Complete as of December 27, 2025
Nostalgia regularly afflicts me, and as a result, I endeavor to keep it at arm’s length.
But 2025 has been such a challenge overall that I desperately need a year-end distraction, and so back into time I’m traveling — musically.
Apart from live performances, during the 1970s I experienced music via vinyl, cassettes, AM and FM radio; friends of mine owned 8-track players and even a reel-to-reel, but I never did.
My listening choices included jazz, swing and classical music; country music, not so much. But naturally, given the day and age, rock and pop comprised the daily default. Duke Ellington and Bix Beiderbecke understood my position.
The album format is the first determining characteristic of the list that follows. The albums have in common that I “owned” them, either on LP or cassette (usually taped from friends, not pre-recorded).
The list is not primarily populated with “all-time favorite” albums (except for Wish You Were Here). These are albums I liked at the time, or shortly after their release, and as time passed, they were relegated to the periphery. That’s why Tusk and Quadrophenia are not listed. As genuine all-time favorites, they’re a semi-regular indulgence, anyway.
Several of these albums I have not heard since I was in high school. They’ll all get a brief review, comprising my initial reaction, and not over-thinking it. This will be pursued as time allows, and updated regularly. In January 2026, it will again come time to search for new music.
The first group of “completed” albums is in reverse chronological order, with the most recent coming first.
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The Clash … London Calling (1979): Specifically, December of 1979; even if IU Southeast was a commuter campus a few miles from my residence, it was a collection point for people with different interests, and someone made a cassette of this album for me in mid-1980 — and what could be better as an introduction to the decade? The only band that matters.
Doobie Brothers … Livin’ on the Fault Line (1977): In 2025, I’ve seen two interviews with guitarist Jeff “Skunk” Baxter during which he stated that Livin’ on the Fault Line would be the album posterity judges as the Doobies’ best. Agreed. I’m an unapologetic fan of Michael McDonald, whose influence here is obvious; Baxter adds that the other band members upped their game around the same time.
The Rolling Stones … Black and Blue (1976): Roz Tate, a friend of 45 years, died earlier this year. When we first met, one of several bonding agents was this album; critically dismissed at release, but in repackaged in a deluxe edition in November. The one person with whom I might have discussed it isn’t available; there remains a sadness about that. Black and Blue famously was the “new guitarist audition” album, and of course Ron Wood “won.” But Wayne Perkins’ work on “Hand of Fate” ranks highly to me, and otherwise, it’s Charlie Watts’ album. I love it; without Black and Blue, there is no Some Girls. Roz, wherever you are, know that I’m keeping the faith.
Willie Nelson … Red Headed Stranger (1975): See, when country music is like this, I’m good with it. But the fact is that Willie Nelson has always gone beyond the limitations of any particular genre. Listening to Red Headed Stranger again brought tears to my eyes, and I wasn’t expecting it. Am I okay?
Pete Townshend/Ronnie Lane … Rough Mix (1977): I first bought the LP because I liked both the Who and Faces. I have not changed my mind in almost 50 years; it’s delightful. Lots of British rock luminaries guest, but there is little bombast, just strong songs performed in a spirit of cooperative fun.
Mott the Hoople … All the Young Dudes (1972): Another album I read about in Circus magazine; the title track was on local FM radio. It took a while, but eventually the vinyl turned up at the public library. A decade later, my interest in Mott the Hoople and Ian Hunter merged with Def Leppard. Don’t laugh.
Dwight Twilley Band … Twilley Don’t Mind (1977): It surely has been 45 years since I’ve heard this album. Why did I buy it in the first place? Twilley, who died in 2023, was from Tulsa; he did what probably is described as power pop, and my favorite song is “Looking for the Magic.” But all the songs are familiar after all this time; I must have listened to it often.
Jim Croce … Life & Times (1973): A generational talent, lost far too soon. I’ve seldom been the singer-singwriter type; Croce is the exception who proves the rule.
Electric Light Orchestra … A New World Record (1976): Imagine me playing in a varsity basketball game as a junior, in Indiana, home of “Hoosier Hysteria” and semi-trailer loads of attendant cultural hoopla — and the music playing in my head is ELO. All the while I was wondering: “why don’t girls like this music?” You people who seek to relive high school are out of your minds. By the way, my favorite ELO album, hands down.
Neil Young … Zuma (1975): My favorite Neil Young albums at this point were Zuma and its harrowing predecessor, Tonight’s the Night. In 1995, when I heard Neil perform “Cortez the Killer” live in Prague with the members of Pearl Jam (minus Eddie), I thought back twenty years. It was deeply ingrained.
Journey … Infinity (1978): Who the hell ever knew that Journey had three albums before this one? Not me. “Lights” was the attraction as my senior year wound down. I liked the idea of Gregg Rolie sharing vocal chores with Steve Perry; I knew Rolie had been in Santana with Neal Schon. Henceforth I never liked or disliked Journey. The band was part of the radio landscape, and that was it.
Elvin Bishop … Struttin’ My Stuff (1975): Bishop, known primarily as a blues guitarist, moved to Macon, Georgia in 1974 and reinvented himself as a Southern rocker, taking on Mickey Thomas (later of Starship) and scoring a huge pop hit in the spring of my sophomore year with “Fooled Around and Fell in Love,” sung entirely by Thomas. The other songs are entertaining; half of them would be cancelled today (see: “Slick Titty Boom”).
Steely Dan … The Royal Scam (1976): In the fall of 1977, “Kid Charlemagne” was one of my favorite songs, and it still is. Over the years I’ve gained a greater appreciation for the title cut. Listening to this album with headphones yields rewards with each additional run-through. Don’t expect me to apologize for being a Steely Dan from the beginning. It simply won’t happen.
Johnny Cash … Man in Black (1971): My father liked Johnny Cash; we watched his television show together (1969 – 1971). I was intrigued by some of the guests, who were a bit counter-cultural; obviously I was too young to understand exactly why. This album cam to me as a Columbia House cassette, and I haven’t listened to it for 50 years. The Billy Graham cameo is revolting, except that Cash never backed away from the common man’s Christianity. There are a few strong songs, most famously the powerhouse title track; also “An Orphan of the Road” by Dick Feller, and Cash’s own “Singin’ in Viet Nam Talkin’ Blues”
Chicago … III (1971): By the time VI was released in 1973, I had all the Chicago albums of original material. I’d continue down this path (excepting Christmas albums) into adulthood, until Born for This Moment (Chicago XXXVIII), released in 2022 and unlistenable. III was the least known of the early albums. The first 12 cuts would have made a great single album. People would complain to me about the ballads of the later period; I’d say listen to THIS, and spin III.
Queen … News of the World (1977): I had an open period my senior year, and a couple of buddies joined me in wangling an assignment to the legendary Mick Neely, our choral instructor. Wandering was limited, but unnecessary in the main, given that Mick had an amazing audio system sequestered in a practice room. We didn’t get much past the first three tracks, but I managed cassette copy.
Blondie … Eat to the Beat (1979): Drummer Clem Burke, whose death in early 2025 was a harbinger of misery to come, opens the album with furious drums (“Dreaming”), reminding us that Burke paid tribute to Keith Moon upon Moon’s 1978 death by trashing his drum kit.
ZZ Top … Tres Hombres (1973): 8th grade males bonding to an extremely Texan album with a song called “Beer Drinkers and Hell Raisers.” I’ve written previously about the classic gatefold photo.
Foghat … Rock and Roll Outlaws (1974): I bought the cassette from Columbia House for the sole purpose of “Chateau Lafitte ’59 Boogie,” which received airplay on LRS-102 in Louisville during my freshman year.
Cheap Trick … Heaven Tonight (1978): I’ll confess to knowing nothing about Cheap Trick until I heard “Surrender,” after which when I was irreparably hooked on the pride of Rockford, Illinois. We’re all all right. Yes. I believe I’ve seen Cheap Trick live more than any other band listed here.
Elton John … Don’t Shoot Me, I’m Only the Piano Player (1973): Talk about songs one knows by heart. This album finds Elton and Bernie in the middle of a hot streak almost without equal in pop/rock history.
Kansas … Point of Know Return (1977): No, not because of “Dust in the Wind,” although it’s an uncommonly thought-provoking pop song. I love this album because of the late Robbie Steinhardt, the violinist, vocalist and master of ceremonies; he receives a star turn in “Lightning’s Hand,” and it’s an all-timer. Kansas resides in the upper echelons of my guilty pleasures.
Grand Funk … Born to Die (1976): A rather dark entry in the GFR catalog, presaging the breakup to come. Headphones help me appreciate the instrumental performances, which are excellent. The creepy coffin cover art was cool, too.
The Edgar Winter Group … Shock Treatment (1974): I was going through a Columbia House phase as a way of amassing an LP collection, and Circus said this album was great. I can remember when it arrived, held at the post office in Georgetown to be claimed (the box was too large for the mailbox). Still one of my favorite albums from the 1970s; these guys could play any style convincingly, and the late, great pop genius Dan Hartman is criminally overlooked today.
Ozark Mountain Daredevils … It’ll Shine When It Shines (1974): Being 14-ish means a never-ending succession of two-month musical love affairs that eventually disappear into the ether. Hence, OMD, although I persist in thinking that “Jackie Blue” is an outstanding single.
Derek & the Dominoes … Layla (1970): I purchased the album in early 1978, and it was a soundtrack to the waning days of my senior year, which included pining for the unattainable (shrug). But the way that Duane Allman squeezed even more emotion and intensity out of the already distraught Eric Clapton remains a matter of wonderment to me.
Deep Purple … Burn (1974): The band swapped its singer and bass player for two singers, one of whom played bass, and the result was an album as good as anything in Purple’s catalog. My friends fled the reconstituted band. I embraced change and loved it.
Ritchie Blackmore’s Rainbow … Rising (1976): 50 years later, side two still blows me away. I’m told that Blackmore pioneered “castle metal” with this album, which I taped off LRS-102, which played albums in their entirety (not for piracy, of course). The headphones reinforce drummer Cozy Powell’s primal excellence.
Jimmy Buffett … Son of a Son of a Sailor (1978): I wasn’t a Buffett fan back then (nor ever, really); several friends were, very stridently so, and it wasn’t until Buffett died that I realized how much of his music I’d absorbed by sheer osmosis. My regret is genuine; it was a big “miss” on my part. If I had to pick a favorite Buffett album, this probably is it, and it took a belated listening to realize it.
Lynyrd Skynyrd … Gimme Back My Bullets (1976): My argument remains: Skynyrd’s original incarnation was far better than “Southern rock” as a genre. It was rock, period, especially once Louisville native Artimus Pyle took over the drums, and Ronnie Van Zant’s untimely death led to a period of under-appreciation as to his lyrical aptitude. The band’s subsequent revival helped us to understand this all the more.
Grateful Dead … Workingman’s Dead (1970): During our 8th and 9th grade years, a family from California (dad was an actor) lived in the FCHS school district, and Jim was in our class. They might as well come from Mars. Jim made a recording of this album from his older brother’s collection; it is one of two Dead albums I’ve listened to in its entirety.
Frank Zappa … Zoot Allures (1976): I’m surprised by how much of this album I remember, having not heard it in so long. From “Wind Up Workin’ in a Gas Station” to “Disco Boy,” with plenty of guitar workouts and the great Terry Bozzio on drums. Choice.
Roxy Music … Country Life (1974): With an album cover like this…well, it’s another example of Circus advocacy. Early Bryan Ferry envy? I heard this one at the time, although honestly, it didn’t resonate with me until later in life.
T. Rex … Electric Warrior (1971)
Admittedly I was a few years late to this one. I’d been reading about “glam” in Circus, a magazine bizarrely available at the small supermarket nearest me, and we all knew “Bang a Gong” from the AM radio. I was transfixed, but it took a bit to find an upper classman who could make copies of the LP on cassette.
Led Zeppelin … Presence (1976): I’ve never been a “fan” of Led Zeppelin, but I saw the cassette while we were in South Dakota on vacation, and recognized “Nobody’s Fault But Mine.” R.I.P., Bonzo Bonham; I find this album to be underrated in the Zep canon, even if it sounds like outtakes from Physical Graffiti.
REO Speedwagon … You Can Tune a Piano, But You Can’t Tuna Fish (1978): Released just in time to be the soundtrack of high school graduation, and the beginning of the payoff for a band that worked its way to success. 47 years later, I enjoy listening to the late Gary Richrath play guitar just as much as then. Let Richrath be Richrath!
Jefferson Starship … Red Octopus (1975): There remained a vestige of similarity with the Airplane, and props to Marty Balin for “Miracles,” which remains an amazing single. Plus, Papa John Creach(“Git Fiddler”) was still aboard. There may not be any stranger lineage than Jefferson Airplane → Jefferson Starship → Starship.
The Marshall Tucker Band … (1973): Southern, yes, and filled with reminders that “Southern” and “redneck” are not synonyms, like woodwinds and jazziness alongside the requisite boogie. An amazing debut album.
Uriah Heep … Demons & Wizards (1972): “Easy Livin’” was huge in autumn during my 7th grade year. But the earlier “July Morning” was bigger because the cover bands played it at dances. Long live guitarist Mick Box, the last surviving member of this Heep incarnation.
Pink Floyd … Wish You Were Here (1975): The older kids possessed Dark Side of the Moon. I wanted a Pink Floyd album all my own, but had no idea who Syd Barrett was. The elegiac tone of this work has never dimmed for me. Shine on, indeed.
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FOR FUTURE REFERENCE
The next list for the next time I do this.
Ian Hunter … You’re Never Alone with a Schizophrenic (1979)
Bruce Springsteen … Born to Run (1975)
Doors … L.A. Woman (1971)
Elvin Bishop … Let it Flow (1974)
Grand Funk Railroad … E Pluribus Funk (1971)
Deep Purple … Come Taste the Band (1976)
Cat Stevens … Teaser and the Firecat (1971)
Edgar Winter … Jasmine Nightdreams (1975)
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Addendum from Dec. 16: I neglected to include an apology for the surfeit of testosterone; you’ll notice a near-complete absence of female musicians. As an explanation, if not an excuse, understand that (a) these are rock and pop albums only; (b) I listened to women pop singers and rockers, but didn’t necessarily buy the albums or record cassettes (Heart, Blondie, Carly Simon, Aretha Franklin, et al); and (c), my listening diet included a great deal of jazz, swing and blues, providing regular doses of Billie Holiday, Bessie Smith, Peggy Lee and others. Needless to say, many Black American musicians were among these selections: Duke Ellington, Miles Davis, Count Basie and countless others. I realize that my musical tastes during the 1970s were somewhat less than diverse. Part of this owes to having no money; but sometimes one must allow time enough to grow up.
