Three years after Walsh's last solo album, two years after the last Eagles album of the 70's, and one year after the Eagles went their separate ways, Walsh essentially picked up where he left off with this irreverently titled affair. By now, we are at an uneasy crossroads (as were a lot of musicians from the 60's and 70's) - how to keep one's career going in the materialistic 80's, when values like artistry and musicianship were quickly out the window in favor of gross commercialism? Walsh's answer was to cultivate an alliance between his guitar playing and skewed sense of humor. However, on this particular album, the alliance is a shaky one. His choice of producer is odd: George "Chocolate" Perry, who was more versed in R&B and disco than anything else, and got his start with Miami's TK Records. Then there is the material itself, which is alright, except for one thing - Walsh's guitar playing is quite subdued compared to the albums preceding this one. Generally, it resembles the Long Run version of the Eagles, but with even more emphasis on funk and R&B, and of course, shades of traditional Walsh humor. I say shades because, sometimes Walsh contradicts himself, with some straight out depressing material - "Bones", which digs at 80's-style crass commercialism, "You Never Know", which many been have construed as snipes at his Eagles' band mates, and "Rivers (of the Hidden Funk)", which is technically sound, but emotionally lacking. The most memorable track, "Made Your Mind Up", gets by on a sunny piano riff, pretty vocal harmonies, and strangely resembles a Jackson Browne tune. Even when he sounds positive about things on well, "Things", one gets the feeling that it's a bit of a mask, and something's bothering him. And when he tries to be funny, well, there is "Down on the Farm", which feels forced. Hell, even the cover feels like a joke that missed its' mark. The strange thing about this is, unlike past albums, all of this makes for a rather flat listening experience. It appears that, like a lot of people, the dawn of the 80's appeared to leave Joe Walsh uninspired, at least compared to his 70's output.

A live album. Feels like another send-off to the early Barnstorm days, as the lineup that recorded But Seriously, Folks is already in place, and much of the material sounds different than the studio versions. For example, "Meadows" branches off into a goofy space-rock style ending. And this version of "Turn to Stone" plays on its own zoned-out plane. This is a nice recovery from the downgrade of the previous record and honestly, it would have been better if Joe had plowed through the transitional period from Barnstorm to the Eagles with one mega double live album instead. Just sayin'….

The second Barnstorm/Walsh record strikes a more celebratory tone overall, but compared to the debut record it's the less challenging of the two. It also served as the commercial breakthrough as well, with the leadoff "Rocky Mountain Way" getting the lion's share of the notoriety and attention. For years to come, it would also pigeonhole the album into a classic rock, guitar-hero, gear-and-pot-head dated limbo, but that's OK, because it is also extremely comfortable in its' own skin. But not all of the music is in the same vein as "Rocky Mountain Way" - not by a long shot. Like the previous album, Barnstorm sees fit to range 'round confidently over of the course of the remaining eight tracks. However, the experience does not go down as smoothly as the first album did, either. "Midnight Moodies" is an instrumental that is just as inscrutable as "Giant Bohemoth". "Wolf" is layers and layers of gorgeous, haunting sound. But then, there is "Happy Ways", which is a little too lightweight. While much of the material sounds great and creative, tracks like "Meadows", "Dreams", and "Days (Go By)" come off as intentionally marked to build from innocuously quiet to epic. They seem a bit too contrived to be believed. Despite this, The Smoker You Get, The Player You Get is quite an entertaining listen, and necessary companion piece to hear after the debut Barnstorm record.

The year after Joe Walsh left the James Gang he moved to Colorado, formed a new band with some old friends (which was called Barnstorm), and proceed to release a slew of albums which pursed the artistic directions that the James Gang hinted at, but could never fully explore. They are usually pigeon-holed into the "dust-bin of dirty, repetitive classic rock" - mainly because "Rocky Mountain Way", which led off the second album in this run, and became a hit - is the track which received the most notoriety from this period, but truth be told, Walsh and Barnstorm do not get enough credit for the dedication and craftsmanship they put into these records. They are also usually thought of as pure Walsh solo efforts, but here again, the real story is more complicated. Barnstorm was in fact a solid band with just about equal contributions from Walsh, Joe Vitale (main gig: drummer), and Kenny Passarelli (main gig: bass guitar). Walsh was the front-man, lead vocalist, and guitar-hero, but all three were everywhere playing multiple instruments and making different contributions, along with a small host of session musicians. Listening to this and the subsequent Barnstorm releases, and it is immediately obvious, that Passarelli and Vitale are a serious upgrade over Jim Fox and Dale Peters, if only for the fact that now Walsh has people around who can help him elevate the sound and actually fulfill his and their ambitions. Barnstorm isn't really a concept album, but it feels like one, and the general message is - we're going West, expanding our horizons, playing with all of this space, and making the move the overarching story. And why not - isn't that a classic story in American folklore, anyway? The opener "Here We Go" is a slow-building, enveloping, early-morning awakening piece that is drenched in evocative synthesizer tones. It kicks off a first side of the album which is far more on the contemplative side of the fence. The twin centerpieces are a rather cinematic, documentary-type of instrumental called "Giant Bohemoth", followed by "Mother Says", another slow-rolling and developing avalanche of snow which gloriously erupts towards the end of its' run-time, cumulating a near-perfect side of music. The second side is a slight letdown from the strange, yet oddly enchanting mood which the first side established, although still holds interest. Second from last is the only true rocker on this collection, "Turn to Stone", but that is pushing things, and anyway, the real attraction here is how the band makes that riff sound lonelier and lonelier each time they play it, until it feels like it echoes through some long lost canyon. Beyond the fact that there are some really good songs here, where Barnstorm wins you over is in the atmosphere department, which borders on the indescribable at many intervals here. Which makes sense, because there isn't really a lot of songs here to speak of, either, and the emphasis is on atmosphere. The next album would take a bit of a different tact.

Compared to their predecessors - you know, the guys they want to emulate, then presumably eclipse (Cream) - the overall sound is bottom-heavy, dependent from the start on Mel Schacher's "lead bass" and Don Brewer's brawny drum kit, while Mark Farner's guitar is notoriously thin and reedy for a power trio. Songwriting wise, it's all credited to Farner, but you have to wonder how much hinged on manager Terry Knight as well, although he never took public credit, just in the monetary sense. What's interesting here is there is no real funk to speak of - unless the production and instrumental tone counts - and no R&B for that matter, just one gut-bucket rocker and/or power-ballad-ish exercise after another. The only place where the guys really go overboard is - where else - "T.N.U.C.", where Schacher's awesome high-level, frantic bass groove is quite danceable, and then gives way to an extended Brewer drum solo. Most of the time they want to fire their jam guns, but are restrained to 1-2 minutes of craziness at most, like on "Heartbreaker". Knight actually had these guys looking for hit singles, if you can believe it, with "Time Machine" and "High on a Horse", which are OK tracks, but Cream never cared about singles, so why should Grand Funk Railroad? Something about this doesn't quite gel - not even the album title, which presents the band as fresh new blood, but instead, you get the feeling everyone involved knows this is half-speed all the way around. I'm not even sure this is necessary for the progression, but in the very least, you do get to hear the genesis of this whole, crazy GFR thing.