Boxer
Absolutely

THE REVIEW

The ill-fated English musician Mike Patto remains one of my favorite frontmen. Perhaps I am influenced by the impression left by his premature passing, at thirty-six in 1979, but I prefer to think that his mix of madness and irony, charisma and purity led me to become his faithful and stubborn fan.

The bands he played in were, first of all, in the '60s the Bo Street Runners, those with Mick Fleetwood still without the Mac, and then Timebox. In the early '70s, his wonderful Patto took the stage; after their split, he briefly played with Spooky Tooth with Mick Jones, the future mastermind of Foreigner, and finally, these Boxer.

The album in question (1977) is the last of only three in the career of this band, as well as Mike’s final contribution to music before leaving this world. After the second work, “Absolutely” (recorded in 1976 but released three years later, after… Patto’s death), Mike parted ways with his friend, the guitarist and multi-instrumentalist Ollie Halsall, marking the end of that tremendously histrionic duo that had met in Timebox, elevated Patto to the heights, and finally made the first two Boxer albums so enjoyable.

Halsall’s replacement in this epitaph of an album—both for the band and the singer—is a capable but anonymous guitarist named Adrian Fisher, already heard in the colorful Sparks of “Kimono My House.” Looking closely, this final line-up of Boxer has a sort of supergroup status, including bassist Tim Bogert, the one from Vanilla Fudge, Cactus, and Jeff Beck—this time without his lifelong companion, paisà Carmine Appice pounding the drums. In addition, on keyboards there’s Chris Stainton, a man who has racked up (or will rack up) plenty of credits (Joe Cocker, Brian Ferry, The Who, Roger Waters, Eric Clapton among the main names).

Without the genius of Halsall, with skilled but ordinary musicians (Bogert excepted), and above all thanks to Patto’s communicative and moving voice, the album is good but not transcendent—the least significant of Boxer’s output. Among the ten tracks, the one that truly stands out is the dramatic ballad “No Replay,” once used as the soundtrack for some TV commercial I can't recall, and which represents a little story on its own with that progressive flair. It actually features passages even reminiscent of Genesis, a couple of tempo changes, and then some full-bodied guitar à la Kansas, both in the middle and fading out in the coda.

On the rest of the tracks, what dominates is a robust soul/rock, made funky by Stainton's relentless use of the clavinet, which is left quite prominent in the mix—eye-catching as a priest in the snow.

Patto sings magnificently, is right in his element, he shows full conviction and health, and it is indeed melancholy to consider that a nasty illness would take him away less than two years later. His communicative timbre shines on the charming electric-piano ballad “As’God’s My Judge,” vaguely Beatles-esque thanks to that choral falsetto refrain. The grit and sound of his pipes are showcased in the punchy “Rich Man’s Daughter,” which had already appeared on the previous album—the one released late and posthumously—in a much better version, since his fantastic mate Ollie still played on it.

The new virtuoso at his service, meaning Tim Bogert, as usual, plays too many notes with his bass. The bespectacled New Yorker, ever-present since the mid-sixties, was without a doubt one of the first prototypes of the rampant super ace of rock: great abilities, but never staying for a second on the same note, endlessly embellishing and counterpointing. A nice “pedal,” a sharp, repeated riff, wasn’t for him—he preferred constant runs up and down the fretboard, leaps from one octave to another, torrents of cascading notes… at times ending up muddling the groove of the tracks, including those by these Boxer at the twilight of their brief career.