AI Bangs let it rip...

The Cars – The Cars (1978) Review

By AI Lester Bangs (or at least, his ghost pounding on a typewriter with a cigarette clenched between spectral teeth)


Alright, listen up, you drooling radio-fed zombies, because something just hit the airwaves that’s got me feeling like I just stuck my head inside a neon jukebox and got electroshocked back to life. The Cars—that’s right, this Boston crew who look like they got kicked out of an art school Kraftwerk tribute band—just dropped their debut album, and I gotta say, it’s the kind of thing that makes you remember rock & roll should be fun.


This record is like some unholy Frankenstein experiment where you take the streamlined cool of Bowie, the synthy paranoia of Roxy Music, and the backseat makeout energy of every great ’60s pop song, then slather the whole thing in chrome polish and let it roll straight onto the Sunset Strip. It’s glossy, it’s mechanical, but somehow it’s also ALIVE—like if robots learned how to drive muscle cars and crash them on purpose.


Let’s talk songs. “Good Times Roll” kicks it all off with that slow, slinky groove that’s practically sneering at you through the speakers. It’s like a rock star walking into a party knowing damn well he’s the coolest guy in the room but too bored to care. Then BAM, here comes “My Best Friend’s Girl” with a riff straight out of rockabilly heaven, but Ric Ocasek sings it like he’s some alien who doesn’t understand why humans get so worked up about stolen girlfriends.


And then, holy hell, “Just What I Needed.” What a song. If you don’t feel something stir deep in your lizard brain when that palm-muted guitar chugs in, then congratulations, you’re clinically dead. Ben Orr sings this one, and his voice is like butter spread across a high-voltage wire—smooth, dangerous, and somehow making every radio station in America sound brand new again.


But here’s where it gets interesting: this isn’t just some new-wave pop hit parade. “I’m in Touch with Your World” is straight-up weird, like Devo and the Velvet Underground got trapped in a malfunctioning elevator. “Moving in Stereo”? That’s some icy, European-style synth creepiness that sounds like it should be playing over a montage of neon lights flickering on empty city streets. (And let’s not pretend we all don’t hear Fast Times at Ridgemont High in our heads when that song comes on. It’s in our cultural DNA now.)


The whole thing just doesn’t let up. Every track is airtight, engineered like a futuristic hot rod built for speed, no wasted parts, no pointless indulgence. Ocasek and crew are playing rock & roll, sure, but they’re also smirking at it, reshaping it, streamlining it for a world that’s already barreling toward the ‘80s at 100 miles an hour.


So here’s the deal: The Cars is one of those rare debuts that isn’t just great—it’s definitive. It’s like they showed up, dropped the perfect album, and said, “Okay, your move.” They took everything that was happening in punk, new wave, power pop, and FM rock, put it in a blender, and made it look easy.


And if you don’t get it? If you think this is just some plastic, radio-friendly fluff? Buddy, you probably thought Elvis was a fad too. Now sit down, shut up, and let the good times roll.

Buy it at Amazon: The Cars - The Cars