Humble Pie "Smokin'" [1972]

You'd be forgiven for thinking that Steve Marriott's singing style was a mean-spirited parody of lowlife white druggies aping the stylings of black soul singers, like he's lampooning Janis Joplin or Robert Plant at their respective Dean Martin Roasts. But no -- he's for real, and on "Smokin'" he gets even worse: instead of just pretending to be a fiery black gospel dude, he actually brings real ones into the studio with him. Even Peter Frampton couldn't fucking stand it any longer (and with all the shit he was to foist onto an unsuspecting listening public in the next few years, that's pretty remarkable). But Humble Pie's milieu remains intact here, however unfortunately: dragging tired blues covers across the bong-water-soaked floors of the recording studio while Marriott shamelessly wails over the top like he's the runt twin of Joe Cocker. And even after years of this band egregiously murdelyzing any tune that stands in their way with the same sledgehammer-meathead approach, they really outdo themselves on this album; by the end of the first four tracks, one becomes indignant that neither rock-soul wailing nor the wah-wah pedal has yet been banned from existence. Imagine if everyone in the Stones catered to every last one of Keith Richards' worst instincts -- that's this album. And you might think that sounds delightful, but I guarantee you it's the musical equivalent of narcotic smoke and chicken grease B.O., and it will suffocate you with the nastiest pair of aural ass-cheeks ever.