employs to help him bash out a guitar-drenched set made up of thrown-together material. The group plays fiercely, as usual, but the lyrics are sketchy, seemingly improvised (the nadir is the nine-minute which consists of the lines "Got mashed potato/Ain't got no t-bone" repeated over and over), and frequently cranky, as in which finds criticizing Japanese cars, and which takes a belated swipe at music while sounding like second-rate . For the second album in a row, seems to be just fulfilling his one-album-a-year record contract. The exception is the album-closing (written by 1978), a more substantive and threatening song given a riveting performance. Later, it would be revealed that was finding time for his music while giving most of his attention to caring for his disabled son. Still, he might have been better advised to have suspended record-making for a few years instead of turning out half-baked efforts like this one. ~ William Ruhlmann