Dry Jack - 1979 - Whale City

Dry Jack

1979

Whale City

01. Hammerhead 6:10

02. Heads In The Clouds 6:38

03. Neener Nawner (Part One) 3:22

04. Neener Nawner (Part Two) 3:55

05. Wimpy Thing 4:40

06. Butch And Bruce Go Under The Sea 5:20

07. Whale City 12:40

Drums, Percussion – Jon Margolis

Electric Bass – Rich Lamb

Electric Guitar – Rod Fleeman

Piano, Synthesizer, Clavinet – Chuck Lamb

Recorded and mixed at Secret Sound Studios, New York City, July 1979

Whale City, Dry Jack’s 1979 sophomore effort (and swan song), is a buoyant, keyboard-drenched deep dive into late-’70s jazz fusion that feels like the Midwest’s cheeky answer to Spyro Gyra and Jeff Lorber—polished, playful, and unafraid to wear its influences on its sleeve while still carving out a distinctive, good-humored identity. If Magical Elements was the band finding its sea legs, Whale City is them fully submerged and having a blast, splashing around with tighter compositions, bigger dynamic swings, and a title track that stretches like a friendly ocean giant.

Hailing from Kansas City, Missouri, Dry Jack formed in 1973 around the core of keyboardist and main composer Chuck Lamb and his brother Rich on electric bass. By the time of this album, the classic quartet was locked in: Chuck Lamb (acoustic piano, Fender Rhodes, Mini-Moog, Clavinet), Rich Lamb (bass), guitarist Rod Fleeman, and drummer/percussionist Jon Margolis. These were road-tested regional players who had gigged extensively, opened for major acts, and absorbed the fusion explosion of the era without losing that heartland sense of fun. Chuck’s writing draws from funk, rock, straight-ahead jazz, and a touch of pop accessibility—never overly serious, always grooving. The band’s name itself came from a wry comment on their early sound, and their output reflects that self-aware spirit.

Released on Inner City Records (catalog IC 1075), Whale City was recorded and mixed in July 1979 at Secret Sound Studios in New York City, produced by the band themselves, engineered by Michael Barry with assistance from Jason Corsaro, and mastered by the legendary Bob Ludwig at Masterdisk. Clocking in at a tidy 43:52, it’s a crisp, professional-sounding affair that benefits from the era’s studio polish without sacrificing warmth.

The music opens with purpose. “Hammerhead” launches with taut, driving energy—sharp guitar lines from Fleeman cutting through Lamb’s Rhodes and synth stabs, Margolis laying down a propulsive pocket that demands movement. “Heads in the Clouds” floats into more atmospheric territory with airy textures and swelling dynamics, showcasing the band’s ability to shift moods without losing cohesion. The quirky two-part “Neener Nawner” offers concise, almost sketch-like pulses that blend playfulness with intricate unisons—short but memorable palate cleansers. “Wimpy Thing” brings a lighter, funkier strut, while “Butch and Bruce Go Under the Sea” (the sole co-write with Rich Lamb) stands out as the most straight-ahead jazz moment: mid-tempo bop leanings with deft acoustic piano from Chuck and tight ensemble work that proves these fusion guys could swing convincingly.

The crown jewel is the 12-and-a-half-minute title track “Whale City,” an epic closer that evolves through multiple sections—dreamy Rhodes intros, muscular grooves, exploratory solos, and a sense of oceanic vastness that lives up to the name. It’s the kind of extended piece that rewards repeated listens, with everyone getting room to shine while the arrangements stay focused. Throughout, the interplay is telepathic: Chuck’s keyboards provide both harmonic foundation and sparkling leads, Rich’s bass lines are rubbery and melodic, Fleeman’s guitar adds rock-edged fire and fluid jazz lines, and Margolis drives it all with crisp precision and tasteful percussion accents. It’s fusion that grooves hard, thinks smart, and never takes itself too seriously.

Technically, the album shines. The playing is clean and confident, the arrangements meticulously charted yet loose enough to breathe. Bob Ludwig’s mastering gives it excellent punch and clarity: the low end is full and defined, the keyboards sparkle without harshness, the guitar cuts through nicely, and the stereo field feels wide and immersive. It’s a step up in sophistication and execution from their debut—more refined, more varied, and more memorable.

The artwork, featuring photography by Charles Reynolds and art by Michael Flanagan with liner design by Bill Shuyler, leans into that classic late-’70s fusion aesthetic—evocative oceanic or abstract imagery that matches the album’s title and vibe. Fans have praised it as particularly strong and period-appropriate, with a charm that holds up better than many of its contemporaries.

Upon release, Whale City earned positive notices in fusion circles and found a home on college and jazz radio, though like its predecessor it never achieved blockbuster status. Many listeners and retrospective reviewers consider it the stronger of the band’s two albums—tighter, more inspired, and more fully realized. It marked the end of Dry Jack’s recording career (they continued gigging into the early ’80s), but it has since cultivated a quiet cult following among fusion enthusiasts. Vinyl copies remain collectible, CD reissues brought it to new audiences, and it earns regular recommendations as a fun, overlooked gem from the tail end of the fusion boom—pop-flavored yet substantive, with enough chops to satisfy and enough hooks to entertain.

In the end, Whale City is Dry Jack at their most confident and playful peak—a buoyant love letter to the possibilities of electric jazz from a band that never forgot how to smile while stretching out. It may not have changed the course of music history, but it sure makes for a delightful swim through the warmer waters of late-’70s fusion. Drop the needle, let the whales sing, and enjoy the ride.