This goes far in explaining why The MC5 is often pointed to, along with Pop & The Stooges as originators of the old school Punk Rock that wouldn't officially arrive a few years after they split. Revolutionary? Absolutely. But I think by the very definition, and Sinclair said it best in the liner notes, MC5 were a much broader musical talent than is typically afforded by the Punk label; Without question the attitude and intensity were there, those key ingredients at the root of political prognostication, and thus, the fuel to ignite the flames of discontent between an us and they era; And The MC5 were definitely a step above from the rest, "Crosstown Traffic" and "Summertime Blues" and soul blowin' exploits of a Rock n' Roll infancy where the bomb readied to blow; However, with their long flowing locks and rugged chops, they played a fiercely loud and sloppy brand style at full amplification-the likes of which subsequently maintains Kramer's "legend" status to this day-but to throw on tunes like "Motor City Is Burning," "I Believe To My Soul," or their ungovernably raucous version of Thompson's "Gotta Keep Movin'," one thing is made clear; this band couldn't sit still, but they could play! 

They were a tad brasher than their still closely cropped cousins of the day, often times hidden behind the bangs, a cigarette or a sneer, and the outpouring of emotion that would break the Blue Cheer right from their sunny day sojourn and dead in their tracks; Over and again, we can grab a piece of the past, feel close to the classics of the day, and realize The MC5 are an institution worthy of further recognition and a greater place in history than they've up to now been afforded. But such is the life of an underground rumbling that never quite lived under a blue sky or wry grin; 'The Baddest & Maddest" is just what it says it is. Do you need these versions of mostly previously released tracks as alt versions? It depends. If you've had your faith shaken by raw deal retreads of old music retouched, repackaged, and regurgitated from ridiculously inferior demo tapes drowned in a sea of hiss… stop complaining, what the hell, it's fucking 1968 for Christ's sake! Seriously though, save for a few spotty stand up's for something like "Brother J.C. Intro" and "I'm Mad Like Eldridge Cleaver," which for the rest of its fifteen or so minutes does carry on in a traditionally Hooker-like fashion for a funky faraway crusade through a bayou of Blues greatness, this is a comfortably "audible" version that's got an extra ounce of balls to go with the "bad."