Quote Originally Posted by alphaGT View Post
The first thing that comes to mind is the flute solo on the Jethro Tull Auqalung album. That’s kind of obvious, really, but there aren’t too many flutes in rock music.

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Russell
Ian Anderson? A unique talent. Special. But let me try to turn your head – and without looking too far from the ‘Tull’s 70’s heyday.

I got into Caravan absolutely by accident. Back in the 70’s, still at school, I got a copy of the compilation Canterbury Tales in a swap with a mate. I can’t remember what I gave in return, but I know I disliked it enough that I took the Caravan LPs in a swap despite the fact that I’d never heard of them. Anyway, I liked the cover. I was instantly hooked – and love ‘em still.

Caravan looked pretty much your regulation ‘70’s rock outfit EXCEPT for their mysterious not-quite-a-proper-member Jimmy Hastings – big bruvver of the band’s singer/guitarist Pye Hastings. You could see why they wouldn’t let him join – ‘cos then he’d have to be in the band photos. Even then he looked like a bank manager (the way bank managers used to look – not the spiv-insurance salesmen fresh out of 6th form we have now).

Note: when trying to describe band members from the 70’s in terms of job roles, very few careers are permitted. This conforms to the same principal that says that when trying to describe the size of a country, the only permissible points of reference are Wales, Ireland and the Isle of Wight. How lucky are we – having these global reference points right on our doorstep? Think how much harder life is for the good people of Memphis, Moscow or Mombai, having to learn about Eire, Cymru or Insula Vectis before being adequately able to explain to visitors quite how effin’ huge their country is? It’s the same with rockers back in the day. They can look like bankers, brick-layers, geography teachers, or in a few distinguished instances, mad professors. And that’s your lot. If someone tells you’re their cousin Malcolm was in a band, and he definitely looked like a doctor, send ‘em away with a flea in their ear. It’s just not permitted. (You could make out a case for a few of them looking like gnomes, and this is allowed, because gnome is not a profession. They’ll have been gnomes who also laid bricks or arranged mortgages. No question.)

Anyway, back to the Jimmy Hastings. Turns out his part-time status was because he already had a really solid career as a jazz-man and session player. In a particularly pleasing bit of “who’s coolest now?” he turned up as a side-man on Radiohead’s Amnesiac. (And he still looks exactly the same.)

Part-time or not, he added a glorious range of fills and backing lines over a bunch of Caravan’s ‘70’s classics. Never in the foreground, but a delight if you can be bothered to listen out for him.

So – greatest rock flute = Jimmy Hastings? No. Love him ‘though I do, if you’re looking for one moment that nails exactly what the flute is all about – tender, ethereal, fragile and just goddamn pretty, it’s I talk to the Wind by King Crimson – flutes by Ian McDonald. Part of its power is due to what comes immediately before. 21st Century Schizoid Man blindingly sets out KC’s agenda of spending most of the next 50 years scaring us witless. It’s a virtuoso onslaught – a statement of intent like few others. (Here’s another thread – the greatest album #1 side #1 track #1 ever? Like the sound of that.)

And then the flute arrives. Serene, limpid, perfect. Jimmy H (and dozens more) could probably play Ian Mc off the block, technically. But as a moment that defines what the flute can do in a rock context, this has my vote.