T
odd Harry Rundgren is an eclectic and talented singer, guitarist, composer and producer from Philly.Nothing else…?
The best parts of Todd’s production, like it seems to be the case for most entities in Rock-land, are the beginning and the early maturity. The rest can be gladly ignored.
His career started with the formation of the psychedelic band Nazz, together with his friend Carson van Osten (bass), soon to be joined by Thom Mooney (drums) and Robert “Stewkey” Antoni (keyboards, vocals).
Their music is not bad, but lacks a “special” connotation which can lift them up from the middle-of-the-road-psychedelic-band-of-the-60s superabundance. Their music is palatable, but will not give you the shivers, though remaining creative enough to be at the base of Todd’s future evolution.
They will disband after only two albums, Nazz (1968) and Nazz Nazz (1969), while Todd will become a producer.
Is also in that period that his idea to go back on the stage was growing, culminating in his splendid first solo album, Runt (1970). Old dadaism and mathematical precision, musical imprecision and precise timbre programming, go hand in hand with a cherubic curly head and a devious disposition to explore any and every English-speaking (musical) movement deviating from the norm.
From an historical point of view, his importance cannot go further than his posing as the outrageous rock star genius of the 70s; and in fact, also his musical production will not survive, in terms of quality, innovation and freshness, the year 1975.
His second effort, Something/Anything? (1972) is a fragile and at the same time majestic work, meandering throughout four sides dishing out sugar-coated melodies, distorted emotions and propositions that are all created by just one person: Todd Rundgren.
His next album, A wizard, a true star (1973) marks a radical change from the three-minutes-pop-song into something that echoes Todd’s predilection for the music by Frank Zappa, Yes and Mahavishnu Orchestra, touching at times the refinement of a Claude Debussy or the audacity of an Impressionist painter.
Soon after, Todd forms a new group: Utopia and in 1974 they release their first work, the eponymous Utopia, moving once again towards the exploration of a new musical stream: the progressive rock.
He is flanked by Mark “Moogy” Klingman (keyboards), Ralph Schuckett (keyboards), Jean Yves “M. Frog” Labat (synthesizer), John Siegler (bass, cello) and Kevin Ellman (drums, percussions).
The album is consumable, but the keyboards overkill pulls its appeal a few notches down, leaving behind a sense of little folly and a lot of cunning.
The last noteworthy effort by Rundgren can be found in Initiation (1975), again a solo album. A suite of over 35 minutes stretches the listener’s attention to the limits and again the synthesizers overkill diminishes the pleasure, though the overall “look and feel” brings distant echoes of Mahavishnu Orchestra and the symphonic production of Frank Zappa, laced with avant-garde and jazz-fusion impulses from the emerging British scene.
After that, we can go on and on, listening to his works until the last one dated 2022, but that would be an repetition exercise and would not add a single iota to what we need to know and hear about Todd Rundgren.