One could crassly suggest that The Cars figured out the formula. Somehow, their quintessential brand of undeniably catchy New Wave slotted in perfectly alongside both the warhorses of rock radio like Foreigner, The Eagles and Fleetwood Mac as it did alongside fellow members of the new class like Joe Jackson, The Go-Go’s and The Clash. They boasted both a quirky, robotic sheen and enough burly rock chops (largely thanks to undersung guitarist Elliott Easton) to comfortably bridge the gap between the otherwise mutually antagonistic camps. Outfitted with the afore-cited Easton’s fleet-fingered guitar solos, the propulsive drive of drummer Dave Robinson – ex of proto-punk stalwarts, The Modern Lovers, the signature synthesizers of picture-perfect keyboard nerd Greg Hawkes, the sonorous voice of silver-blonde bassist/heartthrob Benjamin Orr and the distinctive vocals of founder/guitarist Ric Ocasek -- himself a storky sort of New Wave hybrid of Mr. Spock and Don Knotts -– the Cars were quite a package. But it wasn’t image or clever marketing that earned the band its place in the rock firmament --- it was their songs, pure and simple.
I’m sure one contrarian or another will beg to differ, but I’m hard pressed to remember anyone ever saying “man, I fuckin’ hate the Cars.” An inescapable staple of both radio and video, the music of The Cars was almost definitively the soundtrack of your youth, if you are now of a certain age. You don’t need to own all -- or any -- of The Cars’ seven studio albums to immediately recognize and be able to sing along with virtually all of their singles. Seamlessly produced with the same slickness their comparatively stodgy and hirsute (yet equally brilliant) fellow Massholes in Boston were chided for, Cars songs popped, thumped, buzzed, whirred, chimed and rocked in all the right places, alternately led by either Orr’s comely croon or Ocasek’s hiccupy yelp and anchored by choruses sung by what sounded like whole battalions of dudes in skinny ties and checkerboard trousers. You never heard a Cars song –- from the jittery “Don’tcha Stop” through to the expansive “Drive” --- that sounded unfinished. They were expertly crafted, road-tested (stupid pun alert) and guaranteed to deliver. No one scrambled to turn off the Cars. Leo Sayer? Kim Carnes? DeBarge? Hell yes, but never The Cars.
While I’d immediately dug “Just What I Needed” upon first hearing it on WPLJ (sandwiched between tracks by Jethro Tull and Styx) and was rendered a bug-eyed mute by their turn scoring a very particular scene in “Fast Times At Ridgemont High” with their iconic “Moving in Stereo” (you KNOW the scene I’m talking about), I bought my first Cars album on the strength of the jarring transition from the suitably nervous, twitchy “Shoo Be Doo” into the cinematic futurescape of the title track to their second LP, Candy-O. I still play it today, and still get the chills.
Maybe they didn’t write anthems. Perhaps they didn’t question authority. They assuredly didn’t shake the foundations of the establishment. That just wasn’t their scene.
But make no mistake -– The Cars were absolutely fucking brilliant.
Rest in peace, Benjamin Orr & Ric Ocasek.
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