When I got into prog rock as a student and methodically worked through the consensus classics, Jethro Tull was the most exotic taste I had to acquire. I was interested enough by the main album that its melodies wormed their way into my head, but few of the others I listened to did anything for me, so after a while I stopped pretending to be prematurely middle aged and went back to more appropriate songs about space and monsters.
So, where were we? Here are my The Top 27 Jethro Tull Albums (+ Ian Anderson Albums for good measure).
Key:
Jethro Tull
Ian Anderson
I'd written off Ian's first solo album as a way to get the electro pop out of his system, but then this happened. For a band that seemed to pride itself on being eccentric and unfashionable, they didn't half get absorbed by this decade's fads.
I didn't hate it, but I can't envision any situation where I'd fancy listening to a bit of Jethro Tull, so decide to stick this on.
After 20 years, I was hoping Jethro Tull would be one of those bands that gets an underrated second wind as relevant elder statesmen of rock, but they took the easier route of pointless, disposable churn instead.
After the stomping rockers finished courting disinterested radio play and the album smoothed out, I forgot it was still on.
Reprising the retro Stormwatch sound without the quality, it's as if the '80s never happened, apart from Ian fucking up his vocal cords.
I was looking forward to Ian's all-instrumental album, especially as the track titles suggested a broad spectrum of inspiration, however stereotypical it might come out.
Sadly, it wasn't any more engaging than Jethro Tull of this vintage. He should've lost the synthesiser, which makes it sound as cheap as a teenager's dungeon synth demo tape.
Dull, derivative background blues from the Jethro Tull house band, infrequently spiced up by a frenzied flute or drum solo, but more often a harmonica.
Aqualung was previously the earliest I'd heard, so this was quite the disappointment. Not an awkward debut, but one that might as well be forgotten and likely is.
This more traditional concept album seems all but forgotten compared to the others (unless it's just me), probably because it doesn't offer much worth talking about.
Stories can't disguise that it's the third album in a row of the same old thing, which is wearing thin. Characterising themselves as hasbeens doesn't do it any favours either.
Moving on from their uninspired electro period, the classic sound seeps back, but they're mainly being Dire Straits. The guitar's nice, at least.
That title aged well. The fact that they couldn't even get jethrotull.com, or actually chose the ungainly alternative, extends the head shaking by another bar. It's a shame there's no beige computer cover to complete the aesthetic, or it could at least be rehabilitated through nostalgia.
Martin's functional riffs are true to the time too. Ian's Asian phase is on the wane; he's getting into bouzouki now.
I fell for the gimmick and checked this one out when I came across it one time, in a way I hadn't with any other Jethro Tull-related work post-'79, so that worked. I think twice is enough.
The concept sounds interesting (is it still a joke, Ian?), but it's at the expense of the music. The first album got by okay without narration interruptions. Still, at least it's got that one riff.
Bizarrely for a 'solo' project, this has significantly more shared credits than Jethro Tull ever did and Ian Anderson sounds less distinctively Ian Anderson than ever.
None of which is a problem. He wanted to record some flute synthpop, but probably didn't want to piss off Jethro Tull fans who were already wavering by this point. That just makes it more confusing when he subsequently did just that.
Another concept I don't really care about, but this time you're free not to. After the indulgence of the last album, the de facto Jethro Tull prove they've still got it, if you happened to be into what they had in the first place.
I prefer Ian's folkier side, and really always did, but this brings back the old balance. Why didn't their '90s albums sound like this? I found the pirate accordion gimmicky, then remembered this is the band with the flute.
The momentum Stand Up generated is thrown away with a boring, premature autopilot release. That made it even more disappointing than the off-brand debut, but fortunately they'd rebound in style with the next one.
The riffs carry it along, but weren't noteworthy enough to lodge in the memory after. There's some studio tomfoolery that would be novel if it wasn't already the seventies.
Anything would seem bare and minimalist rebounding from the previous album's excess, but this is as varied and over-egged with eccentric instruments as they've always been (accordion and bagpipes, get you!)
It's a pleasant listen, but the curbing of enthusiasm is obvious. With several songs being leftovers that weren't considered good enough for previous albums, they're done with trying to impress. It's fine.
Is this still a joke at the expense of prog pomposity, or did they realise they were unironically into overblown theatrics all along? It's the more complex and experimental of the pair, but that doesn't make it more impressive, especially with the drag factor of it being pretty annoying. They get into some good jams along the way, John Evan's spacey synthesiser being the highlight, but you have to put up with the rest to get there. This one does make me feel like I'm wasting time.
Jethro Tull winks at future historians by entering the '80s drenched in neon and synth. Meanwhile, Ian hypocritically disses fashion victims.
This breaks the strong run of the last few albums by being inoffensively average, but I dig the clean production with shiny keyboard on top and fretless bass below. I think Ian and Martin are the only members who made it out of the '70s, so no surprise it's different. I'm all for change. In theory.
You know what you're getting with that album cover. The flute's still there, sparingly, but takes a backseat to heavy metal guitar licks and spacey synth as Ian continues to follow the crowd.
I enjoy the style, but I wouldn't especially want to listen to this band's discography if it was the first I came across. The Number of the Beast had nothing to worry about.
Ian Anderson's solo albums finally embraced the jaunty folk you'd expect after a couple of strange detours.
This isn't as pleasant as The Secret Language of Birds, but still worthwhile if you like that sort of thing, with occasional rock guitar and keyboard to keep you on your toes. One-legged, naturally.
The first proper album, this is the primordial folk-rock blend that will see them through the career, save some strange aberrations.
Digging a selection of archaic instruments out of the chest and presenting a rhythm & flute cover of Bach, the eccentricity feels a little forced at this point before it would become intrinsic, like a more subdued King Crimson, but they rock out more convincingly than on many wimpy later efforts.
A much better take on multicultural folk rock than Divinities, not that that was a high bar, this is probably their most creative and spirited work since the '70s, certainly the first in a while that I've actually liked.
The Dire Straits ballads are still there, but so's the wailing guitar and some tinkling jazz piano for good measure.
A medieval Sergeant Pepper intro lulls us into a false sense of concept album that's dispelled as soon as you look at the tracklist.
They've dropped the gimmicky instruments for now (indispensable flute excepted) and the electric/acoustic balance within the same songs harks back to Aqualung, only less distinctive and more nonish in its folk rock ambience.
This is as far as I'd ventured previously, calling it a day at the end of an up and down decade, despite the borderline metal being more accessible to my sensibilities back then. Or maybe that's what put me off.
When it's not jamming like Judas Priest with a flute, this is also notable for its political themes. Unless I've really not being paying attention earlier and it hasn't all been rustic escapism.
I was hoping for a birdsong-themed concept album, but Ian's best work in more than twenty years will do just fine. That was around the time he seemed to forget where his strength lay, but he got to the inevitable acoustic folk album eventually.
There are still subtle rock elements, and with all the assorted instruments it's far from stripped down, but these short, simple, pretty songs were a welcome refresher after a condensed timeline of disappointment.
A bit of a cheat, since this mixes traditional carols, instrumental medleys and re-recorded classic cuts with a few new songs. But as far as Christmas albums go, it's a cracker.
The band was never as jokey as their appearnce suggests, and there's no novelty here, just sincere Christmas spirit. A bit weird when listened to out of season, but it's always out of season where I am.
I had a few cracks at this back in the day, but it never grabbed me, inexplicably, and I didn't recall anything past the first couple of tracks. Surprisingly, it turns out that this highly regarded rock classic is actually really good. The balance of crunchy rock and acoustic folk is just perfect, same goes for the mix of theatrical narratives and introspection, and the alternating sequencing and occasional strings help to make every song distinctive, though Martin Barre's riffs are the star.
We return from the hunt to the rural homestead for an equally immersive if more mundane experience. The riffs are back and more confident than they've been in a while, supplemented by some tasteful violin.
This one was especially enjoyable as I hadn't heard it before, skipping this stop on my original Tull tour because the Countryfile aesthetic didn't agree with me. Now I'm pining for that life. With Wi-Fi access and less animal cruelty.
2. Thick as a Brick (1972)
This was the other one I really liked and often listened to the first time around, timeless folk sounding less dated than old rock and more exotic to my juvenile ears.
Further forays into the forest were postponed by my insistence on the 'neo-' modifier for acceptable folk, and by the time I got over that and started listening to the likes of Pentangle, I'd forgotten how good this one was, and how wide-ranging. Ian had found his calling.
Further forays into the forest were postponed by my insistence on the 'neo-' modifier for acceptable folk, and by the time I got over that and started listening to the likes of Pentangle, I'd forgotten how good this one was, and how wide-ranging. Ian had found his calling.
