Published on Jul 27, 2004
At the time
Crest Of A Knave was released, Jethro Tull was trying to
find a their niche in the chaotic world of popular music. The music
scene at the time was volatile to say the least. The “new wave’ had
crested and in its synth-pop backwash, electronica and edgy
alt-rock were finding a foothold. Pseudo-metal hair bands were
topping the charts. Hip-hip was becoming bigger and bigger, and
progressive rock was foundering for a foothold in a changing
market. It’s no surprise then, the outcry when Tull walked away
with a Grammy for “Best Hard Rock/Heavy Metal Performance,” casting
aside the likes of Aerosmith and Mettalica. Wait a minute, the guys
with the flute? And the woodsy folksongs? Those guys?
Deserved or not, you can decide for yourself. Me personally, I
was ecstatic. For almost 3 decades Tull, and more so its founder
Ian Anderson, had been much eschewed by the press and critics,
while amassing a fervent following of dedicated fans, and many gold
and platinum releases. After being almost completely ignored in
terms of industry recognition for so long, some found Tull’s
receipt of the award to be small comfort relative to their
impressive body of work.
Crest Of A Knave hit the perfect note for Tull, finding a
comfortable place between the progressive folk-rock that was their
legacy, and the inevitable electronic elements that were rising in
popularity. The foundation for this album, more so than any for
some time, was the virtuoso guitar playing by Martin Barre. Barre
is responsible for the harder sound of this album, and it’s just
what the band needed to give this album the stylistic power that
had been sorely lacking since
Songs From The Wood.
The album opens with pulsing synthesizers that immediately give
way to Barre’s powerful riffing to kick off “Steel Monkey,” almost
as if to say, “yeah we got the damn synths, but they’re nothing
next to a properly wielded six-string.” That initial blast of
guitar is a statement, announcing that this, above all else, is a
guitar album. Those who enjoy the harder side of Tull’s sound
should relish this disk (the first half especially). “Steel Monkey”
is a blast of pure hard rock, as is “Jump Start” which starts off
with a slow creep, and ends up in a blistering exchange of guitar
and flute.
One of the best tracks on this disc, “Farm On The Freeway,” is
very likely the song that pushed this album into Grammy territory.
Anderson’s story of the loss of rural farmland to big business, and
the selling of a son’s birthright, starts off slowly, with
Anderson’s flute providing a soft, melancholy framework for Barre
to play against. The tale it tells is a sad one, and one that
reflects a common occurrence in both the U.K. and the U.S., the
independent farmer being pushed aside by progress and greed. “Nine
miles of two-strand topped with barb wire / Laid by the father for
the son” is how Anderson describes the family farm. The sad results
are revealed: “Now they might give me compensation / That’s not
what I’m chasing. / I was a rich man before yesterday / Now all I
have got is a check and a pickup truck / I left my farm on the
freeway.” This intelligent song becomes a showcase for some
incredible playing by both Anderson and Barre. This arrangement has
a tangible feel and texture to it, which you don’t find many bands
capable of. The mournful flute and Anderson’s lyrics combine to
paint a vivid picture of an all-too familiar story.
The centerpiece of the album is the brilliant “Budapest.” At
just over 10 minutes, a song of this nature is a big part of the
album’s success. The older Tull fans crave more involved and
lengthy pieces, and “Budapest,” besides featuring Anderson’s
typically witty lyrics, is another showcase for Barre and
Anderson’s playing. The song is one of two in which Anderson
reveals some of himself, describing his adventures meeting women in
foreign countries. It’s refreshing to see an artist being candid
about himself, especially regarding age. Being old (or older) in
the music industry can be the end of a career, but Anderson seems
to embrace middle age, and even has a sense of humor about it. For
example, in “Said She Was A Dancer”: “Said she was a dancer / If I
believed her it was my business… / Well, maybe you’re a
dancer, and maybe I’m the King of Old Siam / I thought it
through… best to let the illusion roll.”
Another harder, yet very melodic song is “Mountain Men” which
finds Anderson writing about one of his common themes, war and the
men who get sent off to fight them — in this case, the descendant
of a Scottish Highlander. The arrangement of this is Tull at their
best, pulling together the lyrical imagery and the music into a
perfect union. This song has that uniquely British feel that Tull
is well known for. One of the things I love about these guys is
that they don’t forget their roots. They are Brits, and they sound
like it. So many European artists don’t retain any identity as to
where they are from. You can listen to them and neither the voices
nor the music reveal who they are. There is no doubt as to who Tull
are, and where they are from. The open verse of “Mountain Men” is
typically of that:
“The poacher and his daughter throw soft shadows on the water in
the night A thin moon slips behind them as they pull the net with
no betraying light. And later on the coast road, I meet them and
the old man winks a smile. And who am I to fast deny the right to
take a fish once in a while? I walk with them; they wish me luck
when I ship out on the Sunday from the Kyle. And from the church I
hear them singing as the ship moves sadly from the pier.”
The reference to the poacher and his daughter really doesn’t
relate to the songs, it simply adds color and life to the story and
helps set the stage for the rest of the song. A little creative
effort goes a long way to flesh the song out in a satisfying
way.
There are a couple of weaker points on the disc, most notably
the forgettable ballad “Waking Edge.” “Dogs In Midwinter” is also a
little disappointing. It has all the traits of a good Tull song,
with the feel of the English countryside in the bright keys and
flute, but is lackluster in comparison to the more energized tracks
on this album. A nice enough song, but lacking in power and a
little unsatisfying; it never gets the push it needs to be great.
On another album it might have stood out, but here it lacks the
power of its hard-rocking brethren.
Closing up this album is another blistering rocker, “Raising
Steam,” which could easily take up where “Locomotive Breath” left
off. A similar driving rhythm, and another opportunity for Barre to
display his guitar prowess, complete an excellent album.
Crest Of A Knave really has a little of everything that Tull
fans have come to expect. The slower songs retain just enough grit,
and the hard rocking number keep it in balance. Controversy or not,
it was a Grammy well-deserved, both for a great album and an
incredible career.