Yes, life is indeed very much like a frantic carnival, and you are a helpless aquatic mammal with no legs desperately performing tricks to please a cruel and fickle ringmaster through no fault of your own. A good metaphor right there. See, this is why I’m a lifelong follower of Jethro Tull. The J-Tull fan will always be rewarded with clever phrasing and inspired imagery. Putting on a Tull record is like returning to a favorite book. It may be a sustained storyline or a series of vignettes or loosely connected theses but it will be a literary experience as much as a musical one.
The sun used to never set on the British empire, as they used to say. It’s something the Brits were very proud of, and some of them still perversely are. Of course, the glory of the British empire, like all empires, came at the very violent expense of everybody else in the world who wasn’t British or at least continental Europeans, and the expense of the enlisted men who were sent out to do Queen and Country’s dirty work. This reality is now a bit of a national embarrassment, as more and more former colonies politely request if they could maybe have their pillaged art treasures and cultural legacy back, and oh maybe an apology and some restitution for all the killing, rape and enslavement. There may be a few proud Englishmen left who insist that it was all totally worth it, but their numbers are getting fewer, and if you haven’t guessed Ian Anderson is not one of them. It was inevitable that Jethro Tull would at some point take that shot, though this is a pretty mild indictment by Anderson’s standards. He just points out that it kind of sucks to have to be the person sailing around the world fighting and stealing for the enrichment of the Country and its upper classes with not much thanks or benefit to yourself.
Maybe you’ve figured out that I’ll post just about anything by me favorite bands, even if it’s less than two minutes long. (Also even if it’s substandard, but that doesn’t apply here.) I’ve read that this particular wisp of angst was written by Ian Anderson in mockery of the futile and essentially pretentious practice of criticism. Jethro Tull had not been getting very glowing reviews, apparently, and Anderson was irked. Or, supposedly was. I’ve also read that this song is nothing more than a rejected Thick as a Brick fragment. Either way, it’s a toss-off joke on a guy whose feelings of importance far outweigh his place in the world. It’s got a lot more wordplay in those few lines than most people manage in years, and it far outweighs the importance of whatever poor reviews the album may have got.