Rock

With the ambitious Hemispheres, Rush seemed to have reached the end of a particularly windy road. Permanent Waves’ relatively scaled-back sound and down to earth lyrics marked a major shift in the band’s style. The album kicks off with the electrifying “The Spirit of Radio,” a track that eloquently captures the adrenaline “rush” of a cranked stereo and the open road, while noting all that glitters is not gold. With this single, Rush spoke directly to their denim clad audience more clearly and passionately than in any of their escapist epics, and were rewarded with one of their most enduring FM classics. Not letting up, “Freewill” delivers another future staple in a deceptively accessible burst of brilliantly knotty licks driving a stirring rejection of fate and superstition. Side one closes with the militaristic march of “Jacob’s Ladder,” it’s complex music contrasting a simple and effective lyric. Side two continues to ride the crest of Permanent Waves with two articulate musings on humanity with the ballad “Different Strings” and the bold “Entre Nous.” The album reaches a strong conclusion in the three-part “Natural Science,” a constantly shifting, wide-eyed reflection on scientific ideology. Free of the weight of their sci-fi fantasy baggage, Permanent Waves is an album that seeps into one’s consciousness with a relaxed ease, and points toward the direction of Rush’s finest works to come. —Ben

The no-frills cover shot of the heads-down Status Quo frontline on Piledriver tells the story via the show-of-force image and the big, bold group logo in bright red. With no-holds-barred aggression, the major label debut from the boys in blue is a steamrollin’ onslaught of early seventies three chord boogie, blooze and rawk. Recorded live in the studio, the aptly titled Piledriver rolls into action behind the chuggin’ combo platter of “Don’t Waste My Time” and “Oh Baby”, while adding the five-minute slow ridin’ “Unspoken Words”, the chucky drive of “Big Fat Mama”, the short “Paper Plane”, and the lengthy closing cover jam of “Roadhouse Blues”. Pile on! —Jon

In the spring of 1968, Laura Nyro’s Columbia Records debut Eli and the Thirteenth Confession unleashed something very unique and beautiful onto the scene. Unfortunately, the album fell on mostly deaf ears, peaking at #189 on the Billboard 200. Nearly thirty years later, Laura Nyro is still woefully unknown to the public, although the potency of her music remains.

While the instrumentation and influences evident in Eli and the Thirteenth Confession are mostly familiar, new perspectives and directions make the album into the radical experience that it is. Reviewers commonly refer to the music as an amalgamation of Soul, Pop, Jazz, Broadway, and whatever else, but these styles are so expertly fused into something wonderfully new, that naming the possible components just isn’t worthwhile. “Sweet Blindness” may sound age-old, but there’s never been another drinking song remotely like it. “Poverty Train” goes to more places, and back again, than any of Bob Dylan and company’s “protest” songs. Sexual revolutions and all, a woman ending her album by screaming “love my lovething” had to have been something original. Throughout the record, Laura’s voice, piano, and guitars careen and writhe all over, tempos and chord structures being swept to and fro at her pleasing. But originality is only half of the story. The energy and sincerity of Laura’s songs is at once confounding and life-affirming. If we’d like to use the term, Laura Nyro had a hell of a lot of soul. Her voice alone creates much of the appeal of the record, at times sorrowful, grumbling, at times joyful and chirping, but at all times infinitely human.

This is a definition of a master in one space in time, and a model for the kind of innovations that can be borne of Popular music. Maybe in another thirty years Laura will have the audience she always deserved. —Matthew

It is hard to believe that upon its release in 1971, Bark was poorly reviewed. In retrospect, its musical closeness to Jefferson Airplane’s earlier work, especially 1969’s Volunteers, is striking. “When the Earth Moves Again” is a collective, anthemic song in the same mould and of the same quality as “We Can Be Together,” and “Crazy Miranda” is clearly by the author of “rejoyce.” What makes Bark special is the move of Slick and the astonishingly under-valued Jorma Kaukonen to the foreground and the new casual, almost frayed approach to performing and recording. Also new is a shift away from the already-qualified counter-culture sentiments of Volunteers towards a more resigned, knowing worldview: “Third Week in the Chelsea” is painful in its directness, but gorgeous in its craftsmanship and execution; Slick’s “Law Man” projects a tired, slightly annoyed, spirit that Slick could tap into so well. New to the band was the funky and sensual punch of tunes like “Feel So Good” and “Pretty As You Feel,” which project a randy-to-sultry adult sexuality absent from their more whimsical “love” songs of the ’60s. Confirms that the early ’70s were the high water mark for the extended Airplane family. —Toolshed4

Houses of the Holy finds Led Zeppelin happily accepting their status as king of the mountain rock gods, operating on a level far above and beyond the bluesy cock-rock of their contemporaries. A grander Zeppelin is on display from the get go, with Page’s swooping battalion of guitars and Plant’s sped up elfin vocals sending “The Song Remains the Same” on a whirlwind tour of the stars, while epic entries like the lush, mellotron orchestrated “The Rain Song” and eerie creeper “No Quarter” prowl similarly heady terrain. The acoustic ditty turned bruiser “Over the Hills and Far Away,” Bonham stomp of “The Ocean,” and summer nights hippie haze of “Dancing Days” provide more folds to the Zeppelin mystique, while tongue in cheek offerings like the reggae meets 50’s doo-wop of “D’yer Mak’er” and funky filler “The Crunge” find the band working well outside the box. Factor in the album’s beefy, yet crystalline production job, and their most bizarre album graphics yet, and Houses of the Holy solidifies Zeppelin’s lofty stature. —Ben

With The Allman Brothers Band tearing up the charts, it was probably only natural that Gregg Allman would have wanted to test his own capabilities by taking a stab at a solo career. Though he’d apparently started recording the album shortly after brother Duane’s death, it took more than two years for Allman to complete the effort. Produced by Johnny Sandlin, musically 1973’s “Laid Back” was a modest surprise in that it showcased a set that was far more diverse than his blues-rock repertoire with The Allman Brothers. In fact, anyone expecting to hear blistering, twin lead guitar Southern rock was going to be left scratching their heads. Mind you, Allman’s voice remained instantly recognizable, though his patented Hammond B3 organ was largely absent from the proceedings. And that’s where the similarities ended. While you couldn’t label this a pop album, it’s hard to imagine the Allman Brothers recording anything with intricate orchestral arrangements like ‘Multi-Colored Lady’ or ‘All My Friends’. Similarly, the upbeat cover of Oliver Sain’s ‘Don’t Mess Up A Good Thing’ was a far cry from The Allman Brothers patented driving rock genre. One other comment, with the exception of the Oliver Sain cover, virtually the entire set was soaked in a sense of loss and sadness.

Side one’s biggest surprise came in the form of Allman’s bouncy cover of Sain’s ‘Don’t Mess Up A Good Thing’. I’d be hard pressed to pick another song where he sounded as happy and pleased with himself. It would have made a great single.

The thought of Allman doing a Jackson Browne cover set off alarm bells in my head (damaged Southern rocker covers damaged West Coast singer/songwriter), but the concerns were unwarranted given Allman turned in a cover of These Days that was beautiful and aching and mournful slice of self-doubt and regret. The performance stood as a highlight across Allman’s entire career and simply beat the crap out of Browne’s own version.

Backed my strong reviews and an extensive American tour (documented for his next release), the album sold well, peaking at # 14 on the US charts. All told, probably still my favorite Allman solo venture. —Scott

This would be ex-Faces Ronnie Lane’s next-to-last record. (He would release only one more solo album, 1979’s See Me, before multiple sclerosis no longer permitted him to record.) Together with Pete Townshend they create a memorable album.

Rough Mix kicks off with the most Who-like of the albums tracks–“My Baby Gives It Away,” which is propelled by the drumming of Stones’ drummer Charlie Watts. Townshend’s vocal performance is fine, but he doesn’t have the instensity that Roger Daltry could have added to the song. Only two other tracks rock as hard as the opening track. The instrumental “Rough Mix,” which features Eric Clapton’s lead guitar and the organ work of John “Rabbit” Bundrick, who would go on to tour with the Who in 1979. The other is Ronnie Lane’s “Catmelody,” a jumping number featuring Stones sideman Ian Stewart on piano.

The rest of the album is a mostly accoustic affair. One of the album’s many standout tracks is Lane’s absolutely gorgeous “Annie,” which features his former Slim Chance members Graham Lyle on guitar and Benny Gallagher on accordian. Equally lovely is Lane’s “April Fool” with Clapton on Dobro. Townshend also turns in one of his prettiest melodies and excellent acoustic guitar playing with “Keep Me Turning.” The album closes with the melancholy “Heart to Hang on To” with Lane and Townshend sharing vocal chores, and the Don Williams country classic “Till the Rivers All Run Dry.”

This is one of Townsend’s strongest non-Who projects and Lane’s contributions are stunning. If you enjoy either of these artists you will enjoy this collaboration. Highly Recommended! —Steve