Revisiting the Yes galaxy
An Evening with YES Where: Jubilee Auditorium When: Monday night
You can understand how punk rock had no choice but to eventually form, growling, tearing, kicking and screaming.
The world once belonged to the spread-armed noodlers, after all: bands like Moody Blues, King Crimson, Jethro Tull, and of course Yes — who held princely court at the Jube Monday night.
Technically incredible were these bands, capable of great musical feats — yet so prone to goofy cosmic mysticism and of a decadence that saw Yes’s founding bass player Chris Squire, 66, emerge from the shadows with a three-necked bass guitar in front of the 2,000 faces in Edmonton.
To his right, longtime guitarist Steve Howe, also 66, would rotate between a pedal steel, a guitar around his neck and one stuck in a stand in stiff display in front of him. Machines of another age, whose purpose is still some mystery.
Welcome to the Yes Museum, hosted by Yes itself. If you think I’m being glib, when was the last time you saw a band introduce each song with its name, the album it was on and, just to remind us, who plays it? That would be Yes, P.S. Drummer Alan White even has his name on his kit.
If nothing else, it’s clever marketing — there’s no mistaking a song you like to pick up in the lobby during the intermission. Awaken from 1972’s Close to the Edge, for instance, was great — that’s when all the cell-cams popped up as Squire emerged with that Cerberus bass. As singer Jon Davison hit his high notes, the band coalesced and found crescendo. It was about as black magic as Yes got Monday night, playing first entirely through 1972’s Close to the Edge, then, from the year that brought the universe Chewbacca, Going for the One. It was certainly a gift for fans, like when Dio came and did his version of Black Sabbath, or the way Queen used to play an album.
Nestled in his cove of keyboards, Geoff Downes, another stop on the historical tour. In those beautiful musical family trees stoners used to run their fingers along, we find Yes’s entanglements with Downes and Howe linked to other bands. Downes was half of the Buggles, famous for Video Killed the Radio Star, and was in Asia at its dawn with Howe. Here, he danced in the shape of a walk signal in his white pants.
Meandering was a theme of the show, as were constant time changes and rather awful videos playing overhead. There was so much yoga onscreen you wonder if Lulu Lemon was a sponsor, dizzying fractals spinning overhead, and planets, galaxies, space eagles and space sea turtles. Over the classic basement-suite-epiphany jams, visuals fit for the awkward new Cosmos documentary. In fact, unless I specifically say otherwise, the adjective “space” goes in front of any noun here. Sorry, any space noun. At least we now know who to blame for Tool’s visual identity.
Amicably, Squire noted an affinity for Edmonton, saying here was the first place “we played on this side of the Atlantic in 1971.” Howe added it was opening for Jethro Tull, “I’ll never forget it because we were there!”
In the second half, revisiting 1971’s The Yes Album, Howe played the acoustic solo Clap – a breath of air of sorts amid the sonic whirlwinds and neon spaghetti. Reactions, polar.
I’ve Seen All Good People – the second-most recognizable song of the night – felt flat and gummy, and really showed us the difference between original singer Jon Anderson and his karaoke-master replacement Davison. Intentionally, we weren’t treated to Owner of a Lonely Heart, or, understandably, Anderson’s Friends of Mr. Cairo. But I kept wanting to hear each for different reasons amid the soup. Er, space soup.
As an encore, Roundabout, was well-picked, and it must be noted the audience was giving the band encores before they even came on stage. For the diehards, this was a tremendous gift, and Yes taking this sort of format risk is admirable. I imagine any of my favourite bands playing three of their halcyon classics and start smiling.
Without hesitation, am I glad I saw this show? Yes. Would I want to again? That answer has fewer letters.