Like soldiers marching towards certain doom, British hard rockers stared down the indomitable forces of grunge as they unsheathed their third studio long-player, , in January 1995, never losing faith in the rightness of their musical cause. What choice did they have, anyway? Well, they could have just thrown on the flannel and attempted to infiltrate the enemy lines like so many cowardly, fluffy-haired colleagues and make even bigger fools of themselves in the process, so give the quintet credit for sticking to their guns and facing down their fate like men. Needless to say, got themselves "killed" regardless, poor saps (everywhere but in their homeland the U.K., where this album reached a highly respectable number five), but at least they went down fighting behind every punchy, accessible, yet commendably earthy melodic rock nuggets like and also embraced slightly darker vibes with memorable results on portentous opener ; got the funk out successfully ( ), and not so much ( ); and noticeably toned down over all pomp rock thresholds, particularly on the bluesy (boasting shades of '70s ) and the folksy ballad (another weeper, sounds like a virtual memorial to this dying breed of '80s rock). But what couldn't do was carry on operating with confidence in their talents, as the alternative rock era continued to make mincemeat of their peers while swallowing up most of the media and any touring opportunities that had once been at their disposal. By the time got around to recording their fourth album, 1996's sardonically named , both their hopes and inspiration had pretty much run themselves dry. ~ Eduardo Rivadavia