Led by the Los Angeles-based singer and keyboardist “Round” Robin Lloyd (who gained a following in the ’60s with regional hits like “Do The Slauson” and the mod-era “Kick That Little Foot Sally Ann”), The Round Robin Monopoly was one of a handful of bands that Lloyd assembled during his career. 1974’s Alpha (released on Stax’s short-lived Truth imprint) marked the group’s sole full-length. Despite the album’s deliciously inspired blend of funk, psychedelic pop, and R&B, Alpha never received the fanfare that it so deserved—perhaps due in part to the fact that Stax shuttered its doors less than a year after its release.

It’s no surprise that Alpha elicited such interest from other artists. With its heady, cinematic hooks, attention-grabbing horns, and funky guitar licks, the album could easily be mistaken as the soundtrack to a long-lost ’70s action flick. After a tension-filled 18-second-long instrumental intro (“Alpha”), the album kicks into gear with “Average Man.” Setting the tone for the next 30 minutes, the high-energy track showcases Lloyd’s engaging vocals and whip-tight band (which includes conguero Jimmy Lee Thompson of The Isaac Hayes Movement, guitarist Larry Greene, drummer Ollie Lamey Shaft, saxophonist Arnold Barry, trumpeter Leonard Sorvillo, and trombonist Rex White).

Other highlights in the dramatic ten-track journey include the afore-mentioned “Life Is Funky”—a delightfully vibey slice of mid-’70s funk, filled with anthemic lyrics and hypnotic, hooky grooves. Equally catchy is Side B’s opener, “Little People,” in which Lloyd pays tribute to the everyday man and woman, while the group adds a dash of psychedelic fusion into the mix with “Dreamers.”

The group expands into orchestral pop with the anti-war song, “Peace of Mind,” and delivers soulful balladry with “I’d Rather Loan You Out.” The nearly six-minute-long track allows the band to stretch out with several impressive instrumental jams and an impassioned, spoken-word section. The album closes with the dramatic “Prayer of the Prisoner,” in which Lloyd delivers a haunting plea to God over a somber piano line, followed by the 18-second-long “Omega,” an ethereal-yet-eerie instrumental closer.