"You Can Tune a Piano, But You Can't Tuna Fish" by REO Speedwagon

REO Speedwagon’s "You Can Tune a Piano, But You Can’t Tuna Fish" is the sound of a band finding the sweet spot between bar-band earnestness and radio-ready mediocrity, which is to say it’s about as quintessentially American as a roadside diner or a drunk uncle at a wedding who still thinks Zeppelin invented electricity. This thing is a big, greasy cheeseburger of an album — satisfying, predictable, and probably not great for you, but hey, what’s life without a little indulgence?

Let’s get something straight: REO isn’t here to change your life. They’re here to give you something to crank on your eight-track while you cruise the strip in a Pontiac with a busted muffler. "Roll With the Changes" is practically a sermon, a bombastic, chest-thumping anthem that dares you not to fist-pump along. Kevin Cronin belts like he’s auditioning for the role of every lead singer in every Midwestern bar band that ever existed, and Neal Doughty’s organ solos sound like he’s just discovered electricity himself. It’s over-the-top in a way that makes you want to forgive it for being so damn self-serious.

Then there’s "Time for Me to Fly," which is a break-up song so sincere it’s almost embarrassing. But that’s the magic of REO — they lean into the corniness with such unflinching confidence that you kind of have to admire them for it. They don’t care if you’re rolling your eyes; they’re too busy winking at the crowd.

And let’s not ignore the fact that this album title — a pun so groan-worthy it probably sent a ripple of existential dread through the entire Atlantic Records art department — is the kind of move only a band this shamelessly earnest could pull off. They’re not trying to impress the critics. They’re not even trying to impress you. They’re trying to throw a party, and you’re either along for the ride or sulking in the corner with your copy of Marquee Moon.

This is rock for people who think complexity is overrated. It’s Dad Rock before Dad Rock was a thing, a mix of riffs, hooks, and cheesy ballads that feels like a warm beer on a summer day: cheap, easy, and somehow just right. "Say You Love Me or Say Goodnight" closes things out with the kind of boozy, boisterous energy that’s custom-built for dive bars where everybody knows the words but nobody cares if they’re out of tune.

Sure, REO Speedwagon’s not pushing boundaries here — they’re barely pushing themselves. But in 1978, when you just wanted something to blast loud enough to drown out your existential angst, this album was exactly what the doctor ordered. And sometimes, maybe that’s all you need.