Owner of a Lonely Heart" does not sound like the Yes of old. With its supple, understated dance beat, kaleidoscopic shifts in instrumental texture and notable lack of pseudo-classical overkill, it seems too hip, too street-smart for a band whose idea of a pop song was once something as rococo as "Round about." Yet it's obviously Jon Anderson's voice carrying the melancholy melody, and a quick check of the credits finds longtime bassist Chris Squire and drummer Alan White playing alongside original keyboardist Tony Kaye and new guitarist Trevor Rabin. Given the personnel, 90125 counts as a reunion album of sorts, but considering the sound, reinvention might be a more apt term.
for much of the change would seem to belong to yet another Yes alumnus, producer Trevor Horn. Applying the same kind of flashy pop sensibility he showed on ABC's
Lexicon of Love, Horn has rechanneled Yes' predilection for sonic excess, and the result is a sound that relies on production and arranging tricks instead of instrumental flash.
Although 90125 occasionally falls back on old tricks, as in "Cinema" and the overblown "Our Song," most of the album is surprisingly spritely and poppish. Electronics, especially the new generation of synthesizers, are heavily used, but Horn's most canny device is his manipulation of Yes' choirboy vocal harmonies. From the inspired polyphony of "Leave It" to the bit of musique concrete that prefaces "City of Love" to the persistent sweetening of each chorus, Horn manages to find an unexpected hook every time the band members open their mouths. This emphasis on melodic appeal over instrumental prowess may alienate some of Yes' longtime fans, but if it continues to result in records as listenable as this one, then this may turn out to be one reunion that tops the original. (RS 413)
J.D. CONSIDINE
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)
