From the outset the Rascals, like most rhythm and blues performers, have built their art within the confines of the commercial single. Their early work arises out of a definite white hard rock tradition, and these initial recordings, especially when considered in the context of the Rightous Brothers, the Kingsmen, and the early Paul Revere and the Raiders, still sound significantly better than most white rhythm and blues efforts of the era.

The instrumentation on the early track is the standard white hard rock one: guitar, bass, organ and drums. Since, none of the Rascals is an outstanding instrumentalist, most of their charts stay pretty close to the bare essentials of rhythm and blues conventions: there is no trace of the virtuosity of Booker T. and the M. G.'s here. In "I Ain't Gonna Eat My Heart," the first "Young" Rascals single, Eddie Brigati adopts a rather fey tough-guy stance in his vocal and somehow almost makes it work; although the instrumental break is elementary, and the whole song plods through its changes, the result sounded quite tolerable on the AM airwaves of late 1965.

The group's second single, "Good Lovin'," introduced Cavaliere as lead singer; his voice has more range and depth than Brigati's, and on "Good Lovin'" he uses it to fine effect. Cavaliere is no Stevie Winwood, but in many ways he is closer to the spirit of rhythm and blues than Winwood; like Winwood, his phrasing and vocal quality distinguish him, among white rhythm and blues singers. The several efforts by the Rascals immediately succeeding "Good Lovin'" were all more or less stylistically akin: the early Rascal originals were credible genre pieces, but little more. The listener feels keenly the unimaginative rhythm work that is the curse of so many white rhythm and blues bands; the Rascals employ few of the little syncopations and rhythmic off-accents that are generally one of the main factors in gracefully forcing the heavy rhythm and blues rhythm to swing.

These faults are most glaring in the two Rascals' interpretations of the rhythm and blues classics "Mustang Sally" and "Midnight Hour." Neither is in any way comparable to the Wilson Pickett versions, and both serve as case studies in the weaknesses of white rhythm and blues: both tracks, but particularly "Mustang Sally," suffer from the absence of horns; on both tracks guitarist Gene Cornish suffers in comparison with either Steve Cropper or Jimmy Johnson; on both tracks Dino Danelli's drumming suffers from monotony, hardly a problem with either Al Jackson or Roger Hawkins. Nevertheless a song like "Love Is a Beautiful Thing" shows that the Rascals were in the process of evolving an original rhythm and blues style, not an inconsiderable achievement.

"Groovin'" opened up a new phase for the Rascals. The instrumentation, which before that time had been crying out for expansion, was augmented; the Rascals began to settle into a relaxed, unselfconscious rhythm and blues groove that was unique in a white hard rock group; and, most importantly, the group recorded some beautiful rock tracks. "Groovin'," to begin with, is a classic Cavaliere-Brigati composition, a simple, unassuming yet appealing bit of rock magic. The production work attains a new high for the Rascals—even the sound effects of birds that open the track are tastefully mixed. There are effective (if unobtrusive) overdubs of piano and organ (and piano and piano), as well as some appropriate fills on a vibraharp. The rhythm section of bongoes and tambourine enhances the easy-going aura of the record, an aura and mood so perfectly sustained that the original Rascals' version is quite capable of standing on its own merits next to Aretha Franklin's more complex reading and arrangement of the song.

"A Girl Like You" is also representative of the Rascals at their best. The original composition is set off by a nice loping figure for horns that imparts a jazz flavor to the track, while Cavaliere sings beautifully throughout, especially in the opening section of the song. By this record Cavaliere had developed an appealing unforced quality to his singing, and even the back-up vocal work had acquired a distinctive rhythm and blues character.

Of course, the later Rascals are not without their faults, since they are capable of both the pretentious (a disaster in their case) as well as the cloyingly sentimental: For instance, Brigati's rather strained vocal effort on "How Can I Be Sure" is splendidly set off by violins, accordion and horn, but the song hangs suspended over a syrupy abyss. If this song doesn't fall into its self-set trap, "It's Wonderful" does, with devastating results — apparently "It's Wonderful" represents the Rascals' fling with psychedelia. Unfortunately, the echoed interjections refuse to let the song alone, standing as a signal instance of tasteless tape work.

The last song on Time Peace, "It's a Beautiful Morning," represents the recent Rascals performing one of their own songs in a typical vein. The group is together, the production work is tasteful, and the arrangement achieves a pleasing textural fullness; the vocal group work is superior, and Cavaliere's singing, as usual, leaves little to be desired. If some of the old faults persist, the Rascals here, as elsewhere in their record output, prove that they have evolved a distinctive and not unappealing approach to the rhythm and blues idiom. They may not be consistent, but the Rascals' undeniable mastery of their chosen craft not only makes their best work excellent, but also makes Time Peace a collection of tracks well worth listening to.

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JIM MILLER

(Posted: May 17, 1969)