fragile (1971) - yes: atlantic records 1972 reissue, K-50-009

There’s at least one way in which Rock bands are like pro-sports teams: they often end up with significant personnel changes. A few guys leave, a few new guys come aboard, and the band is either made better or worse.

In a way, that’s the story of the band Yes. The original members of the band (Jon Anderson, Peter Banks, Chris Squire, Tony Kaye, and Bill Bruford) were pretty solid, but at some point there were changes.

The original lineup lasted for about two years and released two albums, but hadn’t really caught on until they had their first shakeup when they replaced Peter Banks with the more versatile Steve Howe on guitar. Their next album was the somewhat eponymous The Yes Album, and was a breakthrough. However, the lads weren’t finished, and the next year Tony Kaye left (at least in part because he wasn’t really keen on playing the mellotron, which was the rage at the time) and Rick Wakeman took over on the keys, creating what many consider the all-star Yes lineup.  Their first album was the epic Fragile.

Side 1: Roundabout Cans And Brahms We Have Heaven South Side Of The Sky
Side 2: Five Per Cent For Nothing Long Distance Runaround The Fish Mood For A Day Heart Of The Sunrise

I’ve always thought of Fragile as “Schroedinger’s” album – one that occupied both a state of existence and non-existence, and which required the right combination of band members in order to become real. When Wakeman joined the band it created the proper circumstance, and Fragile fell into the state of “real”.  That reality was explosive, catapulting Yes into that rarefied air of prog gods.

Fragile, itself, is a sort of unbalanced in a way where the songs tend to not really flow into one other in the way that the songs on Close to the Edge do. Part of that is because Fragile includes solo songs from each of the band members, along with the collaborative songs. But that uneven flow is part of what makes Fragile so compelling – even if it can sometimes be a bit jarring. Still, it allowed each of the members to basically flex their musical muscles, and when one hears a song like Cans and Brahms, it’s hard to argue about the logic behind their choice to blend individual with group.

Yes has always struck me as being very atmospheric and ethereal in their music – certainly moreso than their closest prog contemporaries, Genesis or King Crimson – in the same way that, perhaps, Vivaldi is more atmospheric and ethereal than Beethoven or Bach. And as much as I enjoy their music, I just find that Yes is really more the perfect complement to an already existing mood rather than being the way of setting a mood (if that makes any sense). So there are times when listening to them just doesn’t fit. I suppose that’s true of all music, but it just seems more true about Yes than others. There are times when really nothing else would be right or when nothing else would be more wrong.

Fragile certainly is no exception to that. Despite the fact that the album kicks ass, there are times when hearing it is about as comfortable and appropriate as wearing a tailored three-piece suit would be to dig trenches for new lawn sprinklers. But when the time is right (like, during the evening, when you just need to kick back, let the worries drain, and just get nice and mellow), brother, nothing is as right.

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