Nils Lofgren has been a critics' favorite for half a decade. Some learned about him in 1970 when word that he was one of the true rockers dribbled out of his Maryland stomping grounds. He picked up more points when Neil Young met him at Washington's Cellar Door and asked him to play on what became Young's finest moment, After the Goldrush. He recorded with Crazy Horse and then made several albums with his own group, Grin, on his own label, Spindizzy. But because the records were never quite right and because he was never the subject of an organized media campaign and major tour, he has remained a cult figure in search of a mass audience.

Nils Lofgren is the album to change that. It is a complete, self-contained work that defines a specific and enjoyable stance. Lofgren—who sings, plays guitar and keyboards (but no synthesizer, thank God), writes and coproduces — is a special kind of romantic. He concentrates on songs about the teenage feelings that were such a significant part of the rock ballads of the Fifties and the English pop of the mid-Sixties. The lyrics revive memories of high-school dances, making out, male possessiveness and a lifestyle in which sex roles were clear and unambiguous—all without ever becoming sentimental or nostalgic. He spins one narrative after another that tells of adolescent jealousies, hurts and loneliness but does it with a disarming casualness that keeps him from ever sounding self-pitying. He redefines the rock styles that he loves in terms of the Seventies, but without ever giving in to Seventies cynicism, vulgarity or decadence.

Lofgren has sacrificed some of the powerhouse hard-rock style that gave him his underground reputation in order to achieve consistency of mood and greater control. He presents the album's 11 songs (plus a prelude) inside a small sound that makes use of only two other musicians, bassist Wornell Jones and drummer Aynsley Dunbar — the latter especially complements Lofgren. This conservative approach makes a strength out of what had been a flaw, his hard-rock singing. The new material and style are contoured to the lightness of his singing touch. The melodies and dynamics don't demand anything that he can't handle and he further covers himself by mixing the voices down.

"Back It Up," which sounds like a hit single, is the most representative example of the album's content. The verses sound like light Byrds music except for the propulsive quality of Dunbar's drumming; the chorus takes the song into some more imaginative and catchy syncopated guitar riffing; the interludes between chorus and verse are sharply focused; the ending varies the melody just enough to confuse the listener. Best of all, the lyrics are simple and convincing: "I found out/Love is not enough/I need devotion to back it up."^* Lyrically, Lofgren is living in the world of the Beatles' "She Loves You"; musically his calmness and measured tone stand in contrast to the franticness of many songs in the genre.

"One More Saturday Night," a gem, is lyrically reminiscent of Charlie Rich's "Lonely Weekends." "I Don't Want to Know" is one of the great rock'n'roll jealousy songs, with a smooth little chorus: "I don't want to know your boyfriend's name/I don't want to know all the men you claim/I don't want to know where you slept last..."^*

Musically, Lofgren still rocks when he wants to. He unleashes some fine slide on "Can't Buy a Break" and turns downright cocky on "Duty." But he presses hardest on two of the album's three songs about rock music. His "Keith Don't Go (Ode to the Glimmer Twin)" is an amusing and touching tribute to Keith Richard. Richard was the hero of most of the Sixties'true rock guitarists — people who spurned folk rock, psychedelia and heavy metal. He still is the foremost champion and developer of the greatest of all rock guitar traditions—the one begun by Chuck Berry. On "Keith Don't Go" Lofgren articulates his identification with a powerful and mysterious musician in the album's typically innocent terms.

He plays just as hard on the weird "Rock and Roll Crook" in which I make out, over the screaming guitars and mixed down voice, such lines as "... It's so expensive to grow older" and "Gotta message for the In Crowd/I'm bringing in a new look/I ain't no rock and roll crook."^*

The third song about rock is not set in so hard a context. "The Sun Hasn't Set on This Boy Yet" has a lovely lilt and is autobiographical in the style of Neil Young's masterful "Don't Be Denied." It tells of going to New York where "... every wound just made me stronger," and going west where "... I found out/That hope was all around me and that's what life is all about."^* If Lofgren is a major talent—I obviously think that he is—it's at least in part because he can make those almost ordinary lines resonate so forcefully.

On Nils Lofgren, the singer sounds sincere but never whining, forceful but never belligerent, vulnerable but never weak. With the exception of Blood on the Tracks, this is the only recent album I've heard that sounds like it's the product of a single person's imagination. I'm convinced not only that it's the best rock album so far this year; I'm also convinced that if Nils Lofgren gets up off his ass and tours the United States, a lot of people will wind up hearing it and agreeing. As far as I'm concerned, this is one boy whose time has come.

^*©1975, Irving Music/Hillmer Music. (RS 184)

JON LANDAU