Jeez, reality really does bite. And being twentysomething sucks. No jobs, no health care, and parents still don't get it. But love's kinda cool. And on their first album, Billy Pilgrim realize this. Armed with acoustic guitars and unfaltering harmonies, they venture into their generation's booby-trapped battlefield, and surprisingly, angst hasn't sounded this good in a long time.

Billy Pilgrim are actually Andrew Hyra and Kristian Bush, graduates of Atlanta's progressive folk-rock scene, and while they're far from revolutionary, they've latched onto a sensibility that cuts slap through the bone en route to the heart. This isn't to suggest that their stuff is sappy or slug-paced. It's quite the opposite, thanks to Don McCollister and Hugh Padgham's superslick production. Also contributing to this success is Kenny Aronoff and his signature percussion.

Billy Pilgrim are smart, catchy and sometimes unnervingly intense. Hanging on to vowels and spitting out consonants, Hyra belts with so much contained conviction that you want to scoop him up and tote him out of there.

Because of geographical proximity and exquisite guitarmanship, Hyra and Bush will undoubtedly suffer from Indigo Girls comparisons (Emily Saliers even lends vocals on "Insomniac"). But they're no Indigo Boys. Rarely do they wallow in their discontent, and they even have fun on songs like the wonderfully addictive ode to love in superflux, "Hula Hoop."

A few songs do seem awkward, and at times, lyrics are unintentionally silly for the sake of rhyme ("I've tried everything short of Aristotle/To Dramamine and the whiskey bottle," from "Insomniac"). But those complaints are petty when you look at Billy Pilgrim as a passionate debut that taps into both the delights and disappointments of a generation that simply wants the comfort of what love can provide. That's where the urgency lies, and Billy Pilgrim play it as it lays. (RS 683)

CHUCK DEAN