Aqualong

Released in March 1971, Aqualung marked a pivotal moment in Jethro Tull’s evolution — musically, thematically and commercially. Its now-iconic title track introduced listeners to a wheezing, dishevelled antihero lurking on the margins of society, inspired by a real photograph taken by Ian Anderson’s wife, Jennie Franks. From there, the album spirals into street scenes, moral conflict, and quiet autobiography. By the time you reach Side Two’s open hostility toward organised religion, it’s clear Aqualung isn’t just a classic rock album. It’s a challenge, laced with contempt, beauty and uneasy humour.

While Anderson has long insisted Aqualung is not a concept album, the perception has been impossible to shake. Side One (“Aqualung”) introduces the cast. The eponymous vagrant, the schoolgirl sex worker “Cross-Eyed Mary”, and Anderson himself via “Cheap Day Return”. Side Two (“My God”) hammers home the theological anxiety, culminating in “Wind Up”, a bitter hymn to institutionalised faith. The album’s sense of unity may have been accidental, but it remains one of its most compelling traits.

Musically, Aqualung is a collision of hard rock and English folk, with flashes of blues, psychedelia and acoustic intimacy. It’s the first to feature John Evan as a full-time keyboardist, and the last with drummer Clive Bunker. Jeffrey Hammond steps in on bass, laying down his first full performance for the band. The production, captured at Island’s newly built Basing Street studios, feels both raw and theatrical, fitting for an album that plays like street theatre.

The record’s greatest strength lies in its variety: delicate acoustic sketches like “Wond’ring Aloud” and “Slipstream” sit confidently next to the thunderous stomp of “Locomotive Breath” and the seething satire of “Hymn 43”. Even in its moments of simplicity, there’s a deliberate precision. “Mother Goose” is whimsical without being twee, while “My God” escalates into a blistering tirade, fuelled by Anderson’s flute and frustration.

It remains Tull’s best-selling album, with over seven million copies sold worldwide, and has become a fixture on “greatest albums” lists. Steven Wilson’s 2011 remix gave the murky original mix new clarity, reaffirming its musical depth for a new generation.

Ultimately, Aqualung isn’t just a rock record with a flute and a sneer. It’s an album that questions what we worship, whom we ignore, and how we make sense of a broken world. Whether concept or coincidence, its voice remains uniquely sharp. As cynical, theatrical and oddly beautiful as ever.