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

By: David Schultz

With the world hanging on every bit of news as to Led Zeppelin’s future plans, which may or may not include a tour with The Cult and a headlining spot at Bonnaroo, New York’s attention recently focused on another English blues band from that era: Jethro Tull. The mania accompanying Led Zep’s return may have been missing but Tull’s return to the Big Apple gave reasonable cause for excitement. Even though Tull’s motivating force, flautist Ian Anderson, has played a couple solo shows in the interim, Tull’s return this past Sunday night for a sold-out show at the Hammerstein Ballroom marked the first true NYC Tull performance in more than 4 years. When compared to Anderson’s solo shows, the songs may remain relatively the same but unless you have guitarist Martin Barre, you don’t have Jethro Tull. Since forming in the late 60s, Tull has gone through many iterations and combinations but until recently the lineup had remained relatively stable. Although Doane Perry remains behind the drums, a seat he’s held for more than 20 years, the band is now completed with newcomers John O’Hara (keyboards) and David Goodier (bass).

After opening with an acoustic rendition of “Someday The Sun Won’t Shine For You,” Anderson led the band through a set that touched on electric blues (“Nothing Is Easy”), complex progressive rock suites (“My God” and “Budapest”) and baroque chamber pieces (the concert staple “Bouree”). No longer a band that desires to blow out your eardrums, Tull’s best moments occurred on quieter pieces that stressed Anderson’s brilliant skills as a classical flautist; his exquisite version of Benefit’s “Reasons For Waiting” being one of the major highlights of the evening. The Hammerstein show featured everything you’ve come to expect from a Jethro Tull show . . . and in some ways that proved disappointing. First though, a bit of background.

Along with wearing out a cassette of the “Top 15” of WNEW’s mid 80s countdown of the top 1027 rock and roll songs of all time (an initial effort that inadvertently omitted “Won’t Get Fooled Again” and “Free Bird” due to an alleged computer error), my real awakening to classic rock occurred when my uncle made me a tape of Jethro Tull’s Thick As A Brick. One listen to the 45 minute song spread out over two album sides and I was hooked. Tull’s concept album served as a gateway to popular Tull fare like Aqualung and Songs From The Wood as well as lesser-known but equally revelatory albums like A Passion Play and Minstrel In The Gallery. Once I got my first CD player, it was just a matter of time before my collection contained each and every Tull album, including the dreadfully synthesized Under Wraps (even though “Lap Of Luxury” totally rocked). Classic rock radio only scratches the surface of the depths of Tull’s exceptional body of work.

I count myself among Jethro Tull’s biggest fans and ardent supporters. As such, it pains me that they are no longer relevant. Over a thirty year stretch spanning 1968 through 1999, Tull recorded more than twenty albums of original material, amassing a back catalog that rivals their classic rock brethren in the Grateful Dead and The Allman Brothers Band. Unfortunately, over the last five or six years, Tull has taken to the road with what seems to the same dozen songs to complement obligatory renditions of “Locomotive Breath,” “Aqualung” and “Thick As A Brick.” An exceedingly large majority of Tull’s fan base possess a near encyclopedic knowledge of Tull’s history and back catalog. In repeatedly trotting out the same set of warhorses like “My Sunday Feeling” and “Living In The Past,” beloved as they may be, Tull misses the opportunity to mine the treasure trove that is at their disposal and truly give their avid fans, which is pretty much who they are playing to, something memorable. Since they’ve ceased creating original music, Tull’s modus operandi involves sporadic appearances in various regions. In doing so, they don’t have to worry about wholesale changes to the set list as they aren’t coming close to saturating any specific territory. It’s frustrating that Tull has the ability, but apparently not the willingness, to take up a residency, radically shake up their set lists and provide concert experiences that can be rivaled by only a few.

When Phil Lesh, Bob Weir or the Allmans take the stage, they strive to reinvent material from all phases of their lengthy careers; to the ecstatic glee of their fans, they continuously resurrect songs otherwise delegated to the deep cuts station of satellite radio. At the Hammerstein, Tull showed a willingness and aptitude for deconstructing their old material. With a major assist from the Calliandra String Quartet, they turned in a gorgeous orchestral adaptation of “Songs From The Wood” and in the same manner as Anderson’s solo shows, offered a reinvention of “Aqualung” that only briefly replicated the version heard daily on classic rock radio. About ¼ of Tull’s Hammerstein show came from Anderson’s recent solo tour, in which he incorporated strings into many of Tull’s familiar arrangements. In addition to the revamped and jazzier “Aqualung,” Anderson also brought his prog-rocked version of Leonard Bernstein’s “America” and a baroque style arrangement of “King Henry’s Madrigal.” For anyone who wasn’t experiencing Tull for the first time, there wasn’t much new to see or hear. Not that seeing Ian Anderson and Martin Barre do what they do best isn’t entertaining, it’s just that they are clearly capable of more.

Tull’s timeless music bridges centuries as well as genres. In their prime, they were just as prone to play solid English blues as they were to drift off into a medieval melody or a chamber piece from the 1600s. In many ways, these eccentricities have made Tull a vastly under appreciated band. Even though they have been eligible for quite some time, they never seem to be under consideration for induction into the Rock & Roll Hall Of Fame despite the fact that their initial forays into progressive rock paved the road for a diverse array of modern day prog-rock bands like The Decemberists, The Mars Volta and Umphrey’s McGee. With his tongue partially in cheek, Anderson will often crack wise about Tull’s lack of new material and people’s willingness to spend their money on their frequent reissues and relatively high-priced tickets. Like most humor though, there is a kernel of truth hidden within. In keeping things relatively static, Anderson and by extension Tull come across as happily complacent. They are missing an opportunity to recapture a legacy that is rightfully theirs and attract a whole new generation of fans to their music. It’s something their fans spend time trying to do for them; it would be nice if they showed the same interest.

Labels: Ian Anderson, Jethro Tull, Live Reviews

By: David Schultz

No one could ever fault Ian Anderson for failing to understand his appeal. As the most recognizable face of Jethro Tull, he has made an extraordinarily productive living by extending the seminal English band's legacy into its fourth decade with timely re-releases, live archival recordings and greatest hits packages. In fact, Tull's most recent album, which they initially gave away during their 2005 fall tour, simply consisted of their live recreation of Aqualung as part of XM Radio's Then . . . Again . . . Live series. Given that Tull has released just one album of new material in the last decade, it's easy to imagine Anderson lounging comfortably upon his piles of Aqualung loot . . . and not solely because he jokes about doing just that. To the contrary, when not fronting Jethro Tull alongside guitarist Martin Barre, Anderson branches out into the world of orchestral flute. Without straying far from his Jethro Tull roots, Anderson uses his solo performances to show off a more personal side, poignantly offering a reminder that despite his reputation as a wild-eyed, shaggy medieval avatar of classic rock, he's an incredibly talented and enormously entertaining neo-classical flautist.

Anderson's solo tour recently traveled through New York City, coming to the Rose Theater at Lincoln Center, a venue normally reserved for jazz. Accompanied by bluegrass-style violinist Ann Marie Calhoun, an orchestra comprised of members of the New England Conservatory of Music and a four piece electric band, Anderson availed himself of the opportunities presented by the Rose's acoustically superior concert space. The fact that he fronts a progressive rock band known for singing songs about scruffy men who eye little girls with band intent tends to obscure the fact that Anderson is a technically skilled, accomplished flautist. Not only has Anderson played with many of the world's most renowned flautists, he's written music for them as well. On this night, as he has throughout his tour, he played "Grimelli's Lament," one such "piece of music" that he wrote for Andrea Grimelli as well as a violin and flute adaptation of "Sefika's Tango," a song Anderson wrote as a duet for himself and Turkish flautist Sefika Kutluer. A delightful surprise, the stunning Calhoun spent a small portion of the show occupying the orchestra's first chair and the rest acting as Anderson's foil. Occasionally mooning over the lovely violinist, Anderson clearly relished sharing the stage with Calhoun, letting her lead on two of her own compositions.

The orchestra allowed Anderson to present his instrumental pieces and Tull classics like "Bouree" with an added panache. With respect to the Jethro Tull material, the strings brought authenticity to "Life's A Long Song" and "Wond'ring Aloud," gave depth to "My God" and "Locomotive Breath" and permitted Anderson to completely deconstruct "Aqualung." While the strings dominated the ensemble, Anderson featured the oboe and bassoon during Aqualung's "Cheap Day Return" and "Mother Goose." A Keith Emerson influenced adaptation of Leonard Bernstein's "America" came across as a tad schmaltzy as did "Mo'z Art," an appropriately named medley that far acceded its groan-inducing title. Near the close of the show, the orchestra seemed a little out of place: while they couldn't save an interminably long "Budapest," the violin section pumping their violins over their head during "Locomotive Breath" adorably captured the feel of the show.

Anderson's band featured Tull keyboardist Andrew Giddings and his son James Duncan on drums. With the show focused around orchestral arrangements of several Tull classics, the band seemed superfluous on the interpretations of "Locomotive Breath" and "Thick As A Brick," though Giddings immesurably aided the latter. When delving into the non-orchestral Tull segments, the songs, accentuating elegance over brawn, didn't seem to soar with the same excitement or volume. Possibly, this owed to the staid, reserved venue; most likely, it was that, save Giddings, they weren't Tull.

In between songs, Anderson regaled the audience with his engaging sense of humor, touching on topics familiar to his longtime fans. With rakish English charm, Anderson shows he hasn't become an egotistical classic rock dinosaur: he knows he's old; that he's been playing Aqualung for nigh on 35 years and that Calhoun first heard "King Henry's Madrigal" on her father's old Jethro Tull album. He embraces rather than runs from these facts and his honesty remains part of his indelible appeal. Anderson also pulled out his customary slate of trademark poses: perching on one leg, phallically strumming his flute during guitar solos and playfully wandering the stage in his idiosyncratic way.

Despite a trove of solo material to sample from, Anderson kept his show well steeped in beloved Aqualung era material. As his fans have come to expect "Thick As A Brick," "Locomotive Breath" and "Aqualung" and other early-era Tull classics at every performance, be it Tull or a solo show: Anderson never disappoints. While some musicians have crumbled under the weight of their fans' insistence on hearing their old songs for years on end, Anderson shoulders that burden with ease. Given the enthusiasm he still has for his old material, it's hard to imagine he feels anything but excitement at the opportunity to play familiar songs for old friends. However, on the whole, Anderson seems hesitant to perform a show that significantly distances itself from Tull's weighty catalog. While Anderson's Tull-lite solo shows leave little room for complaints from longtime fans, he may be underestimating his audience's ability and desire to see him in a different role. In line with Owen Wilson's rant from Armageddon, Tull fans can be quite indignant when others mistake Ian Anderson for Jethro Tull; Anderson should help them out by drawing a brighter line between the two.

Labels: Ian Anderson