To label Third/Sister Lovers as Big Star’s masterpiece would be misguided. The album doesn't mark the point at which the band perfected their sound (that ship had sailed) or chose to make any sort of definitive statement (except maybe: “Fuck this”). Nor is it technically an album; in fact, Big Star was not even technically a band at the time of Third/Sister Lovers' conception.
Recording sessions began at Memphis’ Ardent Studios in the winter of 1974, when Alex Chilton and drummer Jody Stephens were all that remained of the band's original lineup -- founding guitarist/vocalist Chris Bell had dropped out in ’72 when Big Star’s debut, #1 Record, failed to achieve the slightest bit of commercial success, and bassist Andy Hummel quit two years later, after Radio City. Produced by Jim Dickinson, the ’74 sessions featured an impressive guest list of local talent that included guitarist Steve Cropper, drummer Richard Rosebrough, and vocalist Lisa Aldridge (Chilton’s then-girlfriend). The end result, all but vomited upon by Stax Records, didn’t see the light of day until 1978, when it was put out by PVC as Third. Since then, the album's been hot-potato'd from label to label, appearing in various forms under various titles. In 1992, Rykodisc released what is still widely recognized as the definitive edition, with a whopping 19 tracks -- most of what was laid down -- though Chilton and Stephens couldn’t agree on the proper sequencing.
Big Star had always undercut their classicist pop with a strange and deliberate darkness of tone, but their first two efforts still might have coughed up a few hits if not for the poor distribution and marketing -- the result of Ardent’s strained relationship with Stax and Columbia. On Third, however, that thread was cut, as Chilton fully embraced the weirdness his songs had only hinted at previously. Listening to this record, it’s easy to image him as an alien being, studying earthly notions of melody and songcraft from some distant galaxy, attempting to emulate us and failing beautifully.
“I want to white OUT!!!” gasps Chilton on “Kizza Me,” the first of the two demented rave-ups that kick off Third. Upside-down piano flourishes collide with sputtering, throbbing guitar riffs; everything swirls and heaves before boiling over into total madness. The bitter, hilarious “Thank You Friends” matches that whacked-out energy and ups the ante by adding a full backing gospel choir. Chilton knocks off a fucked-up Christmas carol (“Jesus Christ”), a chilling cover of The Velvets’ “Femme Fatale” and a psychotic Who-style anthem (“You Can’t Have Me”), all the while sounding like he’s one sniff, toke, or swig away from pulling a Skip Spence.
“Kangaroo” is a smoldering ballad that sounds somewhere between the muted, melancholic pop of White Album-era George Harrison and the pyretic intensity of Suicide’s “Frankie Teardrop.” Over a bed of open-tuned guitars, unearthly feedback, and seemingly random cowbell thwacks, Chilton slurs his way through a series of eerie yet poignant reminiscences: “I first saw you/ You had on blue jeans/ Your eyes couldn’t hide anything/ I saw you leaving.” In the Ryko liner notes, Dickinson recalls that “Kangaroo is really where the record started to work. Alex defiantly played it for me [and said], ‘If you want to be a producer, do something with this.’”
Third documents Alex Chilton’s choice to stop making choices, to follow his whims and fascinations to whatever end. I’ve yet to familiarize myself with any of his post-Big Star material, but as I understand it, he never again created anything that could be construed as an attempt to sell out or give in. How could he? He’d already seen the edge, and you can’t come back from that.