Cactus —Temple of Blues II
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Heavy weighs the blues.
Robert Johnson’s hellhounds, Lightnin’ Hopkins’ shotgun and shells, “Honeyboy” Pratt’s bloodstains on the wall, and Son House’s death letter hit like a ton of bricks … and still do to this day. Along the way, Magic Slim found a spider in his stew. Buddy Guy smelled a rat. Paul “Wine” Jones’ baby got drunk. Snooky Pryor aimed to bury you in a paper sack. Etta James? She’d rather go blind. And John Lee Hooker never got out of those blues alive. Lyrically, rough stuff for the heart.
But neither do the ears get off scot-free upon entering Temple of Blues II. Especially given that the gatekeeper is Cactus, hardened blues-rockers forged out of shocking loudness, brute force and proto-thrash shredding in 1969.
That’s why “Moanin’ at Midnight,” steeped in unresolved terror, could never disturb the neighbors like it does now, in 2026. No, not even when the almighty Howlin’ Wolf growled so hard as to overwhelm a poor, unsuspecting microphone in 1951. That prototype roared; this heavyweight descendent crushes bone.
Officially, Cactus was born as a supergroup, welded together out of the psychedelic steamroll of Vanilla Fudge (drummer Carmine Appice and bassist Tim Bogert; later, both joined guitarist Jeff Beck as the power trio Beck, Bogert & Appice, from 1972-1974) plus the excitable Mitch Ryder’s Detroit Wheels (guitarist Jim McCarty) and the mind-journeying Amboy Dukes (vocalist Rusty Day). The resultant beast breathed fire and lashed out with speed, straight from the jump.
So much so that when their self-titled debut LP, Cactus, hit record shops in July 1970, shouts of “America’s Led Zeppelin!” rang out.
With the floodgates slammed open, the deluge couldn’t stop racing in, with One Way…Or Another arriving in February 1971, and then Restrictions struck only a few months later, in October. At that point, Cactus had become a wrecking ball in full swing. Yet, by 1972, the band dissolved. Multiple versions sprung up across subsequent decades, including this current configuration that leaves Appice as the lone founding member still very much thundering away.
Of course, Temple of Blues II sets off seismometers. Its 2024 predecessor in Temple of Blues set the precedent by refiring the band’s bluesiest early anthems in the blast furnace with assist from influential guests and friends. The same goes for this newest go-round, as a hellraiser army of visiting guitarists, bassists and leather-lunged bawlers—known for leaving a metallic taste in your mouth—rotate in, helping Appice and the band shake the ground. It’s a glorious convening of adrenaline and megawatts.
Except, here, this setlist is all the bluer, since the forementioned Wolf looms extra-large: Seven of the 11 tracks trace to his classic Chicago songbook.
Seconds into the album—when an overdriven guitar makes its midnight creep through “Back Door Man, Pts. 1 & 2”—it becomes obvious that these blues command attention with a new, bold, vicious power that has nothing to do with nostalgia. Cookie-cutter templates are not punching out dime-a-dozen versions, starting with that leadoff track. Never has carnal boasting taken on such sonic tonnage, now cocooned inside a force field of low-slung, squalid crunch. Its initial sludge-trudge pace becomes a sitting duck for the frantically escalating attack of Eric Gales, the singing fretsman who comes by his turbulent surname quite naturally. However, not even zooming to double-time for the finale affords any mercy.
Forty-four more minutes of similarly extra-hard blues-rocking are still to follow.
When Willie Dixon handed over, say, “Tail Dragger” or “Down in the Bottom” to Wolf, never could have anyone imagined the headbanging capacity residing in both. Thought the psychedelicized
remakes on 1969’s notorious Howlin’ Wolf Album framed them with the most raucous decibels? Unh-uh. Mere pussyfooting. Here, the two blues thump their studly chests like in the days of old: the former being on the prowl; the latter being caught with a hand in the—ahem—cookie jar. But the guitar fury of Alex Skolnick and Richard Fortus rocket past the bounds of fretboard aggression discovered by Hubert Sumlin, Wolf’s main man, back at the start of the 1960s, to now blow each song against—and then through—the wall.
What about “Spoonful”? Instead of receiving the ramrod pounding methodically given by Wolf, and then by Cream, Cactus’ take comes pre-ratcheted up to a manic panic. Revving the throttle is none other than Ted Nugent, whose solo career still rocks on to this day after bursting onto the mid-1960s scene as the Amboy Dukes’ founder/lead guitarist. (He’s the one with the shapely Gibson Byrdland axe hiked up high on his chest.) To borrow a lyric: “Could be a spoonful of diamonds; could be a spoonful of gold.” But just a little earful of the wild man’s shredding will electrify your soul.
Also among the harvest are Cactus originals from those first LPs. “Bad Stuff”—off ’Ot ‘n’ Sweaty, the fourth and final album before everything went to pieces in 1972—resumes its banging at the hands of Steve Morse (whose Dixie Dregs, one of his many other projects, get equated to the Allman Brothers Band meets the Mahavishnu Orchestra). Somehow not quite insane enough for you? Then hang on for when the double-barreled leads of KISS’ Tommy Thayer and Vixen’s Britt Lightning begin carving up “Feel So Good.” For added insurance, a trippy freakout now resides where Appice’s extended drum solo originally lived in 1970.
Slide guitar runs rampant. Or so it sounds during “Token Chokin’,” a wiry bottlenecked cut off Restrictions that remains very much so now. The magical mystery part comes courtesy of Bumblefoot’s fretless guitar being able to mimic the telltale whine of a steel, brass or glass tube gliding over strings. His sleight of (bare) hand consumes the solo that goes bonkers when coloring way outside of the lines. But that is Ty Tabor’s real slider skidding up and down the neck as well as against Appice’s massive wall of drumming throughout the course of Wolf’s uncharacteristically frisky “300 Pounds of Joy.” The same goes for “Moanin’ at Midnight,” whose searing lines come from Pat Travers laying steel to string. The result is something freshly brutal, as flying-shrapnel solos break atop a stomp full of menace.
As for singing, Cactus’ own Ed Terry sacrifices his vocal cords for the bulk of the tracks. Occasionally, others with similarly enormous voices kick in to save what’s left of his throat by tearing up their own for the common cause. Included are Rob Caudill (Rod Stewart’s double), dUg Pinnick (King’s X), and Joe Lynn Turner (Rainbow, Deep Purple). Melanie, whose singsong earworm skated up to the tip-top of the Billboard Hot 100 chart in 1971, turns steely in the presence of Jimi Hendrix’s “Purple Haze.” The official music video (that’s Cactus guitarist Artie Dillon) packs a vintage light show so immersive as to muster a lysergic kick.
That said, “The Little Red Rooster” stands alone. Appice clears the path with his fighting drums; Rockin’ Jake’s harmonica circles above. Then the rest of the band rumbles in with Tracii Guns. As a barometer of what is to come, know that L.A. Guns as well as Guns N’ Roses are on his resume. And just when you think they’ve eventually flamed out from exertion, the false ending gives way to a second offensive. Still, the crowning touch comes from Dee Snider, famous for fronting Twisted Sister on all those videos that reigned on televisions through the heyday of MTV in the 1980s. If anything, his voice has only grown harder core since then. Singing with enough intensity to tear tar from the street, you can practically hear the veins popping out from his 70-year-old neck when scorching the line about being “upset in every way”—along with anything else in proximity. The music thrusts to a level never gone before and likely never to go again. To think: This is the same metaphoric tale about a barnyard tormentor that has been strutted by everyone from Wolf to José Feliciano.
It’s just that no one had the spine—or the weaponry—to coat blues in modern molten metal. Leave that to Cactus, just as ferocious and prickly as ever.
Label: Cleopatra Records
Release Date: 4/3/26
Band website: Cactus.com
Label website: Cleopatra Records.com
Reviewed by Dennis Rozanski
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