I like alota things about Ohio. The terrain – in parts – is pretty beautiful. Granted, there aren’t mountains, per se, but in the south eastern portion of the state, it gets kinda hilly. There’re a buncha rivers, most notably, the Ohio, which eventually empties into the Mississippi River. But the cities that Ohio sports have as much cultural history and relevance as anywhere else in the nation. I’m biased, having lived there for twenty-whatever years, but really it’s not as horrible as everyone makes it out to be.

None of that explains where there was such a rash of downer, weirdo music being cranked outta there during the ‘70s. Maybe it was the filthy water and the fact that everyone was perched on the brink of poverty – ok. Not everyone, but folks that didn’t have a doctorate in something that worked any sort of ‘normal’ job weren’t necessarily secure in the work place. And while Cleveland had the Electric Eels and Rocket from the Tombs, Columbus had some rock stuffs worth noting.

I can’t say that Mike Rep and his Quotas were ever too interesting to me – but Raven’s back story is enticing enough as to make the music that he cranked out more than passable.

In its blues base, the music Raven cranked out doesn’t seem far removed from that of Glenn Schwartz. That latter guitarist was unquestionably more technically proficient than his Columbus counter-part. But what the two share in common – beyond the blues thing - is the fact that neither received their due deference.

Of course, considering the fact that Raven recorded a lone album – Going Back to Ohio Blues – and privately pressed the thing didn’t make it a big seller. He apparently didn’t even hock a single copy at the time of is release. And given the fact that the disc has since fetched ridiculous sums of cash on the interwebs, the entire situation becomes ever more amusing.

Since then, the snarling guitarist has repressed the disc and is even apparently working up a new spate of songs. But before hurriedly rushing out and googling that new disc, a brief examination of Raven’s first disc seems warranted.

The title track’s nothing more than a slow burning, cheesy blues. Yeah, every once in a while Raven whoops it up and hollers something fierce, but that does not a good track make. The only other unexpurgated bummer here is the third song – “Don't You Feel” - and its singer-songwriter quality.

Apart from those two missteps, it’s easy to understand why there’re so many downer fans of the disc. Portions of “Raven Mad Jam” crank up the pace to a place where punk is almost visible over the horizon line. The guitar theatrics might not be for everyone, but there’s not really ever a missed opportunity for Raven to let loose. And if nothing else, his liberal expounding of drugs’ usefulness makes the entire album something short of awesome and a bit more than a train wreck that might prompt you to be a rubber necker. For Ohioans only.