On September 1st, Jethro Tull will release a commemorative box set for the 40th anniversary of “Broadsword and the Beast,” their fourteenth studio album. The box set will have two versions: a compilation of five CDs and three vinyl records. CD set includes demos, outtakes, alternate versions and a 1982 Germany concert.

In this article I will discuss the original 1983 album and give my opinion on one of the most underrated albums by the band.

1. How it all started

“Broadsword and the Beast” was recorded during times of big change. Drummer Gerry Conway and keyboardist Peter-John Vettese joined the band’s lineup; the latter contributed material to the album. Ian Anderson was looking for a modern sound in line with the styles of the time. For this reason, the leader delegated production duties for the album to Paul Samwell-Smith, who had worked with folk singer-songwriter Cat Stevens. The result was a progressive folk-rock album with simple songs oriented towards radio play.

Despite its refined sound, the band’s professionalism and the contributions of its new members, the critical response to the album was negative. Rolling Stone derided it as an indulgent and nostalgic exercise, and Bruce Eder wrote that “Broadsword and the Beast” lacked the originality and power of previous albums. In contrast, fans of the band praised its sound, and though they admitted its flaws, they consider it one of Jethro Tull’s best works.

Seems “Broadsword and the Beast” elicits acclaim and rejection among connoisseurs. But what is good and bad about it?

2. What do I think of “Broadsword and the Beast”?

“Broadsword and the Beast” shows the band at its last creative peak before problems loomed on the horizon. While other progressive bands fell into blatant commercialism, Jethro Tull was caught halfway between their complex style and the lighter sound of the eighties. “Broadsword” is the album that captures the band at the cliff’s edge before diving into the darker regions of AOR music.

On “Broadsword and the Beast,” the band rocks with the attitude of veteran hippies and post-punk irreverence. Part of this music’s resonance lies in its electric power without sacrificing melodic grace, a gift Jethro Tull would lose on later albums in favor of a soft, studied sound (“Under Wraps,” Ian Anderson’s solo album “Walk Into Light”), falling into the AOR conventionalism of soft rock that would characterize the band’s sound from that moment on (“Crest of a Knave,” “Rock Island”).

“Broadsword and the Beast” brings together the “magical” themes of albums like “Songs From the Wood” with a more tempered, radio-friendly rock sound. It is progressive pop-rock with small epic moments that avoids the excesses of previous albums: we will not find the intricate solos of “My God” or the instrumental labyrinths of “Thick As A Brick.”

In an era where progressive rock was divided between Genesis’ pop commercialism and King Crimson’s avant-garde techno, “Broadsword and the Beast” seems an uncertain move by the band, exploring their past while looking into the future with unease.

The best of “Broadsword” is a mix of inspiration and daring experimentation. When the band hits the mark, we get music that knows how to use electronic textures to accentuate, not obscure, the melody. And the songs blend seamlessly with the lyrical landscape: “Pussy Willow” is about the daydreaming girl, interrupted by pressures of modern life. “The Clasp” is a tale of a bleak future: its message is prophetic today in the post-pandemic world of thinking robots. The shock-rock of “Beastie” seems to be a musing of the Jungian shadow, with a chilling guitar solo that sends shivers down your spine. “Fallen on Hard Times” is Ian Anderson’s critique of Thatcher’s policies. The atmospheric pop of “Broadsword” is a curious homage to J.R.R. Tolkien. “Cheerio” is an imaginative closing track, reinforcing the idea that Tull can join the Top 40 stars wearing codpieces and making bonfires at the Skye coast.

On the downside, “Broadsword and the Beast” fails when Jethro Tull delves into pop territory: something that compromises the intricate style for which they became famous in the Seventies. “Watching Me Watching You” is the most “techno” and least spectacular song on the album; it prefigures the failed experiments of the “Under Wraps” album (1984). Despite its solemn elegance, “Slow Marching Band” fades without a memorable melody to serve as an anchor. “Flying Colours” sounds like a forgotten single by a tribute band. “Seal Driver” has poetic and conceptual undertones but is very uneven, and its message cryptic, at best.

3. Wrapping it up

It is easy to see (and hear) now why Anderson’s baroque and mythic sensibility does not fit well within the narrow confines of pop. And although one could criticize the band for taking such a bold path, one should not forget that other progressive groups (Yes, Genesis) were more successful in the eighties to the extent that they lost almost all contact with the classic sound for which fans always remembered them.

While “Broadsword and the Beast” suffered from several weak songs, I think it was the band’s last great album before further changes led Anderson to recycle past glories rather than reinvent his band’s sound. The best of the album shows Jethro Tull’s talent and daring to compose resonant, captivating music. I hope the upcoming release of this album’s box set will awaken the interest of young audiences in classic British progressive music.