Several recent bands have dared to strut across the marshy ground between seriousness and pastiche (The Darkness, Circulus, Towers Of London), but rarely as anything more than a quirky marketing gimmick. So, Chicagoan art-popper Bobby Conn’s progtastic jazz-fusion album, complete with bongos and a choir singing in Latin, really sets the alarm bells ringing. And, his carefully drawn replicas of Nilsson-esque ’70s soft-pop like ‘Love Won’t Let Me Down’ nearly knock the clappers out. Conn, though, resurrects a more innocent age of rock messiahdom in order to wrestle big ideas (Scientology, stardom, toe-sucking). It’s guiltily satisfying in a bearded, nodding sort of way, but there’s little to grab on to in such an ironic hall of mirrors.