Uriah Heep is the kind of band nobody likes but dedicated fans. Sure, they had an almost-hit single in “Easy Livin’ ” two years ago, and they garnered quite a bit of press attention about the same time {Look At Yourself and Demons and Wizards being the critical faves), when heavy metal and party bands were fashionable. But they never got another hit, and the good reviews tailed off fast after the release of an overblown excursion into the mystic,.The Magician's Birthday, and a relentlessly plodding two-record live set. Press coverage decreased drastically, to a low point remarkable even for the metal/boogie crowdpleaser genre, a class generally unadored by literary types.

Of course ticket and record sales were unaffected by Uriah Heep’s fall into critical disfavor. Both Magician’s Birthday and the live album went gold for Mercury, and their first Warners release, the lackluster Sweet Freedom did likewise; tours sold out consistently all the while.

Aside from being another testimonial to the power of the press, the situation bears examination. Obviously, like many a “people’s band” before (and after) them, Uriah Heep have taken care to build a strong audience rapport, one that seems impervious to the disdain of non-initiates. What’s the secret?

“We hate this musical snobbery that goes on, the group-audience separation,” explains guitarist Mick Box. “The whole idea is, let’s have a really good time, let the audience walk out satisfied and saying, ‘It was really good fun.’ Rather than stand up there and be intellectual and look at your shoes all night.. Go out and meet the audience on the same level, ‘cause we’re exactly the same. We’re gonna have a good time.”

Hardly a revelatory answer, that, but the genial Mr. Box is a seasoned veteran as regards the diverting pastime of interviews, and was not about to drop bombshells or generate controversies. Even on the dread subject of singles, about which so many modern musicians wax wroth and fulminate endlessly as to their (singles’) utter pointlessness, Uriah Heep tread the safe middle ground.

“We’re not basically a singles band. We’re not the sort of band who can sit down and say, OK, we’ve gotta have a single and work from there. We just write songs, and if they happen to sound like they’re gonna make a good single, then they’ll be taken off as a single.”

So far, so good. With FM snobbery and a corresponding affected disdain of AM radio still reigning among most boogie-fanciers, it wouldn’t be overly healthy for a crowd-currying band like Uriah Heep to admit to singlemindedness. OK then, it should be duck soup for the crafty interviewer to elicit a blanket 45 indictment from his subject — just hint subtly that it’s been fashionable lately for bands to scorn singles...

Foiled! “We never did that. We’d really like to have a hit single. We’re not against that at all. A lot of things start happening a lot quicker.”

Can’t argue with that. “Easy Livin’,” the group’s near-breakthrough, went Top 40 on the national charts in ’72 and boosted them into a higher LP chart bracket in the process. A compact and impactful radio rocker, both “Easy Livin’ ” and its predecessor, the melodic “The Wizard” made fine 45’s. ^

When it comes to albums and their music in general, though, a disturbingly humorless element of pomposity seems to be projected. For a band dedicated so strongly to creating a party atmosphere live, they seem overserious and intent on “musical progression” (not to mention grandiose lyrical overkill) to a degree which, their recorded output doesn’t seem to merit.

At their best, as in the two singles mentioned above and on much of Look At Yourself and Demons and Wizards, Uriah Heep capture a catchy metal-rock groove or hit upon a tasteful melody. At their worst, they’re hampered by every self-imposed modern-British-progressive cliche in the book — florid organ passages, leaden guitar riffs, hammed-up histrionic harmonies, and truly dire falsetto shrieks from lead singer Byron — with the added handicap of a plethora of platitudinous pseudo-profundities in the hyper-cosmodynamic lyrics of keyboardist Ken Hensley.

Hensley has also been infected with solo fever (with, other Heep members planning future projects). Says Box, “Ken had an excess of material not suitable for us.” The material was not particularly suitable for a successful solo album, either, aside from a pleasantly majestic “When Evening Comes” and the bouncy “Proud Words:” Simplistic profundities abounded in the lyrics, with (on “Fortune” especially) another sizable dollop of unimaginatively-, wrought mysticosmic imagery.

" Can 12,000 people be wrong when you go down in a riot?"

On that subject Box deposes, “Basically it was a phase Kenny was going through. He didn’t believe in seances, so we tried one in Italy, and glasses started moving and he was kind of shocked. ‘The Wizard’ was, a fantasy thing, and then we did Magician’s Birthday — a fun thing, all on a fantasy, dreamlike level. It could be a little kiddies’ story, really; we just set it to music.”

Though Box makes it sound quite a lark, the lyrical problem seems to run much deeper. Of course it would actually be of little concern were it not for the emphasis placed on the words on covers; and, more importantly, the musi-. cal deterioration from Demons (where strong musical elements masked lyrical insufficiencies) to Sweet Freedom (where such insufficiencies become rather glaringly apparent). The demonic obsession gradually gave way lo more generalized pomposity, as exhibited prominently during the course of Sweet Freedom's flaccid-rock tedium.

“When we come back next time, we hope to have a whole new thing rehearsed, a stage presentation. We’re going to get into a couple of production ideas we’ve got going that don’t interfere with the musicxbut just enhance what’s going on. I can’!: really give you any idea at the moment ’cause I’m not sure whether any are going to work. Just things that are effective and don’t interfere with the music, which is the most important thing.”

Despite cautionary claptrap lyrics and the general debilities of the LP, Uriah Heep breezed along, selling out concerts on an early 1974 American tour and planning more elaborate stagings for the next one. Box was typically, if understandably, vague on the subject of new onstage wrinkles.

After coming away empty-cassetted as far as startling revelations about touring or new musical ventures (“We’re going into new things all the time, experimenting,” offered the amiable Box with his usual specificity), it was obviously time to move on to that ultimate interview minefield, taking up the subject of critics. Although a smidgeon of scorn surfaced, Box retained his equanimity to an aggravating degree.

“You can only go knocking a band for so long, really, and the same old thing comes up — can the audience be wrong? Can 12,000 people be wrong, when you go down a riot and you get a bad review?”

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Having been previously exposed to similar proclamations of situational esthetics, I ventured to request specifics.

“The Palladium [Hollywood, February ’74] was very good. The reaction was great — the audience got off on it, we got off on it, and it was like one big party. And a bad review comes out, and he could’ve been sitting in the bar or anywhere. If you’re going to review a concert, you’ve got to be down there in the crowd where it’s happening, to get the vibes of the crowd, rather than have standoffish point of view, looking down on them.

“You see, most bad reviews are just put-downs. They’re not constructive in any way, they’re just a put-down because you don’t happen to be fashionable at the moment or whatever. I’ve never found one yet where a review has said there’s poor quality of this because of this, that and the other.”

That’s a moot point — there are undoubtedly reams of negative Uriah Heep reviews which waxed quite specific' as to their shortcomings. Some of them might have been eminently deserved, too. Still, few groups have been so unswervingly slagged in print as Uriah Heep, and Box’s attitude towards his literary detractors is on the whole quite benevolent, despite a decidedly ominous lindeircurrent.

“We just let critics do their job. I make a habit of collecting bad reviews anyway, as proved by the inside cover of our live album [wherein are displayed a dazzling collection of the most scabrous assaults]. I use them. If we get bad writeups it’s nice to remember them, so that when you actually get a chance to meet the person, you can remember that...”

Updating, the band’s latest album is Wonderworld, and after becoming almost terminally disillusioned with its three immediate predecessors ( Magitina’s, Live, and Sweet Freedom), I found myself more favorably disposed. This improved album product achieved about the same chart position as Sweet Freedom — barely inside the Top 40, down a trifle disturbingly from previous heights. Wonderworld is hard-pressed by dangerous competition in the crowdpleasing boogie league (like Climax Blues Band), while division leaders like Deep Purple and BTO are far out of sight. Uriah Heep may never reach the loftiest heights, may even be fading, but their guitarist is unconcerned. Box on Uriah Heep’s future:

“We’re never gonna stop. There’s' no reason for stopping. In five years time, you can go like the Who, into other ventures, and still remain the band, Uriah Heep. The worst thing in the world is to find a band you really dig and because of some ego trip they fold. It deflates you. If offends me. I hate to see that happen.”