A good argument could be made for the pointlessness of getting worked up over a new 77's album. In a very real sense, the 77's have barely existed, no matter how greatly mavens of "alternative" ccm have valued their every release. It's like what Lucy in the "Peanuts" strip says about why Beethoven can't be that great: he was never on a bubblegum card. The 77's have never had a hit where it mattered, and therefore they rank several thousand Billboard bullets beneath Tiffany, Debbie Gibson, Leif Garrett, and Shaun Cassidy on the cultural impact charts.
But no matter how good the argument for the pointlessness of the 77's sounds, I'm not gonna make it -- at least now -- because two-thirds of their new album sounds like the work of a band at the peak of both their creativity and their willingness to please.
The first song, the obliquely titled "Woody," kicks up a Hendrixian, blues-metal dirt storm and finds Mike Roe and Co. "staring headlong into the jaws of death." No sooner does that jammin' knock-off end than a little (and I mean little) something called "Smiley Smile," as in the Beach Boys, follows. And cowabunga if it's not a perfect re-creation of one of those long lost Brian Wilson Smile tracks we're always hearing about. In fact, if Roe had fewer scruples, he could probably pawn the track off as exactly that and make lots of bootleg bucks. The Beach Boys should be glad Roe's a Christian.
Six wonderful pop songs follow, and it's no exaggeration to say that they sound like the work of an entirely different band (something which, since the departure of Mark Tootle, Roe's foil, in 1989, they've more or less become). All of a sudden Roe sings in this gorgeous, aching falsetto that just soars, and all of another sudden he's got songs that do, too.
"Phony Eyes," the best of them all, reverberates with the glow of old Byrds records melting down under the Red Hot Chili Peppers' bridge while Alex Chilton and Eric Carmen quit arguing over whether "September Girls" or "Go All the Way" is the world's greatest record and admit that it's "Beach Baby" by First Class. In other words, it evokes wondrous pop reveries. My wife, who lately tries to ignore everything I listen to, even went so far as to say after only half-a-minute of the song, "Who is this? I like it."
Almost equally strong are the five songs that follow: "Kites Without Strings," "Happy Roy," "Deep End," "The Rain Kept Falling in Love," and "Holy Hold" (the second best song on the disc). The real beauty of this suite is that although the words to each song sound thoughtful and worthy of pondering, they're not the album's reason for being. Which means that the 1992 77's may have finally evolved into the world class rock band they've wanted to be for so long.
Alas, after "Holy Hold," some older (I think) cow-punk tracks from (I think) different sessions get tacked on to make sure the disc lasts long enough, and that's too bad. The raucous, ironic, and hokey jocularity of a song like "Nuts for You" comes jarringly after the ethereal stuff. Even the wonderfully titled "Pray Naked" never plays out its double-entendre for all it's worth.
Nevertheless, if Epic is still picking up Word-distributed product for dissemination in worldly markets, they'd better not miss this one. Lots better at its best than the Choir's overlamented Circle Slide, The Seventy Sevens has the power and grace to bring lots of joy and sunshine into lots of dark, musty lives.
4/5
Other coverage for this album
Heaven's Metal #39Reviewed by Spiny NormanThe first cut off the new 77's album (their second self-titled effort) shows that this disc is going in a slightly new direction. The hard-edged blues guitar a la Hendrix riffs make this direction change obvious within the first 10 seconds of "Woody," which later shows that Mike Roe and Co. have definitely spent a few hours listening to Led Zeppelin records. "Smiley Smile," "Holy Hold" and "Phony…