Not that the first two Hawkwind albums are horrible or anything, but here, on the third album, one could make the argument that they arrived as a force to be reckoned with, from a number of perspectives. With the additions of Lemmy Kilmister and Simon King to the lineup, they finally gained a modicum of stability in the all-important rhythm section. The material is still driving, mantric space rock, but much more to the point than the brain-numbing, sprawling jams of previous efforts - yes, even the epic-length "Brainstorm". In fact, this is the group at their prime, trance-groove best, IMHO - at least when it comes to a studio recording - and reissues include singles like "Urban Guerrilla" and the 50's derived sludge-swing of "Brain Box Pollution". Not to be missed.

The major argument against Hawkwind's debut was - in a few words - formless hippie-jam drivel. And I could not disagree more. Other than the lead-off track "Hurry On Sundown", a genial acoustic number which harkened back to Dave Brock's busker days, the album is filled with monolithic one-tack grooves like "Be Yourself", "Seeing It as You Really Are", "Mirror of Illusion", and "Paranoia" (in two parts). This is the group in their rawest, most undiluted form, which turns a lot of people off, but despite the chaos they sound cohesive from the jump.

Mere weeks after finishing Hallelujah, Henry Vestine was booted from the group and was replaced by Harvey "The Snake" Mandel. From there, the new lineup played Woodstock and eventually recorded this lone album with Mandel as a member. It's also acknowledged as sort of a farewell album for the Blind Owl as he would die in mysterious circumstances a cuouple of months after this album was released. The first striking feature here is the cover, which got a lot of people up in arms, but really, I think the band just wanted to signify the connection between "future" and "blues". The music itself is somewhat reminiscent of Hallelujah but with more emphasis on the Blind Owl's contributions, and they tack an extended jam this time around. As far as Alan Wilson goes, other than "Skat" which is a very upbeat jump-blues thing you cannot help but feel a veritable shroud of sadness over the whole album, and it's not just because of his then-impending death. The man sings like he is alone in this world ("London Blues"), then calls his own number, too ("My Time Ain't Long"). The big jam is even more negative in this regard - "So Sad (The World's in a Tangle") - with its' theme of impending environmental apocalypse, but the underlying groove itself is cutthroat and airtight. Elsewhere, it is not all doom and gloom. The last big radio hit is here - the chug-a-lug "Let's Work Together", with Bob Hite on lead vocals, and the title track is just as peppy and catchy, as well. The last of a kind, before the real craziness began, and Canned Heat turned into something completely unrecognizable.

The first of two hit albums in what turned out to be the peak year for CH, and between the two it is this one that consistently delivers the goods. Ten densely-packed tracks of thick grooves, fried hockey booties, Owl songs, Whisky Headed Women, Amphetamine Annie's, along with one blues harp hypnotizing whale of a hit tune which would launch the band to stardom. "On the Road Again", fronted by the distinctive vocals of Alan Wilson, made the group hippie favorites. Even people who dislike the band acknowledge this is a bonafide classic.

Much like Fleetwood Mac, and a host of other blues-rock bands from across the pond in the late-60s, Canned Heat played the blues appropriation game and happily made a career out of it, rather than branching out into other genres. On their debut, they sound like they look on the cover - rough, tumble, and smelly. The majority of tracks resemble garage demos and are credited to their old-time blues heroes from earlier in the 20th Century. The emphasis is on Henry "The Sunflower" Vestine's roaring guitar lines, and not much is heard from Alan "Blind Owl" Wilson as of yet, but still, this is the band in its' raw, unfiltered form.