Todd Rundgren
Runt

There are musicians for whom you feel comfortable recommending this or that record, suggesting some collections while advising against others... Well, if someone asked me for advice on Todd Rundgren, to be honest, I wouldn't know what to propose... Yes, there are more successful albums that contain more famous tracks... Some are more imaginative, or have greater stylistic coherence between the songs... Ultimately, however, I believe that nothing Rundgren has released in his now forty-year career is incapable of making one fall in love with his music.

In 1970, when his band at the time, the Nazz, was on the verge of giving up following the failure of "Nazz Nazz," and before bringing "Nazz III" to life, the third and final chapter of the saga, Todd made his solo debut with this delightful work. His image is just right for the times (not for nothing, Nazz were classified as a boy band), his hair is long and straight, though not yet two-toned, his physique lanky and downright skinny, adhering to the androgynous beauty standards that would never fade in pop and rock music. His face, pale and emaciated, is just slightly more pronounced and less noble than that of Nick Drake. In short, his image would greatly contribute to bringing him and his talent out of the cauldron called the seventies. But it's likely that this topic of image, girls, and poses, more or less sought after, is a leitmotif on which I perhaps err in engaging and prolonging, considering that Todd certainly has substance.

With this first solo work, Todd does not betray his tastes and his manifest musical predilections, but he accompanies them with other genres, simultaneously moving astronomically away from the very high risk in the Nazz of being accused of plagiarism from at least a quintet of English bands born in the sixties. The frame is still blues rock, in the instrumental "Birthday Coral" but especially in the opening "Broke Down And Busted," a mix between the non-exaggerated blues of "Come Together" by Lennon and company and the Beach Boys' surf (yes, I know, and Rundgren knew as well, that the two bands were rivals). In between, apart from the vitaminized rock 'n' roll of "Who's That Man," there isn’t even a shadow of rock. In the best case, there's the loud power-pop beat of "Devil's Bite," among guitars that sound ever more surf than blues or beat. Even in the choruses, rather than the catchy simplicity of the Liverpudlian bugs, he seems to prefer much more summer and sunny atmospheres.

Pop traveling on piano keys, filled with choruses, with a very easy refrain, for "We Gotta Get You A Woman," the weakest track of the "Runt" family, and for this reason, according to a mysterious but 'eternal' logic, the album's 45 record. The ballads, contrary to what was produced with the Nazz, are not at all tinged with that sweet psychedelia, which makes everything dreamier... However, the melodies are so clear that there isn't much need for dosages-overdosages and productions-overproductions. "Believe In Me" is a bit jazzy. I'd be ready to bet a smooth trumpet would rise, and instead, sax and flute appear. "Once Burned" is slow, black, and soulful.

There is also a strange medley, a habit of those times: "Baby Let's Swing/ The Last Thing You Said/ Don't Tie My Hands". It begins with the twist, continues with Bacharach-style pop; old Burt then embraces a cadenced march in British style; obviously, the track stops, becomes psychedelic and dreamy... And this, so far, is only "Baby Let's Swing!" Luckily, "The Last Thing You Said" is a simple piano-pop very west coast, very early Elton John. Unhappy the start of the guitar strumming "Don't Tie My Hands," between Manzarek organ and beach choirs. More like 'the American Beatle' indeed!

Remaining are "There Are No Words", with a title that says it all, and in fact, it is just a - decent - composition for an ecclesial choir, without lyrics, and "I'm In The Clique", in which Rundgren simulates, without being able to rely on the aids and benefits of modernity, the voice of a robot, between solemn and playful brass. It sounds like a b-side, an outtake, of what, in 1970, was still far from being, namely, the famous "Fictitious Sports" by Nick Mason and Carla Blay. Prog, played with the wrong instruments, mixed with madness.

"Runt" will be heavily criticized: the gaps between one genre and another are too substantial, despite Todd deviating quite a bit from Who, Beatles, Faces, and Yardbirds, to wink at "his" California. The certainty of the ease and validity of his writing remains, for the fourth time in four records, which, over time, will be joined by the appreciation for the originality, personality, and distinguishability "from afar" of his craftsmanship. This is, after all, a debut, the second debut of his career, and it can be acceptable as is. Todd, it is perfectly clear, is destined to be a star. And at his third debut, when he debuts as the leader of a new band, it will be labeled as "Todd Rundgren's band"... The band of a star, indeed.