Alt-country queens: Lucinda Williams vs. Kathleen Edwards It's true that while Lucinda Williams has never officially been crowned the queen of alt-country, she has been comfortably ensconced on that throne for the last decade. But there's a new contender on the scene these days: Kathleen Edwards. And between her voice and songwriting chops, Edwards makes it clear that she's here for the long haul, too. Williams' influence on the roots scene is incalculable. From her classic, self-titled release back in 1988 to her most recent return to form, West, Williams has consistently offered up some of the most emotionally resonant music on record. Her violet bruise of a voice, torn from an angel stranded in New Orleans, brought a new immediacy and depth to the genre. Shaped by her itinerant, Southern upbringing and inspired by the artistry of Hank Williams and Bob Dylan, she embarked on writing her own ambitious canon. And 20-some years and 100 songs or so later, Williams has achieved the status befitting a master singer-songwriter - simply one of our best. That's why after first hearing Edwards' debut, Failer, back in 2003, I couldn't help but hear echoes of Williams all over the record. From the smoky, weathered grain of her voice, to the literate stories/songs about heartbreak and escape, Edwards shares Williams' raw intimacy. But what stands out on the Canadian artist's debut even more than her lusty voice is the twang-fueled music. Electric guitars dominate the songs, channeling the melodies in a raucous din. Neil Young's Crazy Horse sound is the obvious reference point, but these songs are leaner, more streamlined, if almost as distorted. Edwards tips her hand with ballsy rockers like the opener, "Six O'Clock News," and "One More Song the Radio Won't Like." She takes no prisoners with the latter song's middle-finger salute to corporate sponsorship, not to mention the Nashville scene. There's anger here, and you can hear it spill out of her throaty desperation as she bites down on the lyrics. Like Williams, Edwards doesn't fit new country's bland parameters. She lacks the big hat, the friendly fiddles, the airbrushed guitars on steroids, and the manufactured, sassy-but-safe attitude. No hillbilly-lite platitudes here. Instead, we get grit in these grooves, and earned emotion. From its title to the songs themselves, Failer explores defeat and the elusive margin found between dreams and reality. Edwards' sophomore record, Back to Me, was no letdown either. She wrote another brace of nervy, melodic songs that straddle the line between roots and country rock. Her voice, still an open-hearted, expressive cry, beckons us from the dusty prairies of Ontario. She sings of leaving married lovers, of forlorn two-bit towns, of the restlessness that burns you until the next town is reached, the next beer bought, and the next lover found and lost. Edwards also shares Williams' depressive edge. Both women have their way with blue ballads shorn down to the bone. On each of Edwards' records, there's a clutch of desolate songs that lead us through a dark-hearted world, whether hers or our own. But she wisely alternates these sad-core songs with the up-tempo variety, so we‘re not buried in despair. Williams' stock-in-trade are her blues/country/folk hymns, but then if you or I had a voice that aches as much as hers does, we might follow suit. She has long-admired Paul Westerberg and his music, even penning a song about him, "Real Live Bleeding Fingers and Broken Guitar Strings", and it's easy to see why. Both of their scuffed voices reflect the damage inflicted, and feel almost overexposed - as if they're giving too much of themselves away through their raw, raspy aches, but can‘t help it. For this crew, it's not the eyes that are the window to the soul, it's the voice. Ravaged soul. And yet, as much as I love Williams' sad, sexy vibrato, I find her last two or three records to be inconsistent, hijacked and subdued by dirges and depressive moods (the exception is West, which I especially like). That's why, in comparison, I've been more excited about Edwards's new release, Asking for Flowers. Maybe part of that just stems from the fun of discovering a new artist, though. Either way, Asking for Flowers does not disappoint. Edwards' songwriting again shines here. Her not-so-secret weapon just might be the tuneful, crunch-and-burn guitar playing of her husband, Colin Cripps, with Jim Bryson, and Greg Leisz on pedal steel. Their muscular parry-and-thrust delivery leads the way on flinty rockers like 'The Cheapest Key" and "Oh Canada." With its portrait of a woman reaching out for more from the pyre of broken relationships, the title track, one of the record's best songs, even reminds me of Lucinda's "Passionate Kisses." Edwards sings, "Every pill I took / Every meal for you I made / Every penny I put away / Asking for flowers / Is like asking you to be nice." There's not much distance between that and Williams asking, "Shouldn't I have all of this, and passionate kisses?" all those years ago. It's their defiant refusal to settle for diminished expectations in love and life that defines both these women. The implicit promise of so much more echoes through their every hushed breath and burnished lyric. It will be a pleasure to measure the nerve, need, and desire in these voices for years to come. Greg Gaston Crawdaddy				Album reviews Feature articles Interviews Show reviews