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Jethro Tull: Roots to Branches

 A l b u m   D e t a i l s


Label: Chrysalis Records
Released: 1995.09.12
Time:
 60:07
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: 1996.03.12
Price in €: 10,99





 S o n g s ,   T r a c k s


[1] Roots to Branches (I.Anderson) - 5:12
[2] Rare and Precious Chain (I.Anderson) - 3:34
[3] Out of the Noise (I.Anderson) - 3:24
[4] This Free Will (I.Anderson) - 4:04
[5] Valley (I.Anderson) - 6:08
[6] Dangerous Veils (I.Anderson) - 5:33
[7] Beside Myself (I.Anderson) - 5:49
[8] Wounded, Old and Treacherous (I.Anderson) - 7:50
[9] At Last, Forever (I.Anderson) - 7:55
[10] Stuck in the August Rain (I.Anderson) - 4:06
[11] Another Harry's Bar (I.Anderson) - 6:22

 A r t i s t s ,   P e r s o n n e l


IAN ANDERSON - Lead Vocals, Concert Flute, Bamboo Flutes, Acoustic Guitar, Engineer
MARTIN BARRE - Electric Guitars
DOANE PERRY - Drums
ANDREW GIDDINGS - Keyboards, Engineer
DAVE PEGG - Bass Guitar on [3],[5],[11]
STEVE BAILEY - Bass Guitar on [1],[6],[7],[8],[9],[10]

CHRIS BLAIR - Mastering, Production Mastering
ZARKOWSKI DESIGNS - Cover Design and Artwork

 C o m m e n t s ,   N o t e s


1995 CD Chrysalis 6109
1995 CD Capitol 35418



The first studio album of new songs for four years, this record brings togather many of the influences of the previous decades. Eastern nuances abound and the lyrical content echoes some of the fads and fancies of Anderson's teenage years and early twenties. The band as a whole are in fine form and while having a foot in the '70s camp, there is a contemporary quality to the record which clearly comes from the band's continued status as a live touring act.

The style and detail of the flute playing and some of the religious motifs follow naturally from Ian Anderson's solo outing, "Divinities", released earlier in that same year.

J-Tull.com



Mit Roots To Branches überraschen die Alt-Rocker Jethro Tull um Bandboß Ian Anderson zwar nicht mit musikalischen Neuigkeiten, doch ihren echten Fans dürfte das recht sein.

© Audio



Nach dem "Roots"-Album "Catfish Rising" (1991) geht Rock-Derwisch Ian Anderson nun wieder von den Wurzeln zu den Ästen. So gibt es unter den elf neuen Tull-Songs Krafthymnen auf breiten Keyboards ("Roots To Branches"), östliche Harmonien ("Rare And Precious Chain"), turbulente Rhythmuswechsel ("This Free Will"), Rock-Dampf ("Out Of The Noise"), Folkblues ("Valley") und epischem Folkrock ("At Last, Forever") sowie, zum Ausklang, eine Annäherung an die Dire Straits mit "Another Harry's Bar". Ian Anderson spielt exzessiver Flöte als auf jedem Gruppenalbum der letzten 15 Jahre, dennoch ist die Musik zu steril, als daß der Glanz der klassischen Jethro-Tull-Aufnahme wieder aufscheinen würde. ** Interpret.: 07-08 ** Klang.: 07-08

© Stereoplay



Ian Anderson, der Gott der Querflöte, ist nicht totzukriegen. Mit "Roots And Branches" liefert der Derwisch seine wahrscheinlich 546.744ste JETHRO TULL-Scheibe ab, und wieder einmal werden seine Fans blind zugreifen und ein Klassealbum nach Hause tragen. Flöten-Ian überrascht einmal mehr mit komplexen Songs voller Atmosphäre und Zauberkraft. JETHRO TULL spielen seit Ewigkeiten Folk-Prog-Art-Groove-Fantasy-Blues-Rock und sind damit partout nicht schubladentauglich. Auf "Roots And Branches" setzt Meister Anderson sein Lieblingsinstrument wieder häufiger ein als auf den Vorgängerscheiben und startet mit dem Titeltrack und ´Wounded, Old And Trecherous´ zu zwei wunderbaren Traumtrips. Als einziges Manko des Longplayers erweist sich die streckenweise zu cleane Produktion, die beispielsweise ´Another Harry´s Bar´ klingen läßt, als hätte Mark Knopfler seine Axt verscherbelt und würde seinen Dire Straits nun satte Flötentöne beibringen. Davon einmal abgesehen, bleibt im Zauberwald des Ian Anderson alles beim alten.

© RockHard (101) Michael Rensen - mehr unter www.rockhard.de



The latest Tull studio album has its good moments, mostly shadows of earlier work. All of the songs here have more of a mood of urgency than some of Tull's other recent albums, and a few even have memorable melodies—the title tune, "At Last, Forever" (which sounds like a Thick as a Brick outtake), "Rare and Precious Chain," "Dangerous Veils," and "Valley," which recall the best moments of Ian Anderson's mid-1970's work. There are also attempts to revive the band's one-time fixation on jazz influences (the opening of "Wounded, Old and Treacherous"), although this sort of thing came off better on This Was. Anderson's flute occasionally takes flight, Martin Barre's guitar still wails on the breaks, and Doane Perry (drums), Dave Pegg (bass) and Steve Bailey (bass) make up a decent rhythm section. Not nearly as strong as Catfish Rising, but better than anything else since Heavy Horses.

Bruce Eder - All Music Guide


"...ROOTS TO BRANCHES is the work of a group who know their strengths to be classy, muscular and melodic rock...but compare this to Floyd's recent work and the Tull come over like the MC5..."

Q Magazine (10/95, p.115) - 3 Stars - Average
 

 L y r i c s


Roots To Branches

Words get written. Words get twisted.
Old meanings move in the drift of time.
Lift the flickering torches. See gentle shadows change
the features of the faces cut in unmoving stone.
Bad mouth on a prayer day, hope no one's listening.
Roots down in the wet clay, branches glistening.
True disciples carrying that message
to colour just a little with their personal touch.
Home-spun fancy weavers and naked half-believers --
Crusades and creeds descend like fiery flakes of snow.
Bad mouth on a prayer day, hope no one's listening.
Roots down in the wet clay, branches glistening.

In wet and windy priest-holes. Grand in vast cathedrals.
High on lofty minarets or in the temples of doom.
I hope the old man's got his face on.
He'd better be some quick change artist.
Suffer little children to make their minds up soon.
Bad mouth on a prayer day, hope no one's listening.
Roots down in the wet clay, branches glistening.


Rare And Precious Chain

Rare and precious chain --
Do I have to tell you, tell you once again?
Under red lights, on soft nights, it all comes back to you.
Rare and precious chain --
Binds me to your soul round gently pulsing veins.
Shackled tight, feel love's bite coming back to you.
No gold of fools.
No hostage taking.
No engagement rules.
To leave you forsaken.

Tiny beads of sweat --
thin diamond glistening, glistening around your neck,
forgotten rooms, dark catacombs
they all come back to you.

No crock of glittering prizes.
No sharply worded telegram.
No excuses for the word-weary.
No excuses for who I am.

It's a rare and precious chain.
Around your neck I place it, place it once again.
Drawn finger tight, feel love's bite coming back to you.
Under red lights, on soft nights, it all comes back to you.
Rare and precious chain.


Out Of The Noise

Glued to the kerbstone, staring.
Frozen at the stop-sign too.
See that crazy suicide mongrel.
He's going to try to cross that avenue.
Old dog of experience,
ripping through the black and yellow cabs,
dodging rickshaws and the bicycle boys.
He's got his mind on someone else's dinner --
Over the road, round the corner, out of the noise.
Lives down in some cool, cool basement --
Sharing with a family of bouncy, ratty little guys
Works to a discipline of ritual undertakings --
Sleep, eat, and gentle exercise
Old dog of experience,
ripping through the black and yellow cabs,
dodging rickshaws and the bicycle boys.
He's got his mind on someone else's dinner --
Over the road, round the corner, out of the noise.

Some towns I know, he could end up in a restaurant --
wrong side of a table for two.
It's enough to send him running, running for cover.
Back into traffic, what's a poor dog to do?
Old mutt of experience,
ripping through the black and yellow cabs,
dodging rickshaws and the bicycle boys.
He's got his mind on someone else's dinner --
Over the road, round the corner, out of the noise.


This Free Will

She peeled from a stretch black snake
which slipped up to the hotel door.
Darting looks from piercing eyes --
The stir of memory and then no more.
Well, you know how I have to believe --
She can almost remember my name.
It's been a long time coming, babe --
Long time loose amongst foreign hills --
Shaking my faith in this free will.

Years ago in a coastal town,
mosquitoes buzzed in her hair.
Schooldress torn and bare feet brown --
Then the rains came and she wasn't there.
You're closing your doors on me
when you had almost remembered my name.

It's been a long time coming, babe --
Long time loose amongst foreign hills --
Shaking my faith in this free will.

Sharp points in an ink black sky --
Faint words collide, then are lost.
I'll follow you beneath this dome --
Win you back at any cost.
I know we were children then,
but you can almost remember my name.

It's been a long time coming, babe --
Long time loose amongst foreign hills --
Well, let's be children still --
Don't shake my faith in this free will.

Don't shake my faith in this free will.


Valley

Wake hard in the morning.
See the young girl milking.
Stream rushing by on a bed of stone.
Old goats and sandstone cracking --
All containing --
Squeezing that river like it squeeze your bones.
In the long red, red valley people live here too long.
In the long red, red valley they only sing the valley song.
Some bad people living further down the valley,
Not easy for us to do good trade.
We got snowmelt, snowmelt sweet water.
They got that valley road that they made.
In the long red, red valley people dying here too long.
In the long red, red valley they only sing the valley song.

Holding hands on the hillside.
Showing love to your brother --
your sister and your mother --
but we hate those people down the valley.

Has anybody seen Moses?
Get him off that mountain.
Bring back the tablets of stone.
It's a wise, wise prophet who keeps his own council.
Yeah, leave the other man's wife alone.
In the long red, red valley people live here too long.
In the long red, red valley they only sing the valley song.

Wake hard in the morning.
See the young girl milking.
Stream rushing by on a bed of stone.
Old goats and sandstone cracking --
All containing --
Squeezing that river like it squeeze your bones.
In the long red, red valley people living here too long.
In the long red, red valley they only live the valley song.
In the long red, red valley people dying here too long.
In the long red, red valley they only know the valley song.


Dangerous Veils

Desert candle in a tented space
throwing softer shadows on a covered face.
Sister, silent to the likes of me --
Pay my respects to her propriety.
Is this some crazy woman here,
dancing behind her thin black veil?
Am I misreading those mysterious eyes?
Duet impossible to harmonize.

I'm not inviting any stiff reaction.
I'm not one for naming holy names.
And I won't peek behind those dangerous veils.
Though you might hate me just the same.

Name of the Father ringing in her head --
Thinking over what the prophet said.
Words and tradition bind her in their spell.
Don't drink the water from this holy well.

I'm not inviting any fierce reaction
and I'm not one for naming holy names.
I won't peek behind those dangerous veils.
Though you might hate me just the same.

Desert candle in a tented space
Softer shadows on a covered face.
Sister, silent to the likes of me --
I tip my hat to her propriety.

I'm not inviting any fierce reaction
and I'm not one for naming holy names.
I won't peek behind those dangerous veils.
Though you might hate me just the same.


Beside Myself

Small child messing down, messing down.
in the streets of Bombay.
Cities like this have no shame, no shame;
indeed, why should they?
Out in the middle distance, several tragedies are playing.
I'm beside myself.

Big sister, can you hear him, can you hear him?
I'm beside myself.
Big sister, can you see him cry, see him cry?
I'm beside myself.
I saw you taking money in the shadows --
in the shadows by the station there.

I'll wish you up a silver train
to carry you to school, bring you home again.
Strip off that work paint and put a cleaner face on.
I'm beside myself.

Hollow faced mother with her babe in arms,
babe in arms-looks through me.
Behind forgotten charms,
forgotten charms to soothe me.
Between the guilt and charity --
I feel the wimp inside of me.

I'm beside myself.
Out in the middle distance, still more tragedies are playing.
I'm beside myself.

I'm so proud of you --
Swimming up from the deep blue.
Which one of me do you run to?
I'm beside myself.

Small child messing down, messing down.
in the streets of Bombay.
Cities like this have no shame, have no shame;
indeed, why should they?
Out in the middle distance, several tragedies are playing.
I'm beside myself.


Wounded, Old And Treacherous

A walk on the quiet side, late in the day --
Don't mean to get in anybody's way.
The Gods seem willing: sun's in the sky.
Old crows cawing as the straight crows fly.
There was a time when love was the law.
There was a time for the tooth and the claw.
Last rites given, no holds barred.
Heaven Express on my credit card.
Now let me draw the jungle line --
I won't cross yours if you don't cross mine.
Won't make trouble, I don't need no fuss.
But I'm wounded, old and I'm treacherous.

Allow me to draw the jungle line --
you cross it once, you cross some friends of mine.
They won't make trouble, they don't need no fuss
but they're wounded, old and they're treacherous.

In the crisp of evening, on sacred ground --
Ghosts of fathers pushing moonbeams round.
Big cats prowling inside your head --
They left for China; better left for dead.

Let me draw the jungle line --
I won't cross yours if you don't cross mine.
Won't make trouble, I don't need no fuss.
But I'm wounded, old and I'm treacherous.

A walk on the quiet side, late in the day --
Don't mean to get in anybody's way.
The Gods seem willing: sun's in the sky.
Old crows cawing as the straight crows fly.
There was a time when love was the law.
There was a time for the tooth and the claw.
Last rites given, no holds barred.
Heaven Express on my credit card.

living mountains going to shake that town --
big mother calling you from underground.
She don't want trouble, she don't need no fuss.
But she's wounded, old and treacherous.


At Last, Forever

So why are you holding my hand tonight?
I'm not intending to go far away.
I'm just slipping through to the back room --
I'll leave you messages almost every day.
And who was I to last forever?
I didn't promise to stay the pace.
Not in this lifetime, babe
but we'll cling together:
some kind of heaven written in your face.
So why are you holding my hand tonight?
Well, am I feeling so cold to the touch?
Do my eyes seem to focus
on some distant point?
Why do I find it hard to talk too much?
And who was I to last forever?
I didn't promise to stay the pace.
Not in this lifetime, babe
but we'll cling together:
some kind of heaven written in your face.

So why are you holding my hand tonight?
I'm not intending to go far away.
I'm just slipping through to the back room --
I'll leave you messages almost every day.
And who was I to last forever?
I didn't promise to stay the pace.
Not in this lifetime, babe
but we'll cling together:
some kind of heaven written in your face.


Stuck In The August Rain

Brings jasmine tea on a painted tray
and bends to kiss my frown away.
But I'm still still stuck in the August rain;
stuck out in the cloudburst once again.
The cover's on, the coast is clear.
We're all battened down, only us here.
But I'm still still stuck in the August rain;
stuck out in the cloudburst once again.
She walks between the lines
and she can read my signs.

Stuck out in the August rain:
Out in the cloudburst once again.

Single-minded in my gloom.
I appear to revel in this darkened room.
But I'm still still stuck in the August rain;
stuck out in the cloudburst once again.
She walks between the lines
and she can read my signs.

Stuck out in the August rain:
Out in the cloudburst once again.


Another Harry's Bar

Wet wind on the sidewalk: I'm staring at the rain.
Walking up the street, yeah, and walking down again.
And my feet are tired and my brain is numb.
See that broken neon sign saying, hey, in you come.
Got the scent of stale beer hanging, hanging round my head.
Old dog in the corner sleeping like he could be dead.
A book of matches and a full ashtray.
Cigarette left smoking its life away.
Another Harry's bar -- or that's the tale they tell.
But Harry's long gone now, and the customers as well.
Me and the dog and the ghost of Harry will make this world turn right.
It'll all turn right.

God's tears on the sidewalk: it's the mother of all rain.
But in the thick blue haze of Harry's, you will feel no pain.
And you will feel no soft hand slipping on your knee.
You don't have to pay for memories, they will all come free.
Another Harry's bar -- or that's the tale they tell.
But Harry's long gone now, and the customers as well.
Me and the dog and the ghost of Harry will make this world turn right.
It'll all turn right.

Now when Harry was a young man, Harry was so debonair.
He walked a bouncy step in his shiny shoes.
And when Harry was a young man, well, Harry could walk on air.
He mixed a mean cocktail and he talked you through the late news.
You want to hear some great news?
Harry's still here.

Wet wind on the sidewalk: I'm still staring at the rain.
Walking up the street, and I'm walking down again.
And my feet are tired and my brain is numb.
See that broken neon sign saying, hey, in you come.

Another Harry's bar -- or that's the tale they tell.
But Harry's long gone now, and the customers as well.
Me and the dog and the ghost of Harry will make this world turn right.
It'll all turn right.

Another Harry's bar.
And another Harry's bar.
And another, and another Harry's bar.

 M P 3   S a m p l e s


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