The Top Ten Oldies of 1978

RSO 8009 (December 13, 1977) b/w "If I Can't Have You"
recorded January 1977, Hérouville, France

This is the king of all disco hits, the one that did the most work embedding the style into America's DNA. When the Saturday Night Fever juggernaut began development way back in 1974, it was a gritty slice-of-life film, John Travolta was unknown and the Bee Gees were British Invasion has-beens (by the time this song was finally written, they'd carved out a new career in R&B pop). Mogul Bob Stigwood wanted a six-minute, three-part epic suite, but what he got was even better. It sums up the spirit of the movie (and the craze) perfectly: a way to carve a small but glittery niche for yourself in a increasingly confusing and chaotic world.

Epic 50490 (December 1977) b/w "Super Soul Sister"
recorded December 1976, London, England

One of the best ballads of R&B's middle period, released at a time when everyone still felt the need to throw out a little belly-rubbing music now and again. Heatwave had already scored with "Boogie Nights," but Johnnie Wilder, Jr.'s heavily jazz-inflected vocal, caressing one moment and soaring to seemingly impossible heights the next, ensured that this song would jam the dedication lines for years (and become a wedding standard). Keyboardist Rod Temperton, who wrote this pillowy ode to fidelity, was soon busier with his new project -- making that kid from the Jackson 5 a solo star ("Rock with You", "Off the Wall", "Thriller").

The P-Funk mothership didn't cruise the American Top 40 very often, but sometimes even the cosmic weirdness of George Clinton's vision hit a groove too deep to deny. Such was the case with "Flash Light," a chapter in the epic saga of Sir Nose D'Voidoffunk and his futile attempts to resist the P-Funk jam. Bootsy Collins did indeed write the bass line, but it's actually played on the Minimoog by Bernie Worrell -- Bootsy (who this was originally intended for) takes over the drums. Sampled by everyone in hip-hop, including at least three songs by Digital Underground. It's just that tight.

Another in the long line of wicked song titles from rock svengali Jim Steinman, this ballad moves past his usual Wagenerian/Springsteenian epics (which pop radio disdained) and came up with a gentle yet soaring ballad instead. A necessary breather from the van-mural-come-to-life that was the rest of the Bat Out Of Hell album, and not surprisingly his biggest hit. As usual, Meat makes Steinman's overblown sentiments bleed like real; not many can deliver a line like "there ain't no Coupe DeVille hiding in the bottom of a Crackerjack box" and make it not only serious but heartbreaking.

Atlantic 3457 (January 1978) b/w "I'm A Marionette"
recorded July 1977, Stockholm, Sweden

It'd be hard to resist an intro like this one, an a cappella round that segues neatly into this classic's bouncy rhythm -- which may be why the couples of ABBA, who'd finally struck American gold with "Dancing Queen," convinced skeptics for good with this number. Of course, having Agnetha and Anni-Frid beg you breathily to be their man doesn't hurt, but keeping their Europop sensibilities down to a few flourishes, the boys in the band convinced critics that they were working in classic pop territory -- a refreshing innocence not seen since the days of the girl groups.

Rolling Stones RS 19307 (May 19, 1978) b/w "Far Away Eyes"
recorded January 1978, Paris, France

The Stones insisted this inescapable smash was no mere "disco" song, but rather an R&B, dance, or even blues number. Yeah, right. Not with that walking bass line! This was a huge cultural victory for the style at the time -- the World's Greatest Rock Band succumbing to the most hated, pervasive, anti-rock trend that had come along, well, ever. But unlike, say, Rod Stewart's "Da Ya Think I'm Sexy," the Stones never sound like they've given up an inch of their personality, what with Mick breathing heavy in your ear and then yowling like a cat in heat. And how many disco songs feature harmonica solos, anyway? 

Elektra 45491 (May 29, 1978) b/w "I'm In Touch With Your World"
recorded February 1978, London, England

With an opening straight out of the bubblegum classic "Yummy Yummy Yummy" and a synth line that still sounds pretty fresh, the Cars' breakthrough hit signals Ric Ocasek's genius at combining the alienation of New Wave with the awkward adolescent tropes common to pop. In other words, music for cool people to get shot down by. This time around, our hip hero gets the girl, although with this band, there's always a little bit of tension as an undercurrent... even at the moment of triumph. You needed someone to bleed?

Epic 50590 (August 2, 1978) b/w "The Journey"
recorded October 1977, Maynard, MA

The guitar/spaceship/domed city that was Boston hit the stratopshere with their best pure-rock number --
no more sitting around getting mellow and thinking of old girlfriends for singer Brad Delp and mastermind Tom Scholz,
who created one of the most enduring odes to positivity of the era. The arena-ready guitar riffs and galaxies of echo are all still here, but it's when the volume drops that you appreciate the genius of Scholz's production, like when he gets reflective in the bridge or comes to a full stop in the climax. Then, as usual, the whole band heads for Saturn.     

Asylum E45460 (December 6, 1977) b/w "Nothing But Time"
recorded August 27, 1977, Columbia, MD

King of the sensitive California singer-songwriters (moreso because of the sensitivity than the actual music), Browne hit upon a brilliant concept of an album about life on the road, recorded on the road in stadiums and hotel rooms. But it's the title track that brought him, if only briefly, to the level of the Segers, Pettys, and Springsteens, a moving rocker about what its like to actually watch the days of your youth get crushed under the wheels of a Scenicruiser. As such, he spoke for a generation, which this navelgazer didn't get to do that often. 

Jet JT-XW1145 (March 1978) b/w "Fire On High"
recorded July 1977, Munich, Germany

They would eventually retrofit their musical spaceship, jettisoning their classical touches entirely and streamlining their pop, but this single remains the single greatest distillation of everything ELO brought to their time -- not many bands would have considered mixing chamber violins with a vocoder, but such was the uniqueness of Jeff Lynne's vision. Ridiculcously catchy, compulsively hummable, and yet forward-thinking enough to include a disco breakdown, this single was the apex of the group's mainstream senibilities. They'd never capture so much of the American musical audience again.