The more things change, the more Alan Parsons albums stay the same. It"s entirely fitting that this sonically flawless opus should be called The Time Machine. Born in the excesses and conceptual frenzy of mid-"70s prog rock, Parsons"s familiar methodology once again shrewdly employs an almost-star cast of musical vets to do the heavy lifting (among them vocalists Colin Blunstone, Beverly Craven, Spandau Ballet"s Tony Hadley, and chief musical architect/guitarist Ian Bairnson). Meanwhile, legendary producer and engineer Parsons twiddles the knobs and slides the levers, just like the Great Oz. Fans will find that Parsons, perhaps the only producer since Phil Spector with big enough cajones to become his own virtual raison d"être, has successfully stayed his familiar course. And if the result is something akin to Pink Floyd lite meets Kenny G in the New Age aisle at your local Natural Wonders outlet, thus has it ever been. While it lyrically renders H.G. Wells"s original novel all touchy-feely and virtually unrecognizable, musically it"s a reaffirmation that Parsons--not Toto, Journey, or a score of lesser pretenders to the mantle--is the real godfather of corporate rock. Dust off those headphones. Jerry McCulley