By the time
Haley cut this album, late in 1957, it was clear that the glory days were over -- he and the band had given up any pretense of having a clue about what worked in rock & roll, and they were grasping at straws. Thus came this 12-song LP of supposed rock & roll songs that represented different parts of the world. The problem was that none of it was rock & roll as the latter was being played in 1957-1958, sounding much more like some bizarre American equivalent of amplified Europop from the same era, and it was embarrassing; on a couple of the tracks, like "Piccadilly Rock,"
Frannie Beecher delivers a slightly exciting solo, and
Rudy Pompilli tries to light some sparks here and there, but those intermittent pleasures aren't enough to make this album necessary, much less essential, except for those listeners who must hear every note that the band ever recorded. And some of it, like "Pretty Alouette" and "Rockin' Rollin' Schnitzlebank," is plain pathetic.