Reviews

It’s hard to think it’s been nearly three years since Fractal Cat released “Lovingkind” into its own psychedelic universe. With it, Miles Gannett and his lovely band of musical troubadours announced their plans to keep the flower power dream alive, drawing heavy influences from the Beatles, among others, with a far-out flair anchored by subliminally modern touches. It’s one of the few times trip-hop married so well with Brit Pop in recent local music.

The curious question that haunted the 2014 set was simple: How could they follow it up? Would they (and could they) expand on their retrofitted sound, diving deeper into tie-dyed textures with more instruments, larger harmonies and weirder time-signatures? Or would they reinvent themselves with an updated palate and a broader soundboard, ready to tackle horizons unavailable to them on their debut effort?

Victoriously — and stunningly — “The Tower” does both. The bell-bottoms are still prevalent, but so is a smattering of florescent colors, which, when compared with three years ago, is an upgrade. Such is never more obvious than it is on perhaps the best one-two punch of local music in 2017 thus far: The title track going back to back with “Streets Are Burning.” Swelling their arsenal to authentic, dance-tastic funk, these two songs are unquestionably the coup de grace of Fractal Cat’s career.

Ending “Side A,” the title track beautifully fades into a groove that couples subtle guitar work with accented drums that take this band to an entirely new stratosphere. That the chorus morphs into the type of accessibility with which these guys initially made a name only ups the ante on how far they’ve come. Add in some Jehtro Tull-inspired flute work and the result is perfect pretentious pop.

Meanwhile, “Streets Are Burning” echoes James Brown, right down to the killer horn section that paints the track’s background with furious funk and a soulful surface. Jason Armstrong Baker’s drums step up in ways previously unfounded, his taste and time-keeping holding court at center stage. Plus, local singer Mary-eL’s harmonies provide an extra layer to a production that shines with her pretty contributions.

And then there are the rock tracks. “Be Careful What You Dream” is a bit of a new direction for the group as it recalls ‘80s college radio that a band like R.E.M. mastered some 30 years ago. It’s a different cane of sugar for these guys and it serves them well, proving they can write in more than one vein of pop. Taking that versatility a step further is “The Farthest Shore,” which finds Fractal Cat traveling south, donning a cowboy hat and getting their Nashville on. It’s a sharp turn away from everything else, but it works, right down to the sad piano that sees the track through to its country-western end.

All of it orbits around the record’s centerpiece, “Look At That Snake.” The 6:06 opus transports the listener back to the earliest days of twee, when the lads in Gabriel-era Genesis were still writing 18-minute songs. Beginning with spaced out instrumentation, it inevitably evolves into sounds that wouldn’t be out of place at a Celtic festival. All of that falls by the wayside as the track takes its final turn, the ensemble repeating the song’s namesake over and over with increasing ferocity and speed. It’s so out there, it almost makes more sense than it should.

Which, of course, is not a slight on neither Fractal Cat or “The Tower.” Why? Because the notion of making sense is moot when crafting a style, and this Baltimore sextet has assembled a formula as infectious as it is sugary, as undeniable as it is singular. These nine songs are sonic proof that evolution isn’t just readily obtainable for these guys; it’s consistently imperative. The only true question left to ponder is the same question that faced them some three years ago: What’s next?

Or, perhaps more accurately, how soon can we hear it?

*** 3 1/2 STARS OUT OF 4 ***

Age, sometimes, can be more than a mere number. It can be a virtue, it can be a detriment. It can suggest a lack of competency, it can suggest an essential level of youthful ignorance. No matter which way you cut it, a 17-year-old boy could never make a blues album as sharp and as weathered as a 71-year-old man — just like a 71-year-old man could never capture the imagination, vibrance and hope that a 17-year-old boy would effortlessly exude on a pop album. Anyone who claims age is meaningless in music isn’t listening.

Local duo Ash To None are young. Very young. Rising from the … ashes … of Grand Elusion, a rock band of high-schoolers intent on putting their best foot forward with a self-titled set no more than three years ago, Noah Hawes and Evan Tritapoe have taken it upon themselves to expand their abilities and take the next step in evolving their repertoire. In addition to the crunchy guitars, middle-road bass and hesitant drums, these guys add strings, keys and a saxophone, among other things, to help round their sound out on their latest set, “Changes to Come.”

The result is … well, it’s the sound of two dudes growing. They work best when the angst is dialed back. “Everything Is One” is adult-contemporary balladry in the vein of a classic rock radio station playing the most memorable hits from the ‘70s. Tritapoe’s high-octave vocals give the proceedings a grandiose vibe, drawing a contemporary comparison to band like fun., while Hawes’s guitar work is so majestic, you almost feel like each string should be wearing its own set of spandex. It’s the most grown-up the duo sounds.

“Two Strangers” floats in and out of that same territory with swing and a Something Corporate-ian pop sense. Adding depth to the track is a chorus of lush vocal harmonies that reveal themselves midway through, ultimately giving way to a tasteful saxophone and a rock-God guitar solo that builds before Tritapoe reasserts himself. Dynamism is tough to accomplish no matter what year you were born, but these guys understand its relevance as good as any other group around.

Speaking of age, the only real time their inexperience shows is when they stretch themselves too thin. Opener “The Message” is a weird amalgam of Collective Soul straight-forward rock and the days when hip-hop meshed with as much to top charts. Based around an incessant guitar riff and splitting into two after a synth-heavy instrumental bridge, log and behold, a rap breaks out of nowhere and it’s for no real good reason. Unless your name is U2, the whole self-serious look never tends to work out well, and if you combine those ethos with a D-Grade 311 section … yikes.

Still, all is not lost with a song like “Escape Your Hell,” which borrows from that aforementioned Omaha band while ditching the hip-hop and embracing the reggae. Because you just know that any band who sounds like this will always have its token Rastafari moment, it’s hard not to applaud these guys for pulling it off well enough to earn a passing grade. Sure, the groove wavers a bit, and yeah, you shouldn’t expect anything near a roots approach, but shoot: Any reggae is better than no reggae, right?

More importantly, however, is the two-song suite, composed by Hawes, that expands to 11 minutes. “At Peace with the Demons” parts one and two is an ambitious attempt to jump further than these lads probably can at this point in their careers. Beginning with a down tempo that impressively shifts in time signature, the move earns the group infinite points for effort, but without a certain amount of heft, it falls flat more often than it inspires. And that’s a tough thing to embrace, considering how it falls over the course of two songs at more than 10 minutes.

Even so, none of this is to imply that “Changes to Come” is a failure. It’s merely the audible proof that you don’t have to look far from home to find kids who are trying their hardest to take this music thing seriously. So the performances aren’t always skin tight and Ash To None are in serious need of getting serious about remedying their own identity crisis. But so what? If nothing else, these 10 tracks show that age doesn’t have to be one or the other — a blessing or a curse. In fact, it can be both at the same time.

And in some ways, these songs prove that Noah Hawes and Evan Tritapoe are beyond the years the number next to their names suggest.

** 2 1/2 STARS OUT OF 4 **

Sometimes, there’s no use in dissecting a record note for note, song for song, chorus for chorus. Sometimes, there’s a piece of art out there that truly transcends description, something so obscure or something so unique that it’s a thankless, impossible task to try and box it in. It walks the line of pretentious gleefully all while pointing and laughing at those of us who can’t stop listening to it, those of us who lack the vocabulary and intellect to accurately chronicle what we’re hearing.

Electro, self-proclaimed wizard-pop act New God take up residence in that area with their latest, lightning-quick 10 song set, “///A1.” The brainchild of the brothers Tompkins, Kenny and Curt, this collection amounts, in some ways at least, to be the local version of Kanye West’s “The Life Of Pablo,” some tracks clocking in below 2 minutes and one that doesn’t even hit the 50-second mark. Yet to those who might think this is nothing more than a series of unfinished ideas that should be fleshed out into something far more special … well, think again.

Because it’s already special enough.

Mostly centered around piano and guitar tracks that were recorded on an iPhone, these songs provide almost as much atmosphere as an Alfred Hitchcock marathon. Adding to the ambiance is a layer of ASMR (autonomous sensory meridian response) sounds that combine with a type of white noise heaven begging you to space out as far as the mind can go. It’s the type of stuff that demands a lack of nerve, soothing any high-strung sensibility with both class and precision. It’s best served on a rainy afternoon.

And the journey starts with one of the foggiest tracks here. “A1A” is processed groove at its best, complete with mysterious whispering that has a constant presence as the beat snaps back and forth with intrigue. The subtle breathing noises make for a spa-like backdrop that proves to be more soothing than creepy, more inviting than weird. It’s an intricate touch that accomplishes its job wonderfully, setting the tone for a group of spaced-out instrumentals that never bore.

Better yet is “A1D” that has a tasty amount of West Coast hip-hop swing to it, all the way up to the unapologetically dreamy organ and understatedly funky backbeat. Picking up during its short latter half gives the track an added layer of thought, making it feel much heftier than it actually is. Of all the wizardry these guys have accomplished since 2012, this might be the most enduring magic trick of them all. Loop it twice, send it to Snoop Dogg and wait for the next big rap hit 1994 could only wish it had.

Other tracks stand out for their hook-laden ideals. “A1C” centers around a riff that you swear you’ve heard before and all told, it will keep you up at night due to its incessant tenacity. Laying back, it feels effortless in execution, which proves to be one of its most attractive qualities. “A1B,” meanwhile, feels like it should have been on Dvsn’s “Sept. 5th,” its moody slow jam textures lending itself perfectly to the sparse R&B that makes its way onto a lot of modern day soul records. It also appears to be the most realized effort here, clocking in at nearly 3 1/2 minutes.

Yet these things don’t have to be complete to be lauded. “A1I,” the shortest selection here, slithers with aplomb through its 45 seconds and “A1F” neatly uses starts, stops and skips in ways that demands attention and respect. By the time “A1J” winds everything down with its traditional piano sounds and repetitive formula, it’s somewhat hard to even understand what just hit you, which, of course, is the point.

Because remember: These aren’t tracks designed to be digested the same way your run-of-the-mill pop compositions would be digested. These are ideas, fleeting notions that know precisely how long they deserve to stick around and precisely how much of them ought to be revealed. That’s the beauty. With “///A1,” New God have found previously unknown frontiers. To see how they eventually explore them will be the fun part.

For now, though, it’s our duty to be left speechless.

*** 3 STARS OUT OF 4 ***

The shine is real, man. When local records sound like pretty much anything other than a few dudes banging away on instruments in an alleyway garage, they impress. Even if the songwriting suffers, high-level production can mask a whole lot of errors and create a level of smoke and mirrors that warrants its own sense of admiration. It’s amazing how high songs can climb with the help of some quality studio equipment and a wealth of Protools knowledge.

Leify Green, who has local ties, succeeds in spades at this with his latest eight-song collection, “Set Sail.” Seemingly schooled in the same pop-hippie class as someone like Jason Mraz, his blend of acoustic folk/funk is as accessible as anything you could hope to hear on any radio station in America named Kiss FM. It can be quirky, it can be dramatic, it can be romantic, it can be inspiring, and above all, it can be held against the best locally bred music and hold its own.

Take the born-to-dominate-pop-radio “The Same Way,” recorded in Greenbelt. Green flashes between languages as a woodblock holds down the groove and the singer half-raps his way through the verses. The chorus then recalls all the great songwriter types that cracked through into the mainstream under the umbrella of alternative pop-rock in the late-’90s/early Aughts. Even the sniff of funk in the electric guitar that stands tall throughout the hook is pure, innocent, infectious fun.

Equally as memorable is the Dave Matthews-ish “Set Yourself Free,” which sweats Caribbean flair and sunny skies. Leaving port with that trademark acoustic guitar, the tambourine marking the twos and fours musically recalls a blend of stripped down intrigue that a group like Counting Crows proved they mastered more than a decade ago with the “Sunday Mornings” portion of “Saturday Nights and Sunday Mornings.” Combining as much with the juxtaposition of Green’s smooth, Dispatch-ian vocals, you have on display the musical sweet spot between sad and happy that is an impressive feat to accomplish.

Taking on other artists’ songs works for this guy, too. Damien Rice’s “Cannonball” is actually served better than the original here, the dramatics of a single man with a single acoustic guitar providing the narrative a much-needed amount of heft. Plus, it’s not like Green likes to shy away from vocally theatric moments, and here, the ostentatiousness of his performance adds a layer of arousal for anyone listening with a beating heart. And if that’s not enough, Muse’s “Madness,” which kicks off the set, proves that Green knows how to pick some pretty cool covers. Who would have thunk a song originally led forth by sleek electronics could work so well stripped down? But a good song is a good song, and the singer’s take on it here verifies that 2012 hit as a track that’s anything but bad.

That said, Green can get in his own way when it comes to being a bit too self-serious now and then. “Sail” is a weird, if not somewhat laughably dark 3:42, what with the singer constantly wondering about his own ADD. Moody and dour — complete with TV-movie strings, even — the song climaxes with an oddly placed refrain: “Maybe I should cry for help / Maybe I should kill myself / I blame it on my ADD, baby.” With nothing taken away from the very serious notion of mental illness, it’s hard to tell if this is supposed to be digested as an ironic comment on a generation that constantly discusses depression or if the guy is searching for help. Making it more curious is the fact that every other song around it is soaked in good vibes and bright colors. It’s a noticeably regretful misstep on a record that otherwise often shines like a gorgeous spring afternoon.

Even “Lost At Sea,” which lays claim to a title that suggests doom, actually elicits more smiles than it does tears. Dude makes accidentally going off-course sound so much like the most hopeful accident a sailor could encounter on any given day, Captain Phillips would approve. And “Snowstorm in Seattle” is beautifully constructed pop rock that will stick in your brain for days. “It’s just a snowstorm in Seattle / We’ll stay nice and warm inside / And I’ll sing all through the evening / You can dance into the night / We’ll be feeling quite all right,” he offers, and damn it if you’re not longing for winter again. He’s just so charming, so nonchalant, so … happy.

And, even with that tiny solemn mid-record mixup in mind, that’s what makes “Set Sail” an album worth checking out: Leify Green will make you feel good about feeling good. Complete with polished production, crafty, simplistic songwriting, and a lyrical sense that (mostly) provides faith in all mankind, it’s almost a shame that these songs didn’t hit the universe until now — more than 10 years after they would have had a real shot at breaking the singer through into the mainstream. Because who knows: If someone would have thrown him on a tour opening for Shawn Mullins back when something called MTV still mattered, there’s a chance reviews for this album wouldn’t be limited to coming from a local newspaper in Frederick, Maryland.

So … yeah. The shine is real, guys. The shine is most definitely real.

*** 3 STARS OUT OF 4 ***

Energy. If it’s there, it can turn a good band into a great band; if it’s not, mediocrity becomes the highest ceiling. Of all the intangibles it takes to create something special musically, vigor is without question in the top tier of necessities. You can learn how to play all the most intricate guitar chords, you can figure out all the neat tricks one can accomplish with two drum sticks, and you can come up with the wildest, most innovative effects the human ear could ever hear, but it’s all for nothing if you don’t have an ample amount of energy to go with it.

Sadly, that’s the achilles heel of Fermi’s Paradox’s self-titled EP. Clearly influenced by the pop-prog that thrived in the mainstream most recently in the late 1990s and early 2000s, these five songs beg to be heard with more passion, more vitality. A band like Incubus — which is clearly a huge inspiration here — garnered the success it garnered throughout its early years due to a vibrancy that could be felt both onstage and on a record.

Here, though, the quartet falters due to a lack of spirit. “Atlas,” with its jam groove and mild funk, could be a glow-stick evening under the stars, cut-off jeans swaying to the wind of the night in unison with a bass line so chill, it’s probably best paired with Netflix. But as singer Diego Retana claims, he’s “bound by shackles of my shame,” he’s simply too unconvincing to take seriously. In some ways, you almost wonder if he’d rather not be heard, refusing to emote his words with any type of attack.

Compounding the issue is Alex Taylor’s guitar, which can’t quite seem to lock in with its surroundings while a solo eventually unfolds. The same problem plagues a song like “Under The Stars,” which plays far looser than it should. It’s not that the parts aren’t logical — and it’s not like anyone should be criticized for a lack of effort — it’s just that with a little more attention to detail and a lot more rehearsal, this is a song that could soar rather than glide.

Perhaps the closest the band gets to that level is when it’s at its most Incubus-y, and in the case of this EP, that comes in the form of opener “Entropy.” Complete with spacey guitar effects and a dance-tastic, forward-pushing structure, it stands as the tightest the group feels throughout each of these five tracks. Plus, the distorted soloing that rings through the bridge is chaotic in all the right ways, paving the way for a solid chorus that feels more immediate than anything else surrounding it. If nothing else, it proves that Taylor can shred whenever he feels inspired to do so.

The problem is that he — and the rest of his bandmates, for that matter — doesn’t seem inspired all that much. “Community” wants to push forward, but the overriding feeling that prevails throughout the first two-plus minutes is apathy. It’s a shame, too, considering how much potential is there. It’s like the ideas are ready to blast themselves to the next level — especially here, with an up-tempo, slightly off-kilter groove — but the players behind them aren’t willing to meet them with the appropriate amount of enthusiasm they need to reach the next level.

In fact, such is probably why “Matter” works in the way it does. Balladry fits these guys well, especially when a layered atmosphere shines like the moon on a cloudless night, and these verses prove to be as deliciously milky as the finest chocolate. Even the chorus, a repetitive-yet-interesting arrangement, feels more realized than the rest of its brethren. It oscillates with intriguing confidence, a welcome contradiction to the skepticism that follows these performances throughout the rest of the EP.

Or, in other words, the rest of the EP could learn a thing or three from such self-awareness. Ballads are supposed to be toned down, and in the case of Fermi’s Paradox, both the band and the record, everything appears far too subdued to leave any possible lasting impact. It’s not a matter of inadequacy or failed ideas; rather, it’s a matter of execution, a slight on the unwillingness for a band to sell themselves with any type of passion, any type of fire.

“It’s just so cozy inside a bubble,” Retana sings on closer “Community.” Fermi’s Paradox, for better or worse, might be surprised at what they could accomplish, should that bubble ever burst.

** 2 STARS OUT OF 4 **

Donnie Wood likes to write hits. Sure, that doesn’t necessarily mean those songs translate into millions of dollars for the local singer, but you certainly can’t fault him for trying via his knack for crafting songs with so much shine, even Mr. Clean would be envious. Shoot. Go back to 2013’s “Bad Good Ole Boy,” and you’ll see that Wood has been swinging for the fences with his blend of unapologetically well-produced pop-twang.

That ambition continues on his latest, “Country 10.” Veering away from the down-home template of his previous work, Wood isn’t afraid to test the bro-country waters here, singing about everything from “purty” girls to his “Alabama baby” to asking his mama to “say a prayer for me.” Plus, of course, there’s a drum machine. And not just any drum machine. It’s the kind of drum machine that has both sides of the Florida-Georgia Line blushing.

Take the title track thvat opens the record. Complete with rock ‘n’ roll guitars, it begins with a Nickleback-ian electro-groove that isn’t not heard on mainstream county radio anymore. Making things fun, however, is Wood’s wit. Much like his set four years ago, this is a guy who has a real knack for making you grin each time he opens his mouth. “You want a guy with a six pack / I got one back home in the fridge / And if size really matters / I got a double-wide back in the sticks” he proclaims, and it’s hard not to smile. Is it parody? Is it self-serious? We may never know for sure, but his consistent dabbling in such waters makes you want to believe it’s more the former than the latter. Or, in other words, it’s as though he’s laughing with you.

Of course, the eyebrows raise when it’s obvious he’s catering to the former. “Georgia Marble” is a sullen tribute to fallen soldiers that uses the image of a tombstone as a centerpiece for heartbreak. His intentions are pure, if not a little cliched, as a rolling drum pattern introduces a track that fades the rest of the music into focus. There’s pretty use of a fiddle between mid-tempo Top 40 grooves before the production leads into a speaking word track that kind of/sort of leaves the listener hanging by the time everything ends. It wouldn’t work if you didn’t at least think Wood believed all of it, and in this case, it’s probably best to give him the benefit of the doubt, even if the idea isn’t particularly original.

Then again, being original isn’t something on which Donnie Wood puts much of a premium. That’s OK, though, if you own it, and he does. Consider “Say A Prayer,” which is such a knockoff of the new-grass twang incorporated on pop radio these days (think Avicii’s “Wake Me Up” and you’re much more spot on than you want to be), that it feels like Wood owes I Heart Radio royalties. That said, it’s not like he’s not doing it well, acoustic guitar, banjo, piano and an up-tempo feel fully in tact. Sure, his voice gets a little flat occasionally, but when it’s buried under all this gloss, it’s hardly a fault.

What are his faults, then? Well, the pandering to the bro-world isn’t always the most flattering color for someone to wear. “Stranger In My House” leans so heavily on a dark, processed rock groove that it almost suggests whatever Bon Jovi is doing to try and stay current. Or, perhaps worse, Foreigner. “Easy” is also too predictable — if there is such a thing — with its four-to-the-floor structure and effect-laden vocals. Even for an artist who embraces a bit of cheeseball every now and then, it’s a track presented with an abnormal level of familiarity.

Even so, “I See You Smilin’” is innocent, fun, and even — gasp! — kind of funky, in a completely bro-country way, of course. On it, those updated production tricks work to his advantage, giving the song a late-’90s pop-rock vibe that’s almost novel nearly two decades later. And “Leave It At Home Tonight” echoes the same playful nature, providing a bouncy alternative to the “go out and let loose” mantra that modern country so often abuses. All he wants is a cold beer, a cover charge and a good time, and darn it if it’s not something we all want ourselves, every now and then.

Which, not so coincidentally, is what Donnie Wood embodies: The everyman’s desires. That’s what makes him relatable, and that’s what makes his music, more often than not, work in ways that might fail him otherwise. Why? Because doing so with a wink and nod automatically makes him an affable character in his own country music telenovela. It’s like he’s the “Jane The Virgin” of the local country music scene, and God bless him for that.

A perfect 10, this may not be. But, hey. As far as “Country 10”s go … .

*** 3 STARS OUT OF 4 ***

A true solo album is a feat of significant skill. It’s one thing to be able to play the guitar; it’s another to master the drums, bass, keyboard, etc. But then to find a compelling, emotive, irresistible singing voice? Shoot, unless your name is Prince or Lenny Kravitz, you may as well settle into the depths of disappointment, let alone the marriage to mediocrity such ambition often breeds.

So if nothing else, Lucas Laws’ full-length release, “Vanity,” is a triumph in versatility. None of this is to say he appears to be a master of any instrument at hand; rather, he proves he’s good enough at each of them to get by while creating the type of music he prefers to create. There’s nothing here that is necessarily rooted in expertise, but that lack of command is also part of the set’s charm.

The only problem? Too much is too similar. Take “Okay” and “Hope To Die,” two mid-tempo indie-leaning country ditties. The former trots along and struggles to navigate the line between endearingly lazy and unforgivingly boring. In only a little more than three minutes, Laws manages to play in both worlds. The latter, then, kind of/sort of recalls the Wallflowers’ “Three Marlenas” in a weird way, an unobtrusive electric guitar strumming over rim shots and an acoustic that struggles to find a groove. Even though it’s the point to be loose, the songs don’t do anybody any favors with attention span.

Part of that is because of the singer’s voice, which works as a baritone drawl that does little to excite itself. Laws is so unassuming, it’s almost a fault. “Woman,” for instance, has its moments — and not to mention an appealingly twangy construct — but it’s hard to get inspired when the delivery behind it feels so … well … uninspired. Plus, there isn’t a single good reason that drums should be involved with something as understated as this. Had Laws opted to go guitar-only, the track could have had a more lasting impact.

For proof of as much, check how touching “Get Back Home” is with its bare-bones presentation and deliberately low-fi production. Oddly, it also warrants one of the more engaged performances here, despite its laid back campfire vibe. On it, the singer feels warm and inviting as he longs for his companion to “get back home to me,” his storytelling abilities on display more prominently here than they are elsewhere on the record, proving that sweet and tender are colors that Lucas Laws wears well.

“Me & You” is similar in its heart, and its departure from the downtrodden indie pop that paints the majority of the set is both welcome and smart. The echoing electric guitar is bright, and the tiny sound of a kick drum plays navigator in this trip through a six-string that exemplifies sunny skies and warm days. He’s best when he decides against his Johnny-Cash-lite depth in vocals, and “Me & You” adds a layer you kind of wish to see more of throughout these 13 tracks.

Instead, however, you’re stuck with songs like “Ephemeral Love,” which takes a classic rock riff and strips it of all its energy. And that’s a hard thing to reconcile, especially when this is the kind of music that works best when it’s served hot — not room temperature.

Yet room temperature is about as hot as it gets on Laws’ “Vanity,” proving again that perhaps it isn’t the worst thing in the world to invite collaboration into the creation of art — more specifically, music. Sure, it’s impressive that this set was written and performed by only one person, and yes, this isn’t an awful release by any stretch of the imagination. But it’s hard not to wonder what could have been, had Laws decided to open his doors and mind to outside input.

** 2 1/2 STARS OUT OF 4 **