This is the soundtrack to every solitary late-night drive you've ever taken. You don't have to be headed through the middle of nowhere...but it helps. Your companion on this drive is poet and musician Donald Rubinstein; he's in a fairly downbeat and reflective mood, so don't bother trying to persuade him to stop for Slurpees. Rubinstein has a number of darkly fascinating tales to tell. As a storyteller, he's rather like a less talkative Leonard Cohen, or maybe a less-animated Warren Zevon, with moments of John Hiatt, Barry Adamson, Tom Waits and even Fred Lane seeping in from time to time. Rubinstein delivers words of fear, anguish, cynicism and heartbreak, along with occasional doses of hope and love and rock'n'roll attitude, against a sonic backdrop of minimal country blues-rock provided by the able-bodied men of Zony Mash. The resulting concoctions are redolent of buzzing flourescent lights, half-smoked cigarettes, 3:00 a.m. restaurant booths and the sort of "populated isolation" that's unique to Los Angeles. You'll dig the imagery of "Buried", the scornful kiss-off of "Rubber Cot" and the apocalyptic self-shutdown of "Demon Blues". A veteran of movie soundtracks, Rubinstein is accustomed to creating evocative works; when he's set free to score the movies in his mind, the results are often picture perfect.