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MAY 2, 2004
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Source: MSN Entertainment

http://entertainment.msn.com/music/article.aspx/?news=156517

Yes: Geek is Chic
25 years later, prog-rock band still represents skill over thrill

By Adam Berliant

Among the many reasons I could never get a date in high school, there were three that really stand out.

First, my dancing, and honestly, that was reason enough -- the '70s were a tough time for teens who couldn't boogie. Second, my book collection, which ran from Asimov to Zelazny. And third, my zealous passion for progressive rock, especially Yes.

While other kids honed their social skills, I was home wearing bulky headphones cranking "Perpetual Change" while plagiarizing Roger Dean's album art. And while this did land me one of the world's dorkiest jobs as an airbrush T-shirt artist at the local amusement park, it did nothing for my social status.

The only shred of social superiority I could enjoy during this phase was that at least I wasn't as nerdy as the kids who listened to Rush. (Rush fans, please don't e-mail me. They were never as good, still aren't.)

I'm not to blame, really.

After elementary school, when I emerged from my "Free to be You and Me" years, my older brother graced me with access to his prized record collection.

"There are three albums everyone owns," he said. And from his stack of LPs, he brought out "Fragile," "Dark Side of the Moon" and Little Feat's "Waiting for Columbus." With all due respect to the complexities of "Dixie Chicken," I had seen enough Sesame Street to know one of these things was not like the others, and seized on the records with the cool album art. (Little Feat fans, please e-mail the Rush fans.)

From that point forward I had made my choice. Despite countless evenings hanging out with all two of my friends in my suburban basement, Yes still represents for me a lifelong choice of substance over style, skill over thrill, and craft over crap. And a secret desire to wear a bedazzled cape, while playing 12 synthesizers at once.

So, a mere 25 years later, I learned that Yes was at the Sundome in Yakima, Wash., playing to a crowd of zero people as a final rehearsal before their worldwide tour. And I don't think the invitation got past the words "Can you..." before I said, "Yes, yes, we'll be there."

Yakima is a small, very-but-not-entirely rural town about thre hours east of Seattle, and a surprisingly nice place to visit. I happen to enjoy it best in the fall, when the apples are ripe, the wine is flowing and the farmer's market is overflowing. But still, there was a part of me that was deeply amused by the fact that my nerd dreams were coming true in such a place. Pink Floyd's flying pig would have been far more appropriate at the home of the Central Washington State Fair.

But that all floated away almost the second we arrived. The SUV that pulled up next to us in the parking lot was driven by Alan White. After some quick introductions, he took us into the stadium, walked us onto the stage, and began introducing us.

It was hard not to feel 15 again. But just as well. At 15 I may have been tempted to show Alan White my air-drumming skills, and that would have meant decades of embarrassment.

Racks of bass guitars were being rolled in, there was a giant inflatable set designed by Roger Dean, the trademark Rick Wakeman keyboard pit, and of course, a customized drum set. It was modified with huge, robotic pod-like kettle drums -- precisely the sort of thing that does nothing to improve Yes fans' reputation.

The Yes tour represents both a 35th anniversary and a platform for their new collection, "The Ultimate Yes." And while there were numerous line-ups of the band over the years, this was exactly the one I would have chosen as ideal: Jon Anderson, Chris Squire, Rick Wakeman, Alan White, and of course, Steve Howe.

A good percentage of my Yes-related evangelism had to do with measuring the exact degree of Steve Howe's superiority over all other guitar players. Was he a billion times better than all other guitar players? Seventeen-hundred billion times better? It's still hard to say.

So, when I started snapping photos, the first were of him. I hadn't introduced myself yet, and so I didn't take it personally when he yelled to the crew, "Is this guy official?" Nor when he said "please be careful" when he agreed to let me shake his hand. Right. I could have assured him that I wasn't going to be the guy who was going to be responsible for "An Evening with Yes* (featuring G.E. Smith on guitars)."

The next five hours or so the band ran through their songs. It was less of a rehearsal than a refresher course on some of the less-often-heard numbers.

At times, Jon Anderson would step off the stage and stand near the sound board, still singing, and wave signals to the band. At times, Steve Howe would ask to hear the CDs he didn't play on originally, so he could copy -- perfectly -- what he heard. At times there would be a really loud squeal from the amplifiers, and someone in the back would yell, "That's why we rehearse!"

Hundreds of photos and hours of videotape later, we found some time to interview the band. Time was limited, so we couldn't ask all the questions we wanted to ask. But oddly, I felt as much urge to tell the band things as to hear from them.

I wanted to tell them how Yes was the first concert I ever attended (without my parents), and how I didn't realize when I yelled "Play 'Roundabout'!" after each and every song that 1., they couldn't hear me and 2. by then I was the only one in the stadium that actually wasn't totally sick of "Roundabout" that year.

I wanted to tell them about how in the '70s I was reasonably sure I'd have a close encounter, probably in my back yard, and that "Arriving UFO" perpetuated that fantasy for quite some time. (I will neither confirm nor deny still having that belief.)

And as cheesy as it would have been, I wanted to tell them how their music continues to blow me away. And I wondered if, after 35 years, a comment like that would still have any meaning to them.

Instead, we agreed to give Roger Dean a ride back to Seattle. So, I did get the chance to tell at least one story. I told him how a friend and I tried writing a novel based on his album covers. And while he laughed at the story, he politely changed the subject.

Even Roger Dean thinks I'm a geek. Pretty cool, huh?


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