What the record is and where it came from
A Wizard, a True Star is Todd Rundgren’s fourth studio album, recorded mostly at Secret Sound studio in Manhattan in 1973. It is a self-produced, self-engineered, largely self-performed record conceived as a hallucinogenic ‘flight plan’—a deliberate departure from the accessible pop of Something/Anything? and a rejection of the ‘male Carole King’ label.
How it sounds, and how it was made
It sounds like a studio in flux: synthesizers used as synthesizers, not orchestral stand-ins; abrupt segues; fragmented textures; no reverb-heavy ‘room’—just the dry, immediate clatter of gear held together with band-aids and bubble gum. It was made at Secret Sound studio on Manhattan’s 24th Street, built to Rundgren’s specifications but unfinished, its equipment malfunctioning, its sessions rushed and improvised.
What lands
The soul medley lands: 10 minutes of ‘I’m So Proud’ through ‘Cool Jerk’, performed with reverence and rhythmic precision. ‘Zen Archer’ lands: five minutes of layered, unmoored atmosphere. ‘International Feel’ lands: a tight, bright synth-and-percussion opener that sets the tone before the structure unravels.
What does not
The album does not sustain mood. It does not resolve tension. It does not privilege melody over texture. It does not separate genres cleanly—it smears them. It does not offer comfort, familiarity, or linear narrative.
The ideas inside it
Abstraction as composition. A hallucinogenic trip rendered in structural terms: chaos first, catharsis last. The rejection of singer-songwriter legibility in favour of sonic collage. Synthesizers as autonomous voices—not emulators, but instruments with their own grammar.
Who should hear it, and who should not
People who value studio-as-instrument thinking. People curious about how psychedelia shapes structure, not just lyrics. People who listen for seams—the gaps between genres, the buzz of unstable electronics, the weight of a synth line left untreated.
Is it worth your time
Yes—if you want to hear how a psychedelic ‘flight plan’ translates into tape hiss, synth stabs, and a 10-minute soul medley stitched from instinct rather than polish. No—if you need coherence, consistency, or separation between ideas.