by Stephen Thomas Erlewine
All the Young Dudes actually brought Mott the Hoople success, but you wouldn't know that from its sequel, Mott. Ian Hunter's songs are a set of road tales fraught with exhaustion, disillusionment, and dashed dreams, all told with a wry sense of humor so evident on Mott's earlier work. This is no ordinary road album where a band whines about the perils of traveling -- it's more of a wry commentary on rock & roll itself, which, as Hunter notes, is a &loser's game.& Mott doesn't sound that way, though -- it's as winning and infectious as rock & roll gets. Even with the undercurrents of ironic despair and restrained hostility, this is a fun record (partially because of that despair and hostility, of course). This sounds better, looser, than All the Young Dudes, as the band jives through &All the Way from Memphis& and &Honaloochie Boogie,& beats the living hell outta &Violence,& swaggers on &Whizz Kid,& and simply drives it home on &Drivin' Sister.& Apart from the New York Dolls (who, after all, were in a league of their own), glam never sounds as rock as it does here. To top it all off, Hunter writes the best lament for rock ever with &Ballad of Mott the Hoople,& a song that conveys just how heartbreaking rock & roll is for the average band. If that wasn't enough, he trumps that song with the closer &I Wish I Was Your Mother,& a peerless breakup song that still surprises, even after it's familiar. It's a graceful, unexpected way to close a record that stands as one of the best of its era.