brilliant song from a truly great great great album... it is the first song on the second side of the album War Child , released in 1974... love it...

Best JT song... Reminds my years in college, discovering a new world of sounds, sensations, feelings and hopes. And I remember Manuel, a classmate that knew everything about JT and had almost all its albuns and I recorded almost all of them in cassete tapes. "Skating away" was a passion at first hearing, and since then (40 years ago) I always stop everything to listen this song, wherever I am. And I remember college, friends and lovers, all together walking on the thin ice of a new life, full of dreams.

Well, now I feel obliged to tell my "Tull Tale". Back in the late 80s, I lived in San Antonio and, aside from Rush, we really only got heavy metal/hard rock shows. The closest Tull was getting that year was DFW, so my (now ex) husband and I decided to make the trek. It was very cold for November and our truck didn't have heat, so we bundled up in long black wool stormtrooper coats and ventured north. I can't say the show was exceptional, mainly because the venue was inappropriate for Tull's music (the Fairgrounds). But after the show, we hung around the parking lot, hoping against hope for an opportunity to snag an autograph. We were already in our truck (still trying to keep warm) when an entourage emerged from backstage. A van followed by a limo followed by a smaller car accelerated through the parking lot. So we joined the hunt, dashing through Dallas like madbrains. We followed them all the way to the Hotel Crescent Court. We almost got out, with autographable materials in hand, when I noticed the silhouettes of two passengers still in the van. The other vehicles, it turns out, were not part of the group, but other autograph seekers as well (even the guy driving the limo). While that group mobbed the band as they emerged from van, I suggested we just sit tight, because Ian Anderson was still in the van. The van took off and we gave chase (at least as much chase as a 1970 pickup truck can give). At one point on the highway, just as the van exited, we noticed a police car entered the highway. We were concerned that the van driver might have used a radio (no cell phones then) to report a beat-up truck following them, so instead of following the van, we waited until the next exit (of course, we were being unnecessarily paranoid). We circled back around in a more industrial neighborhood of Dallas and noticed the van was parked in a Denny's parking lot. My travelling companion had to pee like a racehorse, so he went into the Denny's to use their facilities. When he came out, he was motioning for me to get out of the truck. I was gathering my stuff when the van driver called out to us. He was very nice and confirmed that yes, indeed, that was Ian Anderson and his road manager, and did I need a Sharpie for the autograph? So we walk into Denny's, program and Sharpie in hand, in long black coats and see Ian and his manager sitting at the counter, eating soup and water. I really didn't want to disturb his meal, but by this time, they saw us and motioned for us to come over (I'm sure the Tull program in my trembling hands was a giveaway). I was struck dumb, couldn't utter a word, but the conversation around me is engraved in my brain. Ian: We're you at the show tonight? Me: (nods dumbly) Traveling Companion: Yes, it was great! Road Manager (with German accent): You look like you were at the theatre in those coats! Ian: Would you like me to sign that? Me: (nods dumbly, handing the program & Sharpie to him) TC: If you're interested, we'd be honoured to buy you a Pilsner Urquell at a nice pub nearby when you're through with your meal. (I knew PU to be IA's favourite beer at that time) Ian: Thank you, but whilst I appreciate the offer of the Urquell (pronouncing it "UR-kl"), in about an hour, I expect to be asleep, dreaming of large black pussies. Me: (croaks) Thank you! And so we took our leave. And for those of you less familiar, his colourful parting comment was a specific reference to his farm, which was chock-a-block with cats, mostly black (and large, I presume), used to keep the rodent population down and for company too, I'm sure. He would be dreaming of home.

I read somewhere that Ian Anderson locked himself away for a year to learn to play the flute. Glad he did.

thanks for this! college memories of cranking the stereo very loud and dancing wildly! okay, still do that..

zeelandhills wrote: