One of many "Best of" packages - this one mainly highlights the singles and B-sides from the classic period of CH, with an added bonus - instead of cuts from the first album, you get three live cuts from their performance at Monterey Pop, and they sound clear as a bell. This is a nice addendum for the serious fan, unless you own all of these singles already in 45 format. Weird asides like "Poor Moon", "Low Down", "Human Condition", and the goofy ode to cocaine "Long Way from L.A." litter this collection, which may turn off casual interlopers.

Instinctively, the band jumped back from the crazy, spacey jams of the previous album and went back to rough-and-tumble blues-adoring basics. The end result is a workmanlike affair that is no worse than anything that came before it. Plus, there is a newfound, scarier edge to the material, whether they are engaging in fierce cop-bashing exercises ("Sic'em Pigs", a re-working of Bukka White's "Sic'em Dogs"), steamrolling through Fats Domino covers ("Big Fat"), or walking the anti-social path that the Blind Owl walked ("Get Off My Back"). And from what strange void did the inexplicable instrumental "Huautla" come from? This one grows on you the more you hear it.

"Riding High”, a smoky, somewhat ethereal groove, was a deserved Top 10 R&B hit for the group, and about the only thing which you can pin on Faze-O’s name to the present day, since it became a sampling playground for rappers. Everything else here cops the late 70’s Ohio Players sound unfailingly, alternating dance floor jams with ballads, but the heart, soul, and most of all, wacky sense of humor which was all over classic OP records is sorely missing from Faze-O’s cookie-cutter attempts. The group would release two more records to round out the 70’s then disappear from view; I have not heard them and judging from this release, I’m not sure it’s worth the attempt.

Another stupefying and/or intoxicating concoction of the momentous and the trivial, all filtered through McKay’s Caribbean muse. The title track, “Roweena”, and “She Looks so Fine” fit the latter category to a tee, while “Silver City”, “The Bowery”, and especially the prophetic “22nd Century” are reminders of the powerful, spiritual voice and sounds he commanded. “22nd Century” has to be singled out here – unlike anything from the previous album, the living dead creatures and zombies are brought back ten-fold – presumably as a final warning to the misguided souls who spent their time fouling up everyone else’s lives for their own personal gains. Not to be missed. Apparently, this was the last real substantial album from Exuma before things went a bit south for him on many fronts, but still, there were many releases throughout the 70’s and 80’s, and even right up until his rather premature death in 1997. I know this review is pretty short, but I highly recommend fans of any kind of outsider music check out these albums and anything else Exuma released.

I don’t rightly know how to describe this album, or much of Exuma’s music, for that matter. What I do know is, his real name was Macfarlane Gregory Anthony Mackey – quite a mouthful – and after quite a bit of time spent plying his craft in New York City in the 60’s he formed a rather large band and released a series of cult albums which underwent major label treatment in the 1970’s. The genre term is junkanoo, but it really shouldn’t make much of a difference, because Exuma and friends’ express goal here is to take the bush medicine/religion that he grew up with and set it to a musical back drop. Often times, it is a rough and borderline grotesque backdrop – what with zombies and people rising from graves with fire in their eyes – but it’s a backdrop all the same, and one that can be just as captivating in its’ own off-beat manner. The most upbeat track is the opener, “Exuma, the Obeah Man”, which kicks off with coyote howls and is propelled along with Exuma’s excited acoustic guitar strums and exclamations about being birthed by lightning bolts. But for me, the real trick of the album is these extra creepy, séance/chant tracks like “Dambala”, “You Don’t Know What’s Going On”, and “The Vision” where the band expertly sets forth this feeling of despair as well as complete and utter inevitability. And speaking of séance….“Séance in the Sixth Fret” is an actual séance in practice, on the record, apparently….There are only seven tracks in total so it is easy to get completely lost in this vibe altogether, by the way. The feel is very communal and very spiritual, reminiscent of many end-of-1960’s albums with the go-to-Woodstock sentiment and the guru, except now the people involved have tapped into something with real staying power.