It's taken them more than a decade and seven albums, but Screaming Trees have finally made the record they've always had in them. In the past, saddled with low-budget production and a looser grasp of rock's primal rhythm, the Trees seemed doomed to remain a second-string band. It was singer Mark Lanegan's first solo project, The Winding Sheet (1990), that suggested they were capable of more. Lanegan's voice, a warm, pure baritone, delivered the blues with the skill of an old master, avoiding hysteria for the dignified grace of a man who was down but not out. His second release, Whiskey for the Holy Ghost (1994), was even deeper, but within the same period, the Trees themselves didn't accomplish much, barely denting alternative-rock consciousness with "Nearly Lost You," from 1992's Sweet Oblivion.

MTV-era attention spans being what they are, the four-year gap between Screaming Trees releases ensures that Dust has a lot riding on it. In 10 solid psychedelic doses, the album carefully masters the balance between the Trees' punk-garage roots and their more complex lysergic visions. The songwriting formula is a good one: open delicately and work toward a climax. A plaintive acoustic guitar begins the down-homey "Dying Days," special guest Benmont Tench slips his organ in for atmosphere, and before long, layers of overdriven guitars and backup singers create the loudest back-porch sing-along in years.

More beautiful is "Sworn and Broken," which matches Lanegan's world-weary railroad whine with the guaranteed weepiness a cello brings. "Look at You" begins as a simple song of resignation before the somber tones resonate through increased amplification. The sitars of "Halo of Ashes" begin simply enough, then break into a Middle Eastern frenzy that Ravi Shankar would be proud of. The age-old lament "Gospel Plow" receives fresh life, since the Trees refuse to fossilize it with reverence.

Previously, you needed a good imagination to see where Screaming Trees were attempting to take their music. With Dust, they finally get there. (RS 738/739)

ROB O'CONNOR