My opinion of the new Jethro Tull album doesn’t make much difference, but here it is anyway: it’s a total joy to even have one. Since I was a teenager, this has been my favorite band, and there will come a day that I won’t get any more new ones, so I’m enjoying the hell out of it.
We’ve been lucky enough to have three new Jethro Tull albums since 2022, and all of them have been fantastic. The Zealot Gene was a tour-de-force of biblical proportions, mingling sacred text and modern life, while 2023’s RokFlote was an epic exploration of Norse myths. Curious Ruminant is perhaps more down to earth, more contemplative, but no less searching–it’s a truly impressive artistic journey that gets better with repeated listenings.
The album should be listened to straight through, in one sitting, if you can manage it. As with all of Ian Anderson’s best records, this one ebbs and flows and gives the listener the feeling they’re looking at a giant canvas, revealed bit by bit, or reading a complex book and learning more in each chapter.
The opening song is the high-energy ‘Puppet and Puppet-Master,’ a reflection on the songster and his audience. We know we’re in capable hands as the band shows its chops with some fine electric guitar, organ and flute solos as Anderson delivers his tongue in cheek dramatization of what it’s like to get up there every night and play. “Holding court on a black box stage, dangling from the strings, I twirl and face the music,” he sings; the subject matter reminds me of ‘A Raft of Penguins,’ from his excellent 2003 album, Rupi’s Dance, which was a song about his nervousness in playing with an orchestra.
“Dunsinane Hill” is a real treat if you’re a Tull fanatic who also loves Shakespeare, like me. Having grown up in Scotland, one can only imagine how much MacBeth must have inspired Ian over the years. I absolutely love this song and it’s conceit: intrigue between two politicians discussing betrayal. Here the flute plays a merry folk tune even as the narrator says “I look over my shoulder/To see my brother warrior, damned spot to wash away.” I give this reimagining of the bard ten out of ten stars.
“Stygian Hand” is a sort of companion to Dunsinane thematically. Have you ever been nervous walking down a dark street alone? Here’s a song to help you. Bring a symbol of faith to ward off the devil and hope for the best. The accordian features prominently on this one. It’s a fun song and gives bit of levity to the otherwise fairly serious proceedings on this album.
“The Tipu House” is another up-tempo number, and here Anderson is singing of ‘All God’s children’; the subject is a tenement Anderson saw in Barcelona, and the residents, including young kids playing in less than ideal conditions. The flute is as manic as on any Tull track, the melody will leave you humming. It’s neat trick, to get an audience feeling empathy for their fellow man even while tapping their feet and singing along.
Other songs in this collection continue to encourage us to recognize our shared humanity, including the nearly 17 minute “Drink from the Same Well,” a fantastic piece of music that’s a meditation on differences that drive people apart. It seems a plea to remember that we’re all human and are worthy of respect, much as Aqualung was. The music is eastern-influenced, and Anderson said the bulk of the instrumental work dates from 2007, which explains why it would not sound out of place on his albums of that era.
“Over Jerusalem” is a song of lament for Israel that sounds like it could have been the twin of ‘Swing it Far’ from Thick as a Brick 2. You get the sense that Anderson, who has played in Israel many times over the years, donating all the money to charity, is as deeply saddened by the current situation as anyone.
“Savannah of Paddington Green” is a song about ecology, a subject Anderson has written of before, most famously in “Skating Away,” way back in 1973. “Threatening species, we turned on ourselves, like others before us, now left on the shelves,” he sings, wondering what the future may hold for our planet.
The final track on this one is a sort of goodbye, called “Interim Sleep,” a meditation on one’s final act. Most of us don’t want to think of the end, but I suppose Mr. A feels the weight of time.
“When interim sleep takes me
I want you close beside
No tears, no sad goodbye
I am calm and still as a fallen autumn leaf”
This is really quite sweet, and moving, as well as very unlike most Jethro Tull songs in that it’s personal and straightforward. Anderson has always preferred things that are more abstract, but that isn’t to say he lacks emotion. After all, his most famous song is a searing heavy rock number about a homeless vagrant, featuring a face melting guitar solo that Jimmy Page himself approved of as it was played. The best Tull songs are like this, melding high and low, profane and holy, mundane and beautiful.
The title track has the classic sound of this band–heavy guitar, flute, coupled with philosophical lyrics. Anderson is pondering life, ‘asking why am I here, answering, why am I anywhere,’ and ending with ‘cogito ergo sum.’ At 77, he’s as much a seeker as he ever was. I’m glad he’s taken us all along for the ride, and I sure hope it doesn’t end anytime soon.
Christopher Tuthill 