The real Lord Baltimore bought a plot of land in the early seventeenth century in Newfoundland and established the first known permanent settlement in the new world. That dude, though, has absolutely nothing to do with early metal or music at all, even though he may have enjoyed the lute or some such. But the band that inexplicably took his name, Sir Lord Baltimore, has been able to stake a claim to a transformative moment in heavy music’s history. They aren’t the most talented group ever, but as a trio, there aren’t too many band’s that sound this heavy. And yes, I’m well aware of Cream’s existence.

Coming together in the late ‘60s somewhere in the sprawling metropolis of New York City, the band very quickly gained a reputation for being a crushing live force and even shared a bill with Sabbath at some point. But none of the band’s back story is going to be as hugely important as a single album review that a writer for Creem cranked out in May of 1971. Writing on the band’s first Mercury released album, Mike Saunders, who would go on to front the Angry Samoans, seemed get it. He enjoyed Sir Lord Baltimore and its ability to create a sludgy maelstrom of rock in a lineage that involved Zeppelin and their cohort. But in a single line, Saunders supposedly coined a new term.

Penning the simple phrase, “Sir Lord Baltimore seems to have down pat most all the best heavy metal tricks in the book,” gave recognition to a number of bands all working in the same medium. Unfortunately, anyone who isn’t currently rocking a pony tail and a jean jacket is probably goin’ to be more interested in that fact than the actual music of the band.

I had pretty high hopes for the band’s two discs. Just taking a look at the cover makes one think that some heavy, heavy psych is set to be unloosed. And while the music here isn’t completely detached from that, the cheese factor granted through the drumming vocalist is almost too much to bear. Of course, the two albums aren’t void of function, “Hell Hound” is melodically pleasant, until the shrieking beings. But even John Garner’s singing can’t detract from some of the tension that the band builds in a sloppy Hendrix kinda way.

Over its two discs, Sir Lord Baltimore managed to only turn in one slow burner. And regardless of my distaste for a bit of what was going on before, “Lake Isle of Innersfree” from the band’s first album, is tied to some pastoral Brit fantasy that really should make listeners cringe. Of course, the fact that it’s another love song doesn’t serve to create any gaps in consistency, but something different would have been nice.

I suspect that there’s a pretty decent sized market out there for this era of heavy music, which explains Sir Lord Baltimore’s two discs being rereleased on a single cd a few times as well as its new found digital availability.