All right, soon you’ll be familiar with my prejudices. I grew up in the 50s and I like hard rock. I listen to much more black music than most white people. I don’t like folk music and carry out periodic vendettas against insipid singer-songwriters. In general, I like music that jars me a little, intellectually if not physically. Downers are for other people. “A” rated records are records I would buy for myself if I didn’t have this hustle. I would probably buy the “B plusses,” too, but you may find “B” records boring even if you like the artist and unless you really like the artist I wouldn’t recommend purchasing anything below a “B minus.” All those lower grades are there as a lamentation for the varying degrees of artistic indifference that persist in the music biz. Maybe someday they will disappear forever, but I doubt it.

“Ronee Blakley” (Elektra). I was attracted by the lyric sheet, a rare recommendation, only to find my two favorites (“Fred Hampton” and “Cock o’ the Walk”) destroyed by inappropriate music. The sound is clean as country water, gurgle gurgle, but not as tasty. I’m rooting, but meanwhile I’ll stick with Joni Mitchell. C.