It's been a little over four years since the world last heard the recorded music of Christopher Thorn and Brad Smith (two-fifths of Blind Melon) on Nico, a collection of rare outtakes and alternate versions of songs off the band's two albums that serves as a memorial to their fallen singer, Shannon Hoon.  The last track on the album is simply a recording of Hoon and a jangly acoustic guitar, spinning a playful, albeit haunting, melody that was taken directly from Thorn's answering machine (the two were reportedly best friends.)  For fans, these recordings lessened the blow of the impetuous singer's tragic demise, but it naturally took the rest of the band quite a while to recover from such an inexplicable loss.  Nonetheless, Thorn has emerged from his period of mourning, guitar in hand, joining friend and fellow Melon, Smith, in launching the highly ambitious Unified Theory.  The full-bodied, painstakingly fresh sound heard on the band's first release is a bold departure from the eclectic, backwoods swirl that landed Blind Melon on the shoulders of Rock's neo-hippie movement.  The album thrives in a warm, layered mix of dreamy textures and saturated rhythms that provides a perfect home for Thorn's rising tide of understated, yet unrelenting, guitar and vocalist Chris Shinn's soaring, high end delivery.  Because Shinn hovers somewhere in the stratosphere, comparisons to Hoon and his familiar elevated rasp can be made, but the newcomer's polished tone and unwavering melodic strength bring light to a distinctive and oftentimes brilliant gift.  His voice possesses the androgynous, gossamer quality of say, Jon Anderson of Yes, but also flashes a fiery edge that burns like Perry Farrell's.

   Unified Theory is surprisingly well rounded (a tremendous first attempt at unaided production by Thorn, Smith, and Shinn) and avoids the temptation to steal success on the weight of one or two hit singles.  The first half serves up tantalizing morsels of uplifting melody and driving rhythm, and proves that the three share a genuine connection as collaborative songwriters.  "Cessna," the first track, introduces a feeling of airy bliss that pervades the album.  Shinn's vocal rises with determination as he describes a flight towards the heavens in pursuit of a spiritual center, while a breezy backing vocal and a vacuum-like sound effect soar like tandem condors.  A powerful feeling of movement takes hold, as the escalating verse culminates in the lyrics "falling my way into God" and then, recapturing the backing vocal, shifts into a chorus of "I'm going down."  Folksy acoustic guitar introduces "Wither," a song that hints at melancholy but is awash in light due to the effortless, soothing tone of its chorus and Smith's warm, rolling bass.  Unified Theory's cathartic aim is fully revealed on "The Sun Will Come," a simple statement of faith in a higher force.  Most of Shinn's lyrics revolve around hopeful self-examination, drawing heavily on natural symbolism to color the listener's imagination.  The lush, streaming force of the music thoroughly supports this style.  "A.M. Radio" is a pure gem of inspired songwriting that builds itself on a variety of tones, textures, and exploring rhythms, and bursts forth with an irresistible chorus.  A spacey guitar squiggle, which recalls the quirky rhythmic tremor at the heart of David Bowie's "Ashes to Ashes," and Smith's grooving bass line join Thorn's dirty chord pattern and Shinn's breathy soul at the song's outset. In another smooth transition, Unified Theory take pleasure in a brief breakdown to jam on the undulating rhythm they've created. Soon, the song shifts into a gorgeous, flowing bridge that clears a path for the effervescent chorus.

    Thorn and Smith have nurtured the joyful celebration and experimentalist songwriting spirit that fueled Blind Melon, and raised a crop of songs that displays a devotion to musical craftsmanship, a subtle use of mood and atmosphere, and a vibrancy that comes from the band's collective musical aim.   In Shinn, Unified Theory have a shimmering talent: a musician taking aim at transcendence while avoiding the pretension such aims often bring.  Thorn and Smith have taken a giant first step, catapulting themselves from the "those were the guys in Blind Melon" phase of their music careers and into a whole new arena of possibility.  But it's clear they have no regrets. "Keep On," the album's final track is a crashing, cautionary romp that hints at the struggle of their fallen friend and musical partner.  The image of a solitary man fighting a symbolic, raging sea is something anyone can relate to, and if the song was indeed written with Hoon in mind, Unified Theory did it intelligently without being heavy-handed or melodramatic.  It's what you'd expect after listening to the first eleven songs.