Oh, what a fine but probably realistically impossible thing it would be to see Chuck Prophet get away with it. As guitarist with Green On Red, Prophet devoted most of the Eighties to producing savage, diseased, rock'n'roll records that felt as sickly and gratifying as a good hangover, reaching a queasy apotheosis with the classic "Here Come The Snakes", which you should have bought yesterday.
"Feast Of Hearts" isn't quite the squalid Bukowski-with-a-Telecaster excesses of bygone days, but finds Prophet maturing with some poise and a just sufficiently arched eyebrow. Musically there's nothing here that people who willingly spend money on Tom Petty records would find difficult, but Prophet still knows his way around a couplet of tequila philosophy. The current favourite is, "I've got a wolf at the door/And a dog in the pound" from "Hungry Town", except when it's "The days crawl by single file/She made the river in my heart flow/Then she crossed it alone" from "How Many Angels". Prophet sings all these like the missing link between Bob Dylan and Paul Westerberg, which is only reasonable, as that's what he is.
The idea of this wilful delinquent kidnapping Garth Brooks' demographic at this point is, as we have learned, just too poetic to be likely, but there's no reason why he shouldn't be clasped to the wheezing hearts of those of you who've learnt to love Neil Young, Chris Whitley or Matthew Sweet. A minor triumph.