I know exactly when the problem started, but I don't quite know when I started caring. It began in April, when I handed in my honors thesis and, for the most part, it didn't stop until after graduation. It's not too hard to figure out, right? I drank, of course. Daily; heavily. Although by no means in alcoholic proportions (I took the daytime off!), this was certainly my longest period of consistent intoxication. The worst part: being a broke college student, I chose 40s as my drink of choice.

Although this might come across like binge-drinking denial, the "problem" wasn't the drinking. Instead, I became worried about my gut. First, I let it go: "who cares, this is college, my last year, last time to..." and so forth. But then, I became terribly self-conscious, so I started running a few miles when non-drinking time allowed). Still, the problem continued until a short while after graduation, when I stopped drinking and stepped up my exercise regimen. I encouraged my slimming stomach with a diet that eliminated, among other things, cream cheese-- my favorite spread.

A week ago, I could take it no longer, so I bought fat-free cream cheese. And somehow, inexplicably, it managed to lend the bagel an even blander taste. Three days later, I threw out the stout white tub in disgust, and prayed I wouldn't have to do the same with my copy of the Twilight Singers' Twilight. The connection is simple: I worried that this, Greg Dulli's "side project," would come across as no more than a fat-free version of his full-time band, the Afghan Whigs.

And here I was, just a week ago, telling you in my review of Pele's The Nudes that side projects and offspring bands are almost always sub-par in respect to their original bands. Twilight, however, is a rare exception to the rule. Eschewing the guitar-rock quotient that defines the Afghan Whigs (despite their obvious funk, soul and R&B; influences), Dulli delivers what could be superficially interpreted as a boiled-down version of that band. But the Twilight Singers are 100% fat-full cream cheese: smooth, rich and white.

This is gluttonous music, and it comes with all the accompanying pleasure and guilt. Opening lines rarely come heavier than, "Rock steady, baby, your man is dead," particularly when preempted by an arrangement of orchestral swells, a soft vocal hum, reverberated drumstick claps, and a piano whose notes drip wax-like to the worn, wooden floor. Only when the funky drumming begins does the influence of producers Fila Brazillia, a U.K. electronic/remix duo, become apparent. Other various atmospherics, courtesy of Fila's keyboards, enter the mix, adding a subtle depth that fat-free cream cheese could never possess, no matter how hard Kraft's Philadelphia division tries.

The guilt runs equally deep. Later, on in "The Twilite Kid," Dulli croons, "And if, my love, I said I'm sorry/ Would you believe me?/ Should I cry?/ Then hold me as I die." By the end of the track, Dulli proclaims, "I ain't ever gonna see you again/ And I'm never gonna feel you again/ So let this moment never end." This surely isn't the aggressive, sometimes misogynistic man we've heard on past Afghan Whigs records. Rarely delivering his vocals with the out-of-tune scream required to be heard over the Whigs' loud guitars and raucous cymbals, Dulli instead opts for the more affecting, hushed approach: he sings with genuine soul. Cream cheese can be black or white, I don't care-- as long as it tastes this damn good.

And the rest of the album does, moving from Nick Drakian folk ("That's Just How the Bird Sings," "Into the Street") to unabashed R&B; ("Love," "Annie Mae"); from weightless jazz ("King Only") to laid-back funk ("Clyde," "Last Temptation"). The soul is everywhere, enhanced by added instrumentation (tabla, mellotron, oud, kalimba, sitar, cello, congas, violin and numerous horns), strong complimentary vocalists Harold Winchester (Howlin' Maggie) and Shawn Smith (Brad, Satchel, Pigeonhed), and Fila Brazillia's consistently subtle atmospherics, drumkicks and digital effects. And yet, all these sounds retain the unified mood of twilight, combining the simple love, hope, and beauty of daytime with the dark passion, deception, and mystery of nighttime.

When I flew home last weekend, I was excited to find fresh bagels and cream cheese in the refrigerator. I toasted the bagel, only to find the cream cheese green with fungi despite just a few weeks neglect. Fortunately, Twilight didn't similarly lose its edibility in the three years that Columbia kept an earlier form of it on the shelf (they forced Dulli to first release a Whigs album, 1965). But I'm still annoyed that I haven't been listening to this music for the past three years; for the only discernible weight it adds to my body is in emotional pounds. And I don't have a problem with that.

-Ryan Kearney