Foghat’s breakthrough on a number of levels. The title track kicks things off in classic Lonesome Dave style, with a dopey, yet personable tale about a dude who prefers the action of the city to boring country life. And the music feels like a bunch of loud, screeching hot rods on dark pavement, leaving tire tracks. The insanity continues with "My Babe", the sing-along old Righteous Brothers cover which Humble Pie formerly mixed into their version of "Rollin' Stone". Here, it's just another excuse to party and head bang to Price's slide licks. Up next, is the main course - the full enchilada of "Slow Ride", which runs for over eight minutes - not the shortened version most people hear on the radio. They break it down into two sections - the easy-struttin' initial half, which has massive, sleazy strip-club overtones - and the furious, race-to-the-finish second part, which builds and builds until a final, ultimate climax. Definitely, "Slow Ride" is something which could have only been made in either the 70's, or maybe the 80's, and is an all-time sleaze-rock classic. The rest of the album, incidentally, is a gradual comedown from that raunchy high. They throw in another, brutish cover ("Terraplane Blues", given over to more slide guitar and dominance from Earl's thunderous drum kit), a more playful toss in the hay ("Save Your Loving For Me"), getting back to bar-room basics ("Drive Me Home"), before rounding off on quite the subdued note (the soft-rock ballad "Take it or Leave it"). Again, the main thing here is how pop and out front this album is, compared to the ones that came before it. And it works pretty well, even though it is short, both in amount of songs and in run-time.

This album, for me, is prime Foghat, and one of the unknown great rock albums of the mid-1970's. Something clicked with these guys - they got rid of dumb things they never needed, like backing vocals and horn arrangements, and went with their bread and butter - loud boogie rockers, slide guitar, and butt-loads of quirky personality in every nook and cranny of the material. The end result, in my mind, is a masterpiece of brains and guile disguised as brawn. You can tell Lonesome Dave, Price, and the rest of the crew slung their heart, soul, and everything else into this one. I enjoy this album immensely, because it takes nothing seriously, but at the same time has enough wits about itself to take life as it comes. This is the attitude which attracted me to Foghat in the first place, and which keeps me listening to them after all of these years.

Foghat busted free from their Savoy Brown chains and promptly released an album which was not too stylistically different than their former crew, but in many places, more cutting edge and personable. That said, other than a few tracks, we are a long ways from the group's mid-70's heyday, and if you really want to split hairs, it's only the lead-off cover of "I Just Want to Make Love to You" which really sets them apart from the competition. The flipside of this, is quite the arty, atmospheric cover of "Gotta Get to Know You", brought to a different kind of life thanks to weird keyboards, Mellotron, and other studio tricks you wouldn't normally hear from these supposedly rednecky Foghat dudes. In between, they veer between average down-in-the-dumps drinking songs ("Trouble, Trouble", "A Hole to Hide In"), Lonesome Dave's heartfelt ruminations on love ("Sarah Lee"), road tunes ("Highway"), and more covers ("Maybelline"), which would be typical band fare for albums to come. It's just that they would make this stuff sound more relevant on subsequent efforts. For now, a decent, if somewhat tenuous (in spots) debut, boosted by the awesome bookend tunes.

Sure, it's Red Card part 2, but even better. Seriously, if Warren Zevon could take "Excitable Boy" onto the charts, then why not this record?

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 creepy 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 are droning seance/chant tracks like “Dambala”, “You Don’t Know What’s Going On”, and “The Vision” which feel inevitable.