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by jamie flam, devon lester murphy, eric steuer, and rey valle Lunchboxing reviews four classic albums made with love, by Love, for love. Love it. 
Love - S/T (1966) Love's debut was a self-titled 14-track piece of history. Elektra reissued it in 1988 and apparently, now it is quite hard to find for under $15.00 on CD. Love's first song completely reworks a Bacharach fave, "My Little Red Book" -- thumping bass line, forlorn vocals, jangly guitars. What an opener, and it only gets better from there: haunting lyrics & subject matter mixed with uplifting melodies; jangly 6 & 12 string guitars over Arthur Lee's distinctive bark/soulful howl; we also get to see the brilliance to come from Maclean on "Softly To Me." Who cares if "My Flash On You" is a slightly reworked version of "Hey Joe" (and man! Their cover of a contemporary's song and doing it incredible justice is exactly what I'm talking about) - the album is still the bright first burst of fire and passion from a group with a gift that gave us a timeless disc. -Rey Valle 
Love - Da Capo (1967) God dang this would make a great EP. Six amazing songs that are as good as anything on "Forever Changes" followed by a 20 minute long gross/weird hippie-style jam "freak-out." Yuck. I hate shit like that! But maybe you're a wanky freedom rock fan, and maybe you'd like this track. And maybe you're an idiot! Anyhow, Arthur Lee wrote five of the slammerz on this jawn and Brian MacLean wrote the other one. By the time this album rolled around, the duo had the Love sound down pat, so it's hard to distinguish one's writing style from the other - which is a good thing. "She Comes in Colors" is one of the most heat-hot songs evah. Fuck it, all six of the songs on side one will make you go "AWWWW SHIT." But, yeah - buy this on vinyl and spill acid on side two - it's complete ass. -Eric Steuer 
Forever Changes (1967) Forever Changes is a perfect album. It is a perfect album if only because it features the song "Along Again Or." If every other song on the album was shit-rock times twelve, I would listen to it over and over again, because that song is the perfect song: soft, pretty, then louder but still pretty, then soft and pretty again, then even louder and prettier with a horn solo of some kind, then slow and pretty again, slower and prettier, until it finally ends and you find yourself pressing the back button on your CD player because how could you not listen to it one more time? Luckily, the rest of the album isn't shit-rock times twelve, so after you've listened to Alone Again Or a few times (it's track one), you can let it play continuously without being like "God. This is shit rock times twelve." It often gets billed as psychedelic sixties pop rock, but this is far from anything you'd want to see on TV edited with some shitty tie-dye screen effects. It's timelessly well-crafted song magic that usually begins with acoustic guitar picking balladry and leads into epic string crescendoes with Arthur Lee poetry that would probably make me cringe if I took the time to really break it down, but since I don't it's really sweet. -Jamie Flam 
Love - Out Here (1969) When I was first asked to review the classic Love album "Out Here," I was overcome with a sense of gratitude and nostalgia. It might make sense to you, then, that this album played a vital role in a part of my life that I look back upon fondly. I can see why this would make sense, but sadly it is not the case. The reality is that I have never heard this album, and I've never heard a song by the band Love that I can recall off of the top of my head. As for that nostalgic sensation, I'm not really sure where it came from - probably saw some commercial for Smurfs cereal or some shit like that and was all like, "Ah, man, I remember that shit! That's fucking crazy." That being said, although I was given this task three and a half weeks ago, and have made no effort to purchase or listen to this album, or any of its songs, in any form, I still feel pretty confident that I can write an accurate and well thought out review. First, let's look at the name of the band - Love. Some might argue that to call a band Love is redundant in that music IS Love, and Love can't make music, because Love can't make anything, Love just IS. Well, one person would think that, at least — this girl named Peach I met at a Rusted Root concert in 1993. I wonder what Peach is up to these days, and if she ever got that wad of gum out of her hair. Now, I think you'll find that the title and cover art for this album really say all you need to say. First thing you notice, going left-to-right, is that definite emphasis is placed on the letters L and V in the band named. Let's see...where have I seen those letters before? Oh, that's right...just a little town called Las Vegas. Yes, that's right, the one and only Sin City. Ring a bell? Moving on... So, the image to the right seems to paint a bleak futuristic landcape, as a faceless, almost statuesque, figure sits motionless on a bed of apparent rubble, surrounding only by space and nothingness. But, what is that in the distance, in bright, bold, white lettering that can symbolize only light, hope, tomorrow...the words "Out Here" - the title of the album. It is clear that the character in question has reached a point of stagnation in his existence. He is cold and without emotion. What is he missing? He is missing that which is not within his grasp...something that is far away...something, perhaps, that is out there. But what could that thing be? What could the single thing be that could wake his flesh and make him walk again among the living? The answer is simple. You have only to look at the characters directly above the shining words "Out Here." The answer is... Las Vegas.  - Devon Lester Murphy
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