Every story begins somewhere. This album represents Chapter One of the solo career of Sammy Hagar—singer, songwriter, serial entrepreneur, lifestyle magnate, original Montrose-ian, serial Van Halen-ist and perpetual Red Rocker.
The preface to the story—Hagar’s two-plus years as frontman for hard rock heroes Montrose, initially pitched as America’s answer to Led Zeppelin—created a certain set of expectations, but at this point, newly minted solo act Hagar was still trying to figure out where his musical niche might be. For better or worse, he was doing so with abundant input from the man who signed him as a solo artist, Capitol Records A&R dude John Carter, producer of this album and the two that followed.
Nine On A Ten Scale features five Hagar originals—three co-written by Carter—and four covers, suggesting an artist still finding his footing as both a songwriter and a solo act. The “band” for this album consisted of Hagar and ex-Montrose bass player Bill Church—who would anchor Hagar’s bands for the next decade—supplemented by a lengthy roster of session pros. The latter includes some notable names—Alan Fitzgerald (keys, ex-Montrose, future Night Ranger) and Aynsley Dunbar (ex-Jeff Beck, Journey), for two—but the steadily shifting lineups from track to track don’t help in bringing cohesion to this disjointed affair.
Still the main issue is the songwriting. Hagar has frequently claimed that the Montrose classic “Bad Motor Scooter” was the first song he ever wrote; let’s just say that there’s precious little evidence on this album to suggest that beginner’s luck is a myth.
The five originals on Nine range from mediocre to patently offensive. Opener “Keep On Rocking” is harmless by comparison, a simple-minded string of clichés whose irrepressible enthusiasm is its saving grace. “Urban Guerilla” is gritty hard rock with dated, vaguely racist undertones. “Silver Lights” is one of a dozen songs from Hagar’s early career where he indulges his fascination with UFOs and sci-fi; in this case it emerges as gawky space-rock.
And then we get to the nasty stuff. Leading off side two, “All American” is a bland, mostly harmless, hyper-patriotic cliché-fest—at least, once you get past a first verse that reads like a Klan recruiting flyer: “Yeah, you know my, my blood is red / And blue, child, my skin is pure white, yeah / And I, I don't pull no punches / If some fool wants to fight.” A few tracks later, “Rock ’n’ Roll Romeo” closes out the album with four minutes of cheesy backstage come-ons, served up with a side of gratuitous homophobia. Granted, it was 1976, but wow.
The covers are at least inoffensive... “Flamingos Fly”—a Van Morrison tune—feels like a decades-early preview of Hagar’s beach bum / Jimmy Buffett phase; both the island vibe and the steel drums work, even if it’s all miles from Hagar’s hard rock wheelhouse. Meanwhile, fast-paced groover “China,” from fellow Carter client Bob Welch, is solid enough, if undistinguished.
The groove runs deeper on SF songwriter Ron Nagle’s "Confession (Please Come Back)," an r&b/rock hybrid with a chorus of female backing vocalists. Finally, “Young Girl Blues”—the only track from Nine to be featured on Hagar’s 1978 live collection All Night Long—offers up a nearly eight-minute spacey blues-rock interpretation of a Donovan ballad. It’s both the strongest track here and somewhat overblown; losing three minutes would only have increased its impact.
Nine On A Ten Scale is all over the map musically, features fair-to-poor (and painfully dated) songwriting, and creaks and groans under the burden of lackluster production. Flashes of potential show up here and there, but it would take a number of hard lessons and a lot of growth in all respects before Sammy Hagar eventually got to where he wanted to be.