CLOSE TO THE EDGE

Words simply cannot describe the wonder that is `Close to the Edge' (1972). Yes--at this point consisting of vocalist Jon Anderson, drummer Bill Bruford, guitarist Steve Howe, bassist Chris Squire, and keyboardist Rick Wakeman--were trying desperately to top their breakthrough release `Fragile,' also from 1972. The result was a bastion of musical synergy that had not been topped before then and would not be topped afterward by anyone, even Yes themselves (in any permutation of their lineup, which shifted several times after this album).

On this album, the band functions more as a unit than in any previous release. Gone are the individual showcase works, the indulgent solos, and the restraints inflicted upon the band by record producers. Now insanely popular and possessed of two very solid releases, Yes decided to shelve the mantle of popular expectation (something to which they never really adhered in the first place) and simply make music for music's sake. Instead of truncating their powers of musical expression into cookie-cutter formats (again, something which would not have applied to any other band, had they produced work on the magnitude of that of Yes), the band took their time on this album to say everything they needed to say, whether or not the music ever made it onto the radio.

It didn't, but that doesn't matter. Die-hard Yes fans, and just fans of profound music in general, fell for this album hook, line, and sinker. There is something genuine about this music that captivates; the length of the title track, for example, is not forced but necessary. The lyrics are presented more as an instrument in themselves than as the main vehicle of expression; the actual instrumentation serves as much or more to the effect of broadcasting just what the band were trying to say.

I could write a novel about this album, but now I will attempt to describe, in detail, each of the tracks on the original album. Significant of the time, there were only three.

1. "Close To The Edge" - Words fail me when trying to explain the appeal of this absolute masterpiece among masterpieces. I must warn prospective listeners that this track might not seem very appealing the first time you try it. Make sure you listen to it free of interruptions and distractions the first few times. By the third time, I assure you, something will click, and you will finally "get" it. Oh, I envy those who embark upon this journey on that magical time when it finally opens itself to them. Even the most complex minds will find this work fully encompassing, and it requires every last one among the brain's slew of resources to totally appreciate this music. This, I believe, is what contributes the sense of nirvana that listeners of this piece of music all report.

The beginning is unassuming enough, a crecendo of sounds from nature, accompanied by a celestial, LFO-derived synthesizer pad. Then comes what might be the most intense entrance in all recorded music, an almost cacophonic wash of sound that seems not to be held together by anything, yet boasts an underlying structure that keeps it from falling apart. Several heavenly vocal breaks stab into this entrance, and then a longer, sustained vocal chord signals the transition to the next movement. A guitar figure--a motif that appears time and again throughout the work--plays triumphantly above a complicated bed of instrumentation. After this figure takes its time asserting itself, a truly irresistible rhythmic figure takes over. This serves almost as an obbligato throughout the piece. Then Jon starts singing. Oh, what singing it is! It has been compared to rap, though I think it is far too high-brow (and, let's be honest--civilized) for that comparison. Plus, there is an actual tone to the words, even if their meaning is totally incomprehensible. Oh, and every second word isn't an expletive (can you tell I disapprove of rap?). Don't waste your time trying to figure out what they mean, and don't read the lyrics when you first listen to the music. This will only distract you; you don't need to know a single word from the song to reach the aural bliss so many have affected from this work.

After this movement is explored to completion, a softer, pensive movement begins after an effective segue. This is the infamous "I get up I get down" part of the piece, the instrumentation of which makes the listener feel as though he or she is immersed in the depths of a clear, calm sea. As this section reaches its double climax, Rick blasts into action on a tremendous church organ (set to full plenum), then employs a trick he used on his first solo album, `The Six Wives Of Henry VIII': He doubles the organ bass-- a little thin-sounding in the recording--with the deep growl of one of his Minimoogs. But even before the full impact of this effect is felt, several metallic blasts ensue and the piece propels itself into the next and final movement.

This movement serves as a sort of recap of the others musically, though its beginning is dominated by Rick Wakeman's finest recorded solo. As a keyboardist myself, I realize just how difficult this was to play. Wakeman is without a doubt the best keyboardist in the history of the craft. The climax of this final movement is the most monumental and uplifting in all of music, and its anticlimax/falling action reflects the sounds of nature that begin the piece. Wow! Is everybody still with me? The ride's not over yet...

2. "And You And I" - If "Close to the Edge" was Yes's most complicated epic masterpiece, then "And You And I" was certainly the band's most beautiful work. Written by Jon to his wife, this may well be the most esoteric and gorgeous love song ever penned. Clocking in at just over ten minutes in length, and coming in four parts, the climax will inspire chills. Beginning with the soft sounds of Steve tuning his twelve-string guitar, the piece meanders through myriad musical marvels before ending on a quiet note. I'm a little winded after describing the title track, so you're on your own to fill in the considerable gaps in this description.

3. "Siberian Kahtru" - The words are nonsense. Understand this before you go any further. This song is a straight-up rocker, in that weird brand of rock trademark to Yes. The beginning riff is irresistible, and its permutations throughout the work are never boring. The middle solo section employs some unconventional instrumentation, including a sitar and a harpsichord (played brilliantly by Wakeman). The ending is dominated by an almost jazz-scat type vocal run, then comes a fade-out of instrumentation. All in all, this is an awesome song, fully on par with the other two on this album.

The production quality, as with all Yes albums including and after 'The Yes Album,' is sterling. Eddie Offord was an absolute wizard on the soundboard, and it is largely his efforts that sculpted the highly precise sound we associate with the band Yes. There is slightly more noise in the background of this album (particularly noticable in the quiet passages of "And You And I") than on the previous two releases, though it doesn't take away from the enjoyment of the album. The 2003 Rhino/Bill Inglot remaster of this album has what concensus deems the best sound quality, though the 1994 Atlantic/Joe Gastwirt release has its proponents as well. This is a matter of personal taste, though it is exceedingly hard to find the now out-of-print Atlantic release.

All in all, this is a must-have staple of progressive rock. This album is legendary, and when you hear it to completion, you will know why. I agree with the guidelines of this reviewing forum in that extremely high and extremely low ratings should be used sparingly, but I just can't help but give this album five stars. I consider it the pinnacle of symphonic progressive rock, of the entire genre of progressive rock, and of music in general.