Something about this disc strikes me as truly ambitious. Michael Hall is the missing link, bridging weary, bi-coastal cool/guitar-and-sunglasses sensibility with the common sense of a Texas singer-songwriter who's prone to speaking his mind. In some twisted way, it seems inevitable that he'd end up in the nether regions of (c)old Chicago to record this album. What this means is that we get to take a good look at what's going on inside Hall's head on Day, and it turns out to be quite dark and somewhat foreboding. While he perceives a great deal of trouble in the world, Hall's religious overtones promise ultimate salvation. The album's music is precise and his imagery vivid. There really hasn't been someone who sings about Jesus like this since Lou Reed left the Velvet Underground. Hall's modest voice approaches us in a familiar, conversational manner. His compositions reveal a virulent political rebel forecasting the inevitable toll of modern life and how we choose to live it. On "Rise", he exclaims, "Our so-called leaders, as false as the hinges of hell / Wherever the carcass, there will be vultures as well." Sparks fly as Hall castigates the masters of war and all that they survey. The music on Day is at once stately and down-home. Assorted Poi Dogs show up to lend a hand, contributing jazzy and folk interludes as well as your standard-issue, elemental rock 'n' roll. Fellow Austin expatriate Susan Voelz shines on violin, contributing depth and atmosphere to the songs of her partner in rhyme. On "I Can't Make You Happy Anymore", the band gets into a game of tension-and-release while Hall repeatedly explains to his lover that there just ain't nothing left for them. "Life is woe and regret," Hall tells us not once, but on two different songs. One gets the sense that creating challenging music helps him make it through the night. The tortured artist in full effect, he is in no way lacking inspiration. Now, if we could just get the guy to lighten up without losing his immensely creative edge.--No Depression magazine