The Eternal Cool of Ric Ocasek and the Underrated Brilliance of Beatitude

Ric Ocasek wasn’t just cool—he was *cool in italics*, cool without trying, the kind of cool that can’t be faked. He looked like an alien who crash-landed on CBGB’s doorstep, absorbed all the neon sleaze, new wave sheen, and punk irreverence, and spat it back out as something completely his own. He wasn’t a rock star in the classic sense—no grandstanding, no pyrotechnic solos—but he had *presence*. A looming, spectral figure in shades, standing at the crossroads of Buddy Holly and Blade Runner, crooning like a machine that found out about love from overheard conversations and late-night radio.   

And *Beatitude* (1982) is *that* Ric Ocasek distilled. His first solo album, dropped while The Cars were still hot as a freshly waxed hood, is what happens when the robot takes a step out of the showroom and into the back alley. It’s colder, weirder, more stripped-down, and, at times, darker than his band’s glossy radio anthems. But it’s also a total *Ocasek* record—sharp, hooky, and riding that strange line between detached and heartbroken.  

#### **New Wave Noir with a Side of Machine Funk**  

From the jump, *Beatitude* tells you it’s not just another Cars record. **"Jimmy Jimmy"** is jittery and twitching, a postmodern doo-wop chant built on chugging synths and Ocasek’s deadpan, wired delivery. **"Something to Grab For"** feels like The Cars’ shadow-self, swapping out Elliot Easton’s slinky guitar heroics for a twitchy mechanical groove that sounds like Kraftwerk got locked in a room with Suicide.  

And that’s the thing—*Beatitude* leans harder into Ocasek’s art-punk leanings, the stuff he loved before The Cars took over FM radio. **"Prove"** sounds like an ‘80s fever dream of ‘50s rockabilly, all driving rhythms and robotic heartache. **"Connect Up to Me"** plays like a neon-lit android’s seduction anthem, where emotion and circuitry melt into one hypnotic pulse.  

Then there’s **"I Can’t Wait"**, a song so sleek and ice-cool you can practically see the condensation forming on your Walkman as it plays. It’s Ocasek at his best—aloof, romantic, lost in the neon glow of his own world.  

#### **Legacy of a Lone Wolf in Sunglasses**  

Look, The Cars were already one of the most innovative and effortlessly stylish bands of their era. But *Beatitude* proves Ric Ocasek *was* The Cars’ beating (digital) heart. This record didn’t burn up the charts, but it didn’t need to. It’s the sound of a man who didn’t have to prove a damn thing, tinkering with the edges of his own coolness.  

Ocasek remained a true rock ‘n’ roll anomaly till the end—too weird for the mainstream, too pop for the art kids, too futuristic for nostalgia. *Beatitude* is his ghost in the machine, a perfect snapshot of what made him endlessly, effortlessly cool. You can’t fake this kind of thing. You either have it, or you don’t. And Ric? He had it in spades.