Jesus Christ, I'm rusty. It's been months since I've written a review and I've got to wonder if I still can. It's like the time that I borrowed my buddy's Chopper and rode it for a while, becoming the master of popped- wheelies before returning it to him. After a few months, he got sick of it and sold the bike to me. I popped my first glorious wheelie on this new, wonderful bike-- a shining, glorious wheelie-- as I sped around the turn of Forge Lane and Concord Avenue.

The wind blew through my hair, my balance was godlike, and I knew I'd achieved greatness in puberty. Then the bike popped out from under my large ass and I came crashing down at terminal velocity. The new bike bounced and bounded away from me, its shiny parts clattering and scraping against the merciless pavement. Likewise, my aforementioned ass made more of a sandpaper noise as it ground into the pavement, a noise that was quickly drowned out under the malicious laughter of my friends.

The Chopper was battered and bruised, never to be the same again. And though my climactic moment of triumph had succumbed to monumental failure, I did have that one fleeting moment of glory to cling to. The funniest thing I remember about it was the silence-- the pure, featherweight silence-- before the horrendous collapse.

Tom Daily's Tragedy of Fanbelts strikes a chord that brings that adolescent failure to mind. It speaks to moments filled with hope and possibility the second before that potential greatness is reduced to shame and disgrace. It bears regrets from the vapor of fond memories.

It's not surprising that Tom crafts softly urgent pop- punk ballads that ring true-- he's an alumni of the Smoking Popes and Not Rebecca, two bands that are notable for a "more emo than emo" ethic. But Tom isn't what I'd call emo, exactly. His fragile, aluminum voice is framed by alternately delicate and distorted guitar picking, accompanied by the drums of Mike Felumlee and guitars of Eli Caterer, both Popes alumnae as well. But wait a minute-- am I telling you that Daily's band is comprised of three ex- members of the Smoking Popes? Well, yes and no. Tragedy of Fanbelts is clearly Tom's show, and Eli and Mike are just two of the six guest musicians that play.

Tragedy of Fanbelts doesn't crash and burn like my fat pubescent ass on a speeding chopper-- in fact, the album is held tightly together and benefits by the many like- minded hands involved. But it has one weakness: its running time. At a mere 20 minutes, it will leave Popes fans hungry for something more substantial. Yet, for those brief 20 minutes, the whirring of spokes and the echo of the Popes can almost be heard, and that's a glorious, if not silent, thing.

-James P. Wisdom