In 1973, two struggling, romantically entangled singer-songwriters, Lindsey Buckingham and Stevie Nicks (who reportedly splurged on a new blouse for this photo shoot and was enraged that Lindsey wanted to use a nude photo for the cover) entered the studio to put together an album showcasing their talents.
In the larger context of pop music history, this album served as their application for Fleetwood Mac.
I acquired this record one day when my dad let me pick through his collection. I had overlooked this one, and he handed it to me as if I should not have done that. And for whatever reason (the many skips on track one perhaps) this is my first listen through it.
“Yeah AQUALUNG,” quoth Ron Burgundy during his epic flute solo, a nod to the group’s place in rock history as “that metal band with the flute dude.” Which is a little reductive, especially considering that the flute is prominently featured exactly ZERO times in the title track. Also because Jethro Tull isn’t exactly metal.
Following the hige success of Crosby Stills Nash & Young’s Deja Vu, every. Single. Member of CSNY put out a solo record, and every one of them was well received.
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I’ve never heard After Bathing at Baxter’s, the album between Jefferson Airplane’s Surrealistic Pillow and Crown of Creation, but I hear that it was a marked departure from the folksy noodling on Surrealistic Pillow in favor of for straightforward rock. But, one rock album must have been enough for them, because Crown of Creation is nowhere near the acid rock fest you might expect from Jefferson Airplane’s reputation (or the album cover–they’re inside of a nuclear blast! Come on!).
I’m a late comer to the Bruce Springsteen fandom. Just two years ago, I largely dismissed the Boss, until Born to Run (the single) caught my attention, followed by the album it led. Since, I’ve been getting into his catalog one album at a time, which usually followed me dismissing that album before conceding that it is, in fact great (see: Born in the USA). That trend has, to date, only moved forward. But I recently found his debut for four dollars, and took a gamble. And if there’s one thing you can count on, it’s that a bet on the Boss is a good bet.
Admittedly, I’ve never intentionally listened to the Bee Gees in my life (my brother-in-law gave this to me for Christmas), so when the lady-filled crowd screams wildly, I have to wonder what the big deal is.
But for the most part, the Bee Gees show what the big deal is.
I spent the summer after my freshman year of college driving all around Michigan in a Chrysler Town & Country minivan with a busted CD player, leaving me nothing to listen to except a cassette tape of the Greatest Hits of James Taylor, who I considered the greatest singer-songwriter ever (an easy claim to make when everything you listen to has a -core suffix).
Before James Taylor found widespread success with 1970’s Sweet Baby James (one of my favorite singer-songwriter albums ever), he was in a struggling band called The Flying Machine. The Flying Machine recorded seven songs in 1967, which they felt was only demo quality. Night Owl and Brighten Your Night with My Day were released as a double-sided single, which failed to gain traction, and they decided not to pursue a full length album. However, when Taylor’s breakthrough created the demand for it, Euphoria Records released the sessions as a quick cash in on his sudden popularity (to the chagrin of the other band members, who saw it for the cashgrab it was).
Neil Young is not exactly the most neutral person in the world. His discography is filled with jagged guitar solos, caustic finger pointing, lawsuit-causing genre jumps, and a fierce artistic integrity. Even among his listeners, there is no middle ground. Those who love him love him fiercely and without apology. Everyone else can’t stand him.
So anyone who thought tossing him into Crosby, Stills & Nash would keep the boat from tipping doesn’t know who they’re dealing with.