Photo of Jon Anderson by Deborah Anderson
The spirit of Jon Anderson commanded an entire venue. The spell began the moment the spotlights flashed onstage, featuring each musician’s station at a time, in time with Stravinsky’s “The Firebird Suite.” The combination of sight and sound, plus the teeming fandom, lent The Factory a vibe of cheerful anticipation, like waiting in a queue at Disney World for the ride at the top of your ‘musts’ list.
Anderson stepped across the stage and walked to his post front and center—a lightly raised platform cordoned off with neon orange tape—perhaps an attempt to contain his feisty spirit. Rainbow-colored circles swirled from overhead like a brewing storm or a frantic disco search party while Anderson grabbed one from his selection of tambourines. I’d heard stories of Anderson seeming disoriented in banter but sharp as ever while singing. On a Sunday evening in Chesterfield, Anderson seemed thoroughly dialed-in, ever the force of nature, small in stature but enormously compelling. His voice was clear as a bell, note-for-note, pulling no punches on even the highest end of the Yes vocal spectrum. Could they have picked more challenging Yes songs? Sure, deeper cuts are fun, but the selection was a satisfying mix of primarily classic Yes and a few new compositions created with The Band Geeks. And on the songs that made Yes famous and new creations alike, Anderson was in flawless form. Nearly every single piece concluded with a standing ovation from the audience.
People just love to love Jon Anderson. It was a burden he seemed to embrace and commit to deliver on. With the opening song, “Close to the Edge,” Anderson flicked his tambourine, waving it side-to-side overhead, blazing a comet’s trail of streamers through the air. With “Perpetual Change,” he transitioned from flowing streamers to flowing arms, and it became apparent that Anderson is the music. Punching the air, panning his arms out to the crowd, doing the one-man wave—his hands somehow seemed to take on grander proportions, like Mickey Mouse gloves. Anderson was the embodiment of the Yes songs, conjuring their mood and movements into sound as a Sorcerer’s Apprentice would paint up a storm.
The supporting band provided a capable canvas for Anderson to decorate with his wistful and fantastic notions. As the legend he shared has it, the Band Geeks sent Anderson a recording of their cover of “Heart of the Sunrise.” Moved by their dedication, Anderson suggested they work together, and a collaboration was born. Their shared work includes touring as well as composing, and we heard some of their new material sprinkled throughout the night.
“Counties and Countries” was written as a collective effort, based on some acoustic guitar and vocals that Anderson shared with co-producer and guitarist Richie Castellano, and the relative contributions were identifiable. The vocals were unmistakably in Anderson’s style of dreamy storytelling, with a message of responsible stewardship of Mother Earth. Guitars added and enhanced elements of blues and world beat in the Yes style of prog rock, while keyboards added a classic Jethro Tull gravity via harpsichord effects. The full package was well within the style of the Yes we know and love, and Anderson seemed equally dedicated to conducting his new sound as he was his legacy material.
I did not expect to hear “Owner of a Lonely Heart,” nor did I expect to enjoy it as much as I did. Maybe an unpopular opinion, but it was always on my list of ‘bad things that happened to good musicians in the 80s’ pariah songs. Live delivery, however, seemed to make it more palatable—probably another function of the Anderson spell-casting.
“Awaken,” from 1977’s Going for the One saw Anderson stray from his demarcated platform briefly to pick up and play a tiny harp, accompanied by a tinkling bells effect on a keyboard playing in unison. Anderson had little time to conduct the air, switching as he was between his streamered tambourine, diminutive harp, and outstandingly clear vocals. This song alone demonstrated the wisdom of using a teleprompter, which kept Anderson focused and on-point despite the meandering, unstructured poetry he wrote nearly fifty years ago.
The magician’s hands directed us with a gravity of their own through four songs from the new collaborative album, True, and nearly all the Yes hits you would hope to hear. In “Starship Trooper,” Anderson’s voice—“sailing on by | Catch my soul, catch the very light”—drifted into the cosmos, light and nimble as a feather in the breeze. For the closer, “Roundabout,” Anderson briefly pulled his wife, Jane Luttenburger, dressed in the ethereal white gown you would expect to find in their fairy tale world, from the side of the stage for a sweet couple’s dance.
It was my first time seeing Jon Anderson live, but I imagine I was a rarity that evening. Though the crowd veered quite a bit greyer than me, the enthusiasm had a wiser-for-being-older feel. These folks knew what a privilege it was to bask in the voice of Yes, replete with decades of mythology, and they knew not to pass up the chance. They showed their appreciation freely at every opportunity. Having now seen both the instrumentation-adept version of Yes with Steve Howe and the lyrical magic woven by Jon Anderson, the verdict for me is: fans must see both. Howe’s crew is technically spectacular, and Anderson’s entourage is full of heart. Take every opportunity you get to absorb these timeless treasures, groundbreakers, and game-changers. Anderson is a wizard whose star shines bright as ever and whose repertoire has only expanded over the years. They don’t make them like him anymore. | Courtney Dowdall
