For the longest time, Growers of Mushroom was known more for being a collector's item than anything else, and a good chunk of this band was carried over from blues-rock stalwarts Black Cat Bones. With screamer Peter French as frontman, they attempted to move into realms then occupied by the likes of Sabbath and Led Zep with this one-off. Instead, it ended up occupying a strange little "tweener" niche, as French's macabre lyrics met up with a clumsy yet unpretentious approach musically which would be cited as a precursor to the 90's stoner rock scene. The opening "Freelance Fiend" is pointed out as a highlight, most likely due to its rough resemblance to Zep's "Black Dog", but my pick is the second track, "Sad Road to the Sea", which really does unwind like a tension-filled high-speed ride down a winding road. "Work My Body" is the big, dark epic here, but it is not all blackout shades and candlelight only - the title track is an off-kilter, '60's-pop loving flashback reminiscent of the Small Faces. Pretty much as soon as the album was recorded, the project splintered, with French moving on to some more immediate high-profile gigs - first, Atomic Rooster, then Cactus.

I guess British blues rock had to come to this - a giant send-up of the scene (intentional or otherwise) from a band with a transatlantic lineup. Not that Juicy Lucy doesn't have merits - it's just hard to take it at face value as they gallop through a furious, often self-effacing take on blues rock.

In the wake of the band Spirit's first breakup, Jay Ferguson and Mark Andes decamped to this tweener project which released a slew of albums in the early 1970's, with the debut being the most successful from a commerical standpoint. Under their new name (taken from a Chuck Berry song) Ferguson and Andes cook up a sound that finds a comfortable void somewhere between Joe Walsh's escapades around the same time, and the British glam rock movement. Other than the final track "Flying Home" it's an upbeat record filled with its' share of hooks and interesting guitar passages, yet there is something about the overall approach that misses the mark as well. Then again, Spirit was a talented band with all the ability in the world, and they never connected with a mass audience, either. So, my best guess is, most people will readily relate to the lead-off sing-a-long track "Run Run Run" (which was a chart hit) and then slowly lose interest as they progress through the rest of this eminently solid, but not overwhelmingly impressive record.

Here we find Iron Butterfly in an envious yet very difficult position, trying to quickly followup one of the strangest commercial successes in pop music history. Little wonder it made an immediate impact - nearly topping the charts, going Gold - then fading from view just as fast, derived by critics as a wobegone relic-before-its-time. The actual truth is a bit murkier. Ball attempts to take their staunch, street-hippie sound, and spin it off into different directions, but often it's a struggle even though there are moments where you feel like they hit the right vein. Part of the problem is their is no big drawing card like an "In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida". Instead, it's a coherent set of songs in varying styles. On the one hand, it shows they were looking ahead to the next stage of their development, but on the other hand, this did not meet public expectations. Regarding the material itself, the band has even dropped the hippie mindset, and fallen into a depressing funk. This works in spurts - for example, "In The Time Of Our Lives" is an epic, paranoia-stuffed classic - but wears thin as you get through the record.

This defiantly unconventional debut record from the Hoodoos seems like it should be a real redneck rock kind of experience, but not really. In actuality these guys were quirky musicians who ended up in the post-hippie San Francisco scene and cut an album which reflected that mindset. Think of something similar to a darker, more risk-taking version of Little Feat, and you've arrived at Rack Jobbers Rule. For me, it's fun while it's on, but only slight bits leave an impression once it's off.