In April 1972, Jon Anderson, the singer with British progressive rock group Yes, arrived at a London recording studio and encountered what he describes as "a barrage of sound." His bandmates — Chris Squire on bass, guitarist Steve Howe, keyboard wiz Rick Wakeman and drummer Bill Bruford — were improvising a furious instrumental piece that glittered and swayed at the speed of light.
"The energy was so big," the 80 year-old Anderson recalls from his home in California. "I just couldn’t believe how powerful the whole thing was. Then they all stopped and carried on talking and rolling a joint or something. I asked Steve if they could play it again, but he told me that it was just a jam."
Fortunately, producer Eddie Offord had captured about a minute of it. "'It sounds like you are all hurtling towards the sun,’" I told them. ‘This is the beginning of a new song.’"
That jam became the lengthy introduction to "Close to the Edge" — the 18 minute title track of an album widely held as the apex of ‘70s prog. A lofty fusion of visceral rock ’n’ roll with classical concepts and fragments of folk, psychedelia, blues, and jazz, the album’s three songs epitomized the urgency of a movement that sought to expand the aesthetic parameters of popular music into a wondrous, dream-like terrain where anything and everything was possible.
By the early '70s, young rock fans who had come of age with the Beatles’ Sgt. Pepper’s and Abbey Road were ready to embrace new sonic challenges. Released in September of 1972, Close to the Edge climbed to No. 3 and 4 of the U.S. and UK album charts, respectively. When Yes released its next studio LP, Tales from Topographic Oceans in 1973, it topped the charts in England — a bewildering sign of success for an esoteric double album based on the Hindu metaphysical texts known as shastras. Bands like Yes proved that the cutting-edge brilliance of Sgt. Pepper’s was only the beginning.
For better or for worse, the punk movement demolished those ideals during the late ‘70s, exposing the raw beauty of three-chord songs. But the lasting, transformative effect of bands like Yes, Pink Floyd and Genesis remains ingrained in the DNA of rock. After a brief ‘80s renaissance dubbed as neo-prog, the 21st century has seen a number of high profile groups whose existential restlessness is at least partially informed by the progressive rock movement — from Radiohead and Muse, to Opeth and Tame Impala.
Two classic prog albums are being reissued this year by Rhino Records with remastered sound and newly unearthed extras. A Close to the Edge box set includes instrumental versions of the entire LP, as well as a raucous concert date recorded in December of 1972 at the Rainbow. And June will see a 50th anniversary super deluxe reissue of the 1974 double album The Lamb Lies Down On Broadway by Genesis — arguably, the most poetic band in the prog firmament.
The Lamb occupies a place of honor in Genesis lore for several reasons: It was the last album with future "Sledgehammer" star Peter Gabriel as the band’s lead vocalist (he would be replaced by the group’s then drummer, Phil Collins). It is also the quintet’s most ornate bit of storytelling — the convoluted odyssey of Rael, a young Puerto Rican kid living in New York. After The Lamb, Genesis would continue creating impressionistic rock narratives marked by gorgeous melodic passages. But they were never so relentlessly ambitious again.
"I suspect the past holds such a fascination with people because it is iconic," says former Genesis guitarist Steve Hackett with a subtle sigh. "I was obsessed with certain bands during the ‘60s, and I always wanted them to repeat exactly what I heard them doing the first time."
Now 75, Hackett left Genesis in 1977, right before the band experienced massive mainstream success (a decision he never regretted, he insists). Hailed widely as one of the quintessential guitarists of the rock era, he continues to release adventurous solo albums.
"I understand the syndrome of early fandom, but my quest has always been about finding out where the music goes next," Hackett says. "In a way, it’s like there’s a god of the future, and a god of the past. And I’ve got to worship the twin gods of past and future, because the present is somewhere in between. And I’m always happy to play the old stuff."
Read more: The Genesis Essentials: 15 Songs That Highlight The Band's Influential Genre-Bending Style
It helps, of course, that the old stuff has a timeless quality to it. And because the music of both Yes and Genesis was so closely linked to the classical composers that influenced them, their albums have transcended the sonic tropes of ‘70s contemporaries like Fleetwood Mac or ELO. Genesis keyboardist Tony Banks thought of Rachmaninoff when he wrote the piano intro to "Firth of Fifth" (a cut off 1973’s Selling England by the Pound.) For decades, Yes opened their shows with a majestic excerpt of Stravinsky’s The Firebird Suite giving way to the funky Close to the Edge track "Siberian Khatru."
"No matter who wrote the songs, it was always about the arrangements," says 78 year-old Howe, one of Yes' principal composers. "We took something that was just doodle-a-doodle, then developed it into a monumental shape, because there was always an awful lot of further ideas. Sure, Jon and I wrote ‘Close to the Edge,’ but the collaboration of the full group was vital. All those great Yes records were developed in the same way."
"We were 25 or so, and enjoyed being clever," the guitarist continues. "And I personally couldn’t wait for the next challenge. In terms of my guitar, I was always looking for the lost sound."
A haunting passage in the middle of "Close to the Edge" underscores the symphonic aspirations of Yes. It merges the mournful, layered vocal harmonies of Howe, Squire and the high-pitched Anderson, with the sounds of water, languid lines of sitar-like electric guitar, and cryptic lyrics about a lady, in her white lace, sadly looking for the crucifixion of her own domain. Then, suddenly, a thunderous pipe organ solo erupts, recorded by Wakeman at a church in Barbican.
"There’s a lot of spacey stuff in that middle section," says Howe. "It’s not spooky, but more ethereal and organic — and then Rick enters into the world of Bach. It’s like, where are these guys going? And I’m really glad that we went there. If you didn’t have any ideas, you couldn’t be in the band. That’s what made it so exciting, but also quite challenging."
Songwriting with the early Genesis lineup was no picnic, either. The stories abound, from Tony Banks throwing a chair at bassist Mike Rutherford during a disagreement, to individual contributions being vetoed and discarded by competing band members. In fact, it was the rejection of a solid song — a whimsical instrumental titled "Please Don’t Touch" — that contributed to Hackett’s unexpected exit.
Not surprising if you consider such merciless quality control methods, the results were always stellar.
"What I liked the most about Genesis during my time with them was when we started to sound plausibly like an orchestra," says Hackett. "If you spend your time listening to the music of old souls, like I did when I was 15, then the influence is going to show up in your own material. With Genesis, we became adventurous and inclusive. You could do a piece of Bach included within a rock song. It was only later that the term progressive was applied to music that was merely attempting to be original."
Listening to the sprawling The Lamb Lies Down On Broadway — three tantalizing demos will be included on the set as digital downloads — it’s hard to believe that these songs were written and recorded by 24 year-old musicians. The group rehearsed the new tracks at Headley Grange, a dilapidated building in Hampshire that used to be a workhouse for the poor and was reportedly haunted. At night, Hackett heard peculiar sounds of scratching and hissing, and the grim atmosphere of creaky staircases and apparitions seeped into the music. The piano patterns on "The Lamia" evoke the twilight mist of Claude Debussy, while "Carpet Crawlers" — a nonsensical lyric decadently wrapped up in a gauzy, spiraling melody — could be described alternately as a rock ballad or 20th century chamber music. Once they had moved into a recording studio, ambient pioneer Brian Eno stopped by to add synthesized vocal effects to some of the tracks. (Enossification, he called them.)
"On ‘Carpet Crawlers,’ you have a fairly virtuoso keyboard going, and then the song is grafted on top," says Hackett. "I was playing a repeated arpeggiated figure on the guitar, which was influenced by the Yardbirds, funnily enough. There was a track on their only album called Turn Into Earth, and you could hear Jeff Beck playing something very faintly in the background — it was so quiet that you couldn’t tell if it was a guitar or a violin. I tried to do the same thing, trying to be a distant, floaty figure so that my guitar could sound mystical."
Put together, both reissues speak volumes about a privileged generation of British musicians — now in their ‘70s — which also includes Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd, Queen, Deep Purple and King Crimson.
Was there something in the water?
"I think it has to do with the weather," says Hackett. "We have some bloody awful weather here in England. The winter months are the equivalent of hibernation for the body, but the freeing up of the mind. Plenty of time to dream. We could have been California boys looking for California girls, but we didn’t have that. So we had to create our own sunshine and warmth. It goes back to Shakespeare — England is very fertile soil for ideas."
"We were recklessly focused on music," adds Howe. "Nothing else seemed to matter — not even if you had enough food to eat — as long as you were making music. It was a pathway, a future, an investment of your time. And it didn’t matter how much you gave, because you were getting something back straight away. We also were lucky enough to be surrounded by some excellent recording engineers."
"When we were starting Yes with Chris [Squire], Led Zeppelin were down the road getting ready," says Anderson. "We were doing ‘Close to the Edge,’ went to this small club in London to get a drink, and there was a guy dressed up like a tramp who had a really funky band. Suddenly he started playing the flute, and I thought, who the hell is this guy? It was Jethro Tull. No matter which way you looked, somebody was doing something different. It was a very beautiful time."
Five decades later, most of the players in both albums remain active in music. Howe and Anderson continue performing Yes classics as the leaders of two separate bands. Hackett is the only Genesis graduate who tours regularly, and organizes conceptual tours based around the Genesis catalogue.
But the idea of a last studio album has remained elusive for most of the ‘70s generation. The members of prog trio Emerson, Lake & Palmer teased a farewell LP for 20 years, but two of them died before they could make it happen. And even though there have been discussions about both Yes and Genesis reuniting in the recording studio for a final statement, the door is now firmly shut.
"Jon and I had a career and wrote some of our best songs together," offers Howe. "I think what we did was brilliant and I’m immensely proud of that. But music keeps moving forward, and friends do as well — that’s about all I can say."
"The last time we tried to put together a compilation that was meant to be a mixture of Genesis hits with solo stuff, it took us three years to get an album cover – and in the end, it was gray, and the title was R-Kive," says Hackett. "It’s almost like a putdown, or an assassination job. You would think it would be easy to do these things, but it only takes one person to screw up the whole thing. It’s very difficult to get people who once were very close friends to turn the clock back."
He looks almost unchanged on the video screen during our Zoom call — the same thoughtful expression depicted on the painted album covers of his solo records from the late ‘70s and early ‘80s. Behind him, a row of family portraits lie on top of a bookcase — some in color, others in black and white.
"Bands are not great democracies, you know — that’s not the way it works," he reflects. "We’re old guys now. This is why I look to the future, and no more into the past."