David Ackles only made a total of four albums, between 1968 and 1973. Fellow songwriters Elton John and Elvis Costello wonder why his music is not more well known. Costello once described the lack of recognition as a “mystery.” He also and made sure to credit Ackles as one of his major influences in his Rock and Roll Hall of Fame induction speech in 2003. Perhaps Ackles’ music, a product of the combined influence of Broadway show tunes, Jacques Brel, Brecht and Weill, the English music hall, and the nascent Southern California singer/songwriter movement, weren’t trendy enough.

Ackles started his songwriting career as a staff writer for Elektra Records, but his songs were so unique and idiosyncratic that they just didn’t work for other artists. The legendary Elektra boss Jac Holzman suggested that Ackles make his own albums, and his self-titled debut was released by the label in 1968. The release met with critical success, but little public acknowledgement, and a second album, 1970′s Subway to the Country, met the same fate.

The third David Ackles album, and by far his best known, was American Gothic, released in 1972. Although popular success continued to elude him, this was the album that brought him as much attention as he was going to get. It was a critical rave in Rolling Stone, at that time the gatekeeper of all gatekeepers, that turned me on to the album, and I suspect that the same thing was true for many other people. This new-found attention was no doubt spurred by the fact that none other than Bernie Taupin produced the album. The conductor was Robert Kirby, best known for his work with Nick Drake.

American Gothic was recorded in two weeks at IBC Sound Recording Studios in London, the only Ackles album that was not recorded in the US. The recording time may have been short, but Ackles had been working on the enormously complex arrangements for two years. The pattern that had dogged Ackles on his first two releases continued. Once again the album met with a great critical response. Derek Jewell, writing for the Sunday Times (UK), called it “the Sgt. Pepper of folk.” Sales, however, were once again disappointing. American Gothic never made it any higher than #167 on the American album charts.

David Ackles only made one more album, Five and Dime, this time for Columbia where Clive Davis signed him after Ackles left Elektra. The album is an uncharacteristically simple affair for Ackles, recorded at home on his four-track. But fate intervened when Davis, his champion at the label, was fired. Columbia released the album, but did nothing to support it, and did not renew Ackles’ contract. He never looked for another record deal. He continued to write songs, they continued to not be covered by other artists, and he sold a few screenplays to television. Eventually he taught musical theater at USC. David Ackles died of cancer in 1999.

Each song on American Gothic, whether it’s the harrowing title track, a lovelorn ballad like “Love’s Enough,” the wistful “One Night Stand,” or the epic journey to the past that is “Montana Song,” is a complete emotional statement from Ackles. He delivers the songs in a warm, appealing voice that only serves to underscore the power of the material. In retrospect it is also interesting to note that Ackles’ songs feature his characters as narrators, something that was not very common in those days, but is a direct link from his work to that of songwriters like Bruce Springsteen.

The failure of American Gothic to reach a substantial audience is terribly sad. It is a one of a kind musical statement from a brilliant artist, a great lost album that demands to be discovered by a new generation. The good news is that all of Ackles’ Elektra album are available, so go, discover.

I have no idea why this music was placed over what look like scenes from the film Somebody Up There Likes Me, but enjoy the song.

Elvis Costello and Elton John perform the David Ackles song “Down River”:

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The first thing you notice is the retro cover, with its lurid colors, and the ring wear that’s been pre-distressed for you so that you don’t have to wait for your album to look vintage. Then there’s the opening song, a pounding cover of the fairly obscure Sam & Dave song “I Can’t Stand Up For Falling Down.” Elvis Costello has explored all sorts of musical styles over the years, but his 1980 album Get Happy was his very first foray into the unexpected, in this case the world of soul and r&b music.

The timing of the album may or may not be a coincidence. On tour in 1979, Costello got into a drunken argument with Stephen Stills and Bonnie Bramlett in the bar of a Holiday Inn in Columbus, Ohio. During that argument he infamously resorted to racial slurs when making reference to James Brown and Ray Charles. Get Happy was seen as his shot at redemption, although Costello denied it in the liner notes of the 2002 Rhino reissue. “It might have been tempting to claim that I had some noble motive in basing this record on the music that I had admired and learned from prior to my brush with infamy. But if I was trying to pay respects and make such amends, I doubt if pride would have allowed me to express that thought after I had made my rather contrived explanation. I simply went back to work and relied on instinct, curiosity, and enduring musical passions.”

That’s not all that’s unusual about Get Happy. Costello and album producer Nick Lowe managed to cram 20 tracks onto two sides of vinyl, something that was rather unheard of, largely because it was thought that such “groove cramming” would result in a loss of sonic quality. Lowe addressed this issue on the album’s back cover:

“You’ll have noticed that there are ten (?) tracks on each side of this, Elvis’ new LP, making it a real “long player.”

Elvis and I talked long and hard about the wisdom of taking this unusual step and are proud that we can now reassure hi-fi enthusiasts and/or people who never bought a record before 1967 that with the inclusion of this extra music time they will find no loss of sound quality due to “groove cramming” as the record nears the end of each face (i.e. the hole in the middle).

Now get happy.

Your friend,

Producer Nick Lowe”

Costello addressed the issue in his own way, by closing the album with the brilliant song “High Fidelity.”

There is a lot to take in before you even get to the music. But once you do, you will find that Get Happy is an album overflowing with songwriting brilliance, and as fine a tribute to American soul music as you are likely to find. By that time the Attractions (Steve Nieve, Bruce Thomas, Pete Thomas) were known as one of rock and roll’s most potent bands, and they didn’t lose a step when they ventured into new (for them) form. Aside from the songs that I’ve already mentioned, “Motel Matches,” “I Stand Accused,” “Riot Act,” “King Horse,” “Man Called Uncle,” “Clowntime Is Over,” and “New Amsterdam” are still among Costello’s finest efforts.

Get Happy climbed to #11 on the Billboard Pop Albums chart, and was also #11 on Rolling Stone’s list of the 100 greatest albums of the eighties.

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Considering my favorite Beach Boys album is a daunting task. Of course there’s the monolithic Pet Sounds, standing out there in the field, towering above everything else. So let’s just put that aside for awhile. What inevitably happens is that my choice changes from time to time. The Beach Boys Today, Sunflower, and Holland have all been favorites at one time or another. Lately I’ve started to reconsider the virtues of Surf’s Up, which was released by Reprise on the Beach Boys’ Brother Records imprint in 1971.

The title track, with Van Dyke Parks’ “muted trumpeter swans,” and “columnated ruins domino,” is perhaps Brian Wilson’s most brilliant work. The towering composition was originally intended for the ill-fated SMiLE album, the costs of which we still see Brian paying to this day. The impetus for the completion of the song came from the Beach Boys new manager Jack Rieley, who was determined to make the band relevant again. Brian, understandably, was not interesting in revisiting his personal hell, so it was left to Carl Wilson, the band’s newly appointed (by Rieley) Musical Director to move forward. Brian did finally emerge to help out with the song’s third movement. The finished song is one of the great achievements in popular music.

“Surf’s Up” was hardly the end of the story though. The powerful and somewhat ominous “Until I Die,” a song that Brian had been working on for quite awhile, emerged. The only completely new Brian Wilson song on the album is the probably best forgotten “A Day In the Life of a Tree.” But Carl Wilson picked up the slack with two of his greatest songs, “Long Promised Road,” and “Feel Flows.” Rieley demanded that the band embrace more topical material, and the result was the Mike Love/Al Jardine songs “Student Demonstration Time,” and “Don’t Go Near the Water.” The capper for me is one of my guiltiest musical pleasures. Bruce Johnston’s sticky sweet “Disney Girls” is every bit as saccharine as you might imagine, and yet it has a beautiful melody and lyrics that transport you (well they transport me anyway) back to a more innocent time. Given the state of things within the Beach Boys organization at the time, that’s not such a bad thing.

Just like Pet Sounds towers over the field of Beach Boys albums, the title track towers over this album. There are, however, several other treasures to be found on Surf’s Up, and until the winds shift again it will be my favorite Beach Boys album.

Below you will find Brian’s original demo for “Surf’s Up,” followed by the Beach Boys’ finished recording of the song.

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“I don’t think I’ve used the word ‘astonishing’ in relation to an album in a long time. But the new Ryan Bingham album, Junky Star (Lost Highway), merits that kind of acclaim. Another thing that I never do is compare any songwriter to Bob Dylan. But the inescapable fact is that Bingham may be the songwriter who finally justifies the “new Dylan” tag that has cursed so many talented songwriters in the past. It’s not just the songs, which are powerful in their own right, but the way that they’re delivered. Bingham is possessed on a raspy, heartbroken voice that provides every ounce of world-weary despair that the occasion calls for.”

Here’s a bit a heads-up that will not come as much of a surprise if you read my review; when my list of the year’s best albums appears on Popdose in the next couple of weeks, Junky Star will be firmly ensconced in a position close to the top of my list. So I am very happy to provide an opportunity for two lucky Popdose readers to win vinyl copies of the album. Hey, even if you personally aren’t a fan of the Americana genre, surely you have a loved one or friend who is, and since this is the season of giving, what a great gift this would make for any vinyl fan. To enter the contest, all you have to do is send an e-mail to ken with the word “contest” in the subject line, and the answer to the following question in the body:

Ryan Bingham and T-Bone Burnett won an Academy Award for the song “The Weary Kind,” which appears on Junky Star. The song was from the film Crazy Heart. How many Academy Award nominations did Crazy Heart receive in all?

Just a number, that’s all I’m looking for.

The deadline to enter the contest is Wednesday, December 8, 2010, at 5:00 p.m. eastern time. At that time I will pick two winners randomly from among the correct entries. This contest is open only the readers with a US mailing address. Good luck.

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When I was a kid, one of the highlights of the year was the family trip to a Catskill Mountains resort for a week of fun in the snow, eating, relaxation, eating, entertainment, eating … you get the idea. It seems like we never went to the same resort twice, but I liked them all. The big climax to the week was a Saturday evening nightclub show that featured some of the top names in showbiz. That usually meant comedienne Totie Fields, who seemed to follow us from resort to resort, and was inevitably the Saturday night headliner every year. I didn’t care. She was funny. I was even more interested in the dance teams that would open the show. The thing that they all had in common is that the female partner would go into the wings after each number, and emerge with one less piece of clothing on.

One of the major responsibilities of the hotel staff, in addition to feeding us of course, was to make sure that the kids were occupied so that the parents could relax. That often meant sitting around listening to the jukebox with other kids. I vividly recall that one year the jukebox seemed to play the Beach Boys “Don’t Worry Baby” non-stop. It’s still my favorite Beach Boys song. Once in awhile, they would come up with something really cool for us though, and that was the case in 1966 when the hotel presented a mid-week show for the young people headlined by the Tokens, and emceed buy Cousin Bruce Morrow. Now, I like “The Lion Sleeps Tonight” as much as the next person, but what I remember most about the show was the opening act, a band called The Young Rascals.

The Young Rascals had already had a minor hit with their first single “I Ain’t Gonna Eat Out My Heart Anymore,” so they weren’t unknown to the young audience. The specifics of their set have faded over the years, but I do remember that they were still wearing their schoolboy outfits, complete with knickers. I also remember that they played what was announced as the debut live performance of their latest single, a song called “Good Lovin’.”

For some reason I’ve never been to the Princeton Record Exchange before, despite the fact that it’s less than an hour from where I live, and that it has an extensive selection of classic vinyl. I finally made the pilgrimage this week, and I picked up enough vinyl to inform this column for weeks to come. One of my prize finds was the Young Rascals self-titled debut album. I got a stereo version, and while I always prefer mono versions of ’60s albums, I took what I could get.

The Rascals were formed by singer Eddie Brigati, Cavaliere, Cornish, and drummer Dino Danelli in Garfield, NJ. They were managed by Sid Bernstein (yes, the same Sid Bernstein who brought the Beatles to America), and signed to Atlantic Records. When Johnny Puleo’s Harmonica Rascals objected to the use of the name, Bernstein renamed the band The Young Rascals. That sorted out, the first Young Rascals album was a smash, largely owing to the presence of “Good Lovin’” which was a #1 single for the band.

Atlantic Records released the album in mono and stereo on March 28, 1966. “I Ain’t Gonna Eat Out My Heart Anymore” and “Good Lovin’” are both here. Most of the songs are covers, “Good Lovin’ was originally recorded by the Olympics, but the Rascals made the Wilson Pickett songs “Mustang Sally,” and “In the Midnight Hour” very much their own. There are also covers of Bob Dylan’s “Like A Rolling Stone,” the Beau Brummels “Just a Little,” and Larry Williams’ “Slow Down.” The album’s one original song, written by keyboard player/vocalist Felix Cavaliere and guitarist Gene Cornish, is a first-side-closing rave-up called “Do You Feel It.” The album reached #15 on the Billboard Top LPs chart, and #10 on the Cashbox chart.

More #1 hits followed, including “Groovin’” (1967), and “People Got to Be Free” (1968), before the band split up in the early ’70s. They were one of the most influential bands of their day, and they were inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame by Steve Van Zandt in 1997. In April of this year, all four original band members reunited for a benefit show in New York City.

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Last Saturday I attended the WFMU Record Fair in New York City. The annual show is something of a “don’t miss” for record collectors, particularly those of the vinyl persuasion. People come from all over the country, and fly in from other parts of the world, to attend the three-day show. This is cratedigging at its best, and you wouldn’t believe that prices that some records fetch.

My main goal this year was to start building up my collection of 45s again. Once upon a time I had a glorious collection which has seemed to disappear into thin air over the years. I’ve still got a bunch of good singles from the late ’70s – early ’80s, the Clash, Sex Pistols, etc., but I had my eye on ’60s music this year. So I journeyed into New York City, want list in hand.

By the end of the day, I’d only filled one of my wants but I had still managed to spend a lot of money on other things that caught my eye. I was about to leave when I decided to check my dealers list one more time I notice that the fine reissue company Sundazed had a booth at the show. I decided to stop by on my way out. Sure enough, there was more money to be spent because I immediately noticed that Sundazed had a reissue of one of my favorite ’60s albums, and of course I had to have it.

The Blues Project was a band that formed in Greenwich Village in 1965. The classic lineup made just two albums, and the first of those was live. By 1967 they were finished. The band was started by guitarist Danny Kalb, and included Roy Blumenfeld on drums, bass player Andy Kulberg, Steve Katz on guitar, and vocalist Tommy Flanders. In 1965 the Blues Project auditioned for Columbia Records but they weren’t signed. The news wasn’t all bad however, because it was through that audition that they encountered one Al Kooper. Kooper had started as a session guitarist, but switched instruments after a well-chronicled twist of fate found him playing organ on Bob Dylan’s “Like a Rolling Stone.” Soon Kooper was a member of the Blues Project.

The band started doing shows around the Village, and they were signed by Verve Records. In 1966 they released Live at the Cafe Au Go Go, but by then, Flanders was gone. The album was a moderate success, and after touring the US the band returned home to begin recording their second album, Projections, which was released in November, 1966. The album is an amazing mix of songs and styles including psychedelia, blues, jazz, and folk-rock. At its center is the 11 minutes-plus Danny Kalb showcase “Two Trains Running.” The Blues Project had become known as one of the earliest jam bands, and the song showed off their skills in that area to maximum effect.

Steve Katz, who with Kooper later founded Blood, Sweat & Tears, leaned a little more to the pop side of things, and his adventurous “Steve’s Song” is an album highlight. Katz also has a nice take on Bob Lind’s folk-rock classic “Cheryl’s Going Home.” It was back to improvisation for the Kooper-written instrumental “Flute Thing,” which featured bassist Kulberg on the title instrument, and some forward-looking guitar work from Kalb. Kooper’s vocal brilliance shines brightly on songs like the opening “I Can’t Keep From Crying,” and “Wake Me, Shake Me.”

Al Kooper left the Blues Project in 1967, soon followed by Katz and Kalb. There were reunions and more albums, but the band never again reached the musical peak that they did with the classic lineup’s one studio album, the Tom Wilson-produced Projections.

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Madman Across the Water opens with one of the most powerful one-two punches in any artist’s catalog. First comes “Tiny Dancer,” (written about and dedicated to Bernie Taupin’s then girlfriend Maxine Feibelman) which made it to #41 on the Billboard US Pop Singles Chart, and has become something of a cultural touchstone. That’s followed up by the massive hit “Levon,” #24 on that same chart. It’s hard to follow that kind of opening, but follow it Elton John did to create one my favorite albums of his long and distinguished career.

Despite my undying love for the two big hits, my appreciation for the album has always revolved around two songs that are somewhat lesser known. The title track was originally supposed to be on Elton’s previous album, Tumbleweed Connection. It was held back and then re-recorded for this album, but you can still find that original version (with Mick Ronson on guitar). It’s on the remastered Tumbleweed CD. The song is a moody, moving meditation on the vicissitudes of fame. And speaking of moving, the other song that has always been a favorite of mine is the Side Two opener “Indian Sunset.” The song chronicles the final stages of the defeat of the American Indians at the hands of the white man through the eyes of one warrior. It’s a stirring and evocative recitation of the transgressions of this country’s early settlers.

When I listen to an album in order to write this column, often times I haven’t heard it for quite awhile. That is the case with Madman. This usually results in some kind of revelation or new discovery for me. This time I was struck by the thought that the song “Rotten Peaches” could easily have been included on Tumbleweed Connection. The song would have been a great fit for that album’s rustic theme.

All of the album’s songs are of course written by Elton John and Bernie Taupin, but if you’re looking for Elton’s road rhythm section of Nigel Olsson on drums and Dee Murray on bass, you’ll only find them on one song, “All the Nasties.” The album does see the first appearance of guitarist Davey Johnstone with Elton. It’s a relationship that would last for decades, both on the road, and in the studio. The outstanding production is once again by Gus Dudgeon, but the real not so secret weapon here is the brilliant string arranger Paul Buckmaster.

Madman Across the Water was released by MCA in 1971. It was Elton’s lowest charting album in the UK to that point, only reaching #41. It was a much bigger success in the US, where it reached #8 on the Billboard 200 album chart.

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The news of an impending collaboration between indie music darling Ben Folds and the acclaimed British novelist Nick Hornby was intriguing to say the least. That collaboration has now resulted in an album called Lonely Avenue, and I’m pleased to report that it more than lives up to expectations. I am also happy to tell you that you can win your very own vinyl copy of the new album courtesy of Nonesuch Records. Just read through to the end to find out how.

There are few artists today who can deliver up a wistful melody and break your heart in its delivery better than Ben Folds. In lyricist Hornby however, Folds has found a foil who won’t let him get away with easy sentiment. In fact, Hornby never makes it easy for Folds at all. There are no glib rhymes, and Folds must have found it challenging to fit some of the lyrics into the format of a song, but he makes it work.

Folds’ way with a beautiful melody is in evidence here on a song like “Picture Window,” but lyrically Hornsby spins a sad tale of someone checking into a hospital for what might be the final time (“You know what hope is? Hope is a bastard. Hope is a liar, a cheat, and a tease.”) while fireworks light the sky over London. “Practical Amanda” relates the sad tale of someone who might be missing out on life’s big picture because she is sweating the small stuff. In “Password” the narrator tries to convince his loved one that he’s been paying attention all along, but then realizes that he really hasn’t been paying attention at all. In the album-closing “Belinda” a “one hit wonder with no hits” shares his regret over having left the person he really loved because he “met somebody younger on a plane. She had big breasts, and a nice smile. No kids either. She gave me extra complementary champagne.”

My favorite song on the album though is the delightful “Claire’s Ninth,” in which the title character is forced to share the her birthday with her estranged parents, who no longer seem to know each other. Here Hornby’s lyrics are pointed directly at the heart of the lost American dream. It’s no coincidence that the song is set in the one-time dreamland of Los Angeles. Folds chips in a spritely melody, and stacks Beach Boys-like harmonies into the chorus. It’s pure pop perfection.

Folds and Hornby share a penchant for commentary, sometimes ironic, on popular culture. That tendency is in full bloom on Lonely Avenue with songs that pay tribute to a certain Alaskan named Levi Johnston, Jr., the great songwriter Doc Pomus, and the American poet Saskia Hamilton (if you don’t know who she is, well there’s the irony). Speaking of making it difficult, in “Saskia Hamilton” Folds is called upon to rhyme “idyllic” with “dactylic” but somehow he pulls it off.

I like this album a lot. I am very happy to be able to share a vinyl copy with one lucky listener. To win, all you have to do is send an e-mail to ken with the word “contest” in the subject line, and the answer to the following question in the body:

In 2002, Nick Hornby published a book called Songbook. It included 30 essays on pop songs. One of those essays was on a certain Ben Folds song. What is the title of that song?

The deadline for entries is Wednesday, October 6, 2010 at 5:00 p.m. eastern time. At that time I will choose one winner at random from all of the correct entries. This contest is open to readers with valid U.S. mailing address only.

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In 1977, it was like a bolt out of the blue. It was the album you had to have, the band you had to hear. The thing was, if you lived in the United States you could only get the album as an import. By the time CBS got around to releasing the self-titled debut album from the Clash in the US, it was two years later. Four tracks from the original album had been removed, and five new ones had been added.

The Clash charges out of the gate with “Janie Jones,” a tribute to a then-popular London madam, and then launches into “Remote Control” which takes on, well pretty much everyone who Mick Jones felt had done the band wrong. It’s the first track to express the rage and frustration that the Clash became famous for, and my favorite track on the album. As an American, at first it was hard to swallow “I’m So Bored With the U.S.A.”, but as an American living in 1977, the sentiment was quite understandable. “White Riot,” the band’s first single, is an outstanding treatise on race and class. Side One closes with the fiery “London’s Burning” which rails against, of all things, English traffic jams.

There is no letup on Side Two. “Career Opportunities” finds Joe Strummer complaining bitterly about the lack of economic opportunity and the dreariness of the workday world in England. What set the Clash apart from other bands, what in fact helped to make them so much more than a punk band, was that they could take on other forms and make them their own. “Police and Thieves” was originally recorded by Jamaican reggae artist Junior Murvin in 1976. To say that Murvin was unhappy with the Clash cover is a bit of an understatement. “They have destroyed Jah work,” he was heard to say. Hopefully he was happier when the royalty checks starting rolling in. I think it’s a pretty cool cover though it was only added to the album because it dawned on the Clash that they really didn’t have enough songs. The album-closer, “Garageland,” pays tribute to the band’s roots, while at the same time attacking critic Charles Shaar Murray’s suggestion that they “be returned to the garage immediately, preferably with the engine running.”

Murray just didn’t get it, but a lot of critics did, providing The Clash with positive reviews and helping it to reach #12 on the UK charts. In the years since its release, the album’s reputation has only grown stronger. In 1979, no less a presence than Robert Christgau called The Clash the best album of the ’70s, and in 1993, it was #13 in the New Musical Express list of the Greatest Albums of All Time. Ten years later, it was #77 on that all-important Rolling Stone 500 Greatest Albums of All Time list.

The Clash would go on to rock and roll immortality, but their music was never again quite as raw or immediate as it was on their debut album. Their brilliant debut album is crucial to any understanding of the rise of the punk music and culture that continues to have a profound effect on our world.

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The first guy I met in college had a plastic bag filled with powdered mescaline (at least that’s what he said it was), and a plastic jug filled with empty capsules. The second guy I met was a veteran of the hallucinogenic wars who was determined to instruct me on the proper use of the aforementioned powder and capsules. Hey, what can I tell you? It was the ’60s. Number one on my would-be mentors list was the music of the Grateful Dead. In his opinion, their music was a must for any successful trip. I had heard their first three albums, and I wasn’t a fan. When it came to San Francisco bands, I preferred the hard-charging fury of the Jefferson Airplane to the psychedelic ramblings of the Dead.

As you might imagine, given the scenario above, I didn’t last long at that college. But the next year, something interesting happened. In June 1970, the Grateful Dead released their fourth album, Workingman’s Dead, and I loved it immediately. Dead fans (do they like being called Deadheads?) may disagree, but for me the down home, countrified, harmony-laden music on the album represented a complete musical departure for the band. They were no longer spending their time on endless noodling. Inspired by their friendship with uber-group Crosby, Stills, and Nash, Jerry Garcia and lyricist Robert Hunter (and in one case Phil Lesh) had written a great bunch of songs, and formed them into a concise, coherent album.

The opening track, “Uncle John’s Band,” was a complete revelation for me. It sounded like a bunch of guys sitting around in the backyard, strumming acoustic guitars, and harmonizing. It was hardly the sound of the acid-soaked ramblings that I had come to expect from the band. When the song was released as a single, Warner Brothers was forced to deal with radio station objections to the song’s length, and language. They quickly edited it down to a more radio-friendly three minutes or so (Garcia hated the resultant mix), and excised the word “goddamn.” The single still didn’t make much of a splash, reaching #69 on the U.S. Pop Chart, but something more important happened. The unedited song was played by many FM radio stations, and for the first time the Grateful Dead reached the mainstream rock audience. The album’s second single, “Casey Jones,” cocaine references and all, didn’t even chart, but it also became an FM favorite and further strengthened the band’s street cred.

Looking back at it now, it’s clear that Workingman’s Dead was the band’s attempt to enter the mainstream, and as such it was a complete success. The album reached #27 on the Billboard Album Chart, and was certified platinum in 1986. It was ranked #262 on Rolling Stone’s 500 Greatest Albums of All Time in 2003. For me, Workingman’s Dead will always be special because it is the sound of a band leaving their comfort zone and trying something new. And although that new sound had a more mainstream appeal, it must have been hard to take that leap. Take it they did however, and it was the true beginning of one of the most fabled careers in the history of rock and roll.

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