The Doors – L.A. Woman (1971)

4.5 out of 5 Stars!

I freely confess, I was never a fan of The Doors during the band’s actual existence (from 1965-1973). In hindsight, the reason was certainly understandable—when the band burst onto the scene in ’67 with its self-titled album, I was only seven years old, and during that time in my young life, The Monkees were (to my mind) the next best thing to peanut butter & jelly sandwiches and chocolate milk. Then, when I really started “getting into” music around the age of eleven or twelve, no one within my circle of friends even owned an album by The Doors, but instead, introduced me to “new” and exciting groups they’d discovered such as Deep Purple, Uriah Heep, Jethro Tull, Yes, The Allman Brothers Band, Grand Funk Railroad, Led Zeppelin, Bloodrock, and Black Sabbath. Plus, by this time, The Doors had already lost Jim Morrison (RIP) and were already considered “old hat” and “hanging on by a thread.”

Therefore, it wasn’t until the early ’80s—when I’d reached my twenties and regularly performed in my own groups—that I gained an interest in the band. For this sudden exposure, I thank a Chicagoland act called Moonlight Drive. As the name implies, the outfit was a “Doors tribute band,” fairly popular in Illinois, Indiana, and Wisconsin, and I luckily found my own band playing several shows with the group in the tri-state region. Of course, I’d certainly heard of The Doors, but only knew the hit singles such as “Hello, I Love You” and “Touch Me,” and had always thought the band rather lightweight and way too “acid rock poppish” for my tastes. But after seeing Moonlight Drive deliver a dramatic, heavy-hitting set of The Doors’s best tunes, including many of the non-hit singles, on several nights, I suddenly found myself hooked. Only then did I realize that The Doors’s back catalogue apparently had much more to offer than the Pop-Rock fare I’d always associated with the band, so on a whim, I subsequently purchased the six studio albums from the “Jim Morrison” heyday.

My favorite of the group’s platters not only proved to be the “rockingest” of them all—no surprise, considering my preference for heavier material—but also the last of the Morrison albums. On L.A. Woman, the group included one amazing track after the other—not one “filler” in sight—and I ended up playing it regularly through the decades, certainly more so than any of the group’s earlier efforts, which I consider less consistent (and yes, as on 1969’s The Soft Parade, for instance, occasionally way too light for me). Additionally, this collection had a biting edge to it, along with a darker atmosphere (perhaps since I knew it would end up being Morrison’s swansong), and also included more Blues-based tunes as opposed to much of the group’s previous and “trippier” Psychedelic-tinged work.

Here, Morrison performs at his grittiest and gruffest best, belting out the lyrics with an almost punkish urgency and dementia—I have to believe that vocalists such as David Johansen from New York Dolls gained much inspiration from Morrison’s performances—where I can easily forgive his occasional inaccuracies regarding pitch. Moreover, his often cryptic and mysterious lyrics are, as ever, pure poetry, justifiably earning him legendary status in the rock ‘n’ roll world.

Meanwhile, although never a stable fan of Ray Manzarek’s organ tones (depending on the track, such as the catchy hit “Love Her Madly,” where the Hammond has a Farfisa sound that always rubbed me the wrong way), his rollicking performances on the funky opener “The Changeling” and the thumping “The WASP (Texas Radio and the Big Beat)” helped launch both tunes to the top of my “favorites” list, plus his strange Hammond insertions on “L’America” made for some creepiness I found endlessly charming. And of course, his wildly melodic traditional piano dexterity on the bopping “L.A. Woman” as well as the Fender Rhodes that graces that composition and also provides the haunting leads and solid chord patterns on the stunning “Riders on the Storm” aided to create two unforgettable and endurable classics, which incidentally are my other two favorite tracks not only on this album, but in the band’s entire catalogue.

Meanwhile, Robby Krieger impresses throughout. His guitar leads (especially on the bluesier songs “Been Down So Long,” “Crawling King Snake,” and “Cars Hiss By My Window”) are always tastefully executed and often inspired, while his rhythm guitar bits (as well as those provided by “guest” rhythm guitarist Marc Benno) never distract or hog center stage when not warranted, allowing the songs to breathe without clutter. Drummer John Densmore also displays the full spectrum of his skills, his tempos always tight and punchy, and his fills perfectly appropriate on both the rockers and the laid-back numbers. Additionally, although just one in a long string of session bassists playing on each of the band’s studio albums, Jerry Scheff also delivered a meritorious performance, his bass lines working in perfect tandem with Densmore’s beats, and his riffs always melodious with first-rate implementation. Plainly speaking, in my estimation, he was the “guest bassist” through the years who offered the most energy and backbone to the band’s overall sound.

Regardless, anyone still unfamiliar with The Doors (and without the good fortune of having a tribute band like Moonlight Drive to provide a marvelous replica) who yearns to investigate the band, L.A. Woman is a great place to begin, since it shows the group at the height of its fame and creativity. After Morrison’s passing, the surviving members went on to release two additional albums, but alas, the music seemed a pale imitation of what appeared on this platter, so who knows what else the band may have fashioned had Morrison not left this planet so tragically young? I can’t help thinking that, if L.A. Woman gives any indication, chances are it would’ve likely been just as exceptional.

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Stone The Crows – Ode to John Law (1970)

4 out of 5 Stars!

With the terrific Maggie Bell as the band’s front-woman, one might expect to hear thunderous and raspy Janis Joplin-inspired vocals, loaded with angst and emotion, over hard-driving Blues Rock, which is exactly what’s on offer here. To me, Stone The Crows is what Faces might have sounded like with a female vocalist at the helm—had Rod Stewart perhaps undergone a gender reassignment.

Ode to John Law, the band’s second studio album—and its second album released in 1970—continues on from where the debut left off, with more Psychedelic-tinged, Blues-based Rock ‘n’ Roll, along with a touch of Funk and Soul added to the mix, thick-sounding Hammond, trippy electric piano, spirited and tasty guitar, and a solid and punchy rhythm section. And with not only Maggie Bell belting out tracks such as “Mad Dogs & Englishmen,” “Sad Mary,” “Love 74,” “Things are Getting Better,” and a cover of Percy Mayfield’s “Danger Zone,” but also with the underrated guitarist Les Harvey (band founder and brother of the “sensational” Alex Harvey, who would be fatally electrocuted on stage only a few short years later) and bassist/vocalist James Dewar (who would soon join with Robin Trower to create a string of classic albums), the band’s lineup, rounded out by keyboardist John McGinnis and drummer Collin Allen, simply smokes!

Of course, the band would go on to release one additional top-class album (Teenage Licks) in ’71 without Dewar and McGinnis, and another (Ontinuous Performance) in ’72, just after the death of Harvey, where the remaining musicians quickly hired Jimmy McCulloch (Small Faces/Wings) to finish the album. But surviving in the wake of such a tragedy proved too difficult, and Stone The Crows fell apart shortly afterward. A shame, really, since as heard especially on its self-titled debut and Ode to John Law, the band possessed a unique style, had undeniable chemistry, a seemingly endless drive, and a knack for skillfully incorporating touches of numerous influences into its sound.

(RIP to Les Harvey, James Dewar, and Jimmy McCulloch, true legends and horribly missed.)

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AC/DC – Let There Be Rock (1977)

4 out of 5 Stars!

I’ll never forget how I discovered this band…back in 1979, I found myself in the hospital for several days—nothing too serious, thankfully—and coincidentally, my roommate just happened to be a high school buddy whom I hadn’t seen since our graduation the previous year. Not only did the poor guy have a nasty, dysfunctional appendix, but before leaving for the hospital, he had the foresight to bring along with him a bunch of cassette tapes, two of which were by an unknown (to me) band from Australia called AC/DC.

One afternoon after his inevitable appendectomy, he played Let There Be Rock (along with the band’s follow-up release Powerage) on his portable cassette player, and needless to say, I found myself immediately hooked. So within days after being released from the hospital, I headed to the record store and purchased both albums, and I must say, I have never grown tired of either.

On Let There Be Rock, AC/DC’s fourth studio effort, the band displayed a raw and dirty, no-holds-barred style of barreling and bluesy Boogie Rock, the rhythm guitars (thanks to Malcolm Young) blasting and metal-tinged, and the bass and drums (respectively assaulted by Mark Evans and Phil Rudd) punchy, pounding, and pumping. Meanwhile, Angus Young’s six-string solos sliced through the thundering chaos like feisty bolts of melodic lightning, as if he used razor blades as guitar picks, while singer Bon Scott’s roaring and shredded tonsils helped to provide the band with not only an instantly recognizable sound, but a discernible and unapologetic attitude, one of rebellious, punk-like belligerence.

The tracks “Dog Eat Dog,” “Problem Child,” “Whole Lotta Rosie,” “Go Down,” “Overdose”—heck, every single tune, as it turned out—left a profound impression on me that day in the hospital, but it was the rollicking title track that truly seared its way into my brain, and I sensed it would one day be recognized by Hard Rock fans as an undeniable classic. Add to all of this Angus Young’s unusual image and fashion sense, not to mention his antics being that of a hyperactive schoolboy on acid, and it came as no shock to me that AC/DC would quickly become a driving force on the worldwide music scene.

So to this day, whenever I hear this band—especially Let There Be Rock and Powerage—I instantly think of my friend Rollo and his near-bursting, seeming worthless appendix, which (in a truly bizarre and macabre way), ended up being quite valuable to me regarding my further musical enlightenment.

(RIP Malcolm Young & Bon Scott)

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Wishbone Ash – Argus (1972)

4.5 out of 5 Stars!

Through the many years since Wishbone Ash first appeared on the music scene, my friends have continually and playfully (or sometimes, intensely and angrily, depending on their level of alcohol consumption) bantered over which of the studio albums in the group’s catalogue is its finest work of art. Back in the olden days (around the time of the band’s magnificent Live Dates album, one of the greatest live recordings of all time, in my opinion) my answer was always Argus, the group’s third release. And now, more than four decades later, even with more than twenty additional Wishbone Ash studio platters over which to debate, my response still remains the same, and unless miracles happen to alter my perspective, it likely always will.

Now, I’m in no way claiming that any Wishbone Ash album other than Argus is somehow undeserving of the “best studio album” spot, since I find the overall quality of several of the band’s other releases quite high. Indeed, I feel that the 1970 debut album, along with Pilgrimage, There’s the Rub, New England, and Just Testing, all contain generally top-level material, and I also find the majority of the group’s other early albums (prior to 1980) fairly entertaining. It’s just that, when hearing Argus even nowadays, intense memories of people and places and events instantly spring to mind. This album greatly contributed to the soundtrack of my early teen years, and the cherished recollections the music conjures will forever play an integral part regarding my feelings toward this particular platter (as well as for Live Dates).

But even putting aside my impassioned opinions and looking at this album objectively, Argus has a ton going for it. Not only is the songwriting quality consistent throughout the album, with the performances by each musician outstanding, but the band at this point in time (drummer Steve Upton, bassist Martin Turner, and guitarists Andy Powell and Ted Turner—the classic lineup) elected to incorporate an intriguing blend of everything from Blues, Country, Folk, and Prog-Rock into its often-catchy Hard Rock style. The band’s trademarked twin-guitar sound borders on rock ‘n’ roll perfection, while the song arrangements are often deceptively intricate and energetically charged. And best of all, the album contains a commendable balance of both heavy and light moments, with most of the seven tracks—”Throw Down the Sword,” “Blowin’ Free,” “Warrior,” “Time Was,” and “The King Will Come”—becoming long-standing concert favorites. And even the two additional tunes included—”Sometime World” and “Leaf and Stream”—have an undeniable charm that makes Argus, for me, not only a perfectly sequenced collection of tunes, but also a rich bounty of those exquisite memories I mentioned above.

But is the album an unblemished masterpiece? No, not quite, as I feel some of the vocals—never Wishbone Ash’s strongest asset, if the truth be told—could have been “tweaked and patched” to match the utter perfection of the guitars and rhythm section. Additionally, although Derek Lawrence’s production is highly commendable given the technology of the era, I would have liked the songs to have a tad more ambience, a “big hall” sound, which is why the tracks on Argus that also appear on Live Dates possessed an even greater allure for me in a concert setting.

Nevertheless, despite these slight flaws, Argus is a Hard Rock classic, and for the reasons stated above, will forever remain my favorite studio album from this extraordinary band.

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West, Bruce & Laing – Why Dontcha (1972)

4 out of 5 Stars!

Why Dontcha is the first of two albums released in the early ’70s by the “supergroup” power trio composed of guitarist Leslie West and drummer Corky Laing (Mountain), who team with bassist/keyboardist Jack Bruce (Cream), for highly electrifying and straightforward Blues Rock with a touch of Soul and Heavy Psych.

On its debut album, each musician takes a turn at singing lead. But let’s face it, anyone familiar with the voices of these three individuals knows that none of them has the awesome skills to compete with the likes of Ian Gillan, Paul Rodgers, or Robert Plant, for example. Yet even through none of the guys has what I would consider supreme vocal talent, each musician at least holds his own and services the style of material quite admirably. Nevertheless, this is not an album for music-lovers merely seeking outstanding vocal prowess.

No, this album instead is for those who revel in wonderfully slick guitar, melodic bass, and thumping drums, and thankfully in this arena, each individual musician plays at the top of his game while working with his cohorts as a cohesive team. Indeed, some of the rousing and often-inspired performances on stomping and pounding tracks such as “The Doctor,” “Love is Worth the Blues,” “Third Degree,” “Pollution Woman,” “Turn Me Over,” and the scorching title tune often bring to mind the best work of both Mountain and Cream, and occasionally even surpass it, while a few other tunes—the piano-enhanced “Out into the Fields” and “While You Sleep”—offer up lighter moments, adding diversity to the package and showing the group’s potential.

Overall, fans of the individual musicians and their famous “parent groups” will certainly appreciate much of the material here, while devotees of other bands such as Cactus, Beck Bogert Appice, Humble Pie, Faces, and Free will also likely savor the often-fun and raucous material.

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Black Oak Arkansas – High on the Hog (1973)

3.5 out of 5 Stars!

Formed in 1969, Black Oak Arkansas was a down ‘n’ dirty Southern Rock group from (yes, you guessed it) Black Oak, Arkansas, that enjoyed some marginal success in the first half of the ’70s, due in large part to the wild stage presence of the group’s wacky-sounding lead singer Jim Dandy Mangrum wielding his equally wacky washboard. Indeed, Mangrum was the “David Lee Roth” of rock ‘n’ roll before the actual David Lee Roth showed up years later to mimic him, and in those early days of the band’s career, Black Oak Arkansas quickly gained a reputation for putting on one hell of a live show. The band’s triple-six-string assault, along with its countrified Blues Rock repertoire, seemed almost a precursor to the future appearance of Southern stalwarts Lynyrd Skynyrd, only with a crazy form of gusto, thanks to Mangrum’s odd twang-riddled crooning and rollicking stage antics.

Although I find many of the band’s albums occasionally spotty regarding songwriting and overall production quality, High on the Hog, the group’s fourth studio release, seems to me one of its most successful efforts. Best known for the rousing single “Jim Dandy,” a boogie-rock ditty that garnered major radio airplay across America, High on the Hog also included fun tracks such as “Movin’,” “Why Shouldn’t I Smile,” “Red Hot Lovin’,” “Swimmin’ in Quicksand,” and “Mad Man,” which offered raw and rampaging frolic flavored with either back-country slide and steel guitars or hillbilly banjos. The album also included a spirited triple-guitar-featured instrumental named “Moonshine Sonata,” acoustic swampland singalongs in the form of “Back to the Land” and “High ‘n’ Dry,” along with some good, old-fashioned rock ‘n’ roll sleeze courtesy of “Happy Hooker.” Overall, I felt this a fairly consistent and catchy collection of tunes, which favorably mirrored the band’s stage shows when it came to offering diverse and energetic material.

Granted, I was never a die-hard fan of the group due to Mangrum’s vocal quirks, which I could tolerate in only marginal doses—depending, of course, on the amount of hooch I’d consumed. Nevertheless, I still periodically revisit some of Black Oak Arkansas’s early albums, including High on the Hog, and typically enjoy the spirited guitar interplay and especially loving the presence of future “superstar” drummer Tommy Aldridge, who’s solidly thumping away on just about every track.

Go, Jim Dandy, go…

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Wishbone Ash – Just Testing (1980)

4 out of 5 Stars!

After the release of 1973’s impressive Live Dates (one of my favorite live albums of all time), Wishbone Ash entered a second phase in its career, with the band not only hiring a new guitarist in Laurie Wisefield (replacing founding member Ted Turner), but also experimenting with its overall sound/style. Although the change in line-up proved more or less successful, since the talented Wisefield fit it nicely, the latter change—the experimentation—resulted in mixed results.

Thankfully, the band’s initial album with Wisefield, 1974’s There’s the Rub, was a noticeable step forward from the previous Wishbone Four, which lacked some of the band’s earlier energy and passion. But now with the band operating at full steam again, showing that the change in personnel had no initial negative effects, the musical evolution slowly began.

Unfortunately, several albums during this phase ended up rather lackluster and sterile, with a noticeable drop in heat and quality. But a few stood out to me, with 1980’s Just Testing being one of them.

On this release, rocking tracks such as “Living Proof,” “Helpless,” “Pay the Price,” the acoustic and electric hybrid “Master of Disguise,” the ballad “New Rising Star,” and the more Progressive “Lifeline” occasionally harken back to the band’s early days, featuring inspired fretwork, with plenty of Blues influences and the band’s signature twin-guitar riffs on glorious display. Whereas a handful of other tunes, such as “Haunting Me” and “Insomnia,” add sound treatments and production techniques often associated with other genres, including New Wave—subtle additions for sure, enough to show the band toying with genre boundaries, but not too far out of the norm as to create an incohesive collection of tunes.

In fact, the general cohesiveness of the tracks, the enhanced production, as well as the sterling performances of each musician and the overall catchier songwriting are what sets this album apart from several of its predecessors during this era of Wishbone Ash. So although Just Testing is not a perfect album, not quite worthy to share the pedestal with classic studio albums such as Argus, in my opinion, it’s still one of the better platters in Wishbone Ash’s vast catalogue.

And sadly, Just Testing also marked the end of this second phase of the band’s history, with long-time bassist/vocalist Martin Turner exiting shortly after this album’s completion. The band’s next release, despite John Wetton joining the line-up, ended up (due mainly to the absence of Martin Turner’s recognizable voice) being a bit too different in sound/style for many long-time fans of the group, including myself, and therefore also marked the end of my further interest in Wishbone Ash’s subsequent albums.

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Humble Pie – On to Victory (1980)

3.5 out of 5 Stars!

I’m not sure why this particular Humble Pie “comeback” album typically receives generally low ratings on many music-related websites. Perhaps it’s because the band at this time featured only two original members—drummer Jerry Shirley and the outstanding vocalist/guitarist Steve Marriott with his raspy, powerful, soulful delivery, undoubtedly the star of the show. For this album, Humble Pie also added Bobby Tench (Jeff Beck Group) on guitar, keys, and second vocals along with Anthony “Sooty” Jones on bass, yet perhaps because the album didn’t feature Clem Clempson’s tasteful lead guitar work, that may be part of the problem for some listeners.

And yes, this ten-track album may not contain the same overall raw and hungry atmosphere as many of the band’s releases from the early ’70s—Rock On, Thunderbox, or Smokin’, for example—but it’s nevertheless a definite step upward from the group’s previous (and poorly produced) ’75 release Street Rats. Plus, On to Victory does contain a gem of an opening track called “Fool for a Pretty Face,” along with the raucous and upbeat “Further Down the Road” and “Get It in the End,” the sleazy grind of “Take It from Here,” the bluesy and gut-wrenching “My Lover’s Prayer,” and the sax-enhanced “Infatuation.” And as always when it comes to a Humble Pie album, numerous tracks feature the gospel-tinged female background singers and an appropriate amount of organ and piano accents. Therefore, although On to Victory certainly isn’t a perfect album, not entirely “victorious” as the band no doubt had wished, it definitely ain’t half as bad as some listeners might have one believe either.

And hey, any album that includes an ass-kickin’ rocker with a silly title such as “You Soppy Pratt” can’t be too dismal, right?

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Fleetwood Mac – Mystery to Me (1973)

3.5 out of 5 Stars!

Prior to achieving worldwide superstardom, Fleetwood Mac had churned out music for years and years, first creating some fine albums in the (originally) Blues Rock genre with spectacular guitarist Peter Green at the helm, then (during its second phase) releasing a handful of additional albums that contained a more commercial, laid-back sound with only a hint of Blues Rock. This often-forgotten second phase of the group saw guitarist/vocalist Bob Welch and the ultra-talented keyboardist/vocalist Christine McVie (gosh, I adore this woman!) joining up for the ride.

But despite the two new members bringing with them their advanced songwriting skills, and the group’s relatively stable line-up during this period, Fleetwood Mac still couldn’t quite generate mega-stardom status. That wouldn’t happen until Welch left the group and the Lindsey Buckingham/Stevie Nicks team came aboard for the band’s third “heavily soap-opera drama” phase.

Regardless, I always enjoyed Fleetwood Mac’s second phase, and still listen to those five 1971-1974 albums on a semi-regular basis, especially this particular platter. On Mystery to Me, the band included more than a handful of its finest, most memorable songs from this era, including Welch’s “Somebody,” “Emerald Eyes,” “The City,” and “Hypnotized,” and a decent cover version of the classic Yardbirds’ track “For Your Love.” But for me, McVie’s songs are typically the special ones, and in this case, her compositions such as “Just Crazy Love,” “Why,” “The Way I Feel,” and “Believe Me,” though perhaps not as brilliant as her future endeavors, still sounded as if they could have easily appeared on any of the classic albums during the Buckingham/Nicks years.

Meanwhile, Bob Welch and Christine McVie’s instrumental and vocal skills are in tip-top shape, while John McVie and Mick Fleetwood prove once again to be a “wonderfully tight though nothing-too-fancy” rhythm team. And Bob Weston, his contributions to the band often underappreciated or dismissed, plays some surprisingly tasty lead guitar throughout, especially his subtle riffing on the bluesier “Somebody,” the slide guitar intro on “Why,” or on the harder-rocking “The City” and “Miles Away.” Additionally, with the now-legendary Martin Birch (Deep Purple/Wishbone Ash/Jeff Beck/Faces/etc.) now handling production duties instead of just engineering like he did on the band’s previous three albums, the sound here is rich and full, probably one of Fleetwood Mac’s best and most consistent during this period.

By the way, I continually roll my eyes in amazement and chuckle when I hear or read comments by supposed music-lovers who still seemingly have no clue that Fleetwood Mac even existed before the appearance of Stevie Nicks. What a shame for them, since Fleetwood Mac delivered a stream of enjoyable and catchy, diverse and often-imaginative music prior to 1975, especially on Mystery to Me.

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Little Caesar – Little Caesar (1990)

4 out of 5 Stars!

Los Angeles’s Little Caesar released its debut album back in 1990, and with its hard-rockin’ style, heavily steeped in both Blues and even Soul influences, thanks to the inclusion of classic covers such as Aretha Franklin’s “Chain Of Fools” and The Temptations “I Wish It Would Rain,” the band showed great promise and didn’t appear to be just another Guns ‘n’ Roses clone.

Indeed, the band’s “biker” image—complete with overly tattooed arms, dirty boots, tattered jeans, leather, and bandanas—seemed more akin to Circus Of Power than any “hair band” of the era. But when it came to the music itself, the Circus Of Power comparisons were more limited. Whereas the other act had a gruffer, no-frills, garage-band style, Little Caesar possessed a slicker, well-rounded sound with some light keyboard enhancements on several tracks, thanks in part to the guidance of famed producer Bob Rock.

Not to say anything is watered down or wimpy here, since tunes such as “Down ‘n’ Dirty,” “Rock ‘n’ Roll State of Mind,” “Drive It Home,” “Wrong Side of the Tracks,” “Little Queenie,” and “Hold On” have the same boot-stompin’ goodness as the other group. Yet Little Caesar also included a few lighter, less-raging moments on this collection, such as on the ballad “In Your Arms,” along with “Cajun Panther,” “From The Start,” the fantastic “Midtown,” and the aforementioned “I Wish It Would Rain” and “Chain of Fools” (the band’s first single), where the group displayed higher commercial appeal.

But thanks (not!) to the arrival of the Grunge era, it mattered little since any straightforward rock ‘n’ roll band like Little Caesar, no matter how talented, got kicked to the curb until the musical “trend du jour” ran its course. Not even the arrival of accomplished guitarist Earl Slick for the group’s second album could gain Little Caesar any publicity and kick its career into overdrive. Such as shame!

At least the band reunited in the new century and released two additional albums, although it still remains too obscure for my liking.

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