In the sprawling discography of Jethro Tull—a catalog marked by progressive epics, folk-rock detours, and Ian Anderson’s curmudgeonly wit— Living with the Past (2002) occupies a unique, often overlooked space. It is not a studio album of new material, nor is it a typical “greatest hits” compilation. Instead, it’s a hybrid: a live album wrapped around a handful of BBC session relics, designed as a companion piece to a then-forthcoming DVD. But to dismiss it as a contractual obligation or a mere stopgap would be a mistake. Living with the Past serves as a vibrant, unvarnished testament to a band in its third decade, still capable of breathtaking musicianship and, more importantly, still having fun.
The true highlight is the centerpiece: a stunning, 11-minute rendition of “My God” from Aqualung . In Anderson’s hands, it’s no longer just a diatribe against organized religion; it’s a living, breathing jam vehicle. He duels with Giddings’ synth flutes and Barre’s razor-edged guitar, his own flute trilling manically as he hops on one leg—a theatrical signature that, on audio alone, translates as pure, urgent energy. The recording captures the room’s warmth, not sterile and over-dubbed, but alive with the slight reverb of the Apollo’s wood-paneled walls. jethro tull living with the past
The core of the album is drawn from a 2001 show at London’s Hammersmith Apollo. By this point, the classic mid-70s lineup of Barre, Hammond, Barlow, and Evans was long gone. Anderson, ever the bandleader, had assembled a formidable new iteration: himself on flute, acoustic guitar, and vocals; the eternally underrated Martin Barre on electric guitar (the sole remaining rock from the Aqualung era); Doane Perry’s polyrhythmic drumming; Andrew Giddings on a cathedral’s worth of keyboards; and Jonathan Noyce on bass. This lineup had already proven its mettle on the preceding studio album, J-Tull Dot Com , and here they sound road-honed and telepathic. In the sprawling discography of Jethro Tull—a catalog
The setlist on Living with the Past is a fan’s dream, avoiding the obvious in favor of the inspired. Yes, you get “Aqualung” and “Locomotive Breath,” but they arrive late, earned by deep dives into the catalog. The opening trio—“Some Day the Sun Won’t Shine for You” (a Stand Up gem), “Living in the Past” (re-arranged with a softer, jazzier lilt), and the instrumental fireworks of “Hunting Girl” (from Songs from the Wood )—announces a band comfortable with its history but not trapped by it. But to dismiss it as a contractual obligation