If you close your eyes and think of The Osmonds, you probably see white jumpsuits. You see Donny’s toothy grin. You hear the sugary, polished pop of "Puppy Love" or "One Bad Apple." It’s safe. It’s squeaky clean. It’s the kind of music that 1970s parents actually wanted their daughters to listen to because it didn’t feel dangerous.
Then 1972 happened.
The brothers walked into a studio, plugged in their guitars, and unleashed a sound that felt less like a variety show and more like a fever dream. That song was Crazy Horses by The Osmonds. It didn't just break their image; it shattered the glass, set the pieces on fire, and dared the world to keep calling them "bubblegum." Honestly, it’s one of the most jarring pivots in music history. One minute you’re singing about teenage crushes, and the next, you’re screaming about environmental collapse over a riff that would make Black Sabbath take a second look.
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Why Crazy Horses by The Osmonds Still Sounds Terrifyingly Modern
Most people think of this track as a weird fluke. They’re wrong.
When you listen to that opening—that high-pitched, whinnying screech—you aren't hearing a synthesizer. Most fans assume it’s a Moog or some fancy 70s tech. Nope. That’s Jay Osmond’s brother, Alan, sliding his hand down a Hammond organ with the Leslie speaker spinning at full tilt. It was a mechanical accident that turned into one of the most iconic "screams" in rock history.
The song was a protest. Specifically, it was an anti-pollution anthem. In 1972, the "crazy horses" weren't animals; they were the gas-guzzling, smoke-belching cars that were choking the planet. The Osmonds were talking about climate change and smog before it was cool, or even widely understood by the general public. They were kids from Utah, devout and disciplined, looking at the world and realizing it was getting pretty gross.
The lyrics are surprisingly bleak. "Smoking up the sky," they sang. They talked about the "oil-sun" and the "death-cloud." This wasn't the optimism of "One Bad Apple." This was apocalyptic.
The Secret Weapon: Jay Osmond’s Thunder
You can't talk about Crazy Horses by The Osmonds without talking about Jay. Usually, the spotlight was on Donny or Merrill. But Jay? Jay was the engine. He took the lead vocals on this one because his voice had this raw, gravelly edge that the others lacked. He sounded like he’d been eating cigarettes for breakfast, which is hilarious considering the family’s famously clean lifestyle.
And the drumming. Man, the drumming is relentless.
It’s a proto-metal masterpiece. If you listen to the rhythmic structure, it’s closer to Deep Purple or Led Zeppelin than it is to The Jackson 5. The riff is heavy, low-slung, and mean. It’s the kind of song that makes you want to drive too fast. It’s basically the moment the band grew up and realized they could actually play their instruments—and play them better than the "serious" rock bands of the era.
Merrill’s bass work here is also criminally underrated. It’s thick. It’s distorted. It drives the whole track forward like a freight train. They weren't just playing a part; they were venting. You can feel the frustration of being pigeonholed as "pretty boys" in every single note.
Reception and the "Cool" Factor
Believe it or not, the song was actually banned by the BBC for a while. Not because it was "satanic" or "heavy," but because of the term "Crazy Horses." The censors thought it might be a reference to drugs. They were so used to rock bands being "bad influences" that they couldn't imagine the Osmond brothers writing a song about... literal air pollution. Eventually, they realized their mistake, and the song became a massive hit in the UK, reaching number two on the charts.
In America, it was a different story. It did okay, peaking at 14 on the Billboard Hot 100, but the "teenybopper" label was hard to shake. The kids who loved Donny were confused, and the kids who loved Led Zeppelin refused to admit an Osmond song was actually cool. It took decades for the "rock snobs" to catch up.
Today, the track is a cult classic. It’s been covered by everyone from The Mission to KMFDM. Even Westway and Tankard have taken a crack at it. Why? Because a good riff is universal. It doesn't matter if it comes from a guy in a spiked collar or a guy in a fringed vest from Provo.
The Engineering Behind the Sound
The recording process for the Crazy Horses album was a departure. They worked with Mike Curb, but the brothers took way more creative control than they had previously. They wanted a "live" feel.
If you listen to the stems of the track, you’ll notice how dry the drums are. There’s no massive reverb washing everything out. It’s punchy. It’s in your face. It’s got that 70s "dead" drum sound that modern producers like Kevin Parker (Tame Impala) spend thousands of dollars trying to replicate.
- They tuned the guitars down. Not all the way to "nu-metal" depths, but enough to give it a growl.
- The organ "whinny" was double-tracked to make it piercing.
- Jay’s vocals were pushed into the red, causing a natural distortion on the mic.
It was an aggressive mix. It was meant to jump out of a radio speaker and grab you by the throat. It worked. Even now, if that song comes on a random shuffle, it demands your attention. It’s impossible to ignore.
What Most People Get Wrong
People think this was a cynical attempt to get "hip." It wasn't. The Osmonds were actually talented musicians who grew up playing everything from barbershop quartet music to jazz. They were bored. They were tired of the "Donny and Marie" shadow that was starting to loom over the whole group.
Crazy Horses by The Osmonds was their attempt at being a real rock band, and for a brief, shining moment, they were arguably the best rock band in the world. They had the technical proficiency of session musicians and the stage presence of seasoned pros.
There's a common misconception that they didn't write their own stuff. For this track, that’s flat-out wrong. Alan, Wayne, and Merrill Osmond are the credited writers. They built this monster from the ground up. It wasn't a corporate product handed to them by a label executive trying to trend-hop. It was an organic, albeit weird, evolution.
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Impact on the 70s Music Landscape
Think about what else was happening in 1972. You had Alice Cooper’s "School’s Out" and T. Rex’s "The Slider." The world was getting weirder. The Osmonds, despite their clean-cut image, were right in the thick of it. They were touring the world, seeing the massive industrial shifts happening in Europe and the UK, and they translated that anxiety into this song.
It’s one of the few songs from that era that genuinely bridges the gap between pop-idolatry and hard rock. It’s a "gateway drug" song. It showed the industry that you didn't have to stay in your lane. You could be a pop star on Monday and a headbanger on Tuesday.
Actionable Insights for Music Lovers
If you're just discovering this side of the band, don't stop at the single. The entire Crazy Horses album is a trip. It’s a weird mix of heavy riffs, funky grooves, and those signature harmonies that only siblings can pull off.
- Listen to the "Live in Japan" version. If you think the studio track is heavy, the live versions from the mid-70s are absolutely feral. They played with a level of energy that most punk bands would envy.
- Check out the "The Plan" album next. If Crazy Horses was their hard rock peak, The Plan was their progressive rock experiment. It’s a concept album about their Mormon faith, but musically, it’s incredibly complex and features some wild arrangements.
- Watch the old TV performances. Seeing them perform this song in those white outfits is a masterclass in cognitive dissonance. They look like they’re going to church, but they’re playing like they’re opening for Black Sabbath.
- Analyze the lyrics. Don't just hum along. Look at the imagery of the "mechanical birds" and the "iron horses." It’s a fascinating look at early 70s environmentalism through a very specific, conservative lens.
Crazy Horses by The Osmonds remains a monumental achievement because it defied every expectation. It’s a reminder that artists are rarely just one thing. Sometimes, the "puppy love" singers are the ones with the loudest, darkest, and most interesting things to say. They just need a Hammond organ and a distorted guitar to say it.
To really understand the shift, you have to compare it to their earlier hits like "Yo-Yo." The technical leap in just two years is staggering. They went from a group following a Motown-lite blueprint to a group defining a new kind of heavy, rhythmic rock. It's a testament to their work ethic. They practiced until they were flawless, and then they used that flawlessness to create something chaotic.
Next time someone laughs when you mention The Osmonds, put this track on. Turn it up. Watch their face when that organ starts screaming. That’s the power of a truly great song—it doesn't just entertain; it surprises. It forces you to rethink everything you thought you knew about an artist. And in the world of 1970s pop, no one did that better than these brothers from Utah.
For those looking to dive deeper into the history of 70s rock pivots, researching the production work of Mike Curb and the shift in the MGM Records roster during this period provides excellent context. The band's move toward "The Plan" immediately following this success shows a group that was desperate to be taken seriously as artists, rather than just products. While the "pop" label eventually pulled them back in, Crazy Horses by The Osmonds stands as a permanent monument to their true potential as a rock powerhouse.
The most effective way to appreciate the track today is to find an original vinyl pressing. The low-end frequencies on the record are much warmer and more aggressive than the compressed digital versions found on most streaming platforms. It reveals the true grit of the performance.
Final Takeaways for the Modern Listener
- Don't judge a band by their outfits. The jumpsuits might be dated, but the musicianship is timeless.
- Environmentalism isn't new. This song proves that the "climate anxiety" we feel today has roots going back over fifty years in popular culture.
- Production matters. The DIY nature of that organ "whinny" is a great example of how limitations breed creativity in the studio.
- Context is everything. Understanding how hated "bubblegum" was by the "serious" rock press makes the bravery of this song even more impressive. They knew they'd be mocked, and they did it anyway.
If you're a musician, study the interplay between the bass and drums on the chorus. It's a lesson in "the pocket." They aren't overplaying; they're locking in. That discipline is what makes the heaviness actually hit. It's not just noise; it's calculated power. That’s why, even in 2026, it still hits like a ton of bricks.