CD Odyssey Disc 1804: Ronnie Montrose

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 Perhaps this signifies that Montrose has been replaced by a terminator, on a mission to exterminate all good music it can find.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

CD Odyssey Disc 1800: Montrose

Wow – 1800 reviews. Whouda thunk it? But we didn’t get here resting on our laurels, so let’s get right at it.

Disc 1800 is…Warner Bros. Presents…Montrose!

Artist: Montrose

Year of Release: 1975

What’s up with the Cover? This cover looks like the best…motion picture…ever!

I imagine the plot of the film is that a fantasy-based alternate dimension somehow collides with regular earth (that’s us). Castles and mythical creatures collide with city streets and business folks. Mayhem ensues!

Our hero and heroine are depicted in the bottom right of the frame, likely some time before our heroine is grabbed by that twenty-foot-tall dragon/demon/lizard thing.

How did she go from wearing that practical long-sleeved shirt to that not-at-all-apocalypse-friendly tiny slip and heels? To learn that, friends, you’ll have to go see the film. Race for the ticket window with the same wild abandon that crowd is fleeing dragon/demon/lizard guy and find out more!

How I Came To Know It: I learned about Montrose from my friend Spence, who is very much into (and knowledgeable about) seventies rock bands. He also has good taste, so when he makes a recommendation, I tend to follow up.

Doing so unveiled a “five in one” CD box set of Montrose records at my local record store, the third of which was “Warner Bros. Presents Montrose!”

What about the first two in the set, you ask? Well, it wouldn’t be much of a randomly selected experience if I went chronologically. Next you’re going to ask me to use the alphabet. No I shall not, sir! (or madam)! Random or death!

How It Stacks Up: I have five Montrose records. I just got them and it is hard to say for which is the best, but based on early listening, I’ll put “Warner Bros. Presents…” in at #3.

Ratings: 3 stars but almost 4

When a rock band is named after the lead guitar player, it is usually a sign you are going to get exposed to a lot of guitar action. For that to work, that guitar action better be really good.

This was doubly important on “Warner Bros. Presents” given that our guitar hero – Ronnie Montrose – had just lost his charismatic frontman Sammy Hagar, and this record was their first with replacement singer Bob James. Could Montrose rise to the challenge?

The answer is…yes! While overall I slightly prefer Montrose’s first two “Hagar” records, there is a lot to love about “Warner Bros. Presents…” and it all starts – unsurprisingly – with Ronnie Montrose’s skills on the axe.

In a word, wow. This record features a LOT of guitar work. Some slow, some fast, but all of it played with passion and precision, as Montrose knocks out mid-seventies hard rock classics. Does it sometimes stray into that blues boogie rock you might expect from Molly Hatchet? Sure it does, but I like Molly Hatchet.

Ronnie Montrose is hell-bent to show he can play rock guitar in ALL THE WAYS. The opening track “Matriarch” is a straight up galloping banger (with assist to bassist Alan Fitzgerald), you’re only about a third of the way in before Ronnie busts out his first mind-bending solo. Great tone, great control and not just about being fast.

Next up is “All I Need” which starts out with a gentle bit of picking to show Montrose is also sensitive n’ stuff. But sensitive shouldn’t be confused with soft, and when the chorus hits, the growl returns with a riff so crunchy the roof of your mouth will be tender the next morning from chewing on it.

The album’s epic ‘DJ gets a pee break’ song is “Whaler” a moody bit of ocean mystery, where the haze could be an ocean mist across the slick deck of a boat, or just someone not rolling the window down in the Malibu. Montrose lends a sprung rhythm to his playing here, which brings a disjointed beauty. Later, when you’re not sure it can get stranger, there is some creepy but welcome keyboard action to prove it can.

While a lot of this record is Montrose showing off his mad skills, I would be remiss not to give some love to newcomer Bob James. Bob’s vocals are classic mid-seventies rock star, with that plaintive head voice that soars up, around, and through the musicality of the rest of the band. James was plucked from a Montrose cover band, and while that could’ve resulted in a “by the numbers” type experience he rises to the challenge as an original frontman. He doesn’t make you forget Sammy Hagar, but he makes the switch smooth and enjoyable.

The record isn’t perfect, and there is some hokey action salted through the experience. The lyrics on “Dancing Feet” and “Clown Woman” are so bad that no amount of Montrose guitar action or James vocal acrobatics can make things right.

Overall though these moments are outweighed by a balls-out, rock and roll record in the stye that your mom and dad used to like. And you can like it too.

Best tracks: Matriarch, All I Need, Whaler, O Lucky Man