I know exactly what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, here we go, effete and impudent music snob turns his nose up at poor REO Speedwagon, and proceeds to incinerate them with the flamethrower of his adamantine scorn. Well, you couldn’t be more wrong. I LIKE REO Speedwagon, or at least their whimsically titled 1978 release You can Tune a piano, but you can’t Tuna fish. I love Gary Richrath’s guitar, I love Neal Doughty’s keyboards, I almost (but not quite) even like Kevin Cronin’s vocals. Sure, they’re metal lite and as often as not too sappy for words, but when they’re on—well, let’s just say I crank them up on my radio and sing along. At the top of my voice.
Formed at the University of Illinois (home of ROCK) in that great state in the latter sixties, the band stole their name from a mid-century commercial delivery truck and went through lead singers the way Oprah goes through empty platitudes. They seemed destined to journeyman status until Tuna came out. Sure, lots of people hated them, and for valid reasons; they’re MOR at its queasiest and most vapid, but on Tuna they miraculously got it right, with a score of up-tempo raves and a few power ballads that I almost like.
The stormtrooping opening track “Roll with the Changes” has it all; superb guitar solos, one mean organ solo, excellent backing vocals, and lots of cool jamming right there in the middle. I don’t care what anybody says; Richrath plays one mean guitar, and he plays for keeps. As for the power ballad “Time for Me to Fly,” I’ve searched my brain for years for the reason I like it. The acoustic guitars? Cronin’s sensitive guy vocals? The way it kicks into gear just long enough to escape utter pussification? I just don’t know, but I know this—I like it as much as like some of Elton John’s ballads, and I like Elton John’s ballads a lot.
“Runnin’ Blind” comes at you like a New Wave song, up-tempo like the Knack or somebody. I don’t like it that much because I never liked New Wave much, but Richrath plays some savage guitar on it I like a lot. I also like the way it climbs to a false climax, at which point Richrath deals out more raucous riffs. “Blazin’ Your Own Trail” sounds like a firebrand number but turns out to be slow and unbearable, saccharine that has somehow learned how to write and play songs. The choruses are okay, and Richrath’s guitar is BIG and his solo is happening, but Cronin annoys, and I quickly move the needle to “Sing to Me,” the title of which makes it sound like an awful power ballad what you get instead is a mid-tempo rocker that only works thanks to its chorus and Richrath’s fiery solo.
“Lucky For You” is an unapologetic hard rocker, although Cronin’s thin and reedy vocals always serve to leaven the band’s harder tendencies. Richrath is all over the place, playing power chords and throwing off sparks, and the echo on Cronin’s vocals is, like, wow man. Richrath then plays a boring solo, one that goes on and on, until he finally spices it up and sets the song ablaze. Guy never got the props he deserves if you ask me. And when he’s done Doughty takes over on piano, and he and Richrath joust for a while. Great stuff.
“Do You Know Where Your Woman Is Tonight?” is okay; I don’t much care for Cronin’s vocals or the trite lyrics, but the melody’s decent and I like the way Richrath launches into his solo; you can’t almost hear him saying, “Ok, everybody, stand back?” “The Unidentified Flying Tuna Trot” is a 2-minute instrumental that opens like a Blue Oyster Cult song and then doesn’t do much. Richrath should be launching incendiaries; instead he plays dully along with Doughty on piano until the end, when he wakes up and realizes he’s supposed to be interesting people.
The fast and fiery “Say You Love Me or Say Goodbye” is, along with “Roll with the Changes,” the LP’s highlight. I mean, hot damn is this song good. Everybody takes turn showing off their chops; Cronin sounds like he actually has balls, Doughty plays some fancy piano like Elton John on crank, and as for Richrath, he comes on like a buzz bomb. And then there’s Lon Price on saxophone, who serves as a segue between Doughty’s manic piano punching and Richrath’s manic guitar wank. And as for the song’s climax, when they all join in, well, I don’t know what to say except that you can hate REO all you want, but this song has cojones and isn’t afraid to rock them.
You can tune a Piano, but you can’t Tuna fish. is a fishy proposition, but it doesn’t smell like fish like most of REO’s other LPs and I prefer it to anything ever recorded by Hot Tuna or Phish. It’s not Trout Mask Replica, but you could catch plenty worse with your old fishin’ pole. It’s a very good album by a very bad band, and sold like a bazillion copies, and you may even have it in your own collection, though you’ll never admit it.
GRADED ON A CURVE:
B
