Jethro Tull - This Was
On October 4, 1968, "This Was", the debut album by "Jethro Tull", was released in the UK.
It is rather amusing that "Jethro Tull" chose a title in the past tense for their very first album. While most bands are still trying to introduce themselves, "Jethro Tull" are telling us to hurry up, because they will be somewhere else before long. Yet "This Was" is far from a dress rehearsal for the real thing. It is a spirited, rough-edged blues album full of character, made by a band playing with a healthy appetite and beginning to realize that there is more than one way to satisfy it.
Anyone arriving here by way of "Aqualung" or "Thick as a Brick" may need a moment to adjust. The guitar occupies much more space, the flute shares the spotlight with it, and there is no ambitious composition stretching across an entire side of the record. Yet that very distance from the famous albums lets us hear something fascinating. Before Ian Anderson became the band's undisputed leader, he faced a guitarist with a sound, experience and a will of his own. The meeting between them is the heart of this album.
The story begins before the name "Jethro Tull" ever appeared on a poster. Singer and flautist Anderson and bassist Glenn Cornick came from John Evan's bands in Blackpool, while guitarist Mick Abrahams and drummer Clive Bunker played in "McGregor's Engine". By late 1967, the four had come together as a new band in the London area. After several name changes, the name of an eighteenth-century English agricultural pioneer stuck. By February 1968, they were already appearing under that name at the "Marquee" club, and over the course of the year they built an audience through frequent performances and a stage presence that was hard to ignore.
London at the time had no shortage of guitarists who knew how to play the blues. Anderson's flute gave the band a clear advantage, and Abrahams made sure they had plenty of electric weight as well. Alongside them, Cornick and Bunker were much more than backing musicians. The bass moves freely between the guitar and flute phrases, while the drums know how to hold down a groove and how to push forward. You can hear that this music took shape in front of an audience, over nights of playing, rather than solely at a writing desk.
The album was recorded in the summer of 1968 at "Sound Techniques" in Chelsea, with the band and Terry Ellis producing and Victor Gamm handling the recording. The budget was around £1,200, and the sound retains the directness of a small band playing together. There is space between the instruments, the guitar is not buried beneath unnecessary layers, and even when the arrangements expand, you can follow what each musician is doing. Anderson wrote most of the material, but Abrahams' presence is felt well beyond the songs on which he has a writing credit.
The opening track, "My Sunday Feeling", makes it clear why. This is the morning after, with the head still trying to recover and the body wanting to crawl back into bed, yet the band sounds remarkably wide awake. Abrahams' guitar is sharp and loose, Cornick and Bunker drive the rhythm, and Anderson sings with a rasp that suits the unease in the lyrics. The flute slips into the commotion with surprising ease. Instead of softening the blues, it adds restlessness and cheek.
The tension between the two musical voices becomes especially interesting on "Beggar's Farm", which Anderson and Abrahams wrote together. Behind the seemingly relaxed rhythm lies a bitter settling of romantic accounts, with a narrator already imagining the day when the woman who hurt him will need him again. The guitar stretches out its phrases, the flute answers them, and the singing stays restrained enough to let the sting do its work. This is one of the moments when the band gives a familiar blues structure a personality of its own.
On the other hand, "Move on Alone" reveals how much Abrahams had to offer beyond his role as guitarist. He wrote it and sings it too, taking the spotlight on an album where most of the vocals belong to Anderson. The horn arrangement by Dee Palmer, credited at the time as David Palmer, gives the track a warm rhythm and blues swing, and in less than two minutes it offers a different possibility for this band. You can hear just how significant a partner Abrahams was in those early days.
Then comes "Serenade to a Cuckoo", and the atmosphere in the room changes. Roland Kirk's composition allows Anderson to step away from his tussle with the guitar for a moment and develop a different conversation, one that is jazzier and more relaxed. The melody is simple enough to catch the ear, but the playing lingers over it, wanders away and returns with pleasure. The vocal sounds Anderson weaves into his blowing and the unpolished tone of the flute give the performance a very human touch. Almost six minutes pass without any need for a chorus or lyrics, making this one of the album's finest achievements. Here you can understand why the flute would grow from an outward trademark into a central instrument in the band's musical language.
Still, not every instrumental excursion on the album is equally convincing. On "Dharma for One", written by Anderson and Bunker, the drums are given plenty of room, and the energy of the stage spills onto the record. The enthusiasm is infectious, but there are also moments when the musical idea gives way to a display of technique. That quality is also apparent in "Cat's Squirrel", arranged by Abrahams, which lets his guitar gallop. Anyone who loves the electric blues of the period will find plenty to enjoy here.
The most successful connection between the roots and what was still to come arrives on "A Song for Jeffrey". The bass opens, the flute creeps in, and then the slide guitar, harmonica and distorted vocals turn the whole thing into strange, catchy psychedelic blues. The Jeffrey of the title is Jeffrey Hammond, Anderson's friend and the band's future bassist, and the lyrics touch on a sense of being directionless and the need to move on. The song sounds like "Jethro Tull" before the band had quite decided how it wanted to sound.
The album was released in the UK by "Island" and reached number ten on the British album chart. It was a successful start, supported by the reputation the band had built onstage. Success, however, did not resolve the disagreements within the group. Abrahams wanted to continue along the blues path, while Anderson sought to broaden the band's range of influences. After the album's release, they parted ways. Abrahams formed "Blodwyn Pig", and after a brief spell with Tony Iommi, Martin Barre joined the band. By the second album, "Stand Up", the change would be unmistakable.
In retrospect, it is easy to turn "This Was" into a footnote in the story of the development of "Jethro Tull", but that does a disservice to both the album and Abrahams. Even Anderson, in his tribute following the guitarist's death in December 2025, emphasized his importance to the early band and the mutual respect that remained between them. The anniversary edition released in November 2018, featuring a new mix by Steven Wilson, BBC recordings and original mixes, offered a chance to revisit this period and hear it afresh. Beyond its historical value, there is playing here worth savoring even without knowing what happened next.
The cover joins in the joke at the heart of the album. Four young musicians dress up as old men surrounded by dogs, as though they have already reached the stage when they are entitled to reminisce about the past. Beside a title like "This Was", the picture adds another knowing wink. Inside the record, though, nobody sounds tired.
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