Unlike, say, The Cars, who had the cache of membership in the so-called “New Wave,” Foreigner were never quite so fortunate. Though they’d made a positively titanic impact on FM radio, crafting hit after maddeningly ubiquitous hit for a sizable span of years, their shaggy-haired origins in the mid-70s (the same era The Clash got started — ironically also featuring a member named Mick Jones) forever tethered them to the venomously maligned “them” that the “us” of Punk Rock ostensibly strove to destroy. There was no escape from that. Like their AOR peers in Journey, Boston and Styx, there was absolutely never going to be a time when Foreigner were going to be credibly perceived as “cool" after the rules of the game were changed.
Personally speaking, at the time, I didn’t own any Foreigner records. They lacked the juvenile spectacle of KISS, the pomp and circumstance of Queen, they elegiac expanse of Pink Floyd, the doomy heaviosity of Black Sabbath, the clangy quirkiness of Devo and blunt force of The Ramones — thus, I did not require their services. But, at the same time, I was still a slave to FM radio, so — of course — knew virtually every single of theirs (and there were quite a few) by heart without even making an effort. Like the afore-cited Cars, you didn’t really need to own any of their records to know and routinely hear their music. Foreigner were everywhere. In that sense, they won.
As much as it’s easy to reduce them to some sort of punchline, though — here in 2020, it must be acknowledged that Foreigner were a fucking force to be reckoned with. No, they didn’t rawk with the same giddy abandon as, say, Cheap Trick or Thin Lizzy, but they had fiercely sharp hooks, augmented by rousing choruses and instantly unforgettable song titles (“Cold as Ice”? “Feels Like the First Time”? “Double Vision”? “Hot Blooded”? “Head Games”? — tell me you can’t sing along with each and every one of these, and you are fucking lying). Propelling that seamless pop/rock hybrid was the inimitable and soulfully emphatic tones of Lou Gramm, a singer more versatile and distinctive than he ever seems to get credit for. You hear that plaintive voice demanding to be schooled on the intricacies of love, and you instantly know it’s him.
Like many kids of my generation, I used to keep a blank cassette in my boom box and tape certain songs off the radio. I remember slamming my fingers down on the record/play buttons when WPLJ’s Carol Miller announced that she was going to be playing “Private Idaho” by the B-52’s and inadvertently capturing the song below, "Long, Long Way From Home," which Carol cheekily played just before the B-52’s. After that, I was unable to hear one without anticipating the other, and while I first resented WPLJ’s awkward pairing of the two tracks — a sandwiching of seemingly disparate sub-genres that would later be unthinkable — I swiftly came to genuinely appreciate “Long, Long Way from Home,” so much so that, upon the era of the compact disc, I went out and bought that first Foreigner album.
Several years later, I remember embarking on a snowy road trip with my then-new lady friend (later to be my wife) and two of her college besties, bound for a third friend's house in some remote corner of Massachusetts. After spending several hours fighting over control of the radio, we pulled into a gas station to fuel up and purchase some much-needed munchables. In a crucial point-of-purchase position, this rest stop saw fit to hawk compact discs right near the register. I snagged a long-neglected copy of Foreigner's audaciously titled Complete Greatest Hits, and restored harmony to the expedition. The rest of the perilously snowy drive was scored by lung-straining sing-alongs to Foreigner chestnuts, notably needless repeated plays of "Urgent" and, once again, the song below.
Foreigner -- they were never cool. They were never hip. They were never punk. They were never ironic. They did not encourage you to question authority and smash the patriarchy. But they wrote some great goddamn songs. Today is lead guitarist/songwriter/mainstay Mick Jones’ birthday. Give it up for him and play this loud.
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