The limitations of pop terminology being what they are, my use of the word "dreamy" may be clouded with unfortunate associations. And what a shame, because if Neil Halstead's career-- from Slowdive to Mojave 3-- were, say, the hint in a "Super Password" bonus round, "dreamy" would be the $500 answer hiding behind that plastic blue slipcard. (Burt Convy confirmed this late last night when I ran into him at the supermarket. Then he gave me my change and sighed wistfully.)

Apparently not content with being the dominant creative force in Mojave 3, Halstead has now launched a solo career. And his first strictly-Neil outing, Sleeping on Roads, is, perhaps unsurprisingly, a pretty dreamy affair. It's the sort of disc you'd want to have on hand for scenic twilight drives (provided you're not the one driving), what with its deft arrangements and mild vocals. It's an easy listen. I took a long, gratifying nap yesterday while this album played on repeat. And if that makes you cringe, you're probably better off spending your money on something a little more upbeat. Like Ida.

To be fair, "See You on Rooftops" is, by extremely liberal standards, something of a rocker-- a muted, southern-fried electric guitar line seers over sudden bursts of jungle-like breakbeats while warped keyboard tones echo Boards of Canada's signature style. Here, Halstead builds, with the assistance of friends (including fellow Mojave 3/Slowdive bandmate Ian McCutcheon), an expansive sound-- heavy on ambient drones, electronic strings, and celestial sound effects.

But "See You on Rooftops" and the record's opener, "Seasons," are atypical on an album primarily comprised of the slow and sad (think Nick Drake with a synth), even if some of the more maudlin tracks do integrate off-beat instrumentation. The title song features both banjo and dobro, yet narrowly avoids sounding country. There's also a half-cover of Damien Jurado's "Ohio" (Halstead acknowledges borrowing the melody, though he's written a new set of lyrics for it), and a considerable amount of material that sounds just a hell of a lot like Belle and Sebastian, albeit without the lyrical smirk.

Sleeping on Roads concludes with the spare, acoustic "High Hopes," one of its most affecting, and depressing, moments. Halstead does tack a happy ending of sorts onto the record, though. After several moments of silence, the listener is treated to a quick taste of some of Neil's trademark dream-pop as the album fades out. The literal closing lullaby-- perfect for a short, sleepy, clever comment before moving onto greener pastures where sheep always jump placidly over flowered hedges.

But I'll be direct here: this is a far cry from Neil's artistic apex. Of course, it's comforting to realize he clearly isn't saving his best work for his solo records and thus, holding out on Mojave 3. Which isn't to say Sleeping on Roads is without its charms. But taking into account the sometimes spotty songwriting and its overtly dreamy similarities to Mojave 3 (like if they'd had a back massage and 1200mg's of Valium), there isn't much to save it from solo slump status. I mean, sure, it sounds nice and all, but the guy has records out there like Souvlaki and Ask Me Tomorrow. Trust me when I say you'd rather be listening to those instead.

-Alison Fields, March 19th, 2002