An extremely obscure artifact from the prog-rock era - something like only 80 copies of the original album were pressed - recorded by an occult-obsessed trio, with nary a guitar in the lineup, by the way. Just keyboards - and we are talking about a harpsichord - drums, and bass. This album is roughly what would happen if Iron Butterfly or Vanilla Fudge got transported back to the early 20th century and decided to start singing about the occult. The songs are interesting, too. This is an album about good and evil, except here the protagonist wants evil to win. Well, that is not quite correct - rather, he wants something more realistic than what he perceives as the BS he's been fed about being good and Christian and all of that, and wants something more out of life. This is more like viewing the occult as an awakening. So, throughout each of these six tracks this back and forth plays out, and by the time "In a Token of Despair" winds down its' tortured final notes, one gets the feeling the battle itself has worn down the host once and for all. Re-issues present two quite straight tracks tacked on at the end of this maelstrom ("Lady Ladybird" and "People in the Street") which were cut the year before, as if to prove they had enough piano-racing talent for honest-to-God pop chart ambitions, except they really didn't.

Essentially the Deviants were the British counterpart (or response) to what Frank Zappa and The Fugs were doing, but arguably, their debut goes some ways further. Their aim was to make cultural and political statements by parodying pop songs of the time, playing and releasing music in an underground style. Ptooff is an unflinching document of the time, not afraid to further delve into the dark corners of society which the aforementioned bands had already exposed. It takes some time getting used to, being nearly the direct opposite of mainstream-style psychedelia, but worth revisiting what turned out to be the real underground of the era.

Crow albums all seem to have that same general big horn/jazz rock/Midwest vibe; this one is a little more distinctive than the others. Best reason why: Black Sabbath covered "Evil Woman". But Crow Music is not bad - only a few of the tracks are massed with overdramatic horns or keyboards and there are a few pleasant hooks, plus they know how to keep a solid party vibe going.

Cactus was part back-up plan and evolution of a previous act. Carmine Appice and Tim Bogert had been the rhythm section of the wildly successful psychedelic band Vanilla Fudge, and in 1969 were looking to team up with Jeff Beck for a new venture, but this was postponed due to Beck's injuries from an auto accident (ironically, they would still join together in Beck, Bogert, and Appice two years later). Instead, the duo called up Detroit veterans Jim McCarty and Rusty Day and set up shop as Cactus. What ensued was a volume-cranking, beer-chasing answer to the British-derived hard rock that was making its mark at the time. The songs may have been flimsy, but covers of "Parchman Farm" and "You Can't Judge A Book By It's Cover" reek of festival smoke, dirty noise, and good times. "Let Me Swim" was another straightforward standout. The album was a prime reason why the band was a fixture on the stadium circuit. Subsequent albums have diminishing returns; this one by far is their best, and even the cover is a good indicator of this.

This last gasp effort from Brownsville was bolstered by the additions of Bruce Nazarian and heavy rock producer extraordinaire Eddie Kramer, and the end result was their most aggressive release to date. That did not mean it was stellar all the way through, but at least give them credit for enthusiasm. The payoff comes at the end with "Martian Boogie", which was undeniably the most raucous and humorous single they ever cut.