My Top 10 Exemplary 70s Rock Records

By Alex Weber, DERF Music Columnist/Blogger

Ah, '70s rock: that old celebration of theatrical excess, muscular riffage, and substance abuse. The unfortunate fact is that it's been long since traded away in favor of wimpy, bearded acoustic guitar plucking, dumb, fifth-rate grunge, and just-plain-sad crap like Kings of Leon, who themselves crib a lot-very badly-from ‘70s rock. Our baby-booming parents may be turning into aging squares, but damn it if they weren't weaned on fun music that kicked far more ass and did it much harder than most of today's tripe parading around our radio dials and masquerading as rock ‘n' roll. It's gotten so bad that, sadly, I have turned to the dusty grooves of a former generation's worn-out albums for solace from an unfulfilling modern musical milieu.

So it is with much respect for the form that I dedicate this week's column to the righteous sounds of ‘70s rock, music that, by definition, is riff-heavy, guitar-oriented, and over-the-top-the kind of stuff that you wanna blast when you're either disobeying your parents or cooking meat on a grill while slammin' pounders of Busch. I present, in chronological order, my Top 10 Exemplary ‘70s Rock Records, with a few exclusions: the obviously legendary (no Led Zeppelin will appear), anything outright punk or new wave (no Ramones nor Sex Pistols, no Devo nor B-52's), and the totally obscure. Some of the following may be familiar, some not so much, but in any case, it's all certifiably recommended, rump-rotatin', radio-oriented rock ‘n' roll from the glory days. And since most of this music is largely unfashionable, you can probably snag the CD releases in record-section cheapie bins or grab up old LP copies for pretty cheap at garage sales-or you can just pick them out of your parents' basement. So start collecting now, and you'll have ‘em all in time for next summer's big booze-b-q.

Creedence Clearwater Revival: Cosmo's Factory. No doubt due to its use during the credit reel of every single documentary or biopic ever made about the 1960s, many people think of the protest song "Fortunate Son" and immediately equate the legendary CCR with that decade. However, 1970's Cosmo's Factory was the band's great bow into a new rock era. It's got a slew of their most well known cuts-the ones you've heard a million times on classic-rock radio ("Run through the Jungle," "Travelin' Band," et al.). But it also kicks off with the band's best song, the often ignored "Ramble Tamble," a mesmerizing, seven-minute workout of a track that builds a seemingly harmless breakdown into insane, swirling madness. It's an amped-up, post-psychedelic CCR at their most hard-driving and intense, and it's alone worth the price of admission. The Dude would be proud.

MC5: High Time. This one just sounds like a party. 1971's High Time shows that these Detroiters, probably best known for 1969's Kick Out the Jams, knew how to translate their wild energy from the stage to the studio. These guys were total cranked-up proto-punks, and while it was a commercial flop at first, High Time is a stone-cold classic nowadays. It's easy to hear why. You get it all on this record: a little bit of crazy, free-jazz-influenced tribal drumming here ("Skunk"), a little bit of tender balladry there ("Miss X," establishing a trend replicated time and again and usually to much worse effect), and a whole lot of gospel chorus all over the place. Triumphant, sing-along songs with horns (check out "Sister Ann" and tell me you're an unchanged man or woman), two huge guitars playing simultaneous psychopathic leads, and a radical message of unity and togetherness from five Motor City white boys makes for a primordial ‘70s rock experience. Testify, brothers and sisters!

Alice Cooper: Killer. Alice Cooper gets a bad rap for eventually turning into a crummy solo performer, but to write him off completely would be to do a great disservice to your own sense of musical appreciation. Featuring the original-lineup, Killer (1971) hails from a time when Alice Cooper was a band, and a clever, twisted, artistic one that knew their way around a pop song-they could compose a hard, weird little ditty that, amazingly, any kid could bounce up and down to while his parents looked on aghast. You'll find bass-driven pop ("Be My Lover"), tight, feedback-laden jaunts ("You Drive Me Nervous" and "Yeah, Yeah, Yeah"), a prog-rock epic (the brilliantly titled "Halo of Flies") and "Dead Babies," which simply must be heard to be believed. Along the way, you'll enjoy plenty of laughs at Killer's simultaneous ridiculousness and catchiness, not to mention the artwork, which features an unassailably cool-looking snake against a red background. Plus, the original issue of the album had a cut-out calendar with a picture of a makeup-smeared Alice Cooper hanging from a noose! How sweet is that? Also check out Love It to Death and Billion Dollar Babies, which are equally prime Alice entertainment. From 1970-1974, these guys represented everything that was great about ‘70s rock.

Blue Öyster Cult: Tyranny & Mutation. Yeah, lemme guess: your patience is wearing thin. You're thinking, jeez, Alice Cooper and now this? You're thinking "Don't Fear the Reaper" and that SNL Will Ferrell sketch and that whole "no cowbell" catchphrase. You're thinking these guys are pretty hokey. But you're wrong! 1973's Tyranny & Mutation is a fiery, sordid slab of in-your-face, loud-‘n'-layered ‘70s rock by a bunch of silver-cape-wearing showoffs who were college educated, highly intelligent, and musically very proficient. From the outset, you know this is gonna be good stuff. From the opening rumble of the Who-on-steroids first track, "The Red and the Black," to the soaring, overdriven frenzy of "Hot Rails to Hell," you'll wonder why all those idiots at the bar are singing along to Journey's soulless "Don't Stop Believin'" rather than these truly righteous songs about the Canadian Mounted Police and speedball OD's. Riff seekers will love the glorious "7 Screaming Diz-Busters," and you guitar-virtuoso fans will salivate at the overall adeptness of guitarist Buck Dharma, who manages to work out some shredding solos without sounding like a self-indulgent jerk. By the end, you'll be begging for more cowbell!

The Stooges: Raw Power and New York Dolls: Too Much Too Soon. Now these are two records you'll never hear on classic rock radio. Like their brethren the MC5, Iggy Pop and the Stooges and the New York Dolls released albums that were considered failures back in the day but have gained increasing hipness points over time. And again, it's obvious why: these bands love to assault you with rollicking, psychotic proto-punk. Raw Power (1973) is so loud, sloppy, and full of dog-on-a-chain guitars, you can practically smell the booze and drugs seeping out of the speakers. Same goes for New York Dolls' glammy 1973 record Too Much Too Soon. These bands had attitude to spare. Iggy sounds like a kid having a temper tantrum on "Your Pretty Face is Going to Hell" and the R&B-on-speed car-wreck "Shake Appeal," wherein he spits into the mic like a madman in a manic episode. The Dolls' David Johansen channels Mick Jagger with a more arrogant swagger on teenage street-fight anthem "There's Gonna Be a Showdown" and the ultimate ode to excess, "Human Being." But the songs are also momentous and tight, and there are even some perverse ballad-type numbers too- Raw Power's got "Gimme Danger" and "I Need Somebody," which cool the album off and creep with a bluesy crawl. The Dolls add their own creative flourishes by picking up the horn sections and female backup vocals from High Time and running with them, evoking girl-group pop and Broadway-show grandiosity along the way. If you wanna hear where ‘70s rock started to rabidly cannibalize itself and turn into something a little punkier, check these records out.

Black Sabbath: Sabotage. Pretty much everyone already knows how much this band rules, but one album that gets lost in the shuffle is 1975's Sabotage, a record that'll make you wonder how many bong rips it takes to get to the center of Ozzy's head. On it, the Sab unleashes guitars that alternate between growling and spaced-out, a couple glossy synths here and there, and Ozzy's caterwauling about such dark and D&D-oriented themes as black holes and sky-unicorns, mother moon's silvery womb, and, of course, going insane. The dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-DUHHH riffing of "Symptom of the Universe" is huge and intoxicating in the kind of way that'll make you want to throw up that sign of the devil and mindlessly headbang like Beavis or Butthead until your neck is sore-or at least until the song suddenly shifts into acoustic-guitar-and-congas mode. "Megalomania" lives up to its name, a huge rock track with piano, cowbell, screaming guitar, and different movements. This record successfully straddles the line between ‘70s rock and ‘70s metal before it all got too stupid to bear.

Aerosmith: Rocks. As it went with Alice Cooper, these guys too eventually turned into embarrassing shadows of their former selves. However, for the span of a few albums, it's easy to see why they were some of the best ‘70s rockers on the market. From 1976, Rocks is full of jumpy, tumbling beats, wailing-siren guitars, and spare blues licks so tasty you'll be licking the b-b-q sauce off your own earlobes. Plus, most of these songs haven't been played out by classic rock radio, so you won't get weary hearing "Sweet Emotion" and "Walk This Way" for the trillionth time. While Rocks does feature the hit "Back in the Saddle," the melodic, chugging "Sick as a Dog" and the super-heavy descent into Hell, "Nobody's Fault," are really the tracks that'll have hard rock enthusiasts seizing in paroxysms of ecstasy. An unapologetically ribald and trashy affair, Rocks is, like Sabotage, one part classic ‘70s rock and one part glittery metal.

Cheap Trick: Heaven Tonight. It was a tough call between this 1978 gem and these guys' killer first record from 1977, but my pick is Heaven Tonight, because it's the most insidiously poppy. Cheap Trick as a group were a brilliant concept, a band that lampooned the excess of ‘70s rock while still fully indulging in its big hooks. The novelty could have only taken place in the ‘70s: two outright geeks, a guitarist donning a bowtie and ball cap with upturned brim and a chubby, chain-smoking drummer with a mustache and glasses shared the stage with two long-haired chick-magnets-with bangs-on guitar, bass, and vocals. Anyway, this is an album of hard-rocking, triumphant power pop that still stays unabashedly mean-spirited. Heaven Tonight's got soaring harmonies and wild guitar sarcasm in equal measure. "On Top of the World," "California Man," and "Auf Wiedersehen" are hard-charging blasts of totally tight, super-catchy, good-humored rawk. Heaven Tonight will have you screaming "OW!" with the best of ‘em.

ZZ Top: Deguello. By far the dumbest record on this list, 1979's Deguello is a great way to slam the door on the tasteless nonsense that is ‘70s rock. Plus, this album is simply the best for the hangover you'll inevitably be suffering once you've made it through the cheap, high-energy thrills of the previous nine albums. Trust me, you're not gonna wanna be mentally engaged by the time you've been assaulted by all those hellish guitars and that 12-pack of Busch, which by now is sloshin' around something fierce and gettin' the old tummy a-churnin'. For such situations, we have ZZ Top, because there's nothing quite as relaxing as the mindless budget-blooze of "I Thank You," the stumbling boast of "I'm Bad, I'm Nationwide," and the classic "Cheap Sunglasses." Your battered brain will thank you for shelling out the dollar for this goofy slab of doofus-rock. Did I mention this is George W. Bush's favorite band? Deguello will show you why.