Tear Gas

Glaswegian Heavy Prog in the thuggish, juvenile-delinquent-who-discovered-acid-and-Marxism-at-the-same-time sense. There are bits of heady noodling here and there, but this album works best when it embraces the four-on-the-floor boogie of countless pub bands and bludgeons the listener with beefy riffs and trippy-bordering-on-stupid lyrics like the now-famous "Woman For Sale," currently recognized by the cognizenti as a vital and primal piece of early heavy metal history. Embracing a pseudo-revolutionary shtick similar to their peers across the water, the MC5, and changing their name from the less-threatening Mustard, Tear Gas released two albums before finding greater fame backing Alex Harvey as The Sensational Alex Harvey Band once glam exploded in a flurry of feathers, coke, and bodily fluids. This album is their sweaty testament to the times, though, genital warts and all.
Lay it on me.