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The much anticipated third LP release from Wishbone Ash came with a good deal of expectation in 1972. It didn't disappoint, in fact not only was it considered the finest album by the band so far, it is still considered their finest work forty years on. Martin Turner was responsible for much of the writing, which resulted in some of the band's finest melodies to date. Sadly, these days we have two versions of Wishbone Ash, one led by Martin Turner, whilst the other is led by guitarist Andy Powell, both of whom still perform this classic album in live shows. It would be nice for these two to put their differences aside and combine forces to recreate the sound of one of the most memorable bands of the period.

Like most old LPs in my collection, I only have a vague recollection as to where I originally heard them. Danny O'Keefe's second LP 'O'Keefe' was released in 1972, when I was more than likely listening to Led Zeppelin II on my prized Fidelity stereo system, just prior to the chart world going insane and actually allowing Glam/Glitter Rock to happen. This Spokane, Washington singer-songwriter would've been light years away from what I was listening to at the time, yet somewhere along subsequent roads, this LP came to knock some sense into my musical palette. O'Keefe contains Danny's only real 'hit', Good Time Charlie's Got the Blues, but also boasts The Road, which was covered by Jackson Browne on his Running on Empty LP.

Up until the mid-1980s, I'd been playing nothing but blues guitar for a good five years solid and was blues obsessed. I read Paul Oliver books by day, played the guitar in the evening, dreamed of being a blind blues singer from the Mississippi through the night. Then I discovered Martin Simpson and went looking for folk clubs, the most likely place to find this young guitar player from Scunny, just up the road. It didn't take long to find him. The first time was at the Rockingham Arms in Wentworth where he played a green guitar, which he referred to as his Fender Snot-ocaster. I then saw him with June Tabor, then with an American singer who I recall having a gigantic tattoo covering her entire back. This was a new world for me. I wanted so badly to be able to do this myself that I listened to Martin's version of Peter Gabriel's Biko several hundred times before having the audacity to enter my first folk club at The Three Horse Shoes in Doncaster to play it. It was ambitious and I do remember getting my fingers all tangled up in the middle of it, but I tried. Many years have passed and I've seen literally dozens of performances over the years, but I still think of Grinning in Your Face as the defining Martin Simpson moment for me personally. I now see Mr Simpson occasionally in Sheffield who chats to me like an old mate. Funny how these things happen. National Treasure is an overused term, but really...

In the early to mid 1970s I discovered The Steve Miller Band through a college theatre group I was involved with at the time. Between the members of this group, we made a concerted effort to collect the entire Steve Miller Band collection, even sending off to the US for the Holy Grail of Steve Miller LPs at the time, Brave New World, which was only available though import. Capitol released a very good introduction to Steve Miller in their budget series Masters of Rock, which for me is still one of the best of Miller's records, featuring some of the band's best songs including Journey From Eden, Your saving Grace and The Joker.

The 1970s produced some of the most stomach-churning country and western records ever to infiltrate national radio and the top 40 charts. All the Tammys, Dollys, Kennys and Glenns made country music famous again but for all the wrong reasons. It made me shudder just to think about it. I was almost embarrassed to admit I actually liked country music, but it had nothing to do with the above. Whilst the garbage hit the high chart positions, the likes of Guy Clark, Townes Van Zandt, Jimmie Dale Gilmore and Joe Ely almost went unnoticed. Ely's band The Flatlanders produced a period defining moment, recalling the early days of honky tonk music with the same sort of sexiness as Hank Williams. I caught Joe Ely in concert much later, who was actually supporting Robert Cray, and 'Fingernails' was probably the highlight of the night. Honky Tonk Masquerade was Ely's second album and was praised by critics, later being cited in the 2005 book 1001 Albums You Must Hear Before You Die. I've heard it, so now I can die.