The Throbs – The Language of Thieves and Vagabonds (1991)

3.5 out of 5 Stars!

I still vaguely recall all the silly and preposterous hoopla surrounding The Throbs when the New York band first appeared on the scene in the early ’90s. The PR department at Geffen Records worked endlessly to make people believe how this band was destined for the big time, how The Throbs were the next Guns N’ Roses and would thoroughly and masterfully take over all of planet Earth with a debut album loaded with such infectious and rapturous music that even die-hard fans of Jazz, Soul, Rap, Country and even Classical, Opera, and every other genre imaginable would instantly switch allegiance to The Throbs, and only The Throbs, for the rest of eternity. Yes, the over-the-top hype pushed the notion that it would soon become the world of The Throbs, like it or not, with people of all races, all religions, all ages, and even America’s Republicans and Democrats, all banding together to honor the magnificence of this act, and (ultimately) praise Geffen Records for discovering such a life-altering musical treasure.

Well, needless to say, this grand and glorious destiny did not occur, not even close, even despite the fact the album was co-produced by the heavy-hitting team of Bob Ezrin and Richard “Dick” Wagner, or that it even included a guest appearance by Little Richard himself. I can’t help but wonder whether Geffen Records fired the head of its PR department for not making “instant worldwide fame” happen, or perhaps canned someone in the art department for approving an almost unreadable band logo to grace the way-too-cluttered album cover, or maybe even dumped someone higher up for not foreseeing the sudden advent of a monster genre called Grunge. Well, whatever the various fates of those record company “suits,” the band itself—fronted by a dude with the way-too-cutesy name of Ronnie Sweetheart—did seem to try its level best to leave a mark on the industry.

The Language of Thieves and Vagabonds, the group’s sole album, contained some fun music, mostly foot-tappin’ and sleazy rock ‘n’ roll loaded with hooks that (somewhat) had a Guns N’ Roses style and swagger. But to me, the rocking tracks such as “Sweet Addition,” “Come Down Sister,” “Rip It Up,” “It’s Not the End of the World,” “Underground,” and the Little Richard-enhanced “Ecstasy” sounded more like The Cult (Sonic Temple-era) with a touch of Hanoi Rocks, The Quireboys, and The Dogs D’Amour, whereas the two ballads included in this collection—”Honey Child” and “Dreamin'”—seemed to take on a similar vibe to The Rolling Stones, L.A. Guns, The Black Crowes, and other straightforward groups unafraid to include acoustic guitar into the mix.

So, even though The Throbs offered nothing at all innovative when it came to its music or its “hairsprayed and eyelinered” image, The Language of Thieves and Vagabonds did deliver some fairly decent tracks and a whole lot of attitude, thanks mostly to Sweetheart’s snarling lead vocals. But then again, so did countless other albums of the era by countless other equally talented bands. Unfortunately, after that “instant worldwide fame” thing didn’t happen for The Throbs, Geffen (no shock) dropped the group within the better part of a year and certainly went on to hype the “next big thing” that likely never occurred. Oh, well, it’s only rock ‘n’ roll, right?

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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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Masquerade – Surface of Pain (1994)

4.5 out of 5 Stars!

From Sweden, Masquerade appeared on the scene in the early ’90s, released two albums, then disappeared, only to resurface again with two additional albums just after the turn of the century. Surface of Pain, the quartet’s second release, is a woefully underrated collection of sizzling Hard Rock/Heavy Metal.

On hard-hitting tracks such as “Wasteland,” “Say Your Prayer,” “America,” “Feels Good,” “Judas Kiss,” and “Suffering,” the guitar tones and riffs (provided by a guy who goes professionally by the name of Thomas G:son—real surname, Gustafsson) are some of the most brutal and engaging I’ve ever heard, and backed by the merest hint of keyboards to round out the band’s already full and rich sound. On the other hand, “God of Man” and “Free My Mind” drop things back tempo-wise, with G:son adding acoustic guitar to the backdrop for Masquerade to deliver a grand and crushing ballad in the former instance, and a mellow and melodic tune in the latter piece, which also closes out the album on a dreamy, wonderfully atmospheric note.

Moreover, the band’s singer, Tony Yoanson, has a forceful and passionate voice occasionally similar to Iron Maiden’s Bruce Dickinson, and the strength of his melody lines, with full and punchy background harmonies, along with the pounding rhythms (thanks to bassist Henrik Lundberg and drummer Marco Tapani), provide for some memorable, head-bangin’ tunes.

Therefore, Masquerade was an obscure band shamefully ignored by the masses, with Surface of Pain shockingly rated with dismal scores on several music-related websites. I almost have to wonder if there are two versions of this album floating out there in the universe—the version I’ve owned and enjoyed for more than two decades, and another version that keeps getting lambasted by other reviewers (often with surprisingly vitriolic language). It’s almost as if there is a personal grudge being held against this particular band and this specific collection of tracks. Well, whatever the reason for the seemingly unfair hatred, I felt Masquerade (and Surface of Pain) truly deserved much more respect.

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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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Gillan – Future Shock (1981)

4.5 out of 5 Stars!

Gillan (the band) always played a weird-ass concoction of Hard Rock/Heavy Metal/Prog-Rock and even “How The Hell Do You Classify That?” Rock that somehow got simply clumped into the “New Wave Of British Heavy Metal” movement of the early ’80s (thanks to the era of the band’s productivity and splendor).

But just savoring each track on any of the band’s many albums showed that it had a TON of diversity, thanks to the extraordinary musicians involved (on this album, keyboardist Colin Towns, guitarist Bernie Tormé, drummer Mick Underwood, bassist John McCoy, and vocalist Ian Gillan) and their individual histories of playing on such diverse albums in numerous bands with such diverse styles.

As you can no-doubt tell, “diversity” is the key issue (and word) here, and 1981’s Future Shock is no exception. This collection of tracks features an eclectic blend of genres, where it’s almost unfathomable to pinpoint any primary category for the overall platter, except “pure Gillan wildness.”

Certainly many tunes, such as “Night Ride Out of Phoenix,” “Don’t Want the Truth,” “Sacre Bleu,” “Bite the Bullet,” “(The Ballad of) The Lucitania Express,” the title track, and the band’s rousing rendition of Guida/Royster’s “New Orleans,” could be considered simply Hard Rock bordering on Heavy Metal, yet each of the songs also includes such wacky guitar leads or avant-garde keyboard solos, or unpredictable arrangements and rhythmic breaks or tempos, that some people might argue the songs are Progressive Rock in nature also.

The same genre-oddness befalls “No Laughing in Heaven”—although the song’s foundation is Blues-based Hard Rock, Gillan’s vocals, an amusing and stunning combination of talking and shrieking during the verses, is like a precursor to Rap—”Heavy Rap Metal,” of course. Then we come to the absolute jewels of the album, the borderline Prog-Rock ditties “If I Sing Softly” and “For Your Dreams,” with both containing haunting scores and instrumentation that set them apart from the other eight tunes.

By the way, all of the aforementioned tracks appear on the original vinyl version of the album, but I also purchased the CD “re-mastered” version a decade later, which features ten additional bonus tracks—including my favorite, “Mutually Assured Destruction”—where even more craziness ensues with “genre-merging” from song to song, although not quite as stark or numerous.

Anyway, on Future Shock, the exact genre into which each track actually falls is entirely dependent on the personal preferences of the listener. As for me, as mentioned above, I call the band’s overall style “pure Gillan wildness,” and I still love every single moment of this album, as well as each platter produced by this unique, entertaining, and phenomenal band during its way-too-short existence. Nevertheless, Ian Gillan will forever remain my favorite vocalist of all time, and Colin Towns will always retain a spot on my Top Ten Rock Keyboardists list—both individuals proved enormously influential when it came to my own musical growth, and their performances on Future Shock show exactly why.

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Heartbreakers – L.A.M.F. (1977)

4 out of 5 Stars!

Featuring both guitarist Johnny Thunders and drummer Jerry Nolan from New York Dolls, along with bassist Billy Rath and guitarist Walter Lure, Heartbreakers (also known as Johnny Thunders & The Heartbreakers) released only one album, but what a killer platter it was.

Punchy and energetic tracks such as “I Wanna Be Loved,” “Baby Talk,” “Do You Love Me,” “Goin’ Steady,” “Chinese Rocks,” and the blazing opener “Born to Lose” barrel from the speakers “Like A M*ther F*cker,” hence the album’s abbreviated title. Similar to Sex Pistols, the guitars sound frenzied and full on the majority of the fourteen tunes, yet almost like New York Dolls, also wonderfully sloppy and slovenly. And the always defiant and typically off-key lead vocals match the fury of both aforementioned groups, which gives the down-‘n’-dirty music extra debauched charm and garage-band character.

Therefore, crammed with both punkish attitude and youthful exuberance, a cacophony of pounding rhythms and singalong choruses, the band had enough snarl and swagger to give the mighty Sex Pistols a run for the sleazy moolah. But alas, also like the Pistols, narcotics and personal mayhem took a toll on the band members, and Heartbreakers splintered apart after releasing this one full-length studio album, which ended up being a classic of the genre, and a ferocious, disobedient, and long-lasting sockdolager to the musical jaw.

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Tank – War Nation (2012)

4 out of 5 Stars!

Part of the U.K.’s “New Wave Of British Heavy Metal Movement,” the wild and raucous Tank enjoyed some marginal success until disappearing in the late ’80s after its fifth studio release. Thankfully, however, the band reappeared in the new century with several lineup changes, the most important one (for me, anyway) being the addition of the superb vocalist Doogie White (Rainbow/Cornerstone/La Paz/etc.), who appeared on the previous War Machine album in 2010 as well as this collection.

With this particular change in lineup and the band’s rather straightforward and driving Metal style—different than the group’s more Motorhead-like approach from the early days of its existence—Tank had noticeably altered its sound. Here, on spirited and barreling tracks such as “Don’t Dream in the Dark,” “Song of the Dead,” “Justice For All,” “State of the Union,” “Hammer and Nails,” “Wings of Heaven,” and the more laid-back “Dreamer,” the group came across almost like a blending of Rainbow and Accept—two of my favorite acts of all time. And while White’s vocal melodies shine through on both the verses and memorable choruses, the band still sounded heavy as all freaking hell, thanks to the thundering rhythm section of bassist Chris Dale and drummer Steve Hopgood, and the blazing riff-laden guitars of Mick Tucker and Cliff Evans.

Therefore, with the band delivering a collection of tracks in the style of more traditional Heavy Metal outfits such as Saxon, Hammerfall, Dio, and Judas Priest, War Nation is one of my favorite Tank albums. And to those who want to savor the sheer sonic power in all its glory, my advice is to PLAY IT LOUD!

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Cobra – First Strike (1983)

4 out of 5 Stars!

Back in the early ’80s, Cobra emerged as a promising group from the area of Memphis, Tennessee—a band not related in any single way to the state’s booming, renowned Country Music scene—and really grabbed my attention. First Strike, Cobra’s lone album, displayed a maturity and polish not often found on debuts, with the group’s blend of hard ‘n’ heavy rockers and lighter melodic ballads, its sizzling guitars and tight rhythms, and one of the most gifted and recognizable vocalists to have ever emerged in the Hard Rock/AOR genre.

Of course I’m talking about Jimi Jamison, the singer who would eventually go on to major fame as part of the group Survivor, not to mention becoming the answer to a TV Trivia question regarding the track “I’m Always Here,” the theme song of the mega-popular Baywatch series that ran through the entire decade of the ’90s in America. But also featured in Cobra was Canadian-born-turned-Switzerland-resident Mandy Meyer, a chap who would go on to perform tasteful and shredding six-string solos for bands such as Asia and Unisonic, Gotthard and Krokus (for a second time). Anyway, when First Strike sadly didn’t make a huge splash on the scene as anticipated, the group started to disintegrate, and in 1984 with both Jamison and Meyers (the two chief songwriters) leaving Cobra to join up with Survivor and Asia respectively, that certainly signaled the official end for the band, and even all these years later, I can’t help feeling it a crying shame.

As I said above, the band was nothing short of promising. With melodic, hard-hitting songs like the pounding title track to “Only You Can Rock Me,” “Danger Zone,” and “Travelin’ Man,” to “Thorn in Your Flesh,” “Fallen Angel,” and “Blood on Your Money,” the album didn’t lighten up except for the catchy mid-tempo ballads “I’ve Been a Fool Before” and “Looking at You,” the tunes that truly showed the band’s full commercial potential.

With only the merest hint of keyboards to round out the already rich guitar sound and add some atmosphere, the band’s music often came across (to me, anyway) as almost a throwback to Hard Rock groups such as Montrose, April Wine, Moxy, Y&T, and Hydra (but without the latter’s Southern-Rock flavor), only with more than a touch of straightforward AOR magic in the tradition of Survivor (which is why it came as no shock to me when the Chicago band snatched up Jamison to replace the departing Dave “Eye of the Tiger” Bickler, their individual singing voices too similar in style and tone to dismiss).

Anyway, I missed Cobra, hoping for at least a second album, perhaps a reunion of sorts, that would never materialize. Thankfully, aside from Jamison and Meyers, the band’s underrated rhythm section (bassist Tommy Keiser and drummer Jeff Klaven) went on to join Krokus (but at a different time than their former Cobra cohort Meyers), whereas guitarist and keyboardist Jack Holder (previously of Black Oak Arkansas fame) tended to avoid the future limelight, working instead as mostly an in-demand session musician back in Tennessee.

Regardless, based on this enjoyable album, Cobra’s sting should have been felt worldwide, but alas, fate had other ideas.

(RIP Jimi Jamison and Jack Holder)

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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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