Some might have guessed that the Robert Lamm-sung “Free at Last” had something to do with freedom’s fight, since he once was the fierce political heart of Chicago. But this isn’t that time, and 2014’s Chicago XXXVI: Now isn’t that record.
Give Chicago credit for an honorable attempt at recreating a band sound, since “Free at Last” actually features their entire lineup with the exception of soon-to-retire reed man Walt Parazaider. (Guest arranger Trent Gardner sits in as a second trombonist with James Pankow.) Long-time guitarist Keith Howland takes over the engineer’s chair.
Still, “Free at Last” is ultimately just another breezy bit of romanticism, very much in the late-period Lamm mode, even if he had composing help from Howland and Chicago drummer Tris Imboden. Lamm went from filling an activist’s role in the ’70s to ghosting his own group in the ’80s, before finding a second life as a smooth operator in a rejuvenated parallel solo career into the 2000s.
It was yacht rock for a new generation: easy on the ears, typically marked by a middle-aged wistfulness, ultimately a little too glib for its own good. Same with “Free at Last.”
To be honest, that’s still a huge step in the right direction away from the David Foster’s swirling strings and the empty Diane Warren-isms of Chicago in the ’80s and ’90s. Yet still many, many steps away from where their oldest, dearest, most diehard fans wanted Chicago to be.
Sorry, oldest, dearest and most diehard. It’s time to accept Robert Lamm for who he’s been for decades now. “Free at Last” is entirely in keeping with the music he’s created since Chicago was still wrestling with how to get Warner Bros. to release Chicago XXXII: Stone of Sisyphus.
In fact, the space between his career-resetting 1993 solo album Life Is Good in My Neighborhood and XXXVI: Now was more than twice as long as Chicago’s classic era – which is usually pegged by Lamm himself as 1969’s Chicago Transit Authority to 1977’s Chicago XI. So there’s been plenty of time to get used to the idea.
Maybe Lamm grew bored with taking on the world’s ceaseless problems, or maybe he simply fell in love. He wouldn’t be the first to yield to the undeniable allure of home and hearth, things that provide shelter against storms both political and otherwise. (Looking at you, Mr. Lennon.) Maybe he got old and wise, or maybe he got old and tired.
Whatever the reason, whatever the rationale, Lamm has moved so far past the days of “It Better End Soon” that his occasional nods toward current events (see “Naked in the Garden of Allah” later in the Chicago XXXVI: Now song cycle) don’t represent any kind of bold recapturing of past glories.
They are simply the exceptions that prove a rule.
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