Head Over Heels: Rating the Albums of Tears For Fears

Tears for Fears were the greatest band of the ‘80s. How can we be sure? Come join Hope and Matthew aka the PuR crew, as we dissect the discography and explain.

HOPE: I could never have an impassioned conversation about who the greatest guitarist is in the history of popular music. There are plenty I genuinely like, but I have no definitive, slam-my-fist-on-the-table feelings for any one person. But a passionately irrational argument about which ‘80s band is the greatest? I am all in on that conversation. Most especially those bands that were part of The Second British Invasion, that spectacular wrinkle in time that ran from 1982 on through to the latter half of the decade, when the American pop charts were overtaken by billions of brilliantly bold and brazen artists from the UK. 

The “Second British Invasion” was pervasive enough to infiltrate the pages of a popular, mainstream U.S. news magazine. Also, don’t ask me to choose, I was in love with both of these candy-colored people.

While there were a lot of fabulously fun bands shining at that time-—Culture Club, Eurythmics, and ABC among them—NONE were bigger than Duran Duran. They were the most popular gang in school. The biggest babes with the most voluptuous videos, serving up the most pulchritudinous pop tunes and personas. They were all over the walls of my teenage bedroom, oh yes they were. I’m on the hunt, I’m after YOU.

The Durans aggressively smoldering (just as important as the music)

Looking back and listening forty-plus years later, it’s clear now that Duran were as much a fabulous cultural artifact as they were a band. Remove the visuals and the mania they generated in their heyday and you’re left with only one truly great album (that’d be Rio) surrounded by a slate of just okay ones. There were some brilliant singles sprinkled over those “just okay” LPs. But they were also populated by a copious amount of mostly just charming filler.

Because we are f-ing nerds here at PuR, that got us thinking; Who was the greatest ‘80s band in terms of musical achievement, like for real? The band whose albums not only brought back memories but sounded exponentially better as years passed (and as a bonus, were miraculously still capable of making beautiful music decades past their youthful heyday)?

There were a lot of candidates, from the Pet Shop Boys to Depeche Mode to the more short-lived Smiths. On the personal preferences side, Matthew absolutely freakin’ loves the aforementioned Pets, I’m consumed with adoration for The Psychedelic Furs (the 1984 version of Richard Butler was my dreamboy), and we both worship at the Wham!-George Michael altar.

But when it came to songs, albums and sustained goodness over subsequent decades, one band—one duo—kept coming up again and again. Roland Orzabal and Curt Smith, aka Tears for Fears. Were they the ‘80s greatest Second British Invasion™ band?

Tears for Fears, which we’ll truncate to TFF since we’re gonna be saying it so much going forward, were not glamour-pusses swanning around shirtless in tropical locales in videos. They were not obvious hotties. TFF made albums for introspective, diary-writers and secret crush proprietors. They didn’t do filler. Their songs were not hedonistic. They were cerebral and gloriously, swooningly melodic. Anthemic and emotional. Gigantic and introverted. Amazing.

MATTHEW: Beautifully put. Amazing, indeed. Of all the bands that were both massively popular, yet also seemed to be making records just for me, right as I was turning from a teen into a twentysomething, TFF were—around 1983-1985—top of the list.

But TFF as the greatest band of the Second British Invasion? I love that as a provocative claim, bound to provoke spirited discussion and partisan indignation. When you first said that, Hope, I was skeptical. Partly because I do indeed love the Pet Shop Boys. But also because TFF had only one hit album in the US during those Invasion years—their sophomore masterpiece, Songs From the Big Chair. As we’ll see, although their debut hit the #1 spot in the UK right as the Invasion was peaking, it was DOA in the USA. And the third album took so long to make, the Invasion was history by the time it was released. So among the fifty or so British acts that are potentially associated with the Invasion, are TFF with that one hit album really the greatest? Mmmm.

And yet … that 1985 album was so massive, it continues to resonate forty years on. Its hit singles have never gone away. You pointed me to recent streaming numbers, and those for the songs from Songs are crazy high—more than any other Invasion band (aside from Wham! but only if combined with George’s numbers). “Everybody Wants to Rule the World” seems to be everywhere these days. It has achieved the rare status of being truly timeless (can’t you imagine it still being played centuries from now?). And it isn’t even the only track from Songs still being widely played (surely that whole album will still be in the air centuries in the future!). Another point to support your claim: Invasion bands like Duran Duran went on to produce a patchy catalog, while others like Culture Club, Spandau Ballet, and the Thompson Twins soon faded away. But TFF created an astoundingly consistent catalog. Yes, it’s very small, and only half the duo made two of the seven albums. But it’s still fantastic from start to finish. We can agree on that—even if we argue over which albums were the most fantastic. So, let’s get to arguing!

BREAK IT DOWN AGAIN: Just a note on the format of this essay. Matthew and I are going to be taking turns shouting our TFF assessments, and our names will appear before our respective comments. The peak chart positions in the UK and US for each album are listed beneath their titles. We are going to rate each album individually as we go (on a classic 1-10, hate-to-love scale).

MATTHEW: That means just those seven studio albums, but don’t worry, you completists, we will also chat briefly about the live and compilation albums, including the hybrid oddball that came out in 2024. There’ll be plenty of opinionating on that and all the albums. Will we agree on what is the best and worst? I have a feeling that we may not. 

The Seven Studio Albums

The Hurting (1983)

UK: 1. US: 73.

HOPE: Roland and Curt’s coming together as young teens over a shared interest in the work of psychologist-psychotherapist Arthur Janov (aka the creator-promoter of primal scream therapy) has been well-documented. Nearly every review and breakdown of their history, and of their first album in particular, cites this fact, and yes, I too am doing it at this very moment. It’s an undeniably crucial part of the TFF origin story (It even inspired their band name). But it’s important to remember that Roland and Curt were also young lads who freakin’ loved pop and (especially) rock music. While Janov’s theories of emotional exorcism held a fanatical fascination for them, so did bands like devil-loving, Long Island rock gods Blue Oyster Cult, rock shockmeister Alice Cooper (Curt fave) and the Peter Gabriel-helmed Genesis (Roland loved the Foxtrot album as well as King Crimson’s Discipline LP). 

In 1979, the UK chart was officially infiltrated by “the sound of the future”… or, to be more specific, by synthesizer-wielding, robot-fetishizing, early-Ultravox-loving Gary Numan. His first solo single, the wholly electronic, “Are Friends Electric,” crazily, defiantly, went all the way to number (freakin’) ONE. In the process, it made the songs in the pop chart surrounding it sound very old indeed. It was a thrilling sonic slap to tradition, and a major influence on TFF’s initial musical direction. To paraphrase what Roland has alluded to in a number of interviews, who needed a band when a synth could play every part? 

The (reductive) equation goes something like this: Arthur Janov + childhood trauma + eclectic rock fandom + the burgeoning sound of synthpop = The Hurting. 

Unlike their eighties pop contemporaries Culture Club and Duran Duran, TFF’s first album The Hurting isn’t fun. There’s no equivalent to the former’s playful-joyful “I’ll Tumble 4 U” or party-porny “Girls on Film”. No,The Hurting is firmly rooted in your lonely teenage bedroom, being looked down upon by posters of worlds-away pop/film idols, whilst rain beats gently against your window, sigh (I see you, former and current teenagers). 

The Hurting oozes lyrical pain from its every pore. “Torture,” “dying,” and “failure” all get namechecks. Its most musically upbeat track is called “Suffer the Children.” But here’s the thing, it is absolutely,100% a pop record, bursting with nifty hooks and memorable choruses. While the lyrics can sound comically angsty at certain points (“Will I ever love again?”), the melodic sophistication is undeniable. Roland composed all the tracks in his late teens/early twenties and it’s sick how good he was from the start. 

MATTHEW: Yes, Roland’s gift for melodies has always been stunning, and it was evident from the start. You can hear incipient melodic hooks straining to burst forth in the album before The Hurting—made by Roland and Curt’s first band, Graduate, when they were still teenagers. Titled Acting My Age (1980), it is really not very good, but it shows Roland’s pop potential and lacks the dark child-abuse theme of The Hurting. Which begs the question: was the TFF debut a UK smash because of that theme, or despite it? And what of its failure in the US? Look at the contrast between its UK and US chart placings! In one of the most creative years in British pop/rock history, packed with future classic albums, this startlingly original debut from a new boy-duo hit #1, settling into the UK album chart for 65 weeks—in a year that happened to be the peak of that Second British Invasion. So, surely the album was a shoe-in for reaching the Top 40 in the US, if not higher? After all, a smidgeon under two years later, the follow-up album would reach #1 in the US. So what went wrong stateside with The Hurting?

There are many answers to that question to do with marketing and touring. But those aside, I think that you, Hope, put your finger on the key feature of the album: it combines catchy, melodic pop with agonizingly dark lyrics, a dissonance that was familiar to young British audiences but far from mainstream in the US. After all, less than a year before The Hurting was released, and six months before the hypnotic “Mad World” became TFF’s first UK hit single, Japan’s melodious but gloomy “Ghosts” reached #5; and neither that song, nor any single by Japan, ever charted in the US (forgive the plug here: see my recent book Ghosts: Journeys to Post-Pop). So, in the end, no wonder.

But here’s the twist. I can see US radio station programmers dismissing Hurting singles as being bummers, based on superficial and partial listens, lacking the time or inclination to give the album some time. For this is an album that needs time. And in time it did find an audience in the US—aided, of course, by the massive success of Songs from the Big Chair—and that appreciation has steadily increased over the decades. Yet I suggest that was not just because American listening tastes became more sophisticated or were liberated from dependence on radio. I think it was also because the album is, in the end, not so grim. 

Sure, the lyrics don’t become any less dark just from repeated listens. But they lose that impact through familiarity, and especially when they fade into the background in a packed pub or rowdy club setting. Then the melodies and rhythms come to the fore, and all you hear are great pop songs. And the album is packed with great pop. Am I saying I danced in clubs to “Pale Shelter” and “Change”? You bet I did. Awkward teenage dancing in the kinds of clubs in Oxford, London, and Tokyo where kids like me could dance to songs like that (I’m talking about grungy student bars and very un-hip clubs, so forgive the obnoxious placename-dropping—it’s just where I was in those years). So, bad dancing, but dancing nonetheless, carefree gyrations with smiles on our faces to lines like the opening to “Suffer the Children”—”It’s a sad affair, when there’s no one there, he calls out in the night”—lines which me and my friends even sang out loud while grinning and grooving! And yes, we also danced to “Memories Fade”—which was not one of the four singles, but still stands out as one of TFF’s most compelling songs.

“And I find it kind of funny, I find it kind of sad, the dreams in which I’m dying, are the best I’ve ever had”. Curt angst-ing out in the “Mad World” video.

HOPE: Oh man Matthew, I am so sorry we never got to dance together as teenagers to “Pale Shelter” or “Change”. It’s not too late though. Maybe someday we can hit one of those Gen X ‘80s club nights I’ve heard about and humiliate ourselves (with reckless abandon of course). Shit, even talking about it thrills me, but I digress.

So, The Hurting was played on U.S.radio … but only on a select few, highly curated, big market stations focused specifically on New Wave like KROQ in Los Angeles and my teenage lord and savior WLIR/WDRE in New York (which is where I heard TFF for the first time). What was pop in the UK—with its more broadminded, forward thinking charts—was regarded as “alternative” or “new wave” in the US. My teenage memory insists that it was the success of Human League’s “Don’t You Want Me” that opened the floodgates in the minds of mainstream radio programmers. It definitely felt like some kind of sonic turning point (the charts were a Kenny Rogers-Air Supply-REO Speedwagon-West Coast aka Yacht Rock playground at that point). Human League sounded like the future.

Anchoring The Hurting are three classic singles, all of which feature Curt on lead vocals and boast beautious, barnacle-like choruses. All hail to “Change”, “Mad World” and “Pale Shelter”—whose falsetto I’ll have all day. Oddly, despite all that, my first favorite song off this thing was one of the deep cuts, the bouncy, bloody, and bangin’ “Watch Me Bleed.” I was particularly taken with its “for one so young, I feel so old” line when I first heard it as a ‘80s teen. I quite literally thought, “that’s me, that’s how I feel” and played the song repeatedly on my precious Sony Walkman as I trundled to school (I’m not laughing at you teen Hope, you sensitive plant, I’m laughing with you).

For such a dark piece of work, The Hurting is—gonna use a fake word here—ridiculously singalong-able, ideal for old or burgeoning New Wavers wanting to harmonize on a road trip or have a dance to. There aren’t any weak tracks. Even the “filler” is good, from the title track to the anthemic, sax-y ”Memories Fade” to the Peter Gabriel-esque “Start of the Breakdown” to the OMD meets Depeche vibe of “The Prisoner”, to the moody Roland-vocal-showcase “Ideas as Opiates.” The Hurting served as a brilliant preface for what was to come, aka true pop heaven.

MATTHEW: I totally agree with you about “Watch Me Bleed.” For that to be your first favorite song on the album isn’t so odd, Hope. After all, you—like me, and no doubt like you, dear reader—were a pop-music-obsessed youth, innately and deeply capable of receiving and feeling the emotional impact of pop, especially pop that so deftly delivered feelings in the genre’s lyric-melody-rhythm package.

However, I am going to quarrel with you a little about filler. I think 8 of the 10 tracks on The Hurting are absolutely killer, time-tested angst-pop dark-yet-danceable gold. But the fourth track on each side (that’s “Ideas as Opiates” and “The Prisoner,” tracks 4 and 9 for you streamers and CD players) mar the album. They’re better as interesting, experimental B-sides (“Ideas” started out as the B-side to “Mad World,” and “Prisoner” was on the flipside of “Pale Shelter”). Without them, the album would be a 10/10 serving of—to borrow your phrase, Hope—true pop heaven. 

HOPE: You know, as I sit, contemplate and re-listen, I find myself agreeing with you in regards to both “Ideas as Opiates” and “The Prisoner”. They are decent enough songs, but I recognize that they aren’t in the same league as the rest of their Hurting groove-mates. I think listening to the album as a whole for this essay, after decades of cherry-picking clouded my judgement, meaning, the two tracks weren’t as unspecial as I remembered them to be…but that doesn’t make them special. 

Rating: HOPE: 8/10. MATTHEW: 8/10.

Songs From The Big Chair (1985)

UK: 2. US: 1.

MATTHEW: I have a feeling that we are going to differ here, Hope, right from the start of our discussion of Songs from the Big Chair (hereafter SFTBC?). And some readers will feel the way I do, others will be with you. What am I talking about? “Shout”! I never get tired of it. It has thrilled me for forty years. I’m still happy to hear it come on the radio or in the grocery store, but it deserves more than that: Ingest or hold in your hand your stimulant or relaxant of choice, cue up this album on a great-sounding system or in your best cans, and play it loud as f–k! “Shout” is a plea for help, a call to arms, a celebration of personal power, with music that is so visceral, so sublimely simple yet intricately constructed, that it can still give me goosebumps and bring tears to my eyes. And you absolutely need the full 6’31” album version (the UK single edit is a travesty, the US single edit a crime), in order to really appreciate the way the song builds to its epic climax. It is chorus-forward, without a traditional verse-chorus structure, underpinned by a synth-drone and hook upon which layers of vocal and instrumentation are steadily added. Roland has called it a mantra, and as such it is one of my very favorites, with incredible drumming (by Chris Hughes, who also produced it—among his best work ever) and great solos (I think that is Roland’s guitar and Ian Stanley on the Hammond and Prophet-5). It’s so damn good that you fear for the rest of the album. Will this be one of those records on which one #1 smash success fatally overshadows the rest of the album?

HOPE: True confession: as you guessed, I’m not really into “Shout.” Yes, it is one of TFF’s most beloved tracks, and was the lead single and album opener on SFTBC (yes, let’s call it that). And I wholeheartedly acknowledge that it is a sturdy, generational stadium anthem and a crucial part of this short king of an album. But even back in the day, when I was obsessively listening to SFTBC, I would skip over it (an easy turntable move to navigate as it was the opening track) and begin my journey with track two, the sublime, angsty, and sax-y wonder that is “The Working Hour.” My reasons for breaking up with “Shout”? It’s a tale as old as time. I just played it too damn much before the album came out and got myself well and truly sick of it. Once SFTBC was released I was so googly-eyed ‘n’ eared over the rest of the album, I commenced with my lifelong ritual of skipping it, in order to ogle and drool over the hot new babes.

Sorry “Shout”, it’s not you, it’s me.

MATTHEW: Wow! We agree so often that it is refreshing when we don’t. So, you have been skipping on to “Working Hour” all these decades. Fair enough. That second track is far from being a let-down. As you say, it is a sax-y wonder, and a supreme one at that. Its sequencing after “Shout” is genius—a gorgeous, moody, meandering journey, six and half minutes just like “Shout” and deserving of every second of vinyl space—into the most poppy track on the album. That, of course, is “Everybody Wants to Rule the World,” as catchy as “Shout” but more poptastic and less mesmerizing (both were US #1s, and “Everybody Wants” was by the 2020s Spotify’s most streamed ‘80s song by any artist). “Shout” is an anthem to accompany an uprising, a revolution, whereas “Everybody Wants” is something that Minions™ could sing. I don’t mean that as an insult, or as a way to damn it with faint praise! Its use at the end of Despicable Me 4 (an animated film you’d be forgiven for never seeing) was the best part of the movie, and a perfect reminder that this is a family-friendly singalong pop song that suits so many occasions. And it also serves as a poppy step away from the dark psychological ponderings that reach out from The Hurting to touch both “Shout” and the fourth and final track on this extraordinary Side A of SFTBC, “Mother’s Talk.”

This video has 41 million (freakin’)views.

HOPE: Lord, I miss short albums. Where it felt like every track seemed well and truly fussed over. Where it was hard for a song to make the final cut. Where the whole LP was the equivalent of a wedding day and all elements had to be freakin’ perfect because you know, this was it (so to speak). From the songs included, to the cover, to the sequence in which singles were released, everything had to be right.

Songs From the Big Chair is eight songs long. Eight. And every single one is a little work of art, a beautiful bride built to stand the test of time. Well, mostly. I mean the two-and-a-half minute “Broken” is mostly there to usher in and escort out a greater song, but it’s still a propulsive little thunderbolt in its own right.

I didn’t have Minions™ on my “Shout-outs within TFF essay” bingo card. And I’m never gonna see Despicable Me 4 but what you say is true! “Everybody Wants To Rule the World” is an anthem for all ages. The fact that it was partially inspired by the U.S.and Russia’s then ongoing battle for world supremacy otherwise known as The Cold War (1947-1991), doesn’t diminish the joyful positivity it exudes i.e. it’s transcended its initial inspiration and morphed into an all-celebratory party tune (or, as it was most recently employed in the film Marty Supreme, as a peculiarly life-affirming, baby-cradling anthem). While the chorus and intro get all the glory, the song’s most magical moments are, in order of magnificence, the sunshine-strewn, singalong guitar solo by TFF touring band man Neil Taylor, and that clever little vocal embellishment by Curt that follows in its immediate wake, where he sings “Saaay that you’ll nevernevernevernever need it”. 

The last track on Side A , “Mother’s Talk”, is the rockiest, balls-iest, Depeche-Mode-iest song TFF had produced up to that point in their career. It sounds like a couple of songs stitched together to make one big piledriver and for me, always brings to mind Art of Noise’s iconic 1984 earworm “Close (to the Edit)” when I hear it (Ed note: I just stopped writing to revisit that synthetic monster’s unforgettable video. It’s still brilliant).

MATTHEW: I like that—“Mother’s Talk” as one big piledriver of a song! One could say the same of all thrilling 23 minutes of Side A, the best vinyl side of the TFF catalogue, ending with the same rhythmic energy as it began, a 4-hit piledriver! (To be pedantic, 5 of the album’s 8 tracks were hit singles, 3 of them from Side A.) And the set-up is perfect for the opening song of Side B, the gorgeous “I Believe.” Thus far, the album is perfect. Does it continue that way? For me, close, but not quite…

HOPE: Oh, “I Believe” sounds so good after the clamor of “Mother’s Talk.” The song, as well as Roland’s lovely and sensitive wailing performance of it, were inspired by musician Robert Wyatt (who also received a little fanboy style dedication on SFTBC’s sleeve). That approbation led me to the record store where I bought my first Robert Wyatt album. The verdict? Let’s just say I wasn’t sonically mature enough to appreciate Wyatt’s keening vocal style and meandering tunes at the time. 

MATTHEW: Totally agree on Wyatt. I too was led to him by TFF (and others I liked, such as Elvis Costello), but it would be many years before I was mature enough to appreciate him. However, I could appreciate “I Believe”—both the album original and the live version released as a single. I also loved “Head Over Heels,” the high point of Side B, don’t you think?

I wanted to be with you alone, and talk about the weather…

HOPE: Oh yes. Yes, yes, yes. Sigh. “Head Over Heels” is the greatest TFF song ever. Unrequited love, familial disappointment and one lustrous U-turn of a hook. A video that takes place in a library, the architectural equivalent of a secret crush. All of it and everything. It is one of the top five greatest songs of the ‘80s. Right, Matthew, right?!

Lastly, I just want to offer a reverential bow to the hypnotic, ambient beauty “Listen”, one of five co-writes on the album with key TFF keys man Ian Stanley, just for being so dreamy. But I digress. “Head Over Heels” is the best TFF song, yes?

MATTHEW: Yes and no! “Head Over Heels” is way up there as one of the best TFF songs and 80s pop songs. So I won’t go quite as far as you, Hope, but it certainly holds its own against the massive hits of Side A, an exemplar of how brilliantly TFF can mix lyrical heartache and melodic hook. And I think the short “Broken” works really well as the bridge into “Head Over Heels.” And the reprise of “Broken” is great too, until … the faux live ending. Why is the song ending live? It makes no sense, undermining this side of the album’s intimate atmosphere—which “Listen” must then have to work hard to regain. For me, “Listen” should have been a B-side. It is overly long (filling a third of Side B), an anticlimactic closer, lacking the impact to successfully bring us back to where “Head Over Heels” had taken us. Yes, “Listen” is dreamy (and I’m a fan of TFF B-sides and instrumentals), but for me that pointless and confounding applause at the end of the “Broken” reprise is where this powerful piledriver of a pop album flies (or floats?!) off the tracks.

HOPE: I’m okay with that faux live bit and how it fades into “Listen”! To me it’s just a fun little flourish, like that screaming fan bit on The Beatles Sgt. Pepper album between the title track and “With a Little Help From My Friends”. Songs From the Big Chair ends like a film, a big boom followed by calm meditation aka “Listen”, where you contemplate what happened and readjust to the real world.

MATTHEW: Yes, I see your point, and I’m aware that my annoyance over the “Broken” live ending is odd (as odd, no doubt, as my irritation over similar issues on later TFF albums). And my disappointment over “Listen” is likewise irrational—considering how much I generally like moody and experimental tracks by pop artists. Is it that the album is so perfect up to that point, that I hold it to absurd standards? Is it that “Listen” is one of eight tracks yet comprises ⅙ of the whole album? Or will I wake up one morning, put on SFTBC, and realize that “Listen” eases us out of the album in just the right way? Maybe! But meanwhile, buckle up for my opinion on the difficult sequel to SFTBC …

Rating: HOPE: 9/10. MATTHEW: 9/10.

The Seeds Of Love (1989)

UK: 1. US: 8.

HOPE: “Man, I never slept so hard, I never dreamt so well”. God, I love The Seeds of Love. I believe it to be TFF’s artistic pinnacle. It’s their most lyrically and sonically dense album but it’s also their most poetic and playful. And while it mostly speaks of passionate emotions stirred up by humanity as a whole as opposed to another person, it is still a ridiculously romantic record.

On Seeds, political hypocrisy, inter-band hatred, and the impending apocalypse are bumps in the road of some epic love affair with the world itself. Sure, the overall instrumentation and arrangements are bloated as fuck but they never mask the gorgeous overall melodicism. And yes, it’s kind of angry in parts. But it hasn’t given up. It desperately wants things to get better. When I listen to Seeds, I hear hope (just to clarify, I don’t mean nerd-ass me, I mean the actual feeling known as hope).

MATTHEW: Haha. When I listen to Seeds I think of you, Hope, because I know how much you love the album. And I want to love it as much as you do, but . . . back in 1989, I felt conflicted—and I still do. I was blown away by “Sowing the Seeds of Love” when it came out in the summer of ‘89, a month before the album. We TFF fans had endured what was in those days a troubling and agonizingly long wait (4 and ½ years between Songs and Seeds), but the lead single seemed to make it all worthwhile. The combination of catchy pop hooks and intricate production, somehow both simple and complex all at the same time, remains stunning—the pinnacle of TFF creativity, probably (for me, at least) their single best song. The long multipart bridge is alone a thing of glory. Hope, in the past you’ve asked of albums by other bands if a record was their Pet Sounds? Well, “Sowing the Seeds” struck me as TFF’s “Good Vibrations.” (Not an original observation, I am aware.) Both are whole-albums-in-one-song, promising to presage a dazzling set of similar creations. Of course, that did not happen with the Beach Boys. But did TFF fulfill that promise? I’m glad it did for you. For me, not quite.

HOPE: Been waiting for this. A band we both love that hits each of us in a (mostly) completely different way. It’s so hard to align classic, critically acclaimed pop songs and albums from the ‘60s and ‘70s with those of the ‘80s, a decade that has never been taken seriously in such matters. Which is why I love your connecting “Good Vibrations” to “Seeds”. That fascinated me, it made sense! Of course, I know people who would completely recoil at that idea (I can feel them bristling right now). And of course, for me, the indulgent, the passionate Seeds of Love full-length LP more than met expectations.

It’s impossible to talk about Seeds without acknowledging the “P” word: Yes nerds, I’m talking about “Prog (rock).” Seeds can occasionally seem and sound kinda Proggy. There is a faint scent of early ’70s Yes and Genesis emanating from its pores…meaning the average run-time for a song on the album is six (staggering) minutes…meaning it is home to a few hefty instrumental passages…meaning it isn’t remotely sexy. And like any Prog album worth its salt, in order to really experience it properly, the album requires that you listen to it in sequence. Or at least Side Two does, aka tracks 5 through 8. Shed your cool-guy/gal cynicism at the door! Pull on your (imaginary) Sgt.Pepper jacket! Grab your (also imaginary) sword! Drop the needle (yeah, I just did that) and close your eyes!…which brings us to Side One…

MATTHEW: You won’t find much argument from me on Side One. For me, four of the eight tracks on Seeds are incredible, indispensable TFF creations, and three of them are on Side One. In addition to the sort-of-title track, the opening and closing tracks to the side (“Woman in Chains” and “Advice For The Young At Heart”) are not only stunning and beautiful, they represent forward leaps in terms of content and style. Curt recently commented on how production on The Hurting was “pretty tiny,” with Songs showing “a leap in production values that continued with The Seeds of Love.” But what really stands out on Side One is not only the further complexity of the production but the increasing sophistication of lyrical theme and song construction.TFF are seldom associated with the rather cringey sub-genre term “sophisti-pop,” but isn’t this sophisti-pop at its best?

HOPE: “Sophisti-pop” has always sounded like an insult to me, implying as it does that something is both excessively slick and smarty-pants. In the context of a review, I always took it to mean “well-dressed but ball-less” (if you will). Roxy Music’s beauteous Avalon album or Spandau Ballet’s True are prime ‘80s examples…but damn, that term “sophisti-pop” feels covertly dismissive to my cynical ears.

Fast forward: Here’s Roland and Oleta doing “Woman In Chains” live in 1995. An extra bow of reverence to Oleta’s vocal here because, good lord.

HOPE: Oh, Side One of Seeds! It is immaculate! Starting the album with “Woman In Chains”, an extraordinary power ballad about ingrained misogyny that features a non-bloke TFF outsider on co-lead vocals with Roland—the then unknown American soul singer Oleta Adams—was a bold move. It was a mission statement as well. For all its prog-iness, Seeds is brimming with the essence of something that is never associated with Prog or TFF prior to this album: women. The album is positively brimming with estrogen. Five of the album’s eight songs were co-written by singer-pianist Nicky Holland. The wondrous aforementioned Oleta appears on four tracks total and plays a gigantic vocal part on two of ‘em. Seeds is fueled by Girl Power. 

Also, I have to shout(!) out one of TFF’s underappreciated and most magical powers, aka Roland’s gorgeously soulful whine of a voice. Seeds is home to the most insane vocal runs, dramatic swoops and craziest falsettos he’s ever done (to this day). The vocal interplay between he and Oleta on the beautifully bitter big boy ballad, “Badman’s Song” still blows me away, oh man.Their voices are so in sync that half the time it’s impossible to tell where he ends and she begins. For years I confused who was singing which verse in certain songs, so similar in timbre were the two (true). 

“Sowing the Seeds of Love” is The Beatles’s timeless pop chant “I Am the Walrus” with a sunshiney chorus in place of the original’s gloomy, eerie drone. It’s also the most uplifting, imaginary anti-Margaret Thatcher-marching parade song ever. “Advice For The Young At Heart” is by far the sweetest, most shimmery song on the whole album and the most prototypically Tears for Fears-ish soundwise (kinda like “Everybody Wants to Rule the World’s” mature older sibling). It’s also the only song on the album to feature a Curt Smith lead vocal…in fact, he feels like something of a peripheral presence on Seeds, with only a single songwriting credit and one solitary lead vocal to his name. Turned out trouble was brewing, but as I was so excessively besotted with the album upon release, I missed this concerning little nugget completely, I never thought “where the hell is Curt?” Did you Matthew?

MATTHEW: I absolutely did back then and I still do. Curt has one co-writing credit (“Sowing”) and one vocal (as you say, “Advice”). I never had a problem with the roles played by Oleta Adams or Nicky Holland on the album, and I appreciate them even more now. You are right about the marriage of Oleta’s and Roland’s voices (stunningly smooth) and Holland was clearly crucial to the album being finished—and being the evolutionary step forward that it is. And yet I miss Curt. I miss him on the next two albums too, and I came to think of Seeds of Love as the first of a trio of Roland solo albums under the TFF name. Is that unfair?

Probably. But there’s more that is probably unfair (and won’t be popular with readers who agree with you, Hope). I mentioned above that for me half the album is superb—the sublime trio of “Chains,” “Seeds,” and “Advice,” from Side One, and the gorgeous “Famous Last Words,” which just edges out “Goodnight Song” as the best TFF album closer ever. So, what about the other four songs? None are filler, none are songs I skip. But from the very start, I missed Curt, I missed the privileging of melody over jazzy jamming, and I missed the pop punch that I had come to expect of TFF. I’m no longer annoyed by what I once perceived as the self-indulgence of “Badman.” And I am no longer mystified by the two “Knife” songs, whose pop (and even hit) potential seemed tantalizingly close yet unrealized. I now value them for what they are—steps deliberately far away from Big Chair and towards the next two Orzabal-as-TFF albums. But I cannot ever get over the many years of disappointment. Well, maybe I will eventually!

HOPE: Maybe I’ll help you get there. Because Side Two of Seeds is my official favorite side in the whole TFF discography world. Which is, admittedly, kinda weird. None of its four occupants were hits.Their lyrics are ridiculously overwrought. All the tracks are stuffed to the gills with stuff (sax, singers, soul). Yet, I’ve got nothing but love for these bloated pop beauties. From “Standing on the Corner of the Third World” (Quiet/Loud) to “Swords and Knives” (Plush and windy, birth and death) to “Year of the Knife” (Gigantic heartbreak locomotive w/a fabulously screeching vocal by Roland) to perfectly dreamy bluster-bomb “Famous Last Words” (Apocalyptic love theme), decades have passed but my love for Side Two has never subsided. I don’t even consider these tracks to be four separate entities. No, when I listen to ‘em, they just sound like one big crazy-ass song.

MATTHEW: And those should be our final words on Seeds of Love!

Rating: HOPE: 10/10. MATTHEW: 8/10

Uh oh.

Start of the Breakdown: Seeds of Love took roughly three years and cost millions of pounds to record. All the initial album recordings that had been done by the legendary UK production team of Clive Langer and Alan Winstanley were scrapped and redone. During that time, key Tears stalwarts Ian Stanley (keyboardist & co-writer) and Chris Hughes (producer & co-writer) left the (band) fold. It was a bumpy road that got a helluva lot bumpier once the tour in support of the album concluded. 

That’s when Curt Smith decided to quit Tears for Fears. 

And Roland decided to keep it going without him.

Elemental (1993)

UK: 5. US: 45.

MATTHEW: Wow, this album begins well! The opening trio of songs are so good. Orzabal power pop at its best. I’ve always loved these 15 minutes that comprise “Elemental,” “Cold,” and “Break it Down Again” as a sequel of sorts to the hits of the previous albums, a reassurance that Roland could still write slamming pop songs. That anthemic “stone cold!” outro to “Cold” is the kind of bonus hook that I cherished on the first two albums—and on the best parts of Seeds. But … I still missed Curt. And perhaps Adams and Holland too. Because Elemental drops off after that, as it slips into sounding less Orzabal-as-TFF and more just solo-Orzabal. 

HOPE: The first half of the ‘90s were a particularly bad time for the ‘80s. After a decade of synthesizer domination, guitar-led sounds made a comeback (hello Grunge and Britpop). Apparently, synthpop had been an embarrassing phase and now it was back to business. With a few possible exceptions (Cure, Smiths, R.E.M., perhaps Depeche) ‘80s pop could only be mentioned in hushed tones. As I was working in an HMV megastore at the time, I speak from painful, personal experience. To admit you still spent time listening to Culture Club or The Thompson Twins in the ‘90s was to expose yourself as being resolutely uncool and stuck in the past. All of which is to say, in 1993 the prospect of a new Tears for Fears album, a Curt-free one no less, wasn’t a highly anticipated event. 

To make matters worse, Roland was now openly dismissive of Curt’s contribution to TFF, and implied that he’d thought of him more as a hired hand than an equal partner. In an interview with Entertainment Weekly upon the album’s release, Roland said “The relationship I had with Curt was like that of a producer to an artist…I’d help him get his vocals right and even write his songs for him. It wasn’t really a shared thing.” Oof. Welcome to the official rough patch of TFF (it reminds me a lot of Daryl Hall’s similarly brutal description of John Oates’s contribution to Hall & Oates in his 2007 interview with Pitchfork. In that conversation, he stated that he and John were “not an equal duo and never had been. I’m 90% and he’s 10% and that’s the way it is”. Double oof).

Nine of Elemental’s ten tracks were written with old friend Alan Griffiths who had been with the band The Escape with Seeds of Love collaborator Nicky Holland back in the ‘80s. The album is okay…ish. There is significantly more filler than had ever appeared on a TFF LP before (literally half the songs). Oh, there are some patches of sunlight, like booming, declarative fun boy “Break it Down Again” (“Here we go!”) and shimmery closer “Goodnight Song” which sounds like an actual, vintage TFF song. And “Cold” has a fabulous little hook stuffed inside its chilly bones. But there isn’t much to embrace after that.

MATTHEW: Right. And the moments of anti-Curt spite, combined with the album’s weaker middle, didn’t help TFF’s reputation, especially in the US (where it would be another three decades before a TFF album broke the Top 40, while “Break it Down Again” would prove to be their last US single to even break the Top 100). I don’t think any of the middle five songs of Elemental are bad, and I like the closing pair of “Brian Wilson Said” and “Goodnight Song” (which is lovely and, as you say, sounds very TFF!). But some of those middle five come close to B-side territory (I’m looking at you, “Gas Giants”) and are weaker, for example, than “Laid So Low” (a UK Top 20 hit single a year before this album, recorded for TFF’s first hits compilation). For me, Elemental is, like Seeds, half great and half good but slightly disappointing. Ok, far more disappointing for me than Seeds, and for you they are obviously at opposite ends of the TFF catalog spectrum of quality. So, do we agree that, in the end, this is the least successful of the seven studio albums?

HOPE: Oh yes, I agree with every word of that! That “middle five,” as you dubbed them, are unmemorable apart from Roland’s mean I-hate-Curt-themed “Fish Out of Water” which is memorable for reasons that have zero to do with song quality. It’s all strictly B-Side stuff. And yes, “Laid So Low”, which we’ll get to in detail shortly, dwarfs every one of those middling tracks and maybe everything else apart from “Break It Down Again.”

Rating: HOPE: 5/10. MATTHEW: 6/10

Raoul And The Kings Of Spain (1995)

UK: 41. US: 79.

HOPE: Roland’s second collaborative effort with Alan Griffiths, Raoul and the Kings of Spain is a far better record than its predecessor. While there are a handful of rockier tracks present, including the booming title track that opens the album, the loud boys are not the songs that shine brightest on Raoul. No, it’s the sensitive souls. “Secrets”, with its colossal chorus and the heartbreaking “Me and My Big Ideas” (the latter a duet with the still brilliant Oleta Adams) are THE two greatest ballads in the history of TFF. Have I ever daydreamed about Celine Dion or Whitney Houston covering these tracks in the pop fantasyland that exists inside my head, complete with dramatic key changes in the final verse of each song? Oh hell yes I have. One tiny step below “Secrets” and “Me and My…” are “Sketches of Pain” and the noble “I Choose You”. Both are beauties.

MATTHEW: On those two ballads (“Secrets” and “Me and My…”) we agree, and for me too “Sketches of Pain” and “I Choose You” are enduring beauties. So do we agree on the whole album? Maybe? For me, that handful of amazing songs, too often overlooked, are gems nestled into a brilliant, lamentably-forgotten album.

Does every band have a “most underrated” album? It’s a fun category, so let’s say yes—and might this be that album in the TFF catalog? It not only has a series of fantastic Roland compositions that could’ve been huge singles, but it is strong from start to finish. From the opening guitar riff, this album rocks. It is packed with signature TFF elements— Roland’s powerful vocals, his irresistible melodies, and his angst-tinged lyrics (this may be his most personal record). And this is very much a ‘90s album, despite TFF’s ‘80s association, fueled not by synths but by propulsive drumming and guitar work. Even the superbly soaring “Secrets” (oh yes, one of the great TFF hits that never was) is a rock-pop power ballad. And that Roland/Oleta ballad (I’m back to “Me and My…”) surely stands as tall as their Seeds of Love collaborations (another hit single in a parallel universe)!

So why did the album flop (no hits, lowest charting, second poorest selling, doing well only in continental Europe)? It was partly that 1995 was a low-point for artists labeled as “80s.” Even lower than 1993, when Elemental came out, as you noted earlier, Hope. Being neither Britpop nor grunge, TFF were so yesterday. Hardcore fans knew better, of course. But not enough people heard the album or its singles to get that this wasn’t a re-tread by has-beens but top-notch pop-rock, new and compelling. The title track squeaked into the #31 slot in the UK for a week; in the US, the only single to chart at all was “God’s Mistake,” and it stalled at #102. Part of the problem was the last-minute label shift from Mercury (the label for the first four albums) to Epic—who failed to promote the album and its singles and then promptly dropped the band. That dumbassery left this gem out in the cold. It has never been released on vinyl, and its tracks are excluded from all TFF compilations. Grrrr!

HOPE: In regards to the more rocking tunes present on Raoul, the title track, and “Sorry” are the champs, the most compelling and memorable of the harder stuff. But they are nowhere near as brilliant as the ballads. And those ballads are the main reason why this LP should get more love and attention than it’s been afforded. So I’m with you. Raoul is the most underrated album in the discography.

MATTHEW: There have been times over the years when I’ve thought this was the best TFF album of them all. The album is so good that, for me, there’s no filler at all. If I had to pick a least favorite track, I’d pick “Don’t Drink the Water.” Remove that and you have a blissful ballad pairing of “I Choose You” with “Big Ideas.” But the B-sides are so strong that there is no shortage of substitutes for “Water”; in fact, “Until I Drown” totally deserves to be upgraded. And “Queen of Compromise” was justifiably on the original unreleased Mercury version of the album.

Do I still miss Curt? Absolutely. “He just does something to a song,” as Roland recently said of Curt (admitting that “the two biggest songs in our catalogue, and the biggest earners for me, are ‘Mad World’ and ‘Everybody Wants to Rule the World,’ and that’s Curt singing them”). I wish they’d remix and reissue the Raoul album with Curt’s vocals added. And make it a double vinyl album with the B-sides as bonus tracks on Side 4.

HOPE: I suck, which is to say, I don’t think about Curt’s absence when I listen to this album. But I love your fantastical proposal. For me, Raoul sits just outside the top three TFF LPs ever (aka Hurting, Chair and Seeds). Also, you just triggered that “what if” reflex: If “Water” and “Humdrum and Humble” had been left off and replaced with handsome B-side’s “Until I Drown”, “Queen of Compromise” and the extremely Tears for Fearsy “All of the Angels” on the official 1995 version of the album, Raoul would be at least tied for third on my list.

Rating: HOPE: 7/10. MATTHEW: 9/10

Everybody Loves A Happy Ending (US 2004 / UK 2005)

UK: 45. US: 46.

HOPE: Roland and Curt reunite! Tears for Fears are two again! But is this album better than either of the two Roland-only excursions that preceded it? Hmmm…

MATTHEW: I have a feeling we are going to disagree on this one, Hope. Because I absolutely love this album! “Make love your destination,” indeed. Finally, a Roland-and-Curt sequel to Seeds. Or is it more like a sequel to the Roland-only Elemental and Raoul, but Curt-enhanced? If you, dear reader, think that my adoration for Raoul and Everybody Loves a Happy Ending (ELAHE?) is a bit odd, you’re not alone. Neither were hits. They are the bottom of the TFF sales barrel. Both received mixed reviews. Hope will, I suspect, understand where you are coming from. But if, like me, you think they are hugely underrated and unfairly ignored works of pop genius, you’re not alone either. What the hell, I might as well own it: this is my favorite TFF album! Yes, I said it.

Ok, I’m being hyperbolic and provocative. I’m not claiming that ELAHE is the best TFF album? It isn’t the enduring pop masterpiece that is Big Chair. It isn’t the creative reach-for-the-stars that is Seeds. It lacks the thematic coherence of Raoul. And, to be less giddy about it, I’ve ranked it below Big Chair, sharing the second-favorite spot with Raoul. But I do maintain that ELAHE is an artful and compelling collection of a dozen catchy and expertly assembled pop songs. With all its lyrical and musical references to their influences (especially The Beatles, for which critics gave the duo flack), and to their own past albums, this is in a way the ultimate TFF album.

HOPE: While I think you are crazy, and I mean that with love Matthew, I also appreciate and lovingly respect your passionate declaration! Who among us nerds (you reading this, us here) hasn’t experienced irrational, inexplicable love for the “wrong” album? The one that wasn’t successful or showered with acclaim? The one nobody talks about? Sometimes the rules just don’t apply. Sometimes, something just freakin’ hits. You fall in love with a discographic dark horse (so to speak) and you want to tell the world!

So here’s the deal, there are parts of ELAHE that I completely adore. 

The bright-as-the-blazing-sun anthem “Secret World” is one of my favorite TFF songs of all-time (it is effing fabulous). The album’s first single, “Closest Thing to Heaven” is a mammoth pop monster, with a giant claw of a hook (also fabulous). There are moments of genuine melodic wonder sprinkled along the way, like the simultaneously slick-yet-grungy “Killing With Kindness”, which sounds like some weird TFF approximation of a Smashing Pumpkins song, and the wonderfully messy Beatle-pastiche/sonic son of “Sowing the Seeds of Love”, “Who Killed Tangerine”. Coincidentally (?) those four songs are the loudest, most bombastic tracks on the album. They are also the best, most memorable ones. And their beautiful bigness makes the rest of the tracks sound very small indeed.

“Call Me Mellow”, “Size of Sorrow”,”Quiet Ones” and ”Who You Are” are like a singular fluffy cloud. They are pleasant, not powerful. They waft as one, nothing stands out. The rest of the album’s residents—“The Devil”, “Ladybird”,”Last Days on Earth” and the title track—don’t even hold up to the songs comprising the aforementioned fluffy cloud. It’s not that they are bad, they just don’t stick or stand out.

Now comes the math. While ELAHE is better than Elemental as a complete listening experience, only four of its 12 songs truly deliver the goods. Using that metric (translation: four great songs vs. eight okay ones), ELAHE doesn’t qualify as a great album. Okay Matthew, let me have it!

MATTHEW: That’s very restrained and fair, Hope. Especially compared to some of the mixed reviews the album received upon release. But while I understand why those critics found the intricate and layered production to be a mess, I only hear fascinating connections and delightful details. Likewise, I understand your 4-great-vs-8-ok verdict, and it makes sense to me, but I still hear 11 great or really good songs vs only one that is just ok. Only one? Well, honestly (and happily) yes! That’s “The Devil,” which I’d drop if I was in some parallel fantasy universe in charge of prepping the TFF catalogue for re-release—or, in the case of ELAHE, original release—on vinyl. At over 54” it is too long for vinyl anyway, so removing that track puts the album just under 51” and thus in vinyl range. Still, I hear the audiophiles saying I’d need to cut one more track. And you’ve given us seven options, Hope. But here’s my point: I enjoy the album so much, and I hear it so consistently packed with irresistible hooks and melodies, that I couldn’t decide. The first five tracks are too good to mess with. For example, check out what happens 2’18” into “Who Killed Tangerine”: a superb, anthemic bridge that returns for the last two minutes of the song, just begging to be heard live with thousands of fans chanting “It’s not over!” And a vinyl Side Two might begin with the indispensable “Quiet Ones,” although “Secret World” is so damn good it should probably kick off Side Two. But then it probably should have been a Top Ten smash everywhere —because, as you say Hope, it is effing fabulous! TFF pop at its best. Hell, pop music at its best. And the album doesn’t even drop off after that: “Killing with Kindness” is epic, indeed, another anthem awaiting a stadium-full of fans. “Ladybird” is as singalong-good as the album’s two singles, and “Last Days on Earth” might be up there with the best TFF album closers.

HOPE: ELAHE will always be a cherry-picking affair for me. I am wholeheartedly in alignment with you on one thing though: It would be wickedly cool to hear a whole arena of TFF nerds scream-singing along to “Who Killed Tangerine”.  

Rating: HOPE: 6/10. MATTHEW: 9/10

The Tipping Point (2022)

UK: 2. US: 8.

HOPE: The Tipping Point is a total bottom-loader. None of the first five tracks move me. The latter five tracks on the other hand, well, they’ve got something going on girl. Let me put it this way: if Tipping Point were an EP featuring just those last five songs, I’d rate it eight out of ten at least.

MATTHEW: You know how you never forget the first time you hear certain songs? Usually it happens when you are doing something mundane, like driving to work or making dinner. I was doing yardwork when I first heard “No Small Thing,” the opening track of The Tipping Point.  I was stunned. I just sat on the front step playing it over and over. It seemed to draw upon all the previous albums, lyrically and musically, to create something so viscerally compelling. That ending!  Such a fantastic example of TFF’s particular blend of pop and rock.  So your reaction, Hope, so different to mine, is a fascinating case of how two people who so often are on the same musical wavelength sometimes hear very differently.  And your reaction also prompts this question: do I find the whole album as good as its first song?

Well, I absolutely agree that the second half of the album has something going on. It is held together by very good to great songs, built around the middle track, Orzabal’s “Master Plan,” which is to my ears a TFF classic, worthy of a spot on any Essentials list. But my reservations about the first half don’t extend to all five tracks, just the fourth (“Break the Man”) and fifth (“My Demons”). They’re not terrible, but they don’t grab me the way so many TFF songs do. Do you agree, Hope? Perhaps many fans wouldn’t agree, and Curt and Roland surely wouldn’t — as both were singles and included in the setlist for the album’s tour.

HOPE: Totally agree on both “Break the Man” and the sub-Depeche Mode “My Demons”! They sound formulaic. But then, so does the title track…and while I appreciate the sweaty, robustness of “No Small Thing”, the melody on that one doesn’t quite hit. But once track six arrives, the Peter Gabriel meets “Woman In Chains” epic “Rivers of Mercy”, a door opens (Fun Fact: It’s Roland’s fave tune on the album). What comes after that is kinda beautiful.

MATTHEW: Yes, “Rivers of Mercy” is gorgeous. And there’s lots of “kinda beautiful” moments in this second side/half of the album. I confess that after Songs for a Nervous Planet came out in 2024 (we get to that album below), I made my own version of Tipping Point: I replaced “Break the Man” and “Demons” with the far superior “Astronaut” and “The Girl I Call Home,” which sit so well with the second five Tipping songs. And sometimes I play with resequencing: “Please Be Happy” rolls exquisitely into “Stay,” for example.

HOPE: I concur on that last thought! “Please Be Happy”, with its heartwrenchingly personal lyrics (relating to Roland’s late wife Caroline) and exceptionally lovely Curt vocal is maybe the most Beatle-ish ballad in the whole discography. It’s mournful but there is brightness in its arrangement (Oh the strings, the strings). It definitely brings to mind  “The Long and Winding Road” for me. The love notes to the Fab Four don’t stop there. Hands aloft, stadium anthem ”Master Plan” —“a dig” at TFF’s former manager— is also stuffed to the gills with winks and nods toward the lads. It even includes an actual namecheck, for God’s sake. 

The album winds down with MGMT meets Goldfrapp meets Motown, “End of Night” (forgive me for that description but I swear that’s what it sounds like) and mellow, vintage-Tears-for-Fearsy closer “Stay”. 

That is just one rock solid block of songs. 

Okay, I need to do “A Matthew” right now! You know what would have made this album great? If two of the three of the bonus tracks that were made available only on deluxe edition/exclusive versions of the album (Hello Target shoppers!) appeared on the initial, available-everywhere release of the album. Both “Shame (Cry Heaven)” and “Secret Location” are exquisite modern day TFF songs. Evict any of the aforementioned Side A tracks, pop these two in, and Tipping becomes a great TFF album as opposed to a good one.

MATTHEW: Absolutely. There are three such bonus tracks, all worth having but not on most (or any?) streaming services (although I have all three on a CD version of Tipping Point that was neither hard to find nor costly). And I agree that “Secret Location” and “Shame” are without any doubt worthy of being full album tracks. With TFF, even the bonus tracks are good! The fact is, there is no bad TFF album, no slow decline from a never-equaled debut, no bell curve of quality, no sequence of late-in-life records whose occasional great moments merely remind us of how very good the band once was (yeah, I’m looking at you New Order, Depeche Mode, Duran Duran, etc.). Tipping Point isn’t their best, but it’s a great album. Not a great album for a band that started four decades earlier. A great album full stop (period).

HOPE: I appreciate your brutal yet honest observation regarding the other icons you list. Because I can’t help myself, I’ll just add to the pile by saying not one of them has made a song in the 21st century that is worthy of appearing in a Top Twenty list of their greatest creations (Dear Depeche Mode’s “Freelove”, while I do adore you, you handsome little demon, you will never match the greatness of your older siblings). That’s what sets TFF apart from their ‘80s peers. They have. 

Rating: HOPE: 7/10. MATTHEW: 8/10

Compilations

Tears Roll Down (Greatest Hits 82-92) (1992) (UK 2, US 53)

Saturnine Martial & Lunatic (1996) (Did Not Chart)

Gold (2006) (Did Not Chart)

Rule the World: The Greatest Hits (2017) (UK 13, US Did Not Chart)

HOPE: Our ability to make playlists has not rendered that old stocking stuffer/lazy listeners delight/completist pocket picker, better known as ‘The Greatest Hits’ album, obsolete. They are still pretty popular with the general public, and for a legacy artist, they often rank as their most popular albums on the streaming services…which I find disappointing (Sad Nerd). Especially in the case of TFF as there are countless deep cuts worth hearing. Sorry, had to get that out of my system.

The only thing that mattered to me about Tears Roll Down (Greatest Hits 82-92), the first ever TFF compilation, was the song the LP was named after, and its only new track, “Laid So Low (Tears Roll Down).” Home to lines like “I was humble for you” and “I wish you were my enemy”, it is beautifully bitter and hard not to hear as a goodbye letter from Roland to Curt. As for the comp itself, it’s pretty redundant at this point right?

MATTHEW: Yup. The two official “best of” options are, unfortunately, outdated and flawed. The mixes on streaming platforms are better, but they are indeed no substitute for well-curated “hits” CDs and records. The out-of-print Tears Roll Down runs through the singles from the first three albums, plus “Laid So Low”—which was, as you say, the excellent new single released in 1992 to boost this compilation (it reached #17 in Britain, the album #2). All great songs but an obsolete collection. So what about the 2017 “update,” Rule the World: the Greatest Hits? Well, it repeats 11 singles from Tears Roll Down but tragically omits that one single not on a regular album (“Laid So Low”). And both compilations omit 1983’s “The Way You Are.” Sigh! Rule the World is longer than Tears Roll Down (74” vs 59”), adding one song from each of the later three albums, plus two new songs: “I Love You But I’m Lost” (a single that failed to chart anywhere in the world, despite being the first TFF single in twelve years), and an earlier (slightly inferior) version of Tipping Point track “Stay.” So, a satisfying update? For me, not at all! What do you think?

HOPE: I’m with you. Rule the World: the Greatest Hits should have been the official gathering place for all the singles. It should be noted that there have been a bunch of other TFF compilations released apart from the two official band-approved releases we’ve been talking about. Most of them are record company concoctions with no participation from TFF themselves in terms of actual song choices. Some are exclusive to Germany, Japan, Brazil and Europe. Honestly, there are too damn many.

So after all this, which is the ideal starter kit? Well, I can’t believe I’m saying this, it’s one of the freakin’ aforementioned label-sanctioned releases. Gold, is a 2-CD set that was first released in 2006. It has 24 songs, including “The Way You Are”  and “Laid So Low” plus all the obvious stuff. If you are craving a comp on CD, this is the one to track down, as it is the most comprehensive.

MATTHEW: Yes, Gold comes closest to being the ideal starter kit, as you put it, out of the twenty-two (!) additional compilations listed on Wikipedia. Most were released only in one or a few foreign markets, as you say, so Gold has the virtue of being easily found in the US and UK. But it is still a lost opportunity. It lacks three singles that are on Shout (a 2001 US-only compilation; a near-identical edition was released in Germany): “Suffer the Children,” “I Believe (A Soulful Re-Recording),” and “Goodnight Song.” And while I like that Gold includes two Raoul and four ELAHE singles, why end with so-so B-side-wanna-be “Floating Down the River,” and a random live version of “Mad World”? Grump, grump. Oh dear, Hope, are we turning into those fans that love a band’s music but complain incessantly online over what tracks are on what releases (Hope says YES)? And we are far from done yet! At least we aren’t moaning about formats! Well, for now, let’s leave it at this: We agree that the hits comps are most unsatisfactory, and that a complete double-disc collection of all the singles is long overdue. So, what about B-sides and live cuts?

Let’s take a “Laid So Low (Tears Roll Down)” break. Chew that bone baby.

HOPE: And now, the weird kid. 1996’s Saturnine Martial and Lunatic is a collection of B-Sides and rarities. Its closing track is TFF’s most peculiar and charmingly inaccessible single, “The Way You Are”, which had only been released as a freestanding entity and had never appeared on an album before this (The aforementioned Gold comp it appeared on was released a decade after Saturnine, in 2006) . I rarely listen to this exceedingly odd oddball of a song, but remain fascinated that something with such a slippery chorus and abstract arrangement was released as a freakin’ single ( FYI: Roland and Curt hate this one). But seriously, this collection requires a patience only hardcore fans are likely to muster. In keeping with the B-Side culture of the time (of the ‘80s primarily) the songs are a bit more off-the-wall and experimental than the stuff that appeared on the actual studio albums. So it ain’t for everyone. That said, there are a few straightforward, let’s call them “huggable” tunes among its 18(!) tracks. The wickedly cool, saxophone-fueled freight train, should’ve-been-a-studio-album-track “Always in the Past” and the emotive cover of Robert Wyatt’s bizarro gorgeo-sity “Sea Song” make Saturnine worth having (Ridiculous Sidebar: I love Roland’s pronunciation of “porpoise” as “por-poys” on the latter. Say it with me, “por-poys”.) And gotta give an honorable mention to “New Star” which not only sounds a hell of a lot like a latter day Simple Minds song, but curiously predicts the future sound of Oasis.

MATTHEW: Yes, Saturnine Martial and Lunatic is a 78-minute slog of an album, not for the faint-hearted, a very mixed bag, and for fans only. But of course it was not intended to be an album, but rather a convenient storage device for various B-sides and extras, and as such it is indispensable for even casual fans—worth it for a handful of gems like “Sea Song” (as you note), the paint-by-numbers copy of Bowie’s “Ashes to Ashes,” and the movie soundtrack single “New Star” (the movie being 1994’s dreadful Threesome). Although it makes me pine for that long overdue CD and vinyl release of all singles on two discs, with all the non-single extras on another disc. Come on, boys!

Live Albums

Secret World: Live in Paris (2006) (Did Not Chart)

Songs for a Nervous Planet (2024) (UK 6, US 104)

MATTHEW: Now for the live albums, of which we are only going to cover two official releases (not the bootleg or obscure ones). And in fact, the first of these is pretty obscure too.  Secret World (2006) did not chart anywhere save France—where, despite it being recorded live in Paris the previous year, it only reached #106. That’s not surprising, in that it came on the heels of the band’s lowest-charting-in-the-UK album (Happy Ending or ELAHE). And it was released on a French label, as a CD+DVD only, packaged not in a jewel box but in the flimsy plastic “slim case” of the DVD era. As a fan of ELAHE, I like that a third of the nine live tracks on here are from that album. It is also fun to hear Roland speaking (quite good!) French. And the final three tracks are hits from Big Chair, with an interesting live rendition of “Shout” as the closer. The vocals on all nine live tracks are fine, but a tad shaky (in contrast to Songs for a Nervous Planet, where they seem to have been polished in production—some fans will prefer the polish, some the keeping-it-real live feel). The “Radio Edit” studio version of “Secret World” then follows on the CD, which sort of makes sense as the CD and DVD begin with the live version, and that is the name of this album. But what makes no sense at all is what follows: the above-mentioned “Floating Down the River,” and “What Are We Fighting For” (question mark missing), taken from the 1998 solo Curt Smith album Mayfield (to which we briefly return below). It is also fine, nothing more than that. But what really annoys me is the mixing of live and studio bonus tracks, which feels random and unthinking—weder Fisch noch Fleisch, a great German expression, literally “neither fish nor flesh,” that describes unsatisfactory compromises. Give us a full-length live album or give us an updated full-length compilation of B-sides and extras, but don’t tantalize us with a half-arsed hybrid of both!

From Songs for a Nervous Planet, here’s the live version of “Secret World” featuring a hat tip to Paul McCartney and Wings’ “Let ‘Em In”. It is a real chocolate-covered cherry, which is to say, it’s good.

MATTHEW: I’m still ranting here. Because the other live album is Songs for a Nervous Planet (2024). And it’s great. Nothing to rival studio versions, but an enjoyable variant on them. And yet there’s a catch, similar to what annoys me about Secret World. Imagine this: your band is experiencing an extraordinary comeback, with your first album in two decades going Top Ten in the UK and US, your tour so successful that a live album is being prepared, and the creative juices are flowing so well that you have four new songs, half of another studio album! So, you release the live album (maybe with a live version of one of the new songs, included as a teaser), then take half a year to write and record four to six more songs, and release a sequel to that comeback hit. Right? Oh no. The TFF lads decided instead to shove those four new studio recordings onto the front end of the live album. WTAF?!

HOPE: I am ambivalent about the TFF live recordings.The experience of seeing TFF live is, like a lot of bands, far more compelling than hearing a live recording on a plain old piece of vinyl/CD or streaming service. Secret, is simply a document of what TFF were sounding like on their 2005 tour. Nothing more, nothing less. The two “new” songs tacked onto the end of it are kind of ho-hum.

In regards to (freakin’) Songs for a Nervous Planet, I share your irritation Matthew. It’s a confusing hodge podge that doesn’t work as an album. And get this, until you pointed out that TFF had mixed live songs with new studio tracks like this before (on Secret World), I hadn’t even remembered that this concept wasn’t a new, random thing for them. At first I wondered if my dislike of Songs for a Nervous Planet’s layout in particular was justified. I mean, I love Genesis’s Three Sides Live from 1982 and that LP features, yup, three live sides (recorded at various shows no less) and fourth side of studio tracks. So why did I worship that oddly constructed concoction and feel frustrated with TFF’s similar layout? Well, I think I accepted the Gens mix of live and studio because it was a “heyday album”, meaning when it was released they were still very much a contemporary band. It had vitality and topicality. It felt like an intentional assemblage. Songs for a Nervous Planet does not. It feels like a hasty marketing decision. 

MATTHEW: Sadly, yup. Part of my annoyance over the structure of Planet is that those four new songs are good. More than that, “Astronaut” and “The Girl That I Call Home” are great, and I really like “Say Goodbye to Mum and Dad” too. All three made it onto a playlist of 33 TFF faves I made last year. And they would have anchored a new studio album nicely. Take the best of those Tipping Point “bonus” tracks we mentioned and you’re over half way to an album. Easy for me to say, I know, and I’m not downplaying the inspiration and perspiration that goes into turning Roland’s genius into studio recordings. But still. Aaargh!

HOPE: Concurring! “Astronaut” deserved a better showcase. Also, songs about feeling like an outsider and wanting to live in another galaxy rule.

MATTHEW: Absolutely. “Astronaut” deserved better. It is incredible that almost half a century after Roland and Curt started a band together (the pre-TFF band Graduate), they can still deliver a pop song so strong and memorable. How about a retrospective singles compilation that begins with “Astronaut” and goes backwards, including every single—all forty (I think!) of them—ending with “Suffer the Children.” Or maybe ending with “Elvis Should Play Ska”?

HOPE: Yeah, but no. Better to end where TFF began, at “Suffer the Children.” Sure, “Elvis Should Play Ska” would take us back to the first Orzabal and Smith single, as it was the only 7” release from Acting My Age, the 1980 album by their first band, the quirky, okay-ish, mostly Mod-style five-piece Graduate. But it is a total outlier (to me) and bears no sonic relation to TFF. It’d be disruptive.

The other thing is that while the English Beat-esque “Elvis Should Play Ska” did hit the top ten in Spain, it isn’t that great a song. Plus it only received minimal love in the UK, peaking at sad, old #82 in the pop chart in 1980. All that matters is that the following year, Graduate broke up and formed TFF.

P.S.!!!  Both Songs from the Big Chair and Seeds of Love received the Super Deluxe Box Set treatment (in 2014 and 2021 respectively). Each were reissued as multi-disc sets featuring demos, B-Sides, alternate mixes and live stuff (you know the drill). It’s a lot. Maybe even too much. 

Before I took this picture, I hadn’t touched the Songs From the Big Chair box since the day I got it in 2014. Our first in person meeting after months of anticipation was electric. The box was fulsome and pretty. Then it was over.

When it comes to these exhaustive collections, not just these TFF ones, but those by any beloved artist, the most exciting moment is not listening to any of the contents. It is in fact the potential of experiencing something you’ve heard 3000x as new again and the actual unboxing. Those are the exciting parts. The moment when it first gets announced and you see there are unreleased songs in the tracklisting! Oh yes! The feeling when the box arrives and that massive shrinkwrapped monster is in your actual hands! Then comes the awed fondling of their handsome packaging and glossy booklets. You don’t simply have these Super Deluxes so much as you freakin’ possess them. Despite it not being a remotely sexual experience, it is all distressingly horny. Alas, those feelings of excitement are fleeting. 

There are some interesting things on both the SFTBC and Seeds boxes but nothing revelatory. I found the demos on the latter to be intriguing listens initially (one in particular, more on that below). But the story ended the same as always.The day after I received the boxes, read their contents and loaded the music into the digital library, I was done with ‘em. They were filed on the shelf with their well-groomed brothers and sisters forever. 

Solo/Outside projects

MATTHEW: Here is where we round up the various other projects into which Curt and Roland have put their creative energies. Graduate came before TFF, but what came after the 1990 split? Roland, of course, soon made two albums under the TFF banner. A third was also written and recorded, to be likewise released as a TFF album. But when Roland and Curt patched things up and reunited in 2000, Roland put out Tomcats Screaming Outside in 2001 as the only album released under his name. It did not chart. (I imagine that had Curt been involved, the album might have acquired a better name.) Meanwhile, Curt released a series of four solo albums. Soul on Board (1993), a flop in the UK and not released in the US, has long since been disowned by him. Mayfield (1998) was released under the band name Mayfield; it was re-released in 2000 as Aeroplane, with six extra tracks (which confusingly were released as an EP in the US also titled Aeroplane), and re-released again with an additional track in 2011. Halfway, Pleased (2008) and Deceptively Heavy (2013) complete the four. So what do you think of all those solo projects?

HOPE: Hmmm. Like most TFF-heads, I approached every solo excursion with hope! I mean, I bought every one! It wasn’t the hope that the albums themselves would be great but rather that there’d be one insanely fabulous new song to fall in love with forever. But of course nothing ever hit as hard as TFF. To be fair, there are a few fine things on the aforementioned LPs… just not enough to consider any of these records underrated, hidden gems as a whole. The two tracks that come closest to being “wows” on Roland’s Tomcats, are the U2-ish, anthemic “For the Love of Cain” and the moody “Day By Day By Day By Day By Day.” Curt’s lovelies are with his band Mayfield, specifically the swoony “Aeroplane” (best lyric: “All I want is a wet dream, ice-cream”. Hot.) and the mystical “Trees”. These are really nice songs, but they are not enough to lift the albums themselves out of just-okayness.

Which brings us to this weird aberration. After ten years of not recording as a duo, Roland and Curt reconvened in 2013 and recorded a messy cover of Arcade Fire’s “Ready to Start”. That song plus two additional covers of songs by Hot Chip and Animal Collective made up a three-song EP called Ready Boys & Girls that was made available for Record Store Day in 2014. It was well-intentioned but the tracks included seemed hopelessly dated even then.

MATTHEW: For me, all these albums are dispensable extras of interest only to hardcore fans. As mentioned when we talked about The Hurting, the Graduate album is a curiosity for anyone wondering what came before (but that didn’t even come close to the brilliance of The Hurting). As for the solo projects, I suspect there are some real fans of those albums, but I find they only send me fleeing back to Tears for Fears. Not because they are bad; they all contain valuable moments, even a gem or two (as you detail). But because they echo (or anticipate) TFF material without being as good as TFF records. And in the end, none of these albums are great. And as you say, the three covers on Ready Boys & Girls are from the years right before that 10” vinyl EP came out in 2014, and it is a must-have only for the most dedicated completists.

HOPE: One last thing! We need to acknowledge some of the wondrous work Roland did with other artists. First and foremost, he produced (w/David Bascombe), wrote (a few songs) and played (a bit) on former TFF bandmate Oleta Adams’s 1994 album Circle of One. It is a slick, lovely, gospel-flavored, jazz-seasoned LP for grown people and Oleta sounds like a freakin’ angel throughout. 36 years have passed and  “Rhythm of Life” (Composed by Roland and Nicky Holland!) and “Get Here” remain as gorgeous as the day they were recorded.

Mancrab were a duo consisting of singer Eddie Thomas and former TFF stalwart Ian Stanley. Their one and only song “Fish for Life” featured on the 1986 soundtrack of Karate Kid II (“Daniel-san, never put passion before principle”). It was written and produced by Stanley with Roland and sung by Eddie Thomas. It sounds exactly like a Tears for Fears song. If you didn’t know it was Mancrab, you’d swear on your life it was a freakin’ TFF record. It is a proper tune with a proper chorus. It was an all-star member of my favorite driving mixtape in ye olde ‘80s and if TFF had actually performed it, it’d absolutely be in my top twenty Tears tunes. Fish for Life!

In 1999, Roland (and Alan Griffiths) produced Icelandic singer-songwriter Emiliana Torrini’s Love in the Time of Science album. They also wrote its two best songs: the sleek, stringy and sad “Wednesday’s Child” and the epic Bjork-meets-the-Beatles ballad “Baby Blue”. Both are worth seeking out.

These fours walls may not be seventh heaven but this song sure is.

MATTHEW: You’re so right about that Mancrab song! I’d love to hear it sung by Roland with Curt on backing vocals—it would sound like an outtake from late-80s TFF studio sessions. They should record it for the next album, thus giving Ian Stanley (unsung hero of early TFF albums) some royalties (online rumor has him living as a farmer in Ireland). I agree too that the Oleta Adams album is gorgeous and holds up well. Likewise, that debut Emiliana Torrini album, which I only discovered when she sang a Thievery Corporation track, and she’s long been my favorite Icelandic artist (yes, that’s tongue in cheek, and a dig at Bjork!). Again, how about Roland and Curt recording some of these songs they’ve written for others, or at least just collecting them together? I’d rather hear “Baby Blue” or “Fish for Life” than that overplayed “Mad World” cover, wouldn’t you?

HOPE: Oh man, a compilation album of TFF songs they gifted to others sung by TFF themselves? I would LOVE that. The demo for “Rhythm of Life” actually featured on the super deluxe version of Seeds of Love and Roland’s vocal on it is straight-up soul girl. ‘Tis beautiful. Oh hell, just listen to it here.

I never got into the, yes, overplayed Gary Jules’s cover of “Mad World”. It’s fine but as far as TFF covers, I’ll take Japanese Breakfast’s spare, breathy version of “Head Over Heels” over that any day (Hear it here).

Curt And Roland being all elder statesman-ee in 2022.

In Conclusion

When Matthew and I decided to focus on Tears for Fears for this discographic breakdown, I wondered how we should frame it. And the first thing that came to mind was how despite their immense success, Roland and Curt were never showered with the same reverential love and respect as ‘80s contemporaries like Depeche Mode and The Cure. They simply weren’t as cool or, dare I say, poetic. They weren’t regarded as eccentric geniuses like Kate Bush or as masterful pop icons like George Michael. And okay, they didn’t inspire the insane sexual fervor that Duran Duran did. They were just a couple of magical nerds who created brilliant songs. 

To be honest, this piece wasn’t so much about answering the question ”Who is the greatest ‘80s- era band” as it was, “hey, these blokes are as great as any one of these anointed heroes”. That “anointed” is literal. See, every single one of the aforementioned artists has been inducted into the (freakin’) Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. TFF have never even been nominated. 

Okay, that place is a motherfuckin’ mess, but still.

I guess all we know is that after 40 plus years of existence, that moment when the verse turns into the chorus on “Head Over Heels” still has the ability to leave us all reeling no matter how billions of times we’ve heard it. The possibility of new TFF recordings still inspires hope that your next new favorite song is right around the corner. And that opening guitar riff on “Everybody Wants to Rule the Rule”? It still has the power to ignite a million ecstatic endorphins in every mammal who happens to be within earshot of it. Somewhere in the world right now, it’s doing that very thing. And it’ll keep on doing that as long as this giant dustball is spinning. Tears for Fears, cheers, cheers, cheers.

Ranking the Albums!

HOPE

The Seeds of Love (10/10)

Songs from the Big Chair (9/10)

The Hurting (8/10)

Raoul and the Kings of Spain (7/10)

The Tipping Point (7/10)

Everybody Loves a Happy Ending (6/10)

Elemental (6/10)

MATTHEW

1–Songs from the Big Chair (9/10)

2=Everybody Loves a Happy Ending (9/10)

2=Raoul and the Kings of Spain (9/10)

4=The Hurting (8/10)

4=The Seeds of Love (8/10)

6–The Tipping Point (8/10)

7–Elemental (6/10)

Ten Favorite Songs!

HOPE (in alphabetic order)

Famous Last Words

Head Over Heels

Laid So Low (Tears Roll Down)

Listen

Me and My Big Ideas

Secrets

Secret World

The Working Hour

Woman in Chains

Year of the Knife

MATTHEW (in alphabetic order)

Astronaut

Closest Thing to Heaven

Cold

Head Over Heels

Pale Shelter

Rivers of Mercy

Secrets

Secret World

Sowing the Seeds of Love

Woman in Chains

Thanks for listening ❤️ YOU rule. Welcome (back) to your life…

So Fine: A Discographic Journey into the Electric Light Orchestra (1971-Present)

Have you ever wished the spaceship would come get you already and take you back to your home planet? If so, the Electric Light Orchestra is your band and Jeff Lynne is your starship commander. In 2024, ELO apparently entered its final stage in our galaxy, with the passing of the band’s longtime keyboardist/right-hand man, Richard Tandy, and Lynne wrapping up his farewell ELO tour.

We (me, Hope, and historian Matthew Restall), think it is therefore time to turn the PuR eyeballs toward the melodically-otherworldly, rain-soaked universe of ELO. Climb aboard as we dissect ‘n’ discuss, rate ‘n’ rank the entire ELO and solo-Lynne discography. Love, longing and lightning await you…

MATTHEW: The origin story of ELO is too complicated to detail heavily here (if you’re a serious fan, you’ll know it already; if you’re not, you won’t care to be dragged into the weeds). So here’s a very short version. Two friends (Roy Wood and Jeff Lynne) had moderately successful bands in late-1960s England (The Move, 1965-72, and The Idle Race, 1966-72, respectively). In 1970, Wood persuaded Lynne to leave The Idle Race and join his band, but with the goal of creating an additional parallel band. The plan was to keep making pop-rock with The Move, while exploring strings-based prog rock (“classically based original music,” Wood put it in 1970) as the Electric Light Orchestra. How did it go? Keep reading!*

(*I found these three very useful: Barry Delve’s On Track…Electric Light Orchestra; John Van Der Kiste’s Electric Light Orchestra: Song by Song; and Lynne’s liner notes to the Box Set we discuss later.)

HOPE: Matthew and I were part of the second generation of Beatle fans who had been babies and/or toddlers when they initially swept the world. While it was fun (and revelatory) rumbling through their vast discography during our ‘70s kid-dom, we still craved new sounds that “belonged” to us and weren’t hand-me-downs from a previous generation (like you do). Enter the Electric Light Orchestra, aka ELO, the ultimate gift for those born-too-late-for-The Beatles kids. While ELO were not specifically invented for children, their sound had a kind of rainbow candy-tunefulness and over-the-top drama that especially appealed to the tween-nerd ear. What they lacked in pin-up-ability and heartthrob-iness they made up for in barnacle-like choruses and dreamy lyrical imagery. Most importantly, they had an insanely cool logo that could be easily replicated on junior high notebooks (not to brag, but my ELO logos killed).

MATTHEW: Oh yes, there were some ELO spaceships on my school notebooks, too (not a patch on yours, I’m sure). And I agree that the timing for us was perfect: you and I turned 12 the year A New World Record came out. With that leap from clunky prog to Beatles-from-Birmingham pop-rock for our generation, I was hooked. And I still am, a half-century later.

Don’t Bring Me Down: Just a note on the format of this essay, Matthew and I are going to be taking turns offering up our ELO assessments and our names will appear before our respective comments. The peak chart positions in the UK and US for each album are listed beneath their titles. We are going to rate each album individually as we go (on a classic 1-10, hate-to-love scale).

MATTHEW: We’ve adopted a fairly inclusive approach here. As well as the obvious eleven Electric Light Orchestra albums of 1971-86, we also rate and discuss the half-ELO Xanadu, the two solo Jeff Lynne albums, and the three comeback albums of this century (released under ELO or under Jeff Lynne’s ELO). A grand total of 17. We ignore precursor bands The Idle Race and The Move, Wood’s Wizzard, Lynne’s later supergroup The Traveling Wilburys, as well as ELO drummer Bev Bevan’s 1989-99 offshoot band, Electric Light Orchestra Part Two. Are our choices justified?


The Studio Albums, (1971-2019)

The Electric Light Orchestra (1971)/ No Answer (1972, in the US)
(UK #32, US #196)

HOPE: There’s a funny bit of folklore attached to the title of the slightly-later US version.

MATTHEW: Yes, I love that bit of ELO-lore! The story: the US label called the UK to ask for the album title; nobody picked up, so “no answer” was written on the message slip by someone whose boss read it as, well, the answer. Nice.

So, is this first album the place to start for the ELO-curious, for those who wonder how the band went from obscurity to international stardom, then from guilty pleasure to national treasure (a rhyme I just stole from the above-mentioned Barry Delve)?

HOPE: Ironically, this first album would be the last one I would recommend to an ELO naif! Yes, the idea of combining rock sounds with orchestral flavors and pouring Beatles-flavored syrup on top was a genuinely inspired one. And to be fair, this debut LP is sonically adventurous in places, extremely earnest everywhere and somewhat successful as an initial mission statement. But it’s not a fun or remotely transcendent listen, which is to say the songs ain’t that great. The Electric Light Orchestra aka No Answer album is an exceptionally “proggy” affair. There’s unpleasantly kitschy prog (“Battle of Marston Moor”). There’s meanderingly indecisive prog (“Nellie Takes Her Bow”). And of course there’s a bit of medieval-flavored prog because that was the law (“Whisper In the Night”). It also veers dangerously close to being a Beatle pastiche at times i.e. like a proto/more serious version of The Rutles, especially on ”Look At Me Now” (which is in love with “Eleanor Rigby”) and “10530 Overture” (which openly worships at the altar of “Dear Prudence”)!

MATTHEW: Lynne has commented on the “great fun” he and his “good mate” Roy Wood had in making this album, and it shows. He has also conceded that “it’s a pretty whacky one, so innocent yet so bold. It goes to some really strange places.” That it does. I agree that as an introduction to ELO, it doesn’t work. The ingredients that would later constitute the classic ELO sound are not all here, and those that are present are not combined in the ways that Lynne would later come to perfect. Half the album was written by Wood (whereas Lynne himself would write most of the next one and all of every subsequent album), and that alone makes No Answer unique in the ELO catalog. As Lynne had joined Wood and Bev Bevan for the second half of The Move’s life (its four 1968-71 albums), and Bevan was the drummer here (and would remain ELO’s drummer), this is more of a transition album from The Move to ELO—with The Move still alive and releasing singles at the time. That original Lynne/Wood plan for the two bands to continue to exist in parallel, with almost the same personnel, one rock, the other an experiment in breaking down the rock/classical music divide (as Emerson, Lake, and Palmer were also doing) is crucial context. Heard as such—as experimental fun by three good mates, all young and talented—the album is an enjoyable curiosity.

HOPE: The strongest tracks present on the debut were written by Lynne, specifically the goofy ‘n’ wistful “Mr. Radio” (time and technology have ensured that songs about the radio all sound impossibly romantic now) and the aforementioned opener, “10530 Overture,” which is home to one seriously majestic and memorable riff (that song really knows how to enter a room). That leads me to a question! This turned out to be the only ELO album on which Roy Wood was a full-time participant. So, I’ve gotta know Matthew, what are your thoughts on the Wood solo and/or Wizzard albums he did post-ELO?

MATTHEW: Yes, that opening riff to “10530 Overture” is awesome, not surprisingly ripped off multiple times (yes, I’m looking at you, Paul Weller). But the track wears thin by the end. Similarly, “Look At Me Now” has its charms, but it’s more very early Pink Floyd than ELO (if one wanted to be uncharitable: it’s second-rate Syd Barrett). Although now you’ve mentioned “Eleanor Rigby,” I hear that too. And so it goes for 41 minutes: a scattering of intriguing or beguiling moments mixed with thin-wearing very-early-‘70s English prog rock, more often evoking other prog acts than later ELO. And that Beatles influence is indeed evident on “Mr. Radio,” which I like too. In fact, I was leaning towards “Overture” and “Radio” as my standout picks, when I realized that they were the two that Lynne picked for the Flashback compilation. Go Jeff!

As for Wood and Wizzard (yup, two zeds), apologies to the fans, but I’ve tried and … I just can’t.

HOPE: Me neither.

Favorite two tracks: Matthew, “10538 Overture,” “Mr. Radio”; Hope, “10538 Overture,” “Mr. Radio” (yup, I concur)

Album Rating: Matthew, 4/10; Hope, 3/10.


ELO 2 (1973)/ELO II (in the US)
(UK #35, US #62)

MATTHEW: You might expect that the first five ELO albums might form a steady upward curve of evolution towards the triumphant records of their imperial phase. But they don’t. Or, because Wood departed early in the recording of this one (going off to found Wizzard, never to return), you might expect this sophomore effort to represent a noticeable shift from the murky cello-swamped debut towards a poppier future. But it doesn’t. If anything, it goes deeper into the prog woods, where it tends to get lost. There’s a hint of Lynne’s songwriting genius on Side One’s “Momma,” which rolls into the brilliant smash-up on Chuck Berry’s “Roll Over Beethoven” (more a cover of The Beatles’ cover) with the signature opening riff of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony. Forget the single edit (notable as ELO’s first visit to the singles charts); the album version is essential ELO. But the rest of the album is a bit of a slog, its tracks too long, the strings weighing them down rather than helping them soar. For me, at this point, that curve is flat.

HOPE: There’s a funny, opinionated line within the album’s Wikipedia page that I want to share. Ready?:  “Along with its predecessor, ELO 2 is the least commercial-sounding album the band released, although it reached the British Top 40 album chart, whereas its more concise follow-up, On the Third Day, did not”. There’s a detectable sprinkle of “I’m a long term ELO fan” in that assessment (“more concise”) but I see what this contributor was getting at. ELO 2/II might “only” be five tracks (the shortest of which clocks in at nearly seven freakin’ minutes) but I agree with you Matthew; it is a freakin’ slog…and right from the start too. While I’m not a fan of the album’s best-known song “Roll Over Beethoven” (I accept my banishment from the church of rock ‘n’ roll), it would have been a far better choice to open the LP than the proggy, clumsy mudball that is “In Old England Town (Boogie #2). Its evil twin “From the Sun to the World (Boogie #1)” sounds like a handful of unfinished songs Frankenstein’d together. Enjoyably dirty symphonic chugger “Kuiama” is stretched to an ungodly 11-minutes thanks to an unnecessary, extended instrumental break. So yes, as our Wiki-friend suggested, ELO 2/II is not terribly “concise”. The album would be a complete fail (to me, to me) if not for the pretty, moody “Momma” (aka “Mama” on U.S.edition of album), a crystal ball of a song that hints at the beauteous sonic direction ELO would be heading.

MATTHEW: Banished! “Roll Over Beethoven” is indispensable ELO! But I understand: I’m not allowed by family members to play it in my house or in the car unless I’m alone. It was the first ELO track I ever heard on the radio; I was 9 years old, a budding little music nerd, and I thought it was great fun. And no doubt someone reading this can relate. But I get why others might hear it the way I hear, for example, “In Old England Town.”  As for you, Hope, you called Jeff’s “Momma” pretty, so you’re allowed back into the church of rock ‘n’ roll.

HOPE: I’m with your fam: I wouldn’t let you play “Roll Over” in the house (or vehicle) either. Fast forward.

Favorite two tracks: Hope,  “Momma”, the first four minutes of “Kuiama”; Matthew, “Momma,” “Roll Over Beethoven.”

Album Rating: Hope, 3/10; Matthew, 3/10.


Look at this crazy ass print ad for ELO II.


On the Third Day (1973)
(UK did not chart, US #52)

MATTHEW: In retrospect, it is not surprising that after the first two albums briefly popped into the UK Top 40 album charts, this failed to chart at all.  For the best track on here—in fact, the best ELO song to date, and the first song that could sit without shame in a compilation of gems from their best albums—wasn’t even on the UK release. A post-album single release in the UK, “Showdown” was hastily added to the US version. Without it, Side One is more muddled prog, billed as four tracks but really one 16-minute composition of the kind that dominated the first two albums. Side Two, however, saves the third day (as it were). The passable instrumental “Daybreaker” leads into the stomping joy of “Ma-Ma-Ma-Belle,” which borrows the riff-powered hard-rocking fun of ELO 2’s “Roll Over Beethoven” and serves it up within an original Lynne composition. It’s fantastic. Unfortunately, this is not the breakthrough ELO album, and the remaining two tracks are more full of potential than realized promise. “Dreaming of 4000” is like a mish-mash of demos of three songs that all evolved years later into great tracks on classic albums. The closing track is Lynne’s homage to Grieg’s “In the Hall of the Mountain King,” a reference I grew to appreciate in my teens (having missed this album in real time, as most people did), being brought up on classical music and thus thrilled by how this was both respectful and disrespectful. In retrospect, it is fun, but still too sluggish to rate anywhere high in the ELO song discography.

HOPE: Opening On the Third Day with a freakin’ 16-minute suite of four songs billed as individual entities is a cheeky move (self-important too, but I appreciate the cocky trickery of the gesture). That said, OTTD (let’s just call it) is a low-key log jam of missed opportunities. “Ma-Ma-Ma-Belle” would have been a glorious, glammy Godzilla of an opener. If only sophisticated stringed-popper “Showdown”—the finest ELO tune at that point in time—had been available for inclusion on the UK version and wasn’t clumsily slapped onto the U.S. version of the LP at the end of Side One. And it sucks that the exceedingly handsome, ascendingly-chorused “Bluebird is Dead” is hidden within the suffocating aforementioned suite of “muddled prog.” But OTTD’s issues extend far beyond its sequencing. Fact is, apart from the three aforementioned tunes, it doesn’t feature enough memorable songs to lift it out of mediocrity. 

Hi Mom.

MATTHEW: You’re right about “Bluebird is Dead”; removed from Side One and sequenced with “Showdown,” it becomes one of the album’s keepers. “Showdown” is quintessential ELO, the starting-point blueprint for its future classics. Did you know OTTD was originally conceived as a double LP, with one live disc and one comprising “a 45-minute number with millions of different movements” (as Lynne declared at the start of 1973)? Presumably “Showdown”-free. Sorry for your loss, prog fans.

HOPE: Good lord almighty, was it? Even now, 50+ years on from this nixed plan, the thought of a 45-minute prog-adventure piece by ELO circa 1973 sounds, let’s just say, aurally difficult. On a more positive sidenote, I want to worshipfully acknowledge soul diva (and primary Paul Anka duet partner) Odia Coates’ fabulous cover version of “Showdown” from 1975. It doesn’t eclipse the original but it comes damn close. Hear it here. 

Favorite two tracks: Matthew, “Showdown,” “Ma-Ma-Ma-Belle”; Hope,”Showdown”, “Bluebird Is Dead”

Album Rating: Matthew, 4/10 (UK), 5/10 (US); Hope, 3/10 (UK), 4/10 (US).


Eldorado: A Symphony by the Electric Light Orchestra (1974)
(UK did not chart, US #16)

HOPE: Eldorado is confusing. For starry-eyed romanticists (you, me, most ELO fans), this lushly orchestrated album describing the extravagant, fantastical daydreams of an ordinary soul, sounds pretty heavenly on paper. The actual record though is another story. Apart from the spaced-out, swoony classic “Can’t Get It Out Of My Head” and epic string-fest “Mister Kingdom”, the other songs telling the tale are not as engaging or unassumingly majestic as the subject matter. Faceless and (oddly) over-the-top fodder like “Laredo Tornado” and “Poorboy” don’t hold up as singular entities. Nor do Speakeasy era-flavored “Nobody’s Child”, pompously-intro’d “Boy Blue,” or the title track with its bellowing vocal impression of Roy Orbison. 

Okay, now here’s the confusing part for me; while it isn’t full of shiny diamonds—only two out of the 10 tracks qualify as keepers—it’s kind of fun to listen to Eldorado as a whole. It’s like a book that isn’t that great but its occasional moments of inspiration make it worth hanging in until the end. What do you think Matthew, am I crazy? 

MATTHEW: Actually, I think you are sane and spot on. There are moments or pieces of songs on Eldorado that are brilliant (I love the guitar riff on “Laredo Tornado,” the furious strings at the end of “Overture” and “Poor Boy,” and Lynne’s vocal performance on the title track, for example). But they don’t amount to an album full of great songs that on their own stand up tall with the classic tracks on ELO’s imperial phase albums. That said, the album has grown on me recently, especially once I accepted that it needs to be played in one sitting, appreciated as a whole. I get why this is rated so highly as classic ELO by some fans. Played as a single composition—a symphony, if you like, as the subtitle proclaims—it can be an enjoyable, inventive, coherent concept album, clearly better than its three predecessors.

HOPE: Until we started writing this, I hadn’t realized just how gradual the evolution of the signature ELO sound was. 

MATTHEW: Yes, and Eldorado is an important step in that evolution. I must admit that for decades, I tended to leave Eldorado on the shelf in favor of albums like A New World Record. A crucial feature of the best ELO albums is pacing: Lynne is a master of the deft sequencing of rockers, mid-tempo pop, and ballads. And Eldorado isn’t one of those albums (the first of them would be A New World Record). There is also a relentlessness to Eldorado, the weight of its 40-piece orchestra making it feel longer than its 39 minutes. Also, having one brilliant smash single is always a problem for an album, and “Can’t Get It Out of My Head” overshadows the rest of the record. Or certainly Side One; that classic hit aside (ELO’s first Top Ten single: #9 in the US), Side Two is better, with “Mister Kingdom” channeling Lennon and “Across the Universe,” “Nobody’s Child” echoing early musical theater, and “Eldorado” giving a melodramatic twist to the melodic melancholy pop he is soon to perfect. Keyboardist Richard Tandy (arguably ELO’s second string, as it were, for the next decade), never co-wrote songs, but his influence on their structure and sound can be heard here—and increasingly as the band moved towards their imperial phase.

By the way, can you hear angry hired orchestral musicians noisily packing up during the quieter piano part to “Nobody’s Child”? I can’t! Some claim to hear it on “Eldorado Finale.” I believe the story but I’m not convinced the slamming cases are audible. The musicians’ adherence to union rules—fair enough!—was reputed to be one of the reasons why this was the last ELO album recorded in the UK.

HOPE: Right, so because I care, I put on the giant Bose headphones to see if I could detect these infamous sounds. I could not.

Favorite two tracks: Hope, “Can’t Get It Out of My Head” ,”Mister Kingdom”; Matthew, “Can’t Get It Out of My Head,” “Eldorado/Eldorado Finale.”

Album Rating: Hope, 5/10; Matthew, 6/10.


Face The Music (1975)
(UK did not chart, US #8)

MATTHEW: I’m conflicted over Face the Music. I discovered it almost in real time, the year after it came out, soon after A New World Record (when I was twelve). I’d later find chances to explore the four previous ELO albums, and to appreciate how much Face the Music showcased the steady honing of talent and skill by Lynne and his bandmates (the drumming on this fantastic, for example). And yet it has ever since remained overshadowed in my mind by its sequel—this one fine but flawed, that one pretty much flawless. Is that unfair or unfortunate?

HOPE: Let’s just call it evolution (again)! I’d characterize Face the Music as “half-full”, albeit in two completely different ways. On the one hand, it was definitely a sonic step forward in terms of overall sound, song quality and sophistication which was cause for great optimism and a characterization of “half-full” (So I’m with you there). On the other hand it is literally “half-full”, as in exactly four of its eight songs are keepers, and four are not. The album’s two best known tracks and members of the aforementioned ‘fab four’—nasty pop locomotive with fab Lynne vocal “Evil Woman” and woozy dreamboat “Strange Magic”—are both justifiably regarded as ELO classics. That said, my primary love interests on this LP are less famous cuts: The wistful, unspeakably gorgeous “One Summer Dream” with its coy melodic nod to the schmaltzy, #1 pop instrumental hit from 1959 “Theme from A Summer Place,” and the galloping, swirling-stringed duet between Lynne and bassist Kelly Groucutt, “Nightrider.” As alluded to earlier, the other four tunes aren’t stellar. From tolerable orchestral rock drama queen and undeserving opening track “Fire On High” to ordinary, unexciting Lennon-esque “Waterfall”, to cringey monsters “Down Home Town”and “Poker”, none hold a candle to the album’s “fab four”.

MATTHEW: I’ve rated Face the Music higher than Eldorado, because I think 6/8 tracks are excellent (yes, Hope, more than your 4/8!), all deserving of spots on “best of” mixes, with Side One the first truly great Side One in their catalog (and there are several). But, ironically, Eldorado is arguably more successful as an album, due to its consistency and lack of total misfits like the two songs I pretty much loathe here: “Poker” and “Down Home Town.” They aren’t horrible on their own (to be generous, “Poker” is a very creative slightly-proggy take on the English pub band sound that was about to evolve into punk). But they don’t belong here. They’re B-sides that ruin Side Two.

HOPE: I’m mostly with you, especially in regard to the listening experience of Eldorado vs. Face the Music. But I can’t commit to a much higher overall rating for Face because there just plain aren’t enough good songs present. All I can do is offer this corny characterization: Eldorado and Face the Music are ELO’s coming of age albums, occasionally  glorious, often confused but evidence of the band growing bigger and stronger and well on the road to figuring out who the hell they are…and they did, damn did they ever, on what came next.

Favorite two tracks: Matthew, “Evil Woman,” “Strange Magic” as obvious choices, but the bookend tracks “Fire on High” and “One Summer Dream” when I’m feeling less obvious; Hope, “Nightrider”, “One Summer Dream,” but I maintain a loyal fondness for “Evil Woman” and  “Strange Magic.”

Album Rating: Matthew, 8/10; Hope, 6/10.


A New World Record (1976)
(UK #6, US #5)

HOPE: Home to a slate of equally dreamy and eccentric radio anthems, A New World Record is the first certifiably kickass ELO album. 

MATTHEW: Isn’t it amazing, the pure joy of dropping the needle or tapping the Play button on an album that requires no skips, prompts no sighs of disappointment? Trust is a beautiful and liberating thing, and from the dramatic opening string section of “Tightrope,” we trust that Jeff and his mates aren’t going to let us down. In some ways, this feels like just another step forward from the clunkiness of the first album to the perfection of Out of the Blue, like a better version of Face the Music.  Yet, somehow, it’s not a step, but a leap. Similar to its predecessor, but with the ELO ingredients mixed exactly right. For the first time, there are no experiments that don’t work, no clumsy cello chunks, no tiresome old-school rock indulgences—hell, there aren’t even filler moments. Every track is great, and—more importantly—it works spectacularly well as an album, shining most brightly when played exactly as Lynne delivered it—from that spectral opening of “Tightrope” to the ethereal bliss of the long end to “Shangri-La.”

HOPE: You are so right. It is truly a giant leap. A New World Record is the sound of the ELO spaceship that has been circling overhead on the five preceding albums, finally landing. 

Rocked-up, be-stringed joyride “Tightrope” is the perfect opening track. Masterfully straddling the line between silly and sincere, the angsty and endearingly dated ballad “Telephone Line” remains a fab choice for home-alone-karaoke (For those of you who have “performed” this track “off-stage”, I see you and I am you). My nominee for album underdog/lynchpin is the widescreen-romantic anthem “So Fine” which is basically Springsteen’s “Born To Run” done ELO style. And want to give honorable mention to the short, sweet and swoony “Above the Clouds” which sees our heroes morphing into something akin to the Birmingham Beach Boys. Then of course there’s “Livin’ Thing”. Back in 2006 Q magazine had this song at #1 on their “Guilty Pleasures” ranking. First off, fuck the concept of “guilty pleasures”. Embrace your internal wiring! Own your musical loves! Don’t let anyone tell you how you should feel! Sorry, that characterization just makes me crazy. It’s just that “Livin’ Thing” rules. From the soulful falsettos (“you-ooh and your sweet desire”) to the classical string flourishes to the kitschy vocal effects (“I’m takin’ a dive-dive-dive”). It’s so freakin’ kooky. I think this is why I adored it so much as a kid.

Backlit afros. Blue Satin. ‘Bev Bevan’ boldly emblazoned on the bass drum. Beautiful.

MATTHEW: How can this album be so similar to its predecessors and yet so much better? It’s like a master class in how the ingredients can be right, yet that doesn’t matter unless they are assembled in the right way. As a reminder of that, “Do Ya” is on here, re-recorded as a great ELO track, eclipsing its origins as a just-ok single by The Move (their only song to chart in the US, reaching #93 in 1972). The album’s other rocker, “Rockaria!”, is a self-parody, a sly and witty poke at the band’s own conceptual rationale. A tiny touch seals the deal on how hilariously successful the song is: a false start made in rehearsal by Welsh soprano Mary Thomas was dropped into the beginning of the final mix. Finally, why do I so love “Shangri-La”? Perhaps because in my early teens I’d listen to ANWR on my headphones in bed, and the outro to this last track sent me to a place of happy dreams—to my own slumbering Shangri-la.

HOPE: Oh yes, the updated version of “Do Ya” is infinitely hotter than The Move’s original take. I don’t love “Rockaria,” meaning I wouldn’t single it out for repeat plays, but in the context of the album its OTT rock ridiculousness and Mary Thomas’s operatic runs fit the album’s epic personality. I’m also not as big of a “Shangri La”-head as you (I like it, don’t love it), nor do I adore”Mission (A World Record)” with its excessive Beatle-isms. But again, within the context of ANWR (let’s just call it) they totally freakin’ work. They are wondrous glue.

And gotta acknowledge something that doesn’t get lauded very often: Jeff’s Lynne’s voice. His growing vocal confidence is on full display throughout ANWR. He flexes (“Tightrope”), he coos (“Above the Clouds”, “Telephone Line”), he belts (“Do Ya”) and he sounds really f*cking good doing every single thing. A New World Record is a succinct mofo, with none of the chaff that overwhelmed/diffused the five previous albums (to varying degrees). This album was the one that turned my admittedly non-committal flirtation with ELO into full-on love (forever).

Favorite two tracks: Hope, “So Fine”, “Above The Clouds”; Matthew, the first four tracks comprise the best Side One in the catalog, but if I have to pick only two it would be the ballads “Telephone Line” and “Shangri-La.”

Album Rating: Hope, 10/10; Matthew, 10/10.


Out of the Blue (1977)
(UK #4, US #4)

MATTHEW: How do you follow an album that sells five million units in its first year, launching your band after five years of struggle into the stratosphere of one of the top rock bands in the world? It would be improbable, perhaps impossible, to produce an even better album the following year—and a double album at that. Yet that’s what Lynne, Tandy, and Bevan did. It sold ten million copies its first year, and settled into the UK charts for 100 weeks. Delve calls it “A New World Record on steroids,” the band’s “creative apex”; for Van Der Kiste it’s “ELO’s magnum opus,” their Sergeant Pepper. Many superlatives have been used, and many apply.

To me, Out of the Blue is simply one of the very best doubles ever delivered. A 29-year-old Lynne legendarily wrote it with astonishing speed in the Swiss Alps (14 of its 17 songs in just two weeks), but arguably the real magic happened in the Munich recording studio. There was an alchemy to the capturing of that creative momentum, turning the 70 minutes of Out of the Blue into a remarkably coherent masterwork—despite its content ranging from the silly to the sublime, from whimsical to epic. An unusually wet German summer also inspired what is hands down my favorite vinyl side in the whole ELO catalog: Side Three, its four songs comprising a continuous “Concerto for a Rainy Day.”

HOPE: Number one in our hearts and an unassuming but respectable #183 on UNCUT’s 500 Greatest Albums of the 1970s list, Out of the Blue aka OOTB is the greatest, most magnificent ELO album ever. I should note that back in the day I used the cardboard spaceship included with the LP to store weed. I can still see that random, pathetic, reeking little roach sitting inside of it like it was yesterday. 

MATTHEW: Now that is the best use of an ELO record sleeve or CD box that I’ve ever heard. I shall never see those ELO spaceships the same way again.

HOPE:  The tween-teen years are not a time of patience. So a double album—or “two-record-set” as we sometimes used to call it in the ‘70s—was a real test of the average kid’s attention span…meaning a young one in possession of a giant, new ELO album could only be counted on to only get so far in terms of musical immersion…meaning when confronted with four whole sides of music, your (my) restless, juvenile arse tended to fixate/focus on one particular side. And when it came to OOTB that was Side Three, otherwise known as “Concerto for a Rainy Day.” Menacing, windswept melodrama (“Standin’ in the Rain”) slides into tear-jerking balladry (“Big Wheels”) leading to a burst of shimmery, hopefulness  (“Summer and Lightning”) culminating in a celebratory sing-a-long anthem “Mr.Blue Sky” (Also known as every kid’s favorite ELO song). That’s one hell of a side there.

MATTHEW: I love “Concerto for a Rainy Day” so much that I want it played at my funeral. I (hopefully) won’t hear it in my coffin, and my family won’t thank me for it, but what the hell (as it were). Rain is Lynne’s favorite metaphor for melancholy, and blue his favorite multi-purpose metaphorical color. That makes “Concerto” quintessential ELO, with its drama, then its sadness, then its giddily joyful ending. Perfect for a funeral, right?

HOPE: I couldn’t possibly top that, which is clearly a sign that it’s time to talk about the tracks occupying the other three sides of OOTB. Those songs fall into two categories: The Sublime™ and The Stalwart™. Members of The Sublime™ team include swoony, galactic ballad “Starlight”, kitschy-ridiculous “Jungle” (Hello, cringey tap-dancing break!) and the shimmery duet between Lynne and bassist Kelly Groucutt, “Sweet Is the Night” with an honorable mention for lushly whirling instrumental “The Whale”. 

The rest of the tracks make up The Stalwart™ crew, a supporting cast of seven that act as a super fine adhesive, holding the whole epic together (“It’s Over”, another one of those Beach Boys-by-way-of- Birmingham tracks, is the best of the bunch but compliments to “Night In The City” and “Steppin’ Out” which sound like delicately demented Bee Gees songs). Devil’s Advocate query time!: While the 17-song OOTB is full of wonder and oomph, do you think it would have been as sonically impactful if it had been edited down to a single 10-12 song LP? 

MATTHEW: Let’s face it, most good double albums would be better edited down to (an infeasible) three sides. But not OOTB. I’d not want to lose a single track. Not even “Jungle,” which as the seventh track plays the role that those eye-rolling comic relief moments do in the middle of Shakespeare dramas. (Yes, I just compared ELO to Shakespeare. Problem?) It’s good for a smile, throwing into relief the dramatic impact of the songs around it. As for your deft dichotomy, Hope, Sublime™ vs Stalwart™, I may ruin it by packing most tracks into the Sublime bag: “It’s Over,” “Sweet Talkin’ Woman,” “Night in the City,” “Starlight,” “Believe Me Now/Steppin’ Out,” “Sweet is the Night,” “The Whale.” (All of “Concerto” would be in there too, of course.) Every one of those is so rich, so full of melodic beauty and musical wit, so endlessly enjoyable. Even what’s left (the Stalwarts) is brilliant: two of the album’s four UK hit singles (“Turn to Stone” and “Wild West Hero”) and two that could have been singles (“Across the Border” and “Birmingham Blues”).

Here’s a pic of the full fold out cover featuring the gorgeous art of Shusei Nagaoka just because. Still waiting for this ship to come and get us already.

HOPE:  And I guess that’s ultimately the thing: While OOTB is (gloriously) ‘50s movie-melodramatic and downright silly in (a lot of) spots, there aren’t ANY bad songs. What’s crazy is that those very qualities, coupled with the ELO’s ongoing, overt Beatle-lust and their always OTT orchestration made the album (and the band themselves) an easy target for crusty music critics to lay into when it was first released. The 1978 Rolling Stone review by Billy Altman was typically brutal and elitist:

One could say it, and one would be right, though self-absorption is not any grounds for attacking a rock band; it’s almost impossible to think of a band or an artist that isn’t mainly ego. When one crosses over into self-indulgence, however, it’s a different story completely. I didn’t read the credits until after I had waded through the four sides of this totally uninteresting and horrifyingly sterile package. What I heard was a meticulously produced and performed set of songs…without any noticeable passion or emotion. All method and no madness: perfectly hollow and bland rock Muzak. Solos are virtually nonexistent, which makes perfect sense because an individual statement by any one instrument would set the ELO ship jaggedly off course by injecting some heart into the proceedings. Group commander Jeff Lynne obviously is consumed by his vision of the totality of the ELO sound, floating slowly through the void. 

Damn Billy, you sure did hate ELO. But so did a lot of other music critics. That’s just how it was back then, yup. If you’d have asked me to define what “self-absorption” was as it related to OOTB when I was 13, I wouldn’t have understood what the hell you were talking about. Here’s what I know now that I could not have articulated at the time: In order to enjoy and appreciate OOTB, it’s best to cast aside all cynicism just as you would if you were watching a Broadway musical. You’ve gotta give in to the spaced-out silliness to get maximum pleasure from it. Maybe that’s why this album spoke to us so hard as kids. Because our taste and desire existed at the most base level imaginable. All that mattered (and still matters) is how it made us feel!

From its big-chorused-drama to the out-of-this-world art on the gatefold sleeve to the fabled cardboard spaceship inside, OOTB was like some fabulous new toy to me, the best toy. “Chooka chooka, hoo la ley” muthafuckas.

MATTHEW: Ha! I like the irony of Altman’s accusation of hollowness, as hollow sums up his review: lazy, knee-jerk rockism empty of any insight beyond the risible complaint that there aren’t solos (which isn’t even true, but of course he wouldn’t have bothered to actually listen to the album). No heart? Out of the Blue is in fact nothing but heart. And the love that millions of fans have—and will have for generations to come—for its imaginative, playful, and infinitely melodic celebration of pop-rock is deeply heartfelt. Oh Mr. Blue, you did it right, indeed.

Favorite two tracks: Matthew: As this is a double, I’m picking “Concerto” and its four tracks: “Standin’ in the Rain,” “Big Wheels,” “Summer and Lightning,” and “Mr. Blue Sky.” Hope: Ok, four it is! “Starlight”, “Big Wheels”, “Turn to Stone”, and “Summer and Lightning,” …but I also love “Sweet Talkin’ Woman” . . . and “The Whale” . . . and “Jungle.”

P.S. Weirdy sidenote: In 1977, Jeff Lynne gifted Helen Reddy, one of the decade’s premier easy listening chanteuse-superstars, with a song he wrote called “Poor Little Fool”. It appeared on her 1978 album We’ll Sing in the Sunshine and sounds like an Out of the Blue deep cut. Yeah, it’s that good. I would have been 100% down for a Lynne-composed Reddy album. Hear here.

Album Rating: Hope, 10/10; Matthew, 10/10.


Discovery (1979)
(UK #1, US #5)

HOPE: ELO were disco in the way McCartney’s “Goodnight Tonight” was, or the Stones “Miss You”, which is to say they had some obvious disco flavoring but retained an inherent rockiness. Sure, Discovery’s lead single “Shine A Little Love” is sleek ‘n’ bouncy enough that one could have boogied to it on a lighted dance floor in 1979 but it is hardly “Don’t Leave Me This Way”. Still, nothing was as big an affront to the world of rock in the late ‘70s as the “demon” disco i.e. even the merest sniff of it was triggering. 

MATTHEW: Ha! Yes! The thing about Discovery being disco-very is that it isn’t. A couple of tracks lean into a beat and bass line that dates the album to the peak disco era—and they happened to be singles (like the irresistible “Last Train to London”). But the album’s dominant sound is imperial-phase ELO pop. Classic Lynne ballads like “Need Her Love,” quirky but catchy pop like “The Diary of Horace Wimp,” and smooth stompers like “Don’t Bring Me Down” could have sat just as comfortably on Out of the Blue. And even if the whole album had been packed with disco bangers like “Last Train,” so what? (I hate to be a hater, but I really hate disco hating.)

HOPE: Oh man, I love “Need Her Love” which I believe to be—hot take comin’—the swooniest, most-gorgeous slow jam in the whole ELO catalog. But then I also love “Last Train to London” (romantic late night luster)…and “The Diary of Horace Wimp” (“Mr.Blue Sky” for grown-ups)…and “Don’t Bring Me Down” (stomping, shout-along stormer)…and joyful pop bonbon “On the Run”. And can’t forget ,”Midnight Blue” (Queen at a drive-in movie in outer space in the year 3000)  or the positively Wings-era McCartney-esque ”Confusion”. Oh hell, ALL Discovery is pretty fuckin’ glorious. 

P.S.I hated the disco hating too. Absolutely freakin’ hated it. Joke’s on the haters though as I’m pretty sure when you get to heaven it’s just classic disco anthems and the Cocteau Twins playing over the Lord’s sound system exclusively, so some people are gonna be in for a surprise. 

MATTHEW: There better be disco in heaven! I want some Disco-very in my Shangri-la! And I can relate to your feelings for “Need Her Love.” It’s Lynne’s most straightforward love song (Delve rightly compares it to Macca’s “My Love”), written to Sandi, whom he’d marry later that year.

I still have the vinyl copy of Discovery I bought in ‘79 (aged 15) and really flogged; it’s well dinged up with affection. Yes, I loved it, and didn’t mind how inescapable it was that year, both in the UK (where I was in school) and in the US (where I was when school was out)—but especially in the UK, where it was their first #1, five of its nine tracks were Top Ten hits, and only Parallel Lines sold more copies in Britain that year. That said, I missed the epic scope of Out of the Blue. There’s not a duff track on Discovery (arguably not a duff note), but without the prog-pop sprawl of Blue (no instrumentals, no whole “symphony” side), it is almost too perfect. Love can be fickle, and in the end there are three ELO albums I love more. 

HOPE: There are three whole albums that you love more?! Three?! What the holy hell, how is this even possible?! I’m distressed and flabbergasted because Discovery is, by far, my most-listened to ELO album. Okay, I confess that part of the reason for this is that it soundtracked a particularly tormented chunk of my teenagedom. It didn’t save my life or anything but it definitely provided an inspirational escape hatch into fantasy land after a shit day at school. That’s part of why it’s embedded in my heart just a liiittle bit deeper than the rest. That said, I forgive you Matthew. You can let me have it on a future ELO album entry…which I know for a fact you will very shortly.

Favorite tracks: Hope: “Need Her Love”, “Last Train to London”; Matthew:“Last Train to London,” “Need Her Love” (although Juliana Hatfield’s cover of “Don’t Bring Me Down” on her fantastic new Sings ELO album has renewed my affection for the song). 

Album Rating: Hope, 9/10; Matthew, 9/10.


Xanadu (1980, movie soundtrack, with Olivia Newton-John)
(UK #2, US #4)

MATTHEW: The conventional wisdom on Xanadu is that, after the disco-very singles from Discovery nudged ELO from being respectable pop-rockers to borderline un-cool, Xanadu tipped them over the edge.  Why? Because the movie was total rubbish, and the album’s first half featured the extremely popular pop-tastic but thereby very un-cool Olivia Newton-John; if that wasn’t enough, one of the album’s smash hits, “Suddenly,” was a duet with Cliff Richard, who was for many decades spectacularly un-cool in the UK.  I realize the late ON-J is revered now (and since her passing in 2022 I have been enjoying her back catalog, most of which I had long ignored), and perhaps Sir Cliff is nowadays a well-respected octogenarian (I honestly don’t know).  But in 1980, their association with them did indeed throw ELO into naff or un-cool pop territory, one where they might sell many records but be subject to scathing abuse from the music press.  Not that Lynne and company much cared.  Xanadu was a big US/UK hit, and #1 all over the world—with “All Over the World” the title of one of the six hit singles from the album, four of them by ELO (counting the Lynne-written, Olivia-sung title track).

HOPE: While it’s hardly The Rocky Horror Picture Show, Xanadu is, at this point, a firmly established  cult classic (whether we like it or not). Thanks to the film’s garish silliness and ON-J’s evolutionary shift from from fluffy, family-friendly pop singer/actor to iconic hot-sweetheart-diva status, it has become a beloved midnight movie for those camp-loving romanticists among us (Yeah, I’m in there). Sure, watching it is akin to a bout of low-grade nausea after eating too much cotton candy/candy floss and washing it down a gallon of Pepsi…but there are two undeniables that will forever redeem it:

1.Olivia is (totally) hot. 

2.The film’s frothy neon soundtrack features two ELO songs that are even hotter.


Jeff and Olivia. We are in Xanadu.

MATTHEW: Confession: I am always annoyed when an artist dilutes an album with tracks that don’t belong there. Some are soundtracks like this (or like Saturday Night Fever), some are studio/live pairings (like Tears for Fears’ 2024 release). I know, my irritation is nonsensical. There are reasons why such albums end up that way. But every time I convince myself to get over it, I encounter a song like “Dancin’”—not only the disastrous low-point on Xanadu, but the most grisly train wreck of a song on any ON-J or ELO album (although ELO had nothing to do with it). Aaargh!

HOPE: That’s brutal…but it’s freakin’ true! As you alluded to up there, Xanadu is divided into two distinct sides (Side One being all Olivia and Side Two, all ELO) with the two coming together for the title track on the latter. Before we get to ELO, I need to acknowledge that there are two beyond redeemable ON-J tracks present on this Xanadu thing: The twisty-turny mega-hit charmer “Magic” and the aforementioned duet with Sir Cliff, “Suddenly” which is still as gorgeous ‘n’ besotted as the day it was born (Love this song. LOVE). The rest aren’t worth talking about (Don’t let the door hit you “Dancin’ “). As for the ELO side, “All Over the World” and “I’m Alive” may be the most lighthearted, let’s call ‘em, pop-timistic songs the band ever released. Back in ‘80, as a nerdy young teen, I was particularly receptive to this sugary-majestic style of ELO-ing and confess that the 7”s aka “45’s” for those two babes spent far more time on my turntable than the soundtrack album ever did. The two other ELO tunes present,“The Fall” and “Don’t Walk Away”, while perfectly fine, wither in melodic, singalong sunshine emitted by “All Over” and “I’m Alive”. 

Favorite two tracks: Matthew, “All Over the World,” “Don’t Walk Away”; Hope, “All Over the World,” “I’m Alive”

Album Rating: Hope, 5/10; Matthew, 6/10.


Time (1981)
(UK #1, US #16)

MATTHEW: “Ticket to the Moon” was the gateway drug that had me hooked on Time. I loved how that single starts like a play on Beethoven’s “Moonlight Sonata,” but avoided being pretentious, staying grounded (as it were) as a perfect little pop song about the corniest of pop topics—heartache. And the twist at the end, that his ticket is “just one way,” sung with commitment by Lynne, is both poignant and cheesy. Its pairing with “Here is the News” as a double A-side in the UK was ideal for me as a teenage ELO fan: the musical and lyrical cross-references of the two songs fascinated me, drawing me into the album’s concept theme (was it just about space and time travel, or …?). (The pairing also cut each song’s radio airplay in half, perhaps the reason why the single peaked at only #24.)

The album’s concept isn’t as coherent as it could be. “Rain is Falling” is very ELO, and matches the heartache theme, but not the theme of space (rain in space?!). “Hold on Tight” sounds like the add-on single that it was, unless we want to be really generous and argue that it reveals the whole space/time memory to be a dream (“hold on tight to your dream”). Years after Time came out, it occurred to me that it was in fact a concept album about being on the road. Lynne had said that while touring incessantly in the late-1970s, he’d been craving a break to enjoy domesticity and work on an album that sounded different. Time certainly is that, more synthesizer-based than orchestral, billed simply as ELO (not Electric Light Orchestra). So, I figured Lynne imagined the loneliness of future space travel as a metaphor for life on the road. Does that make sense? Perhaps, if we take it as just one way of hearing the album.

HOPE: Despite multiple attempts at connecting,Time and me have never completely clicked. Your genuinely feasible take, that Time is a famous rock star’s metaphorical story about how tired he is of traveling the world and his wanting to “enjoy domesticity” doesn’t endear it. That is a far less romantic and compelling notion to me than the idea of the album being “about” the loneliness of a machinated future. And the latter notion was the primary thing that motivated me to keep trying with Time. But no matter how many times I’ve played it, I’ve never been able to get into it in any meaningful way, which truly disappoints me! I like a few specific songs and that’s as far as it goes. Gorgeous nostalgic yearner “Ticket To The Moon” is more than deserving of a spot in the hypothetical ELO Top 25 Tunes of All-Time list (“Remember the good ol’ 1980’s, when things were so uncomplicated”. True. Who knew? Jeff did). “When Time Stood Still”—the non-LP B-Side of the album’s first (heinous) single “Hold On Tight” as well as a bonus track on 2001 Time reissue— is also a pretty thing, sitting there being all mournful, Beatlesque and lush. 

MATTHEW: Yes, that “remember the good ol’ 1980s” seemed in the 1980s like one of the best opening lines to any single ever. I still love it, and the whole album, with all its weirdness and little bleeps to remind us of the concept and its contradictions and endless hooks and imaginative musical references—from Beethoven to Beatles, reggae to rockabilly tucked into synth-pop, and even earlier ELO albums. It always seemed like the true sequel to Out of the Blue. It isn’t just a collection of songs (like Discovery) or half an album unwisely attached to a crap movie (Xanadu), but a loosely-conceived concept-album exploration of those classic ELO metaphors of rain/sad and space/lonely. And if “Hold on Tight” threatens to crash land the spaceship’s Side Two, its Side One rivals A New World Record’s first side as the best in the catalog.

HOPE: Wow, can I tell you, that just hearing you say that instantly inspired me to relisten to Side One again (hmmm)…and okay, as a gang of songs holding hands with each other, it’s at least interesting. But, but, apart from “Ticket”, none of the songs hold up as singular entities and that’s a bigger priority for me. And here’s where things get murkier. One of my favorite YouTube activities is listening to the “Slowed and Reverb” versions of favorite old songs (which involves a creative soul manipulating the speed and sonics of existing songs). It can quite literally make an old fave sound new (no, really). Here’s where I ruefully admit that the unsanctioned, unofficial, slowed-reverbin’ version of “Rain Is Falling” is my favorite version of the song (hear here). And, and, I also weirdly prefer the slowed version of the handsomely-boned “Twilight” which sounds positively immense compared to the original (hear here). These goofy remixes aren’t criticisms of Lynne’s original recordings, they are just peculiar little love letters…and for some reason they sound better to me. I know, it’s weird.

Okay, time to talk about Time’s most unwelcome occupant: ‘50s rock meets outer space cheeseball “Hold On Tight”. It is arguably the worst ELO single ever (it sounds like “Love Missile F1-11” by Sigue Sigue Sputnik’s Grandfather and not in a good way because there isn’t one). Yet, as mentioned earlier, its non-LP B-Side, the swoony-tuned “When Time Stood Still”, with its lonely apocalyptic inner visions, is freakin’ gorgeous. It’s a damn shame it didn’t end up on the original album. Also wanna offer a tip of the hat to Lynne’s cute melodic nod to Out of the Blue’s “Across the Border” in “The Way Life’s Meant To Be”. Very cute.

I’ve often thought Time the album could’ve been turned into a pretty cool animated midnight movie in the style of the goofy sci-fi with an FM radio-heartbeat, Heavy Metal (1981). With visual accompaniment, I feel like the songs would’ve hit a lot harder.

While I think Time is flawed, I also find it somewhat fascinating. Who knows, I may well succumb to it in time (yeah, I just did that and I’m sorry).

MATTHEW: Yes you did! You also suggested that the album would sound better slowed down or attached to a goofy sci-fi B-movie. Which is all pretty funny. Some fans might object to such sacrilege, but I don’t think albums are holy objects to be revered untouched. Time embedded itself in my 17-year-old brain, and I love it—need it, even—exactly as it is. But Xanadu delivered to us on a silver platter a license to re-imagine ELO albums, and the two that followed Time positively begged to be re-imagined. So why not? And you’re right that those slowed-down mixes are love letters (and worth a listen)!

Favorite tracks: Hope, “Ticket to the Moon,” “When Time Stood Still” (yeah, I know I’m cheating slightly); Matthew, “Ticket to the Moon,” “Here is the News.”

Album Rating: Hope, 6/10; Matthew, 10/10.


Secret Messages (1983)
(UK #4, US #36)

MATTHEW: During those amazing years in popular music culture from roughly 1977 to 1983, I was too much of a sponge to care much about what was cool and uncool.  After all, I stuck with ELO through their three 1979-81 albums, even as their cool stock steadily fell—passionately defending Time to school friends who worshiped the likes of Echo and the Bunnymen.  But I never tried to convince anyone that Secret Messages was yet another manifestation of Lynne’s genius.  I couldn’t even convince myself.  That didn’t stop me playing  it—I still have my well-worn Indonesian bootleg cassette copy, titled Secret Massages (I kid you not!)—but I restricted it to, ahem, secret listening.  And I’m pretty sure I only played Side One (the title track through “Take Me On and On”), as it remains very familiar, and Side Two is far less familiar (and, to be honest, pretty patchy—although I think “Letter from Spain” is a forgotten ELO gem).  That was then, however.  Now . . . 

HOPE: Secret Massages. Hot…but I digress. You were clearly more musically mature than me in 1983. I was in full Duran-Culture Club-Wham worship mode when Secret Messages was first released. Maintaining steadfast loyalty to an old rock band vs. pretties like Simon Lebon, Boy George and George Michael doing basically anything, well, at that point in my teen life, it was no competition:  I wanted the boys and Boy. My dislike of the irritatingly bouncy synthetic sound of Secret Messages first single, ‘50s tribute “Rock and Roll Is King” and its outdated sentiment sealed the deal. All of which is to say, I waited months before I bothered buying the album, which I only did out of pure, albeit belated, loyalty. And I ended up feeling seriously disappointed. The original ten-track vinyl version was home to (only) three keepers: Dreamy, shimmery wanderer “Stranger”, romantic spacey soul sweetheart “Take Me On and On” and the propulsive oh-so-eighties pop radio-friendly title track. The rest remains forgettable, though I’ll give an honorable mention to “Letter From Spain” which, as you noted, is an unassuming li’l gem.

Secret Messages has been reissued twice: In 2001 w/bonus tracks and in 2018 as a four-sided double LP with several songs that had been edited off the original version of the LP. In regards to the latter, Lynne had wanted Secret Messages to be issued as a double album but was vetoed by the record company CBS who released it as a single LP with fewer songs. I can’t believe I’m saying this but CBS were right i.e. none of the songs edited off the original LP were thrilling.

MATTHEW: Yes, CBS rejected the double album as a way to fulfill the contract (which called for two more albums), obliging Lynne to cut half an hour and eight songs (seven for the CD and cassette releases). We had to wait until 2001 for a 14-track version, and 2018 for the original 18-track double album. If I had to make a single album from those 18 songs, I’d have made slightly different selections and sequencing. I suppose all fans would have made (or did eventually make) their own version. In the end, I think the double works better. It’s not a great album either way, but it’s very good as a well-paced four-sider, the vinyl sounding excellent. (And to me it’ll always be Secret Massages.)

HOPE: Before we move on, we should offer a quick hello to Secret Message’s fabled “lost” track which has yet to be released officially, “Beatles Forever”. It is both heartfelt and supremely silly. Listen here, and feel free to smile at its cuteness, yeah-yeah-yeah.

MATTHEW: Yes, it’s cute and goofy, almost child-like, and I understand why Lynne felt it should be kept off all versions of the album. But here’s a thought: Secret Messages was enough of a commercial and critical come-down from Time, and ELO so un-cool by this point, that there would have been little to lose by releasing “Beatles Forever” as a single; and I bet it would have been a hit!

Favorite two tracks: Matthew, “Bluebird,” “Letter from Spain” (tied with “Take Me On and On”); Hope, “Stranger”, “Take Me On and On”

Album Rating: Matthew, 6/10 (1983 single album), 7/10 (2018 double); Hope, 4/10 (1983 single album, 4/10 (2018 double)

Matthew’s treasured ‘Secret Massage’ cassette. That’s a luscious title, but “Four Little Diamonds” being altered to “For Little Diamonds” is even better.

Balance Of Power (1986)
(UK #9, US #49)

HOPE: Turns out sometimes you can judge a book by its cover. The sleeve for Balance of Power is some kinda bullshit…and its musical contents aren’t much better. It oozes “legacy artist trying to sound modern in 1986” from its every pore. ELO had slimmed down to a trio consisting of Lynne, keyboard maestro Richard Tandy and drummer Bev Bevan by this point and the waning of passion for doing the ELO thing feels palpable.

MATTHEW: Some kinda bullshit is sadly right! As an ELO album, this just, well, isn’t. It is very much a 1986 pop album, and good as such, and not very ELO. And that means it fares very poorly in a ranking of the whole catalog, giving the band’s bell curve of success something of the shape of a roller-coaster segment: a slow climb through five albums, a high peak of four or five albums, then a downward curve that is gentle for one album, then a precipitous drop for this album (with the riders screaming “Jeff, nooooooo!!”).

HOPE: Spot on. The album’s twee, synthetic production is a killer, but the real problem is the supremely faceless and unmemorable quality of the songs themselves. BOP (let’s just call it, though it is by no means overflowing with “bops”) sounds like a cheap plastic version of ELO. As far as picking standout songs well…I kind of like busy, synth-dance, tres-eighties “Heaven Only Knows” which sits somewhere between Wang Chung and a Kenny Loggins-style soundtrack tune, thus is fun to me (Love that chorus line, “I’m really on the level”). Also nice is bombastic big boy “Getting to the Point” which bears a striking resemblance to an old school ELO song from a structural standpoint automatically qualifying it as a standout track on BOP. “Secret Lives” is sorta infectious too and not a million miles from the kind of thing the Bee Gees were doing in the latter half of the ‘80s. 

MATTHEW: I rather like “Getting to the Point,” with its pop lushness and sax solo. The sax returns elsewhere, rather nicely on “Sorrow About to Fall,” for example. But wait, sax solos on an ELO album? And as one of the better touches? Gulp. Lynne is such a masterful producer by this point that he could create something that sounds this professional and polished in his sleep. But that’s the problem. The 35-minute BOP feels too professional and insufficiently personal. That the lyrical and musical hallmarks of imperial-phase ELO occasionally peep through the slick facade of cringey mid-80s production (twee and synthetic is right, Hope!) only reminds us that this is a contractual obligation album—and we have no obligation to like it. 

HOPE: Insert sexy ‘80s-style sax solo here…

Favorite two tracks: Hope, “Heaven Only Knows”, “Getting to the Point”; Matthew, “Getting to the Point,” and “Sorrow About to Fall.”

Album Rating: Hope, 3/10; Matthew, 4/10.


Armchair Theatre (1990, as Jeff Lynne)
(UK #24, US #83)

MATTHEW: Is it unfair to include this (and Long Wave)? After all, the weakness of Armchair Theatre is that it lacks the thematic and musical coherence of most ELO albums, yet “ELO” appears nowhere on the cover. This isn’t trying to be anything other than what it is: part ELO (more anticipating Jeff Lynne’s ELO than the band’s back catalogue); part Lynne’s childhood songbook (see Long Wave); part Traveling Wilburys (but, to my tastes, much better; Wilburys, ugh). So, up against the ELO catalogue, this first solo album of Jeff’s falters. But taken on its own terms, there’s much to appreciate here.

HOPE: I love the ocean, the sound of wind blowing through the trees and baby animals. I’m only stating this to assure you I am not a monster which many folks will likely think after I say what I’m about to say: I absolutely detest the music of the Travelling Wilburys. I realize they are a foundational stone in the mountain of Dad Rock and fat with legendary members but their smug, cartoonish shuffles make me feel insane. 

MATTHEW: I think you are being generous to the TW, actually. I never got them. They always seemed like such an incredible array of talent adding up to so much less than the sum of those legendary parts. In fact, I could never shake the notion that the whole TW was a parody, a joke at our expense, a bunch of rockstars having a bit of a laugh. Sorry, you TW’ers!

Armchair Theatre is far superior. Ironically, I overlooked it for years because I unfairly judged it to be a TW side-project with a few odd covers thrown in to bring it over half an hour. Yes, it lacks the musical coherence of the best ELO albums. And its finest tracks work better on mixtapes or playlists, from singles like “Lift Me Up” to surprises like “Now You’re Gone”—a hidden gem whose Middle Eastern touches are pure production genius. But by skipping the three covers, the eight Lynne originals (including the pretty good “Blown Away,” co-written with Tom Petty, and the Petty-ish “What Would It Take”) comprise a really good 27-minute album. As a bit of ELO-nerd fun, I made a hybrid album mixing those eight originals from Armchair Theatre with the best few from Balance of Power (call it Armchair Power). Fun, yes, but in the end merely confirming that Armchair Theatre is a better Lynne and ELO album than Balance of Power.

HOPE: After reading your paragraph above, I went and assembled a hybrid album to see if it would work. I titled it Power Balance and plugged in the best five tracks from Armchair and best four from BOP…and what the holy hell, once the chaff was edited off and the good songs were merged into one actual album I genuinely liked it. Prior to doing that, I had been completely freakin’ indifferent to Armchair. Now I’m kind of charmed by it (or at least half of it).

Armchair occupies the same soundscape as George Harrison’s 1987 comeback album Cloud Nine and/or Tom Petty’s 1989 debut solo album Full Moon Fever, both of which Jeff produced, wrote and played on. In terms of listenability I would place it in the middle, better than the former (which I don’t like), lesser than the latter (which I do). The simultaneously shiny and laid back ”What Would It Take” and head-bobbing, blissful bop “Lift Me Up” are peak “L’eighties-Lynne”. And gotta give a dual nod of approval to “Blown Away” and “Now You’re Gone” which proved Jeff hadn’t ventured too far from the ELO Mothership after all.

Favorite two tracks: Hope,”What Would It Take”, “Lift Me Up”; Matthew, “Lift Me Up” and “Now You’re Gone”.

Album Rating: Hope, 5/10; Matthew, 6/10.


Zoom (2001)
(UK #34, US #94)

HOPE: Zoom touches upon nearly all eras in ELO history. There’s early ‘70s era style rock (“All She Wanted”, “Alright”, “Easy Money”, “Lonesome Lullaby”, “Stranger On A Quiet Street”). There’s ‘80s-ish ELO (“It Really Doesn’t Matter”, “Melting In The Sun”, “State Of Mind”). There are even a few tracks reminiscent of peak ELO aka 1975-79 aka the Imperial Years (“Just For Love”, “A Long Time Gone”, “Ordinary Dream”). Despite all this, there is something significant missing from Zoom: The magically melodic hook-iness of the past.

Sure, “Just For Love” and “A Long Time Gone” with their noticeably similar choruses are low-key lovely, but the rest of the tunes are kind of predictable in terms of which way they’re gonna turn at any given moment. So while Zoom did provide a refreshing reassurance that Jeff still kinda had it, the album as a whole was not remotely dreamy, swoony or hooky enough to be able to stand with the ELO album gods of the past. I don’t know though, is that even a fair comparison/assessment? Should Zoom be graded on a curve the same way latter 2000s era McCartney or Springsteen albums are, where several points are awarded because they are still creating new material and the songs for the most part are structurally sound?

MATTHEW: No grading on a curve! Life’s too short to give artists a pass for being older, when there are so many great albums to enjoy (including by those same older artists). But Zoom is still tricky to evaluate: is it Lynne or ELO or Lynne’s ELO? The album is somewhat stranded in time, with 15 years after the last album billed as by ELO, and 14 years before the next one. And if we count Lynne’s solo albums, it’s still 11 years on either side. It also has a reputation for being a disappointment at the time—with lower sales than expected, its North American support tour canceled due to poor advance ticket sales. Furthermore, billed as Electric Light Orchestra (not Jeff Lynne’s ELO), it has only one other ELO member on just one track (Richard Tandy on “Alright”), with two ex-Beatles featuring on four tracks. In fact, it sounds more like a latter-day Beatles album than an ELO one, and that feel is far from limited to the four tracks on which George Harrison or Ringo Starr play. Confused? I admit I was a little, when I first heard it in 2001. But I soon realized that if taken as a new Lynne solo album, Zoom is excellent, the best Lynne or ELO album since Secret Messages—perhaps since Time over two decades earlier. I have way more affection for Zoom than you do, Hope, but based on its impact at the time of its release, you’re on the money and I’m a weirdo.

Favorite two tracks: Hope, “Just For Love”, “A Long Time Gone”; Matthew, “Alright” and “Just For Love.”

Album Rating: Hope, 4/10; Matthew, 8/10.


Long Wave (2012, as Jeff Lynne)
(UK #7, US #113)

HOPE: I see what you did here Jeff Lynne. You not only started the album with a couple of quirky and genuinely endearing cover picks, you seductively slathered them in that old sweet ELO sauce we know and love. Hearing the album’s first two tracks—Charles Aznavour’s ”She” and Rodgers and Hammerstein’s “If I Loved You”—stunningly reshaped into vintage ELO-flavored balladry, gave me hope.

Unfortunately, it turned out to be the false kind. Those two retro dreamboats turned out to be the best things on the LP (by far). Enjoying Long Wave as a whole depends on one’s unfaltering loyalty to Lynne and tolerance for hearing hoary old chestnuts like “Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered”, “At Last”, “Love is a Many-Splendored Thing” and “Beyond The Sea” being trotted out for roughly the billionth time in recorded history. While not as aurally challenging as McCartney’s similarly nostalgic cover 2012 LP, Kisses On The Bottom (UGH), it ain’t much better. 

MATTHEW: I agree that Long Wave is more palatable than Macca’s Kisses (beginning with their titles). It has a certain charm, especially if you have affection for old standards and you’re a die-hard Jeff fan; the rich timbre of his voice is nicely showcased here. But as you say, Hope, you really need to be both those things to enjoy this all the way to the end. Sure, it starts strong (“She” always reminds me of Elvis Costello’s cover for the Notting Hill soundtrack; I like Lynne’s version better). But the returns are diminishing from then on. It’s only 27” but feels longer, partly because the little moments that remind me of ELO songs—the way Lynne curls around a phrase, or his use of a favored production trick—only make me wish I was listening to those ELO songs.

It’s probably not really fair of us to include Long Wave. It deserves appreciation on its own terms, not up against the ELO catalogue. But Armchair Theatre sounds more like ELO than Balance of Power, and Lynne has made himself so synonymous with the band that he gives us no choice. Blame Jeff!

Favorite two tracks: Hope, “If I Loved You”, “She”; Matthew, “She,” “If I Loved You.”

Album Rating: Hope, 3/10; Matthew, 4/10.


Alone In The Universe (2015, as Jeff Lynne’s ELO)
(UK #4, US #23)

MATTHEW: As hyperbolic as this might seem, I find it incredibly life-affirming that more than thirty years after ELO’s imperial phase petered out, Lynne created an album this bloody good. None of it is filler, most of it is great. For me, it’s one of the five best records in the whole ELO/Lynne catalog. If you substitute Side One’s “Dirty to the Bone” with one of Side Two’s gems (like “One Step at a Time”, which sounds like a lost early 80s hit single), then Side One is a serious contender for the best Side One in the catalog. And although Lynne left concept-album thinking back in the early 80s, there is something of a conceptual coherence to these ten songs and their 33 minutes of 8-bar blues-based melancholic pop nuggets. Masterful!

HOPE: I love a nice “Majestic Loner” song where the protagonist ponders their otherness and romanticizes their perpetual view from the outside. Sad yet hopeful. AITU (let’s just call it) offers a beauteous pair of “Majestic Loner” tunes for the misty-eyed unicorns among us: The glistening hymnal sway “The Sun Will Shine On You” and ”Alone in the Universe”, an epic throwback with a bit of “Can’t Get It Out of My Head” running through its yearn-ful veins. Other standouts include nostalgic origin story “When I Was a Boy” and late ‘70s-flavored groover “One Step at a Time”. The album is solid and consistent overall (and yes, it feels like there is a subtle thread connecting the songs). But here is where we part Matthew…melodically AITU falls short for me (why does this keep happening?!). Apart from “The Sun…” and “Alone…” none of the songs move the needle on the swoon scale. Also, a big f-u to that disgracefully cheap-looking font on the front cover. 

Favorite two tracks: Hope, “The Sun Will Shine on You”, ”Alone in the Universe”; Matthew, “When I Was a Boy” is the perfect opener to an ELO/Lynne mixtape, and “The Sun Will Shine on You” is lovely enough to bring tears to my eyes.

Album Rating: Hope, 5/10; Matthew, 9/10.


From Out Of Nowhere (2019, as Jeff Lynne’s ELO)
(UK #1, US #47)

MATTHEW: When From Out of Nowhere came out in 2019, Classic Pop editor Steve Harnell reviewed the album.  He lightly praised a few tracks, noting that “’All My Love’ is undeniably pretty” (which it is) and that “Losing You” has “George Harrison-esque grace” (which it does).  But he emphasized that Lynne was “in familiar territory,” the album was “unapologetically set in its ways,” and he set his 3-star review between reviews of a new Ringo Starr album (3 ½) and a posthumous Leonard Cohen release (4 stars). So, a so-so predictable throw-back record from an old guy? Fair enough? Or an unfair dismissal of an album almost as good as its predecessor?

HOPE: The fact that this got to #1 in the UK album chart seems like it had nothing to do with the album’s actual merits. Its success felt more like a sweet acknowledgement of all the pop perfection Jeff Lynne had served up over the previous years as opposed to the appeal of the LP’s actual contents. So I think Harnell was spot on and maybe even a little kind. Describing the album as “unapologetically set in its ways” is just a gentler way of saying that it’s boring. And he’s not wrong. There’s a real sonic sameness to the songs on From Out of Nowhere and nothing truly stands out. It’s ELO wallpaper. As far as praise, the best I can offer is that the closing track, moodily romantic “Songbird” is kind of pleasant and the LP as a whole is accomplished. Remember when you forbade me to grade on a curve a few albums ago? I’m taking it to heart.

MATTHEW: ELO wallpaper? Ouch! Well, I think that’s definitely true of Side Two—with the exception of album closer “Songbird.” Having this on vinyl, and mostly only playing Side One, has skewed this album upwards in my rankings. That’s 6 of 10 tracks that are hooky and melodic and worthy of playlist spots; 4 that are, well, ok, wallpaper! But I suspect that more listeners would agree with you, Hope, than with me. You are able to be fairly objective, whereas I have such a positive and primal response to Lynne’s voice, words, and studio sound that I cannot help but be happy upon hearing them.

HOPE: Though it may be hard to tell from these last few album blurbs, I really do fuckin’ love ELO.

Favorite two tracks: Matthew, “Down Came the Rain” (Lynne’s signature metaphor!), and “Losing You” (showing he still has his ballad-writing chops); Hope, “Songbird” (but I only like as a friend, not as a love interest)

Album Rating: Hope, 4/10; Matthew, 7/10.


Box Sets & Compilations

MATTHEW: There are a crazy number of compilations out there—18 by my count, and I probably missed a couple. I seem to have picked up a third of them or more over the years, in one format or another. The ‘70s ones are historic curiosities, whereas the more recent ones tend to be too short and predictable. But four are worth a mention.

All Over the World: The Very Best of Electric Light Orchestra (2005 and 2011) had sold over a million copies in the UK by 2016, when a rare reunion appearance of the band (at that year’s Glastonbury Festival) nudged the compilation album to #1. Alone, it is yet another predictable CD of hits. But paired with Ticket to the Moon: The Very Best of Electric Light Orchestra, Volume 2 (2007), it becomes a more interesting and representative survey of the catalog. Still, both volumes ignore the first two ELO albums (and, of course, the two most recent ones, which had yet to be created). Sorely needed is a 4-CD update (like the Genesis one you don’t like, Hope!), that covers 1971 to 2019, with all the singles plus more of the rarities and oddities that are lightly represented on The Very Best of Electric Light Orchestra, Volume 2. Any chance, Mr. Lynne, sir?

HOPE: I agree that as a duo, these Very Best’s are alright. Honestly, it’s hard to talk about compilations with any passion (except maybe ABBA Gold). While not completely redundant, they are the aural equivalent of a travel umbrella i.e. Cool to have as you never know when you might need them and useful in specific situations, like a car journey (I see you Matthew!). They are not necessarily the first choice/favored song assortment for a nerdy fan (a specific studio album or self-curated playlist being the preferred choices). That mouthful said, these two comps serve as a safe and welcoming ELO kiddie pool for new and future ELO fans to get them acclimated. 

MATTHEW: I’m counting the two Very Best of compilations as one, with my second pick being 2012’s Mr. Blue Sky. This hits mix is also a different kind of animal. What do you think of it, Hope?

HOPE: I don’t like it, but it’s for a somewhat altruistic (!) reason which I’ll get to.  Mr. Blue Sky features re-recorded versions of ELO classics. In a 2012 interview with music radar Jeff was asked why he felt the need to re-record already “perfect” and beloved songs from his catalog: 

“Over the years, I’ve played some of the albums from time to time, and I would go, ‘Hmm… I don’t know.’ And then I’d hear some of the songs on the radio and I’d say, ‘That doesn’t sound like I thought it did.’ So I thought, Maybe I should have another go at these…to see if I could do it again. I mean, I have a studio – why not have a go at it?’ 

The new versions of old established tunes on Mr. Blue Sky don’t sound better, they just sound different…or to those more familiar and worshipful of the original versions, they sound weird. The vocals are prominently pushed up front in a way that wipes clean the smoky-dreaminess that made “Telephone Line” and “Strange Magic” so beautiful the first time. In fact, there is a distractingly, sharp-edged clarity to Jeff’s voice on every song, like the original versions were dirty windows and this what they sound like wiped clean. 

My main issue is this: I don’t like that these new versions might be someone’s first experience of hearing ELO and that these re-records might be mistaken for the originals. So I need to know, Matthew,  what do you think ?! And do you believe presenting it as a standard “Best of” is misleading?


Here is a pic I took back in my record store days in ye olde 2014. I noticed this young lad walking around with a Mr.Blue Sky LP, got excited and asked his Dad if I could take a pic. I hope he loved the album enough to dig into the catalog and ultimately leave the re-recorded versions behind. But it’s okay if he didn’t.

MATTHEW: Yes, Hope, spot on: I agree that the billing of Mr. Blue Sky is misleading. It is as if Jeff is trying to lead us away from the originals because these new recordings are improved replacements. They’re not. They are enjoyable and worth a listen, but they are curiosities for fans, not a good entry point for newcomers. I think of them as “Jeff’s Versions” (a la branding of the Taylor Swift rerecordings).

A far better entry-point for new fans—which also serves as a must-have compilation for die-hard fans—is the third of the many compilations mentioned here, 2000’s Flashback. Do you agree, Hope?

HOPE: Yes! The three CDs of Flashback feature songs from every ELO studio album released up to that point, providing a fine overview as far as singles and deep cuts. Sure Xanadu’s representation is limited to a re-recorded version of the title track and neither “All Over the World” and “I’m Alive” are included (ouch)…but all the other key stuff is here. As far as the ten requisite rarities and curios included, only 1980’s windswept locomotive “Love Changes All” and 1982’s sweetly spacy instrumental b-side “After All” are real keepers. That said I wish there had been a bigger selection of rare and unreleased cuts!

MATTHEW: Absolutely. And the copyright issues keeping Xanadu out of these compilations is annoying. Hey Jeff, if you are going to re-record old songs, re-record all your Xanadu tracks for inclusion in compilations! The issue also impacts The Classic Albums Collection (2011), the final comp worth a mention. This CD box set collected all eleven ELO albums from No Answer through Balance of Power (Xanadu excluded), in card sleeves in a cardboard box. This was Lynne’s project, so the remastering was supervised by him, and the 27-page booklet has new liner notes by him, with a comment on every track (albeit some of them only a few words). There are between two and four bonus tracks on every disc—most of them previously unreleased demos or alternate takes or unused tracks. The extras are curiosities of interest to serious fans only. I appreciate having them, but I rather wish they were collected on a couple of extra discs, so I could enjoy each album as it was originally released. The culture of—and market for—“deluxe editions” has developed so much since 2011 that I would imagine a 2020s version of this would have a disc of extras for every album; or is that wishful thinking on my part?! As far as we know, this has yet to be released on vinyl, so perhaps a vinyl issue would by necessity put the extras on separate discs.

HOPE: Yes on that thought! Tacking demos, rarities and my most hated bonus bit, snippets, onto the end of physical albums wrecks the flow, especially if you have nostalgic bonds to the original versions.


Live Albums

MATTHEW: There are apparently seven live ELO albums. I say apparently, as I’ve spent many decades as an ELO fan blithely unaware of the first six (1974 to 2013). I’d question my own fandom, but I see that none of them charted anywhere. And most weren’t even released in most countries. A 1974 live recording, The Night the Light Went On In Long Beach, has a complex and elusive release history, but may be worth the hunt for fans of the early albums (the 6-minute “Day Tripper” cover slips in snippets of Mozart and Handel!). The seventh live album, however, 2017’s Wembley or Bust, is one I’ve seen (the concert film) and played (the CD), and it is thoroughly enjoyable. Lynne and Tandy recruited a superb band. Lynne applied his famously meticulous production skills to reproducing ELO’s complex sound to perfection (almost to a fault?). And (in the film version) the shots of an enraptured audience complete the emotional experience, making this a must-have for any ELO fan. Lynne was so happy with the Wembley Stadium concert that he wrote a song about it: the uncomfortably cheesy yet charming “Time of Our Life” is on From Out of Nowhere.

HOPE: I too had no idea there were so many ELO live albums. The Night the Light Went On In Long Beach was recorded live before they really hit their stride song-wise and feels more like a collectible curiosity than a definitive document. As it was common in the seventies for established rock artists to release fat double live albums in between studio releases, it’s disappointing that nothing more substantial surfaced during that decade. I can see it now, under the fantasy 1978 Xmas tree, an ELO triple live album with a fold-out sleeve, stickers and a giant poster (two-sided of course). It would no doubt have been a sentimental fave for all of us! But because this specific thing didn’t happen, I’m indifferent about ELO’s live albums (P.S. I officially acknowledge how weird this is).

MATTHEW: Ha! Fair enough! So how about this: the concert video is worth a watch for those who like the format, but for listening-only skip Wembley and hit the studio classics? And perhaps that’s just as well, as Lynne has said he’ll no longer tour after 2025. But he’ll surely make another album, or three, perhaps continuing to revisit the catalog. And what a catalog of wonders it is!

HOPE’s Postscript: I finally watched Wembley or Bust in its entirety after only having seen a few singular songs from it. The performances were quite nice but the thing that really pierced my heart was seeing the audience’s beatific faces and their reactions to the songs. The joy was so palpable, it made my eyes well up. Wembley or Bust is well worth watching. Eating my hat right now (or at least part of it).


I bow to the palpable joy of “Evil Woman” live at Wembley.

In Conclusion

This pic once graced the wall of my childhood bedroom. Even now I find Lynne to be weirdly era-appropriate foxy in it.

HOPE: What’s the first thing that pops into your head when you think about ELO? The deranged bridge in “Turn to Stone”? The pointedly precise string plucking in “Livin’ Thing”? Your teardrops hitting the floor whenever “Telephone Line” plays? That’s a trick question of course. It’s never just one thing. If you love even one ELO song, you are very likely to love another…and another. They really are a bag of candy. But seriously, ELO contained multitudes. They could be regal and symphonic. Starry-eyed and romantic. Lonely. Silly. Brazenly bombastic. They were occasionally all of those things at once (lookin’ at you Mr. “The Diary of Horace Wimp”). 

“Mr. Blue Sky” has been streamed over a billion freakin’ times. A billion. Not bad for a bearded Beatle worshiper from Birmingham, who was once described in an old review as “passionless” and “self-indulgent”.

All I know is that if I were ever to start a themed-cover band, ELO are unquestionably the band I would pay tribute to (We’d be called H.E.L.O. aka Hellectric Light Orchestra). There’s something genuinely magical about these crazy songs.

MATTHEW: Here’s a strange thing: there aren’t that many covers of ELO songs out there, not compared to other artists with similarly deep and popular catalogs. Perhaps that is because Lynne’s attention to every aspect of the creative process—writing the music and lyrics, singing and playing many (sometimes most) of the instruments, doing most (if not all) of the production—makes these songs utterly and holistically his. That helps hold the catalogue together, the 17 albums spread over 48 years, despite the stylistic contrast between No Answer and From Out of Nowhere. And it encourages fandom, as songs from any of those albums evoke songs from others. For example, for me personally, Lynne’s use of weather, especially rain, as a metaphor for love’s heartache, works as a comforting thread or leitmotif running through the catalog. It may be simple, but it is like an old friend. “Love and Rain” is at the end of my list of favorite ELO songs (see below) because it always makes me smile for that reason; it reminds me of all Jeff’s love and rain songs (and there’s love or rain or both on every album), and how grateful I am for the joy they have given—to me and to millions.

But that’s not quite all. For there is one cover album of ELO songs, and it is superb: Juliana Hatfield Sings ELO (2023). Hatfield’s latest contribution to her own Sings series is a masterclass in how to create a covers collection: respectful, loving, artful, yet interpretive and distinct from the originals; and above all, a reminder of how extraordinarily talented a songwriter is our Jeff.

This album is awesome and you can listen to it right here, here or here…

HOPE: Juliana was born in 1967 so she has a strong lifelong connection with these songs and the album is freakin’ superb. Her versions of “Sweet Is The Night” and “Bluebird Is Dead” are particularly fabulous (ooh). In a 2023 interview with Under The Radar, she described her love for ELO in the most perfect way imaginable:

“I can completely relate to the idea of being a child and being just obsessed with the magic of music on the radio. And ELO is one of those magical sounds that I would hear on the radio and I would be transported to a beautiful place” 

That’s it right there. Take me us on and on.

The Ranking Summary!

Here are our best-to-worst album rankings, in descending order .

MATTHEW:

1.Out of the Blue

2.A New World Record

3.Time

4.Discovery

5.Alone in the Universe

6.Face the Music

7.Zoom

8.Secret Messages

9.From Out of Nowhere

10.Eldorado

11.Xanadu

12.Armchair Theatre

13.On the Third Day

14.Long Wave

15.Balance of Power

16.The Electric Light Orchestra/No Answer

17.ELO 2/ELO II

HOPE:

1.Out of the Blue

2.A New World Record

2.Discovery

4.Time

5.Face the Music

6.Eldorado

7.Alone in the Universe

8.Armchair Theatre

9.Xanadu

10.Secret Messages

11.Zoom

12.From Out of Nowhere

13.Balance of Power

14.On the Third Day

15.Long Wave

16.The Electric Light Orchestra/No Answer

17.ELO 2/ELO II

Hope & Matthew’s Top 15 favorite ELO songs ever!

Our original plan was to share our top 10 favorite ELO songs but that proved too restrictive as there are just too many brilliantly beautiful and beloved songs (dammit)! Thus we have decided to “deluxe” things and pick 15 songs each. Here are our faves (in no particular order)!

HOPE’S (in no particular order):

1.So Fine

2.Starlight

3.Need Her Love

4.Stranger

5.Big Wheels

6.Above the Clouds

7.Tightrope

8.Last Train to London

9.Bluebird is Dead

10.Telephone Line

11.The Whale

12.Sweet Is The Night

13.One Summer Dream

14.Take Me On and On

15.Jungle

MATTHEW’s (also in no particular order):

1.When I Was a Boy

2.Showdown

3.Strange Magic

4.Tightrope

5.Telephone Line

6.Shangri-La

7.Standing in the Rain

8.Big Wheels

9.Steppin’ Out

10.Last Train to London

11.Need Her Love

12.Ticket to the Moon

13.Take Me On and On

14.Now You’re Gone

15.Love and Rain

PuR’s Top Songs & Albums of 2023!

I listen to thousands of songs every year and make playlists of standouts as I go (yeah, nerd here). My ‘Best Songs of 2023’ playlist closed out the year with over 400 songs within its confines. This week I finally culled that list down to a small, edible chunk of 30 and those are the tracks that feature in the official PuR’s Best Songs Of 2023 Playlist. I’m one of those backward people who need to decompress before I go to work (I know, weird), so the majority of this maniacal editing and ferreting takes place very, very early in the morning before the sun comes up. It’s sick.

Melody continues to be my own personal Jesus and is the foundation of how PuR’s Best Songs Of 2023 list is “computed”. The only criteria for a song’s inclusion are overall swoonworthy-ness and melodic majesty. It doesn’t matter if a song was released as an official single or if an artist is well-known and/or established. The determining factor is the song itself. I guess the main thing these songs have in common is their hook-filled tunefulness. So this list is built for you my fellow melody-hounds. 

And with that, please enjoy these weird, endlessly wonderful songs made by gorgeously inspired humans in 2023. Hope they make you swoon. Big Love.

And HEY, following the best song list is a list of PuR’s Best Albums & EPs Of 2023 with links to listen to them attached(!). So much good stuff, oh man.

P.S. It wasn’t exactly my most prolific year as far as posts on PuR (understatement) but I am determined to make up for it in 2024 (dammit). I promise lots of new music in the form of the WEEKLY NEW WONDERS PLAYLIST ( I do the work so you don’t gotta) and even more of PuR’s insane, breathless Rating the Albums! feature series where we break down artist discographies to ludicrous extremes and I curse. A lot.

PuR’s Best Songs of 2023 Playlist!

Listen on Spotify:

Listen on Soundcloud:

PuR’s Best Albums & EPs of 2023!

These albums are depicted above and listed below in alphabetical order because ranking ’em proved impossible as they have all been the top fave at one time or another over the past year. They are all beautiful! You can listen to each of them below!

Julie Byrne–The Greater Wings (listen here)

Christine and the Queens–Paranoia, Angels,True Love (listen here)

Everything But The Girl–Fuse (listen here)

Laura Groves–Radio Red (listen here)

Holysseus Fly–Birthpool EP (listen here)

Kara Jackson-Why Does The Earth Give Us People To Love? (listen here)

Joesef–Permanent Damage (listen here)

Long Island–infatuation’s a nightmare (listen here)

Nourished By Time–Erotic Probiotic 2 (listen here)

Pebbl–Moonbeams (listen here)

Hayden Pedigo–The Happiest Times I Ever Ignored (listen here)

Perlee–Speaking From Other Rooms (listen here)

This Is It: Rating the Albums of Kenny Loggins

While Kenny Loggins’s biggest hits were songs that featured on soundtracks, at his core, he was always an “Albums Guy”. It’s time to talk about the real Loggins and give his full-length solo discography the undivided attention and demented analysis it deserves. The waiting is over…

By the end of 1976, after five years as a performing duo, soft rock troubadours Kenny Loggins & Jim Messina decided to end their musical partnership. It’d been a great run that saw them score no fewer than five platinum albums, two Gold albums, and a top ten pop hit with the somewhat polarizing “Your Mama Don’t Dance” ( the “Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go” of its day). Loggins explained the situation in classic rock-speak soon after, stating that things were starting to feel “too comfortable”, and that the duo needed to break up for “creative reasons” adding that the decision to split “was mutual”. More light was shed on the precise cause in Loggins’s 2022 memoir Still Alright.

In it, Messina is portrayed as a good-intentioned control freak, who dominates nearly all the behind-the-scenes activity. He produced. He arranged. He curated a lot of the songs the two ultimately recorded. He had the final word on all musical decisions. But the key bone of contention that led to their breakup was that evergreen classic bastard: “musical differences”. Messina wanted the two to head in a more rootsy country-rock direction while Loggins was yearning to incorporate more R&B-ish textures into their oeuvre. And so, just like ye olde writer and poet Rudyard Kipling once said “and never the twain shall meet”. The duo split, and in our year of 1977 the solo career of soft-rockin’ bearded bard and foxy troubadour Kenny Loggins, heretofore to be referred to as KL, began.

While KL’s aforementioned 2022 memoir Still Alright (co-authored with writer Jason Turbow) is just that, a mostly linear description of his life to date, it’s also about his lifelong journey to understand himself. I know that sounds like self-indulgent bullshit but while there are some distinctly Californian new-age stylings sprinkled within the book—there is a scene involving the utilization of crystals whilst sitting in a stick-drawn circle on a beach at night tripping on mushrooms for example— KL is so earnest and sincere in his delivery, so heartfelt and genuine when relating his epiphanic anecdotes that it’s hard to be critical without feeling like a judgemental asshole.

All that said, the main thing to know about Still Alright is this; if you’re looking for a deeply detailed dive into each of KL’s albums, you won’t find it in this book. His music is discussed selectively and the book focuses more on specific successes and lowlights as opposed to extensive album-by-album breakdowns and discussions of how the deep cuts came to be. And honestly, who would want to read about the genesis of the lesser-known tracks and non-singles like say the lustrous “Set It Free” or eerie, erotic epic “Angelique” and hear what KL thinks about them specifically? Okay, that was a trick question because the truth is, I totally wanted to know that stuff and was genuinely disappointed not to find it because I’m a nerd. 

In Sinead O’Connor’s eminently readable 2022 memoir Rememberings, there was an entire chapter devoted to her discography, where she offered brief breakdowns of each of her albums. And her descriptions weren’t all sunshine, rainbows, and “I loved working with everyone”. While there were releases she was genuinely proud of, there were also a few she confessed to disliking. And while she spent several paragraphs tearing apart a song I’d always kind of liked, it was still totally fascinating to hear what she thought about the contents of each album. In fact, that whole chapter reinvigorated my interest in a few LPs I hadn’t listened to for a while. It also made me think about KL’s lack of a discographic diary within his book and how great it would’ve been to hear him do the same. 

Love Will Follow: This essay isn’t a scholarly dissertation or a detailed history of KL’s career. It’s just a sloppily emotional dissection of the solo discography, warts, and all by a lifelong Loggins-head (like you maybe) who likes to read this kind of stuff. We’re just here to have a fun, overly-opinionated, long-winded time and, okay gonna do it, apologies in advance, cut footloose. Yeah, I just did that.

Here is a 1978 article from People magazine about KL’s first solo triumph. That is one shady headline there. Someone wasn’t Messina around.

Swear Your Love: It wasn’t a song that inspired me to buy my first Kenny Loggins album as a 13-year-old in 1978; it was the picture on the front cover. To be more specific, it was the beard. 

The previous summer I had become infatuated with an adult neighbor who also had a beard which in turn triggered a brief fascination with men who had them. Can a child have a fetish? In my experience, I’m gonna have to say…yes (please don’t fear, I can explain, read this). Anyway, while I knew of Loggins & Messina (aka L & M) and had heard “Your Mama Don’t Dance” on the radio, I could not have been less interested in them. But then, children were not L & M’s core demographic. L & M were for big sisters and teenage cousins. They were for the burn-out/dirtbag adjacent girls that babysat my brother and I (as were America, Seals & Crofts, and Dan Fogelberg). L & M looked like guys who drove VW vans, called their girlfriends “babe” and never went anywhere without a loyal leashless dog trailing behind them. They didn’t “rock”, not like my beloved ELO or Boston, whose logos could be easily recreated on a school notebook. They were for “old” people.

Yet, there I was in the mediocre record store one town over in 1978 forking over precious allowance money to buy a record by this Loggins guy I wasn’t even sure I would freakin’ like…all because his picture on the cover reminded me of my bearded real-life crush. 

Who’s Right, Who’s Wrong: Before I began this discographic breakdown, I wondered if my opinionated opinions would jibe with those of other fans. And so I took a casual survey of KL nerds to see where everyone was standing. The most consistent view, and one that I concur with, is that the golden era of KL solo albums ran from approximately 1977-1982. The four LPs released during that time are the high watermark of KL’s recording career. And there is one latter-day behemoth that can proudly hang with those four. 

Heart To Heart: Lastly, a note on the format of this essay, I’m going to rate each of the ten specifically pop-rock-themed KL solo albums individually, using the classic best of 10, the pinnacle being 10 (it’s brilliant), the bottom being 1 (it’s a lesser light). Each album’s peak position in the U.S. Billboard 200 chart (the most popular album ranking), is listed at the beginning of each entry if applicable. I acknowledge KL’s notable soundtrack contributions in the body of the essay and talk about the live recordings, kids albums, and compilations after that. And I’m gonna keep things pure and only focus on the official audio releases, meaning we aren’t going to be talking about anything that was only released in digital form, or live video releases unless they coincide with a CD or LP. Last but not least, there’s a mini-breakdown of the Loggins & Messina discography because why the hell not? 

One more thing (sorry, swear). So these days, people tend to associate KL with the recently established genre of “Yacht Rock”. I’ve written a whole lot about “Yacht Rock” on both this blog and over at the Cover Me website over the past few years if you wanna read about it (here and here). Apart from this paragraph, there will be no further discussion of Yacht Rock in this essay. The whole premise of this epic is to free KL from pigeonholing, whether it be as “Soundtrack King” or “Yacht Rocker” and acknowledge his status as “Albums Guy”. Okay, it’s time to celebrate, cerebrate and debate. Let’s meet the albums!

The Albums

Celebrate Me Home (1977)

Grade: 10/10

Celebrate Me Home (1977, US #27): The cover photo for Celebrate Me Home of an unzipped hoodie-sporting KL soft-focus chillin’ backlit by the golden hour light is not just a picture; it’s a vibe. Home to ten lush, melodic songs with ocean-breezy arrangements Celebrate aka CMH is as sweet and welcoming as that photo suggests…sonically that is. Lyrically, well, that’s another story. Despite its warm ‘n’ fuzzy exterior, CMH is in fact a hotbed of lying, cheating, unrequited love, and death. From the opener “Lady Luck”, a propulsive and soulful theme of romantic sacrifice to the closing cover of despair and rejection, “You Don’t Know Me”, CMH is one big bouquet of sweet-smelling but thorn-covered roses. Rolling Stone magazine was of course too cool to be impressed by all of the lush melodic greenery displayed on CMH and, unsurprisingly, their review of the album was a masterpiece of blasé condescension:

Celebrate Me Home, at its best, is slickly professional in a very Hollywood way. Loggins emulates Stevie Wonder vocally (he lacks Wonder’s heart), and Bob James’ pop/soul arrangements send the upbeat tracks on a merry, toe-tapping course. Unfortunately, Loggins too often tries to infuse with dramatic intensity songs whose lyrics simply collapse with the effort.

Now as CMH was produced by (pop-rockin’) Phil Ramone and the aforementioned (smooth-jazzin’) Bob James, the overall sound was “slickly professional” i.e. cleanly produced with no jagged edges, feedback, or visible pores. But its hooky melodies, instrumental flourishes, and vocal ad-libs are hardly rote and obvious. While lengthy, tunefully twisty tracks like “Set It Free” and “Enter My Dream” aren’t as structurally adventurous as say, a typical Frank Zappa song, they are still unpredictable and full of surprising detours. As for the complaint about over-the-top singing, well, KL wasn’t looking to impress old, male rock critics. The strategically placed falsettos and breathy pleas were just KL honoring his soul influences and peacocking for the ladies. He knew what he was doing.

The warmly suggestive inner sleeve of Celebrate Me Home. Whoosh.

CMH is a ridiculously accomplished and memorable debut solo album ( KL’s best I believe), home to five melodically rapturous anthems, two handsome heartbroken lullabies, and three pieces of genuinely pleasant filler. Along with the title track, the album’s core four/finest offerings, “Lady Luck” ( KL showing off his entire bag of vocal tricks, snarling, whispering, falsetto-ing to perfection) , “Set It Free” (rainswept, passive-aggressive break-up ballad extraordinaire), “Enter My Dream” (swoony love note to nighttime visions with opening line referencing psychoanalyst-dream theorist Carl Jung. Go KL, you searching mofo) and soon to be concert-opener/mission statement “I Believe In Love” ( a co-write with longtime Streisand collaborators Alan and Marilyn Bergman) are as good as anything KL had done to that point or would ever do again (hot take #1). 

CMH also invariably houses a few of those randy-rock guy-on-tour tunes so common on ’70s singer-songwriter-guy albums though KL’s brim with politeness. The windblown ‘just okay’ Jimmy Webb composed, “If You Be Wise” (cheating whilst on the road), the also ‘just okay’ super-slick “Daddy’s Back” (overly optimistic notion of life after returning from the road), and the gorgeous ballad “Why Do People Lie” (unknowing victim of the road) are the most “brazen” of the “bad boy” tracks. Honorable mention goes to that last verse of “I Believe In Love” with its reference to “some ‘what’s-her-name’ left from Sunday”. KL: not always a faithful angel but you love him anyway.

I love how the title track— the anthemic lament of homesickness/Bob James co-write/latter-day funeral theme/ unofficial KL signature song, “Celebrate Me Home”—is stuffed in the cheap seats of the track order, landing at #8 of the album’s 10. Its epic nature screams “I am the closing track”. But no, the album’s final spot is bravely occupied by a sparse, heartbreaking cover of country crooner Eddy Arnold’s unrequited, crushed-out classic “You Don’t Know Me”. Ending the album with a bonafide tearjerker and, gonna say it, with all due respect to the great Ray Charles, the best cover of that song ever, was a perverse and canny choice. It acts as an inadvertent mea culpa for the instances of dirty road dog behavior KL’s oh-so-smoothly related over the course of the previous songs. That loved-up guy looking at you adoringly from the cover in his sun-dappled dreamhouse knows that his breathy sighs and elongated falsettos basically guarantee your forgiveness for all the indiscretions he’s sweetly related on CMH ( and that they will continue to do so on every subsequent album). 

In the fabulous coda of “Enter My Dream”, KL bellows “I love a lot about dreaming and I dream a lot about love”. And with that, it’s time to do some dreaming…

Nightwatch (1978)

Grade: 8/10

Nightwatch (1978, US #7): The original print ad for the Nightwatch album features the following bit of text:

Some of us do more with our fantasies than others. Kenny Loggins is one of those few who seek to realize their visions. On his very excellent new album, he does just that. He creates music around his own after-dark imaginings. Kenny Loggins’s “Nightwatch”. Where it’s always three o’clock in the morning.

I like how you did that Columbia Records copywriter. Suggestive point made. And yes, you are absolutely correct in your not-remotely-coy description of Nightwatch. KL did expertly transform his “visions”, otherwise known as “horny dreams”, into songs that are for the most part “very excellent”.

Nightwatch is KL’s “sexiest” album. Even the radio-friendly effervescent sweetheart of the LP, “Whenever I Call You Friend”, the hit duet with Stevie Nicks, is a big horndog with fountains of “sweet love flowin’ almost every night” and plans of “doin’ it” FOREVER.

It was an extremely ballsy move to begin Nightwatch with the dark, meandering nearly nine-minute title track (KL thinks you’re smart and sensitive enough to appreciate something so deep and demanding from him straight away). But as far as the album’s running order, that’s where the adventurousness stops. The rest of the tunes on Nightwatch are, for the most part, organized into two distinct clusters—one good, one mediocre—of like-sounding songs on each album side (KL also thinks you don’t want to think). Unfortunately, the sucky three-song cluster™ comes right after the exquisite opener. Each of the three devils that follow—covers of Jerry Riopelle’s “Easy Driver”, Joe South’s” Down In The Boondocks” and KL’s original “Down “N” Dirty”—is a goofy, randy-guy rocker. To be fair, they aren’t terrible. And they hold to the album’s overall theme in that they are vaguely “sexy”, albeit in a bug-eyed cartoonish sort of way. But they aren’t anywhere near the quality of Nightwatch’s other residents…oh hell. Know what? Screw being coy, let’s just call ’em what they are; filler, they are fucking filler. And it especially sucks to be confronted with ’em 1-2-3 in a row after the ethereal Nightwatch has hypnotized you into a love coma (they are real freakin’ mood killers). Thankfully, once the second cluster arrives they pretty much cease to exist. That trio of tunes—tracks five through seven aka the succulent 3-song cluster™— is summer breezy bitchin’ beautiful.

“Whenever I Call You Friend” is fun. It contains all the sonic elements needed to sate one’s ’70s pop needs (infectious chorus, family-friendly horniness, Stevie freakin’ Nicks). But, hot take comin’, “Wait A Little While”, the inspirational flute-fest of windblown hopefulness that follows it, is better. Unlike most of its roommates on Nightwatch, the melodically perky “Wait” only wants to be your friend. It doesn’t wanna do you (right, that’s not what I wanted to say but I’m trying to ration the curses). The song’s message is simple; things are going to get better, you just need to calm the hell down and—forgive me for saying this, there’s just no other word—chill. KL’s vocal performance on “Wait” is a sneaky good one full of clever little inflections ( love that breathy “turn the tide to your fay-ee-yay-vuh” falsetto).

It’s hard to know what to say about the KL-Michael McDonald co-write “What A Fool Believes” at this point. KL has long acknowledged that The Doobie Brothers version of the song (which hit #1 on the Billboard Hot 100 chart in April of ’79) is better than his. He’s right. There’s no point in pretending otherwise. Driving the point even further home is the fact the Doobie version ended up winning Grammys for both “Song Of The Year” and “Record Of The Year”. The KL version is home to some seriously scenery-chewing lead guitar (thumbs down) and not remotely as soulful as The Brothers take. All that said, in the context of Nightwatch, served up amongst like-sounding tunes, it sounds quite alright.

KL and MM accepting their 1979 Song Of The Year Grammy for “What A Fool Believes”. Beards baby, beards.

“Somebody Knows” is the hardest rocking song on Nightwatch. With its galloping drums and irritatingly urgent backing vocals, it comes thundering across Side Two with the confidence and cock(iness)of Led Zeppelin’s “Immigrant Song”, which is what it mistakenly seems to think it is. Still, that is kinda what “Somebody Knows” feels like after the supreme gentleness of the songs that preceded it, which is to say its aggression is hilariously disruptive to the pleasant and tranquil “nightwatching” we’d been doing up until then. But it is markedly better than any of the three tracks in the aforementioned rock cluster on Side One. And I can’t help but be charmed by its desire to not merely to “rock” us but to disrespectfully steamroll whatever peace we’d been enjoying just before it started. KL deserves to have a pair of heavy metal devil hands (aka the Sign of the Horns) held up in his honor for being such a wise guy, even if it was unintentional.

Nightwatch’s two best songs, the title track and album closer “Angelique” are outliers and not just because they happen to bookend the album. In terms of sentiment and structure, their eerie melodic-erotic vibes are light years away from the songs sandwiched between them. Unlike their roommates, “Nightwatch” and “Angelique” are not fun, three-minute “pop-horny” singles but instead are spectral five-plus minute epics about being carnally consumed. With their haunted, dreamy, vampire-lite vibes, they represent the most “goth” moments of the entire KL canon. 

As it happens, KL thought pretty highly of these spacey, soft-rocking, quiet storm soul-ing, gothically-themed songs. In Still Alright, he admits to being dissatisfied with the finished album and feels the lack of consistent collaboration with producer Bob James was what kept it from reaching its artistic potential…and he specifically cites and exalts “Angelique” as an example of what could have been: 

“Angelique” shows what Nightwatch might have been had we pooled our talents more intentionally. If we’d taken the time to craft an album’s worth of that kind of music, it could have been stunning. Instead, he (Bob James) more or less left me to my own devices.

As I mentioned in the intro, the album cover was the dirty, lowbrow reason I bought Nightwatch. And as intensely as I stared at it as a kid, I could never quite make sense of the images and what they were meant to convey. The front featured a bearded KL looking away as an old man peeped at him through a window. The back cover showed a clean-shaven Kenny doing some hide ‘n’ seek thing with a little girl in a sterile, DMV-style office hallway. Were these photographs representations of KL’s greatest fears (Aging? Beardless-ness?). I have no answer. Yet somehow the confusing, mellow creepiness on display in the images manages to capture the album’s vibe perfectly. Schizophrenic and sexy; that’s your Nightwatch. All hail Kenny Log-goth.

Keep The Fire (1979)

Grade: 9/10

Keep The Fire (1979, US #16): The front cover of the third KL solo album of KL cosplaying as a “sexy cult leader-wizard man juxtaposed in front of an air-brushed cosmic sea-scape” is trying to tell us something. Yes, the beatific gaze and precious glowing orb, were conveying a message, namely “I have moved on from the darkness of Nightwatch and am now embracing the light. Come, my disciples, join me”.

In a 1981 interview on the Canadian TV show The New Music, KL stated that the difference between Nightwatch and Keep The Fire was that the former was based in fantasy while the latter was inspired by real-life situations. As contradictory as it may seem, that approach somehow lightened the album, at least in a melodic sense. Produced by the legendary Tom Dowd, even the album’s pair of sad-boy tracks feature delicately uplifting melodies.

“Chuck-it-ta-pa,chuck-it-ta-pa”. So sayeth KL in his vintage beatnik hipster whisper opening ad-lib to the album’s stunning lead single, “This Is It”. Co-written with Michael McDonald, the song was Keep The Fire’s only big hit, peaking at #11 on the Billboard Top 100 pop chart (the album’s title track was also released as a single but only got to #36). “This Is It” isn’t so much an inspirational message as it is a shake-by-the-shoulders expression of frustration (albeit a glossy melodic one with a huge chorus because that’s how KL rolls). The song was inspired by KL’s father Robert, who’d grown frustrated with his health challenges and much to KL’s chagrin wanted to give up. In the case of “This Is It”, fiery sentiment inspired fiery vocals. KL sings himself right to the edge of his throaty threshold; by the time he hits that last “one way or another” in the track’s closing minute, he sounds as if he can hardly breathe. It’s one of the finest vocal performances of the whole KL career.

Unlike its predecessor Nightwatch, Keep The Fire is pretty much free of filler. Even the marginally silly Caribbean-flavored party tune “Junkanoo Holiday” is a charmer, full of funny, sweetly earnest lyrical choices (“you’re an island vol-cay-no!”) and entertainingly off-the-wall flourishes (bass solo baby).

There are a couple of rockers to be had on Keep The Fire and they are a whole lot better than the ones offered up on Nightwatch. Album opener “Love Has Come Of Age” is a sophisticated soft rock approximation of AC/DC’s “Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap” (no, really, I’m not kidding) that KL says was intended for use in the 1980 film American Gigolo but was passed over because KL friend John Travolta dropped out of the lead role. The other rock(ish) tune is the proto-“Footloose”, bar band-ish goofball “Mr.Night” which thanks to its inclusion in the cult classic comedy Caddyshack, continues to party as hard as a drunk frat-boy on his birthday in the streaming universe. It garnered millions of plays despite never having been released as a single (more on that in a minute).

And it wouldn’t be a KL solo album without a sweet smattering of existential pondering. The big-chorused title track and soulful closer, “Will It Last” are Keep The Fire’s resident deep thinkers. They are full of questions, questions, questions directed at the stranger looking back at you in the mirror, significant others, and the universe at large. The pumped-up coda of the former features KL rapturously, repeatedly wailing “Who are you? Where are you? You’re not alone, it’s so wonderful”, which is a pretty damn Dostoyevsky-ian thing to say if you think about it which I sadly have, I mean here I am comparing KL’s words to those of a revered 19th-century Russian author, what the holy hell.

In keeping with the KL tradition, there’s a trio of fine ballads to be had on Keep The Fire. Cynical soul smoothie “Who’s Right, Who’s Wrong” (featuring Michael Jackson on backing vocals) and the she’s-not-coming-back-let-it-go acoustic ballad “Now and Then” (a nod to the old Loggins & Messina sound) are exquisite. Fun (fucking) fact: KL refers to the latter as “Wake The Fuck Up” in his recent memoir.

But the best of the three slowies on offer is the lustrous ‘n’ swoony ballad “Give It Half A Chance”. It is also one of the least-streamed songs on the album which, given the quality of it, is a sad fact I’ve yet to come to terms with. A co-write with underrated soft rocker-supreme songwriter Stephen Bishop, “Give…” features one of the breathiest and most falsetto-ed vocals in the entire KL discography. Anchored by a dreamy, almost comically languid guitar line, it’s also home to perhaps the most sensuous vocal delivery of the word “bathroom” in the history of pop music. It is very hot. The whole album is. Chuck-it-ta-pa, chuck-it-ta-pa.

Soundtrack Sidebar!: In 1980, KL contributed several songs to the Caddyshack soundtrack. “I’m Alright”, with its Eddie Money backing vocals and heavenly bridge got as high as #7 on the Billboard Hot 100 and has become one of KL’s signature songs (let us not forget his freakin’ memoir is called Still Alright). That tune’s success combined with KL’s other contributions to the soundtrack—”Make That Move” ( weirdy, truncated, essentially alternative mix of “I’m Alright”), the just-okay ballad “Lead The Way” and infamous “Mr.Night”—for better or worse, established KL as a soundtrack go-to guy. Fun fact: I saw this movie with an actual LPGA caddy whom my Mom was dating at the time and he absolutely loved it so Caddyshack was, in fact, Caddy Approved™.

This temporarily concludes the lush ‘n’ blissful era of the KL discography. It is now time to (sort of) ROCK (bitches).

High Adventure (1982)

Grade: 9/10

High Adventure (1982, US #13): Musician and proud music nerd Questlove calls the practice of daily playlist-making and musical library maintenance “gardening”. That is a truly perfect characterization. It lends an air of sweet, quirky dignity to some genuinely obsessive, marginally OCD-ish behavior (also, hello to my fellow gardeners). So that’s the official clinical explanation as to why I maintain seven separate K.Loggins-themed playlists in my hoarder-esque library. Now among these excessive lists, is a slab of around 15 songs that goes by the no-frills title of “Loggins Rock”. It’s the gathering spot for KL’s most headbanging tunes i.e. the ones with the chunkiest power chords, the nastiest riffage, and the most (beautifully) strangulated vocals. The studio album with the most representatives in “Loggins Rock” is High Adventure.

Co-produced by Kenny and the legendary Bruce Botnick—whose CV includes the Doors’ LA Woman, and Love’s Forever Changes—High Adventure is the feistiest, most overtly AOR-flavored LP in the solo discography.

The album’s first single, the aggressively, unrelentingly exuberant “Don’t Fight It”, was a co-write/duet with Steve Perry of Journey. KL envisioned it as an ideal opening number for live shows and it’s easy to see why. With its shout-outs to “raising hell” and “moonshine” (the kind of catnip rebellious references that arena crowds especially loved back in the day) and a riotously goofy arrangement, it ticks all the boxes to potentially have filled that role. You either love this song or you freakin’ hate it (no comment). There really isn’t any in-between. The funny thing is that despite its front and center positioning, “Don’t Fight It” is not remotely indicative of High Adventure’s overall lyrical mood…which is basically, something ain’t right in paradise.

“The More We Try”, is a seriously dreamy ballad about not getting what you need. “Swear Your Love”, is an excellent, crunchy-guitared, shoulda-been-a-single confection about proving your love is real. Chunky, tuneful rocker “If It’s Not What You’re Looking For” can’t read your fucking mind and wants you to know you it has given every ounce of love it has to give. “It Must Be Imagination” is a dark, rain-soaked sonic brethren of Tom Petty’s “Stop Draggin’ My Heart Around” that is full of romantic insecurity and desperate for confirmation that you are still in love with it because you seem a little shifty. Melodically perky ‘n’ pragmatic pop anthem “I Gotta Try” is a sweetly packaged pile of cynical observations (the verses) whose chorus isn’t so much you-can-overcome as it is a celebration of complete resignation. Even the luscious ballad “Only A Miracle”, a song inspired by the birth of KL’s first son, is a melancholy, schmaltzy-stringed tearjerker. It should be noted that three of these aforementioned cynical beauties were co-written with KL’s first wife Eva Ein so it’s all pretty meta.

Oh, oh “Heartlight”. 1982 was the year of E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial, the Stephen Spielberg-directed film about a wrinkled sweetheart of an alien who just wanted to go home. Everyone loved E.T. and shops the world over were soon flooded with posters, books, and little leathery plush replicas of him (Yeah, I had one too, and can literally feel his beanbaggy body in my hands right now). By the end of 1982, songs by respected and well-established artists paying tribute to the world’s best-loved spaceman began to appear. First on the ledger was Neil Diamond’s insane “Heartlight” in 1982, a romantic power ballad sung from the point of view of the film’s main (human) character, Elliot. Then came KL’s pleasant, acoustically propelled shuffle “Heartlight” (FYI, “Welcome To…” was added to the title soon after release to avoid confusion). The thing is KL’s song had fuck-all to do with E.T. It was in fact inspired by letters written by students at The Heartlight School in California (whose kids’ chorus sings backup on it). But as “Heartlight” hit the pop charts at the same time the entire world had a heart-on for E.T., it was thought to be a song inspired by the film (I know that’s what I thought when I first heard it back then). Even with the most minimal projection, the description of personal connection in the lyrics can easily be read as Elliot and E.T.’s love story. Because of all this, even though I know it’s wrong, I still hear “Welcome To Heartlight” as lightly ballsy, delicately fist-pumpin’ E.T. appreciation song; it sounds better that way.

“Heartlight” wasn’t about this. But it’s more fun to think that it was.

This brings us to the album’s centerpiece-kingpin-queen bee and certified KL classic, “Heart To Heart”. Composed with renowned producer David Foster and KL’s brother from another mother, Michael McDonald, “Heart To Heart” is one of the finest tunes in the entire Loggins canon (a top-fiver to be sure). A sleek, melodic plea about laying all the cards on the table, “Heart To Heart” sounds deceptively sweet and groovy at the start (thanks in no small part to McDonald’s keyboard riffin’) but grows increasingly heated and desperate as the song progresses. It is a cornucopia of classic KL vocal peacocking. He breathily whispers (“I don’t wanna leave”). He tearily falsetto’s (“This is our last chance”). He wails to the sky (“Does anything last forever?!”).

Despite its quality, High Adventure’s feisty, fabulously tuneful-soft rock-AOR-power chord party monster ass tends to sit near the bottom of the popularity rankings on the big streaming services. Yeah, its lyrics are full of restlessness and frustration. And sure, it’s not as optimistic and breezily melodic as your standard KL album. But out of all the studio albums, High Adventure is the one that sounds the most like his eternally popular soundtrack work. In fact, think of it as just that; a soundtrack to an imaginary movie. The album cover starring KL as Soft Rock-Indiana Jones™ looks like a film poster. The songs tell the story of someone desperately trying to navigate the unpredictable and extremely dangerous wilds of a relationship. High Adventure is the true unsung hero of the discography. It was also the last truly great studio album KL would release for the remainder of the decade.

Soundtrack Sidebar 2!: In 1984, KL hit big with his contributions to the Footloose soundtrack ( “Footloose” and “I’m Free ( Heaven Helps The Man)”. As of this writing, the overbearingly fun title track has been streamed over 700 million times. That is sick. I admit, “Footloose” wouldn’t even make my KL top 100 ( just tired of it) but I continue to stan hard for the endearingly urgent, awesomely AOR, oh-so-eighties “I’m Free”. That one fucking rules.

Three amazing KL 7″ sleeves from around the globe in the ’80s. Benevolent starship commander, infamous murderer, JCPenney-teen-girl catalog model, you name it, Loggins can be it.

Vox Humana (1985)

Grade: 5/10

Vox Humana (1985, US #41): By 1985, MTV had firmly established itself as the premier musical tastemaker in the USA (and became my personal overlord). If an older artist hoped to compete with the network’s favored hot young things like Duran Duran and Madonna, they had to modernize both sonically and sartorially (aka adapt or “die”). KL went with the flow. He cut his hair into a short ‘n’ spiky style. He began rolling up the sleeves of his jackets. And, most significantly, he waved goodbye to the traditional band sounds he’d previously employed and dove headlong into the synthesized sound that was dominating the pop charts…which brings us to the fifth KL solo album, Vox Humana.

Vox Humana isn’t outright terrible, but calling it “mediocre” feels overly complimentary. Let’s just say it sits somewhere in between those two disappointing characterizations.

The album’s first single, opening track, and unofficial hype-man “Vox Humana” is the kookiest, most off-the-wall track KL ever recorded. If you ever wondered what it would sound like if “Footloose” and “I’m Alright” were violently mashed together into one uncontrollable, over-caffeinated monster, “Vox Humana” is here to sate your curiosity. KL is open about the fact that the manic rock-dance tune was a conscious and overt attempt to create another “Footloose”. While it isn’t quite as infectious as its inspiration, it possesses an appealingly unhinged quality and is liberally decorated with all kinds of fun ‘n’ ridiculous ’80s-style production flourishes. Think of it as your eccentric, yet lovable, crazy aunt or uncle in song form.

Composed by KL and Michael McDonald with Ed Sanford, “No Lookin’ Back”, an opposites attract marriage of chipper melody to questioning/gotta-get-the-hell-away-from-here escape lyrics is also a pretty sweet song. But good as it is, KL can’t lay claim to the definitive version. That distinction goes to the McDonald man, who even went so far to name his 1985 album after it (MM planting that flag hard). The McDonald version has a lot more “oomph” than KL’s, which is to say it’s just a whole lot ballsier than his. This point was driven home by it’s appearance in the legendary, kick-ass escape movie, Thelma and Louise, which shall forever serve as an eternal affirmation of its superiority.

The album’s best tune by several hundred miles, is the sinewy, sensuous, soulful seven-minute seducer, “Love Will Follow”. Delivered in a breathy falsetto, complemented with some mandatory-in-the-’80s Sexy-Sax™ and clocking in at languorous seven minutes and fifteen seconds(!), it’s Vox Humana’s finest, foxiest moment.

Okay. It’s time to talk frankly about one of the most beloved ballads in the KL songbook, “Forever”. Describing “Forever” as an insanely overwrought devotional power ballad feels like an understatement. Its musical trajectory is something like BOMBASTIC-quiet-EVEN MORE BOMBASTIC. It features a chorus that is ALL CAPS ALL THE TIME. Now there’s no shame in liking or even loving this giant heart-shaped Godzilla of a song (you sentimental fool you). But it’s also okay to freakin’ hate it and cringe every time it insidiously enters your ear space and plays over the CVS or Walmart soundsystem (I see you, Grinchy comrades). “Forever” is just one of those “ear of the beholder” songs. As for me, I remain a fence-sitter meaning I both dislike it and include it in playlists when I’m “feeling ’80s”…which is most of the time.

Closed eyes, clenched fist, furrowed brow. KL is seriously feelin’ it in the “Forever” video. Especially when the clock hits 4:23. Also, that baggy pseudo-plaid suit is bitchin’.

The rest of Vox Humana is occupied by a slate of interchangeable, unexceptional, vaguely danceable pop-soul songs (“Loraine”, “I’ll Be There”, “At Last”, “I’m Gonna Do It Right” plus the painfully perky, overly eager “Let There Be Love”). I know that sounds dismissive but as far as KL music goes, this shit was weak. 

The four good songs—or three depending on how you feel about our melodramatic friend “Forever”—can’t make up for the fact that Vox Humana‘s other five tracks simply aren’t that memorable. Still, despite its less-than-stellar content, Vox Humana isn’t the most disappointing, or even the worst, KL studio album in the discography. No, that honor belongs to what came next.

Soundtrack Sidebar 3!: In 1986, KL recorded two songs for the Top Gun soundtrack ( yes, I know, duh). The—hot take comin’—just okay but popular “Danger Zone” was written by electro-genius Giorgio Moroder and Tom Whitlock with KL contributing some words ‘n’ riffs (sidebar: KL says he was trying to mimic Tina Turner’s ’80s-era vocal style for the song. Listen to it that way and it will sound infinitely cooler). Then there was the KL-Peter Wolf (the songwriter not the J. Geils singer) composition “Playing With The Boys” which soundtracks the legendarily homoerotic volleyball scene from the film. KL claims the sexual attraction between the scene and the song was unintentional and alludes to its being interpreted this way as a surprise in his memoir…to which I say, no Loggins, I don’t accept this notion and I’m not gonna allow you to ruin this for me with your “facts”.

Back To Avalon (1988)

Grade: 3/10

Back To Avalon (1988, US #69): Back to Avalon can be filed alongside those other well-documented, not-so-great ’80s albums by previously successful superstars. The roll call includes David Bowie’s Tonight (oof), The Rolling Stones’s Dirty Work (eegh), and, for the sake of stylistic comparison, KL’s soul-pop compatriots Daryl Hall & John Oates’s Ooh Yeah! (ugh). Despite having been released nearly 40 freakin’ years ago, both Tonight and Dirty remain critical punching bags, and regularly appear at the bottom of lists ranking Bowie and Stones’ albums.

Back To Avalon isn’t worse than any of those mediocre records. But when sat next to the first four KL solo LPs, it straight-up sucks.

With six producers at the helm, and over a dozen songwriters contributing, KL often sounds like a special guest on what was meant to be his own album. That wouldn’t be a deal breaker if it were full of unimpeachably great songs, but it is not. The album contained not one, but two KL soundtrack songs; the okay, AOR-ish, Huey Lewis “The Power Of Love” sound-alike, theme from Caddyshack II “Nobody’s Fool”, and underwhelming ballad “Meet Me Halfway” from the Sylvester Stallone arm-wrestling epic Over The Top (Genius Giorgio Moroder co-wrote the latter but it’s one of the lesser lights within in his staggering songwriting CV). As KL had never before featured songs specifically recorded for soundtracks on a studio album, the inclusion of these two tracks seemed a bit odd. Was he caving in to his new official soundtrack-guy persona? Was he padding out the album because he didn’t have enough songs? Either way, their presence on an actual KL studio album was a clear sign that something was a bit off with Back To Avalon.

Things went straight downhill from there. From “She’s Dangerous” (the weakest M.McDonald/KL collab ever) to the hyperactive and terrible cover of the “Tell Her” (gender-flipped version of The Exciters 1962 hit “Tell Him”), to nearly everything in-between (a slate of seven faceless, interchangeable adult contemporary pop-soul songs, none of which deserve to be singled out), nothing stood up to what had come before…well, almost that is. To be fair, the album did have one genuinely fabulous occupant. Melodic-rock banger “I’m Gonna Miss You” is a fine, dirty-sweet-with-an-edge break-up tune that is as good as any of the Arena Rockers on High Adventure. It deserved a better home than Back To Avalon provided.

Soundtrack Sidebar 4!: In addition to the two aforementioned soundtrack contributions, KL did a duet with Gladys Knight for the film Rocky IV called “Double Or Nothing” which despite the participation of these two spectacular singers is painfully dated and unspecial. It is not remotely good enough to be considered for inclusion on my speculative Now That’s What I Call Loggins album…yet it remains one of KL’s most streamed tunes so what the hell do I know.

What You’re Feeling There’s A Reason For: So Back To Avalon was bad…but it did do one good thing; it helped trigger a genuine musical epiphany, the gist of which was that KL was tired of singing other people’s songs and actively chasing radio airplay. He also wasn’t too crazy about the fact that soundtrack tunes were the things he was becoming best known for. By late 1988 the dyed-in-the-wool albums guy living inside KL had had enough of this tag team of creative derailment. So back into the studio he went to record a new LP. 

The first thing this defiant new version of KL did before recording started was to tape a sign on the wall to establish the vibe. It said “Fuck radio”.

Yes, we’ve now arrived at the part of the discographic breakdown where KL defies the historical rock god odds and in his twentieth year of being a recording artist makes one of the finer albums of his career.

Leap of Faith (1991)

Grade: 8/10

Leap Of Faith (1991, US #71): As we have seen time and time again in the pop world, successful artists tend to have a handful of peak creative years before slipping into the creative doldrums ( right, no matter how much one loves Prince we all recognize that his ’90s and beyond stuff can’t touch what he served up in the ’70s and ’80s). Some bands call it a day while they are still peaking, going out on a creative high thereby avoiding the inevitable decline and besmirchment of their reputation (e.g. neither The Police nor The Smiths made a bad studio album). Every now and then there will be a rare bird whose consistent goodness spans decades (e.g. Kate Bush, Sade). Then there are established artists who continue to make perfectly fine but not necessarily essential albums in their twilight years (e.g. Dylan, Springsteen). But perhaps humanity’s most inspiring birds of all, are those artists that actually get better with age (e.g. Radiohead, Low). 

Making an album rivaling the supreme work you did decades before is a rare occurrence. KL was already twenty years into his recording career when he released Leap Of Faith. It is KL’s favorite KL album.

There’s a quote in Still Alright that perfectly pinpoints Leap Of Faith’s vibe:

“Sometimes I feel like my songs talk to me, trying to get my attention. Leap Of Faith was very much that kind of record. I intimately understood the impetus behind every track. At one point a reporter asked me about the album in contrast to my soundtrack work, and I told him I was scoring the movie of my life. I like that answer”

In a nutshell, Leap Of Faith is a bunch of handsome, new-agey pop songs documenting the end of KL’s first marriage and the beginning of the relationship that would lead to his second. To be even more brutally reductive, it’s about death and rebirth. It’s also the first Loggins album where he truly runs wild, not giving a crap about the rules or what’s cool or logical. There’s a freakin’ children’s choir. There are deep cut-cult hero guests like the late slide guitar virtuoso David Lindley and Mavis (queen-legend) Staples. There’s weird stuff like KL having esteemed session player Hiram Bullock take over the latter half of the title track with a crazy improvised vocal run. It’s both emotionally buck-naked and cloyingly sentimental. The topper is that nine of its twelve tracks run over five minutes meaning Loggins fulfilled his mission and got to flip a big ol’ sonic bird to the radio programmers. 

Meet Kenny “Proggins”. Leap Of Faith sees KL exploring his prog-rock side (in his soft rock way of course), something which he’d hinted at on Nightwatch but had never fully indulged in before. With its extended verses, lengthy wanderings away and back to the chorus, “Leap Of Faith” the song, is a soft rocker with delicate leanings toward the Genesis’s and Marillion’s of the world, meaning it’s an epic wind-blown journey whose main priority is still the tune as opposed to the instrumental noodling. The somber acoustic ballad “My Father’s House” has a similar vibe, sounding like a mash-up of the aforementioned Genesis’s lovely old ballad “Entangled” and a wistful Dan Fogelberg deep cut. Fun fact: KL was also super into Peter Gabriel’s incredible soundtrack album The Last Temptation Of Christ at the time he was recording Leap Of Faith and its worldly sonic influence is also evident on a number of tracks. 

Of course, there are also plenty of straight-up pop songs living on Leap Of Faith too. The best of the bunch are lush, divorce-themed smoothie “The Real Thing”, breezy karmic-connection love story “Sweet Reunion” and the album’s crown jewel, the grand, seriously swoony ballad “Too Early For The Sun”. With a run time of over eight minutes, “Too Early” is the longest track on Leap and features the aforementioned Mavis Staples who lands like an angel near the outro and proceeds to gently kill. On the second tier of goodness are the bubbly pop-gospel singalong and downright Winans-esque “If You Believe” and the idiosyncratic “Now Or Never”, a cheery yet self-admonishing mish-mosh of glistening acoustic guitar, worldly rhythms, and the always welcome random chunky power chords.

Loggins talking about Leap with Jay Leno in October of ’91. Look at the size of that longbox.

Of course, it wouldn’t be a Loggins album without at least a little bit of gushy sentimentality. Representing Team Corn are “Cody’s Song”, a well-meaning mush-fest dedicated to KL’s second son, and the squishy, syrupy “I Would Do Anything” a duet with Sheryl Crow which for added bonus cringe features ocean sounds in its outro. Then there’s “Conviction Of The Heart”. If you are even a remotely cynical soul, this earnest plea for environmental awareness probably won’t move you. Between the little kid acapella vocal that opens the track which I confess to editing off more than one mix tape back in the day (I am the devil) to the choir accompaniment and gospel-lite vibe, it’s well-meanin’ but somewhat cheezin’.

In his Still Alright memoir, KL mentions that within the devoted KL fanbase lives a sub-group that favors Leap Of Faith above all other albums: 

The people who “get” it, whose devotion to the record rivals my own, are like a community unto themselves. I call them “Leapers”. If you’re among their ranks, you know who you are. It’s a bit of an exclusive club, like a secret society without the handshake.

When I first read that, I was skeptical. KL talked about Leap Of Faith as if it was a fabled cult classic, like Weezer’s Pinkerton or Neutral Milk Hotel’s In The Aeroplane Over The Sea, the sort of thing only an innately empathetic, in-the-know ear could appreciate (and famous for being regarded that very way). 

But then I thought about it. Much as I love KL, did I have some built-in bias against Leap’s cult qualifications because it wasn’t a “cool” record? Was the sneeriness triggered because it seemed like he was trying to make Leap sound “cooler” than it actually was? 

“Cult classics” are frequently the most polarizing LPs in an artist’s discography, the most misunderstood, pointedly personal, and least successful sales-wise (at least upon initial release). They often detour from the established creative pattern of the artist, are more experimental and yes, indulgent. By those standards, Leap could fit the cult classic bill. It wasn’t a smash hit, only getting as high as #71 on the Billboard pop album chart. Three of its four singles hit the Adult Contemporary top ten but only “Now Or Never” even penetrated the pop Top 40 and barely at that. The album was home to the longest and most autobiographical songs of KL’s career. Take all of these established cult classic personality traits into consideration and know what, the existence of “Leapers” doesn’t seem that far-fetched after all. 

What Leap Of Faith definitely is though, is a sentimental, occasionally brutal, schmaltzy, and desperately over-the-top soft-rock album that wears its heart on its sleeve. After the two not-so-great albums that preceded it, it was a genuine hell yes-breath of fresh air. KL still freakin’ had it after all.

It turned out Leap was only part one of a larger exploration and dissection of KL’s personal life. The next chapter was even more intimate and revealing…but mostly, it was crazy. Here we go…

Soundtrack Sidebar 4!: After the artistic triumph of Leap Of Faith and reclamation of his muse, you’d have thought that KL had lost interest in doing movie songs he didn’t write. But old habits die hard. Slushy ballad “For the First Time” featured in the film One Fine Day and went to #1 on the Billboard Adult Contemporary chart. It was even nominated for a freakin’ Academy Award (didn’t win). But it isn’t remotely as good as his own melodramatic mush-monster “Forever”.

The Unimaginable Life (1997)

Grade: 4/10

The Unimaginable Life (1997, US #107): As this is the first I’ve ever gotten to share my feelings about the craziness that was KL’s The Unimaginable Life “project”, I need to let loose for a bit (that’s an inside joke for those of you in the know about how Kenny and his second wife Julia Cooper first met). There was of course an album which I will get to in a minute. But there was also a book of the same title released to coincide with it.

The Unimaginable Life book is a masterpiece of oversharing, celebrating the courtship and marriage of Kenny and Julia, KL’s former colon hydrotherapist and spiritual guide. Amongst its over-the-top declarations of love, angst, and insecurity lives a personal (understatement) anecdote so hilariously unsettling that even though 20+ years have passed since I first read it, I have never quite been able to extricate from my brain. It involves an actual red-hot chemical reaction that occurred within some lady parts and know what, I’ve already said too much. I’m pretty sure that was not supposed to be my big takeaway from Unimaginable Life, “the book” but there you have it.

The book was less a rock ‘n’ roll memoir than it was a new-agey, semi-self-help, pseudo-diaristic ramble that was so specific to the Kenny and Julia story that it was very hard to “feel” or become “engaged” with. Shit, I know I’m dancing here. What I’m saying is that even as a hardcore fan, I found myself growing more and more impatient as I read, determined not to skim or skip, because you know, it was KL and I was loyal like that. Yeah, there are hints of sordid rock ‘n’ roll behavior that KL alludes to early in the book, but things quickly denigrate into descriptions of the moon over Big Sur, crystals, and hyperbolic love letters. 

The sharing wasn’t confined to the pages of the book either, oh no. I vividly remember a magazine interview promoting The Unimaginable Life where KL and JL described how Kenny’s shaving his beard off had created a new erogenous zone for them to explore. The fact that they volunteered this intimate personal nugget is both hilarious and wonderfully weird as shit.

The beard-free KL in 1997. Welcome to the erogenous zone.

Still, I retain a lingering affection for the book and all its indulgent, relentless self-analysis. Not only because it is head-shakingly nuts in places but because I think the Loggins-zez were coming from a genuinely sincere place. Thus Unimaginable Life still sits proudly on the bookshelf, in between more tragic tomes about Janis Joplin and Lynyrd Skynyrd, blessing me with its idealistic, rainbow light every time I walk by…which brings us to Unimaginable LIfe, the album. 

The clinical description of The Unimaginable Life goes something like this; TUL (let’s just call it) is an R&B-flavored Adult Contemporary pop album that occasionally flirts with smooth jazz and ’90s style Peter Gabriel-ish (him again) world-ish sounds. There are also a lot of New Age-y sonic touches and earthy sound effects (a duduk here, some crickets there). 

While it is similar in overall vibe to Leap of Faith and features a lookalike cover design, TUL leans far harder into the R&B than its predecessor. To be clear, KL’s soul sound is not the melodic, fun ‘n’ funky sort that was dominating radio in the ’90s but the LA slick, music-for-grown people kind. For TUL, KL enlisted the one person who could straddle the line between the two styles with true expertise; Kenneth “Babyface’ Edmonds. On paper, the collaboration sounded promising, but their two co-writes “All I Ask” and “No Doubt About Love” turned out to be surprisingly faceless and forgettable. And that’s the situation with most of TUL’s contents. KL also revisits and expounds upon themes from Leap Of Faith. “This Island Earth” is a well-intentioned environmentally-themed song in the vein of Leap’s “Conviction Of The Heart” but lacks the sticky chorus and tunefulness of the latter. 

While all the aforementioned stuff is disappointing, the toughest tracks are those most closely related to the book. The primary example of this is “Birth Energy”. Slathered in loved-up spirituality and featuring both a cringey spoken word section and an ostentatious Santana-like guitar solo, “Birth” is the sound of a peasant-bloused cult, dancing on a tropical beach around a bonfire. It is the “Revolution # 9” of TUL which is to say that no matter how much you love the KL, getting through it requires genuine willpower. 

In addition, there are two songs that so resemble existing old classics by other artists, they are practically tributes: “Art Of Letting Go” (Stevie Wonder meets Steve Miller’s “Fly Like An Eagle” hybrid) and “I Am Not Hiding” (a bland sound-alike to DeBarge’s candied sweetheart, from 1982, “I Like It”). 

After the triumph of the Leap album, it’s hard not to feel let down byTUL. But, but there are actually a couple of redemptive moments aka bonafide beauties to be had! “The Rest Of Your Life” had actually been made available a few months before its appearance on TUL, as part of the hits compilation Yesterday, Today, Tomorrow. A handsome melodic sibling to “Heart To Heart”, “Rest” is reassuringly reminiscent of early ’80s pop-Loggins. The song starts lonely (“solitary life”, “dinner alone”, “independent heart” all getting namechecks) before falling headfirst into rapturous love (“you’ve given me the rush of starting over”) in the most tuneful way imaginable. Then there is “One Chance At a Time”.

“One Chance At a Time” has ambitions y’all. Written with future Alanis Morissette collaborator-Jagged Little Pill producer-songwriter Glen Ballard, it stands taller than nearly every other song on TUL. “One Chance” starts as a spare, twinkly self-flagellating ballad, before gradually morphing into a fabulous string-soaked power hymn. Judging by KL’s vocal delivery, he’d been completely bowled over by Mavis Staples’s guest spot on Leap Of Faith because damn, the growly, lowdown vocal he delivers here is positively Mavis-esque and brimming with seductive, soulful fire.

The Unimaginable LIfe was the closing of a chapter. Six years would pass before KL released another pop studio album. In between, he kicked out both kids and Christmas-themed albums (we’ll talk about those shortly) but from this point on the pop stuff became less of a priority. 

Soundtrack Sidebar 5!: 2000’s The Tigger Movie features a KL collaboration with the legendary Sherman Brothers who’d written countless classics for a myriad of Disney films including The Jungle Book and Mary Poppins. They were also behind the devilish “It’s A Small World”. “Your Heart Will Lead You Home” plays over the ending credits and sounds exactly how you’d imagine i.e. saccharine-packed and generically inspirational…you know the drill.

It’s About Time (2003)

Grade: 4/10

It’s About Time (2003, didn’t hit the U.S. Top 200 pop album chart, but did get to #10 on the U.S. Independent Album aka Indie chart): KL had already begun recording It’s About Time when Sony/Columbia decided to drop him from the label. According to him, it was a pretty heartless break-up with a lower-level label VP calling him as opposed to one of the big execs and zero words of gratitude for the hefty revenue he’d generated for them over the years. He ended up using his own savings to pay for the completion of It’s About Time.

It’s About Time isn’t an essential, must-have album. It’s more of an “Oh cool, KL is still into doing new things and there’ll probably be a couple of good songs on it” record. 

In keeping with all of KL’s post-’80s studio albums, there is some serious soul-baring happening on It’s About Time.”The One That Got Away” is an open letter to KL’s son Cody from whom he was estranged at the time. Treacly in arrangement, passionate in delivery, full of love (“I miss you every day”) and bitterness (“I’m sick and tired of doin’ time, for a crime I didn’t do”), it’s by far, the LP’s most memorable tune. The song features a stellar vocal and, to acknowledge the pop elephant in the room, really brings home the similarity between the voices of KL and George Michael as much as anything in the entire Loggins catalog. Other goodies include moody, low-key ’70s soft rock-style shuffle “Brothers” (think Crosby & Nash or Firefall) and the cringely titled but soulfully swirling, sweetly slushy “I Miss Us”. Honorable mention goes to exceptionally tuneful, Babyface soundalike and proud mushball “With This Ring” (there’s a lot of sentimentality happenin’ on It’s About Time in case you haven’t noticed). It should be noted that all four of the aforementioned songs were co-written with pop-rocker Richard Marx (did he murder Mary in his 1992 “Hazard” video? You decide). Apart from their one uptempo collab, the huffing ‘n’ puffing but never living up to its title “The Undeniable Groove”, these two seasoned blokes worked really well together.

To elaborate on that last bit, the least compelling tracks are the uptempo ones. From the Seal-influenced but not up to Seal-standard “This Is How My Song Goes” to the silly, country-flavored “Alive ‘n’ Kickin” to the very ordinary groove of the title track (a shockingly weak collab with the angel Michael McDonald), none of the pumped-up songs truly shine.

It’s About Time is not a full-blooded beast of an album. But it is home to a few tunes worthy of inclusion on an ultimate Loggins playlist…and after all that came before, that’s more than enough. 

How About Now (2007)

Grade: 5/10

How About Now (2007, did not chart): Begging. Broken-hearted belligerence. Bob Dylan’s Blood On The Tracks. Marvin Gaye’s Here, My Dear. Yup, nothin’ like a crusty, cranky ol’ divorce album to spice up the ol’ discography. 

How About Now is KL’s self-christened “official divorce album”. It is not a seminal break-up classic like the two aforementioned LPs…but it is definitely less of a jerk than either of those angry, but admittedly beautiful animals.

How About Now is perfectly symmetrical in that six of its dozen tracks are good and, gonna be blunt, six are not (this album would’ve made a solid EP). The KL voice had matured at this point so the vocals tend to have a more handsomely grizzled quality to ’em which perfectly fits the overall mood…and fits like a glove on the more country-flavored tunes. The album’s three biggest and best twangers are the catchy as hell “I’ll Remember Your Name”, “A Year’s Worth Of Distance” (which has a strain of a Jackson Browne-Running On Empty Era circulating in its veins as well), and the epic, fab-collab with singer-songwriter Radney Foster, “This Too Will Pass”, a lush, over-the-top Eagles-style throwback and a true hidden gem within in the KL canon (for real). And what would a divorce album be without some straight-up, cryin’-in-your-beer balladry? Countering the tunes of party-stomping defiance are the angsty acoustic slow burn singalong, “Truth Is”, and the diaristic, mournful “I Don’t Want to Hate You Anymore”. Also gotta give an honorable mention to the infectious “If You Never Been There” and its charmingly ’90s-ish Edwin McCain stylings (hey, it’s okay to like McCain).

The other six tracks on How About Now are pretty pedestrian as far as Loggins tunes go. From the try-way-too-hard soul-gospel cornball, “That’s When I’ll Find You” to the exceptionally bitchy, bar band bust “I’m A Free Man Now” to a superfluous remake of Loggins & Messina chestnut “A Love Song”, none are a patch on the aforementioned stuff. And though it’s obviously meant to tie a neat bow on all that’s come before, the raspy, self-aware closing track, “One Last Goodbye Song” is “just okay” and not a shoo-in pick for anyone’s Loggins’s Greatest Sad Boy Slow Jams playlist.

As of this writing, How About Now—official home to a handful of sugary, searing and perfectly fine country-pop songs—stands as the last pop album KL has released. Yeah, there are moments of “man criticizing woman who can’t talk back” present on the album as a whole, but you don’t get showered with the overt nastiness that you hear in the Dylan and Gaye albums either. And KL clearly needed to make this kind of record to exorcise his heartbreak and move on. As he apologetically croons on “One Last Goodbye Song”:

Please forgive my tendency to wanna strip it to the bone
The trouble is my stubborn heart
Has got a mind all of its own

Live Albums

Kenny Loggins Alive! (1980, US #11); Outside: From The Redwoods (1993, US #60); Listening to a good live album can feel like an out-of-body experience. The Allman Brothers At Fillmore East will literally transport you to a grungy NYC East Village theater at midnight in 1971. Aretha Franklin’s Amazing Grace will sit you down in a steamy LA church in 1972 and shake your soul. 

While Kenny Loggins Alive! isn’t as gorgeously gritty as those two sweaty, wonderful things, it does possess genuinely transportive qualities. Once the unnamed MC bellows “THIS IS IT, LOS ANGELES!” at the start of Side One, you are there i.e. floating within a sweet bubble of soft rock in a weed-scented West Coast sports arena in the late ’70s which honestly, sounds pretty nice to me, as does the album. 

The performances are uniformly tight, and as the recordings were drawn from shows that took place from 1978-1980, the track selection is pretty flawless. Opener “I Believe In Love”, and deep cut “Angelique” rival the original studio versions in overall goodness but it’s the ballads that steal the show. At this stage of his career, KL was well aware of his “hot troubadour” status and flexed this muscle hard on the Alive! slow jams. “You Don’t Know Me” and “Why Do People Lie” are filled to the brim with breathy wonder and supremely calculated moments of falsetto all of which ignite rapturous shrieking from the heated babes in attendance. So mission accomplished there Loggins you manipulative devil.

Live Sidebar!: 1982 saw the release of a concert video titled Alive! “, which despite the name is not a visual representation of the album but a full-length live concert at the Santa Barbara Bowl from the same era ( confusing I know). It is notable for KL’s all-red ensemble which resembles a jumpsuit even though it consists of separates. The performance of “Celebrate Me Home” features some turned-up-to-11 artist-audience bonding including one sloppy, bearded kiss and makes for a highly entertaining viewing experience (to be fair, the vocal KL served up was pretty fucking good too. He deserved the love).

Not a still from a Nat Geo special, just KL being “celebrated home” at the Santa B. Bowl.

KL’s second live album, Outside: From The Redwoods, was recorded on June 23,1993 in Santa Cruz, California. The manically leaping rock star who starred on Alive! back in the late ’70s doesn’t feature on Outside. He has been replaced by a mellow, loved-up guy in a flannel shirt playing delicately reimagined old faves with good friends ( plus a handful of tunes from his then newest LP, Leap of Faith). Surrounded by majestic trees and sunbeams, KL delivers a gentle hug of performance (figuratively that is, not literally like in ’82’s Alive! vid). There’s a nice acoustically-led version “This Is It” as well as a spare and genuinely lovely—deep cut alert!—”Now and Then”. There are a couple of pretty sweet duets present as well. “Love Will Follow” stars hot ’90s soulstress Shanice who throws down and effortlessly ad-libs up a storm and “What A Fool Believes” featuring Michael McDonald exudes a groovy ‘n’ sleek sweetness. P.S. It should be noted that there was a video version of the show that featured songs not included on the actual album including “Forever” and vice versa. Confusing I know, but a “good” aka sly way for record labels to ensnare the completist dollar (maybe yours and definitely mine).

Compilations

Compilations: Love Songs (1993, did not chart); Yesterday, Today, Tomorrow (1997, US #39); Essential (2002, US #181): Compilation albums are the antithesis of this essay. In the late 20th and early 21st century, CDs were the dominant physical format. By the way, I’m just speaking of the U.S. and U.K. here as CDs are still big in Japan (for real but I digress). I was working in a big mega-music store in NYC during those CD salad days and can confirm that compilations like Yesterday, Today, Tomorrow were the lifeblood of every two-fer sale we ever had. They weren’t for hardcore fans. They were mainly for dabblers who just wanted to bask in the familiar and have something to play in the car or on the boombox at the barbecue or beach. These days (that’d be the digital era), hits compilations are a sonic shortcut for people who just aren’t motivated enough to wanna dig deeper (yet!). And of course, greatest hits collections are the go-to albums when a prominent artist passes (true).

Love Songs has a weird, slightly incoherent track selection. Some former singles, and some deep cuts all gathered under a blanket of “love” despite not all being about the celebratory romantic kind. For example what the fuck are “Conviction Of The Heart’ and “Heart To Heart” doing on it? Yesterday, Today, Tomorrow is a more succint straight-up hits collection with one newbie (at the time), the kick-ass “The Rest Of Your Life” which was meant as a taster for the then forthcoming The Unimaginable Life album. Essential is a pretty extensive overview and features nearly every single including the soundtrack stuff as well as Loggins and Messina tracks. As such, this is the compilation most deserving of recommendation. 

There’s never been an official KL box set with all the singles plus, more excitingly, rarities or previously unreleased stuff. None of the studio albums have been given the true double-disc deluxe treatment either. Here’s hoping someone, somewhere will get crackin’ on this ASAP. 

Side Project Sidebar!: KL also moonlighted for a bit as part of a trio called Blue Sky Riders who have kicked out three albums since uniting in 2013. They are country-flavored and just okay. KL admitted in his memoir that the experience of being “part of the band” wasn’t as fulfilling and fun as he had hoped it would be (understatement). In 2020, KL collaborated/sang lead on a new version of the old BSR track, “Why Not” with ukulele player Jake Shimabukuro. It has been streamed millions of times, meaning it charmed many humans despite not being one of KL’s finest works ( it isn’t even worth inclusion in a hypothetical top 100 KL songs of all-time list). But it is popular, so here we are doin’ the right thing and acknowledging it.

Kids ‘n’ Christmas Albums

Return To Pooh Corner (1994, US #65 ); More Songs From Pooh Corner ( 2000, did not chart); All Join In (2009, did not chart); December (1998, US #148): Return To Pooh Corner is full of sentimental Gen X faves (weird but true). There’s “Pure Imagination”, “Rainbow Connection” and “The Last Unicorn”. There’s a little Lennon (“Love”) as well Rickie Lee Jones’s classic “The Horses” (plus a mixed bag of traditional tunes and kid-themed Loggins originals). It’s billed as “music for parents and children to enjoy together”, but actually makes for a pretty chill listen whether it’s being shared with the squirts or not (though I could do without “To-Ra-Loo-Ra”. Yeah, I said it). Return To Pooh Corner proved to be immensely popular and ultimately went platinum making it one of the best-selling albums of KL’s career.

The song choices on KL”s other two kid-themed releases, More Songs From Pooh Corner and All Join In are far less savvy and compelling than those on Return. The former is heavy on songs from modern-day, mostly Disney-generated kid’s movies (“Tarzan”, “Babe” etc.), the latter is a goofy party record of nerdy ’60s classic rock (Traffic, Donovan) and newer quirk (tunes by Mika and Feist) which I’m making sound more fun to listen to than it actually is. Return is by far the best of the kid-themed offerings.

We Need To Talk About The Album Covers: If you are reading this, there’s a good chance you like Kenny Loggins and maybe even feel a little protective of him. When I first saw the cover of KL’s first kids album, Return To Pooh Corner upon its release with its purple moon, shawl, denim domination, and distractingly small over-the-shoulder unicorn, I cringed. I mean I get it, it’s an album of music for children, its outside needed to reflect and convey the whimsical and heartwarming theme of the music within. But I knew there was no way I could keep others from laughing at it. Still, as bad as that cover was, it didn’t come near the visual horror of its follow-up More Songs From Pooh Corner. There’s no need for me to get specific in regard to that one. We can both see it. 

Christmas Time Is Here!: There are only two truly must-have Christmas albums in existence: Vince Guaraldi’s A Charlie Brown Christmas (1965) and A Christmas Gift For You from Phil Spector (1963). And okay, honorable mention to the Carpenters’ Christmas Portrait (1978). These LPs are so gorgeous and have set the Xmas music bar so impossibly high, that the best anyone can do at this point is make something pleasant and just plain okay which is what December ultimately is. The LP invariably features a few standards including a couple of songs that some of us would be okay with never hearing again—talking to you “White Christmas” and “The Christmas Song (Chestnuts Freakin’ Roasting). But KL also throws a couple of cool curves along the way by not only incorporating several Christmas-themed originals but by including nice versions of two of the best melancholy seasonal songs ever: the aforementioned Vince Guaraldi’s “Christmas Time Is Here” and the ethereal 1982 theme from animated classic The Snowman, “Walking In The Air”.

Bonus: A Quick Look at Loggins & Messina

Between 1971 and 1976, Loggins & Messina released six studio albums. While none of them could be classified as a must-have, all-time great LP, there are some seriously memorable songs to be had within them. And they are not necessarily the hits or best-known tracks. The duo’s first album Sittin’ In (1971, US #70) is home to evergreen softie classics “Danny’s Song” and “House At Pooh Corner” but gotta offer a firm nod of approval for the album’s closing track. “Rock and Roll Mood” opens on a bed of whiskey-soaked piano and explodes once it hits the bridge, at which point young KL stretches out and positively belts to fabulous effect.

The album that followed, Loggins And Messina (1972, US #16) is home to both the goofy and, okay, grating top 5 hit “Your Mama Don’t Dance”, and long-term live-fave “Angry Eyes”. It also features one of L&M’s true deep-cut classics; the piano pop mini-epic with a massive melodic hammer of a bridge, “Til The Ends Meet” which, fun fact, is about KL courting his first wife and future songwriting partner Eva Ein. 

While the Full Sail  LP (1973, US #10) stars treacly snuggle-bug “A Love Song”, its main claim to fame is its actual album cover showing Loggins & Messina “sailing” which served as partial inspiration for the future term, and concept of “Yacht Rock”. 

Mother Lode (1974, US #8) has two supremely gorgeous under-the-radar residents: summery, bittersweet “Brighter Days” which features some mighty handsome mandolin from Messina, and “Fever Dream”, an ethereal, windblown beauty KL co-wrote with singer-songwriter Maury Muehleisen (who died in the same plane crash as Jim Croce in 1973).

The duo’s fifth album So Fine (1975, US #21), features covers of songs from the ’50s and ’60s that L & M had loved in their youth…or at least Messina did. KL is not crazy about this album (being kind here because, in his Still Alright memoir, it sounds like he low-grade hates it). Put simply, it’s an accomplished novelty that fulfilled a contractual obligation. The final studio LP Native Sons (1976, US #16) ended things in a fizzly, faceless fashion though it has one sorta standout track, the flute-driven “Peacemaker” which hints at some of the sonic textures KL went on to explore in his solo excursions. 

There are also three (!) L&M live albums. The first, On Stage (1974, US #5) features fab acoustic charmer “You Could Break My Heart” which didn’t appear on any of the studio releases (p.s. Listen on headphones to hear an actual audience spat featuring an audible “fuck you asshole” during the first verse, fun!). There’s actually a lot to be charmed by on the LP, including a crazy 21-minute version of “Vahevala” where following the standard four-minute song, L&M and the band slide into a lengthy and entertainingly peculiar jam/soundscape that sounds like what can only be described as “Tropical Grateful Dead Krautrock”. This weirdly compelling track is one of the many reasons On Stage outshines the other two live releases Finale (1977, US #83) and latter-day reunion Live: Sittin’ In Again at the Santa Barbara Bowl (2005, did not chart), both of which are mostly for sentimental completists.

In addition, there are four compilations, two of which are worth noting. 2005’s The Best: Sittin’In Again provides a decent overview for the uninitiated and is the most popular L&M album in the streaming world ( though it doesn’t feature rapturous angels “Brighter Days” or “Fever Dream”). The Best Of Friends (1976, US #61) is a simple ten-song hits ‘n’ faves collection and features a glorious denim’n’velour “seventies guy” cover. To this very day, it is the first image that pops into my head whenever I think of Loggins & Messina.

Sure KL’s short-length jeans might seem cool now, but in the ’70s if you dared to wear them to school, you would have been shamed by other kids shouting “flood’s over” at you.

In Conclusion

KL’s official memoir Still Alright is honest and laid back. He sporadically uses the word “fucking” as both an adverb and an adjective which, frankly, I fucking love (ex. “fuckin’ woodpeckers”). He also spits a line of wisdom within it that transcends its context so well, I feel the need to share it. After describing his less-than-stellar audition for Linda Ronstadt’s band in the early ’70s, he offers this small but perfectly formed theory on such scenarios. It is a nugget of true self-awareness and can be applied to most life experiences:

“If I’m not where I belong, I suck”.

Every Kenny Loggins-themed article, review, or interview will first and foremost acknowledge his status as “The Soundtrack King” (naturally). In addition, many of those pieces will talk up his status as a distinguished forefather of Yacht Rock (no gettin’ around it). More often than not they’ll mention Michael McDonald (Soul Brother) and give a nod to KL’s successful foray into kids’ music (can’t be denied).

The tendency to focus on those popular biographical facts is understandable. The studio albums are rarely, if ever, mentioned as singular entities. This is a damn shame, for the most sonically adventurous, melodically transcendent, and emotionally unrestrained Loggins sounds are found exclusively on those solo studio albums. The breeziest, most confessional pop-soul-smoothies. The boldly lengthy, downright proggy epics. The luminous late-night love notes where “the glow from the bathroom down the hall lights a mirror on the wall”. The studio albums showcase Loggins as the freewheeling soft rock wizard he really is. The outrageously successful “Soundtrack King” gets all the attention but that “Albums Guy”? He’s the one that deserves some real celebration⚡️

Yearly New Wonders: Best Songs ‘n’ Albums of 2022!

I’m keeping things simple this year. No mile-long list of the best tunes or long-winded explanations as to why they sound so good and shone above all others in 2022. Because even though I love a passionate list, like most of you, at this point, I am officially suffering from “online end-of-year list fatigue”, the figurative flu that all music, film, and book nerds become afflicted with every December. That said, I do have a treat I hope will fire you up enough to check out these last couple of lists! In addition to a way more succinct PuR’s Best/Favorite/Most Sublime Songs of 2022 playlist (a consumable 30 tracks!), I am privileged to share PuR pal and contributor Ed Zed’s list of his Favorite Albums of 2022!

It used to concern me that my year-end list of the best songs bore zero resemblance to those posted by Pitchfork, the New York Times, Rolling Stone, and the big places. I’d think I wasn’t doing what I was “supposed to” and that I should be more concerned with the work of the big names and more drawn to the big hits (even on this piddly little blog) for my list to be “credible”. But screw all that. It’s way more fun to follow your arrow and get dirty and head down the road less traveled when it comes to finding new music. I’m an introvert who avoids the bright lights and TikToks and just prefers stepping off the main road, heading into the woods, and picking up rocks I’ve chosen myself ( like how I did that?)…all of which is my way of saying, these lists are highly idiosyncratic and born from pure love (promise). And I respect you as a fellow weirdo connoisseur and know you don’t want to hear about the same old shiz everyone else is talking about.

And so friends, I now present to you TWO (!) eccentric, heartfelt lists which I hope you still have a little room for in your best-music-playlists-to-listen-to-over-the-next-week–maybe schedule. Both were handmade for nerdy, romantic weirdos (you) by nerdy, romantic weirdos (us). We get you. Thank you for looking at Picking Up Rocks this year. I promise some seriously mad essays and beautiful music in 2023 so, please follow us if that interests you. And THANK YOU to all of you wonderful nuts who have spent time on PuR this year. You f*cking ROCK and I f*cking mean that ;)! Big love to you all!

PuR’s 30 Best Beautiful Bastard Songs of 2022 Playlist!

Melody remains my own personal Jesus and is the foundation of how the yearly PuR Best Songs list is “computed”. And with that, please enjoy these weird, endlessly wonderful songs made by gorgeously inspired humans. Hope they make you swoon.

Listen on Soundcloud:

Listen on Spotify

Ed Zed’s 10 Best Brilliantly Bitchin’ Albums of 2023!

Note from Ed: There are two in the top slot, as the depth, beauty, and unmitigated splendor of Lucrecia Dalt’s ¡Ay! and Carla dal Forno’s Come Around were truly impossible to choose between. The other eight are in no real order, because they’re all equally spectacular to me:

1.Lucrecia Dalt – ¡Ay! (listen here)
2.(but technically tied for first) –Carla dal Forno – Come Around (listen here)
3.700 Bliss – Nothing To Declare (listen here)
4.Kakuhan – Metal Zone (listen here)
5.Lea Bertucci & Ben Vida – Murmurations (listen here)
6.Anzahlung – What You Think Is All You’ve Got (listen here)
7.L4b – L4b (listen here)
8.StinkyJim – Spacial Awareness (listen here)
9.Jennifer Vanilla – Castle In The Sky (listen here)
10.Cosey Fanni Tutti – Delia Derbyshire: The Myths and the Legendary
Tapes (listen here)

Alligator Lizards in the Air: Discovering America

“A Horse With No Name”. “Ventura Highway”. “Sister Golden Hair”. “Tin Man”. Soft rock trio America were a freakin’ hit machine in the ’70s. For at least a decade, you couldn’t swing a cat at a radio wave without hitting an America song. And when I was a kid, I hated them. They didn’t rock. They didn’t shred. I didn’t think they were hot. To my ears, they made music for big sisters, babysitters, and older cousins. I thought they sucked.

But early in the 21st century, something shifted. I became inexplicably fixated on the song “Tin Man” and decided to do some exploring in America-land, I mean maybe there were some similarly transcendent old gems hidden within their catalog of albums all of whose titles began with the freakin’ letter H (Homecoming, Hat Trick, Holiday, Hearts, History, Hideaway, Harbor, History). 

Well, turns out there were a lot of gems. Some of the deep cuts were, well, downright majestic. And just like that, my elitist pride got sent directly to the time-out room to have a good think about its previous attitude and behavior. Sure, it took a couple of decades, but I finally did discover America.

I now invite you to Cover Me, the home and haven of all things cover version, to read my mea culpa regarding the sound of America. It’s a tribute to the band’s best-selling greatest hits album History and features some wonderfully weird covers of songs from that LP by an assortment of flakes, school kids, and a soul man. There are a couple that are so off-the-wall and creepy that I’ve come to prefer them to the originals and the fact is, there can never be enough unintentionally weird cover versions of ’70s soft rock songs. 

Come indulge in the History here!

The heat was hot and the ground was dry…

Thermonuclear Youth: A Guide to Punk’s Feral Kids

We know all about the Sex Pistols and Ramones. But what about the children? Step back in time with our hero Ed Zed of legendary kid punk band The Walking Abortions, as he recalls, recommends, and celebrates the finest noise-making, sneery, juvenile delinquent bastards in punk history and celebrates the brat that lives in all of us. Up yours, mine, and everybody’s…

Ah, punk…What a parent it was. A drunken, louche, overly permissive parent who nonetheless shepherded me through the turbulent landscape of my youth pretty damned well.

It helped me at age 12, for instance, to swap the nighttime vandalism born of my prepubescent angst for a slightly worthier pursuit: singing and drumming in a band called The Walking Abortions. Well, I did say a slightly worthier pursuit. But more on that later.

Most of punk’s surviving progenitors are now approaching pensionable age, some of whom—for better or for worse—are still flying the flag of the movement that first radiated its shockwaves four and a half decades ago. Nothing wrong with that of course. I mean, if one views punk as the people’s culture, then surely it shouldn’t discriminate against something as inexorable as human aging, right? Depends on who you ask, I suppose.

For me, no matter how far I may stray in time and taste from the raucous path it originally sent me down, I know that a kernel of punk will remain at my core ‘til I pop my clogs. There’s no denying, however, that punk is often at its most potent when sparking those white-hot fires of youth, something that seems in no danger of ceasing as long as there are pissed-off squirts in the world.

As one such former squirt, I’ve always loved punk rock made by kids—for its rawness, its naïveté, and its honesty, unfettered by the rigors of this sham called adult life.

And that, my pogoing kin, is what brings us here today: We are diving into the glorious world of the child punks. The bands and their wicked ‘n’ wild anthems featured below are in no particular order (which seems fitting), but I’m starting with Eater, as they were the first of the punk tykes I ever encountered. So without further ado…

Eater – ‘Thinkin’ of the USA’ (The Label, 1977)

Despite not always being taken seriously by certain members of the so-called punk elite, cheeky 15-year-olds Eater were a bonafide part of the first wave of UK punk, and bloody great to boot.

They were a huge influence on my own brat punk outfit, particularly their second single ‘Thinkin’ of the USA’, which really spoke to us in its yearning for excitement beyond the monochrome world of London’s fringe towns.

Coincidentally, my nascent troupe formed a friendship with Eater’s vocalist Andy Blade after we found out he worked in our local offy (that’s a liquor store to you, America). 

At age 16 I very briefly played drums for a reformed version of Eater, and Andy went on to manage one of my later bands, but that’s another story. Right now, get on down to this ’77 corker by the original teen degenerates:

Teddy and the Frat Girls – ‘Club Nite’ (Fartfaced Decadence, 1980)

This is without a doubt one of my favorite songs of all time. An exquisite, raving howl of unparalleled teenage delirium, ‘Club Nite’ pushes the needle straight through the red until it pops off, and the gauge glass shatters completely.

The lead caterwauler for this unholy platoon was the fabulously named Cookie Mold, 16 at the time the Frat Girls’ lone E.P. was recorded. 

Amidst a burgeoning drug habit and a strong desire to flee her native West Palm Beach, she and guitarist Spam Ax did just that, relocating to San Francisco where they proceeded to sell the reissue rights to the Frat Girls’ record to one Jello Biafra without ever consulting their other bandmates.

Regardless of the dubious morality of such a move, this wider pressing on Alternative Tentacles did allow far more of the world to be exposed to the horrific aural splendor of Teddy and the Frat Girls, and in my humble opinion that is exactly what the world needed. And very much still does.

The Prats – ‘Disco Pope’ (Rough Trade, 1980)

I first heard The Prats on the legendary Earcom 1 compilation, and couldn’t believe how such an amateurish-sounding band could deliver a song as catchy as ‘Inverness’.

Even though me and my mates initially made fun of their ramshackle racket, that soon changed when we heard the ‘1990s Pop E.P.’ which contains what I consider to be their greatest track, ‘Disco Pope’. 

‘Pope’ is something of a Prats mission statement, voicing their disillusionment with the confines of punk itself and a yearning for fresh new territory.

For these lads to be thinking in that way at such a young age was incredibly inspiring to me as a wee snot a decade hence, and I like to think that they helped me to eventually look beyond ‘the punk bang crash’ and ‘Sham and The Clash’ myself (not that I would ever totally leave those things behind of course 🙂

On a side note, when former Walking Abortions guitarist Sam Phetamin and I were in our 20s, we phoned the contact number on the back of ‘1990s Pop E.P.’ one inebriated night, and – unbelievably – got through to former Prat, Jeff Maguire, and had a long and lovely chat with him. Tragically, Jeff succumbed to cancer in 2020, but the legacy of his fabulous band of forward-looking punks lives on. 

Check this wonderful latter-day ‘Disco Pope’ video One Little Independent made to accompany the release of The Prats compilation ‘Prats Way Up High’ from 2020:

Fatal Microbes – ‘Beautiful Pictures’ (Small Wonder, 1979)

One of those records that belongs on the ‘can’t quite believe this even exists’ list, given the deeply unstable life of its main protagonist at the time.

14-year-old Honey Bane was uncharitably deemed a ‘juvenile delinquent’ by many, but then such sweeping classifications so often conveniently sidestep the complex issues of many a young life.

Amidst her myriad tribulations, Bane formed Fatal Microbes with three other young ‘uns in 1978, and though they were together for less than a year, they released during that time the now legendary ‘Violence Grows’ E.P. on the equally legendary Small Wonder / Xntrix labels.

The title track is a slow, ominous ode to the aggression and bystander apathy then (and still) so woefully prevalent on British streets, and while this stunning song is arguably their best known, it’s one of the E.P.’s b-sides that I love the most.

In ‘Beautiful Pictures’, a bracingly incisive satire of consumerist voyeurism, Bane sends up the vacuum of Pepsi-sheened pageantry to devastating effect.

She broke free from a detention center shortly after the Microbes split, teaming up with Crass to release the brilliant and harrowing ‘Girl on the Run’, but as space here is limited, dear reader, you’ll have to consult the interwebs for the remainder of her story.

Chandra – ‘Kate’ (GO GO Records, 1980)

Chandra Oppenheim’s ‘Transportation’ EP is a remarkable record in all sorts of ways, not least because it affords a view of tense early ’80s NYC through the eyes of a whip-smart 12-year-old.

Many of the songs on ‘Transportation’ are introspective, intellectual excursions that transcend the short years of their author, whilst others deal overtly – though no less eloquently – with more immediate ‘kid’ concerns, i.e. strangers, the perils of the subway, and in this case, the infuriatingly popular girl at school. 

‘Kate’ is hypnotically unsettling, baiting its ‘too nice’ subject as someone to whom ‘we offered help, but she didn’t accept’, before she is clinically dismissed: ‘we don’t want you, we can’t use you, you’re too good for us’. 

The track pits an uncomfortable battle between the crowd-pleasers and the cognoscenti, its sinister sing-song melody evoking a sneering playground taunt as young Chandra sticks the verbal boot in. 

Skinned Teen – ‘Punk Rockest’ (Soul Static Sound, 1993)

Widely regarded as the UK’s first true Riot Grrrl band – and certainly one of its most vital – Skinned Teen were an incandescent and hugely influential force of ’90s punk, with luminaries such as Kathleen Hanna and Beth Ditto citing them as an inspiration.

The excoriating ‘Punk Rockest’ from their first full-length E.P. ‘Karate Hairdresser’ is a short, sharp stab in the face of punk elitism, laying waste in just over one minute to the risible, rule-bearing ‘guardians’ of the culture. 

Asserting themselves as ‘more punk rock than you’ll ever be’ whilst ‘making it up as we go along’, Skinned Teen issue a stark reminder of why the freedom of DIY spirit is so essential to punk, and why misty-eyed, beer-bellied Clash disciples can really just shit off.

The ‘Karate Hairdresser’ E.P. is included here in full because the whole thing is so short. ‘Punk Rockest’ appears at 1:43:

The Silver – ‘Do You Wanna Dance?’ (Black Label Series, 1980)

One of two seriously dementoid entries in this list (Teddy and the Frat Girls win the crown however), and a prime example of the riotous abandon with which kids can stomp all over music when they don’t have dullard grownups at their shoulders telling them how it’s ‘supposed’ to be done.

To even call Finnish 14-year-olds The Silver’s squalling deconstruction of Bobby Freeman’s candy-coated classic punk would be to pigeonhole it too much. The reality is closer to an outsider noise recording that borders on absolute formlessness—it sounds as though the two band members are punching their guitars rather than strumming them—whilst elsewhere pots and pans are beaten to scrap metal in the name of percussion.

At one point the song stops entirely as the band dissolves into a fit of giggles, and oh god, the whole thing is just fucking bonkers and beautiful.

Period Pains – ‘Daddy I Want A Pony’ (Damaged Goods, 1997)

Period Pains, the woefully short-lived Reading four-piece who gave the world ‘Spice Girls (Who Do You Think You Are?)’ in 1997, also served up this bitingly sardonic skewering of rich kid greed that very same year.

‘Daddy I Want A Pony’s hilarious lyrics are spat with insouciant glee over buzzsaw guitars and tumbling drums, and armed with corking tunes like this it’s not hard to see why the Pains were briefly Britain’s late ’90s punk cool kids.

The Walking Abortions once invited them to play a gig with us at our local youth club, and though we’d never have admitted it at the time, we were a bit jealous ‘cuz they were better than us. Of course, we can admit this now because we’re all mature, well-balanced adults.

Unit 3 with Venus – ‘Beer’ (Permanent Records, 1982) and ‘B.O.Y.S.’ (Posh Boy, 1982)

Venus wins the prize for the youngest band member featured in this whole piece, at a mere 8 years young when these dazzling tracks were hatched. Her mom, dad, and uncle formed the rest of Unit 3, with uber-cool Venus taking care of the vocals, and lordy, this lot were incredible.

Releasing only one E.P. and a few comp tracks before Venus grew somewhat weary of punk and decided to focus instead on school, Unit 3 burned bright in their briefness, and gave the world the spectacular synth-punk anthem ‘Beer’.

A forthright putdown of that time-honored substance we so-called grownups can’t seem to get enough of, ‘Beer’ tips the glass of adulthood squarely upside down and sloshes it down the toilet. 

Another of U3wV’s tracks ‘B.O.Y.S.’ is so freaking splendid that I had to make this one a double feature. Surfacing on Rodney Bingenheimer’s ‘Rodney on the ROQ Vol II’ compilation, ‘B.O.Y.S.’ catalogs the qualities a young lad should possess to call himself Venus’s friend, and the track is every bit as sweet as it is swaggering. 

Earth Dies Burning – ‘Another 6 Year Old’ (circa 1982, released 2013, Captured Tracks)

Something gnarly was brewing in San Fernando Valley in 1981, and it wasn’t just rising intonation. A posse of synth-punk whippersnappers calling themselves Earth Dies Burning with an average age of 14 blasted onto the CA scene that year, brandishing tiny Casio VL-Tone keyboards instead of time-honored guitars, and—at one point—coffee cans instead of a drum kit.

Although the band lasted about three years, criminally no one ever saw fit to release any of their divine recordings until 2013, when Captured Tracks flung ‘Songs from the Valley of the Bored Teenager’ into our jaded faces.

Every track on this comp is superb, but the itchy, nasty squall of ‘Another 6 Year Old’ is the jewel in EDB’s pubescent crown. The track was inspired by the preposterous news story of 6-year-old Nancy Jo Burch who hit a classmate with a stick, prompting the victim’s parents to demand that Nancy Jo be tried in court as an adult for the offense. Ah, Florida…….

The Walking Abortions – ‘Four White Walls’ (Incognito, 1996)

So…time for your humble scribe to take the stage, I s’pose. The aforementioned Walking Abortions— my own gaggle of barely teenage wastelanders—is probably the main reason I feel I have any right at all to pen this sprawling appraisal of some of punk’s bastard children.

That’s teen Ed in the leather telepathically telling us to f*ck right off.

In the short time we were together, the WAs’ revolving cast of misfits managed to get on national TV, play shows we probably had no business playing with the likes of Sham 69, The Damned, and Minty, and ‘work’ at the London retail HQ of popular ’90s trainers/sneakers, Acupuncture (i.e. smoke lots of cigarettes and steal things).

Somewhere along the line, a small German record label saw fit to release our first record, the ‘Handy Pany Tony Tandy E.P.’, which provides the best snapshot of our angry, angst-ridden din. And as track 3, ‘Four White Walls’, was the first ‘proper’ song we ever wrote, it seems like the one to feature here.

This downbeat ditty was partly inspired by my nan’s near-constant kvetching at having to live out the last of her days in the poky London flat she and I shared at the time, paired with the sadness and uncertainty I felt at her decline into what I now know was serious dementia.

The lyrics that 12-year-old scrote penned back in 1992 still kind of haunt me, as they came from a haunted place, but ‘Walls’ is also very dear to my heart in spite of that. Anyway, here it is, kids:

And in case anyone is curious about the kind of filth the UK’s Channel 4 saw fit to put on the telly back in 1994: 

Ed Zed (formerly Ed Ache in his Walking Abortions days) is a musician (sort of) from London, now residing in NYC. He is one half of a fractured pop duo with his wife Varrick, until recently known as The Casual Sexists. They’re now called Strange Flesh and have an EP coming out in November 2022, with an album to follow in early 2023.

Both incarnations of the band are bloody marvelous, and can be enjoyed both here and here.

The Greatest Book Ever Written…

There was once a book, a magical, mystical book. It was called The Illustrated Encyclopedia Of Rock. It had a life-altering effect on two children growing up on opposite sides of the Atlantic Ocean, kickstarting their musical passion and turning them into nerds forever. The curious kids were PuR friend Tim Procter and myself. Tim wanted to write a piece paying tribute to this mad book that has been so foundational for both of us, a truly absurd coincidence that still blows my freakin’ mind. Come now and meet the greatest book ever written. Take it away Tim…

“We’ve done our best”

-from the introduction of The Illustrated Encyclopedia Of Rock

I have a theory. That at some crucial point in every music nerd’s life, something came along that nudged them from loving music into needing to devote significant chunks of their brains to it, and not just the sounds but all the contextual gubbins that enrich and enhance the noises coming out of the speakers; you know this or you wouldn’t be on this site. And I don’t mean establishing some canon or Weight of Rock History; just knowing some stuff can make the sound of the most obscure West Coast ‘80s soft rocker or grubby one-album Mancunian indie band that much more real to you, if your brain is wired that way and the right object fell into your lap at the right time. Chances are if you’re a music obsessive of the ‘70s or ‘80s, this key thing was a book. Some codex that opened up the world of discographies, biographies, release dates, and suitably amazing facts. There are some big hitters alright—The Guinness Book of British Hit Singles, Pete Frame’s Rock Family Trees. The lush Album Cover Albums that Hipgnosis put out must have fused music and art obsessions in many impressionable minds. And here’s mine, dear readers—introducing 1977’s The Illustrated Encyclopedia of Rock. Not just The Encyclopedia of Rock. The Illustrated Encyclopedia of Rock, if you please.

Page one of ye olde encyclopedia, starring The King.

Because of my own reverence for the book, I’d assumed it was regarded as something of a classic in music nerd circles, but it appears not. The Pink Floyd Archives with its comprehensive survey of all print things Floydian, skims over it—“Includes an entry on Pink Floyd.” They’re on the cover! The Dark Side of the Moon prism is on the inner cover! The authors even claim that the absolute slog of Ummagumma is “of interest”!! The book is readily available on second-hand sites and rarely cited, unlike a lot of other reference works of the time.

It was written by two NME journalists, Nick Logan and Bob Woffinden; parts of it appeared in NME and the first edition was published by Harmony Books in 1976 but the widely available version, in the UK at least, was published in July 1977 by Salamander Books. Ah, Salamander Books, purveyors of many “encyclopedias” of coffee table size and glossy production value that would never see an actual coffee table but would see the floor of a teenage boy’s bedroom – combat aircraft, trains, tanks, Salamander had encyclopedias for them all.

Publishers Salamander Books were all over the boy-dreamer market.

The IEoR (as I’ll now call it as endlessly typing The Illustrated Encyclopedia of Rock is a faff) wasn’t the first rock encyclopedia; Lilian Roxon’s Rock Encyclopedia came out in ’69, and the 3-volume Encyclopedia of Rock by Phil Hardy and Dave Laing just beat it out in 1976 (now that one was an attempt at a canonical Weight of Rock History – I kind of hope it was sold in sets door to door along with Britannica…). But I would contend that The IEoR was the first one to be affordable and accessible to the teenage market.

In the summer of 1980, I was about 10, nearing 11. Music already had deep hooks in me. Only Doctor Who approached the sacredness of Top of the Pops and Radio 1’s Sunday Top 40 countdown. Blondie, Abba, Madness, Kate Bush; my parents’ battered copy of The Beatles 1962-1966 (aka The Red Album, as every schoolkid knows). Adam & The Ants, Ultravox, and Kim Wilde were about to happen. Dragged round to a friend of my dad’s house one afternoon, I volunteered to tidy up their son’s records. He’d recently left home and left an unruly heap of vinyl and mostly inner sleeves spilling out of the cabinet under their music centre, and his dad was complaining about not being able to find his favourite brass band record. I saw a chance to get away from having to help plan cricket matches. Amidst the battered bargain Jethro Tull and ELP compilations I found a book. “An encyclopedia, like we have at school? Booooori… wait, it’s about music? Wow, Abba are in it. Are Madness in it? No, well, that’s useless then. Wait, it’s got, like a gazillion pages on The Beatles and a cool picture of them coming out of an airliner!” “I’m borrowing this, is that alright?” I never got an answer, cricket team selection was in full swing. I put it in my bag.

Messrs Logan and Woffinden make a pretty lofty claim for their book, as well they might—“the most complete one-volume rock encyclopedia there’s ever been.” They may be right. They actually asked record labels to stop releasing records for nine months (seriously!!) to allow the 1977 version to be definitive. Imagine the author of another Salamander cracker, Airliners: The Flagships of the Jet Age asking the same—“Dear Boeing, can you, like, stop making planes for nine months, so my book, can be, you know, definitive? Please?” They were definitely right to call it “Illustrated”. Forgive the 1970s printing and repro quality a bit, and it still looks lush. Hundreds of album covers were photographed specially for it, there’s press and publicity shots, Abbey Road blown up to nearly a double-page spread, a winsome Joni Mitchell is given half a page, there’s a mad tinted pic of Jerry Garcia in full-bearded flow, a gem of a pic of The Faces all boozed up looking like they’re having the best time on the ale, and a (deliberately I suspect) low-quality black and white shot of tragic British blues pioneer Graham Bond that makes him look truly deranged.

Meet the entry on Graham Bond. Terrifying kids since 1977™

Awesome, majestic Moody Blues spookfest “Nights in White Satin” had enjoyed yet another long chart run just before I got The IEoR. It really haunted me, that tune. So I looked up The Moody Blues in my newly-purloined volume: “…following [of] semi-Messianic proportions”? What? They’re like Jesus?! Oh, hang on, “became obsessed with their own importance,… ever more burdened with clichéd cosmic messages”? No thanks, I’m nearly 11 and The Police are at Number 1. (But thanks to the discography I knew that This Is The Moody Blues was a double comp that covered all their late ‘60s/early ‘70s stuff in one neat package. I found it recently for a couple of quid in a charity shop, tatty as hell, and what do you know, there’s a scratch across “Nights in White Satin”. That’s cosmic justice at work. But other haunting, beautiful tracks like “New Horizons” and “Melancholy Man” play just fine.) Playground consensus in 1980 (well, me and the two friends who would talk about music) was that Peter Gabriel’s “Games Without Frontiers” was shit. Weird, grating and the dressing up in the video was creepy, not fun like Madness or dashing like Adam Ant. I suspect I secretly liked it though, because I looked Mr. Gabriel up in The IEoR—wait, what? He was in Genesis?? Genesis who’ve just had that cool “Turn It On Again”, made even cooler by Top of the Pops putting swooshy effects on Phil Collins’ Hawaiian shirt??? Phil Collins took over from Gabriel on vocals??? And played drums on his albums??? Wooaah, OK. Maybe there’s something to this Gabriel bloke after all.

The actual, ailing LP that stayed alive long enough for Tim to rescue it in 2022.

Yes, The IEoR is dated in its writing style. But – and looking back, this is dead important – it’s a hell of a broad church of a book for one that professes to focus on rock. Yes, the entries for Led Zep and Floyd are immense and fawning (“Jimmy Page, axe king of heavy metal, gentleman land-owner…”), especially as in ’77 the latter were redundant. Logan and Woffinden like their British guitar rock. But as noted, Abba are in there. ELO. Hot Chocolate (honestly! And it’s a really positive entry). Their weaker points are not surprisingly, pop and disco—wherefore art thou Rose Royce, Thelma Houston, and other big mid-‘70s disco players? But LaBelle are in, with a truly bonkers picture to boot.

Here’s LaBelle absolutely owning their pages in The IEoR. Apologies to Jug Band for their unfortunate placement in this scenario.

It’s a lot more diverse than you’d expect from two white male NME writers in 1977. And yes, they embrace punk although they clearly prefer the term “New Wave”. The Pistols (who hadn’t released an album by their deadline), The Clash, Ramones, New York Dolls, Stranglers, Eddie & The Hot Rods all get good write-ups. There’s the odd occasion where they catch themselves putting someone in who they admire and find a really stretched rock connection to justify it, like their words on Dolly Parton’s New Harvest…First Gathering; “Dolly’s most rock-oriented effort yet was indicated as much by the denim clothes…” In the late 1970s, it wasn’t so acceptable for rock blokes to like Dolly Parton’s music. The book is also refreshingly free of ‘70s sexism (mostly – they point out Joni Mitchell was photographed nude for, For the Roses and “like everything Joni does, it was very tasteful.” Did I check my local library for a copy of For the Roses? Yes. They didn’t have it.). They champion some quite unexpected female artists: the aforementioned Dolly; arty, cerebral Dory Previn; and Laura Nyro who is likened to the poet Rimbaud. I had no idea who either were, I tried a Laura Nyro record and did not get it one iota at age 11… And while entries are mostly praising or at least neutral, when they do let their prejudices slip, it produces some hilarious hyperbole: “…as good an example as any with which to approach the theory of the vacuum effect in rock” (Queen), or “… [her] tiresome public persona was embarrassing even her die-hard fans (Patti Smith – ouch!)

Pages from the lushest of all Rock reference books ever.

In all honesty, though, the majority of music in The IEoR passed me by. It landed on me too early to make me a collector, and I didn’t have the pocket money, cool friends, or older siblings through which to access the old stuff they were waxing lyrical about. As the constant newness of early ‘80s pop bombarded me, reading about the old stuff faded. Then heavy metal got me and I scorned The IEoR. Not including Motorhead, I could just about forgive as they had one patchy underground album to their name in ’77, but omitting Judas Priest was heresy, blasphemy, and tons of other “ys”. Priest kick-started modern metal with 1976’s Sad Wings of Destiny and 1977’s Sin After Sin. Both are awesome. The latter was on CBS. WHY are they not in, my proto-outraged metalhead self ranted. The IEoR became more shelf-bound and was left behind when I went to university…Logan and Woffinden were not metal fans. Kiss were dismissed as “recycled heavy metal grunge decked out in comic book trappings” when grunge was not a good thing to be. There you go, lexicon devils, the use of ‘grunge’ in 1977!

But The IEoR had lodged something in my brain. For a start, it taught me, however subconsciously, that music was a massively broad church with lots to be enjoyed all over the shop. It probably saved me from getting too tribal over genres I got obsessed with in my teens and early ‘20s, like metal or US underground noise rock. The interesting stuff I’d read about in IEoR had become embedded in my memory banks and would often surface when crate digging or charity shop trawling – a Sensational Alex Harvey Band album here, a Four Tops comp there. It taught me the joy of a good music reference book, and no other encyclopedia quite lived up to it. 1983’s International Encyclopedia of Hard Rock and Heavy Metal was a pale shadow, barely illustrated and often too dismissive.

The entry in this book for Metallica simply reads “Motorhead clones.” Um, yeah, okay.

Then there was The Rough Guide to Rock which was not only lacking on the illustration and discography front but whose 2003 edition was littered with sloppy mistakes. I mean, The Minutemen were fronted by Daniel Boone? Seriously?

Daniel Boone and D. Boon of punk-hardcore legends, Minutemen. Not the same person.

The internet and Wikipedia may now supply all the music reference material you can consume in a dozen lifetimes, but give me the enthusiasm of a pre-‘net music encyclopedia over Wikipedia any day. And on the net, although rabbit holes beckon, you still have to decide your start point, and what your first search term is. With an encyclopedia, there’s the genuinely random nature of letting it fall open and going “ooh, I’ll try that.” Valentinian Chance, I believe. It’s how the Grateful Dead found their name—in an encyclopedia.

A toast to the Greatest Book Ever Written…

The IEoR went through a couple more editions in the late ‘70s, expanded and with new hipper artists like The Police on the cover, but it sadly didn’t stick as a constantly updated institution like the Guinness Book of British Hit Singles. A shame, but the vagaries of pre-digital publishing and the sheer effort involved surely meant it was unsustainable, and it could never be as definitive as its authors desired. To net-nerds it’ll be a curio, but a curio well worth seeking out, if only to understand how we pre-digital nerds hungrily consumed music facts. So Tony Jackson, I still have your copy of The Illustrated Encyclopedia of Rock. I’d like to borrow it a little longer…

Editors postscript!: This crazy old book is easy to find on the cheap on your eBay’s, Amazon’s and such. It’s probably not going to change your life at this stage of humanity but it makes a sweet and, yes, lush addition to any music book library. IEoR forever!

Hello Earth: A Discographic Journey Into Kate Bush

photo by gered mankowitz

Has Kate Bush ever made a bad album? Is she an acquired taste? Should she be looked upon with the same reverence as The Beatles? If someone you love doesn’t like her, can their opinion be trusted? Is she underrated? Overrated? Join historian Matthew Restall and I (Hope) as we dig madly, deeply, and excessively into the discography and ponder all its treasures ‘n’ trolls. It’s in the trees, it’s coming!

MATTHEW: As you, Hope, recently referred to Kate Bush on PuR as your lord and savior, it seemed appropriate for us to praise her—and appraise her remarkable catalog of albums—in this the year she turns 64 (this very month). This also gives us a chance to celebrate the fortieth anniversary of her seminal album The Dreaming (but is it one of her best?!), and to protest her third unsuccessful nomination to the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame (2018, 2021, 2022) (but really who gives a monkey’s? Not Kate, surely!).

We were also half way through the conversation below when Kate had an explosive, unexpected moment. As I write, “Running Up That Hill” is #1 in the UK and seven other countries, in the US Top Five, and the biggest worldwide hit of her career. I have no problem with a BBC DJ referring to the song as “from the Stranger Things” soundtrack, with no mention of it being 37 years old or of its masterful parent album, Hounds of Love; on the contrary, I like the way that grants Kate a kind of timelessness. But for us, and perhaps for you too, dear reader, context matters much—both the historical context of the 45-year Bush career, and our own personal context as fans. What follows below, then, is some of that context.

HOPE: Back in 2003, Tricky, a pretty inventive artist in his own right, offered some words about Kate to MOJO magazine that I have never forgotten and continue to adore;
“Some of the greatest singers in the world…you can spot their influences. But Kate Bush has no mother or father. I’d be an average musician, like everyone else, if it wasn’t for her. I don’t believe in God, but if I did, her music would be my bible. Her music sounds religious to me. She should be treasured more than The Beatles”.

I especially love the last line. It’s not a hot take, it’s a proud and heartfelt plea. And I get it. Kate Bush is a singular, once-in-a-generation artist, the rarest of rare birds, completely out there, in possession of an almost incomprehensible talent yet utterly relatable, a mouthpiece, sage and pal to the glorious population of weirdos that love her ( including maybe you reading this, definitely us writing this, and for sure Big Boi from OutKast).

Kate’s ongoing Rock & Roll Hall Of Fame rejection is bullshit. But to be honest, I regard the RRHOF the same way I do The Ripley’s Believe It Or Not! and Guinness Book museums. Induction seems now to be determined by whoever yells the loudest. And fact is, Kate Bush is not one of those people who needs this type of official validation to cement her legacy. She’s inspired generations of damn fine artists (including Tori Amos, Joanna Newsom and Florence Welch), given millions of people the strength to get through their darkest hours and made transcendently wonderful songs that sound like literally no one else’s. So you know, f*ck the RRHOF. What she does is just between you and her anyway, a museum display isn’t gonna change anything. Wow, we’ve barely started and already I’m ranting like a nut. Okay, just keep breathing, out, in, out in.

Wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, un-freaking-believable.

We Both Matter Don’t We?: As you mentioned, Matthew, about a month or so after we started writing this something strange happened…or rather something Stranger Things happened. Kate’s 1985 classic “Running Up That Hill” was used to soundtrack a climactic scene in the Season 4 premiere episode. And over the day that followed, the song completely blew up, subsequently ascending to the top of the Apple Music chart, and then national charts around the world, garnering millions plays on Spotify and YouTube, inspiring masses of TikTok videos and triggering the publication of trillions of listicles ranking Kate songs.

Unsurprisingly, some of the existing Kate fanbase weren’t happy about her newfound popularity. The main sticking point, as it traditionally is in these scenarios, was that she “belonged” to the original fans who’d been there from the start, who experienced her career in real time, whose discovery of her was more organic and, arguably, more authentic. These proprietary feelings led to a bit of finger-wagging and gatekeeping on social media, the core message of which was “if you weren’t there at the beginning or before Stranger Things, you don’t belong here, you’ll never really get it and f*ck off”.

When it comes to music, it doesn’t matter where, when or how you came in. Songs, albums and bands find you when they sense you are ready to welcome them. It’s not science, it’s just some fortuitous, otherworldly force that hits the switch and says “now”. And sometimes it happens in silly ways to a lot of people at once, like through a film or freakin’ tv show or a TikTok video. But as stupid and obvious as it sounds, music is meant to be heard.

And so if you’re an old fan, stand proud, you got to experience Kate in a way that most of the new acolytes never will. How lucky you were! You will always have that! But the fact that a whole new generation is now discovering her is a really brilliant thing. Hell, I myself didn’t discover her until 1983, which is ridiculously late by hardcore fan standards! I guess what I’m saying is Kate was an anchor and inspiration for so many of us sensitive, shy, weirdo kids back in the day, let her be that for those same kinds of kids now. It’ll only make the world a better place. P.S. For some reason, I’m already pissed about the fact that her newfound popularity as a result of the “Running” explosion is probably going to catapult her into the Hall Of Fame next year, because it shouldn’t have taken something like that to tip the scales (dammit). No really, I’m fine.

Be Kind To My Mistakes: Just a note on the format of this essay: Matthew and I are going to be taking turns offering up our Kate assessments and our names will appear before our respective comments. We are going to rate each album individually (on a classic 1-10, hate-to-love scale), and will feature complete ranking lists at the end of the essay.

The Albums

MATTHEW: Although she gave us two albums her first year (1978), and then two in a single year decades later (2011), Kate Bush has only released a total of nine original studio albums in 44 years (as of 2022). She works at her own pace, and that pace is unpredictable—which is all part of the fun and fascination of Kate fandom. In our chronological discussion below, we’ve also included her only compilation or hits album, an album of studio re-recordings, and her sole live album—making a grand total of 12 ranked albums, discussed by us in chronological order.

The Kick Inside (1978)

MATTHEW: (UK #3, Top Ten in seven nations, did not chart in the US): Kate Bush is a hypnotist. The combination of her strangely theatrical singing, melodic piano playing, imaginative storytelling, and evocative channeling of emotion is utterly mesmerizing. I was captivated at the age of 14, as “Wuthering Heights” took the UK by storm and instantly made Kate a star—and rightly so. And I was amazed by the collection of weirdly perfect pop songs that is The Kick Inside. Who was this extraordinary teenager, young and old, ordinary and odd, relatable and otherworldly all at the same time? I’m still stunned by this album, especially the way the first side (the first 6 of the 13 songs) builds from “Moving” to “Wuthering,” with “The Man With the Child in His Eyes” never failing to move me. It packs an emotional punch that makes it hard to describe in any kind of evaluative, objective way. Perfect pop of sublime beauty? That’s about the best I can do; because the thing is, I don’t want to describe it, I just want to listen to it.

HOPE: It’s gotten to the point where every time I hear “The Man With the Child in His Eyes”, my first thought is “a 16 going on 17-year-old made this”(!!!). I too remain stunned by this album’s staggering sophistication and the otherworldly imagination on display. It’s freakin’ outrageous.

Kick is seriously front-loaded, its first side home to four straight-up classics (the unpredictable, melodic, goofy, wonders ”Moving” and ”Strange Phenomenon” as well as the aforementioned, seminal ballad “The Man With…” and the behemoth “Wuthering Heights”). What is there to say about “Wuthering Heights” at this point? It is not merely one of the greatest pop songs (of the ‘70s/20th century/ever), but a siren call to let your freak flag fly… literally. There is an annual event that takes place in an assortment of cities around the globe known as “The Most Wuthering Heights Day Ever” where wonderful humans join together to recreate the song’s original video. Its beautiful, sloppy loved-up ludicrousness puts every flashmob that’s ever been to shame. Know what, just watch here and here.

The second half of the album has always dragged a bit for me. It starts amazingly enough with the bouncing, pop-rocking “James & The Cold Gun” and the seriously fabulous Laura Nyro-esque, just Kate ‘n’ her piano “Feel It” (this song is SOUL)…but to my ears it really flags after that, with a cloud of saminess hanging over the remaining tunes.

Despite it being home to two of Kate’s most fabled creations, I wouldn’t recommend Kick as the album to start for someone wanting to explore her music for the first time ( honestly it wouldn’t even be in the Top three). Like Emmylou Harris and Joni Mitchell, it took a minute for Kate to get to cruising altitude vocally. All of them sounded more fulsome after they’d gotten a couple of albums (and life years) under their respective belts. Like them, she just got better and better.

This is a 19-year-old. Permission to feel blown away and useless is granted.

MATTHEW: I do see why Side Two drags for you, Hope, and I’d always suggest a Kate newcomer start with Hounds of Love and The Whole Story, then one of the two albums from this century. But I’d then encourage them to go back to the beginning, because Bush is one of those artists with a singular yet continually evolving creative vision—and it is fascinating to see it start here, with the intertwining of her external influences and internal emotional life. With respect to the latter, Side Two of Kick is built around a trio of ruminations on sex and love that captivated my 14-to-16-year-old self. “Feel It,” “Oh To Be in Love,” and “L’Amour Looks Something Like You” were teenage (female) expressions of eroticism and romance that lacked the leering shame-tinged angst of typical (male) pop-rock songs on the subject. As such, they were—and still are—priceless. But of course that was a real-time experience. I can see that in retrospect (and at our ripe age, Hope), such songs might be mere curiosities. (And how Kate is this? There then follows “Them Heavy People,” a pop song about religion! It was a single only in Japan, where it reached #3.) In the end, this is still a dazzling debut, and one of my top three Kate albums.
Album Rating: Hope, 6/10; Matthew, 9/10

Lionheart (1978)

MATTHEW: (UK #6, Top Ten in four nations, did not chart in the US): I always resented being told that a sophomore album was a disappointment. When it came out, I liked Lionheart as much as its predecessor (just as I liked Communique as much as Dire Straits), and having the so-called experts correct me smacked of bullying by the taste police—be they older boys at school or music press critics, both groups prone to small-minded misogyny and other forms of bigotry. My not-very-brave reaction to being called a girl for listening to girl music sung by a girl was to, well, keep listening. Take that, you faux punk fans! I taped The Kick Inside and Lionheart on opposing sides of a C-90, and played them equally. In retrospect, I can see that, as a whole, Lionheart is not as strong as the albums that came before and after it. But I still bristle at that knee-jerk criticism.

HOPE: Not to feed into the machine but this is my least favorite Kate album. The whole thing has a bit of an over-the-top show tune flavor I’ve never been able to get into. For me the barrel bottom is dually occupied by the sub-Kurt Weill-ness that is “Coffee Homeground” and screechy sub-Patti Smith “rocker”, “Don’t Push Your Foot On The Heartbrake”. On the good side are “Symphony In Blue”, a semi-sweet, mellow, mushy early Roxy Music-Queen deep cut hybrid and the crazy, wonderful “Wow”. Oh “Wow”, you bug-eyed, plush, anthemic, cheeky cheezeball you. Anyway, I love the song’s utter lack of self-consciousness, like it doesn’t care who’s looking at it (yes, I just anthropomorphized a song and I’m sorry)…which brings me to the “Wow” video, a wow-wow-wow-unbelievable display of hilarious, off the charts charisma and supreme ridiculousness. If you are feeling blue for any reason, I recommend a viewing. From the moment Kate pats her butt while singing “he’s too busy hitting the vaseline” to the up and down look she gives to accompany thet “we think you are really cool” line, its perfect silliness and gigantic heart are healers as good as any medicine.

MATTHEW: My love for Lionheart was probably helped by having no access to those videos (beyond catching them once or twice on Top of the Pops). Instead of theatrical silliness, I was able to hear the album as a continuation of its predecessor’s ethereal beauty, tinged with drama. You are right about the low points, Hope (“Heartbrake” is too screechy, and “Homeground” surely more fun for her to record than for us to hear). But the high points are some of my favorite Kate songs—especially “Wow,” her signature phrase turned pop song, and the bookend tracks “Symphony in Blue” (another great Japan-only single, still such an overlooked gem) and “Hammer Horror” (which won’t make my favorites mix now, but I really loved it at the time). Perhaps you just had to feel the wow in real time?

HOPE: “Hammer Horror” was one of your favorites?! What the hell Matthew! I’ve never cared for that one, though I am hardly the unimpeachable arbiter of what is good and have some dicey Kate faves of my own (winking at you “Reaching Out”, my big bombastic babe, see you a few albums from now!). But seriously, I think because I heard the (better) albums that followed it—Never for Ever and The Dreaming— before I actually heard Lionheart, my standard for what a Kate album was supposed to sound like was completely skewed. As those beauties were my only points of reference, Lionheart was kinda doomed from the start, it was just never gonna sound as good.
Album Rating: Hope, 5/10; Matthew, 7/10

Never for Ever (1980)

MATTHEW: (UK #1, Top Ten in six nations, did not chart in the US): Although still virtually unknown in the US at this point, Kate went from successful to legendary in her home country with Never For Ever—her first #1 UK album, the first album by a solo female artist to hit #1 there, and the first to enter the chart at the top. Also a hit across Europe, in Japan, and elsewhere, this was her first self-produced album, a big step towards total career control. And after the experience of her 1979 tour, she resolved never to hit the road again (not quite “never for ever,” but she’d not give another concert until 2014). After five successful singles from the previous pair of albums, this one birthed three Top Twenty hits in rapid succession in 1980 (topped by a non-album Christmas single at year’s end).

So Kate was suddenly, increasingly massive (everywhere but America), and yet increasingly determined to retreat from the world to be—and make music—with her family, bassist boyfriend, and close circle of friends. Fair enough. And, it would turn out, a massively important decision that still resonates through pop/rock music history. Why? Because she showed that there was a way both to retreat from the sexist abuse of the music industry, the media, and celebrity culture, and to reach global audiences with new music. So, did this third album justify its success? Absolutely!

HOPE: Never For Ever is an absolute cornucopia of weirdness. It is imagination run amuck. The gorgeous “Breathing”— the best fear of nuclear war song sung from a fetus’s perspective ever—and the paranoid God-level-good, pop anthem “Babooshka” are the standouts for me. I also want to acknowledge the underrated elegy for those who’ve passed, the lush as any Chic ballad “Blow Away (for Bill)” with its lovely Sandy Denny and Keith Moon aka “Moony” namechecks. Then, for those of us who crave a tale of illicit fascination-spiritual possession involving the ghost of a deceased adult man living in a child’s body, there is the gloriously unsettling “The Infant Kiss”. Also good and deserving of appreciative nods are kooky “Delius (Song Of Summer)”, and theatrical pop-tastic revenge song “The Wedding List”.

Okay, now let us descend into the murky projections of a desperate teenager listening to Kate Bush in ye olde early ‘80s and looking for clues to bring she and I closer; I hereby admit that upon first listen I took the moody, plush, fantasy vs. reality postcard “Egypt” to be a queer love song. I was completely blown apart and led astray by the “my pussy queen, knows all my secrets” line and the declaration of love in the chorus. To my ears, “Egypt” was a girl. Oh, this thrilled young me. By the time I heard Kate’s actual explanation of the song, how it was about idealizing the actual country and being ignorant to its darker realities, it was just too damn late. I know it’s wrong but “Egypt” is always gonna be my queer Kate song.

And okay, this may be marginally blasphemous but…I’ve never been into the oddball hymn of loss and cult standard “Army Dreamers”. The tune itself is where it falls short for me. But just so you know, that song is not my true enemy on Never, it’s nowhere near. That spot is occupied by the squealing-ly awful, sucky manic mess “Violin” and will be forever. Matthew, I’m curious, did you buy this album straightaway ? Is my aversion to “Army Dreamers” out of line even though I can’t help it?

It’s not you Kate, it’s definitely me.

MATTHEW: I don’t think I was able to buy this album straight away, Hope, but I taped it that autumn of 1980, presumably as soon as I could, because it was so breathlessly anticipated: “Breathing” and “Babooshka,” two of her most inventive and catchy singles, had been hits earlier in the year. I also remember being struck by the originality of “Army Dreamers” (but it’s ok not to like it, Hope!), by the wonderful weirdness of songs like “The Infant Kiss,” by the deft poignancy of “Blow Away,” and by the entire album’s tuneful coherence. For, despite all its sounds and stories (talk about a headphone album!), Never For Ever is relentlessly melodic. Kate’s lyrical and musical imagination seemed—and seem still— limitless and full of surprises. And the album isn’t just inspired, but inspiring, as illustrated by your “Egypt” story (which I adore, and which has forever changed how I hear that song!).

In retrospect, with the hindsight of all nine Bush albums, I can see how much this one showcases the big three themes that inspire her, and which she has consistently explored: literature (sometimes via film), classical music, and nature; but, significantly, all of them English. I’m far from being the first person to observe this, but it is easily lost in the “Running”/Stranger Things chatter: Kate is a profoundly English artist, very much in the tradition of literary and musical English pastoralism going back to the 19th century (even if she is a startlingly original and modern voice in that tradition). I think I sensed that on some level at the time of this album—for example, “Delius,” a song about an English pastoralist composer, inspired by his music but also by a film about him, seemed very Kate—but I certainly could not have articulated it then. I’m not saying that limits her significance. On the contrary, she will surely one day be valued on the same artistic and cultural-heritage level as the Brontë sisters, Tennyson, and Delius.

HOPE: I like that you teenage-taped it, Matthew. That was very Bow Wow Wow “C30, C60, C90 Go!” of you (“I don’t buy records in your shop, I tape them all ‘coz I have Top Of The Pops“!) but I digress. I just want to add my hearty affirmation to something you alluded to; this album is particularly tuneful, easily one of the most melodic in the whole KB discography. To summarize, Never For Ever is flush with unexpected hooks and swoony instrumental flourishes and as such is a total babe.
Album Rating: Hope, 9/10; Matthew, 9/10

The Dreaming (1982)

MATTHEW: (UK #3, Top Ten in three nations, US #157): What did Kate do with the enormous success and unstoppable creative momentum (as Uncut recently called it) fueled by her first three albums? She experimented. Without a thought for how record company execs or teenage fans might react, she went into the studio with her Fairlight sampler (first used by her on the previous album) and a new crew of session musicians, and she dismantled and rebuilt the pop album in wonderfully odd ways. For the first time, she did all the producing, and she took her time (albeit not as much time as she would with later projects). The result confounded her label (EMI), critics, and fans. On the strength of her reputation (and advance single “Sat in Your Lap”) the album charted well, but did not sustain the sales of its predecessors, while four attempts to pull further hit singles from the album failed. Smack in line with that pattern, I bought The Dreaming when it came out, wasn’t sure what to make of it, and then seldom played it. (Hey, I was an 18-year-old pop kid!).

HOPE: Like The Beatles’ White Album and Fleetwood Mac’s Tusk, The Dreaming has become the cool Kate album to name-drop as your favorite. More experimental and less bold-facedly commercial, it is by far, her nuttiest, most batshit album (which is saying something considering the three that preceded it). It is, fittingly, one of Bjork’s all-time favorites. But like you Matthew, I confess that it took me decades to wake up The Dreaming’s power as a singular entity. The 20th century saw me solely fixated on the handful of songs I loved and ambivalent about the rest. I now believe, in this year of 2022, that in order to truly appreciate The Dreaming it needs to be listened to as a whole, in sequential order, with all its screaming, stomping, cooing glories coming at you one after the other. Fact is while there are a few exceptional standalone tracks, the majority of the songs are not singularly spectacular enough to stand up on their own and need each other to lean on to live their best lives (kind of like Macca’s London Town album for you old school context nerds and Matthew!).

There’s a core of four songs that supply the ballast for me; the magnificent racket “Sat In Your Lap” (extra points also for its classic cosplaying, roller skating, fabulously absurdist video), dizzying weirdo-waltz of frustration and inspiration “Suspended In Gaffa”, regal hymn of regret “All The Love” and the hot and romantic “Houdini”. Oh “Houdini”, I love you. Telling the story of the great escapes the fabled titular illusionist made with his wife Bess’s assistance and intertwining them with the notion of his making an even greater escape, from the great beyond to reconnect with her, it’s one of the greatest bits of Bush storytelling in the whole discography. The tune and vocal brim with passion and tension and mmm yes, it just f*cking rules.

I feel like the rest of the songs on The Dreaming are held up by the aforementioned “core four”. Yes, “There Goes A Tenner” (though its disturbing similarities to Madness’s “House Of Fun ” remain unsettling) and incredible freaked-out war story “Pull Out The Pin” (vocal shredding mayhem alert!) are great songs. And so are adventurous tempo-jumping, fiddles, pipes ‘n’ penny whistling “Night Of The Swallow” and thumping, thunderous, theatrical closer “Get Out Of My House”, whose coda features Kate’s infamous donkey impression. But they sound so much better to me when they are sandwiched amongst the “core fore”. Listening to the whole album in sequence is like being locked in a theater and watching the weirdest, most romantic, horror-filled piece of stage performance in history.

But seriously Matthew, what tipped the scales for you? Did you get hooked by one song? Do you even think there is one that stands above all others?

MATTHEW: When, in the wake of Aerial, I went back to the early Kate albums, I rediscovered what is my favorite track on The Dreaming, and one of her songs I love the most: “All the Love.” It’s another overlooked gem that is incredibly stirring, an emotional ballad completely devoid of cheesy cliches. Its production quirks and Kate’s lower-register singing anticipate Hounds of Love and beyond—it almost sounds as if it could have been on Aerial!

Just as I was a bit sheep-like in finding The Dreaming too odd in the ‘80s (Neil Tennant called it “very weird” and who was I to argue?), I was similarly sheep-like in deciding in recent decades that it was actually the cool Kate album ahead of its time (called her “overlooked masterpiece” in The Quietus). And now? I agree, Hope: with the possible exceptions of “Sat in Your Lap” and “All the Love,” this album needs to be consumed whole (it’s not just better that way, like Hounds, but needs to be taken as one). And I also think that both my previous opinions were wrongly stuck on the notion of the album as excessively experimental (or “mad,” as Kate herself famously put it). It isn’t, in the end, “very weird.” It is a wonderfully different, intriguingly flawed, very-Bush album. Unequivocally hers, neither her best nor her worst (in the middle of the pack), yet as essential to the whole story as the other eight.

HOPE: My musical foundation was still being built when I first heard this album. To me it sounded as if Kate was “copying” Adam and the Ants, which is of course, stupid. But I literally ascribed all musical adventurousness I heard in the early ‘80s to that same root source. Hearing drums, any drums would instantly trigger thoughts of “Prince Charming”and “Stand and Deliver”in my head. It was a truly ludicrous, uneducated assertion but for a minute of my life I was convinced the sun shone out of Adam’s ass. Clearly I was fixating on the wrong (artistic) ass.
Album Rating: Hope, 9/10; Matthew 7/10

Hounds Of Love (1985)

MATTHEW: (UK #1, Top Ten in seven nations, US #30): As we’ve said before, it matters where you as a listener first entered an artist’s catalog, and what order you then discovered their albums. That is, it matters to you personally and in terms of how you relate to that artist and their catalog. (We obviously agree that with respect to the we-were-here-first fans, it doesn’t matter at all; anyone should be welcome at any time and by whatever means of arrival). Who introduced you to an artist or album can also impact your perception—often for many years. In my case, I was lucky enough to experience early-Kate records in their original order, in real time. Those years were my early teens, and I was as captivated by the music as I was infatuated by its creator. But after The Dreaming, I drifted away, and by the time Hounds of Love came out, I was most of the way through college, my Kate crush feeling like ancient history.

Here’s where the “who” comes in: I happened to be dating an American that year, and for her—like the U.S. in general—Kate was an amazing new artist over whom she instantly went bonkers. The 2022 craze for “Running Up That Hill” (prompted by Stranger Things)? I witnessed something similar in 1985. So, while I turned my American girlfriend onto the earlier albums, she convinced me that Hounds was two perfect pieces of work—Sides One and Two each discrete, coherent, conceptual compositions. She was right, of course. That’s what they are and were designed to be. And I still see—hear—them that way today: as a perfect pair.

HOPE: As a tacky young American in the summer of ‘85, I admit I too was certifiably bonkers for “Running Up That Hill” and could not wait for Hounds to be released. Like everyone else, I fell hard for Side One and its never ending barrage of Everest-sized anthems (“Running Up”,“The Big Sky”, “Hounds Of Love” and the almighty “Cloudbusting”). I fell so hard in fact that apart from my future funeral song, “And Dream Of Sheep”, Side Two aka “The Ninth Wave” didn’t exist for me. I’m not proud of this but at that stage of my life (1985), I was nursing a pretty gigantic, hook-obsessed pop music sweet tooth and had a very short attention span…meaning I was still very much enamored with my Culture Club and Wham! albums. Thus the “Wave” side of Hounds was a step too demanding for me. It gets worse. Though I’ve come to appreciate the genius and ambition of the “Wave” suite over the years, I still only dig slivers of it, specifically, epic lullaby to the planet “Hello Earth” and the aforementioned “Sheep”. I recognize that they are more conventionally melodic than the other tracks that are part of the suite, but there you go; old habits die hard.

“And Dream of Sheep” is just magical. Though Kate has said the scenario it describes is something she finds terrifying (floating alone in the sea at night, wearing a thin life jacket, utterly exhausted, scared and praying to be rescued), the song is extraordinarily comforting. Delicate and dark, built to climb on the back of and cling to (“Come here with me now”, Kate’s Mum intones in the song), it’s also the last song I wanna “hear” when I depart from this earthly plane (no f*cking “Wonderwall” for me thanks).

As far as Side One goes, much as I love “Running” and fondly remember the sweet rush of playing the single in my room for the first time, my absolute first-half fave is the epic anthem of belief, love and rain-making, “Cloudbusting”. Now back in those ‘80s days, if my favorite pop star said they liked something (book, film, artwork etc.), well then, I needed to like it too. I admit my initial interest in Amnesty International and Lolita was set off not by a fascination with human rights or literature but by my unwavering obsession with Sting himself and a desire to “share” something with him. Thus when Kate mentioned in an interview around Hounds release that “Cloudbusting” had been inspired by Peter Reich’s 1973 Book Of Dreams, I just had to have that book dammit.

You know, for a long time I was embarrassed to admit to anyone that a pop star, of all people, had inspired me to seek a particular piece of knowledge. “Why am I reading this book? Because Sting said he liked it”. There was no way I was going to confess that to other kids in school, even though it was no different—more glamorous, even—than a friend or cool teacher recommending a book or author. Fact is, following KB down her inspirational rabbit holes has been a rewarding experience, leading me to such magnificent things as the 1961 film The Innocents, Harry and Bess Houdini, and a species of bird known as the Goldcrest. (I’ve also drawn a hell of a lot of snowmen over the past decade, but we’ll get to that later).

Wanna hear the best ever description of Hounds of Love’s title track? Check out how Slits legend Viv Albertine broke it down in the fab 2014 BBC documentary The Kate Bush Story: “It’s like this repressed sexuality, so sensual, so sexual… like the whole song’s on a leash and you’re tugging it back but you know know it’s just gonna escape, burst and run free”. She so nailed it right?! Take my shoes off and throoooow them in the lake!

Right so, here’s a hot take question for you Matthew (uh oh); do you think that Side One would have worked or sounded as good without the semi-eerie slow burner “Mother Stands For Comfort ” lodged in the middle? I suppose it was good to have a “break” after three beautiful fist-pumping monsters in a row, so all of us could rest…but I wish “the quiet spot” had been occupied by a better song. Yeah, I said it.

MATTHEW: I love that question, Hope, because it’s the kind of nerdy discussion point I have already pondered. I think “Mother” is indeed crucial, as a place to catch one’s breath after the blockbuster intensity of the opening three tracks, and before the visceral heart-filling rush of “Cloudbusting” (just the first five seconds is enough to release the endorphins; the audience reaction on Before The Dawn, for which “Cloudbusting” is the climax, shows I’m far from alone). As for Side Two (or “The Ninth Wave”), it can be best appreciated as a single piece of music, listened to without pause or reference to the track listing—a 26-minute arc of song that is utterly compelling, beautifully constructed, and gorgeous in every way. The artful composition and emotional power of the whole album stuns today as much as in 1985. I hope all those new fans of “Running Up That Hill” immerse themselves in the whole album, from “Hill” to “The Morning Fog.” Some of them will surely come to feel, as I do, that Hounds of Love is essential to life on earth.

HOPE: I don’t think every song on an album has to be single-handedly brilliant for the whole LP to qualify as a masterpiece, which Hounds unequivocally is in its overall vision, execution and performance. For me the determining factors are “how good is the good stuff “ and “do good ones vastly outnumber the just okay/not good’s”. And by that deeply scientific algorithm, Hounds of Love is most definitely, wholeheartedly and unequivocally a masterpiece.
Album Rating: Hope, 10/10; Matthew, 10/10

The Whole Story (1986)

MATTHEW: (UK #1, Top Ten in four nations, US #76): This is the first of three oranges in our basket of Bush apples, and her only “greatest hits” or singles compilation ever. It was EMI’s (Kate-approved) attempt to capitalize on the global success of Hounds, released 14 months earlier. Packed with eleven previous singles and one new song, it offered 49 powerful minutes—extended to 57 minutes over 13 songs on the (superior) video edition. It’s not surprising, then, that The Whole Story was another UK #1 for Bush, charting well all over the world (aside from the US), becoming—and remaining—her best-selling album. But it’s also not surprising that the album was a relative flop in the US: why, shoppers must have thought, re-buy three hits from Hounds with a bunch of old songs that had fallen on deaf ears in America? Well, buy it for Side One alone, I would have argued: It sequenced “Cloudbusting” and the Hounds title track with a re-sung “Wuthering,” the sublime “Man With the Child,” “Wow,” and “Breathing.” Bliss! Brilliant!

HOPE: The Whole Story is a very good compilation. Like ABBA Gold-level good…but it is still one step short of perfection for me. And not for the persnickety reasons nerdy folks like us tend to have. Yeah, “Wuthering Heights” features a newly recorded vocal, but I can live with that. My issue is the inclusion of The Dreaming, which while interesting in the context of its namesake album, isn’t even one of the top five best songs on that LP. Over the years, people have tended to pile on the previously unreleased new track “Experiment IV” and regularly branded it as Whole’s weak link. But I’ve always found it compelling and still hear it as an enticingly slick ‘n’ sinister sister to “Cloudbusting”.

The Whole Story now feels like the end of an era, the culmination of Kate’s mega-pop years and prelude to her “lost in the wilderness and magical rebirth” era. Which means I can finally throw out this question to you, Matthew ( and all of you reading this!). Now while I’d “read the book” on “Cloudbusting”, and seen the film that inspired “The Infant Kiss” back in the day, there were still a lot of Kate songs that I didn’t know the backstory on, or specific inspiration for, until years later.

So at this transitional juncture, tell me, when it comes to Kate, how important is it to one’s listening experience to know what the songs are specifically about? I’ll give a super-broad example; is it necessary, say, to have read “Wuthering Heights’ or seen any of the filmic adaptations (especially the classic 1939 version) in order to truly enjoy the song “to the max”?

Yes, hearing the backstories of say “Suspended In Gaffa” or “Cloudbusting” as mentioned earlier, made me love and connect with those songs even more. But then again, sometimes it’s cool to let your imagination interpret them in whatever way it involuntarily chooses and not get too fixated on the specifics. We know “Houdini” is about freakin’ Harry and Bess Houdini, but it’s also a gripping, ripping pop song that sounds f*cking amazing even if the listener has no knowledge of the story behind it! Even out of context and standing alone with no explanation, “I’d pass the key and feel your tongue teasing and receiving” is still a smokin’ hot line.

MATTHEW: You are right, Hope, about Side Two. Whether you think “The Dreaming” or “Experiment IV” didn’t deserve a slot (and I’m torn on the issue), the fact of the debate says something. But carping aside, the songs showcase Kate’s extraordinary talent sufficiently well to inspire any listener to move on to her real albums. As for whether it is necessary to know the backgrounds to the songs: not at first, I think. As Bush herself has said, listen and allow yourself to make personal interpretations of each song. But then go ahead and dig out the background stories anyway! The real references won’t make yours redundant; they’ll just add a parallel view (like your reading of “Egypt,” Hope).
Album Rating: Hope, 9/10; Matthew, 8/10

The Sensual World (1989)

MATTHEW: (UK #2, Top Ten in two nations, US #43): By the summer of ‘89, as it approached four years since the last new Bush album, I made a mixtape titled Don’t Give Up. I was probably unaware that a new album was imminent. The tape began with that now-classic duet with Peter Gabriel, and then packed onto a C-90 as many Kate faves as possible, from “Wuthering” to “Experiment IV.” The point being: I was primed to be thrilled by The Sensual World, and thrilled I was. From the up-to-date production of the title track and “Love and Anger” (modest UK hits, U.S. flops) to the delicate beauty of “This Woman’s Work,” the album seemed like a gripping evolution of the Bush sound and vision. It was on heavy rotation in my house and car and Walkman/Discman well into the ‘90s, resisting being supplanted by its ‘93 sequel. Not until the second half of the decade did my CD copy of Sensual World begin to gather dust. And yet . . . even as I continued to play it, I was increasingly aware of its flimsiness compared to Hounds, of it being a collection of songs—some great, some not—rather than a consistently superb and coherent opus.

HOPE: There was a time I believed The Sensual World to be one of Kate’s best albums. It was home to a few songs I genuinely, wholeheartedly, obsessively loved; the tuneful, haunting and pragmatic “Never Be Mine ( my fave), the James Joyce inspired title track with its celebration of the sexy tactile world and iconic “mmh yes” refrain…and my personal dark horse, the bombastic, arms aloft, power-hymn “Reaching Out”. These were the culprits that fueled my inflated regard for The Sensual World for a decade plus. My mind was so clouded with lust for those tracks at the time that it killed my ability to be objective about the rest of the album.

As is often the case with this stuff, time has mellowed my heated love for those songs into what I would now characterize as fond feelings of cozy familiarity (shit, that sounds like a married couple saying “we live as brother and sister now” but yeah that’s how it is these days).
The Sensual World is a product of its time, distractingly slathered in that same slick, grandiose late ‘80s “big pop” production style that typified most superstar albums back then (see Genesis’s Invisible Touch, Peter Gabriel’s So, as well as then-newbies T’Pau’s Bridge Of Spies). “Love and Anger” and ”Heads We’re Dancing” feel utterly faceless as a result.“Rocket’s Tail” is a cacophonous mess. There’s a proto-exotic, epic new age vibe hovering over the whole freakin’ thing and dammit, I just can’t get into Sensual World, the album.

If that weren’t bad enough, I have a problem with “This Woman’s Work”.
I acknowledge its status as a beautiful evergreen classic, I mean it is, but it’s taken on a bit of a “Hallelujah” vibe for me over the years. Maxwell’s exquisite live version from 1997 aside, the glut of straightforward covers of the song that have spilled into the world since then have put me off of it (and yes, it feels inevitable that this will happen with “Running Up That Hill” too). I know this is blasphemous, and it isn’t Kate’s fault but, sigh, I just need some time apart to recultivate my craving to hear it again. Yeah, I’ll go sit in the corner now.

MATTHEW: I’m laughing, but with you not at you, Hope! Even after Aerial inspired me to revisit Kate’s back catalog in-depth, it was the 1978-85 albums with which I immediately reconnected emotionally. “Reaching Out” and “Never Be Mine” are still my favorites on this—perfect mid-period-Kate poignant pop, packing loving punches the way Hounds of Love does—and I’m happy to say that “This Woman’s Work” has yet to suffer the “Hallelujah” effect (although I do fear that, Hope, as I do with “Running Up That Hill”). But in retrospect, the album doesn’t hold together as well as Hounds or Aerial (or, to my ears, Kick Inside or Never For Ever). It still sounds like an evolutionary step, but from Never For Ever rather than from Hounds of Love. In other words, she leap-frogged her sequels, with Sensual World as the sequel to Never For Ever, and then Aerial coming as the twenty-year sequel to Hounds. Does that make sense?

HOPE: I am officially fascinated with that concept. The Sensual World is like a “mature lady” version of Never For Ever. Aerial does sound like the long tail of Hounds.That is spot-on. As an aside, just wanna acknowledge how thrilled I am that we love the same two tracks. Did you know that in Uncut magazine’s Kate Bush edition of their great Ultimate Music Guide series, they said that “Reaching Out” is The Sensual World’s “only misstep”? To which I, no WE, say “bullshit”. “Reaching Out” forever.
Album Rating: Hope, 5/10; Matthew, 6/10

The Red Shoes (1993)

MATTHEW: (UK #2, it’s only Top Ten showing, US #28): Speaking as a fan, but trying to be objective, Kate has never made a bad album. Sure, you say, that’s because she sacrifices quantity for quality. That’s true to some extent, but record stores have plenty of bad albums that took years to make. And there’s no bad Bush—not even a vinyl-side of it. That said, one of the nine original studio albums has to be at the bottom of the ranking pile. In almost every ranking by fans and critics that I’ve seen, the bottom is occupied by either Lionheart (which I’ve defended and love, but I get it), 50 Words for Snow (ditto, as we’ll see), or Red Shoes—and I’m in that last camp. It’s not bad, not even close. And it has some great songs on it. But as an album—and Kate has given us some extraordinary album-length creations—it’s just not as coherent and compelling as, well, all her others.

HOPE: I agree. There are no bad Kate albums. “Disappointing” is the worst insult you would ever have to employ when looking at the lesser lights in the discography. Okay so…The Red Shoes disappoints me. And I hate the idea of this album being the first that a new Kate fan might explore. It’s so unreflective of how f*cking great she is. You can hear the guts of good songs sprinkled throughout, but there’s an oddly unfinished, almost demo-ish quality to a lot of them. It’s crucial to note that Kate was under some serious duress during the recording of the album. Both her mum Hannah and long-time guitarist Alan Murphy had passed in the lead up to its recording and she and long-time partner/band-mate Del Palmer were in the process of splitting up. She was understandably distracted…and you can hear it. The fact that Kate felt the need to re-record half of it’s tracks twenty years later, for the Director’s Cut album (which we’ll get to shortly) kind of says all you need to know about how she feels it turned out.

“Big Stripey Lie” and ”Lily” seem half-realized. “Eat The Music” ( “grab a banana”) is freakin’ terrible and still cannot believe it was chosen as the lead single for the U.S.market. Pseudo-funky “Constellation Of The Heart”, which sounds like Kate trying to do her own version of Lakeside’s “Fantastic Voyage”, means well, but dammit, it just doesn’t work. And I find Eric Clapton’s presence on anything to be supremely intrusive and scenery-chewing in the worst possible way (he guests on “And So Is Love”, another track that sounds half-finished). God, I know that all sounds so negative but there are so many superior Kate albums to get involved in. The Red Shoes should always be the last choice after everything else has been exhausted.

Still, like the mythic tale of Pandora’s box with “hope” stuffed in its deepest corner to counter the mayhem that has spilled out before it, there is one absolutely majestic piece of music on The Red Shoes that offers hope (literally). “Moments Of Pleasure” is one of those songs I carry with me every day and is home to a line that is permanently lodged in my heart and never gonna leave (“Just being alive, it can really hurt”). Runners-up are the simultaneously delicate and ass-kicking “Top Of The City”, the bouncy, boisterous title track and its goofy sonic sibling “Rubberband Girl”.

MATTHEW: When Red Shoes came out, I blamed myself. Instead of thinking, what a shame, Kate’s finally made a weak album, I thought, oh I’ve finally failed to fall in love with a Kate album. My reaction was partly a symptom of my fandom (assuming she could do no wrong). But it also reflected the ease with which I was distracted by the new music of the ‘90s—the last decade in which music fashion shifted dramatically from genre to genre, almost year to year. There seemed to be so much that was new on both sides of the Atlantic, and I was keen to keep up. So, I assumed that new albums by acts that I had loved in the ‘80s or earlier were probably good, but they’d have to wait until I had exhausted all the great new ‘90s sounds. In some cases that was true (I prefer ‘90s to ‘80s U2 and REM, for example). But there were also disappointments: Dire Straits, Genesis, Macca, and . . . Kate.
Album Rating: Hope, 4/10; Matthew, 5/10

Aerial (2005)

MATTHEW: (UK #3, Top Ten in five nations, US #48): Coming twenty years after Hounds of Love, with two other albums in between, Aerial is the real successor to Hounds. Both are concept albums, pairing halves that make the albums whole but also stand as separate works (with their own titles). They are sibling progressive pop masterpieces, Bush’s most extraordinary achievements. At 80”, Aerial is almost twice as long, it’s two halves given their own discs (vinyl or CD). It is less intense and more subtle than Hounds, reflecting its creator’s age (47 instead of 27), with Aerial less full of fables and more personal than the earlier album. Kate is now a mother (“Bertie”) and has lost her own mother (the exquisite “A Coral Room”). In fact, I see the first disc (titled “A Sea of Honey”) as a concept album about family, as coherently drawn as the other disc (“A Sky of Honey”), which is a concept album about Nature’s cycle of day and night—the triumphant culmination of Bush’s career-long contributions to English pastoralism, its closing trio of tracks (“Somewhere in Between,” “Nocturn,” and “Aerial”) among the best 21 minutes of her entire catalog.

HOPE: Aerial is not meant to excite but rather to soothe and caress. It meanders and wanders. The average track length is 5 minutes. There’s a comforting sonic saminess to the songs and they all kind of blend into one another. It is the “chillest” Kate album. And while there isn’t an outright, obvious superstar song present, the standard and quality is high. It is also, and I feel like dirt saying this, too long. And so Aerial has always been a bit of a cherry-picking experience for me. Slinky, groovy “Nocturn” and epically evocative “A Coral Room” are the only two deep cuts I revisit on a regular basis (they are both capital G gorgeous). “Sunset” is also jazzily handsome and reasonably groovy in parts. The album’s most hummable, poppified track “King Of The Mountain”, with its visions of Elvis whooshing down a snowy hill on the “Rosebud” sled of Citizen Kane fame, possesses a subtly delicious melodic menace reminiscent of “Experiment IV”. But those songs are the exceptions. Tracks like “Prologue” and “Somewhere In Between” are far more representative of the overall vibe of the album; they are watercolor paintings, lovely to be sure, but oddly distant and hard to latch onto. Shit, was that too mean ?

MATTHEW: Not mean, just how you hear it; I’m fascinated by our different reactions to Kate’s two 21st-century albums, with Aerial resonating with me that way 50 Words For Snow does with you. For me, the “Sky of Honey” disc needs every one of its minutes as it slowly builds to the psychedelic groove of the title track. But I do see how the first disc might seem a tad long. Although I am always irritated by the gendered criticism of tracks like “Mrs Bartolozzi”—that is, men dismissing the apparent banal domesticity of the lyrics. As Caitlin Moran recently noted, men can write cool songs about utterly mundane moments, but a woman singing about a washing machine prompts snide sniggers. Besides, “Mrs Bartolozzi” is about far more than washing clothes. Like most Bush songs, it is layered with narratives that are both personal and metaphorical. When Kate seems simple or silly, she’s deceptively so; to miss that is simply to be deceived.

HOPE: I really do like Aerial, I swear.

Album Rating: Hope, 7/10; Matthew, 9/10

Director’s Cut (2011)

MATTHEW: (UK #2, Top Ten in three nations, did not chart in the US): This one divides fans more than any of the “regular” studio albums; in fact, it may be the only Kate album that is truly divisive. I confess I ignored it in 2011, after reading some dismissive reviews. And because I was generally suspicious of the whole concept (after all, considering Kate’s control over the entire composing and recording process of the original albums, weren’t they all “director’s cuts”?) (I know I am far from the first person to make that observation). But then Before the Dawn inspired me to listen to Director’s Cut with an open mind. And . . . well, over to you, Hope.

HOPE: It’s telling that Director’s Cut is made up solely of re-recorded tracks from The Sensual World and The Red Shoes. Neither album could be categorized as Kate’s finest work. The former was preceded by an impossible to compete with masterpiece. The latter was recorded in the wake of some extreme personal challenges that Kate herself has said affected her ability to focus. And while there are a handful of beautiful tracks on both, as noted earlier, there were also a bunch that were suffocated by hefty, of-their-time production stylings. Director’s Cut is Kate acknowledging that things didn’t turn out quite the way she wanted on those albums. She was magnanimous in her explanation about why she recorded Director’s Cut, saying in a 2011 interview with The Guardian, “For some time I have felt that I wanted to revisit tracks from these two albums and that they could benefit from having new life breathed into them”. But while she’s not being outright negative, there is a hint of dissatisfaction in there; it sounds as if she wasn’t happy with the original recordings.

So you can understand the pull of this project for her. And to be honest, when I first heard about it, I was kind of psyched. I assumed she would approach it in a straight-up unplugged fashion and just strip away all the noise so each song’s beauty could finally shine through. A cliched assumption, but yeah. Sadly that wasn’t what Director’s Cut turned out to be. It was an album of “alternative versions” as in, the new recordings weren’t better, they were just different. What complicated things for me was that three of my absolute favorite deep cuts got the redux treatment and I thought they were pretty damn wonderful to begin with (“Never Be Mine”,“Moments Of Pleasure”, “Top Of The City”). Yes, I like the new arrangement of “Moments”, its sparsity, the subtle, sporadic choral backing, the piano (swoon) but in no way does it top the over-the-top drama of the original.

MATTHEW: You are right that we should all get a second chance, and in my non-music writing I stress the importance of being open to changing one’s opinion (boring biographical aside: when I’m not deep diving into the pop music ocean with Hope, I teach and write on the history of Latin America—often getting things wrong the first time). So, Kate had the right to make this album, and I’m glad she did. That said, I find it to be no more than a curiosity, as interesting and important (or not) as might be B-sides, demos, and rejected studio recordings (of which Kate has given fans precious few over the decades). For my tastes, not a single track replaces its original. Maybe Kate never intended them to be replacements?

HOPE: Yeah, in retrospect, I don’t think these new versions were meant to “replace” anything. This whole endeavor seems really personal, like the execution of certain old songs had been niggling at her for a while. This is no McCartney-Let It be Naked scenario, where he was looking to “correct” history by editing off all of producer Phil Spector’s embellishments i.e. the stuff he didn’t like. No, Director’s Cut feels more like perfectionism gone slightly off the rails. Kate is renowned for not rushing, for molding and shaping every release down to the finest detail before she presents it to the world. The assumption is that nothing leaves the pen until all her artistic standards have been met. That is why this album at first seemed so out of character. That she would feel the need to re-record established tracks seemed to go against the Kate ethos we have come to know.
Album Rating: Hope, 5/10; Matthew, 4/10

50 Words For Snow (2011)

MATTHEW: (UK #5, Top Ten in three nations, US #83): I remember hearing or reading something in 2011 about a new Kate Bush album that was a rehash of older work, and picked this up, expecting some version of what I’d later realize was Director’s Cut. Instead, having come home and popped this in the CD player, I stood in my kitchen stunned. The album was all one had come to expect of Kate creations—surprising, inventive, kooky, beautiful. I had somehow assumed that Aerial was the end. Her last gift. So that made this feel all the more like an unexpected holiday-season present.

HOPE: For me, the best bits of seasonal art are the ones with a hint of melancholia running through their veins. For example, the lovely animated holiday specials A Charlie Brown Christmas and The Snowman. These sweet cartoons, beloved by generations, are built on solid foundations of depression and death (both expressed rather elegantly, it should be said). While wintery-themed masterpiece 50 Words For Snow may not be an actual Christmas album, its Dark December™ vibe is very much aligned with those two TV classics. It’s all Victorian ghosts, misunderstood Yeti’s, and horny snowmen without a sniff of joyful tidings. It is also my favorite Kate album, though its rise to the top was a gradual one.

At first I didn’t care for the title track or “Wild Man”, the two noisiest tunes. Surrounded by several of Kate’s finest and most regal ballads, they sounded like novelty songs (the former with its Stephen Fry guest vocal, the latter with its quirky subject manner and cartoonish-sounding chorus). But over time, they wore me down and I began to appreciate their sticky, weirdo charm. They are the court-jesters, perfectly tempering the tear-jerkers that dominate the album. The ballads—“Among Angels”, “Lake Tahoe”, “Snowflake”— rank among Kate’s finest and are as heartbreaking, evocative and empathetic as anything she’s ever recorded. “Among Angels” feels like a long-lost sister song to the Hounds Of Love classic “And Dream Of Sheep”. “Lake Tahoe” haunts us (its dog-themed verses are positively lethal if you are feeling a bit tender) while “Snowflake” hugs us (and features an eerie-beautiful cameo by Kate’s son Bertie). All three of these songs have made me cry on multiple occasions ( and maybe you too, my fellow sensitive plants). I know some people don’t dig “Snowed In At Wheeler Street” which features Elton John at his most blustery-beautiful, but I love all that “two souls endlessly meeting up-getting thwarted-time-travel” shit and would gladly take a whole album that revolved around that theme.

The album’s centerpiece is “Misty”, the lushly-piano’ed, brushily-drummed 13-minute mini-marathon of messy-hot sex with a snowman (spoiler alert: after the passion has concluded, he melts, leaving not only the requisite wet spot but clumps of branches, mud and grass as well. He’s one dirty, dirty snowman). Kate did a great interview after the album’s release on the BBC Radio 4 show Front Row and though I insist you actually listen to it (here!), I would be remiss if I didn’t mention my favorite bit in it right now. When they get to chatting about “Misty”, host John Wilson states that he saw the song’s main character as “a purely symbolic snowman”. This triggers an exceptionally hilarious comeback from Kate who says, with what sounds like it was accompanied by an affectionate eye-roll, “NO John, HE’S REAL!”. She then goes on to talk about how much she loves snowmen (“I love snowmen!”) and reuses the same plastic hat every year for the family snowman building sessions. On paper, a 13-minute song can look like a slog, but for me “Misty” feels like it’s over in a heartbeat. “HE’S REAL!”

I only listen to Kate Bush when I’m alone (is this weird?). I think this is the reason I’ve always felt discombobulated any time I’ve heard any of her songs playing in a public space i.e. outside my headphones (is this weird?). Apart from an actual Kate show, listening to her in a crowded room feels at odds with the whole experience and notion of Kate Bush for me. It would feel extremely discomfiting to hear, say, “Misty” blaring from a shop soundsystem. Not because of the song’s subject matter but because my relationship to Kate’s music is kind of private and personal (and I imagine this is the case with multitudes of fans). And 50 Words For Snow is the album that I feel the deepest connection to these days, my #1 musical rock to cling to when, to paraphrase “Snowflake”, the world feels too loud. Perfect.

MATTHEW: This is definitely a headphone album, Hope; as Aerial and most of its predecessors were, but in the case of Snow, the reason is less about production and more about intimacy. Of all Kate’s albums, this one comes by far the closest to creating the illusion that you’re in her home studio, listening to her and her band playing—while snow falls gently on her garden. So no, Hope, it’s not weird to listen to it only when alone.

The closing track, “Among Angels,” is my favorite song on here, and I usually play it as the first track: it somehow draws me more fully in than “Snowflake.” I confess that “Misty” sometimes feels too long, and I need to be in the mood for the title track (although I love to confuse or annoy friends and family by putting it on “Christmas” playlists). But my appreciation for it has grown over the years, and I can see how Snow could slowly become a Desert Island disc, essential to the feeding of the soul with select musical creations. Until, perhaps, she gives us one more surprise gift…
Album Rating: Hope, 10/10; Matthew, 8/10

Before The Dawn (2016)

MATTHEW: (UK #4, it’s only Top Ten showing, US #121): We all respect Kate’s refusal to be commodified and peddled as another product by a cynical and exploitative industry. The fact that she is a woman maintaining such creative and commercial control—considering how deeply the music industry has been male-dominated and sexist—makes her all the more admirable and important. But there’s an awkward irony here: we are so used to artists being exploited, to getting what we want from them, to demanding more, that we cannot help but get frustrated by Kate’s parsimony. She was so traumatized by the experience of her 1979 tour, she refused to tour—or even give a single full concert—until 2014. Whaaat?! That should have been career suicide—or at the very least the permanent closing of the US market. But Hounds of Love proved that law could be broken. If you’re Kate Bush, that is. So, Americans got to know her work anyway, and we all had our adult lives (or 35 years of them) to get used to not seeing her live. Then when she broke the drought with an elaborate, theatrical live show reminiscent of the now-legendary ‘79 concerts, she did it with a limited run at London’s Hammersmith Apollo (no tour, no traveling—she could be home every night). No photos or videos allowed, and no shows were filmed. Aaaaargh! But if Kate never gives us enough, she eventually gives us something (she never completely retires, as her late friend Mark Hollis did). So we must be grateful for the wonderfully raw recording of the 2014 Hammersmith show, even if we must combine this rare jewel of a live album with our imaginations in order to transport ourselves into her performing presence.

HOPE: Yes to all of the above. I suspect this album holds a lot more meaning and intrigue for the blessed folks that did see her than it ever will for me, who sadly did not. When I listen to Before The Dawn, I don’t so much get the sensation of “being there” but rather feel like I am missing something. It wasn’t a concert but a genuine theatrical production and so a recording of the sounds is only gonna go so far in terms of capturing its power and beauty (which I only surmised from still pictures and reviews, like you Matthew). I love how you characterize the recording as “raw”, which is such an odd and contradictory notion to apply to a Kate album, but it’s true! That’s not to say it’s sloppy, it is after all, an extremely well-planned piece of musical theater, but there are a couple of wobbly vocal passages in there. That said, I absolutely adore the live ‘n’ faithful reading of “Among Angels” on Before The Dawn. I know for a fact I would’ve have been crying f*cking buckets if I’d seen this live.

Look, I can’t imagine how thrilling it must have been to hear those first bars of “Cloudbusting” or “Running Up That Hill” or “Hounds Of Love” at this show or at any of the others during the residency. I mean even I got a little physical rush when I heard their opening notes on the freakin’ CD (yes CD), so it must have been transcendently powerful to actually experience it live. But once you get past that tiny thrill, something is lost in the translation, in other words, to really appreciate this album it feels like you kind of had to be there. Thus Before The Dawn is a handsome souvenir, especially sweet for those who were present, but for the rest of us, merely a nice addition to the discography and nothing more. I do wonder if I would like this album better if the setlist had featured at least a few tracks off the first four albums. She doesn’t go back any further than the Hounds album and it’s a little bit heavy on the Aerial for me. Oh hell, Aerial, I’m doing it again and I’m sorry.

Buddha said, “He who envies others does not obtain peace of mind”. True.

MATTHEW: You articulated well why I’m also ranking this in the bottom quartile. I seldom listen to it because my response is always bitter-sweet: I’m grateful for this record of the concerts, but I resent how it reminds me of what I missed—not just these rare shows but the decades of performances that never happened. Unfair, I know. We are not entitled to anything—not one minute or pixel—that Kate doesn’t choose to give us. But, still. And I agree that while I love how she offers live versions of basically all of “The Ninth Wave” and “A Sky of Honey”—which I think are prog pop masterworks that will steadily enhance her reputation for many decades to come—I too would have relished her 2010s interpretation of some of her 1978-82 material. Are we being petulant and unreasonable? Maybe I am. After all, three quarters of Before The Dawn comprises renditions of the concept albums about which I have raved!

HOPE: I don’t think anyone, no matter how hardcore a fan they are, should be too hard on themselves for not loving Before The Dawn. Live albums are traditionally pretty mixed bags, no matter how genius the artist is. The coolest thing is always gonna be that she did the damn shows in the first place and that a whole bunch of lucky, longtime fans got to see her in their lifetime. At the end of the day, this album is just a postcard to all of us unfortunate souls who didn’t get to see her that says “Having a great time, wish you were here!”
Album Rating: Hope, 5/10; Matthew, 6/10

Box Sets, EPs & Other Compilations

HOPE: Outside of the main discography we’ve just broken down, are there any essentials among the box sets, EP’s and the one latter-day compilation? The answer is…sort of. In other words, it’s cherry-picking time. The two most notable titles amongst the second-tier KB releases are the 1990 out-of-print box set, This Woman’s Work (featuring the first six albums plus two discs of rarities) and 2019’s The Other Sides, a 4-CD compilation of 12” mixes, B-sides and covers (first released in 2018 as part of the Remastered box sets that I know you have, Matthew). The only reason I bought This Woman’s Work—which was a very expensive box featuring six albums I already freakin’ had,—was to acquire those two rarities discs, upon which lived three particularly coveted and fabulous old B-Sides: the anthemic “Not This Time”, the shimmery ‘n’ soulful “Walk Straight Down The Middle” and tiny beauty “Under The Ivy”. Not to mention, it featured the propulsively pop-tastic “Be Kind To My Mistakes” (KB’s contribution to the Castaway film soundtrack). As I pretty much listened to those tracks to the exclusion of everything else and roughly paid $150 for the box, I figure the individual cost of each of the four songs I like to be around $40 apiece. Sure, they can make your heart race with their hot exteriors, and fancy track listings, but make no mistake, box sets make a lot of promises they can’t keep and are mostly absolute bastards.

As This Woman’s Work only covers the first half of her career and recorded output it is, as of this century, an outdated but collectible Kate Bush starter kit. Its “must-have” status has been seriously diminished by the fact that most of the tracks featured on the rarities discs have since turned up on The Other Sides, the similarly-themed, affordable and more readily available curio collection. Please note, the key word here is “most”.

Despite featuring a hefty 34 tracks,The Other Sides isn’t a comprehensive collection. It is selective. Amongst the missing are a handful of extended versions, several B-sides, and the nutso-comic-cool straggler “Ken” (listen here). The most egregious exclusion for me is “Not This Time”, which I regard as a cruel and criminal gesture. I mean if you’re gonna do something like this, why not gather all the scraps once and for all? The collection also features a disc devoted to the covers Kate’s done over the years. Despite her immense gifts, Kate hasn’t been what one might call “a master of reinterpretation”. Her cover attempts have always fallen a bit flat for me (she being someone who gets covered as opposed to someone who does covers). I especially dislike and resent the unnecessarily jaunty, faux-reggae version of “Rocket Man”. Not only because of what it sounds like, but because of what it could have been (in my head, it’s a slow, sad, and regal ballad with just Kate and her piano).

Lastly, I want to acknowledge the self-titled EP from 1983. It was a 5-song sampler containing a few old singles plus a couple of obscurities and was only issued in the U.S. and Canada. It is not a remotely important release within the discography. Kate herself wasn’t nuts about the track selection. But as it was my official introduction to Kate’s music, I have some irrational and overly sentimental feelings about it. I got it for Xmas in 1983 after an official but oddly vague request for a “Kate Bush album” on my “what I want” list. When Xmas morning arrived I discovered that my Mom had taken a shortcut and had not purchased an album, but rather, this EP instead. I feel like the guy at the record store showed her what they had, and instead of rummaging through the bin herself, she just said “give me the cheapest one” (love you, Mom). And so it ‘twas, that on December 25th of 1983, I acquired my first Kate Bush record and heard my very first Kate Bush song, which was, blessedly, “Babooshka”. Needless to say, I was completely blown away and we’ve been “together” ever since. Yes, it is a bullshit EP put together by a bunch of record company suits— albeit it one with a great bug-eyed still from the “Babooshka” video on the cover—but it’s always gonna have a place in my heart (and yes, I still have it).

MATTHEW: I’m laughing (but again with you, Hope) over your annoyed calculations of the effective cost of those extra tracks on This Woman’s Work. Forgive my smugness: I’ve made similar purchases countless times, but not that particular one. Instead, I taped the tracks on the rarities discs (I have no idea who from). But looking at the tape now, I see I made my own selection, adding “Rocket Man” (which dates from a year later, and whose unpredictably jaunty tone I like more than you do!), and omitting such tracks as . . . wait for it . . . “Not This Time” (I’ve no idea why, Hope, please don’t condemn me for such criminality!).

My punishment is that the song is indeed wonderful, and is indeed excluded from The Other Sides, for which I essentially paid a hundred bucks, as I bought both the 2018 box sets, Remastered Part I (the seven 20th-century albums, Kick to Shoes) and Remastered Part II (the 21st-century albums, Aerial to Dawn, plus the 4-CD Other Sides). I know some fans were miffed that they bought the box set just for the Other Sides discs, only to see them released separately the following year. I love having the full Kate catalog in two boxes, even if I already had most of it in various formats, but I do understand the grounds for such annoyance. And I totally agree that the failure to make The Other Sides comprehensive—I think just one more CD would have rounded up “Not This Time” and other missing rarities, right?—is lamentable and bizarre. All that aside, the box set pair is a warmly recommended treasure trove.

photo by krause johansen

In Conclusion: I Don’t Know Why I’m Crying

MATTHEW: It has always been hard to describe what Kate has achieved and why it matters, and that is partly because she is a unique talent (as Sparks’ Russell Mael put it, she established her own world, and stayed true to it). But I also think that gender plays a crucial role here, one often given lip service (e.g., the frequent observation in the summer of 2022 that she’s now the oldest woman to have a UK #1 single), but not fully considered. When Aerial came out, a (female) critic in The Observer challenged her male colleagues to admit that Bush is a genius, calling the album “arguably, the most female album in the world, ever.” One might argue that she’s the most female artist, ever. Genius she certainly is. And I don’t mean that she is an incredibly talented artist as (or for) a woman, nor that she is a genius who just happens to be a woman; rather, Kate Bush is a genius whose gender has been elemental to the unique world that she created and to which she has kept true. As such, she is far more than just a creator of endlessly fascinating, inventive, and joyful music; she is also one of the most important artists of our music era.

HOPE: Before Kate Bush infiltrated my world in the early ’80s, I didn’t actively listen to women artists. I enjoyed a little Plasmatics and Aretha on occasion, but most of the spots on my childhood and early teen playlists were occupied by boys I could moon over (and, uh, Phil Collins). What was it about Kate specifically that permanently disengaged my hormone-based bias and woke me up forever? I loved the songs of course but looking back, I think I was equally infatuated with the female fearlessness on display. It felt like she didn’t care if anyone thought she was silly or laughed at her over-the-top performance style. She expressed herself with no restraint, no apologies, and no compromises. I coveted her confidence and the absolute conviction she seemed to have in her art.

If you are remotely “outside the norm” or otherly in any way, this brand of boldness is gonna strike a chord with you. God knows it did with me. Kate Bush made songs that celebrated her most personal, idiosyncratic obsessions and shared them proudly and loudly with everyone. She didn’t chase airplay or look to optimize sales potential, she just followed her cast of muses, from rainmakers to washing machines to sexy snowmen, wherever they led. She took as long as she needed to record albums. She toured only when it felt right. She made adventurous, beautiful, funny, weird, and heartbreaking music that sounded like no one else’s, all while delivering a hard kick to the nuts of musical convention. Kate Bush is a beacon (a little light shining), for all the world’s “others”and dreamers (and maybe all of us), a little reminder to let your freak flag fly and not be afraid to be your weird-ass self no matter what anyone thinks. A genius for sure and so much more.

Our Album Rankings!

MATTHEW:

1.Hounds of Love 10/10

2.Aerial 9/10

3.The Kick Inside 9/10

4.Never For Ever 9/10

5.50 Words For Snow 8/10

6.The Whole Story 8/10

7.The Dreaming 7/10

8.Lionheart 7/10

9.The Sensual World 6/10

10. Before the Dawn 6/10

11.The Red Shoes 5/10

12.Director’s Cut 4/10

HOPE:

1. 50 Words For Snow 10/10

2. Hounds Of Love 10/10

3.The Dreaming 9/10

4.Never For Ever 9/10

5. The Whole Story 9/10

6. Aerial 7/10

7. The Kick Inside 6/10

8. The Sensual World 5/10

9.Lionheart 5/10

10. Before the Dawn 5/10

11.Director’s Cut 5/10

12.The Red Shoes 4/10

The Whole Story Re-imagined!

MATTHEW: Instead of just picking our favorite ten or so Kate songs, we decided to imagine a 2022 version of The Whole Story—but as a double album, with as many tracks as we can each sequence onto four imaginary sides of vinyl, with a max total of 90 minutes.
My updated and personal version of The Whole Story has the terribly predictable title of This Woman’s Work. I passed over some longer tracks (e.g., from Snow), and avoided all live, B-side, and cover versions, in order to cram these 21 favorites at 88 minutes onto my double album:

Side One (21:03): Hounds of Love, Babooshka, King of the Mountain, Wow, The Man With the Child in His Eyes, Reaching Out.

Side Two (23:08): Running Up That Hill (A Deal with God), Breathing, Cloudbusting, Wuthering Heights, And Dream of Sheep.

Side Three (23:17): Under Ice, How To Be Invisible, Sat in Your Lap, Moments of Pleasure, Among Angels.

Side Four (20:21): Symphony in Blue, Somewhere In Between, Never Be Mine, All the Love, This Woman’s Work.


HOPE: The title of my revised version of The Whole Story is an absolute cliche but it feels so right to me. Now because I am a former record store employee, while brainstorming a title, I imagined scenarios of customers asking for the album as well as seeing its name listed on our printed charts (I also envisioned an exquisite album sleeve and no it did not involve a sheep I swear). And with that, may I now introduce you to Moments Of Pleasure. It features 23 songs consisting of the required pieces and some deserving dark horses and is sequenced like Matthew’s above i.e. as a double vinyl album. And much as I’d love to have included “Misty” or “Nocturn” they are just a bit too long to sit comfortably here. And yes I went two minutes over the 90 minute limit and so I humbly ask that you cut me some slack (Matthew):

Side One (20:00): Wuthering Heights, Breathing, Houdini, And Dream Of Sheep, The Man With The Child In His Eyes.

Side Two (22:00): Hounds Of Love, Suspended In Gaffa, Babooshka, All The Love, Army Dreamers, This Woman’s Work.

Side Three (27:00): Running Up That Hill (A Deal with God), Never Be Mine, Be Kind To My Mistakes, King Of The Mountain, Among Angels, Reaching Out.

Side Four (23:00): Moments Of Pleasure, Not This Time, The Sensual World, Walk Straight Down The Middle, One Last Look Around The House, Cloudbusting.

Reaching Out!

We’d like to offer heartfelt thanks to each and every one of you who joined us on this discographic journey. We think you’re unbelievable and incredible ❤️ Keep breathing…

photo by john carder bush

I Know What I Like: A Discographic Journey into Genesis 1967-2022 (Rating the Albums)

In 2021, Genesis took to the road for what was their final tour, giving their last gig in March of this year. As such, we felt it was time to address the recorded output of these magnificent prog-pop behemoths in the deep, demented, and devoted manner they deserve. 

Welcome to I Know What I Like: A Discographic Journey into Genesis. Please join historian Matthew Restall and me (Hope) as we dissect, discuss, and rate ‘n’ rank the entire Genesis discography, confronting era-related prejudices and offering demonic hot-takes—all whilst gushing with unfettered devotion. There will be beauty and bombast. Conquests and creatures. Snowmen and pigeons. Come ride majestic with us…

Supper’s ready y’all…

MATTHEW: Bands and artists that evolve dramatically over time are a particular pleasure to listen to. Whether it’s groups like Fleetwood Mac and The Bee Gees, or long-serving artists like Bowie, McCartney, and Elton, it’s fun to ponder whether the shifts were due to personnel changes, to new influences, or to the vagaries of creativity and aging. But surely no band in this category divides fans as much as Genesis. When I was a kid (growing up in England), Gabriel-era fanatics and Collins-era fans didn’t just disagree on the albums, they hated each other. Your opinions on, say, Foxtrot vs Abacab, were a personality test, determining whether you were an upstanding fellow of fine taste or a complete c—t.

HOPE: Where you stand on the Genesis discography is usually determined by where you came in or, yup, what gender you happen to be. Because there is no denying that in the days Peter Gabriel was lead singer and creative director, the band’s audience was overwhelmingly male. That was the standard demographic for most progressive rock bands back in the day, from King Crimson to Yes. When Gabriel departed and Phil Collins was officially ensconced as the Genesis front man in 1976, the songwriting began to reflect a more romantic worldview, tamping down on the cryptic, existential tales and ramping up on lonely loved-up anthems. Even more significantly, as the lyrical sentiments became more accessible, the tunes themselves got tighter, more melodic and radio-friendly, which broadened the fanbase considerably. And that’s where this dame came in. The post-Gabriel version of Genesis was the one I first fell in love with. Stuff that hogweed, hand me those ripples. 

But it should be said that like a middle child kicking down, the hardcore fans of the Phil Collins era have hardly been the benevolent “come one come all” welcoming committee one might expect based on their own treatment. As dismissive as the Gabriel crew are to some Collins fans, so too are the Phil-ophiles toward the fans that came to love Genesis in the mid-’80s because of the perkily twee megahit Invisible Touch. I admit I’ve always looked down on the “invisible touch-ers”.  And I have tragically acted out. I saw a guy wearing an Invisible Touch tour tee-shirt at one of the 2021 Genesis shows I attended and took a pic of the back of it—which had an actual track-listing (!)— just so I could text my visual complaint to Matthew. Old habits die hard and no, I’m not proud.

But for today, let’s set all our differences aside. It doesn’t matter when or why you became a fan or whether you are a hardcore devotee or delicate dabbler. Let us now join together to celebrate, contemplate and give thanks to these fabulously fantastical prog-pop weirdos in the manner they deserve, with outrageously indulgent love, respect, dutchess’s, duke’s, snowmen and squonks. Shine on!

Behind The Lines: Just a note on the format of this essay, Matthew and I are going to be taking turns offering up our Genesis assessments and our names will appear before our respective comments. We are going to rate each album individually (on a classic 1-10, hate-to-love scale), and will also list where it ranks in the discography as a whole (1-15 studio albums).

MATTHEW: In addition we will identify what is to us either a “Key Track” or a “Key Cluster” (a contiguous set of tracks) for each album. By “key” we don’t mean the biggest hit or the “best”; after all, this is a discussion of opinion and emotional response, not a claim (gasp!) to critical authority.

HOPE: Exactly! By “key” we mean the song (or songs) that we think best encapsulates the spirit of each album, good or bad. In addition, we will also be addressing the solo and side projects via a lean and mean breakdown following the actual Genesis discography. Our opinions will diverge at points from both each other, and maybe the world at large, but we are gloriously united in appreciation of the legendary Gens.

The Albums

From Genesis To Revelation (1969)

MATTHEW:  I’m going to start by sticking my neck out: Genesis started out as a bunch of schoolboys trying to be The Bee Gees. Hardly an original observation, I know. But here’s the thing. They didn’t do it half badly. The second-class Bee Gee production is made more interesting by hints of the Zombies and the Association, with pre-echoes of the sound they would consolidate on Trespass and Foxtrot. I admit I ignored this album for decades. And when I turned to it this year, I expected to dislike it as much as their final album, assuming the two albums made bag-o’-bollocks bookends, 28 years apart. But I didn’t hate it. It’s clearly not in the top ten (of their 15 studio albums), but nor is it their worst, and nor is it unlistenable (like, say, Supertramp’s 1970 debut). It has even started to grow on me. 

Rating: 3/10.

Ranking: 14/15

Key Track: “Where the Sour Turns to Sweet,” for the admittedly lame reason that the opening lines to this the opening song of the first album—“We’re waiting for you, come and join us now”—make a sweet (ahem, not sour) invitational start to their catalog. It’s where I’d start my own extended version of R-Kive (to which we return at the end).

HOPE:  This album is pretty sophisticated for a bunch of nerdy teenagers who were for all intents and purposes still figuring out how to be a band. But from a sonic standpoint, it is unquestionably an outlier in the grand discography. As I began to get into Genesis and explore their discography this album held little allure for me because neither Phil Collins nor Steve Hackett were on it and, gonna say it, I knew what I liked. Yes, it is so very Bee Gees, albeit with a side order of Zombies and a sprinkle of Cat Stevens. In fact, “Silent Sun” reminds me a whole lot of Bee Gee Robin Gibb’s 1969 bleating solo chestnut “Saved By The Bell”. The only redeeming thing about the album is that you get to hear the Gabriel voice in bloom, which is best likened to a colt when it first realizes it can run and is awkwardly amazed at what it can do.  

Rating: 3/10

Ranking: 14/15

Key Track: I’m going to say “Silent Sun” because it’s a bit more fleshed out than the rest but, like the album, it never moves beyond curio status.

Trespass (1970)

HOPE: Trespass is a huge sonic step forward from the debut album. Its songs are infinitely more adventurous than those featured on that first LP and Gabriel’s fabulously assertive vocals are a treat. Alas, it is also exhibit A in the overblown medieval fairytale-themed era of the Genesis discography. If I may speak in “prog” for a moment; to all ye romantic pragmatists, there lyeth nothing within the kingdom of Trespass for you. In other words, if you are a “don’t bore us get to the chorus” kind of person, a restless soul with a sweet tooth, you probably don’t-won’t like Trespass. It is a soundtrack for non-cynical fantasist-dreamers who want to be taken on a very particular historical journey. Heading into battle, sword in hand as you rush over the drawbridge? Then “The Knife” is your jam. Want to simulate the sensation of riding horseback through the woods with Robin Hood and his Merry Men? “White Mountain” is here to theme you. You get the idea. Don’t get me wrong, there are some sweet melodic flourishes on Trespass—the anthemic “Stagnation” is full of them—it’s just that they’re offset by a whole lot of self-consciously mystical lyricism and youthfully wanking keyboard-ry. 

Rating: 3/10

Ranking: 13/15

Key Track: “Looking For Someone” exemplifies the kind of drama and tenderness that the band would soon begin exploring with aplomb on successive albums.

MATTHEW: Trespass is certainly a step forward, but I’m in two minds, Hope, as to whether that step is “huge.” Yes, right from the opening lines, it is apparent that Gabriel has found his voice. And it soon becomes apparent from the improved musicianship and production that this is a band evolving fast, and one that has found a new genre—to which it promises to contribute some significant, even classic, albums (a promise gloriously fulfilled within a few years). But the DNA ties to the previous album are far from severed. In some of the more subtle moments (“Dusk,” for example), there are strong echoes of Revelation (and that’s not a bad thing). And while I get why “The Knife” is iconic to many fans (especially those who saw Genesis play in these very early years), it is less my “jam” than the tracks that open each side (“Looking for Someone” and “Stagnation”)—which appeal to me as a less jarring, more deft use of the prog-rock palette to layer the early Genesis sound.

Rating: 4/10

Ranking: 13/15

Key Track: “Stagnation,” an early sign that this band would later lead prog rock into places gorgeous and stirring.

Nursery Cryme (1971)

MATTHEW: Jumping around the Genesis catalog is a good (and fun) way to savor its dramatic variety, but that also exposes the trap of the Gabriel-vs-Collins dichotomy. A far better appreciation for the various contributions of the band’s evolving personnel can be gained if you listen to the fifteen albums in sequence. The experience is a revelation. The personnel changes melt away, as the band steadily develops, album by album. Consequently, Nursery Cryme, as the first album with Phil Collins and Steve Hackett on board, is even less of a step forward (or a step in a different direction) than was Trespass. In fact, it is a remarkably similar foray into early-70s English prog, albeit better at its best and worse at its worst. The opening two tracks, for example, are an exciting preview of what the band would do in later albums—I get why “The Musical Box” is a fan favorite. But much of the rest of the album (especially “The Return of the Giant Hogweed” and “Harold the Barrel”) are more exhausting than exhilarating.

Rating: 5/10

Ranking: 11/15

Key Track: There’s no escaping the mastery and significance of “The Musical Box.”

HOPE: Yup, I concur and have to add that I find the ”Maxwell’s Silver Hammer” vibe of  “Harold The Barrel” to be particularly grating. Flute-flavored fancypants and perhaps the best song ever written about a deadly croquet match and its aftermath, “The Musical Box” is unquestionably the album’s centerpiece. It’s basically a prog party song, a skillfully played racket, with a little bit of everything that offers every member of the band an opportunity to show off and go off. But while I appreciate its madcap charms and get why it’s such a beloved part of the canon, I can’t say that I actually enjoy listening to it more than once a year. And so Matthew, I’m gonna steal your assessment and attach it to Nursery Cryme as a whole: exhausting.

Rating: 4/10

Ranking: 10/15

Key Track: “The Musical Box”

Foxtrot (1972)

HOPE: Foxtrot is both welcomingly accessible and unabashedly prog. And so while there are mentions of kings, queens and carved oak tables, the tunes themselves are pretty hummable and melodic (“Time Table”, “Get ‘Em Out By Friday,” and “Can-Utility And The Coastliners”). That said, when it comes to Foxtrot, there are only two things I care about. The first isn’t even a whole song but rather a smidge of one, namely Tony Banks’s opening mellotron lines in “Watcher Of The Skies.” They are immense. They are the sound of thunder clouds enveloping the earth. They make the rest of the song feel like a long, superfluous animal tail-third nipple. And so yeah, I’ll take endless loops of that. Then there’s “Supper’s Ready,” the batshit-ambitious, 23 freakin’ minute, 7-part, full plate-of-prog epic, a song I don’t love but whose execution and ridiculousness I remain kind of awed by. It features some fabulously melodic 12-string picking, Steve Hackett doing Eddie Van Halen before Eddie ever did, and a f-cking children’s choir, and absolutely deserves to have some prog devil horns raised in its honor.

Rating: 6/10

Ranking: 8/15

Key Track: “Supper’s Ready”

MATTHEW: I agree that Banks’s mellotron opener to “Watcher of the Skies” is a fantastic way to start the album; it always makes me smile. The song closes memorably too, and indeed Side 1 is as good as Side 2—high praise, considering the latter comprises the epic “Supper’s Ready,” with “Horizons” as its tasty appetizer (in his recent book on UK prog, A New Day Yesterday, Mike Barnes insisted that “Supper” was “surely the unofficial anthem of progressive rock”). Although this isn’t Collins’ first album with the band, his contributions on sticks and vocals are—to my ears—truly noticeable for the first time. No wonder Foxtrot is the gold standard for fans who first arrived here. Its theatricality and musicality wear well, perhaps in part because there’s so much youthful invention here—-in contrast to the mature, spotless polish of the final three albums, which have worn very thin. Foxtrot ain’t perfect, and that’s perfectly fine. 

Rating: 7/10

Ranking: 9/15

Key Track: “Horizons/Supper’s Ready.”

Selling England By The Pound (1973)

MATTHEW:  Finally, I’m crying. Well, not actually weeping. But after being slowly yet steadily impressed by the albums leading up to this, I am now moved, stirred, exhilarated. The skillfully balanced mixture of musical ingredients that comprises Side One of Selling England By The Pound—the sheer majesty of it—brings tears to my eyes.  Bookended beautifully by vocals from Gabriel (“Dancing With the Moonlit Knight”) and Collins (“More Fool Me”), the vinyl side soars in the middle with the anthemic “I Know What I Like (In Your Wardrobe)” (their first charting single, a UK #21) and with the album’s anchoring masterpiece, “Firth of Fifth.” “I love the guitar,” Tony Banks has said of the song, “the way it takes over the melody in the second half is one of the strongest moments of Genesis.” For me, that moment is more than strong: it’s transcendental, spiritually ecstatic. This is what the band seem to have been reaching for on Trespass and Foxtrot, and to be able to experience them attaining it—over and over, for Side One never gets old—is, well, deeply wonderful. Side Two is almost as good, for there is surely not a weak song on the album. The social commentary on English culture is wry, witty, and at times wonderfully weird, making the album as lyrically engaging as it is musically exquisite.

Rating: 10/10

Ranking: 3/15

Key Track: “Firth of Fifth” (but really all Side One: “Moonlit Knight/I Know What I Like/Firth of Fifth/More Fool Me”).

HOPE: Of all the albums released in the Gabriel era, Selling England By The Pound is by far the easiest to digest, an eccentric-pretentious, melodically accessible, mythically romantic storybook of songs. Side One is a particularly grand and lustrous place and ranks as one of the top three Gens album sides ever-ever. Starting with manic throwback “Dancing with the Moonlit Knight”, leading into classically-tinged epic “Firth Of Fifth”, coming down with gorgeous Phil-helmed ballad “More Fool Me,” and closing out with glorious setlist stalwart and evergreen stadium singalong, ”I Know What I Like (In Your Wardrobe)”, it’s a combination dragon and heart-slayer.

While Selling has got some, let’s just call it “medieval flavoring” and half of the tracks have running times of over eight minutes, it is still by far the poppiest of all the Peter-led albums ( and thus the ideal entry point for curious latter-day fans to start investigating the olden days). And gotta mention one last thing regarding “I Know What I Like”; Hearing an arena full of people shout about being “just a lawnmower” is infinitely more life-affirming than hearing them wail about dying “in an everlasting kiss”. I could never have imagined such a thing unless I’d seen it with my own eyes. Seriously, it’s the freakin’ best (sorry Boss). And so I’m with you Matthew: Selling is weird, witty, and pretty damn wonderful.

Rating: 8/10

Ranking: 6/15

Key Track: “Firth of Fifth.”

The Lamb Lies Down On Broadway (1974)

MATTHEW: Lamb reminds me of Pink Floyd’s The Wall: I recognize its creative brilliance, but its dark theatrical vision is not one I chose to let into my head very often. It’s unsettling. As the best art often is, sure, but do you want it on your bedroom wall? And there’s an irony here: to appreciate why this may be the ultimate English prog rock concept album (the genre’s “ultimate fantasy tale,” as Barnes puts it), you have to listen to its full 94 minutes in one undistracted sitting. But that’s less practical—less often possible for most of us—than enjoying select tracks, or perhaps savoring one vinyl side at a time. Which certainly can be satisfying (I’ll never forget the pure joy of singing the chorus to “The Carpet Crawlers,” along with Phil and over ten thousand other fans, as I did recently at the close to Genesis’s concert in Pittsburgh). But that isn’t the full immersive Lamb experience. To which I find I am always reluctant to commit. I guess you’ve got to get in to get out.

Rating: 7/10

Ranking: 8/15

Key Cluster: “Hairless Heart/Counting Out Time/The Carpet Crawlers”

HOPE: As the Tusk album is to Fleetwood Mac’s legacy, so too is Lamb to the Gens. It is the cool cult classic that either you get or you don’t. And now a message to all the non-believers who have tried (and tried) but still can’t get into it; there is nothing wrong with you. Lamb is seriously demanding. It is consistently on the attack, endlessly, aggressively, unsparingly heaving itself at you with only a few contemplative, peaceful moments to catch your breath, especially when it comes to the lyrical content. From the indulgent and ponderous story, to the 94 minute run-time (!), Lamb asks a lot, a lot of the listener. Okay, time for my self-outing; I am a non-believer. I have tried innumerable times, but have never been able to latch onto Lamb as a whole. It is supremely dense and has often felt and sounded like one endless song to me ( maybe that’s the idea but I still find it impenetrable at points). Like you Matthew, it’s more of an out of context side at a time for me or rather, song at a time. When it comes to Lamb, I mostly just eat the fat roses off the top of the cake, specifically dirty awesome anthem “Back In N.Y.C.”, eternally beauteous “Carpet Crawlers,” and the big-chorused title track. And sometimes I like a little “Hairless Heart” to soundtrack a snowy walk. Still, I haven’t quite given up on becoming a complete Lamb loyalist/whole cake eater. Its reputation and solid assortment of good bits still inspire me to throw it on every now and then. Yeah, I know. If it was gonna happen it probably would have happened decades ago. But here I am, swaying along to “The Lamia,” as I write this and it is sounding very, very nice. Baby steps forever…

Rating: 7/10

Ranking: 7/15

Key Track: Back In N.Y.C.

Yes, Gabriel out of Genesis…

A Trick of the Tail (1976)

HOPE: I confess that I didn’t really get into Genesis until around 1980 when the Duke album was released. And so I experienced no real-time trauma about Peter Gabriel’s departure from the band in 1975 (which came following the band’s tour in support of the previous album, Lamb). Sure, I planned to investigate the Gabriel era at some point, but it wasn’t gonna happen until after I’d gotten every album where Phil Collins was singing lead. And based on what I knew of the Peter years, I suspected I wouldn’t be as into early Genesis as I was into this current incarnation. It seemed just a little too proggy for a restless, hook-obsessed, young American girl who at that time was seriously in love with Sting. She was just not gonna get it. A Trick Of The Tail though, that was another story. 

This album flows. It is a seamless, unskippable fantastical journey that sounds most ravishing when listened to as a whole, in sequence. Warm, noble and endlessly nerdy in sentiment, Tail is equal parts mythical journey and metaphorical wallflower’s diary. There’s a lot to love here, from “Ripples” (the most lustrous singalong anthem about fading beauty ever) to “Entangled” (guitarist Steve Hackett’s swoonsome acoustic tale from the psychiatrist’s couch) to “Squonk” (shyly gritty rock-hymn of ostracism and survival). I do acknowledge that there is one tough piece of meat to contend with, namely the court-jester that is “Robbery, Assault & Battery.” It’s a bit insufferable, but the tune itself is pretty charming and catchy and it magically just kinda jibes with Trick’s vibes. This is a good time to address the longstanding sonic peccadillo of Genesis; nearly every album has a track like “Robbery”: a goofy character-driven, vaguely comic pop song with cringe-worthy lyrics and slightly irritating vocal affectations; it’s just their thing. 

Rating: 10/10

Ranking: 2/15

Key Track/Cluster: The album itself is the Key Cluster. 

MATTHEW: Fears that Gabriel’s departure would cripple the band were famously assuaged here. Die-hard fans of 1970-74 Genesis would forever lament the passing of a golden age. But I have zero sympathy. Because the remaining foursome released not one but two masterpieces in 1976—both, to my mind, better than Lamb and as good as Selling England (sorry Lamb-lovers, but the 102” of the ‘76 twins blows away that double-LP’s 94”). The balance between melodic but cheese-free ballads and complex extended prog rockers is perfect on both. As explained below, I have a special fondness for Wind & Wuthering, but I won’t argue with anyone proclaiming Trick of the Tail to be the superior sibling—or even the band’s best album. It is a cliché to write of an album’s flow, but here I go (echoing you, Hope): A Trick of The Tail just flows so beautifully, from the first note to the final fade out, slowly building to the blissful climax of the last three tracks.

Rating: 10/10

Ranking: 4/15

Key Track/Cluster: The album’s closing trio, “Ripples/A Trick of The Tail/Los Endos.”

Wind & Wuthering (1976)

MATTHEW: As you said, Hope, where we entered the Genesis camp determines which tent we end up in. Ok, you didn’t use a silly camping metaphor. But you get my point. And my entry point was Wind & Wuthering for a silly reason. Up to 1978, I’d been too young and too put off by the anti-Collins purists to give the band much attention. But when “Follow You, Follow Me” hit the airwaves that March (when I turned 14), I had a change of heart. So, as soon as I had the chance, I bought the album—the wrong one! I have no idea why. “Follow” was on the new album, of course, and Wind & Wuthering was the previous one. But I LOVED it. I’m not going to try to persuade anyone that it’s the best Genesis album. But I’ll argue that it’s one of their best. And it’s my favorite, because it’s woven into my neural pathways. Objectivity is impossible. It’s part of me. It’s my home tent. It’s where I came in. 

Rating: 10/10

Ranking: 1/15

Key Track/Cluster: A tie between “One for the Vine” and “Blood on the Rooftops,” the extraordinary compositions that each anchor one side of the album.

HOPE: I love your” incorrect” trajectory Matthew! I totally get it as we will soon predictably see.  I didn’t acquire Wind until I was several years into my Genesis fandom. And I think if it had had a more garish album cover I might’ve bought it sooner than I did (sadly still a factor at that point in my life). This album has always left me with a sense of “almost” after listening to it.  Every track possesses a beautiful moment but never quite penetrates my heart.  Admittedly I tend to like the bigger-sounding Genesis songs with the gargantuan hooks and as Wind is a more meandering affair in terms of overall song structure, the melodies just feel less memorable (big single “Your Own Special Way” excepted). The only track I ever really spend time with is the evocative and gorgeous “Blood On The Rooftops”, which may be the most underrated ballad in the whole Gens discography. And so while I love, say, Phil’s falsetto bit on “One For The Vine” and think “Afterglow” is overall, a pretty regal and handsome beast, I just can’t quite latch onto them or any of the other tracks apart from “Blood” in a meaningful way. P.S. I hope my feelings about Wind don’t mean the end of our friendship Matthew.

Rating: 5/10

Ranking: 9/15

Key Track:  Blood on the Rooftops

…And Then There Were Three…(1978)

HOPE: In late-1977, guitarist Steve Hackett left Genesis to pursue solo ventures, thereby reducing Genesis to (and then there were) three members (that’d be Tony Banks, Phil Collins and Mike Rutherford). And this album, the first full-length released by the newly streamlined Gens, is pretty dear to my heart. Yes, I’m about to get horrifyingly Hallmark on you, for which I apologize in advance. Now I know this might sound weird, but next to Vince Guaraldi’s A Charlie Brown Christmas, And Then There Were Three is my favorite holiday album ever. It entered my life as a specially requested Xmas gift and I have a vivid recollection of removing it from its shrinkwrap Xmas morning in front of a roaring fireplace. It is winter in musical form. If twinkly lights and icicles were songs, they would sound like And Then There Were Three. Happy Prog-mas you freakin’ nerd!

Anyway…And Then There Were Three usually finds itself lodged somewhere in the middle of Genesis album rankings, meaning while it’s no one’s outright favorite, it is acknowledged to have some genuinely good songs. My wintry-sentimental attachments aside, I do actually believe it to be the the most underrated album in the discography, the bonafide sleeper (not to mention a damn good starting point for the uninitiated, as are Trick and Duke, the latter of which we’ll get to next). It is for all intents and purposes, the band’s first “pop” album. But while immensely accessible, And Then is still over-the-top epic in execution, meaning it is the perfect soundtrack for both car journeys and viking-themed horseback adventures. Now I’m not sure if this is a hot take, but I find the album’s best-known track, the bubbly “Follow You Follow Me” to be one of its least compelling. It’s cute and infectious but nothing more (it only earns 5 out of a 10 possible reindeer from me). And it withers next to the good stuff. There are booming, fire breathing behemoths (“Down and Out”,“Deep In The Motherlode”,“The Lady Lies”). There are shiny and lustrous ballads (“Many Too Many” and “Undertow”). Hell, even the trademark Genesis pseudo-comedic character study on offer here is absolutely swoon-inducing (“Say It’s Alright Joe”, oh shine on!). But for me the finest song on And Then is Mike Rutherford’s on-the-nose, quiet-loud beauty “Snowbound”. It’s not just the stunning melodicism and wistful words that make it so winning but the exceptional vocal by Phil Collins, who whispers, coos and bellows with extraordinary conviction throughout. Also, I love songs about snowmen (like this). I should note there are a couple of “just okay” songs which drag down my overall rating of the album, specifically “Ballad Of Big”, “Scenes From a Night’s Dream”, but they are still chock full of charm and so my quibbles are minor. 

Rating: 9 reindeer/10

Ranking: 3/15

Key Track: “Snowbound”

MATTHEW: Some Genesis fans might end a friendship over giving Wind & Wuthering a 5/10 (or a 10/10)! Me, I’ll forgive you, Hope. After all, with Wind & Wuthering as the gateway drug, I also then got hooked on And Then There Were Three. And doesn’t that put us back on the same page? But for reasons I have long forgotten, back in the day I put my favorite tracks from Three on mixtapes and listened to those more than the album as a whole. For example, “Many Too Many” is a oft-overlooked pop gem that featured on many a mix of mine. And while I dislike overt Christmas music (no more rock versions of “Jingle Bells,” please, or “Jingle Bell Rock” for that matter) I love songs that can be appropriated for the season—and “Snowbound” always makes my playlists of covert Xmas rock/pop. In retrospect, And Then There Were Three doesn’t quite hold together as smoothly as its 1976 predecessors. Did it lean towards pop and away from prog too much? Take “Many Too Many” again: seemingly mixed to be a single (which it was), rather than an expansive album track, it just begs for more from Banks and Rutherford. Does Hackett’s departure show? Or am I forever misled by my own teenage failing to absorb the album as a whole? Either way, it is a great album, still qualifying in my mind as a top five Genesis classic.

Rating: 9/10

Ranking: 5/15

Key Track: The gloriously anthemic and perfectly constructed “Undertow” (tell me, what do you think you would do then?), tied with “Snowbound.”

Duke (1980)

MATTHEW: Another masterpiece, perfectly balancing the threesome’s prog rock past and their pop rock future. The soaring melodies and satisfying hooks are more in evidence than ever, with none of the irritating moments that would mar later albums. As much as I love other tracks (especially “Duchess”), and although Side One (“Behind the Lines” through “Heathaze”) is one of those perfect Genesis album sides, I think the core of Duke comprises the middle four of its twelve tracks: Collins’ almost-poignant pop-perfect “Misunderstanding,” Banks’ sublime “Heathaze,” the trio-composed smash “Turn It On Again,” and Rutherford’s totally-poignant “Alone Tonight.” Only in wrong-headed retrospect does Duke anticipate the superficial pop of later Genesis and solo Collins albums. Yes, this launched the band into a new world of commercial success (first UK #1 album, first top 20 single in the US with “Misunderstanding”), but that doesn’t mean the album was a step in the wrong direction. On the contrary, the Genesis formula was here assembled with unimpeachable creative skill.

Rating: 10/10

Ranking: 2/15

Key Track/Cluster: “Misunderstanding” (but really all Side One: “Behind the Lines/Duchess/Guide Vocal/Man of Our Times/Misunderstanding/Heathaze”).

HOPE: Duke is a collection of exquisite anthems for and about “losers” (aka, all of us at one point or another), a cornucopia of awesomely tuneful, fatly chorused, oddly rousing heartbreakers built for those who prefer their angst to enter a room and make a scene rather than silently sulk against a wall  (“It’s not enough!”, “it’s driving me mad!”, “I don’t understand!”).  Every stage of romantic grief is honored with its own theme song. There’s unrequited love (“Misunderstanding”), rejection (“Behind The Lines”, “Alone Tonight”), obsession (“Turn It On Again”), as well as some resignation and resentment (“Please Don’t Ask”, “Guide Vocal”). There’s even a bit of decline and doom for fans of early Genesis (“Duchess”, “Cul De Sac”, “Heathaze”). Oh hell, it’s all great. And though I don’t believe there is one singular Genesis album that is markedly better than the rest, Duke is unquestionably the first album I’d recommend to new fans or curious space aliens. It’s just that easy. Lastly, as someone whose childhood dream was to “draw album covers for cool bands” when I grew up, I just want to take a minute to exult Duke’s sleeve art, which was adapted from a 1979 kids book by French Illustrator Lionel Koechlin called L’Alphabet d’Albert and features the titular green-suited Albert gazing moonward  in an exceptionally profound and moving manner that belies his goofy cartoon man appearance. 

Sidebar #1: Tony Banks often cites Duke as his favorite Genesis album (which reminds me, you know who has horrible taste in Genesis recordings? Phil Collins. But we’ll get to that later).

Sidebar #2: In 2019 producer-musician Steve Reidell covered the Duke album, right down to the damn sleeve art. It is sweet and fun as hell. Check it out here

Rating:10/10

Ranking: 1/15

Key Track: “Misunderstanding”

Abacab (1981)

HOPE: In my weirdo head, Abacab and The Police’s Ghost in The Machine are brothers. Bookends. Soulmates. Thrust into the world within weeks of one another, not only did they dominate my turntable at the same damn time but to my ears seemed to emit an eerily similar sonic vibe. Each featured a perkily cynical hit single that bore no physical resemblance to the tracks that surrounded it (“No Reply At All” for the Gens, “Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic” for The Police). Big swoonsome melodies were outnumbered by anxious drones and moans. Sentiments were cynical.  All of which is to say, neither album was particularly huggable or “fun”. Abacab occupies a bit of no-man’s land in the Gens discography, too popular to be a cult classic yet too gray and disjointed to have genuine universal appeal. No Abacab tracks found their way into the band’s 2021-22 tour setlist (though neither did any songs from Trick, which is a far more egregious crime).  Abacab is a cold factory of an album…and I love it.

While I genuinely dig the subtly aggressive, dolled-up krautrock of the title track, and the urgent horn-fest of “No Reply”, the album’s two best-known entities, they aren’t my Abacab all-stars. My biggest love is reserved for Tony Banks epic of madness or maybe Dr. Who, “Me And Sarah Jane” with its exquisite bridge (“First I’m flying, going round round round”, ooh), lovelorn Rutherford ballad “Like It Or Not” (not a very popular track, but me, I love an ascending guitar line always) and my all-time favorite Genesis song, the soaring, lustrous and bizarro “Keep It Dark” (no, seriously, this is the one). And I also want to offer praise to moody beauty “Man On The Corner,” a genuine dark horse in the Gens canon. This album would be a 10/10 for me if not for the presence of the ghastly “Who Dunnit?” which is some real McCartney II level bullshit. I’ve been moving the needle on this thing since 1981, back when I actually had to get up to do it (a herculean task for a teenager) and will continue to do so for as long as I’m still here.  

Rating: 9/10

Ranking: 4/15

Key Track: “Keep It Dark”

MATTHEW: Although we agree, Hope, on Duke, Abacab always struck me as less compelling. Just as Then There Were Three lacks the coherence achieved by its two 1976 predecessors (despite being almost as good), so does Abacab fail to hold together the way Duke does (despite having some great songs.) The title track is a great opener, a fine example of the pop-prog style perfected by the band in the early 80s. And “Man on a Corner” is a gem often overlooked. But I agree with the comment on the World of Genesis fan site, that “Paperlate” should have been on here instead of possibly the worst Genesis song ever, “Who Dunnit?” That said, for me Genesis’ golden age was 1973-83, and Abacab sits comfortably within that run of eight superb albums.  Its flaws only serve to highlight its strengths (as opposed to increasingly overwhelming the strengths, as happens with the 1986-97 albums).

Rating: 8/10

Ranking: 7/15

Key Track/Cluster: “Man on the Corner/Like It or Not” (back-to-back, deceptively melodic, seemingly-love songs that are actually dark songs of isolation and bitterness—very Abacab).

Genesis (1983)

MATTHEW: For me, there are three Genesis albums with stunning, pretty-much-perfect Side Ones: Selling England By the Pound; Duke; and this one. I still remember buying this on vinyl the day it came out, walking straight from a pub lunch to the nearest HMV with my mate Rob, each of us forking out for our own copy, then dashing back to his to soak, somewhat beer-addled, in “Mama” and in whatever else the three lads had come up with. And I still remember being dazzled by the deft balance of that menacing opening track with the Phil-pop of “That’s All” and the neo-prog brilliance of “Homes” (as we re-titled what is really a single, thrilling 11-minute track). But I also remember the let-down of what an uneven grab-bag Side Two seemed to be, from the throwaway, embarrassing goofiness of “Illegal Alien” to B-side level songs like “Just A Job To Do” (in fact, three of Side Two’s songs were B-sides to the album’s singles). Was it the afternoon hangover kicking in? Perhaps. I admit I have grown to be fond of “Taking It All Too Hard,” the way I like similar pop songs on the next album (e.g., “Throwing It All Away”). And the rest of Side Two grew on me, and still sounds pretty good (I love the reverse-playback effect on “It’s Gonna Get Better”). But all these decades later, I still can’t quite shake the feeling that Side One (10/10) is elevating me like a roaring great pub session, while Side Two (6 or 7/10) knocks me down like the hangover to follow. 

Rating: 8/10

Ranking: 6/15

Key Track: “Home By The Sea/Second Home By The Sea” (but really all Side One: “Mama/That’s All/Home/Second Home”).

HOPE: It was at this point in the story that Genesis stopped seeming “cool” to me. By 1983, I’d been officially swept away by the foxy and glamorous sea of Durans, Furs, and Culture Clubs and the Gens started feeling, and looking, more like Dads to me (unsurprisingly the appearance of this hot new blood killed my old Phil crush. Yeah, I had one.). Don’t get me wrong,  I still genuinely cared about the musical activities of my three Genesis Dads, just not quite enough to wear the tee-shirts anymore (I blame art school in NYC and teen hormones). Thus I still happily tumbled to the record shop to grab my “Mama”, the single released in advance of the album, because I was loyal like that. “Mama” is a hot, noisy factory of a song, hardly the most obvious or enticing piece of candy to relaunch one’s self into the pop charts. But holy shit, it ended up being the band’s highest charting UK single, rising all the way up to #4. Go Mama.

And as it turns out, it was the perfect establishing shot for what I consider to be the “Last Great Genesis Album” (yes, that’s a spoiler alert for what’s to come in this essay). Genesis (the album) has a definite vibe and mood, somewhere between an overheated machine and a hopeful hand on the shoulder. Representing the former are the pulsating, fab-proggy “Home By The Sea”, fab-angsty rocker “Just A Job To Do”,  fab-aggressively sky-busting  “SIlver Rainbow” and the aforementioned  fab “Mama.” On the empathetic end are the delicately self-flagellating and supremely tuneful “Taking It All Too Hard” and  simultaneously eerie and optimistic “It’s Gonna Get Better.” Every one of those tracks gets an emphatic thumbs up. I do hear what you’re saying Matthew about Side One feeling more emotionally energetic than Side Two, but gotta confess that I don’t care for “That’s All”. It’s a bit too cute for me (The Beatles “All Together Now” always pops in my head when I hear it, which is never a good thing ). And now I need to make a shameful true confession. When I first got this album, my favorite song on it was “Illegal Alien”. I didn’t care about the words, I just loved the tuneful tune. Yeegh. I can’t bear to listen to it now, but yeah, that happened. Right, gonna go sit in the corner and face the wall now.

Rating: 8/10

Ranking: 5/15

Key Track: “It’s Gonna Get Better”

Invisible Touch (1986)

HOPE: “Maneater”. “Wake Me Up Before You Go Go”. “Shout”. Every successful ‘80s era band has one. A song that for better or worse has come to define them despite the fact that it is not their finest hour. And there is no greater example of this than “Invisible Touch,” the most egregiously offensive and sinister betrayal of a great band’s history, ability and integrity ever. It is assuredly the song that is playing upon one’s entry into hell. Shit, that was fun. I’ve been waiting to say that forever. And oh yeah, it’s one of Phil Collins’ all-time favorite Genesis songs. Sigh. Right, I just f-ing can’t anymore, so let us now talk about the album this evilness crawled out from…

On the Wikipedia page for Invisible Touch, the album, there is an aerial photo of an empty Wembley Stadium with a caption mentioning that Genesis played four shows there in support of its release. This random (or sneaky clever) reference tells you everything you need to know about the album. Invisible Touch speaks solely in the language of “stadium”. It is a $50 tour tee-shirt and $15 beer of an album. It is vast and vague. I was still in full new wave mode when this album was released, but just as with the previous album, had remained loyal enough to purchase it…and still cared enough to be outrageously disappointed by it. “Tonight, Tonight,Tonight” is what this album could have been: big, melodic and ominous. But no, what we end up with is a sub-par Phil Collins solo album, one that is as synthetic and emotionally empty as that picture of Wembley Stadium. With the exception of the aforementioned “Tonight” and hooky little groover “Throwing It All Away”, the rest is invisible.

Rating: 3/10

Ranking: 12/15

Key Track: “Tonight, Tonight,Tonight”

MATTHEW: I certainly don’t love this album. I struggle to get through it without skipping tracks, and if I stumble across the title track on the radio I shudder and lunge to change the station. And yet, I can’t hate it either. I guess our relationship status is: it’s complicated. Why? On the one hand, “Tonight, Tonight, Tonight,” the album’s best track, is—as you eloquently say, Hope—wonderfully expansive, ominous, and yet tunefully catchy. Furthermore, “Land of Confusion” is quality pop-rock, “In Too Deep” and “Throwing It All Away” are catchy ballads, and I rather like “The Brazilian.” But, on the other hand, there are two problems. One is over-exposure. This was the first album (by anyone) to put five singles in the US Top Five (all peaked between #1 and #4, in fact, and all reached #22 or higher in the UK—where the album was #1). My life was divided between the UK and US in 1986-87, and the hits of Invisible Touch were inescapable on both sides of the pond. It was all too much. The other problem was that the early-80s tension between the band’s sound and Phil’s solo sound is resolved here, but not in an ideal way: Invisible Touch is a Collins solo album to which Banks and Rutherford make excellent contributions. To think of it as a Genesis album is to be forever irritated. But relabel your playlist or CD as COLLINS, INVISIBLE TOUCH, and it becomes easier to accept it as Phil’s second or third best album—and happily his most Genesis-like one!

Rating: 6/10

Ranking: 10/15

Key Track: “Tonight, Tonight, Tonight.”

We Can’t Dance (1991)

MATTHEW: I’ve tried. I really have. But my comment about Invisible Touch being a Phil album (admittedly a rhetorical exaggeration) is even more applicable here. In fact, it feels like an uneasy mix of Phil songs with Mike + the Mechanics ones—sometimes within the same track (e.g., “Driving the Last Spike”). In other words, this is the sound of a band gradually becoming less of one, and more a meeting of solo artists who used to make unique and brilliant records together. The result isn’t terrible, but too often it is irritating (especially “I Can’t Dance”) or dull, packed with Philler, and at 72” hard to get through. 

Rating: 4/10

Ranking: 12/15

Key Track:  A tie between the hits “No Son of Mine” and “Hold On My Heart,” but without much enthusiasm for either. 

HOPE: Oh Matthew, I concur (insert weary sigh here). This album has a distinctly ‘“Phil Collins in the ‘90s” flavor; slick as ice and festooned with big dollops of lyrical cheese. “I Can’t Dance” is a nightmare, irritating, unfunky, and painful (and not gonna talk about the “comic” synched-up strut the guys do in the video, because just f-ing no). The highpoint is unquestionably “No Son Of Mine,” which, while it features a typically shiny early ‘90s production, is still a fabulously infectious earworm and home to a swell, super-sticky Banks synth-line on the backside of the chorus. As for the rest, well, there are some genuinely appealing melodies living on WCD—the perky-subversive“Jesus He Knows Me”, candied hymn “Fading Lights”, rain-soaked ballads ”Since I Lost You” and “Hold On My Heart”— but they are mired by a dated, tinny and clinical production (and some occasionally shudder-inducing lyrical earnestness). Yes, this album is the sound of Phil fronting Mike + the Mechanics and that is not, nor will it ever be, a good thing.

Rating: 4/10

Ranking: 11/15

Key Track: “No Son Of Mine”

Calling All Stations (1997)

HOPE: Phil Collins left Genesis in 1996 (and returned in 2007 but solely for touring purposes). Calling All Stations is an album recorded by Mike Rutherford, Tony Banks, and Ray Wilson, former singer of the band Stiltskin, who was recruited to replace Phil Collins. While this album is credited to Genesis and thus an official part of the band’s discography, it is not a Genesis album. This is an album by the RBW band. Rutherford and Banks are wondrous songwriters and Wilson has a good voice but this thing has no fire in its belly. It is painfully faceless and forgettable, right down to its awful “computerized” front cover. The title track is an okay piece of AOR-style prog and the best song on the album, but I still have no desire to ever hear it again. If this hadn’t been marketed as a “Genesis” album would I feel more benevolent? No. This isn’t even a good RBW band album.

Rating: 2/10

Ranking: 15/15

Key Track/Cluster: There’s no point in pretending. The answer is none.

MATTHEW: There are some good moments here (after all, it’s Banks and Rutherford), but as a whole, this is painfully dull and a little irritating. Considering how divided the fan base was (and still is) over Gabriel or Collins as lead vocal, it would seem imprudent to have imposed a new vocalist on band loyalists. You’re right to ask, Hope, why market this as Genesis? Just as it helps to imagine the previous two albums as Collins solo records (albeit with his Genesis bandmates playing prominent roles), I think Stations goes down easier if you think of it as a Banks/Rutherford record.

Rating: 2/10

Ranking: 15/15

Key Track/Cluster: If I had to pick one, maybe “Shipwrecked,” but only if it was re-recorded with Gabriel singing, which is a hell-frozen-over scenario; so then, to follow Hope’s cue, none.

Extended plays/EP’s

MATTHEW: Both these EPs are worth owning in whatever format you can find (neither are on Apple Music, for example). “Pigeons” and “Inside and Out” are excellent outtakes from Wind & Wuthering, and fans might spend hours debating whether the latter should have been squeezed onto that album (as the departing Hackett wanted), or if both songs should have been included (Rutherford’s vote). Fun times (for us music nerds)! The other track on the 1977 EP, “Match of the Day,” is an embarrassing curio. The 1982 EP is also three outtakes, this time from Abacab, and likewise comprises one song that doesn’t work and two that do (I think “Paperlate” and “You Might Recall” are both better than the weakest moments on Abacab). More fodder for the Genesis-nerd debate over song selections for albums! I’d like to see both EPs re-issued in a single vinyl and CD package, but that seems unlikely as “Pigeons,” “Inside and Out,” and “Paperlate” are all on the Turn It On Again compilation. 

HOPE: I remember buying the Spot the Pigeon EP a year or so after its release, after some NY FM station played “Pigeons” during some Genesis special. I had no idea it existed prior to that (!). Anyway, I love, love the brazenly eccentric and uber-melodic “Pigeons”, a song that despite its common subject matter, is just a little too weird and twee to ever be regarded as a mainstream Gens classic (which is an achievement considering the zoo is overrun with Squonks, Hogweeds and Nemo’s). Not a fan of the other two tracks at all; “Inside and Out” shimmers sweetly enough but the tune isn’t terribly memorable. And while “Match Of The Day” is not the worst Genesis song ever, it definitely belongs in the bottom five (“So put on your hat and scarf, Have a drink, have a larf”… jeezus). 1982’s 3 x 3 EP is a different story as it is home to a couple of supremely solid tracks that  would have turned Abacab into a classic namely “Paperlate” and “You Might Recall” (trade out “Who Dunnit” and “Another Record” and voilà, a classic album is born). Okay, I’m underplaying things right now. “You Might Recall” is actually one of my all-time favorite Genesis songs. No, seriously. The wanting vocals, lush piano lines, the gorgeous tune, just love it to its bones (forever). And “Paperlate”, though essentially a less fancy version of “No Reply At All” is seriously catchy, fun and poppin’.

Live, Live, Live

HOPE: As of this writing there have been six official live albums released. My favorite is the least coherent, namely Three Sides Live, a selection of live tracks recorded on assorted tours from 1976-81 (I should note that the original U.S. version of the album also included the studio tracks from the aforementioned 3×3 EP). It features a handful of recordings from the Nassau Coliseum show in November in ‘81 which is one of the few genuinely “famous” shows I can “brag” about having attended. The ticket was an intensely lobbied for birthday gift from my Mom and my seat was in the second row behind the stage. I wasn’t too upset about the fact that the band were facing in the other direction, as I was just plain happy to be there (and Phil did turn a few times to acknowledge us rearview-ers, bless him). Whilst there, I bought three (jeezus) different tour tee-shirts so I could advertise to everyone in school the next day that “I saw Genesis last night.” If you were a teen in the ‘70s or ‘80s, this shirt routine was as crucial to the concert-going experience as the actual show and I cannot stress this enough. 

In homeroom the next morning, one of my schoolmates noticed my garish but wonderful new shirt and mentioned that she’d gone to the show too. “What did you think?” she asked. “Oh. I loved it” I innocently drooled. She shrugged back, “ I didn’t, he talks too much”, him being Phil. Now while he’d offered up several lengthy and marginally comedic song intros during the show, I hadn’t been remotely bothered by his loquaciousness, because you know, I was in love with Phil. I of course did not share this little truth nugget. I knew she wasn’t gonna get it. And so I just cut my losses and caved in like a souffle. “Yeah, I know” I wussily concurred. 

November 29, 1981, Nassau Coliseum

Here’s Phil sensing my presence behind him and over his right shoulder that special night.

But even if I hadn’t been there, I suspect I’d still be exulting this thing as it is home to absolutely wondrous versions of “Misunderstanding” and “Turn It On Again” (the former from an ‘81 show at The Savoy in NYC, the latter from the aforementioned Coliseum gig) . They showcase Phil at the peak of his vocal powers and feature some raucously fabulous ad-libs. In fact, they are so good they come damn close to obliterating the studio versions.

I’d rank the live albums in this order: (1) Three Sides, (2) Seconds Out, a gorgeous document of the first tour starring Collins on lead vocals that features a thundering version of “The Lamb Lies…” and an especially swoonsome “The Carpet Crawlers”, (3) Genesis Live (1973) which is less about the actual setlist for me, and more about the then 23-year-old Gabriel’s staggeringly impressive voice (though admittedly, I rarely listen to it). The rest of the live releases are for completists only and while I won’t get on a soapbox for it, I will say that (4) Live Over Europe (2007) contains a superb version of “Ripples”. As for (5) The Shorts (1992) and (6) The Longs (1993), they exist. To be honest, when it comes to Genesis live, there are tons of inifinitely superior unofficial/unreleased recordings floating around on YouTube I would encourage you to go forth and explore first. To get you started, have some of this.

MATTHEW: Of these six live releases, I’d rank them very roughly in this order: (1) Three Sides Live, for its energy, coherence, some memorable versions (e.g., as Hope mentioned, “Misunderstanding”; also “Abacab”!), and its nice mix of 70s classics with what was then very recent 1980-81 songs. (2) Another double-LP, Seconds Out (1977) is a riveting selection from their ‘76 and ‘77 tours that likewise has some outstanding live versions of studio favorites (e.g. I think “The Carpet Crawlers” is better here than on Lamb). (3) Their earliest, Genesis Live (1973), is a 5-track single LP that is notable for its great version of “The Musical Box,” perhaps better than the studio original, and the same is arguably true of its Gabriel-on-steroids rendering of “The Knife.”  (4) Live Over Europe (2007) is certainly worth a listen, but only for serious fans, as it lacks the energy and coherence of the above albums, and the trimming down of “Firth of Fifth” always irritates me, as if the inclusion of pre-1980 material were cursory (is that a fair criticism?). And that leaves (5-6), The Shorts (1992) and The Longs (1993), because while this parsing of the catalog is better than Apple Music dividing it into “prog era” (to ‘76) and “pop era” (‘78 on), it still vandalizes the artistic impact of the creative mix of short/long and prog/pop over the decades. For me, one of the great virtues (perhaps the greatest virtue) of seeing Genesis live is experiencing that mix, and how well it works—including the 2021 show I saw in Pittsburgh, a treat made bittersweet by Phil’s apparent frailty.

SIDEBAR: The Last Domino? 2021 Tour Show Reviews!

HOPE: Matthew and I both attended shows on the North American leg of the tour and figured as we were talking about the live stuff, why not offer our highly personal and idiosyncratic reviews of what went down on those, (spoiler alert) magical and bittersweet nights. Okay, let’s start to roar…

MATTHEW: The first third of the show I saw comprised ’80s and ’90s tracks. I began to wonder if the whole tour was aimed at fans like the woman behind me, who, throughout the concert and between every song, yelled “In The Air Tonight!” Bless her heart. But the rest of the gig was split evenly between ’70s and later songs, still too heavy on Invisible Touch for my taste, but executed by an amazing band. Their skill and energy (from Phil’s son on drums to the Phil-filling backing singers to the ageless Banks and Rutherford) made for a thrilling night, but also highlighted how cruelly illness has made Collins prematurely geriatric. Bless him for being there. Like you, Hope, I was moved and grateful.

HOPE: On November 29th, 1981, my Mom dropped me off at Nassau Coliseum on Long Island to see Genesis for the first time. Fast forward to December 6th, 2021, and there I was again, nearly 40 years to the day I’d seen them for the first time, watching Genesis at MSG for the last time (well sort of, I ended up going to the second MSG show too because my heart insisted). While these shows were ostensibly celebrations, it was heart-wrenching to see how frail Phil was, having to perform sitting down and walking with a cane.

I admit I had some problems with the setlist but hey, as an old fan, that was to be expected. Five freakin’ songs from Invisible Touch, three from We Can’t Dance yet no representatives from Trick or Abacab? What the hell? But honestly, I was just grateful to see them, hear them and be part of the crowd showering them with love one last time. And okay, I confess to doing some discreet crying, though mostly of the slow-moving single tear down the cheek variety. I couldn’t help it! Who in hell would cry during the bombastic and booming “Behind The Lines”? That’d be me, because I’m just weird! I’d also like to call out how cool it was to hear “Duchess” and “The Lamb Lies Down On Broadway”, the latter especially because it was happening in NYC (I don’t need to tell you how much NYer’s freakin’ love singing about themselves). My number one chill-inducing moment was hearing the whole of MSG bellowing “Tonight, Tonight, Tonight” at the top of their lungs, because just wow. I have no words for how outrageously moving that felt.

Compilations

HOPE: At the turn of the century from 20th to 21st, CD’s were the dominant physical format. I was working in a big mega-music store in NYC during those CD salad days and can confirm that compilations like 1999’s Turn It On Again were the lifeblood of every two-fer sale we ever had. They weren’t for hardcore fans. They were mainly for dabblers who just wanted to bask in the familiar and have something to play in the car or on the boombox at the barbecue or beach. Of course, as Genesis fans are completists by nature and the comp featured a new version of “The Carpet Crawlers” with Gabriel and Collins duetting, many hardcores were forced to cave in and buy it. 

As of this writing the two bestselling Genesis albums on Apple Music are the aforementioned Turn It and the 3-disc Platinum Collection from 2004. The latter is arranged in a way that makes me bristle, as it begins with the ‘90s stuff and works backward…but it remains a good overview for the uninitiated (although it does contain my ex, the devil otherwise known as “Illegal Alien”). All bitchin’ aside though, these two collections do serve a purpose and are pretty focused content-wise i.e. easily digestible.  

The other two collections exist solely to draw attention to bigger, more ballyhooed events thus feel a bit half-hearted. 2004’s R-Kive was released as a companion to the (just okay) BBC doc Genesis:Together and Apart and featured tracks from the band as well as a bunch of solo work. The hits are here, but the whole thing goes off the rails because of its idiosyncratic, unfamiliar to most, solo offerings (Gabriel’s “Signal To Noise”, Collins “Wake Up Call” etc.). 2021’s The Last Domino?, released to coincide with that same year’s tour is another collection built to appeal to the casual fan, especially those who prefer the latter day Gens, but isn’t remotely essential.

MATTHEW: I’d rank these in this reverse order: (4) Turn It On Again: The Hits is, as you say, an easy way to get tracks that are not on studio albums (like “Pigeons,” “Paperlate,” and that version of  “The Carpet Crawlers”).  But with dreck like “Illegal Alien” and “I Can’t Dance” scattered throughout, it’s not for anyone who likes the band enough to buy actual albums, especially a listener who prefers the pre-Invisible Touch records. (3) The Last Domino? is a better selection, but really for casual fans (e.g. who only own Invisible Touch and were dragged by a more serious fan to a 2021 concert and enjoyed it). (2) R-Kive is a bad title but a great idea—a 3-CD chronological sequence of 22 Genesis tracks with a selection of 15 solo numbers—but the selection is odd. That is inevitable, as such things are rather personal, and given that fun task we would all choose a different set of songs. Still, R-Kive can’t decide whether it is a hits collection or a deeper dive, and as a result is satisfactorily neither (I’d love a 6-CD version that traces the band/solo history in depth). (1) The selection on the 3-CD PlatinumCollection is not dramatically different from the other compilations, but it is slightly better and—most interestingly (or annoyingly, if you’re like Hope!)—is a reverse sequencing (from “No Son of Mine” back to “The Knife”). This is the only one I listen to with any regularity, and even then it usually just prompts me to play an actual album or two.

Box Sets

HOPE: The two Archive boxes are built to appeal to hardcores and completists. They are esoteric and honestly, a bit off-the-wall but feature a plethora of cool artifacts that make them worth owning. That said, I definitely prefer the Phil-centric Volume 2 over the Peter-centric Volume 1. Yes, here we go again. I’m sorry.

Archive Volume 1 is home to a live recording of the entire Lamb album,  recorded in 1975 at LA’s Shrine Auditorium as well as some loose bits and pieces of live stuff from ‘73 and a disc of late ‘60s demos. If you are a Gabriel-era stan, then hell yes, it’s a party. As for me, I appreciate its value as a historical document but have never been into it and rarely listen to it (okay, I confess, I never do). I far prefer the company of its younger, cuter brother. Archive Volume 2 features selected tracks from the aforementioned EP’s, plus a few b-sides, live scraps and, most thrillingly, rarities like “It’s Yourself”, a gorgeously shimmery b-side that never made it to A Trick Of The Tail (ooh, seriously ooh), and fat stadium anthem “On The Shoreline”, a song that had it been included on We Can’t Dance would have improved it ten-fold (or at least five-fold). Archive Volume 2 is chock-a-block with intriguing oddballs and makes for a fun, bizarro and rewarding journey.

But the Archive collections were just a tiny prelude of what was to come. 

From 2007 through 2009, there were five wonderfully comprehensive, multi-disc Genesis box sets released. To break it down in layman’s terms, one box was devoted to the Gabriel era albums (1970-1975), then there were two separate ones covering the more lengthy Collins-helmed and beyond era ( 1976-1982, 1983-1998), which were followed by slabs devoted to the live stuff (Live 1973–2007), and filmed output (The Movie Box 1981–2007).  These robust little monsters were packaged in cube-shaped boxes equipped with little pull-up trap doors. Each had a tiny hardback book inside. Each was a different color, meaning they looked like an art project when seated next to one another on a shelf. They were cds and dvds, yes, but they were also toys for Genesis nerds. As for their deeper contents, care was taken. There are remastered versions of all the studio albums as well as remixed versions of the live releases plus extra discs of rarities and videos. Concise, attractive, remastered, recommended. 

MATTHEW: I missed this boat—or rather, fleet of boats—having paid insufficient attention to them at the time, and to acquire them all now would cost four figures. But they are clearly compulsory for hardcore fans, due to the inclusion of goodies like demos, B-sides, and live material not on previous releases. The concept is very similar to the David Bowie “era” box sets, which are superb; I get the impression from your summary, Hope, that these rise to that standard. I doubt I’ll be able to resist any that come my way at a good price (to which you, dear reader, can no doubt relate)!

Solo Albums & Side Projects

MATTHEW: To borrow the title of a minor Mike + the Mechanics hit, everybody gets a second chance.  And for current and former members of Genesis, that really means everybody. 

HOPE: And to borrow the title of a Genesis song we both love, the result is many too many. When Matthew and I initially talked about doing this piece, we were unsure about how to broach the solo and side-project stuff because there was just so damn much of it. And so, for the sake of everyone’s sanity, we’ve decided to streamline this section.  Instead of an exhaustive breakdown of every individual solo release, we’re just going to offer our own personal overviews of each band member’s solo discography

Peter Gabriel

MATTHEW: We’ve already busted the myth of Gabriel’s exit as the great watershed in Genesis history. But here’s another kick at it: the first two (possibly three) Genesis albums after his departure are more prog and closer to Gabriel-era Genesis than Gabriel’s own solo albums are. Right off the bat, his first record is not prog at all; stylistically eclectic and recognizably Gabriel, but nonetheless a pop/rock album propelled by a catchy pop hit single (“Solsbury Hill”). Of his first four albums (all infamously named Peter Gabriel), my two favorites are that first one (aka Car, 1977) and the third (aka Melt, 1980); I’ve loved them from the start, and even today cannot connect in the same way to the second and fourth (aka Scratch, 1978, and Security, 1982). His best-known and biggest selling album, So (1986), deserves its success; it’s a brilliant and original pop album. Us (1992) is also excellent but less accessible. After that, Gabriel’s soundtrack albums work better than his studio projects. In sum, a fascinating catalog that always remains true to Gabriel’s creative vision (whatever that may be!). 

HOPE: I feel guilty. Because while I recognize that the string of self-titled-nicknamed solo albums Gabriel released from 1977-1982 are adventurous and eccentric pieces of pop music art, I don’t really like the songs…in their original studio form. As nonsensical as it sounds, my favorite Gabriel album, the one I’ve listened to most in my life, is 1983’s Plays Live which features highlights of assorted shows from the tour that had taken place the previous year. From the melancholy pulse of “No Self Control”, to the audience participation in “On The Air”, the live versions have an emotional fire emanating from them that I just don’t feel in the studio versions. Yes, I know it’s weird. And to alienate everyone even further, I also don’t care for So (1986). It is a brilliant and original pop album Matthew, but with the exception of epic opener “Red Rain”, So’s overexposure has killed any of the charm it once held for me. Yes, I’m even tired of  “Don’t Give Up”, and Kate Bush is my lord and savior, so there you go. I may be Satan. 

The post ‘80s Gabriel catalog is a bit hit and miss and more about individual tracks than albums for me (“Digging In The Dirt” from 1992’s Us is still a nasty, brilliant blowtorch of a song, “My Head Sounds Like That” from  2002’s Up is also hypnotically, brutally beautiful). And though they aren’t on the daily hit parade, the Gabriel helmed soundtracks for Birdy (1985) and Passion: Music for The Last Temptation of Christ (1989) are stunners, built for contemplative solo listening sessions and offering perfect musical accompaniment for your most unhinged and mystical  daydreams. Lastly, I need to shout out the Shaking The Tree (1990) hits compilation because it features an exquisitely beautiful re-recorded piano version of “Here Comes The Flood” that mere words cannot possibly do justice to.

Phil Collins

HOPE: Phil Collins’ first three solo albums, Face Value (1981), Hello I Must Be Going (1982) and No Jacket Required (1985) are by far his finest. While Phil’s eccentricities and his sonic ties to Genesis are audibly present on this initial triumvirate of LPs, so too are his sweet, soul inclinations (horns, Motown flavors, verse-chorus-verse). Alas, after this, it was straight off the cliff. It’s weird to call something “excessively commercial” these days (that concept has become as obsolete as “selling out” has), but I can’t think of a more accurate description of what a Collins album sounded like from 1989 on through the 2000s. After those first three records, Phil stopped making wonderfully weird pop-prog-lite music and instead dove headlong into the limo and headed straight to the stadium. There would be no more songs about disturbing eavesdroppers like “Thru These Walls” or embraceable bits of rustic cosplay like “The Roof Is Leaking”. From now on it was a lot of overblown schmaltz (looking at you ”I Wish It Would Rain Down”, also sorry Matthew, I know you love that one!) and faceless synthetic fodder (“Both Sides of the Story”). 1996’s Dance into the Light with its horrific cruise ship party vibe is the least tolerable. I can’t really align Phil’s highly successful forays into kids soundtracks to Tarzan (1999) and Brother Bear (2003) with his standard solo excursions but acknowledge they do possess some nice moments.

I hate being one of those people who characterize an artist’s early stuff as being markedly better than their later stuff as I know what a nerdy cliche it is. But in this case, I think it’s true. Still, holy hell, Face Value, what a treasure.

P.S. One last thing! 1981’s multi-artist Amnesty International sponsored live recording, the Secret Policeman’s Other Ball features proto-unplugged versions of “In The Air Tonight” and “The Roof Is Leaking”…and they are both wondrous.

MATTHEW: Off the cliff? Yes! Unlike Gabriel, the Collins story is more typical of a solo career: a stunning debut album, destined to be a classic that he can never match (I’d even rank Face Value as a notch ahead of So, as the best album by a Genesis member); followed by steadily diminishing returns. That said, not everyone will agree on the shape of that downward curve or on when it reached the cliff edge. For me, the third album, his most commercially successful (No Jacket Required, 1985), smacks a tad too much of the same mid-80s blockbuster sheen that mars Invisible Touch. I prefer the second (Hello, I Must Be Going!, 1982) and fourth (…But Seriously, 1989; the combination of Collins’ vocals, Eric Clapton’s guitar, and the gospel choir on smash hit “I Wish It Would Rain Down” is pure bliss). The fifth, Both Sides (1993) is the last album before the cliff drop, and it’s on the edge (at worst, it is pleasant; at best, it’s his most personal record—forgive the cliché—since Face Value, albeit far from as good). After that …the cartoon soundtracks work better than the remaining studio albums. ‘Nuff said.

HOPE: Lastly, though I genuinely tried, I find the albums Phil recorded with Brand X, the jazz-fusion group he was briefly a part of in the late ‘70s, to be a bit too wanky and impenetrable. I know that’s kind of the point, but yeah, if the glorious Phil wasn’t able to spark the growth of a fusion-appreciation gene in me, I’m pretty sure no one ever will.

Mike Rutherford, Tony Banks & Steve Hackett

HOPE: Like most fans, after I’d scooped up all the Genesis, Collins, and Gabriel albums, I began exploring the rest of the gang’s solo albums. While as a whole they are more of a mixed bag, there are some worthy treasures to be found if you are up for a bit of digging. Mike Rutherford’s 1980 debut solo album was named for and inspired by an obscure, grim sci-fi 1965 novel by Peter Currell Brown called Smallcreep’s Day (I did read it and I did not like it). The blurb on the fabulous Burning Shed label website calls this album “an unexpected traditional Prog masterpiece.” It is not a masterpiece (!) but I will acknowledge there are components within it that are pretty exquisite. The nearly 25-minute (!) suite that occupies the whole of side one has three “mini” songs that are amongst my most-played of the entire Genesis solo album catalog; the  tuneful synth-washed instrumentals “After Hours”, “Smallcreep Alone” and twinkly ballad “Between the Tick & the Tock”. Rutherford delegates the album’s vocal responsibilities to singer Noel McCalla because, well, Mike can’t sing too good. “Overnight Job” and “Time And Time Again” are also damn fine prog-pop songs (both have an appealing Alan Parsons Project flavor). Anyway, if you like Duke, there’s a good chance you’ll dig some Smallcreep’s. Despite his aforementioned limitations, Rutherford bravely takes on the role of lead vocalist on solo album number two, Acting Very Strange (1982).  While his scratchy wail is an, ahem, acquired taste and the songs don’t come near his best work, it is home to fun ‘n’ manic, Pete Townshend-esque banger “Halfway There.”

I don’t hate Mike & The Mechanics and actually find a few of their songs to be quite handsome (ballads “Taken In” and “If I Were You”, synth-pop hit  “Silent Running” specifically). But then, that’s the thing; at their core, they were a singles band, like ABBA or yes, Queen (albeit a less fun and glamorous one). With that in mind, I can’t whole-heartedly recommend one of the 9 (!) studio albums, but I do encourage a nice cherry-picking session for the curious. There are enough cool tracks to assemble a pretty marvelous M&M masterpiece mixtape. 

Steve Hackett is extraordinarily prolific and as of this writing has released close to 30 solo albums, the contents of which are all over the map ( prog-pop, blues, classical, endless mountains of live performances). He also dipped into the supergroup thing and formed GTR in partnership with Yes’s Steve Howe in 1986 ( their sole album went gold in the U.S). 1977’s Please Don’t Touch is my favorite Hackett solo album by miles. Richie Havens provides vocals on two songs and they are absolutely sublime; “Icarus Ascending”, an epic prog-pop wonder, and “How Can I”, a super lovely Beatle-esque acoustic ballad. And gotta mention soul diva Randy Crawford’s star-turn on the lustrous ballad “Hoping Love Will Last” which is right up there with Richie’s contributions. 

Like Collins and Rutherford before him, Tony Banks’s debut solo album A Curious Feeling (1979) is his finest. It’s a consistently solid, mostly filler-free effort and features some fine vocalizing from late singer Kim Beacon (In terms of delegation, Tony couldn’t have made a better or more canny choice). I especially love dramatic, spacy instrumental “From The Undertow,” wistful wonder “Lucky Me,” progged-up ballad “In The Dark,” and handsomely-hooky “For A While” (a should’ve-been Genesis song if there ever was one).  

About Anthony Phillips, Genesis founding member/ lead guitarist from 1967-70: I have never really dug into the Phillips solo catalog thus am not qualified to comment on it. I don’t know, I’m just not as into the early Genesis sound of which Phillips was a prime architect and so haven’t felt super motivated to explore. But hey, if anyone wants to recommend anything in particular, I’m open to having a go!

MATTHEW: I hear you, Hope. As a fan of Genesis, as well as solo Gabriel and Collins, over the decades I have periodically dipped into albums by the other band members. There I have found some great tracks—from hit singles to FM favorites to hidden gems. After all, Banks, Rutherford, and Hackett are incredibly talented and skilled musicians. If pushed, I’d say that the best Hackett albums are his first three (1975-79), the best Banks album is his first (A Curious Feeling, 1979), and the best Rutherford album is Mike + the Mechanics (1985). But with respect to all three of these musicians, I never connected with whole albums or became a genuine fan. Still, I recognize that their catalogs are deep and worth exploring; in fact, I recently discovered the excellent Hackett live album Selling England By the Pound and Spectral Mornings: Live at Hammersmith (2020). I love that the Gen/ex-Gen artists all have fervent followers, and I’m always happy to listen to tracks or albums suggested by fans. Enthusiasm for music should be shared (not contested)!

In Conclusion

HOPE: This was a hard piece to write. Not only because of how vast the Genesis discography is, but because, like a lot of you, I’d lived with their music for so damn long that it was hard to actually explain what was so great about it. How do you accurately describe albums and songs you’ve listened to for decades, hundreds, maybe even, okay, thousands of times? Why do you like chocolate? What’s so great about the ocean? 

Going up to my room as a young one, and listening to a newly acquired Genesis album was always an ecstatic experience for me (hello my fellow nerds and Matthew!). I vividly remember the first time I placed Abacab on the turntable and that sensation of not knowing what to expect or where it was going to go. And isn’t that the best feeling? It’s also one of the greatest things about Genesis, that even as they grew in popularity, they never stopped surprising, and remained consistently, wonderfully weird until the very end. For every song about heartache, there was one about the pigeon population…or an obsession with a sex worker…or a hermitted creature that hides in the woods. 

We’ve had years to get used to Genesis not making new albums. We all sensed the finality at a certain point. But until Phil’s announcement that the band’s London show in March of 2022 was to be their last, it didn’t really hit home that Genesis were over and done for a lot of people, us included. But I have no complaints, just endless love forever. 

And hey, Invisible Touch tee-shirt guy, I’m sorry for judging so harshly; I know in my heart that you are my brother.

MATTHEW: These journeys we make through the deep catalogs of bands like Genesis are really a way to ponder the long and winding road of our own lives (you once said something to that effect, Hope, somewhere here on Picking Up Rocks). But whereas past moments in our lives are just that—passed—the music that accompanied them remains alive, affecting us in different ways as we revisit, relisten, and reflect. The richer that catalog, the more we gain from that process of exploration. And the catalog of Genesis albums, combined with the solo albums of past and present members, is extraordinarily rich. It is a stunning treasure chest. Whether you know it well (and know more about it than we do, as I’m sure many of you do; hello Nigel from Surrey!), or whether you’ve read this far out of mere curiosity (hello woman who thinks “In the Air Tonight” is a Genesis song!), I urge you to lift the lid, climb in, and be dazzled.

Our Top 5 Genesis Albums (in chronological order)!

HOPE: Selling England By The Pound; A Trick of the Tail; And Then There Were Three; Duke; Abacab

MATTHEW: Selling England By The Pound; A Trick of the Tail; Wind & Wuthering; And Then There Were Three; Duke (some days Genesis beats out And Then There Were Three)

Our Top 10 Genesis Songs (in chronological order)!

HOPE: “Ripples”; “Snowbound”; “Say It’s Alright Joe”; “Misunderstanding”; “Turn It On Again”; “Pigeons”; “Keep It Dark”; “Like It Or Not”; “You Might Recall”; “Tonight, Tonight, Tonight” 

MATTHEW: “The Musical Box”; “The Carpet Crawlers”; “Firth of Fifth”; “Ripples”; “Afterglow”; “Blood on the Rooftops”; “Snowbound”; “Duchess”; “Mama”; “Tonight, Tonight, Tonight”

Our Top 5 Solo Songs (in chronological order)!

HOPE: Hackett, “Icarus Ascending”; Mike Rutherford “Between the Tick & the Tock”; Phil Collins, “I’m Not Moving” and “In The Air Tonight” (live version from 1981’s Secret Policeman’s Other Ball); Gabriel“Here Comes the Flood” (1990 version)

MATTHEW: Gabriel, “Here Comes the Flood” (1977 and 1990 versions); Collins, “In the Air Tonight” and “If Leaving Me Is Easy”; Gabriel, “Sledgehammer “; Collins, “I Wish It Would Rain Down.”

We thank Genesis for absolutely all of it ❤️

And thanks to you reader friends, shine on 🌟