Y is for YES: THE YES ALBUM (1970)

Y

YES: THE YES ALBUM

(1970)

THE TEN COMMANDMENTS OF DRUNKEN VINYLS

1. Thou shalt play both sides of the record in their entirety
2. Thou shalt drink one can of cheap tasteless lager or its alcohol equivalent per song
3. Thou shalt record drunken ramblings as they occur to thee for the duration of the running time
4. Thou shalt edit out the swearing the next day
5. Thou shalt not suffer a Blueberry or I- Plank user to live and thou shalt laugh in their general direction whilst they attempt to look important on public transport.
6. Thou shalt not SWEAR because of an unseemly absence between posts due to an exploding computer that held all your templates of favourite characters and running jokes. 'Fuck off Rear Admiral Logjammer, or whatever you were called, you can never return because the whole of bloody Drunken Vinyls was on that shite computer what exploded' is an example of the offensive material that must not be posted. Thou shalt INVENT even BETTER characters and running jokes instead. Boo hoo hoo.
7. There is no seventh commandment.
8. 8 - 10 have gone AWOL as well. You see how forgiving we are?

Rambling Introduction: An Apology

We've become very annoyed with you all recently. How come nobody every tweets 'Cheers DeeVee, good entry this week' hmmm? We'll tell you why, it's because WE don't have those followers who toady up to each other by giving themselves mutual backslaps like they do on the football or summer fashion bra blogs, that's why. Actually we don't have many followers at all, if the truth be told. Well you all better better start following soon, dudes, because - like hey - this is the penultimate entry!

Cultural Comment for the Hard of Learning:

Toadying Up is a phrase long passed into the historical lexicon that referred to: Being sycophantic, to curry favour, to garner votes, to promote each other, to lick the boots of, to feel up one anothers backside, to tickle each other's fancy, to offer a kind word in order for another to be reciprocated, to slap backs, to admire penile longitude, to flatter, to deflect deprecation, to offer an affectation of praise, to mutually slap the backs of,  to insert a codpiece, to augment one's breasts in order to receive the admiring glances of,  to wear a wonderbra,  to offer moderate figure control with comfort, to lift and separate, to wear a cross your heart elasticated support accoutrement that enhances beauty of...and so forth. Must stop thinking about bras. Bras are bad. Bad bad bras.

Anyhow - Since we last wrote, the world has not stopped turning and many many momentous things have happened. Such as:

• Mrs Thatcher died.
• Andy Murray won Wimbledon.
• Matt Smith left Doctor Who to be replaced by some croaky old geezer called Peter Curmudgeonly or Capaldi or something. 
• Those boffins from Science have been at it again - they've invented a beefburger which can be grown in a laboratory that costs £200,000. It tastes like crap, apparently, so it'll go down well with all consumers of convenient meat style patties. But why bother? We know places where you can buy exactly the same product for three pounds fifty and they throw in some crunchy fries and fizzy pop to boot.
• The bastards from Camp Poo outside St Paul's Cathedral have decloaked and decamped and taken residence in a quiet Sussex village to prevent the extraction of oil and gas by a process called Fracking, Frugging, or Frucking - we're not sure which because we couldn't be bothered to find out why. Anything involving those bastards fills us with supreme indifference. If we have a shortage of gas in this sceptered isle then we suggest that those companies involved in such things direct their antennae and pumps in the protesters general direction from which copious amounts of free gas of the oral and anal kind is always readily available. They'd better hurry though. Once the 'protesters' or 'idle rich layabout tossers' as they are more properly dubbed by those in the know find out that the village does not boast a 'Starbucks' or 'Costa Coffee' outlet, they'll soon be gone, squawking and defecating their way back to London.
• Some new bras came on the market. Probably.

Why have we been away so long? Well, as you might probably have guessed, the computer exploded with all our work on it - like an unreleased Rolling Stones LP, all was lost...lost. A whole entry, so it was back to the drawing board for this, our latest musings about YES. The YES Album - not an inspiring title for an LP, yet it singlehandedly represents and holds up the letter Y. There's a paucity of choice for Z, too, before you ask. Which may account for the tetchy tone - our American readers might accuse us of being 'snippy'. Snippy - stupid word, that.

Oh leave me alone, I'm a family man, and my bark is much worse than my bite.

Exploding Computer: An Apology

As we hinted at earlier, the computer exploded destroying all the templates of our popular characters which included Admiral Shitstorm, Noah's Seafaring Stories and Dik and Dom in Da Maisonette. Shame.

No we didn't make a copy before you ask. Yes, we are cretins.

As we couldn't be arsed to recreate them, this month we present, in the style of those comics beloved in our youth, a SELECTION of new cartoon strips! All you have to do is VOTE for the one you'd like to see back NEXT WEEK!

Cultural Comment for the Slow of Study:

Comics were weekly periodicals printed on very cheap paper purchased from your local purveyor of confectionery. Popular titles included: Beano, Dandy, Topper, Beezer, Bunty, Mandy, Jackie, Whizzer and Chips, Titbits, Spick and Span, Red Bot Weekly, Hot Bot, Bottoms Up, Tight Elastic Panties, Knicker Nicker, Razzle, Dazzle, Club International, Penthouse, My Weekly Jazzmag, Melons, Whoppers, Bra International, Bra Busters, Bras for Chicks, Bloke Bras, Me and My Bra, Bra Hoarder Monthly, Near and Bra, Bra Bra Away, Beyond the Farthest Bra, Bra Spotter...Damn,damn, damn....

Reach for your defibrillator, you just might just might DIE LAUGHING, as we present:

The Death of Mrs Thatcher: An Apology

Unfortunately we were not on hand to comment on the death of the greatest leader the Western World has ever know in recent times. However we were dismayed to notice that some people thought it would be a jolly jape to get 'Ding Dong the Witch is Dead' to Number 1 to commemorate this passing. Despite our disappointment at this mutinous action, we nevertheless doubt that Mrs Thatcher would have been bothered in the slightest. She most probably would have commented that 'The Lady's not for burning.'

However it would be remiss of us not to mark the passing of this cultural icon in some way. Mrs Thatcher is often said to be the greatest global leader of the 1980s, the greatest Thatcher ever. But was she? We polled our readers to find out and HERE is a summation of the findings.

The Continuing British Recession: An Apology

It cannot have escaped keen readers of this Blog that for the ENTIRETY of its existence, Britain has been in bloody recession. But what does that mean to the common man (or woman)? Well, not much it seems.

Unless you consider that grinding, nut-crushing poverty; an inability to buy essentials such as mince not made from horsemeat; the proliferation of Poundland Stores on every corner replacing familiar and reassuring shop frontages from our childhoods; being forced out of rented accommodation for having one bedroom too many; wages falling and everything else going up, record fuel prices and, of course, unemployment, unemployment and unemployment is worth grumbling about.

We didn't vote for the buggers but nevertheless we feel we should offer some sort of abject apology for the miserable Britain of the last three years because the current incumbents of Downing Street aren't bloody well going too. They tell us things are getting better. Then other experts come on and tell us that if you live by the seaside, particularly in Rhyl, Wales, you've never had it so bad because you're probably an unemployed layabout on disability benefit. Who knows what to believe?

We believe in SOLUTIONS not PROBLEMS. and so...as part of our occasional 'Cash Strapped Britain' series that bought you 'Be Your Own Comedian' and 'Build Your Own Motorway Service Stations' our experts show how YOU can TROUSER THOSE POUNDS with next to NO EFFORT!!

Make easy money and coin in the cash as we show YOU how to:

BE YOUR OWN GRAND-SLAM TOURNAMENT TENNIS PRO!

Note: We feel it our duty to point out that we very politely wrote to Wimbledon Football Club to ask National Tennis hero and Grand Slam champion Andy Murphy to help us with advice for this feature but, to our dismay, our postcard was returned with 'Wrong Address' franked across it. We feel this is an all too characteristic slight by the dour Scotsman against all unemployed layabouts on disability benefits living in Rhyl. What a spoil sport.

Did YOU know that you can earn a tidy wallet bursting £32,000 for simply turning up and being defeated by Rafia Mat, Roger Fenderer or even such tennis no-marks like David Ferrero-Rocher? No? Well to our minds that's EASY MONEY!!

But wait! You don't know HOW to play tennis? Well don't panic, just follow these easy steps for the fast bucks and sticky greens! Check out of that Rhyl bed and breakfast NOW and catch the TENNIS EXPRESS to FAT CITY!

Step One: You need to acquire the correct KIT or ACCOUTREMENTS as Tennis Pros are wont to call it.

This includes a tennis racket. Do NOT make the schoolboy error or ever calling this a tennis BAT or tennis CLUB or the tennis police will be on to you immediately. Furthermore, never think one of those plastic 'tennis kits' from Poundland with the colored plastic balls will pass muster. These will be quickly spotted and you'll be sent packing off court and back to Rhyl with a boot up your backside.

Tennis rackets can be notoriously expensive but if you have read carefully our pieces 'Cash Strapped Britain: Be Your Own Fisherman' or 'Cash Strapped Britain: Take on Monty Panesar and WIN!' you should be quickly able to fashion a nifty piece of kit with a big stick, and old shoe and some sticky backed plastic. Just follow the simple illustration below and you'll soon be on CENTRE COURT!

Step Two: You will need to learn some French. Normally if you were asked to do this your (correct) response would be to jab your finger at the offending Frenchman and shout: 'URGH!! Sod off!! I live in Britain, and speak the single most popular language in the world! Why should I bother? You will expect me to eat garlic and snail sandwiches next and enjoy the taste of horsemeat! Get on yer bicyclette!'

However on this occasion we fear you will need to study (bad) the French language (worse). Why? Because inexplicably, a lot of the announcements on Centre Court will be in French. Never fear. Here are some quick and easy phrases to learn and use should you find yourself at Roland Garros or some other crap dump near Paris:

Learn these phrases and shout them extremely loudly at your opponent or the line judge every time you miss a serve or fail to return a ball and you are well on the way!

Step Three: The rules of the game. Well, we cannot pretend to be experts, but basically, as far as we can tell, you swank onto centre court to rapturous applause with a large bag full of some towels, balls and rackets (well in your case a stick with a shoe sellotaped to it in an Aldi carrier bag), stand in front of a giant net whilst a fat bloke on a chair shouts nonsense phrases at you and you dodge about extremely quickly waving your stick in the air frantically at fast moving yellow projectiles.

There are some things in the game called 'shots' but be advised they are not the ones you usually buy down 'Castaways Disco and Night Club'. Also, if the shouty fat guy asks you to 'serve' he is not referring to pulling a pint or getting your winky out.

Notes for the New Player

• Try to avoid being hit by those yellow balls in the gonads as we have seen this happen on the telly and it looks extremely painful.
• Be very careful. If you wave your stick too vigorously there's the possibility the shoe might come off the end and hit the shouty fat bloke on the chair in his face. This will be frowned upon.
• During the game, if you suspect foul play or a bad 'call' you can shout 'Hawkeye'. At this point the game will be suspended, the crowd will clap slowly and you can scratch your arse. You will see yourself on the big telly, too!
• If somebody shouts 'New Balls Please!' it is considered bad form to snigger.
• Only wear a 'sports bra' if you are a girl. Or you are kinky and like the feel of tight bra elastic against your back..
• In the unlikely event you win, you are allowed to chuck your sweaty and disgusting headgear, wristlets and underpants into the crowd, where they will be eagerly fought over and shredded.

After about twenty minutes, the game will be over; you will have lost BUT you'll be stuffing £32,000 into your back pocket. Never mind your pay day loans, that's what we call WONGA!

Y

YES: THE YES ALBUM

(1970)

And now we get down to the veritable meat and potatoes of this endeavour. Our RECORD REVIEW! Yes, fans, (Yes fans? That's an oxymoron, surely.) this is where we all set up our turntables, get out our 33s and get pissed whilst listening to sweet, sweet music. And today's record is: YES: THE YES ALBUM.

YES: An Apology

We would like to apologise unreservedly for tonight's vinyl offering. We can only excuse ourselves by pointing out that very few bands begin with the letter Y; we hate Paul Young and Yazoo. We would like to say 'let the drinking begin!', but as each track lasts a mammoth 24 minutes (probably) there will be very little drinking tonight. Let us console ourselves with the thought that at least, at one can a track, we will be a very  cheap date.

YES must be the most ironically misnamed band in the history of Rock n Roll. Why? Because WHENEVER somebody suggests putting on an LP by YES, the inevitable response is NO!!!!

Don't believe us? Well, when were you last at a happening party and a crazy, kooky chick like the one out of NCIS said, 'Hey guys! Let's rock out to 'Tales of Topographic Oceans' by YES! Get down! Whoop Whoop!'

You are correct. This never happens. Well except for at Star Trek conventions, but those dudes are just crazy! YES is about as far away from Hip Hop as it is POSSIBLE to get. Which is by no means a bad thing given that Hip Hop is equally as poor.

But who were YES? Where did they come from?

Rick Wakeman: A weedy keyboard player that liked to dress up as King Arthur sporting a wizard's hat and cape and perform organ solos on a roller skating pantomime horse.
Jon Anderson: A falsetto voiced long haired weirdo who sucked helium from ballooons prior to going on stage in order to improve his vocals
Chris Squire: A bass player who was not actually a squire, or in any way noble, and who detested the greeting 'Hello, Squire!' with a passion.
Bill Bruford: A percussionist and drummer who was not, or never had been a request for payment in disguise and would violently punch anybody who asked 'where the bill was'.
Steve Howe: A general weed of the highest order who was so much a weed he was turned down for the part of 'Little weed' in television's 'Bill and Ben'. He was bullied at school for desiring to be a presenter of children's television magazine show 'How!' and he later squeaked, 'I thought it would be a jolly wheeze to have someone NAMED Howe presenting 'How'!' shortly before being (rightly) duffed up by the school bully.

Over the years there were various other drips who wanted to be in the group. At one time, pop duo Buggles joined but, having lost complete musical credibility and their fanbase in this one fatal error, scurried away to devise pop masterwork 'Video Killed the Radio Star'. It was a narrow escape.

YES are notorious for song suites that last entire album sides and incomprehensible gibberish that masquerade as profound lyrics. As we shall no doubt discover. Be afraid. Be very afraid - as we present:

Y

YES: THE YES ALBUM
(1970)

Side One

1. "Yours Is No Disgrace"
So... it is with a due sense of trepidation that we grab the vodka and put the needle on. Here goes. We will try to describe and critique this aural adventure.

A rising scale played on synthesisers and the vocal begins: 'You don't know how to ease my pain, you don't know...' pretty damn good actually. Ah. Wrong record. Start again.

No... it actually starts with close tracked drums and guitar with some strange time signature. 'Tum Ti Tum Tum, Tum Ti Tum Tum, Tum Ti Tum Tum'. Then the whole band join in on the crash of a cymbal. Reminds us irresistibly of an elephant attempting the fandango and failing miserably. Suddenly - a hush descends...

Ah. Weedy Jon Anderson, spouting gibberish about a 'silly human race'. What about the Olympic Spirit, Jon? Wait!! There's more, come closer. 'Battle ships confide in me, and tell me where you are...' What? What's that supposed to mean? Complete bollocks. What's more, everytime the drip says this crap, the band go into some kind of triumphantic orgasmic crescendo as though this is a creed for future happiness. It's very repetitive, the elephant dance bit is back: 'Tum Ti Tum Tum. Tum Ti Tum Tum'.

We're now inside some sort of instrumental musical vortex where the musicians are noodling away on Moog synthesisers without any sort of direction. Every musician gets a spot to display his virtuosity. Meanwhile the audience yawn and scratch their arses.

New passage - signified by a suspended hymnal chord from the wizard of wit himself Rick Wakeman - did you read about that Henry VIII concert with ice skating horses and knights? Wittering on about 'silly human races' again and 'on a sailing ship to nowhere, leaving any place, the summer change to winter, yours is no disgrace'. Not only is that nonsense, tit doesn't even scan. When is this going to end?

It just has with a kind of 'Star Trek' hyperspace noise. Punch it.

2. "Clap"
A paean to venereal disease, 'Clap' offers sympathy and understanding to sailors and all of love's thrusting penile pioneers who, through no fault of their own, come experience that unpleasant discharge and general feeling of embarrassment when faced with a visit to the doctor. And who hasn't experienced that hot flush from the neck down the back as the doctor utters the immortal words: 'well, just pop it out, will you?'

Ah - we've completely missed the point. Again. No surprise, really,  this being a YES LP.

This is a bit like Simon and Garfunkel except without Simon. Or Garfunkel. Or any words whatsoever.

Basically it's a bonkers bloke on a guitar a bit like the ones outside W.H. Smiths with a hat in front of them. Completely tuneless and pointless, inoffensive, it comes on. It lasts a bit. Then it finishes.

Somebody claps at the end. I wonder why?

3. "Starship Trooper"
I. "Life Seeker"
II. "Disillusion"
III. "Würm"

Yes! We remember dancing to this one! 'I lost my heart to a starship trooper!' Cracking tune! AND who doesn't remember Kenny Everett and Hot Gossip's pelvic gyrations and chest thrusting antics without a salacious smile upon the face? Happy days.

Ah. Wrong tune again.

The hyperspace noise is back and then the band offer some tuneless cacophony which seems to be trying to drown out weedy Jon's vocals. But, alas, we, the listeners still have to suffer the gormless words; 'speak to me of summer that travels on the waves that I still remember.'

New movement signified by the band pissing off for a coffee while Steve Howe noodles away on an accoustic with Anderson wittering on tunelessly, blithely ignorant of the fact that the audience has long since disappeared down the same coffee shop only to find that, irritatingly, that Rick, Bill and them blokes from Buggles are in front of them taking endless time to choose from the menu of caffeine delights, knowing full well that it will be at least 25 minutes before they have to be back to play on the next bit. Trevor Horn most probably postulates that 'Video Killed the Radio Star' will make for a good encore, only to be punched by Rick, Bill and Chris.

Meanwhile, back at the song...we're in an extremely long and repetitive instrumental sequence, mercifully free of Anderson's lyrical munificence where a lead guitar and another lead guitar are trading licks on different channels. Then it just...fades away. And that's it.

Dear Lord.

Side Two 

4. "I've Seen All Good People"
I. "Your Move"
II. "All Good People"

They took the credit for your second symphony; re-written by machine and new technology...

But BACK in the coffee shop, where the indolent noodlers from YES are having an ill deserved break in the middle of their 32 minute opus 'Starship Trooper', a fist fight has broken out that is becoming increasingly ugly! Trevor Horn and Geoff Downes from Buggles, along with their mate, the bikini clad girl in the plastic tube, are even now angrily jabbing the weedy Chris Squire with wooden Costa Coffee stirrers, in the eyes! His eyes are beginning to water! If this continues he won't be able to pick up his bass!

'All good people'. We bet this will be a laugh riot. CHIZ! It sounds exactly the same as Side 1.

Wait. It is Side 1. Bugger. Where's the rum?

He's seen all good people turn there heads so glad he's on his way! Never a truer word spoken in song my friend. No hang on, objectively this is reasonable - a sort of acoustic tune. It does boast something approaching a melody with a rising, cheerful chord progression and the flute nicked from 'The Fool on the Hill'. Won't last, though. The flautist is probably synthesised anyway.

Get this -. We're rocking out now! Ahead groove factor nine! Seriously though, why have no HIP HOP artists live Reveal sampled any YES as backing tracks for 'songs'?

The instrumental is noodling on a bit too long and your attention is bound, therefore, to wander. If your attention wanders do you absently scratch the heads off scabs until they bleed? Or do you idly cast your mind back to remember the day you discovered, to your horror, that you did, in fact, have crabs? How, therefore, did you break this to your significant other? Did your partner buy your excuse that they were on the toilet seat?

We seem to be back in hymnal territory now, suspended chords, falsetto vocals, confusing mulch about 'Good People' which, through repetition, becomes as significant as the bra catalogue you would flick through to pass those teenage years, carefully husbanded from your mother's post.

Then it just fades out and is gone.

5. "A Venture"  

Yes! A Venture. a bit like an Adventure! This'll be great!

What have we here? A sort of two two plod. Jon Anderson keeps wailing 'Hide Away' every couple of seconds for some reason. There is bound to be some significance to this.

Oh. It's finished. Well that one didn't last long. Thankfully.

6. "Perpetual Change"

The rest of the band are back from Costa Coffee with two black eyes apiece, a broken arm and several mugs of Cappuccino. Well there's lovely. To thank them, Jon offers a peroration about them being all 'Inside Out and Outside In'. This is great. They pick up their instruments, chug along cheerfully and all is forgiven and forgotten. Even Buggles look cheerful, joining in with gusto, chomping on the free sugar cubes and using the wooden stirrers as guitar picks.

However, for the audience, the experience is a mixed one. There is a general despondent air as the band, oblivious to the fact that they are supposed to be in any way entertaining, noodle away pointlessly.

This song sounds like Jon Anderson is making it up as he goes along, actually. The band are clearly talented but what the f*ck are they playing? We are now getting a headache and if he says 'Inside Out, Ouside In' again, we will shove his bloody synthesiser exactly where he is suggesting.

This is the fag end of the alphabet - we're sure that if we played it a few more times we'd really start to enjoy the virtuosity, signature changes and sheer musicianship, but we'd rather nail our testicles to a barbed wire fence.

What have we learned tonight? An Apology.

To YES fans everywhere, we say:

YES???

NO!!!!