odds and ends...

Bee Gees' 1st - Captain Beefheart - Blood, Sweat & Tears - Blue Cheer - Booker T. & The MG's - Donovan - The Electric Flag - Genesis - David Gilmour - Tim Hardin - Screamin' Jay Hawkins - Iron Butterfly - The James Gang - Little Richard - The Lovin' Spoonful - The Mar-Keys & Booker T. & The MG's - Martha and the Vandellas - Curtis Mayfield - The Monkees - The Moody Blues - Mountain - New Riders Of The Purple Sage - Van Dyke Parks - Billy Preston - Procol Harum - Rotary Connection - Soft Machine - Spirit - Steppenwolf - The Stooges - Tammi Terrell - Carla Thomas - T. Rex - Doris Troy - The Turtles - Vanilla Fudge - Jr. Walker & The All-Stars - Larry Williams

You may think I'm crazy, but... Although the Bee Gees were just teenagers fresh off the boat from Australia when they cut this, back home they'd already been TV and radio stars for years, and they already had a clear-cut musical agenda. Surprisingly, that formula isn't just British bubblegum a la Herman's Hermits or the Monkees, despite the nasal Peter Noone-like vocals and frequent lapses of taste - what they're really trying to do is rip off the Beatles' early 1967 psychedelic formula, right down to the booming Ringo-ey drums, zooming Macca-ey bass lines, light orchestration, harpsichords, mellotron, you name it. Even more surprisingly, it works: tracks like the druggy, Gregorian chant-infused "Every Christian Lion Hearted Man" sound almost like the real thing. Admittedly, a million other bands were running the same race, and only a few like the Kinks, Small Faces, and Zombies knew how to make a good record without being so damn derivative. But I'm impressed with the brothers' solid pop instincts - they wrote all the tunes and manage to make all of them sound different, at least from each other. A couple attempts are downright catchy, like the singles "Holiday" and "New York Mining Disaster 1941" - not to mention "To Love Somebody," a Top 40 hit like the other two and probably better remembered despite its corny arrangement, gratingly bombastic chorus, and mock-soul vocal. The album's an amusing 60's artifact for those who care about such things, if a waste of time for anyone hunting for hints of the Bee Gees' 70's disco sound. (JA)

Captain Beefheart, Trout Mask Replica (1969)

Here's the real reason we call this the "odds" page - if avant garde is what you're after, look no further. Backed by bass, drums, two distorted guitars, and an occasional horn section, vocalist/sax player Captain Beefheart rambles his way through an exhausting double album (now on one CD) of shouted, chanted, screeched, and occasionally sung beat poetry. Snippets of conversation and incoherent instrumentals are scattered between the "songs," which themselves seem to be minimally directed first takes - hence, the band often thuds off in a million directions at once. Here's the good news: the individual tracks are all short; Beefheart has a gripping, far-ranging voice; his poetry is some of the best put on record during the 60's ("Steal Softly Thru Snow"), full of clever rhymes ("Dust Blow..."), sly political allusions ("Ant Man Bee"; "Veteran's Day Poppy"), and wild, arresting imagery ("Pena"); and the band is riffy and adventurous ("Ella Guru"), if frequently atonal and maximally slipshod. If all of this sounds like Frank Zappa in an unusually experimental mood, well, it's no coincidence - Zappa and Beefheart already had been friends for years, and Zappa produced the record. Beefheart recorded slightly less experimental albums both before and after this, and even eventually collaborated with Zappa on a duo LP, but this is his most influential and widely-cited effort. (JA)

*1/2 Blood, Sweat & Tears, Blood, Sweat & Tears 3 (1970)

BST was the pioneer jazz-rock fusion band, back when that meant pop music played in a 50's sax- and piano-dominated jazz style. Formed in 1968 by keyboard player Al Kooper (Child Is Father To The Man), they went on to huge commercial success with their eponymous 1969 LP, which was recorded after Kooper quit and vocalist David Clayton-Thomas joined. Although Clayton-Thomas wrote that record's most memorable hit ("Spinning Wheel"), by 1970 the group already was artistically exhausted. Instead of original numbers, rote covers of contemporary rock songs are everywhere: Goffin and King's "Hi-De-Ho," the Band's "Lonesome Suzie," James Taylor's "Fire And Rain," Joe Cocker's "Somethin' Comin' On," even Traffic's "40,000 Headmen." But the record's misguided centerpiece is an endless, ornate, thoroughly unlistenable "experimental" version of the Stones' "Sympathy For The Devil." The non-stop, tightly executed, listless horn parts rob the arrangments of any energy; and Clayton-Thomas' made-for-Vegas vocals are so gratingly insincere as to make most of the record downright unlistenable. The closest thing to unbridled fun is the near-rocker A-side "Lucretia Mac Evil." BST's artistic and commercial nosedive continued for several years after this; try to track down their two earlier records if you're interested in them at all. (JA)

**1/2 Blue Cheer, Vincebus Eruptum (1968)

Once upon a time, bands like Blue Cheer littered the airwaves with sloppy, amateurish, grovelingly unoriginal attempts to ape Jimi Hendrix. But after about 1968, everybody just rolled over and gave up trying to rip off Hendrix's RUX-era feedback, distortion, atonal soloing, blues influences, and even drum sound. Too bad, it's fun. Bassist/singer Dick Peterson is a strutting, screaming blues shouter who writes feeble-minded rhyming couplets ("Doctor Please") and sounds about as authentic as Nancy Sinatra. Drummer Paul Whaley gets to embarass himself with a couple of competent but boring drum solos. And guitarist Leigh Stephens is a total gearhead, obsessed with duplicating Hendrix's tone and volume - make no mistake, Stephens uses Marshall amps. But alas, he's completely unconcerned with playing anything remotely musical. Meanwhile, Peterson's such a weak songwriter that half of the six tunes are the world's most predictable covers: "Rock Me Baby"; "Parchment Farm"; and Eddie Cochran's "Summertime Blues," which became Blue Cheer's only Top 40 hit. His originals are weak, but at least on "Out Of Focus" they deliver a stomping, tambourine-fortified acid rock riff that would have fit in well on an Airplane record. It's loud, stupid, indulgent, and monotonous, but they're drawing from the best possible hard rock influences, and they're really not that much worse than better-remembered West Coast competitors like the Dead or Big Brother. Take another bong hit and give it a spin. Produced by Abe "Voco" Kesh. After this Peterson kept the band going for several more albums, despite some lineup changes. I've got Outsideinside, from later the same year, and it's a step down. (JA)

** Booker T. & The MG's, Green Onions (1962)

The Stax/Volt rhythm section found itself with some spare studio time, and improvised the soulful riff tune "Behave Yourself." The producer on duty asked them to make up something for the B-side, and they responded with the title track, a spare, captivating organ-led blues that captured the essence of the band's professional, laid-back sound. It became a massive crossover hit, and two months later the MG's cranked out a cash-in LP. Without much material to go on, they fall back on unimaginative covers, including two Ray Charles hits ("I Got A Woman" and "Lonely Avenue"), the Isleys' "Twist And Shout," and Mary Wells' "The One Who Really Loves You." One standout is the contemplative, melodic "Stranger On The Shore" by Acker Bild and Robert Mellin, which I assume is from a film soundtrack. The only original besides the two sides of the earlier single is a blatant ripoff, "Mo' Onions," and the overall effect is soul muzak. For trivia buffs, Lewis Steinberg is the bassist here. (DBW)

**1/2 Booker T. & The MG's, Soul Dressing (1965)

The MG's second album is a collection of failed single sides recorded between 1962 and 1964; only the title track hit the Hot 100, climbing to #95. The originals don't have the complexity or variety of later successes, they're just minimal meandering on blues changes ("Jellybread"), but it's still a notch more interesting than all the covers of the previous disc, and "Chinese Checkers" is infectious fun. Like the previous disc the running time is barely half an hour. The only cover here is Don Covay's "Mercy Mercy," also recorded by the Rolling Stones. Steinberg plays bass on the earlier tracks, otherwise it's Donald "Duck" Dunn, though there's not much difference between 'em. (DBW)

**** Donovan, Sunshine Superman (1966)

No record better epitomizes the early, starry-eyed days of the hippy era than this seductive, low-key blend of Eastern exotica and druggy folk music. So much in tune with the times that it easily could be mistaken for a much later recording, Donovan Leitch's second and best-known LP alternates between ethereal, loosely structured mood pieces that highlight sitar and tabla ("Ferris Wheel"), and methodically produced orchestrated rock with clever string, mellotron and harpischord arrangements ("Celeste"). Donovan's gentle, slowly-paced baritone vocals and fanciful verbal imagery work perfectly with the material, and his songwriting is consistently solid. So there are tons of high points: the funky, harpsichord-driven title track, a #1 hit featuring Jimmy Page on guitar; "Season Of The Witch," a superb acid rocker with an unforgettable, loping beat; the surprisingly professional, Simon & Garfunkel-like jazz diversion "Bert's Blues"; the super-mellow Eastern/Elizabethean blend "Guinevere"; and the wry hippy anthem "Fat Angel," which mentions the Jefferson Airplane and later was covered by them. There are some lapses in taste - the seven-minute "Legend Of A Girl Child Linda" goes over the top with an experimental string/woodwind arrangement, "The Trip" is a predictable electric Dylan imitation, and the mock-Indian tunes are occasionally unfocused and pretentious ("Three King Fishers"). But you wouldn't expect anything else from such a quintessential 60's record. Donovan's next four albums through 1969 all sold strongly, as did a series of singles including "Mellow Yellow" (with Paul McCartney on bass), "Hurdy Gurdy Man," "Atlantis," and "Goo Goo Barabajagal" (where he was backed by the Jeff Beck Group). By 1970 the public had lost its taste for psychedelic folk, but Donovan released several more albums during the 70's and attempted a comeback in the late 90's. (JA)

** The Electric Flag, A Long Time Comin' (1968)

This self-described "American Music Band" was led by white bluesman (and former Dylan sideman) Michael Bloomfield and drummer (and future Hendrix sideman) Buddy Miles, and it features Harvey Brooks on bass, Barry Goldberg on keyboards and a full horn section, plus an assortment of guests like Richie Havens (on sitar). The material's all new except for a cover of Howlin' Wolf's "Killing Floor" and a truly annoying take on the old drinking song "Wine," but nothing sounds original: it's faceless blues-rock, with recycled lyric ideas ("Groovin' Is Easy") and no particularly good solos, plus the exact same "far-out experimentation" a zillion other bands were doing at this point, like sitar and Moog. The record's one certified excellent riff tune, "Another Country," is spoiled by the obligatory 8-minute effect-laden freakout. It's a shame, because Bloomfield at least had some talent (better heard on the Bloomfield/Kooper/Stills Super Session record). Produced by John Church. I think the band made one more record before splitting up; Bloomfield's career fell apart after a couple of records with Kooper, though he managed a few small-label blues records before ODing in the early 80's. (DBW)

*1/2 Genesis, From Genesis To Revelation (1969)

I've never liked the band, but I picked up this historical oddity (available on CD as And The Word Was...), thinking they might have once had talent. Their first record, it was cut in a hurry before they'd even performed in public, and well before either Phil Collins or Steve Hackett signed up. As high school students they'd landed a record contract on the strength of some home demos, and the finished product just doesn't show a lot of personality, although it's often similar to their later, much more popular 70's records. Like the Moody Blues and unlike most of the era's other high-concept British pop bands, Genesis chooses to tread water here with pompous, white-bread, orchestrated arrangements that smothers their arty lyrical ambitions. Peter Gabriel doesn't demonstrate a lot of range, either vocally or emotionally - he's so low-key you'd think he was just humming to himself while strolling through the park. The rest of the band is nothing special, and the dribs and drabs of dynamic excitement are provided by swooping string sections, amateurish percussion, and Tony Banks' simplistic piano riffs, all of which now sound utterly dated. The predictable Sgt. Pepper's emulation also includes cross-fades, mellotrons, phasing, and repeated musical themes. For obsessive fans and 60's historians only. (JA)

**1/2 Genesis, Nursery Cryme (1971)

I'm such a sweetie that I gave these guys another chance. Whoops, my mistake. By now Genesis had decided that instead of being a pretentious 60's psychedelic pop-rock band, they should be a pretentious 70's prog rock band like Yes or King Crimson ("Seven Stones"; "The Fountain Of Salmacis," which is pretty good as mellotron-drenched Yes imitations go). So they adopted all of the trappings, from wall-of-sound synth parts to ten-minute, multi-part suites ("The Musical Box"), and watered it down into polite, smiley-faced pop. But they blew it on two counts. First, there isn't a quality soloist anywhere in the band, although guitarist Steve Hackett is competent and Phil Collins impressively apes the prog rock drumming style pioneered by Mitch Mitchell, Michael Giles and Bill Bruford. So there's little to keep your attention as they plod through their unpredictable song structures on epics like the mock-ominous "Return Of The Giant Hogweed." And second, none of them knew how to assemble a batch of catchy hooks into a bona fide song. So the trio of non-stop wank-a-thons isn't balanced at all by the four shorter, but equally disorganized numbers. Despite this, much of the material is inoffensive or even pretty, such as the melodious, 12-string laden acoustic folk songs "Harlequin" and "For Absent Friends," and the fast-paced, light-hearted McCartney-like "Harold The Barrel"; so if you can't get enough of early 70's prog rock, there are worse ways to burn your money. Produced by John Anthony and engineered by David Hentschel. (JA)

** Genesis, Selling England By The Pound (1973)

You know, if I keep buying these damn Genesis records I'll be forced to make up a page for them. This time around there's not much to report: all of the excesses they demonstrated on Cryme come up again, but there are even fewer vocal passages, and the lengthy instrumentals are deadly boring. Inexplicably, they put the band's weak link - synth player Tony Banks - at the instrumental center of every tune. And this time Peter Gabriel just won't shut up, rambling on endlessly with limp melodies and spacey narrative lyrics ("The Battle Of Epping Forest"). Neither Steve Hackett's leads nor bassist Mike Rutherford's quiet, classically influenced acoustic guitar help very much; Hackett gets a sprawling solo on "Firth Of Fifth" that sounds like someone experimenting absentmindedly with a cool distortion pedal as the band once again rips off early King Crimson. The good news is a couple of short pop songs that seem to have been their best to date, especially the gimmicky AOR hit "I Know What I Like (In Your Wardrobe)" and Phil Collins' slightly folky vocal spotlight "More Fool Me." But the few high points aren't worth wading through the dreck. The band's next effort - and the last before Gabriel left to start his solo career - was the legendary double album Lamb Lies Down On Broadway, which I just might force myself to review someday. (JA)

David Gilmour (1978)

Pink Floyd was riding a wave of monster AOR hit albums at this point, and Gilmour wasn't about to mess with the formula, even as he took a rare opportunity to escape from Roger Waters' control of the band. Working mostly with just a two-man rhythm section, he handled vocals, guitars, keyboards, production, and most of the songwriting himself, and he studiously copied Floyd's high-tech sound. The key difference is the lack of anal overproduction, inscrutable lyrics, and sprawling spacey jamming - most of the tracks run merely five or six minutes. And for those who love the guy, there's a heck of a lot more lead guitar work than usual. The album even features a moderate radio hit, although it's the one track Gilmour didn't write (the stately anthem "There's No Way Out Of Here," with classic 70's Floyd female backups vocals and paranoid lyrics). Elsewhere there are a few solid Dark Side-inspired pop tunes like "Short And Sweet." But the downside is predictable: monotonous instrumentation, a total lack of spontaneity, and too many mid-tempo pentatonic instrumentals like the pretty but insubstantial "Mihalis" and "Raise My Rent." (JA)

***1/2 David Gilmour, About Face (1984)

With Waters having virtually taken over Pink Floyd and then dragged it through a Final Cut that amounted to a solo album, the stage was set for Gilmour to prove himself yet again. He rose to the challenge, delivering more commercial savvy and stylistic variety than you'll hear on almost anything the Floyds ever did. Half the tunes sound like actual or would-be AOR hits: the trance-like, sequenced-synth drenched "Until We Sleep"; the Floyd-esque metal ballad "Murder"; the super-funky "Blue Light," with its hyperactive horns and crashing, digitally-delayed guitars; and the swaggering, stomping corporate rocker "All Lovers Are Deranged." There's just one pompous orchestrated instrumental ("Let's Get Metaphysical" [har]), one daft stab at Caribbean rhythms ("Cruise"), and two boring orchestrated ballads ("Out Of The Blue"; "You Know I'm Right"), and Gilmour seems entirely at ease plastering everything with his immaculate guitar solos - instant, by-the-book catharthis without any distracting creativity. So the record could hardly be a better deal for fans of soulless four-minute 80's rock tunes. Co-produced by Gilmour and Bob Ezrin; the band is Ian Kewley (keyboards), Pino Palladino (bass), and Jeff Porcaro (drums). Guests include a horn section, Ray Cooper, and Steve Winwood (sounds like his organ playing on "Murder" and "Blue Light"); Pete Townshend contributed the lyrics to two songs (including "Deranged") but doesn't appear. (JA)

** Tim Hardin, Tim Hardin 4 (1969)

An American folk-blues singer who died of a heroin overdose in 1980, Hardin has a solid reputation among rock critics thanks to several successful covers of his songs ("If I Were A Carpenter"; "Reason To Believe"). But this time around he comes up totally flat, with not one of the six originals creating any interest. The problem is not just his dead-pan performance, which raises the term "monotonous" to new heights, but the band's stultifyingly genteel Chicago blues affectations, with an idly wailing harmonica and a lightly tapping rhythm section. Strapped for ideas, he not only covers blues greats like Willie Dixon ("Seventh Son") and Bo Diddley ("Bo Diddley"), but Chuck Berry ("You Can't Catch Me," shamelessly retitled as "Airmobile" and credited to Hardin) and the Animals ("House Of The Rising Sun"). Hardin's voice is pleasant enough, but he's so laid back he practically begs you to tune him out. I hate to say it, but this is a good argument that white people shouldn't play the blues. Produced by Erik Jacobsen. (JA)

**** Screamin' Jay Hawkins, At Home With Screamin' Jay Hawkins (1958)

Screamin' Jay Hawkins was the first rock and roll humorist, and arguably the greatest (except maybe Zappa), salting even his most serious tunes with hilarious off-hand comments and other peculiar sounds. Hawkins' first LP contains his signature tune "I Put A Spell On You," since covered by everyone from Nina Simone to Creedence Clearwater Revival - it's a curiously moving performance, at least up until the snorting, grunting coda. The rest of the disc is even further out, and it's amazing that this record was made so early: "Little Demon" is a story about a really angry demon, "There's Something Wrong With You" is a kiss-off to a very strange lover, "Hong Kong" is an excuse for Hawkins' vocal imitations of Chinese, Africans, and various other people. But his most hilarious moments are his covers of Cole Porter's "I Love Paris" and Gene Autry's "Take Me Back To My Boots And Saddle." On the few occasions where he plays it straight, he's an effective R&B hollerer, and the backing band is precise and strong. But his great contribution is his unfettered sense of fun. After a couple decades of near-obscurity, Hawkins came back into the public consciousness with appearances in two Jim Jarmusch films, and soon thereafter went out on the oldies circuit and resumed recording. This disc is available, with a few outtakes and alternate versions, as Cowfingers & Mosquito Pie. (DBW)

**1/2 Iron Butterfly, In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida (1968)

Another bunch of stoned California kids, led by Doug Ingle on grandiose vocals and skating-rink organ, sometimes falsely credited with inventing heavy metal. The 17:35 title track is not the first album-side-length tune on a rock album, but it was one of the earliest, one of the longest, and one of the most commercially successful. And for the first couple of minutes it's actually a solid, enjoyable riff tune. Guitarist Erik Braunn gets a good lead guitar tone, but doesn't really know how to play the damn thing at all. What the hell, neither could I when I was 17. Ron Bushy takes a plodding drum solo, but the weakest part of the track is Ingle's second solo spot, where he holds open chords endlessly. The other side of the album is formula psychedelic pop, as you can tell from the titles ("Flowers And Beads"). The lyrics aren't even laughably bad, they're just boring, and besides the title track the only catchy riffs are on "Termination." "Are You Happy" is another freakout that manages to be more boring than "In-A-Gadda" in less than half the time. Bassist Lee Dorman is probably the best musician of the bunch: he's a nimble Jamerson disciple, and though he usually overplays, he occasionally slips in a nice run. (DBW)

*** The James Gang, Yer' Album (1969)

You might guess that Joe Walsh's original band was pretty lame. The guy can't really sing, he's never been an artiste, and his sense of humor is kind of grating. But it turns out that the James Gang had a ton of talent, and Walsh wasn't the only story: drummer Jim Fox is a real phenom, clattering away like an American Mitch Mitchell and always keeping a solid beat. Walsh, meanwhile, is a lot more interesting when he's covering inventive 60's guitarists like Steve Stills ("Bluebird") or Jeff Beck ("Lost Woman") than on those infamous mid-70's Eagles records where he's just trying to be smooth and laid-back. The original song material here is kind of slight, with some random studio chatter, some joke tracks, and an album-ending jam that starts out as a whiteboy funk masterpiece but quickly has you mumbling its title in bored frustration ("Stop"). Plus Walsh seems uncomfortable with soloing at this stage. But his guitar hero technique is already solid and flexible: wah-wah, slide, distortion, ringing acoustic parts, you name it. Some of the original tunes are going to have you tapping your toes ("Take A Look Around"), and producer Bill Szymczyk comes through with some groovy orchestration and a clever 60's acid rock ambience. (JA)

***1/2 The James Gang, Rides Again (1970)

The band's somewhat disappointing second album is a little more mature than the first, but has many of the same problems. There's one monster single that works their funk-rock formula to the hilt: "Funk #49," with a sinister attitude and tons of great harmonies, guitar riffs, and drum fills. There's also a marvelous, complexly arranged hippy-dippy ballad ("Tend My Garden"). But everything else is slight, and not just the obligatory jam ("Asshtonpark"). Track after track is glaringly derivative: the Jeff Beck Group-like, mid-tempo rocker "Woman"; the Zeppelin-like "Closet Queen," with lengthy, laid-back solos; the charming acoustic guitar-and-vocal country-western tune "Garden Gate," lifted directly from Steve Stills' recipes; and an homage to Neil Young's loping country-rock style ("There I Go Again"), whose main riff gets recycled in the very next tune ("Thanks"). Things get interesting on the album closing ballad, which gets treated to a moody, dramatic, Mahler-style orchestral arrangement by Jack Nitzsche ("Ashes The Rain And I"). But the tune itself is just not all that interesting. So the record's all so very polished and earnest, but in the end merely in sync with the times - not ahead of them. Dale Peters took over on bass at this point; Szymczyk produced again. Shortly afterwards Walsh went solo, and I've reviewed one of his resulting efforts on our 70's page. (JA)

***** Little Richard, Here's Little Richard! (1957)

Richard Penniman has had one of the longest and most bizarre careers in rock and roll history. He invented uptempo rock and roll in 1955 with "Tutti Frutti" (included here) and almost immediately every would-be hip singer was covering his every single. But the cover versions always fell flat because the songs were designed especially for Richard's 12-cylinder vocal delivery, wild-eyed outrageous persona and the joyful abandon of his piano playing. Plus the Upsetters, so good you can hear the rhythm section clearly even on these 50's-quality recordings. But fifteen frantic months later, he'd decided to quit the devil's music for gospel. Most of his best moments are collected here, mostly electrifying fast rockers ("Rip It Up," "Ready Teddy") though he includes a few slower numbers for balance ("Miss Ann"). This record, like all of Little Richard's original records, is out of print: pick up the excellent compilation 18 Greatest Hits if you can find it. Whatever you do, don't buy any of the many rerecordings he made of his hits: if it doesn't say it's the original Specialty masters, leave it on the shelf. After getting kicked out of the seminary, he started a comeback effort that's lasted nearly forty years, scoring one hit in the early 70's ("Freedom Blues") and one in the mid-80's ("Great Gosh Amighty") but never again came close to his former glory. You better believe there's a fan site, complete with many of his best quotes. (DBW)

***1/2 The Lovin' Spoonful, Daydream (1966)

These guys were really big, but for only about two years. Daydream shows the original lineup in all its glory; by now they'd already scored a major hit ("Do You Believe In Magic"), and this early 1966 album includes two more: "You Didn't Have To Be So Nice," a brilliantly arranged but whitebread love song with great harmonies and a catchy, if plodding descending guitar riff that's doubled on chimes; and the equally clever title track, which went to #2. The album is short and terribly dated-sounding, but actually quite good, with the band effectively delivering its unique blend of old-timey blues and Byrds-influenced 60's folk-rock - you'll hear plenty of tambourines, smooth harmonies, and jangly guitars. Zal Yanovsky plays most of the guitar parts, and he's quite competent if entirely derivative of the big Chicago blues sound. But most of the musical focus is on John Sebastian, the lead singer and songwriter, who also adds some rhythm guitar and harmonica. He's got a warm voice and a good ear for light-hearted lyrical Americana when he's not falling prey to 60's pop song cliches. The sound really was behind the times, though; there's none of the heavy rock experimentation of the Beatles, Byrds, and Yardbirds, clever orchestration of the Beach Boys, or introspective, but political lyrics of Dylan. Later the same year the band scored two more monster hits ("Did You Ever Have To Make Up Your Mind?" and "Summer In The City," their only #1), then five further ever-more-lackluster Top 40 singles until sinking into obscurity in the wake of John Sebastian's 1968 departure. (JA)

*** The Mar-Keys & Booker T. & The MG's, Back To Back (1967)

This is the famous Stax-Volt house band in all its glory - the Booker T. combo augmented on three tracks by the Mar-Keys/Memphis Horns horn section. It's a live show recorded in Paris with Tom Dowd at the controls, released concurrently with an Otis Redding album distilled from the same tour. The running time is short, with merely ten concisely recreated instrumentals like 1962's "Green Onions" and the just-released "Hip Hug-Her." They also do a speedy take on "Gimme Some Lovin'," a big radio hit for the Spencer Davis Group back when this was recorded. Without a vocalist to support, the band focuses throughout on putting across the most danceable R & B groove you can imagine; it's one chugging 4/4 riff after another. Booker T., Cropper, Dunn, and the rest keep up a high standard of professionalism, but none of them were egotistical enough to really grab the spotlight, making you feel like something's missing (so where is Otis when you need him?). Only a few tracks like the sinuous "Booker-loo" are ornate enough to stand close scrutiny. In sum, this is the kind of record that makes great background music whenever you're in a light-hearted mood to start with. (JA)

Martha and the Vandellas, Heat Wave (1963)

Martha Reeves had a phenomenally powerful voice, and the Holland-Dozier-Holland title track of this album was a well-deserved Top 10 hit: the instrumental backing is so funky that you hardly mind the long delay before the vocals start. Unfortunately, Motown's music factory wasn't in full gear at this point - H-D-H produced but couldn't be bothered to write any further original material. So the entire album is one big pile of filler, with covers ranging from Phil Spector ("Then He Kissed Me") to Wayne Newton ("Danke Schoen"), and not including any of the Motown standards that the company later recycled as a matter of habit. They're all solidly performed, and Reeves' energy occasionally catches your attention. But this is hardly an album worth looking all over the place for. (JA)

Martha Reeves and the Vandellas, Dance Party (1965)

At this point the group had scored two more major hits - late 1963's "Quicksand," which might have appeared on an intervening album, and late 1964's "Dancing In The Street," a classic later covered by all sorts of acts including David Bowie and Mick Jagger. Co-authored by William Stevenson and Marvin Gaye, the song put Stevenson in the top rank of Motown's writer-producers. But working with Ivy Jo Hunter, he couldn't come up with much to fill out the ensuing album. The single "Wild One" (also a moderate hit) just recycles "Street"'s swaying beat and chord changes, and the rest is competent but hardly ever arresting - "Motoring" got covered by the Who, and god knows why. All Stevenson can come up with is the same rumbling beat, silly dance lyrics, and blaring, vaguely Latin-sounding horn parts on practically every tune ("The Jerk"). Indeed, his covers of two 1963 Motown hits are among the strongest dance numbers: Gaye's "Hitch Hike" and H-D-H's "Mickey's Monkey" (done by the Miracles). And the record's second important tune is H-D-H's "Nowhere To Run," the only one Stevenson didn't have a hand in; with a fierce vocal and a funky chorus, it climbed to #8 in the charts. The group scored another half-dozen pop Top 40 hits through 1967, before Motown focused its attention elsewhere, but it's a safe bet that this was their last significant LP. (JA)

**1/2 Martha Reeves (1974)

One of several 70's reclamation projects where white rockers tried to revive the careers of soul and R&B greats. This time an all-star cast, headed by producer Richard Perry, cut boogie-woogie versions of rock (Van Morrison's "Wild Night") and R&B (Gamble/Huff's "Power Of Love") tunes for Martha Reeves to sing. The whole project smacks of condescension to me, and the horns/organ groove gets monotonous, but I could have gotten past all that if Reeves had put more into her vocals: in stark contrast to her belted early 60's hits, here she's bland and tentative, staying in the middle of her range. The tunes recorded by other Motown artists suffer most by comparison - "Ain't That Peculiar" and "I've Got To Use My Imagination" (hits for Marvin Gaye and Gladys Knight respectively) weren't made to be sung politely. The high points are the tunes that get a gospel treatment, with subtler instrumental backing and the Avalon Carver Community Choir on backup vocals: Carole King's "Dixie Highway" and Jimmy Cliff's "Many Rivers To Cross." Musicians include Nicky Hopkins, Klaus Voormann, Jim Keltner, Bobby Keys, Milt Holland, Billy Preston, Melvin "Wah-Wah" Ragin, James Jamerson, etc., and I believe that's George Harrison on guitar under the alias "D. Lloyd Gregory." (DBW)

**1/2 John Mayall, Memories (1971)

Mayall is best remembered as the godfather of British electric blues: Eric Clapton, Jack Bruce, Mick Taylor, and the original Fleetwood Mac lineup all rotated through his band before hitting the bigtime. By 1969 that was all over, and I'd always thought he then slowed down recording. But in fact he kept spitting out albums for years, and even scored critical points with 1970's The Turning Point. This time around he has a big target in his sights: delivering an autobiographical song cycle in chronological order. So the lyrics run from childhood (title track) to his war experiences ("The Fighting Line"; the relatively biting and uptempo "Back From Korea") to the death of his grandfather ("Grandad"). He also has a radical approach to the stripped-down, nearly no-overdubs arrangements. Jerry McGee contributes classy Chicago electric guitar, countrified dobro, acoustic guitar, and even sitar. More importantly, there's no drumming whatsoever - it's completely startling, at least the first time around. But Mayall's predictable blues progressions, monotonous tenor vocals, unwavering tempo, and routine harmonica and piano parts leave it sounding like so much auditory Wonder bread. Blues fanatics may find the effort fascinating, but there's little here to hint at Mayall's rock connections other than the sheer bravery of it all. (JA)

**** Curtis Mayfield, Superfly (1972)

After racking up fifteen pop hits over nine years with the Impressions, a smooth soul vocal group, Mayfield left for a solo career. He hit the top of the charts with his fourth release, this soundtrack to the landmark blaxploitation film; musically it follows in the wake of Shaft, with wah-wah guitar, Latin percussion and hip horns providing a streetwise vibe, softened by occasional strings. Lyrically it's more complex, not just sketching out the plot but propounding a message of unity and transcendence. Several tracks are memorable and have been much sampled by hip hop acts: "Pusherman," "Little Child Runnin' Wild," the hit singles "Freddie's Dead" and "Superfly." This is justly considered a classic, but I'm not sure it really needed the deluxe two-disc treatment that Rhino gave it. Including alternate versions of nearly every single track makes Mayfield's Achilles heel painfully obvious: on this disc at least, he has no musical depth beyond catchy pentatonic riffs, so the instrumentals ("Junkie Chase," "Think") don't repay close listening, and the alternate takes are flat and uninteresting. You're better off with a single-disc version if you can find one, but either way, you shouldn't pass this up. (DBW)

The Monkees, The Birds, The Bees & The Monkees (1968)

Wow, we're really scraping the bottom of the barrel this time (ahem). The story in brief: the Monkees, an artificial Beatles-style group composed to an English singer, a American folk guitarist, and two actors that was concocted to star in a TV show, already had recorded four #1 albums in a row, not to mention an amazing five gold singles in just two years. Their amazing success depended, however, on weekly TV appearances and musical preening by outside producers, songwriters, and instrumentalists. By the time this album came out, the show had been cancelled, the group had won some control in the studio (briefly experimenting with playing their own instruments on the last record), and teenage musical tastes had been irrevocably altered by albums like Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band and Are You Experienced?. But the record shot to #3 anyway, on the strength of a leftover monster hit single (John Stewart's marvelous, but nauseatingly over-produced "Daydream Believer," with Davy Jones and producer Chip Douglas on bass). It also includes two later single sides: Boyce and Hart's primitive surf rocker/Jones vehicle "Valleri," the Monkees' last major hit, and Michael Nesmith's B-side "Tapioca Tundra," which climbed into the Top 40 for one week. Elsewhere there's a pile of sappy Jones tunes; several Micky Dolenz spotlights; and a string of highly experimental original Nesmith creations. Peter Tork barely appears, and on almost every track save "Daydream Believer" the only Monkee in attendance is the lead vocalist. It's mostly awful, but there's some entertainment value anyway, including Nesmith's joyful 20's sendup "Magnolia Simms." The encyclopedic list of studio players includes Max Bennett, Hal Blaine, Milt Holland, Jim Horn, Harry Nilsson, and Don Randi; the Rhino release includes Peter Tork's famous, first-rate, early Springfield-like out-take "Lady's Baby," featuring Steve Stills, Buddy Miles, and a real baby. (JA)

**** The Moody Blues, Days Of Future Passed (1968)

The Moodys had been cutting rock records for a few years when they jumped on the Sgt. Pepper's bandwagon with this one. But instead of following the Beatles' experiments in instrumentation and recording techniques, they went wild with George Martin's orchestral approach - the London Festival Orchestra not only appears here, it's fully credited on the front cover, and its conductor Peter Knight wrote the five-minute overture in addition to the omnipresent arrangements. The purely classical passages amount to an MGM musical soundtrack, but most of the rest is tuneful, mellotron-drenched British pop-rock, with just enough charm to balance the band's numbing instrumental over-restraint and pompous quasi-poetic lyrics (the dawn intro/sunset outro voiceover is the worst bit). This is the record with both the classic "Forever Afternoon (Tuesday Afternoon)" and the unbearably epic "Nights In White Satin" (both by Justin Hayward), but there are also plenty of fun, Beatle-esque pop numbers (the anthemic "Peak Hour" and slithery, Indian-influenced "Sun Set"). Competitors like the Nice and the Zombies were doing the same thing with a lot more verve, but this is after all the first full-blown classical-rock fusion record, and that distinction led to the band enjoying considerable commercial success for years to come. The record was released in the US in March, 1968; sources conflict, but I believe it was released in the UK in 1967. (JA)

***1/2 Mountain, Climbing! (1970?)

"THIS RECORD WAS MADE TO BE PLAYED LOUD" indeed! The creation of guitarist Leslie West and former Cream co-conspirator Felix Pappalardi, Mountain had quickly reached a mass audience with a hard rock formula that recalls both Cream and early Led Zeppelin ("For Yasgur's Farm"). Powerhouse drummer Corky Laing adds an inordinate fondness for cowbells to Ginger Baker's thunderous style, West is a top-notch twiddler and blues howler, and Pappalardi adds a psychedelic sensibility with bass, occasional keyboards, and a passable, Eric Clapton-like tenor (the only non-factor is variably present organ player Steve Knight). This time around they scored a huge hit with the hard rock classic "Mississippi Queen," a two-minute wonder of explosive dynamics and unforgettable hooks. Most of the rest is in the same vein, and it usually works ("Never In My Life"; "Sittin' On A Rainbow"). And on side 2 they show some flexibility: West delivers an Eastern-flavored acoustic guitar solo ("To My Friend," a la "White Summer"), and Pappalardi dishes out a sleepy, Donovan-like hippy folk song ("The Laird") and an acid rock mini-epic ("Boys In The Band"). They even perform a post-Cream Bruce/Brown composition ("Theme For An Imaginary Western"). It's all good clean fun - recommended for anyone who enjoys late 60's hard rock. Pappalardi's wife Gail Collins did the cover artwork and wrote many of the lyrics; years later she shot him to death in a domestic dispute. (JA)

*** Mountain, Flowers Of Evil (1972?)

Apparently cobbled together from a half-finished album and a concert tape (both dating from 1971), this is a remarkably entertaining listen. Side 1 includes more of the psychedelic hard rock that made Climbing! so much fun (title track). Pappalardi again dominated the songwriting, again often working with Gail Collins, who again did the artwork. It's good, but unremarkable: "One Last Cold Kiss" is a medieval folk melody arranged as another swaggering rocker; "Crossroader" is a Clapton-style blues with a smoking slide guitar part; "Pride And Passion" drowns a memorable, high-speed Steve Knight organ riff with an indulgent multi-part arrangement. Side 2 starts with a 25-minute segment that is dominated by elephantine jamming, but also includes a Chuck Berry cover ("Roll Over Beethoven") and a "Voodoo Chile"-like blues-rock anthem ("Dreams Of Milk And Honey"), and it ends with a solid version of "Mississippi Queen." I wouldn't expect too much out of this, but if you like the band you can't go wrong. (JA)

**** New Riders Of The Purple Sage (1971)

These guys sound exactly like the Grateful Dead - and it's no coincidence: not only did they tour with the Dead, but on this record Phil Lesh is credited as executive producer; Mickey Hart plays on two cuts; and Jerry Garcia plays pedal steel and occasional banjo throughout. Not to mention Spencer Dryden, credited as a guest at this point, but really a full band member. They're good, and it helps that the band's singers had more vocal range than the Dead ("All I Ever Wanted") and an even stronger country influence, despite the occasional wah-wah pedal (the eight-minute "Dirty Business"). It adds up to enough upbeat melodicism to nearly rival the early Poco, and country-rock fans will enjoy it all the way through. Plus Deadheads and 60's relicts like myself will get a blast out of the hippy-cowboy lyrics ("Henry," an ode to pot smuggling; the John Ford Western movie-inspired "Glendale Train"; the eco anthem "Garden Of Eden"). I've heard the band's biggest hit, 1973's The Adventures Of Panama Red, and unfortunately it's an unlistenably snide self-parody, with all the genial country elements of their first effort debased into grating mannerisms. p.s., beware of the widely available greatest hits album, half of which is lifted from this one - there's no reason to waste your money on it when the original is this much fun. p.p.s., as far as I can tell there's nothing substantial on the Web about these guys, other than incidental references in connection with the Dead. (JA)

**1/2 Van Dyke Parks, Song Cycle (1968)

This is the kind of record that only a rock critic could love: painfully self-indulgent, devoid of any real emotion or relevance, cutesy and clever as hell. For example, he retitles the hymn "Nearer My God To Thee" just so that he can have a song called "Van Dyke Parks" credited to Public Domain, followed by a tune called "Public Domain" credited to Van Dyke Parks. All the lyrics are elliptical, unfinished character sketches, pun-filled and ultimately meaningless. The arrangements are a pop take on country-western, with a full orchestra, and the tunes are consistently unmemorable, the only exception being the overlong "By The People." Parks can't really sing either; in fact, his self-conscious reedy tenor is vaguely irritating. For some reason, this was a complete commercial failure despite massive label promotion and high critical regard. (DBW)

**1/2 Billy Preston, That's The Way God Planned it (1969)

After years of behind-the-scenes work, and a couple of unsuccessful albums, ace keyboard player Billy Preston caught the attention of the Beatles, who signed him to their new Apple vanity label. This album followed, mostly produced by George Harrison. Preston's energetic delivery, both vocally and on keys, are the best part of the record. Unfortunately, most of the material is very weak, by-the-book 60's soul with dull lyrics ("Everything's All Right") and occasionally annoying pseudo-gospel backing vocals ("Do What You Want"). He covers Bob Dylan's "She Belongs To Me," and W.C. Handy's "Morning Star," but doesn't generate much excitement. The title track was the single, and it's enjoyable, turning into a short jam. Famous guests include Eric Clapton, Keith Richards, Ginger Baker and Richie Havens, besides of course Harrison. The CD adds a historical oddity: the B side "As I Get Older" was cowritten by Preston and Sly Stone, and produced by Ray Charles! After the relative failure of this disc and the followup Encouraging Words, Preston struck out on his own and found success with the soul-pop classics "Nothing From Nothing," "Will It Go Round In Circles" and the instrumental "Outa-Space." After another dry spell he hit #1 in a duet with Syreeta Wright, "With You I'm Born Again." (DBW)

***1/2 Procol Harum, A Whiter Shade Of Pale (1967)

In mid-1967 the bombastic, deadly serious title track suddenly became a major international hit, going to #1 in the U.K. despite the group's initial lineup already having disbanded. Singer-songwriter-pianist Gary Brooker reformed the group, now featuring teen hotshot guitarist Robin Trower, and quickly recorded an LP that spotlights Brooker's collaborations with Dylan-influenced lyricist Keith Reid - organist Matthew Fisher gets in just one instrumental ("Repent Walpurgis"). They mine much the same formula on every track, and it works: hook-heavy tunes, soulful Brooker vocals, interesting interplay between his piano and Fisher's swirling electric organ, and moderate amounts of soloing by Trower, whose mastery of then-current guitar effects is already impressive. They don't vary the tone much, apart from a plodding Dylan-style blues ("Something Following Me") and two music hall-influenced sendups ("Mabel"; "Good Captain Clack"); and the catchier tunes either have a dated-sounding 60's dance beat ("Conquistador"; "Kaleidoscope"), push the Dylan plagiarism to an extreme ("Salad Days (Are Here Again)"), or are just plain repetitive ("A Christmas Camel"). But Fisher's musical sense is solid ("She Wandered Through The Garden Fence"), and on stately, acid-drenched numbers like "Cerdes (Outside The Gates Of)" they've clearly hit upon a unique, intriguing sound. Uneven, but extremely promising. (JA)

**** Procol Harum, A Salty Dog (1969)

My mom loves this record, and I can see why; it's crafted, clever, and rarely loud enough to offend. Falsely lumped with the prog rock movement, the band by now drew most of its inspiration from the Beatles and the mellow British folk of Traffic ("Boredom"). So they're close in sound to Jethro Tull, but a heck of a lot more interesting. Brooker's bluesy baritone is a less idiosyncratic and more expressive than Ian Anderson's; there's hardly a hint of Anderson's snottiness in Reid's poetic lyrics; Brooker and Fisher add a playful variety of instruments and some majestic orchestral arrangements (title track; "Wreck Of The Hesperus"); and Trower was a singular talent - avoid the band's mid-70's records that don't feature him. Even his occasionally brash, Jimmy Page-like guitar parts don't overwhelm the band, as on the march "The Devil Came From Kansas" - although his down-tempo Chicago blues "Juicy John Pink" doesn't really fit in. If anything, these guys end up presaging Elton John's early orchestrated rock formula instead of prog rock's later excesses. It's too bad they had so little commercial success after "A Whiter Shade Of Pale"; only a 1972 live record powered by a version of their "Conquistador" really went over big in the U.S. I'll be looking for their other albums - and thanks, mom. (JA)

*** Rotary Connection (1967)

Not your typical psychedelic pop record, this was the brainchild of Marshall Chess (son of Chess Records founder Leonard), who wanted to take the Beatles' innovations of classical instrumentation, phenomenal production values, and crazy experimentation to their extreme. He assembled a very talented team: arranger and composer Charles Stephney went on to tremendous success with Earth Wind & Fire; bandmember Sidney Barnes was soon to work with George Clinton; high-pitched backup singer Minnie Riperton later made her name as a solo artist. The arrangements rely heavily on choral singing, plus organ and strings, and occasional sitar, theremin and tabla: no guitars to speak of. At its best the record integrates classical methods better than anything else going on at the time ("Amen"), and the production is ear-catching ("Soul Man"). At its worst, the group is just covering tunes by better bands, all using the same neoclassical schtick - like the Vanilla Fudge with chops. Unfortunately, the record's at its worst about four times as often as it's at its best: there are half a dozen painful endless covers like "Lady Jane," "Like A Rolling Stone," and "Ruby Tuesday." The disc loses further points for including brief snippets of each track at the end of the record (title track), and for an uncredited ripoff of the Beatles' "Hello Goodbye" fade ("Black Noise"). Definitely of interest to students of 60's psychedelia, but probably to no one else. After this the band put out five more records, but this was the only one to crack the Top Forty. (DBW)

***1/2 Soft Machine, Volume Two (1969)

British jazz-fusion pioneers Soft Machine were so relentlessly experimental that the band's superb musicianship, wacky humor, and creative, well-practiced arrangements won them only a cult audience. A collection of mostly one- and two-minute fragments without a break, their second album does have some aimless jamming ("10:30 Returns To The Bedroom") and random "psychedelic" noisemaking ("Out Of Tunes" indeed). But ace drummer Robert Wyatt delivers wonderfully arch nonsense vocals on snippets like "Pataphysical Introduction," "Hullo Der," and "Concise British Alphabet"; there are a ton of musically challenging instrumentals ("A Door Opens And Closes"); and when they veer almost into conventional acid rock ("As Long As He Lies Perfectly Still"), it's first-rate - "Dedicated To You" blows away Genesis with a gorgeous vocal and fine acoustic guitar melody. With no guitarist, the sound relies on Mike Ratledge's stately piano parts and obtuse Hammond organ squigglings; bassist Hugh Hopper's huge, fuzzy, Jack Casady-like tone; and eerie saxophone charts by Hopper (on alto) and his brother Brian (on tenor and soprano). Tricky time signatures and modulations ("Pig") are matched with clever experiments like their gloriously lush, bossa nova-influenced "Dada Was Here," delivered in Spanish; and the only long-format piece is brilliant ("Hibou Anemone And Bear"). A freaky joy. Produced by the band, with deal-cutting by Mike Jeffrey. Despite many personnel changes, Soft Machine continued putting out masterful fusion records through the mid-70's, with Wyatt leaving in about 1972 to start a solo career. (JA)

Soft Machine, Seven (1974)

By now the band had mutated from a psychedelic acid rock/jazz combo into a disciplined British jazz fusion combo, with only keyboard player Mike Ratledge being an original member. But they're damn good: sax/piano player Karl Jenkins is bursting with ideas, writing more than half the record and tossing off elaborate riffs; drummer John Marshall (an associate of Jack Bruce) is extraordinarily dextrous, inviting comparisons with Bill Bruford; and bassist Roy Babbington is always able to keep up with the rest, which is saying something. And as for Ratledge, he's not merely competent but clever in his use of refined, tasteful synthesizer voicings. The group had long since abandoned vocals, but complex overdubs and frequent stylistic shifts keep it interesting. And although none of the players are unmatched virtuosos - guitar phenom Alan Holdsworth would join the band for an album the next year - their combined level of mastery makes this a good buy for fusion fans. (JA)

*** Spirit, Clear Spirit (1969)

After two modestly successful albums, Spirit had finally developed a distinctive sound and was much more focused in the studio. Side 1 has a string of solidly entertaining rock songs: the riffy and energetic "Dark Eyed Woman," propelled by Randy California's blistering wah-wah guitar; the druggy, bluesy "Apple Orchard"; the gorgeously harmonized, uplifting "So Little Time To Fly," one of their best tunes; and "Ground Hog," a bizarre blend of heavy funk and archaic hillbilly influences. But the rest is uneven, with several second-rate pop tunes (the pretty, but plodding "Cold Wind"; the formulaic acid rocker "I'm Truckin'"); several instrumentals ("Ice" and title track, with Marty Paich's Sketches Of Spain-style strings; the aimless jazz number "Caught"); and an initially exciting, experimental mini-suite that breaks down in the middle ("New Dope In Town"). It's not nearly as memorable as the next album, but it is a respectable artistic effort that shows the group maturing beyond its California hippy origins. Produced by Lou Adler, who gets a co-write on the limp, mid-60's Beach Boys-style pop song "Give A Life, Take A Life." The new CD release includes their doomed single "1984," a dramatic and cleverly crafted 60's rock anthem that was banned from US radio; it shares nothing with David Bowie's later hit other than a vague connection to Orwell's novel (the B-side, "Sweet Stella Lady," is also good). (JA)

**** Spirit, Twelve Dreams Of Dr. Sardonicus (1970)

Sixties addicts like myself have a bad habit of ranting and raving about obscure psychedelic concept albums that turn out to suck. Well, this one deserves every last rant and rave - it's honestly in the same league as Forever Changes and Odessey And Oracle. Admittedly, the band's influences are only original when compared to the rest of the West Coast scene: Beatles-based rock, contemporary jazz, and just a hint of R & B. But in spite of the usual psychedelic gimmicks - panning, backwards tracks, layered overdubs, quasi-mystical lyrics ("Love Has Found A Way") - there's nothing self-indulgent or amateurish about it. Guitarist Randy California smokes on the few hard-rock numbers ("Street Worm"); it's no coincidence that he had a six-month internship with Jimi Hendrix back in 1967. Drummer Ed Cassidy (California's jazz-trained step-father) and pianist John Locke add substantial musical depth. And even though lead singer Jay Ferguson is pedestrian, they do manage some respectable group harmonies. All of it comes together on no less than five memorable tracks: the hard-hitting, intricately harmonized "Nothin' To Hide"; the earnest acoustic anthem "Nature's Way" - probably their most enduring song; the good-natured, entertainingly gimmicky "Animal Zoo"; the extra-funky "Mr. Skin," like a grittier, more authentic Chicago; and the irresistably uplifting "Morning Will Come," with another ballsy horn arrangement. Produced by Neil Young associate David Briggs. Spirit's three earlier albums don't appear to be as impressive, but I am planning to review them. The group split immediately afterwards, with Cassidy and California leading "Spirit" through a series of commercially inconsequential records over the next three decades. (JA)

Steppenwolf (1968)

Man, I'm totally losing it... yeah, this is the debut album by Canada's other gift to the 60's (see also Joni Mitchell and Neil Young) - the album "Including the hit: Born To Be Wild," as the cover kindly explains. It's thudding, grungey, slightly psychedelic 4/4-time R-O-C-K, distorted to death, slapped on some whitebread, and hold the mustard please. Kind of like Creedence in a really, really bad mood. Steppenwolf was essentially the John Kay show, and some of his tunes are screamingly bad, like his ludicrous tribute "[Chuck] Berry Rides Again." And he comes up so short on material that he has to cover garbage like Don Covay's "Sookie Sookie" and Hoyt Axton's "The Pusher," done definitively here with a screeching lead guitar, swaying tempo, and two cruel false endings that leave you begging for mercy. On the other hand, loud and dumb isn't always a bad thing: the band's take on "Hoochie Coochie Man" does nothing to Willie Dixon's arrangement except for speeding it up and cranking the amps to eleven, and it's fun. And Kay's not incompetent; his philosophical 6/8 ballad "Desperation" is still plastered with those famous burned-out guitars, but it's clever, and it surpasses Humble Pie's later cover version. As for The Hit, it was written by "Mars Bonfire" (whoever that is) and its druggy, hedonist thrashing is still entertaining after all these years - okay, I admit it. So sue me. (JA)

***1/2 The Stooges, The Stooges (1969)

By 1968 two great proto-punk bands had taken Detroit by storm: the hyper-political MC5 and the younger, more nihilistic Stooges, led by wildman singer Iggy Pop. Both of them were signed by Elektra records, and the Stooges hooked up with ex-Velvet Underground bassist and neophyte producer John Cale. The result is a bizarre 60's artifact, groundbreaking but seriously flawed. Nobody in the band seemed to be clear on the concept of song structure, so most of the head-pounding tunes are rudimentary rock 'n' roll riffs that sometimes shift to a chorus and sometimes don't. On the other hand, guitarist Ron Asheton has a total mastery of late 60's hard rock guitar gimmicks - wah-wah, blazing distortion, the works; the rhythm section (Dave Alexander, bass; Ron's brother Scott on drums) gets across a fat, tribalistic beat that you can't ignore ("1969"); and Pop is a total maniac, screaming his head off and playing games with his huge range ("I Wanna Be Your Dog"). But the record is totally compromised by a ten-minute, "The End"-style experiment that consists of the band chanting a mantra while Cale saws his viola, Ron solos randomly, and Pop improvises knuckleheaded, mock-Morrison lyrics ("We Will Fall"). There is one further Doors-style "psychedelic" ballad ("Ann"), but for the most part the record pushes rock's limits in a new and exciting direction. (JA)

*** The Stooges, Fun House (1970)

Very similar in tone to their first record, this is a disorganized, blazingly loud, occasionally monotonous dollop of acid-metal-proto punk. The band's chops have improved somewhat, so the riffs are pretty strong, there are no foolish attempts at hippy-dippy studio experimentation, and the volume never drops below 11. But the song material is actually weaker; none of these tracks is a classic like "I Wanna Be Your Dog," and the boys hurt their own cause with some overlong running times ("Dirt"; title track) and a feedback-drenched, five-minute noise-making session ("L.A. Blues"). The shorter tracks are fun, but they all work with the same formula of pounding drums, simplistic but catchy hooks, out-of-control guitar solos, and howling, incomprehensible vocals ("Down On The Street"; "Loose"; "T.V. Eye"; "1970"). That leaves the seven-minute "Dirt" as the record's high point, with a funky, down-tempo beat, surprisingly melodic bass lines from Dave Alexander, and Ron Asheton's shimmering rhythm guitar parts. And then there's the title track, with Steven Mackay adding a wild beatnik saxophone solo to an extended jam based on an ear-splitting riff. Nothing too profound, but it's a textbook demonstration of how this band set the stage for the punk revolution. Produced by Don Gallucci. After this, the group disbanded for a year and then reformed for the David Bowie-produced Raw Power, which is a brilliant hard rock masterpiece. I'll review that record some time soon. (JA)

** Tammi Terrell, Irresistable (1969)

There's no nice way to put this: after Terrell was diagnosed with inoperable brain cancer, Motown rushed out this collection of failed single sides and outtakes to cash in on publicity surrounding her imminent demise. Terrell had a string of hits written by Ashford & Simpson and performed with Marvin Gaye, but as a solo artist she couldn't find success, either in James Brown's camp or with Motown. Partly that's due to weak material (nothing here is by Ashford & Simpson, or anywhere near their level) and partly because she has a rather thin voice that sounded far better as a foil for Gaye than it does on its own. Harvey Fuqua and Jerry Bristol were responsible for a plurality of the tracks here, and their arrangements cross the driving Motown rhythm section with sweeping orchestral sweetening. It's a technique Smokey Robinson used to magical effect, but without strong melodies it sounds kitchy and lifeless. Many of the tunes are remakes ("This Old Heart Of Mine," Smokey's "He's The One I Love," even "I Can't Believe You Love Me," which Terrell also recorded with Gaye) and all the new tracks sound like filler (Fuqua and Bristol's "I Can't Go On Without You" and "Come On And See Me," "That's What Boys Are Made For"). The best cut is "Tears At The End Of A Love Affair," as Terrell makes you believe in the sappy lyrics. As Terrell's only full-length album, this is obviously a must for her fans, but don't expect the usual Motown magic. Terrell has a fan site with detailed information. (DBW)

**1/2 Carla Thomas, The Queen Alone (1967)

Thomas had a hit single as a teenager at the beginning of the 60's (the aching bubblegum "Gee Whiz"), then toiled without much success for Stax-Volt. In 1967 she scored with an Otis Redding duet album including the hit "Tramp," and also cut this less successful solo disc. The obvious comparison would be to Aretha Franklin, who leaped into the mainstream just as this album was being prepared - especially since Stax passed on Aretha because they felt Thomas was all they needed. But here Thomas is far from Franklin's R&B sound, and much closer to smooth-voiced contemporaries like Diana Ross and Dionne Warwick. She even covers a tune by Warwick's main composer, Burt Bacharach ("Any Day Now," originally a minor hit for Chuck Jackson and later remade by Ronnie Milsap). Half of the tracks are by Sam & Dave writers Isaac Hayes and David Porter, and while a couple of tracks sound like standard Stax soul ("Stop Thief"), mostly it's MOR ballads (the single "Unchanging Love," "When Tomorrow Comes"). The other tracks come from a variety of writers (most prominently Eddie Floyd) and several are unbearably corny ("Lie To Keep Me From Crying"). Notable as a Stax experiment with mainstreaming, but a big disappointment if you're looking for the gutsy, sassy side Thomas showed on "Tramp." (DBW)

****1/2 T. Rex, (1971)

Glam rock icon Marc Bolan got his start as a monotonous, whining hippy folk singer, billing himself and conga player Micky Finn as "Tyrannosaurus Rex" and recording a string of long-forgotten late 60's albums and a few marginal British hit singles. Taking a hint from friend and rival David Bowie, Bolan revamped his act in late 1970 and promptly scored two massive British hits ("Ride A White Swan"; "Hot Love"). His following album release is an absolute classic of the genre, rivalled only by Bowie's work and Mott the Hoople's All The Young Dudes. Produced by Bowie associate Tony Visconti, it features clever string arrangements, super-echoey mixes, super-campy backing vocals by Flo & Eddie, and loose, hedonistic sax parts by versatile ex-King Crimson member Ian McDonald. Two big-deal singles are the high points: the honking, super-cool groove tune "Bang A Gong (Get It On)," Bolan's only US hit, and the rambling follow-up "Jeepster," with a booming Bo Diddley beat and a marvelously sinister vocal. Both of them push the fun quotient through the roof. "Mambo Sun" and "The Motivator" mine the same brilliant formula as the singles, and almost everything else works: a tripped-out ballad ("Cosmic Dancer"); a wiggy, crawling blues parody ("Lean Woman Blues"); an outrageous, orchestrated Stones-like funk groove ("Rip Off"); and a pair of late-period Beatles-style flower-power sing-alongs ("Planet Queen"; "Life's A Gas"). Some of it is over the top - the doo-woppy "Monolith" drags, and the elaborate acoustic ballad "Girl" is a slavish, over-mannered pre-glam Bowie imitation. So the album is slightly flawed but essential. The rhythm section is Steve Currie (bass) and Will Legend (drums). T. Rex scored a long string of British hit singles through late 1973 before slowly fading out, with Bolan dying in a car crash in 1977. (JA)

** Doris Troy (1970)

Another well-intentioned Beatles project: Troy had been singing backup on rock and R&B records for years, and she was signed by Apple to do her own stuff. Like Billy Preston's similar effort, this flopped, though unlike Preston, Troy really never got a second chance. She has a fine voice, but nothing exceptional or distinctive, and her songwriting is very ordinary light R&B, both lyrics ("Don't Call Me No More") and music (the single "Ain't That Cute," produced by Harrison). As with Preston, Harrison rounds up a zillion big name guests: Steve Stills appears and contributes a couple of tunes (including "Special Care"); Ringo drums; Preston and Harrison are prominent; and Clapton is apparently on here somewhere. But it has the feel of a disorganized all-star jam: as if they were doing Troy such a favor just appearing on her album that they didn't really need to exert themselves. Troy is credited as producer. The CD reissue has excellent liner notes and includes no less than five bonus tracks: three are previously unreleased, while "Get Back" and Leon Russell's "Vaya Con Dios" were B-sides. (DBW)

*** The Turtles, It Ain't Me Babe (1965)

A bunch of things led to the Turtles being seen as a novelty act: their goofy 1966 #1 hit "Happy Together"; their pudgy, turtle-like tenor lead singers Howard Kaylan and Mark Volman; their Monkees-like mid-60's L.A. bubblegum schtick; and Kaylan and Volman's later self-demeaning exploits as "Flo and Eddie," for example, fronting Frank Zappa's band at its early 70's silliest. This debut album, however, proves that the band had some substance. "Unoriginal" is a vast understatement: there are three weak Bob Dylan covers, including the hit title track and a stiff version of "Like A Rolling Stone," that religiously copy the Byrds folk-rock formula; "Wanderin' Kind" is a blatant rewrite of the Byrds' Dylan-penned hit "Mr. Tambourine Man," and it's joined by some other derivative 12 string guitar-augmented tracks like their closely harmonized version of Dylan's "Love Minus Zero"; a couple tunes are Herman's Hermits-like bubblegum rock ("It Was A Very Good Year"); and there's more than a touch of the Beach Boys' surf rock sound throughout ("Glitter And Gold" would have made a fine hit for that band). There's also some then-trendy, but now mildly embarassing "protest" folk-rock, like Kaylan's "Let The Cold Winds Blow" and a decent but unexciting version of "Eve Of Destruction" (it promptly became a #1 hit for New Christy Minstrel's singer Barry McGuire). Guitarist Al Nichol is competent but unable to solo, and at this point the harmonies are sweet but uninventive. Still, the band is entirely competent, the vocals are first-rate and often ferociously emotive, and a few tricks like harpsichord hint at originality; Byrds fans might want to check them out. The CD includes a couple bonus tracks recorded later that are well-done and amusingly "psychedelic" (Goffin-King's "So Goes Love"). (JA)

*1/2 Vanilla Fudge (1967)

Impressario Shadow Morton (of Shangri-Las and Janis Ian fame) rounded up four nice young New York City boys and formed a psychedelic rock outfit, complete with slow tempos, over-the-top white soul vocals, and oh-so-groovy guitar effects. Morton's smartest move was covering pop hits of the day rather than trying to come up with original material: a seven-minute cover of the Supremes' "You Keep Me Hanging On" became a smash hit, and the album hung on the charts for a year. So conceptually it was very shrewd, even if musically it's a disaster: the boys can't find anything interesting on their instruments, the long running times are painful, and it's hard to hear fine tunes like "Eleanor Rigby" or "She's Not There" massacred. The best moments come when they take on material that's kitsch to begin with, like Sonnny & Cher's "Bang Bang" (concurrently covered by Stevie Wonder!). The Fudge managed to chart four more LP's during the decade, and bassist Tim Bogert and drummer Carmine Appice have continued to work with such luminaries as Jeff Beck and Rod Stewart - I don't know what happened to organist/singer Mark Stein or guitarist Vinnie Martell. (DBW)

**** Jr. Walker & The All-Stars, Shotgun (1965)

Though Motown never pushed its house band to make instrumental records of their own, the label did have success with Jr. Walker, a saxophone player of the old-fashioned honk-and-squeal school of R&B. He's got lots of energy and an enjoyably raunchy tone, and he knew how to write a stomping riff tune: the title track (a hit single) is his, and several other songs are just as good - "Cleo's Mood," "Tune Up" - though it rarely varies from midtempo party mode. The band sounds just like the MGs meet Jimmy Smith, which is a compliment - it makes you wish Motown had recorded more in this vein, because the musicians certainly had the skills for it. I'm sure Walker cut more records for the label, but I haven't seen any of them; in the meantime, you can't go wrong with this one. (DBW)

*** Larry Williams, Here's Larry Williams (1959)

Larry Williams is remembered today mostly because the Beatles covered two of his songs: one of which, "Dizzy Miss Lizzy," is included here. It shows Williams' strengths and weaknesses: he writes catchy tunes with clean, no-nonsense arrangements and occasional clever turns of phrase, but he shows no emotional depth or musical variety, and all his hits are rhymes on girls' names. So although "Short Fat Fannie," "Lawdy Miss Clawdy," "Bony Moronie" and "Dizzy Miss Lizzy" are all enjoyable by themselves, after a whole album of them you'll be screaming for mercy. Still, if you're in a nostalgic mood, his crisp professionalism will get the job done. (DBW)