Jethro Tull - War Child (1974)

After the LP-length songs that were Thick As a Brick and A Passion Play, Jethro Tull's War Child, which returned the band to a ten-song program, must have come as a relief to Tull fans puzzled by Ian Anderson's earlier prog parodies. War Child is a sound album musically, with an eclectic mix of styles from folk and classical to straight rock, and the band, anchored by Martin Barre's biting guitar riffs and John Evan's solid keyboards, plays well, but Anderson's musings on the frailty and the comical behavior of humanity are quite random and only occasionally effective.  Throughout a good deal of War Child, you can figure out what Anderson's lyrics are about without knowing what they mean.  Or vice versa.

This isn't entirely Anderson's fault; the songs on War Child were conceived to accompany a black-comedy movie about a teenager in the afterlife who encounters God, St. Peter, and the devil, all of whom are incarnated as businessmen, but the movie was never produced.  Indeed, many of the songs seem to project a carnival of life's transactions and deals and the consequences that follow, and in the most absurd way.  But a good deal of Anderson's lyrics seem to be abstruse for their own sake; the title track invites the child of war to experience moments of pleasure and chaos, but we don't even know who's addressing the album's anti-hero.  "Back-Door Angels" is a rather dense explanation of religion that leaves the listener a bit perplexed, and "Two Fingers" is a haphazardly arranged explanation of death that reveals Anderson's weakness for awkward and somewhat vulgar metaphors.

Focus has never been a strong point for Anderson as a songwriter, and some of what he offers up is balderdash, but when he zeroes in on an interesting topic and disciplines himself - as he does in contemplating the corrosive effect of imperialism in "Queen and Country," a rather ponderous but still sharp rocker with Barre's guitar taking center stage, or in looking at the indignities of modern life in "Sealion" (which blends rock with circus-music riffs) -  he's brilliant.  It's just that his brilliance can't carry the entirety of War Child. When Anderson answers his critics for calling him boring and lame with a boring and lame (and thankfully brief) number like "Only Solitaire," you wonder why executive producer Terry Ellis wasn't there to save Anderson from himself.

Having said all that, though, this album is still essential for two excellent songs.  "Skating Away on the Thin Ice of the New Day," a beautiful, acoustically based track punctuated by lovely accordion passages and Jeffrey Hammond's pulsing bass lines, is a hopeful song for anyone who faces the future with uncertainty; I think of the troubles of American speed skater Dan Jansen, who fell in several Olympic races before finally winning a gold medal on his last try, every time I hear it.  And "Bungle In the Jungle," with its depiction of social Darwinism as a tropical wilderness and anchored by David Palmer's ironically stirring string arrangements, is perhaps the greatest example of Anderson's keen wit.  For the true Jethro Tull fan,  Anderson's unique perspective and quintessentially eccentric (read British) humor are the reasons to listen to him even when he doesn't seem to make sense.  War Child, imperfect and dense though it can be, follows the logic of "Skating Away on the Thin Ice of the New Day;" it puts the listener on a stage contemplating what Anderson sees from his seat in the auditorium.