10cc
The Original Soundtrack

THE REVIEW

If we ever get the idea of doing so, it will be absolutely necessary to keep any attempt to spoon-feed the new generations with our—where 'our' refers to those over 30—musical wisdom pills at bay; the noble endeavor would only provoke laughter or pity from those who chew, without a hint of reluctance or inner conflicts or indigestion, what the music business has now managed to disguise as innovation or "brilliant revival."

And to say that there is still so much beautiful stuff to be heard; but forgive the poor old-timer writing these lines for the nostalgia of the time when the very idea of 'mainstream' seemed almost outrageous to an artist who considered themselves such in every sense of the word.
Some know this well, the few but tremendously necessary groups that have devoted their lives to the cause of fighting social-musical 'stupidity', without relegating their production to the sterile and self-referential container of melodic parody. And chance certainly has its rules if the finest among these semi-poisonous fungi have dotted the woods of the humid, melancholic, phlegmatic English land.

The award-winning quartet Godley-Creme-Stewart-Gouldman, known as 10cc, is no exception; in fact, it sets the standard in the most prolific phase full of small wonders of their production, the one preceding the 1977 transformation of the quartet into a duo (Godley and Creme embarked on a successful solo and video producer career, Stewart and Gouldman kept the group’s name alive with works absolutely worth rediscovering, see “Bloody Tourists,” 1978).

The boundless inventive charge of “The Original Soundtrack” (1975) makes it a true 'masterpiece' of complex pop-rock, deliberately baroque and cheeky in its communicative intentions, yet surprisingly minimalist, romantic, and introspective in melodic research. Infinite vocal overdubs in the incredible lead single of this irreverent vinyl stew (or rather, as its authors would call it, “minestrone”), that “I’m Not In Love” which quickly ceased to be a heavy rotation FM earworm to become the very gene of making pop with a capital P. A pulsating synthetic heartbeat opens and closes six minutes of absolute vocal delirium, garnished with a (delightfully abundant) bubble-like keyboard (Stewart was a master of it) outlining an essential yet unforgettable melody, one of the great jewels that light music has been able to give us.

But the mammoth proportions of the first single do not overshadow an album that in all its moments finds a complete example of elegant transfiguration of the song form, starting with the extraordinary, joyously exhausting mini cabaret opera of the opening “One Night in Paris,” after which Queen might as well throw themselves out the window, and its little twin “Brand New Day.” The production and arrangement expertise can only further ennoble the comic-lyrical aspiration of the pieces in question. And how to pronounce on the grotesque ride of the second single, the exhilarating “Life Is A Minestrone,” or on the absurd rock psychedelia of “Flying Junk” and the overwhelming frenzied semi-core of “The Second Sitting For The Last Supper” and “Blackmail”? To finally reach the grand finale, garnished with mandolins and good-natured Italian style, in the hilarious “The Film Of My Love,” always assuming one can speak of an ending for a 10cc work.

Theirs is a musical adventure that, even with its ups and downs, sees a noble, continuous continuity in that constant mockery of those who, with arrogance and vulgar indifference, suffocate melodic art in the narrow closet of entertainment. So, once again, 'chapeau' to the baronets of music as "food for thought."