Let's set aside the hype over their alleged status as the pioneers of psychedelic rock (as in, they were first - does it matter?), because this record more than establishes how cooked these guys were, only two records in. Even on the mellow tracks, the intense, wavering mood never lets up, wrapping itself around and through lead singer Roky Erickson's distinctively harrowing vocals, the interplay between Erickson and Stacy Sutherland's guitars, and even Tommy Hall's bizarre electric jug. The debut record sounded weird, but still a product of its' time, but this album is a much different story. It's not nearly for everyone, but any serious fan of 60's music needs to have it in their collection.

Emerson, Palmer, and…Berry? No thanks! This is exactly the sort of bad record which could have only come out of the 80's. Bad enough to not bother with after a listen but not nearly as bad to be considered among the worst of the worst.

The first Foghat record that shows serious slippage in quality and sheer entertainment value. The first indicator is the songwriting - all of it from Dave Peverett, when in the past albums consisted many Dave and Rod Price collabs, and a few interesting covers. Second, everything is in the same coked-out 80's rocker tone that is somewhere between hair metal and generic barroom blues. Third and maybe most important, the rushed feel of each and every song, as if everyone wanted to cut the record as fast as possible, because the simple act of being in the studio together was a chore. All of the previous Foghat albums, right up to sizeable portions of Boogie Motel - you can tell the band had serious fun putting them together. I have my doubts they felt the same about this particular effort. One thing I will say is, the anguish and desperation of the material matches the strung-out tone of the music itself, which does make this album a fairly nice candidate for a listening companion if you find yourself in a similar state of mind. Incidentally, this would the last Foghat album which Rod Price would play guitar on, until the mid-90's.

Somehow, this was the album which broke the band's lengthy streak of records which went either gold or platinum in the U.S., which was strange, because it's not radically different than the ones which came before it. The only real change is from the production end, where you notice more New Wave elements creeping into the mix, but other than that - the goddamn record is called Boogie Motel, so if you were a fan of this kind of music - was there anything else missing?

So, easy to pass over this album as yet another, run-of-the-mill, typical exercise, but there is a bit more going on here than meets the eye. There is a noticeable uptick in the intensity department - where this sprung from, I have no idea, but the ferocity of Price's leads and solos are amped to a new level, and much of the material is overflowing with venom and devilish sneers. The title track was easily one of the group's catchiest singles, and even has a slight New Wave tinge to it. The cover of "Sweet Home Chicago" may come off as somewhat predictable - blues-rock band covering a blues classic - but it is loud, raucous, and energetic. But the undeniable peak of the album are the next three tracks - the rip-fast "Easy Money" (this is like Foghat gone speed metal), the highly-intense "Midnight Madness", and the emotional-heavyweight "It Hurts Me Too" (an Elmore James cover). All three of these tracks are distinguished by Lonesome Dave's passionate vocals, Price's fiery guitar lines, and in the case of "Midnight Madness", an unparalleled change of mood mid-song. Which makes the next two songs even more mystifying, in how in the hell they could be the polar opposite of what I described above? "High on Love" relies on a dopey disco-like bass groove, drowns Price's guitar in horrid effects, and contains a bunch of dumb, inane lyrics about falling head over heels in love with some woman. The only redeeming quality of it, is the awesome Price solo that ends the song. Next, a cover of "Chevrolet", but done in this weird proto rap/funk style, with handclaps and wah-wah funk guitars in the background. Uh…what? Where did this come from? Overall, a good album which could have been one of their undeniable classics if not for the two aforementioned mishaps.