Occasionally, a record is released which challenges the mind and the social conscience, and which leaves more to the imagination than a repetitive riff. Aqualung, Jethro Tull’s latest album and personal message, is one of those releases which stings your brain like a mosquito, and keeps itching until a thorough dose of the proper antiseptic is applied. The bite of this record isn’t something which can be scratched, haphazardly, for its meaning and purpose will “irritate” you into contemplation of its theme. Undoubtedly, the rash which will develop inside your head will be delightfully endured, for the concept of this record is adorned with a splendid musical array of sounds, and so the pain suffered will be soothed by the music.
Many people think that rock groups (or whatever they’re called) have an obligation as leaders of this generation to elect, protect, select, collect, dissect and direct brain wave traffic and social consciousness. A lot of groups have never, and probably will never, make a more eloquent statement than “music for music’s sake.” And that’s fine. But every so often, a superstar goes out of his way to make a commendable comment on our times. Ian Anderson and Jethro Tull chose to exhibit social decadence, moral disintegration, and religious hypocrisy, and they do it admirably on Aqualung.
The record is divided into two parts, two plots. Side one is centered about the anti-hero Aqualung, an old, decrepit, snot-nose, shabbily clothed, lecherous reject. At first he seems to be just a pitiful soul straight out of Dickens. The theme is subtle and not clearly developed, for interspersed between “Aqualung” and “Cross-Eyed Mary,” a girl prostitute who only screws older men, are personal non-conceptual tunes--“Cheap Day Return,” “Wond’ring Aloud,” and “Up To Me.” Yet superimposed on Aqualung’s personality is that of another pathetic creature, who like Aqualung is a sad product of society. On listening to side one, the notion isn’t fully realized. But as the entire album is played through, everything is put into its proper perspective.
Side Two is about God and religion. “My God,” “Hymn 43,” and “Wind Up” are songs about the battering, misunderstanding, abuse and misuse that God, Jesus and religion have been subjected to throughout the history of mankind. The old decrepit soul who picks a dog bone on the other side of the record, and God, suddenly appear to have many similar qualities--if in fact they are not one and the same.
Anderson decries the tomfoolery of the churches, the bureaucracies and politicians, who use religion for their wicked deeds, and more than hints about his anti-cleric sentiments. But he doesn’t offer any real solution for the Lord and Aqualung, except that: “he is the God of nothing--if that’s all you can see. You are the God of everything--he’s a part of you and me.”
The music presenting this tale, just like the storyline, is a bit different than the usual Tull sound. It is geared more to acoustics and to a less driving, rhythmical jazz-blues, which always graces their creations. Anderson’s acoustic guitar overshadows his flute playing for a majority of the record, and there is a much more diverse compilation of styles than ever before--including jazz, honky tonk, and funk.
Aqualung merits praise for its intelligence, concern, entertainment qualities, and production techniques. You’d better keep plenty of witch hazel or rubbing alcohol around if you buy it, for its stinger is likely to infect your awareness with thoughts demanding constant attention--and massaging.
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