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Review: Jethro Tull, Colston Hall
The Vietnam War . . . the Chicago riots . . . Jethro Tull on Top of the Pops. Yes, it’s the 1968 Rock’n’Roll Years played on a mock TV screen as an intro to this 50th anniversary show, reminding us of a time when Tull were portrayed in the press as wild-eyed, wild-haired, drug-crazed loons. The wild-eyed and wild-haired bit might have been true, but Ian Anderson, the sole remaining member of that original line-up, is one of rock’s handful of non-indulgers, which perhaps explains why his memory of the era is so fresh. Mind you, he’s clearly been doing his revision. It’s been 49 years since Jethro Tull first played the Colston Hall, he informs us, and 36 musicians have passed through their ranks over the ensuing decades. Now, he jokes, they’re referred to only by numbers. Keyboard player (and Bristol University lecturer) John O’Hara, for example, is known as “number seven” despite putting in 12 years of service.
Tull were doing this kind of thing as long ago as their 40th anniversary back in 2008, amusingly performing in front of big-screen footage of their younger, hairier selves playing the same songs. But Anderson has really pushed the boat out for this half-century celebration, which proves something of a treat for Tull enthusiasts. And if you’re not already a Tull enthusiast, you’re at the wrong show, pal.
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That very first album, the atypical blues-rocky This Was, is mined for four songs in this more-or-less chronological performance, with Jeffrey Hammond-Hammond being the first of several former band members to pop up on the big screen for a brief reminiscence and to introduce a song (A Song for Jeffrey, naturally, during which Anderson wages something of an unequal struggle with both flute and harmonica). Dharma For One, previously a showcase for Clive Bunker’s patience-sapping drum solos (“Sometimes they went on for days,” Anderson exaggerates), gives Bristolian Scott Hammond his place in the spotlight for a mercifully briefer workout. He’s a much less heavy hitter that most of his predecessors, perhaps because of his jazz background, but redeems himself by giving it plenty of cowbell.
Some of Anderson’s anecdotage is comfortingly familiar, such as the oft-told tale of how manager Terry Ellis packed him off to his hotel room in America with instructions to write a hit single to keep the band’s career alive back home. Determined to piss off this taskmaster, he came up with a ditty in 5/4, certain that it could never chart. Alas for him, Living in the Past reached number two in what we used to call the ‘hit parade’, becoming Tull’s biggest UK singles chart success. He also recalls the time when Tull became unlikely targets of fundamentalist US bible-bashers, who took a dim view of My God. “It wasn’t intended to give offence,” he insists, “but a lot of people took it.”
There are plenty of pleasant surprises along the way, including a cut’n’shut of With You There to Help Me and 1970 single The Witch’s Promise. Joe Bonamassa is the first of many celebs to deliver recorded messages of homage and to request a song from the Tull jukebox. In his case, it’s A New Day Yesterday, whose title he nicked for his debut album. Anderson repays the compliment by pointing out the seat in which he sat when Bonamassa played the Colston. The first set closes with Cross-Eyed Mary, which means we’re just three years in to the band’s career and suggests we’re due something of a sprint through the next 47.
Suitably refreshed, they return with a brisk precis of Thick as a Brick, offering O’Hara an opportunity to indulge in a bit of proper ’70s-style keyboard showmanship. Give that man a cape! Alas, vocally demanding songs like this also demonstrate that Anderson’s voice is not what it was, which is perhaps not surprising given that he recently turned 70. He struggles to reach some notes and ducks others altogether, occasionally leaning on David Goodier’s backing vocals and, in the case of Heavy Horses, pre-recorded female vocals. Still, as he has always been quick to acknowledge, he was never one of rock’s great singers, despite having a distinctive voice, and has other strings to his bow. Notably, he was quick to corner the market in unipedal flautistry, at which he continues to excel.
There’s more fun to come up on the big screen as most of the band’s admirers turn out to be from the metal fraternity, perhaps justifying that 1988 Grammy for Best Metal Performance which led to much grumbling from losers Metallica. They don’t choose the obvious songs, either. Earlier Sabbath’s Tony Iommi, who was briefly a member of Tull for the infamous Rolling Stones Rock and Roll Circus event back in 1968, had selected Bourrée. Now Iron Maiden’s resident proghead Steve Harris demands A Passion Play, Def Leppard’s Joe Elliott opts for Ring Out, Solstice Bells and Slash claims Aqualung. A few more ex-members appear too, though it might have been nice to hear from some of the colourful ones, such as Dee (formerly David) Palmer, and second longest-serving musician Martin Barre is a very conspicuous absence. The most surreal moment comes during Too Old to Rock’n’Roll, Too Young to Die, when the video of the younger Tull made up to look like old men is shown. Anderson also offers some more of his witty reflections on the ever-changing fortunes of progressive rock. He reveals that his chum Marc Almond always wanted to be in a prog band, but this was so out of favour in the 1980s that he was reduced to playing “tinselly synth music” instead.
The set gets heavier as it progresses, with Heavy Horses (correctly identified by John Evan as Tull’s best song, and the closest prog gets to pure poetry) played back-to-back with its later thematic companion piece Farm on the Freeway, giving the band’s youngest member, guitarist Florian Opahle (who hadn’t been born when much of this material was written), an opportunity to shred. We all know what’s coming during the encore. Footage of trains thundering down tracks is displayed and they launch in to a rendition of Locomotive Breath so enjoyably extended that by the end we feel as though we’ve completed the journey from Temple Meads to Chippenham.
All photos by Nick Harrison
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