Ian Anderson talks vividly about Roy Harper, folk versus rock, musicians versus the music biz, and much more.
Ian Anderson in 1993, he said that 2000 would be a good time to hang up his flute. “If you’re a professional tennis player and fully vaccinated, you might manage to play on until you’re in your late 30s. But those of us in arts and entertainment get to die with our boots on, like John Wayne in a black-and-white western.”
“I think the punks thought that they were the triple vaccination that would rid the world forever of the horrible virus of prog rock,” he says, by way of an introduction to Tull’s 22nd studio album. “Unfortunately, like in the real world, the virus tends to bounce back in a slightly revived or even re-energised form.”
Anderson still plays on one leg occasionally, but not to the extent it compromises his elder statesman’s dignity. Dressing up “was fun,” he says, “and looking back on it, it was too much fun. Much of it was perfectly silly, but at the time I felt if someone was going to wear tights and a codpiece, it might as well be me.”
Tull’s manager-producer Terry Ellis took Anderson to the costumer of the Royal Ballet in 1972. “This very creative man came up with a pretty racy codpiece design. He made a couple of them that were moulded to look like they had a wriggly monster inside,” Anderson recalls, laughing. “In the end, I chose one that had a nice bulgy shape. When I clipped it on, he said: ‘How does it feel?’ I said: ‘It feels great. How did you know my size?’ And he said” – Anderson mimics a flirtatious voice – “‘Well, when I looked at you, I thought we’re about the same size’, which I thought as good a response as any.
“Luckily back then, I had slightly muscular legs and a firm, trim bum, and I looked like some demented Nureyev with a flute.
The codpiece was a good investment for getting noticed, but it became a real pain in the arse because I had to truss myself up in it every night to go on stage. Plus, it required very careful dry cleaning, beyond that of the local laundry service.
It ended up like a Hell’s Angels original – it just didn’t get washed. So if you were within 20 metres of me on stage in 1972 or 1973, I announced my presence with a distinct lack of fragrance, even if I was just standing in the wings.” (Excerpt from the Guardian, to read the full interview click here)
“I loved the blues, but for me it was just a pragmatic way of opening the door, because it w
asn’t really what I wanted to do musically,” he says of the band’s path to Aqualung. “The signposts were the Beatles’ Sgt Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band and then Pink Floyd’s The Piper at the Gates of Dawn. I thought: ‘I want to try to do something like that, something that’s eclectic.’”
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