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In the annals of progressive rock history, few albums arrive with such a curious mixture of anticipation and trepidation as Yes's tenth studio effort, Tormato. Released in September 1978, this collection finds the Yorkshire symphonic rock titans at a fascinating crossroads, caught between their established grandiose tendencies and the new wave winds blowing through the musical landscape. The result is an album that's simultaneously their most accessible and perhaps their most frustrating – a paradox that defines much of Yes's later period work.

The backstory to Tormato reads like a soap opera scripted by rock gods with too much time on their hands. Following the commercial triumph of Going for the One, the band found themselves in a state of creative flux. Rick Wakeman had departed (again) after that album's tour, making way for the returning Tony Kaye, whose Hammond organ had graced the band's early classics. This personnel shuffle coincided with punk's assault on prog's ivory towers, leaving many dinosaur acts scrambling to prove their continued relevance. Yes, ever the perfectionists, decided to streamline their approach – a decision that would prove both liberating and limiting.

Musically, Tormato represents Yes attempting to thread the needle between their symphonic past and a more radio-friendly future. The album's eight tracks – notably shorter than the sprawling epics that built their reputation – showcase a band consciously editing themselves, sometimes successfully, sometimes not. Jon Anderson's ethereal vocals still soar over Chris Squire's thunderous bass lines, while Steve Howe's guitar work remains a masterclass in versatility, but there's an unmistakable sense of restraint throughout.

The album's crown jewel is undoubtedly "Don't Kill the Whale," a track that initially sounds like Yes doing their best Devo impression before revealing itself as something far more sophisticated. Anderson's environmental concerns mesh perfectly with Alan White's propulsive drumming and Kaye's swirling keyboards, creating what might be the band's most successful marriage of message and medium. It's prog rock for the disco era, and it works brilliantly.

"Release, Release" offers another highlight, with Howe's guitar work channeling both his classical training and his rock instincts over a rhythm section that's surprisingly funky. The song demonstrates that Yes could indeed adapt to changing times without completely abandoning their identity. Similarly, "Madrigal" presents the band at their most intimate, a gentle acoustic piece that showcases Anderson's mystical leanings without the usual orchestral bombast.

However, Tormato isn't without its missteps. "Circus of Heaven," despite featuring Anderson's young son on vocals, feels more like an indulgent experiment than a fully realized composition. The track's carnival atmosphere, while charming in small doses, overstays its welcome and disrupts the album's flow. Meanwhile, "Arriving UFO" promises cosmic transcendence but delivers something closer to cosmic confusion, with ideas that feel half-formed despite the band's obvious technical prowess.

The album's production, handled by the band themselves, reflects both the benefits and drawbacks of artistic control. While the sound is crisp and allows each instrument space to breathe, there's occasionally a sense that an outside ear might have helped focus some of the more meandering passages. The band's democratic approach to arrangement sometimes results in compositions that feel more like collections of great individual parts rather than cohesive wholes.

Tormato's legacy remains complicated within the Yes catalog. Commercially, it performed respectably, reaching the top ten in both the UK and US, proving that the band's fanbase remained loyal despite the stylistic shifts. However, it's often overlooked in discussions of the band's essential works, falling between the acknowledged classics of the early seventies and the unexpected renaissance of 90125.

In retrospect, Tormato feels like a necessary transitional album – a bridge between Yes's prog rock past and their eventual new wave reinvention. While it lacks the epic scope of Close to the Edge or the focused pop sensibilities of their later hits, it captures a band genuinely grappling with their place in a changing musical landscape. The album's willingness to experiment, even when those experiments don't entirely succeed, speaks to an artistic restlessness that would serve them well in the decades to come. Tormato may not be peak Yes, but it's fascinating Yes – and sometimes, that's equally valuable.