Side projects, solo records and multi-band supergroup records are very sketchy, very black-and- white affairs. Most of the time, they're cheesy as shit publicity stunts, constructed by either record companies or the artists themselves to rake in some easy paper with a substandard product. Needless to say, these albums are about as heartfelt as dental surgery, meaning that, for the most part, they suck unusually hard.

On the other side of the spectrum are the extracurricular projects that serve as pure labors of love. These are usually birthed when one member of a moderately successful band is struck by a pure, clear musical vision. This vision is so personal and internal that it can only be completely realized by telling the rest of the band to fuck off for a while so that the individual artiste can spread his or her wings, making an album straight from the heart. Sadly, these, too, often suck unusually hard, as the powerful vision quickly degenerates into an exercise in pure ego and poor judgment. Without five other guys from the old band playing the voice of reason, the lone musician quickly confuses "artistic expression" with "boring the shit out of my audience." What results is a piece of musical bullshit that's just as terrible as any phony corporate album, but terrible in a down-home, personal way.

Mike Feuerstack of Wooden Stars fame, like many before him, has gone the side project route more than just a couple of times, and when he does, he changes his recording name to Snailhouse. With this reissue of Snailhouse's fresh and impressive debut solo album, 1995's Fine, the world may again bear witness to a record so intriguing and powerful it could go down in some sort of rock encyclopedia as the definition of "perfect side project." This, of course, isn't to say that it's a perfect album-- just a fine example of how to make a solid full-length on your own.

Definitely more personal than commercial, Fine is 14 tracks of soulful, clever acoustic rock that's every inch Mike Feuerstack, with no Wooden Stars to be found. An album that takes chances and works more on instinct than intellect, Fine is an intensely lonely record-- a record that sits alone by itself at recess. It's exactly the kind of personal expression that needs a bit of solitude (meaning no other band members) to live and breathe. The thing that should put Fine into the realm of side project royalty is that, somehow, Feuerstack has managed avoid the worst of the solo album traps. He's created a wonderfully private record that doesn't crumble under the weight of its own ego.

Coming in a small, brown paper jewel box with strange, scratchy artwork on the cover, even Fine's packaging is warm, intimate and inviting. It's the kind of makeshift case that a friend would cut out from a cardboard box and tape together to hold a homemade CD (if your friends ever do anything like that). But the album's sentiment doesn't stop with the cover, as Feuerstack dishes up 40 minutes of honest, stripped down rock music. In fact, the music is so stripped and slowed down you might have to strain to even hear the "rock" of these rock songs. Using instruments more suited to a honky-tonk than a rock concert-- acoustic guitars, pianos, and no discernable electric instruments), Snailhouse mixes folk music's emotional nature and honesty with some beautiful indie folk-rock.

Mike Feuerstack steers clear of singer/songwriter territory through genuine sincerity. He puts a large part of himself into this music, and it shows. With every intelligent lyric, his voice crackles with energy and pain. Instead of simply going into the studio and weeping into the microphone like a dateless Senior on his way to Prom, Feuerstack makes smart, sharp music that never sounds sloppy or sterile. Each of these songs are carefully constructed, and though they may initially seem light or airy, each packs enough passion to feel like a full-on Pink Floydian symphonic opus, complete with the laser show to fry your eyeballs.

Feuerstack's ever-present, sour optimism (best expressed by the opening lines of "Radio:" "I'm in love/ With everything I've done") isn't just wishing he might get the girl or hoping for a better, easier life. Instead, this is hope that hope itself might not be foolish, that optimism isn't a joke, and that things can't be as damned terrible as they seem. This kind of hope may be the most pessimistic thing you've ever heard-- hell, it may not even seem like hope at all-- but it certainly makes for some powerful, riveting music.

-Steven Byrd