Bubblegum Breakout

Cass Elliot's Dunhill albums [featured previously - Ed.] were far from bubblegum, but that's the image Dunhill wanted to project, refusing to let her record under her name of choice. RCA let her grow up, treating her seriously and giving her the respect she deserved. Her two solo albums from this period weren't a commercial success. It wouldn't be unfair to put it down to a couple of issues, the first being the unanswered question of exactly what kind of artist she was. She would always be the big-voiced Mama in the public's mind. She had the biggest physical presence in the group, the biggest voice, and the biggest personality. And here was someone called Cass Elliot, photographed like a 'thirties movie star. She wasn't a showbiz act, she wasn't rock n' roll, she wasn't exactly pop, she wasn't (crucially) a singer-songwriter. Who was she?

The second issue was her size. Sex appeal has always been a major element for any female act, and well ... Cass just didn't check the boxes for most. No, it shouldn't be that way, but it works for dudes too. Were Howard Kaylan and Mark Volman taken seriously? Fat is funny, or it's comforting, but it's sexy only for a niche market. Elliot's audience accepted her physicality in the context of the group, balanced out by the subtle, willowy eroticism of Michelle Phillips (brb). Standing out alone up there, with no-one else to look at ... uh ...

Today, neither of these issues is a problem for us. We have the recordings, and our reaction can be uncolored. Predictably, they're superb albums, drawing from the matchless bank of talent available back then. No lazy lo-fi Americana cop-out for Cass. They're the audio equivalent of a coach-built Rolls-Royce, beautifully engineered from the finest components, class and accomplishment in every detail. Settle back and let Cass take you for a ride. They don't make them like this any more.