With three New Jersey performances in the coming weeks, Jethro Tull frontman Ian Anderson talks about what it’s like to spend three decades as a rock star.
By: Daniel Shearer
IN a genre largely comprised of imitators, Ian Anderson, the flamboyant multi-instrumentalist and frontman for the British rock band Jethro Tull, has managed to accomplish something particularly original. More than 30 years after entering the music business, Mr. Anderson remains rock ‘n’ roll’s only prominent flute player.
If the band’s recently released live CD, Living with the Past (FUEL 2000), and its companion DVD are any measure, Jethro Tull still puts on an impressive show, differentiable from previous live recordings only by the slightly noticeable toll the years have taken on Mr. Anderson’s voice. This much is to be expected. It is rock ‘n’ roll, after all. Certainly, Mr. Anderson seems to have fared better than other touring rock groups from the late ’60s. Robert Plant and The Who can’t hold a candle to him.
While the singles "Living in the Past," "Thick as a Brick" and "Aqualung" receive regular airplay on classic-rock radio, the albums that spawned them arguably deserve ranking among the best of the era. Named for the 18th-century agricultural pioneer who invented the seed drill, Jethro Tull has released 30 albums, selling more than 60 million records since its first performance in 1968 at the Marquee club in London.
Other than Mr. Anderson, only guitarist Martin Barre remains from Jethro Tull’s early lineup. Together with drummer Doane Perry, keyboardist Andrew Giddings and bassist Jonathan Noyce, the band kicked off its latest U.S. tour in April at the Academy of Music in Philadelphia, with New Jersey shows in Trenton Aug. 28, Holmdel Aug. 29 and Atlantic City Aug. 30.
TimeOFF You’ve occasionally described yourself as a bit of a loner, yet you’ve maintained a position as a prominent rock ‘n’ roll figure for decades. Does it seem to you that these two portions of your personality might be a bit contradictory?
Ian Anderson Absolutely. Completely. Yeah, I was just thinking that today. A publicist sent me some reviews and newspaper articles from a recent U.S. tour. You pick up a big pile of paperwork, music magazines, entertainment magazines, whatever, and you sort of thumb through it trying to find the bit that’s all about you. I just thought, "This is so weird. I would not under normal circumstances pick up a magazine and be reading about other people in the music business." So therefore, to thumb through it and then see myself sitting alongside a big article about Kid Rock, I’m thinking, "I’m not part of that. I don’t feel like I’m part of that world." And I know that I am when I walk on stage. There’s obviously the perception that "Hey, it’s just another of these rock ‘n’ roll people getting up and doing a turn for us." But it just, to me, feels like I don’t belong to that world. I don’t know why but I never have. I’ve always felt like an outsider.
I’ve never felt like I was part of the mainstream of pop and rock music. Even when Jethro Tull began as a blues band in 1968 at the Marquee club, I didn’t feel like I was one of the guys. I didn’t feel like I was one of that peer group of, even then, musical heroes like Peter Green and John Mayall and Eric Clapton, you know, the bands who were certainly pretty well established in the world of blues in the pubs, clubs and making records of course, back in ’68. I just didn’t feel like I was part of their world. And I don’t know why, other than socially, I just never had any involvement with other musicians. I just never made any friends among the world of music and musicians. Not that there’s anything wrong with them, it’s just it never sort of clicked on a personal basis. I know the people, and I would go out and have a meal with people who had been our support bands over the years, that you get to know. But that’s probably about it. I don’t know anybody that’s really famous.
TO Well, it must be difficult to try to maintain a private life in the public eye.
IA I have no idea, because I’m not really in the public eye to the extent that a private life is difficult. I go to some of our concerts, and if I’m wearing my invisible suit I can go out and walk around the audience. You get one or two people who look at you kind of funny, like they’re thinking, "Oh, wait a minute. He looks a little familiar, but it can’t be him, because this is just a little guy with a bald head." They’re expecting someone 6-foot-3 with big flowing manes of hair and whatever else. They just do a double take but usually they don’t spot me. So if I can do that at one of our concerts, it’s pretty easy to do it walking down the streets of small-town USA. No one’s gonna give a second look, so I’ve never really had that problem. It’s never been difficult for me to be a private person, as I do, tending to just take a little stroll around town or sometimes go in through the front door of the theater while people are queuing up. If you draw attention to yourself by having a couple of minders and wearing dark glasses, well you’re asking for trouble. Whereas if you just walk in and wear your invisible aura, they tend not to notice you. Having said that, next time I try I’ll get surrounded. A hundred people with their entire record collection for me to sign. It’ll be my comeuppance for such frivolity and boastfulness in my invisible suit, which will let me down.
TO You’re an avid painter, which goes back to your days in art school.
IA Thank you, but I’m not actually a painter. I probably painted one thing in my life since I left art school, which was the front cover of an album. I’m very keen on painting. I’ve always kept a really strong relationship with the visual arts, but I’m not a painter, and I feel that if I started drawing or painting again, it would be equivalent to me thinking, "Well I think I might try some of this crack cocaine stuff." Or, "I don’t know, I fancy a round of golf." Any of these highly addictive and dangerous pursuits like crack cocaine, golf or going fishing, there’s a danger that it’ll take over your life. So I’ve decided to stay clear of those things and not even try them once. I’ve turned down many an offer to go and try my hand at golf. During the ’70s, I suppose I had most of the things that you call drugs shoved under my nose at one time or another, but I didn’t really want to risk that kind of exposure, because I’m not sure that I would handle it properly. And so it is with painting and drawing. If I went back to that, there’s a danger it might just take me over and then perhaps my music would suffer, and I’m not ready to do that yet.
TO Considering what was going on, the atmosphere at some of your concerts during the ’70s, it might be very difficult for fans to believe you never did drugs.
IA I wasn’t alone in speaking out, not against doing drugs, but against the wisdom of letting it become your master. People are different. Some folks can do drugs recreationally and it doesn’t really sort of affect them too badly. They can, one night a week, go out and smoke a joint or do whatever else they do and it doesn’t control their lives. But there are equally other people with a different set of psychological triggers and compulsions and they may just completely fall prey to drugs. Everybody is different in their degree of potential dependency. Having been a 40-a-day smoker for a number of years, I felt that I was most likely to be one of those personalities that would have an addictive streak, and so it seemed logical not to extend my cigarette habit to anything else. It took me 13 years since I’ve stopped smoking, and in fact I was just having a big medical checkup today, a general sort of health screening. And they said, "Oh, well I supposed you’ve just about sort of gotten rid of the effects of cigarette smoking." Which is a sobering thought, that the damage you’ve done is sometimes, well, not entirely reversible.