#thundermug

Trooper: Trooper (1975)

Calm down Iron Maiden fans: this ain't your kind of "Trooper," but rather a Canadian hard rock outfit that arrived on the scene 50 years ago armed with this self-titled debut produced by Bachman-Turner Overdrive's own Randy Bachman.

Here's the backstory ...

Ra McGuire (vocals, harmonica) and Brian Smith (guitar) first worked together in a late '60s psych-rock duo called Winter's Green, but by the start of the new decade, they'd added bassist Harry Kalensky and drummer Tommy Stewart, and rebranded themselves Applejack.

The quartet eventually built a dedicated following in their native Vancouver and caught the attention of Bachman, who signed them to his newly launched Legend Records imprint, suggested the name change to Trooper, and produced this LP.

And a fine job he did, too, because the grinding "I'm in Trouble Again" was just about as heavy as rock got in the mid '70s and it made a strong first impression along with the seven-minute "All of the Time," which I'm sure went over like dynamite on stage.

Bachman's fingerprints are also felt on the comparatively bouncy, acoustic guitar-backed grooves of first single "General Hand Grenade": a nonsensical power pop confection that went Top 30 on the Canadian charts.

The similarly upbeat "Baby Woncha Please Come Home" gave the band a second hit, but the sleeper here, in my opinion, is one of the most '70s song there ever was in "Roller Rink," whose lyrics declare:

"I'm gonna go on down to the roller rink ... And roll my blues away. Gonna strap on a pair of roller skates; And roll …"

Rounding out the set, "Eddy Takes it Easy" showcased Smith's slide guitar chops, "Love of My Life" boogied on down with drummer Stewart on lead vocals and more six-string fireworks, and a cowbell takes us home (and, presumably, the cows) on "Don't Stop Now."

And there was sure no stopping Trooper, who graduated from Bachman's Legend to MCA Records on the strength of this LP's twin hits, and proceeded to enjoy an impressive run of success through to the end of the decade.

Their sophomore album, 1976's Two for the Show, apparently went gold, '77's Knock 'em Dead Kid went platinum, '78's Thick as Thieves double-platinum, and '79, Hot Shots quadruple-platinum!

Of course, this was in Canada and classic rock fans south of the border were none the wiser about Trooper's homeland success, or even their very existence, which I suppose makes the pre-MTV, pre-Internet era look like the fucking Dark Ages.

It wasn't, but for some mysterious reason, with the exception of Rush and, to a lesser degree, Triumph, most Canadian hard rock bands of the late '70s (Moxy, Teaze, Max Webster, etc.) simply couldn't get arrested in the U.S., and Trooper endured the same fate.

More Obscure Mid ‘70s Hard Rock: Agnes Strange's Strange Flavour, Armageddon’s Armageddon, Back Street Crawler's The Band Plays On, Baker Gurvitz Army’s Elysian Encounter, Bedlam’s Bedlam, Black Sheep’s Black Sheep, Black Spirit’s Black Spirit, Blackfoot’s No Reservations, Blackfoot Sue’s Nothing to Hide, Bloontz’s Bloontz,  Blue Goose’s Blue Goose, Bux’s We Come to Play, Brownsville Station’s Motor City Connection, Cain’s A Pound of Flesh, Diamond Reo’s Diamond Reo, Dirty Tricks’ Dirty Tricks, Earth Quake’s Rocking the World, Elf’s Trying to Burn the Sun, Epitaph’s Outside the Law, Gedō’s Gedō, Goliath’s Hot Rock & Thunder, ...

Ainigma: Diluvium (1973)

Taking their name from the Greek word for "enigma," Ainigma was a German three-piece from the small Bavarian town of Garmisch-Partenkirchen, whose "career" ranged from 1971-'74, and produced this sole long-player from half-a-century ago.

Its musicians were seventeen-year-old Willy Klüter (vocals, organ), his fifteen-year-old brother Michael (drums), plus Wolfgang Netzer (guitar, bass, also fifteen), and their inexperience is obvious on 1973's Diluvium (Latin for "deluge").

The album consists, by and large, of neoclassical heavy prog that appears to have been recorded in a cluttered garage -- and that's close enough to the truth, as it was captured at the Garmisch parish hall, instead.

Still, this was better that than the boys' regular rehearsal site in the Klüter family basement, which happened to be located underneath their dentist father's home practice, and must have therefore subjected his patients to a racket fit to rattle their fillings!

Like, literally!

Luckily, Ainigma did benefit from adult supervision during the album's recording, as they convinced the affluent Dr. Klüter to hire one Franz Forth -- a Munich-based engineering intern with the Bavarian Broadcasting System -- and a pair of two-track Revox machines.

With all this in mind, one can't help but admire the trio's precocious, if unrefined talents, as it explodes with boundless enthusiasm via domineering Hammond organ (*), surprisingly distorted fuzz guitars, muscular drums ... and pretty terrible lyrics.

And yet, all three cuts found on side one -- "Prejudice," "You Must Run," and "All Things are Fading" -- feature their fair share of memorable moments, even if these were clearly inspired by the likes of Uriah Heep, Stray, and especially Atomic Rooster.

Side two houses the 18-minute-long trip of a title track, complete with a clumsily punched-in drum solo and other technical issues relating to the bass, lead and background vocal overdubs, which don't always mesh with the backing tracks for lack of an equalizer and other common tools available in most professional studios ... but not the parish hall.

Evidently, Dr. Klüter's generosity had its limits, and the members of Ainigma were so dissatisfied with the sessions' end results that they only pressed about 500 copies of Diluvium (**) and then sold them at a discount on account of its shitty sound.

Mama Klüter, likewise, eventually grew tired of driving the teenagers to local gigs, so the band's prospects and resolve gradually dwindled and, after briefly hiring a bassist to flesh out their live shows, Ainigma called it a day sometime in '74.

So, what's the final verdict?

Well, I've heard much better examples of under-funded, under-rehearsed German heavy prog, but I've also heard a lot worse, so give Ainigma and Diluvium a half-dozen virtual "spins" and you too might be tempted to invest in a physical format.

* Although Willy's liner notes amazingly suggest he only secured his first Hammond a few years later and got by here with a Farsifa on these recordings!

** In case you're wondering, the rear sleeve's cryptic acronyms, ARC ALP, stands for "Ainigma Record Company, Ainigma LP Stereo, and its product number of 151715 reflected the boys' ages at the time of recording.

A Foot in Coldwater: A Foot in Coldwater (1972)

Here’s a very underrated self-titled debut, released all of 50 years ago, by an early contender in the Canadian hard rock scene: Toronto’s curiously named A Foot in Coldwater, who enjoyed some modest success in the short term, but sadly failed to pan out in the long run.

Both the name and the group itself were concocted by music executive Frank Davies, who enticed Alex Machin (vocals) and Paul Naumann (guitar) of the band Island, plus Bob Horne (keyboards), Hughie Leggat (bass and vocals), and Danny Taylor (drums) of Nucleus and the Lords of London, to join forces and then sign to his label, Daffodil.

I’m including the indie label’s stylized ‘four-heart clover’ inner sleeve among the stippled gatefold’s photos overhead, because it’s as classy and clean as the bright yellow Daffodil label is boisterous -- and because it’s an adequate reflection of the raw, elemental vibe central to these recordings.

How raw?

Well, listen closely and you’ll hear someone in the studio cue the boys for first track “On the Wind,” which recalls Free’s frugal brand of blues rock with its cowbell, wide open spaces, and slow and steady shuffle -- later revisited with a stronger organ presence on “Deep Freeze” and “Alone Together.”

By contrast, the lyrically nefarious “Yalla Yae” leans towards Deep Purple and Black Sabbath with its muscular power chords, then throws in some strings just to fuck with us, before unleashing Machin’s ragged screech, which descends from the heights like a dive-bombing eagle:

“Make way for the devil ... He’s knocking on your door! Give in to his evil ... Comin’ through the below!”

Side two yields another catchy standout in the effusive, foot-stomping “Who Can Stop Us Now,” along with the boys’ almost mandatory visit to the farm (everybody was doing it!) via the acoustic “Fallen Man,” and an absolutely devastating heavy blues led by Naumann called “In Heat.” 

But the album’s most famous cut, for better or worse, was its big saccharine ballad (no ‘power’ to it, I’m afraid), “(Make Me Do) Anything You Want,” which took its fawning words of love into the Canadian Top 25 and stamped A Foot in Coldwater’s tickets to yacht rock infamy.

That mushy hit became both a blessing and a curse for these guys, who would henceforth feel ever under pressure to court mainstream pop ingredients in a fruitless attempt to replicate its success, undermining their legitimate heavy rock credentials along the way.

Max Webster: Mutiny Up My Sleeve (1978)

This may be unnecessary, but I always feel compelled to clarify that Max Webster is the name of the band -- not any one person IN the band -- whose only remotely recognizable member (north of the 49th parallel, anyway) was vocalist and guitarist Kim Mitchell.

Now, with that bit of housekeeping out of the way, I’ll add that Max Webster was one of the few bands whose NERD quotient challenged Rush’s, but the fact that both groups were Canadian (and commissioned the occasional lyric from Pye Dubois) is nothing more than a coincidence ... or is it?

In any case, Max Webster’s albums reflected their confusing, frankly ridiculous wardrobe (see above), by touching on a mind-boggling range of often incompatible musical styles (prog, pop, punk, hard rock, classic rock, even yacht rock), and appealing to no one in particular, in the process.

Unless, that is, you’re an obsessive, latter-day record collector like me, seeking ever stranger, overlooked artifacts that might have fallen through the cracks of rock history, in which case 1977’s Terry Brown-produced (what, was he the only Canadian producer?) Mutiny Up My Sleeve is for you.

Max Webster’s third long-player in as many years, this plays like a game of chicken between artist and label -- at least based on ill-conceived pseudo pop numbers like “Astonish Me,” “Let Your Man Fly” and “Water Me Down,” doomed never to satisfy the commercial expectations they aspire to.

Not least because Mitchell’s lyrics are oblique, to say the least, positively bonkers, most of the time, and thus far better suited to fearless, genre-straddling art rock mutations like “Lip Service,” “Waterline” and “The Party,” whereupon Kim gives away the plot:

“Now, we’re just musicians; here to thin the thickness of your skin.”

And I’m down for that, as personal favorites like “Distressed” and “Hawaii” pay their debts to Frank Zappa and The Mothers of Invention, while the mini-epic “Beyond the Moon” (Rush fans who innocently stumbled here, this one’s for you) finally unleashes Mitchell’s remarkable guitar shredding skills.

But this sort of reckless variety was, needless to say, simply too much for most mainstream consumers, just looking to get high, or laid, or both; so Max Webster’s career continued to plateau until the following year’s A Million Vacations finally scored a hit single or two in Canada.

I’m sure I’ll get to that record, too, eventually ...

Hammersmith: Hammersmith (1975)

Several years ago, the estimable Day After the Sabbath blog hipped me to an obscure Canadian group called Painter, which issued a very solid but solitary self-titled opus in 1973, and then seemingly vanished without a trace.

Well, I recently discovered that three out of five “painters” -- singer Doran Beattie, lead guitarist Dan Lowe and bassist Royden Morice -- didn’t wait long to recruit drummer James Llewellyn and second guitarist Jeff Boyne, before resurfacing in a new outfit called Hammersmith.

This eponymous release followed in 1975, and the good news AND bad news is that little had changed, sonically speaking, during Painter’s transition to Hammersmith.

Meaning: this was good news for the few of us who liked the band, in the first place, but bad news for the general public, which remained largely unimpressed with this new effort.

But let’s not get ahead of ourselves ...

Having launched their careers way back in the ‘60s, as 49th Parallel, the core members of Painter/Hammersmith were seasoned pros, if nothing else, so they could churn out melodic hard rock like “Late Night Lovin’ Man,” “Nobody Really Knows (Why the Sun Goes Down)” and “Low Ridin’ Ladies” in their sleep.

What they couldn’t do so well was get their funk on, though they sure as hell tried, again and again, on less memorable fare like “Money Rock,” “Breakin’ Down” (disco bass alert!) and the quasi-epic “Open Up the Sky,” where things even got a little jazzy.

But the impressive harmonized vocals and overall knack for catchy songs they’d displayed in their previous incarnation carried right over to Hammersmith standouts like “I’ve Got a Right to Know” and “Feelin’ Better,” both of them power pop nuggets, released halfway between Big Star and Cheap Trick.

Alas, Hammersmith would enjoy neither the former’s belated critical recognition, nor the latter’s mainstream acclaim, so they broke up, instead, after issuing a sophomore LP called It’s for You (likely to get reviewed here one day) in 1976. 

However, lead guitarist Lowe would go on to a successful producer’s career and was later involved in the development of a 3-D stereo enhancing algorithm called QSound, used by scores of major league artists in the studio, as well as in cell phone technology!

Incredible Hog: Volume 1 (1973)

A band so inglorious, so obscure they make Leaf Hound, Dust and Toe Fat seem as famous as Black friggin’ Sabbath, London, England power trio Incredible Hog operated just long enough to produce 1973’s Volume 1 (and done!) LP.

Why, even their label, independent Dart Records, looked like quite the fly-by-night operation, active for just a few years, with a roster packed with nobodies, so there was obviously little they could do to advance the band’s career.

In any case, Incredible Hog members Ken Gordon (vocals/guitar), Jim Holmes (bass) and Tony Awin (drums) were already virtual musical relics in their own time, as they owed much of their sonic foundation to Cream’s late ‘60s output, rather than Sabbath, Zep and Purple’s “progressive” ‘70s experiments. 

Nevertheless, they managed to recycle some of those older characteristics (listen for the Jack Bruce-ian “bah-dah-bap-baps”) quite effectively on “Tadpole” (augmented by eerie submarine pings), “Another Time,” and the deliberate, majestic “Losing Myself” (think “White Room”). 

Other notables, more in touch with the changing times, include the doom-laden blues of “Wreck My Soul,” the raging riffs and soothing vocals of “To the Sea” (like Hawkwind jamming with Sir Lord Baltimore), and stop-start dynamics and colorful sound effects heard on both “There’s a Man” (piercing shrieks) and “Warning” (air-raid sirens).

Finally, there’s the oddly titled “Lame,” which steps out of character completely with a series of glam rock shouts and claps (reminiscent of Gary Glitter, who was allegedly recording in the same studio), and was just about the worst possible choice to open the album, which brings us to ... 

The fact that, needless to say, there would never be a ‘Volume 2’ in Incredible Hog’s ill-fated career, though a handful of unreleased cuts did emerge as bonus tracks on CD reissues a few years ago, including a blistering Stoner Rock ancestor called “Burnout.”. 

And of course, nowadays, original copies of Volume 1 are highly sought-after by proto-metal collectors, typically exchanging hands for hundreds of dollars; though I was more than happy to settle for this recent repress, replicating the French cover art (other options overhead) and cut into aptly porcine pink vinyl!

For all of the above, I included “Warning” in my list of the ‘Best Heavy Metal Songs You Didn’t Know About’ from 1973.