The Wicked Lady story is one of amphetamines, motorcycles, violence, despair and a wah-wah pedal. Formed in 1968 by Hell's Angels members, Martin Weaver and "Mad" Dick Smith, Wicked Lady cut their crooked teeth playing their brand of heavy psych in smoke-filled biker clubhouses and greasy English pubs. Rumor has it that Martin Weaver was approached by an A&R guy from EMI about signing Wicked Lady, Weaver's response was to beat said A&R guy to a bloody pulp. The Wicked Lady wasn't fucking around. The band's gigs were equally violent, and it was not uncommon for sets to end with "Mad" Dick hurling his drum kit into the audience. But for all this spectacle and barbaric rage, was the music any good? Nope. It was spirited, lo-fi, caveman proto-doom-metal slop, but undeniably anguished and so very fucking real. In a way, Wicked Lady were the Saint Vitus of their time, a brutally real flesh and bone dirtbag band that might have been better if forces like addiction and jail time hadn't impeded their path. Wicked Lady's material is a downer. The lyrics are about war, mental illness, being a rebel, and THE wicked lady, who will apparently "take your soul away." Dark stuff that, like Sabbath, was a far cry from the hippy love insipidness that prevailed at the time. They seem barely able to play their instruments. You can tell that Weaver and company were drunk when they finally got around in 1972 to recording this collection of songs on a stolen 2-track machine. The results are primitive, depressing, and dark, and I think you will agree, absolutely amazing.