Flash – debut album
In an alternate universe, Chris Squire and Jon Anderson never met, and Yes never formed following the collapse of psychedelic band, Mabel Greer’s Toyshop. Filling the space-prog vacuum left in their non-existent wake was Flash, who went on to rule the world during the seventies before turning a bit shit in the eighties.
Of course, that’s an alternate universe and the one you’re reading this in already had Yes ready and willing to do all of the above. At the same time, we also had Flash.
Flash was formed when Peter Banks, the original Yes guitarist, left the band under a cloud following their second album, Time and a Word. He teamed up with three likeminded spirits and even hauled in Yes’s pre-Wakeman keyboard-noodler, Tony Kaye, to guest on their 1972 self-titled debut, Flash. The result is Yes, in all but name.
Sporting a cover that would nowadays elicit a raised eyebrow and a disapproving tut, Flash sounds like Yes’s little brother, kicking at the bedroom door, desperate to get in on the act.
A little unfair, perhaps, as Peter Banks was a founding member, but it’s impossible to listen to this album without thinking of those, ultimately more successful, prog standard-bearers. As I said, this is the band Yes would’ve been had Yes not existed.
Right from the off, with the energetic ‘Small Beginnings’, the comparisons are cordially invited to evening drinks followed by a medium-sized finger buffet, right down to the slightly high-pitched vocals from Colin Carter, a la Jon Anderson. ‘Children of the Universe’, in particular, could easily have appeared on anything Squire and co. put out from The Yes Album to Relayer (with the possible exception of Topographic Oceans), such is its near note for note rendering of what a Yes song should sound like, yet despite all this sonic facsimile, Flash remains a worthy listen.
Completely disassociate Flash from the Yes allusions and connections, and you have an album containing five solid space-prog tracks that all take themselves far too seriously, riding the rivers of pomposity with skis the size of canoes strapped to their feet, yet at the same time are hugely enjoyable.
It’s pointless to even attempt to single out any one song above the rest, as they all follow the same ostentatious blueprint favoured by the prog bands of this type. Instead, Flash should be listened to in one sitting, enjoyed, and then quickly forgotten about until the next time it finds pride of place in the CD player.
Although it’s lazy to once again mention the Y-word, truth of the matter is, if you like Yes, then you’ll love this too.
The 2009 Esoteric reissue of Flash contains the rare single version of ‘Small Beginnings’ as a bonus track and is available to buy from Amazon.co.uk
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