Here's an idea: Take an as of yet unreleased album from a mediocre band, add a couple of bonus tracks and a nifty carrying case then sell it via mail order for twice its face value. Aside from providing the aforementioned marketing disaster with its title, The Tan Mule is apparently also the nickname of a large American station- wagon that graces the cover of the Samples' 1998 studio recording and the subject of the ham- fisted eulogy that serves as the album's title track. Unfortunately, while the sentimental contemplation of autos long past served well the likes of Neil Young and Jack Logan, the Samples are not similarly graced.

The band also seems to borrow from Young the album's subject. No, not the one from Trans. Instead, The Tan Mule appears to ponder the passing of a friend a la Young's harrowing Tonight's The Night. The language of the preceding sentence is purposefully uncertain, as I still cling to the faint hope that the mortal reflections of men who consider themselves artists would ascend above such wistful musings as "Joey, please come back/ I need to fix your flat/ I think your windshield wiper fluid is gone."

Where Young's haunted and broken voice lamented Danny Whitten's early passing, the Samples mostly concoct their brand of airy pop to bury their companion. Although they, at some points during the course of the album, resurrect the souls of the Byrds, the Band and Young, it's done without urgency and their inklings are quickly lost, awash in second rate songwriting and instrumentation that recalls the latest Sting release. Such problems are mitigated when Eben Grace's peddle steel stands tall in the mix, but the otherwise, the album is a series of small, earnest failures.

Fortunately, The Tan Mule is only available as part of the previously stated deluxe mail order package, where it will be less likely to harm the innocent. If you so choose, contact What Are Records and shell out the $32 price of admission. Otherwise, check the used bin of my local disc store in about twenty minutes.

-Neil Lieberman