Reviewed by Phil Thomson

Idiosyncratic, dense, inventive: heavily directed towards heaven: and nothing wrong with that. Charlie Peacock seems to have set himself the impossible task of baring his soul on an album. Most of the time this kind of confessional rock plummets within two tracks to the depths of pious sentimentality and schmaltz. In a market where it is far too easy for big money to turn out inconsequential, breathy self-indulgence, Mr. Peacock strides confidently through with his head held high. He has to, if he is determined to deliver lyrical phrases such as "a qualitative difference" and "truth begins its/saving and illuminating work within the heart" ("Experience') and still sound as if he is into the nineties. Yet the music newer traps you. Brown Bannister's experienced touch provides the pace and subtlety needed to keep the production clean and uncluttered; I suspect, though, that al the little surprises are Peacock's. There is a sense of destiny here; a sense of mission which makes me respect the honesty and admire the tasteful-ness with which this quasi-concept set has been bandied. ) tried not to like the album - I've had enough of Americans pointing the finger, enough of the Big Preach. It is a measure of its quality that I failed

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