If some future Lenny Kaye collates a Nuggets-style box of ‘90s regional indie-rock obscurities, our prime local candidate for inclusion would have to be Anton Barbeau. He’s got a brittle, luv-it-or-hate-it voice that swerves all over the road looking for that proper note, usually parking in Bob Dylan’s driveway instead—all the better to separate the true acolyte from the impulse shopper. He’s got a massive library filled with songs that range from crystalline Anglophile pop with pronounced references to the likes of Robyn Hitchcock, XTC and Davis’ Game Theory, to way-inside musical jokes best left tucked away on the home four-track sketchbook. He attracts some of the area’s finest musicians to back him up. So why hasn’t Mr. Barbeau made the leap from artist who’s got "cult star’ painted all over his spectacles to international irony icon in a fishing hat? You’ll find the answer in these sides.