Back in the early punk years, there was nothing more hilarious than the sight of a dinosaur prog act clawing desperately at relevance by cutting their hair, sporting skinny ties and attempting to write more concise, less grandiose rock opera concept albums. Funnier still, picture
Yes convincing themselves that lyrics about winged horses and "dancing with the spirits of the age" would be perfect fodder for their 1978 LP
Tormato, believing it would resonate with the angry youth culture of the era. For reasons I'm still working out via weekly shock therapy treatments, I somehow convinced myself I needed this album. Imagine the pimply teen
Disco:Very getting misty eyed over the mawkish spoken-word finale to
Circus of Heaven ("No candy floss, taffy apple...no clowns..."), fist raised aloft in solidarity with the Animal Rights anthem
Don't Kill the Whale. I was never a believer in space aliens, so why my befuddled attraction to
Arriving UFO? And while
Release, Release is somewhat (ahem)...
punky in places, it also veers off into the band's standard mode of virtuoso whack off. Eventually, much better music wrestled my tastebuds to the ground, but I sometimes still think back to this vinyl skeleton in my closet and flog myself to sleep as punishment for the sins committed to the ears, the very ears now retaliating by slowly diminishing my ability to hear properly. Parasitic bastards. Let's see how well they survive on their own when I have them removed next year.
4 comments:
I had this album too. I think you and I must have purged the dinosaur bands from our record collections at the same time. So much for showing signs of appreciated loyalties.
I vaguely remember Cheech and/or Chong singing, "Don't kill the whales, don't kill the whales, but KILL THEM SEALS!"
I haven't listened to this album in years, and I was shocked to be hearing it last night and, on a few parts of songs, thinking "This is kind of catchy!" Of course, then the wanky guitar/organ are marched in with the shifting time signatures and I'm safely back to hating Yes all over again.
You really weren't that pimply.
Perhaps not, but I wanted to be. Pimples, to me, are like a gift from the heavens. A day spent without popping a few in the bathroom mirror is like a day without sunshine.
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