Picture this, music fans: it's 1983. Big hair, shoulder pads, and synthesizers reign supreme. MTV blasts into living rooms, and pop rules the airwaves. Amidst this neon-drenched landscape, the progressive rock titans, Yes, drop a bombshell - the album 90125.
Now, Yes weren't strangers to the scene. Since the late '60s, they'd been crafting sprawling, complex epics that pushed the boundaries of rock music. Think Close to the Edge, Fragile, concept albums, odd time signatures, and Jon Anderson's soaring vocals. But by the early '80s, the band was in disarray, with lineup changes and dwindling commercial success. Enter Trevor Rabin, a South African guitarist with a knack for catchy hooks and a love for pop sensibilities.
90125 was a seismic shift. Gone were the lengthy instrumental passages and mystical lyrics. Instead, we got radio-friendly anthems like "Owner of a Lonely Heart," a song that, for better or worse, became ubiquitous. It was a slick, polished production, helmed by Trevor Horn, the mastermind behind hits for Frankie Goes to Hollywood and The Buggles. The album was recorded at Horn's state-of-the-art SARM East Studios in London, a far cry from the rustic settings of Yes's earlier works.
The music itself was a blend of prog rock's instrumental prowess and pop's infectious energy. Chris Squire's thunderous bass lines still anchored the songs, but Rabin's guitar riffs were sharper, more direct. And then there was Jon Anderson's voice, now layered with harmonies and effects, a departure from his earlier, more ethereal style.
The album was a massive commercial success, topping charts worldwide and earning Yes a new generation of fans. But it also sparked controversy. Die-hard prog fans cried foul, accusing the band of selling out. The music press was divided, with some hailing the album's accessibility, while others lamented the loss of Yes's experimental spirit.
Looking back, 90125 remains a fascinating artifact of its time. It's an album that dared to challenge expectations, to embrace the mainstream without completely abandoning its roots. It's a testament to Yes's resilience, their ability to evolve and adapt in a rapidly changing musical landscape. Whether you see it as a glorious reinvention or a cynical cash-grab, there's no denying its impact. It's an album that, like the decade it spawned, was both bold and brash, a product of its time, yet somehow timeless.
