Well, here we are in the year 2001. Yeah, I know, it's June, and the year is half over, but I'm still writing '00 on everything I date. The other day, I wrote '99 on a check. I guess it's just tough to get used to living in another century. I got rather comfortable with the last one. Plus, I'm looking around, and I don't see any of the advancements that we were supposed to have made by now. We don't have a base on the moon, you still have to be an astronaut or a millionaire with connections in the Russian government to go to a space station, and voice recognition software for desktop computers is still unperfected. They were supposed to have personalities and emotions by now!

"Space: 1999" is two years ago now, and the 60's fantasy still hasn't come true. Hell, if you were to believe a lot of bands these days, we never even made it out of the 60's. I doubt that anyone in 1968 would have taken you seriously if you had told him six elephants would be carrying the psychedelic torch well into the new millennium, but here we are. And though the Autumn Defense are a horse of a slightly different color than those found in the Elephant Six stable, they're as much a part of that movement as the Essex Green or the Minders.

To dispense with the necessary formalities, let's get this out of the way right now: John Stirratt, who is half of the Autumn Defense, is one quarter of Wilco. His day job as that band's bassist has seen him appear on two remarkable albums of expansive pop in the last half-decade, and two excellent Woody Guthrie tribute albums. Before that, it was Wilco's country-fried debut A.M. and the punk country of Uncle Tupelo. So, Stirratt hails from a fine pedigree. His partner is crime is multi-instrumentalist Pat Sansone, a man more than happy to play off of Stirratt's surprisingly traditional pop muse.

The duo attacks the 60's head on, sliding into a narrow niche somewhere between Velvet Crush, Beachwood Sparks and those Elephant Six guys. The Green Hour kicks off with "Long Forgotten Love," a horn-soaked pop tune that's about as generic as off-brand paper towels. Former Wilco skinsman Ken Coomer beats out a steady backbeat while Stirratt and Sansone sing in close harmony. Throughout the rest of what's to come, few elements really stand out of the sound, giving The Green Hour the general effect of care-free sonic wallpaper.

"Make It Through the Summer," written by Stirratt with the Chamber Strings' Kevin Junior, gets a much better treatment on Month of Sundays, the latest Chamber Strings opus. Here, it's kind of limp. The Green Hour's first truly great moment comes with their heartfelt rendition of Woody Guthrie's "Revolutionary Mind," which feels like a natural extension of the Mermaid Avenue sessions. Guthrie's lyrics are fantastic as always, and the subtle arrangement allows the message of the song to come to the fore. It's a moment of transcendence that's hard to come by on most latter-day 60's throwback albums, and it's this one's best song.

Elsewhere, the Autumn Defense offer up small pleasures in the midst of passable songs. The mellotron flutes of "This Kind of Day" may briefly sweep you off to strawberry fields, and the tympanis on "Nothin' at All" give a sense of depth and texture. "Wellspring" is the 28 billionth song about being in love, but it's not a bad one. Stirratt offers the line, "There's a wellspring in my chest that's overflowing," while Bob Egan's keening steel guitar pines high above him. The little marimba flourishes in the background are a nice addition, too.

This is followed by the album's best original track, the effervescent "Full Five Paces," a song that comes replete with not one, but two sharply barbed hooks. If Broadmoor Records ever gets around to slapping together a label comp in the future, this would be a great lead-off track. The glockenspiel tinklings in the chorus are a stroke of arrangement genius.

The Autumn Defense have crafted a nice little diversion for fans of wholesale 60's revivalism here, and there are likely a few folks who will be carrying this one close to their hearts for a little while. Ultimately, though, The Green Hour, with all of its small pleasures and scattered peaks, is a pleasantly inconsequential album, good for driving to a picnic or waiting for the drive-in movie to start. Granted, there's something to be said for that. But most will demand more.

-Joe Tangari