Blindspotting: The Carpenters, "Carpenters"

The Legacy: They'd soon embark on a truly impressive run of sustained success — not to mention decades of lasting love from an enduring and adoring fanbase — but when they released their self-titled third LP in May of 1971, the Carpenters had (cough) only just begun. Beneficiaries of a more patient era in the record industry, siblings Richard and Karen Carpenter endured the sting of a flop debut release before starting to break through with their sophomore outing, 1970's Close to You, which went double platinum and gave them their first big hits with a cover of "(They Long to Be) Close to You" and their definitive version of "We've Only Just Begun." It was with 1971's Carpenters, however, that things really started to take off.

By all accounts, their ascent to stardom had a lot to do with Richard's sharp commercial instincts. Particularly during this period, he had a knack for hearing songs in unexpected contexts — "We've Only Just Begun" was being used as the soundtrack for bank commercial, for example — and quickly understanding how they'd work for the band. He also had a fondness for formula, and wasn't averse to going back to the well for another bucket of what worked before, which fed into the creative consistency that made the group such a hit machine for the rest of the decade. That tendency paid dividends here in the form of "Rainy Days and Mondays," which found the Carpenters reuniting with "We've Only Just Begun" songwriters Roger Nichols and Paul Williams — and, like that earlier song, peaked at No. 2 on the Hot 100.

Carpenters also peaked at No. 2, spinning off three gold-selling Top Five hits (including "For All We Know" and the deathless groupie anthem "Superstar") on its way to selling four million copies. It remains their best-selling studio album, but they continued to rack up gold and platinum records for the rest of the decade, not truly running out of gas until 1981's Made in America. We all know what happened next; suffice it to say that the pressures of stardom proved difficult to navigate for both siblings, each of whom struggled to bear their personal and creative burdens in the years leading up to Karen's passing in 1983.

First Impressions: By the time I started actively seeking out music for my own personal enjoyment in the early-to-mid-'80s, the Carpenters were already widely regarded as being corny as hell, and I never really gave them a passing thought until the release of the If I Were a Carpenter tribute album in 1994 — a compilation that struck me as the same sort of empty exercise in cheap '70s nostalgia that flooded CD racks throughout the mid-'90s. (See also: Stone Free, Encomium, and every Quentin Tarantino soundtrack from the era.)

All of which is to say that while I've long understood the Carpenters' general deal, I've never felt the slightest motivation to really dive into any of their albums. Any jackass can hear a few seconds of a Carpenters song and recognize that Karen was a tremendously talented vocalist, but there are a lot of good reasons for the group's tumble — chief among them the inescapable reality that their music really was, and absolutely remains, corny as hell.

But to quote hipster-defending Friend of Jefitoblog Tim Ryan: Here's the thing. While it's true that these recordings are just as bonelessly lachrymose as their rep would suggest, it's also true that they are — virtually across the board — much more musically sophisticated than they had to be. In terms of overall intent and weakness for melodrama, there isn't a ton of difference between, say, "Let Me Be the One" or "One Love" and any random '80s ballad from a group like Chicago or Journey; the difference really lies in their trappings, which were retroactively guilty of being less trend-proof than some of their peers. What elevates the Carpenters' best material is the inarguable devotion to craft, which manifests itself in the form of deceptively robust arrangements and sneakily showy performances. It all adds up to a real, deeply appealing warmth.

Is this music for people who part their hair a little too far to the side? Yes. Is it music for people who wear collared shirts under their sweaters? Also yes. But it's also the work of people who not only understood their strengths, but seemed to really appreciate them. While I'm not sure I'd recommend listening to Carpenters — or any Carpenters record, really — unless you're in the mood for a lot of feathered and blow-dried balladry, this stuff really does hold up a hell of a lot better than I would have guessed.

Favorite Song: I feel like I've been pretty kind to the Carpenters here, but favorite song? Let's not get crazy. It isn't like I'm going to add any of these tracks to a playlist or anything. In fact, I'm due for some aggressive palate-cleansing after a full day of listening to Carpenters.

On the other hand, if I had to pick a favorite song from this album, after skipping past the obvious singles, I guess I'd choose "Let Me Be the One," which fits a whole universe of pleading into a slender two minutes and 25 seconds, with a Bacharach-worthy arrangement to boot. That being said, this entire album is remarkably consistent, with the exception of Richard's pair of big vocal numbers — "Saturday" is fine, I guess, but only because it's barely a minute long, while "Druscilla Penny" is the harpsichord-addled foray into Carpopsychedelia that no one ever needed.