We are not talking about “just” recording great musicians, or writing great charts or great arrangements (as, say, George Martin did with the Beatles or Brian Wilson did with the Beach Boys) we are talking about using a 1970s recording studio to make the pop equivalent of Brunelleschi’s Dome.īoston, both track to track and in its entirety, is a piece where the studio-by which I mean the whole apparatus (console, tape machines, outboard gear, EQs, etcetera)-is an extra musician, a featured musician, and that musician is expertly, precisely directed by very, very skillful hands that do not play dice.Īlthough this remarkable record is full of intention, it is never pretentious, and the almost exotically unique skill behind Boston does not draw attention to itself. Boston is a spy, a vastly unique spy in the house of memory, virtually as original and as individual as any of those more “credible” acts I just mentioned. Like the debut albums by the Ramones, the Velvet Underground and Neu!, it’s difficult to know where the hell Boston came from it is so staggeringly unique, but also deeply rousing, resonant, aurally sensuous and pleasing.Īnd do not let its extraordinary commercial success (or our desire to confine it to the trash bin of ‘70s nostalgia, alongside Jimmy Carter, Chevy Chase and Mark Spitz) distract from its innovation or originality. Until the day Fu Manchu and the Moody Blues get together to re-record Days of Future Passed, it is sui generis. It has the immediacy of pop, but also the deliberate intricacy of prog rock it has California pop’s attention to zealous sweet harmony, yet it also has some of the heaviest and most memorable guitar riffs on the planet. It’s one of my 50 favorite albums.īoston’s debut album, which turns 40 this month, is an absolute treasure of melody and architecture.
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