Truth is I almost wish Jack Logan hadn't put out another record so soon after the double-disc Bulk. God knows I'm sucker enough for compulsive songwriters like Billy Childish or Wesley Willis, but the idea of this unknown Southern gentleman holing up with his tunes and his friends and bursting out once or twice a decade with a whole passle of 'em...I dunno, I just liked that idea. But there's no stopping Logan now, and that's all right, too. He's an engaging songwriter with a voice that has Springsteen's huskiness to it. In fact, you can almost picture Jack Logan as Bruce Springsteen in a parallel universe, without fame and fortune, just a fellow and his guitar scrambling out songs and holding the stage at some neighborhood tav on Saturday afternoons, long as it wasn't football season. Or, maybe, as the disc wears on and quiets down some, Mark Eitzel, of the late American Music Club. Mood Elevator's 17 songs (vs. Bulk's 42, but the note inside says they recorded 36 songs in a friend's barn in the middle of an Indiana cornfield, so what's up?) tend to get up and rock a good deal more often than they're going to sit on the porch and twang. The longer you sit with Mood Elevator, the more contemplative the songs become, the longer the night gets, and the whole thing just gets damn fine right about closing time. But it still goes in more directions than a wet puppy.