The loudest sound I have ever heard was the deafening roar of 20,000 throats voicing approval for ABWH as we returned to the Spectrum ice hockey arena in 1989 in what was taken by many to be the original Yes.
Bill Bruford, ‘The Autobiography’
Seems there’s a fine little package coming this 31 January from Esoteric, featuring the 1993 live release from Anderson Bruford Wakeman Howe, recorded during the successful tour to promote their self-titled album. The double CD set has been freshly remastered by Ben Wiseman, and this 4-disc box boasts not one, but two DVDs. The first contains the full live concert video An Evening of Yes Music Plus, and the second sports the documentary In the Big Dream, which features behind the scenes recordings of the boys (plus Tony Levin) with candid interviews, promo videos, and ‘making of’ footage while they were down in Montserrat (a gorgeous island paradise sadly devastated by a volcano eruption six years later). It’s more engaging scenery than we are used to with British bands; the lads play cricket with the locals, Jon Anderson speaks from his spot by a waterfall, leaning on his walking stick like a wise old sage, Rick Wakeman fires off quips near a castle-like tower on a hill, Bill Bruford even sings! It’s a glorious, tropical, sun-drenched setting to create music. Steve Howe opts to remain enclosed in a studio back home in damp England, providing his thoughts while decked out in a drab brown jumper. But we are not all the same. Any way you slice it, this new box is a spiffy collection and makes for a fine upgrade for anyone like me who still has these things on ancient VHS tapes, with no means of even playing them. It also comes with a 20 page booklet with photos and a sharp new essay written by Steve Pilkington detailing the period.
In typical Anderson fashion, the formation of ABWH is an amusingly off-the-wall tale. Bruford tells of turning up at the airport, having been asked to play on Anderson’s album, only to find Wakeman, Howe, and manager Brian Lane in the departure lounge. ‘Oh hello fellas… what are you doing here?’ Bruford queried, even as it dawned on him what had happened. Anderson had moved them all around like chess pieces and was forming a new Yes, whether they liked it or not. Fortunately, it turns out they did – for a while, anyway. The resulting album, complete with a purposely sly catalogue number of 90126, contained some exciting music with contemporary sounds, most of which have aged well and some… not as much. Still, the best moments harkened back to classic Yes in structure and style, Levin proved a worthy replacement for Chris Squire, and the tour was a critical and commercial success. Howe’s eyes bulge from his head recalling the excitement of being told that even without the Yes moniker, they could book Madison Square Garden. ‘You’re joking!’ he gasps, incredulously reliving the moment in an interview for the Classic Artists series.
Most of the album’s strongest material was played on the tour, along with a healthy dose of Yes classics which longtime fans had been starving for in the intervening years. It was an unusual show though, taking a long time to actually get going every night following numerous solo spotlights before any group songs were played. In some ways it echoed the indulgent ego-stroking performances seen on ELP stages, but then, when ya got it, flaunt it, right? Let’s take an in-depth look at the biggest draw here: the full concert from the first DVD, from the Shoreline Amphitheater in Mountain View, California in September 1989.
The show begins with a nifty bit of music about Benjamin Button playing over the speakers, priming the audience for some aging stars recapturing their youth. Anderson floats through the crowd like a deity in an outfit he borrowed from the guys in Angel, his celestial mane gently bobbing as he graces the most fortunate with a brush of his hand, while rhinestones sparkle and golden epaulettes swish around his shoulders. He heals a few sick audience members and heads for the stage, where light keyboard and guitar accompaniment is provided by additional musicians Julian Colbeck and Milton “Old” McDonald, strumming away while Anderson has been crooning Time and a Word to his adoring flock. This becomes an acoustic medley featuring Owner of a Lonely Heart and new song Teakbois (mercifully stripped down from its lapse-in-judgment, salsa-tinged studio counterpart), before Anderson reluctantly allows another musician on stage.
Howe then materializes as though from a puff of smoke, all smiles (those were the times, y’see) and decked out in the suit he was hoping to wear to the Country Music Awards ceremony later. He and Anderson give the audience a lesson in what a handshake shouldn’t look like, and Anderson disappears backstage to turn some water into wine. Howe’s elven topknot shines in the stage lights and his foot is a-tappin’ as he delivers his famous Clap and Mood for a Day to a ravenous audience who haven’t heard those pieces live since the last time they saw Steve Howe. They leap to their feet and he winces at them in gratitude.
His arch rival Wakeman’s turn is next, and he wastes no time stealing Howe’s spotlight and soaking in the roars of adulation. He uses the guise of a handshake to assert his physical dominance over Howe, who sulks his way offstage while Wakeman nimbly hops up one set of stairs and then down another into his futuristic keyboard city, launching into a medley of crowd pleasers. Meanwhile we are left to wonder if that haircut he’s sporting means that he lost a bet, or whether he asked his barber to invent a new style for the coming decade. He tickles the ivories with an inhuman series of motifs from his and Yes’ back catalogues while making sure we see those exaggerated hand shaking exercises he does just before playing something really speedy.
The full band take their places to play Long Distance Runaround, with McDonald providing the high harmony vocals normally sung by Squire (Howe had begged to sing them but was vetoed by the elders at tribal council). Bruford shows up late from his day job as an Errol Flynn impersonator, not having had time to change into his stage clothes, so he just grabs a tambourine and joins Anderson at the front of the stage so he knows the drummer has arrived. He takes his spot behind the fan favourite electronic drum kit and begins making some percussion noises on the octagonal pads, at one point playing with his fingers because he forgot he was holding a drum stick in his mouth. He soon rectifies that issue and a drum solo is underway, which pleases the crowd who by this point have seen one full song. Wakeman takes this opportunity to record his next solo album backstage.
Bill’s comrades return, and finally the full Monty is underway. Anderson Bruford Wakeman Howe, the law firm who moonlight as a rock band, have properly arrived. They open with a cracking rendition of their atmospheric new piece Birthright. Anderson shakes a pair of stuffed Big Birds and Bruford smacks his gong in an attempt to prove the travel expenses it incurs did not go to waste. Wakeman and Colbeck trade keyboard patterns in a complex middle section. Howe waits patiently for Anderson to stop clicking together the two sticks he found outside the venue before the show, and ends the song with a mighty strum… but get this: he strums it backwards! He then signals the beginning of the gorgeous And You And I. It’s a powerful performance as always, and a long overhead shot of Wakeman causes us to rethink something: maybe he started giving himself that haircut to save a trip to the barber, but then gave up partway through out of laziness? There has to be some explanation.
The crowd are ferociously appreciative and Anderson takes the opportunity to do his Here Comes the Airplane! dance, before they blast straight into I’ve Seen All Good People. Howe plays a Spanish guitar he bought because he saw one next to a chair and a bowl of fruit in a painting once. Wakeman realizes he forgot to bring that eighteenth keyboard, so he emulates the church organ on a synth with an exasperated sigh. The rocking second half of the song starts, and we see that Howe has a completely different guitar now! Where did that come from? He engages in a series of chicken head bobs, briefly considering a Chuck Berry dance across the stage before a sharp look from Anderson quashes the idea, so he runs on the spot for a while instead. Anderson, having only sung this song 638 times before, forgets how the repetitive ending goes and begins singing wildly different vocal melodies, confusing everyone in the amphitheater except for him. Old McDonald gets a chance to take over on lead guitar – a pink one – because Howe is busy telling a lighting tech he’s going to kick him in the head.
Howe resumes playing, glancing at the crowd after every fifth note to see if they’re still watching him, while Bruford tries to remember if he played on this song originally, or if it was that John Lennon drummer. The camera work is effective, and the four of them are beautifully lit on stage. Also, there is really nice lighting on each of them. But bassist Jeff Berlin (subbing for Tony Levin who had to wash his hair that night) and other hired help McDonald and Colbeck remain in the shadows and aren’t allowed to see their instruments. They were never introduced anyway, and for a while, we aren’t even sure if they’re still there, until we hear some decent backing vocals and realize they must be there, because those wouldn’t be Howe’s.
The band delight the crowd with some birdsong and new age music – possibly from Wakeman’s latest album – before bursting into the cacophonous Close to the Edge, despite its poor reputation among Yes fans. Anderson sings a line about rearranging your liver, and Wakeman’s ears perk up, keen to tell the story about how he’s actually done that, but he’s too busy dramatically shaking his hands, so chalk that one up as a missed opportunity. Meanwhile, the camera pans over to Howe, who now has two guitars in one! What fresh sorcery is this? During the ethereal middle section, Anderson sings about his experiences with Viagra working and then not working and then working again, while green smoke swirls around Wakeman, who plays a very slow version of ‘Chopsticks’. On the other side of the stage, Howe and company sing those backing lyrics that nobody has ever understood. Wakeman senses that the crowd feels shortchanged with so few solos from everyone so far, so he plays his fourth one in this song. The audience are positively frenzied following this epic performance, clearly excited to see what 70s Yes classic is up next.
A brand new piece follows instead, as the tinkling keyboard intro to Themes is heard. Wakeman, having lost another bet, grudgingly allows Anderson some real estate behind his banks of keyboards, but warns him he can only play two keys on the cheapest one. This new arrangement doesn’t last long, and Anderson is soon center stage again, singing about how he doesn’t believe in demons. This prompts a disapproving look from recently born-again Wakeman, who has no religious qualms with the lyric, but does have a few ex-wives he considers demonic. The song goes off without a hitch otherwise, and the crowd roars its approval once more. Bruford remembers that gong from earlier and bangs it as a way of telling the crowd to STFU. The band then begin their current single Brother of Mine, a lovely track in three main sections which recall classic period Yes compositions. Except this time, with hair metal all over the charts and grunge just around the corner, Anderson sings lines like ‘We hold our hands together, be the sunshine‘. Nonetheless, it’s yet another powerful performance, showcasing the strength of the new material, and in the final section Howe jumps on the spot again, like he’s on a tiny trampoline, which is his way of telling us he’s into it. However, Bruford and Wakeman deflate the energy a bit by refusing to pretend they are singing the chorus as they do in the promotional video (you know, that one where Anderson convinced them all to wear tribal face paint).
After Wakeman finishes disinfecting the keyboard Anderson used, the pair perform the beautiful ballad The Meeting to an audience who now give standing ovations to absolutely anything and everything. During the gentle second verse, Bruford shouts ‘Oh, get ON with it!’ from the wings, while Howe’s gaze is fixated on Wakeman’s haircut, wondering if maybe his youngest child got a hold of the scissors. It’s a very pretty song though, and at one point Anderson briefly stands on one leg before remembering that it’s the other Anderson who does that. Next up is Heart of the Sunrise, a little-known piece from Fragile, whose riff they absolutely did not borrow from King Crimson’s 21st Century Schizoid Man. Don’t even suggest it, or Howe will smack you around like a lighting guy. Berlin does an outstanding job on short notice with this challenging piece and receives a nod of approval from one audience member. Anderson sings the song beautifully, even while eyeing the tamale vendor he’s now spotted in the 4th row. After about twelve minutes of stunning playing where all members feed off each other (musically, I mean, not literally), the song abruptly ends. Obviously someone forgot how to play the proper ending so they just said ‘sod it’. These things happen, but still, it’s a bit of a dud moment in an otherwise flawless gig.
Anderson shows off the calisthenics he learned from his local TV station’s morning workout program as the band begin Order of the Universe. Bruford leaps from his throne to do some twerking. Anderson delivers his ballsiest ‘dad rock’ lyrics about rock giving courage, and they move into the badass, crushing section of the song (the one with the words ‘damn’ and ‘la la la la’). Howe plays a tiny blue electric to give the appearance that he’s bulked up lately, and Bruford wisely fits in another drum solo, because only one per show would be ludicrous. As the set nears its big finale, Anderson asks the crowd if they ‘want some more rock ‘n roll?’ to which they loudly and unanimously shriek their approval. But then a strange thing happens. He asks them again. It’s unclear whether he forgot that he had just asked that question, or if he simply didn’t hear them, but neither seem likely.
Anyway, the boys dust off another deep rarity to close out the main set with Roundabout, sure to please the die-hards in the crowd, at least. But it goes down a storm with everyone, and the band take their bows in front of a loving crowd, rightfully basking in some well-earned praise. Bruford swashbuckles his way from his kit to the front and sways back and forth while Anderson and Wakeman engage in an uncomfortably long embrace. Howe, ever the bridesmaid and never the bride, stands at the side, hoping nobody touches him. Wakeman tries, but is refused access. Some punters are heard off camera, complaining that when they come to an Anderson Bruford Wakeman Howe show, they expect to hear Lucky Man and Suite: Judy Blue Eyes.
A baffling series of names then begins scrolling across the screen before it becomes clear that those are in fact the closing credits. But surprise! Like those annoying spouses in dishwashing liquid commercials, there’s ‘just one more!’ and the lads blaze straight into the encore song, Starship Trooper.
Towards the end, Anderson forgets what song they are doing and begins to sing parts of Soon and Ritual instead, before engaging in a one-sided conversation with the audience (his gaze now firmly on the tamale vendor who stares uncomfortably at the floor). Eventually the song picks up again with a long blow on the Würm section. Howe is all smiles as a roadie has just indicated that the tamale guy has vegetarian ones too. Anderson assumes a position directly on Bruford’s drum riser, clapping along, commanding the spirits, and blocking Broof’s view of the band, the crowd, and the tamale guy. Howe blazes through his solos and jerks back and forth, causing concern that he may have nerve damage. But he proves he’s okay when he gives Bruford the secret signal that he’s ready to wrap up: jumping three times like he’s dodging runaway logs in a video game. The crowd once again are rapturous as the quartet take more bows and soak in the hootin’ and the hollerin’. The other three hard working musicians are nowhere to be seen, having been sent to pick up Anderson’s – and now Howe’s – tamale orders. The show is now over for good, and it’s back to the main DVD menu (oddly, the same one from before).
All that said, it’s a marvelous performance, and ABWH were the real deal. Four pros who came back together during a strange and magical little period in the wider Yes history to revisit classics that had been ignored for some time in favour of more contemporary trends. It wasn’t as long-lived as many of us hoped, with the monstrous Union just around the corner, but it was great while it lasted. It’s nice to have these three releases all dusted off and put together in one box and to relive this moment in Yes history. It’s no wonder the crowds loved it so much… it was pretty damn spectacular.
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