AFTER BATHING AT BAXTER'S

And so San-Francisco's number one faceless psychedelic rock act becomes the number two faceless rock act (right behind Grateful Dead). Hey, I don't count my chickens before they've hatched, but I do count my albums before they've been melted by the oncoming nuclear holocaust (I have zero). Who counts? Well, Jefferson Airplane probably didn't count their record sales, or else they would've cared more about making the Surrealistic Pillow follow-up something of a more notable experience. Instead, they decided it was well enough that they just made it stink atrociously. Was THIS their take on psyche experimentation? Is this album truly held in high esteem? If so, I gotta tell ya, there are a few early Pink Floyd albums that need to be put in time machines in case the aliens get the wrong ideas.

Okay, forgetting and forgiving the trite, immature sound collages and effects garbage of 'A Small Package of Value', there are a few solid acid bloozers. 'Young Girl Sunday Blues' with its extended freak out solo deserves to have been on Pillow, and the opening 'The Ballad of You and Me and Pooneil' isn't altogether bad. They just made poor placement and vision decisions. There's less Grace and more noise. A good half this album is damn good. 'Wild Thyme H' is hot and catchy, and doesn't drop the ball. However, that other half is nearly unlistenable. 'Won't You Try' plods on like a snail that was dropped in a vat of liquid marijuana. Won't you try and make a more consistent album next time?

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