One could probably draw a scraggly, developmental line between ramshackle rock bands like The Rolling Stones to the New York Dolls and Aerosmith, then on the way to 80's acts like The Replacements and Guns 'n' Roses you will stop at The Only Ones. Collected from the remnants of assorted U.K. rock acts and centered around the fatalistic life of Peter Perrett, they cut three albums in the late 70's which were critical successes, and then disappeared for a long time thanks to ongoing drug problems. The debut establishes a slashing, dangerous sound in a vacuum between faster punk rock and slower arena/hard rock, made distinctive by Perrett's downer personality, John Perry's searing guitar work, and a great rhythm section (Alan Mair and Mike Kellie) that is expert at mimicking a sloppy, amateurish rhythm section. One minor drawback is the sound tends to overwhelm Perrett at times and throws off the tenous balance between the two. All three albums were remastered in 2009 and the updated version includes three bonus tracks, one of them is "Lovers of Today" which really highlights the instrumental side of the group, and was an important early song.

The Sex Pistols performance clips are by far the best thing about this film. The actual plot leaves a lot to be desired, although sections of it - mainly the animated parts - provide some amusement.

Even the weird world of psychedelic music needed its lowest common denominator, something that would appeal to the innocent tastes of pre-teens. Iron Butterfly filled that role. On the surface, seemingly a random bunch of stoned hippie amateurs who wanted to make records with universal appeal. Never mind that there actually was quite a history behind the band's formation, involving two groups, a move from San Diego to Los Angeles, and a moderate overhaul of the lineup from the debut album to the follow-up. And this follow-up only happened to turn out to be one of the biggest selling records in pop music history - at least it was, for a long time, for Atlantic Records. The title track was a 17-minute and five-second paean to free love 60's excess (taking up the entire second side), featuring endless solos, and much of the "heavy" atmosphere the band's name promised. Some of the five tracks on the first side are more pop ("Most Anything You Want", "Flowers and Beads"), but as things move on the mood gets darker ("Termination"). Doug Ingle's Vox organ and faux-Elvis vocals are out-front, but the real virtuoso here may be Lee Dorman and his thick bass lines, and anyway, the fuzz-emphasized sound they achieve throughout is dated but fun to revisit.

High Tide was one of those obscure bands at the turn of the 70's who have been cited as an influence on both hard rock, heavy metal, and the avant-garde. Revolving around the tense pairing of Tony Hill on guitar and Simon House on violin and organ, as well as Hill's haunting Morrison-like vocals, the album is a cauldron of fluctuating peaks and valleys more attuned to the noise-rock scene of the 80's, even though there is quite a 70's progressive feel as far as the arrangements go. The titles and lyrics ("Futilist's Lament", "Death Warmed Up", etc.) reflect a mindset quite the doomy opposite from the then-prevailing psychedelic mood, that is for sure. But this is not to be confused with the simple, straightforward Black Sabbath-style of visceral horror, for High Tide is definitely more of the refined, psychological variety - based on Hill and House continously suggesting the listener's mind with note after crudely, distorted note spilling out of their respective instruments. As far as underground albums go, this is one of the more uncompromising - and fascinating - to take in.

A brutally important album for not just the career of Alice Cooper or producer Bob Ezrin, but for pop music in general, for all three were at a crossroads. 50 years later, Love It To Death does not sound as dangerous as it did in its heyday, but this was one of the major gauntlets thrown down to clear the post-Love Generation fog everyone was experiencing. Sinister, jagged, disturbing passages slash vivid flashes of imagery with Alice's finely focused and ever more disdainful sneering vocals and lyrics. For the first time, there's an undisputed anthem - "I'm Eighteen" - which is as tenously vulnerable as it is recklessly unpredictable. For those more cinematically inclined, extended theaters of psychological torture await thanks to "Black Juju" and "The Ballad of Dwight Fry". The bottom line was - the villains of rock have arrived, and with a vengeance.