Welcome to the Deep Dive. We dig into the sources
so you don't have to, pulling out the key insights
on really fascinating topics. And today we're
looking at someone who's a real puzzle in music
history. Todd Harry Rundgren. Bored back in June
48. An American musician, singer, songwriter,
producer. The list just goes on. It really does.
He's this total polymath. Trying to pin him down
genre -wise is almost impossible. You've got
pop. rock, prog rock, electronic, R &B, psychedelia,
even soft rock. And what's really rare, I think,
is being so prominent. so successful as both
a recording artist and a top tier producer. You
don't see that combination very often at his
level. Exactly. He's making hits like Hello,
It's Me, but also producing, you know, the New
York Dolls. It's a wild range. So that's our
mission today, right? We're diving into the sources
to figure out how one guy managed to pioneer
in so many different areas from crafting perfect
pop songs to designing computer software and
changing how music gets distributed online. How
did he maintain that? That breadth, what's the
core thread running through this incredibly unorthodox
career? That's what we want to unpack. Okay,
so let's kick off with the early days. Where
did it all start for him? Well, the mid -60s,
like a lot of guys then. He was in a blues rock
group called Woody's Truck Stop first. Woody's
Truck Stop, okay. Doesn't that sound very psychedelic?
No, it wasn't. But it was brief. By 1967, he
formed the psychedelic band Naz. And that's where
things really start to click for him creatively.
Yes. I open my eyes. That was them, right? That's
the one. Released in 68, backed with the original
version of Hello, It's Me, actually. They got
some attention, but maybe not huge success. But
it was important for his development. Critically
important. Sources say this was his real training
ground. He wasn't just playing guitar. He was
dissecting songwriting, arranging, apparently
aiming to match the complexity and artistry of
the Beatles. He was really studying it. That
ambition, that need for control, seems like a
theme. Absolutely. And it led to tensions within
Nas. His musical ideas were evolving really fast,
maybe faster than the rest of the band. So he
leaves. And jumps straight into a solo career.
Pretty much. He puts out his debut album, Runt,
in 1970. And boom, first U .S. top 40 hit right
away with We Gotta Get You a Woman. So solo success
comes quickly. But you mentioned the producer
side being just as important. Oh, maybe even
more important in terms of enabling his whole
career, this is where we see him becoming one
of the very first people to be a big deal as
both an artist and a producer. Kind of paving
the way for guys like Prince later on. Exactly.
That model of the self -contained genius who
can do it all in the studio. For Rundgren, the
studio wasn't just a place to record. It was,
as some sources put it, his ultimate instrument.
Okay, so how did he get into production so seriously?
After leaving NAS. Right. He leaves NAS, moves
to New York in 69, and here's a fascinating little
what if, apparently. He's seriously considered
becoming a computer programmer. Wow. Okay. Foreshadowing.
Big time. But instead, he takes a job as a staff
engineer and producer, and it's under Albert
Grossman, the legendary manager for Dylan and
the Band. At Bearsville Records, right. Grossman's
label. That's the one. Ampex Spearsville. And
Grossman apparently saw the potential immediately,
told Rundgren he'd make him the highest paid
producer in the world. Did he? Eventually, yeah.
And this job was key. It gave him instant access
to major projects and, crucially, a really good
income stream that wasn't tied to his own record
sales. Which buys him freedom later on. Totally.
And the success came fast. He wasn't just engineering
local bands. Straight away, he's working with
the band on Stage Fright in 1970. Which was a
huge album. Number five on Billboard? Yep. He
got tagged Bearsville's Boy Wonder. He clearly
had the technical chops right from the start.
And he gets thrown into some tricky situations,
too, like with Badfinger. Oh, yeah. The Straight
Up album in 71, George Harrison was producing
it initially. Right. But then the concert for
Bangladesh happened. Exactly. Harrison had to
drop everything for that. So Rundgren gets called
in to basically rescue the project and finish
the album. And it was a hit album. big hit but
run grin later mentioned feeling a bit slighted
he said because of uh beetle hubris he didn't
get the producer credit for the big single day
after day even though he worked on it interesting
politics even then yeah but he wasn't just fixing
things he was launching careers too definitely
he produced the debut album for a band called
half nelson in 1971. a half nelson never heard
of them well you've heard of who they became
sparks ah okay sparks make sense Yeah, and the
Male Brothers have always credited Run -Grin
with basically launching their career with that
first record, giving them their sound. So he's
building this incredible production resume. Let's
talk about 1973. That year seems massive for
him as a producer. It's honestly kind of staggering.
He produces two absolutely huge but completely
different seminal albums that year. Okay, what
were they? First, you've got Grand Funk Railroads,
We're an American Band, Massive Arena Rock Anthem,
the album hit number two. quintessential 70s
rock. Total mainstream success. And the other
one. Almost immediately after, he produces the
debut album by the New York Dolls. Wow. Talk
about a contrast. The Dolls' debut is basically
proto -punk, right? raw aggressive exactly it's
considered a foundational record for punk rock
so in the same year he's behind this huge polished
rock hit and this raw sleazy groundbreaking punk
precursor that's incredible range did he get
pigeonholed as a punk producer after that strangely
no he never really became the punk guy despite
that album's importance it just showed he could
operate anywhere musically and this production
work just kept rolling culminating in something
massive absolutely the Peak, commercially speaking,
was probably Meatloaf's Bat Out of Hell in 1977.
An absolute monster of an album. So theatrical.
Totally. And that's where Rundgren's technical
skill was essential. Jim Steinman songs were
these huge Wagnerian epics. You needed someone
who could actually build that sound layer upon
layer to get that bombastic operatic feel. Rundgren
was the guy. So we know he was technically brilliant.
But what was he like to work with in the studio?
What was his style? Sources often describe him
as a songcraft agitator. He wasn't just hitting
record. He'd get involved, push bands, challenge
their arrangements. Did he co -write stuff? Apparently,
he often finished or significantly reworked songs
for bands. But here's the thing. He'd usually
refuse to take a writing credit. Really? Why?
It seems his main interest was the technical
challenge, the sound, the production puzzle,
not necessarily the songwriting royalties. He
wanted to make the record sound right his way.
That approach must have caused some friction
sometimes. Definitely. The most famous example
is probably XTC's Skylarking album from 1986.
Ah, yes. The legendary Difficult Sessions. Absolutely
notorious. Andy Partridge from XTC and Rundgren
apparently clashed constantly. Arguments about
songs, sounds, direction, everything. You'd think
the album would sound like a mess, though. But
it's the total opposite. Skylarking is widely
seen as maybe the best album XTC ever made and
one of Rundgren's finest productions. jobs. How
does that work? It's that agitator thing, maybe?
Channeling the tension into creativity? Rundgren
himself admitted it was tough, but he also said
something like, the finished record sounds like
they were all having a great time, which is ironic.
So this demanding style comes up elsewhere, too.
Yeah, you hear echoes of it. Greg Graffin from
Bad Religion worked with him later and called
him very honest and challenging, said Rundgren
pushed them. It sounds like he demanded a certain
level of rigor. But not everyone loved it. There
are conflicting stories, right? Exactly. You
get the other side, too. Ev Olkut from the band
12 Rods had a completely different take. He claimed
Rengren basically just hit record and then did
crossword puzzles while they played. Genius or
aloof puzzle master? Maybe a bit of both. It
paints a picture of someone intensely focused,
maybe not on the hand -holding aspect, but on
the technical result. And remember, he later
self -diagnosed with ADD, which might shed some
light on that kind of hyper -focus mixed with
seeming detachment. Okay, so this production
success, the money, the reputation. That's the
engine. It's the absolute tea. It gave him what
almost no other artist had. the financial independence,
to do whatever the hell he wanted with his own
music. He didn't need his solo albums to sell
millions. Precisely. He could afford to be weird,
experimental, difficult, because the production
work paid the bills. He essentially bought his
artistic freedom. Which brings us nicely into
his solo work during that Bearsville era, roughly
1970 to 1984. This is where he really stretches
out. Yeah, this is where he uses that freedom.
But interestingly... The peak of his accessible
pop craft comes quite early in this period. The
double album Something Anything in 1972. Right.
The one with the big hits. Tell us about making
that record. It sounds intense. The stories are
wild. Apparently he was experimenting with Ritalin
to stay focused for these marathon, like 12 -hour
recording sessions. Ritalin. Yeah. Balanced with
marijuana use, according to the sources. And
he basically turned his living room into a studio
with an eight -track recorder and synth. Locked
himself away. And he played almost everything
himself. On about three sides of the double album,
yeah. Bass, drums, guitar, keys, vocals. Pretty
much a one -man band. A real statement of self
-sufficiency. And it worked commercially, big
time. Oh, yeah. It had I Saw the Light, which
was a decent hit, number 16. And then the re
-recorded version of Hello, It's Me became massive,
hit number five in 1973. But the album's influence
goes beyond just those hits, doesn't it? Especially
for power pop. Hugely important for power pop.
Tracks like Couldn't I Just Tell You, critics
still point to that as like a perfect example
of the genre. Some call it one of the greatest
power pop songs ever recorded. It's got that
blend of melody, energy hooks. And the album
itself was kind of quirky, wasn't it? Not just
pop songs. Right. It's a double LP, so there's
room for everything. Straight pop hits sit alongside
these long jams, weird studio experiments, even
jokes like the sounds of the studio game where
he challenges listeners to find mistakes. Like
pop su - crackles. Yeah, hiss, bad edits. It
was very meta, very Rundgren. The whole thing
felt personal, idiosyncratic, and it was hugely
successful. went gold rolling stone ranked it
high on their greatest albums list he was basically
crowned the new king of sophisticated pop the
male carol king as some called him exactly and
he hated it hated the success hated the label
he felt being called the male carol king was
limiting he apparently saw that kind of successful
melodic songwriting he just mastered as being
in his own words formulaic and born from laziness
wow so he conquers the pop world and immediately
wants to tear it down pretty much he had the
producer money remember so he didn't need to
keep making something anything he decided to
deliberately sabotage that image and the result
was a wizard a true star in 1973 the ultimate
pivot he wanted the follow -up to be more eclectic
and more experimental a complete rejection of
the pop formula and this is where the extracurricular
activities come in Yeah, the sound and structure
of Wizard were, by his own admission, heavily
influenced by his experiments with psychedelic
drugs, mescaline, psilocybin, mushrooms. So he
was trying to translate that experience into
music. That seems to be the idea. He didn't see
it as songs, but as a flight plan. It starts
chaotic, dense, disorienting, then gradually
finds its way to these more melodic, soulful
pieces at the end. He literally said he wanted
to imprint the chaos in his head on to a record.
That sounds like commercial suicide after, hello,
it's me. He knew it. He called Wizard his act
of tyranny after having achieved commercial success.
He was deliberately challenging, even alienating
the audience he'd just built. And did it work?
Did he alienate them? Reports say he lost about
half his audience right there. But crucially,
this move established the pattern for the rest
of his career. Artistic exploration first, commercial
concerns a distant second. The timing was pretty
stark too, right? Wizard comes out just as, hello,
it's me, is climbing the charts. Exactly. So
the public image is this sensitive ballad guy.
And the new album is this sprawling, psychedelic,
sometimes difficult head trip. It couldn't have
been a starker contrast. But Wizard has had a
long life, hasn't it? Influential. Massively
influential, especially on later generations
of home recording artists, the bedroom auteurs.
It's seen as this landmark of artistic freedom
and studio experimentation. Mojo magazine even
called it the greatest album of all time back
in 2003. So after Wizard, where does he go next?
He's blown up the pop star thing. He dives deeper
into complexity, forms the band Utopia in 1973.
Okay, Utopia. What was their initial sound? Pure
progressive rock initially. Really complex stuff.
Lots of intricate playing. Sources point to influences
like Frank Zappa, Mahavishnu Orchestra. Serious
musicianship. Their first album was Todd Rundgren's
Utopia in 74. Yep, that was his full plunge into
Prague. But it wasn't just musical complexity
he was exploring. His solo album from the same
year, Todd. Another double album, right? Yeah.
That one really leaned into the spiritual and
philosophical side. Drawing on the psychedelic
experiences, but also his reading. What was he
reading? He got heavily into stuff like Theosophy
Madame Blavatsky and thinkers like Jiddu Krishnamurti,
Rudolf Steiner, exploring mysticism, esoteric
ideas. Trying to put that into music. Sounds
ambitious. Extremely. This phase peaked with
the 1975 album Initiation. One whole side is
taken up by a single piece called A Treatise
on Cosmic Fire. How long of that? Over 35 minutes
long. Wow. Okay, that's definitely not I saw
the light. Not even close. It shows how far he
was willing to push things. But then, just to
keep everyone guessing... He pivots again. Back
towards accessibility. Sort of. In 1978, he releases
Hermit of Mink Hollow. This came after a period
of personal upheaval, separating from his girlfriend
at the time, Bebe Buell. So a more personal stripped
-down record. Exactly. He made it mostly by himself
again, focusing on more direct, melodic songs
he could play on piano or guitar, a conscious
return to more straightforward songwriting. And
did that connect commercially? It did. It had
the single Can We Still Be Friends, which became
another decent hit for him, reaching number 29.
That song's been covered a lot, hasn't it? Loads.
Robert Palmer had a big hit with it. Rod Stewart
covered it. It's probably his most covered song.
Proves that pop sensibility was always there,
even when he chose to bury it under layers of
prog or psychedelia. So he can turn the pop tap
back on when he wants to. Seems like it. Which
leads us into maybe the most surprising dimension
of his career. the technological pioneering.
Right, section three. This is where Wizard takes
on a whole new meaning. He wasn't just using
studio tech, he was creating new tech. He really
was way ahead of the curve, especially in visuals
and computing. Back in 1978, think about that.
He organized what's considered the first interactive
television concert. Interactive how? In 1978.
Details are a bit sketchy, but it involved audience
participation via broadcast, very rudimentary
by today's standards, but conceptually... groundbreaking.
Then think about MTV launching in 1981. His video
was one of the first ones shown. Yep. The video
for Time Heals from his Healing album, right
there on day one, among the very first batch
of videos MTV ever aired. He understood the visual
medium early. But the computer stuff is even
more mind -blowing for the time. It really is.
In 1981, he develops one of the very first computer
paint programs. It was called the Utopia Graphics
System. And this was running on what? Not a Mac
or PC. An Apple, too. This is years before user
-friendly graphics software became common. He
was building the tools himself because they didn't
exist yet. That's incredible. He's a rock star
coding graphics programs in the early 80s. And
he stayed on that edge. Later, he was a huge
early champion of the new tech video toaster.
Ah, the video toaster. That was huge for desktop
video later on. Massive. And Renegren wasn't
just using it. He was pushing its limits. He
made the video for his song Change Myself using
the poster, and it was... It was so advanced,
so innovative, that NewTek actually used it as
an official demo reel to sell the system. So
he's literally showcasing the future of video
production. Pretty much. He also co -developed
stuff like the Flow Phaser screensaver, always
tinkering with computer -generated visuals. Okay,
so he's deep into graphics and video tech. How
does that connect back to the music side besides
videos? This is where it gets really visionary.
He starts applying these interactive and digital
ideas to music distribution and format. In 1993,
he releases an album under the name T .R .I.
T .R .I. Todd Rundgren Interactive. The album
was called No World Order. And it wasn't just
a normal CD. Not at all. It was designed for
the Philips CDI platform, which was this early
multimedia player. The album was actually hundreds
of tiny musical loops and snippets. Snippets,
so you didn't just listen? No. You, the listener,
could combine these snippets, change the tempo,
the mood, the style, basically construct your
own version of the song or the album. He provided
some pre -made mixes, but the core idea was interactivity.
You became a collaborator. That sounds way ahead
of its time, like remix culture before remix
culture. Exactly. Decades before things like
GarageBand or interactive music apps became common,
he was already thinking about music not as a
fixed object, but as raw material for the listener
to play with. Okay, that's conceptually wild.
But then he took it even further with distribution,
right? Cutting out the labels. Oh, yeah. This
was maybe his most radical move. In the late
1990s, way before this was standard practice,
he and his manager launched something called
Patronet. Patronet. Like patronage. Precisely.
It was a subscription service. Fans would pay
directly to get access to his new music, works
in progress, unreleased stuff. Direct from him.
Outing out the record company completely. Totally.
This was years before Kickstarter, Patreon, Bandcamp.
He was pioneering the direct -to -fan model using
the internet when most labels were still trying
to figure out websites. Again, only possible
because he had that independent producer income.
Absolutely. He didn't need the label advance
or distribution network anymore. He just bypassed
the whole system. And he still does it today,
offering music directly to subscribers through
his website. He basically saw the writing on
the wall for the old industry model way early.
Okay, before we get into the personal side and
recognition, let's quickly touch on the music
that came after that main Bearsville run. Right.
His last album for Bairdville was the ever -popular
Tortured Artist Effect in 1982. And that had
a song that became unexpectedly huge later on.
Bang the Drum All Day. That's the one. It was
only a minor chart hit when it came out. Sort
of ended his relationship with the label on a
quiet note. But then... Sports arenas. Commercials.
Exactly. It became this ubiquitous anthem, especially
at Green Bay Packers games apparently. and in
Carnival Cruise ads. It ended up being one of
his most famous and probably most lucrative songs
just through licensing years later. Funny how
that happens. His experimental side didn't stop
either, did it? Yeah. The A Cappella album. Right,
1985. An entire album made using only his voice.
Multi -tracked harmonies, but also programmed
vocal samples, creating all the instrumental
sounds. Just voices. That sounds incredibly difficult
to arrange. Hugely complex. And interestingly,
years later, critics pointed to it as a clear
precedent for albums like Björk's Medulla, which
famously used only vocal sounds. Rundgren was
exploring that territory almost 20 years earlier.
And then he returned to more traditional sounds
later. Yeah, in the late 80s, early 90s, albums
like Nearly Human and Second Wind saw him circle
back to his Philly soul roots. But even then,
there was a twist. How so? He recorded them live
in the studio, the whole band playing together
in single takes, trying to capture that live
energy. Second Wind was even recorded in front
of a studio audience who were instructed to be
completely silent. Capturing the performance,
but not the applause. Always experimenting with
the process. Always. Which brings us to the final
section. The connections, the personal stories,
the recognition, or lack thereof, for a while.
There were some feuds along the way, right? The
John Lennon one is pretty famous. Yeah. A brief
but very public spat back in 1974, Rundgren gave
an interview to Melody Maker, accused Lennon
of hitting a waitress and called him a fucking
idiot for his revolutionary posturing. Ouch.
How did Lennon respond? With typical Lennonesque
wit and venom, he publicly referred to Rundgren
as turd runt green. Classy. Did they patch it
up? Apparently, they agreed to drop it later.
But the story takes a really disturbing turn
years later, connecting Rundgren to Lennon's
death. Oh, so this is the Mark David Chapman
connection. Yeah. Rundgren himself didn't know
this until much later, but Chapman, the man who
killed Lennon, was apparently an obsessive Todd
Rundgren fan. Seriously? When Chapman was arrested
outside the Dakota in 1980, reports say he was
wearing a promotional t -shirt for Rundgren's
album Hermit of Mink Hollow. That's chilling.
And he supposedly had a copy of Rundgren's biography,
The Ballad of Todd Rundgren, with him too. It's
this incredibly strange, dark coincidence linking
him to the tragedy, especially given their earlier
public feud. Wow. That's heavy. Shifting gears
to something less tragic, but still complicated
his personal life, particularly the connection
to Liv Tyler. Right, the Bebe Buell relationship.
They were together in the early mid -70s. And
during a break, Buell had a relationship with
Steven Tyler. Correct, which resulted in the
birth of Liv Tyler in 1977. But initially, Bebe
Buell told everyone, including Todd, that he
was the father. And he stepped up. Completely.
He signed the birth certificate, committed to
raising Liv as his daughter. He knew there might
be uncertainty, but he chose to be her father.
Even though he wasn't biologically. Right. Liv
found out Steven Tyler was her biological father
when she was about 11. But the bond with Rundgren
was already solidified. And they're still close
today. Incredibly close. Liv has always emphasized
that Rundgren is her father in the ways that
matter. She talks about how he feels like daddy.
It's a really powerful story about chosen family
and commitment. That says a lot about him. Did
he have other children? Yes. He has two sons,
Rex and Randy, from a long relationship with
Karen Darvin. And then later, with his wife,
Michelle Gray, he has a son named Rebop and an
adopted son, Keone. Seems like fatherhood was
important to him. Okay, let's talk recognition.
We mentioned the ADD self -diagnosis, which maybe
explains some of the relentless energy. Yeah,
that drive to constantly learn and create across
different fields makes a certain kind of sense
in that context. But the big one. The elephant
in the room for decades was a Rock and Roll Hall
of Fame. Oh, yeah. He was eligible way back in
1995, but for years, nothing. And Todd himself
wasn't exactly lobbying for it. He was pretty
outspoken against it, wasn't he? Very. He called
the whole process corrupt, basically dismissed
the institution as meaningless, part of the commercial
machine he'd always rebelled against. He made
it crystal clear he did not care one bit about
being inducted. Classic Rundgren. So what happened?
The ultimate irony, they finally inducted him
in 2021. There you go. Of course not. He refused
to attend the ceremony, stayed true to his principles,
or maybe just his contrarian nature right to
the end. It was the perfect run -grin ending
to that whole saga. Even without the Hall of
Fame for a long time, he did get other honors,
right? Especially for the tech stuff. Definitely.
He got a Grammy nomination way back in 84 for
Best Music Video, which acknowledged his visual
pioneering. He received Lifetime Achievement
Awards, honorary doctorates from places like
Berkeley and DePauw University. Those kinds of
academic - and technical recognitions seemed
more his speed. So wrapping this all up, how
do we synthesize this incredibly varied, complex
career? I think the defining word is maverick.
His entire career feels like a deliberate refusal
to follow the expected path. He could have been
a massive, consistent pop star. He could have
just been a hugely successful producer. He wouldn't
settle. Never. He used the security from one
field production to fund his deliberate experimentation
and, frankly, commercial risks in another, his
solo work and his tech ventures. That producer
income was the rare luxury, as one source put
it, that allowed him to prioritize freedom. It's
just wild to think the same person made Hello
It's Me, produced Bad Out of Hell, and designed
an early computer paint program, and pioneered
interactive music. It's that refusal to be categorized.
Stephen Thomas Erlewine nailed it when he called
Rundgren a rock and roll maverick who consciously
chose to abandon easy stardom to explore uncharted
musical territory. So what's the final thought
we leave our listeners with? What's the core
driver behind all this relentless innovation
and genre hopping? Well, Rundgren himself gave
a clue once. He said something profound about
his ultimate goal. What was that? He said that
if he could achieve just one minute of total
illumination, then he wouldn't care if his whole
career went down the drain because he'd know
there was an answer to everything, to existence,
to death. Wow. That's a heavy motivation. It
reframes everything, doesn't it? Maybe all the
music, the production, the technology, the constant
searching. Maybe it wasn't just about art or
innovation for its own sake. Maybe it was all
part of that deeper search for that one minute
of illumination. Could be. Maybe that pursuit
of ultimate truth, spiritual or artistic, is
what made him constantly push boundaries, sacrifice
easy success, and become this true wizard, always
chasing the next unknown, seeking that elusive
answer, something to think about.