It may be bad, but it feels so good

In the dozen years I’ve been writing this weekly blog about rock music, I have only very rarely written about songs, albums or bands that I don’t like. My approach has always been to shine a light on great music past and present. Focus on the positive, I say.

Once I wrote a piece on hugely successful artists I never liked, trying hard to explain what it was about them that turned me off. Similarly, I’ve gathered a few playlists of what I referred to as “cringeworthy” songs — music that makes me lunge for the radio knobs to change the channel or cut off the volume when it comes on. I suppose these essays serve some purpose, in that they provide (subjective) guidance to readers about avoiding songs and bands that, in my view, are just bad. But I much prefer spending my time, and yours, exploring and recommending compelling, entertaining, quality songs and albums. Good over bad any day.

In this piece, I’m offering a look at 20 bad songs…but they’re not what you think. These are 20 great songs that have the word “bad” in their titles.

Funny thing, the word “bad”: For centuries, it meant the opposite of good, and most times, it still does — bad choices, bad behavior, bad weather, bad food, bad music, bad influences. Even “Breaking Bad.” These were not things you desired.

But beginning around 1970, some folks, particularly black hipsters, thought it would be clever to turn the whole thing on its ear and start calling attractive, strong people “bad.” That certainly added a level of confusion to the situation, and it’s still used that way sometimes 50 years later.

The songs below offer at least a couple examples of “bad” as “good,” but mostly, as Huey Lewis would say, “Bad is bad.”

I hope you dig the Spotify playlist at the bottom, which also includes a few additional “honorable mentions” to flesh out the list.

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“Bad,” Michael Jackson, 1987

I pretty much had to begin this list with Jackson’s #1 hit, the title track from his 1987 mega-platinum LP “Bad.” Since at least 1970, calling someone bad meant, in black slang parlance, that the person was excellent, attractive, strong. Jackson said he was motivated to write the song as a way to toughen up his image, with the main boastful lyric, “You know I’m bad, I’m bad, you know it… /And the whole world has to answer right now just to tell you once again, who’s bad?” Combined with the all-black-leather gang attire he wore on the cover, it presented a certain edgy bravado lacking from the brand he established on “Off the Wall” and “Thriller.” With its relentless bass line and Jackson’s distinctive vocal, the song became the second of a record five consecutive chart-toppers from one album in 1987-1988.

“Bad Boy,” The Beatles, 1965

Larry Williams was an R&B singer-songwriter in the late ’50s, although he didn’t achieve much success on the charts as a performer. But British rockers like a young John Lennon took note of his songs, and he added a few to The Beatles’ repertoire when they were a young, hungry band playing clubs in the early ’60s. That carried over into their early recording sessions, when they filled out their LPs and EPs with covers of American artists. Three Williams songs — “Dizzy Miss Lizzie,” “Slow Down” and “Bad Boy” — ended up in their catalog. The latter, about a teenage delinquent type who misbehaved in school, appeared in the US on the 1965 Capitol album “Beatles VI.” “A bad little kid moved into my neighborhood… /He don’t want to go to school and learn to read and write, just sits around the house and plays the rock and roll music all night, /Well, he put some tacks on teacher’s chair, puts chewing gum in little girl’s hair, /Now junior, behave yourself…”

Bad to the Bone,” George Thorogood and The Destroyers, 1982

Emerging from Delaware in the mid-1970s, George Thorogood formed a blues rock band originally known as The Delaware Destroyers, playing electric blues versions of Delta blues tunes by the likes of Elmore James and Robert Johnson. As the band’s singer and lead guitarist, Thorogood was also its chief songwriter. In 1982, he said, “If we don’t write a song called ‘Bad to the Bone’, somebody else will, so it might as well be us.” He copied the structure of the 1955 Muddy Waters classic “Mannish Boy,” and asked Waters, who was near the end of his life, if he wanted to record it, but he declined, so Thorogood released it himself. While it didn’t find much chart success upon release, its music video got plenty of MTV exposure, and the tune has since become a staple of classic rock radio. “I broke a thousand hearts before I met you, I’ll break a thousand more, baby, before I am through, /I wanna be yours, pretty baby, yours and yours alone, /I’m here to tell ya, honey, that I’m bad to the bone, b-b-b-b-b-bad…”

“Bad Dreams,” Teddy Swims, 2024

Collin Dimsdale, known professionally as Teddy Swims, grew up just outside Atlanta and developed a passion for music and performing while starring in musical theater productions in high school. Now he’s headlining arenas, playing a fabulous mix of soul, neo-R&B, hip-hop and pop. He started releasing singles and EPs in 2019 at age 25, breaking through big-time in 2023 with the #1 single “Lose Control” and two Top 20 LPs, “I’ve Tried Everything But Therapy (Parts 1 and 2).” From the more recent release came “Bad Dreams,” an irresistible soul tune Swims co-wrote with three others, with lyrics that focus on how heartbreak leads to restless sleep: “Without you, there’s no way I can sleep tonight, /What I’d do for a little bit of peace and quiet, /Without you I keep slippin’ into bad dreams, /Where there’s no you and I, no sound when I cry, /I love you and I need you to set me free from all of these bad dreams…”

“Bad Girls,” Donna Summer, 1980

In the late ’70s, one of Summer’s assistants was offended when a policeman mistook her for a prostitute, which got Summer thinking about writing a song about “the world’s oldest profession” and the ladies who choose that life. In 1979, “Bad Girls” became the title of her seventh LP, which spawned three huge hits, including the title track, “Hot Stuff” and “Dim All the Lights.” Critics praised “Bad Girls” in particular: “Summer’s sultry vocal reading is perfectly suited to the rather threatening lyrical theme.” The song won nominations at the Grammys and American Music Awards, and it was in heavy rotation at discos coast to coast. “Friday night and the strip is hot, sun’s gone down and they’re out to trot, /Spirit’s high and legs look hot, do you wanna get down, /Now don’t you ask yourself who they are, /Like everybody else, they wanna be a star, /Bad girl, sad girl, you’re such a naughty bad girl…”

“Bad Company,” Bad Company, 1974

In 1973, singer Paul Rodgers was writing a song inspired by a book about morals he’d seen in his teens. “It showed a drawing of this Victorian-era punk, dressed like a tough, with a top hat and the spats and vests, but everything was raggedy,” he recalled. “The guy was leaning on a lamppost with a bottle in his hand and a pipe in his mouth, obviously a dodgy person, and at his feet sat this little kid, kind of looking up to him. Underneath, it said, ‘Beware of bad company.‘” Guitarist Mick Ralphs insisted that should be the name of their new band, but Rodgers also finished the song, which became a theme tune of sorts for Bad Company, helping to establish an image as British bad boys of rock from the very start with their 1974 debut. “Oh, I was born six-gun in my hand, /Behind the gun, I’ll make my final stand, /That’s why they call me bad company, and I can’t deny, /Bad company, ’til the day I die…”

“Bad Habits,” Ed Sheeran, 2021

This British singer-songwriter emerged from Halifax, West Yorkshire, in 2011 and has turned into one of the most astonishingly successful musicians of the past 15 years. He has released eight albums, and every one has reached #1 in his native UK, while four of them have topped the charts in the US, Canada, Australia and all over Europe. In 2021, as COVID restrictions were being eased, Sheeran shelved plans for a slow acoustic song in favor of the more uptempo “Bad Habits,” which became his tenth Top Ten hit in the US, peaking at #2. Still, the lyrics are on the melancholy side; now a husband and father, he has admitted to being a hard-partying dude who needed to rein in his drinking before it got the better of him. The song addresses addiction issues in no uncertain terms: “My bad habits lead to wide eyes, stare into space, and I know I lose control of the things that I say, /Yeah, I was lookin’ for a way out, now I can’t escape, /Nothin’ happens after two, it’s true, it’s true, /My bad habits lead to you…”

“Bad Luck,” Harold Melvin & The Blue Notes, 1975

Gene McFadden and John Whitehead were an R&B duo who co-wrote and co-produced many songs for the Gamble/Huff stable of artists at the Philadelphia International label, including their own albums and those of The O’Jays (“Back Stabbers”), Archie Bell & The Drells (“Let’s Groove”) and especially Harold Melvin & The Blue Notes. The two men wrote “If You Don’t Know Me By Now,” “The Love I Lost,” “Wake Up Everybody” and “Bad Luck,” all of which charted high in the 1972-1975 period and featured singer Teddy Prendergass and the backing musicians of the instrumental band MFSB. “Bad Luck,” which peaked at #15 on pop charts and #4 on R&B charts, was considered a pivotal song in the transition from soul to disco at that time. The lyrics commiserated with the man who can’t seem to catch a break: “You’re downhearted and confused, because baby, you’ve been startin’ to lose, /Losin’ out on everything you might try to do, /Bad luck, fella, has got a hold on you…”

“Bad Moon Rising,” Creedence Clearwater Revival, 1969

Songwriter John Fogerty was watching the 1940s film “The Devil and Daniel Webster,” in which a hurricane destroys farms but spares one man’s land after he makes a deal with the devil. Fogerty was inspired to write “Bad Moon Rising,” with lyrics “about the apocalypse that was going to be visited upon us all someday. I used weather imagery to make the point that something bad can be lurking out there.” Curiously, the music he paired with these frightening words was upbeat and cheerful. “The contrast didn’t bother me at the time, although I look back and wonder why I chose to do that,” he said years later. The song reached #2 on US pop charts, one of a dozen Top Five hits for Creedence in the 1969-1972 era. ” I hear hurricanes a-blowing, I know the end is coming soon, /I fear rivers overflowing, I hear the voice of rage and ruin, /Don’t go ’round tonight, well, it’s bound to take your life, /There’s a bad moon on the rise…”

Bad Dreams,” Pete York & Scarlet Johannsen, 2018

Who knew actress Scarlet Johansson could sing? I didn’t. Turns out she has quite a few singing credits on her resumé in addition to her many acting achievements. She had a solo LP in 2008 that made the Top 30 in several European countries while barely causing a ripple here, although she participated on two tracks of the popular 2016 soundtrack album to the animated musical “Sing.” She has also collaborated with various other artists, notably respected singer-songwriter Pete Yorn, who has had a half-dozen albums since 2000 that have charted as high as #18 in the US. They teamed up on the 2009 LP “Break Up” and again on the 2018 EP “Apart,” which included the compelling track “Bad Dreams,” which discusses the inevitability of nightmares and unpleasant dreams: “Worried about the mess that’s in my house, that’s in my heart, /Worried that I’ll go crazy every time that we’re apart, /Pessimistic as it seems, sleep will never come that easy, /We will always have bad dreams…”

“Bad Times,” Michael McDonald, 1985

McDonald’s distinctive, soulful voice was first heard on various Steely Dan tracks before he became a full-time member of The Doobie Brothers in 1976, writing and singing hits like “What a Fool Believes,” “Takin’ It to the Streets” and “Real Love.” He also did guest vocals on hit songs by Toto and Christopher Cross before beginning a solo career in 1982 with “If That’s What It Takes” (#6 on US album charts). His second solo LP, “No Lookin’ Back,” didn’t do quite as well, and one of its singles, “Bad Times,” failed to chart. Musically, it fit nicely into the usual McDonald groove, but the lyrics were a downer, describing the mid-’80s as a difficult period for a lot of people: “I met a man standing on the street today, /Through his eyes, the world looked so grim, /As if we all don’t know just what it’s like when the rain falls down and the lightning strikes, /These are bad times, these are real bad times…”

Bad Decisions,” The Strokes, 2020

In 2001, this alt-rock, post-punk band from New York City generated a lot of buzz, eventually grabbing the slot as a warmup act for The Rolling Stones in 2010. Five of their six LPs reached the Top Ten on US album charts, and critics found their work improving with each new album. In 2018, when a politician labeled the numerous California wildfires “the new abnormal,” they latched onto the phrase and made it the title of their 2020 LP, an ideal description of the pandemic period. Critics called it a masterpiece, especially the track “Bad Decisions,” which they performed on “Saturday Night Live” that year. Its lyrics wallow in the consequences of hanging out with people who spur you on to make poor choices: “Oh baby, I hang on everything you say, /But do me a favor when you come through, /When I look around, don’t wanna see you, /I don’t take advice from fools, never listenin’ to you, /Uh oh, makin’ bad decisions, makin’ bad decisions with you…”

“Born Under a Bad Sign,” Albert King, 1967

In 1947, Cousin Joe and the Sam Price Trio recorded “Bad Luck Blues,” which included the line, “If it wasn’t for bad luck, I wouldn’t have no luck at all.” Twenty years later, Booker T. Jones, bandleader at Stax Records, partnered with R&B singer William Bell to write “Born Under a Bad Sign” for blues guitarist Albert King. “I liked that line from ‘Bad Luck Blues,'” said Bell, “so I repurposed it in a song that made a nod to astrology, which was very much in vogue at the time.” King’s album of the same name had a cover depicting several bad-luck signs (black cat, Friday the 13th, skull and crossbones). The following year, Cream put the song before mainstream audiences with their convincing cover from their #1 LP “Wheels of Fire,” which mimicked King’s version but with Jack Bruce taking the vocals in a different direction. “Bad luck and trouble’s been my only friend, /I’ve been on my own ever since I was ten, /Born under a bad sign, I’ve been down since I began to crawl…”

“Bad Luck Streak in Dancing School,” Warren Zevon, 1980

On Zevon’s 1980 follow-up album to his commercially successful “Excitable Boy” LP, he told his producer he wanted to escape from traditional rock arrangements and embrace his classical music training. The result was that most of the tracks on “Bad Luck Streak in Dancing School” used string arrangements, much like the unpublished symphony Zevon worked on throughout his life. The title track, which opens with strings, was inspired by Zevon’s habit of practicing ballet as a way to keep in shape for live performances. The title itself was a quip he made following a fall from the stage one night at a 1978 show in Chicago. “Bad luck streak in dancing school, down on my knees in pain, /I’ve been acting like a fool, Pauline, I swear I’ll change, /Down on my knees in pain, /I’ve been breaking all the rules, swear to God I’ll change…”

Bad Bad News,” Leon Bridges, 2018

Raised in a religious Texas household, Bridges embraced gospel and other spiritual music but also harbored a love and respect for ’60s soul tunes. Once he earned a record deal, his debut LP “Comin’ Home” offered an amalgam of both genres, from the prayerful “River” to the energetic “Smooth Sailin'” and the Sam Cooke-inspired “Twistin’ and Groovin.'” On his second album, 2018’s “Good Thing,” critics lauded his expressive voice and “variety pack of retro soul,” earning him a #3 charting among US albums that year. One solid representative cut from that LP is “Bad Bad News,” a contagious track with lyrics that stress the importance of making lemonade out of lemons: “Ain’t got no riches, ain’t got no money that runs long, but I got a heart that’s strong and a love that’s tall, /I’m tired being in the back, I’m just tryin’ to move up front, /A li’l more of this, a li’l less of that, yeah, /They tell me I was born to lose, but I made a good good thing out of bad bad news…”

“Baby Did a Bad Bad Thing,” Chris Isaak, 1995

Isaak’s first taste of success came with “Wicked Game,” a sensual tune from his 1989 LP “Heart Shaped World,” which became a hit in 1990 thanks in large part to a sexy B&W music video featuring model Helena Christiansen and Isaak frolicking shirtless on a beach. Similarly, in 1995, when Isaak released his LP “Forever Blue,” its first track, “Baby Did a Bad, Bad Thing,” got a big boost from another erotic music video, this time featuring model Laetitia Casta gyrating in her underwear on a videotape in a motel room as Isaak wailed in frustration. Said Isaak, “That song is about someone evil and twisted and bad, and yet, you still want them. It’s a strange piece, with a really driving beat and a manic energy, and I thought it would probably work well with some visuals.” He was right about that: “You ever close your eyes, you’re making believe you’re holding the one you’re dreaming of?, /It hurts so bad when you finally know just how low, low, low, low, low she’ll go, /Baby did a bad bad thing…”

“Bad Weather,” Poco, 1971

On its first two albums, Poco showed off the songs and musicianship of founders Richie Furay and Jim Messina, including such well-worn tracks as “Pickin’ Up the Pieces” and “You Better Think Twice.” Once Messina left to work with Kenny Loggins, the group recruited guitarist Paul Cotton, who was also a talented songwriter. One of his tunes, “Bad Weather,” proved to be a highlight of Poco’s third studio LP, 1971’s “From the Inside,” featuring Cotton on lead vocals, Rusty Young’s sweet pedal steel guitar and Furay’s 12-string interlude. Most people interpreted the song’s lyrics to be about a guy and his girl breaking up, but it was actually about the breakup of Cotton’s band, Illinois Speed Press: “In every day that passes us by, I can’t help the feelin’ that you and I, /We won’t get to see another day together, /Looks like bad weather…”

If It Wasn’t For Bad,” Leon Russell and Elton John, 2010

Before he became famous, Elton John mentioned Leon Russell as an inspiration, both as a pianist and a songwriter. In 2008, John decided to reach out to Russell, whose fame had faded and left him playing small clubs around the country, to see if he was interested in collaborating. Russell jumped at the invitation, and in 2010, we were all surprised and pleased when they released “The Union,” an honest-to-goodness partnership between two legends that soared to #3 on US album charts, even without any hit singles. Most of the album’s 14 songs were written by Elton and his longtime writing partner Bernie Taupin, but Russell’s singing and playing are prominently heard throughout. Russell wrote the opener, the funky “If It Wasn’t For Bad,” which earned a Grammy nomination and offered lyrics about a woman who hurt and disappointed him: “If it wasn’t for you I’d be happy, if it wasn’t for lies you’d be true, /I know you could be just like you should, if it wasn’t for bad, you’d be good…”

“Bad News,” Johnny Cash, 1964

In 1963, songwriter John Loudermilk took a stab at recording his own tune “Bad News,” which did respectably, reaching #23 on country charts. Many cover versions followed but none more effective than Johnny Cash’s rendition, which appeared on his 1964 LP “I Walk the Line” and peaked at #8 on country charts. The lyrics depict a drifter who has a bad reputation that precedes him into every town he travels to, and yet he laughs at and taunts the authorities who can’t seem to slow him down or make him pay the price, which seemed tailor-made for Cash’s outlaw image. It’s amusing to hear there menacing quality to Cash’s grunts and swagger as he recounts all he must do to stat one step ahead of the law: “From north to south, from east to west, the story is the same, /From one state to the other, I have to change my name, /’Cause I’m bad news, yeah, everywhere I go…”

“Bad Day,” Daniel Powter, 2005

Canadian singer-songwriter Potter wrote and recorded this catchy track in 2002 but searched for two years before he found a label willing to sign him. By 2005, he was assembling songs for his second LP and was encouraged by Warner Bros. CEO Tom Whalley to include “Bad Day” after Whalley heard it in a Coke commercial on French TV. Despite mixed reviews from the European press, the song became a Top Five hit in a dozen European countries, after which it was finally released in the US, where it also soared to #1. The lyrics offer universal appeal for the way they empathize with anyone who is having a miserable day and needs some TLC: “You sing a sad song just to turn it around, you say you don’t know, /You tell me ‘don’t lie,’ you work on a smile and you go for a ride, /You had a bad day…”

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Honorable mentions:

Bad Case of Loving You,” Robert Palmer, 1979; “Bad, Bad Leroy Brown,” Jim Croce, 1973; “I Did Something Bad,” Taylor Swift, 2017; “You’ve Got It Bad, Girl,” Stevie Wonder, 1972; “So Bad,” Paul McCartney, 1983; “Bad Reviews,” Sabrina Carpenter, 2024; “Bad to Me,” Billy J. Kramer & The Dakotas, 1963; “Two Out of Three Ain’t Bad,” Meat Loaf, 1977; “Hurt So Bad,” Little Anthony & The Imperials, 1965; “Bad is Bad,” Huey Lewis & The News, 1983; “Bad Night at the Whiskey,” The Byrds, 1969; “Bad Medicine,” Bon Jovi, 1988; “One Bad Apple,” The Osmonds, 1970.

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We’ve all got time enough to cry, time enough to die

In the long-ago summer of 1969, I was 14 and seriously ramping up my modest record collection. Six months earlier, I had abandoned the practice of buying 45-rpm singles and embraced the idea of owning albums instead. I bought LPs by The Beatles and Simon and Garfunkel, and I became drawn to the music of more boundary-expanding artists like Cream, Led Zeppelin, Jimi Hendrix, Steppenwolf and Blind Faith.

My friend Steve was similarly tuned into new bands that weren’t Top 40, and he’d periodically show up at my house with albums he thought I might like. One such record was a double album called “The Chicago Transit Authority.” Its most noticeable characteristic was that it had very prominent horns — trumpets, trombones, saxes — on pretty much every track. This was a substantial departure from the guitars-bass-drums-organ lineup of most bands at that time. No rock band I knew at that point used horns beyond the occasional sax solo.

I was totally taken by this music. Growing up in a household with a father who often played Big Band, swing and Sinatra records, I loved the sound of a vigorous horn section, but as a kid of the ’60s, I also loved rock and roll. Now, on this “CTA” album, I had a merger of these two things — a rock band with horns. How cool was that?

The opening track, the aptly named “Introduction,” had lyrics that came right out and explained the group’s mission: 

“We’ve all spent years preparing before this group was born, /With Heaven’s help, it blended, and we do thank the Lord, /So this is what we do, sit back and let us groove, and let us work on you…”

Boy, they worked on me, all right. The great melodies, the infectious rock beats, ferocious electric guitar solos, strong lead vocals and harmonies, and the dominant, thrilling horn parts combined to create something really dynamic. I simply couldn’t get enough of this stuff: “Does Anybody Really Know What Time It Is?,” “Questions 67 and 68,” “Someday,” “South California Purples,” “Listen,” “I’m a Man” and especially the exhilarating “Beginnings,” still one of my all-time favorite songs.

Critics were intrigued by the group. One wrote, “Few debut albums can boast as consistently solid an effort as the self-titled ‘Chicago Transit Authority.’ Even fewer can claim to have enough material to fill out a double-disc affair.” FM radio gave some of the tracks enough airplay to earn the debut album a #17 perch on the US albums chart in 1969, but neither of the singles they released (“Questions 67 and 68” and “Beginnings”) made any impact on Top 40 charts. They toured across the country, headlining mostly smaller venues or, sometimes, as warm-up acts for more established groups.

In early 1970, only eight months after the release of “CTA,” the band made the unheard-of move of releasing another double album as their second release, this time titled simply “Chicago” (because the real CTA, the metro rail system in the Windy City, insisted the band cease and desist in the use of its name). Again, the seven-piece group bowled me over with instantly likable songs (“Movin’ On,” “The Road,” “In the Country,” “Wake Up Sunshine, ” “Fancy Colours”), smart arrangements and solid musicianship across the board. The chief difference this time was that the group soon found themselves riding high on Top 40 charts in 1970 with three big singles from that album: the exuberant “Make Me Smile” (#7), the guitar-driven rock classic “25 or 6 to 4” (#4) and everyone’s favorite prom slow-dance tune, “Colour My World” (#7).

So who were these guys? For the most part, they preferred to remain mostly nameless and faceless, letting the music and the group dynamic do the talking. If they had a frontman, it was either keyboardist Robert Lamm, guitarist Terry Kath or bassist Peter Cetera, all of whom took turns as lead singer on Chicago’s repertoire of songs.

This month, in 2026, I learned that the true founder of the group was sax/flute player Walter Parazaider, who died June 17th at age 81. It was he who, inspired by the Beatles horns-heavy 1966 song “Got to Get You Into My Life,” became enamored of the idea of creating a rock ‘n’ roll band with horns. Not just the occasional use of sax, mind you, but a permanent three-man horn section who would be an integral part of virtually every song.

Walt Parazaider

Born in suburban Chicago, Parazaider began playing the clarinet at age 9 and, by his teen years, he and his parents and music teachers had their sights set on having him pursue a career as a professional orchestral musician. He even earned a degree in classical clarinet performance from nearby DePaul University. During his college years, though, he was pulled away from classic by a newly-developed affection for jazz music, and also dabbled in rock and roll once he picked up the saxophone.

He formed a college band, The Missing Links, with future Chicago bandmates Terry Kath and drummer Danny Seraphine, also meeting eventual producer Jimmy Guercio on the DePaul campus. Once they joined forces with keyboardist Bobby Lamm, trumpeter Lee Loughnane and trombonist Jimmy Pankow and changed their name to The Next Big Thing, they began talking seriously about their musical path. Said Pankow years later, “We had a get together in Walter’s apartment on the north side of Chicago. It was Walter, Danny, Terry, Robert, Lee, and myself, and we agreed to devote our lives and our energies to making this project work.” Bassist Cetera was the seventh and final member to join a few months later.

Chicago in 1969 (L-R): Robert Lamm, Peter Cetera, James Pankow, Lee Loughnane, Walter Parazaider, Terry Kath and Danny Seraphine

“When I started the band,” Parazaider said in 2003, “I knew one thing – that the personnel we had in the band were really good musicians who were dedicated, trying to do something great. I knew that we would have some success.”

Lamm emerged as the chief songwriter, with Kath and Pankow contributing a few songs apiece on the first two LPs. Parazaider rarely wrote music, concentrating instead on developing horn arrangements and adding memorable solos (most notably the flute on “Colour My World” and sax on the 1973 hit “Just You ‘n’ Me”).

Chicago in concert, 1971

Back in late 1970, I had the good fortune to see Chicago perform in a gymnasium on the campus of John Carroll University, only a couple miles from where I lived, and was immensely impressed by their energy and tight ensemble playing. The band was performing relentlessly, up to 300 gigs a year, and this show had been booked before their success on the charts made them the bigger concert draw they would soon become.

It was astonishing to me when their next move was to release a third double album, “Chicago III,” in early 1971, and I was very disappointed with what I heard. Clearly, they had been overworked and stretched thin, because there weren’t more than two or three memorable tracks to be found. I bought it, and played it a fair amount, hoping the tunes would grow on me, but they simply didn’t match up to the songs on first two LPs. Three sides were taken up by grandiose “suites” filled with listless instrumentals, banal lyrics about eating Spam for breakfast (?) and meandering solos with little melody anywhere. If not for the vibrant singles “Free” and “Lowdown,” it would’ve been pretty much a washout. Even those singles charted only modestly (#20 and #35, respectively), and Columbia Records chose to go back to the debut LP and re-release “Beginnings” and “Questions 67 and 68” as singles, which did much better the second time around and kept Chicago’s star rising.

To make matters far worse, Chicago’s next move was a live album, which was in vogue at the time, but they turned a week-long stint at Carnegie Hall into a bloated four-album set completely lacking in the excitement I’d heard in concert only 10 months earlier. I think I listened to it only once, maybe twice, before getting rid of it. One of my worst album purchases ever.

The venerable horn section: Pankow, Parazaider and Loughnane

The next summer, the band wisely focused on just nine quality tracks to comprise “Chicago V,” a single album that offered a return to solid melodies, integrated horn charts and great vocals. “Saturday in the Park” was one of the most popular singles of the summer of ’72, and just about as much fun as “Beginnings” or “Make Me Smile.” Still, the adventurousness and immediacy which had so enthralled me when they entered the scene in 1969-1970 seemed to be missing (for me, at least), even though “Chicago V” became the first of five consecutive LPs to reach #1 on the album charts.

I need to mention one nagging truth about Chicago that bothered me from the outset. They (mostly keyboardist Robert Lamm, evidently) had a penchant for making political statements in some of their songs that, while well-intentioned, usually came across as simplistic and lame. A typical example is “Dialogue (Parts I and II),” which was curiously popular as a follow-up single in the fall of 1972. With lyrics written as a conversation between an activist and a clueless college student, the track was designed to coax people to take to the streets and speak out against war, injustice, etc. Its awkwardness made me cringe, and still does.

From that point on, I basically lost interest. I can’t deny the continuous stream of hit singles were engaging, even infectious — “Feelin’ Stronger Every Day,” “Just You ‘n Me,” “Call On Me,” “Old Days,” even the Peter Cetera heartbreaker ballad “If You Leave Me Now.” But I couldn’t get motivated to buy the albums. I guess the sheen had worn off for me, and I’d moved on to other bands, other genres, although I still returned to the first two Chicago albums fairly regularly.

Terry Kath

Chicago had always been one of those bands that remained an essentially faceless entity. Its members could go out in public and be unrecognized, and they seemed to like it that way. Still, I was among many music industry observers who assumed the band would hang it up in 1978 following the tragic death of Terry Kath, Chicago’s inspirational leader and best instrumentalist. He was messing around with a handgun one night and accidentally shot himself fatally. The idea that Chicago was “a rock and roll band with horns” pretty much died with Kath, as his fiery guitar work was the key ingredient in their rock band credentials. Indeed, no less a guitar god than Jimi Hendrix had been quoted back in 1970 as saying, “Terry Kath plays better than me.”

But no. The band chose to soldier on, hiring journeyman guitarist Donnie Dacus as the first of several replacements for Kath in the lineup. Chicago, whose Roman numeral-titled albums were a source of some ridicule by those who labeled their music “corporate rock,” endured a comparatively fallow period during which their so-so chart performance matched their tired formula on the records. By 1982, Columbia Records, their label from the beginning, let them go.

This didn’t stop them from shopping around for another label and producer. Full Moon Records took the bait, and with notorious Canadian pop producer David Foster at the helm, Chicago re-emerged with an altogether different sound. Peter Cetera’s strong tenor had become the group’s primary lead voice, which was fine, but now the group was doing material written by outside songwriters, with almost no horns in sight. Veteran musician Bill Champlin joined the ranks, playing a substantial role in the soft-rock sounds favored by Foster and Cetera. The resulting album, “Chicago 16,” turned off older fans but found a new, younger audience who responded favorably to the ’80s version of the group. Cetera’s smooth “Hard For Me To Say I’m Sorry” put them back at the top of the singles chart.

On tours, Chicago was no longer packing stadiums or arenas, but they filled smaller halls with enthusiastic fans as they built their new audience. I was reviewing concerts for a Cleveland newspaper at the time, and saw them at the Front Row, an intimate theater-in-the-round venue, and was pleasantly surprised by the quality of the show. The new songs didn’t do much for me, but it sure was great to hear the old stuff, both the hits and deeper album tracks.

Peter Cetera

Lamm, who had been such an important singer and composer for the band, became almost invisible as Cetera assumed the role of Chicao’s pretty-boy front man singing songs co-written for him by Foster and others. These tunes charted well — “Hard Habit to Break,” “You’re the Inspiration,” “Along Comes a Woman” — but their success went to Cetera’s head, who left the band in 1986 for a solo career and chose not to maintain ties with the group. (Indeed, he was famously absent when the group was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 2016.)

A guy named Jason Scheff, a bassist with a tenor voice eerily similar to Cetera’s, joined in 1986, and he and Champlin became Chicago’s primary singers for the next five years, and through the ’90s and 2000s as well. Scheff got off to a rocky start when Foster made the misguided decision to feature a radical, unpleasant reworking of “25 or 6 to 4” as the first single from “Chicago 18,” which justifiably stalled at #48. Still, it was newcomer Scheff’s vocals that carried “Will You Still Love Me?” and “If She Would Have Been Faithful…”, both Top 20 hits.

In the ’90s, Chicago took to touring as part of a double bill with other classic rock bands, taking turns as the evening’s headliner. I saw them perform with The Moody Blues in 1992 at a show when Chicago happened to have top billing, but The Moodies were clearly the better band that night, and we actually ducked out early on Chicago’s below-average gig.

Over the past 30 years, Chicago has toured periodically and released numerous greatest hits packages, a Christmas collection and even a winning tribute to Big Band music (a couple tracks are included in my Spotify playlist). But they’ve bounced around on four or five different labels, and their sporadic albums of new material (“Chicago XXX” in 2006, “Now” in 2014 and “Born For This Moment” in 2022) were met indifferently by press and public alike.

Original members Pankow, Parazaider, Loughnane and Lamm at their Rock Hall induction in 2016

Lamm and the three-man horn section of Parazaider, Pankow and Loughnane continued as the core group, but a raft of personnel changes on bass, guitar, drums, percussion and vocals didn’t do the group much good. Sadly, Parazaider developed a heart condition in 2017 that caused him to retire from live performances, and his health deteriorated in recent years.

A few years ago, I watched “Now More Than Ever: The History of Chicago,” an award-winning documentary on the band, its successes and struggles, and I gotta tell you, it was an entertaining and eye-opening two hours well spent. It incisively tells the band’s story from initial rumblings up to the mid-2010s, and I urge anyone with even a passing interest in Chicago’s music to check it out.

I learned, for instance, that the excesses that plagued so many ’70s groups — The Eagles, Fleetwood Mac, Led Zeppelin — took their toll on Chicago as well, according to the documentary. Original manager/producer Jim Guercio had played fast and loose with the band’s finances, pouring them into a new studio in Colorado and failing to pay royalties. Cocaine use among the band was rampant and destructive, negatively affecting interpersonal relationships. New members didn’t join the lineup seamlessly.

Chicago has always had its detractors. A review of the documentary in The Chicago Reader described it this way: “It’s an altogether fitting testament to Chicago’s hippie self-absorption and dopey excesses, all far out of proportion with both the amount of listenable music Chicago produced and its musical importance.” Ouch. Unduly harsh, I think, but clearly, they weren’t universally admired.

But I’ll always have a soft spot for Chicago, if only for those first two groundbreaking albums that dared to fully integrate horns into a professional rock band. Thanks, guys, for bringing that dream to fruition all those years ago. And rest in peace, Walter.

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The Spotify playlist below is, as you’d expect, heavy on the first two albums, but there’s also a hefty dose of material from their later work. Nearly every studio album is represented with at least one track in order to provide you with a representative cross section of Chicago’s entire career arc, running more than four hours.