“Won’t you tell me what you’re thinking of?
Would you be an outlaw for my love?”
As the 1960s faded and the trends of the new decade emerged, emotionally resonant guitar-based pop music—which blossomed in the 1960s in the hands of The Beatles, The Byrds, The Kinks and others—began to wane in popularity. Other genres moved into the spotlight while the most creative and innovative musicians moved to new territory. Led Zeppelin emerged, and along with Black Sabbath and Deep Purple ushered in hard rock. Many classic progressive rock albums also came from this era, which also saw the rise of glam in the likes of David Bowie and Marc Bolan (T. Rex). All that to say that in the early 1970s there just wasn’t quite the appetite for straight-faced pop music that there had been only a few short years prior. And that’s a shame, because songwriters Alex Chilton and Chris Bell imagined themselves as the next Lennon-McCartney partnership, and their initial output was promising. Unfortunately for the two songwriters, the lack of commercial success led to the band’s demise, and it has only been in retrospect that #1 Record and its two follow-ups have become cult classics.
Their brief debut is like an integration of the British Invasion infused with American hippie rock and occasional country twang. There is some blues rock, some jangly guitar pop, and some acoustic folk. But really, at heart, Alex Chilton delivers hook-laden pop music with everything else just “mixed in.” The dynamic Chris Bell adds plenty of value to the debut album, playing off of Chilton’s tendencies with wistful creativity. Now, don’t get me wrong, these guys are often derivative and unashamedly indebted to their influences. But they absolutely produced good songs. They don’t really innovate, but the songs are catchy, fun, and heartfelt.
The audaciously titled #1 Record came out in 1972 and does a fantastic job of mimicking the best musical trends of the preceding decade, extending the simplistic and earnest pop aesthetic for a few more years even though its shelf life had run out as far as public taste was concerned. The flow between ballads, rockers, and pop numbers is nearly flawless, and the overall album construction is solid (even though the choice of album closer is a bit odd). The vocal and songwriting dynamic between Alex Chilton and Chris Bell is delightful, and both prove to be excellent songwriters in their own right (evidenced further by archival releases in their solo discographies from around this time period). Alternating between songs by each of them—with ‘The India Song’ (penned by bassist Andy Hummel) regrettably tacked onto the end of side one and sticking out like a sore thumb—the album never favored one over the other. Though the band is considered a pioneer of the power pop genre, many of the songs here are simply amped up folk and blues songs, with only a few qualifying as “power pop.”
One element that stands out prominently throughout the album is the haunting voice of Bell. Chilton was particularly impressed by his intuitive ability to nail countermelodies and to enhance his (Chilton’s) songs with sublime backing vocals. “Chris and I did all the harmony vocals, and he had a brilliant mind that worked in a sort of contrapuntal way. It wasn’t based so much on ‘Oh, you’re singing the root. I should be singing the third above.’ He would just sing along with the line I was singing. He was a brilliant, instinctual maker of counterpoint.”
Their voices sound great together, particularly on ‘The Ballad of El Goodo’ and the minute-long closer ‘ST 100/6’. But the best example of Bell’s ability to elevate a song by a simple vocal addition is on Chilton’s compelling teenage ballad ‘Thirteen’. The deceptively complex, repetitive acoustic guitar work gives the song a charm of its own, but midway through Bell begins punctuating Chilton’s lines with a chorused exhalation, and it is alarmingly evocative. Couple this with Chilton drawing out the last syllable of each line, and it is sublime. It’s so good that I’m even able to stomach the juvenile love letter lyrics.
Chilton shines the most on the slower songs, his quavery voice exceptionally emotive and innocent on ‘Thirteen’, ‘Give Me Another Chance’, and ‘Watch the Sunrise’. Though he clearly spent ample time listening to The Beatles, he just as often channels The Byrds (before they jumped entirely into the country vibe), especially the vocal stylings of Roger McGuinn. The album is Big Star’s most cheerful and varied, as after Bell’s departure Chilton’s resulting albums became bleaker than the debut.
Despite the album’s commendable attributes, it does have its shortcomings. Notably, the lyrics are mostly trite and simple. (“Hanging out, down the street. The same old thing we did last week. Not a thing to do, but talk to you.”) The lines are all delivered seriously, and the earnestness clashes harshly with the clichéd lyrics. While the song construction is fine, there are very few memorable musical moments; rather, the appeal is entirely tied up in the integration of various styles into a cohesive and pleasant whole with lush 1970s production value.
#1 Record is a really good straightforward rock album that is worth your time. Rarely do bands arrive this fully formed, and it is surprising that a group of dudes so faithfully emulating the most popular band of all time, audaciously calling themselves Big Star and releasing an album titled #1 Record, didn’t receive more attention. Provocateurs get attention all the time, why couldn’t they? Unfortunately, due to the commercial failure of the album, Bell would depart the group and suffer from depression until his death in 1978 at the age of 27. His solo recordings surfaced more than a decade later on the album I Am the Cosmos. The next time Big Star would release an album, they’d be a different band; still good, but not the same one that released #1 Record.
Favorite Tracks: The Ballad of El Goodo; Thirteen; My Life Is Right; Try Again.
Sources:
George-Warren, Holly. A Man Called Destruction: The Life and Music of Alex Chilton, from Box Tops to Big Star to Backdoor Man. Penguin Books. 2014.