My favorite music podcast (and one of my regular listening pleasures) is Dischord and Rhyme. Every two weeks, a rotating cast of reviewers dissect a classic album track by track. It’s insightful, funny, and entertaining as hell, and I would encourage you to head quickly to the podcast center of your choice and subscribe. 

     My podcast enjoyment got me to wondering: could I do something with a similar format, but in print form? Could I find some classic albums I wanted to break down, analyzing the individual songs as I went? Well, sure, but what if I instead decided to look at a bunch of probably crummy arena-rock albums from the 70’s and analyzed those?

     Ahem. Today, then, we commence with a brief series where I will examine, er, classic arena rock albums from the halcyon year of 1978. These are all bands I am pretty familiar with, although I have never listened to the albums in question in their entirety (with one exception, soon to be noted). I will be upfront about any predisposed notions I might have about any of these bands, and hope to listen to these albums with an unbiased ear. When I’m done, just for giggles, I will rank the reviewed albums. 

     Everyone still here? All right, let’s get started!¹

Styx-Pieces of Eight

     Preconceived Notions: Let’s face it: Styx is impossible to take seriously. They do a few things well— they can harmonize, they mix up their musical palette (some), they are earnest and try hard— but there is a John Ritter-falling-down-the-stairs quality to their music that makes one want to point and laugh. Case in point: my wife called me not long ago from her car, exasperated. “Have you heard this song, ‘Lady,’ by Styx? It’s the worst song I’ve ever heard!” When I stopped laughing, I started crooning it to her over the phone while she pleaded for me to stop.² Thing is, I wasn’t surprised she hated it, (even though I’ve always felt it had a certain cheesy charm) because Styx is ridiculous. They are the prototypical C student trying to be an A student and falling on their collective faces.

     Merch I Have Owned: I had a copy of Paradise Theatre on vinyl when I was in high school. I’m guessing someone gave it to me for Christmas, or something. I listened to it, because you listen to everything you own when you only have about thirty albums. It’s probably instructive that I listened to Tormato by Yes more frequently and enjoyed it more.

     Miscellany: Styx recorded their third album, The Serpent is Rising, at a little studio in South Pekin, Illinois, just a stone’s throw from where I live. The album is all over the place (it ends with a rendition of The Hallelujah Chorus), and contains a song, “As Bad As This,” that halfway through becomes perhaps the worst novelty song in the history of novelty songs. You’ve been warned.

     Track-By-Track:³

      Great White Hope— Guitarist James Young was usually only given one song per album, and this is his contribution to Pieces of Eight. Like his previous songs “Put Me On” and “Miss America,” it features crunchy guitars, Young shout-singing the lyrics, and repetition of a key phrase⁴ so many times you want to run screaming into the street. The keyboards have a tootly sound that are endemic of almost every Styx song, the rolling drums are supposed to mimic being in a boxing ring, and the whole thing is pretty forgettable. I give Young credit for attempting to fashion an extended metaphor, at least.

     I’m O.K. — The unfortunate thing about this song is it’s a little earworm-y. Why unfortunate? Because the lyrics are such over the top, Up With People, Stuart Smalley-esque claptrap⁵ you will wish to God you could quit humming it. Styx throws everything at this song— a memorable chorus, the aforementioned nice harmonies, organ, more of the happy-pixie keyboard sound, a not-bad guitar solo, and a big finish. It sounds like the old “I’d like to teach the world to sing” Coke commercial from the 70’s if everyone was high on ecstasy. I can’t say I hate it.

     Sing For the Day— Um, sorry, but this song blows. Three songs in, and I want to send the keyboard player on an errand and break all his equipment. It also sounds (to my ears) like Styx is cribbing from one of the hits off their last album, “Fooling Yourself,” except this song is far, far worse. Tommy Shaw has never been my favorite vocalist (he really sounds whiny), and the lyrics are based on one of the stupidest conceits in the history of recorded music. You see, Shaw is writing the song to a girl named Hannah (he uses her name six times in the course of the song), but Hannah isn’t his wife or his girlfriend or a groupie he met in Philadelphia. No, Hannah is, per Wikipedia, a name he used to …represent his fans. He calls his fans “Hannah.” I used to think Paul McCartney was pretty silly to write a song to his dog (“Martha, My Dear,” although McCartney would deny it later). Compared to Tommy Shaw, old Paulie was Voltaire.

     The Message/Lord of the Rings— I’m counting these as one song, because “The Message” isn’t really a song, and barely even qualifies as a musical interlude— it’s just a minute of keyboard sound effects, the sort of exercise you wouldn’t see a band today bothering to put on an album (or a streaming service, or a defunct MySpace page). “Lord of the Rings” isn’t much better. The lyrics are third-rate epic fantasy bullshit, and the music is a watered down version of Spinal Tap’s “Stonehenge,” which means more keyboards and less guitars. Styx should have realized this was ridiculous and leaned into that, but this is too straight-faced to be camp, and too poorly done to be enjoyable. It’s also a very odd choice for a side closer— this is what you want listeners to resonate with as the music stops? Doesn’t matter as much in the streaming age, where album sides don’t matter, and things will get better in a hurry.

     Blue Collar Man (Long Nights) — I have to quote Wikipedia again: “the music (for this song) was composed by Shaw after hearing the sound of his motor boat engine when it failed to start. He said it sounded like a good riff to a song.” Insert eye-roll emoji here. Despite such inauspicious beginnings, I can understand why Styx made this the first single off the album. The sputtering keyboard riff is memorable, the lyrics (about being down-and-out but having self-respect) are admirable, and the guitar solo on the bridge is one of the better ones on the album. Everyone plays well (and together) here, and the signature Styx harmonies are one enjoyable element of the song instead of the only reason to finish listening to it.

     Queen of Spades— This one start with a pretty acoustic guitar riff,  some spacey keyboards, and Dennis DeYoung’s croon. As Dennis gets more worked up about the girl who done him wrong the song follows suit— more guitars, harmonies that approach Queen levels of excellence, and one of DeYoung’s best vocal performances— he really sings the hell out of the song, even adding a spoken “Ha ha ha, you lose!” I love the guitar soloing near the end (Young? Shaw?), the return of the acoustic guitar bit from the beginning (symmetry and all that), and the slightly-ominous⁶ keyboard fills at the close of the song. This has always been my favorite Styx song, and the only one I have ever burned to a mix cd. 

     Renegade— And we are three for three. This may very well be my second favorite Styx song, and is definitely the best thing Shaw ever wrote⁷. It’s hard to believe the same guy who wrote “Blue Collar Man” and this song also wrote “Sing For The Day”⁸, but Shaw was never a model of consistency (see: Damn Yankees). Doesn’t matter, ‘cause here he’s doing very nicely, thank you. I like the beginning with just Shaw’s voice (and the tom thump like a heartbeat), I love when the band kicks in, and Young’s guitar solo is almost as good as the one in “Queen of Spades.” Shaw does a nice job creating a character (an escaped convict soon to be captured), and he sings the song with passion. This is a fan favorite, too, and is typically the last encore song at Styx’s concerts. Of course, DeYoung hasn’t been in the band in twenty-five years, so this might simply be the most-liked song someone other than Dennis would sing. 

     Pieces of Eight— This is the climax of the album, the big showstopper. And DeYoung sings it as such. Unfortunately, the band and the arrangement is pretty flat, and it comes off sounding more forced than anything. I appreciate the sentiment (money isn’t everything), but this feels like paint-by-numbers Styx. I would be surprised if this was anyone’s favorite Styx song.

     Aku-Aku— Styx should stop making instrumentals. This meanders for almost three minutes, shows no virtuosity, repeats itself, and eventually fades out. Thanks, Styx.

     Final Impressions/Evaluation: This is much better than I thought it was going to be. Side one is pretty forgettable, but side two is solid, and contains a couple of Styx’s best songs. I haven’t ever ventured far into Styx’s catalog (and this review is about as close as I plan to get), but this album is much better than my memories of either Paradise Theater or Kilroy Was Here. If someone wanted to know what Styx sounded like, this wouldn’t be a bad place to start.

Next time we review those monsters of the Midwest, REO Speedwagon! Good times.

1.  I  placed these reviews in ascending order, starting with the album/band I assumed I would like least, since I usually want to get the most unpleasant chores out of the way first. We’ll see if that holds. ↩︎
2. This is a woman who once said “Money” by Pink Floyd made her want to throw things at her stereo. And this was a worse song! ↩︎
3. Full disclosure: this is the only album of the group I am going to review here that I have previously heard in its entirety. Granted, that was nearly forty years ago, and my recollections are hazy. ↩︎
4. In this case: Lookit me, I’m the great white hope! ↩︎
5. Remember Up With People? No? How about Al Franken’s Stuart Smalley character, a highlight from an SNL era with skits that didn’t feel written by Miss Fonseca’s junior high science class? Still foggy? Well, then… get off my lawn! ↩︎
6. Styx never did anything really ominous. This may be as close as they ever got, unless you count “Snowblind” from Paradise Theater, which ends with singing that reminds one of The Amityville Horror. On a song about cocaine. ↩︎
7. Some would instead pick “Too Much Time On My Hands,” but I’ve never cared for that song and its farting keyboards. ↩︎
8. It is easy to believe that Shaw wrote both “Sing For The Day” and “She Cares,” a tune off the second side of Paradise Theater. I found “She Cares” unlistenable over forty years ago, and can still remember how viscerally I hated that song even now. Just scanning the tracklist of Paradise Theater makes me realize what an endurance test side two of that album is. ↩︎