This week In ’70s Throwback’ 02/52

1 . Steely Dan . Do It Again

Recorded in 1972 and featured on *Can’t Buy a Thrill*, “Do It Again” stands out as both a musical statement and a cautionary tale clogged with karmic loops and bad choices.

This isn’t your typical rock hit; Steely Dan marries their jazz-rock pedigree with a sneaky Latin groove, and in true Dan fashion, the subject matter veers darker than the melody suggests.

The track opens with a percolating rhythm, anchored by a dry, almost hypnotic beat that contrasts with an electric sitar solo by Denny Dias—because who else but Steely Dan could make an electric sitar seem essential rather than indulgent?

Lyrically, the song traps its protagonist in a formulaic rut: bad decisions, fleeting pleasures, and inevitable regret—all underscored by Donald Fagen’s detached, sardonic delivery.

Despite a sunny exterior that could fool AM radio listeners into thinking this was simply a jam for driving, it threads its way into unsettling territory, invoking themes of addiction and reincarnated relapses.

It’s no surprise that the band passed on creating an official video—nothing cuts against enigmatic coolness more than cheaply literal visuals.

Like much of their work, “Do It Again” sits at the intersection of tight musicianship and wry storytelling, managing to feel both personal and cerebral.

The song hit No. 6 on the Billboard Hot 100, which is proof that complexity doesn’t always alienate audiences, a fact Steely Dan continues to exploit masterfully.

Lifted from : Happy Birthday Donald Fagen. ‘The Voice Fagen’

2 . Boney M. . Ma Baker

Released during the disco fever of 1977, Boney M.’s “Ma Baker” spins the storied criminal legacy of 1930s outlaw Ma Barker into pure dancefloor gold.

With producer Frank Farian at the helm, the track anchors itself in Euro disco flair, all pulsating rhythms and sharp hooks, while slyly borrowing from the Tunisian folk song “Sidi Mansour.”

The result? A track that’s arrestingly seductive and strangely hypnotic, much like a sequin-lined cautionary tale.

Linda Blake and Bill Swisher’s spoken interjections—like the commanding “freeze, I’m Ma Baker!”—inject a campy theatricality that toes the line between kitsch and brilliance.

The decision to rename the infamous outlaw as “Ma Baker” feels oddly pragmatic, a tweak for phonetic flow that somehow enhances the larger-than-life persona.

The single reached the top of charts across Europe but landed with a faint thud in the U.S., peaking at a lackluster 96—proof, perhaps, that America wasn’t fully ready to disco-fy its gangster lore.

Performed on shows like *Musikladen* and tours tied to extravagant spectacles such as The Black Beauty Circus, Boney M. leaned into the theatrical excess that defined the era, glitter and all.

One curious flourish? This was the first Boney M. single to prominently feature Marcia Barrett’s fluid, rich tones as the lead, marking a transitional moment within the group’s sound.

Fast-forward a few decades, and bits of “Ma Baker” have been folded into remixes and samples, including a Lady Gaga nod, proving its enduring knack for sneaking back into cultural consciousness.

Lifted from : On TV today, Boney . at ‘ZDF Von uns fuer Sie’ (1978)

3 . Sammy Hagar . You Make Me Crazy

It’s 1977, and Sammy Hagar is gearing up to shred the rock world with “You Make Me Crazy,” a track that feels like a three-minute caffeine overdose.

Lifted from his *Musical Chairs* album, it stands firmly in the era’s rock terrain but doesn’t exactly climb high on the charts, peaking at a modest #62 in the U.S. and an even more reluctant #84 in Canada.

The production has a raw, no-frills energy courtesy of John Carter, whose approach lets Hagar’s voice electrify over meat-and-potatoes arrangements.

And while the single had various companions—”Reckless” or “Hey Boys,” depending on what version you grabbed—it struggled to ride the wave of mainstream dominance.

Recorded at Utopia Studio in London, the song channels emotional frustration but stops short of breaking new ground.

Here’s the kicker: the album itself is almost a Montrose reunion minus Ronnie Montrose, which is a footnote that makes rock nerds do a double-take.

Fast forward two years to 1979’s “Street Machine,” and it seems Hagar traded his earlier freneticism for emotional weight, though again, the charts weren’t kind.

Still, this period marked his evolution as a songwriter, inching towards independence both creatively and thematically.

Lifted from : On TV today, Sammy Hagar at ‘The Midnight Special’ (1978)

4 . The Cars . All Mixed Up

While “All Mixed Up” never reached the pinnacle of chart success, the track remains a hidden gem in The Cars’ self-titled debut album from 1978.

Blending rock and new wave with effortless finesse, it offers a contemplative counterpoint to the more radio-friendly hits on the record.

Ric Ocasek pens a tale of romantic disarray, but it’s Benjamin Orr’s emotive lead vocals that give the song its aching sincerity.

The production, courtesy of Roy Thomas Baker, layers jangly guitars with lush synths, creating a sound that is both polished and raw.

Greg Hawkes’ unexpected saxophone solo adds a touch of unpredictability to an already intriguing composition.

Though released as a single in the Netherlands and a B-side to “Good Times Roll” in some markets, it largely gained traction through classic rock radio stations, often paired with “Moving in Stereo.”

Lifted from : The Cars go to ‘College’ (1979)

5 . David Bowie . Fame

David Bowie’s “Fame,” unleashed in 1975, is the musical equivalent of spitting venom while grooving under a disco ball.

Born in the throes of Bowie’s frustration with the suffocating constraints of celebrity culture, the track mocks the very machine that propelled him to stardom.

Co-penned with John Lennon and Carlos Alomar, it throws down a heavy funk riff as Bowie drips disdain for the illusion of fame.

It’s impossible to miss Lennon’s vocal cameo—a falsetto “Fame” cutting through the track like a sardonic wink.

In terms of arrangement, the song struts and snarls, fusing Alomar’s kinetic guitar grooves with Bowie’s chameleonic delivery.

Its bite resonated, earning Bowie his first U.S. number one hit, even if the subject of his ire was the very industry that celebrated him.

The tune was later dusted off and remixed for his 1990 *Sound+Vision* Tour, an ironic nod to its enduring relevance.

Recorded at Electric Lady Studios, the track’s New York DNA is palpable, dripping with a streetwise energy that matches its cynical edge.

Though there’s no official 1975 music video, the animated clip from 1990 adds a surreal filter, as if mocking the original’s themes in an era even more obsessed with celebrity glitz.

Lifted from : We remember David Bowie. ‘Just For One Day’

6 . ABBA . Chiquitita

Released in 1979 as part of the *Voulez-Vous* album, ABBA’s “Chiquitita” carries the weight of both exuberant pop sensibilities and poignant emotional depth.

The song’s title, which translates roughly to “little one” in Spanish, hints at its comforting message addressed to a heartbroken friend, blending themes of consolation and resilience against the backdrop of personal turmoil.

Although initially intended to be overshadowed by the uptempo “If It Wasn’t for the Nights,” the ballad’s raw charm prevailed, claiming number one positions in numerous countries, including Argentina, where the Spanish version alone sold half a million copies.

Musically, “Chiquitita” wears its influences unabashedly, with elements reminiscent of “El Condor Pasa.” Its arrangement—lush harmonies, evocative piano lines intertwined with a swelling orchestration—anchors its bittersweet tone.

An orphan of the music video age, the song relied on a modest TV performance in snowy Leysin, Switzerland, to serve as its de facto video.

Performing it at the UNICEF “Year of the Child” concert in January 1979, ABBA not only showcased their melodic craftsmanship but also donated the song’s proceeds to UNICEF, aligning themselves with a noble cause while elevating their global stature.

Complete with working titles like “Kålsupare” and “In the Arms of Rosalita,” the song’s genesis carries its own quirks, a reminder of the band’s playful experimentation before landing on its final, unforgettable form.

Lifted from : Abba mark the beginning of the ‘Year of the Child’ (1979)

7 . Elton John . Your Song

Released in 1970, Elton John’s “Your Song” is a gentle ode to love that’s as unpretentious as it is enduring.

The track, lifted from his self-titled album, marries Bernie Taupin’s lyrics—reportedly written in ten minutes over breakfast—with John’s delicate piano-driven arrangement, creating an anthem of tender vulnerability.

Its soft rock undertones and unadorned sincerity were a refreshing departure in an era buzzing with experimentation and showmanship.

Produced by Gus Dudgeon and recorded at London’s Trident Studios, the song became the young artist’s first major hit, charting at #8 in the U.S. and #7 in the U.K.

Surprisingly, Three Dog Night recorded it first, though they had the grace not to release it as a single, leaving John to claim it as his own breakthrough moment.

The line “I hope you don’t mind that I put down in words…” is as self-conscious as it is sweet, punctuating a simple composition that trades complexity for earnest emotion.

Critics were quick to praise the song’s stripped-down charm, contrasting it with the more theatrical elements that would soon define John’s larger-than-life persona.

Its legacy was cemented long before its induction into the Grammy Hall of Fame in 1998, a nod not just to its artistry but its cultural staying power.

Lifted from : On English TV today, Elton John at ‘Top Of The Pops’ (1971)

8 . Ry Cooder . Vigilante Man

Ry Cooder’s rendition of “Vigilante Man” lives in the uneasy intersection of deep social criticism and haunting folk rhythms.

The song, borrowed from Woody Guthrie’s original 1940 composition, channels the Dust Bowl’s harsh realities and the grim specter of vigilantes forcing migrants to flee.

Set against the backdrop of Cooder’s 1972 album *Into the Purple Valley*, it unpacks systemic injustice through deceptively simple lyrics, while his slide guitar work laces the piece with a mournful resonance that refuses to drift into the background.

Though missing from conventional charts, the track found a masterful home in the early Americana revival, drawing strength from its connection to The Carter Family’s “Sad and Lonesome Day.”

Performed on the Old Grey Whistle Test, it leveraged its raw intimacy to strike a chord with audiences, refusing decorum in favor of emotional heft.

The stripped-down vibe leans into Cooder’s folk-blues aesthetic, sidestepping overproduction to drive home its unvarnished critique of class and power struggles.

Lifted from : Reprise publish Ry Cooder’s second album . ‘Into the Purple Valley’ (1972)

9 . Chicago . Mother

From Chicago’s third studio album, “Mother” emerges as a gripping blend of rock and jazz-rock elements, reflective of the early ’70s experimentation that defined the band’s sound.

The track’s urgency is underscored by its lyrics, resonating with social consciousness and tinged with environmental themes, a hallmark of Chicago III’s conceptual leanings.

James William Guercio’s production balances the complex interplay of horns, guitars, and rhythm, a signature dynamic that propels the song forward without losing its melodic core.

Though there’s no official video accompanying the track, its live renditions during Chicago’s 1971 tour brought an electrifying energy, particularly in cities like New York and Los Angeles, where the band cemented its reputation for vibrant performances.

While “Mother” remains somewhat overshadowed by the more radio-friendly hits of Chicago’s catalog, it holds an enduring place for fans drawn to the group’s deeper, politically tinged cuts.

The album’s striking map-based cover art reinforces its thematic ambitions, signaling a journey both literal and metaphorical—a fitting backdrop for this weighty track.

Lifted from : Chicago release their third (and double) album . ‘Chicago III’ (1971)//go.radiovideo.music/ecb

10 . Rod Stewart . Sailing

Recorded during his genre-shifting era, Rod Stewart’s “Sailing” from the *Atlantic Crossing* album takes its place as a soft rock classic soaked in heartfelt yearning.

Often miscast as an ode to maritime romance, the track instead delves into a profound human quest for spiritual connection, a theme easily overlooked amidst its choir-backed crescendos and nautical overtones.

The song’s UK reception was far more enthusiastic than across the Atlantic, holding the No. 1 spot for four weeks while failing to breach the US Top 40.

Produced by Tom Dowd, a maestro of southern soul and rock collaborations, the recording was completed in a brisk half-dozen takes at the Muscle Shoals Sound Studio in Alabama, highlighting the seasoned ease of the production team and Stewart himself.

Its music video, shot in Dublin’s harbor, carried a windswept melancholy that suited the song’s introspection but never quite masked the theatrical effort to tie the visuals to its supposed “sailing” theme.

Originally penned by Gavin Sutherland, who first released it with the Sutherland Brothers in 1972, one might argue the song’s transformation under Stewart’s interpretation added emotional heft, though it’s hard to ignore its over-polished gloss compared to its rawer predecessor.

By 1976, the song’s popularity had rebounded thanks to its use as the theme for BBC1’s *Sailor* series, a placement that fused the track’s oceanic imagery with the literal.

Lifted from : Happy Birthday Rod Stewart. ‘In Good Face’

11 . Genesis . Supper’s Ready

Released in 1972 as the centerpiece of Genesis’s *Foxtrot* album, “Supper’s Ready” is a sprawling 23-minute progressive rock odyssey that refuses to compromise with the constraints of conventional songwriting.

Divided into seven distinct sections, it shifts through pastoral folk, theatrical rock, and apocalyptic bombast, all tied together by Peter Gabriel’s esoteric lyrics that pull from both his spiritual experiences and the chaotic imagery of the Book of Revelation.

The narrative flirts with themes of good versus evil, though any straightforward interpretation feels elusive, as the song straddles surrealism and personal allegory with a slippery confidence.

Musically, it’s a kaleidoscope: Tony Banks’s ethereal Mellotron ties together moments of haunting calm, while Steve Hackett’s guitar cuts like shards of light through the darker passages.

First performed live at Brunel University in November 1972, it became a staple of the band’s early live performances, with its theatricality cementing Gabriel’s penchant for costume changes and dramatic flair.

Post-Gabriel, Phil Collins’s vocal renditions kept the song alive, though critics debate whether its mysticism survived the transition from its original enigmatic narrator.

Though this ambitious piece never made it to the charts (it wasn’t released as a single), its cultural impact was felt profoundly in progressive rock, where excess was often celebrated as a virtue, and artistic cohesion was secondary to sheer scale.

Lifted from : French TV tapes Genesis with Peter Gabriel (1973)

12 . Sex Pistols . No Fun

The Sex Pistols’ rendition of “No Fun” is a snarling, chaotic homage to The Stooges, drenched in the raw irreverence that defined punk rock’s early days.

Originally penned by Iggy Pop and co., the song is a stripped-down, repetitive anthem of alienation, and the Pistols inject their peculiar brand of nihilism into it with Johnny Rotten’s sneering vocals and the band’s trademark unpolished aggression.

Though recorded in 1976, the cover found life as the B-side to “Pretty Vacant” in 1977, remaining outside the sphere of any of their studio albums but firmly within their cultural rebellion narrative.

Recorded under the guidance of producer Chris Thomas, the track crackles with unrefined energy, trading technical precision for unhinged attitude—a fitting metaphor for the band’s combustible career.

The production captures a moment of unfiltered spontaneity, making it a raw time capsule of the Pistols’ brief but influential run before imploding in 1978 after their infamous Winterland Ballroom performance.

It’s a cover that amplified not just The Stooges’ discontent but also the Pistols’ broader rejection of establishment norms, a sentiment immortalized in the gritty, strung-out rebellion of their music.

Lifted from : Sex Pistols punkify San Francisco (1978)