My favourite comment about the Scottish referendum came from the eminent comedian and novelist David Baddiel. ‘What if Yes wins, but due to a typographical error, the prog-rock band gets in and Jon Anderson becomes First Minister?’ You probably had to be there to find this funny, and in this case ‘there’ is the early 1970s.
Having been there myself, I too remember Yes as the most intrinsically amusing of progressive bands, along with Emerson, Lake and Palmer. Genesis were quite funny in their early days, when Peter Gabriel dressed up as a flower. Pink Floyd weren’t funny, although Roger Waters is. The Beatles aren’t funny any more, but the Rolling Stones are as hilarious as ever. Many prominent 1980s acts — U2, Duran Duran, Spandau Ballet — were sidesplitting. Queen were consistently chortlesome, but they knew it and didn’t mind at all. Oasis never had the smallest idea how funny they were, which only made them funnier. Coldplay aren’t funny, although Chris Martin is. Radiohead get funnier and funnier as the years go by. Mumford & Sons show considerable potential in this regard, if not in many others.
The bizarre thing is, Yes are still going. After 45 years and more line-up changes than the England football team — Rick Wakeman alone has left and rejoined more times than anyone can remember — these grizzled sexagenarians are still touring and, even more miraculously, recording new material. I last wrote about them a decade ago, after discovering their 2001 album Magnification. Wakeman had left again, and instead of finding another keyboard player, the ancient rump of the band (Jon Anderson, vocals; Steve Howe, guitar; Chris Squire, bass; Alan White, drums) recorded their next album with a 60-piece orchestra.
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