Religion is often condemned for its narrow-mindedness and hypocrisy, but the faith that Scott Cantino (vocals, guitars, harmonica) sings about on Rejoice is not one of brimstone or ritual; instead he is exploring a purer spirituality, something almost all people can understand and feel. The music conveys an optimism that everything is not lost, that the world is not as dark as it appears to be, and that eternity is branded on everyone's soul.

             I have a hard time writing about this album, because every time I sit down and listen I get carried away, drifting through time and space on a melody that never seems to stop ... until I am interrupted by my roommate.

             "Hotel Underground," I respond while trying to get a grip back on reality.

             "Oh ... they sound nice," is all he says before going to the kitchen.

             And I am off again, dreaming of dirt streets and old town charms.

             Formed in Southern California early last year, Hotel Underground has already crafted a seemingly flawless full-length album filled with hurt, longing, and hope without falling into the trap of sounding pretentious or pathetic. The band's country-tinged rock and roll debut follows a tour-exclusive EP called The Poor Man.

             "We booked this last tour, knowing that there was only about a ten percent chance our album, Rejoice, would be done in time," the band told me. "So, it came time to leave for tour, and of course the album was not done yet, so we decided to take some tracks we recorded ourselves and make up a CD to sell/help promote on tour—hence the title, because we are poor and it took almost no money for us to make."

             Scott Cantino's vision is held together with the help of Abdeel Ortega (drums) and Nestor Romero (bass), both of whom were part of another Americana outfit, Mustache Carl, that had been on the same label.

             "On And On" opens the record with a harmonica intro that brings to mind Blues Traveler or Ryan Adams, until Cantino begins singing and you get a glimpse into his world, one of holding strong and standing tall through any problem that appears. "Pretty Girl, Lonely Town" continues to travel through a short but sweet chorus of redemption and change—one of the great aspects of this album is that each song is written as a story, a paragraph of the writer's life.

             "America" is a blistering reflection of life in these United States, where personal accountability is becoming extinct, and "Traveling Man" offers the album's most potent of melancholy reflections—I heard there is nothing worse than death down here, well I died long ago, left my wretched body and went home.

             The title track closes out the album with a simple melody and an urging for listeners to not despair but "rejoice" in the problems that arise during life, because "the end is just a beginning."