#john nitzinger

The Barons - Don’t Burn It (1966)

The music loving history teacher in me loves stuff like this. So many 60s bands were broken up by the draft and Vietnam War, that it’s a wonder more songs didn’t deal the topic.  This is masterful and witty Texas garage rock.

Thunder: Thunder (1974)

Not to be confused with the British pomp rockers active in the early ‘90s, this Thunder hailed from Texas, trafficked in classic rock, southern rock and even a little yacht rock, issued its sole, self-titled LP in 1974 and, yes, it’s so obscure you won’t find half its songs on YouTube.

And, though they were ostensibly a duo, comprised of singer David Alley and keyboardist Whitey Thomas (a.k.a. Santa and his elf -- see rear sleeve painting), Thunder likely wouldn’t have happened without a major assist from Texas’ most underrated ‘70s guitar hero, John Nitzinger, who also played bass and wrote half of these songs.

Why?

Damned if I know but, by ‘74, Nitzinger’s eponymous band was on hiatus, between albums number two and three, and his long association with Fort Worth proto-metal cult heroes Bloodrock had come to an end (along with the band), so workaholic John must have been bored that week.

And so, I guess, were fellow musicians and session aces like bassist David Hungate (Boz Scaggs, Alice Cooper), erstwhile Bloodrock drummer Randy Reeder, and a roll-call of geetar slingers including Dean Parks (Steely Dan, Joan Baez, etc.), bluesman Bugs Henderson, and a Bill Hamm who may or may not have been the ZZ Top manager (probably not).

For tall that, the resulting album clearly didn’t light the world on fire with its eclectic but unfocused material, which ranged from the driving boogie of “It Feels So Good,” to the laid-back funk of “Lady Luck,” to the schmaltzy “Sleep is Not too Easy,” which was tailor-made for the local Holiday Inn lounge.

Among the better moments, “Power Glide” (a monster groove of guitars and organ), had appeared on the second Nitzinger LP, one year earlier; and another two songs were outtakes from the very first Nitzinger album: the almost glammy “Pretty Boy Shuffle” and a tough-nut hard rocker embellished with UFO synth effects called “King’s X.”

Now, imagine my excitement at having possibly uncovered the long-forgotten origins for the moniker of Houston prog-metal marvels King’s X (maybe attained via their domineering manager Sam Taylor) but, nooooo, apparently they got the name out of a C.S. Lewis novel called, tellingly, Out of the Silent Planet.

Oh, well, at least I didn’t go to all the trouble of tracking down this LP just to answer a trivia question, but rather out of respect for the great Mr. Nitzinger -- so don’t you sleep on all of his seminal ‘70s work, both with his own group and behind the scenes with Bloodrock.

Bloodrock: Bloodrock (1970)

I recently compiled a list of obscure and underrated heavy metal songs released in 1970, and Bloodrock’s inclusion was a fait accompli; the only difficulty was choosing which song to cull from the Fort Worth, Texas natives’ beyond impressive eponymous debut.

Nowadays, only serious heavy metal historians seem to really appreciate Bloodrock’s contributions, but any one of them will tell you that this quintet (later a sextet) flew the flag for the nascent heavy metal genre as proudly and convincingly as any of their contemporaries.

And it all began (well it all began after nearly a decade earlier with fledgling lineups working as The Naturals and Crowd +1) with this bombastic yet eclectic first album, which set the bar on high for three additional, semi-essential LPs, with its progressive songwriting approach.

Some songs, like “Gotta Find a Way” and “Double Cross,” run a little long (or else they may have crashed the airwaves); some, like “Castle of Thoughts” and “Fatback,” were just the right length for radio, but lacked the necessary hooks.

On the more progressive side: “Timepiece” (a precursor to Bloodrock 2’s morbid pièce de résistance, “D.O.A.”) is haunting and foreboding, the atypically restrained “Fantastic Piece of Architecture” is supple and beautiful, and some, like “Gimme Your Head,” are just plain funny!

But the Bloodrock tune I ultimately championed in my Loudwire list was this album’s capper: the crushingly-riffed, amusingly-named “Melvin Laid an Egg,” which balances the band’s don’t-take-ourselves-too-seriously attitude with dead serious power chords and wild organ flourishes.

In short: if you like the old metal, you should own this LP. 

p.s. -- Bloodrock were heavy metal pioneers in another way, by recording a backmasked message here that said “Anyone who is stupid enough to play this record backwards deserves what he is about to hear,” followed by an excerpt from Lewis Carroll’s nonsensical poem, Jabberwocky.

Bloodrock: Bloodrock 3 (1971)

Bloodrock’s third LP was supposed to be the one to push the Texan sextet over the commercial hump, following the surprising Top 40 success of their second LP’s ultra-macabre, and ultimately career-best effort, “D.O.A.” 

And I do think the band came through with maybe their most well-balanced set, starting with the portentous “Whiskey Vengeance” (where they even reference ... SATAN!?) and “Song for a Brother’s” earnest meditation on Civil Rights.

There was another pair of excellent contributions from fellow Ft. Worth rocker John Nitzinger in the irresistible “Jessica” and the jazzy “Kool-Aid Kid,” both of which made ample room for the group’s impressive instrumental chops. 

Speaking of chops: a cover of the Moody Blues “A Certain Kind” brought a disarmingly intimate moment via Jim Rutledge’s husky, soulful vocals and Stevie Hill’s double duty on delicate piano and church-like organ.

And the record reached an epic climax on the nine-minute “Breach of Lease,” alternating dreamy, haunting passages reminiscent of The Doors’ “The End” (*) with others brimming with cathartic, metallic bombast -- all of it clearly intended to follow “D.O.A.’s” unlikely march up the charts.

Which, alas, it did not, though Bloodrock 3 did peak at a quite respectable No. 27 in the U.S., just six spots lower than Bloodrock 2, but the sad reality was that this hard-working band’s time was already running out.

* The Lizard King wouldn’t depart this mortal coil until several months after the album’s release, so this is no posthumous tribute ... perhaps a dire premonition, instead.