First off, the band name, album title, and cover are hardcore late 60’s British blooze rock to a capital T! Beyond those interesting tidbits, Black Cat Bones are now known are a launching point for a multitude of famous musicians in the 70’s arena rock scene – from guys like Paul Kossoff, Simon Kirke and Rod “The Bottle” Price, to lesser players like Stu and Derek Brooks who would go on to record the cult classic Growers of Mushroom album while in Leaf Hound with Pete French. And the music within is – pretty dirty, dusty-sounding, hardcore blues rock, for the most part. Generally reminiscent of early Fleetwood Mac and/or Canned Heat. They thump away on your brain and sex drive on “Chauffeur”. They properly plunge you down to the depths on “Death Valley Blues”. They tool ‘n’ groove along admirably on otherwise non-descript tracks like “Coming Back”, “Save My Love”, and “Sylvester’s Blues” (which I think is named after the piano player credited on the track). The standard “Feelin’ Good” is given reasonably tough coverage, but what is slightly odd about it is how it segues back into its’ original acoustic intro right in the middle of the most dramatic part of the track. Another oddball is “Four Women”, which is much more of a spooky lounge-jazz style ballad focusing on the lead singer Brian Short. It really does not fit on this record. Price takes the lead vocal on the enjoyable blues romp “Good Lookin’ Woman”. He could have taken over the vocals for the rest of the record and it would have been a bit more authentic, just sayin’. Overall, I like this, but completely understand why these guys escaped to other groups to gain fame and fortune.

Fairly appropriate name for an album that at times, feels like it came out of a foreign world, and at others, seems like random BS that any untrained amateur could have come up with alone in a studio. But then again, Ginger Baker was never the predictable type. This solo record from the early 70’s is just as restless as Ginger's career. Most of it showcases his then newfound alliance with Afro-pop musicians like Fela Kuti and Guy Warren, and it ranges from mesmerizing ("Ariwo") to self-indulgent ("Coda"). In between, there's "Blood Brothers" - one of Baker's famed drum battles - this one with Warren. Cream's psychedelic power trio jams are a long way removed from this, what amounts to a personal quest - taken on Baker's own hedonistic terms.

Looked at now as a futile, belated attempt to grab at the brass ring, Armageddon’s legacy was two live performances and this one album. It’s hard to even call them a super group, since Keith Relf was the only one of the bunch to have experienced commercial success, and that was with the Yardbirds some 8-10 years before Armageddon cut their lone effort. Drummer Bobby Caldwell was known for his stint with American space rockers Captain Beyond, while Martin Pugh and Louis Cennamo had played together in the rather non-descript British blues rock outfit Steamhammer; Cennamo also had a connection to Relf through his progressive rock project Renaissance. Add to the confusion the fact that there was yet another band under the Armageddon name – from Los Angeles – which had released an LP back in the late 60’s, and you can understand why this particular album might get lost in the shuffle. Getting back to this Armageddon, Relf and crew’s aim was to make a loud splash in the progressive rock pool. The only problem with that was, by 1975, it was a pool that was getting smaller and smaller. The five tracks curated here are defiantly not commercial, with one big-time winner, followed by four tracks which range from close-but-no-cigar to near-head-scratching in nature. “Buzzard”, of course, is the winner winner chicken dinner. Well, sort of. Instrumentally, the chops are undeniable, as from the rhythm section to the guitar playing to even Relf’s harmonica they are able to convey the swoops and moves of a buzzard to a tee. It’s only when Relf sings when the weak point of the track is exposed. Apparently, he was not in the best of health by this point in his life, although, for the rest of the record, his voice is not as much of a hindrance. It’s just that on such a rush of an exercise like “Buzzard” it really needed a powerhouse to keep up with the rest of the band, and Relf was not it. But the group never really dares to hit those crazy, on-the-edge notes until the last track on the album, “Basking in the White of the Midnight Sun”, which is a real free-for-all of a few different passages that don’t go together that the group forces to go together…and somehow works out OK in the end. In between, there is a nice, tender, yet unresolved same-tone ballad “Silver Tightrope”, a rather messy go-nowhere rocker (“Paths and Planes and Future Gains”), and another unresolved yet big and meaty groove that is fun to jam to (“Last Stand Before”). It’s difficult to call this a real “lost gem” other than “Buzzard” and even then you can nitpick on Relf’s voice here and there. But, if you are looking for big, heavy, 80’s and 90’s-ish kind of grooves and a hard/heavy band just not giving a you-know-what for a little over 40 minutes then this is a good bet or at least a decent time waster.

There are psychedelic relics, and then there is this album, from a Chicago outfit which used to count Peter Cetera as a member – but before they were called “Aorta”, of course.This is a very weird and derivative bird, to say the least. The template here was The Beatles and Sgt. Pepper, but this time around they center the concept around – yes – life itself! Well, sort of. There is this running theme of the “The Main Vein”, a.k.a., your heart. And so, they cut four tracks which are littered throughout the record which are in different moods and tempos and such, trying to answer that age-old question we all have – “have you ever wondered what it is?” The rest of the album is not as incredulous but it is head-scratching at times, in that “time warp back to 1969” sense. The production is super-compressed, to the point where it practically runs from a solitary bass line to the whole band-meets-full orchestra in like 10 seconds kind of compression (“Sprinkle Road to Cork Street”). All of this is extremely dated, yet, taken as a whole, there is something here that is engaging and dare I say, moderately fascinating, in a late-night B-movie kind of manner. In fact, this is the garish, rough-hewn, cheap and somewhat grotesque version of Sgt. Pepper, without an ounce of that project’s originality, but overloaded with ambition a-plenty, and not above swiping ideas from others. For example, “Ode to Missy Mxyzosptlk”, one of the singles, sounds like their demented, small-minded take on “Incense and Peppermints”. Apparently, the album art has become something of a collector’s item, and was re-issued on CD sometime in the mid-90’s. Overall, it bears repeating – it’s your main vein!

More musical theater from Leon but it does feel a bit like he was in a bit of a cruise control mode, with three more Dylan covers and a George Harrison cover. Later in the year he released a second Asylum Choir record, too.