The Uzbekistan-based trio's sophomore album ranges from ordinary-sounding retro blues rock ("You Got My Love") to symph-lite pomp-romps ("Something's Wrong") influenced by everything from Blue Oyster Cult & Led Zeppelin to Asia & The Cure. The brotherly tandem of Igor & Constantine Savich handles guitar/keyboard/lead vox & bass duties, respectively, while Art Piyanzin supplies the backbeat. There is nothing spectacular about this release, which seldom ventures beyond competent; e.g., the aforementioned "Something's Wrong" features some very nice guitar soloing a la Buck Dharma or Ritchie Blackmore, with little else to top off its plodding rhythmic structure. Igor Savich's singing voice is a huge detractor, thanks to his monotone delivery—his accent is detectable, but that's not the problem. His gruelly, gravelly voice simply isn't pleasing to the ear—this band direly needs a separate lead singer. "The Absolution" would really benefit from having a different vocalist. The Mellotron string part on "Look Around" was a surprise, but alone it doesn't elevate the tune beyond its distinctly-80s, AOR-sounding platform. Also, the song is two minutes longer than it needs to be, resulting in an exercise in tedium.
"Both To Be Alone" is the longest track (7:02), a ballad that opens with acoustic guitar, adds 'Tron flute, and reveals the best vocal melody (emphasis on melody). "...Alone" is one of the teacupful of tracks that happen to stand out (thus responsible for the rating's extra ˝-star, along with "In The Darkness"). "Shade" sounds like an attempt at a gothrock ballad, if heavier, in the vein of The Cure or The Church—this is something that Georgia-based (USA, not the former Soviet Republic) Cobweb Strange do a whole helluva lot better. Another marginal surprise emerges "In The Darkness," a vehicle in which Igor's stark vocal works in a uniquely bitter way—the arrangement & chord progression is suspect, however, and sounds lifted from somewhere else (the problem with having so many standardized progressions). Otherwise, the buildup and chug-a-chug riffing is pulled off without another pitfall into the banality which Forbidden Lullabies is ripe with.