Pitchfork

Tim Green started off the part of his life relevant to this review playing guitar for the now-legendary Dischord outfit Nation of Ulysses. After having his fill of D.C. hardcore, Green moved his skinny ass to San Francisco, met a couple of dyed-in-the-wool metalheads (one with actual long hair), and formed the Champs, an instrumental metal trio (later-modified to the more popular naughty name, The Fucking Champs). It was these Fucking Champs who would be heralded for the purest metal fervor.

Little did the heralders know, but behind guitar number two stood a total wuss. For alas, Green, fucking champion of metal, masqueraded as Concentrick, a fucking champion of "lucid dreaming". I know what you're thinking: "Pussy." Had these "lucid dreams" been revolting nightmares, Green might still be in business. But listening to Concentrick's third album, one realizes that they surely are not. They are sweet dreams-- the product not of a metal rampage, but of a soothing lullaby.

Addressing the oft-cited metal inquiry, "Do they kick ass?"-- well, not in the conventional sense, no. Perhaps if you could construe meditation as "kicking ass" (as in "man, that prayer circle kicked ass") then Lucid Dreaming would kick ass. But better adjectives exist for this, Green's ambient electronic alter-ego. Like these adjectives, for example: droning, palliative, supple, futuristic, sedate, assuaging, mellifluous, elysian, balmy, resplendent. All in a Buck Rodgers sort of way.

Strings and a Mellotron get the album kicking on "Lucid Moments". Imagine if Buck Rodgers had his own romantic chamber orchestra, and you have the idea exactly. "Behind the Trees" takes Buck out of his cozy space cabin and finds him wandering a spooky, uncharted space planet, replete with big orange boulders, space trees, and an atmosphere of pure cyanide gas. Buck would feel anxious, yes? So will you.

"Secret in the Shallows and the Sky" plays like the steel drum band at a tropical island space-resort for Buck and his friends (like the totally hot Wilma Deering, aka the Ricker's dad's girlfriend on "Silver Spoons", aka Erin Gray). They take Buck to new, soothing adventures in his mind, as waves of liquid nitrogen splash up against his rocket-fueled titanium catamaran.

"Somnambulant" sounds like you might reckon if your vocabulary is big enough. "Soft Place" keeps with the accurate descriptive naming trend, providing a downy-soft place for your ears. This soft place might be particularly welcome for burnt-out Champs fans. It drones like a coma.

Concentrick evokes strange comparisons, but this does not alter the fact that Green's effort here is pretty damn super. A delightful mix of sleepy ambient elements with a futuristic touch. Relax to it, fall asleep to it, or fantasize about Wilma Deering to it. The choice is yours.