Nov. 22, 1974 review: Yes at the Aud
The last of the four major rock tours that visited here in November 1974.
Nov. 22, 1974
Abstract Appeal Levitated Fans;
Faithful Glowed in Answer: ‘Yes’
I hadn’t seen so many shirts inscribed with the group’s
name since Blue Oyster Cult hit town.
From all sides they glowed at you, especially in that
custom-car blue that fades to purple, pulsing out a single word. Yes.
Yes doesn’t have mere fans. It has staunch devotees. The
faithful – mostly intense high schoolers and gung ho collegians who like their
rock fantasies dense and intense, but clean – draw a hard and absolute line
between themselves and the doubtful.
Perhaps that’s why 5,000 believers in Memorial Auditorium
Thursday night seemed as enthusiastic over the British fivesome with Patrick
Moraz on the keyboards. Even without wizard Rick Wakeman, it was still Yes.
But not much of that enthusiasm rubbed off on five other
Britishers named Gryphon, who led off.
* * *
JUDGING from
their highly listenable “Red Queen to Gryphon Three,” they were a natural Yes
opener. Onstage they put in a nervous half-hour. In spite of their
well-executed instrumental maneuvers, the horns and pipes, they failed to bring
off the unity that carries the album.
After an annoying intermission sound check that blipped
like a Van de Graaff generator gone mad, Yes made a mellifluous entrance to a
spacey tape, coming up one by one from a seashell-like canopy onto a stage that
resembled the bottom of their fabled
A glowing shark floated over the drums. A huge crab, with
arms that rose and fell, cradled the stack of keyboards. Oohs, aahs and
applause. There was a glittering wheel. And fog for “Close to the Edge.”
With all this trickery, Yes was a pretty static bunch,
content to leave the physical drama to the stagehands while they concentrated
on the music.
* * *
MISSING was
Wakeman’s cold beacon of individual virtuosity. New man Moraz simply laid back
and looked pretty. They jumped from theme to theme, effect to effect, as a
precision unit, perfect right down to the slightest nuance.
In the old songs like “And You And I” and “Ritual,” as well
as the couple new ones off their upcoming album, it was a display of perfection
without emotion, intensity without passion, abstraction without weight of
reality.
So pure was the abstract appeal you could levitate on it.
When the lights came on after 100 minutes and a “Roundabout” encore, I felt as
if I’d been suddenly dropped from mid-air. Was this a concert or a dream? I
searched the shirts around me. All they said was “Yes.”
* * * * *
IN THE PHOTO:
Yes on stage in
* * * * *
FOOTNOTE: Yes had hit a peak in 1973 with its sixth
album, “Tales from Topographic Oceans,” but trouble was brewing within.
Keyboardist Rick Wakeman, unhappy with the direction the band was taking,
departed in May 1974. It wasn’t until August that the band tapped Swiss-born
synthesizer and Mellotron maven Patrick Moraz, who did time in the group Nice
after Keith Emerson went on to bigger things. (Among their prospects was the
Greek progressive wizard Vangelis, but he had an aversion to flying.) Moraz was
a solid replacement, albeit a controversial one as far as fans were concerned.
Yes then finished recording their seventh album, “Relayer.”
“Relayer”
was still a week away from being released in the
The songs, courtesy of setlist.fm.
On tape: Stravinsky’s
Firebird Suite.
Sound Chaser
Close to the Edge
To Be Over
The Gates of Delirium
And You And I
Ritual (Nous sommes du
soliel)
Encore: Roundabout
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