Ta-da da-da daa da! The six-note opening motif and the matching phrasing of the lyrics (Sitting on a park bench….) occupy an exalted position in rock music, much like the famous four-note motif in Beethoven’s Fifth. Ian Anderson talks about creating the main riff in a hotel room in New York City and playing it for Martin Barre on acoustic guitar. Apparently, the guitarist was not convinced that it would work until Anderson suggested that he think of it played through a Marshall amp, “And the first time he played it through a big amplifier, it all gelled for him – and for the guys in the band.” The song itself is about a homeless man, ostensibly someone that Anderson and his wife Jenny had frequently seen during their walks around London. In fact, it had some contributions from his wife, Jennie Franks, who is credited with co-writing the lyrics. The song alternates between a menacing electric section describing a dangerous and deranged persona (Eyeing little girls with bad intent) and a more sympathetic acoustic section (Sun streaking cold, an old man wondering lonely) – an excellent example of Anderson exploring the tension between opposite poles. Novelist Craig Thomas makes a point of this in his essay in the 25th anniversary box-set saying that “the clash between individual and society, between the rural and urban worlds, between happiness and disillusion is the archetypal tension of so many songs by the band” – a point echoed by Allen Moore in his book about the album.
It is worth noting that during the course of the making of the album and the subsequent tour, the band saw three major changes in its line-up – remarkable indeed for a band that was in throes of worldwide success. First, John Evan who had played on Benefit as a session musician became a full-fledged member of the band. It might be recalled that John Evan was an old school chum of Anderson’s and frequent collaborator on several of Anderson’s proto-Tull bands. Second, bassist Glenn Cornick was asked to leave the band because of personality and stylistic differences with Ian Anderson. Anderson filled this gap by bringing in his old friend Jeffrey Hammond – yes, the same Jeffrey from songs past – A Song For Jeffrey, Jeffrey Goes to Leicester Square, and For Michael Collins, Jeffrey and Me. Hammond was not a trained bass player, but had on occasion played bass with Evan and Anderson in the proto-Tull era. Says Barre, “There was no way we wanted a virtuoso. What we were after was someone who could adapt and alter his style as we went along.” The third change came after the release of Aqualung, when drummer Clive Bunker decided to leave the band to get married and settle down. This created an opening for another of Anderson/Evan’s old band-mates, Barriemore Barlow, to join the band. Suddenly and perhaps not coincidentally, Jethro Tull started to look a lot like Ian Anderson’s band, firmly establishing his control of the music and enabling him to channel his musical vision through band members whom he could trust and with whom he would create a new Tull sound. Judging by the line-up’s remarkable output over the next few years, it clearly worked!
The song is comprised of four distinct sections – (1) the intro section characterised by the ominous opening riff and accompanying vocals that introduce the threatening persona of Aqualung, (2) the acoustic interlude that reveals a more detached and sympathetic view of the old man, (3) a faster paced mid-section that starts with the third verse and then repeats the second verse with greater urgency, and (4) the famous Barre guitar solo, which gives the song its emotional anchor. Tellingly, Barre recalls recording the solo under the watchful gaze of Jimmy Page, while trying hard not to get distracted because, “…in those days, if you didn’t get a guitar solo in one or two takes, it might become a flute solo.” And, then there is the return to the opening motif as if to remind us which song we are still listening to. The multi-theme arrangement goes beyond previous Anderson attempts at mood changes (for instance, Back To The Family, Son or For Michael Collins, Jeffrey and Me). Here, it feels a whole lot weightier and progressive in its construction, and is a harbinger of similar attempts in the rest of the album (e.g., My God, Wind Up, and even Locomotive Breath).
Sitting on a park bench
Eyeing little girls with bad intent
Snot’s running down his nose
Greasy fingers smearing shabby clothes
Hey, Aqualung
Drying in the cold sun
Watching as the frilly panties run
Hey, Aqualung
Feeling like a dead duck
Spitting out pieces of his broken luck
Oh, Aqualung
Sun streaking cold
An old man wandering lonely
Taking time the only way he knows
Leg hurting bad as he bends to pick a dog-end
Goes down to the bog and warms his feet
Feeling alone
The army’s up the road
Salvation a la mode and a cup of tea
Aqualung, my friend
Don’t you start away uneasy
You poor old sod
You see, it’s only me
Do you still remember
December’s foggy freeze
When the ice that clings on to your beard
Was screaming agony
And you snatch your rattling last breaths
With deep-sea diver sounds
And the flowers bloom
Like madness in the spring
Sun streaking cold
An old man wandering lonely
Taking time the only way he knows
Leg hurting bad as he bends to pick a dog-end
He goes down to the bog
And warms his feet
Woh-o-o-ohFeeling alone
The army’s up the road
Salvation a la mode and a cup of tea
Aqualung, my friend
Don’t you start away uneasy
You poor old sod
You see, it’s only me
Me-ee-eeh, o-o-o-oh
Dee dee dee dee
Dee dee, dee dee, dee dee
Dee dee dee, dee dee dee
Dee dee, dee dee
Aqualung, my friend
Don’t you start away uneasy
Oh, you poor old sod
You see, it’s only me
Sitting on a park bench
Eying little girls with bad intent
Snot’s running down his nose
Greasy fingers smearing shabby clothes
Hey, Aqualung
Drying in the cold sun
Watching as the frilly panties run
Hey, Aqualung
Feeling like a dead duck
Spitting out pieces of his broken luck
Hey, Aqualung
Wo-o-o-o-oh, Aqualung
Source: LyricFind Songwriters: Ian Anderson & Jenny Anderson Aqualung lyrics © BMG Rights Management
The opening verse paints a picture of danger and threat, a common reaction to a homeless vagrant, attributing – perhaps unfairly – certain unsavoury characteristics to the individual (Sitting on a park bench/Eyeing little girls with bad intent). The physical description of uncleanliness (Snot’s running down his nose/Greasy fingers smearing shabby clothes) accompanies a metaphorical description of his fate (Feeling like a dead duck/Spitting out pieces of his broken luck). The point-of-view shifts in the second verse – the musical equivalent of a zoom-out – from the discomforting close-up view of the first verse to a more sympathetic observation from a distance (Sun streaking cold/An old man wandering lonely). The lyrics detail the old man’s daily routine (Leg hurting bad as he bends to pick a dog-end/He goes down to the bog/And warms his feet), culminating in a friendly overture by the singer (Aqualung, my friend/Don’t you start away uneasy/You poor old sod/You see, it’s only me). The roles are reversed – the old man is now wary of the helping hand. The third verse (Do you still remember/December’s foggy freeze) refers to the tramp’s physical strain of breathing, which earns the character his Aqualung moniker (And you snatch your rattling last breaths/With deep-sea diver sounds), and ends with an oblique reference to his mental state (And the flowers bloom/Like madness in the spring). This section continues by reprising the second verse at a more frenetic pace – the separation has dissolved – the singer and Aqualung seem to have merged their identities. The identification is underscored by a personalised expression of anguish (Me-ee-eeh, o-o-o-oh), which should not be overlooked despite the lack of words (or because of the lack of words). The guitar solo that follows is perfectly placed in the song, allowing the listener to contemplate what we have just heard and what it might all mean! The coda marks a triumphant return to the opening riff and verse – there is nothing more to say other than we don’t really want the song to end. Well, it doesn’t have to – listen on below.
The earliest existing live recording of Aqualung is perhaps this one from Berkeley in 1971 – during the tour following the release of the album. Notably, this represents the first live outing for Jeffrey Hammond-Hammond on bass, John Evan is now a full-fledged member of the band, and Barriemore Barlow has taken the place of Clive Bunker (who left the band to get married after recording Aqualung). The recording presents an interesting snapshot of the sound of live Tull – both in how the band stays faithful to the studio recording (although I am missing the piano in the mix), but at the same time adds some individualistic touches (especially in Ian Anderson’s vocals and Martin Barre’s guitar).
Here’s a live video recording from the 1978 concert at Madison Square Garden – a slightly different line-up – Hammond has been replaced by new bassist John Glascock and long-time collaborator Dee Palmer is now a full-fledged member of the band.
A 2003 live version of the song recorded at the Montreux Jazz Festival, organized by Claude Nobbs. An entirely different band – other than the continued presence of Anderson (of course) and Martin Barre – infuses renewed vigour to the old classic. Wow!
Anderson has not been shy about reworking the classic! Here is the orchestral version of Aqualung arranged by Elizabeth Purnell and conducted by John O’Hara. See if you can spot the tune!
Another rearrangement – this time for string quartet and flute – by John O’Hara! Aquafugue – with the Ian Anderson and the Carducci String Quartet, conducted by John O’Hara.
Wond'ring Aloud 