Edith is quickly becoming my favorite Frost. Jack, who showed up for the first time in these parts last night, is a bastard. He made me late for work by forcing me to scrape my windshield at 6:00 a.m. Robert, the sappy, mass-appeal scribe, is the Barry Manilow of poets. He has the dubious distinction of being the first object of scorn for most people after they develop their literary palate beyond the 6th grade level. That leaves Edith, tied with former Huskers quarterback Scott Frost, architect of one of the most spectacular last-minute, game-winning plays in NCAA history-- a deflected endzone desperation pass that propelled his team to the 1997 national championship.
Actually, Edith and Scott have their similarities. Edith, too, came unexpectedly into the national spotlight in 1997, not on the strength of her right arm, but rather her critically acclaimed debut, Calling Over Time. And Scott was drafted by the Jets not as a quarterback, but instead to make the leap to defense in the strong safety position, which is faintly analogous to the change in direction in Edith's shake-'em-up sophomore effort, the psychedelic and electrified Telescopic, which many surprised fans took to be a veer off of the well-worn, singer/songwriter path she'd started down.
But this is Pitchfork; we're not here to make clunky comparisons and stretched linkages (no, really). We're here to review quality music. And luckily, Edith's third full-length, this summer's mellifluously titled Wonder Wonder, has plenty of that.
Half the tracks on the disc are upbeat, unbrooding affairs. Not rockers, but songs that aim for optimism and whimsy, and hit the mark dead center. Equally whimsical in the instrumentation, the album is sprinkled throughout with bells, chimes, shakers, and a cocktail of other percussive oddities, as well as a weird bass harmonica on a couple tracks that sounds like a dead-ringer for a baritone sax.
The title track is perhaps a too-perfect example of both of these characteristics. Kitchen drawer-percussion horse-clops beneath a goofball bouncy beat and melody, driving the song along at a canter. A carefree clarinet solo is offbeat but still manages to be a perfect fit. When Frost dives into the swinging break, "And always/ My wandering mind/ Takes me right down to the bottom of the basement," the smile is involuntary, and wide.
"Cars and Parties" opens with bells and a military tattoo beat. Frost slurs lines like, "Everytime I close my eyes/ I dream of someone in Texas/ And every strip mall along the highway/ Reminds me of my home," with equal parts feigned detachment and homesickness. This is one of those rare, perfectly balanced songs where the power of the lush-yet-catchy music is matched evenly by the power of the lyrics.
The other half of the songs are so intimate that Frost could very well be standing behind you, whispering them into your left ear. On "Dreamers," the first syllable Frost sings sounds so brittle and fragile it seems about to shatter into ice crystals at any moment. The chordal opener of "True" is graceful, buoyant, and gently fingerpicked, and "Hear My Heart," one of Frost's earliest compositions, each tweak my voyeuristic streak. Edith uses her voice like a paint stripper, flaking away the artifice, leaving only the base primer coat of her raw emotion. The songs sound so tenderly personal at times, I experience peeping-Tom guilt listening.
Two of the best tracks on Wonder Wonder are ones that display Frost's more strongly cultivated country influences. Brushed snare circles out a pattern in "Easy to Love" that could have easily been found in an Acuff/Rose C&W; standard, with a dulled piano break and cowboy harmonies completing the masquerade. And "Further" takes an old-time swing premise, adding a killer melody and violin solo. Frost's usually gentle vocals soar and dive between sweet and torchy. The vibe you get is that this song, out of all of them, was the most fun for her to record.
The support personnel are above reproach. Steve Albini's engineering work is, quite simply, masterful. His hand/ear coordination is so keenly attuned to the low-key material that the songs and sounds seem almost to leap from the plastic. Rian Murphy, the producer of Frost's first album, returns once again to assemble a cast of musicians including Archer Prewitt, Poi Dog Pondering's Susan Vøelz and ex-Telegraph Melts cellist Amy Domingues.
With this album, Frost moves beyond comparisons with others who may have a similar birthmark on their music or timbre to their voice, and should now be firmly entrenched as the benchmark for intelligent, eclectic, eccentric folk-pop. She can lull. She can pop. She can put on a retro croon. If I had any savage beast within me, I'm certain it would be soothed. Everyone else, come measure up, if you think you can.
