Laura Veirs sings fireside songs and sea shanties of hypnotic beauty. She creates a contrary world that is at once ethereal and earthy, acting as both a playful sprite and weary siren.
Veirs has an eye for detail, conjuring up tangible images of her childhood in Ohio Clouds, from her grandma's cigarette-perfumed skin to her dad's crackling radio, but it's sound, not meaning, that consumes her.
Like Sinead O'Connor and Karen Carpenter, she enjoys stretching words until they become emotions, repeating phrases and turning them into chants.
Bedroom Eyes is standard country fare, a gentle, driving rhythm reflecting Veirs's eagerness to reach the man she loves, but while the warmth and golden glow of expectation are familiar, Veirs's childlike vocals and easy confidence ache with newness.
Plunking banjo, moaning upright bass and enthusiastic fiddle pin the translucent melodies to the dusty ground, The Ballad of John Vogelin, a bluegrass duet, resurrecting the depression-era style and simplicity of the Carter Family with Veirs's yodel an infectious giggle.
