The Rock Gods align for thee Lord but offer little


This Screaming Lord Sutch album has been in my ‘to play’ box for almost a year and was bought on a whim.

I’d previously read that it wasn’t much cop but I prefer to make my own mind up, so dug deep into my pocket for the £25 asking price. It had a sticker on the plastic album cover marked £7 off and also includes a CD copy of the album. The initials RSD 2019 were also visible.

I don’t take much notice of Record Store Day releases so didn’t know one way or the other if indeed this had been a special release. The label is Lilith. I hadn’t heard of them. 

Today, I did some research on the LP and have found out that Lilith are a Russian re-issue label who specialise in 180 gram HQ vinyl albums. I don’t think we’ll ever hear much from them again considering Russia are destroying many Cities in the Ukraine, just because they can!  

Recorded in Hollywood and London during May 1969, the tracks on offer here from Lord Sutch are as expected with luminaries Jimmy Page, Jeff Beck, Noel Redding and others at the helm . . .  late ’60s heavy rock based on the blues.

The songs come in at around the three minute mark, which is a bonus – no snoozeville progressive numbers going on for a week and a day.

The big problem though is that the songs are nothing to write home about and Lord Sutch’s  vocal prowess is limited and not suited to heavy rock. He’s certainly no Ozzy or Ian Gillan. Those two would have easily transformed these very basic Troggs-like rockers into something memorable.

So, in hindsight, I paid over-the-top for a sub-standard record. The musicianship is heavy and cool but the macho-man vocals are a destructive force, in a bad way.

The pounding ‘Purple Haze’ rip-off track ‘Smoke And Fire’ is probably the the best cut on the album with ‘Flashing Lights’ a close second. Other than those two though this is background music to annoy your neighbours and the street cats.

Screaming Lord Sutch should have just remained in his Union Jack painted Rolls Royce and driven around England until the petrol tank ran dry. He could then have left the motor where it stopped, and swanked about the nearest village wearing his fetching Regency psychedelic clothing. It would have been much more entertaining.  


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