2003 remastered CD: same as 1971, plus 2 extra tracks
2015 Definitive Edition: “same” as 1971, plus 6 extra tracks (plus DVD or Blu-ray)
2024 Super Deluxe Edition: “same” as 2003, plus 28 extra tracks (plus Blu-ray)

Yes 3: The Yes Album

By titling their third album The Yes Album, one might think Yes were starting fresh. In many ways, they were, shaking off the orchestral embellishments and dependency on covers, and giving new guitarist Steve Howe plenty of room to leave his stamp, and not just on the nine-minute tracks. Engineer Eddy Offord was upgraded to co-producer, helping seal his pedigree as premier prog producer in between Emerson, Lake & Palmer dates.

The stop-start nature of “Yours Is No Disgrace” makes it difficult to get into the song right away, but it does, with a wonderful galloping sequence that screams “anthem”. Things stop for tightly harmonized vocals, which continue over the main theme, continuing in variations. It’s one of their better long-form pieces, setting yet another template for future albums. Jon Anderson’s lyrics are fairly obtuse, per usual. The new kid gets a solo spot, taken from a live performance, with his genre-spanning instrumental “The Clap”. (This has since been amended to omit the definite article, but since that’s how it’s announced, that’s what we call it.) “Starship Trooper” is another long one, this time in labeled parts: “Life Seeker” would be the catchy first section; “Disillusion” is another fast-picked acoustic country detour before a return to the original theme; and, after a windup, “Würm” follows three descending chords while Tony Kaye’s Hammond organ fights for space between dueling guitar solos.

“I’ve Seen All Good People” is announced by the repeated hook of the title, but first there’s the three-chord “Your Move” section, which stretches the chess metaphor but still manages to evoke John Lennon, with “instant karma” in the lyrics and “all we are saying is give peace a chance” mixed low beneath one of the verses. The “All Good People” section revives the hook, first setting up continual guitar solos, then fading over organ chords that modulate a full step with every repeat. “A Venture” is reminiscent of the more complicated songs from the first two albums, but here the musical blend is superior, deftly allowing a jazz piano solo of sorts while Chris Squire’s bass burbles below and Bill Bruford plays his polyrhythms. These time experiments continue on “Perpetual Change”, another long one that takes detours through a nursery rhyme section, but manages to stay tuneful.

By design, The Yes Album has proven to be the prime starting point for the band, and most of the songs have been in fairly solid rotation on Classic Rock radio ever since. If you’re sick of them, blame the radio.

The eventual expanded CD added truncated single mixes of “Your Move” and “Starship Trooper”, plus a studio recording of “Clap” that incorporates elements of “Mood For A Day”, which would show up on the next album. Only the latter was included on the CD portion of the eventual Steven Wilson remix package, along with an extended “A Venture” that winds into freeform cacophony; the single versions were included on the DVD or Blu-ray, depending on which one you bought, along with surround mixes, live versions, and whatnot.

This permutation was somewhat superseded by the eventual Super Deluxe Edition, which celebrated the 52nd birthday of the album. This time a new remaster of the original album was supported by a disc containing the 2014 Wilson remix of the album’s tracks (save “Clap) plus Wilson’s instrumental mixes of same (again save “Clap”, but including the a cappella intro for “All Good People”). A third disc had those previously released singles and outtakes, as well as a previously unreleased take of the “Life Seeker” portion of “Starship Trooper” plus, amazingly for a 1971 release, a mono(!) mix of the album. A fourth disc offered grainy live recordings from both before and after the album was released; they show Steve Howe adept at the band’s earlier material, while a rendition of “Clap” includes direct quotes from “Classical Gas”. A Blu-ray disc included updated hi-res and surround mixes, and because Rhino was behind it all, the new remaster was also included on vinyl, ensuring an inflated list price.

Yes The Yes Album (1971)—3½
2003 remastered CD: same as 1971, plus 3 extra tracks
2014 Definitive Edition: “same” as 1971, plus 2 extra tracks (plus DVD or Blu-ray)
2023 Super Deluxe Edition: same as 2003, plus 27 extra tracks (plus Blu-ray)

Yes 2: Time And A Word

For their second album, Yes took the bold step of incorporating an orchestra into their recorded arrangements. This did not sit well with Peter Banks, who was bounced from the band upon Time And A Word’s release. (As before, the American arm of Atlantic Records substituted a different cover, most likely because of the nudity on the original. Problem was, the band shot they used included Steve Howe, who replaced Peter Banks on lead guitar henceforth—but not on the back cover.)

While there are only two as compared with the first album, covers dominate the program. Even with the prominent Hammond organ and plenty of bass, “No Opportunity Necessary, No Experience Needed” sticks closely to the original by Richie Havens. (Also, that repeated orchestral motif we always thought was from “Rodeo” by Aaron Copland is actually the theme music from some Western from the ‘50s.) The other cover is Stephen Stills’ “Everydays”, from the second Buffalo Springfield album; unfortunately, the jazzy potential is overwhelmed by the trite strings, particularly during the dueling solos.

Beyond those, Jon Anderson comes to the fore as the key songwriter, credited alone or alongside either Chris Squire or David Foster, a previous bandmate and not the egotistical ‘80s producer. “Then” is an edgy little number, subsiding for the choruses, with an extended instrumental break that foretells future epics. The opening verse returns in a more contemplative place, but a horn outburst derails it. “Sweet Dreams” was actually a single, and doesn’t feature an orchestra at all, but relies on some twangy, jangly chords. It too has a precisely arranged middle section, as all good prog songs should.

“The Prophet” begins side two with a lengthy organ fugue; once the song kicks in proper, it’s clear this is not one of Jon’s best lyrical attempts. Musically it’s got something in common with their version of “Something’s Coming”, but the orchestral touches don’t really help. “Clear Days” is rainy-day chamber pop that turns somber, and thankfully brief, but “Astral Traveller” is another step closer to the spacey mystique their album covers would convey. The orchestra is silent again, allowing the organ and guitar to do their thing better, nicely panned across the stereo picture. The closing title track is the rare case where the orchestra actually enhances the arrangement, mostly because it doesn’t happen until the coda. Notice also that underwater guitar sound, which will figure in albums going forward—that’s Peter Banks, not Steve Howe.

Time And A Word has its moments, to be sure, but they hadn’t quite landed on The Sound. Still, it’s clear Peter Banks had a lot to do with the template, so he deserves a better legacy. (The expanded version of the album added the contemporary B-side “Dear Father”, which may or may not have helped the album, along with three alternate mixes.)

Yes Time And A Word (1970)—2
2003 remastered CD: same as 1970, plus 4 extra tracks

Yes 1: Yes

For the casual FM radio listener, a Yes song was usually identifiable by the vocals of Jon Anderson. His high-pitched delivery has been distinctive throughout most of the band’s career, but from the very beginning this was a band determined to let each of its members shine on every song. This was not an easy feat to maintain, and probably one reason why they’ve barely managed to keep the same lineup for more than two albums in a row, and sometimes not even that long.

While their fantasy sci-fi approach would take a few albums to take firm hold, much of their eponymous debut sounds like the band they’d become. It’s not immediately apparent on “Beyond And Before”, which begins with a staccato attack on the same note, first on guitar, then doubled on Chris Squire’s extra-trebly Rickenbacker bass. Tony Kaye leans on the Hammond organ, while Bill Bruford explores his drumkit under precise three-part harmonies that disguise Jon Anderson’s part. Of course, most bands start out playing covers, and surprising choices would define Yes at the beginning. The jazz potential of the Byrds’ “I See You” is stretched for nearly seven minutes, particularly in the hands of Peter Banks on guitar. The soft and pretty “Yesterday And Today” provides a sharp contrast in dynamics, before “Looking Around” blasts through the speakers again.

Side two follows the basic pattern of side two—raveup, cover, ballad, big finish. “Harold Land” stands out, being something of a harbinger of the type of character sketches Genesis would cook up in the Peter Gabriel era. In this case the titular protagonist is ravaged by the harsh realities of—you guessed it—war. Notice also the striking contrast between the pomp of the intro before descending into the more mournful chords of the main song. The cover slot is sneaky here, with a complicated introduction soon melding into a tarted-up extension of the Beatles’ “Every Little Thing”, which still finds an excuse to throw in the riff from “Day Tripper”. “Sweetness” is this side’s sappy romantic tune, a song in a pastoral hippie style much like that which Led Zeppelin would abandon around the same time. “Survival” probably comes closest their future sound, thanks to the underwater wah-wah effect on the bass (or is it the guitar? we don’t know) and the multiple shifts in tempo.

Those who come at this album after the fact may have to remind themselves that Steve Howe wasn’t in the group yet. Peter Banks was just one of the secret weapons of this fledgling band, and he remains underappreciated except by the most rabid Yes fans, who will likely disagree with a lot we’ll have to say about these albums. (When Yes was remastered in the new century, it was standardized with the original album art, and offered up two early versions each of a future album track and a future B-side, as well as two versions of their rearrangement of “Something’s Coming” from West Side Story. We wonder if Todd Rundgren was familiar with it.)

Yes Yes (1969)—3
2003 remastered CD: same as 1969, plus 6 extra tracks

Asia: Asia and Alpha

It’s fairly inarguable that Americans and Europeans love cheese. Whether it’s cheddar, Brie, Camembert, or Gouda, somebody somewhere is sinking his or her teeth into it and feeling immediate satisfaction. And when it comes to musical cheese of the ‘80s, few morsels are as tasty as Asia.

Based on the ingredients, they might have been considered prog-rock, but a cursory listen to the music they created put paid to that fairly quickly. This was arena-rock plain and simple, and a welcome infusion into the music scene at a time when disco was dead and metal hadn’t become mainstream. It’s very possible that the eponymous debut “saved” the record industry, giving boys in high school parking lots something to talk about until Led Zeppelin’s Coda snuck out that fall.

But it had its roots in prog, causing those family trees to become even more entangled. On bass and lead vocals was John Wetton, who’d made his name with one of the mid-‘70s King Crimson lineups. On drums was Carl Palmer, having shed the albatrosses of Emerson and Lake. The other two guys came from Yes—Steve Howe, who’d been their lead guitarist for all of the ‘70s, and Geoff Downes, who’d been on exactly one Yes album (without Jon Anderson) fresh from the “success” of the Buggles. (The other Buggle, Trevor Horn, kept himself busy producing the band still known as Yes, along with ABC, Frankie Goes To Hollywood, and others.)

Asia is masterfully sequenced, putting the first two singles at the top. Anyone who remembers when “Heat Of The Moment” and “Only Time Will Tell” were on constant MTV rotation will have trouble refraining from singing along. Both songs are chock full of fast guitar, keyboard beds, and dramatic shifts, and are pure pop. Past that, there’s still high comedy in the way John Wetton never quite hits the high notes on “Sole Survivor” and “One Step Closer”. “Time Again” begins with a painfully plodding riff, speeding up and slowing down before going to full gallop in the song proper.

“Wildest Dreams” begins the second side with the type of suspended chords favored by old Genesis, before finding its base in the electric piano couplets that shortly would be stolen by Bon Jovi on “Runaway”. “Without You” is the requisite sensitive lost love song, while “Cutting It Fine” begins with a tasty acoustic trill soon picked up by the keyboards, then trampled into the relative minor key. More strained high notes carry the song through to its extended dreamy ending. They pull out all the stops for “Here Comes The Feeling”, lifted nearly wholesale from The Who’s “Had Enough”, throwing in several key changes at the end and finishing on a pointedly stupid flourish.

The album was so successful that a follow-up was in order. However, just like Men At Work alongside them, all of the best eggs had seemingly gone in the first basket. Despite the catchiness of “Don’t Cry”, the aching splendor of “The Smile Has Left Your Eyes”, and the boneheaded determinism of “My Own Time (I’ll Do What I Want)”, there wasn’t enough quality, real or perceived, to sustain interest in the rest of Alpha. There were two songs based around the metaphor of eyes, and “The Heat Goes On” tries too hard to evoke a connection to “Heat Of The Moment” without being as good. (Though it does have a pretty decent Hammond B-3 solo.)

They were barely out of the gate before having to replace Wetton on the “Asia in Asia” tour with Greg Lake, of all people, who apparently wasn’t thrilled enough with his old comrade to keep his next band from turning into Emerson, Lake & Powell. A very long two years went by before Wetton was back for Astra, but now Steve Howe had gone off to another prog supergroup (the hilarious GTR, which was produced by Geoff Downes) only to be replaced by a guy from Krokus.

Anytime you see Asia these days, you can bet on having Geoff Downes scowling behind his keyboards, but it’s anyone’s guess whether any of the original other three will be along for the ride. Or, you can look for a guy named John Payne, who was the band’s singer in the ‘90s and has managed to ride that rocket this far into the 21st century. But those of us who remember will pull out our copies of the first two albums, once the pride of the fledgling Geffen label, and smile, and then laugh and laugh and laugh.

Asia Asia (1982)—3½
Asia Alpha (1983)—2½