I can remember buying this on vinyl when it first came out, when it was still cool to admit you liked BOC.
Sadly, fashions change, but fashion is for fools, as this magnificent live album has proved it's durability, almost 40 years after it's release.
The album cover is surely one of the best ever, with the BOC-flagged limo parked in front of a creepy gothic church, a storm brewing in the background, whilst inside the cult deliver their legendary 5 guitars encore to an audience of submissive hooded figures, the rear cover containing the tracklisting in the form of a prayer book, held open by sinister black gloved hands.
Although BOC have released several live albums since, this to me, is still the "Daddy" as although it doesn't contain the overexposed "Reaper", it is stronger for that and the selection of the best tracks from the first three albums is peerless, the sound is crisp and dynamic and it flows much better than it's successors.
The variety of material here showcases both Eric Bloom's impressive baritone and Buck Dharma's frenzied guitar noodling, ably supported by Eric Lanier on keyboards and the Bouchier brothers relentless rhythm section.
There isn't much point in running through the individual tracks in detail, as they are all excellent, but standouts are The Subhuman, Hot Rails to Hell, Seven Screaming Dizzbusters, Cities on Flame and ME262.
The album climaxes with 2 spendid cover versions - Maserati GT (I Ain't Got You) and probably the greatest version of Born to be Wild you will ever hear, (including Steppenwolf's original), when they wring the old warhorses' neck, swallow it whole and spit the bits out contemptuously onto the floor.
The quality of songwriting and musicianship on show here shames most contemporary rock brands and proves why BOC were always regarded as purveyors of thinking man's heavy metal, though seldom receiving the recognition they richly deserve.
These days it's sad to see them still performing and demeaning themselves by playing hot rod fairs and the like, but here they remain forever young and in their prime.
A guilty pleasure indeed...