Blue Oyster Cult is a band at the crossroads. Not necessarily Robert Johnson's, but their sonic souls lie in the balance. After three LPs and a live dud, they have come back eclectic and accomplished on Agents of Fortune. But you lose a bit for every gift you allow yourself. In their own term, the BOC have become "pros," which, if you wanted to get realty cynical, could mean they'll be in competition with Barry Manilow or Elton John. Somehow we (and, some say, they) never conceived them that way. There may have been a synthetic feel to much of their previous music, but it always had teeth and sufficient dementia, the sense that things could go completely out of control and reduce us to rubble.