Mike Harrison's debut is generally like a continuation of his old band's original send-off platter The Last Puff. The material is morose, singer-songwriter roots-rock, with the odd cover (Cat Stevens' "Hard Headed Woman") placed for effect. This is one of those grow-on-you-over-time records, because Mike and his backing band are content to play the music stripped of flash and power, but to emphasize the subtleties of emotion - whether it is love or pain - when necessary. It's a slight change from his overwrought performances in his former band, but then again, it just goes to show the man had an awful lot of range vocally. The standouts here are the lead two tracks, which function as an impromptu suite ("Mother Nature" and "Call It A Day") and "Pain", which is ironic because Mike sings it in quite the aloof tone, as if pain might be the furthest thing from his mind. The album is fairly short and therefore, might seem inconsequential, but it's worth a few spins.

And here is the idiotic idea which submarined any momentum the band had built up. The intention was to capitalize on the marginal trend of rock albums with religious themes. Wright wrote the tunes in advance, had the band record them, then they were sent to electronic composer Pierre Henry in France so he could add on his material to the project. The end result is completely mismatched, and I think it would do a service to listeners to release a copy - if it exists - of the tapes without Henry's ridiculous clanking, grinding, and whirring sounds on it, because what Spooky Tooth recorded wasn't too too bad. The cover itself is quite appropriate, I might add. But only listen to the aural contents within if you are really curious. The end result of this debacle was a mass exodus from the band. Well, at least Wright left, which felt like a mass exodus, since he provided the material. Whoever stuck around recorded a farewell album…of sorts.

This album marks Wright’s arrival in the band, and *bang* just like that – they are transformed into a communal soul-hard rock tour-de-force, although a few flaws from the past still remain. But the formula for the next album’s big success is now in place – the combination of Wright and Harrison’s dueling vocal power is out in front, along with their keyboards, Grosvenor’s guitar is gruff but timely, and the rhythm section of Kellie and Ridley are a compelling anchor. Two covers are the standouts here – or rather, two re-imagined covers are the standouts – especially their drawn-out, drama-filled take on “Tobacco Road”, along with a nice read on Janis Ian’s “Society’s Child”. Meanwhile, the dark soul-psych of “Sunshine Help Me” was tabbed to become a hit, but never got there, for some reason. It is nearly all about this album, but in actuality, it was the next one that was the group's most realized achievement.

Personally, I dig this record, but even I have to admit it gives the casual listener a very small window into the rather complicated world of BOC. The original disc contains seven well-played live tracks – five moderately organic takes on originals, and two good covers – so in less than 40 minutes it feels like all bases are adequately covered. On the other hand, there is a rushed feeling to the experience as well.

This balls-to-the-wall, fear-mongering mock-up of rock and hippie counterculture from 1968 is crude, disposable, and somehow compelling. I completely agree with one IMDB reviewer who all of the characters are unlikable - I actually find them detestable, but it doesn’t stop me from watching how this crazy fantasy world peters itself out.