------------------------------------------------------- NOVEMBER 25, 1976 ------------------------------------------------------- Source: Circus Magazine Chris Squire: The Survivor By Scott Cohen In Chris Squire's hierarchy, the highs he's gotten at a Yes concert are way up there with making love totally successfully. Somewhere far below is the dance floor, where Chris never goes. He'd rather work in his garden. Chris Squire likes to watch things grow. He wishes he knew about "how" they did it: the tomatoes, radishes, lettuce and carrots. Once, while Chris and his wife were standing on the balcony on a very sunny day, everything suddenly went dark and a big streak of lightning ex- ploded right in front of them. Then there was a clap of thunder and the sun came out again, as brightly as before, revealing the spot where the tip of the lightning bolt just missed striking Chris' favorite cucumber. Chris Squire is a survivor. Once, when he was 17, he was in the back seat of a van that had an old wood and canvas top roof, when a car struck the van, ejecting Chris through the wood and canvas roof and high over a neighbor's front lawn. Luckily Chris landed in a soft bed of lettuce. Chris' music career began in a church basement. The master was very enthusiastic and got everyone to come to choir practice seven nights a week. The crowning mo- ment came when the choir performed at St. Paul's Cathedral during the holy season. Now the choir master is the head organist and choir master at St. Paul's. He also plays on Chris' album. In 1968 the manager of the Marquee Club introduced Chris to Jon Anderson. They were at the bar, having a drink. Jon took one look at Chris and figured he was a Simon and Garfunkel type, so when Chris asked him what kind of music he liked, he said Simon and Garfunkel. Chris said, 'Yes,' he liked them too. Later that night the two wrote a Simon and Garfunkel-type song called "Sweetness," and later formed a band called Yes. Chris, basically, is a pretty slow fellow, but gets right in step when in speedy New York. New York, says Chris, is a place to get things done. New York is the business and cultural capital of the world. People who aren't in New York for business or culture shouldn't be there. Then Chris would have more room to roam around. Since there's so much for Chris to do in New York, he roams around with James, his personal secretary, who does the things Chris doesn't like doing. In New York, Chris can usually be seen rowing around Central Park Lake, eating a hot dog at Nedicks or walk- ing down Fifth Avenue eating a Fifth Avenue candy bar. "English," Chris says, is the best word to describe him. "Fish" is what his friends call him because he spends a lot of time in the shower. That's where he does much of his thinking. He doesn't spend a lot of time on the pot reading. If he did, he would probably have a different nickname. The name of his solo album is "Fish Out Of Water." When Chris wants to be alone, he goes to sleep. He has a lot of musical dreams, which he forgets by morning. Sometimes, in the middle of the night, he rolls over, picks up his guitar, and plays a few bars. Chris' music says "Yes" to geometry, space technology sex fantasies, instant parties, and Beef Jerkies. It says "No" to creeps. He can s-t-r-e-t-c-h a note from Trafalgar Square to Baton Rouge. His bass line is one of the tightest in rock and roll, and on this line the band hangs their clothes. One of his best innovations was transforming the bass from an exclusively rhythm instrument into a melodic alarm clock. His bass sometimes thunders with the atmospheric color of Passaic Falls, New Jersey. He has the uncanny ability to slide up and down the scales like an acrobat on a surf board. His vocal appeal sends the vegetables in his garden swooning. "Music is a wonderful thing to be able to relate to," says Chris. "A lot of people don't have something to relate to." Chris relates to bumper cars, roller coasters and motor boats, though he readily admits that England isn't a motor boat community. England, in fact, isn't too high on relaxation compared to some other places. Chris especially likes Miami, Las Vegas, and Disneyland, adding that there is nothing like Disneyland in England. Chris' first Disneyland experience, like every teenager in England, was the Beatles. When Chris was a teenager, he had no teenage fantasies, no teenage traumas, didn't fall in love a lot, didn't get a big allowance, didn't cruise the hamburger stands, and never had a favorite Beatle. He has been married three years. He met his wife at a club in London. On their first date they went shopping. Usually he didn't get that far. Usually his relationships with other girls never reached that stage. Chris and his wife never went on a honeymoon. At the time, he was on tour. Before they were introduced, his wife had never heard of him. Usually when Chris is on the road, his wife is home with the kids (they have two daughters). Chris refers to being separated from his family as "one of the disasters of the business." On the road together, the Squires never had "fights," although they've had their share of what Mr. Squire calls "verbal confrontations." Some places are harder for two people to get along together than others. Each place has its own alchemy, so to speak. Jamaica, for example, is restful and tropical and an easier place to get along in than Chicago, where there are a lot of fire-crackers, bottles, and machine-gun massacres. Sometimes Chris thinks about the day when he will have to tell his daughters about sex. He knows the older one will understand. She's six-and-a-half and already knows the meaning of everything. Chris attributes this to television. Chris' favorite television program is "Monty Python's Flying Circus." One of Chris' greatest pleasures in life is smoking a cigarette. Chris knows all about that first cigarette of the day, when your hand reaches for one as soon as your eyelids open. He also knows what it is to eat a big meal just so the cigarette afterwards will taste better. Chris never goes out without his cigarettes. As they say, a man with a cigarette is never alone. Close Window YesInThePress.com For site comments, inquiries, corrections, or additions, contact yitp@yesservices.com