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"Cabinessence feels kind of like walking down a rain-soaked street in the springtime as the sun warms your skin and reflects off the wet concrete while shining through the newly greened leaves 'til the glow overtakes your eyes and you can't quite see," writes Andrew R. Tonry of the Portland Mercury. "Maybe like walking home after morning sex, before coffee and a day off."

It takes a special band to inspire a professional writer to such aimlessly sprawling similes, but maybe he's right. It's the kind of music that gets in your head and takes up residence; vintage keyboards and angular guitars, ghostly pedal steel and syrupy Hammond organ, a trio of voices meditating over vaguely familiar melodies with soft hands and sharp teeth.

Borne out of the patchouli-soaked rainforest of Oregon's southern Willamette Valley, Cabinessence peppers its space-hippie country with sultry, Bolan-esque glam rock and bizarro flashes of ass-shaking motor-city funk. The ghosts of Brian Wilson and Phil Spector haunt these walls—or they would, if either of them were dead.