Shaft (1971)

Performer: Isaac Hayes                                        Writer: Isaac Hayes
Album US Chart Position: #1                                Label: Stax Records
Musicians: Isaac Hayes, Lester Snell, Charles Pitts, James Alexander and Willie Hall

I didn’t actually get around to purchasing Isaac Hayes’ masterpiece, the soundtrack to Shaft, until twenty-five years after it was first released. Which is not to say I wasn’t aware of it all through the seventies. A person would have had to be in a coma not to. We played the title number in the high school band, and I also had brilliant arrangement of the song performed by Maynard Ferguson’s big band on his M.F. Horn II album. Thinking back, it probably had to do with the culture where I grew up. While I was raised on Barry White and The O’Jays, The Commodores and Earth, Wind and Fire, I was completely unconscious of sixties soul and the artists who made it, even if they continued to work into the seventies. Like the young girl in Steely Dan’s “Hey Nineteen,” I didn’t know that Aretha Franklin was the queen of soul until The Blues Brothers movie. And as corny as John Belushi and Dan Aykroyd might have seemed, they were directly responsible for leading me back to the music of Sam and Dave, Wilson Pickett, Ike and Tina Turner, and the mother lode of all sixties soul music, Stax Records. Even then, however, I never got around to picking up Isaac Hayes’ first soundtrack album until much later. It’s not hyperbole to say that it was a life-changing experience.

Director Gordon Parks hired Isaac Hayes to write some music for his film and, while still in production, Hayes wrote “Soulsville,” the only full vocal performance on the soundtrack when Richard Roundtree as Shaft is walking through Harlem, “Ellie’s Love Theme,” a jazz-influenced tune that features the vibraphone, and the title track, “Theme from Shaft.” Impressed, Parks gave him the go ahead to score the entire film, which he did, in Los Angeles with the Bar-Kays rhythm section and members of his own band to back him up. And the music is exceptional. There are pithy little numbers, like “Shaft’s Cab Ride,” suspenseful cues like “Walk from Regio’s,” as well as beautifully soulful tunes like “Early Sunday Morning.” But the two most memorable tracks after the title song have to be the vibrant “Be Yourself,” with its aggressive sax solo by Harvey Henderson, and the nearly twenty minute tour de force, “Do Your Thing.” It starts out on a medium groove with a brief vocal by Hayes, and then gradually increases in tempo and intensity until the thing is practically rattling the speakers. Finally, the tape lurches forward until a record needle scratches the song to a jolting conclusion. But Hayes isn’t done, and wisely reprises the opening track without the vocals to bring the album to a satisfying close.

Not only did the album rocket to the number one slot on the charts in the summer of 1971, but it stayed on the album charts for over a year. In addition, the album won a number of Grammys as well as an Oscar for the title song, all of which were well deserved. But while I had loved the album, I had still never seen the film, and nothing prepared me for the shock when I watched it for the first time and realized that none of the music from the album was in the film. Oh, the songs were the same, but it turns out that they were hastily put together for the actual soundtrack in L.A. When the job was finished, however, Hayes and the rest of his musicians went back home to Memphis and he decided to record the music all over again, this time with the intention of making a great album. And he did exactly that. By comparison, the original soundtrack has been released recently and it contains some fascinating insights into the origins of the songs, as well as music that wasn’t used in the film. But the thing that stands out the most is how incredible the recording facilities were in Memphis at the Stax studio. There’s a depth and richness utterly lacking in the L.A. studio recordings, and so it makes sense that practically everything recorded at Stax was terrific. Isaac Hayes’ soundtrack to Shaft remains one of the all time great albums of the seventies and is every bit as powerful today as it was the day it was released.

Strawberry Letter 23 (1977)

Performer: The Brothers Johnson                          Writer: Shuggie Otis
Highest US Chart Position: #5                               Label: A&M Records
Musicians: George & Louis Johnson, Lee Ritenour, Dave Grusin and Harvey Mason

This song is vividly etched in my mind because it was a favorite of my high school sweetheart. At her house they had one of those giant console stereos that sat in the living room and she and her sisters used to play the 45s on it all the time, this one getting heavy rotation at the time. The core of The Brothers Johnson consisted of George on guitar and vocals and his brother Louis on bass and vocals. They had initially formed a band with their cousin in Los Angeles but eventually worked as a backing band for various performers like Bobby Womack, The Supremes and Billy Preston. It was while working with Quincy Jones, however, that they really began to demonstrate their talents as performers in their own right, and he was impressed enough that he produced their first album in 1976. That album spawned their biggest hit, “I’ll Be Good to You,” which went all the way to number three in the charts. But was their follow up album, Right on Time, also produced by Jones, that contained the song they are best known for, “Strawberry Letter 23.” The single was paired with “Dancin’ and Prancin’” on the B-side, a straight-up funk number pulled from their first album.

The genesis of the tune is a fascinating one. It was actually written by guitar great Shuggie Otis, son of the rhythm and blues bandleader Johnny Otis. He had recorded the number for his 1971 album Freedom Fight, and it probably would have been destined for obscurity had George Johnson not come across the album while dating one of Otis’s cousins. He liked the song and, while staying true to the melody and lyrics, the brothers brought the rhythm and musical backing up to date and turned it into a dance/soul number that shot up the charts peaking at number five on September 24, 1977. Attempts at interpreting the lyrics are as nonsensical as the lyrics themselves. It’s a love song, sure, but the words are merely a poetic exercise in synesthesia, beginning with the narrator hearing a kiss, as well as experiencing a variety of colors in physical ways. Like John Lennon’s “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds,” the meaning is beside the point, and in that sense the lyrics are terrific. The oft-mentioned explanation for the title, that Otis received love letters from his girlfriend on strawberry scented stationary, has been flatly denied by him as well. It’s simply another use of synesthesia, with the letter being given the sensuous characteristics of the fruit itself.

The song begins with Dave Grusin’s piano and the George Johnson’s guitar on the downbeat, a dotted half note note followed by a quarter note and two half notes while Ian Underwood plays the distinctive chorus melody on the keyboards. Then the song settles into a medium groove with Louis Johnson’s bass line being supported by pizzicato guitar effects, and ending with Louis’s walk up into the verse. The walk up, this time by the rest of the band, is repeated at the end of each line of the verse and supplemented by Ralph MacDonald’s percussion. The vocals are terrific, with a soft, breathy delivery that perfectly reflects the dream-like imagery of the lyrics and is supported by a chorus of background singers. The bridge section eases back the instruments to minimal support, but then slowly builds into the next verse. The second bridge ends in a series of background vocals that lead to the memorable guitar break, with Lee Ritenour and George Johnson playing a harmony pattern than shifts along with the chord progression, and accompanied by Harvey Mason’s intricate high-hat work. This leads to sort of a half-verse at the end and then the fadeout. “Strawberry Letter 23” is simply a great example of non-disco, seventies soul at the height of the disco era.

It Never Rains in California (1972)

Performer: Albert Hammond                                  Writers: Albert Hammond & Mike Hazelwood
Highest US Chart Position: #5                               Label: Columbia Records (Mums)
Musicians: Albert Hammond, Larry Carlton, Michael Omartian, Joe Osborn and Hal Blaine

This is one of those songs that emerged from the mists of time to lodge in my memory, and it still stirs my emotions. Since this was still a year before I really became conscious of popular music on the radio, my primary associations with the song come from television. In those days they used to sell all kinds of hits packages on LP produced by companies like K-Tel. As the titles and performers of the songs scrolled up the screen snippets of the song would play, and the chorus of this one was an absolute hook for my psyche. I was in fifth grade at the time the song was released, but I didn’t get a copy of it until a year and half later when I purchased The Now Explosion at the local department store. I came close to wearing out the grooves on that album and this song was one of the reasons why. The actual title of the song is “It Never Rains in Southern California,” though the “Southern” is only mentioned a couple of times in the lyrics--which always bothered me. Sure, it does rain in Northern California, but if we’re smart enough to figure that out without much of a distinction in the lyrics, it’s a good bet we’ll be able to do without it in the title.

Albert Hammond was a British singer-songwriter who grew up in Gibraltar and played primarily in Spain when he first began performing. In the mid sixties he moved back to England and met Mike Hazelwood when they formed the band The Family Dogg and the two became longtime collaborators. Hammond and Hazelwood went to Los Angeles in 1971 and recorded an album of their songs, It Never Rains in Southern California, for the Columbia subsidiary Mums Records. While this song was his biggest hit as an artist, the team also wrote another top ten hit in “The Air That I Breathe.” After the song appeared on Hammond’s album it was given to Phil Everly for his 1973 solo album, but is most well known from the version recorded by the Hollies which went to number six in 1974. While Hammond’s album only made it to number 77 in the album charts, the single, with “Anyone Here in the Audience” on the B-side, went all the way to number five on the sixteenth of December in 1972. The lyrics of the song mirror Hammond’s struggles to become a performer in Spain, begging for money in train stations, and too embarrassed to tell his parents because they would naturally have wanted him to quit.

Veteran studio drummer Hal Blain kicks off the tune on the upbeat of three and the downbeat of four, while arranger Michael Omartian’s piano flourish on the and of four leads into the downbeat jangle of Hammond’s guitar. Overdubbed flutes, an octave apart, play the intro melody and Hammond begins his lyric by hopping a plane to L.A. without a thought, lured by the promise of stardom. The harmonies on the chorus sound doubled by Hammond, and the whole thing is backed by an interesting arrangement of strings throughout. The bridge is a nifty example of wordplay, but the chorus is what really catches the ear. In a twist on the Morton Salt slogan, it never rains in California, but when it pours, man, it pours. After a third verse that begs not to tell the folks back home of his failure, the song ends on a final chorus and then fades out on the flute intro. The theme of the song’s lyrics is well-trodden territory, echoed in everything from Jim Croce’s “Box Number Ten,” which is set in New York City, to “Hollywood Heckle and Jive” by England Dan and John Ford Coley. “It Never Rains in Southern California” is a wonderful example of early seventies studio recording and clever songwriting, and still one of my favorite songs.

Something's Comin' Up (1974)

Performer: Barry Manilow                                      Writers: Barry Manilow
Highest US Chart Position: N/A                                 Label: Arista Records
Musicians: Barry Manilow, Jon Stroll, Stuart Scharf, Will Lee and Jimmy Young

“Something’s Comin’ Up” was the B-side to Barry Manilow’s first huge hit, “Mandy.” The single was released in October of 1974 and reached the number one spot exactly three months later in January of 1975. This song was the last cut on side one of Barry Manilow II, and is one that really deserved to be released on its own. It’s one of those rare tunes where the music itself genuinely reflects the lyrical content. It celebrates new beginnings in a general way, and in that sense it fits any number of specific situations. For me it always represented the start of a new relationship and has accompanied me on numerous infatuations. When the record was released I skipped the single and went right for the album, and it quickly became one of my favorites. All of the tracks are terrific and it really solidified Manilow’s career in the public eye. In fact, it wasn’t until after the success of “Mandy” that the record company went back and re-released the single from his first album, “Could It Be Magic,” for the third time. His self-titled debut album also entered the charts after being re-released by Arista in the wake of the success of the second album and essentially kept the singer-songwriter in the charts while he worked on his even more impressive follow up, Tryin’ to Get the Feeling.

The song begins with a very Manilow-esque introduction on the piano. Jimmy Young on the drums hits the high-hat on two and four along with the half notes from Will Lee’s bass. Guitarist Stuart Scharf enters on two and four as well when the vocals begin and adds a nice chordal shiver behind the lyrics. They begin with something in the air, and an almost fearful resistance to change. The music then modulates up a step for the second half of the verse and the music intensifies throughout. Then, just before the chorus, comes one of the most distinctive features of the song as Young hits the high-hat on the upbeats of one, two, and three of the bar going into the chorus. It’s the same device used on Bill Withers’ song “Use Me,” and it’s a fantastic way to launch into the chorus. The chorus is also unique in the way that it seems to lope along. Then we hear Jon Stroll’s electric piano in the mix, as well as congas by Norman Pride. The end of the chorus segues into the opening melody and then seamlessly into the second verse, this time cushioned by strings. But there’s a lyrical shift here as well, where he mentions specific California locations, and also makes a reference to anger as the impetus for the change.

The end of the second chorus, instead of easing back the way it did the first time through, charges ahead with Manilow climbing to his upper register and Young snapping out the upbeats on his high-hats into a vocal and percussion break. Congas and handclaps punctuate the lyrics until the high-hats lead into a full-blown ad-lib chorus to the fadeout. The juxtaposition of the music in the verses, with their mysterious foreboding, and the dramatic chorus where the lyrics talk about something old dying and something new being born is, again, such a magnificent way to support the ideas in the lyrics. The other cut from the album that was released as a single was “It’s a Miracle,” a number twelve hit that, while great, isn’t even the second best song on the album for me. “Something’s Comin’ Up” is one of the great B-sides in pop music history. It has always been one of my favorite songs and Barry Manilow was clearly inspired in both the writing and the arranging.

Hold Me, Touch Me (1978)

Performer: Paul Stanley                                          Writer: Paul Stanley
Highest US Chart Position: #46                              Label: Casablanca
Musicians: Paul Stanley, Bob Kulick, Doug Katsaros, Eric Nelson and Craig Krampf

The marketing department at Kiss Inc. was absolute genius. In early 1978 they leaked a rumor--that wasn’t really a rumor--that the members of Kiss were pursuing individual projects and recording their own albums. Now at that time I was into country-rock and hardcore pop like Barry Manilow and ABBA, but even I reacted with dismay to the actual rumors that this meant Kiss was breaking up the band. Along with that, however, came the frisson that they might actually reveal their identities. The reality was almost as disappointing as the breakup rumors. In a revelation that would be mirrored in their later album Unmasked, the members of Kiss, as members of Kiss, released solo albums as part of a marketing campaign that was admirable in its audacity. Most record fans at the time had difficulty shelling out the money for a double album, and it took acts like ex-Beatles George Harrison and Paul McCartney to have the fan base to release triple albums. But in doing this, Kiss managed to coerce the entire Kiss Army--including my little brother--into buying what was in essence a quadruple album. Now that was an amazing feat. The only member of the band I was interested in musically was Paul Stanley and so I bought his album and, well before the release of the single, was drawn to his ballad “Hold Me, Touch Me.”

What all of the solo albums allowed the members of the band to do was work with different types of musical palates and other musicians, as well as making different types of song choices and even, in the case of the other three, a cover song. Paul Stanley’s album was the only one with all original material. The most noticeable deviation from standard Kiss instrumentation here is the piano work of Doug Katsaros. The only other ballad the band had recorded as a group was “Hard Luck Woman,” written by Stanley and sung by Peter Criss as a follow up to “Beth,” which had no members of the band playing on it. Acoustic guitar and piano open the song with strings in the background. Stanley is no ballad singer, but the soft cushion of the music definitely helps him as much as possible. Drums and bass enter as soon as the vocal, the lament of a narrator who is leaving his woman before a long journey. Another aid to Stanley’s singing is the wall of background vocals assisting him on the chorus. The guitar solo that ends the song, and probably played by Bob Kulick, is a model of simplicity and yet builds gradually up the neck until it hits the final high note of the song. It was a great way to end the tune and winds up being much more satisfying that the other ballad on the album, “Take Me Away,” which is more of a rock ballad.

The single was backed by the closing track on the album, “Goodbye,” a standard rocker that feels a bit like a throwaway in the context of the album as a whole. “Hold Me, Touch Me” was definitely angling for crossover radio airplay but couldn’t quite crack the top forty, peaking at number forty-six in December of 1978. Still, it was the second-highest charter of the four albums, second only to Ace Frehley’s cover of Russ Ballard’s “New York Groove.” Gene Simmons’ “Radioactive” reached number forty-seven, a notch below Stanley, while Peter Criss had two singles released from his solo album and neither managed to chart in the Hot 100 at all. In the end, Paul Stanley’s album feels more like a Kiss album than any of the other three, primarily due to his distinctive vocals and song choices, and so it would have been interesting to see one of his rockers released as a single as well. Still, “Hold Me, Touch Me” remains one of the more memorable songs on the album, and a potent reminder for me of the winter of 1978.

Why Me (1979)

Performer: Styx                                                       Writer: Dennis DeYoung
Highest US Chart Position: #26                              Label: A&M Records
Musicians: Dennis DeYoung, Tommy Shaw, James Young and Chuck & John Panozzo

One of the final hit singles of the decade--actually peaking in January of 1980--“Why Me” is one of my favorite songs because of it’s distinctive guitar and saxophone duet. It’s such a great sound that I’m astonished I haven’t heard it on more records, but the only other song I can think of that it's used on is an instrumental track by Seals and Crofts called “Wisdom” off of their Diamond Girl album. The song came off of Styx’ ninth album, Cornerstone, which signaled something of a softening of the band’s musical image. While there was one rocker on the album in Tommy Shaw and Dennis DeYoung’s “Borrowed Time,” most of the tunes were much more mellow, a trend epitomized by their only number one hit, “Babe,” from the same album. It was a rift between Shaw and DeYoung that would continue to acerbate over the course of their next two albums and result in Shaw’s departure after the dismal reception of 1983’s Kilroy Was Here. Though I’m convinced he only made it to that album because of the huge success of Paradise Theater two years earlier.

The tune begins with Dennis DeYoung pounding eighth notes on the Fender Rhodes piano, using a slight flange effect, which may have still been a Leslie speaker at that time. Then the band comes in full on descending half notes preceded by Tommy Shaw’s guitar. This is alternated with just the piano when DeYoung yells out “stop” in the lyrics, and finally the band settles into the verse together. The song has a fascinating structure, with lengthy verse and bridge sections. The chorus, if you can call it that, is really just the title repeated a couple of times and followed by an instrumental section that features DeYoung’s distinctive keyboard sounds. Again, the group stops at the end of this section and DeYoung sets up a rhythm on the electric piano of bass notes on the downbeats and chording on the upbeats. This leads into the terrific sax solo by Chicago studio veteran Steve Eisen. He alternates every two bars with Shaw on guitar, who echoes his part before the two of them join in unison on a nicely written part where they harmonize at the end. The structure of that section is similar to the final guitar and strings solo section on “Brother Louie” by The Stories. Another verse and bridge are followed by a lengthy instrumental fade with a horn section, and DeYoung’s keyboards alternating with more of Eisen’s sax.

The lyrics are one of Dennis DeYoung’s--as well as the group’s--specialties, a blue collar, working class lament that tries to say that these rock stars know what it’s like to have bills to pay and the anxiety of living in an uncertain world. Sure, at one time they might have felt that way, but by the time Cornerstone came out they were mega-star purveyors of that most pejorative of all seventies musical categories: corporate rock. Nevertheless, it’s a formula that works. I’ve never paid all that much attention to lyrics anyway, and it’s the melodic nature of the song itself that really appeals to me. The electric piano on the album is a rather welcome change to DeYoung’s soupy synthesizer and adds an interesting dimension to all of the songs. “Why Me” topped out at the number twenty-six position on January 19, 1980, and is backed with a terrific B-side in Tommy Shaw’s “Lights.” It’s a great single and one of my favorite Styx tunes of all time.

The Boys Are Back in Town (1976)

Performer: Thin Lizzy                                            Writer: Phil Lynott
Highest US Chart Position: #12                            Label: Mercury
Musicians: Phil Lynott, Brian Robertson, Scott Gorham and Brian Downey

Though it would literally be impossible for me to pick my favorite song from the summer of 1976, this song would easily be in the top three. But more than that, it would probably be in the top five of my favorite rock songs of all time. That bicentennial summer was incredibly rich with good music, and while I had heard Thin Lizzy’s tune when it was first released there was a moment when it became something more that simply another Top 40 hit. We had an industrial road in the town where I grew up that ran along by the water past the port. One day I was sitting in the car near the start of the road and, while I was waiting for someone, there was a small, second floor apartment nearby that was blasting out the local radio station from a speaker near the window. “The Boys Are Back in Town” was playing and I had the chance to simply listen with no other distractions, and what I head was impressive. The overwhelming greatness of the tune lies in its melodic sensibilities, something that has been completely lost in the last thirty years with rock music gradually becoming the musical equivalent of the drone on a set of bagpipes.

The Irish band Thin Lizzy had been around since 1969 and began playing Celtic music, with Phil Lynott on bass and vocals, Eric Bell on guitar, and Brian Downey on drums. They had recorded albums and singles but had failed to even dent the U.S. charts. After Eric Bell and his replacement Gary Moore left in 1973, Lynott decided to go with a two-lead guitar lineup and eventually hired Brian Robertson and Scott Gorham. Opening for acts like BTO and Bob Seger in the U.S., the band honed their sound and by the time they had released their fifth album, Jailbreak, in March of 1976, they managed to break into the charts getting as high as number eighteen. The first single off the album was this song with the rocker “Emerald” on the B-side. It peaked in mid summer at number twelve on July 24th, and its success let to two more singles being pulled from the album. The song tells a very engaging story of a group of anonymous guys who obviously cut a large swath through town, partying and fighting and generally causing major disruption. The leader is Johnny--a character Lynott would write about later when “Johnny the Fox Meets Jimmy the Weed”--and when the girl slaps his face it sends the rest of the guys into hysterics. The song ends at Dino’s bar and grill with booze and blood and summer on the horizon.

The song begins on an eight-beat sustained chord hitting on the offbeat, with Lynott’s bass and one of the guitars providing a tasty lick before two more offbeat chords. Once the verse comes in the chord progression is striking, especially for mid-seventies rock, not only in the specific chords but the way they are played, alternately up the neck and down in open position almost providing a counterpoint to the mono-tonality of Lynott’s vocal melody. The quality of the distortion is also worthy of comment. Unlike the later saturated sound of Boston or Van Halen, the distortion doesn’t seem to be coming from a pedal but the overdrive on the amp and as a result it’s loose, like Joe Perry on Aerosmith’s first album. The chorus has Lynott answering himself in overdubs and is sung over the intro chords. After the second chorus comes the distinctive twin lead guitars playing a wonderful melody that finishes with a staccato series of sixteenth notes leading into the bridge. After the third verse comes another twin guitar section over a more subdued backing that leads into the earlier two guitar melody and on into the fadeout. “The Boys Are Back in Town” is a melodic masterpiece and one of the greatest rock songs of the seventies. Thin Lizzy never again achieved this kind of chart success, but they didn’t need to as this song permanently cemented their place in rock history.

Anticipation (1971)

Performer: Carly Simon                                        Writer: Carly Simon
Highest US Chart Position: #13                            Label: Elektra Records
Musicians: Carly Simon, Paul Glanz, Jim Ryan, John Ryan and Andy Newmark

For those of us who grew up in the seventies and were unfortunate enough not to be really conscious of popular music before the middle of the decade, Carly Simon’s “Anticipation” will forever be associated with the Heinz Ketchup commercials that ran in the later half of the decade. It’s a shame, because the song was her second top twenty single in a career that helped to define the sound of the seventies. She had a distinctive voice and a writing style that was usually lumped in with singer-songwriters like her soon-to-be husband James Taylor. It’s true that her albums were solidly in that vein for the most part, but the singles of hers that became hits were usually distinctive in their emphasis of the studio band sound over just the acoustic guitar. This song was the title track of her second solo album, released in November of 1971, and peaked at number thirteen in the charts in the beginning of February 1972. It was written in the few minutes that she was waiting to go on a date with Cat Stevens, but it’s not really about that. Instead it deals with the idea of trying to predict any situation, the dangers of projecting into the future, and fully embracing the present.

What really cemented this song in my memory is the way I was able to get a copy of it, which probably wasn’t until some time in the mid seventies. Back before I ever purchased 45s, they used to promote anthology LPs on the television of recent hits from a few years previous. One of the most intriguing for me was a three-LP set called Mellow Gold. Of course, I didn’t have any money back then and had to beg my mom for quite a while before she relented and purchased it for me. I think I wanted it primarily for the songs by Seals & Croft, as well as hits by The Doobie Brothers, Jackson Browne, Todd Rundgren and Hall & Oates, but it also had two hits by Carly Simon, this song among them.

The beginning of the song is standard acoustic fare, with Simon singing the lyric over her guitar. At the beginning of the first chorus the rest of the band comes in all at once, with drum fills punctuating dead air before the final line. In fact, the drumming by studio veteran Andy Newmark is one of the highlights of the song. Both the piano and bass cut loose with ad-libs on the last verse and this leads into a terrific coda that emphasizes the fact that the present moment is going to be “the good old days” at some point in the future. One of the obvious things that made Carly Simon a pop star was her distinctive voice. It’s not one that seems full of power or range. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. There’s a certain fragility to her voice that makes her songs very intimate and her persona vulnerable. And yet lyrically she is a powerhouse, challenging assumptions and walking a fine line--in the seventies--between romance and self-determination. The song was her second hit single after “That’s the Way I’ve Always Heard It Should Be,” a subtle condemnation of societal expectations for women taken from her debut album released the previous summer. The B-side of the record is the acoustic ballad, “The Garden,” a romantic ode that ends with strings and is somewhat overly sentimental in the production. “Anticipation” is just one of a string of top twenty hits for Simon that lasted throughout the decade and made her one of the distinctive artists of the era.

Wake Up Sunshine (1970)

Performer: Chicago                                              Writer: Robert Lamm
Album US Chart Position: #4                                Label: Columbia Records
Musicians: Robert Lamm, Peter Cetera, Terry Kath and Danny Seraphine

As successful as their debut album, Chicago Transit Authority, was Chicago didn’t really hit their stride until the follow up album that eventually became known as Chicago II. A double album back in the LP era, there were four distinct sides and each had a certain personality. “Wake Up Sunshine” is the track that opens side two of the four. That side also contains a terrific medley that includes the double-sided hit single “Make Me Smile” and “Colour My World,” but the opening track and the instrumental, “West Virginia Fantasies,” are outstanding songs as well. It was probably about 1977 when I purchased the album in the cutout bin of the record store in the mall. I was familiar with the hits off of the album as we had played them in the high school band, but I wasn’t prepared for the sheer instrumental virtuosity of the band in this one concentrated set. Unlike a lot of double LPs, this one seems to fly by as quickly as a single and, with the exception of the side 3 suite by Terry Kath, almost all the songs seem as if they could have been released as singles and garnered a good amount of airplay on their own.

The song begins with a syncopated bass line by Peter Cetera and a catchy horn section melody played by trombonist James Pankow, trumpeter Lee Loughnane, and reed man Walter Parazaider, backed by Kath’s guitar and Lamm’s piano on the downbeats. The verses are great. The first line begins with Lamm singing, followed by Cetera harmonizing with him, and then Cetera finishing by himself. At the end of the line Cetera has a nice bass run into the second line, which ends with a very brief chorus that the horn section finishes off. The horns continue with a connecting section that goes into the bridge and ends with a nice trombone part by Pankow. Though the lyrics are ostensibly about the actual Sun, something along the lines of Paul McCartney’s “Good Day Sunshine,” I always felt as if the song was really about a woman, waking up in bed with her in the morning, and her being the sunshine in his life. I suppose this is because of the final line in the song that says, “You got to wake up, girl, and face the day ahead.” Like so many of their songs on this LPs, the ending is incredibly unique. The keyboard and guitar play a repeating variation of an arpeggio and continue it for a good twenty seconds before it simply cuts off.

I’ve always considered Chicago to be the finest purveyors of what I call jazz-rock. Unlike Steely Dan, they don’t necessarily employ jazz harmonies and for jazz purists the horn sections simply seems grafted onto pop tunes. But this isn’t jazz fusion, it’s rock and roll. The group was playing in the same territory that Blood, Sweat and Tears and Chase--and to a lesser extent Sons of Champlin--were working, but doing it with much catchier tunes and they themselves were an inspiration for groups like Tower of Power and Average White Band. The first time I played this album, after arriving home and unwrapping it in my bedroom and placing it on the turntable, I heard “Movin’ In” and I was sure that this must be one of Chicago’s singles that I wasn’t quite as familiar with. But it was never released as a single at all. I had the same reaction to “Wake Up Sunshine,” and it’s a testament to the band’s abilities at the time that their records contained so many other album cuts that had the same melodic artistry that made their singles such huge chart hits.

My Maria (1973)

Performer: B.W. Stevenson                                  Writers: B.W. Stevenson & Daniel Moore
Highest US Chart Position: #9                              Label: RCA Records
Musicians: B.W. Stevenson, Larry Carlton, Larry Muhoberac, Joe Osborn and Jim Gordon

In terms of popular music, the summers from 1973 through 1976 were the most influential on me. For one thing, this was the period when I really became conscious of pop music within the context of becoming a musician myself. For another, summertime allowed me the luxury of immersing myself in the songs in a way I couldn’t during the school year. And finally, I had the money to be able to purchase the music that resonated with me and began to formulate my own musical taste. One of the lasting influences on me in that very first summer of my musical awakening in 1973 was “My Maria” by B.W. Stevenson. The song is ostensibly a country song, but fits neatly into that category perfected by The Eagles in their early career: country rock. Stevenson was from Dallas, Texas and, after a stint in the Air Force, began playing music professionally. He eventually worked his way to Los Angeles and was signed to a record deal with RCA in 1971. While his first album went nowhere, the music community in Austin lured him back and he played regularly in the area for the next year. When RCA brought him back to L.A. to work with session musicians on his second album it did no better than the first.

Co-composer on this song, Danny Moore, had written an earlier song called “Shambala,” which Stevenson recorded as part of the sessions for his third album, My Maria. When the company released the song as a single it slowly began climbing the charts. But when record executives at ABC heard the song they rushed Three Dog Night into the studio to cover it and that version quickly surpassed Stevenson’s version in the charts and eventually reached number three. For his next single Stevenson decided to collaborate with Moore and came up with the biggest hit of his career. Though Stevenson always felt he had written much better songs it is a powerful tune that has a soaring chorus and a compelling rhythm track that prominently features Stevenson’s acoustic guitar. The song opens with his guitar and the distinctive sound of the cabasa before launching into the verse. Stevenson’s voice is deep and burnished but he has a great upper range and a commanding delivery. Drummer Jim Gordon plays rim-clicks on the snare through the first half of the verse, and his drumming is a major component of the song’s overall impact, from his fills to the use of the bell on the ride cymbal at the end of the verses. The background vocals are especially good as well, and the production values are solid.

The lyrics, though brief at only two verses, are intriguing. There’s a bittersweet quality to the story that has the narrator apparently coming back to see Maria, a woman whose memory alone has helped him through some rough times. And though not expressed directly, as it is in a song like Ronnie Milsap’s “Smokey Mountain Rain,” there’s an inescapable feeling in the chord progression that perhaps she may not still be there. The song was released in July 1973 with “August Evening Lady” on the B-side and hit the number nine spot on the singles chart in late September. Throughout his career, record executives continued to attempt to recapture the crossover magic that he had achieved in this hit by teaming him with studio musicians and L.A. songwriters. But Stevenson was a country artist at heart and it wasn’t until the eighties that he finally extricated himself from the L.A. music scene and began to perform and record the way he had always wanted to. But in 1988 he fell ill and never awakened from the heart operation he underwent to replace a valve lost to endocarditis. His final album was titled Rainbow Down the Road and, while a fitting epitaph to a wonderful singer-songwriter, it is also a tragic reminder of what was lost. Fortunately his haunting performance of “My Maria” will live on forever.

Come and Get It (1970)

Performer: Badfinger                                             Writer: Paul McCartney
Highest US Chart Position: #7                               Label: Apple Records
Musicians: Pete Ham, Tom Evans, Mike Gibbins and Ron Griffiths

If you’re looking for real tragedy in rock and roll it’s not in the stories of Morrison, Joplin and Hendrix. Those stars had achieved real success but destroyed themselves. Badfinger, on the other hand, was literally destroyed by the music business. Not only were they the most talented discovery of the Beatles’ Apple Records, but they were one of the most creative rock groups of the entire decade. Yet despite the popular appeal of their music all of their money was stolen by unscrupulous managers and record executives, leading to the suicides of the two creative geniuses of the group, Pete Ham in 1975 and Tommy Evans in 1983. In the beginning, however, no one could have foreseen the their tragic end. Discovered by the Beatles' longtime roadie and friend Mal Evans, the group was known as The Iveys and when their first independent LP was purchased by Apple they were brought into the studio by none other than Paul McCartney to record some new songs to give the album more commercial appeal. One of those songs had been written by McCartney himself, the bouncy “Come and Get It.”

The song being given to Badfinger came about because of a confluence of events. McCartney had promised to record the soundtrack for a film starring Peter Sellers and Ringo Starr called The Magic Christian. But the Beatle had other commitments as well and was willing to give the project to Badfinger . . . provided he was happy with the results. He had already written the song and when he first broached the idea of them covering it Pete Ham was unhappy. Nevertheless, there was the undeniable fact that this was a way for the group to break into the charts and give them a powerful beginning to what had, up to this point, been a real struggle in their career. The song begins simply enough, with just the piano, bass and drums. Pete had made an attempt at the vocals, but when Tommy Evans gave it a try it was obvious that he was the perfect singer for the number. McCartney singled out Mike Gibbins' drum fills for praise as well. The song is brief at less that two and a half minutes, and it is incredibly simple, but the end result is magical. It’s a catchy number about a fool and his money, and while it’s clearly a McCartney tune it also bears the undeniable stamp of Badfinger’s tremendous talents.

I came to The Beatles very late, in 1981 when a bass player I was in a band with introduced me to all of their albums. After thoroughly digesting the Fab Four and hungry for more, he gave me Magic Christian Music by Badfinger and I was hooked. But that album, made up of many tracks the group had recorded as The Iveys, was very much a product of the sixties. It was only by pure coincidence that I was in a second-hand store a few months later when I ran across all of Badfinger’s Apple LPs and picked them up for almost nothing. That was another transformative musical experience for me and I have been a fan of their music ever since. While the song was released in Britain in the last month of 1969, it was released in the U.S. on January 12, 1970 and instantly became one of the first great hits of the seventies rising to number seven on the charts two months later. The B-side was an all-out three-chord rocker called “Rock of All Ages,” another of the McCartney produced numbers and one of the highlights of the album. “Come and Get It” is a fantastic song and begins the seventies the way it ought to, ushered in by the greatest group of the sixties.

Deacon Blues (1978)

Performer: Steely Dan                                           Writers: Donald Fagan & Walter Becker
Highest US Chart Position: #19                             Label: ABC Records
Musicians: Donald Fagan, Walter Becker, Lee Ritenour, Victor Feldman and Pete Christlieb

Steely Dan’s album Aja was of the few LPs where I actually liked and listened to the entire thing. I had only been buying music for a couple of years by 1977, and when I bought albums back then it was mostly because the artist had more than one single on it and I liked having them together on one disc instead of on individual 45s. And if all the hits were on one side of the LP I never even turned it over. But the moment I set the needle down on Aja I was captivated and it quickly became one of the formative musical experiences of my life. Apparently most Steely Dan fans were of a like mind because while none of the singles from the album were able to crack the top ten, the album reached number three in the LP charts. “Deacon Blues” was the second single released from the album in April of 1978. The song is probably the closest thing to autobiography that Donald Fagan and Walter Becker ever wrote, the dream of a suburban youth who is looking to emulate the lives of the great jazz musicians that he idolizes and thereby transcend his pedestrian existence. The B-side of the single is “Home at Last,” the duo’s piano-centered nod to Homer’s Odyssey.

The story of tenor saxophonist Pete Christlieb’s presence on this song is an interesting one. Ever on the hunt for great soloists, Becker and Fagin were watching The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson one night and as the show came back from a commercial they heard a great tenor sax solo. So they called up NBC to figure out who it was they had heard. One of the tenors in Doc Severinsen’s band was Ernie Watts, who did lots of session work for pop stars, so the network simply sent him over to record with them. But as soon as they heard him they knew it wasn’t the right guy. Back they went to the phones and eventually they managed to get Christlieb to the studio and he wound up delivering an impressively distinctive performance on his sax solo. Another interesting fact is that this was one of only two songs that drummer Bernard Purdie recorded on the album. He had been such a dominant presence on Steely Dan’s previous album, The Royal Scam, that they purposely looked for other drummers to work with on the Aja album. Guitarist Lee Ritenour makes his only appearance on a Steely Dan record, and is joined by band regular Larry Carlton and jazz great Victor Feldman on electric piano, while another regular, Tom Scott, provides the horn arrangements as well as playing all the parts.

The song begins with the bass, keyboards and guitars comping on one and three while Purdie works an intricate rhythm on the hi-hats. An ethereal guitar and piano ripple then transitions directly into the vocals, with the call-and-response of Tom Scott’s horn section answering each line in the second verse. The lyrics are the first-person musings of a suburban loner desperate to escape the dullness of his surroundings. He dreams of learning to work (play) the saxophone and approaching the (band) stand to play just what he feels. But it’s not artistic success that he is trying to achieve, it’s a persona, the lifestyle of playing jazz, drinking, and eventually dying behind the wheel. While the winners in life are given exalted names, like Alabama’s Crimson Tide, he wants a name when he loses, and wants to go by the moniker Deacon Blues. While Steely Dan’s songs were always jazz influenced, there is something more jazz-based here because of the subject matter and Pete Christlieb’s solo. The song is dark and meditative tonally, but snakes along “like a viper” for over seven and a half minutes on the LP and a minute less on the edited single release. At the end of the tune there is some nice vamping and delicate guitar work by Ritenour, followed by Christlieb soloing again on the fade out. Though the album was released in November of 1977, I didn’t buy it until the spring when “Deacon Blues” was released as a single and getting airplay, so for me the tune always has associations with the spring and summer of 1978 when I was listening to it repeatedly. “Deacon Blues” has always seemed to me the cut that most represents the album and a quintessential example of the cerebral yet accessible music that Steely Dan was known for.

Listen to What the Man Said (1975)

Performer: Paul McCartney & Wings                     Writers: Paul & Linda McCartney
Highest US Chart Position: #1                               Label: Capitol Records
Musicians: Paul & Linda McCartney, Denny Laine, Jimmy McCulloch and Tom Scott

I can remember watching an interview with Hall and Oats where Darryl Hall called his group the Beatles of the eighties, and that started me thinking about who the Beatles of the seventies would be. The obvious answer is The Bee Gees, but one of the actual Fab Four makes a good case for himself in terms of consistently producing hit records throughout the entire decade, and that’s Paul McCartney. “Listen to What the Man Said” was actually the first 45 I ever bought. Though it seems impossible now, at the time I didn’t even know you could buy the songs that were on the radio. When I was in the local department store and suddenly stumbled upon the record department I was stunned that I could take my favorite songs home and listen to them as many times as I wanted to. In the summer of 1975 I was between seventh and eighth grades, and at the time I wasn’t even really conscious of The Beatles. All I knew was that Paul McCartney had been one and was now on his own with his band called Wings.

The song entered the charts at the end of May and hit number one six weeks later in mid-July. It was McCartney’s eighth consecutive top ten hit which set the record for the most during the decade. That summer of seventy-five was one of my favorites in terms of music, only surpassed the following summer of America’s bicentennial year. What hooked me immediately about the song was the soprano saxophone of L.A. session man Tom Scott. McCartney had recorded some of the tracks for the album, Venus and Mars, in New Orleans and when Scott was called in to play the solo he was told to go for that kind of flavor. The saxophonist didn’t even go into the studio, and recorded his part right into the soundboard in the control booth. The song was something of a preview, since by the time the album was released the single had already entered the charts. It was also the first non-Apple release by McCartney, though all of the companies were related. Apple’s records were released by EMI in Britain and EMI in turn owned Capitol in the U.S. The B-side is the rather forgettable ballad “Love in Song.”

The song begins with a blast of sound and a bright guitar intro playing the melody that is what “the man” actually says, accompanied by Tom Scott’s soprano. The saxophone is a continuous and magical presence throughout the song, but the solo is phenomenal, with Scott launching into it as McCartney commands him to “take it away.” The lush harmonies on the chorus feature, as always, distinctive high parts by Linda McCartney. After a final repetition about “the wonder of it all” the song ends with a terrific finale, slowed to half speed and featuring strings in addition to the saxophone. As far as the lyrics go, this is another of McCartney odes to love, something that annoyed John Lennon but made his former partner a multi-millionaire. The reality is that while McCartney’s lyrics may be lacking in originality, his production values and the musical density of his records are almost unparalleled in pop music of that era, which is another reason fans clamored for his music despite critical complaints. To my mind Paul McCartney is the greatest musical act of the seventies, and “Listen to What the Man Said” is a powerful example of that greatness.

Have a Nice Decade

The seventies have become a much-maligned decade in popular music. But that’s the music that I grew up with and it holds a special place for me. Beyond that, however, I think that the music of the seventies is not only incredibly diverse, but fantastic musically in a way that today’s popular music is utterly devoid by comparison. Since I have so many of these songs on my iPod and listen to them all the time I decided I wanted to write about the 45s and LPs that have been so memorable for me over the last thirty years.

One of the things that was so terrific about Top 40 radio back in those days was how many different styles of music made the airwaves. You could hear everything from hard rock and soul, to country and funk, to acoustic and novelty hits. It was a satisfying listening experience, made even more so by the fact that DJs in the seventies picked their own music to play. Sure, they had to play the hits--which were fantastic--but they could also play album cuts and B-sides and, on the radio station I listened to as a kid, they had an album hour every Sunday night where they would play a brand new album in its entirety.

The popular music from the seventies is still incredibly meaningful to me and so I wanted to share some of the history of the music as well as my own personal associations with the songs. I would love to hear your memories as well. It was a fantastic time to grow up and the music made it even better.