Forget . Virginia's were a poor -- make that destitute -- man's or . Take the more painfully precious quirks of those otherwise engaging duos, then strip away the top-shelf songs and dry English drollery (but not, oddly, the accents), and finally, add trite Bible-school pieties -- for every time one of the aforementioned acts sang "love" substitute "Jesus" -- and you basically have , an album that seems determined to single-handedly stem the tide of sexual perversity during the Summer of Love with its vanilla-flavored virtue. Ironically, this must have been a middle-class parent's wet dream, as Sunday-morning sermon, music that wants to have it every way at once -- to be hip and with it, man, but also devout, radical yet conformist, straight-shooting but still groovy. As a result, it more often tends to sound comically earnest; after all, anyone who could quaver the line "Jesus was a pretty good guy, so they tell me" just wasn't hearing himself. On a surface level, the record does have its charms. While decidedly derivative in almost every aspect, it is undeniably pretty nonetheless, crayon-colored that just might spin its web or cast its spell if you don't pay too much attention while it's wafting in the background and have a taste for this kind of thing. But even if , heavy-handed Christian flower- does happen to be your salvation, there's just not enough of it here -- the album is a mere 28-minutes-long -- to make an everlasting impression. Both substantially and musically, this is pretty thin soup. ~ Stanton Swihart