Because my reviews are from my own music collection, they tend to skew positive. But every now and then something terrible manages to surface.
Disc 1804 is…Open Fire
Artist: Montrose (specifically, Ronnie Montrose)
Year of Release: 1978
What’s up with the Cover? Ronnie Montrose’s Giant Head, obscured by a bunch of circuitry and targets or dials. Perhaps this signifies that Montrose has been replaced by a terminator, on a mission to exterminate all good music it can find.
How I Came To Know It: My friend Spence introduced me to the band Montrose, but not this particular album, which was the last entry in a 5-disc set, and one I hadn’t heard when I bought it. The set was a good deal though, so how bad could it be?
How It Stacks Up: I have five Montrose albums. This is easily the worst one, and it is not even close.
Ratings: 1 star
You know that scene in Animal House at the toga party where Bluto smashes that dude’s guitar and then says “sorry” and walks away? That’s what I wanted to do to Ronnie Montrose’s “Open Fire” album from the opening note. The feeling only grew through what would become 35 very long and very hellish minutes.
On his first solo album away from his namesake band, Ronnie Montrose acts like he is finally free could do exactly whatever he wanted. Really show the fans that all that kick-ass, hard-rockin’ Montrose stuff was only the beginning! That he, Ronnie Montrose, could do anything, blend any style, and make any creative choice he desired without consequence. Well, I give full credit for the ambition.
The result is a record that manages to predict the soft yacht rock snoozefest of the early eighties, only with the guitar playing the role of villain usually reserved for the saxophone. The opening track, - unimaginatively titled “Openers” - sounds like the soundtrack to some early eighties cop-show drama, or maybe a low budget TV movie. “Town Without Pity,” similarly takes no pity (on its listeners) with some mix of easy listening and jazz that you’d expect to be playing in an elevator where you find yourself trapped.
The title track is particularly overwrought. Yes, the song has a groove, but it’s not a particularly interesting one. This song feels like the sad soundtrack of a car chase between a 1980 Mustang and a 1994 Camaro. Nothing is moving too quickly, and it ain’t pretty to look at either. The guitar solo on “Open Fire” is like that jam session where there’s the makings of a happy groove going, but then the guy on guitar decides to go apeshit and play a solo all his own for eight bars. When he’s done, he looks up with a big grin like he’s done everyone a favour, only to find the others staring at him in sullen silence. You can’t even fire him; he owns the band.
Things don’t improve when the guitar takes a back seat. Yes “Mandolina” has a mandolin, but it mostly features a sequencer and a synthesizer front and centre. The song feels like when you visit your buddy on Boxing Day and find out he got a programmable Casio for Christmas. No, he has not learned to play it yet, but in the rush of discovery that is not going to stop him from trying out all the buttons.
Seeking something positive, I lighted on “Leo Rising”. Yeah, it feels a bit like you’ve stumbled into a Renaissance fair, but Montrose plays with good tone and you can hear the vestiges of what makes those early Montrose records so awesome. There are moments of this in other songs as well, but they are fleeting.
More often than not, the record had me in a state of diffuse and unfocused agitation. In addition to reminding me of Bluto’s act of guitar violence, I found myself wishing for that scene in Monty Python’s Holy Grail where they eat the minstrels. Sadly, it was not to be. There would be no rejoicing.
Instead, we are left with a meandering directionless, self-congratulatory record that. It is all the more infuriating because I really like Montrose, the band. Those guys made some killer music, and Ronnie Montrose’s writing and guitar are a big part of the reason why. He is a gifted player, and to hear that talent spent on this easy listening wankery was doubly difficult.
The last song on the record is called “No Beginning/No End”. There is another word for that, Ronnie: interminable. Ordinarily I would send it on its way, but it is part of that great 5-disc set of Montrose classics, so instead I’ll keep it as part of the set. I’ll just remind myself never to play it.
Sorry for the uncharacteristic negative vibes, friends. This rarely happens, but I’ve got to keep it real. I encourage you to check out Montrose’s early catalogue – just steer clear of “Open Fire”.
Best tracks: nope. “Leo Rising” is the best of a bad bunch
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