CD. Dino Valente s sole album recalls the one issued by another San Francisco artist signed to CBS in the late 60s Skip Spence: quirky lyrically vague folky yet psychedelic and nearly devoid of commercial potential in spite of its largely pleasant (if moody) melodies and textures. Valente however was not as intriguing a lyricist as Spence nor as intensely soulful a vocalist and overall much sunnier in tone. Valente had a rather whiny voice so it was wise to put so much echo on both his 12-string guitar (which accounts for most of the instrumentation on the record) and vocals which both covered up some of his vocal deficiencies and added a sheath of mystery. Listening to his songs is like listening to some hippie trying to talk a vulnerable confused attractive girl on the rebound from a failed romance into taking up with him as a panacea to her problems: phrases are uttered and rejoinders offered but one can t be sure exactly what the situation is or where it s leading. It s not the insufferable experience this description might lead you to expect mostly because of the enticing (if similar-sounding) melancholy of the tunes. [The CD reissue added two previously unreleased tracks that are similar to the rest of the album in both mood and quality.] ~ Richie Unterberger Rovi