Well, Mad River had another chance, and I sure am glad, not only because they deserved it, but because they used the opportunity so well. Their new album, while not perfect, is far less pretentious, and much more musical than their previous effort. This is probably due in no small part to finding a producer, ex-Youngblood Jerry Corbitt, who understands them.

Let me get the complaints out of the way first. In the middle of the first side is "Leave Me Stay," a seven-minute amorphous atonal epic which sounds like it might have been left over from the first album, except it wasn't. The small effort involved in lifting one's tonearm and skipping this cut is well rewarded. There's also "They Brought Sadness," a shorter song in the same vein at the beginning of the second side, which, it seems, is a leftover. This too is easily avoided.

The rest of the album is superb. The most notable improvement over the last album is the inclusion of several excellent acoustic guitar pieces. Dave Robinson's "Harfy Magnum," sort of a chromatic fantasia on a country blues theme, is a remarkable show of dexterity. Robinson also wrote the guitar duet which backs Brautigan's poem "Love's Not the Way to Treat a Friend," and the duet matches the tone of the poem exactly—light, airy, and a trifle obscure, Rick Bockner's "Equinox" is a sort of passacaglia, crisply performed in duet with himself. The electric guitar work is better, too, and the instrumental "Academy Cemetery" is a tight, rhythmically complex work that does them credit.

Vocally, the band is learning how to employ their resources better. Drummer Greg Dewey has a fine raunchy voice, and he carries off "Copper Plates" (the first rock and roll song about the "gentleman's crime" of counterfeiting) and "Revolution's in My Pockets" in fine style. This last song is the high point of the album, with a fine brass arrangement, a catchy chorus, and Ron Wilson's congas adding a final touch. Laurence Hammond is learning how to sound moody without being maudlin, and his voice works well in the title song ("If I ever was welcome/ Where weary angels dwell/ I could not find the number of/ The Paradise Bar and Grill"), and on Carl Oglesby's brooding "Cherokee Queen." Incidentally, if all Oglesby's songs are this good, it's probably just as well that SDS lost him—the man's more poet than politico.

All in all, a worthy effort from a band with a great deal of potential. I eagerly await their next one. (RS 39)

EDMUND O. WARD