If you ask a classic rock purist about Montrose, they usually stop talking after the 1973 debut. You know the one. It had Sammy Hagar on vocals, it basically invented the template for Van Halen, and it sounded like a building falling over in the best way possible. But there is a massive, weird, and surprisingly melodic piece of the puzzle that gets skipped: the 1976 release Montrose Jump On It.
Honestly, it’s a polarizing record. It was the fourth studio album, the second one with Bob James on the mic, and it marked a moment where Ronnie Montrose was clearly itching to do something—anything—other than standard-issue arena rock.
People call it a "disappointment" because it didn't have the raw, caveman thud of "Rock Candy." That's a mistake. If you actually sit with it, you’ve got Jack Douglas (the guy who did Aerosmith’s Toys in the Attic) producing, some of the weirdest synth-bass experiments of the era, and a cover that might be the most famous thing about the band today.
The Hipgnosis Cover and the Controversy
Let’s talk about the red tights.
The cover of Montrose Jump On It was designed by Hipgnosis. If that name sounds familiar, it's because they did the artwork for Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon and Led Zeppelin’s Houses of the Holy. They were the kings of high-concept, often surreal imagery. For Montrose, they went with a tight, cropped shot of a woman’s pelvic area in bright red spandex.
It was provocative. Bold. Kinda scandalous for 1976.
Some retailers refused to stock it. Some people thought it was brilliant marketing; others thought it was just cheap. Looking back, it’s a perfect snapshot of mid-70s rock aesthetics—aggressive, colorful, and completely unconcerned with being subtle.
A Band Without a Permanent Bassist?
One of the strangest facts about Montrose Jump On It is that the band didn't really have a full-time bass player during the recording.
Ronnie brought in Randy Jo Hobbs (formerly of the Edgar Winter Group) to play on three specific tracks: "Let’s Go," the title track "Jump On It," and "Rich Man." For the rest of the album? Keyboardist Jim Alcivar handled the low end using "keybass."
This gives the record a different texture than the first two Hagar-fronted albums. It’s less "thump in the chest" and more "prog-adjacent sheen." When the band went on tour to support the album, they didn't even hire a touring bassist. Alcivar just covered it all on his rigs.
It was a risky move. In the world of 70s hard rock, where the rhythm section was supposed to be a literal hammer, playing without a dedicated bassist was almost unheard of.
Breaking Down the Tracks
The album opens with "Let’s Go," which is arguably the strongest song of the Bob James era. It’s got this driving, tribal energy thanks to drummer Denny Carmassi. Carmassi was always the secret weapon of Montrose—he later went on to play with Heart and Whitesnake, but here he’s just locked in.
Then you have the Dan Hartman covers. Hartman was a songwriting machine, and Montrose leaned on him for "What Are You Waiting For?" and "Rich Man."
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The Experimental Side
Ronnie Montrose was never just a "shredder." He had an atmospheric side that eventually led him to record Open Fire, a full instrumental solo album. You can hear that coming on tracks like:
- "Tuft-Sedge": A short, moody instrumental that feels more like a movie score than a rock song.
- "Music Man": A melancholic, mid-tempo track where Ronnie vents about the pressures of the music industry.
- "Merry-Go-Round": The album closer. It’s nearly six minutes long, which was an eternity for a band that usually clocked in at three minutes.
Bob James gets a lot of flak for not being Sammy Hagar. That’s fair, I guess, but James had a different kind of power. He was 5'4" but had a massive, theatrical voice. On the title track, he absolutely wails. He didn't have Hagar's "everyman" charisma, but he had a technical precision that fit the more complex arrangements Ronnie was writing at the time.
Why it Flopped (And Why it Didn't)
By the time Montrose Jump On It hit the shelves in September 1976, the internal friction was reaching a breaking point. Ronnie was a perfectionist and, by most accounts, pretty difficult to work with. He wanted total control.
The album peaked at No. 118 on the Billboard 200. Compared to the debut, that's not great.
But "failed" is a strong word. It’s become a cult favorite for people who dig the "Aerosmith-meets-Prog" sound. Jack Douglas’s production is crisp. It doesn't sound muddy or dated like some of its contemporaries. It sounds like a band trying to evolve into something more sophisticated, even if the audience just wanted more "Bad Motor Scooter."
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What Most People Get Wrong
The biggest misconception is that Montrose "lost it" after Hagar left.
Actually, the band became more musically adventurous. They were playing with synths and unconventional song structures long before it was cool in the 80s. Montrose Jump On It isn't a bad album; it’s just a "different" album. It’s the sound of a guitar hero trying to find a new identity.
Shortly after the tour for this record, the band finally called it quits. Ronnie went solo, Denny Carmassi joined Gamma, and Bob James drifted into relative obscurity. But for one brief moment in '76, they made a record that was weird, flashy, and genuinely interesting.
Actionable Listening for the Curious
If you’re going to revisit this era, don't just put it on in the background. Do this instead:
- Listen to "Let's Go" and "Jump On It" back-to-back. Pay attention to the bass. Knowing that half of it is a keyboard changes how you hear the groove.
- Compare the production. Listen to an Aerosmith track from Draw the Line (also Jack Douglas) and then listen to this. You can hear the same "dry" drum sound and the way the guitars are layered.
- Check out the Hipgnosis credits. If you’re a vinyl collector, look for an original pressing. The "tinting" by Richard Manning on the cover is a masterclass in pre-Photoshop image manipulation.
- Find the 2022 Remasters. The I Got the Fire box set cleaned up the audio significantly, making the synth-bass much more prominent than the original muddy vinyl pressings.
Stop treating this as the "other" Montrose album. It's a high-budget, well-produced relic of a time when rock bands were allowed to get a little strange.
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Next time you’re digging through a crate at a record store and see that bright red cover, don't pass it up. It’s a lot better than the critics remember.
The story of Montrose usually ends with a "what if" regarding Sammy Hagar. But the real "what if" is what would have happened if they had kept this lineup together for one more year. We'll never know, but we've still got the tapes.
For more technical breakdowns of 70s production, you should look into the Jack Douglas "Record Plant" sessions, which explain how he got that specific vocal presence on the James-era tracks. Keep an eye out for the original Warner Bros. Green Label pressings if you want the most authentic analog sound for this specific record.