IN A WORD: YES (1969 – )

Tales From The Edge

I. Prologue

“Don’t let go of your dreams…
that’s what YES is all about.”

Jon Anderson is quite clear about the purpose of the band he helped create all those years ago. And despite the complexity of their story, a kind of rock’n’roll Lord Of The Rings, there is an underlying simplicity to the YES saga. All they’ve ever really cared about is keeping the dream – and their music – alive. And that perhaps has been this extraordinary group’s greatest achievement.

Their original plan was to create the best band “on the scene.” In those early days, that meant late-‘6os London. For all their ambition and optimism, the 20-something-year-olds who founded YES as a small club attraction never expected it to become a world-famous stadium rock band, with a career spanning more than 30 years.

For all their success and popularity, YES has been buffeted by the winds of change, topping the charts and the popularity polls one minute, suffering critical abuse and being ignored the next. This has sometimes been the lot of the band responsible for great original compositions like “Yours Is No Disgrace,” “Starship Trooper,” “Astral Traveller,” and “Roundabout.”

Although their original intention was to push pop music to a higher plane, YES have always retained a love of good tunes and a solid beat. It was the individual members’ varied musical backgrounds, tastes, ideas, and strong personalities that ensured YES would create such remarkable albums as Fragile, Close To The Edge, Tales From Topographic Oceans, and 90125. They’ve had their arguments and splits. But they’ve also had a lot of fun, and with audiences worldwide still eager to hear that unique brand of Yesmusic, they know it’s all been worthwhile.

II. Liftoff and a Landing (1968-1969)

The YES story began in a tiny Soho bar known to its was habitues as few La Chasse. This modest watering hole on Wardour Street, London, was just a few yards from the Marquee Club and two flights above a betting shop. Pubgoers could look down on the fans queuing around the block, all hoping to get into the Marquee to see Cream, The Who, or The Jimi Hendrix Experience.

It was 1968, a good time for musical idealism. Thanks to The Beatles and Pink Floyd, mainstream pop had become an experimental melting pot. Albums were becoming more than just collections of hits; they now provided scope for original material. And there were dozens of clubs where groups could scrape a living and work out ideas. These venues wanted great vocal harmonies, good lyrics, and a terrific band with adventurous arrangements.

“We did vocal harmonies, and The Syn was very similar to early YES,” Squire remembers. “They played a lot of Motown covers, but by now it was 1967 and the Summer of Love.”

The Syn embraced the new psychedelia, began writing rock operas, and even dressed up as flower people onstage. They supported Jimi Hendrix at the Marquee, but the audience was there for Jimi, and despite their bizarre mixture of Who-style autodestruction and flower power, The Syn were going nowhere. The singer left, and Banks joined Mabel Greer’s Toyshop. By coincidence, one night the unknown Jon Anderson sat in with them.

After some failed attempts to join existing groups, Anderson decided he’d be better off working with individual musicians on his own projects. When he and Chris Squire first met, they ended up returning to Squire’s flat that same night and writing songs together. The result was “Sweetness,” which would eventually appear on YES‘ debut album. For a while Anderson became a member of Squire’s most recent band, the oddly named Mabel Greer’s Toyshop, which had also featured Banks on the guitar. By this time, however, Banks had left to join Neat Change and had been replaced by Clive Bailey.

Mabel Greer’s Toyshop

The Toyshop were in a state of flux, and the soft-spoken young Anderson intrigued Squire. “He was very Northern when I first met him!” the bassist says. “He has an Accrington accent that I found amusing but charming as well. I was a Southern English public schoolboy and hadn’t met many people like Jon. That was part of the reason we decided to work together, because we had such different backgrounds. We also had similar tastes, and that’s when we decided to form a band.”

Bruford went on to Leeds University to study economics and might have ended up working for British Airways. Well, that’s what his parents had planned. Unfortunately for them, their son had a “gap year” between school and University, which he spent mostly gigging with jazz and rock bands. Then came the winds of fate. “One day I placed an ad in Melody Maker for work,” Bruford recalls. “A guy called Jon Anderson rang and asked me to meet him. We set about forming YES, and we had no idea of the potential.”

This new outfit consisting of Jon, Chris, and Bill began rehearsing at the Lucky Horseshoe, a coffee bar on London’s Shaftesbury Avenue. A few hours after that first meeting, Bruford performed at the last Mabel Greer gig, at the Rachel Macmillan College, with Clive Bailey on guitar. The band was paid £11. Says Bill: “We played ‘Midnight Hour’ ­ forever. Chris and Jon sang harmony, and I thought, Wow, they’re like The Beach Boys. So we started to work regularly together. Clive moved on fairly quickly, and then Peter Banks appeared, who had been in The Syn with Chris. They were exciting times.”

Peter Banks: “We wanted the controlled power of a jazz band, lots of light and shade and three-part vocal harmonies. But people were very bemused that we didn’t do our covers like the originals. The whole point was ‘Let’s do it our way.’ Jon was always cracking the whip and planning new things. He was two months ahead of everybody else. He gave the impression of being a mild and gentle hippie, but really he was the motivating force behind the band.”

The band’s next coup was not one but three performances in one year at London’s Royal Albert Hall. A particular highlight was supporting Cream at their farewell performance on November 26, 1968. That show marked the return of Bill Bruford, who had gone back to University (he had been replaced in the interim by Tony O’Riley of The Koobas, who had once toured with The Beatles. Bruford recalls catching YES with O’Riley when they performed at his school: “In fact, it was a bit of a mess. They were in trouble, and I could tell the drummer was struggling. He played a quarter-note behind everyone else!”). Anderson and Squire had pleaded with him to return for the Albert Hall show, and once Bruford had played with the band at a real concert, he was hooked. Roy Flynn moved the YES men into a soon-to-be-famous flat in Munster Road, Fulham, where all the band members and their girlfriends lived, as well as musicians from other groups, like King Crimson. Australian visitor Michael Tait stepped in to put the band on a more organised footing, becoming their loyal tour manager. “They were very well ­behaved lads,” Tait recalls. “They didn’t go around wrecking hotels, like other groups!”

Events now moved with great speed. YES released their first single “Sweetness“/Something’s Coming,” in June 1969, followed by their self-titled-full-length debut in July. Yes was recorded in eight days, with Tony Kaye still learning his way around the new Hammond. Despite these handicaps, the LP boasted a full compliment of glittering arrangements like “Beyond and Before,” “I See You,” “Yesterday and Today,” “Looking Around,” “Harold Land,” (named after Bill’s favourite tenor sax player), “Every Little Thing,” “Sweetness,” and “Survival.”

Onstage they couldn’t yet afford the kind of special effects that would become de rigeur in the ’70s, but they put on quite a show nonetheless. Peter Banks regularly hurled his guitar aloft at the clime of his solo on “I See You.” “I’d go on longer and longer and take all my aggression out on the guitar,” he explains. “I’d throw my guitar in the air and catch it. There were a couple of times when I didn’t! The solo did go on too long, and the band used to complain about it.”

Unfortunately for Banks, his showmanship was regarded as an attempt to upstage his bandmates. Or at least, they felt it intruded on the arrangement. “I remember lots of arguments,” Bill Bruford recalls. “We were very edgy people. But the plan was to conquer the world – which indeed we did!”

The end of 1969 found the band swamped with work, including TV and radio appearances. They also toured abroad extensively. One of their most memorable trips was through Ireland in the the summer of ’69 with The Nice and Bonzo Dog Band. The had all played some well – received shows in Belfast and Dublin, but when the three groups arrived in Cork for a festival, all hell broke loose. The football ground was deserted, because the promoter hadn’t advertised the gig. The only power supply for the outdoor show was an electric-kettle flex held together with matchsticks. Once the power had blown three times, all concert plans were abandoned. A strong smell emanating form the nearby Cork Pork Abattoir was the final straw. The satin-clad rockers sat in the mud and cried with laughter.

III. We Get Up, We Get Down (1970-1979)

With a spot now open in the lineup, Chris Squire got on the phone and put in a call to another guitarist, a man named Steve Howe. He, too, would help alter the band’s fortunes.

Howe made his debut YES appearance at London’s Lyceum ballroom on March 21, 1970, on a heavy rock bill with Black Sabbath and Uriah Heep. Despite such daunting competition, the band astounded the audience with the new material they’d spent that summer rehearsing at a cottage in Devon. Those sessions produced “Yours Is No Disgrace,” “Starship Trooper,” “I’ve Seen All Good People,” and “Perpetual Change,” all destined for the band’s third LP, The Yes Album (engineered by Eddie Offord, who manned the YES boards through Relayer).

Released in March 1971, the record introduced Howe’s dynamic guitar; apart from his lead work, acoustic numbers like “Clap” became showstopping live features. He contributed greatly to the band’s material. The Yes Album reached #7 on the U.K. charts and finally broke YES in America, where it peaked at #40.

Yesmusic was like the aftermath of the Big Bang: a tremendous amount of heat and energy, expanding in all directions. By now, rock’s vast audience had discovered YES, and the band was winning both critical and popular acclaim. Armed with £5,000 worth of new equipment, they set off on their first British tour of large venues, followed by a 28-day European jag with Iron Butterfly. It would be an educational experience. YES liked the American band’s superior PA system so much they offered to buy it.

However, they had an even better sound system by the time they made their Stateside debut, supporting Jethro Tull in April 1971. YES struck it big, especially on the East Coast. Recalls Chris Squire: “We had a lot of DJ support, and a lot of fans showed up who knew what we were doing.”

Anderson, Squire, Wakeman, Howe, and Bruford seemed like the dream team Jon and Chris had always wanted. The result was an unprecedented wave of critical acclaim and the cheers of a growing army of fans. Their albums went gold, and their singles began shooting up the charts instead of languishing in obscurity. The underground band that once drove to gigs in a beat-up old van now traveled in limos and jets to perform in massive stadiums. This reversal of fortunes was completed with the success of “Roundabout,” the upbeat and exuberant opening cut from Fragile that shot up to #13 on the U.S. Billboard chart in March 1972. YES‘ increasing commercial success did nothing to dampen their ardour for remaining creative and cutting-edge. If anything they became more experimental, setting themselves even more difficult targets. Nowhere was this more evident than on Fragile‘s ambitious follow-up, Close To The Edge.

Bill Bruford remembers that the creation of this fifth YES album was especially rough. “We started recording a piece of music, got halfway through, and nobody knew what the heck the conclusion was,” he says. “We could only figure the music out by doing it in the studio. There were no computers, so tape editing was the thing.” Rick Wakeman agrees: “We did an effects tapeloop for ‘Close To The Edge‘ that must have been 40 feet long. Now you could do it all with one sample.” The complexity of pieces like “Total Mass Retain” (one of four suites in “Close To The Edge“) and “Siberian Khatru” caused the musicians and engineer Eddie Offord no end of grief as they struggled to piece it all together.

There was much bickering over the meanings of lyrics and even song titles. But it was a necessary evil of the time consuming process where an idea was turned into reality. “And You And I” was just one composition that made it all worthwhile. As Jon Anderson explained: “We’ve got a long way to go with our music. Nobody is getting lazy, and we’re not resting on our laurels… we’re only just beginning.”

In the midst of this frenzied period, the band’s impetuous young drummer decided he wanted out. YES fans were shocked by Bruford’s departure after the completion of Close To The Edge. His bandmates were also disappointed, as they felt they were on the cusp of even greater success. Squire appeared undaunted: “Bill leaving was very odd. But YES seem to thrive on setbacks. The more that gets thrown in our face, the harder we work.” Bruford had already been in discussions with guitarist Robert Fripp and felt that his musical future lay with Fripp’s King Crimson. “I was thrilled by YES, and it was my favourite band,” Bruford says. “But I was also dying to join King Crimson, and I knew the change would do me good.” Bill’s input had shaped YES‘ early sound and style, but his July 1972 exit paved the way for Alan White, the only other drummer the band has employed throughout its history. He became a tower of strength, whose powerful style has given each YES incarnation its backbeat and confidence.

The band was now treated like rock royalty. In the 1972 Melody Maker Readers’ Poll they won Best BAnd and many other categories, dominating their closest rivals, Led Zeppelin. Then, during the summer, they began work on their sixth studio album.

Tales From Topographic Oceans (represented on this set by “The Revealing Science Of God – Dance Of The Dawn“) was largely devised by Jon Anderson and Steve Howe and written during spare moments on tour. It was based on Anderson’s understanding of the Shastric Scriptures, which he’d read about in the cult book Autobiography Of A Yogi. Everything about the album seemed larger than life, from the challenging themes to the artwork. Roger Dean had designed a lavish gatefold sleeve that complemented the music.

The controversial double-LP was finally released in January 1974. The band performed the Topographic songs at two shows at London’s Rainbow Theatre that same month. The audience was slow to grasp the new music, and there was tension backstage and the group debated the wisdom of hitting the public with such a heavy concept album. Adding insult to injury, Rick Wakeman did not conceal his disquiet about Topographic, revealing that he hadn’t enjoyed the recording sessions.

After YES‘ European Topographic dates, the band was hit by another split: Wakeman, whose solo career seemed to be taking off, was leaving. He was summarily replaced by Swiss-born Patrick Moraz, another brilliant keyboard virtuoso. The charming and cooperative Moraz, who preferred fondue to vindaloo, had come to the band’s attention through his work with Refugee. He gave up his trio to join YES in time for their next album, Relayer, released in December 1974.

“The final upheaval was all about saving the band,” Steve Howe opines. “The change of lineup was hard, but things were not so good for YES. The album sales had dipped, and if we wanted to continue, we had to invest in the group.”

Chris Squire: “Jon wanted to go off and be a solo artist like Rick. He wanted to get his own backing band and tour. The rest of us were left thinking, We’d better find a new keyboard player and singer!”

Anderson had his own reasons for leaving. “By 1979 the band was emotionally very tired,” he explains. “We hadn’t stopped work since the beginning, and we’ve been on the road for over ten years. We were stuck in a twilight zone.”

Nevertheless, the band struggled on sans Jon and Rick. Trevor Horn became the lead singer, with Geoff on keyboards. A simple task, one might have thought. In America, audiences were just happy to see YES back again. The 44-date North American tour was sold out and capped by three nights at Madison Square Garden in September 1980.

But back home in England, things weren’t so pleasant. Partisan fans gave voice to their feelings, and they weren’t always too complimentary. Indeed, they were prone to shout, “We want Jon Anderson!” at the crucial moment when the new vocalist was about to hit a high note. As far as Horn was concerned, the “dream gig” was becoming a nightmare.

“The Buggles period was confusing for everybody,” Squire says. “Brian Lane said, ‘Don’t tell anyone we’ve changed the singer and the keyboard player!’ So we just showed up, and there were two different people in the band. And the audiences were saying, ‘What is going on?'”

The stress of touring was too much for Trevor Horn, and matters came to a head after the tour with the eruption of many claims, counterclaims, and arguments. The group parted company with Brian Lane, as did The Buggles. Lane promptly responded with Asia, a brand-new supergroup with Steve Howe and Geoff Downes teamed with John Wetton and ELP’s Carl Palmer. So now Steve and Geoff were gone as well, leaving Chris Squire and Alan White to pick up the pieces.

Finally released in 1987 Big Generator boosted some fine performances, incuding the radio favourite “Rhythm of Love,” “Shoot High, Aim Low,” and “Love Will Find A Way,” a superior YES ballad. The album did well enough but did not produce 90125 – type numbers. After this experience, Trevor Rabin stepped back to concentrate again on his solo work. Perhaps he guessed that strange moves were afoot.

Steve Howe left after this frequently emotional tour to develop his solo career and rejoin Asia as a special guest. By 1992 Rick, Bill, and Steve had all dropped out, thus the Union concept was no more.

But it still wasn’t the end of the line. The “YES West” lineup consisting of Squire, Anderson, Kaye, White, and Rabin cut the heavily computerised Talk. (Victory) in 1994. It was quite a bold step, distinguished by the extended work “Endless Dream” and such pieces as “Real Love” and “The Calling.” Not all YES fans embraced it, however, and then Trevor Rabin exited to concentrate on writing film music.

V. The Light Is Burning Brightly,
Brighter Than Before (1995-2000)

The 90’s had brought about another shift in YES. By then the music scene had undergone many drastic changes, with grunge and metal bands like Nirvana and Guns N’ Roses dominating most of the decade. Remarkably, given the age gap between the veteren band and younger audiences, there was still a place for YES. Suddenly it became hip again to listen to the longest-lasting and most respected of all the ’70s survivors. Their music was heard on the soundtrack of new movies, most famously in Vincent Gallo’s Buffalo ’66 (1998) which made effective use of “Heart Of The Sunrise” and “Sweetness.” Fans discussed in fine detail the band’s personalities and movements and analysed and dissected every note of every album they’d ever recorded, with Internet chat rooms buzzing with news, views, and opinions. Everyone seemed hungry for a piece of YES.

The years of rows and arguments about money, music, management, and inner politics seemed over. Now YES just wanted to get back to work. Anderson, Squire, and White reunited with Wakeman and Howe to record fresh shows at The Fremont Theatre in San Luis Obispo, California, cuts of which appeared on Keys To Ascension (1996), along with two new studio tracks. The same lineup followed with 1997’s Keys To Ascension 2, featuring the epic length “Mind Drive.”

YES was back on the road in Europe during the year 2000, playing material from The Ladder, as well as their all-time classic hits. “We don’t like to live in the past, but we do like to play the older material and keep it authentic,” Steve Howe avowed. “It’s pretty breathtaking to be able to play place like the Royal Albert Hall, London, where we started out in the ’60s. When I joined the group in 1970, I never thought it would last so long. I had no idea YES would become such a chunk of rock history”

VI. Epilogue

The new millennium finds YES continuing to thrive, experiment, and undergo radical changes. Billy Sherwood and Igor Khoroshev both left in 2000, and the remaining core recorded their latest album, Magnification, the following year. It was a landmark musical revelation. In the absence of a keyboardist, the band enlisted an entire orchestra, under the guidance of acclaimed composer Larry Groupe YES also embarked that year on a highly ambitious and highly successful concert series with a full orchestra.