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Jethro Tull: Catfdish Rising

 A l b u m   D e t a i l s


Label: Chrysalis Records
Released: 1991.09.10
Time:
 60:22
Category: Progressive Rock
Producer(s): Ian Anderson
Rating:
Media type: CD
Web address: www.j-tull.com
Appears with: Ian Anderson, Martin Barre
Purchase date: 2000.09.09
Price in €: 9,99





 S o n g s ,   T r a c k s



[1] This Is Not Love (I.Anderson) - 3:56
[2] Occasional Demons (I.Anderson) - 3:48
[3] Roll Yer Own (I.Anderson) - 4:25
[4] Rocks on the Road (I.Anderson) - 5:30
[5] Sparrow on the Schoolyard Wall (I.Anderson) - 5:21
[6] Thinking Round Corners (I.Anderson) - 3:31
[7] Still Loving You Tonight (I.Anderson) - 4:30
[8] Doctor to My Disease (I.Anderson) - 4:34
[9] Like a Tall Thin Girl (I.Anderson) - 3:36
[10] White Innocence (I.Anderson) - 7:43
[11] Sleeping with the Dog (I.Anderson) - 4:24
[12] Gold-Tipped Boots, Black Jacket and Tie (I.Anderson) - 3:38
[13] When Jesus Came to Play (I.Anderson) - 5:03

 A r t i s t s ,   P e r s o n n e l


IAN ANDERSON - Lead Vocal, Acoustic Guitar, Electric Guitar, Acoustic & Electric Mandolin, Flute, Percussion, Occasional Drums and Keyboards, Engineer
MARTIN BARRE - Electric Guitar
DAVID PEGG - Bass Guitar, Acoustic Bass
DOANE PERRY - Drums

ANDY GIDDINGS - Keyboards on [1], [4], [8]
MATT PEGG - Bass Guitar on [1], [4], [7]
JOHN "Rabbit" BUNDRICK - Keyboards on [11]
FOSS PATERSON - Keyboards on [10]

TIM MATYEAR - Engineer
MARK TUCKER - Ass. Engineer
JIM GIBSON - Cover Illustration

 C o m m e n t s ,   N o t e s


1991 CD Capitol 21863
1991 CS Chrysalis F4-21863
1991 CD Chrysalis F2-21863
1999 CD Capitol 21886
1999 CD EMI 21886



Released 1991. The studio album which marked the recruitment of a few keyboard players to try out for the full-time position. Andrew Giddings got the job, although John Bundrick and Foss Paterson also feature. A return to more blues-influenced style, this record was largely recorded at Dave Pegg's Woodworms Studio over the winter of 1990. A number of songs from this period surfaced on the Nightcap album a couple of years later.

J-Tull.com



Jethro Tull's best album of the 1990's, a surging, hard rocking monster (at least, compared to anything immediately before or since) that doesn't lose sight of good tunes or the folk sources that have served this band well. The line-up this time out is Anderson on acoustic and electric guitars, flute, and electric and acoustic mandolins, Martin Barre on electric guitar, Doane Perry on drums, Dave Pegg on bass, and Andrew Giddings on keyboards. The real difference between this and most of the group's output since the end of the 1970's lies in the songs, all of which are approached with serious energy and enthusiasm—the lyrics are completely forgettable, but for the first time since War Child, the band sounds like they're playing as though their lives depended on it. "Sparrow On the Schoolyard Wall" is at least as good a song as "Bungle in the Jungle" or "Skating Away on the Thin Ice of a New Day," and while that ain't exactly "My God," it's still better than most other recent Tull albums have done. "Still Loving You Tonight" and "Sleeping with the Dog" recall the group's blues roots, albeit not quite in bluesy enough fashion. There's still some dross, as there would almost have to be on an hour-long album, but overall this is the group's best album since the end of the 1970's.

Bruce Eder, All-Music Guide, © 1992 - 2001 AEC One Stop Group, Inc.



Mag Jethro-Tull-Boß Ian Anderson auch physisch ausgelaugt sein (siehe Pop- Szene, Seite 8), musikalisch ist davon nichts zu spüren. Innovationen erwartet eh niemand; so tummeln sich Tull routiniert auf dem angestammten Terrain des rock'n'rollenden Flöten-Singsangs - ohne modernistischen Techno-Firlefanz, stark akustisch geprägt, mit bluesigem Rock-Feeling. Das kommt auf dem 25. Veteranen-Album einer Frischzellenkur recht nahe. Mit drei Bonustracks und 17 Minuten mehr hat die CD die Nase klar vorn.

© Audio



Achtzehn Studioalben hat Ian Anderson mit wechselnden Jethro-Tull-Beset- zungen zusammengebosselt, zählt man die Singles-Sammlung "Living In The Past" (1969-71) hinzu. Da sind überraschungen bei Nummer 19 eher unwahr- scheinlich. Und doch spitzt der alte Tull-Fan etwas verwundert die Ohren - geht der Sound der neuen Stücke doch direkt zurück zu der Pionier-Ära von "Stand UP (1969) bis "Thick As A Brick" (1972). Das Raubtier Ian Anderson faucht gelegentlich so aggressiv in sein Blasrohr wie vor 20 Jahren. Sein treuer Vasall Martin Barre drückt mit brüllenden Gitarren den Rockfetzern "This Is Not Love" oder "Doctor To My Disease" seinen Stempel auf. In "Roll Yer Own" und "Like A Tall Thin Girl gibt es ein dynamisches Akustik- Intermezzo mit rhythmisch geschlagenen Klampfen und pointierter Perkussion wie anno dazumal. Der CD-Käufer wird mit drei spannenden Bonustracks belohnt: "White Innocence", "Sleeping With The Dog" und "When Jesus Came To Play". Für ein ganz großes Tull-Album finden sich auf "Catfish Rising" aber zu wenig zündende Songideen. Immerhin: "Rocks On The Road", "Sparrow On The Schoolyard Wall" und "Still Loving You Tonight", das an Andersons Dire-Straits-Parodie "Said She Was A Dancer" (auf "Crest Of A Knave", 1987) erinnert, haben das Zeug zum Ohrwurm. Durchweg lohnt sich die Lektüre der an Tiermetaphern reichen Verse, die Ian Anderson als phantasiebegabten Märchenonkel ausweisen. Leider verliert der Tull- Steuermann bei Rocktempo 100 den Überblick über das Klanggeschehen: Zwei oder drei der härteren Titel tönen nicht optimal. ** Klang.: 06-08

© Stereoplay



Seit 1982 hat mir eigentlich kein Album der Gruppe im Gesamten mehr gefallen. Es gab durchaus noch gute Einzeltracks, z.b. "Budapest" aber ... Doch nach dem Anspielen von "Catfish Rising" kaufte ich mir die LP von 1992 mit der Bonus Maxi-CD sogleich. Die meisten Lieder haben gute Harmonien und sind vielleicht mit der Zeit von "Songs from the Wood" etwas vergleichbar. Der erste Song ist etwas härter und bietet ein flippiges Flötensolo. "Jesus came to play" ist instrumental hervorragend gemacht, daß der Text ein Schmarrn ist merkt man nicht, klasse ist die Akustikgitarre und die Drums. Anschaffenswert als einziges Album von 1982 bis 2000 nach meinem subjektiven Geschmack. Die Songs kamen auch bei Konzerten dieser Zeit neben den alten Sachen an.

Thomas Richter



..überaus ehrgeiziger 'Art-Folk'. ..überzeugende Songs von unbestreitbarem Reiz.

F. Schöler in Stereo 2/92
 

 L y r i c s


This Is Not Love

Winds howled. Rains spit down.
All these nights playing precious games.
Cheap hotel in some seaboard town
closed down for the winter and whispered names.
Puppy-dog waves on a big moon sea
snap our heels half-heartedly
and how come you know better than me
that this is not love.
No, this is not love.
Empty drugstore postcards freeze
sunburst images of summers gone.
Think I see us in these promenade days
before we learned October's song.
Out on the headland, one gale-whipped tree;
curious, head bent to see.
And how come you know better than me
that this is not love.

Down to the sad south, smokey plumes
mark that real world city home.
Broken spells and silent gloom
ooze from that concrete honeycomb.
Puppy-dog waves on a big moon sea
snapped our heels half-heartedly
and how come you know better than me
that this is not love.


Occasional Demons

Well, you got a big-jib crane waiting to pick you up.
Mmmm, you see those snakes that crawl, they're just dying
to trip you up.
Live out in sad shacks at the back of town.
Hold your breath while we do you down
`cos we're all kinds of animals coming here:
occasional demons too.
Well, you got a nice apartment here with appliances and CD.
We're gonna leave your stereo, but we'll have your soul for tea.
I'm not speaking of material things.
Gonna chew you up, gonna suck you in
`cos we're all kinds of animals coming here:
occasional demons too.

Smokestacks, belching black, we're the have-nots in your shade.
How about a slice of life, how about some
human trade?
Eat at the best table in town.
No headwaiter going to turn us down
`cos we're all kinds of animals coming here:
occasional demons too.


Roll Yer Own

Roll yer own. Don't mean you got no money.
Only that you got no opportunity to shake it with that friend of mine.
Roll yer own if you can't buy readymade;
you won't be satisfied when you feel the sudden need to unwind.
You know what moves you in the wee hours
when there's nothing on the answerphone.
And if you don't get enough of that electric love
don't try to get by ---
roll yer own, roll it when there's no-one listening:
when those re-runs play on the late-night
black and white TV.
Roll yer own, roll it when there's something missing
and those wild cats howl, running in the moonshine.
Roll yer own: you got to hit that spot.
Roll yer own when your hands are hot.


Rocks On The Road

There's a black cat down on the quayside.
Ship's lights, green eyes glowing in the dark.
Two young cops handing out a beating:
know how to hurt and leave no mark.
Down in the half-lit bar of the hotel
there's a call for the last round of the day.
Push back the stool, take that elevator ride.
Fall in bed and kick my shoes away.


Rocks on the road

Can't sleep through the wild sound of the city.
Hear a car full of young boys heading for a fight.
Long distance telephone keeps ringing out engaged:
wonder who you're talking with tonight.
Who you talking with tonight?
Rocks on the road.

Tired plumbing wakes me in the morning.
Shower runs hot, runs cold playing with me.
Well, I'm up for the down side, life's a bitch
and all that stuff:
so come and shake some apples from my tree.
Have to pay for my minibar madness.
Itemised phone bill overload.
Well now, how about some heavy rolling?
Move these rocks on the road.

Crumbs on the breakfast table.
And a million other little things to spoil my day.
Now how about a little light music
to chase it all away?
To chase it all away.


Sparrow On The Schoolyard Wall

You want to be a bookworm? You wanna be aloof?
You wanna sit in judgement, looking down from the roof?
Try a wee sensation: but first you have to want to join in.
You should be, should be raging down the freeway
with some friends from the mall.
Don't stay forever in your limbo: fly before you fall
little sparrow on the schoolyard wall.
So dress a little dangerous and modify your walk.
There's nothing wrong with sparrows, but try
to be a sparrowhawk.
Hunting in the evening and floating in the heat in the day.
You might, might acquire some predatory instinct.
Do the wolf pack crawl.
Don't stay forever in your limbo: fly before you fall
little sparrow on the schoolyard wall.

Well, I don't want to be your daddy.
Don't want to be your engineer of sin.
And I don't want to play the piper here.
I'm only banging on a mandolin
and anyway, you're just a little sparrow
on the schoolyard wall.

There's nothing wrong with learning. Nothing wrong
with your books.
So exercise some judgement. Too much broth can spoil the cook.
Feel a little sensation and know when it's time to join in.
You should be, should be raging down the freeway
with some friends from the mall.
Don't stay forever in your limbo: fly before you fall
little sparrow on the schoolyard wall.


Thinking Round Corners

All of you sit up in bed. Don't think in straight lines ahead.
Can't sleep? Head spin? Don't think in circles, it'll do you in.
Think back to the dream you had; no sense of being good or bad.
Jump to the left, jump to the right. Think round corners into night.
Let's go in wet corridors: dive down drains.
Draw strength from machinery, it's al] the same.
Thinking round corners. Think round corners, I say.

Pretty girl with neon eyes: best man between white thighs.
Bridegroom didn't know a thing: got his love in lights,
she wears two rings.
Think back to that dream you had.
Blue boy sorry, pink girl sad.
Yellow cow, big-eyed moon all coming round the corner soon.

Let's stand in rapids: cling to carnivals.
Spit life from the maypole in savage ceremony.
Let's go in wet corridors: dive down drains.
Draw strength from machinery, it's all the same.
Thinking round corners. Think round corners, I say.

Paper cowboys, tin drums banging where the white man comes.
Landowners with whips and chains but soft in bed amidst warm rains.
Thinking back to the dream they had. Jack and Jill.
Jack the lad.
Homestead. Home free. How about leaving some for me?

Let's bathe in malt whisky: covet gold finery
through the eyes of a Jackdaw, dressed to the nines.
Let's go in wet corridors: dive down drains.
Draw strength from machinery, it's all the same.
Thinking round corners. Think round corners, I say.
Thinking round corners.


Still Loving You Tonight

It's a lonely life I live and I live this life to go
and if I leave you with one thing it's just that I want
you to know
I'll still be loving you tonight.
I left flowers on your table, left the lock on your door.
Staked a claim in your heartlands, put grain in your store.
I'll still be loving you tonight.
Got fingers on the button of that telephone dial.
Call in and move your mountains, fill your spaces while
I'm still loving you tonight.

You want to know how I can leave you?
How can I move along this way?
Too much of a good thing can make you crazy
and it's a good thing that happened to me today.
I'll still be loving you tonight.


Doctor To My Disease

I've been treated for mild depression
and I've been treated for growing pains.
I've been treated for hallucinations;
now I can see it all coming again.
Well, you can wind me up. Yeah, you can slow me down.
You can dig a little, and you can mess me around.
But there's one thing I should tell you, to which
you must agree:
There's no use you playing doctor to my disease.
Said it's no use you playing doctor to my disease.
I got no cure for this condition
that you've been causing me tonight.
Well, you put my heart in overdrive:
hand me the bullet I must bite.
You can stir me up and you can cut me down.
You can probe a little, push that knife around.
But there's one thing I should tell you, to which
you must agree:
It's no use you playing doctor to my disease.

Do you have to break my engine
so you can fix it up again?
Tuned to crazy imperfection
just to score me out of ten.
Well, you can wind me up. Yeah, you can slow me down.
You can dig a little. Yeah, you can mess me around.
But there's one thing I should tell you, to which
you must agree:
That it's no use you playing doctor to my disease.


Like A Tall Thin Girl

Well, I don't care to eat out in smart restaurants.
I'd rather do a Vindaloo: take away is what I want.
I was down at the old Bengal, having telephoned a treat
when I saw her framed in the kitchen door.
She looked good enough to eat.
(And I mean eat.)
She was a tall thin girl.
She looked like a tall thin girl.
She said, ``Whose is this carry-out?''
My face turned chilli red.
Well, I don't know about carrying out,
but you can carry me off to bed.
(And I mean bed.)
She was a tall thin girl.
She moved like a tall thin girl.
Maybe I can fetch for it,
and maybe I can stretch for it.
I may not be a fat man and I'm not exactly small
but when it all comes down, couldn't stand my ground.
This girl was tall.
(And I mean tall.)

Big boy Doane, he's a drummer. Don't play no tambourine
but he's Madras hot on the bongo trot,
if you know just what I mean.
Stands six foot three in his underwear;
going to get him down here and see
if this good lady's got a little sister `bout the same size as me.
She was a tall thin girl.
She looked like a tall thin girl.
Well, can I fetch for it?
Well, maybe I can stretch for it?
Well, am I up for it? Or do I have to go down for it?


White Innocence

She drifted from some minor festival.
Didn't look like any sumrner of love:
just a thousand weekend warriors in a muddy field.
She was the hand to fit my glove.
Funny thing, the innocence of the lonely.
Funny thing, the charm of the young.
See how she moves just like two angels (in white innocence).
Yet one of them is on the run.
The other's tapping at my car window
and I'm squinting through the sun
trying to see if she's some child of the nineties:
or just another dangerous fantasy of mine.
Yeah. White innocence.
She was white innocence.

A perfect hole was in her stocking:
it made a perfect window to her heart.
I could have moved among her waterfalls:
her misty curtains drawn apart.
Did she see warm safety in my numbers
to want to hitch a ride this way?
Felt like I was taking her to market now
to be sold as the last lot of the day.
Funny thing, the distance of the lonely.
Funny thing, the charm of the young.
White innocence.

She pressed the button, lowered the window:
let her hand trail in the slipstream of the night.
A frost from nowhere seemed to lick her fingers:
I could have warmed them, but the moment wasn't right.
Obvious, she was headed nowhere special:
yes, well it was even obvious to me.
I was doing some, some watching, some waiting:
she'd been here before, most definitely.

There was the promise of early bed-time.
There was the promise of heaven on earth.
Think I was sending out low-voltage electricity:
played it right down for what it was worth.
She turned and looked at me in white innocence
and with the clearest eyes of forever grey
she rested one small hand for a second on my knee:
I stopped the car. She walked away.
Funny thing, the wisdom of the lonely.
Funny thing, the charm of the young.
Away you go now.
White innocence.


Sleeping With The Dog

Her love is like a candle: you light it up at night.
Her heart is like a pack of cards: one chance to guess it right.
Sometimes I do.
She's got a tongue like a viper, but she can whisper like a dove.
Soft touch like brushed velvet: till she hits you from above.
And sometimes she does.
She leaves me breathing: down like a fallen log.
Just when I feel like dancing
I wake up sleeping with the dog.
And it goes: (woof) sleeping with the dog.

I have to guess at the mysteries of her unfathomable soul.
Guess when the time seems right
to make a broken spirit whole
and that time is due. C'm'on.

She leaves me breathing: down like a fallen log
and just when I feel like dancing
I wake up sleeping with the dog.
And it goes: (woof) sleeping with the dog.


Gold-Tipped Boots, Black Jacket And Tie

I'm banered and bruised. I got lines I can't use.
My head won't deliver. Well, I'm sold down the river.
But I'm turning again.
Yes, `n' I'm turning again.
Well, I'm turning again.
And I'm turning again.
Wearing gold-tipped boots, black jacket and tie.
Well, I've been second to none:
this horse was ready to run.
Now I'm has-been and used:
disarmed and de-fused
but I'm turning again.
And I'm turning again.
Yes, `n' I'm turning again.
I'm turning again.
Wearing gold-tipped boots, black jacket and tie.

I'm egg over-easy
and I'm washing-up squeezy.
Appliance for sale:
fat wind in my sail
and I'm turning again.
Yes, `n' I'm turning again.
Well, I'm turning again.
Yes, `n' I'm turning again.
Wearing gold-tipped boots, black jacket and tie.
Well, I'm turning again.


When Jesus Came To Play

I was in my watering-hole with some ugly friends of mine
when he door came off its hinges like a cork from fizzy wine.
He said, ``My name is Jesus: I'm the leader of the band.
Got to set up my equipment, if you boys can lend a hand.''
Oh yeah. When Jesus came to play.
He set that bandstand jumping. Yeah, and he cranked it up so loud.
And he moved up to the microphone: had the attention of the crowd.
He said, ``My name is Jesus: going to turn your head around.
I'm going to make this easy. Got no time to mess around.''
Oh yeah. When Jesus came to play.

``I got no twelve disciples, and I got no cross to bear.
If you thought they had me crucified, I guess you weren't there.''
Oh yeah. When Jesus came to play. When Jesus came...

He sang about three or four numbers, but we'd heard it all before.
We boys were getting restless: no girls were moving on the floor.
Those parables, they were merciless and the tables overturned.
And there were no minor miracles
but false prophets they were burned.
Well, maybe he was Jesus;
but his hair could have used a comb.
Long before he hit the last notes, we boys had all gone home.
Oh yeah. When Jesus came to play.

Oh Jesus, is it really you?

Night In The Wilderness
I could he sitting on the left of you.
You'd be looking straight ahead.
If I was adrift right across from you,
you still would cut me dead.
I've had better deep discussions
with this plate of soft-shelled crab.
I'd put some spice in your rice.
You'd give me blues in the stew.
I'd give you catfish jumping.
You'd give me all this work to do.
Who's got the cheque on this hot dinner?
Who's got the tabs on the crab?

Another night in the wilderness:
should have been a night on the town.
Lesson in learning how to hold a conversation down.
I'm in splendid isolation, feel that heavy silence fall.
Got all this cut out for me to do.
Another night in the wilderness of you.

Here I am drinking you with my eyes.
You're looking at the gravy on my bib.
I go weak-kneed at the suggestion of you.
What's wrong with the cut of my jib?
Is there a lobster in the offing, or just a fifty dollar cheque?

 M P 3   S a m p l e s


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