Big Star: #1 Record

I’d like to introduce you to Big Star. You might have heard their music before, even if you don’t know it. Do you watch That ’70s Show? Well, I do – it is pretty funny, it’s definitely worth a look-in. The intro song is a Big Star song, found on this album, in fact; it’s called ‘In The Street’, though it was re-recorded by Cheap Trick with some appropriate “We’re all alright!” interjections lifted from ‘Surrender’. Their other more popular songs – ‘Thirteen’, ‘Summer Gurls’, and ‘Back of a Car’ – have been used in movies and TV shows, but not with as much exposure.

So why has this criminally underrated band received so little attention? It could be that they released only two albums in their career, with a third posthumous one; it could also be that … well … I can’t think of any other reasons. I’ll admit that I didn’t know they existed until a few years ago, when I read a really comprehensive and well-researched article in Mojo magazine (though I don’t know where it is now – somewhere in my room, that’s for sure), and I was going to go out and get their albums, but it slipped my mind. Recently, their vast discography – all 36 songs – has come into my possession, and I gave their debut album, appropriately titled #1 Record, a spin earlier today, and while I don’t like to use unnecessary hyperbole such as “I instantly fell in love”, I did feel like I’d missed out on something for quite a few years.

It doesn’t help that Big Star was formed in 1971, released their first album in 1972 and their second in 1974, and then broke up. A quartet from Memphis, the principal songwriters and singers were Alex Chilton and Chris Bell, who also played guitars; Jody Stephens played drums, and Andy Hummel played bass. They were quite obviously influenced by the Rolling Stones, The Who, The Kinks, Free, Deep Purple – all the rock gods of the late 1960s and early 1970s. It’s apparent that these four Americans wanted to bring a ballsy, British swagger to their American rough’n'tumble approach, writing delightful pop songs with a major kick to the groin.

And boy, do they succeed: from the very moment that ‘Feel’ kicks in, there are so many aspects to the song that are borrowed from other bands, but twisted just enough to make it unique. The guitar riff sounds like something Paul Kossoff from Free would play, while the drums have a shattering oomph to them in the style of Keith Moon. The vocalist might as well be Dave Davies, with its higher register delivery (except not as grating or annoying), and the addition of a guttural brass section comes right from the Rolling Stones’ ‘Brown Sugar’. If that’s not enough to grab you by the short hairs and get you interested, well, there’s still hope for you: ‘The Ballad of El Goodo’ follows next, and is a plaintive ballad, with plenty of ringing acoustic guitars and a thunderous chorus. The vocal harmonies are sweet, not quite on a par with the Beatles, but certainly close; Chilton might not be as powerful a vocalist as, say, Jagger or Daltrey, but the emotion displayed in this song is remarkable.

‘In The Street’ is the ultimate teenager anthem, with Bell singing of a bored group of teenagers looking for something to do (“I wish we had / A joint so bad”). The weaving guitars are instantly recognizable as the kind of sound Keith Richards and Ron Wood would perfect in the next few years; in fact, there’s something very Stonesy about this song, but Big Star grooves so much better than the Stones were at this time. This is unabashed melodic pop at its finest; the only problem is that having been exposed to Cheap Trick’s version first, I can’t help but feel that this song loses its power, and that’s something I’ll address a little later. ‘Thirteen’ is a lovely ballad, that sounds like a perfect dance song for a prom: “Won’t you let me walk you home from school/Won’t you let me meet you at the pool/Maybe Friday I can get tickets to the dance/And I’ll take you, ooh”. It’s brief but pretty, and it’s such a shame that it remains largely unheard. The Rolling Stones connection continues with ‘Don’t Lie To Me’, another angsty teenage anthem of adults pushing kids around, with shouted, unison vocals and gritty, raw guitars. There’s a nice balance on this album between rockers and ballads, but Hummell’s ‘The India Song’ is curious, but not in a bad way: it’s a nice, folky acoustic tune, with Hummell extoling the virtues of going to India one day. It’s a little twee, and sounds like something Syd Barrett would have written, except the lyrics aren’t full of any oblique, acid-tinged imagery, but it’s more of an atmosphere tune than a serious song. ‘When My Baby’s Beside Me’ reminds me a whole lot of Neil Young circa 1990, so that just goes to show how ahead of their time Big Star was; it’s a love song, yeah, but it’s a gritty rocker, perhaps meant to appeal to the tough guy who can’t express his emotions just right. The guitar solo, heavily processed through a wah-wah pedal, is nice, with some intriguing layered guitars that Brian May would perfect over the years.

‘My Life Is Right’ is another love song, with a powerful, hard-hitting chorus, punctuated by a jangly acoustic guitar and closely-miked drums. Again, there are so many bands who have done a song that sounds a lot like this, that its impact is lost somewhat when hearing it by Big Star. ‘Give Me Another Chance’ sounds a lot like the previous song, with a similar acoustic guitar sound to it, but Chilton’s high register voice is remarkable and quivers – not because of emotion, but because it’s well out of its level of comfort, but this adds to the emotion of the lyrics. Funny how that works, eh? ‘Try Again’ is … well, yet another ballad, again with a strident acoustic guitar intro, and is redundant in comparison to a lot of the other songs on the second half of the album. The wistful slide guitar that roams around in the background from time to time is a redeeming factor, though. The last proper song on the album is the absolutely gorgeous ‘Watch The Sunrise’, which bleeds over from the previous track, and is yet another acoustic ballad, but the vocals are so superbly sung, with Chilton and Bell harmonizing so powerfully that you’d think there was an entire chorus behind them. (Multitracking and overdubbing is a wonderful thing.) There are some nice musical touches, too, with a wheezy harmonica getting a brief but worthwhile solo. It’s a hopelessly optimistic song, of course, and the next album, Radio City, would be a dramatic change, more muddled and more in style, lyrically, with ‘Try Again’ than the love-torn teen ballads and rockers of the debut. The album ends with the inconsequential but pleasant minute-long ‘ST 100/6′, a title I’m sure makes a whole world of sense to its songwriters, and only its songwriters.

As alluded to throughout the review, Big Star deserved more of a reception than they initially received, because there are a lot of bands out there who have copped their style to the point that listening to their debut, and their two follow-ups, will illicit not a feeling of revelation, but one of familiarity. And that’s really too bad, because while Big Star weren’t revolutionary or all earth-shattering in many respects, they were damn good at wearing their influences on their sleeves while tweaking what they knew and learned from the masters to the point that it seemed like it was original. And, to be perfectly honest, the production on the album is astounding: each instrument is mixed so beautifully, with the vocals and drums and guitars in crystal clear sound, that it’s impossible to believe that this was recorded in 1971, when muddy was the word. Turns out Big Star must have agreed that muddier was better, for their next album was a severe departure from the sunny, wide-eyed happiness of their debut.

Essential listening: Feel, The Ballad of El Goodo, In The Street, Thirteen, When My Baby’s Beside Me, My Life Is Right, Watch The Sunrise