Replay: Devo, Freedom of Choice, 1980

When evaluating Devo's influence, we can jump right to proto-nerdcore ironic socio-robotification, but it's more fun to drop a couple of names.

Neil Young loves Devo. In 1982, he directed a nebulous film called The Human Highway, which finds the Akron, Ohio quintet in the role of nuclear power plant maintenance staff. At some point, they dump radioactive waste while accompanying dimwitted auto mechanic Lionel Switch (Young) in an extended, unrecognizable deconstruction of "Hey Hey, My My."

The critics demolished it, but the connection went deeper than film collaboration; Devo's initially jokey "de-evolution" concept was sobered and galvanized by the 1972 National Guard shootings they witnessed as Kent State art students. What's more, Young says he got his album title, Rust Never Sleeps, from a rust-removal company T-shirt worn by Devo founder Mark Mothersbaugh. Imagine the little guy across from Neil, bogarting in that shirt and red plastic hat.

When Beck Hansen picked his favorite 50 album covers for a 2001 Vanity Fair piece, he recalled his own take on Freedom of Choice as a 10-year-old: "I wasn't sure if they were an army, a gang, or a specialized task force of geological engineers. Whatever they were, when this came out, I wanted to enlist."

Just like it was impossible to extrapolate Mellow Gold's genius though endless radio-repeats of "Loser," you can't feel much Freedom of Choice with only a headful of "Whip It." Not that this one is so unrepresentative, per se, but "Whip It" only hints at the weird warmth that can flow from a 12-track collection of such profound (if synthetic) disaffection.

You can hear it in the almost accidental poignancy of "Snowball," a metronomic break-up song that marches us carefully up and down Sisyphus' hellish hill, adding vocal harmonies sweet and spacious enough to balance Mothersbaugh's sad lyrical winterscape. It's in "Ton O' Love" and "Cold War," songs that, again, manage to infuse Devo's frightening ice with sincere romance--and not the kind where you're forced to envision your comfortably pigeonholed nerd-rocker kissing with saliva. This is internally consistent Devo-romance: cynical, repressed and forgiving, all set to music that leaves you asking, "What were they thinking, ending the song with 20 teeth-gritting seconds of one note against a kick drum, and why am I rewinding it?"--Dave Surratt