No, no, no, no, nooooo! The prog-monster is loose again, and stalking the earth with 20-minute songs about starship troopers, roundabouts and topographic oceans. Run away! Yes, indeed, Yes are back in town, backed by a full orchestra in a half-empty venue containing about 1,500 dad-rockers and one rock critic, who really should know better. Our hosts for this mythical trip down memory abyss are original members, Jon Anderson, Steve Howe, Chris Squire and Alan White; the show is a two-and-a-half hour ride along some of the most pretentious, awkward and pointless music ever made; by the end of it, I was completely cured of my middle-aged nostalgia.
Looking like the bar band at a Hobbit's hostelry, Yes are a complete anachronism in regressive rock, if you will. Anderson is the born-again Californian guru, spouting hippy dippy wisdom in his immaculately high-pitched voice; Howe is the math professor, vectoring the tangent of his guitar solos ad infinitum; Squire is the buffoon in boots and black tights, blamming his bass like a prog-rock Peter Hook. And I'm the idiot on the balcony, cringing through this marathon muddle of convoluted concepts, every symphonic movement mocking my teenage musical tastes. Aaargh! They might have sounded great to me back when I was a spotty student (what was I on?), but onstage at the Point, Close To The Edge, Long Distance Run around and Starship Trooper just sound tired. Anderson delivers between-song patter in a neo-American drawl, telling us how lovely it is to be drinking Guinness in Dublin. Sadly, the punters, who had paid £40 for the privilege of being progged, can't even buy a pint to get them through - all the bars in the Point were shut. Just when it couldn't get more depressing, the band announces that they have a new album out, and they'd love to play a few tunes from it. I felt like jumping in the Liffey and swimming for it.
