The Cars
– The Cars
The Cars’ 1978 debut was a cold shot through the heart of late-’70s radio. Every song glides with a synthetic polish, but there’s real nerve beneath the chrome. Ric Ocasek and the gang don’t waste time chasing trends; they just fuse sticky pop hooks with stiff-armed new wave cool, sounding like robots who learned how to feel somewhere between a dive bar and a neon-lit parking lot. It’s sleek, it’s weird, and somehow, it makes loneliness sound like a pretty good party.
Best of…
The real genius of The Cars is how tightly it all snaps together. Every track feels engineered to stick in your head for days, but never sinks into mindless sugar. Greg Hawkes’ keyboards squeal and shimmer without getting cheesy. Elliot Easton’s guitar solos slide in sharp and fast, like a stiletto through bubble wrap. David Robinson’s drumming isn’t flashy, but it’s the secret pulse that keeps the whole machine humming along.
Underneath the shiny surfaces, there’s a real undercurrent of emotional detachment. Ocasek’s half-sung, half-shrugged delivery keeps the romance at arm’s length. Even when the songs flirt with big feelings—longing, regret, isolation—they never completely surrender. It’s that tension, that refusal to make things simple, that makes The Cars a landmark, not just a cool curio from a neon-soaked decade.
Choice Tracks
Good Times Roll
An opening track that sounds like it’s smiling through gritted teeth. Ocasek’s voice drips with sarcasm while the band slow-drags through the world’s most jaded party anthem.
My Best Friend’s Girl
Rockabilly heartbreak fed through a synthesizer. Easton’s quick, chopping guitar riff and the chugging beat make it heartbreak you can dance to.
Just What I Needed
Probably the most perfect pop song they ever recorded. Tight, smart, and full of sideways charm, it sums up their whole shtick: cool on the surface, bittersweet underneath.
Moving in Stereo
An eerie, hypnotic slow-burn that feels like drifting through a dream you can’t quite wake up from. Hawkes’ synths drip like water, and Ocasek sounds detached to the point of vanishing.
You’re All I’ve Got Tonight
A snarling, desperate rocker hiding under a layer of slick production. The guitars snarl, the drums charge, but Ocasek keeps his cool—barely.