named after a city (I'm still waiting for Terre Haute), and dubbed this record Boston II.

Of course, only a fool would kill the goose that laid the golden eggs: at last count, Boston's first LP had sold over six million units. Fools like Bob Dylan, Neil Young and David Bowie have made great music by refusing to repeat themselves, by deliberately frustrating the expectations of their fans and their record companies. But Boston doesn't lay claim to greatness–indeed, the group's modesty is among its greatest charms. And Don't Look Back is a lot less redundant than, say, Bruce Springsteen's latest bid for immortality.

And a lot less pretentious. In "It's Easy," vocalist Brad Delp actually admits, "I believe what we achieve will soon be left behind." Ostensibly, he's addressing a woman, trying to con her into a one-night stand, but many of Boston's songs, beginning with "More than a Feeling," their first gargantuan hit, are about music as much as, if not more than, they are about women. And Don't Look Back is most compelling when it confronts, directly or obliquely, the problems posed by its own making.

I suspect the album took more than two years to wrap up because Scholz was scared shitless. He must have realized the band didn't especially deserve the staggering success into which it stumbled. I mean, here was a guy who still revered the James Gang! And what about all those dues you're supposed to pay? Instead of replying, with the arrogance of a natural-born rocker, "Dues are for Elks!" Scholz went so far as to concoct, on Boston's first record, a song ascribing to the group an utterly fictitious history of hard times, during which it "barely made enough to survive." Surely Polaroid, whose employ Scholz left only after "More than a Feeling" was safely ensconced on the charts, doesn't pay that poorly.

Anyway, Don't Look Back is shot through with Scholz' anxieties. The lyrics are preoccupied with failing to measure up, with failing to be a man. "A Man I'll Never Be" wishes, "If only I could find a way/I'd feel like I'm the man you believe I am." Amid its pleasant jingle of acoustic guitars, "Used to Bad News," a charming, rather Beatles-like song written by Delp, protests, "I've been used, but I'm takin' it like a man." And how's this, from Scholz' "It's Easy," for a timid come-on: "I won't hide if you decide to let me be your man"?

Boston