Few bands covered in this column have been as taken for granted by me as The Cars. Even in the week that I’m writing this, their singles are being used in TV commercials. There’s an inescapability that convinced me they were an average 70s rock band. They were good, but overexposure has a way of numbing the listener to anything radical. Nowhere is that evident more than in pressing play on these nine songs and realizing something… I’ve already heard most of this album. Even if there are more favorable records on this list, I would be willing to say that this is the closest that one has come to achieving all killer no filler.
That may explain why guitarist Elliot Easton wanted to name their self-titled debut “Greatest Hits.” There was an awareness of how accomplished their sound already was. Making this fact more impressive is that “The Cars” is a far less streamlined album than I had assumed. It may veer enough into pop confectionery to please the masses, but this is quintessential new wave. There are times when I could imagine The Cars playing on a bill with Gary Numan, whose atmospheric and thematic sounds feel one with Ric Ocasek’s sarcastic lyrics. There is rebellion under the surface. It sounds like sneering against the culture, and it’s refreshing to hear a band this confident and layered that still holds some relevance on terrestrial radio. I’ll admit part of my jaded attitude is jumbling the concreteness of this with later, more polished tunes, but that just goes to show how infectious their sound was.
While the band hails from Boston, MA, the origins begin a bit east of the bay. Ocasek met Benjamin Orr in Cleveland, OH, when he played with The Grasshoppers in The Big 5 Show. Finding interest in working together, they started a group in the 1960s. This would take many forms, eventually leading to a Crosby, Stills & Nash-style band called Milkwood, which released a 1972 album that flopped. From there, they would partner with various musicians before playing their first show as The Cars in 1976. During these years, they started honing their craft and writing many songs that would appear on their debut record, including “Bye Bye Love.”
Given the success of “The Cars,” it makes sense that their early press was met with a frenzy. Arista and Elektra Records battled to sign the band before deciding the latter made more sense. This was because they had fewer new wave bands signed, meaning they would stand out. While this piece of marketing reflected great strategy, the band would be less enthusiastic about Elektra’s decision to design their album cover, featuring Russian poet Nataliya Medvedeva driving a car. Drummer David Robinson said he designed an ideal cover for $80, but was rejected for being too weird.
Before delving into the record, an important thing to remember is that The Cars were obsessed with experimentation. At risk of misrepresenting the technology, I’ll simply say that Ocasek and crew were obsessed with having the latest gear. As a result, they would perform gigs with over a dozen pedals while the record jumps in a variety of sonic directions, which finds them experimenting with technique. If there’s anything that makes “The Cars” stand out, it’s the curiosity that exists within an accomplished exterior. Most of Ocasek’s lyrics go down smooth to the point you forget that the orchestration is at the cusp of 70s rock and 80s synth wave. From there, it’s delightful to hear each song and find them incorporating different ideas within the same package. It may seem commonplace now, but I choose to imagine that this was one big surprise after another.
Nowhere is that clearer than “Good Times Roll.” Nowadays, the satire might be lost, but it was a goofy riff on record labels manufacturing what rock music determined was a good time. Even the choppy guitar riff and the mechanical drums sound dissonant while joking about letting them brush “your rock and roll hair.” If there’s a joke here, it’s that the song is all build with no triumphant conclusion. The choruses end with a crescendo of vocals and instruments, but it returns to the bottom while incorporating a more layered approach. My favorite part is the low-end synth on the second verse that works as a short, repetitive element that counterbalances the sluggish nature of the anticipatory lyrics that never get to the point. The good times never roll, and this trolling works because the experimentation uses guitars and synths in ways more scattershot, lacking the cliché sustained notes in favor of something more playful.
In theory, this shouldn’t work as a single. It’s so at odds with trends since there’s very little obvious propulsion. That may explain why it was the third single to come out and was considered less successful than the next two, which included Easton’s pick for the definitive Cars song. Even so, the wild swing from the opener to the rest proved their versatility.
Shifting from the atmospheric anticlimax to “My Best Friend’s Girl” is a jarring experience in terms of mood. Subject-wise, it feels reminiscent of 1950s love songs by mixing romance with a Joe Jackson-style sarcastic reveal that “she used to be mine.” Add in some rockabilly strings on the bridge, and this is another subversion of upbeat ideas with a tragic idea at the center. With call and response lyrics, it turns everything into a joyous crowd-pleaser. Another reason that the song works is that Ocasek’s vocals are far from lothario. There’s a deep, passionless tone that seems more observational than playful.
If there’s an invisible genius to “The Cars” so far, it’s that the singles build in tempo until landing on “Just What I Needed.” That appears right away with the infectiously abrupt guitar riff, borrowed from The Ohio Players, that jumps between one and two beats before getting to the lyrics, which sound joyful but suggest that the subject is coming around and “wasting all my time-time.” There’s this resentment, even as the context sounds desirable, almost suggesting that things will get better the longer they stick around. Add in a bridge that has a wonderful synth melody, and then it evolves from this passionate throwback into something new. By the time the backing vocals come through, it’s a triumphant ode to settling. If one were to ask them what their best song was, they would consider this to be their version of people expecting The Beatles to sing “I Wanna Hold Your Band.” It’s so good that it becomes inevitable.
As I mentioned at the start, there are a few songs that I hadn’t heard. One of them is “I’m in Touch With Your World,” and I can tell why. Whereas seven of these feel primed for a greatest hits collection, this one feels like a wacky experimentation that doesn’t fully land. The sarcastic vocals lose their charm as it becomes more of a study in the different technology The Cars has on tap. It’s a well-constructed song, but it relies too much on being creepy and impersonal in ways that contradict the subversion that preceded it. Like most of this so far, it works as an oddity, but it never became a single for a reason. There’s very little interesting in the ways of form, and it comes and goes without a care.
On the flip side is “Don’t Cha Stop,” which shares in a rambunctious curiosity that is at odds with the rest of the record. It’s a jumpy ditty that revels in repeating the chorus over and over while continuing to explore the idea of having fun. While this is at best a b-side in their larger catalog, the immediacy makes this an earworm almost from the beginning, and it returns things to an exciting tone before getting into the back half of the album.
By this point, there’s been a large amount of genre exploration. While nothing has quite topped the first three songs, especially “Just What I Needed,” the heart of the album appears with “You’re All That I’ve Got Tonight,” which shifts from overt sarcasm and antagonism to something more operatic. If “Good Times Roll” lacked a build, this one starts slow and builds to a transcendent chorus sung in rich harmony with a longing passion. It elevates the familiar into something more beautiful. What it lacks in eccentricity, it more than makes up for with craft that builds layers and finds Ocasek considering a few moments of sincerity.
Things start to regress with “Bye Bye Love,” which is also one of the band’s earliest conceived songs. It’s easy to tell how, given that it’s one of the most direct in terms of orchestration, where the chorus feels reminiscent of 60s love songs with a melancholic 70s twist. Even as the chorus finds harmonic shifts, there are new ways to reminisce on the pain and consider how things could’ve been different. For a song that never became a big hit, it does a good enough job fitting in with the average new wave tracks of the time.
Easily my favorite on this record is “Moving in Stereo,” which finds the band moving away from conventional structure and returning to something more psychedelic and drawn out. The vocals sound delusional as the lyrics detail one of the weirdest exchanges on the album. If there’s a heart to everything, it’s that it highlights the penchant for orchestration. Nowhere is it better than with the synth riffs that come in and out of the washy guitar melodies, as it turns everything into a hypnotic fever dream. It never leaves the sluggish headspace, and yet it creates an auditory experience that contradicts a lot of the surrounding album.
A fun thing to consider about the closer “All Mixed Up” is how it could function as the payoff to “Good Times Roll.” Like the opener, it has a slow progression through ideas, mixing in traditional rock riffs and vocals that are a bit subdued. However, this lands on a propulsive conclusion, which is eerie and self-reflective, painting the romance embodied on the album as more of a source for introspection. It’s beautiful, and the harmonies towards the end leave everything on a sublime note. It’s the other song I haven’t heard, and while it lacks the immediacy of the other seven, it definitely has room to grow into a likable closer.
The Cars would go on to significant success thanks to the album. With three hit singles, the album went six times platinum and earned them significant radio and TV play over the years. And yet, like with most new wave bands, success following their 1978 debut followed a familiar trajectory. Along with an impressive string of hits, including on their 1979 follow-up “Candy-O,” a week shy of a year after “The Cars,” they would find Ocasek taking on a solo career starting in 1982 with “Beatitude.” He would also go on to produce records for a variety of bands, including Suicide, Bad Brains, and, decades later, for Weezer and No Doubt.
During their original run, The Cars released six albums between 1978 and their hiatus in 1987. Any plans to reunite were compromised when Orr died from pancreatic cancer in 2000. However, the band found ways to move on, ultimately forming The New Cars and releasing one final studio album in 2011. About this time, they were receiving honorary accolades and being recognized as one of the most significant new wave bands of their generation. Their music was also becoming omnipresent, being used in films and advertising along with various high-caliber talent covering them. While the band had played live as recently as 2018, that phenomenon would be short-lived when Ocasek died in 2019 after surgical complications. There have since been conflicts involving his estranged wife, who was seeking a portion of Ocasek’s estate.
If one were to determine who the ultimate new wave bands were in terms of popularity, The Cars would be up there. I’d even argue that this album proves they leaned far more into the art rock aesthetic than their Top 40 hits would suggest. I never hated the band, yet it’s easy to dismiss them for being mostly upbeat, driven more by hooks than ideas. Thankfully, I’ve been able to see deeper than that. They are masterful, but they’re also weird. My hope is that diving into their other records finds a happy middle-ground, and I can recapture what it is about the band that’s timeless. They seem novelty now, but their unrepentant desire to challenge the form is one of the most successful attempts I’ve heard for this column. If nothing else, Ocasek’s work as a producer makes him an endearing figure for that reason as well. As I said in the opening, there are better new wave albums, but few have been as perfect front to back as an album that leads off with a single making fun of having a good time. Given everything else about The Cars, that may have been their biggest irony.
Coming Up Next: Devo – “Freedom of Choice” (1980)
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