Pitchfork

Mary Lou Lord doesn't fit into your indie world. At least not lately. Back in the early 1990s, she was an alt-pin-up girl with a throwback hairstyle, breathy voice, and smart, stripped-down songs-- mostly other people's, but who really cared? She released a few seven-inch singles and two EPs (one of which contained the fabulous fanboy rebuke "His Indie World") before finally signing with then-Sony subsidiary The Work Group. On a cold day in January 1998, she released Got No Shadow, a charming collection of covers (Freedy Johnston, Elizabeth Cotton) and impressive originals ("Western Union Desperate"). And then she promptly disappeared, rumored to be battling a drug addiction, with only a live album and a split single with Sean Na Na to hold fans over.

Six years later, Got No Shadow still charms, but Lord has lost most, if not all, of her indie relevance, despite returning to an indie label-- pal Nick Salmon's Rubric Records-- for her new album, Baby Blue. The move away from the majors coincides with a shift from the precise, pristine pop of Got No Shadow to a looser, janglier sound that, unfortunately, recalls early Shawn Colvin. For a singer who idolizes "my Joni, my Nick, Neil, and Bob," this is not an unexpected move, but neither is it a successful one.

As on all of her previous releases, Lord believed above all else in the power of the well-written song, in its commanding ability to convey intimate emotions and complex ideas equally well. But her stalwart devotion proves both a strength and a liability on Baby Blue. For one thing, she has strong material that makes for memorable tracks like "43", in which she questions her relationship with either a young lover or her young fans: "Seventeen/ Wonder what you see in me/ I'm going on 43." Tracks like "The Wind Blew All Around Me" and "Farming It Out" reveal Lord's insecurities, mostly about her career, with surprising candor, while "Ron" is a tearjerker about a single mother waiting for her daughter's father to return.

But too often, Lord's approach to her lyrics is overly reverent, to the detriment of the music itself. Especially in the album's midsection, her backing band churns out country-rock rhythms so bland they seem designed specifically not to distract from the words. But it's not always the best package for the lyrics-- the effect is much like wrapping sparkling jewelry in dull newsprint. On songs like "Because He's Leaving" and "The Inhibition Twist", the music either sounds completely disconnected from her vocals or completely drowns them out. "Stars Burn Out" slows down until it almost stops completely, and Lord's cover of Pink Floyd's "Fearless" is a showcase more for the reined-in band than for her vocals, resulting in an attention-straining five-minute anticlimax.

Fortunately, Baby Blue ends not with "Fearless", but with "Old Tin Tray", a modest little jingle reminiscent of Got No Shadow's "Shake Sugaree". In its simplicity and unpretentious directness it recalls Lord's early work, which is appropriate: Baby Blue sounds like the work of a much younger, less confident artist-- one who's closer to 17 than 43. More than a decade into her unpredictable career, Lord seems like she's still grasping for a comfortable mix of guitar and vocals, not quite sure what works best with her unique voice.