Introducing the Band:
Your hosts Scot Bertram (@ScotBertram) and Jeff Blehar (@EsotericCD) are with guest Brad Birzer. Brad is the Russell Amos Kirk Chair in American Studies and Professor of History at Hillsdale College. He is also the co-founder of and senior contributor at The Imaginative Conservative, and the author of a number of books, including Neil Peart: Cultural (Re)Percussions. Find him online at bradbirzer.com or @bradleybirzer on Twitter.

Brad’s Music Pick: Yes
Well, the buses outside don't add much weight to the story in our heads we began in our last episode of Political Beats, so we're thinking we should go and write a punchline; thus, welcome to part two of our discussion of the great progressive rock band Yes, wherein we discuss their career from 1974's Relayer onward to the present day. (Be forewarned -- we pick and choose after the debacle of Union (1991). Fondly remembered: Talk, Keys To Ascension, Magnification and Fly From Here. Not so fondly remembered: erm, Open Your Eyes.)

I could offer more prelude than that, but this is one episode where the music will do vastly more explaining than any written exegesis; Yes bounced back after Tales from Topographic Oceans with an album even more abstruse and outwardly difficult, yet light years more compelling. From that point onward and despite countless personnel changes -- up to and including swapping the "Video Killed the Radio Star" guys straight into their band -- the group maintained its unique sound and creative voice throughout the second half of the Seventies in a series of albums that age like casked scotch. (Check out the vigorous defenses of Tormato and Drama ye shall find herein!) Then the group collapsed after a disastrous 1980 tour and seemed to be over . . . until a South African guitarist/vocalist/songwriter named Trevor Rabin entered the picture.

All this and much, much more is covered on an episode of Political Beats that spans from the mid Seventies all the way to the late Eighties without once pausing for breath. Afterwards, we take a breather here and there, but for now? Tempus fugit, my friends, so you should click, because we're off to the races, going for the one.

Introducing the Band:
Your hosts Scot Bertram (@ScotBertram) and Jeff Blehar (@EsotericCD) are with guest Brad Birzer. Brad is the Russell Amos Kirk Chair in American Studies and Professor of History at Hillsdale College. He is also the co-founder of and Senior Contributor at The Imaginative Conservative, and the author of a number of books, including Neil Peart: Cultural (Re)Percussions. Find him online at bradbirzer.com or @bradleybirzer on Twitter.

Brad’s Music Pick: Yes
Tell the moon dog, tell the march hare! We take you close to the edge of the south side of the sky this week as we discuss the early adventures of Britain's answer to all the questions raised by hippies during the Seventies, the New Age of Atlantic: Yes. Yes were one of the pillars of British progressive rock music, but also (perhaps surprisingly) a major commercial success in America long before their peers. They were also a truly singular band during their lengthy heyday; the band underwent endless lineup changes as personalities clashed and artistic visions ran amok, and yet they have always sounded like themselves and nobody else successfully has.

Starting with local janitor Jon Anderson on countertenor vocals, Pete Banks on Hendrixian guitar, Tony Kaye on groovy late-Sixties B3 organ, fussily precise jazz drummer Bill Bruford keeping time, and Chris Squire playing a bass so aggressive it intimidates people into crossing to the other side of the street, Yes exploded out of London's club-gigging scene after drawing inspiration from watching a newly born King Crimson play the circuit. Their early style mixed originals -- first halting, then increasingly assured -- with spectacularly imaginative covers of everything from West Side Story to Buffalo Springfield and Simon & Garfunkel. But as Banks was jettisoned for Steve Howe, and then Tony Kaye traded in for Rick Wakeman, Yes ascended from a series of records beginning with The Yes Album and Fragile (1971) to superstardom, with all that entailed: sidelong songs, triple live albums, and extended soaks in the topographic oceans. All set to some of the most inscrutable lyrics but gorgeous music written during the decade.

So turn on your lava lamp and get ready to call over valleys of endless seas as you and I climb crossing the shape of the morning -- it's time to sink into a elevated musical fantasy world created by Yes during this, the first part of their career. We take the story up through Tales from Topographic Oceans (1973); next time around, we'll get a relayer to go for the one without too much drama, but for now click play and enjoy the sound of perpetual change.

Introducing the Band:
Your hosts Scot Bertram (@ScotBertram) and Jeff Blehar (@EsotericCD) are with guest Guy Denton. Guy is the co-host of The Wrong Stuff with Matt Lewis, contributor to The Dispatch and National Review, and until recently took Jonah Goldberg's guff over at The Remnant. Find him on Twitter/X . . . nowhere, because he is saner than the rest of us.

Guy’s Music Pick: Echo & the Bunnymen
There's really not much to say about this episode other than that it is the greatest and most important edition of Political Beats ever recorded. That's what singer/rhythm guitarist/world-class ego Ian McCulloch would no doubt say about this discussion of legendary U.K. postpunk greats Echo & the Bunnymen, and this time he might have a point, because this actually is one of the show's white whales: The Bunnymen may not have invented, but truly perfected, the platonic sonic ideal of "postpunk" over a series of four stunning records in the first half of the Eighties and if Jeff's use of descriptive superlatives were clipped and collected on their own, it would probably add up to at least a half-hour of raw time.

The Bunnymen were originally a drumless three-piece bedsit-room band from Liverpool -- vocalist McCulloch, lead guitarist Will Sergeant, and bassist Les Pattinson; it was the drum machine that was nicknamed "Echo" by fans. The addition of Londoner Pete de Freitas on actual drums in early 1980 immediately catalyzed the band: They launched out of the gates with their debut album Crocodiles (1980) and never looked back. From that point onward, they would play not just a major role, but arguably the defining role, in carving out the sonic world we now think of as "postpunk": fiercely arty, fiercely aggressive, and also fiercely beautiful. McCulloch sounded uncannily like one of his most well-known competitors in the postpunk arena -- U2's Bono -- and the run of work they put out between 1980 and 1987 tracks theirs blow-for-blow and is frankly superior in all respects right up until the end.

And yet from our American perspective (and nearly 40 years after their heyday) Echo & the Bunnymen are often treated as a curious footnote from the world of Eighties music, obscure Brits who recorded That Song You Know From That Movie Soundtrack. They were the furthest thing imaginable from it: one of the most endlessly compelling and rewarding groups of a decade positively exploding with great music. We weren't kidding when we said there isn't really much to say about this episode, because the music will speak more eloquently than any words can. Bring on the dancing horses, and seal your pact with the Dark Mistress of Fortune underneath the killing moon. Perhaps it was your fate -- up against a will -- all along. Click play and never stop.