Ironically, when all the dust has settled, Morgion's third lament of doom and gloom, 2004's five-years-in-the-making Cloaked by Ages, Crowned in Earth, is revealed as a lot of deceptive cloaking not crowned in enough substance.

Yes, on the surface, all initially appears to be well (or at least as "well" as one could expect) in the fog-encircled wastelands conjured by SoCal's premiere doom-death merchants; but peel back the leathery outer skin and a major organ -- possibly the band's very heart in the shape of former vocalist/bassist/songwriter Jeremy Peto -- has been excised, thus removing a key component of the original organism.

OK, so, aesthetically speaking, his loss is only minimally felt, but as typically slow-building new epics of despair like "The Mourners Oak," the sprawling "Ebb Tide, Pts.

1 & 2," and the chillingly beautiful (but also too damn sprawling) title track become increasingly lost amid the album's impenetrable haze, Peto's absent songwriting contributions become sorely missed.

The album's lone quick numbers ("Trillium") and scant innovations (generally more abundant but unconvincing clean vocals and all around understated -- i.e., less heavy -- ambiance) fare no better, and, barring a couple of standout offerings in the beautifully dreary "A Slow Succumbing" and the hauntingly mournful "She, the Master Covets," it's all sadly a case of way too much rambling, unfocused, undisciplined creativity.

Dour-faced lovers of all things depressing will still enjoy momentary flashes of suicidal bliss here, mind you, but memories of Morgion's glories past will similarly haunt those who experienced them -- at least pending future developments.