It's hard to believe record companies are still releasing records as dismal as this one. In one bargain package, we get a cornucopia of turgid, aimless funk riffing, guaranteed stale blues riffs handed down from generation to degeneration and a lifetime supply of the most meandering, nondirectional instrumental improvisation extant. Chris Farlowe's vocals are hoarse, bloated and generally burned out, and there isn't even a spark of originality. Atomic Rooster should take an extended vacation and go fission. (RS 154)

KEN BARNES