Although I enjoy discovering new artists and new releases, diving into the albums of the ’60s, ’70s and ’80s is still one of my favorite pasttimes. There was SO MUCH great music made in those decades, and I love unearthing the deeper tracks, the “lost classics,” to give them exposure to my Hack’s Back Pages audience.

Readers tell me they love these forays into our collective past, so I hope you enjoy this week’s batch.  As is customary, there’s a Spotify playlist at the end so you can listen as you read.

Rock on, music lovers!

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“Dance on a Volcano,” Genesis, 1976

In 1975, when Genesis vocalist/frontman Peter Gabriel announced he was leaving at the end of the band’s “The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway” tour, many observers figured it would be the end of the group.  Gabriel’s distinctive voice and mesmerizing stage presence were arguably the most important elements of the band’s success.  Granted, keyboardist Tony Banks, guitarist Steve Hackett, bassist Mike Rutherford and drummer Phil Collins were all superb musicians who contributed mightily to the songwriting and arrangements… but who would sing?  As the story goes, they apparently auditioned nearly 200 vocalists (!) before they found the answer right in their own back yard.  Phil Collins, it turned out, had the uncanny ability to sound a lot like Gabriel, especially in the studio, where they came up with an astounding transitional LP, “A Trick of the Tail,” featuring eight songs of fantasy/progressive rock much like the stuff they’d been churning out with Gabriel.  The excellent opening track, “Dance on a Volcano,” is perhaps the best example of this Genesis 2.0 model, which had a shelf life of about five years before a much more commercially oriented Genesis 3.0 version evolved around 1980.

“Out in the Country,” Three Dog Night, 1970

Perhaps my favorite song from the Three Dog Night catalog is this pretty piece from their “It Ain’t Easy” LP in the fall of 1970.  This group was famous for recording tunes written by other notable composers, from Harry Nilsson (“One”) and Randy Newman (“Mama Told Me Not to Come”) to Laura Nyro (“Eli’s Comin'”) and Hoyt Axton (“Joy to the World”).  “Out in the Country,” which reached #15 on the singles chart, was no exception — it was written by Paul Williams and Roger Nichols, known for white-bread commercial fare like The Carpenters’ hits “We’ve Only Just Begun” and “Rainy Days and Mondays,” as well as another 3DN song, “Just an Old Fashioned Love Song.”  The track was the group’s only hit that featured unison vocals instead of featuring one lead vocalist.  Its lyrics, which cry for concern for the environment, are every bit as relevant today as we continue to face threats to the planet’s future:  “Before the breathing air is gone, before the sun is just a bright spot on the nighttime…”

“Rehumanize Yourself,” Police, 1981

Slickly produced and full of diverse, engaging songs, The Police’s “Ghost in the Machine” continued the British band’s musical evolution as one of the top artists of the early Eighties.  The group maintained the foothold in punk and reggae they’d been featuring since their 1978 debut, but this album was more New Wave, introducing synthesizers and even horns to the mix.  Hits included the catchy “Every Little Thing She Does is Magic” and “Spirits in the Material World,” but just as intriguing were deep tracks like “Secret Journey,” “Darkness, “One World” and my favorite, the uptempo “Rehumanize Yourself.”  They would go on to rule the airwaves and the charts two years later with their final LP, “Synchronicity,” before songwriter/singer Sting headed out for a long solo career.

“Echoes of Love,” Doobie Brothers, 1977

In 1976, medical conditions caused singer-guitarist-songwriter Tom Johnston to withdraw from the band he had formed six years earlier.  To replace him (temporarily), the Doobies recruited Steely Dan background vocalist Michael McDonald, who turned out to be a pretty decent songwriter as well, although his stuff was markedly different from Johnston’s rock ‘n roll boogie.  The Doobies began a new phase in their career with “Takin’ It to the Streets,” a solid album with one Johnston song amidst a half dozen McDonald-led numbers.  Throughout all of this, there was always another vital piece of the band’s sound:  singer-songwriter-guitarist Patrick Simmons, who had been responsible for tunes like “Black Water,” “South City Midnight Lady,” “Toulouse Street” and others.  On the 1977 LP “Livin’ on the Fault Line,” Simmons shines brightly on his outstanding song “Echoes of Love,” with McDonald on harmonies and the venerable California band sounding as tight as ever.

“Car on a Hill,” Joni Mitchell, 1974

What a marvelous track from a perfect album!  Together with the live “Miles of Aisles” LP that followed it, “Court and Spark” was Mitchell’s high-water mark commercially — both albums went Top Five — but she soon tired of “stoking the star-maker machinery behind the popular song” and began writing and recording with top-flight jazz artists through the rest of the ’70s.  Joni is one of only a handful of songwriters whose lyrics and music are of equally fine caliber.  In particular, “Car on a Hill” has a fabulous melody and arrangement, and the words do a beautiful job of describing the angst of waiting by the window for the unfaithful lover’s car that never comes:  “He said he’d be over three hours ago… Now where in the city can that boy be?, waitin’ for a car, climbin’, climbin’, climbin’ the hill…”

“Go Back Home,” Stephen Stills (with Eric Clapton), 1970

After the implosion of Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young in the summer of 1970, each went off to make solo LPs, although they made guest appearances on each others’ albums.  Stephen Stills had headed to London to record with a broad array of musicians, including the legendary Jimi Hendrix, who added guitar on “Old Times Good Times” only a month before his death.  More impressive, however, was the contribution from Eric Clapton, who offered up a scorching performance on the second half of Stills’ mid-tempo shuffle “Go Back Home,” arguably one of Clapton’s best guest solos.  (It was recorded at the same session that produced “Let It Rain” and “After Midnight” for Clapton’s solo debut LP that same year.)  You need to crank up this one!

“All the Things She Said,” Simple Minds, 1985

One of England’s greatest bands of the 80s and ’90s got its start in the late ’70s but didn’t have much success on the UK charts until their fourth album in 1981, when they began a string of seven Top Five albums (including three #1 LPs) through 1995.  Here in the US, their impact was far more brief.  They contributed the huge #1 hit “Don’t You (Forget About Me)” to the John Hughes teen comedy classic “The Breakfast Club” in early 1985, and followed that with a Top Ten charting for their “Once Upon a Time” LP, spawning two big hits, “Alive and Kicking” (#3) and “Sanctify Yourself” (#14).  It was the third single, “All the Things She Said” (which managed only #28), that always struck my fancy.  Lead singer Jim Kerr and guitarist Charlie Burchill, the band’s chief songwriting team, really hit their stride with this album, but I never understood why the next several Simple Minds releases (1989’s “Street Fighting Years,” 1991’s “Real Life” and 1995’s Good News From the Next World”) stiffed in the US, because they’re full of excellent material in the same vein as “Once Upon a Time.”

“Gypsy,” Moody Blues, 1969

It should have happened about 20 years earlier, but the great Moody Blues were finally inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 2018.  There has been so much great music from these pioneers of British progressive rock, especially the seven albums they released in the 1967-1972 period.  Their fourth LP, 1969’s “To Our Children’s Children’s Children,” had no hit singles, but charted high on the album charts (#2 in the UK, #14 in the US).  Released shortly after the moon landing, the album explored the cosmic themes of space travel and children, and the legacy of the human race.  The standout track for me was “Gypsy,” yet another amazing song by the consistent singer/guitarist Justin Hayward, who wrote the majority of their better known tunes.

“Caroline,” Jefferson Starship, 1974

Singer/songwriter Marty Balin formed the Jefferson Airplane in 1965 in San Francisco when he met up with guitarist/singer Paul Kantner, and with the addition of Grace Slick, they became household names in the late ’60s as voices of the counterculture.  But the group crashed and burned in 1972, with Balin bailing out when Kantner kept advocating his wild-eyed sci-fi/fantasy themes.  By 1974, Kantner and Slick had teamed with new instrumentalists and re-introduced themselves as Jefferson Starship.  “Dragonfly,” their first LP with that lineup, was a delicious surprise, highlighted by great stuff like “Ride the Tiger,” “That’s For Sure” and “All Fly Away.”  The sleeper track, though, was “Caroline,” written and sung by none other than Balin, who was coaxed to participate.  It’s a gorgeous power ballad, actually better than the huge hit “Miracles” he wrote for the “Red Octopus” #1 LP the following year.

“Why Must I,” ‘Til Tuesday, 1988

Singer-songwriter Aimee Mann was the primary talent behind the ’80s alt-rock group ‘Til Tuesday, who emerged out of Boston in 1985 with the LP and Top Ten single “Voices Carry.”  They lasted for two more albums before Mann headed out on her own in 1992, and she’s still touring today.  I always thought ‘Til Tuesday’s second and third LPs — “Welcome Home” (1986) and “Everything’s Different Now” (1988) — were very underrated.  “Coming Up Close” and “What About Love” made modest dents in the singles charts, but there were eight or ten other strong songs worthy of attention.  My favorite was “Why Must I” from the 1988 LP, which features a catchy melody, inventive arrangement and great performance by Mann and her band.

“With You There to Help Me,” Jethro Tull, 1970

Tull’s 1969 second album “Stand Up” went to #1 in England, and their monumental fourth LP, 1971’s “Aqualung,” was Jethro Tull’s greatest international success, but sometimes overlooked is their third effort, 1970’s “Benefit.”  It’s among their hardest rocking collections ever, with the minor hit “Teacher” appearing on the US version of the album.  Ian Anderson on flute and vocals and Martin Barre on guitar were, as always, the key elements of Tull’s sound, with John Evan adding keyboard parts on some tracks for the first time.  FM stations in the US gave airplay to a few tracks, most notably “To Cry You a Song” and the prog rock beauty “With You There to Help Me,” which includes a great lyric in the chorus about the warm feeling you get when you return home:  “I’m going back to the ones that I know, with whom I can be what I want to be…”

“The Back Seat of My Car,” Paul McCartney, 1971

In the wake of The Beatles’ breakup in 1970, each member’s solo career was put under the microscope for intense scrutiny, as many observers felt their solo work could never measure up to the work of the band as a whole.  McCartney in particular took a lot of heat for writing and recording a lot of slight, inconsequential stuff, but he was always able to come up with two or three really excellent tracks on every album.  From the 1971 LP “Ram” (credited to Paul & Linda McCartney), which spawned the cutesy #1 hit “Uncle Albert/Admiral Halsey,” by far the strongest moment was the album closer, “The Back Seat of My Car,” beautifully arranged and performed, full of lush orchestration and voices, solid electric guitar by Paul, and a memorable repeated chorus, “Ohhh, we believe that we can’t be wrong…”

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It’s time once again to delve deep into some of the classic albums of the ’60s, ’70s and ’80s and find those superb “deep tracks” that the radio stations never play.  So many of the albums that topped the charts back then have three, maybe four songs that get all the airplay even though there are some jewels just sitting there, waiting to be rediscovered and savored.

This week’s blog is dedicated to shining a bright light on a dozen neglected tracks from famous, commercially successful albums.  Lost classics come to us in a variety of ways, but I get a charge out of reminding readers how many great songs appeared on those iconic records. There’s a Spotify playlist at the end so you can listen again to these wonderful “diamonds in the rough” among the big albums of the glorious decades of 40, 50, 60 years ago.

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“Listen,” Chicago, 1969

When the band that would be known as Chicago released their debut, the extraordinary “Chicago Transit Authority” in April 1969, they felt they had so much good material that it should be a double album, which takes chutzpah for a new band to claim.  But they were right — not only were there enough worthy tracks to warrant a double LP, their sound was a revelation, a shrewd merger of rock and big band, with fiery guitar solos, exuberant trumpet/trombone/sax passages, and three vocalists each capable of leading the way through instantly likable hit songs like “Does Anybody Really Know What Time It Is,” “Questions 67 and 68” and “Beginnings.”  But like most albums chock full of hits, there are excellent tracks that never got the attention they deserved.  On “CTA,” I nominate “Listen,” the shortest song on the album, led by Robert Lamm’s great vocals, a strong bass line from Peter Cetera and the ever-present horn section.

“Kings,” Steely Dan, 1972

If you look back over the debut albums of the major artists of the ’60s and ’70s, most were erratic at best; rare indeed was the group that hit a home run in its first at-bat.  “Can’t Buy a Thrill,” the first LP from the wickedly musical minds of Steely Dan founders Donald Fagen and Walter Becker, is definitely one of them.  It was hard not to notice the relentless salsa of “Do It Again” (#6) and the solid rocker “Reelin’ in the Years” (#11) in the winter and spring of 1973, but those who bought the album were treated to eight more songs just as good as those two.  My personal favorite is “Kings,” with its vibrant harmonies, frenetic guitar break by visiting virtuoso Elliot Randall and lyrics that may be referring to the imminent departure of Richard Nixon (“We’ve seen the last of good king Richard, raise up your glass, his name lives on and on…”)

“Just a Job to Do,” Genesis, 1983

Genesis was rock’s premier theatrical attraction in 1969-1975 for those favoring British progressive rock thanks in large part to the amazing Peter Gabriel as their vocalist/showman. After Gabriel went solo, the remaining members of Genesis — drummer/vocalist Phil Collins, keyboardist Tony Banks, guitarist Mike Rutherford — soldiered on, ultimately became a hugely successful commercial act, with multiple hit singles in the ’80s.  Their 1983 album “Genesis” had hits like “Mama” and “That’s All,” but the highlight for me from this LP was this in-your-face track about the reluctant hit man, “Just a Job to Do” (“…and bang! bang! bang! and down you go…”), which has a relentless beat and an irresistible arrangement that just won’t quit.  Genesis was certainly two different bands, with and without Gabriel, but the second version surely had its moments.

“Peace Frog,” The Doors, 1970

I love the Doors, and inhaled their first two albums especially, and their swan song, “LA Woman,” but somehow never caught on to the “Soft Parade”/”Morrison Hotel” period, except for the singles (“Touch Me” and “Roadhouse Blues,” respectively). Buried deep on the 1970 “Morrison Hotel” album is a great little track called “Peace Frog,” which I stumbled across fairly recently. It’s got a funky, Stax-style hypnotic hook over which Jim Morrison forcefully sings about the violence in the streets at the 1968 Democratic Convention. Coincidentally, I’ve heard the song used in TV show soundtracks a couple times in the past year, which proves how classic tracks have staying power and can resurface when and where you least expect them.

“I Give You Give Blind,” Crosby Stills and Nash, 1977

CSNY had always been a volatile mix.  David Crosby, Steve Stills, and Graham Nash had already brought an excess of talent and ego to the party when they first formed in 1969, so when they added the moody and enigmatic Neil Young to the mix, the result was a predictable implosion, and they soon went their own ways.  So, what a delight when, in 1977, the original trio reconvened with the superb “CSN,” which included Nash’s hit “Just a Song Before I Go” and the haunting “Cathedral,” and Crosby’s “Shadow Captain” and “In My Dreams,” and Stills’ “Fair Game” and “Dark Star.”  All great songs — in fact, there’s not a dud on the album — but the one I find most spellbinding is the Stills closer, “I Give You Give Blind,” which includes not only the trademark CSN three-part harmonies but a fiery, full-band attack not often heard on a CSN recording, a sound sparked by Stills’ guitar work.  Fantastic.

“Been Too Long on the Road,” Bread, 1970

In my view, Bread has always gotten an unfair rap as a purveyor of saccharine soft rock ballads. Granted, most of their hit singles fit that mold (“Make It With You,” “It Don’t Matter to Me,” “If,” “Baby I’m-a Want You, “Diary”), but every Bread album included album tracks with tasty guitar licks and a rock backbeat.  Witness the minor hits “Mother Freedom” and “The Guitar Man.”  Hidden deep on their 1970 album “On the Waters” was a delicious little song called “Been Too Long on the Road,” which had a catchy melody and mature lyrics about how touring can kill a relationship.  Dismiss Bread at your own peril — tunes like this one show the band is worthy of your attention. This one’s a keeper.

“Telegraph Road,” Dire Straits, 1982

Mark Knopfler, one of the great guitar players of my lifetime, is known mostly for his Dire Straits debut single “Sultans of Swing” and the 1985 MTV hit “Money for Nothing,” but his output is so much broader and deeper than those two monster hits.  Since the group’s breakup in 1994, he has released a dozen amazing records full of tasty guitar passages and Celtic folk material I could recommend, but let’s just examine the superb stuff from the Dire Straits studio albums:  “Down to the Waterline,” “Lady Writer,” “Romeo and Juliet,” “Skateaway,” “Your Latest Trick,” “Brothers in Arms,” “Calling Elvis,” “Planet of New Orleans,” to name only a few.  The one that stands out most for me is “Telegraph Road,” a 15-minute masterpiece from their 1982 album, “Love Over Gold.”  It starts quietly, builds for a while, gets quiet again, and then hits a point just past halfway through where it goes into a relentless crescendo that leaves your jaw scraping the floor once it finally fades out.

“Do What You Want, Be What You Are,” Hall and Oates, 1976

For my money, Daryl Hall and John Oates never topped the incredible blue-eyed soul classic “She’s Gone,” released in 1973 on the duo’s overlooked second album, “Abandoned Luncheonette.”  Of course, they went on to become the most successful pop duo of all time in the late ’70s/early ’80s with “Sara Smile,” “Rich Girl,” “Private Eyes,” “I Can’t Go For That,” “Maneater” and many more.  Buried on their 1976 LP “Bigger Than Most of Us” is a super sexy slow song called “Do What You Want, Be What You Are,” with thought-provoking lyrics: “It ain’t a sign of weakness, girl, to give yourself away, because the strong give up and move on while the weak, the weak give up and stay, /So do what you want to do, but be what you are…” Hall hits a couple of high notes no man should be able to reach.  This beautifully produced track is music to undress to.

“Let It Roll,” George Harrison, 1970

The triple album “All Things Must Pass” got a lot of attention, largely because the quiet ex-Beatle had substantially eclipsed his compatriots’ first solo albums, and because his hit single, “My Sweet Lord,” was simply effervescent.  Clearly, he’d been sitting on a stockpile of great songs while waiting for the chance to come out from underneath the shadow of the Lennon-McCartney songwriting axis to shine in his own way.  The album was chock full of great songs, including hits like “What Is Life” and “Awaiting On You All,” but to me, the unsung hero on the album is “Let It Roll (The Ballad of Sir Frankie Crisp”), which would have fit quite nicely among the tracks on the celebrated Beatles’ “White Album” two years earlier, when it was written.

“Punky’s Dilemma,” Simon and Garfunkel, 1968

Director Mike Nichols was enamored with the work of Simon and Garfunkel and wanted Simon to write songs for his coming-of-age film “The Graduate” in 1967.  Simon obliged with 3-4 songs, but Nichols rejected them, instead preferring to use “The Sounds of Silence,” “Scarborough Fair” and other existing songs from the S&G catalog in the background of his film.  Left on the side of the road were understated songs like “Overs” (about a marriage that had reached its end) and the winsome track “Punky’s Dilemma,” about a young man who wants to be anything (even a Kellogg’s corn flake or an English muffin) instead of a draftable college graduate in the late ’60s.  Both would have fit nicely in the film’s themes of angst and soul searching. The songs ended up on the duo’s 1968 album “Bookends,” hidden alongside “Mrs. Robinson,” “America,” “Hazy Shade of Winter” and “Fakin’ It.”

“Murder By Numbers,” The Police, 1983

During their five-album run from 1978 to 1983, The Police just kept getting better and better, starting with “Roxanne” and “Message in a Bottle” and improving with “Don’t Stand So Close to Me” and “Every Little Things She Does is Magic.”  The trio of drummer Stewart Copeland, guitarist Andy Summers and bassist/singer/songwriter Sting were at their best, I think, with their #1 album (and swan song) “Synchronicity” in 1983. In addition to the international smash “Every Breath You Take” and additional hits like “King of Pain,” “Wrapped Around Your Finger” and “Synchronicity II,” the album includes several other gems. Left off the vinyl version but included as a bonus track on the CD was the sleeper classic “Murder By Numbers,” a creepy but compelling track about a serial killer.

“Rock and Roll Suicide,” David Bowie, 1972

The enigmatic “chameleon of rock” was still relatively unknown in the US in 1972 when he made an indelible impression as the androgynous stage persona called Ziggy Stardust, an orange-haired rocker from another planet who came to save the world. Bowie went on to adopt other personas over the decades, some commercially successful, others defiantly not, but he will always be known most for “The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders From Mars,” one of the most astounding records in rock history.  “Suffragette City,” “Moonage Daydream” and “Starman” got most of the airplay, but the incredible finale, “Rock and Roll Suicide” (“YOU’RE NOT ALONE!  GIMME YOUR HANDS!”), leaves the listener gasping for breath when it ends with emphatic violins.

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