Boom, Child

For reasons I am not currently at liberty to discuss — partly because I've got dinner in the oven and therefore am typing against the clock, and partly because it relates to a book project that's currently wending its way toward the finish line — I have had Dennis DeYoung on the brain lately, which is definitely something I never thought I'd say.

I was ten when DeYoung scored his first (and only real) solo hit with the title track from his debut Desert Moon LP, and even then, I found his musical and physical presence to be unbearably corny. That impression was not entirely alleviated through ownership of the 1990 Styx (mostly) reunion LP Edge of the Century, which included a number of gelded DeYoung ballads as well as his (honestly kinda charming) attempt to rock out with "Not Dead Yet." I think I may have tried listening to Styx's Brave New World album, but I don't really remember — the point is that since being scarred by "Desert Moon," I've largely avoided anything DeYoung-related like the plague.

For this reason, I was unaware of the arc traced by his first three solo albums on the Billboard charts, which goes like this: Desert Moon peaked at No. 24, with the title track peaking at No. 10; 1986's Back to the World rose no higher than No. 108, with "Call Me" cresting at No. 54; and 1988's Boomchild did not chart. This is fascinating to me, because despite my lifelong antipathy toward his singing and songwriting, there's no denying that he was the creative cornerstone of one of the most popular rock bands of the '70s and early '80s, and his solo career got off to a really strong start. At the time, I'm sure he, like a lot of his peers, was written off as past his prime, but in retrospect, it's downright bizarre that the industry gave up on him so quickly — to go from the Top 10 to Billboard exile in the span of four years is remarkable in all the wrong ways.

Because at least 25 percent of my listening is motivated by morbid curiosity, I knew I needed to seek out and hear Boomchild, if only to verify that the label and/or record-buying public knew what they were doing when they gave DeYoung the cold shoulder. Unfortunately, the album is stone cold out of print; fortunately, I'm close personal friends with a certain Jefitoblog elected official who has a digital copy of everything that's ever been released. And here we are.

The first thing I want to tell you about Boomchild is that DeYoung co-produced it with Alan Shacklock, who's had a legitimately interesting career and is also credited in the album's liner notes with playing "E-mu Emulator horns." The second thing I want to tell you is that the liner notes also credit two synth bass players, three synth players, and two Synclavier programmers. It is, in other words, an extremely Peak Late '80s release from an artist you would expect to be drawn to indulge in Peak Late '80s production gimmicks. Squealing and squalling power ballad guitars? Gated drums? Synthesizers that waver between glistening and flatulent? They're all here, friends, and they sound glorious.

Lyrically, the album is a bit more of a mixed bag, especially if you have a limited tolerance for song suites about boomers coming to terms with rapidly approaching middle age. DeYoung turned 40 the year before Boomchild was released, and he's always been the type of songwriter who's gravitated toward Big Statements, so it thoroughly stands to reason that quite a lot of this record feels like a nostalgia-soaked attempt to tie together the hopes, dreams, beliefs, and experiences of a generation. Personally, I think there's something genuinely poignant about this, but I also have to acknowledge that DeYoung — like a number of his peers — lacks any evident interest in viewing that generation through a remotely critical eye. The writing was already on the wall in terms of how, and how badly, the boomers would ultimately fuck the world, but none of that is here; from a lyrical perspective, Boomchild makes Don Henley's finger-pointing masterpiece The End of the Innocence sound like Nirvana's Nevermind.

All that being said, I'm really not here to shit on Boomchild. I suspect DeYoung knew his chair at the table had grown cold by 1988, but he doesn't sound checked out here; even if its reach frequently exceeds its grasp, this record reflects the overweening ambition that sums up his career overall, for better and for worse. Is it often cheesy, and produced within an inch of its life? Well, of course. But is it also rather charming in its own awkward way? Again: Of course.

Dropbox

Watching: Still enjoying the heck out of Bad Monkey as it ambles its way to its conclusion. But more importantly, everyone needs to know that Season 4 of Slow Horses has begun, and this is cause for celebration. If you've never availed yourself of this show's many pleasures, then I envy you, because you have hours of fun before you; if you, like me, are an avowed fan, then I share your pain as we wait together for each week's new installment. (Apple TV+)

Reading: Still making my way through Amp'd, which I covered last week.

Elsewhere: The Record Player is on an end-of-summer hiatus, but I expect we'll be back in your ears very shortly; in the meantime, you can, as always, find me writing about General Hospital for Diagnosis Daytime, and I also made a guest appearance on The Douglas Coleman Show recently to discuss my new novel, Langley Powell and the Society for the Defense of the Mundane.

Around the Corner: Some kind of Music Friday post tomorrow, whether New or Old! Some kind of post for paid subscribers on Saturday! The world keeps turning, and I keep hitting my keyboard.