In 1982, the once great band Chicago was in a state of disarray, at the end of their contract with Columbia, and at the end of their artistic rope, having long since dumped their original producer-svengali James William Guercio, and having long since lost Terry Kath, their guitarist, one of their principal songwriters, and without question, their most soulful singer, and single greatest source of rock credibility (Jimi Hendrix was a fan!) to an accidental gunshot. In addition, their gimmick of numbering instead of naming their albums had taken them well into the teens, and it was starting to look like less of a professional choice made to emphasize the bands focus on the music over gratuitous showbiz and individual recognition, and more like an embarrassing reminder of their increasing irrelevance. (Hint Led Zeppelin stopped at 3, boys.)
After floundering through the late 70s with a replacement guitarist (the milk-white musical theatre demi-star Donnie Dacus), making half-hearted stabs at white-boy funk, jazzy pop-fusion, country rock, and straight up disco, often with humiliating results, the band signed with Warner Bros., and drafted producer David Foster to re-invent their sound.
What resulted was one of the biggest hit albums of 1982, and what is often regarded by die-hard Chicago fans as the beginning of the other Chicago, the one that would come to define high school prom power balladry throughout the rest of the decade, the one that by its very existence was a sickening betrayal of the true legacy of the band, the jazzy-rock risktaking, and socially conscious message-mongering of their first albums.
For the bands original fans, Chicago 16 represented a major sell-out. For my nine-year-old self, Chicago 16, and its lead-off single, the gorgeous ballad Hard to Say Im Sorry (which would become the bands second #1 single), was only a first impression.
And it was good.
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For one thing, Foster enforced a rigorous discipline and quality control on the band, supervising both songwriting (he gets co-writer credit on 8 of the 10 songs here) and song selection; and augmenting the band with a corps of LA studio musicians (basically, Toto, without Bobby Kimball). Synthesizers and programmed beats abound, but the crisp, professional sound is remarkably refreshing given the stale, outdated sounds of their late 70s work.
At Fosters suggestion, the band had also recruited Bill Champlin to sing and play guitar full time. Not only did he give the band the soulful edge that had been missing since Kaths death, but Champlin, who got his start in the music biz in the early 70s California post-psychedelic rock and soul scene, had a natural affinity with the band, their experience and their back-catalogue. His soulful shout on songs like Follow Me (which he wrote with the bands trombonist James Pankow), his vigorous tag-teaming with Cetera on Waiting for You to Decide, and his heartfelt harmonies on Hard to Say Im Sorry not only showcased the mans versatility, but provided a gritty (relatively speaking) foil to Peter Ceteras winnying tenor croon. And since he was about the same age as the rest of the band, his presence on their records never felt like generational pandering. (That would have to wait until Jason Scheff, and even worse DaWayne Bailey joined the band later on).
Though Champlins presence in the band added a great new energy to their sound, it also signaled a reduced role for founding member/group conscience Robert Lamm, who doesnt sing lead on any of the songs, and only gets a co-writer credit for the brief (but amazing) Get Away, a chugging, horn-powered rave-up that builds out of the irresolute piano figures that close out Hard to Say Im Sorry.
Perhaps, even more troubling to group loyalists was the growing promotion of Peter Cetera as the groups frontman. Throughout their heyday, the band had always insisted on a kind of anonymity, enforcing a policy of never releasing consecutive singles featuring the same singer-songwriter. Tellingly, Peter Cetera, whod already made overtures of leaving the band with a 1981 solo album, sings on all three of the singles from the album.
Though all these things were considered drawbacks by the groups loyal fans, they are what, ironically, makes the album so great. And as far as pop albums go, Chicago 16is great, even if the bands subsequent reliance on Fosters formula throughout the rest of the decade rendered their music increasingly flaccid. On this album at least, the band achieve a near-perfect balance of slick studio professionalism, renewal of purpose, and soulful, hooky pop songs which appealed equally to pre-teens (like me in 1982), and their parents. While songs like the strident power-pop of Rescue You, What Youre Missing and Chains (with its Utopia-style chorus) gave a nod to the synthy, upbeat sound of new wave; others like Bad Advice, with its searing horn charts, and Sonny Think Twice (which sounds like something by their current tour-mates Earth, Wind, and Fire) paid due tribute to the bands jazzy roots.
All of this to say, this is not your fathers Chicago. And to listen to Chicago 16 as a continuation of the bands Columbia catalog is to miss the point, big time. There simply is no continuation. But to listen to this album in the context of Chicagos subsequent career, this album sounds amazingly fresh and enjoyable. Theres not a bad song on Chicago 16, and though later albums would produce more hit singles, this album represents the zenith of Chicagos second life: an essential slab of 80s pop.
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Chicago 16" by Chicago
Full Moon/Warner Bros. Records
Released 1982
Produced by David Foster
42 min.
SONGS: What Youre Missing - Waiting for You to Decide Bad Advice Chains - Hard to Say Im Sorry / Get Away - Follow Me Sonny Think Twice What Can I Say Rescue You - Love Me Tomorrow
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