Music outlasts band's struggle for success

From the Vault

Reviewed by

Daily Arts Writer

Christian Hoard

If they'd ever sold any records, Big Star would surely be in line for an episode of "Behind the Music," that slightly theatrical (though admittedly irresistible) rockumentary series on VH-1. Granted, the requisite tailspin into darkness and depression had less to do with drugs and cliche rock excess than with record label wrangling and private disaffection. But, by 1974, after releasing two albums worth of superb (and almost totally ignored) power-pop, Big Star were nonetheless a band coming apart at the seams: Co-founder Chris Bell had split, the group couldn't get their records distributed and songwriter and band leader Alex Chilton, upset with record label execs and angry at the world, had taken to deliberately sabotaging any tracks that sounded like they had hit potential.

Unfortunately, Big Star never saw the light at the end of the tunnel that any good "BTM" also requires. The group disbanded before things really got any better, Bell died in a car accident four years later and Chilton went on to a lackluster solo career.

It's surprising, then, that Third (a.k.a. Sister Lovers), the album recorded amidst all the turmoil, has turned out to be one of the great hidden gems of the 1970s. The turmoil, in fact, seems largely (and paradoxically) responsible for the record, as Chilton, like Brian Wilson a decade earlier, turned his despair into some utterly stirring sensitive-guy rock.

Third sounds like it was made by a man finally free of illusion - and a little worse off for the experience. It's no coincidence that second-person references abound, both in song titles ("Thank You Friends," "For You," "You Can't Have Me") and Chilton's lyrics: Chilton is clearly pissed off at those who've let him down, be they friends, lovers or record execs, and if he hasn't quite reached the breaking point, it's certainly within sight.

But the real allure of Third isn't that we get to hear Chilton air his grievances - his lyrics are, in fact, rather nonspecific - so much as how disappointment and despondency are used loosely for mood, tone, color and as beautiful and often poignant soundscapes. On "Kangaroo," feedback envelops a gorgeous, drowsy melody like an awful memory. On the Who-like "You Can't Have Me," Chilton's shouts the song's tag-line in a way that's both ultra-rockin' and sadly choleric. On "Big Black Car," the music is like a sedative that numbs the singer (and the listener as well) into serenity.

The lyrics are uniformly about strong feeling and the music follows suit, buoyed by the sort of rich expressiveness that makes for unforgettable songs and albums that sound timeless (that Third was recorded during classic rock's heyday really isn't all that apparent from the sound of the album).

Amid all of the critical yammering about the expressive melancholia of Third, it should also be remembered that Chilton was one of the most gifted tunesmiths of the early seventies, and this album is nearly as full of infectious melodies (just check out the surprisingly poppy "Jesus Christ") as were #1 Record and Radio City, Big Star's first two records. Though "Take Care," might mean a bit more to someone who has had to bid farewell to a loved one, the disc also makes for a remarkably good listen (or several hundred listens), even for those lucky bastards who're never prone to misery.

RYKO 1978

Big Star

Third/Sister Lovers