Singer-guitarist Edith Frost operates within an indie-rock context, but her songs draw mostly on the country torch song tradition. Her first EP and the subsequent Calling Over Time were spare, echoing records, with nothing present but what was needed to present Frost’s voice and words in a way that wouldn’t seem too stark. Telescopic, though, is a fully (if oddly) produced pop record if you listen to its slow, pacing arrangements — blasting drums hidden in the background and Amy Domingues’ cello ripping through the mix on the opening "Walk on the Fire," layered Liz Phair-ish guitars and eerie instrumental details turning up elsewhere — and the darkest, most late-night record she’s made if you pay attention to its melodies and words.

With a voice that adds a ghostly element to her music’s sleepy swagger, Frost looks at relationships from near and far.  She paints each perspective with irony, woe, and lyrics that may or may not make sense.  It just depends on how you look at it.

On Telescopic, Edith Frost sounds like somebody may have slipped her a few tabs of acid — "Walk On The Fire" launches the singer/songwriter’s sophomore full-length with more mind-clouding fuzz than you’ll find on an old angora sweater. The vintage guitar distortion effects, heartbreaking harmonies and ride cymbal pulse of "The Very Earth" also depart from Frost’s usual spartan musings. Rather than clutter her lackadaisically smooth voice, the support provided by some prominent backing musicians nurtures her craft, downplaying Frost’s vulnerability and eccentricity, and helping her overcome any potential girl-with-guitar novelty status. In addition to absorbing more acidic textures, Telescopic paves over large sections of the country road that cut through Frost’s debut album with chummy, easy listening ’70s pop. But nothing on Telescopic embraces slickness or saccharine sentiments. While at times Frost plays it too cool, her detachment is a stylish adornment to her expertise in downhome, avant-garde songwriting.

Continuing the quality established on her wonderful full-length debut album, Calling Over Time, Edith Frost has delivered another impressive body of work.

Complemented by a virtually new line-up of sympathetically adept accompanists — the remaining constant being drummer Rian Murphy — Frost proves that her laurels aren’t dependent on any one group of musicians.

Triple bill shows Drag City label’s range

Chicago’s music scene is constantly renewed by the work of visionary independent labels. In the ’90s, none has had more impact than Drag City, which has issued records by celebrated artists such as Pavement and Royal Trux.

The label presented three acts at the Empty Bottle on Friday evening that refracted Drag City’s vision through the lenses of updated traditionalism, experimentalism and irony.

A multicolored Frost
Drag City songstress plays Empty Bottle and Goose Fest

Whether you interviewed Edith Frost for a half-hour, two hours or even 10 hours, you’d come away with few notes. Most people don’t take notes when talking to their friends, and Frost is so easygoing and candid and so immediately familiar that scribing most of what she says would seem a violation of friendship. Then you remember there is no friendship — you’re working here — so you’d best start writing something.