I can’t make myself cry knowing that Chris Squire is dead, for some reason, even though I should be able to.
Yes, to me, is Jack Kirby music. If you crack open the 4th World Odyssey or the Galactus Saga, Close to the Edge is the first thing that should be bubbling out of your headphones. And the thing about Yes is that for a lot of their whimsy they had a seminal influence on hard rock and even indie rock as well and a lot of that is because over Rick Wakeman’s keys and Jon Anderson’s faeriesque vocals was Chris Squire’s bass, at once supremely elegant and beyond its time with how heavy it was. It was like getting a knockout KO from a pirouette. Squire knew how to ground the song as fully as possible without centering attention on himself and without turning his big fucking bass riffs into ostentatious technical workouts.
Yes was special, and a lot of the reason that Yes was special was that Chris was special. He was the big fucking dude holding the rest of the band in the Earth’s atmosphere when they were about to penetrate the troposphere and suffocate. He was the muscle behind the mind. He made 21 fucking God damn albums with a band called Yes, even when they sucked, and they sucked a lot after a certain amount of time. That’s worth remarking fondly upon.
RIP to a rock legend. You will be missed.