With one notable exception, Yes' configuration has remained stable since the first of its three albums was released two years ago. Singer John Anderson spearheaded Yes then and still does. But some time after Yes recorded its second album, Time and a Word, guitarist Peter Banks left the band to replace Mick Abrahams who had similarly abandoned Blodwyn Pig. Before anything much happened with the newly aligned Blodwyn, Kim Simmonds lured bassist Andy Pyle and drummer Ron Berg over to Savoy Brown. What Banks is doing now is anybody's guess. His replacement in Yes is Steve Howe, a guitarist of equal caliber who featured prominently on Yes' third record.
from its two predecessors in several respects. For the first time, everything the group performs is original material. Although Yes deserves praise for having matured to the point where it can supply enough of its own songs for an entire album, I personally miss hearing one or two versions of someone else's songs, like "I See You" and "No Opportunity Necessary, No Experienced Needed," which the group arranged and performed brilliantly on its first and second albums, respectively. In addition, the material consists of fewer short songs and more lengthy pieces. The only three-minute tracks on this record are "The Clap," Steve Howe's acoustic guitar quickie recorded at one of Yes' concerts in London, and "A Venture," a straightforward rocker sandwiched between a pair of longer compositions on the second side. Each of the album's four long tracks are carefully structured and allow for greater instrumental freedom than their shorter counterparts. Frequently, a particular melodic theme first stated by one musician is echoed by another, such as in "Yours Is No Disgrace" and "I've Seen All Good People." Organist Tony Kaye, guitarist Howe and bass player Chris Squire play as though of one mind, complementing each other's work as a knowledgeable band should. Squire in particular deserves to be singled out for his creative bass work throughout the entire album. Bill Bruford's tasteful drumming never falls in the way of the other musicians.
As for the vocals, Yes has an ear for harmony and takes full advantage of this asset. Squire and Howe supplement Anderson's delightful leads with harmonies in the upper register. On the first hearing, Yes' vocals may seem too perfectly matched to be enjoyable and this has presented the group with its chief obstacle toward mass acceptance. Because there is no deep voice to counter the sound of Yes' falsetto harmonies, some have refused to accept the group and its unusual vocal style. If Yes were to change its format by adding a singer who can contribute a lower voice, then the band would lose its distinctive identity. The high-pitched singing is what sets Yes apart from myriad other British bands who can also play their asses off, a qualification that has become all too commonplace now-adays.
Forget your inhibitions
You can say a lot of nasty things about progressive rock, and many people have -- most frequently, that the genre emphasizes musical chops over soulful expression. Still, prog rock cannot be faulted for lack of youthful ambition: In the case of Yes, the British band's often overbearing pretentiousness resulted in moments of rare grace and beauty, a bizarre and fleeting -- if totally unrealistic -- coupling of classical textures with rock & roll pathos.
Curiously enough, Yes' 1969 debut is a relatively down-to-earth affair -- and a not very inspired one at that. The quintet's reworking of the Beatles' "Every Little Thing" illustrates its knack for mysterioso, angelic harmonies, led by singer Jon Anderson. But the band's original compositions are sketchy at best. The psychedelic Time and a Word, from 1970, offers little improvement, perhaps because of the dubious decision to attach an entire symphony orchestra to the already cluttered arrangements.
It was the addition of Steve Howe's guitar pyrotechnics that finally allowed Yes to find their true identity. The following year's Yes Album is a gigantic leap forward, with extended workouts such as the ethereal "Starship Trooper" emphasizing the band members' individual virtues. In Bill Bruford, Yes had a hip, jazzy drummer; in Chris Squire, a bassist willing to dominate the mix with his elephantine lines; and in Tony Kaye, an organist who used his Hammond sparingly, for funkier effect.
Kaye was unceremoniously dismissed so that virtuoso Rick Wakeman could join in, perfecting the definitive Yes sound. Sure enough, 1972's Fragile is quintessential classic rock. "Roundabout" is an undeniable prog-pop singalong, but the album's happiest moments are subtle, brief passages such as the bucolic instrumental segment of "South Side of the Sky" and the gleefully baroque line that Wakeman repeats hypnotically during the climax of "Heart of the Sunrise." Fragile is the kind of album that affords revisionists a chance to reconsider the merits of the art-rock school.Die-hard Yes fans will cherish these reissues' pristine remastering. The bonus tracks are lackluster -- a handful of previously released single versions of songs and rough mixes. The only notable curio is a newly unearthed studio take of Howe's bubbly guitar instrumental "The Clap." As for nonfans: Even you have to admit, if Yes hadn't reached so high, we wouldn't still be paying attention now.
ERNESTO LECHNER
(RS 915 – February 6, 2003)
Yes evolved into the reigning kings of prog with this 1971 album. Their previous two records were somewhat blah Beatles-influenced clone rock, as the band searched for an identity. But here the biggest geeks of the '70s made their space-traveling, tempo-shifting, classical prog statement with the kind of confidence and suddenness you rarely come by in music.
