For any music aficionado, guitar solos are an intrinsic highlight of rock history. Often, they form the most memorable sequence of an already great song, like hot fudge on a delicious sundae. Other solos can take on a life of their own, outshining the less-than-stellar track around them. Everyone knows the big names, with immortals like Pete Townshend, David Gilmour, Jimi Hendrix, Jimmy Page, and Eddie Van Halen speaking for themselves.
That’s why you won’t find any of those here. This is purely a contrarian exercise, turning over unacknowledged rocks to discover 15 second-story performances lacking the plaudits they deserve. No ten-minute Deadhead jams, no Spinal Tap faux-pyrotechnics – lead guitar isn’t all about fireworks, and sometimes a less-grandiose solo can nail a song. Several youthful indiscretions, alongside some uncharacteristically docile tracks, made the cut based on their sheer surprise factor. You can bet there will be some cheese involved, too.
Auditing our endless music collection, these guitar solos weren’t so much a choice as a flood. So, let’s start some fistfights or at least a few healthy arguments.
15. On the Speakers – “Sweet Dreams” (Ian Sefchick – On the Speakers EP, 2004)
Creeper Lagoon’s overlooked 2001 rock opus Take Back the Universe and Give Me Yesterday was one of the young millennium’s coolest releases, by far the best thing the band ever did. Coming in second was this arena-rock spark plug from Ian Sefchick’s next project, On the Speakers. Earnest, powerful, and flawlessly produced, “Sweet Dreams” builds to a frenetic closeout solo impeccably matched to its earlier terrain. Amazing, isn’t it? How can a throwaway track from an EP nobody has heard rock harder than a 100 better-known competitors?
14. The Ocean Blue – “Between Something and Nothing” (David Schelzel – The Ocean Blue, 1989)
Our first “what the hell are they doing here?” selection. The Ocean Blue were adult-lite’s answer to 1980s alternative rock, in the vein of the Trashcan Sinatras or Queen Is Dead-era Smiths. Although his music could sometimes sound a bit simplistic, David Schelzel knew how to pen a catchy tune. “Between Something and Nothing” was the Ocean Blue’s introduction to college rock radio, and we all adored it.
Nestled within its seductively contiguous melody was an invigorating guitar solo as surprising as it was effective. This reviewer was privileged to witness the legendary, once-in-a-lifetime John Wesley Harding / Ocean Blue / Mighty Lemon Drops combo tour at Miami Beach’s Club Nu in 1990. We have never forgotten the Ocean Blue’s sparkling performance.
13. Bike – “Keeping You in Mine” (Andrew Brough – Take In the Sun, 1999)
Less a guitar solo than a sequence of sonic explosions, former Straitjacket Fits guitarist Andrew Brough’s “Keeping You in Mine” hails from yet another fantastic album few have heard. Nearly every minute of this record is drenched in furious squalls of electric bedlam, transforming each song into a bracing whirlwind of exhilarating reverberation. Phil Spector mavens will instantly warm to Bike’s wall-of-sound approach as Brough’s infinitely textured guitar layers surge to an unforgettable solo orgasm. Having explored the raucous “Keeping You in Mine” for 25 years, we still haven’t found the song’s bottom.
12. Styx – “Queen of Spades” (James Young – Pieces of Eight, 1978)
Our next surprising contender. Apart from the Tommy Shaw hits “Renegade” and “Blue Collar Man”, 1978’s Styx‘s Pieces of Eight remains an overwrought, misguided mess. The sole unheralded exception is the eerie and schizophrenic “Queen of Spades”, on which John Panozzo’s best drum performance and James Young’s caffeinated guitar solo subjugate Dennis DeYoung’s trademark Broadway shtick into a roaring, bile-infused dynamo. The coiled baseline progression spooks us to this day, bringing back more than a few old heartaches – and the long-forgotten Black Widows who spurred them.
11. Supertramp – “Goodbye Stranger” (Roger Hodgson – Breakfast in America, 1979)
and Roger Hodgson – “Had a Dream (Sleeping with the Enemy)” (In the Eye of the Storm, 1984)
Not only is this a double-entry homer, it’s also a brazen cheat. Unable to decide between these two self-declared classics, we included both. Is Supertramp‘s “Goodbye Stranger” a road song, a love song, or the ultimate sarcastic kissoff? Probably all three, as it effortlessly coasts from street-minstrel wisdom to that famed call-and-response falsetto chorus, eventually closing with what some consider one of rock’s finest solos.
Roger Hodgson’s epic condemnation of humanity’s inexhaustible cynicism “Had a Dream” probably hasn’t graced a pop radio dial in 30 years. The full unedited version – eight-and-a-half minutes of righteous misanthropic fury aimed squarely at the cruel futility of human nature – fades out with Hodgson’s single fiercest guitar solo, solidifying his underappreciated rock prowess.
10. The Kinks – “Celluloid Heroes (Live)” (Dave Davies – One for the Road, 1980)
This is the first live track whose stage version completely transforms the song. The Kinks brothers Ray and Dave Davies front-load this Switzerland performance with a ripping guitar introduction that still resonates, even five decades later. The track never gets old either – a nostalgic, name-checking tour de force of big Hollywood stars, passed time, and fleeting opportunity. For almost a year, this was our college dorm room wake-up song. Those were the days!
9. Prince – “While My Guitar Gently Weeps” (Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Concert – 2004)
An overexposed yet still-classic Beatles tune, covered by a well-known cast of luminaries. But it isn’t until red-hatted Prince cuts loose on his guitar around 3:30, bringing the rock universe to its knees, that jaws everywhere drop like stones. If his playful, mischievous expression is priceless, so is watching Jeff Lynne, Tom Petty, and Steve Winwood – no slouches in their own right – look as blown away as the rest of us mere mortals. “Gently Weeps” is perhaps our flashiest, go-for-broke entry. But in six too-short minutes, this spellbinding performance sheds all doubt that Prince was a superstar through and through.
8. Poster Children – “Drug I Need” (Rick + Jim Valentin – Junior Citizen, 1995)
The first time we heard this buzzing volcano and its pummeling kamikaze coda, it took our breath away. Does anybody still write cray-cray rock anthems like this anymore? “Drug I Need” starts slow and sexy, building to a cathartic, strafing-run solo that the word ‘crescendo’ was invented for. Poster Children reached their crescendo with 1995’s Junior Citizen, a mid-1990s marvel of efficient, intelligent, nearly flawless pop-punk that AllMusic’s Ned Raggett considers that year’s most underrated US release. Unrequited love, here is thy sting.
7. Molly Hatchet – “Flirtin’ with Disaster” (Dave Hlubek – Flirtin’ with Disaster, 1979)
Blame my 13-year-old self for this youthful, time-spanning contribution. Impressionable though we were, Molly Hatchet’s fun, endlessly buoyant summer camp anthem still towers above its late 1970s Southern-fried brethren. We don’t know whether Dave Hlubeck and company ever recorded anything half as good as “Flirtin’ with Disaster”, and by this point, we really don’t care. His frenetic, pinball-machine solo remains a 60-second party all by itself, and Frank Frazetta’s cover artwork was darn cool, too. Yes, Mom, we promise to be home by dinnertime!
6. The Church – “Is This Where You Live” (Peter Koppes – Blurred Crusade Live, 1982)
We’ve raved about this recently-discovered concert footage before. For seven minutes and 30 seconds, “Is This Where You Live” launches the Church to a place most bands never reach, on stage or anywhere else – a golden moment of transcendent rock joy like few this reviewer has ever seen. Somehow, Peter Koppes and Marty Willson-Piper whip a moderately satisfying studio number into a writhing, mind-ripping live fireball that builds up, rocks even harder, and then detonates, with Koppes’ solo dead center.
Koppes is not a showy presence, exhibiting a bassist’s relaxed, aloof mien rather than a lead guitarist’s—sheer onstage ecstasy, praying at the righteous altar of rock ‘n’ roll; proper lightning in a bottle. The effect is anarchic and overwhelming.
5. Queen – “Hammer to Fall (Live)” (Brian May – Live Aid, 1985)
The third cut from what is widely considered the most remarkable live set of all time. Today’s kids have heard of Woodstock, and they know the Beatles. Yet aside from MTV-raised Gen-Xers, 1985’s transatlantic Live Aid extravaganza has somehow failed to seize the music zeitgeist in a similar fashion. In a 1995 retrospective, organizer Bob Geldof recalls hearing a sound from his skybox that he couldn’t describe.
It turns out it was Queen, likely during “Hammer to Fall’s” blazing solo. Watching prime-era Brian May shred two billion eardrums with his twin solos still thrills our inner music fanatic, reminding us of the pure joy of rock and roll. The 2018 film Bohemian Rhapsody reintroduced this unforgettable performance to a new generation. Yet, Queen’s original video still brings a lump to the throat—not just for the long-departed Mercury but for the sheer euphoria of holding 75,000 fans in the palm of his hand.
4. Rush – “Distant Early Warning” (Alex Lifeson – Grace Under Pressure, 1984)
Several mid-1980s New Wave rock records have aged very well (the Police‘s Synchronicity, Thomas Dolby‘s Golden Age of Wireless, Yes’ 90125, Modern English’s Ricochet Days). Rush’s Grace Under Pressure is emphatically not one of them. Whatever contemporary act Rush were trying to sound like (probably the Police), 40 years later, the result is partly unlistenable and primarily dull.
The outlier is the opening cut, “Distant Early Warning”, an OK song hiding one of the rock era’s most shocking and disorienting guitar solos. Alex Lifeson plays as though he were trapped inside an “Altered States” isolation chamber or marooned in a distant galaxy, hijacking the track long distance and providing this entire misbegotten record’s sole redeeming feature. Throw this one on your gym playlist, and ditch the rest.
3. Ozzy Osbourne – “Flying High Again” (Randy Rhoads – Diary of a Madman, 1981)
Back in the day, we had to hide Ozzy Osbourne‘s first two records from dear old Mom. Besides the bloody bat-munching and upside-down crucifixes, this 1981 buzzsaw harks back to a hazy, ‘anything goes’ drug era many recovered musicians would doubtless prefer to forget. But the proof is right here on “Flying High Again”, in black, white, and bleeding red, with ‘Godzilla Smash Tokyo’ riffs and a pulverizing, 9.0-earthquake Randy Rhoads solo for the ages. Diary of a Madman would prove to be Rhoads’ swan song after a tragic plane crash in March 1982. He and Ozzy made such joyous metal synchronicity together. Oh, what might have been!
2. The Allman Brothers – “Ramblin’ Man” (Dickey Betts + Les Dudek – Brothers and Sisters, 1973)
“Ramblin’ Man” was the Allman Brothers‘ biggest hit by far, and they almost didn’t record it. Initially deemed ‘too country’ by the band’s brain trust, Dickey Betts and Les Dudek carefully molded and shaped the song into a delightful Southern rock classic. Duane Allman was gone, lost to a 1971 motorcycle accident, leaving Betts and Dudek to replace his Top Ten-rated axe somehow.
Their dual guitar harmonies closing out “Ramblin’ Man” are a thing of beauty. They are the kind of ‘drop everything’ confluence where all one wants to do is listen—and then hit repeat, over and over. In an era overshadowed by progressive rock’s strung-out death throes and “Stairway to Heaven” imitators, nothing else sounded quite like this.
1. The Knack – “My Sharona” (Berton Averre – Get the Knack, 1979)
Disco may not have realized as much, but it died the day “My Sharona” grabbed the #1 spot on the Billboard chart in the long-lost summer of 1979. The Knack‘s debut was an industry inside joke that all of America got, except the short-sighted critics of the time. For six weeks, this frisky single playfully reminded us that rock and roll still had some life in the old girl.
Oddly enough, the song’s indelible highlight—Berton Averre’s mind-warping, 85-second guitar solo—was left out of the four-minute radio edit, meaning many casual listeners probably never even heard it. Time quickly turned “My Sharona” from a diverting summer romp into a revered pop-rock prototype, endlessly emulated by everyone from New Wave pioneers to Quincy Jones.