Chicapah Boz Scaggs was anything but an overnight sensation when his perfectly-timed album “Silk Degrees” went through the roof and made him a star in 1976. He’d spent eleven long years before that breakthrough struggling as a B-list recording artist with various labels before hitting the jackpot. Born William Royce Scaggs in ’44 in Ohio, his family ended up in north Texas where he hooked up with guitarist Steve Miller and also picked up the odd nickname that stuck. He and Steve went to college in Wisconsin where they played in bars and for frat parties a while, then Boz took off to Europe in ’65 and cut his first solo LP in Sweden. His Dylan-ish folky blues approach fell flat and he returned to the U.S.A. two years later, penniless. Heading out to the wild, bustling San Francisco scene, he joined his former pal Miller’s psychedelic band and made two albums with that outfit before Rolling Stone Magazine editor Jann Wenner talked Atlantic Records into signing him and financing his American debut. In 1969 “Boz Scaggs” hit the shelves.

While he would eventually make his name as a contemporary crooner of jazzy R&B fare his early efforts revealed him to be a singer/songwriter impatiently searching for his niche. Obviously he had a hankering for soul music because he and Jann coerced the head honchos at Atlantic into bankrolling a trip to Alabama so he could record the album at the famed Muscle Shoals Sound Recorders using their solid roster of respected studio musicians. I’m sure everyone involved in the project expected those experienced cats to do their magic and turn Boz’ material into gold but, alas, that didn’t happen. There’s no question that they were excellent at what they did on a regular basis but Gods who could change 7-Up into Chardonnay they weren’t. The album was by no means a cow patty, garnering a modicum of critical acclaim, but the public just wasn’t buying into him or his music. The bottom line was this: without a hit single there was nothing for the average Joe or Flo to latch onto. So the label eventually chalked it up as a bust and sent Mr. Scaggs packing. In retrospect the record is dated but not a total washout. I promise to be as fair as I can in assessing its merits and shortcomings.

It starts out with a dose of white boy R&B in the form of “I’m Easy.” The track is steady, driven confidently by Roger Hawkins on drums and David Hood on bass, but the tune is average at best and it fails to make a lasting impression. However, it does showcase Boz’ soulful voice and the horn section is big and fat like it should be. One of Scaggs’ more memorable compositions is next, the haunting “I’ll Be Long Gone,” and even the unbalanced mix of instruments can’t get in the way of its greatness. Barry Beckett’s Hammond organ and electric piano stream prominently below Boz’ earnest singing and the jazzy feel that swings in behind Joe Arnold’s tenor sax solo creates a nice diversion. “Another Day (Another Letter)” follows and it’s not much more than standard Southern-styled R&B. The renowned Muscle Shoals crew could lay this kind of a lazy groove down in their sleep. A touch of country two-step inhabits “Now You’re Gone” and, for that reason alone, it’s a personal turn off. Can’t help it. “Finding Her” is a waltzing ballad that sports a light jazz hue. Unfortunately, its lack of dynamics makes it a bit of a snooze-fest, though. Nothing exciting happens.

Boz didn’t pen “Look What I Got” but it’s not necessarily an improvement over his own amateurish stuff. It’s a loose case of bluesy R&B surrounded by a rustic aura that fits Duane Allman’s slinky Dobro work to a tee but it makes Scaggs’ vocal sound like a fish out of his pond. He’s no backwoods hillbilly no matter how hard he tries to be one. His folksy country & western take on Jimmie Rodgers’ antique “Waiting For a Train,” complete with a spasm of yodeling, is nostalgic yet it only serves to further muddy the waters of what he’s trying to be and what demographic he’s aiming to please. “Loan Me a Dime” is next and it comes with a shady history. Boz was listed as the writer but the song’s composer, bluesman Fenton Robinson, took understandable offense at this indiscretion and promptly sued (a situation that did little to endear Scaggs to his benefactors). The tune is definitely a blues ditty but it has the advantage of being performed with a jazz attitude supplied for the most part by Beckett’s acoustic piano and trusty B3. Boz’ expressive voice is more at home in the smoky atmosphere, the traditional horn arrangement is a real throw back to the early 60s and Mr. Allman graces it with several decent guitar rides (although I vastly prefer Barry’s growling Hammond organisms). I can appreciate as well that the intensity builds steadily to where they’re all kickin’ it pretty hard at the end of this nearly 13-minute track. “Sweet Release” is the closer and it’s an uneven blend of gospel, R&B and blues that magnifies this album’s overriding problem. Its lack of a focus point shows that Scaggs was still learning the ropes when it came to songwriting. Plus, the busy arrangement is all over the place so it’s blatantly obvious he could’ve used a producer more capable than a know-it-all magazine publisher. His next employer, Columbia Records, would do a better job of bringing him along.

Here’s the deal. If you find Boz Scaggs’ smooth vocalizations to be irresistible, are a fan of his offerings aka “Lowdown” and want more of that ilk then you must be forewarned ere to exploring his roots that such an undertaking will most likely be a hit and miss adventure for you. Boz had to fight and scratch his way along every inch of his path to fame and fortune as he, by trial and error, taught himself to absorb the frustrating experiences he went through and allow them to make him better instead of bitter. “Boz Scaggs” contains glimpses of his potential but it also portrays him as being the authentic diamond in the rough he was in the beginning.