For the Record: Flashes of Light From a Distance

Power Pop Combo Big Star Gets Reincarnated After 30 Years

By Ben Ewing

As aficionados everywhere will attest, the development of power-pop in the early 1970s was spearheaded by three standard-bearers of the genre: Badfinger, the Raspberries, and Big Star. Badfinger was the tragic outfit. After failing at the impossible task of inheriting the Beatles' throne at Apple Records, the group lost to suicide its two primary songwriters, Pete Ham (1975) and Tom Evans (1983). The Raspberries were the parent-friendly pretty boys, replete with matching suits and a string of hit singles whose subject matter seldom strayed far from love. Often pigeon-holed as a mere singles band despite having produced four effortlessly melodic and relatively consistent full-length albums, history has been unfair to the Raspberries, greatly downplaying their importance.

Among the members of the golden trio, Big Star has received the kindest treatment from history. And deservedly so - the group stands out for having been the least successful commercially as well as the coolest by far, inevitably developing a cult following and inspiring countless future bands. Though Big Star's original songwriting duo of Alex Chilton and Chris Bell successfully fused addictive melodies with sun-dripped harmonies and crunchy guitar-work, tensions within the group and poor distribution stunted the Memphis-based act's ability to sell records. Despite, or perhaps because of, its commercial failure, the band became an important influence for such punk-rockers as Husker Dü and the Replacements. Those groups' debts to Big Star were far more than the product of revisionist rock-snob overreach. Tellingly, the Replacements' closest flirtation with stardom came with the near-hit "Alex Chilton," an ode to Big Star's "hero of the underground" front-man.

Burn Out, Then Fade Away

Like most great, overlooked acts in popular music history, Big Star's discography was conspicuously brief. Better to burn out than fade away indeed, and after just two classic studio albums—the hopefully and/or self-deprecatingly titled #1 Record and Radio City—the band called it quits, doing its name justice only in the form of bittersweet irony. In the years after the band split, two records emerged that cemented the group's already esteemed reputation. 1978 saw the release of Third/Sister Lovers, a rambling, brilliant batch of songs from the sessions for Big Star's aborted third record. Then in 1992, a long-awaited and much-acclaimed collection of previously unreleased Chris Bell demos was released under the title I Am the Cosmos. Compiled from recordings during the period between Bell's departure from Big Star and his fatal car accident in 1978, I Am the Cosmos not only affirmed the importance of Big Star but significantly enhanced the stature of the underappreciated Bell.

Though Big Star disbanded in 1975 and Bell died just three years later, Alex Chilton continued on with a regrettable solo career that has spanned four decades but produced few highlights. Chilton's solo efforts have been consistently inconsistent, ragged, eccentric, and notoriously inaccessible. His "comeback" in the 1980s saw him focusing predominantly on covers, which has inspired some disappointed followers to deride him as the laziest brilliant songwriter in the music business. In 1993, Chilton assembled a new version of Big Star and recorded Columbia: Live at Missouri University, but the group has performed only sporadically, and Chilton has favored his solo material in his own concerts.

New Horizons

Twelve years after the formation of Big Star redux, with the original lineup's mythic status in the pop underground firmly intact, Chilton and his new team have finally seen fit to record again under the legendary name. In Space, the end result, is nearly as good a record as any fan could have expected, which is to say that it pales in comparison to the group's seminal recordings of the early 1970s. It would have been foolish to expect that recording as Big Star rather than a solo artist would pull Chilton out of his thirty-year slump, and indeed, nothing he has written for the new set even approaches his classic compositions from the '70s. In Space claims nothing as blissfully breezy as the intentionally misspelled "September Gurls" or as gently affecting as "I'm In Love with a Girl." Not surprisingly, the Big Star that plays on In Space sounds noticeably older, and far less gripping than its former incarnation.

The record's opener, "Dony," begins rather innocuously—like a passable Radio City outtake—but it meanders without ever really resonating. The stiff melody of the chorus is paired with the equally awkward couplet "Surely you're aware you're tripping my mind/the sun in your hair seems to stop time." Pale image of classic Big Star that it is, it still might be passable were it not for the Dave Matthews-esque saxophone that follows the refrain the second time through. When the vocal line "You've got the pretty hair" hovers above the sax, the record hits an early but mighty low. Unfortunately, the failings of "Dony" repeat themselves elsewhere on the record; like much of Chilton's solo work, In Space indulges his R&B and soul influences to its detriment. The disco-funk of "Love Revolution," for example, borders on self-parody. It's as a nagging reminder of the extent to which Chilton has squandered his enormous talent by purposefully distancing himself from his early work.

Though Chilton's Achilles heel makes its imprint at various points on the record, what is more noteworthy is how the record overcomes the flaws that have plagued his solo albums. In Space isn't a bad record—it's hardly even deserving of the label "failure" because any reasonable expectations for the album had to be low. Moreover, its high points deserve attention, lest listeners succumb to the age-old myth that only the music of youth is relevant. Remarkably, glimmers of Big Star's former glory manage to surface throughout the admittedly inconsistent record. From bits of irresistible melody to lines of effervescent vocal-harmony, there are moments of genuine bliss.

Chilton Schmilton

Ironically, the best compositions on the record were not contributed by Chilton, but by original Big Star member Jody Stephens, and Jonathan Auer and Ken Stringfellow, members of the contemporary power-pop group the Posies. Auer and Stringfellow's "Lady Sweet" is an early highlight, trudging along like '90s alt-rock before bursting into a wistful, harmony-laden chorus. Like the group's best tunes, it's the kind of song that makes Big Star's commercial failure confounding to its legions of listeners. "Turn My Back on the Sun," another contribution from the Posies-transplants, is equally radio-friendly in that alternate universe where Brian Wilson reigns supreme. With its sunny "bap-ba-ba" harmonies and stately rhythms, it sounds awfully close to a lost Smile-era gem.

In Space's finest moment, though, is undoubtedly Jody Stephens' "February's Quiet." Rather than sounding like a grade-B rehash of the month/season motif first explored on Radio City's "September Gurls," the brief number comes off more like a humble, but stirring homage. It is endearing precisely because of its obvious debt to "September Gurls." In essence, it tacitly acknowledges that the new Big Star will never top its former self but has the potential to pay it effective tribute. Stephens, Auer and Stringfellow have created refreshing compositions by directly and purposefully conjuring Big Star's twin classics #1 Record and Radio City, an approach Chilton has stubbornly resisted throughout his frustrating career as a solo artist.

Due Credit

Perspectives change over time. As a member of Big Star, Chris Bell's talent was largely overshadowed by Chilton, who—as former vocalist for the blue-eyed soul group the Box Tops in the late 1960s—had an already established pedigree. Yet the combined weights of Chilton's underwhelming solo career and the posthumous release of Bell's I Am the Cosmos have lent a new view of Big Star, one in which Bell and Chilton begin to approach equal footing. In Space further diminishes the notion that Big Star was merely the musical vessel of the hugely talented Chilton by crediting original Big Star member Jody Stephens. In 2000, in similar, but less dramatic fashion, the Raspberries underappreciated members gained stature with the group's quarter-century reunion album Refreshed. Carried out without the involvement of the group's lead singer-songwriter Eric Carmen, Refreshed didn't call his talent into question but it did allow the Raspberries less appreciated members to shine.

Beyond offering a handful of candidates for heavy rotation, the importance of In Space lies in its contribution to an evolving understanding of Big Star, from the talents of its individual members to their appropriate individual legacies. More importantly, though, the record is another reminder of the group's continued influence. Fans of contemporary power-pop from Matthew Sweet to the New Pornographers deserve the history lesson.

BEN EWING B'08 is a December boy.

Back to Top

the college hill independent

http://www.theindy.com