Special One (2003)
1.Scent of a Woman
2.Too Much
3.Special One
4.Pop Drone
5.My Obsession
6.Words
7.Sorry Boy
8.Best Friend
9.If I Could
10.Low Life in High Heels
11.Hummer
By the early 2000s, Cheap Trick had become, for better or worse, a band very aware of its own legacy.
After the rejuvenation offered by 1997’s self-titled return-to-form, expectations were quietly high that lightning
might strike again. Enter Special One, released six years later—not with a bang, but with the slight creak of a door that had already been opened.
The album opens promisingly. Scent of a Woman is vintage Trick—Carlos laying down an unrelenting beat, Zander’s voice still
eerily untouched by the years, and Nielsen riffing with conviction. It’s a track that could comfortably sit alongside their late-'70s work,
brimming with intent and unashamed in its hooks. But as with many attempts to rekindle past fires, the initial blaze begins to flicker.
Too Much steps back from the power-pop punch and offers something more introspective—almost folksy. Here, Zander reminds us why he
once stood as one of rock’s most versatile vocalists. His delivery is both delicate and emotionally precise, evoking shadows of
Heaven Tonight's quieter moments.
But then comes the title track—a curious, ambitious piece that begins with genuine intrigue. Nielsen’s use of the Japanese
shamisen instrument gives the track a dark, exotic undercurrent. Four minutes in, it threatens to bloom into something transcendent,
the crescendo arriving like an overdue wave. And then—nothing. The track cuts off abruptly, as if someone pulled the plug mid-sentence.
It’s a moment of almost brilliance—an unfinished letter written in beautiful penmanship.
Much of Special One is plagued by this same frustrating near-miss syndrome. Best Friend begins with a set of hooks worthy of their heyday,
but loses steam halfway, resorting to circular, chant-like repetition that overstays its welcome.
And then comes Low Life in High Heels. A danceable, beat-driven instrumental with more in common with mid-‘80s Prince than anything
from Rockford, Illinois. It shouldn’t work—and yet, it does. For two-and-a-half minutes, Cheap Trick are unexpectedly alive with joy, embracing absurdity.
Unfortunately, the magic is smothered when the final track Hummer, its virtual twin, extends the same musical idea for another four minutes,
with diminishing returns. It ends the album not with a climax, but with a shrug.
Special One is not without merit. There are embers of the old fire here—flashes of songwriting intuition and performance muscle. But the band sounds
tired of their own past, uncertain of the future, and caught between instinct and hesitation. It's not a misfire—but rather a record of almosts.
It might’ve worked better as an EP, where the best moments could stand without their weaker siblings pulling them down.
Cheap Trick were always capable of turning chaos into charm. Here, they edge too close to control, and the charm sometimes escapes through the cracks.
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