When Rick Wakeman re-joined Yes for their Going for the One return to form, it was expected the glory days would last a little longer than they did. Hindsight is to say embarking on an eighty-four-date tour to promote an already commercially successful album is overkill, but such was the expectation back then. Even after a lengthy break before heading back into the studio, tensions between the members, and as such their instrumental additions, are clear. Tormato is torn between the progressive rock of the past and the radio-friendly spots which come to define this album. A mess at the best of times, though Yes has often found new life in the flow of creative compromise. Uncompromising parts are the problem here, especially when the hiccups of floaty, worthless lyrical points are doubled down on. Directionless at the best of times, witheringly flat at its worst. A shameful mess of noise.
Ian Anderson and whatever is left of the Jethro Tull troupe would love this style of writing. Decadent, stripped of meaning and linked to the history books through reference yet no understanding. Pair that with a space-age sound, an adjacent flicker of synth, string and support from the rest of the band for nothing but their own work, and opener Future Times / Rejoice is, at best, a disaster. The more learned of Yes, the less enjoyable they are as an outfit and as musicians. This is where Yes hits on an overtly pretentious sound, a pastiche of their abilities which stuck around to the modern day. They play their hits, the same instrumental structures, with a lack of bite. All the barking is directed at their bandmates and the consequence of that is instrumental work which does not sound as though it fits together. Empty spots on Rejoice and Don’t Kill the Whale are stock efforts which are vague at best.
Madrigal, too, struggles to cling to something memorable. Maudlin tones, instrumental in-fighting, the mess is not a sum of interest but a dreadful shortcoming. What Tormato finds, especially on Release, Release, is an aimlessness which left the band open to easy influences. Melodic rock tones dominate the end of the A-side, and yet this easy slip into a rocking sound of the past is the best part of the album. Yes has lot their meaning, their image, on this release. Gormless work heralds the Arriving UFO, which, had it come into contact with Yes at this time, would likely have vaporised them. Moments on Tormato make the cacophony of noise and lights Roy Neary used to speak with alien life in Close Encounters of the Third Kind feel like instrumental reawakenings. Excessive tones are met with overplayed sections and ridiculous, overblown songwriting throughout Tormato.
Even at their best, the unique writing style which plagues Yes when they are not tethered to a point or reason, is a struggle. A gut-wrenching experience for those listening to Tormato will be identifying some notable moments of instrumental interest, locked away and resigned to a song which neither fits the tone nor has a point to make. Headache-inducing rot like Circus of Heaven sounds more like a circle of hell, the aimless wanderings of Wakeman and company, whose spite and rage can be heard the whole way through. It is as though the band are trying to create a cacophony of different themes, rigid and unmoving in their choices, refusing to change the style they have in mind for Tormato. It does indeed cause a storm of sound, none of it incredible, and most of it making for a truly taxing listen.
