By: David Schultz

A staple of classic rock radio, the mention of the name Jethro Tull conjures images of Ian Anderson perched on one leg with a manic, possessed look in his eye. With flute in hand, he leads his band of merry men through prog-rock elegies that borrow riffs from medieval times and careens through FM radio stalwarts, singing about the man who eyes little girls with bad intent and keeps alive the trains from the shuffling madness that has no way to slow down. This is the Jethro Tull that your average fan will be familiar with. It’s really only the tip of the iceberg; those who have delved deeper into the world of Tull are already well versed in Ian Anderson’s penchant for acoustic reveries and classical digressions. It’s a side of the band that too often becomes lost in memories of some of the excesses that This Is Spinal Tap brought under a microscope.

Despite the near-yearly Jethro Tull tours, it’s been ages since there has been a hint of a new album and the might classic rock titan has become less of an immediate and omnipresent concern. Nonetheless, Anderson possesses an ardent and devoted fan base. It skews heavily into the Baby Boomers but it is no less a force for the touches of grey in their remaining hair. For his current solo trek of the United States, Anderson has turned off the electricity, devoting the tour to exploring the often ignored, vastly underrated acoustic side of Jethro Tull.

As I’ve mentioned here before, in high school, my uncle sent me a handful of cassette tapes that included Thick As A Brick, War Child, This Was amongst other Jethro Tull classics that blew me away and made me a fan for life. Last week, when Anderson played to a packed house at the stately Beacon Theater in New York City, it afforded your humble narrator the opportunity to repay his uncle, who may be one of Anderson and Jethro Tull’s biggest fans, by bringing him to the show. While not only gratifying, it was convenient: Anderson opened the show with a set of rarities that was nothing short of fanatic’s dream. If my uncle wasn’t there, I would have spent the night sighing about how much he would have loved it.

Opening with the lilting melodies of Stormwatch’s charming “Dun Ringill,” Anderson moved through the Minstrel In The Gallery outtake “March The Mad Hatter,” Song From The Wood’s “Jack In The Green” and Stand Up’s “Jeffrey Goes To Leicester Square.” By the time Anderson eased into “Skating Away On The Thin Ice Of A New Day,” his band consisting of guitarist Florian Opahle, drummer Mark Mondesir and Tull’s keyboardist and bassist John O’Hara and David Goodier was all assembled and ready to stage as folksy a sit-in as Anderson would permit. O’Hara and Mondesir would engage in the occasional bongo duel, Goodier would intertwine his bass with the viola of Carnegie Hall’s Meena Bhasin and Opahle strummed away with a fury that would have made Martin Barre proud.

Anderson’s orchestral shows have opened the door for him to craft new arrangements of old standards. While tweaked versions of classics have become the fashion over the past few years, new songs haven’t. So when Anderson busted out not one but two new songs that he had written for Ravi Shankar and his daughter, the house grew quiet in eager anticipation. The pair of songs, “Tea With The Princess” and “A Change Of Horses,” were written with Shankar in mind and possessed a decidedly Middle Eastern flair, reminiscent of “Budapest,” one of the great songs from the latter-day Tull. In lieu of the sitar, Bhasin’s viola provided the classical textures and whetted appetites for the possibility that this might herald the arrival of new Tull album.

The acoustic setting provided a marvelous atmosphere for Anderson’s jazz and classical explorations. With the help of flautist Anna Drummond, Anderson reclaimed the jazz flute from Will Ferrell on “Griminelli’s Lament” and retrieved Rahsaan Roland Kirk’s “Serenade To A Cuckoo” from the back catalogue. Of course, no Anderson show would be complete without a stroll through Bach’s “Bouree” or a quick reprise of “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen.” In addition, Bhasin paired with Anderson for one of her own compositions and Opahle dazzled on the acoustic guitar with a flamenco-derived instrumental of his own.

While the beginning of the show was a host of rarities, the close offered acoustic twists on old favorites. In previous discursions into the orchestral Jethro Tull, Anderson deconstructed “Aqualung” into a barebones arrangement that can best be described as “Classica-lung,” At the Beacon, it become “Acoustica-lung” with Anderson promenading around the front of the stage for the lilting flute solos. For the encore, Anderson transformed Tull’s other Aqualung standard into “Acoustic-omitive Breath,” with O’Hara giving a wonderful interpretation of the song’s elegiac piano solo. For a show that started as a marked departure from the canonical Anderson show, by the end, as he struck the familiar poses and raced through the Aqualung material, the thrill had been somewhat dulled and you wouldn’t have been mistaken for thinking you had wandered into a slightly transformed version of Jethro Tull concert.

ABOUT A YEAR AGO I had the opportunity to interview Ian Anderson for jambands.com. One of the benefits of being a so-called journalist is you occasionally get to chat with one of your favorite musicians. It's slightly nerve-racking: you wonder what would happen if you managed to tick them off and they insulted you. So, Lou Reed, if we ever meet -- be nice . . . please.

Labels: Ian Anderson, Jethro Tull, Live Reviews