Like all compilation productions, unevenness is bound to rear its head in some shape or form, and it's no stranger here. But it is unusual, perhaps, that the first jagged edge is Bowie's "1984" (the song inspired by George Orwell's work). Though a fine number on its own, and despite what sounds like a little studio brightening up, the song seems to clash against the two previous numbers, which are a bit more subdued, folky or new age in sound. But, hey, the song is almost 30 years old, and it's the source of inspiration that should be considered, right?

Unevenness aside, the consistency of the disc lies in its musical genre, and that would be the alternative-folk country area. Many of the tunes have a lazy, laid-back hue, such as Patti Witten's "Goin' Back to Moline," though a fiery lead guitar does jump up for a moment. Inspired by the novel, "Mr. White's Confession," by Robert Clark, it is a haunting and beautiful number. On the flip side, the closing tune, "Peel This Away," is a heavy rock number, dark like Alice in Chains, but given the source of inspiration (Elie Wiesel's "Night"), you wouldn't expect something light and happy.

After a few spins, you get the sense that this is smarter-than-average songwriting, a more elite coffeehouse crowd for the most part (and that's not a denigrating comment). Ultimately, I applaud the efforts to increase literacy, or any sort of education for that matter, and the loss of a week's worth of mocha grandes by dropping the fifteen bucks on this disc would be money well spent. For more information, head on over to siblproject.org.

And doubtless many Beatles/Harrison aficionados will examine this disc with microscopic precision, offering insights into better versions, debating merits till the cows come home. But, hey, I already told you, I ain't like that. And as unbalanced as tribute discs often are, mired down by too many stylistic variations and all, this disc is surprisingly comfortable in the CD player here. It showcases Harrison's abilities as a songwriter, demonstrating just how much depth he had. For example, though Rundgren stays close to the original sound of "While My Guitar Gently Weeps," his powerful studio rendition gives a fullness not realized on the more well-known version. Similarly, the late John Entwistle's take on "Here Comes the Sun" turns it into a power-chord-smashing Who version; the song remains the same, but there's a raw, almost punk feel that energizes the number.

The Smithereens give a lush feel to "I Want to Tell You," which again, feels at once true to the original, while also subtly injecting vigor and a hint of modern times. And Bill Wyman's Rhythm Kings stay fairly close to "Taxman" as well, though a Memphis funk undercurrent adds an edge. Probably the real kicker, the number that will have you smiling the most, is Leslie West's take on "Old Brown Shoe," giving it a swamp-rock New Orleans feel. The wicked slide work alone (a nod to Harrison's talent as well), is positively liquid, oozing out of the speakers.

Beatles fanatics, with their overbearing zealotry, may dissect this disc a bit more than your average Joe, and may certainly be harder on it than me. (Beatles fans, Trekkies, you know how they can get.) But from my perspective, the more I play it, the more I like it. The disc causes me to reflect on what Harrison did, and perhaps I'll find time to revisit his catalogue of work. Who knows, I may turn into a foaming-mouth radical myself.