Neil Merryweather – Space Rangers: The Galactic Rock You Missed

How the hell did this one slip through the cracks? Neil Merryweather’s Space Rangers isn’t just a lost gem — it’s a full-throttle, glam-fueled rocket blast straight out of 1974. Imagine Bowie’s Ziggy swagger crash-landing into Deep Purple’s amplifier stack, while early Rush orbit nearby. That’s the sound of this record — heavy, trippy, and ridiculously fun.

I loved this one from start to finish on first listen. It felt like an old friend even on that first exposure.

The first time you drop the needle, you can tell this thing means business. “Hollywood Blvd” kicks the door open with thick, space-age riffing and that unmistakable Neil Merryweather vocal — half cosmic preacher, half leather-clad showman. Then comes the moment of truth: their cover of “Eight Miles High.” There are dozens of great versions of that song floating through the ether, but this one? It’s the most badass of the bunch. Merryweather’s version turns the Byrds’ psychedelia into a full-scale dogfight in the upper atmosphere. The bass snarls, the drums hammer, and guitarist Michael “Jeep” Willis absolutely rips through it like a man possessed — his Les Paul tone soaring, melting, and bending into new shapes. It’s the kind of solo that makes you stop whatever you’re doing and just grin.

And that’s the magic of Space Rangers: the way it balances polish and punch. Jeep’s leads scream with fire and control, while Merryweather commands the mix with glam charisma — all dramatic phrasing and space-age attitude. Tracks like “Neon Man” and “The Groove” stomp with heavy swagger, full of wah-wah’d guitars, pulsing synths, and interstellar funk. It’s part hard rock, part sci-fi soundtrack, and totally its own universe.

Even the album cover rules — a pulp-sci-fi scene of cosmic warriors, all chrome and attitude. How have I never seen a T-shirt with this on it? Someone needs to fix that immediately. This artwork deserves to live on a faded black cotton tee, worn thin from too many nights under stage lights.

Space Rangers feels like discovering a secret classic — the kind of record that should’ve been blasting from every van speaker in 1974 but somehow stayed tucked away in the stars. It rocks hard, it trips out just enough, and it reminds you that sometimes the most far-out things are still waiting to be found.