Aqualung’ by progressive rockers Jethro Tull gets to the heart of the matter, with singer Ian Anderson calling it a “guilt-ridden song of confusion about how you deal with beggars, [and] the homeless.” Inspired by photos of transient men shown to him by his first wife, Anderson’s ‘Aqualung’ character comes to life in Jethro Tull’s nearly 7-minute epic told from the perspective of a casual passerby who perceives Aqualung as a dirty, depraved pedophile – knowing that it’s likely not true, but needing a ‘valid’ excuse to justify not helping him.
Ian Anderson actually becomes Aqualung in Jethro Tull’s 1978 Madison Square Garden performance, thrashing about onstage and shouting his story to a captivated audience to both entertain and perhaps even hold them accountable for the Aqualungs in their own lives that they’ve refused to acknowledge.
Fun Fact: Anderson’s ex-wife Jennie Franks earned a songwriting credit for ‘Aqualung,’ so she receives half the royalties from the song. She and Anderson divorced in 1974.
Coupled with guitarist Martin Barre’s critically acclaimed guitar solo at 3:41, ‘Aqualung’ makes for a tremendous classic as well as a powerful social commentary – one that really draws you in and refuses to let you turn away!
+ Aqualung Lyrics +
Sitting on a park bench
Eying little girls
With bad intent.
Snot running down his nose
Greasy fingers smearing shabby clothes.
Drying in the cold sun
Watching as the frilly panties run.
Feeling like a dead duck
Spitting out pieces of his broken luck.
Sun streaking cold
An old man wandering lonely.
Taking time
The only way he knows.
Leg hurting bad,
As he bends to pick a dog end
Goes down to a bog to
Warm his feet.
Feeling alone
The army’s up the rode
Salvation a la mode and
A cup of tea.
Aqualung my friend
Don’t start away uneasy
You poor old sod
You see it’s only me.
Do you still remember
December’s foggy freeze
When the ice that
Clings on to your beard is
Screaming agony.
And you snatch your rattling last breaths
With deep-sea diver sounds,
And the flowers bloom like
Madness in the spring.
Sun streaking cold
An old man wandering lonely.
Taking time
The only way he knows.
Leg hurting bad,
As he bends to pick a dog end
Goes down to a bog to
Warm his feet.
Feeling alone
The army’s up the rode
Salvation a la mode and
A cup of tea.
Aqualung my friend
Don’t start away uneasy
You poor old sod
You see it’s only me.
Aqualung my friend
Don’t just start away uneasy
You poor old sod
You see it’s only me.
Sitting on a park bench
Eying little girls
With bad intent.
Snot running down his nose
Greasy fingers smearing shabby clothes.
Drying in the cold sun
Watching as the frilly panties run.
Feeling like a dead duck
Spitting out pieces of his broken luck.
