By Darryl Cater

Mayesa Dasa tells an old story. Musically, he walks in the footsteps of Neil Young: high-pitched, unkempt, warbling vocals; acoustic decor with electric guitar trim, 1970s acoustic rock sensibility. Lyrically, he stencils the archetypes of Eastern and Western philosophies, championing the universality of spiritual traditions and challenging religious exclusivists--in one song, he has sharp barbs for those who believe in "heaven for me, no heaven for you, heaven for me and
mine."

Again and again, the album speaks of a universal heaven. To Dasa life on earth is clearly a shadowy prison cell, heaven a bright tie-died wonderland--an Ocean of Dreams to which the soul will fly. One song, "Prisoners," evolves from a relatively unremarkable three minute pop ballad with spiritual lyrics ("We're really not these bodies / We're eternal souls / The world is but a stage / where we play out many roles / Our real selves forgotten / and our eternal friends so dear / Life after lifetime / Prisoners") into a four-minute mellow jam with electric bass, looping acoustic guitar chords and synth string orchestration. The final minute of the song gives way to a Krishna chant. It's not a big band, but a versatile one: Dasa plays acoustic guitar and also contributes lead electric guitar. He is joined by Tom Nickeson, formerly of Pavolv's Dog (a prog-rock band from St. Louis who were chased aggressively by a major label in the 1970s before the label's whims changed and inter-band squabbles torpedoed the climb to fame and fortune), who plays acoustic and lead guitar, keyboard bass and percussion. Steve Strayhorn mans the drums. To paint this dreamy portrait of a heavenly wonderland, Dasa uses pretty familiar sounds, well played if not particularly original. Why be
original when all the great stories have been told, only to be told again?

For the most part, the unthreatening, melodic acoustic settings are well-suited to the lyrical themes. He falters only when the likeable eccentricity of his faltering mellow vocals fall annoyingly flat, and in his trite use of synthesizers (which, fortunately, are used minimally)--look, the synthesizers try to say, how big and sweeping are Mayesa Dasa's themes. If only he could afford an orchestra or a real piano.

The best moments on the album tend to happen when the band loosens its grip on pop structure and gives into mellow looping jams, seeking Nirvana via instrumental reflection.





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