Let me tell you something. Working at a copy shop is really not very much fun. In fact, most of the time it actively sucks. Frankly, I hate it most of the time, and merely dislike it intensely the rest of the time. But every now and then, for some reason, it's bearable. What makes this transistion occur? People are completely fucking insane. They bring in all sorts of crazy shit that they think they need copied. Things like letters proving they're actually the secret son of Albert Einstein, or scrawled diagrams of secret Government Ray Machines (which are invariably emitting some form of horrible brain-sauteeing waves), or affadavits to be used in their pending class action lawsuits against the country's shopping carts. These sorts of things. But my absolute a-number-one favorite thing that people think they need copied-- and instantly!-- is fan fiction.

Right, fan fiction. An example: I have a regular customer who has written a series of stories she calls "Heart and Soul." It's Starsky and Hutch fan fiction-- original stories based on the characters created by Aaron Spelling, stories which explore the intricacies of the working relationship between these two cops, their hopes and dreams, their triumphs and tribulations. The deaths of their loved ones and pets, their attempts to quit smoking, their remodeling of their bathrooms. Oh yeah, and these stories are, naturally, intensely pornographic. It's pretty predictable when you think about it.

There's all sorts of fan fiction-- "Star Trek," "Star Wars," "E.R.," "Home Improvement," "Regis and Kathie Lee." If it's a television show or movie, chances are there's some poor, lonely schmuck out there writing stories based on it. Stories which are, again, intensely pornographic. Sure, they are. Tim Allen and that guy in the plaid shirt. It's pretty predictable when you think about it.

You know, there's a kind of music that's analogous to fan fiction. Sometimes it's blatant and self-conscious, like when Ted, Bobby, Derrick and Jeremy all paint their faces and take the stage down at the Dug Inn on Saturday nights as Wisconsin's own Love Gun. And sometimes, it's less obvious-- like when Nirvana wrote that short piece of Pixies fan fiction known as "Smells Like Teen Spirit." When successful, this approach can lead to something which stands as an homage, but which has enough of its creator in it to be interesting in its own right. When it fails, unfortunately, it's about as effective as "Heart and Soul."

Well, Sometime Never write Red House Painters fan fiction. Some of it is remarkably accomplished in its recreation of Mark Kozelek's sound and feel, and it's all very sincere, but very little of it manages to rise above its influences. From the opening brushed snare and gently picked guitar arpeggio to the closing... um, gently picked guitar arpeggio, this band just can't quite struggle out from the shadow of their influences. There are moments of genuine prettiness, and occasionally an interesting turn of phrase or melodic bit, but for the most part, There is No Time for Idle Dreaming in My Life sounds like the Red House Painters. It doesn't help that singer Chris Reynolds has the annoying habit of dropping his r's like a high school drama club member, either.

You certainly can't fault their taste, though. If more bands wrote Red House Painters fan fiction instead of Nine Inch Nails fan fiction, the world might be a much more musically inspiring place. And there's enough talent on this disc to hint that if these guys dropped the Kozelek fetish, they could potentially make a much more endearing album. Unfortunately, they don't quite accomplish that here. It's not quite "Heart and Soul," but it's not exactly "Smells Like Teen Spirit," either. And on top of all this, it's not even intensely pornographic. We got robbed!

-Zach Hooker