For a band on their 17th album in the last 20 years, one would expect The Church to spark some recognition in the cluttered minds of indie rock aficionados. Despite their consistently solid output, however, these Australian veterans have escaped widespread notice even in the world of underground rock.

While their New Wave-tinged psychedelic space rock may no longer sound cutting-edge, The Church is nevertheless an unsung hero of the South Pacific. Forget Yourself signals that, as psychedelic rock is entering yet another revival, this group may finally get the attention they have deserved for years.

Put succinctly, The Church sounds like the ‘80s. Their sound hearkens back to many of the Pink Floyd-obsessed British bands of the era who achieved far more recognition than The Church ever has. The instrumentation of Forget Yourself invokes the shimmering psych-pop of Echo and the Bunnymen, the dreamy space rock of Spacemen 3, and the fuzzed-out drones of The Jesus and Mary Chain, with vocals reminiscent of Bono’s signature croon layered on top of it all. All of these bands have perhaps gained more attention over the years for their profound influence on various indie rock trends than for their actual music, which is certainly a factor in the Church’s relegation to obscurity.

While fellow Aussies INXS and Men at Work were pushing their synth-poppy New Wave pap onto legions of adoring American teens, great rock acts from Australia and New Zealand such as Radio Birdman and the Clean have historically been doomed to cult followings in the States (with the notable exception, of course, of AC/DC). With shoegazer and psychedelic revivalist groups like Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, the Stratford 4, and Oneida beginning to gain attention in the music world, however, the time may finally be ripe for the Church to make good on its legacy, and Forget Yourself reasserts this band’s importance as loudly as ever.

Appreciating Charizma requires historical background. A few years after Straight Outta Compton and at the same time as A Tribe Called Quest’s masterful The Low End Theory, a young MC by the name of Charizma was on the rise in L.A. While clearly showing influence from both of the aforementioned albums, especially the jazz beats of Tribe and the quick-fire delivery of Eazy-E or Ice Cube, his flow was so far advanced that many predicted he would be the ‘90s dominant hip-hop force. His music never received wide release, however, due to his untimely death, and so we were left with only a few singles and the promise of master tapes hidden away.

That is of course, until now. Charizma’s long-time collaborator and producer Peanut Butter Wolf went on to form the forward-thinking indie-rap label Stones Throw records (Madlib, MF Doom). Stones Throw has now issued a full-length album from Charizma, using songs recorded in session between 1991 and 1993. Tupac and Biggie have proven the viability of posthumous albums, and Big Shots far exceeds either of those artists post-mortem contributions to the musical world.

The first notable thing about the album is, if not informed as to the back story, one would have no idea that these recordings are over 10 years old. Charizma’s flow is simply so powerful, crisp, and clever that he would fit in, and surpass, most of the MCs alive today. “Here’s a Smirk” starts the album off with a bang; old school beats, a staple of the whole album, ride under Charizma’s description of the b-boy life and his sexual exploits. “Jack the Mack” showcases Charizma’s storytelling abilities, while tracks like “Apple Juice Break” and “Talk About A Girl” focus more on PB Wolf’s legendary beat-making abilities. Outdated terminology litters the album (“apple juice” hasn’t been used since ‘94 as far as I can tell) but anachronisms in vocabulary are easily overlooked.

It’s not clear how much revision there is on the PB Wolf beats, but they fit perfectly with Charizma’s delivery. This is a long overdue and all-around brilliant release from an artist who clearly deserves the hype he once received.