More than a decade after Chapin's passing, I bought The Gold Medal Collection (a 2-CD collection), and I came to understand why critics like Marsh found Harry's music ponderous and tiresome. With greater scrutiny, I realized how fond Chapin was of overly-orchestrated, stylistically-confused, symphony-length story songs that drew some sort of tortured moral out of everyday life. Played well, this approach could be charming and bittersweet (as in "Taxi"). Other times, it bordered on oppressive, leaving listeners with the nagging sensation that their feelings have just been played like a cheap fiddle (c.f. "A Better Place To Be"). And, at other times (such as his "Taxi" sequel), Chapin somehow managed both tricks - albeit within the span of a nearly ten-minute song... When all was said and done, I came to think of Harry Chapin as one of the kooky, well-meaning artists who made the Seventies so much fun. His fans, however, see him as a saint.

And a saint he was - just not a very musically disciplined one. Harry Chapin fought to end human suffering and protect human dignity, and it's no surprise that his work has continued on into the present day through his foundation (learn more), nor that his music continues to win converts and inspire activists. I doubt Chapin had a malicious bone in his body, and his sense of humor was immense, allowing him to laugh freely at himself and the crazy world around him. On record, Harry comes across as the sort of guy who could turn an evening at the corner bar into a transformational experience, full of great stories and convivial good cheer. And I'm sure this is the conundrum Marsh faced. Here was a prince of a man, an incredibly sweet, giving man, who wrote lyrics like Rod McKuen on speed and music like Anthony Newley on acid.

So, if you take my side in the debate, Chapin's music is best taken in small doses. Rhino Records' 3-CD Story Of A Life: The Harry Chapin Box, then, would not be my recommendation. Spanning Harry's entire career (including an early cut with brother Tom), the box collects nearly 50 cuts of hits and album tracks, plus copious annotation from Harry's family and peers. Nevertheless, this is too much Harry for me, and even the briefer Gold Medal Collection taxes my patience (and it substitutes alternate versions of several popular songs, including "Cats In The Cradle"). Harry's fans, though, will want all this and more. Happily for them, most of Chapin's original Elektra albums are still in print, with the early ones like Heads & Tales (1972), Sniper & Other Love Songs (1972), and Verities & Balderdash (1974) holding up best. For me, then, The Essentials, Rhino's one-disc follow-up to their expansive box, is perfect - a perfunctory recitation of Chapin's hits with a minimum of his hot air.

Simply put, the official critical line on Harry Chapin is that he didn't know when to shut up. But, it warrants mention that Chapin earned most of his fans not through radio play but in person during his warm, affable, lengthy concerts. Greatest Stories Live (1976), then, could be considered the truly "essential" Harry Chapin. Given the opportunity to spread his ambitious arrangements and meandering yarns over two LP's, Chapin shone. Even if his loyal fans were to acknowledge Chapin's frequently taxing pomposity, I'm sure they would say that his generous heart just couldn't contain all that love. I suspect the truth is somewhere in between, and that's a truism Chapin always maintained in his musical morality plays. Without a doubt, the world is poorer place without Harry Chapin in it, and years after his death his circle continues to expand. [top of page]