A decent, yet misguided attempt at carrying on the Foghat name Next up in the seemingly never-ending Foghat saga - which is still ongoing to this very day - is this album, which not even the sad passing of Lonesome Dave Peverett from cancer, could delay. By this time, Rod Price had left the band, for the second and final time. Their replacements were clearly nods to the nostalgia for arena rock in the 70's - for Lonesome Dave, there was Charlie Huhn, most known for his stint with Ted Nugent in the late 70's and early 80's. And for Price, it was Bryan Bassett, who played guitar for disco one-hit Wild Cherry, and later on in a dueling version of Foghat with Lonesome Dave in the early 90's, before the reunion album of '94. The combination of these guys, with Earl and Stevens, as you might imagine, is more low-brow than the original item. Huhn's vocals range from a generic take on Lonesome's Dave honest man theatrics to a karaoke-ish imitation of Brian Johnson from AC/DC, and the material is about in the same ballpark as well. "She loves my mumbo jumbo" is the tone setter here, and despite the lack of creativity, there is more than infectious enough energy to drive the point home. It's just that the personality, class, and craftsmanship is sorely missing from the Huhn-Bassett team, and there is subject matter here which a guy like Peverett would definitely stay away from, or at least rephrase in a better fashion ("Sex with my Ex" is especially ridiculous).

The last album in their original run, and it is somewhat better than one would expect. Roger Earl's drums are completely in the mold of loud, unnecessarily rude and "thwacky", and the overall sound is hopelessly dated to the mid-1980's, yet, there is some pretty decent material here, and even a few really good songs. Surprisingly, the very best comes from guitarist Erik Cartwright - the peppy-catchy pop-rocker "Jenny Don't Mind" - which comes off as tailor-made for then-MTV audiences. Elsewhere, a lot of this stuff is reminiscent of American New Wave stuff like The Cars ("That's What Love Can Do", the title track), although they steadfastly keep their blues cred in place through some cover tunes and even an appearance from old stalwart Paul Butterfield playing harmonica on one track ("Seven Day Weekend"). Worth a few spins, in the very least.

Canned Heat's second LP of `68 is an expansive affair, reflecting the excessive spirit of the times. The sheer amount of content is what matters here, especially towards the end with the experimental "Parthenogenesis" collection followed by TWO - yes, two - twenty minute live versions of the "Refried Boogie", complete with extended solos from all instruments. This also includes the band's other big hit "Going Up the Country" which became the unofficial theme of Woodstock. But with the emphasis on lengthy jams it may not be a good idea to make this your first Canned Heat album to listen to.

What should have been just a fun throwback-style comedy turns into an unnecessarily overcomplicated train wreck that never quite gets untangled.

Zephyr's debut record is usually dismissed as either a Big Brother & The Holding Company clone because of frontwoman Candy Givens and her Janis-like vocals, or as just the project which launched guitar God Tommy Bolin's career. There's a kernel of truth in the former sentence and more than enough fallacy, for they were really a loose, heavy-blues, jazz-inflected ensemble better suited for the stage than the studio, having not that much in common with the folk-leaning San Francisco sound. It's difficult to distinguish one song from another and better to enjoy the overall vibe and great interplay between the musicians. One drawback is the muddled production, which tends to hoard the instruments together and somewhere there is Candy's howling voice in that maelstrom. But this is a nice album from a gutsy band that deserved better.