One of the first progressive artists I sought out, after having listened to 70s hard rock and 60s psych for a few years in my early teens. I believe I was 16 on buying
Stand Up,
A Passion Play and
Minstrel in a single binge. I listened to them day and night; had a speaker placed underneath my big bed and another one in the opposite corner of the room, meaning that I could hear every emanating sound even at pretty low volume when lying down. Together with
Songs From the Wood and
Heavy Horses these first three buys are still my faves, and with a special penchant for
Stand Up. There are other excellent ones too, of course - and I have to say that I still keep listening to them with much of the same fondness as on discovering the band. From the "big" names in 70s UK progressive rock, Tull and Krims are the ones who have endured more or less untainted, although I might stress other strengths about them now than I did before.
The reason for the latter (
Stand Up as fave), I think, is that I was in my formative stage as adolescent amateur musician myself back then, and the tunes here had relatively easy patterns to pick up on acoustic guitar. A very close friend and I used to bring our wooden axes into the forest nearby his house and sit atop a ledge with this fantastic view towards Nordåsvannet (in Fana outside of Bergen), and we'd fart out these rather lousy renditions of "Look Into the Sun" and "Reasons for Waiting" - one playing the chords, the other attemptively colouring harmonies by trying to emulate the flute parts or whatever. I particularly remember this from spring and late summer 1989, before we embarked on our final year at senoir high. Fab memories galores.
My buddy and I formed a couple of mediocre bands following this (Tull being only one cource; Love, Krimson and Airplane others), but he eventually got too deep into dope, crime and then insanity, bringing an untimely end to our brotherhood ultimo 1992/93. He came out many years later on the opposite side of the tunnel, now a new soul and working for the Salvation Army. When I visited Bergen a month ago for the first time in several years, I had a whole Sunday of time to kill prior to jumping the night train back to Oslo. So I caught the glossy new tram and traveled all the way to my old neighbourhood an hour-or-so outside of town, hoping to relive impressions by seeking out the ledge of my youth and perhaps hum a little "Look Into the Sun". Of course, all the folks and families I grew up with have since abandoned the place, mass housing and general gentrification seeing to ruin what was once a completely idyllic quarter aof delinquent upbringing - hell, we used to wander nocturnally through woodland paths and undress on our way to the pond for a swim during summer. There are now office buildings and contaminated waters there, so surf's up.
Still, I was NOT prepared for the sight which met me on encountering my old and long-lost buddy's home and heading for the forest ledge. On cornering the house (where we also used to have a rehearsal space) and expecting to greet the jungle bush, I was instead exposed to this:
IMG_7052.jpg and
IMG_5793.jpg
On emerging from the non-existing forest afterwards I stumbled upon a passing youngster and promptly barked at him "-They've ruined it, all of it! The boy who grew up in that house over there, he and I used to sit in these woods and sing songs by Jethro Tull! And now the contractors have ripped the fucking forest to pieces, so NO MORE TULL!"
He looked at me rather laconically and uttered a tiny "-Ok!" before walking on. And I decided on never returning there.
True tale.
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