Here we are. Another instrumental rock guitar album. But let’s not dismiss this one too soon. Although it’s true that Patrick DeCoste seems just another guitar afficionado, who decided to cut an album, a closer listen will reveal that his musical horizons and eclectic background are much broader than those of your average Joe with an amp.

The album combines the best aspects of an era that is now all but forgotten with the mastery of Jeff Beck and sensous delays of Eric Johnson, yet always looking for a personal touch and that elusive odd jazz note. It’s not groundreaking, but it’s fresh, expressive and has something to say. The technique is certainly there although it never dominates the music, which is probably the most important guideline in making a contemporary guitar record (if this term and notion even exist today).There is, of course, the ever present and very much palpable shadow of Joe Satriani, who seems to be the main reference point of virtually every similar product in the last two decades.

Let’s face it. It’s an album that will probably not make to the top of the trendy Billboard chart but, it has many other useful purpouses. Here’s one: Put it in your car stereo, take the top down and take a long summer drive to somewhere you’ve never been, but have always longed to go. This is, ultimately, the real purpouse of music.

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