"#1 Record," by Big Star

Everyone from Tom Petty to REM to Teenage Fan Club to Matthew Sweet to Fleet Foxes and still others claim to have been influenced by Big Star’s brand of classic power pop, and their influence is certainly palpable via popular music that arrived in its wake, but paradoxically, their albums sold merely handfuls of copies upon release – literally. So unless the dozen or so fans who purchased their early-mid seventies albums went on to become the above-mentioned artists, someone’s fudging a bit on their hipper-than-thou claim on this legendary underground band.

But it’s a rock-n-roll cliché, isn’t it? Artists who should’ve been huge, but never quite make it past a cult following: musicians like Nick Drake, Josh Rouse, or bands like Love and Big Star are but a few. So why did Big Star not quite hit the big time? Insider sources cite lackluster promotion from their record company. Others indicate it was just bad timing. But apparently there were the few fringe, ultra-cool (or ultra-lucky) rock aficionados, who discovered the group and passed along bootleg LPs, 8-tracks, and cassettes to friends and family, keeping alive the music of this jingle-jangle, rocking band.

My first exposure to Big Star was actually in 1988, when I heard my first REM song, the top-ten hit, “Stand,” that bears the heavy aforementioned influence. REM’s “Stand” is a sunny pop song, with brimming, jingle-jangle guitar, and a vocal style taken straight from the Big Star playbook. “Stand” was an amiable, whimsical, nonsense song for a high school kid like me to sing (e.g., “If wishes were trees, the trees would be falling, listen to reason, reason is calling…”), and REM was my first rock concert (The “Green Tour,” with shout-outs, here, to my friend Rachel, who drove us to the University of Iowa for the show).

And even though I never heard Number One Record when it was recorded in the 1970s, I might as well have, because when I hear it today, it takes me back to that decade, or at least what I remember of it. Fresh out of their teens themselves, Big Star (named after a now-defunct supermarket chain) opted for songs that described overcoming familiar, tried-and-true, far-out teenage obstacles. Name the teen trepidation, and Big Star sings about it on Number One Record. You know, like the dumb adults “who tell you that they know…they'll zip you up and dress you down and stand you in a row.” Ugh! I hate when adults do that. My favorite angry, teen irritant moment on the album is the adolescent tirade, “Don’t Lie To Me.” A sentiment doesn’t get simpler than that. Or what about annoying dads, as described in the staggering, “Thirteen,” dads who need to be told to “get off my back” or need to be educated on “…what we said about 'Paint It Black’.”

Ah, the turmoil of teenage life. But there are plenty of songs for grown-ups, as well, including the joyous, “When My Baby’s Beside Me,” and the reflective, “My Life Is Right.” Songwriters, Chris Bell and Alex Chilton, wrote these songs at a time in rock music when it was en vogue for musicians to feature pseudo-religious lyrics in their songs and have hits with them. Artists as varied as The Doobie Brothers (“Jesus Is Just Alright”) and George Harrison (“My Sweet Lord”) were selling millions of copies of love songs to God, and in this same era, the soundtrack to the Broadway musical, Godspell, had a top 40 pop hit with, “Day By Day” (and remember, Jesus Christ, Superstar?”). Similarly on “Try Again,” Bell writes, “Lord I've been trying to be what I should, Lord I've been trying to do what I could, but each time it gets a little harder, I feel the pain, but I'll try again.” Religious or not, it’s “little engine that could” message resonates. The most brilliant, spiritual moment of the album, however, is the ethereal hymn of assurance, “Watch The Sunrise.” It’s understated and sincere guitar hook is met with hopeful lyrics and one of the most exquisite vocal harmonies in rock-and-roll.

And while I was not one of the groovy few who heard it on release, Number One Record resides on my current list of the “Ten Greatest Rock Albums Of All Time.” And thanks to That 70’s Show, almost everybody's familiar with the Cheap Trick version of Big Star’s “In The Street,” that served as the show’s theme for eight hilarious seasons. The producers of the show said that the song was, for them, the epitome of the sprawling, stressed-out, uninhibited spirit of the Seventies. And I have to admit, it’s hard not to look for my packed-away 1970's lava lamp to plug in when I listen to this enduring album.

"Odessey and Oracle," by The Zombies

Almost everybody who knows this album by the Zombies found it through its 1969 hit single, “Time of the Season.” The lyrics are way over the top: “What’s your name? Who’s your daddy? Is he rich like me?” Who talks like that? Not exactly “sweep a girl off her feet” kind of talk, right? I suspect the lyrics were meant to reflect the 1967 “Summer of Love” mindset: strangers meet, strangers exchange love beads, strangers expand their minds, etc. I’m just speculating; I wasn’t there. But the ridiculous lyric has not kept me from loving these 3 minutes and 33 seconds of pure pop perfection.

The song was written by keyboardist, Rod Argent, who later went on to further success in the 1970’s with his band, “Argent,” and also went on to continued success in the 1980’s behind-the-scenes as a producer (Tanita Tikiram’s “Ancient Heart” – see entry forthcoming). “Time of the Season” reached #3 on Billboards singles chart in 1969 – over a year after the album had been released and the band had called it quits. I first remember hearing the record on the radio around the time I was starting grade school in 1976. I found it kind of spooky, starting with Colin Blunstone’s mysterious, whispery, almost raspy vocals. Over the years I became a fan of Blunstone via the other Zombies’ hits from the 1960’s, “Tell Her No,” “She’s Not There,” and also “Old and Wise,” from the Alan Parsons Project’s 1983 album, “Eye In The Sky,” although I didn’t make the connection that it was Blunstone until years later.

Fast-forward to 1987. I was in high school with some discretionary funds and found myself in the record store, looking for Zombies albums. To my good fortune, I found one solitary copy of “Odessey & Oracle” at a small record store near my hometown. The album cover struck me first. Did they intend to misspell "Odyssey?" The artwork seemed so rebellious and dangerous, full of strange, swirly, psychedelic shapes, insane octopus tentacles, and disturbing images of human monsters, mythological creatures, and a figure of a man crying out loud in utter despair. These pieces were mixed with softer imagery of an artist painting, flower pedals, lovers touching and dancing, and some good old-fashioned nudity. Oh, and the first names of the band members were snuck-in as well. It’s essentially everything one might look for in a rock-n-roll album cover, and I was immediately taken by it; I still am. Today, in fact, my copy of the album artwork is framed and hangs in my office, immediately above a Beatles concert poster.

As for the music, there is literally not a weak song on this baroque-meets-psychedelia record, with a possible exception being “Butcher’s Tale (Western Front 1914),” an anti-war story set in World War 1 with surprisingly graphic imagery depicting the utter horror of war. It’s not a “weak song,” per se, it’s just difficult to listen to and the only one I occasionally skip.

“Care of Cell 44” is a contradictorily cheerful song about a man preparing for the return of his girlfriend a long time away…in prison. It’s possibly the most covered song from the album, most recently by Susanna Hoffs (The Bangles) and Matthew Sweet.

“Maybe After He’s Gone” begins with a solitary, echoey guitar and volleys between that and a joyous crescendo of romping piano and shouting Beach Boys-esque chorus. It’s a sad song about romantic rejection of the worst kind: she found a cooler guy. The band creates in this mini masterpiece, this "teenage symphony to God" another polarizing juxtaposition of words and sounds, a song about a horrible breakup with a rapturous chorus and musical accompaniment.

“A Rose for Emily” is an allusion to William Faulkner’s short story of the same name. It has a haunting and powerful melody to go along with the heartbreaking lyrics. In one of those late night college chill sessions back in the early 90’s, I witnessed, in fact, the song bring tears to a friend of mine.

The album as a whole is rife with some of the most beautiful vocal harmonies I’ve ever heard. Chris Martin and Thom Yorke were no doubt influenced by Blunstone’s voice and the band’s soaring harmonies. Thematically, the album is all over the place: life and death, love and war, joy and despair, cynicism and optimism, friends and family…kind of like life. Which is ultimately why I love this album so much and why I keep going back to it – I never get tired of it. “Odessey and Oracle,” imperfect spelling and all, sings about what it feels like to be alive.