Imagine trying to make it as a rock band in 1972. Rock’s heyday had more or less come and gone. The pop era had been usurped by psychedelia then supplanted by the twin monuments of hard and soft rock. And all in the span of five or so years. The pace of rock’s development (and its attendant culture) was a truly mind boggling timewarp that we aren’t likely to see again.
Rusty, perhaps to their detriment at the time, fell victim to a sonic schizophrenia, a crisis of identity that, from a modern perspective, plays much in their favor. There is a uniformity in their backbeat and instrumentation that glues together the proceedings nicely. The band definitely wear their disparate influences on their collective sleeve, but that fact neither undermines one’s enjoyment of the record nor suggests any shortcomings in the band.
Those influences (The Who, Alice Cooper, Wishbone Ash) are among the better signposts of the era. Additionally, the more psychedelic aspect to Rusty’s sound echoes SF Sorrow era Pretty Things, certainly among the cream of the crop when regarding that very particular sound. Then there is the ballad. In essence, this record covers a lot of territory.
But I’ll be damned if it doesn’t work.
Some records are just plain fun. Neither groundbreaking nor earthshattering, they infuse their genre with a much needed joie de vivre that is very often lacking, especially in the world of “lost classics” . Never too bluesy or jammy (both toxic traits of the era), the band move tastefully and skillfully through the vast rock terrain, expertly cultivating the fields from which they harvest.
And the record itself sounds fantastic. High calibre studio recordings (seriously, this is no Stone Angel affair), excellent performances, clean and tasteful production, all expertly mastered for vinyl. The folks at Just Add Water handled this album lovingly, with the reverence it deserves, for it truly is one of the finer albums of its kind.
