The age of the cyber-music fan continues to leave an inconsistent and generally confusing streak of what's worth salvaging from the depths of obscurity. If something, say, continues to flesh out the genealogy of metal and punk, the lights from the decades-later exposure singes off the warts that kept it in the shadows during its own time. So often, a heavy, pre-Sabbath riff is falsely elevated to the legendary heights because it's used only as citation for online cock measuring contests. But, that's the world in which we, the 21st century digital boys, now live. And it sucks.
And, it sucks for bands like Yezda Urfa. Even with the prog renaissance in full effect and with likeminded acts such as Gentle Giant beginning to get their work into the shelves of under thirtysomethings across the universe, they still labor in unpopularity. Of course, prog is always doomed for such an unfortunate end. They're the dexterous nerd of the music world, only admired by those with similar skills and interests. But, one can't say that it isn't a hit with the masses because it's hard to listen to. It's just...why would anyone bother unless they found ultra-active basslines and absurd rounds crucial for music enjoyment? Having shaved truffles on a dessert is not necessary for enjoyment, but foodies need that shit because they've gone too far, looked straight at the sun with wide eyes and now have blown their fucking brains out. And, if you're here, you're probably the same way. A nose full of melodic coke just ain't doing it anymore, so you need to inject those veins with endearingly pedantic feel-good to even get a fix. And, like any true music fan will tell you, each hit is killing you while keeping you alive. Music addiction makes you miserable.
There's little pockets of joy, though, when you find something legit that you won't burn out on in a week. Yezda Urfa made that kind of record with their unreleased '76 offering, Sacred Baboon. Think Yes meets Gentle Giant. They have a so-so first date where Yes can only talk about how unbalanced the coffee shop table is and Gentle Giant nervously laughs, not really getting the reference. They awkwardly hook up, produce a child, and split. Yes flirts with pop, Gentle Giant has a weird period where they date hair rock. Their kid, while retaining the best parts of each, resents them terribly, takes a bunch of speed, and scribbles down the kind of nonsense poetry that fills the dog-eared notebook of a freshman majoring in Joyce wet dreams. Kind of like that.