Late one recent MTV night, here was an attention-getter: the most blustery Brit vocalist since Electric-era Ian Astbury hollering a directive to “place your hands on my hole” so as to allow the fingers to soothe his soul. Despite the band’s generically hippie-ish riff-rocking, it was a genuine oddity. Of course, that wasn’t what Gary Stringer was saying at all; instead, he was pointing toward his hope, somehow marble-mouthing his way into a facsimile of a rhyme. “Place Your Hands” is only the start of Glow, a near-hourlong blend of Humble Pie-style macho, yeah-peace-man insight, and outright chutzpah that’s pure 1971 and silly enough in 1997 to get you shaking your head in admiration of a sort: Even the Replacements never went quite this far in their deconstruction of the FM ethos. Rarely does a record so puzzling come along this far into the rock game; to paraphrase Steve Martin, what the heck is it? A good bad album, a failed effort at a work of quality, or just plain shit? As the first-Stooges-album lumber of “Lately Stomping” shuffles onto a “Psychedelic Shack” bridge, you may be laughing too hard to decide. The feeling that these guys somehow have more to offer than Marilyn Manson or even Hanson—there’s another, er, assonance for ya, guy—is hard to shake, though. More Inspirational Verse: “When I was younger than now I am/I liked swimming/So I swam.”—Rickey Wright