Album Reviews

The Canadian folk/rocker’s vital third album opens with an ambitious, though somewhat out of character tune featuring a melodic line and driving rhythmic pulse reminiscent of something that might have been penned by Death Cab For Cutie’s Ben Gibbard, though the vocal is unmistakably Edwards’: a feathery, vulnerable-yet-stoic tone fitted to unadorned, precise phrasing that can comfortably draw out a one syllable word the length of a football field.

The complex, brilliantly arranged production by Jim Scott (Whiskeytown, Tom Petty and a long list of impressive mixing credits) signals a shift as well, with a stable of top studio musicians (including Benmont Tench and Greg Leisz, among others) in place of her touring band used on 2005’sBack to Me, though a few of them appear here as well.

The opener, “Buffalo,” about returning home after “1001 shows,” even includes strings, but lest the listener think the usually tough-edged gal has gone soft, she follows it by spitting out (you always play me in) “The Cheapest Key,” a three chord crunch-guitar rocker that uses the alphabet to spell out an on and off-stage dispute (“E is the exit sign backstage I chose,” “F is my favorite letter as you know”).

Though a throw away, the song serves to re-establish the fan base’s expectations and leads into the title track, a more typical Edwards mid-tempo rocker that underscores the break-up vulnerability explored in-depth on Failer, Ms. Edwards’ noteworthy debut.

The album hits an emotional peak (or valley) on “Alicia Ross,” a young girl’s chilling account of being accosted by a neighbor and either raped or murdered (“Now I’m a girl’s face they’ll never forget”).

The set wisely and abruptly shifts gears to the whimsical, pedal-steel drenched country/rocker “I Make the Dough, You Get the Glory,” a breezy, nostalgic road tune with references to Elvis, the brawling NHL player Marty McSorley, and lines like “I’m a Ford Tempo, you’re a Maserati,” and “You’re the Concorde, I’m economy.”

(I won’t fight in an) “Oil Man’s War,” is about modern day draft dodging, while “Sure As Shit” is a tentative but hopeful letter packed in a suitcase to a lover about to embark on a long work excursion.

“Run,” sung from the point of view of a physician (“I have been a healer of other people’s pain”) who, I think, confronts the scene of her own son’s accidental demise (lyric sheet not provided, and many words get swallowed by reverb).

“Oh Canada” is a powerful, hard-bitten Neil Young and Crazy Horse-like state of the world rant.

“Goodnight California,” a slow, echoey, string-drenched denoument, ends the set as sumptuously as it began, emphasizing Edwards’ strong thematic ties to Neil Young. “Old Black” watches over all here.

While the album treads familiar musical ground, the atmospheric production adds vital propulsion to Edwards’ keenly observed vignettes and she remains one of the most interesting young singer/songwriting talents around. You’ll come away from a deep listen feeling you’ve been somewhere worthwhile and felt things that are important.

Judged by today’s abysmally low standards, Asking For Flowers sounds pretty good. It’s particularly well-organized, with the instruments tucked neatly into spaces arrayed across the stage. Edwards’ voice has a generally unprocessed suppleness and delicacy missing from many contemporary female recordings, though the sibilants can hit hard and she’s best heard here at a relatively low volume. Bottom end extension is reasonably deep.

However, put on any mid-seventies Neil Young album and you’ll feel the terrible sonic loss we’re suffering. Despite Jim Scott’s best efforts, nothing sounds remotely real. The best recordings approach reality. This screams recording. The picture gets painted across a flat, two-dimensional space, cymbals mostly sound dark, crunchy and congealed and the rest of the drum kit, especially the pathetic little kick drum sounds cardboardy and castrated. There’s too much compression (what else is new?) and the whole package is devoid of air and the breath of life.

The louder you turn up a great recording the better it sounds. The louder you play this, the more painful it gets as the music struggles with even greater ferocity to break free of the constraining digital chain gang. I am certain the producer/engineer is well aware of this and was constrained by a relatively skimpy budget. Under that circumstance, this is better than could have been expected. Better to put the money into the great musicians and the arrangements.

If this isn’t a ProTools recording I’ll eat a reel of Ampex 456 (that’s a cop-out because no one in their right mind would allow one to be destroyed). It has all of the dark, congealed, airless ProTools sonic fingerprints. ProTools sucks. It is an abomination. It is the musical equivalent of the burnt beans Starbucks passes off as gourmet coffee. It is the music business’s poison pill. It repels people who don’t even know they are being repelled. It is why people hardly listen to music anymore. They hear it but they don’t really listen. ProTools is literally unlistenable.

Ms. Edwards is very listenable however, and as with her other albums reviewed elsewhere on this site, Asking For Flowers is easy to recommend. With three consistent, compelling albums to her credit, it is safe to say that Kathleen Edwards is the real deal.