They didn’t do “Teacher.” No “Thick As A Brick” or “Cross-Eyed Mary,” or “Bungle In The Jungle” either. There was no “Skating Away On The Thin Ice Of The New Day” at PNC Bank Arts Center on Sunday night. And by no means was Jethro Tull “Living In The Past .”
It took Ian Anderson an hour and a quarter before he got around to playing a classic rock radio standard. The crowd didn’t seem to mind.
During its 90-minute set, Tull scoured the archives for several lesser-known songs from the band's first two albums (including a rollicking version of “Beggar’s Farm”), charged through a rocking version of a madrigal written by Henry VIII, put a jazz spin on a Bach piece, introduced two unrecorded tunes, and danced through two more from “Songs From The Wood,” the brightest, folkiest album in the its catalogue. Only after that did the group tear into “Aqualung .”
In so doing, Ian Anderson made a convincing case for what his band is, and more importantly, what it is not. Jethro Tull is not a classic rock dinosaur, Anderson insists, dragging its way through the umpteenth live rehash of greatest hits. Tull’s music is present, fluid, improvisational. And by performing “Aqualung” next to madrigals and ragas and the electric blues on “Stand Up" and “This Was," Anderson aligned the band’s best-known work with traditional folk forms, rather than with the elaborate conceptual projects that followed the 1971 classic.
Anderson — an intellectual’s rock star if ever there was one — has kept his argumentative voice in fine shape. He’s a true raconteur, full of lively between-song banter. Had he been born in medieval Britain (sometimes it seems he wishes he’d been) he would have made an outstanding court jester: entertaining, observant, caustic when necessary, and a trusted advisor to the king.
Alas, at PNC, Anderson’s voice often betrayed him. Battling a cough, he strained for every high note; by the end of the set, the singer was practically talking his way through his verses like Rex Harrison in “My Fair Lady.“The playful Anderson is impossible not to pull for, and the audience was firmly in his corner as he mimed, gesticulated, and craned his neck to squeeze out every chorus. He never gave up. Still, those used to the clear pitch and confident delivery on Jethro Tull recordings had to have been disappointed.
The agile frontman refused to let his hoarseness affect the rest of his performance. He charged around the stage, eyes popping, leaping in and out of the spotlight, gesturing to his bandmates with theatrical waves of his hands. His flute-playing was, as always, exuberant: he snorted, grunted, overblew, flutter-tongued, forced guttural noises out of his axe, executed runs at blinding speed, and alternated between wet, breathy, and mockingbird-sweet tones. He stalked the curved front of the PNC stage, piping as he went; from time to time, he sustained that famous stork-legged pose that is to Anderson what the moonwalk was to Michael Jackson.
Anderson’s strong musical rapport with guitarist Martin Barre — who has been with Jethro Tull almost as long as Anderson has — is a joy to watch. Barre’s jaunty playing on the folkier numbers was assured, but the veteran rocker seemed thrilled to get to the rougher material from “Aqualung .” Multi-instrumentalist John O’Hara also impressed: his stuttering digital harpsichord solo on “King Henry’s Madrigal” was an highlight of a show distinguished by its displays of virtuosity. (Anderson returns to the region this autumn — he’ll be doing solo shows at the Mayo Center in Morristown on Oct. 21, and Wellmont Theater in Montclair on Nov. 17.)
During the opening set, Gary Brooker’s electric piano sported a “Beyond The Pale” sticker. It’s an in-joke for prog-rock fans: Procol Harum, Brooker’s group, is all-too-frequently dismissed as a one-hit wonder, notable for “Whiter Shade Of Pale” and little else. In fact, they’re one of the most unjustly overlooked bands of the '70s prog-rock movement. Procol Harum balances classical, folk, and blues influences nearly as deftly as Jethro Tull does, and, as long as the husky-voiced Gary Brooker is on the mike, they’ve got plenty of soul.
The quintet played a strong version of “Pale” at PNC Arts Center, and received a standing ovation from the hard-to-please Tull faithful afterward. A brooding take on “A Salty Dog,” the title track from their excellent 1969 release, was even finer. They kept current, too, throwing stones at bankers in the recently released “Wall Street Blues.” Apparently Brooker has had some lousy investment advice. Bad for him, but good news for us — he’ll have to keep touring.