184.
      The wizard Merlin, his eyes flashing and his long white hair writhing in the storm-wind, holds the two discs in his outstretched arms. "Ye must take one or the other, boy. Chooseth!"
      You look down at your cousin Danny, who shrugs back. "Don't ask me. I'm not the one who got us into this crazy, mixed-up time traveling adventure." You gulp, wishing your uncle Dash Connors was here; he knows sophisticated L.A. space-rock as well as he knows his way around an F-16. Which Autumns EP to choose?

IF YOU CHOOSE LE CARILLON, GO TO 189.

IF YOU CHOOSE COVERS, GO TO 186.

185.
      At least the teen idols these folks are emulating had the sense to throw a real emotional event (a dead lover or a car crash, for example) into their romantic yearnings once in a while. Behind the stock imagery and sheen the band provides, the objects of the Autumns' affections seem cold, passive, and flat. The passion becomes a bit objectless and hollow, and the music's abundant sweetness just ends up sticking to itself. Hopefully, this really is just a one-time experiment for the band.
      Suddenly, out of the corner of your eye, you see one of the thieves who stole Uncle Dash's hovercraft creeping by. Maybe he'll lead you to their boss! But what are they doing in Medieval England? Does the voodoo priest have something to do with this?

IF YOU CHOOSE TO RUN AFTER THE THIEF, GO TO 188.

IF YOU CHOOSE TO WUSS OUT AND LISTEN TO COVERS, GO TO 186.

186.
      Appropriate for its economical 3" CD format, the record starts with a spare, acoustic-guitar-and-vocals version of a melancholy tune called "With the World Behind" (by Texas up-and-commers, Lift to Experience). Matthew Kelly's voice, falling somewhere between Robert Smith's and Thom Yorke's, provides the skeletal arrangement with a slightly sleepy emotional gravity. The next song works even better, loosening a faithful version of the Smith's "Please Please Please Let Me Get What I Want" just enough to turn it into a flowing number that gently and elegantly builds to a ringing piano and guitar climax.

IF YOU'RE HOOKED AND CHOOSE TO LISTEN TO THE REST, GO TO 190.

IF YOU'RE INTERESTED, BUT WANT TO HEAR WHAT THE BAND'S ORIGINALS SOUND LIKE, GO TO 189.

187.
      Well, it doesn't get a whole lot better. The EP's high point, "Quite," briefly trades in the 50's motif for the Smiths, weaving together fluid guitar lines and more evocative imagery ("These nectar rivers stir/ To pollinate your eyes"), but it still can't quite shake the saccharine background strings. "Slow Dance" waltzes back into the past, its nostalgic arpeggios occasionally livened up by odd guitar accents and ethereal mumbles of harmony.
      Meanwhile, "She Whispers the Winter Snow" finds its strong melody somewhat tainted by the baroque sentimentality hinted at in the title ("In frostwork sear/ Hold me ever near/ Delicately, quelling quickly"). It's a tribute done with an eye for detail and a good melodic sense, but there's something a bit too lightweight about it that turns you off.

IF YOU CHOOSE TO FURTHER ANALYZE THE RECORD, GO TO 185.

IF YOU CHOOSE TO GIVE THE OTHER EP A TRY, GO TO 186.

188.
      You run off across the moors, but before you've gone a hundred feet, a tremendous crack, glowing with white-hot lava, opens in the ground before you. A trap! You hear Mabuto the voodoo priest chortling behind you and feel his bony fingers pushing you down into the heat. As you cry for help, you see Dash Connors zoom in above on his hovercraft. You stretch out your blistering arms to him, but it's too late.

THE END.

189.
      Hmmmm. This isn't quite what you were expecting. Maybe space-rock from the early days of NASA, when the ionosphere still buzzed with new episodes of "Leave It to Beaver," this sounds like an appreciative ripoff of 50's idol-pop, maybe with the soul/doo-wop element removed, a touch more reverb on the guitars, and a faux-British coating on the high, crooning vocals. Pretty, sure, but the preciousness of the high tinkling triplet guitar runs and the lyrics (especially the chorus, "Under the cover of the fallen snow/ Filigree (!?!) and pale, ashen scent/ Frost and chill as the breath to slow/ And crimson bells/ The wind it quells winter's sad lament") kind of gets to you. It's not too hard to imagine these guys as the band at some formal function for pimply leisure class children.

IF YOU CHOOSE TO TOSS THE ALBUM AWAY, BECAUSE THIS REALLY ISN'T YOUR TYPE OF THING, AND TRY COVERS, GO TO 186.

IF YOU STILL BELIEVE IN THE CULTURAL RELEVANCE OF THE PROM AND CHOOSE GIVE THE THING A CHANCE, GO TO 187.

190.
      Finally, the space-rock kicks in. The band's version of Nick Drake's "Time of No Reply" channels the original's plucky folk through Mogwai's molasses-slow pacing and alien background effects. Kelly only manages to get through the first two verses before the song bursts into clouds of distortion and high squealing rockets of noise, but his plaintive refrain eventually leads the song down to a weirdly serene close. A cover of the David Lynch-penned "Just You and I" finishes the EP. While the band generates a little Lynchian creepiness in the obsessively repeated title/chorus, it's a mostly innocuous rendition, with some nice boy/girl harmonies and slide guitars thrown in, a bit less inspired than the rest of what has otherwise been a fairly impressive and inventive set of covers.
      You hear the throb of faraway jungle drums for a second. This doesn't sound like the Autumns. Turning, you are greeted by the hideous grin of your arch-enemy, Doctor Mabuto, the voodoo priest! He holds out a copy of Le Carillon. "Listen, boy, or I'll rip out your spleen and feed it to my hyenas!"

IF YOU CHOOSE TO LISTEN, GO TO 189.

IF YOU'D RATHER TAKE YOUR CHANCES WITH DOCTOR MABUTO, GO TO 188.

-Brendan Reid