Pitchfork

Although his hardcore Compton posturing may have led you to believe otherwise, Tracy Morrow (aka Ice T) was not raised in a Los Angeles ghetto. The Original Gangsta was actually born in another O.G.-- the Original Garden State, New Jersey. But no matter his roots, T had gangsta in his goddamn blood. After his parents died, T realized his ice-cold destiny, determined to move to South Central and adopt the gangsta lifestyle. And adopt it he did, rising above his critics to rap convincingly about killing people, selling addictive drugs, and enjoying the copious bounty of many large black asses.

Luckily for Gillian Welch, the path to acclaim in the folk-country genre doesn't require moving to Oklahoma, Appalachia, or a Mississippi riverbank. Nor does it call for songs about killing people, peddling crack, or mining for black ass-gold (in fact, the latter is probably anathema to the cause). Rather, it's just fine if you sound like you know what you're doing and appreciate tradition, and Welch achieves that with ease.

Gillian Welch's third LP, Time (The Revelator) is ample proof. Despite being born and raised in Los Angeles, the child of a husband and wife songwriting duo who scored the theme to "The Carol Burnett Show," Welch has managed to create some refreshingly charming, rustic folk-country music that bears the mark of a culture buried in the Blue Ridge, 3000 miles removed from her home. That she's only 33 makes her feat of authenticity even more remarkable.

Welch's selling-point are her plaintive vocals, as tender as they are weathered. Her voice is, in and of itself, a stereotype of the South: genteel, soulful and honest. Even with seemingly frivolous lyrics like on "Elvis Presley Blues," Welch's voice expresses depth, coloring the song with experienced, time-warped romanticism.

Accompanying Welch on vocals is a soft palette of acoustic instrumentation. Although the songs carry a greater pop influence than her prior releases, the sound is still unmistakably country. Strummed or fingerpicked acoustic guitar occupies the foreground on most tracks, with the occasional twang of a banjo, as on the bluesy "My First Lover." Adding to the spacious character of the orchestration is the album's absence of percussion. The result is plenty of room for melodies, with the focus squarely on Welch's voice.

Time (The Revelator) wavers from heartbroken lament ("Revelator," "Everything Is Free") to Southern nostalgia ("I Want to Sing that Rock n' Roll," "Red Clay Halo") but not once does it stray from Welch's reflective, reserved storyteller's demeanor. The vocals and lyrics alike are open and vulnerable. More than simply an expression of her music, Time (The Revelator) is a glimpse into the artist's personality.

Those without the heritage need to work to attain their destiny. For Ice-T, it meant moving to Compton, living the life of a hustler, and filming cinematic masterpieces like Breakin' 2: Electric Boogaloo and Frankenpenis. For Gillian Welch, it meant studying at Berklee School of Music and listening to old Delmore Brothers and Carter Family recordings. Whatever her path, though, her results are as good as the original.