JETHRO TULL; Thick as a brick (CD: Thick as a brick)

Thick as a Brick (duro como un ladrillo) álbum de la banda Jethro Tull en lanzado en 1972,^[]
Se trata de una única canción dividida en dos partes (una para cada del vinilo) y con el viento como nexo de unión entre ambas,
Las cubiertas y el interior del disco de vinilo fueron diseñados imitando un diario de un pequeño pueblo, el St. Cleve Chronicle, en el cual se incluye la letra de la canción y diversas noticias y pasatiempos típicos de un diario.
El estilo de la obra podría calificarse de "sinfónico", con una  estructura musical de varios temas que emergen progresivamente. Usan una gran cantidad de instrumentos, predominando los sintetizadores.

La formación era: Ian Anderson , Martin Barre,John Evan, Jeffrey Hammond-Hammond y Barriemore Barlow.

Cuantos momentos se vienen a la mente al escuchar este disco.

Imprescindible en tu discoteca.

Thick as a brick

Really don't mind if you sit this one out.
My word's but a whisper,
your deafness a SHOUT.
I may make you feel
but I can't make you think.
Your sperm's in the gutter,
your love's in the sink

So you ride yourselves over the fields
And you make all your animal deals
And your wise men don't know how it feels
to be thick as a brick.

And the sand-castle virtues
are all swept away
in the tidal destruction
the moral melee.
The elastic retreat
rings the close of play
as the last wave uncovers
the new-fangled way.

But your new shoes are worn at the heels
and your suntan does rapidly peel
and your wise men don't know how it feels
to be thick as a brick.

And the love that I feel is so far away:
I'm a bad dream that I just had today
and you shake your head and say that's a shame.

Spin me back down the years
and the days of my youth.
Draw the lace and black curtains
and shut out the whole truth.
Spin me down the long ages:
let them sing the song.

See there! A son is born
and we pronounce him fit to fight.
There are black-heads on his shoulders,
and he pees himself in the night.
We'll make a man of him
put him to trade
teach him to play Monopoly
and how to sing in the rain.

The Poet and the painter
casting shadows on the water
as the sun plays on the infantry
returning from the sea.
The do-er and the thinker:
no allowance for the other
as the failing light illuminates
the mercenary's creed.

The home fire burning:
the kettle almost boiling
but the master of the house
is far away.
The horses stamping,
their warm breath clouding
in the sharp and frosty morning
of the day.
And the poet lifts his pen
while the soldier sheaths his sword.

And the youngest of the family
is moving with authority.
Building castles by the sea,
he dares the tardy tide
to wash them all aside.

The cattle quietly grazing
at the grass down by the river
where the swelling mountain water
moves onward to the sea.
The builder of the castles
renews the age-old purpose
and contemplates the milking girl
whose offer is his need.
The young men of the household
have all gone into service
and are not to be expected
for a year.
The innocent young master
thoughts moving ever faster
has formed the plan to change the man
he seems.
And the poet sheaths his pen
while the soldier lifts his sword.

And the oldest of the family
is moving with authority.
Coming from across the sea,
he challenges the son
who puts him to the run.

What do you do when the old man's gone,
do you want to be him?
And your real self sings the song.
Do you want to free him?
No one to help you get up steam
and the whirlpool turns you 'way off-beam.

LATER.

I've come down from the upper class
to mend your rotten ways.
My father was a man-of-power
whom everyone obeyed.

So come on all you criminals!
I've got to put you straight
just like I did with my old man
twenty years too late.

Your bread and water's going cold.
Your hair is too short and neat.
I'll judge you all and make damn sure
that no-one judges me.

You curl your toes in fun
as you smile at everyone,
you meet the stares.
You're unaware
that your doings aren't done.
And you laugh most ruthlessly
as you tell us
what not to be.
But how are we supposed to see
where we should run?

I see you shuffle in the courtroom
With your rings upon your fingers
And your downy little sidies
And your silver-buckle shoes.
Playing at the hard case,
you follow the example
of the comic-paper idol
who lets you bend the rules.

So come on ye childhood heroes!
Won't you rise up from the pages
of your comic-books, your super crooks
and show us all the way.
Well! Make your will and testament. Won't you?
Join your local government.
We'll have Superman for president
let Robin save the day.

You put your bet on number one
and it comes up every time.
The other kids have all backed down
And they put you first in line.
And so you finally ask yourself
just how big you are
and take your place in a wiser world
of bigger motor cars.

So! where the hell was Biggles
when you needed him last Saturday?
And where were all the sportsmen
who always pulled you though?
They're all resting down in Cornwall
writing up their memoirs
for a paper-back edition
of the Boy Scout Manual.

LATER.

See there! A man is born
and we pronounce him fit for peace.
There's a load lifted from his shoulders
with the discovery of his disease.
We'll take the child from him,
put it to the test
teach it to be a wise man,
how to fool the rest.

QUOTE

We will be geared to the average
rather than the exceptional
God is an overwhelming responsibility.
We walked through the maternity ward
and saw 218 babies wearing nylons
Cats are on the upgrade
upgrade? Hipgrave. Oh, Mac.

LATER

In the clear white circles
of morning wonder,
I take my place
with the lord of the hills.
And the blue-eyed soldiers
stand slightly
discoloured (in neat little rows)
sporting canvas frills.
With their jock-straps pinching,
they slouch to attention,
while queueing for sarmies
at the office canteen.
Saying - how's your granny?
And good old Ernie:
he coughed up a tenner
on a premium bond win.

The legends (worded in the ancient tribal hymn)
lie cradled in the seagull's call.
And all the promises they made
are ground beneath the sadist's fall.

The poet and the wise man
stand behind the gun,
and signal for the crack of dawn.
Light the sun.

Do you believe in the day? Do you?
Believe in the day!

The Dawn Creation of the Kings
has begun.
Soft Venus (lonely maiden)
brings the ageless one.
Do you believe in the day?

The fading hero has returned
to the night
and fully pregnant with the day
wise men endorse the poet's sight.
Do you believe in the day? Do you?
Believe in the day!

Let me tell you the tales of your life
of your love and the cut of the knife
the tireless oppression
the wisdom instilled
the desire to kill or be killed.
Let me sing of the losers who lie
in the street as the last bus goes by.
The pavements are empty:
the gutters run red while the fool
toasts his god in the sky.

So come all ye young men
who are building castles!
Kindly state the time of the year
and join your voices in a hellish chorus.
Mark the precise nature of your fear.

Let me help you pick up your dead
as the sins of the father are fed
with the blood of the fools
and the thoughts of the wise
and from the pan under your bed.
Let me make you a present of song
as the wise man breaks wind and is gone
while the fool with the hour-glass
is cooking his goose
and the nursery rhyme winds along.

So! Come all ye young men
who are building castles!
Kindly state the time of the year
and join your voices in a hellish chorus.
Mark the precise nature of your fear.
See! The summer lightning
casts its bolts upon you
and the hour of judgement draweth near.
Would you be the fool
stood in his suit of armour
or the wiser man who rushes clear.

So! Come on ye childhood heroes!
Won't your rise up from the pages
of your comic-books, your super-crooks
and show us all the way.
Well! Make your will and testament. Won't you?
Join your local government.
We'll have Superman for president
let Robin save the day.

So! Where the hell was Biggles
when you needed him last Saturday?
And where were all the sportsmen
who always pulled you through?
They're all resting down in Cornwall -
writing up their memoirs
for a paper-back edition
of the Boy Scout Manual.

OF COURSE

So you ride yourselves over the fields
And you make all your animal deals
And your wise men don't know how it feels
to be thick as a brick