Far as can be determined, the A&R rep must have been thinking “true heads” in the late 60s who “dig, man” Sly Stone would pay money to hear bluesy harmonica-laced psych rock. Not so surprisingly, nobody wanted to pay money to hear songs with oboe, harmonica, and female vocals all at once. So this misfit of an album went straight to cutout bin death and obscurity. Which is a shame, because it’s lovable like a lost three-legged puppy. Do you have space in your collection for another misunderstood psych album? It never got a fighting chance, and even has breaks.

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