Progressive rock is to popular music as graphic novels are to popular fiction — though its creations have sometimes become fashionable and widely admired, the majority of work is tirelessly tracked and respected only by the medium’s distinctive group of die-hard fans.
Just the same, prog rock has the same sort of self-induced issues that comics have. Even if the new output is downright bad, many fans blindly champion their group anyway.
This becomes a problem for a band such as Yes, the entire career of which is based on the idea that the music it makes is in some way “progressive.” As the band’s new album Fly From Here openly professes, it’s been a long time since “prog rock” has been anything other than a term used to describe the stuffy, over-indulgent music of a bygone era.
To qualify, the tenets of prog rock often make for some fantastic music, the likes of which could scarcely be heard anywhere else. Sure, some listeners don’t have the patience to sit through absolutely epic tracks such as Genesis’ classic 23-minute “Supper’s Ready,” but those who do are rewarded with a listening experience unlike any other.
What an album such as Fly From Here forgets is that the key ingredient to prog rock is a true sense of energy and the need to experiment with music. After a 43-year career and numerous lineup changes, it’s no surprise Yes might have lost some of this message along the way.
Earlier albums — The Yes Album and Fragile, for example — show a group constantly on the verge of discovering the next great melody, all the while indulging in each member’s great musical virtuosity. Listen to a track such as “Siberian Khatru” from Close to the Edge or “Roundabout” from Fragile and try not to be floored by Yes’ natural aggression and explosive presence.
With Fly From Here, Yes loses its one constant member, vocalist Jon Anderson, and replaces him with Yes cover-band singer Benoît David. It’s a bit like when Paul Rodgers of Bad Company took over lead vocals for Freddie Mercury on Queen’s reunion tours — no one really cared, other than for the promise of seeing some maligned version of the band play all their classics in a live setting.
Guitarist Steve Howe and bassist Chris Squire — who have long been the band’s secret weapons — are featured on the record, but it doesn’t really help when the music they are playing isn’t worth listening to. Gone are the catchy melodies and intense musical drama of LPs past, replaced by the sound of burned-out musicians trying desperately to regain some sense of purpose.
Normally, prog rock albums are defined by epic-length compositions that act as a centerpiece, known as “side-long” tracks in a reference to the amount of space they would cover on vinyl records.
Unsurprisingly, Yes — which once released a double album of 4 side-long songs ostentatiously entitled Tales from Topographic Oceans — returns to the long-winded compositional style with the title track, a 24-minute piece divided onto six tracks.
Like everything else on the record, the energy just isn’t present on the track. It’s altogether lazy music that doesn’t really try to grab its listeners so much as float above them. The music is best described as a watered down version of what Yes could be, back in its heyday.
The best tracks on the record are the shorter ones after the “Fly From Here” suite. “Into the Storm” is the best; a funky, fast-paced ditty that closes out the album. But the problem is it feels like a ditty. Everything sounds trapped in this lusterless loop where the first melody that popped into the band’s head was what they ran with.
Furthermore, Yes was known for its use of exotic and bizarre instruments, such as the electric coral sitar and the Mellotron. Now, every sound that isn’t guitar, bass or drums seems to have been lifted straight off the computer, making the record sound even more flat.
Honestly, Fly From Here isn’t an album worth spending time on. If you haven’t heard Yes or any good prog rock, you should definitely start somewhere else: Go back and listen to the band’s astonishing 1970s era records; take a listen to some Peter Gabriel-era Genesis; or try some King Crimson, old Rush, Van der Graaf Generator or Gentle Giant.
Fly From Here, though, is a classic case of “why did they even bother?”
RATING: 2 stars out of 5
berman@umdbk.com
