Jeff Lynne was always too furry to be Glam, too Pop to be Prog and too Disco to Rock. But he was daring enough to wonder what lay in between Beethoven, The Beatles and The Bee Gees. And the answer, of course, was Electric Light Orchestra. As haughty as the band’s name (and their original thesis) might have sounded, there was something truly populist about Lynne and his songs. Critics dismissed ELO as derivative. But, for nearly a decade, ELO delighted millions with a strange magic — a combination of familiar influences and modern trickery. Along the way, Jeff Lynne had platinum albums, stadium-sized success, an inevitable fall from grace and then a final, justified, redemption. However, like most magicians, he was never, ever — even for a single day of his life — considered “cool.”

The initial premise of ELO was both endearingly simple and maddeningly pretentious. Lynne and co-founder Roy Wood imagined what would happen if the strings and orchestral arrangements of Classical music moved to the fore, ahead of the guitar, bass and drums, in Rock music. But while they were contemporaries of Crimson, Tull and Floyd, ELO was not especially interested in virtuosity or theory. Prog was music born from higher educations. ELO was music born from “Sgt. Pepper,” but stripped of counter-cultural pretense.

It was not until around 1973, after Roy Wood left and Lynne became the primary writer, singer and producer, that ELO found their loadstar. Clear in his vision and unencumbered by collaborators, Lynne made his move. He buried the bass, synched the acoustic guitar strum to the snare, disposed of drum fills, compressed his vocals and bookended verses with strings. That effect — loud and clear on 1973’s “Showdown” — married the Beatles’ melodic flair with Steely Dan’s hygiene and a rhythm that predicted Giorgio Moroder. Lynne, meanwhile, added some rainbows and spaceships to their album covers, kept his hair permed and his shades on. In no time at all, ELO climbed those rainbows, got into those spaceships, and took flight.

Although not considered in the same breath as icons like Zeppelin or The Who or arena rockers like Journey or Foreigner, ELO was among the most commercially successful bands of the 1970s. They had over a dozen top forty hits and a half dozen top ten albums. The band peaked in 1977, on the heels of a string of positively massive singles, including “Strange Magic,” “Living Thing,” “Telephone Line” and “Mr. Blue Sky.” And, in 1978, their world tour was (to that point) the highest grossing Rock music tour of all time, culminating with eight sold out nights at Wembley Stadium. ELO’s ascent in America was meteoric, tapping into our anglophilia and our opulence. England, with their finer manners, their Prog and their Punk, were slower to warm. Eventually, however, the sonic imperative beat the cultural counter-forces. Lynne had located a sound that was so evidently logical and so profoundly pleasant that it was hard to resist. By 1978, though, both sides of the Atlantic had ELO fever.

Within a couple of years, however, some fans, many critics, and even Jeff Lynne himself, found reasons to turn away. Other than The Bee Gees, no Pop or Rock band benefited from Disco so disproportionately as ELO. It is true that the clean, insistent snare of Lynne’s rhythms were an influence on the increasingly white, suburban, coke-addled sound of late 70s dance music. As a result, once that sound was co-opted by the Disco craze, ELO was also swept into the movement. Lynne didn’t so much lean in to the trend as play to his strengths. For example, when “Living Thing” came out at the end of 1976, it did not sound unlike previous ELO songs. But it sounded exactly enough like Disco for the name to fit. The track raced up the charts, filling airwaves and dance floors as many new listeners just assumed that ELO was something of a bandwagoner or a passing trend.  

Simultaneously, in the streets of England and just below the surface in America, a wave of discontent was emerging. As both countries settled into their own economic and pharmacological depressions, younger critics and subcultures began to reject music that was steeped in artifice or pretense. For this new wave, Arena Rock could be popular but not totally cool. Prog was bullshit. And Disco, of course, was anathema to everything that was real and important in the world. 

ELO held on for dear life — at least for a couple of years. In 1978 they were too big to fail. But, by 1979, their foundation was under siege. That year, they achieved total market saturation with “Don’t Bring me Down,” a hugely successful and equally insidious earworm. By that time, the ether of Disco was still in the air, but it was increasingly a bad fume. And ELO, while not a Disco band or a Prog band or, even, an Arena Rock band, was in the line of fire.

In the midst of the sea change, Jeff Lynne made two curious decisions that signaled the death knell for his band. First, in 1979, he dispensed of his beloved string trio (Mik Kaminski, Hugh McDowell and Melvyn Gale), replacing them with session players and synthesizers. But moreover, at the very height of the Disco revulsion, Lynne and ELO provided half of the soundtrack for “Xanadu,” a Roller-Disco fantasy flick, starring Olivia Newton-John and Gene Kelly. While now thought of as a campy, cult delight, in 1980 “Xanadu” was a bridge too far. It was considered ridiculous by its fans and almost beneath contempt by critics. The soundtrack and its title song, performed by ELO and Newton-John, were still massive hits. But as the rest of the world was getting heavier and more serious, ELO had gotten lighter and more frivolous, until they just floated away.

By 1984, Lynne was ready to retire ELO. He was at a creative and commercial impasse and, due to the challenges of recreating the strings and studio effects in concert, he’d tired of touring. He tried to disband ELO, but, owing one more album to CBS, he politely, if reluctantly, cobbled together “Balance of Power.” Released in 1986, the album had one final, minor hit (“Calling America”) before Lynne officially said farewell to ELO. 

In the mid-80s, while Lynne was transitioning from ELO frontman to behind the scenes super-producer, he was also growing close with George Harrison. At the time, the “Zen Beatle” was living a mostly private, introspective life. But, Lynne was able to coax him back into the studio to make “Cloud Nine,” an unlikely smash record that featured the hit “Got My Mind Set On You.” Fans stood and applauded as George did a final victory lap, but critics noted something else. Beneath George’s syrupy vocals, they heard the inimitable production style of Jeff Lynne. It was not hard to find. In fact, it was so evident that it made some question whether “Cloud Nine” was a George Harrison album or a Jeff Lynne album.

Through his partnership with Harrison, Lynne then put together The Traveling Wilburys, a super-supergroup that included Bob Dylan, Roy Orbison and Tom Petty. The Wilburys released one massively successful album, in 1988, and a sequel in 1990. In between, Lynne helmed perhaps his greatest record outside of ELO, Tom Petty’s beloved “Full Moon Fever.” All of which made the burly, permed studio wizard the obvious choice to help the surviving Beatles produce two “new” tracks for the band. Those songs, based on found demos of John’s vocals, delighted millions, infuriated thousands, and capped a second, extraordinary run for Lynne.

The Lynnefication of Nineties Rock was unmistakable. With ELO, Lynne made “Classical Beatles Disco.” As a producer, however, he helped iconic artists make immaculate, hooky, harmony-forward, modern Rock music. And though his legacy with ELO was fading, the former Beatles’ protege had become his own kind of sensei. 

In the midst of the Lynne-naissance, a young English band named World Party released “Goodbye Jumbo” — an infectious, slightly Alternative, kind of psychedelic Rock album. College radio stations adored it. Mainstream radio stations were curious. Critics batted their eyes. It was not a hit record by any means, but it made many year end lists and has survived to this day as a beloved remnant of pre-Alternative Rock. Most everyone who heard “Goodbye Jumbo” referred to it as “Beatlesesque.” And I certainly heard the Fab Four. You couldn’t miss it. But what I really heard was something “Lynnesque.” Like ELO, World Party liked their vocals tapered, their harmonies piled high and their melodies bittersweet. And, as with ELO, World Party had a frontman (Karl Wallinger) who doubled as a one man band. I really liked that band and that album. But, more than anything, “Goodbye Jumbo” made me wonder if Jeff Lynne could still make magic on his own. 

It took some time, but the universe answered me. After Hair Metal, Grunge, Alt and a thing called Electronica passed by, Jeff Lynne returned to making music. In June of 2001, he released “Zoom,” an album which he wrote, produced and performed almost entirely on his own. The record was attributed to ELO (presumably for commercial benefit) and it even had a spacecraft and the classic ELO logo on its cover. ELO keyboardist Richard Tandy played on one track and George and Ringo played on two. But in almost every other way, “Zoom” was a Jeff Lynne solo record.  .

“Alright” kicks off “Zoom” with fewer strings and more bass than anyone might expect from an “ELO record.” It is spotless, muscular and deft, like Steely Dan but with more Blues and less Jazz — music for sophisticated grown ups. In middle age, there is much less falsetto in ELO’s vocals, but Lynne’s voice is still more than serviceable. In fact, it is delightful, effortlessly shifting from the syrupy tone of 70s George Harrison to the nasal but dreamy quality of late career John Lennon. A song like “Just for Love” sounds very little like any Beatles’ song, but it would fit in quite nicely on either “All Things Must Pass” or “Mind Games.”

On “Moment in Paradise,” Lynne revisits his patented acoustic jangle and metronomic snare drum. But, where that combination sounded so (intentionally) derivative in the 1970s, it sounds subtler — to the point of being Alternative — in 2001. Throughout “Zoom,” you can hear Lynne’s towering influence on “sub-popular” bands like Jellyfish, The Posies, Teenage Fanclub, World Party and a good deal of Britpop. And on “Stranger on a Quiet Street,” middle-aged Lynne surprises us with a more soulful organ, some sneaky bass and a wiggle in the beat that brings to mind Spoon. If only ELO had been a little younger or a whole lot hipper, “Zoom” would have been fodder for early Pitchfork or, certainly, Spin Magazine. 

“Ordinary Dreams” is straight fan service — the strings step forward, in front of the piano and the jangle of the twelve string. Cellos separate the verses and even dare to make some noise. But, as with most great ELO songs, Lynne makes it sound so easy. “Melting in the Sun,” with its obvious, almost irresistible hook, and its Lynne on Lynne backing vocals, is not far from vintage ELO. Only, this time, he evokes the string-free, Power Pop band that hit the charts with “Do-Ya.” It’s not what they were most known for, but guitar riffs were always a major part of ELOs DNA. 

Elsewhere, on “A Long Time Gone,” Lynne serves up a couple of dollops of Tom Petty and maybe a dash of Barry Gibb — the other great songwriter done and undone by Disco. It’s among the prettiest and most plaintive tracks on an album filled with them. And then, “Zoom” closes with two full-throttle rockers. One (“All She Wanted”) that owes a lot to Lynne’s other great hero, Chuck Berry, and one ("Lonesome Lullaby") that sounds exactly like Jeff Lynne in 2001 — grand, confident, cello-filled, kind of familiar and really, really listenable.

The same year “Zoom” was released, Daft Punk recorded “Face to Face,” an indulgent, French Disco track that lifted and then broke down the hook from ELO’s “Evil Woman.” Over the next two decades, Lynne’s songs would be sampled or covered by Common, Snoop, J Dilla, The Shins, Girl Talk, The Mars Volta and dozens of lesser known acts. In 2012, Lynne made a very professional, mostly excellent solo album. And then, as “Jeff Lynne’s ELO,” he released two more, exactly-what-you-want sort of records. In between, and probably a decade too late, ELO was inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame.  

All of this reclamation and validation spoke volumes of Lynne and his great band. But they spoke less, perhaps, than his performance on March 15, 2004, celebrating the life and music of his dear friend, George Harrison. Accompanied by George’s son, Dhani, and Tom Petty, Lynne stood center stage to perform “While My Guitar Gently Weeps.” He played dutifully and lovingly, his voice sweet and sad and his rhythm guitar keeping time. Several minutes in, however, Lynne steps back to make room for the fourth, and undoubtedly greatest, guitarist on stage that night — Prince. Yes, that Prince.

For the next three minutes, The Purple One completely shreds, wowing the audience and melting Lynne’s still curly locks. It’s a moment that Youtube was invented for. But, watching Prince that night — with his generational talent — I was reminded why I love Jeff Lynne’s music. It was not because he was so different. It was certainly not because he was cool. It was because, for fifty years, he gave us all exactly what we needed, even when we didn’t always know that we wanted it. And he made it sound so easy.

by Matty Wishnow