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Post by Nonfatman on Oct 25, 2009 14:10:16 GMT -5
Check out Eddie's awesome violon and keyboard solos on this very rare 13+ minute version of Protect & Survive, which I don't think I have ever heard before, because it was not played at the A shows that I saw. Here's Part 1:
Jeff
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Post by Nonfatman on Oct 25, 2009 14:13:09 GMT -5
And here's Part 2
Jeff
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Post by TM on Oct 26, 2009 20:35:52 GMT -5
This was recorded for radio in LA. I have it somewhere. Larry B. would know where it's from.
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on Dec 19, 2009 17:16:42 GMT -5
Eddie was in his little special world....had loads of talent, but did not get along to well with the boys as the story goes
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Post by Nonfatman on Dec 19, 2009 19:22:45 GMT -5
Eddie was in his little special world....had loads of talent, but did not get along to well with the boys as the story goes I've heard that Eddie and John Wetton did not always get along too well, but I didn't know that Eddie didn't click too well with the Tull members. (Then again, aside from the basics, I'm not that great when it comes to historical details about Tull.) What is the story behind that? I surprised because I know that Eddie has spoken very highly of his involvement with Tull, calling it the most enjoyable musical experience he had ever had. Jeff
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Post by Mix on Dec 20, 2009 4:45:53 GMT -5
I believe Frank Zappa's estate have in the last couple of days released a new live album featuring Eddie Jobson if any ones interested.
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on Dec 20, 2009 9:36:03 GMT -5
just a lot of it was that Eddie though so much of himself having the "Special Guest" tag and never really wanting to do anything with the other member's of the band, I had heard in an interview with Ian and Martin (I think it might of been the 25th Anniversary) were they basically fluff over the entire Eddie period as one of Eddie being so into Eddie, or that is what I go from what they where saying. I don't want to taking anything away from his talent because he has loads of it, I think his personality didn't fit, probably very similar to Ian's
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Post by TM on Dec 20, 2009 15:29:25 GMT -5
just a lot of it was that Eddie though so much of himself having the "Special Guest" tag and never really wanting to do anything with the other member's of the band, I had heard in an interview with Ian and Martin (I think it might of been the 25th Anniversary) were they basically fluff over the entire Eddie period as one of Eddie being so into Eddie, or that is what I go from what they where saying. I don't want to taking anything away from his talent because he has loads of it, I think his personality didn't fit, probably very similar to Ian's On the 25th DVD I think Ian mentioned something about Eddie getting made-up each night before the shows.
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Post by Park Bench on Dec 26, 2009 17:27:15 GMT -5
Eddie joined YES in the 1980s and didn't get on well with them, either - and then found himself out of YES again.
Looks like UK or some form of UK might be reforming, as Jobson and Wetton are apparently speaking now...
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Post by janu on Oct 17, 2011 0:22:57 GMT -5
Eddie performs here an outstanding violin playing accompanying John Gustafson , former leader of Quatermass, another good british band that issued just an album, a musthave, this one.
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Post by jtul07 on Oct 17, 2011 9:16:27 GMT -5
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Post by jtul07 on Oct 17, 2011 9:27:58 GMT -5
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Illoman
One of the Youngest of the Family
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Post by Illoman on Oct 17, 2011 19:33:44 GMT -5
Saw Edwin play on the "A" tour, and he was amazing!! Playing dual keyboards and that crystal violin. That was a great show, shitty costumes and all!
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Post by Nonfatman on Feb 24, 2013 1:29:40 GMT -5
Here is a truly fascinating excerpt from the Yes thread on the official Eddie Jobson forum, in which Eddie was repeatedly asked about his short time as a member of Yes, and finally answered the question, with reluctance but brutal honesty, on his own forum. This is a long answer, but since it is by Eddie himself, it is well worth reading. He says some extremely unflattering things about the seventies music scene, and about the members of Yes, particularly Chris Squire (whom he refers to as 'Lord Squire') and Allan White, with the exception of Jon Anderson who he says was a very decent guy, but too passive in interacting with the other arrogant, pompous Yes members. In the process of answering the question, he had something very nice to say about his time with Tull. Re: YES Author: EJ Date: 03-17-07 18:15 OK folks... you asked:
I have been thinking about my hesitation in answering in detail about my time with Yes, and have concluded that a full explanation would be incomplete without some understanding of the social background of the London music scene in the ‘70s and ‘80s. To give a thorough and honest answer, I would have to get into some very personal recollections and history… and I have decided that too many personal details, especially of others, would serve nobody well. So, after 23 years of silence on the matter, here is a somewhat abridged version:
I remember, around 1974 and still a fairly fresh teenage transplant to “the South,” observing there to be quite a self-congratulatory social club (of which I was not a member) of successful musicians, moneyed hoorays and fashionistas occupying the trendy upper-end London social tier. They drove Bentleys and Aston Martins, lived in very large houses in Surrey (or trendy apartments within a stone’s throw of Knightsbridge or Chelsea), belonged to the same charities, and met one another for lengthy alcohol-soaked lunches and dinners at London’s most tony restaurants and private clubs. A small subset of this crowd was a sorority of ‘group wives’ who spent large amounts of their husbands’ money shopping on the Kings Road and who effervesced at sharing a charity event with Princess Fergie or being invited to a garden party at McCartney’s mansion.
As a young musician, this social environment formed much of the elite backdrop to the world of the successful ‘art’ bands (Roxy, Genesis, Floyd, Yes, etc…) and I remember vividly—even as Roxy were at the top of their game and at the top of the charts—a strong sense of estrangement from this self-impressed and moneyed social clique. As naïve as it may have been, I really was in it for the music.
However, my Roxy association did allow me some lesser place in the club, and my talent gave rise to many requests for my musical participation, including one call, in 1974, to assess my interest in replacing the newly departed Rick Wakeman in Yes. My impression of Yes was that they were a musically very impressive (and of course, extremely successful) band, but that they, too, were hugely impressed with their own status and were living on a lavishly grand scale. There also was that hippie/cosmic/druggie side that I knew would likely make it even harder for me to connect with them socially. For several years, I had seen Chris Squire showily driving around town in his huge and very distinctive maroon Bentley like some aristocratic Lord, and it seemed obvious that, as dismissively as Roxy and their camarilla were treating me, the Yes milieu would be even more unfriendly to this Northern teenager – so I boldly conveyed my ‘lack of interest’ in the Yes gig (in actual fact, I was somewhat excited by the concept of playing with Yes at their peak, but my instincts told me this would be an unwelcoming situation).
Fast forward almost six years… I had extricated myself from that disturbingly self-important London scene completely, from EG Management and Sun Artists (Yes’ management—who co-managed ‘UK’) and had happily relocated to the U.S., permanently removing myself from what I found to be an uncharitable world of supercilious people and expensive drug habits. Around the same time, I also disbanded U.K.—as part of the same purge. It was a fresh start, and the Green Album would be my solo venture as an independent free-spirit, surrounded by new friends—dare I say ‘all good people,’ with similar values to mine.
However, in early 1983, toward the end of the Green Album period, I received a call from an executive with Atlantic Records who was with Chris Squire and his new band “Cinema” in London. Despite my complete lack of interest in joining Squire’s new band, the phone conversation went on for several hours as he virtually begged me to participate on their new album (the record that would become “90215”) . This time my ‘lack of interest’ was real, I literally had zero enthusiasm for being in Squire’s band back in London. So original Yes keyboardist Tony Kaye was invited in for the album recording (which also apparently didn’t work out either, as he departed at the producer’s request after a very short period, leaving the keyboard duties to the production team.)
Later that year, with the Green Album finally completed, I happened to be visiting London as part of a promotional tour when I received a message (in the U.S.) that ‘Cinema’ was now ‘Yes,’ Jon Anderson had joined the band again, and that the album had come out really well. Oh, and they still needed a keyboard player... When they found out I was actually in London, new boy Trevor Rabin arranged to come round to play me the finished album. Trevor Horn (my favourite producer at the time) had done a fantastic job. All in all, though musically a little superficial, it was a fresh and contemporary recording, and with the ‘Yes’ name, a potential hit song (“Owner of a Lonely Heart”), Atlantic Records, and a well-funded support team behind it, it was clearly destined for considerably more commercial success than my struggling Green Album. With unlimited amounts of money flying around, my living in Connecticut was no problem; Jon was living in France, and Rabin and the new manager were living in Los Angeles. After all these years, maybe it was time for me to finally join Yes?
A couple of days later, we got together in a rehearsal room and thrashed through a few tunes, including ‘Roundabout’ (actually not knowing the song too well, I had to figure out Rick’s tricky keyboard parts on the spot – no easy task). But everyone seemed happy, so I returned to the U.S. as a full member of Yes and with a world tour only two or three months away. There was virtually no contact with anyone for several weeks as I learned all the Yes material in my home studio, although I did attend the mastering of the album with Rabin in New York. In fact, now I think about it, not one single band member ever called me, for any reason, during my entire stint with the group (or since).
The illusion of ‘equal membership’ soon became apparently false, especially once the filming of the “Owner of a Lonely Heart” video took place. Lord Squire’s indulgences (and the ubiquitous Bentley) were back in my face, and money was being squandered at an alarming rate. It was time-warp back to the 1970s. Roadies followed you around making sure you never had to lift even the smallest bag, and Chris was insisting on a private Boeing 707 for the tour! The grand lifestyle was being funded once again and egos were newly inflated. Despite my considerable experiences with Roxy, Zappa, UK, and Tull (a wonderful group of guys who treated me with considerable respect), and with more than 30 albums and a self-managed solo career under my belt, no one was interested in any wisdom I may have been able to impart, on any subject… even on the keyboard rig design which had already been decided upon. It was an inflated ‘Spinal Tap’ on so many levels, and I had unwittingly been sucked back into almost the same world of disregard that I had rejected so many years earlier. But I had made a commitment and I wanted to see it through.
Several weeks later, back in the U.S. where I continued to work on the considerable Yes repertoire, I did finally receive a phone call from someone—it was the manager who had been given the unceremonious task of informing me that Tony Kaye was re-joining the group and would be sharing keyboard duties with me. No discussion, no conferring… a done deal. And the reason? They needed three original members to put to rest a dispute with Brian Lane (their old manager), Steve Howe and Rick Wakeman regarding the legitimacy of the new band using the ‘Yes’ name. My youthful instincts were reawakened, there were red flags waving, and sirens going off... why was I doing this exactly? Still no call from anyone in the band, no discussions of alternate remedies, no apologies, just take it or leave it… so I hearkened to the words of their own song and chose to ‘leave it.’
Of course, the album and world tour went on to enormous success; Tony Kaye’s playing was supplemented by another player hidden off-stage; and the embarrassingly lame video had to be edited at the insistence of the BBC (to remove the disgusting ‘maggot’ scene), during which time they also removed as many of my scenes as possible.
Thanks, guys. All in all, the most disrespectful and unpleasant of all my band experiences (as brief as it was), and, with the occasional derisive remark from Squire or Allan White still showing up on the internet, one that still causes me undeserved anguish, embarrassment, and regret.
Post-script 1: The above description of the smug coterie that made up much of the British music-business elite in the ‘70s and ‘80s also serves the purpose of explaining much of the ill-feeling left percolating in the memories of more than a few of us more music-focused professionals. It also explains, in some part, the continuingly rude behaviour of some of that scene’s most indulgent subscribers (not mentioning any particular Arschlock by name, of course). It is ironic that those most included in that most exclusionary clique, now seem to be the most embittered and malicious.
Post-script 2: Some might ask why I would have a Yes page on the website. My answer is that I don’t have a category for ‘Bands I Didn’t Join and Should Have’ or for ‘Bands I Did Join and Shouldn’t Have.’ It was not a Guest Appearance; I was a member; there is a long history of connectivity (from Bruford to Asia); I am still in the video; I have pictures; it is part of my story.
Post-script 3: Jon Anderson has always been friendly, welcoming and respectful. His only culpability in this hurtful episode was in being so passive.Here is a link to the entire thread, for further reading, and the flabbergasted reactions of many EJ forum members. www.eddiejobson.com/forum/read.php?f=1&i=4719&t=3826#reply_4719Jeff
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Post by Nonfatman on Feb 24, 2013 1:38:12 GMT -5
Eddie's disparaging comments about the members of Yes found their way over to the Progressive Ears website, where it stirred up a firestorm of controversy.
Eddie had this to say in response, with some additional fond memories about his time with Tull, as contrasted with Yes:
Re: YES Author: EJ Date: 03-25-07 19:11
I did not wish for my candid response to the Yes question be turned into a gossipfest in the blabosphere… 150 responses to my remarks on the Progressive Ears website alone. And in trying to be honest with the members of this forum, I am now viewed by some of the uninformed mouse-waggers out there as another self-absorbed rock star, a preening prima donna, etc. People just love this silly stuff.
More as a response to the Progressive Ears forum than this one, let me clarify a couple of things: Firstly, I have no problem with people making large amounts of money—in music or anywhere else—or in them driving nice cars. I drive a very nice car myself and have been lucky enough to afford a comfortable lifestyle in a nice part of town—good for me. The point of the remarks was to set the stage for a description of ‘a scene’ made up of people who, generally, treated those not in the clique in a somewhat chilly and supercilious manner. As a 17-year-old from down-to-earth County Durham, this posture was undermining and unkind. We were all pretty young then, but I was the youngest one of all—even at the formation of UK, which was post-Curved Air, Roxy, Zappa, and, excluding Tull, was even post-all of my guest appearances (with King Crimson etc.), I was still only 22.
Secondly, I do not live my life as a self-pitying victim; on the contrary—I consider myself to have been lucky and privileged to have had a successful band career as part of an amazing musical movement, one that I retired from at the age of 25. And, although a few negative feelings and memories do remain—usually in connection with the lack of generosity of a small handful of people—I remain admirers of them as musicians and have long outgrown any ill will toward them personally. Rather than acrimony, any residual sentiments tend more toward feelings of loss—the lost opportunities to create something meaningful, forge good memories or friendships, or simply make the best of life and our musical situation. Let me also add that I understand how certain personalities would perceive me as priggish, but it never feels good to be viewed in a way that you know you are not.
Speaking of which: can we please put this ridiculousness behind us regarding stage makeup? I don’t want to be a spokesperson for face paint. I spent much of my early teens in and around the theater, particularly the one run by my father. To me, if you walk onto a stage, whether you are David Bowie or John Kerry—it’s theater. Even if you are in denial about it, if you have an audience… you’re putting on a show. Personally, I was never terribly comfortable on stage being stared at and, to this day, I seriously dislike having my photograph taken. It is one of the reasons I left the spotlight and stopped performing live so many years ago. However, my job in 1973 was to ‘replace’ the highly flamboyant Brian Eno in Britain’s biggest glam-rock band at the age of eighteen. Roxy embraced and promulgated the idea of theatricality, and portrayed a complex image that referenced a certain 1920’s-Berlin androgynous decadence not really understood by most, especially in the U.S. It’s why Andy Warhol loved us. This was a band with a fulltime majordomo/valet on staff. At the same time, I remember my late friend John Entwistle telling me about Roger Daltry showing up to gigs well dressed, and then changing into a t-shirt and ripped jeans for the show—it all made complete sense to me.
During my several years with Roxy, I became pretty adept at dealing with stage makeup myself and became distrustful of the pancake ladies at the BBC. Of course, both Zappa and the bearded, pipe-smoking farmers of Jethro Tull gave me some grief over that particular ability, but always in good humour—Ian Anderson even gave me a makeup bag as a gag birthday gift once—however, both Frank and Ian had flirted with the idea for themselves by the time I had left their bands (Ian couldn’t do it though because he sweated it all off). By 1984, and the shooting of the “Owner of a Lonely Heart” video, of course I would do my own face paint(!)… it was lights, camera, action all over again. Why both Allan and Chris felt a need to mention it in interviews—I’ll leave for others to figure out.
I think I am done now with answering the Yes question.
EJ
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