Loggins and Messina : Loggins and Messina SBP 474 049

Reviewed by P.F. O'Dea

Take one generous helping of Buffalo Springfield two years before they even saw the inside of a recording studio, add another equally generous portion of the Byrds rehearsing around the time of their Sweetheart of the Rodeo — Dr Byrds and Mr Hyde era and you have the new Loggins Messina effort. Simple isn't it. Your mama don't dance and your poppa don't rock'n 'roll, goes the single lifted from this album. At the time of writing it's slotted at 13 on the NZBC Popometer, which is where it deserves to be. As a description of the album, however, it's perfect. Frankly, it's the worst record I have had the misfortune to hear this year.

A lengthy period of time has elapsed since Lillian an Roxon wrote that Buffalo Springfield could have been the group. It was an even longer time before that that the group actually broke up. Why then, I wonder, do the offshoots persist in trying to put a post-Springfield scene back together when the five of them couldn't handle the potential in the criginal group.

The brains behind the Springfield were Steve Stills, who managed to recapture a few sparks of former glory with Manassas, and Neil Young, who learnt that attempted re-creation was nowhere two albums ago. Together, you might recall, they contributed disproportionately to Deja Vu — but even the best on that came nowhere near Expecting to fly or their door opener, Broken Arrow. Where does all this leave fellow Springfield conspirator, Jim Messina? Charging blindly into a dead end, dragging with him Kenny Loggins and all the other accoutrements of bland-plastic hip-country muzak. That's where.

Despite its proximity to Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass, Angry Eyes is by far the best track on the album — the others aren't worth mentioning. The self-conscious lyric ("you wanna believe that I am not the fame as you / now, I can't conceive, oh no, of what it is you are trying to give / with those angry eyes / well, I bet you wish you could cut me down with those angry eyes") lurches drunkenly over a backing reminiscent of the Stones' Can't you hear me knocking"? It's a straight steal, but at least it's a relief from the tedium of the other cuts.

If anybody at Phonogram knew what they were supposed to be doing, we would have seen the New Riders of the Purple Sage's third album a long time before this release. As it is they're not going to make much head way on an album market with this collection of instantly forgettable phoney cowboy nonsense angled at the top 10. At this point in the review, a certain female poked her head around the door, and said "That's n-i-c-e. Is it the Partridge Family"?