Chicago's ascendance to wedding song hegemony in the 1980s seems historical inevitability 25 years after the fact. But those of us for whom Chicago 16 was essentially the band's debut tend to forget that, in 1982, the band (like many of the bigger bands of the 70s) was foundering both commercially and artistically. In the late 70s, they faced the disco dominated landscape without the guiding hand of their longtime producer James William Guercio, and even more significantly, without the credibility-enhancing skills of singer-guitarist Terry Kath, who'd accidentally shot himself to death.

By the turn of the decade, they were without record contract as well; singer-bassist Peter Cetera was making overtures towards a solo career; and the sudden importance of MTV presented a unique challenge to a band that had always been image-deficient by design. Chicago 16, we now know, with its two gigantic hit singles ("Hard to Say I'm Sorry" and "Love Me Tomorrow") represented a massive commercial resuscitation of a band that all but the most devoted of fans had written off years earlier. But, put in context, it faced the same perils and, plausibly, suffered the same fate as the punchline that preceded it (Chicago XIV, which, in retrospect, isn't that bad a record).

There are many who mark Chicago 16 as the point at which Chicago jumped a certain shark - the first shameless trick in a decade of whoring to the demands of Top 40 radio - regarding the album as the band's definitive break with its more respectable socially conscious jazz-rock past. The truth is that, David Foster's ridiculously slick production notwithstanding, Chicago 16 was a direct (if distant) descendant of Chicago VI (seriously), boasting a healthy balance of radio-conscious love ballads and earnest talk-show-circuit pop-psychology, with occasional flourishes of electric piano soul and stage-pounding jazz-rock work-outs.

Chicago 16, then, wasn't the devil in and of itself. Rather, it was the unexpected (and really, damn near miraculous) success of Chicago 16, and the commercial exigencies of that success that truly betrayed the band's founding mission. This was a band that, even in its darkest moments, had always allowed itself room for error, excess, and moments of misguided experimentation. Chicago never really made a perfect album - they were always a little too self-indulgent for that. If David Foster's production on Chicago 16 was all about reigning in those incautious musical tendencies (P.C. Mobley, I ask you), and enforcing some strict studio discipline on the band, the album's success apparently caused the band to take that discipline to its logical extreme for maximum sales and airplay impact.

- - - - -
The result being their 1984 album Chicago 17, which isn't a collection of songs so much as it is the shimmering, oily byproduct of a well-maintained automaton - a Stepford band - an immaculately conceived, spotlessly produced, seamlessly mixed exercise in crisp power-chordage and computer-generated love notes. The numeric title of the record should have been a testament to the band's longevity. Instead, it feels like a model number from an Office Depot catalog entry. But the saddest thing about Chicago 17 is just how well it worked toward its intended function. It not only became the band's best selling record, producing no fewer than four major pop hits ("Stay the Night", "Hard Habit To Break", "You're the Inspiration", and "Along Comes a Woman"), but also sparked a licensing feeding frenzy that kept even some of the album tracks (especially the coulda-beena single "Prima Donna") in regular rotation on movie soundtracks and television commercials.

And, of course, a zillion damn weddings. That the dazzlingly vacuous "You're The Inspiration", which recycles the already trite lyrics of an earlier Peter Cetera ballad ("Just You 'N' Me", from the aforementioned Chicago VI, incidentally) became the album's signature song only makes the whole sad affair even sadder. (If Congress truly wanted to enact a Defense of Marriage type amendment that I could get behind, it would have to include some provision banning the song from wedding ceremonies and receptions.) Because the truth is that even though the album reeks of assembly-line soullessness and efficiency, it's still an eminently consumable product.

On "Stay the Night", one of the band's hardest rocking songs from this era, Peter Cetera sings lyrics like "and I won't take 'no', if that's your answer" with equal measures of dogged determination and reckless self-effacement. Add a dramatic singalong hook and an exactingly jaunty guitar-and-bass attack on the chorus - not to mention the band's only truly memorable video (which finds the ever-cheesy Cetera taking that dogged determination to nearly fatal, action movie extremes) - and the song becomes something of a low-art classic. Like that "now you see it, now you don't" jingle for Diet Pepsi.

"Along Comes a Woman" and "Prima Donna" are similarly satisfying in their mechanized celebrations of female archetypes; and "Once In a Lifetime", with its complex synthesized percussions, its elaborate, even classically-flavored keyboard hook, and a typically hearty vocal by Bill Champlin nearly transcends its surroundings. But the best track here is "Hard Habit To Break", the heir-apparent to 16's "Hard to Say I'm Sorry", featuring a deeply felt tag-team vocal by Cetera and Champlin (whose vocal interactions represented one of the most satisfying developments in the band's 80s sound), a similarly climactic chorus (I always wanted to be Bill Champlin when he sang "I'm addicted to you, baby!" at the end), a sweeping string arrangement, and a supercool coda which braids together what seems like a half-dozen separate vocal parts (which I would nevertheless attempt to sing along with solo, overenthusiastic youngster that I was).

But despite the presence of so many highlights, the album still feels like it's been stuffed with acrylic fiber; and even "We Can Stop the Hurtin', written by the increasingly marginalized Robert Lamm in an apparent effort to remind the band of their increasingly marginalized social conscience, feels much too tidy to make a real impact. The band would never again match the success of Chicago 17. Then again, they would never sound quite as robotic either, which has to be a good thing.

- - - - -
Rhino's recent reissue of Chicago 17, as with its reissue of Chicago 16, is almost as cynically produced at the original album itself. The sound feels compressed, and the provenance of the source masters seems suspect. The version of "Please Hold On" included here, for instance, differs from the "Please Hold On" on the original Warner Bros. CD, substituting a "group" chorus after the first verse for the in place what had been a solo croon by Bill Champlin. (In Rhino's defense, I believe the version here is consistent with the original vinyl release.) More troubling is the fact that the domestic and import versions of the re-issue feature different bonus tracks despite the CD's 45 minute playing time - and neither includes the contemporaneous non-album track "Good for Nothing", recorded for USA For Africa's We Are the World album.

- - - - -
BECAUSE YOU NEED TO KNOW:

"Chicago 17" by Chicago
Full Moon / Rhino Records
Originally Released 1984
Reissue released 10/3/06

Produced by Humberto Gatica
45 min.

SONGS: Stay the Night - We Can Stop the Hurtin' - Hard Habit to Break - Only You - Remember the Feeling - Along Comes a Woman - You're the Inspiration - Please Hold On - Prima Donna - Once In a Lifetime /BONUS: Where We Begin

- - - - -
MORE CHICAGO:

Chicago XIV (1980)

Chicago 16 (1982)

Chicago XXX (2006)



Recommended: Yes