Pitchfork

Not many performers could get away with such an obvious and sentimental metaphor as a phoenix rising from the ashes. It's such a transparent symbol that it practically dictates the emotional touchstones that follow: grief, determination, tribulation, and triumph. Jessi Colter, however, makes it sound genuine and poignant, if not necessarily new, on Out of the Ashes, her first album in two decades. That alone is one reason she can get away with it; this record is obviously a new start for her. More crucially, this is her first album since the death of her husband and collaborator, Waylon Jennings. As such, it's a statement of coming to terms and moving on-- somewhat predictable, but Colter makes it work with a brassy performance and a well-rounded selection of songs.

Colter wants to stress the point that while she's been through some hard times, she's far from dead or defeated. On "The Phoenix Rises", a patient ballad about starting over, she sings, "New beginnings are hard to find/ New beginnings are mountains to climb." She's still got her powerful voice, her memories of her husband, and the comfort of friends and family, many of whom guest on the album. She deals with these issues on the album's numerous ballads, including the centerpiece "Out of the Rain", which features backing vocals by Tony Joe White and Jennings himself, who recorded his parts before he died. On "Please Carry Me Home", Colter is joined by her son Shooter Jennings, but his roughly textured voice sounds more at ease on his own rock-country albums and doesn't really blend well with his mother's.

These big statements of rebirth and recovery can be almost overwhelming in their autobiographical significance. Fortunately, Colter peppers the album with more upbeat numbers that don't have such heavy personal baggage but still showcase her well-aged voice. With its bluesy stomp and Colter's brash putdowns, "You Can Pick 'Em" sounds like Car Wheels-era Lucinda Williams, and her cover of Dylan's "Rainy Day Women #12 & 35" sounds almost like desert country psychedelia. She's at her best on "Velvet and Steel", a raunchy duet with guitarist Ray Herndon that's full of sly sexual innuendo. Even Don Was' dry, too-tasteful production, which evokes a well-funded studio more than Colter's beloved Arizona landscape, can't diminish the impact of these songs. From the too-precise guitars on "You Can Pick 'Em" to the too-tasteful cello on "So Many Things", his production buffs away any blemishes and robs crucial moments of their intimacy and directness. A few more rough edges might have given Colter's ruminations on loss and life a little more force and made this comeback all the more memorable.