My sister and I rolled up to the music store with a mission. We were on the verge of a five-hour tour and in dire need of a fresh disc. The choice was predetermined: She had tickets to the upcoming Who / Plant show and wanted to hear Plant's new material. My nephews were with us, so I was elected to stay in the car "for just a minute" while she "ran in." It was early in the day, the boys were feeling every bit of their 2 and 4 year-old oats, and I needed a quick nicotine fix before the haul. I stood beside the car with my door open, periodically braving the flying-matchbox-car-zone of the backseat to make sure neither of them were bleeding.

Finished my smoke, and still no sign of my sister. Back in the car, my youngest nephew found what appeared to be a sandwich made from half an Oreo and dust-bunnies.

"Where'd you get that!?"

Two blank faces stare at me. To much protest, I toss the dust-bunny sandwich out the window, and glance at the clock.
20 minutes to buy a CD in an empty store?
The oldest boy is now helicoptering my sister's cell-phone by the antenna.

"Gimme that!"

Meanwhile, the younger one is still lamenting the loss of his dust-bunny sandwich.
That clock is wrong. Has to be. No way does it take 35 minutes to buy a CD.
A super-ball ricochets off the windshield.
Come on.
Roughly a week later, the door opens and my sister steps out . . . empty handed. WTF?

"Where's the CD?"
"I'm gonna puke!"
"Huh?"
"I couldn't find it, and the girl had never heard of Robert Plant."
"What!? Did you say: Black Dog,? Good Times Bad Times? Did you say Whole Lotta Love? Heartbreaker? Tall Cool One? Did you say frickin' L e d Z e p p e l i n?? What kinda person works in a frickin' music store and doesn't know frickin' Robert Plant?"
"She said they had Eminem on sale."

Feeling a little like Buford Pusser, I marched into the store gave the girl a clue, free of charge. Ok, ok, so I didn't say a word. I just located and purchased the CD with firmly clenched teeth.

Finally, we slice through the hermetically-sealed, hologrammed foil, and slip the disc into the dash. Although the artwork should have been a clue, I was completely unprepared for what ensued. The album runs the gamut of Plant's influences: Middle Eastern, psychedelic, and blues, all brushed with the (relatively) modern styles he helped create in Led Zeppelin and on his solo albums.

After a tumbling version of "Funny In My Mind," Plant lights the candles and slips into his whispered crooning for Morning Dew. The brief spaces in the entrancing melody offer glimpses of a lurking pressure. I waited for an explosion of vocals similar to the breakout in "The Ocean." After the line "You didn't hear no young boy cry," the music rises, all but bursting the tension before descending once again below the rippled surface of Plant's voice. Understatement or underachievement? I would argue the former, as there is something indefinite that compels me to start the CD with track #2.

His version of Dylan's "One More Cup of Coffee" initially struck me as evidence of an ailing voice. Repeated listening, however, revealed haunting similarities to that of the composer. Plant invokes his signature style, and yet retains the atmosphere of the original - an eerie combination.

"Last Time I Saw Her" is an explosion of funk/blues and Middle Eastern guitar peppered with touches of "Now and Zen." The psychedelic experience continues in "Song to the Siren" where the string arrangement is strikingly reminiscent of the sitar in the Beatles "Within You Without You." The pudgy guitar solo might appeal to some Jam Band fans, or those looking for some herbal background music, but it could stand to lose a few bars without detracting from the feel of the song.

"Win My Train Fare Home" is the axis of the entire album. Think The Doors jamming on something similar to "The End," with better sound quality, and an added medley of barely recognizable blues staples at the end. If it were possible to condense Dreamland into one track, this would most likely be the result.