Gasoline Alley (1970)

OK all right no getting around it we're going to have to caveat Rod Stewart to death here. First, on the general critical storm and his supposed fall from Olympian heights of the awthentic: I don't get it. I happen to like "Da Ya Think I'm Sexy" (and not just for the spelling of "do") more than knights of the realm Greil Marcus, Dave Marsh, et al. At the same time, Rod Stewart is closer to the end than the front of a very long line of standard-bearers I intend to get to one fine day, well behind Ella Fitzgerald, Dinah Washington, Billy Eckstine, Ray Charles, James Brown, yeah yeah Sinatra, etc., etc., and as a matter of fact even behind Linda Ronstadt. (Ahead of Bing Crosby, Perry Como, and Eddie Fisher, however.) Long story short: I haven't got to that yet and may never. And then the Faces -- or is it just "Faces" (and what is up with that?)? They remain among the enduring mysteries of the genre for me. The knights of the realm seem to rank most of their releases as indispensable/essential but to date practically all of it has escaped me, with or without Rod Stewart. Except for "Itchycoo Park" -- which for that matter the knights don't seem to like much either. And finally, as good as I find just about everything about the follow-up Every Picture Tells a Story, I have to say that it appears to have unfortunately lost its appeal to me permanently, particularly the flagship "Maggie May," thanks to the weapon of classic rock radio bludgeon. As with "Stairway to Heaven" and Led Zeppelin IV I may never hear any of it with pleasure again. My loss, I know. And so, all that said and my apologies for going on about it, this here is a really great album. Everything about it, everything, is just right.