Poco
Rose of Cimarron

THE REVIEW

Hardcore and pure, in the seventies Poco put on a brave face in the face of the rather bad game represented by a decent, yet unsatisfying, success and push forward with good spirit, releasing an album more or less every nine months. In 1976, it’s the turn of this Rose of Cimarron, a title not referring to a flower, but rather to a minor historical figure: a woman named Rose Dunn, who had fallen for a famous outlaw and ended up protecting and caring for him in her own home.

It is the band’s multi-instrumentalist, Rusty Young, who somewhere comes across the story of Rose and her handsome delinquent with their band of desperados. He transposes the tale onto a powerful and inspired guitar arpeggio that had emerged while he was tinkering with a twelve-string, and brings the result to his bandmates. Enthusiastic, they decide to rush to the studio to record it, along with some other tracks to serve as its bridesmaids.

And so here it is: this album, the tenth in Poco’s substantial catalog. In fact, the aforementioned track stands clearly above all the others in terms of quality and inspiration: “Rose of Cimarron” is, in this way, one of those albums marked by a “queen” song, rightfully placed as the opener as well as providing the name for the entire record; a situation similar, for example, to “Hotel California” for the Eagles, or “Paranoid” for Black Sabbath, and so on.

This pure, sublime country-rock ballad is sung as a duet by guitarist Paul Cotton, who trades off with bassist Tim Schmit during the bridges. It opens by unfurling the golden arpeggio of the twelve-string guitar, and gradually blossoms with dobro, mandolin, orchestra, electric guitar solo, and multiple vocal falsettos. Perhaps even too much... the last pompous and frayed minute is a surplus that isn’t very digestible, but the first five minutes are ecstatic.

As already said, nothing else quite matches the quality of the opening track, but comes relatively close with “Too Many Nights Too Long,” written and sung by Cotton, a ballad made substantial by a long preamble and which then settles into a sly and enjoyable groove all the way to the end.

The obligatory bluegrass number this time is called “Slow Poke” and kicks off seamlessly from the preceding “Company’s Coming,” sung in four-part harmony. In Italy, few people appreciate these frenzied, fast-paced showcases where mandolin, violin, dobro, and various other guitars converse feverishly: when I was young, I used to search them out meticulously and even now, when I give them another listen, I feel like I’m treating myself.

The tenth and last contribution to the album is a pleasant, unexpected ragtime-style number. It’s called “Tulsa Turnaround,” and is a kind of acoustic blues with an irresistible, bouncy riff: a real gem.

Yet another personal listen to this work for review purposes has therefore rekindled old and never-dormant pleasures, as well as immense admiration for the late Rusty Young—a guitarist, banjo player, mandolinist so radiant, melodic, nimble, precise, passionate, with golden hands capable of making every instrument he took up shine.