Something Old, Something New: Yes at the House of Blues

Here’s something to consider about the current incarnation of the prog-rock group, Yes, who played on March 19 and March 20 at the Chicago House of Blues: its two newest members, Benoit David, just one of a growing number of lead singers who’ve ousted their famous predecessors (think Styx, Journey and now – so I’m told – Boston), and Oliver Wakeman, son of Rick, who takes nepotism to a whole new level (thanks Dad!), are both – get this – OLDER than any of Yes’s band members were when I saw them perform in Milwaukee’s Mecca Arena in 1984, a full fifteen years after the band’s debut album.  With that iteration of Yes, Jon Anderson was the most senior member of the band at age 39, no doubt reveling in the comeback story of the year, as Yes transformed itself into a modern day force, achieving the commercial success that had eluded them since the early 70s.  “Owner of a Lonely Heart,” the most recent song the band played last weekend, reached number one on the Billboard Hot 100 in January of 1984, ousting Paul McCartney and Michael Jackson’s “Say, Say, Say.”  Not bad for a group that had only three years earlier disbanded in the wake of major personnel changes.

Now the band is back, and its two youngest members – both 39 or over – have breathed new life into the performances, begging the question of whether two-fifths of this band could eventually evolve into a very good tribute band once its old-timers call it a day. 

Chris Squire, Steve Howe and Alan White (only one of whom is an original member, though the latter two have been mainstays since 1971 and 1972, respectively) can still wow the audience with their obvious virtuosity, especially Howe, who I’ve never seen play more expertly.  His acoustic version of “To Be Over” never gets old, and it harkens back to a time when Yes’s creativity reigned supreme. 

Squire, whose large frame and tight pants offered a less-than-agreeable sight for the audience of approximately 500, can still dazzle with his trailblazing bass riffs, but he clearly struggled through the runs in “Machine Messiah,” the opening track from 1980’s Drama, an album which had been ignored in concert for nearly 30 years largely due to Jon Anderson’s pushback.  Still, there is no denying Squire’s greatness, though he never seems to tire of his very predictable shtick during “The Fish” and “Starship Trooper.”  I’ve seen the band six times in the last decade, and he does the same thing every time, hamming it up with the audience that supplies the adoration he so unabashedly craves.

Benoit’s vocals are pitch perfect and strong, and he exudes the enthusiasm befitting someone who just three years ago was singing in a tribute band.  Imagine one day being a minor novelty on Youtube, and the next touring with an iconic band.  The guy clearly has lots to be thankful for, and he commanded the stage with grace, never fretting even during those moments when he couldn’t hear himself.  A more reserved Wakeman was still fun to watch, and moreso than when I saw his father play in 2004, who by that time appeared to be phoning his performance in.

Yes’s set list has become a little less adventuresome on this tour, shelving the previous showstoppers, “South Side of the Sky,” and “And You And I,” as well as the more obscure, “Onward.”  And after watching Alan White pound his heart out for two hours, appearing spent by the end of the show, one gets the feeling that more adventurous songs like “Awaken,” “Perpetual Change” and “Heart of the Sunrise” might be forever relegated to archival footage from tours past.  The one track that surprised was the opening song, “Parallels” from Going for the One, a tune that hadn’t been played for over a decade (if memory serves).

Yes fans are a whole different breed, and I enjoyed meeting a few while waiting for the doors to open.  I met a man whose wife was clearly taking one for the team that evening, celebrating her husband’s birthday.  And a guy named Chris, who sported a shirt commemorating his favorite Yes album, Relayer, informed me that not only had he attended seven shows from Rush’s last tour, he even appeared in last summer’s documentary on the band.  It was good to meet you, Chris, and I’ll take up your band recommendations in the near future.

As for the House of Blues, it’s a terrific venue to watch a show, and I regret not having taken full advantage of this resource since moving to Chicago a decade ago.  This error in judgment will be corrected over the next decade.

An R Movie For the Whole Family - The King's Speech

In 1980 I asked my father to take me to see the movie “Alien” for reasons that now escape me.  Apparently I hadn’t been sufficiently scarred from viewing The Exorcist (on TV no less, but no less horrifying).  Asking my father was a cunning ploy, for he’d moved out the year prior and I thought he might be up for overruling my mother’s wishes.  Seeing “Alien” could be a little secret among us men; mom would never have to know.  Turns out I was wrong.  After initially giving a “sure, we do that,” I reintroduced the topic a few weeks later only to be told that because it was rated R, “Alien” was off the table.  A year later, my mother took me to see my first R-rated film, “Ordinary People,” which was no ordinary movie, but was certainly appropriate for a 12 year old despite the rating. 

I recently followed my mother’s example by taking my entire family to see “The King’s Speech,” including my almost-nine-year old son and two thirteen year-old daughters.  I’d already read the opinions of several movie critics who blasted the Motion Picture Association of America for rating “The King’s Speech” the same as “Hostel” and “Saw 3D” due to a string of profanities used not in a spiteful or sexual way, but as a tool to help overcome a stutter that had plagued England’s King George VI since childhood. 

The criticisms aimed at the MPAA are entirely justified, and the organization should be dismantled not so much for its most recent blunder, but for its decades-long condoning of violence and torture while demonizing the unclothed human body and the occasional F-bomb.  Talk about having one’s priorities completely backward.

Luckily, I have the final say in choosing what’s appropriate for my children and what isn’t, and the Internet is an especially helpful tool in this regard.  After reading a parent review on-line, I knew that “The King’s Speech” was going to be fine.  All my children have heard the F-word, but never in a more innocuous manner than that of Colin Firth’s King George VI.   They’ve been exposed to much worse on their daily bus rides to school.

The movie definitely tested my children’s patience, particular my son’s.   “The King’s Speech” is a slow-moving, methodical portrayal of the royal family’s precarious pre-war years, and there’s as much silence in the movie as dialogue.  Regardless, I’m all for testing children’s patience, especially for such a well-done fictionalized version of real events.   The day after viewing the film, my children and I went on youtube to listen to the real speech made by King George VI on September 3, 1939.  Anytime a film inspires inquiries of history, it’s hard to deem it anything other than an unqualified success.

I suspect that just as I recall seeing my first R movie, my children will remember theirs.  And just as “Ordinary People” upset the critical favorite “Raging Bull” for best picture of 1980, “The King’s Speech” could do the same to my favorite film of 2010, “The Social Network.”  It wouldn’t be undeserving.

The Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup of Collaboration?

LONELY AVENUE, by Ben Folds and Nick Horby

Never mind that Jim DeRogatis and Greg Kot on their radio show Sound Opinions recently gave “Lonely Avenue,” the new collaboration by musician Ben Folds and author Nick Hornby, a “trash it” on their “trash it, burn it or buy it” scale.  Jim even called the album “one of the worst albums of the year” and a particular song, “Levi Johnston’s Blues,” as perhaps the worst song of the decade.  Whenever critics lean that heavily on hyperbole, I can’t help but shake my head.  After all, Jim and Greg are the same guys that praised Lady Gaga not so long ago, so they can’t be taken too seriously. 

For those unfamiliar with Folds and Hornby, the former is a successful singer-songwriter who gained popularity in the 90s with his band, Ben Folds Five, and has maintained a prolific output during the last decade (of both songs and wives).  Nick Hornby is the English author of “High Fidelity,” “About A Boy,” “A Long Way Down,” and “Juliet, Naked.”  Both artists are among my favorites in the medium they most often represent.

So the question is, does the collaboration lead to Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup perfection, or is the outcome more akin to chocolate-covered bacon?  Goodness knows that many highly anticipated collaborations end up not working particularly well.  Remember bands like “The Firm” and “Bad English?”  Sometimes supergroups aren’t so super. 

Ben Folds has always been an insightful and clever lyricist in his own right, so I was curious to see what Nick Hornby would bring to the table, and I even wondered if the lyrics would be less vulgar and therefore more kid friendly (they’re not – my son has been given strict instructions NOT to play this album for his friends).  Truth be told, Nick Hornby could have spent a little more time offering lyrics that were, well…more lyrical, and on this one point I have to agree with critic Jim DeRogatis.  On many of Hornby’s lyrics, he seems to have started with a fine idea, and then slapped down the first words that came to mind with no consideration of meter, hook or rhyme.  There’s no rule of course that all lyrics need to fit nicely into a pop song format, but “Lonely Avenue” is, in fact, an album of pop songs, and outside of “Picture Window” and the addictive “Levi Johnston’s Blues,” a listener would be hard pressed to remember and sing along to any of Hornby’s lyrics.  Sometimes this is okay, but since I offer this same criticism of a well-schooled musician like Elvis Costello, I can’t let Nick off the hook.

Say it with me: sometimes less is more.

Musically, Ben continues to mix straight-ahead piano arrangements with more electronic embellishments that were also prevalent on his previous release, “Way To Normal.”  His vocal layering is back with a vengeance in songs like “Your Dogs,” the Moog synth returns with hypnotic effect on “From Above,” and Ben’s mastery of production is evident throughout.

But to me the most meaningful collaboration on “Lonely Avenue” isn’t that of musician and author, but of musician and arranger.  On this album, Folds summoned the services of arranger/conductor Paul Buckmaster, the man responsible for creating so much of the musical landscape on Elton John’s early material.  Remember the frantic percussive strings on “Madman Across the Water?”  They’re back on “Levi Johnston’s Blues,” and Buckmaster adds a touch of brilliance to four other tracks, even elevating “Picture Window” to a modern day masterpiece.

Yes, I can use hyperbole too, if only to cancel out the comments of overzealous critics.

Rufus Wainwright Dazzles Chicago

Rufus Wainwright doesn’t make it easy on listeners.  Rarely allowing a simple melody to flourish without turning it on its head and ripping its insides out, Rufus’s collections of compositions are sometimes as difficult to digest in one sitting as a thirteen course meal (which reminds me of Emperor Joseph’s line in Amadeus: “There are simply too many notes.”).  But the listener who’s able to hang in there and familiarize himself with material is unquestionably rewarded.

At the Bank of America Theater in Chicago on Friday night, Rufus took the whole “difficult listening experience” one step further by requesting that the audience remain silent for the first set, during which he performed in its entirely his latest release, “All Days Are Nights: Songs For Lulu,” an album devoted to his recently departed mother.  He later admitted that his request for silence was rather audacious, though I thought it was more self-indulgent.  But what the hell.  So is this blog.  The talents of Rufus Wainwright are so staggering that I’m willing to laugh off a little bit of narcissism gone awry, especially when it’s followed up with a more colloquial and lighter second set.

Wainwright’s setlist repeated only three songs from his tour in 2007, making Friday’s concert an entirely different experience than the one captured on last year’s DVD release, “Milwaukee At Last.”   If the song selection wasn’t enough to breathe new life into his performance, the lack of a seven piece band practically guaranteed it.  Rather than attempting to reproduce note for note the elaborate productions of previous albums, Rufus’s only accompaniment was his piano and on a few well-chosen selections, his sister (and opening act) Martha’s vocals.

If there’s a more technically proficient piano player today in pop music, I haven’t heard it.  Fresh off the heels of his 2009 opera, “Prima Donna,” Rufus’s piano playing continues to astound.  He takes what artists like Elton John and Billy Joel started in the 70s and extends the boundaries of pop piano far closer to Chopin than to Jerry Lee Lewis.  Some of the playing bordered on absurd, as Rufus struggled to maintain his singing voice while balancing the ivory tightrope on the latter half of “The Dream,” both of his hands mounting their respective edges of the keyboard simultaneously.

Adorned in black with a 17-foot train during the first set, and an orange suit in the second, both Rufus and the audience made up for the concert’s quiet first-half by celebrating a more light-hearted second half, as Rufus offered self-effacing jokes and stories about his mother and departed musician Jeff Buckley, for whom the song "Memphis Skyline" was written.

Two albums that were entirely ignored on his last tour finally got their due, as Wainwright plucked gems from his self-titled debut and “Poses,” as well as five songs from his oft-overlooked collection “Want Two.”  Added to the repertoire were two French songs performed with his sister, Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah,” and his mother’s “Walking Song.” 

Rufus has already stated that his next album will have to be a pop record, and I’ll be curious to see if he can reign in his obvious talents a bit and create a true pop masterpiece, or if he'll continue to challenge his fans in ways that are sometimes exhausting.  Either way, I’ll be listening.