Not that the first two Hawkwind albums are horrible or anything, but here, on the third album, one could make the argument that they arrived as a force to be reckoned with, from a number of perspectives. With the additions of Lemmy Kilmister and Simon King to the lineup, they finally gained a modicum of stability in the all-important rhythm section. The material is still driving, mantric space rock, but much more to the point than the brain-numbing, sprawling jams of previous efforts - yes, even the epic-length "Brainstorm". In fact, this is the group at their prime, trance-groove best, IMHO - at least when it comes to a studio recording - and reissues include singles like "Urban Guerrilla" and the 50's derived sludge-swing of "Brain Box Pollution". Not to be missed.

The major argument against Hawkwind's debut was - in a few words - formless hippie-jam drivel. And I could not disagree more. Other than the lead-off track "Hurry On Sundown", a genial acoustic number which harkened back to Dave Brock's busker days, the album is filled with monolithic one-tack grooves like "Be Yourself", "Seeing It as You Really Are", "Mirror of Illusion", and "Paranoia" (in two parts). This is the group in their rawest, most undiluted form, which turns a lot of people off, but despite the chaos they sound cohesive from the jump.

The first of two hit albums in what turned out to be the peak year for CH, and between the two it is this one that consistently delivers the goods. Ten densely-packed tracks of thick grooves, fried hockey booties, Owl songs, Whisky Headed Women, Amphetamine Annie's, along with one blues harp hypnotizing whale of a hit tune which would launch the band to stardom. "On the Road Again", fronted by the distinctive vocals of Alan Wilson, made the group hippie favorites. Even people who dislike the band acknowledge this is a bonafide classic.

Much like Fleetwood Mac, and a host of other blues-rock bands from across the pond in the late-60s, Canned Heat played the blues appropriation game and happily made a career out of it, rather than branching out into other genres. On their debut, they sound like they look on the cover - rough, tumble, and smelly. The majority of tracks resemble garage demos and are credited to their old-time blues heroes from earlier in the 20th Century. The emphasis is on Henry "The Sunflower" Vestine's roaring guitar lines, and not much is heard from Alan "Blind Owl" Wilson as of yet, but still, this is the band in its' raw, unfiltered form.

This is the first Stones album where I can safely say - yes, listening to Tattoo You or Emotional Rescue would be a reasonably similar experience. It has some decent, yet fairly disposable up-tempo rockers, throwaway-type ballads, a few genre diversions here and there, but nothing that would tell you the Stones are anywhere close to the cutting edge of pop music anymore. "It's Only Rock 'n' Roll" is the track that has endured beyond the album, and truth be told, I really like it, too. It's fun, as a tongue-in-cheek take on the Stones' classic '68-69 period of stuff. "Fingerprint File" is really neat, too - a souped-up, funky trip that sounds like it could play in the background of a 70's TV cop show, or something close.