I am a music junkie. I often listen to rock and roll at eight o’clock in the morning, I turn on the stereo before I go to the bathroom when I arrive home, and despite vows to the contrary, I am forever falling asleep with the amplifier on. My apartment is dominated by phonograph albums, and every week I strain my triceps carrying 40 or 50 or more home from the post office. It would not be an overstatement to say that records are my life.

Needless to say, my vocation and my affliction are ideally suited; in fact, well-meaning but misguided friends have suggested that the two are identical. In any case, I am the only record critic I know of who plays every record he receives. Working through a complex system of stacks and rows, I eventually hear at least part of every L.P. the companies send me except for a few movie soundtracks, and most I play more than once. I said hear, not listen to. My whole understanding of the way rock and roll works is that it is designed to grab your attention and I like it that way. A proven artist will get more than one try, but it’s rare that a newcomer will. There are just too many records around.

If I sound as if I’m complaining, excuse me — it’s a great hustle and I know it. You ’re the ones who have to pay for records, which means you keep me in freebies. This Consumer Guide is designed to bridge the gap between us just a bit. It is nothing more than a compilation of noteworthy recent releases — generally ignoring all the bad stuff unless there is some reason to believe that you won *t — described briefly and rated on a scale from A plus down to E minus.

That’s right, letter grades — not even pass-fail. Rock and roll is art, sure, but it’s also commerce, and grades are good shorthand to indicate the quality of the product. I am stingy with As and almost never award an A plus, and no record can receive even an A minus without having induced me to play it over and over. The B plus grade is the fudge-out — it indicates a record which I dig to play hut don’t quite approve of, or which I approve of but am never quite compelled to play. B indicates intelligent competence, but I almost never play B records once I’ve rated them. After that it’s all downhill - the Cs indicate humdrum competency, the Ds incompetence, and the Es atrocities. Most of my records receive fairly high ratings because there are lots and lots of competent musicians around. If only a few more could break beyond it.

These grades are indubitably subjective. I react, and I analyze my reaction - that’s all criticism is for me. I have prejudices, and I work within them. I am a rock and roll freak, I am moved only rarely by folk-derived singersongwriters, and I dislike many heavy bands and almost all horn bands. I think my prejudices are reasonable, and I will explain them as the months pass. So take me for what you think I’m worth. Figure how closely our tastes coincide and judge accordingly. The Consumer Guide is your information input. I hope you can use it, and I hope you dig reading it. Even a junkie has to share his life with someone.

“Jackson Browne” (Asylum). Browne has had a rep for five years, his single is selling, and many people I like like this album. Me, I don’t dislike it. The voice is strong, pleasant, unpretentious, and when I listen assiduously I perceive that the lyrics are as intelligent and devoid of self-pity as any reasonable man could expect. Unfortunately, only critical responsibility compels me to listen assiduously, and what I like is music that compels me to listen. I like Bob Dylan as much as I like William Carlos Williams — from me, that’s a priceless compliment — and I like Jackson Browne about as much as I like, oh, Edwin Muir, who I haven’t read since I was an English major. B.

Canned Heat: “Historical Figures and Ancient Heads” (United Artists). The most honest thing about this automatic boogie is the title: what can you do when Little Richard sounds as false as Bob Hite except contemplate the past? C minus.

“David Clayton-Thomas” (Columbia). Believe it or not, intol’able David has loosened up some since his big-band days, and his material is well-selected, but he still sounds as if he takes an emetic when he needs an enema, and unlike Tom Jones, whom he might emulate by losing some weight, he always compares embarrassingly to his sources. C.

Dave Edmunds: “Rockpile” (MAM). Though the song titles suggest yet another ho-hum rock and roll revival, Edmunds’ wailing guitar provides more contemporary-sounding musical unity. B plus.

The Everly Brothers: “Stories We Could Tell” (RCA Victor). If you don’t believe this tasteful country-rock collection is humdrum, listen to the Everlys’ autobiographical studio album of three years ago, “Roots.” J3ad Comparison. C.

Fanny: “Fanny Hill” (Reprise). Three albums in a year is usually two too many, but whether the Mss. Burbank will ever write strong material is questionable anyway. They sure have some chops, but the best cuts here are Marvin Gaye’s “Ain’t That Peculiar” and the Beatles’ “Hey Bulldog.” The originals are often catchy and do groundwork in important women’s themes, but in every case — even “Wonderful Feeling,” a disconcertingly happy-sounding break-up song — fail to offer the kind of concentrated perception that makes a song work or the kind of “Charity Ball” hook that makes you stop wondering whether a song is working. B minus.s,

Family: “Fearless” (United Artists). Abrasive, eccentric, good-humored English hard rock. B plus.

Tom T. Hall: “We All Got Together and...” (Mercury). Hall can be the best of the Nashville singer-songwriters, but this is one of his losers. One good sentimental ballad (“Souvenirs”) and a lot of fair-to-worse. C plus.

The Hoodoo Rhythm Devils: “Rack Jobbers Rule” (Capitol). After some 20 listenings — recommendation enough, I suppose — I still can’t figure these Berkeley weirdos out, but I don’t want to ignore them. How can I say they sound like a cross between Hamilton, Joe Frank & Reynolds and the Mississippi Sheiks when I’ve never even heard the Mississippi Sheiks? This may be a great record. You may hate it. B.

John Lee Hooker: “Never Get Out of These Blues Alive” (ABC). The Hook, being the Hook, almost never makes a bad album, but he does tend to be a little too boogieing even. This one breaks the pattern, with an agonizing version of “T.B. Sheets,” an apt contribution from Van Morrison, and great studio work from guitarists Luther Tucker, Mel Brown, and Elvin Bishop. A minus.

Denise LaSalle: “Trapped By a Thing Called Love” (Westbound) and Ann Peebles: “Straight from the Heart” (Hi). If Aretha transcends funk, where do we turn when we feel like something lowdown? To these albums, both produced by Willie Mitchell for women who have not yet touched the white audience, both superior to recent offerings from more familiar names (Martha Reeves, Betty Wright, Fontella Bass). Peebles manages to sound tough and perky at the same time; she’s sexy and smart as a whip. LaSalle, who writes most of her own songs, sounds as if she’s suffered longer; she’s sensual, warm, wise. Mitchell’s production isn’t mindbending, but it’s solid enough, a little sharper for Peebles, whose first LP, “Part Time Love,” is just as good. Both recommended, with a tiny preference for Peebles. B plus.

Jerry Lee Lewis: “The ‘Killer’ Rocks On” (Mercury). The reincarnated Jerry Lee turns them out two or three a year, mostly good country albums marred by the usual post-pastoral bathos. (Recommended: “The Best of Jerry Lee Lewis” and “Together,” recorded with Sister Linda Gail.) This rock and roll revival is his best in several years, despite a couple of dubious Joe South songs, a dippy chorus, and a spiritless reading of “You Don’t Miss Your Water.” B plus.

Ellen Mcllwaine: “Honky Tonk Angel” (Polydor). Mcllwaine falls into, all the. over-ambitious traps — she dramatizes, she vaunts her range, she improvises when she should just sing — and yet I think she gets away with it, because enough of her grand attempts work. It’s good to hear a woman play bottleneck guitar (in an appropriate context, too) and the two times she goes up an octave on “God” in “It Wasn’t God Who Made Honky Tonk Angels” justify the whole side. B plus.

Todd Rundgren: “Something/ Anything?” (Bearsville). I don’t trust double albums, especially when all 16 tracks on three sides are laid down by the singer-composer-producer, but this has the feel of a pop masterpiece. The whole hour and 20 minutes is consistently rich and inventive, ranging from hard rock (“Wolfman Jack”) to soupy ballads (“It Wouldn’t Have Made Any Difference”) with all kinds of inbetween, including “One More Day,” the best pop-angst song since “Paper Cup,” and “Piss Aaron,” a true tale of high school gross-outs. A.

Savoy Brown: “Hellhound Train” (Parrot). Creedence Clearwater survival. B minus.

Joe Simon: Drowning in the Sea of Love” (Spring). If the new fashion in soul music is going to be long cuts, I’d just as soon producers as well-grounded in the principles of commercial economy as JCenny Gamble and Leon Huff do the lengthening. No waste, soft soul, and Sirpon sounds at least as good as A1 Green this time out. B plus.

The Staple Singers: “Be Altitude: Respect Yourself” (Stax). Musically, this is a triumph of the Staples’ evolving pop style. The arrangements fit, and Roebuck and Mavis never sounded more at home. But the material is silly as that contorted title pun, even “Respect Yourself,” you will recall has a line about stopping pollution by coughing into your handkerchief. Toughen up, people. B minus.

“Howard Tate’? (Atlantic). Tate is a truly underground soul singer whose few small late-60 hits (collected on one superb Verve album have earned him a large rep among cognoscenti as diverse as Mike Bloomfield and Mark Farner, though the rep didn’t keep him from driving a cab for a living between lps. This one showcases Tate’s amazing vocal and emotional range, as cocksure as Wilson Pickett one moment, as sweet and hurting as B.B.King the next. Sole reservation: a few too many compositions from producer-mentor Jerry Ragovoy. “She’s a Burglar” and “Keep Cool Don’t Be A Fool” are as memorable as “Piece of My Heart” but should Tate really do a cliche-ridden hitchhiking song like “8 Days on the Road”? How about a little “Good Rockin’ Tonight,” Jerry: A minus.

“Koko Taylor” (Chess). The songs might be better — I know Willie Dixon is the Greatest contemporary blues composer, but just because he did such a good job producing he doesn’t have to pass his seconds on to a defenseless woman, and us — but this rates on the voice alone. Koko sounds like you always wanted those women with Big in front of their names to sound — very strong, very gritty. Unique and amazing. A minus.

“William Truckaway” (Reprise). Another affable pop-jug production from Eric Jacobson (Lovin’ Spoonful, Critters, Sopwith Camel, Blue Velvet Band, Norman Greenbaum). As always, the auteur with his name in big letters has a mild voice and a mild sense of humor; in this case, he used to be in the Sopwith Camel and cuts his pastoral whimsy with a Moog synthesizer. The back-up is Jacobson’s usual charming studio corn. I could listen to one of these a year forever. B plus.

“Bobby Whitlock” (Dunhill). Whitlock’s mindless, indefatigable soul-straining was essential to Derek and the Dominoes, yet even though the usual pack of musical demigods accompanies him here, all that comes through is the strain, proving how crucial a controlling intelligence can be to great rock and roll. C minus.

(This column also appears in Newsday.)