So, the ‘Hogs found time to record and release two albums in ’72 and surprisingly enough, it’s the lesser-known second release which wins out between the two. Judging by cover alone, one would think that Who Will Save the World is the immediate choice for casual listeners, but for me at least, Hogwash recalls the strengths of Thank Christ for the Bomb, and further amplifies them. One big change here is McPhee’s new found love of gadgetry – namely, guitar synthesizers, which really beef up the sound where it needs to be beefed up (the quite futuristic “Earth Shanty”, for starters). It also enables the band to really put the thump behind their progressive blues-rock aims, if you know what I mean. Of course, this would not mean much without the material being interesting on its’ own, and Tony is back to being all ornery over stuff in general. Turning his wrath inward, outward, on the future and the past, for good measure, but always willing to check himself, too. “I Love Miss Oygny” opens the affair on a sufficiently loathsome, yet deliciously dramatic note, setting the scene for even more head-turning acts to ensue. Which it does – “You Had a Lesson” doubles down on the previous track, using Pete Cruikshank’s bass as THE rhythmic pattern to teach and taunt you with. After a quick, echoey interlude, which I assume is meant for the the-then new drummer Clive Brooks (“The Ringmaster”), we come to the next fence post – “3744 James Road”. Heavily STEEPED in the blues, this mammoth track is not some odd dedication to a Memphis BBQ joint at all, but quite the opposite – an acid-tongued rant against the dangers of a musician’s life spent on the road. The ebbs and flows and theatrics of this track are the real attractions, though. The second half of the album goes more in a progressive rock direction. “Sad is the Hunter” and “S’one Song” have pronounced prog rock vibes – in certain places, they predate New Wave to these ears – while “Earth Shanty” solidly brings in elements of space rock to meld it with earthy folk-blues. Hence, the title, I would assume. Finally, as with past works, this album would not be complete without a look back, and this time it is “Mr. Hooker, Sir John” – a salt of the earth tribute to the man who gave the group its’ start in the business, John Lee Hooker. Not the best track here by a long shot, but it’s a Groundhogs album, so natural that a track like this would be on this record. So, out of all of the Groundhog albums I have reviewed, it gets the honor of being my favorite, mainly for being the one I gravitate to more easily above the others.

Here begins a string of loose conceptual LPs from The Groundhogs, and the basis for their status as minor legends today. McPhee and crew now drop all old-school blues pretenses, and move the blues to progressive realms full-steam ahead. The album cover, of course, is a big hint – and I can sum it up in two words: class warfare. The majority of songs here deal with the topic, whether it be the lament of the poor man having to face the music no matter what in “Soldier”, the out-and-out alienation of “Strange Town”, the historical arc of two world wars during the 20th century in the title track, or simply McPhee blatantly spelling out his disdain for the rich in tracks like “Status People” and “Eccentric Man”. And it goes beyond a simple “us against the man” mindset here, for most of these tracks you can hear the sheer power and desperation of McPhee’s drive against the system. There was always an intensity about his work, but now, he’s transmitted it to his band members as well. “Strange Town” is about as perfect and confused as start to an album as I have ever heard – somewhat reminiscent of a Procol Harum track, but heavier with the blues influence – and the main thing here is, that feeling of being somewhere you absolutely do not belong whatsoever. The title track is another water mark, where the players reach a heightened sense of fury towards the end of the deal almost out of nowhere. “Garden” is yet another track where everyone involved ratchets up the intensity factor beyond levels unimaginable – as if McPhee seems hell-bent on protecting that little patch of green of his at all costs.Not every track here connects in this exact fashion – “Ship on the Ocean” or “Darkness is No Friend” feel like lesser takes on these ideas – but generally, TS McPhee is now highly emotional about a lot of things and was surprising adept in communicating this displeasure to his band mates as well. And speaking of class warfare and all of that – well, as good as “Soldier” is, we have this album cover to remind us all just what class of people usually get sent off to fight these costly, bloody wars, right?

Oh, now this album. One would think that, based off some of the wilder passages from Abandoned Luncheonette, they were the launching point for the duo to really go crazy, hook up with fellow Philly player Todd Rundgren, and cut a concept record called War Babies. But you would be wrong. Really, the albums are separate entities and should be considered as such. In fact, you could almost convince me of this album of being a separate entity from the Hall & Oates catalog, in a lot of respects. Sort of like “Hall & Oates featuring Todd Rundgren”, as a shared bill. The duo – I have read in some quarters that Hall was the main impetus behind the project – clearly wanted to do something different, so they moved to New York City, connected with Rundgren, and this was your end product. A concept record tying in the perils of growing up as a Baby Boomer (the album cover is a figurative tribute to this) and the perils of too much touring on a musician, putting it through the twin filters of Hall & Oates and Rundgren. Hall, apparently, at the time, was quite enamored with progressive rock and other weird sounds so he was on the relative same page as Todd. Plus, he wrote – or at least was credited with – seven of the ten tracks on the record. This is a flashier, glitzier, far bigger record than anything the duo came up with thus far. And darker and gloomier. On quite a few of these tracks you get the feeling they were thinking their generation might be the last one on this earth. You are constantly being peppered with random effects, noises, drum machines, synth bleeps and bloops, weird fade-ins and fade-outs. It is one of those albums which gives you the odd impression that it is far ahead of its’ time and somehow behind the times, at the same time! Many of the songs are really good, but it is a toss-up as to whether they are marred or enhanced by this approach. I am often confused from second to second while listening to the album as to what the final call on this is. I guess, at the end of the day, the best track here is written by Oates – the opener “Can’t Stop the Music”, which addresses the touring aspect of the concept. Not only is it a song about a guy who feels like he cannot stop touring, the hook, the vocals, presentation just feels the cleanest and most accessible out of everything here. Even though the album charted, it only reached the lower rungs of the charts, and its’ predictable flop sent Hall & Oates dovetailing away from one record label (Atlantic) and quickly into the arms of another (RCA). They quickly revised their approach and garnered national hits for the first time, so that this initial three album run with Atlantic became a bit of a lost period for many people…except for maybe the people that were there at the time. Some people are going to out-and-out love this album, while others are going to come away thoroughly confused, unable to jibe this with their normal view of Hall & Oates. And to that, I say, this is not a normal album for ANY pop artist, much less Hall & Oates. Tread lightly with this one, but there are rewards here for the adventurous types.

The style switches to mostly sleazy hard rock and junky country music, while Fowley adopts a growl vocal somewhere between Captain Beefheart and Jim "Dandy" Mangrum of Black Oak Arkansas. Most Fowley records are bad jokes gone wrong, but this is on the level of failed comedy routine on open mic night. You tell me after hearing "Red China".

No Kim Fowley album should ever be taken at face value, and this is just another example of his oddball chicanery in the face of established norms. Recorded while under a self-imposed exile in Scandinavia, this is an extremely self-deprecating and self-absorbed record. It's more professional than his late-60's works, but that's akin to putting window dressing over a pile of vomit. And Kim would probably agree with me.