ILM's Now For Something Completely Different... 70s Album Poll Results! Top 100 Countdown! (Part 2)

Still hoping to see A Wizard, A True Star make it.

Along with Roxy Music I'd like to see Here Come The Warm Jets, Are We Not Men and The Modern Lovers very in the top ten/twenty.

I've been hoping that Motor Booty Affair would make it but just realised it wasn't nominated so I guess I'm now looking to see Mothership Connection high up. I would really love to see Standing on The Verge of Getting on beat Maggot Brain as I think it's a much better album, don't see that happening though. I'm sure Maggot Brain stands a good chance of being number one.

It seems like Marquee Moon is another obvious contender for number one but this list has been so unpredicatable so far I just can't be sure.

Entertainment! should do well I think. Everyone likes that record, right?

Simply Saucer ftw

will lol if maggot brain tops this one as well

Did I miss Yeti?

I am hoping Fun House is #1, but it v well cd be Maggot Brain or Tago Mago. Theres actually a lot of possibilities now that O think about it...

er, "now that I think about it..."

I read that like one of those screaming goats interrupted ..

Idk what you're talking about

Theres a real possibility that Riot will beat out Maggot Brain

I gave that Brainticket album a listen after enjoying the one that placed earlier, erm... yeah, it was a bit much.

Hahaha, it does have warning labels on the sleeve.

"After listening to this record, your friends won't know you anymore" and "Listen only once a day to this record, your brain might be destroyed".

Listened to that Selda album this morning. Really nice, not partic rocking IMO. Will definitely go back to it though.

OTM.

Hahaha, it does have warning labels on the sleeve.

"After listening to this record, your friends won't know you anymore" and "Listen only once a day to this record, your brain might be destroyed".

Well that's what I get for using Spotify, no warnings there, you'd think they could have a pop-up or something.

Soft Machine's Third hasn't appeared yet, would like to see that place high.

60. BLACK SABBATH Paranoid (2726 Points, 17 Votes, 1 #1)
RYM: #1 for 1970, #18 overall | Acclaimed: #135 | RS: #130
http://cps-static.rovicorp.com/3/JPG_500/MI0002/780/MI0002780001.jpg?partner=allrovi.com
http://open.spotify.com/album/714ndVxSx8lIWhQxdbcXIs
spotify:album:714ndVxSx8lIWhQxdbcXIs

They do take heavy to undreamt-of extremes, and I suppose I could enjoy them as camp, like a horror movie--the title cut is definitely screamworthy. After all, their audience can't take that Lucifer bit seriously, right? Well, depends on what you mean by serious. Personally, I've always suspected that horror movies catharsized stuff I was too rational to care about in the first place. C- -- R. Christgau

A young girl's voice. She is dressed in a nun's habit. The boy turns and faces her. She proffers a chalice of cervical exudate and he drinks from it. She gets down on her knees and elbows, como peros, and tosses the nun's hem above her posterior. On each naked buttock is the scrawled sign of Ashirikas; "Fuck me, Rolf." The boy whips out a 10" personal vibrator, adorned in waterproof acrylics with the image of the Nazarene. He intones the words "nuk Khensu tenten nebu" and approaches her intendant fundament...impletion...across the room the fresh corpse of an illegitimate hippie baby is dis-impaled from the ceremonial sword of Baph-omet. The myrrh is extinguished with the collected saliva of priests listening to tales of carnal abuse in warm, dark confessionals. The Shadaic numinae are chalked over with the mirrored sign of Ariael, the eleven rubies returned to the vessel of Dione.

A dark, handsome youth with the physique of a Dionysos — eyes, though, glazed and cold — grasps the two-foot stem of an imported El-Douhab hookah by its hilt and shoves its tip, sans mouthpiece, into the dry, collapsed rectum of the dead hippie baby, pushes until thin rivulets of blood ooze from the nostrils and lips of the infant. The hookah's stem-tip surfaces and the suck-piece is restored. Those in the room gather about. One youth wears a mosaic-inlaid Aztec skull mask, ornamented with the symbols of Gnostic adoration. He fills the hookah bowl with black opium tars and a dash of Asthmador powders...in the corner of the room, clutching a smuggled police photo of Sharon Tate with her hacked-off tit crammed up her snatch, a lone boy masturbates slowly, moaning "tempora mutantur et nos muta-mur in illis."

No "flower children" they, the sinister emanation of a generation who only yesterday, it seems, were set on changing a world in the shadow of nuclear holocaust and overpopulation into a utopia of peace and love. They drop the knee of fealty before the Antichrist. They shoot "M" and they engage in group sex. No act is too depraved, no thought too bizarre as they plunge deeper and deeper into the realm of perversion, into the ultimate "trip" of their own self-fashioned Hell. Orgies, incest, drugs, homosexuality, necrophilia, public nose-picking, Satanism, even living sacrifice.

And this is their music. Although you may not enjoy its "message," although you may not enjoy a lead singer (Kip Treavor), who sounds like Keith Relf whining about the tampons stuck up his nostrils, you owe it to yourself as a person concerned with contemporary society or merely with the artistic underground of the youth movement in general to be aware of the "heavy" sounds of bubble-gum Satanism and if you see them live sometimes they undress a hippie girl. -- Nick Tosches, RS

Most heavy metal thrives on uptempos; Black Sabbath prefers sludge and slow-motion fuzz. Ozzy Osborne's shrill vocals contribute to a mix of rudimentary riffs and obsessive lyrics, creating an angst-ridden punk poetry
of the semi-conscious. Despite an impressive list of potential rivals, Black Sabbath may play the ultimate downer metal. -- Jim Miller, "The Heavy Metal Hall of Fame", RS

Black Sabbath had already raised eyebrows in their native England with their self-titled debut: a seismic re-routing of the blues that, along with the first two Led Zeppelin classics, helped give birth to a new form of rock 'n' roll: heavy metal.

In terms of songwriting, the Birmingham quartet's second LP was a quantum leap. Leviathan protest number "War Pigs" is one of the all-time great intros, capturing the embittered mood of Western youth as the U.S. government fought its bloody campaign in Vietnam. All the Sabbath trademarks are here: Ozzy Osbourne's eerie, ominous wail; supple, tempo-shifting dynamics from drummer Bill Ward and bassist/lyricist Geezer Butler; and, most recognizably, the hulking presence of guitar hero and lord of the riff, Tony Iommi.

The iconic title track comes next, a proto-punk blast of alienation that remains Black Sabbath's signature anthem -- Ozzy and Iommi even performed it at Queen Elizabeth II's Golden Jubilee celebrations in London in 2002. Ghostly ballad "Planet Caravan" displays an oft-overlooked tender side, while lumbering sci-fi drama "Iron Man" seems to anticipate the entire grunge movement. The final four tracks are less well known, but just as imposing. Heroin nightmare "Hand Of Doom" is especially apt, helping consolidate Sabbath's position as the darkest force in Seventies music.

Paranoid broke them in America, reaching No. 12 on the U.S. chart. Its songs have been covered by acts as diverse as Pantera and The Cardigans; its influence on the heavier end of the rock spectrum, from Nirvana to Queens Of The Stone Age, is incalculable. -- Manish Agarwal, 1001 Albums You Must Hear Before You Die

review
[-] by Steve Huey

Paranoid was not only Black Sabbath's most popular record (it was a number one smash in the U.K., and "Paranoid" and "Iron Man" both scraped the U.S. charts despite virtually nonexistent radio play), it also stands as one of the greatest and most influential heavy metal albums of all time. Paranoid refined Black Sabbath's signature sound -- crushingly loud, minor-key dirges loosely based on heavy blues-rock -- and applied it to a newly consistent set of songs with utterly memorable riffs, most of which now rank as all-time metal classics. Where the extended, multi-sectioned songs on the debut sometimes felt like aimless jams, their counterparts on Paranoid have been given focus and direction, lending an epic drama to now-standards like "War Pigs" and "Iron Man" (which sports one of the most immediately identifiable riffs in metal history). The subject matter is unrelentingly, obsessively dark, covering both supernatural/sci-fi horrors and the real-life traumas of death, war, nuclear annihilation, mental illness, drug hallucinations, and narcotic abuse. Yet Sabbath makes it totally convincing, thanks to the crawling, muddled bleakness and bad-trip depression evoked so frighteningly well by their music. Even the qualities that made critics deplore the album (and the group) for years increase the overall effect -- the technical simplicity of Ozzy Osbourne's vocals and Tony Iommi's lead guitar vocabulary; the spots when the lyrics sink into melodrama or awkwardness; the lack of subtlety and the infrequent dynamic contrast. Everything adds up to more than the sum of its parts, as though the anxieties behind the music simply demanded that the band achieve catharsis by steamrolling everything in its path, including its own limitations. Monolithic and primally powerful, Paranoid defined the sound and style of heavy metal more than any other record in rock history.

I gave that Brainticket album a listen after enjoying the one that placed earlier, erm... yeah, it was a bit much.

Hahaha, it does have warning labels on the sleeve.

"After listening to this record, your friends won't know you anymore" and "Listen only once a day to this record, your brain might be destroyed".

I could do w/out the bits of musique concrete, but that motorik guitar/keyboard riff-machine at Brainticket's core drives the track w/in spitting distance of proto-techno and pushes it far ahead of the endless space-noodle prog-dribbling that eshews bearing down on the present like a freight train for the illusionary pleasures of vanishing into a quasi-literary fantasy miasma of exponential technocratic tinkering that like one of Zeno's paradoxes only drags the music further from its ostensibly epic affect and closer to the heart of misplaced 70s ambition. (so I'll take an hour of that riff noize, keep yr Van der Graaf Generator).

Paranoid is probably my least favourite of the first six Sabbath albums but that's mainly down to overplaying of 'Iron Man' and the title track, it's still a great album.

I could do w/out the bits of musique concrete

I know I do this myself, but I really hate comments where people are "oh, this would be okay if it weren't for x", where x is something that is totally integral to the whole record.

hellhouse your adjectives are killing me!

59. CHROME Alien Soundtracks (2768 Points, 22 Votes, 1 #1)
RYM: #76 for 1977 , #3814 overall
http://cps-static.rovicorp.com/3/JPG_500/MI0002/410/MI0002410177.jpg?partner=allrovi.com
http://open.spotify.com/album/47ZFrrIQykS6sqwelQsvHi
spotify:album:47ZFrrIQykS6sqwelQsvHi

However, as the late-76 punk explosion changed the sonic temples of the rock’n’roll landscape out of all recognition between the release of Chrome’s debut and their follow-up, the trashing of the old ways brought many musicians not only in line with Chrome, but also actually into a position to surpass them. Chrome, however, rose to the occasion, as vocalist Mike Low disappeared over the horizon forever, leaving guitarist John Lambdin at the mercy of Damon Edge, now free to work on his lupine howl unobstructed. And with the release of Chrome’s second sacrificial offering ALIEN SOUNDTRACKS, the band absolutely nailed their muse to the floor. For herein was contained all of the yawp and thunder, all the bark and bitter rage of removal, all the homunculus ennui and editing room floor psychedelia that best represented Damon Edge’s unvented brainium. And, whilst the forms, cut-ups, splices, segue ways and collages of the record are never more extreme and lustfully executed than within the grooves of this LP, ALIEN SOUNDTRACKS still successfully walked that tightrope between horribly more-ish direct hits and the sheerly perverse barfothons which so obviously delighted Edge himself. But the change in sound and honing down of direction appears to have been due specifically to the appearance of new member (the legendary guitarist and mythically-named) Helios Creed, whose arrival tipped the scales so far in Damon Edge’s direction that every song on ALIEN SOUNDTRACKS would be a writing collaboration between the drummer and the newcomer, leaving previous songwriter John Lambdin orphaned in his own band.

ALIEN SOUNDTRACKS commences with the three-part mini-epic “Chromosome Damage”, which kicks off with about 40 seconds of frenetic drumming and lo-fi fuzz guitar over which Edge announces “I wanna fly away” before the whole freight train groove collides with the buffers of an industrial terminal. FX reminiscent of Pere Ubu-meets-Grand Funk’s “Winter & My Soul” (all TV and shortwave radio) breaks in until, fading out of the ether, comes a foul gloopy dual guitar solo announcing the death of the previous LP in final style. Incoming is the careering distorto-monomaniacal riffery of “The Monitors” with a killer punk-a-long chorus. Sucked out of the ether comes the almost Residents-like harmonised vocals of “All Data Lost”, which anticipates Monoshock’s “Leesa” by about a decade and a half, as analogue synthesizer drones and distant Joy Division theme guitars herald the fade. “SS Cygni” is nothing more than a highly catchy but typical Chrome lo-fi funk groove, with intertwining fuzz guitars that hit a plateau and then just motor to a fade. Side one concludes with one of my all time favourite Chrome pieces, the six minute long 6/8 flanged stellar waltz of “Nova Feedback”, in which John Lambdin and Helios Creed create layer upon layer of fuzzy crunching melody over an Edge skank rhythm reminiscent of Moebius & Plank’s RASTAKRAUTPASTA. The six minutes of “Pygmies in Zee Park” opens side two like some weird hybrid of Yello, Tuxedo Moon and DUCK STAB-period Residents, as wild dislocated voices howl and hoedown over frenetic distracted sambas, before the whole schmeer breaks down into a Hawkwind/Neu motorik groove over which Damon Edge croons, shamelessly aping Roy Orbison. Soon, this gives way to an infuriating electronic Prince Buster skank, albeit weighted down under heaped mattresses of distorted and ring modulated electronic brass stabs. Track two is the aforementioned “Slip It To The Android”, a James Brown-catchy on-the-one soul piece complete with George Duke-Herbie Hancock funky ARP 2600 synth soloing, John Lamdbin’s slunky electric violin and a robot MC crowing ‘Sleep eet to thee ann-droid’ over and over and fucking over again, a braying cartoon Mexican mule sneerily cheerily chewing your lobes like there’s zero airspace between performer and audience. “Pharoah Chromium” is Chrome’s take on Sam The Sham & The Pharaohs’ in which a bogus “Casbah Rock” meets “Rock The Casbah” meets the Modern Lovers’ “Egyptian Reggae”, as filtered through Damon Edge’s melted plastic brain. Kinda makes me think Adolph Sax woulda had seconds thoughts had he known such noise addicts were gonna get their mits on his beloved invention. On second thunks, you remember that Mothers of Invention track off FREAK OUT entitled ‘The Chrome Plated Megaphone of Destiny”? Well I’m sure that’s the instrument Edge & Co employed in order to achieve this braying ass of a sound. The three minutes of “ST 37” follows, a pachuco spider-on-roller-skates barn dance with spiky picked electric guitar, clattering snare drums and lowest common denominator lyrics about getting in a Winnebago and going to San Diego. That this song gave its name to one of the ‘90s’ best American space rock bands is certainly evidence that not everyone has forgotten Chrome, though – like Bowie’s “TVC15”, I’ve no idea what the title means. ALIEN SOUNDTRACKS concludes with the “Iron Man” instrumental riffery of “Magnetic Dwarf people”, as the sparks fly upward and the skank of nations drags us with Biblical intensity west across the night sky forever chasing the sunset. Beautiful… fucking beautiful. If anyone asks you about Chrome, tell ‘em ALIEN SOUNDTRACKS nailed it, Dunne’n’Dusted, end of story. – J. Cope

review
[-] by Ned Raggett

With Creed recruited to replace original member Mike Low (though allegedly Edge initially turned Creed down after the latter appeared wearing a pirate outfit or something similar), Chrome started kicking into high gear at last. While Spain and Lambdin weren't out of the picture yet, cowriting half the songs with Edge, Creed's mind-melting guitar swiftly took prominence, turning a wiggy band into a total headtrip. Rather than just aiming at acid-rock styling, Creed stuffed his fretbending into an evil, compressed aggro-sound, at once psychedelic and totally in-your-face. Edge equals the activity by stepping into the vocal role himself, sounding like Iggy on a live wire with occasional attempts at weird, wailed crooning, while his electronics and drumming starts sounding a lot more vicious and totally scuzzed as well. It's not the short sharp shock of punk rock per se -- it just sounds like the title puts it, alien, sounds and TV samples firing out of nowhere and throwing the listener off balance. That many numbers are constructed out of short fragments adds to the weird overlay. Even the quieter numbers like "All Data Lost" play around with echo and drone to create disturbing results. The songs themselves allegedly were recorded as the soundtrack to a live sex show, which probably goes a long way towards explaining the sex and sci-fi combination of much of the lyrics. Not to mention the titles -- to quote some at random: "Nova Feedback," "Magnetic Dwarf Reptile," and the truly hilarious "Pigmies in Zee Dark" (there's some creepy crooning on this one) and "Slip It to the Android." The artwork adds to the weird effect -- a hand-colored late fifties 'cool' living room and busty babe setup with the band's and album name hand-scrawled in usual Chrome fashion over it, plus huge disembodied eyes and lips that make everything really disturbing. Overall, the combination of screwy sound and art on a budget placed Chrome as something like West Coast cousins of early Pere Ubu and Destroy All Monsters -- not a bad place to be.

Caught a Slapp Happy song last night and I want to hear more!

I know I do this myself, but I really hate comments where people are "oh, this would be okay if it weren't for x", where x is something that is totally integral to the whole record.

the rec is v. cool as it is and 90% of the drop-ins add to the vibe, but occasionally I'm jolted out of the groove. still love the track, so it's not a slam.

58. PINK FAIRIES Kings of Oblivion (2775 Points, 20 Votes, 1 #1)
RYM: #397 for 1973
http://img13.nnm.ru/5/1/4/5/6/51456c84079c5dcb8fff969b912301e7_full.jpg
http://open.spotify.com/album/7lWUwuIlVrIhnSy7QwfLIt
spotify:album:7lWUwuIlVrIhnSy7QwfLIt

With Wallis singing, playing ingenious guitar and doing nearly all the songwriting (in one case, collaborating with Farren), the resulting Kings of Oblivion is absolutely amazing, a thunderous jolt of electricity with monumental melodies and bizarre sideways lyrics like "I Wish I Was a Girl," the drugged-out "When's the Fun Begin?" and "City Kids." Still brilliant sounding after two decades, Kings is a widely unknown masterpiece that stands on its own but also set the stage for Motörhead, which Wallis and Hawkwind refugee Lemmy initially formed in 1975. – Trouser Press

Proto-punk heavy metal from a trio that was an offshoot of the notorious British hippie-politico band the Deviants. Their first two albums,Never Never Land and What a Bunch of Sweeties, were never released in America, but this third LP adequately captured their neo-psychedelic bashing in spite of flat production and a slim songbook. Guitarist Larry Wallis went on to join the Stiff Records family of eccentrics." -- David Fricke, 1983 RS Record Guide

Of the all the bands that came out of San Francisco's Family Dog community in the late 60s, London expatriates the Pink Fairies were easily the most transgressive. The Pink Fairies' first two albums each have their moments, but it is the Larry Wallis incarnation of the band, which produced Kings of Oblivion, that established the Fairies as one of the wildest, most erratic, and brilliant acts of 70s. 

The Pink Fairies were omitted from the 2004 album guide. -- schmiddt, Rolling Stone's 500 Worst Reviews of All Time.

This was The Pink Fairies’ last stand right before the rot of inactivity from lack of funds set in and cancelled their Polydor contract. An album of soaring Marshall Superfuzz anthems and Ladbroke Grooves, this was their last album while they were still (for a short time, anyway) a cohesive unit. The undertow of Paul Rudolph leaving in 1972, the sacking Mick Wayne after one shite single and a tour cancelled after a few gigs left The Fairies down to just the rhythm section of drummer Russell Hunter and bassist Sandy Sanderson. Their old friend Mick Farren suggested a replacement guitarist he knew from years earlier who had performed at the Phun City festival he had organised. The guitarist was none other than Larry Wallis, who had moved onto later-period Blodwyn Pig and then UFO before Farren’s suggestion. Lazza Wallis: a true Pink Fairy if there ever was one! He brought not only his cranked Stratocaster riffing and a good sense of structured songwriting to hang his flowing reckless guitar style upon, but a gleeful sense of humour and overall wiseacre rock and roll sensibility. “City Kids” (co-written by Wallis and Sanderson) is a street punk anthem of raving, speeding, hanging out and when Wallis sings the line “Park the car/And ruuuuuun” it’s about as “Under My Wheels”-era Alice Cooper as it gets. “I Wish I Was A Girl” begins another musical fray with soaring intro guitar and Russell Hunter spraying all his cymbals like a Merseybeat Ringo on methedrine and if that’s Sanderson on bass it was his most pronounced playing ever on record. An elongated bridge in the middle continues as Wallis’ guitars have now four-folded into an overdubbed, pile driving ecstasy, yet it’s beyond mere boogie as the momentum keeps plateau-ing up and up. Lazza’s guitar is not only melody but rhythm as well, as Hunter and Sanderson keep getting in and out of sync and overcompensate with just thrashing it out. The title gets repeated over and over as a faded mantra to the back of this rough and ready work out. “When’s The Fun Begin?” is a Notting Hill Gate doper weaving down a deserted West London street, the only light his blurred vision can see is the reflection of street lights on the wet tarmac. It’s coiled and tense yet opiate-slackened at the same time, and Hunter’s bashing over Wallis’ foot-controlled police siren solo make the bust inevitable as the vocals are shoved into the back of a police van -- the last words a panned, repeated phrase on the fadeout.

By this time the album has such a weirdly energetic and wasted atmosphere, you wonder how they can JUST keep it from falling apart. Larry Wallis’ structured songwriting and stunningly raw liquid-feel guitar playing keeps the sole surviving rhythm section busy, and the riotous instrumental, “Raceway” is where the three-man Fairies blast-out in a mid-sized hall at full volume with bright white overhead spotlights flicker on and off in an off-beat pattern catching the three longhairs in the act of proceeding to pummel their disbelieving audience. If Russell Hunter had four arms, he still wouldn’t be hitting half as many cymbals as he does here while multiple Wallis solos are bending in the air over the trio. The coda is a flurry of high-pitched “Axe Victim” riffing, but trapped in a mandrax haze at twice the speed. “Chambermaid” and “Street Urchin” round out an album most people weren’t expecting from The Pink Fairies at this point in time: a strong, vibrant testimony to their no-bullshit rock and roll. And live it was even shatteringly LOUDER than before, which is damn near incomprehensible and frightening to even think about. – The Seth Man, Head Heritage

London’s Portobello Road must have been an interesting scene in the early 70s with The Edgar Broughton Band, Hawkwind, Deviants and Pink Fairies playing mostly free shows to hippies, anarchists and biker gangs. Pink Fairies were influenced by both post-beatnik jokesters The Fugs and the MC5. By their third album, Kings Of Oblivion, MC5 was more of a factor with the help of Larry Wallis. Wallis went on to create an early template for Motörhead based on the album, even re-cutting opener “City Kids” on his recordings with Lemmy. It was also considered a key pre-punk influence. One only has to up the tempo of “Raceway” slightly to be reminded of Buzzcocks‘ “Fast Cars.” Or perhaps a slightly less cartoonish precursor to The Dictators Go Girl Crazy. Either way, it’s damn fun. -- Fastnbulbous

review
[-] by Dave Thompson

The third and final Pink Fairies studio album, Kings of Oblivion, welcomed guitarist Larry Wallis to the brew, bringing with him some of the band's most remarkable -- and concise -- material yet. The opening "City Kids," famously recut by Motörhead during Wallis' sojourn with that band, is as dynamic an opener as the Pink Fairies ever had, while the album's two epics, "I Wish I Was a Girl" and "Street Urchin," similarly catch the band as they made a sharp turn away from the rockin' riff jam basics that scarred their second LP, What a Bunch of Sweeties, and moved instead into the affirmative guttercat stance that so effectively predicted the rudiments of punk rock. Indeed, if any album could be said to have been born ahead of its time, Kings of Oblivion, conceived in 1973 but sounding just like 1977, is it. In common with the rest of the remastered Pink Fairies albums, Kings of Oblivion divides its bonus tracks between unfamiliar versions of familiar material (most pressingly, an urgent alternate mix of "City Kids") and non-album material. This includes two versions of the loping "Well Well Well" and the country rock-ish "Hold On" dating from 1972, and a single cut with Wallis' short-lived predecessor, Mick Wayne, and it's gratifying to have them on CD at last. Truly, though, Kings of Oblivion could exist just as happily without the extras; greeted at the time as the Pink Fairies' best album, it remains a tightly coiled, furiously adrenalined beast, the summation of everything that the Pink Fairies promised and all that subsequent reunions have continued to deliver.

need to pop out for an hour hopefully wont be too long

voted for both Alien Soundtracks and Paranoid, so w00t!

hellhouse your adjectives are killing me!

ha, yes, I'm apparently transitioning to str8 word-cloud jpegs.

More on Paranoid:

These would be English Kings of heavy metal are eternally foiled by their stupidity and intractability. In the early 70s their murky drone was all the more appealling for it's cynicism - the philosophy that everything is crap and a flirtation with pre-Exorcist demonic possession. Time has passed them by; their recent stuff is a quaint bore. -- Ken Tucker, 1983 RS Record Guide)

I love it when RS's "criticism" amounts to nothing more than the reviewer's insistence that a band is irrelevant. Especially when it ends up demonstrating Rolling Stone's irrelevance. Ken Tucker initially gave Paranoid two stars in the first edition of the record guide, but downgraded it to one star in the second edition - along with every other Black Sabbath album. That's eleven one star albums in total - apparently, there is no distinguishing between, say, a record like Master of Reality... and Never Say Die!, their ninth (nor does he mention that Ozzy left the band after this album).

In the Ozzy Osbourne entry in the 1983 guide, on the other hand, George Arthur characterizes "his Ozness" somewhat more positively, describing the music as an amusing novelty ("Dispensing bone-headed metaphysics over codified Brit hard-rock guitar, his Ozness ranks with the Addams Family and Creepy Crawlers as product for teen horror/laughs market."). Arthur rated Diary of a Madman three stars - a full two stars above every Black Sabbath album.

Nick Tosches' original 4/15/71 review of Paranoid is just insane, by the way:

"He fills the hookah bowl with black opium tars and a dash of Asthmador powders...in the corner of the room, clutching a smuggled police photo of Sharon Tate with her hacked-off tit crammed up her snatch, a lone boy masturbates slowly, moaning 'tempora mutantur et nos muta-mur in illis.'"

Uhhhhhh...

The Tosches review refers to Kip Trevor as the lead vocalist for Sabbath. Kip was actually the frontman for a band called Black Widow. According to Wikipedia:

"Black Widow were a rock band that formed in Leicester, England in September 1969. The band were mostly known for its early use of satanic and occult imagery in their music and stage act. The band were often compared with the better-known Heavy metal band Black Sabbath, but the bands were only superficially similar."

HA HA HA!!

Paranoid was #130 on RS's 500 greatest albums list. -- schmidtt, Rolling Stone's 500 Worst Reviews of All Time

What's with the all Pink Fairies' albums?

People like them

You mean like one guy voted them #1, #2 and #3?

that one got 20 votes

57. ZZ TOP Tres Hombres (2807 Points, 20 Votes)
RYM: #63 for 1973 , #1709 overall | Acclaimed: #965 | RS: #498
http://cps-static.rovicorp.com/3/JPG_500/MI0002/492/MI0002492533.jpg?partner=allrovi.com
http://open.spotify.com/album/0Em8m9kRctyH9S3MTXAHvY
spotify:album:0Em8m9kRctyH9S3MTXAHvY

http://www.superseventies.com/oaaa/oaaa_zztop3.jpg

Besides spawning two incredible albino rock & blues brothers and one late first lady of the boogie, Texas is becoming one hell of a place to say you're from. The whole Southern rock & roll sound seems to be catching on as fast as a swig of potato liquor reaching the brain.

ZZ Top makes no bones about being cowboys who used to be in the psychedelic music scene and who have recently discovered the joys of guzzling beer and driving their cars and bikes at 110 miles an hour. Tres Hombres is a definite step back to their white blues roots. Their second album, Rio Grande Mud, had an English feel in the production end with Rolling Stones-type tunes such as "Chevrolet" and the Brown Sugarish "Francene." ZZ Top have shown in all three of their recordings the dynamic rhythms that only the finest of the three-piece bands can cook up. Billy Gibbons plays a tasty Duane Allman lead with Dusty Hill and Frank Beard pounding out the funky bottom.

Tres Hombres was recorded with their live performances in mind. Minimal echo and lots of live-sounding jamming. "Waiting for the Bus" is a mean muddled track reminiscent of early Canned Heat complete with the usual repetitive three-chord lick. Vocally, ZZ have an advantage over most white rockers in that these Southerners sound black anyway with lines like..."You don't have to worry, 'cause takin' care of business is his name" -- sung by Gibbons in a drawl so thick he would do Leadbelly justice.

ZZ Top seem to be at least one of the most inventive of the three-piece rockers but they are only one of several competent Southern rocking bands. I do wonder when the audiences will get tired of hearing the same..."Poot yawl hans together" patter. -- Steve Apple, RS

Tres Hombres marked ZZ Top's elevation into the megaleague as one of the biggest touring acts in the United States. The jury will probably always be out on which was the better of ZZ's two great eras -- straight-down-the-line blues rock (1970s) or pumpin' blues disco (1980s and '90s). What is indisputable is that their Texas roots were absolutely inseparable from their down 'n' dirty sound.

Tres Hombres is a showcase of everything that is magnificent about the group -- and the inclusion of the huge hit "La Grange" is only part of that story. In fact, "La Grange," based around a riff so simple yet so inspired that you will never forget it, is atypical for its mumbling novelty vocal. "Precious and Grace" -- a song about picking up a couple of hitch-hiking women who turn out to be ex-cons -- mixes a great Led Zep-styled riff in the verse with a ripsnorting near-psychedelic chorus. The two devices come together seamlessly. "Move Me On Down the Line" is a snappy boogie that sounds indebted to post-Cream Jack Bruce. "Jesus Just Left Chicago" is another gem of a track, fluid and apparently effortless. The incredible "Master of Sparks" concerns a fine Texas tradition, the habit of kickin' your buddies off the back of a speeding pickup just for the heck of it.

The cover of the album -- the original vinyl is a gatefold that opens on a garish photograph of the Mexican dish after which the record is named -- says it all, really, though the oblique cover shots of the threesome hide the fact that these guys were only in their mid-twenties. -- David Nichols, 1001 Albums You Must Hear Before You Die

review
[-] by Stephen Thomas Erlewine

Tres Hombres is the record that brought ZZ Top their first Top Ten record, making them stars in the process. It couldn't have happened to a better record. ZZ Top finally got their low-down, cheerfully sleazy blooze-n-boogie right on this, their third album. As their sound gelled, producer Bill Ham discovered how to record the trio so simply that they sound indestructible, and the group brought the best set of songs they'd ever have to the table. On the surface, there's nothing really special about the record, since it's just a driving blues-rock album from a Texas bar band, but that's what's special about it. It has a filthy groove and an infectious feel, thanks to Billy Gibbons' growling guitars and the steady propulsion of Dusty Hill and Frank Beard's rhythm section. They get the blend of bluesy shuffles, gut-bucket rocking, and off-beat humor just right. ZZ Top's very identity comes from this earthy sound and songs as utterly infectious as "Waitin' for the Bus," "Jesus Just Left Chicago," "Move Me on Down the Line," and the John Lee Hooker boogie "La Grange." In a sense, they kept trying to remake this record from this point on -- what is Eliminator if not Tres Hombres with sequencers and synthesizers? -- but they never got it better than they did here.

There was definitely a bit of Pink Fairies campaigning, too.

The Rolling Stone review for Paranoid is breathtakingly stupid and even worse than Christgau's reviews.

I was surprised to enjoy Tres Hombres a lot, despite not really being a rock dude. I do have a beard though, so maybe that helped me connect.

I have come to the conclusion that in general I prefer eulogies to campaigns. Even the thought of having to "campaign" for something fills me with dread.

56. PARLIAMENT Mothership Connection (2824 Points, 23 Votes)
RYM: #16 for 1975 , #486 overall | Acclaimed: #287 | RS: #274
http://www.nova-cinema.org/IMG/jpg/parliament-mothership_connection__2003_-frontal.jpg
http://open.spotify.com/album/734MC4wQsfNWsg9HLTrUoN
spotify:album:734MC4wQsfNWsg9HLTrUoN

That DJ from Chocolate City, or maybe it's the Chocolate Milky Way, keeps the beat going with nothing but his rap, some weird keyboard, and cymbals for stretches of side one. And later produces the galactic "Give Up the Funk" and a James Brown tribute that goes "gogga googa, gogga googa"--only believe me, that doesn't capture it. A- -- R. Christgau

With the "Parliafunkadelicament thang," leader George Clinton has succeeded in creating two distinct identities for one band -- the mystical voodoo of the Funkadelics and the stabbing, humorous funk of Parliament. While Funkadelic has no discernible influence, Parliament is more closely attuned to the post-Sly wave. But unlike the Ohio Players or Commodores, the group refuses to play it straight. Instead, Clinton spews his jive, conceived from some cosmic funk vision, under titles like "Supergroovalisticprosifunkstication," "P. Funk (Wants to Get Funked Up)" and "Mothership Connection (Star-Child)."

Mothership Connection is patterned closely after last year's tongue-in-cheek success, Chocolate City. With little regard for theme or lyric development, Clinton weaves a non-stop rap of nonsensical street jargon ("Sombody said, 'Is there funk after death'/I said is seven up") like a freaked out James Brown. And oddly enough, former Brown sidemen, Maceo Parker and Fred Wesley, make up Parliament's horn section, along with Joe Farrell and the Brecker Brothers. But this album refuses to be taken seriously, except as Clinton's parody of modern funk. After all, it was George Clinton who renamed James Brown the "Grandfather of Soul." -- Ken Barnes, RS

Inspired by Motown's production line of sound, George Clinton gradually constructed the funk juggernaut that was Parliament-Funkadelic: two groups, several side projects, and more than 50 musicians, including sax star Maceo Parker and bass deity Bootsy Collins.

Mothership Connection -- Parliament's third and best album -- testifies to the sheer power of their extreme musicianship and innovation. The cover depicts a spreadeagled Clinton in makeup and thigh-length platform boots jumping out of a spaceship, which is as close as a photo can get to describing what is on the album itself. Under Clinton's guidance, Parliament took funk, washed it in acid, dressed it in a camp, sci-fi outfit, and wrapped it in cool. The result is seven tracks of relentlessly perfect R&B, immaculately arranged by Collins, Clinton, trombonist Fred Wesley, and keyboardist Bernie Worrel.

"P-Funk (Wants To Get Funked Up") heralds what is to come. Clinton speaks smoothly over languid basslines, before kicking into high gear and letting the synths, horns, and harmonies take over. From then on, each track is an explosion of interweaving rhythms and melodies.

Mothership Connection's innovation alone makes it one of the best ever funk albums. A huge success at the time ("Tear The Roof Off That Sucker" was Parliament's biggest hit on the Hot 100), it changed the way people looked at funk and R&B. Decades later, its impact resounded in the work of rappers like Warren G. and Snoop Dogg, and rockers like The Red Hot Chili Peppers and Primus. The P-Funk legacy makes Clinton and Co. one of the most important American acts ever. -- Liam Pieper, 1001 Albums You Must Hear Before You Die,

review
[-] by Jason Birchmeier

The definitive Parliament-Funkadelic album, Mothership Connection is where George Clinton's revolving band lineups, differing musical approaches, and increasingly thematic album statements reached an ideal state, one that resulted in enormous commercial success as well as a timeless legacy that would be compounded by hip-hop postmodernists, most memorably Dr. Dre on his landmark album The Chronic (1992). The musical lineup assembled for Mothership Connection is peerless: in addition to keyboard wizard Bernie Worrell; Bootsy Collins, who plays not only bass but also drums and guitar; the guitar trio of Gary Shider, Michael Hampton, and Glen Goins; and the Brecker Brothers (Michael and Randy) on horns; there are former J.B.'s Fred Wesley and Maceo Parker (also on horns), who were the latest additions to the P-Funk stable. Besides the dazzling array of musicians, Mothership Connection boasts a trio of hands-down classics -- "P-Funk (Wants to Get Funked Up)," "Mothership Connection (Star Child)," "Give Up the Funk (Tear the Roof off the Sucker)" -- that are among the best to ever arise from the funk era, each sampled and interpolated time and time again by rap producers; in particular, Dr. Dre pays homage to the former two on The Chronic (on "The Roach" and "Let Me Ride," respectively). The remaining four songs on Mothership Connection are all great also, if less canonical. Lastly, there's the overlapping outer-space theme, which ties the album together into a loose escapist narrative. There's no better starting point in the enormous P-Funk catalog than Mothership Connection, which, like its trio of classic songs, is undoubtedly among the best of the funk era.

I dont even need to say it

Track Listing:

P. Funk (Wants To Get Funked Up)
{G Clinton, W Collins, B Worrell} 7:41 lyrics
Mothership Connection (Star Child)
{G Clinton, W Collins, B Worrell} 6:13 lyrics
Unfunky UFO
{G Clinton, W Collins, Garry Shider} 4:23 lyrics
Supergroovalisticprosifunkstication (The Thumps Bump)
{G Clinton, W Collins, B Worrell, G Shider} 5:03 lyrics
Handcuffs
{G Clinton, McLaughlin, Glen Goins} 3:51 lyrics
Give Up The Funk (Tear the Roof Off the Sucker)
{G Clinton, W Collins, B Worrell} 5:46 lyrics
Night Of The Thumpasorous Peoples
{G Clinton, W Collins, G Shider} 5:10 lyrics

Personnel:

Vocals: George Clinton, Calvin Simon, Fuzzy Haskins, Raymond Davis,
Grady Thomas, Garry Shider, Glen Goins, Bootsy Collins
Horns: Fred Wesley, Maceo Parker, Michael Brecker, Randy Brecker,
Boom, Joe Farrell
Bass: Bootsy Collins, Cordell Mosson
Guitars: Gary Shider, Michael Hampton, Glen Goins, Bootsy Collins
Drums and Percussion: Tiki Fulwood, Jerome Brailey, Bootsy Collins, Gary Cooper
Keyboards & Synthesizers: Bernie Worrell
Horn Arrangements: Fred Wesley, Bernie Worrell
Rhythm Arrangements: Bootsy Collins, George Clinton
Extraterrestial Voices and Good Time Hand Clappers: Gary Cooper,
Debbie Edwards, Taka Kahn, Archie Ivy, Bryna Chimenti, Rasputin Boutte,
Pam Vincent, Debra Wright and Sidney Barnes

"P.Funk"
Lead Vocal: George Clinton

"Mothership Connection"
Lead Vocals: George Clinton (rap), Glenn Goins

"Unfunky UFO"
Lead Vocals: Glenn Goins, George Clinton

"Handcuffs"
Lead Vocals: George Clinton, Glenn Goins

"Give Up The Funk"
Alternating Lead Vocals: George Clinton, Ray Davis (intro), Glenn Goins,
Garry Shider

Rating: GZ ***** RC ***** MM *****

Comments:

GZ: Highlights include Title track, "P-Funk", "Handcuffs", "Give Up The Funk" -- a classic. Absolutely essential.

TK: The album was originally titled Landing In The Ghetto.

RC: How to describe this one? How about: the most important album of the last 20 years; the culmination of a superb team of musicians, vocalists, and conceptualists, working at their peak; an avant garde funk album that broke all the rules and wrote a few of its own; a concept album free of any restraints associated with that genre; a brilliantly fused assortment of funk, jazz, gospel, Motown, science- fiction, sex, drugs and...; the PhD project of Dr. Woo, Bernie Worrell; the genesis of a freaky universe that sprang full-born from George Clinton's mind; Bootsy Collins' coming-out party: the bass that launched a thousand Motherships; the simultaneous coming-of-age and birth of P.Funk; THE BOMB. It's all that and more. The album indulges every Funk Mob whim without going overboard. There's great singing throughout, particularly from new member Glen Goins. Horns are given a workout without dominating the album, with the introduction of the Horny Horns. All of the mistakes and false starts found on earlier albums were erased, and new ground was struck at every turn. Even the stuff based on old formulas and obvious attempts at commercialism sounded fresh and resonant.

The album starts off similarly to Chocolate City, with a narrator explaining that we are now tuned in to radio station WEFUNK, home of the P.Funk, the Bomb. Clinton's character Sir Lollipop Man ("chocolate coated, freaky, and habit forming") lays on rap after rap about the miraculous qualities of P.Funk. Bootsy lays down some seriously thick grooves, the horns take over the melody, and Bernie provides the flavor with those ethereal keyboards. The comparison between coke and funk is cleverly phrased ("I want my funk uncut"), as something that brings you up and out. The Brecker Brothers come in with brilliant solos in the middle, as the song slows down, creating an aching tension. This is finally resolved in the orgasmic finale, as Clinton signals, "Well, alright!" and the whole band and chorus kicks in. The song structure, the witty lyrics, the rhythm and the improvisations are top-notch the whole way. This leads into "Mothership Connection", as Clinton's next character, Starchild, takes us on a tour of the Chocolate Milky Way galaxy. Another addictive bassline keeps it on the one, with gorgeous descending guitar & keyboard lines following. The horns are out front, filling in the gaps. The Mothership `ain't nothin' but a party`, but it's also a means of salvation, for as Starchild says, `You have overcome, for I am here.` And combining and comparing the Mothership to "Swing Low, Sweet Chariot", the old spiritual, is a brilliant device. As Clinton has said, he wanted to put `brothers in outer space, in places people wouldn't normally associate them.` The future is hip, funny, and vibrant. Continuing on the sci-fi theme, we swing into "Unfunky UFO", one of the most underrated gems in the P.Funk universe. It features lead-swapping between Garry, George and Glen, with a engaging story about aliens who want to steal your funk. The guitar riffs drive this song, right along with another solid bassline and superb drumming from Jerome Brailey, who is excellent on the entire album. His rhythms are crisp and precise, and he plays complex parts effortlessly. "Supergroovalistic..." is one of those chant songs that showcases Bernie, as he pulls out all the stops working with weird sounds and effects. "Handcuffs" is an R & B throwback, fully spotlighting the singers. The song is one of those wonderfully, ridiculously sexist creations that features lines like `If I have to keep you barefoot & pregnant, just to keep you in my world/Lay down, girl, and take off your shoes/Cause I'm a gonna do what is I got to do`. One of the best vocal efforts ever from the group. "Give Up The Funk", the biggest hit from the album, is in many ways its weakest track. A pure dance track, it features a clever drum intro with Ray Davis' famous baritone, with the horns and keyboards swelling into the main body of the song. Unfortunately, it tends to get a bit repetitive, although it is still quite entertaining, particularly the `dah dah dah dah-dah` chant. The true star of the song is Jerome Brailey, who propels the song constantly, and finishes it with a flourish. The journey ends with "Night Of The Thumpasorous Peoples", a crazed chant song that is once again dominated by Bootsy & Bernie. Bernie invents a variety of weird sounds that are so funky you can smell 'em, and Bootsy explores a lot of new territory that would propel him into having his own solo act. And the chant of `Ga ga goo ga, ga ga goo ga, ga ga goo ga ga` is their most infectous.

While there are certainly a number of themes explored here, it's never done in any kind of obvious way. The outrageousness of the concepts allows the deeper meaning to sink in slowly, and while there's a loose connection amongst all the songs, each stands out individually, not trapped within the order or framework or an album, something that happens often with concept albums.

MM: Probably the best all around album in the PFunk universe. Every track is strong. I like the mellow groove of "Supergr...." and the bass focus on "Night Of The Thumpasorous" also.

"But this album refuses to be taken seriously, except as Clinton's parody of modern funk." -- Ken Barnes, RS

Mothership Connection went on to become a surprise hit - the album sold more than one million copies (P-Funk's previous albums had barely grazed the top 100), and soon this music that "refuses to be taken seriously" was taken very seriously indeed by Rolling Stone magazine. In a 3/23/78 review of Funkentelechy vs. the Placebo Syndrome, for example, Ken Tucker wrote that George Clinton seemed to be blessed with "unlimited inspiration," and that "Bop Gun," the record's lead single "puts everything else on the radio to shame." Peter Keepnews, in a positive review of Uncle Jam Wants You that ran in the 11/29/79 issue, called "One Nation Under a Groove" "one of the most irresistible singles of the Seventies."

Nonetheless, Dave Marsh rated Mothership Connection only three stars in the first edition of the RS Record Guide ("Fascinatingly vulgar, like all of Clinton's projects, but also engaging in a rather diffuse way."). Maggot Brain was not rated or mentioned in the book; shockingly, neither was One Nation Under a Groove. In fact, Joe McEwen rated only two Funkadelic albums: Hardcore Jollies, which he gave two stars, and a greatest hits compilation, which mustered a three-star rating. Despite this, McEwen, somewhat amusingly, proclaimed Funkadelic to be "the truest representation of urban life offered in black music."

Mothership Connection was #274 on RS's 500 greatest albums list; One Nation Under A Groove was #177. -- schmidtt, Rolling Stone's 500 Worst Reviews of All Time

k voted for both of those. great great great records!

dave marsh & rolling stone can go get fucked

Like, I dont even like La Grange at all, but Tres Hombres is so stacked with deep cuts like Master of Sparks and Hot Blue & Righteous that it p much instantly transcends that overrated beer commercial nonsense (it helps that LG is shuffled away in the middle of Side 2) xp

Ag you were just extolling the virtues of Marsh's Big Book of Rock Lists, like, 3 weeks ago!

55. JUDAS PRIEST Sad Wings of Destiny (2836 Points, 20 Votes)
RYM: #6 for 1976 , #366 overall | Acclaimed: #4417
http://cps-static.rovicorp.com/3/JPG_500/MI0002/367/MI0002367511.jpg?partner=allrovi.com
http://open.spotify.com/album/5k3WFIHmmuHrUWSj5McaAe
spotify:album:5k3WFIHmmuHrUWSj5McaAe

Sad Wings Of Destiny carved a new plateau for the fledgling form, marking an intensification of the edifying darkness, the band assembling an invasion of the imagination with abstract but disturbing flurries of hell-fired torment, the only distant relatives to the album's frightful vibe being perhaps Sabotage, Rising, or oddly enough, Vol. 4, Priest however offering a vastly more futuristic, technical type of heavy metal than any warmed-over leftovers from the first wave could even imagine. Sad Wings marks no less than the second of three landmark events in the history of metal. Six years earlier, we have the in-earnest invention of the form, with Uriah Heep, In Rock and Paranoid. Sad Wings (and incredibly Priest's next three in a row), amazingly bereft of challengers from '76 to '80, marked the first spike in an established genre, raising metal to new, mind-expanding, technically impeccable levels, second spike being the intensified, majestic speed metal of Metallica's Ride The Lightning in '84, while in the shadows, Mercyful Fate's Melissa convincingly recreated and reminded us of the advancements Priest had managed. Comprising six visceral metal classics and two extremely delicate funeral dirges, Sad Wings proceeded to rewire hard rock with legendary masterworks such as strident progressive metal opener "Victim Of Changes," seminal slasher tale "Ripper," and rampant mind-grind about mind games "Tyrant," all working a sort of becalmed night, their ministerial levity evoking guarded monks toiling in rapt seclusion, mediums receiving an avalanche of seismic, sobbing and sobering riffery puzzle-pieced into sturdy towers of previously unknown medieval metallics. Lyrics tend towards the darker corners of the brain--religion in conflict, moral and material struggles, death and other concerns above time, concerns never rendered flashing or even colourful, poetry evoking the subdued but rock-solid tones within the monster cathedrals of Britain and the Birmingham band. And the record's bass-bedded production, as well, supports such earthy and ancient engineering with trustworthy strength, all players reverent of the record's pulse, each offering his specific wisdom and restraint and recognition of the massive grooves at work, a restraint that will fly out the window come the blinding fury of Sin After Sin one year hence. Unquestionably, this is the record that established Priest's enviable reputation, even if any degree of commercial success would elude the band for another four years or so, Sad Wings Of Destiny becoming a pioneer of a new and versatile type of gothic riffery, and as history would show, a woodshed record for all sorts of metalizers gaining their sea legs in the late 70s. Grave and serious metal innovation, tragically, unfathomably, unnoticed in its time. 8/10 -- M. Popoff

Chock full of ear-piercing vocals and the thick, sensuous rhythms of a Fender Stratocaster, Sad Wings of Destinyrecalls the intensity of the Deep Purple of Machine Head. This is the second time around, of course, so the effect is less startling. Even the titles -- "Genocide" and "The Ripper," for instance -- parallel Purple's malevolent attitude.

Priest lacks Deep Purple's keyboard emphasis but the real difference is in the vocals. Lead singer Robert Halford is a screamer with powerful projection and little control, although he executes a complete turnaround in "Epitaph," where he proves he can sing fluid tenor on a song suitable for Barry Manilow. If the Yardbirds/Zeppelin legacy has led Aerosmith so far, surely Judas Priest has a fair chance of success through copying Deep Purple, especially since their antecedents are no longer contenders for the throne. -- Kris Nicholson, RS

As the decade progressed the plateau on which Metal was encamped, like the geological oddity of Arthur Conan Doyle's The Lost World, broke free of the surrounding geography and thrust upwards, breaking off almost all connection with the outside musical world. This is perfectly signaled by records like Judas Priest's Sad Wings of Destiny, upon which, if you don't mind me extending my metaphor yet further, the roaming dinosaurs began to feast on the corpses of other dinosaurs. Rob Halford's banshee wail is in tonality equal parts Osbourne and Plant, even if his lyrics are disorientating kitchen-sink. The music with its choppy, low-slung riffs and "singing" leads seems to contain nowt but pure metal. This is forbidding stuff but also thoroughly individual music that was instrumental in the birth of the New Wave of British Heavy Metal. -- Woebot

review
[-] by Steve Huey

The year 1976 was crucial for the evolution of heavy metal, as landmark albums like Rainbow's Rising and Scorpions' Virgin Killer began to reshape the genre. Perhaps none was quite as important as Judas Priest's sophomore effort, Sad Wings of Destiny, which simultaneously took heavy metal to new depths of darkness and new heights of technical precision. Building on the hard prog of bands like Queen and Wishbone Ash, plus the twin-guitar innovations of the latter and Thin Lizzy, Sad Wings fused these new influences with the gothic doom of Black Sabbath, the classical precision of Deep Purple, and the tight riffery of the more compact Led Zeppelin tunes. Priest's prog roots are still readily apparent here, particularly on the spacy ballad "Dreamer Deceiver," the multi-sectioned "Victim of Changes," and the softer sonic textures that appear from time to time. But if Priest's style was still evolving, the band's trademarks are firmly in place -- the piercing, operatic vocals of Rob Halford and the tightly controlled power riffing of guitarists K.K. Downing and Glenn Tipton.

This foundation sounded like little else on the metal scene at the time, and gave Sad Wings of Destiny much of its dramatic impact. Its mystique, though, was something else. No metal band had been this convincingly dark since Black Sabbath, and that band's hallucinatory haze was gone, replaced by a chillingly real cast of serial killers ("The Ripper"), murderous dictators ("Tyrant"), and military atrocities that far outweighed "War Pigs" ("Genocide"). Even the light piano ballad "Epitaph" sounds like a morbidly depressed Queen rewriting Sabbath's "Changes." Three songs rank as all-time metal classics, starting with the epic "Victim of Changes," which is blessed with an indelible main riff, a star-making vocal turn from Halford, explosive guitar work, and a tight focus that belies its nearly eight-minute length. "The Ripper" and "Tyrant," with their driving guitar riffs and concise construction, are the first seeds of what would flower into the New Wave of British Heavy Metal movement.

More than any other heavy metal album of its time, Sad Wings of Destiny offered the blueprint for the way forward. What's striking is how deeply this blueprint resonated through the years, from the prog ambitions of Iron Maiden to the thematic echoes in a pair of '80s thrash masterpieces. The horrors of Sad Wings are largely drawn from real life, much like Slayer's Seasons in the Abyss, and its all-consuming anxiety is over powerlessness, just like Metallica's magnum opus, Master of Puppets. (Though this latter preoccupation doubtlessly had more psychosexual roots in Rob Halford's case -- witness the peculiar torture fantasy of "Island of Domination.") Unfortunately, Sad Wings of Destiny didn't have as much impact upon release as it should have, mostly owing to the limitations of the small Gull label. It did, however, earn Judas Priest a shot with Columbia, where they would quickly become the most influential band in heavy metal not named Black Sabbath. (Note: To date, all CD reissues of Sad Wings of Destiny have switched the A and B sides of the original vinyl version.)

LOL just reading the RS review for Paranoid. Who the fuck is Kip Treavor?

Boom here we go! Greatest album ever right above me!

lol Kip Treavor was the lead singer of Black WIDOW... lol Rolling Stone sux.

*bowing my knee in fealty to the antichrist*

not a very good rep of the counter-culture is it

It's becoming obvious why RS never put out that glossy coffee table book of original reviews! Some of these reviews are indeed inexcusable (I particularly hate Dave Marsh, Anthony DeCurtis and others). But the reason I wouldn't always completely write off every critic for the bad reviews they've done is that some, like Christgau, sorted through dozens of albums every week, thousands a year, and wrote hundreds of reviews, many on artists he's hearing for the very first time, most of which had not been reviewed anywhere else. So he was listening to stuff isolated from any cultural or critical context and restricted by massive volumes and limited time, responding with his initial gut reaction. The results were sometimes witty, often stupid, sometimes brilliant. The past 15+ years critics have a much different experience. By the time they hear an album there's usually already a deep knowledge base about the artist available in forums and blogs. Writers now have the option to consider a wide range of other popular and critical opinions while forming theirs. Even if they want to avoid that input, it's hard to avoid. Even back in the 80s there were more sources to draw from, with more magazines and fanzines than ever. And as of the mid-80s, there was already early e-mail based discussion forums.