When people think of Toto, their minds often drift to “Africa” and “Rosanna,” the FM radio behemoths that have ensured the band’s continued pop culture saturation. But buried beneath the glossy harmonies and yacht rock exterior lies Hydra (1979), an album that doesn’t get nearly enough credit for being a bad motherfucker of a rock and roll LP.
Released after their self-titled debut, Hydra saw Toto shaking off the session-musician polish in favor of something darker, heavier, and flat-out weirder. While still impeccably played—this is Toto, after all—the album trades some of their radio-friendly sheen for moody atmospherics and muscular rock arrangements. If their debut was the sound of six virtuosos flexing their studio muscles, Hydra is the sound of them cutting loose in the shadows, leaning into progressive rock, jazz-fusion, and straight-up arena riffage.
The album kicks off with the title track, an ominous, winding piece that sets the tone with its slithering synth intro and dramatic, theatrical vocals from Bobby Kimball. When the song locks into its groove, it becomes a propulsive, nearly seven-minute journey that blends art rock and AOR with surprising intensity. It’s Toto proving early on that they were more than just smooth operators—they could burn when they wanted to.
Then there’s “St. George and the Dragon,” a bizarre and brilliant track that sounds like what would happen if Yes and Thin Lizzy got locked in a studio together with a stack of fantasy novels. Guitarist Steve Lukather delivers some of the most soaring leads of his career, and the song’s pulsing rhythms showcase drummer Jeff Porcaro at his absolute best—tight, dynamic, and effortlessly groovy.
“99” might be the most infamous track on the album, a synth-driven ballad inspired by THX 1138 (yes, that THX 1138, the dystopian sci-fi film by George Lucas). It’s Toto at their most cinematic, layering Kimball’s emotive vocals over a sparse, haunting arrangement. It might not be a headbanger, but it’s got a hypnotic, off-kilter charm that gives the album an eerie, melancholic center.
But for those who need Toto to flex their rock credentials, “All Us Boys” and “White Sister” should put any doubts to rest. The former is a swaggering, fist-pumping anthem that leans into a Stones-meets-Boston kind of energy, while “White Sister” is one of the most blistering deep cuts in their entire catalog—a track that fuses hard rock, funk, and prog into a monstrous finale that proves these guys could throw down when they wanted to.
In retrospect, Hydra stands as Toto’s most underappreciated effort, a record that bridges the gap between their more radio-friendly tendencies and their love of ambitious, complex musicianship. It’s a reminder that Toto wasn’t just a band for soft-rock compilations and meme-fueled nostalgia—they were, and still are, some of the finest musicians ever assembled under one banner.
If you’ve written off Hydra as just another Toto album, do yourself a favor: throw it on, turn it up, and let it rip. It just might be the baddest motherfucker of an LP you didn’t know you needed.
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