In the year of our lord, 1997, Chicago's legendary -- America's premier, and perhaps only Christian band -- had finally ground to a halt due to years of slogging it out on the underground circuit with ever-diminishing returns to show for their, ahem, troubles. Following their sad demise, vocalist was the first to branch out into pastures new, pairing his instantly recognizable, mournful croon (as much a signature as the colossal, -derived power chords of guitarists and ) with -- himself already well known for his guitar work with Liverpool, England's . Baptizing their project with the none-too-subtle name , the duo duly hired a rhythm section and set about recording an album's worth of tracks, which interestingly enough contained the odd combination of heaviness and hippie psychedelics last heard on 's , only performed here with half the volume and intensity. The resulting -- oftentimes rambling and unfocused, but in equal measures beautiful and heart-wrenching -- disappointed some disciples unwilling to let go of the past, but at least confirmed the fact that was an entirely new proposition. And with all due respect to , is the unquestionable star of 's (kaleidoscopic light) show, effortlessly moving between his typically downcast, pessimistic subjects to altogether lighter, hippie fare. Case in point, the group's namesake tune finds flipping the switch back and forth from tunefully ragged singing to intimately spoken recitations as he intones words like "Don't need a light at the end of my tunnel...I need a bigger shovel." Conversely, the innocently psychedelic talks of baking "space cakes" and "hear[ing] the grass grow!" Even more poignant, clearly autobiographical numbers like find him baring his soul with nostalgia, while the nearly as morose relies on frail, '90s vibes for its resigned sense of acceptance. Thankfully for those now approaching suicidal thoughts, the album wrapped up with a few lighthearted send-ups -- namely the goofy before a final, peace-offering rendition of ' And despite lingering rumors to the effect, never recorded again, adding a certain eventfulness to this curious, but all-around fine release. ~ Eduardo Rivadavia