![]() The popularity of the track alone carries the implication that a wide range of people across the planet were able to find their own, personal connection with the song for their own, personal reasons. Ultimately, both lyrical views hold weight to their arguments. But even the “Romeo and Juliet” section goes beyond simple allusions to the star-crossed lovers and their story when the backing vocals say “we can be like they are.” The third verse is very obviously about suicide. However, the widley-held cultural criticism that it glorifies and promotes suicide is, at least, understandable. Lyrically, Dharma claims the track is a love song, carrying a message that worrying about death is pointless because it’s inevitable. Shelly was joined in the “chaotic,” but effective environment of three producers: Marry Krugman, Sandy Pearlman, and David Lucas. The band credits recording engineer, Shelly Yakus, with achieving the song’s unique, timeless sound a mix that sits well with our ears, even to this day. However, it’d be interesting to know if any of the confusion was just the result of the iconic SNL skit and the popularization of the cowbell in the song… Moreso, all rules and plans might go out the window when ad-hoc ideas are conceived in a As many of you may know, songwriting can be collaborative in nature. It’s normal for accounts to differ on the *who*, the *what*, and the *when*. ![]() But that was for another song, he got the two songs mixed up. And David Lucas thought that he did it, but it was just his idea, and he thought that he had come in when we weren’t there. ![]() He usually did the percussion, I’m not that great at percussion, as Eric is much better. Because if he was there, he would have played it. “Yea, I was, and even though Eric thought that it was him, I don’t even remember him being there. Which… also goes against the testimony of famed cowbell player, Albert Bouchard: And to keep the tempo, keep the groove going, I just decided that the cowbell would put that ‘ to the floor’” ![]() “When it came to producing the band, I would conduct. However, this has been contested by famed cowbell player, David Lucas: Eric’s sole contribution to the percussion section, however, was as the band’s famed cowbell player. The percussion section is an amalgamation of various contributions from David, Eric, and main drummer Albert Bouchard. Allen and David also played keyboard, supported by the spongy bass playing of Joe Bouchard. Dharma sang lead, with Eric and David Lucas providing backing vocals. “(Don’t Fear) The Reaper” was the first song Dharma wrote on a tape recorder in particular, the guitar idea for the main riff and progression for the iconic bridge section.Įric Bloom and Allen Lanier would end up supporting the guitar with backing parts. ![]() However, each of the band members eventually got their hands on multi-track recorders evolving their capabilities and song-writing-approach all together. Demos, if any, were done on a simple, stereo recorder. The group prepared for their album recording sessions in similar, live-music rehearsals. Their three previous albums, Blue Öyster Cult (1972), Tyranny and Mutation (1973), and Secret Treaties (1974), had given the band ample experience in rehearsing for studio recording sessions. On the other hand, when the band and producers showed up at the studio, they brought the thunder: a culmination of talent, advances in technology, and cooperation allowed for unprecedented efficiency during the recording window.Īll in all, “(Don’t Fear) The Reaper” is a staple in FM radio, a cornerstone inspiration for progressive rock, and a song heard around the world.īy 1976, Blue Öyster Cult’s fan base had stretched from shore to shore in the US, and the band toured regularly. On one hand, the massive pop-culture adoption and widespread use in media is the dream PR and promotional success story that (almost) anyone would want for their song. To be honest, that trajectory seems like it’s here to stay. “(Don’t Fear) The Reaper” was a hit: from the day it was released, through the writing of these words. Is it an optimistic take on the inevitability of death, or a glorification of suicide? Is the “sound” exemplary of Blue Öyster Cult’s music, or is it an anomaly that deviates from the style of their discography? Will the timeless quality of its production continue to fool new listeners into thinking the song was recorded “just yesterday,” or will future remasters need more cowbell? ![]()
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