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Fly | 
| Artist: Yoko Ono
Label: Rykodisc
Category: Music
List Price: £17.99
Buy New: £9.22
as of 21/11/2009 20:38 GMT details
You Save: £8.77 (49%)
New (19) Used (3) from £9.22
Seller: supermart_usa
Rating:  2 reviews
Sales Rank: 50506
Format: Original recording reissued, Original recording remastered
Media: Audio CD
Discs: 2
Shipping Weight (lbs): 0.3
Dimensions (in): 5.5 x 4.9 x 0.4
MPN: 10415
UPC: 014431041525
EAN: 0014431041525
ASIN: B0000009RI
Release Date: August 11, 1997
Availability: Usually dispatched within 1-2 business days
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| Tracks:
Disc 1
| • | Midsummer New York | | • | Mindtrain | | • | Mind Holes | | • | Don't Worry Kyoko (Mummy's Only Looking For Her Hand In TheSnow) | | • | Mrs Lennon | | • | Hirake | | • | Toilet Piece/Unknown | | • | O'Wind (Body Is The Scar Of Your Mind) |
Disc 2
| • | Airmale | | • | Don't Count The Waves | | • | You | | • | Fly | | • | Telephone Piece | | • | Between the Takes | | • | Will You Touch Me |
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| Customer Reviews:
Yoko: the original Fly girl September 17, 2000
7 out of 7 found this review helpful
For her second solo album, Yoko expanded upon the format used on her first. This time dividing the two-album set between her rock jams on disc one and her avant-garde pieces on disc two.pFor the most part, the meat of the album lays on disc one. This disc features Yoko the Plastic Ono Band on the singles Midsummer New York, Mrs. Lennon, Mind Train, Open Your Box (featured here as Hirake), and the b-side Don't Worry Kyoko. Also featured are the breezy Mind Holes and the Indian sounding O'Wind.pSide two finds Yoko with Joe Jones' 'Tone Deaf' band, which features musical instruments designed by Jones, which play themselves with minimal (if any) human manipulation. Of these tracks, probably the most noteworthy is Don't Count the Waves, an aural picture in which one can almost imagine Yoko's voice as the crashing waves of the ocean. Other noteworthy cuts on disc two are of course Fly, Airmale and the Ono classic Telephone Piece (which consists of a ringing phone, then Yoko's voice saying Hello, This is Yoko... then a dial tone).pThe album was not quite as strong as the 'Yoko Ono/Plastic Ono Band' LP, and hadn't yet reached the rock-oriented levels of 'Approximately Infinite Universe', but was definitely a classic album. It has become common in recent years to associate this album with the phrase Oh yeah, we used to drop acid and listen to Yoko Ono's 'Fly' album, but I think anyone with an imagination could appreciate this album even without the induced state.
Strip away the flab and it could have been a classic October 16, 2004
D. Yates (England)
4 out of 5 found this review helpful
Call me a reactionary, noise-fixated juvenile, but nothing in Yoko's back catalogue (and little else in the canon of great art) can top the torrential wail of 'Plastic Ono Band': taken in its original six track form, it's a lean masterpiece that for all its lyrical incoherence never veers from its mission of eliciting rage, ecstasy, fear and excitement in an almost unbearably pure form. If you think it's overlong, you're probably the kind who would turn it off after the first screech. But even I can't tolerate the full twenty-three minutes of 'Fly's title track. The first two thirds of the piece consisting of reed-thin 'eek's and hoarse wailing which comes unprecedentedly close to the sound of nails scraping a blackboard, the track later introduces chorused and backwards-masked noise which may be an electric violin played tunelessly. The vocal then flips back to the beginning and replays almost in its entirety. Missing the spiky, nearly babbling instrumentation of the Tone Deaf machines that populate most of the second CD, it lacks the element of playful abandon that makes Yoko's music heroic in its best moments. pAfter the artless original ending of 'Telephone Piece' (here transformed into an elegant segue) Yoko snaps suddenly back to form with the brilliant, shape-shifting shimmy of 'Between The Takes' and the vocal is once again focused and full bodied. For all the brooding eerieness of 'Don't Count The Waves', the real wave-motion can be heard in 'You', with its rippling musical chatter and Yoko's keening, gentle wails. Its beguiling otherworldliness is way overshadowed by tenderness and sincere human yearning. In these moments, you feel that Yoko is emoting in a voice so natural that she requires no forethought at all. It has the unconscious ease of breathing. pThe first CD possesses none of the dissolving uniformity of disc two, but the material is tighter, varied and far more memorable. It opens with the jaunty, palpitating 'Midsummer New York', saved from bluesy pastiche by the simple fact that rock's most original singer is performing it. Yoko's sincerity has also imbued potentially awful material with dignity and gravitas. 'Mindtrain' is a superb rock track overlaid by Yoko's gaspingly exciteable coos and shudders. 'Mind Holes' is a dreamy internal landscape of Eastern instrumentation and meditative vocalising. But it's 'Don't Worry Kyoko (Mummy's Only Looking For Her Hand In the Snow)' that must truly be heard to be believed. Its incredible bursting wail subsides into a rickety rock stomp that underpins Yoko's visionary song, stretching out a scenario so peculiar that you wouldn't know whether it were a nightmare or a kind reassurance. Possibly the closest thing to the avant-rock of 'Plastic Ono Band', it bears little resemblance to the album's overall tone, but it remains magnificent.p'Mrs. Lennon' is a reminiscent ballad drenched in the mist of the morning after, and 'Hirake' is skittery take on 'Open Your Box' that sorely misses its weight and fury. The daffy single sample of a flushing latrine that forms 'Toilet Piece' serves as an odd precedent to the mourning 'O Wind (Body Is The Scar Of Your Mind)' that places Yoko's weary lament over a graceful tabla arrangement. pDespite the greater focus of the album's first half, the curse of over-indulgence hangs over the whole work. Even the standout tracks could, with a couple of exceptions, have been shortened with major benefits for both Yoko's performance and the listener's palate. As a concept, the drowsy bloatedness of the work should add to its charm, at once grandiose and inward-looking. But an album has to be listened to. Perhaps this is Yoko's 'White Album', a visionary work whose vision is so fully, overbearingly realised that it may lessen the regularity with which you'd want to hear it. As thrilling in its best moments as almost anything else Yoko has done, it nonetheless failed to leave me wanting more.
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