"Voyageur" On her first three albums the Canadian singer-songwriter Kathleen Edwards made folk rock with sturdy shoulders and square corners. She's a brawny singer when she wants to be, and a forthright songwriter, and if she sometimes had more energy or tension than the form could bear, well, a little bit of danger was never unwelcome. But there were limits Ms. Edwards hewed to, invisible lines she didn't cross, even as she seemed to eye them resentfully. Her fourth album, "Voyageur" - produced by Ms. Edwards with Justin Vernon of Bon Iver, a romantic as well as musical partner - captures her in forward motion untethered by the old strings, and also embodies an evolving idea about what roots music can be. Is it postroots, then, the sound of this album, which, thanks to Mr. Vernon and his studio cronies, sounds lusher, more dramatic and sometimes riskier than Ms. Edwards's early albums? In places, this record is drowsily beautiful, almost wearily so. That's because so much of this music is put in service of lyrics about abject heartbreak and romantic collapse. Ms. Edwards is often piqued; the music buoys her. Mr. Vernon has spoken of his desire to make records with Bonnie Raitt; songs on this album, like "Change the Sheets," are certainly good calling cards. It's road music in the early-1980s vein, with throbbing organ, mournful stripes of guitar laid atop, and optimistic, hurried drumming. That song is preceded by "A Soft Place to Land," full of reverb and astral harmonies by Mr. Vernon. When they weep to each other, "You're calling me names/ and not to my face," it's full of sadness and dignity. Ms. Edwards is capable of sentiments beyond the elegiac. "Mint" is a saucy splash of lust, with echoes of Dire Straits's workaday glam, and "Sidecar" is a rollicking reminder of the days when rock 'n' roll was rhythm and blues. But hollow spaces, detailed lovingly, shape this album. The cheekily depressed "Pink Champagne" is about a sham of a marriage, noticed too late. On "House Full of Empty Rooms" the relationship at least had a golden age, though it's long gone: "You don't kiss me, not the way that I wish you would/ Maybe I don't look at you in a way that makes you think you should." Jon Caramanica The New York Times				Album reviews Feature articles Interviews Show reviews