Author: Peter Podbrežnik
Artist: Jethro Tull
Label: EMI Records
Release: 1982
Rating: 2.5/5
Even though Ian Anderson stares out at us from the album cover with a cynical grin, like some kind of winged, sword-wielding elf warrior while a Viking longship tosses on choppy waves behind him, there’s precious little mystical or magical on “The Broadword And The Beast”, the album that saw Jethro Tull step fully into the synth-soaked 80s. That goes for the music, which has been well and truly stripped of their traditional Celtic magic, and for the lyrics, which mostly circle around everyday social themes once again. Despite Ian’s attempt to wrap the album’s mood in those usually fascinating Viking and pirate colors, “The Broadsword And The Beast” feels closer to Cold War paranoia. The main reason the album is so chronically short on that original Tull magic is the synthetic production and the heavy use of electronic sounds, which do no favors for their traditional folk rock sound, the core of which is Ian’s indispensable flute. Back then the guy had started getting strange bees in his bonnet and an urge to experiment more and more with electronic keyboards, which he played himself before recording started, until he found a proper new keyboardist. That obviously wasn’t great news for their traditional folk rock sound, and the result is an extremely average album, often smothered by synthetic electronic patterns that turn those rare pastoral arrangements into robots. Still, it’s not all as gray as it seems, and there are still a few rare bright moments that will delight the soul of any fan of their traditional Celtic magic.
From the two new members, drummer Gerry Conway (ex-Steeleye Span, Cat Stevens, Fotheringhay, currently with Fairport Convention) and keyboardist Peter-John Vettese, you’d rightly expect a fresh burst of energy and freshness, plus compatibility with old hands like Ian, guitarist Martin Barre and bassist Dave Pegg. But although they did bring new directions to the sound, those often come across as an obvious step for the worse. Conway’s drumming is far less dynamic and more classic-rock than that of his jazz-rooted predecessors, which isn’t necessarily a weakness if it’s played with the right fire. The problem is more that his drums often sound unnatural in the production, almost on the verge of a drum machine, smothering his otherwise hard-hitting approach. Then there’s Vettese, who with his synthetic, robotic keyboard sounds often drops in rather tasteless arrangements instead of sticking to the traditional symphonic ones that would have given the album a totally different energy. While his predecessor Eddie Jobson managed to blend sonic tradition and modern technology beautifully on the previous album, Vettese decided he’d rather become a professor of synthesis. Luckily the indestructible, inseparable duo of Ian and Martin Barre saves the album from total disaster and from discrediting the band’s legacy. That goes especially for the ever-modest, quiet Martin, who once again gets more room for his punchy, hard rock style of playing, and whose energetic passages keep this a seriously potent album. There’s noticeably less of Ian’s flute and acoustic guitar wizardry than I’m used to, but his singing here is some of the best of his career. Most of the material on the album is fairly average to below average by their traditionally high standards, but those rare moments of inspiration are worth forgiving a lot today (unlike the disastrous follow-up “Under Wraps”, 1984).
Opener “Beastie” is a fairly successful experiment, somewhere between new wave and hard rock, where Vettese’s keyboard sounds mix with a massive rhythm, an extremely energetic multi-voice chorus and Martin’s raw guitar passages. Still, I can’t shake the feeling that they wanted to please both the then-popular new wave and metal trends in one breath. I keep missing Ian’s flute wizardry on “Clasp”, another odd attempt at merging their traditional sound with synths, which embodies everything that’s sonically wrong with this album: an artificial rhythm, synthetic keyboard sounds and Ian’s vocal run through a decoder (in places), none of which let the otherwise nice folk rock arrangements on mandolin, guitar and flute breathe. “Falling On Hard Times” is finally the real deal, an energetic folk hard rocker with traditional acoustic Tull arrangements, packed with Ian’s flute wizardry, melodic passages on Pegg’s mandolin and Barre’s guitar, and excellent vocal harmonies backing the old man’s sharpened vocal. “Flying Colours” starts out promisingly like one of their Celtic laments, right up until the first transition, when it turns into a proper synthetic horror show, more like a cross between Alan Parsons Project and Ultravox than Jethro Tull. Vettese’s electronics cut across a dance rhythm that’s almost 80s disco and keeps contradicting their traditional elements. This time neither Ian’s vocal and flute nor Martin’s energetic guitar excursions can save the day. “Slow Marching Band” is the kind of sentimental ballad I’m not used to from Ian and the gang, since they very rarely indulge in any kind of romantic pathos. Ian clearly wanted to create a moving Celtic ballad in the style of Irish crooner ladies, but his voice just isn’t made for that kind of experiment, despite Martin’s help with subtle guitar passages. If nothing else, Vettese at least demonstrates for the first time that he can play piano and use orchestral arrangements decently when he wants to. “Broadsword” is the only piece on the album that refers lyrically to Norse seafaring. It’s one of those sonically controversial pieces that sounds like an epic masterpiece one moment and a total flop the next. This time Ian tried to combine pomp and pastoral into an epic mix, but it didn’t quite work out. Most of the symphonic arrangements, not to mention the rhythm, sound unnatural and clash sharply with the excellent subtle guitar passages, among which a superb solo sneaks in, along with Ian’s energetic vocal performance. They’re far more successful at creating epicness on the dramatic “Pussy Willow”, Ian’s more-than-obvious sexual allusion to women’s… tips. If it weren’t for that cheeky lyric, which doesn’t fit its Celtic mood at all, this could even be the best piece on the album and a Tull classic, since it’s stuffed with excellent baroque orchestral arrangements (one of the rare moments I have to praise Vettese) on keyboards and acoustic guitar, and great transitions between guitar and drums, led by Ian’s dramatic vocal expression. The cherry on top is the excellent Uriah Heep-style backing vocals, which carry on into the closing choruses that sadly fade out much too quickly. I have no idea at all what they were trying to say with the synthetic horror show “Watching You Watching Me”, already a stylistic forerunner of the horrors awaiting us on their next album. Vettese proves with his electronics that he’s a master of new wave synth, which would still fit far better in some other band. Without Ian’s vocal (with its dreadful lyrics), the flute passages and even some guitar, I wouldn’t believe it was the same band, it sounds so awful. “Seal Driver” is yet another very average experiment with electronic rhythms, pulled out of the mud somewhat by excellent hard rock guitar passages, with a great trio melody blooming in the middle section. That’s the main reason it isn’t the worst piece on the album. Vettese’s ambient synths are at best closer to some space rock (second-rate, in this case) than to Jethro Tull, since they never manage to create the proper atmosphere. That’s why the closing, barely-over-a-minute classic “Cheerio” sounds like waking up from a heavy hibernation in a robot suit of armor, as the fellowship returns in spirit to the old tavern at the edge of the forest where Aqualung drinks, raising full glasses of Scotch whisky. Tull still close their live shows with this little “toast” today, which is one of the few bright, noteworthy moments this album contributed to their live legacy.
The reissue’s bonus selection is extremely rich this time, since quite a few pieces were recorded during the making of this album that then couldn’t be fit onto the record. Ironically, quite a few of them are better than the ones that made the cut. Mostly they’re solid, acoustic-leaning or hard rock pieces without a big dose of needless synth. “Jack Frost And A Hooded Crow” is a traditional folk rocker with a Christmas vibe (sleigh bells) that, with a more dynamic rhythm, could even have been a classic. The acoustic-leaning “Jack-A-Lynn”, which doesn’t lack energetic hard rock passages, would also have been one of the best pieces had it made it onto the album. “Mayhem Maybe” is stuffed with traditional folk rock baroque arrangements over the gentle melody of Ian’s flute and acoustic guitar, and as such it’s appalling that it didn’t make the album. “Too Many Too”, on the other hand, is a typical new wave snoozefest with plenty of synthetic sounds and a monotonous rhythm. “Overhang” is a fairly successful, listenable experiment between electronics, folk and hard rock, which could even serve as a model for most of the pieces on the album. The last three are pretty average and boring. “Rhytm In Gold” flirts unsuccessfully with funk, while the hard rock also-ran “I Am Your Gun” and the dull “Down At The End Of Your Road”, which winks at Dire Straits’ pub rock, are anything but candidates for the main album.
Whenever I listen to “The Broadsword And The Beast”, I’m overcome by mixed feelings that this album could have been a lot better if one of their 70s lineups had played it, giving it that traditional, natural keyboard sound and a more varied rhythm. Ian’s Viking ancestors, if you ask me, wouldn’t have looked too kindly on the synthetic sound that smothers most of the tracks and kills the traditional pastoral arrangements. “The Broadsword And The Beast” is without a doubt one of their weaker efforts, but it’s still better than most albums by bands who made their best work in the 70s. Here they fell into the same trap as most of their prog peers, who were desperate to quickly “update” their sound with new technology and make it palatable to the musical trends of the day. You can clearly feel that after a string of excellent albums Tull were thoroughly burnt out, so they scrambled to adapt their sound to whatever was fashionable at the time. They’d do that even more radically in the coming years, leading to a catastrophic result on the next album, next to which even “The Broadsword And The Beast” sounds like a fairy-tale masterpiece.
Lineup
Ian Anderson – vocals, flute, acoustic guitar
Martin Barre – electric guitar, acoustic guitar
Dave Pegg – bass guitar, mandolin, backing vocals
Peter-John Vettese – piano, synthesizer
Gerry Conway – drums, percussion
Production
Paul Samwell-Smith
Track List
1. Beastie (3:58)
2. Clasp (4:18)
3. Fallen On Hard Times (3:13)
4. Flying Colours (4:40)
5. Slow Marching Band (3:40)
6. Broadsword (5:03)
7. Pussy Willow (3:56)
8. Watching Me Watching You (3:41)
9. Seal Driver (5:10)
10. Cheerio (1:10)
Album length: 38:49
Bonus tracks from the 2005 reissue:
11. Jack Frost And The Hooded Crow (3:21)
12. Jack-A-Lynn (4:40)
13. Mayhem, Maybe (3:05)
14. Too Many Too (3:27)
15. Overhang (4:27)
16. Rhythm In Gold (3:07)
17. I’m Your Gun (3:18)
18. Down At The End Of Your Road (3:32)
