Assessing each performance individually is pointless; every show has much to recommend. Howe's electric tone is thicker and more visceral than his current sound, and benefits greatly from it; his impromptu fills and equally spontaneous solos—retaining the signatures that made them so good on the studio recordings while opening them up far more in concert—a treat to finally hear in a fidelity they deserve. His solo medley of "Clap" and "Mood for a Day" makes clear that this is more than "just" a rock guitarist; this is a guitar student who—as familiar with Chet Atkins and Andrés Segovia as he was Chuck Berry—was, at the time, absorbing influences like a sponge to evolve a voice that was absolutely unique. Few guitarists could understand what he was doing harmonically during the frenetic opening minutes of "Close to the Edge," and his ability to extend and expand upon the studio performance only serves to demonstrate now sophisticated he truly was.
Squire's tone is finally captured as it was live; massive at the bottom end and crystal clear at the top, he proves himself adept at taking fixed arrangements and breathing new life into them, night after night. Considering that early in the tour the bassist had to perform such difficult music while, at the same time (with his back to the audience) helping to guide White through these knotty compositions only serves to demonstrate how well he had internalized this music, and it's that kind of internalization that allowed him—and the rest of the group—to take the music out of its glass box and turn it into a living, breathing thing.
Anderson's voice is almost pitch perfect, as he hits high notes with ease, largely sticking to script but, at the same time, making small spontaneous adjustments that, again, made these performances more than the perfect replication that was, largely from inception, the objective of fellow progressive rockers Genesis.
Wakeman is positively a revelation, heard so clearly for the first time. With his arsenal of keyboards—ranging from piano and electric piano to Minimoog and Mellotron(s)—beyond his clear virtuosity is what he adds to each song...lines that spontaneously and emotionally either mirror or act contrapuntally to Howe. And in his own solo spot, "Excerpts from Six Wives of Henry VIII"—culled from his 1973 A&M solo album debut that literally sold in the millions—he demonstrates that he may be a serious player, but he's got a sense of humor, too.
And what of White? He joined Yes with mighty big shoes to fill and, while his kit tone isn't as distinctive, on these performances he plays with a fire and commitment that more than makes up for it. By the time of these seven shows, White had become completely familiar with the material, affording him the same opportunity to extemporize while, at the same time, hitting every cue with laser-like precision. Beyond his work on Relayer, in fact, his playing on Progeny may well be his finest recorded moments with the group. Ever.
That the performances on Progeny are so stellar doesn't meant there aren't a few warts. Howe loses himself at one point during that frenetic introductory segment of "Close to the Edge" in Greensboro, NC, and it's a bit of a tough slog to find his way back...but find his way back he does. Wakeman was plagued with technical problems throughout the tour, in particular somehow managing to turn his keyboard arsenal into a radio receiver so that, in the Toronto, Canada show it comes through loud and clear during his solo segment. During another show, Anderson's voice cuts out and at yet another, during Howe's solo feature, his acoustic guitar suddenly becomes much brighter and more strongly positioned on the far left of the soundstage. And while the three-part harmonies are, for the most part impeccable, there are a few clams to be found, here and there.
But overall, this is a collection of Yes at its transcendent, majestic, grandiose...and, yes, hard-rocking best. For the more casual fan there's Progeny: Highlights from Seventy-Two, a two-CD set that cherry picks from the seven performances to create a "best of" replication of every evening's set list, as well as a three-LP version of the same compilation. But for those who are committed Yes fans, Progeny: Seven Shows from Seventy-Two is an essential document of Yes when it was young, with a powerful fire in its belly and innovation oozing from every pore. It's an essential addition to the group's sizeable discography— capturing, as it does, the band before it began to implode from within with personnel problems and artistic differences; and before it became a bloated but pale shadow of its former self, during a period of peak creativity when Yes was one of but a few groups who ruled the prog world...and beyond.
Originally Posted by jkelman
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