2013 solo debut from the former Sic Alps man. Lyrically, Mike's sharpened the lead for a less random line drawn in the sand - but he's still alit on allusive trips, lost in crystal canyons, turning a phrase with an acid flick of the wrist-watch. In this life, there is a brooding pregnancy as he intones over some front-porch 21st-century j'accuse-tic blues with a blur of bygone, half-plugged, elegiac slow-mo Rock 'n' Roll rubbed in for good measure. Guitars intersecting in the manner of the old loom the Stones once used, weaving in blue. Where rubric becomes fabric becomes freecidelic. Confronting the empty in acrostic (inner) space, Wot is Plastic Ono dyspeptic arrhythmia, with Mike's soul shout outs at the five-and-dime buried in the symmetry. The dream is over, so he's starting a new dream.