Classic rock is a funny term. Originally, it described a radio format; a classic rock station generally plays the most commercially successful rock music of the 60s through mid 90s, when the last prophet of canonized rock lost his life in Seattle. 

The term was an innovation of the Reagan era, that wonderful time of completely natural enthusiasm and rhinitis, but it has since had a change of meaning in the minds of the general public. Now, classic rock tends to refer to an AOR-approved canon of primarily Eurocentric rock music from the 1960-70s and sometimes early 80s, depending on individual taste. 

Despite its popularity, classic rock as a descriptor is incredibly vague. As such, there are some interesting bands that end up lumped in from the margins. One band is The Tubes, a performance art and glam rock collective formed in San Francisco around 1972. 

They are best known for “White Punks on Dope,” a song about the SF “crust-fund” crowd and an early occurrence of ‘punk’ as a subcultural descriptor, as well as “She’s a Beauty,” an 80s MTV favorite featured in the film and future baffling cultural relic Xanadu. 

Sharing members, at times, with Jefferson Starship and Grateful Dead side project Bobby and The Valentines, The Tubes have well earned their spot on the edges of the classic rock canon. But The Tubes were not your typical radio rock band, at least not at first. With a punk ethos, pop sensibility and the lavish theatricality of an Off-Broadway musical, this early Tubes record stands out among its contemporaries. Today I will be discussing their 2nd album, “Young and Rich.”

If I were to compare The Tubes to another act, which is difficult, I might say they are like a more accessible, pop and glam-informed Frank Zappa. There is the jazzy flourish, absurdism, diverse inspiration and borderline gross-out humor of Zappa or Captain Beefheart. 

At the same time, there are catchy hooks, danceable grooves, some guitar riffs that wouldn’t sound out of place in a carpeted van (courtesy of Roger Steen and Bill Spooner) and David Bowie-esque moments of glam throughout. Even in its weirder moments, it is catchy and melodic. 

The opening track, “The Tubes World Tour,” does well to set the tone. Vocalist Fee Waybill wails “Tres chouette mi amore / The Tubes World Tour / We’ll be leavin’ as soon as we’re paid” in a cartoonish glam parody of self-aggrandizing rock stars. It is a high-flying and anthemic parody of artifice and excess. This is the essence of The Tubes early work. 

Listening to this album, you will hear guitar, organ, synthesizer, piano, saxophone, cello and a variety of percussion over nine songs. It is psychedelic in the way Halloween is psychedelic: garish, colorful, irreverent. 

The combination of impressive production and absolutely bizarre concepts gives this album a surreal quality. There is a warped take on the Brill Building sound featuring soaring dual vocals (Waybill and bandmate/artistic collaborator Re Styles), a Mothers of Invention-esque narrative tune about a man who dreams he is cast by God as Adam in a stage production of humankind, framed by an abstract joke about genitalia and a beautifully composed choir section on a song about a pimp. 

Accompanied by complex, kinetic instrumentation, these near-novelty songs are atmospherically elevated to the point of being cinematic. Never before has a song with a sexual pun in the title taken me on such an imaginary journey.

For all its originality and impressive detail, Young and Rich can seem a bit hokey between its strongest points. It is difficult to tell how much of this hokeyness is ironic parody and how much of it is age. That said, for an album that is 49 years old, it sounds remarkably fresh. Lush, psychedelic instrumental passages throughout the record withstand the test of time particularly well, and Waybill’s vocals still impress.

Although The Tubes would ultimately take their sound in a more commercially-friendly direction, becoming a comparatively normal New Wave act and achieving greater commercial success, their early records have long been considered cult classics among punks, glam fans, prog-heads, SF locals and idiosyncratic rockers of all sorts. Outside of those circles, however, The Tubes seem to be known as little more than an intriguing footnote in classic rock history. 

Personally, I feel that this is an oversight. The Tubes, in all their beautiful, ugly glory, are well worthy of a place in the spotlight and, frankly, your ears. 

As you might expect from my description, some people will not be able to get into this record. It’s possible the weirdness, gross humor, camp and antiquated pop tropes will put some off, but those who stick around are in for 38 minutes of musicianship that manages to stand out in one of the most critically lauded eras of American popular music. 

You may feel many things in those 38 minutes, but you won’t be bored. Throw on a wig, light up the nag champa and get hip to some real freak music. Far out, man.

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