Watching Almost Famous last night, I couldn't help but feel a sentimental measure of kinship with the film's main character. While we share neither age nor world-renowned story (rather, the precocious Cameron Crowe character has me trumped by a good handful of years), our bond goes deeper than mere musical interest ventures: we both have been significantly deterred by familial interference.

At 11:00 a.m. today, I sat down to type my review of The Seven Dreams of the Leviathan...and was almost immediately summoned to the kitchen to aid with the bringing-in of the groceries. After fifteen minutes, during which I diligently transferred a cartload of food from car to kitchen, I was finally able to return to the album. I was initially shocked by the vocals, which employ the sort of sonic crescendo effects that usually imply major technical punching-up. The Julian Cope-ish vocals hum along, keeping pace with an enjoyable 4/4 rhythm, as "Capacitor Ecce Gratum" develops into a low-key Olivia Tremor Control-style number. There's a distinct feeling that all the filler that led up to this moment needed to be there, the better to foster a full-fledged appreciation of the song proper.

"Will you come out and help me connect the VCR to the television set?" I paused the CD. This time a few hours passed; I was sucked into watching Samson the retriever get a brain-tumor removed on Animal Planet (Yeah! Emergency Vets! -- Ed.). I returned at around 1:30 p.m. to find the disc -- now playing through for something like the fourteenth time -- beginning track five, "A Dream in Four Parts". After twenty seconds of ambient dawdling, a thoroughly succinct pop song arises from the rubble; ostensibly another psychedelic number, the song applies roots-rock acoustic strumming, while carrying an upbeat-tune. It's simple and infectious.

"A Dream in Four Parts" is followed by three more tunes that hang in pop equilibrium -- short, 2:20 anthems, one after the next. "O.T.T." melds a Beta Band-styled rhythm and unassuming vocals to form a chilled-out pop sound. "The Dingo" follows in virtually the same mold, and "The Lioness" closes the triumvirate with a country-tinged melody and upbeat vocals leading the charge. These three songs are clearly the point at which the disc hits its stride, dropping its previously-fostered pretense. It's also a great stretch of music, nearly matching the enchantments of more renowned indie-pop bands. It's a shame that the album ends on a sour note, with a trio of dragging experimental dirges.

After four uninterrupted trips through the album, my original suspicions were confirmed: the majority of it is relatively useless ambient fluff, intended merely to fill in the blanks between strategically placed pop songs. I'm not sure why the band is trumpeting their Eno obsession twenty years after the fact; my only guess is that it gives the album an affected claim to originality. However, when the songs aren't taking up space, they're unfurling light hooks and gracefully subdued melodies -- not merely music that justifies sifting through a little filler, but the sort of quintessential pop songs that make you want to ignore all those calls for help with the VCR.