Great Album, Bad Art: The Cars, Candy-O

By Ayan Farah

I’m always embarrassed to admit that I’m a huge fan of the Cars’ 1979 album, Candy-O. Don’t get me wrong; the songs on that record were nothing short of pop perfection. Band members Ric Ocasek, the late Benjamin Orr, Elliot Easton, Greg Hawkes, and David Robinson cultivated a distinct sound combining elements of rockabilly, new wave, and hard rock that set them apart from the countless other emerging bands vying for the spotlight.

Following their wildly popular, self-titled debut album released the previous year, Candy-O smashed any speculation that this band was merely a flash-in the pan, 15-minute sensation. I distinctly remember the day one of my brothers brought home a copy; from that moment on, the entire album would be played at full-blast practically every hour of every day for the duration of my childhood. As a result, I learned every song by heart and was known to break into spirited renditions of “Dangerous Type” and “Let’s Go” in mid-conversation. That’s how infectious the songs were.

I once even managed to sneak the record in to school one day (unbeknownst to my brother, of course) in hopes of introducing my fellow second-graders to songs way cooler than “Miss Mary Mack.” Even though I had no idea what The Cars were singing about at the time (She’s winding them down on her clock machine/And she won’t give up ’cause she’s seventeen), I sang along anyway and couldn’t wait to share those songs with my classmates during lunch when our teacher would allow us to play records from home.

Thirty years later, I know for sure that I wouldn’t be caught dead walking out of a record store with Candy-O in hand. Did I mention that I got into heaps of trouble for bringing “that record with the naughty album” cover to class? Oh yes. For a so-called progressive elementary school where teachers were addressed by their first names, even they had to draw the line somewhere, and the depiction of a see-through-leotard-wearing female swooning atop the hood of a car was simply unacceptable, particularly for us seven year-olds growing up in a post-ERA era. Never mind that the band was called “The Cars”— perhaps to secure an image of unquestionable masculinity while many of the new wave artists du jour opted for an androgynous appeal—they definitely took it one step further by completing their “chicks and cars as the ultimate objects of desire” theme with such cringe-worthy album art.

According to lore, Drummer David Robinson commissioned famed pin-up artist Alberto Vargas (not to be confused with Antonio Fargas of “Huggybear” fame), to create the now legendary cover art to adorn the band’s upcoming album. A Beverly Hills Ferrari dealership was the locale of choice for the imminent photo shoot, while the crew at Elektra Records’ art department scoured the streets for “a hot blonde with a killer bod.” The selected photo was shot in what I imagine called for several takes (you know, they had to get the RIGHT picture). Vargas completed his painting and the rest is rock & roll history.

Runners up in the good album/bad art category are: Jimi Hendrix, Electric Ladyland and Roxy Music, Country Life.
(. . . shudder….maybe the latter is the worst album cover of all time. . .)

RELATED LINKS:

A Woofer In Tweeter’s Clothing: Mismatched Album Art, Popshifter July/August 2009 issue