"Calling over Time," Edith Frost (Calling Over Time):
"Now you are in paradise…." This haunting campfire lament sounds eerily like a suicide bomber’s widow testifying to faith against hope. "Loving hand turns burning sand to water."

Calling Over Time begins, "I sing the blues most every night, and I wait for the one I lost," and ends with "Albany Blues," where the singer subtly mentions that she might be the one to bail out if things don’t get better. In similar manner, Edith Frost drops hints about what she’s updating; in a bluesy way, she’s fashioning something divine out of the raw material of sorrow, betrayal, and confusion.

While it features musicians well-known for their experimentalism and minimal aesthetics — Chicagoans Jim O’Rourke and David Grubbs and High Llama Sean O’Hagan — Calling is indelibly Frost’s album: She’s more interested in writing tender and chilling songs than crafting gurgling electronica. Grubbs, O’Rourke & Co. aptly set those songs against a restrained, often sparse, sometimes country-tinged ("Pony Song") backdrop of stripped-down Chicago style. Frost’s voice haunts at times, her words falling lazily and disconnectedly, a bit like those of Opal’s Kendra Smith, but elsewhere she’s self-effacingly upbeat ("Too Happy" and "Give Up Your Love"). "Temporary Loan," a breathtaking downer of an opener, sets the tone for the album: An account of the bitter, lonely disappointment of finding that one was "just a harbor, a temporary love" unfolds beneath a simple guitar strum. "Follow" has a barely discernible jazz feel, which lends itself well to the song’s carnal scene, while "Denied" grows abstract and mantra-like. Unfortunately, "Albany Blues" ends the record weakly. It’s square and uptight, its art-folky airs trying desperately to get rootsy. Which is odd, because Frost seems to have already found a new country-blues spirit that isn’t slavishly devoted to hand-me-down chord progressions.

edith frost: shivers down your spine
Born of some holy communion between singer-songwriter psychedelia and spooky country blues, Edith Frost’s songs stir up serious longings. And Bob Pomeroy responds

On "Calling Over Time," the title track of her first album, Edith Frost sings a kind of epilogue to the chorus that repeats the phrase "loving hands turn burning sand to water." The notes she sings tumble down a minor scale on a prolonged fall from the upper reaches of the thin, narcotic atmosphere that the song, as a whole, generates. (In fact, the entire record, except for one or two more wide-awake numbers, flows like a dream.)

One of the most striking things about Calling Over Time is its display of this singer-songwriter’s gift for subtle, delicate melody. Whether drifting and levitating through regions of folkie-psychedelia (comparisons to Syd Barrett, Nick Drake, and Kendra Smith are not far-fetched) or recalling a more straightforward roots flavor, the melodies seem to build from spare, vaguely countrified chord progressions that lope along the ground like some lonesome cowgirl’s pony. Despite the stylistic possibilities and emotional range this quiet record realizes, a certain thread runs through all but a couple of songs (such as "Denied," whose hallucinatory melody travels light years away from anything you could hope to call "roots").

If the overall feel of Calling Over Time were a line I could grasp and follow, my hunch is the line would lead me to that cowgirl’s pony.

But "I’m really not shooting to sound like country," Edith Frost announces over the phone from Chicago. Twenty minutes into our interview and my theory already has a crack in it.

Considering her background in old-timey country and rockabilly outfits such as the Holler Sisters, the Marfa Lights, and Edith’s Roadhouse Romeos, as well as the lingering roots flavor of her recent solo material, I thought I’d found enough of an element running through Edith Frost’s life and career to see the Austin, Texas native as some sort of alt-country singer. Yet the longer we speak, the more my thread frays.

"If I sound like country," she says, "it’s probably because that’s what I can play."

The bio on Frost’s web-site does claim she knows the words to "a couple hundred rockabilly and old-timey country tunes"; and she’s a fan of such obscure performers as ’30s country band the Coon Creek Girls, or ’50s session player and solo artist Bonnie Guitar. How does this affect her own material?

"I’m not sure how much of an effect playing those old tunes has on my originals." Hesitating, she adds, "I’m not sure where those come from".

"I play the old stuff because I love it, and also for the exercise. I try to sing every day to keep my chops up… and because it’s fun."

Our talk meanders on about country music and Frost’s favorites in that realm. She leads the way on a well-charted path through the great traditional storehouse, while I dig for insight into her influences. "Fifties-style rockabilly," her list begins. "I also love really old-timey. Once they hit the ’60s, I kind of lose interest. There’s hardly any new Nashville music I can tolerate. There’s stuff on the outskirts that’s totally country, that the Nashville labels don’t embrace."

Listen to any of Edith Frost’s releases — the "Evangeline" EP and Calling Over Time LP on Drag City, or the UK import EP Ancestors (Trade2) — and it quickly becomes obvious that the phrase "totally country" doesn’t describe them. Yet often enough there appear in her songs (which are usually in a minor key) spare chord progressions lilting along in waltz time, Frost-on-Frost overdubbed vocal harmonies (an old production trick that was used and reused by Patsy Cline), even pedal steel and fiddle licks. So while the records are not country in any essential sense, they wouldn’t be out of place on that music’s far outskirts.

Loading my stereo, I alternate a few of her country-tinged songs with some of Hank Williams’ more downbeat blues. "Temporary Loan," the first track on Calling Over Time, opens on a vaguely flat-picked chord progression before Frost begins moaning, in a typically delicate vocal melody, the lyrics "I get the blues most every night/and wait for the one I lost." The song segues nicely enough into Williams’ "(I Heard That) Lonesome Whistle," or "Moanin’ the Blues." Frost’s "Secrets," from the Ancestors EP, gliding gracefully in that old waltz time, delivers the lines "I won’t think about those things any more/I’ll just bury them down under drifts of snow," settling well beside Hank’s "My Sweet Love Ain’t Around." Hank offers a more straightforward, palpable moan. His complaints on love and loss are usually built from major chords, sometimes lending a toe-tapping buoyancy to his sorrow. Frost’s airy "blues," if you will, are more atmospheric. Spare bass and guitar often fade into unobtrusive shadows while the subtle emotional power of her melodies leaves me uneasily alone with lines like "I’ll try to be satisfied," or "If we could clear the air/I’d be there tonight."

There’s a lot of longing in Calling Over Time, a desire to embrace love, happiness, ponies — things that remain elusive to the singer. "Would you say separation from longed-for things is a theme in Calling Over Time?" I try.

"That’s a big thing in my life," she laughs. "So it’s easy to write about. It’s like, if I’m not sitting at my computer, then I’m thinking about my love life."

Frost’s songs have a way of riding simple minor-chord progressions that at moments suggest a stripped-down Ennio Morricone soundtrack distilled to its basic possibilities, giving her vocal melodies room to roam. Despite the desolate atmosphere in some of the songs, I figure she’ll consider the spaghetti Western connection a bit of a stretch. Again she surprises me. "That’s cool," she beams, "that kind of spooky, cinematic music."

"What if someone wanted to use your songs for a Western soundtrack?"

"Oh, I’d love that!"

Where previous Edith Frost releases feature, for the most part, her own guitar-playing as the only accompaniment (Kramer provides a few basslines on Ancestors), Calling Over Time marks her first recording with a backing band.

And what a band — producer/drummer Rian Murphy (Palace, Royal Trux, Dolomite) arranged for Jim O’Rourke and David Grubbs of Gastr del Sol, Rick Rizzo of Eleventh Dream Day, and Sean O’Hagan of the High Llamas to play a weeklong session in Chicago last September.

"Rian organized it all," Frost explains. "He was here in Chicago, I was in New York. I tried to do some stuff on my own, and at Kramer’s and Coyote studios, but I wasn’t getting the right feel, besides spending too much money. Rian said I could go to Chicago and we’d record it in a week. He said he could get Gastr to do it, and he’d try to get Rick Rizzo to play bass even though he isn’t a bass player — turned out he’s a great bass player, even though he’d never picked one up before."

The high-profile supporting musicians enhance Frost’s songcraft perfectly. Calling Over Time has the odd effect of making the songs sound more sparse and ethereal than those on "Evangeline", whose songs she recorded at home as part of a batch of demos. O’Rourke, Grubbs, Rizzo, and the rest fall in gently behind her, offering a strange, subdued blend of narco-psychedelia and minimalist roots. The multi-instrumental prowess at work here seems to function as subtle accenting for Frost’s sophisticated sense of melody.

"You’d never played with these guys before, right?"

"I hadn’t even met them before. We had a week to record, and I got there a day early to rehearse. It was so funny — we could tell it was going to be really cool, but I was intimidated: here’s these luminaries…. But they were totally nice, normal people… affable guys."

"You must have been a little surprised when you first heard the playback."

"Yeah." She still sounds amazed. "Especially with David’s piano. I’d never played with a pianist before; it just bowled me over. And when Jim played violin on ‘Temporary Loan,’ it was just so beautiful."

Calling Over Time may or may not take up even temporary residence in the regions of alt country. And rather than try to figure out what the genre is, I might do better, at this stage of the No Depression explosion, to determine what it’s not.

Even George Jones, when I saw him play recently, took every opportunity between songs to rail against contemporary Nashville. "You all know I’m old," he said. "I don’t go in for smoke machines or swinging around on ropes. I just ain’t up to it.

"Besides," he added, "to me that ain’t country."

The Possum’s impulse toward purity notwithstanding, if country music had been held to strict standards of purity, the Carter Family would never have groped their way out of the Virginia hills with their repertory of bastardized hillbilly ballads to create the style in the first place.

Such current rustic and/or pastoral indie entities as Palace, Freakwater, and Edith Frost are artists who to some degree exude traditional influence. But they also have the good sense not to attempt any "pure" replication of folk music. To hear Edith Frost describe it, whatever folk or C&W shadings one might hear in her music — and they’re there, all right — appear more by osmosis than deliberation. Frost has been quoted as saying, "If I was aiming for one sound, I wouldn’t get it… I don’t have the chops."

At any rate, our talk reveals that Edith Frost finds comparisons with Syd and Nick and Kendra more accurate than the country tag. "They’re probably more what I intend to sound like, rather than anything straight country.

"I don’t want anyone to peg the music as one style. If I could say what I really want to sound like, it would be spooky and drugged out and dreamy and hallucinogenic. I would love to be that way. I try."

Edith Frost: Authentic, heartsick, personal & poignant

From a cool and steel gray channel encompassing the horizon, a glimmer of hope emerges. Beauty and optimism slowly wrap around your being as you witness flower petals effortlessly dancing upon the water’s surface with candles calmly floating on leaves set adrift under the dwindling light. Edith Frost is the voice from which the glimmer, the beauty and the optimism spring forth in introspective gentleness.

Edith’s first full length album, Calling Over Time, was released on Drag City Records and contains songs that are all at once authentic, heartsick, personal and poignant yet she expresses her emotions with a lilting passion and not a distressed numbness.

Edith was kind enough to share her thoughts with Train Wreck via email, a medium she truly comprehends as she actively maintains a website dedicated to her music and her love for cowgirls. Edith on the web: edithfrost.com

TW: How do you compare the progression from your s/t debut EP to the full length, Calling Over Time, to the recently released Ancestors single, recorded with Kramer?

EF: Well, Ancestors and the other tracks on that 7" were recorded before the album, so you might say it’s a bit of a regression! I don’t know, they’re all a little different from each other. The EP I did at home with my 4-track, the 7" is me at Kramer’s studio (and everything that entails), and the album is a piece of work unto itself. I’m proud of everything I’ve done, but the album is the best so far, in my opinion — it’s got the best musicianship and just presents my music in a better way than anything else I’ve done before.

TW: Calling Over Time features the talents of Rian Murphy, Jim O’Rourke, David Grubbs, Rick Rizzo and Sean O’Hagan. Did playing and recording the album with such highly respected and musically accomplished individuals cause you to feel a need to raise your own capabilities?

EF: Yeah, sure. I wanted very much to do a good job at that session as the stakes were very high in my mind but it makes it so much easier to get the job done when you’re surrounded by a crew like that! All those guys are amazing musicians but they’re also really nice, funny people, so I couldn’t feel intimidated by them personally. Musically, I’m fairly comfortable with myself and whatever it is I do. I came prepared as I could and I really wanted to make a great record, that’s what we all wanted. It was an atmosphere of mutual respect and heavy group participation plus a healthy dose of silliness. Oh, it was an amazing week and a really special mind-blowing experience for me. I’ll never forget it and there’s no way it can ever happen in the same way again. I’m just hoping I can do something for the next record that’s equally great in a different way.

TW: The theme to the majority of the songs on the album is the breakdown of a relationship between two lovers. The lyrics seem personal in that you suffered through such a past pain. However, you present the songs in a manner devoid of numbness. Was it hard to record the songs appearing on the album due to their exposing nature?

EF: There is a good bit of personal experience woven into those lyrics but I try not to be too literal in my writing as I really shy away from that. The emotions are very real (and I describe them in great detail) but I don’t usually talk about real life situations, mostly just made up ones, fantasies. For the most part I just try to write something that evokes a mood but doesn’t talk about specific people and places so much. Maybe I’m just hedging ‘cuz I don’t want the people that I’m writing about to know I’m writing about ‘em! Anyway, I think I tend to write about myself more than other people. It’s not so much "who did it" but "how do I feel about it." The love interest characters in my songs are probably a pastiche of several different guys I’ve been involved with over the years. It’s not that I think that’s what makes a good song, it’s just the way I, myself, tend to work. I’m afraid I’ll get myself in trouble with somebody if I get too specific. What if I have a boyfriend or husband who I’m not really getting along too well with (this is just hypothetical of course) and, say, I write this slinky fantasy number while thinking about this guy at work that I have a stupid little crush on, well, what am I supposed to tell the boyfriend? What I’m saying is, it didn’t take me very long in this songwriting game to realize that I should avoid admitting to my true inspirations! Let everybody out there think that every song is about them, why not?

TW: As you detail the distressed relationships, lyrics such as "Now that you’re in Paradise" from Calling Over Time and "You might find some love in your heart for me" from Give Up Your Love seemingly avoid bitterness or anger. From where does this gentle understanding derive?

EF: Bitterness and anger are bad for your health. It’s something I’ve always tried to work on in my own mind, so I guess it’s coming out in my lyrics. Maybe it’s just in my nature that I try not to fight things, I’m a fairly accepting and open-minded person. It would be wonderful if everyone could love and understand and respect everyone else they came in contact with, that’s the ideal. There’s very little I can do about other people’s feelings or actions but I try to keep a positive attitude myself. I don’t want to hold any grudges against anybody, I just want everybody to get along and appreciate each other as much as possible, as trite as all that sounds! I guess it’s the difficulties of that kind of idealism that I tend to think and write about all the time. Why can’t we all get along? What are we arguing about, it’s so stupid! My brain just seeks out the emotional hotspots and wants to wallow in all of that shit. I guess it’s a good thing I write these songs because it’s not something I generally talk about in "real life" though I stew about it a lot in my mind. If it weren’t for the songs I might not be letting this stuff out at all.

TW: Did the songs on the album provide a redeeming quality when they were written in that somehow they provided an inner cleansing for your soul?

EF: Oh sure, it’s an amazing feeling when I’ve written a song that expresses something I might not be able to articulate otherwise. A great song can take on a whole life of its own… it’s as if taking a photograph of a particular moment that didn’t necessarily exist in real time. I just love music!!! I don’t know where it comes from or why we do it but it’s really great for the soul. I can’t imagine not playing music. Actually, it’s hard not to be an elitist sometimes and think that people who don’t play music or do some sort of creativity are weird and freaky. I have to remind myself that there was a point when I was "just a fan" too, and there’s no shame in that.

TW: Lines like "I look for a love that lasts" from Temporary Loan and "I don’t want to be too happy, just enough to keep me going" from Too Happy appear to be optimistic. How important is it to retain faith when the world seems not to link together?

EF: The world does link together even when we don’t see it that way. We don’t have any choice but to keep trudging along as best we can in life. There are problems and unpleasant circumstances to be dealt with but there is also an amazing amount of joy and love and wonderbread to be found in this world if you keep yourself open to it. I have so many great friends whom I love so much and there’s so much music on this earth, what have I got to complain about really? I’ve been very lucky and whatever hardships I’ve had to go through are much easier to accept when I think about all the great things that have happened. I realize that not everybody has had the good luck that I have but I’m pretty sure that everybody has at lease something to be thankful for, something to hang onto when you really need to keep the faith. I’ve had a couple of friends who committed suicide and others who’ve lived their whole lives complaining about their situations, and I dunno, I just hate to see people hurting and dwelling on bad things, being self destructive… of course depression is something I fight myself a little bit so I understand the tendency to wallow. However, I don’t remember ever feeling suicidal except for maybe ten minutes in high school. I’ve always had a really strong desire to stay more or less happy in life even if that seems like an impossible task. Staying positive just seems like a better way to live, mentally, even if it means you’re sort of putting yourself in denial about some things.

TW: On your s/t debut EP, released on Drag City, you recorded an absolutely gorgeous song entitled My God Insane. Having read about your living in Mexico for approximately six years, which is a devout religious culture, I was curious if religion has an important role in your life? Do you find any influence of the Mexican culture in your life and/or music?

EF: There’s been a little religion in my family but nothing too freaky. Growing up we went to church on occasion but it was more of a social experience than a spiritual one. I still don’t know what God means. To me the best thing on earth is love so that’s what I suppose God must be, pure love and pure energy. I don’t think I have to go into a church to get closer to that. I mean I will walk into a church if I have to go to a wedding or funeral but in general I have a bit of a bad attitude towards organized religion. I think about the spiritual types of things all the time but you will not catch me committing to any one dogma, except perhaps to that of the Church of the Subgenius. I used to be a card-carrying member until I lost the card. Actually when I wrote "My God Insane" I was reading a bunch of Philip K. Dick books one after the other. I think I was trying to write a Philip K. Dick song, basically, if there could be such a thing. So I have to credit him for all the lyrics.

Living in Mexico was a trip upon my young mind. I don’t even know where to begin with that one but it was very strange and mostly cool. I got into music a lot, of course, (and even more so now that I’m grown up) and the imagery. I think most of the decor in my apartment is either cowgirl oriented or some kind of Mexican theme. Serapes, painted clay dishes, etc. I even catch myself watching bad Mexican TV sometimes. It’s cool to know about another culture and learn the language. I wish I’d lived in even more places in my life.

TW: Did the songs from Calling Over Time take on a different life/feeling on the recent tour as opposed to the studio? Was this the result of playing with a different set of musicians than those who appeared on the album?

EF: Yes, there’s no way I can ever recapture the exact sound of the record. I’ve even tried playing with the same folks that appear on the album but things are always different. Songs speed up or slow down or people play their parts differently. Every performance is unique even if you’re working with the same people. I really enjoy that, it helps keep me on my toes, so I won’t become bored with playing the same songs over and over.

TW: Did the recent tour satisfy any desires you wanted to get out of music but had yet to achieve in the studio?

EF: For me being in the studio doesn’t feel a whole lot different from being at home working with my own gear. The equipment doesn’t intimidate me and I feel pretty comfortable in the studio whereas I don’t ever feel 100% comfortable in a live performance situation. However, there is so much to be gained from playing live that you can’t ever get at home or in a studio. You get these amazing moments but you can’t ever predict when they’ll occur. You’re in the middle of a song and you can’t really stop to think about it but you look around at your bandmates and in the back of your mind you realize this kicks ass! And if the audience is with you, if they’re immersed in the moment right along with you, it’s that much more amazing.

Another great thing about touring, obviously, is getting to meet so many different people, seeing the country, etc. You get to meet other bands, you meet fans you never knew you had. It’s a real adventure, a little crazy and scary and expensive but what a rush!!!

TW: When you enter a crowded room for a performance, how do you feel?

EF: Like a deer in the headlights! Sometimes it’s really bad, like I’ll start hyperventilating and feel like I’m getting a mini heart attack because the adrenaline’s pumping so hard. I go into a form of shock and I have to turn off all those people in my head, try to ignore them and go into a little trance or whatever you want to call it, to get up there and play. It’s really hard sometimes to get comfortable with a crowd. You don’t want to completely ignore them. You want to relate to them however you can but on the other hand you have to tune them out to a certain extent to be able to do your shit. The more I think about it the worse it gets, the nervousness I mean, so I try not to think about it too hard. It helps to have a little smoke before the show, whatever it takes to get myself calm and into the right headspace.

TW: When you enter a crowded room for a performance, how does the crowd feel?

EF: Oh my God, I have no idea! According to my inner child they’re all completely focused on me and my every move. They are very critical, they’ve read some things or heard the music already and they’re real skeptical about whether this chick can really play. Maybe they’re only there to talk to their friends and I’m just a sonic intruder. Of course the reality must lie somewhere in between the two. They’re not really obsessed with me nor are they ignoring me completely. Who knows, I just play and feel lucky if some of those people actually like it.

TW: Did you encounter any soundman problems during the tour seeking to control how they thought the band should sound?

EF: There was one show where the soundman kept disappearing to the bathroom, like three or four times during our set. Guess he had the trots or maybe he was using the bathroom for other purposes! Meanwhile my guitar is feeding back and nothing is coming out of the monitor. I guess that falls more under the category of ‘soundman neglect’ rather than a control thing. However, it was the first time I can remember actually being angry at a soundperson and feeling as if they did not do their job.

TW: If you could play a show with any band/artist living or past onto the giant jamboree in the sky, whom would you choose and why?

EF: I think the most fun gigs on earth are the ones you play with your friends. I would love to have a giant party with all my pals’ bands. I would invite three celebrity guests: Lida Husik, Elliott Smith and the Danielson Family. I have been freaking out over these people lately, obsessing over their records. My answer will probably change in a couple of months but that’s how it stands right now.

TW: You have labeled yourself a "HTML geek" as you actively maintain your own website, previously had one dedicated to Palace and work in the field of designing sites. Where do you find the balance between this technologically advanced world and the world of cowgirls/country music you so adore?

EF: To me the technology is only a means to an end. The web is nothing without content. I do get a certain left-brain satisfaction out of having mastered a few tricks of the trade but the fact remains that these days almost anybody can put up a website. The technology of the ‘net has made it so much easier for folks to communicate with each other. I’ve met so many people online that I never would have bumped into in real life. I pretty much take the technology for granted as you would with a car. I don’t need to know how it works as long as it gets me where I want to be.

TW: What is the lowest form of artistic expression?

EF: The hardest question of all, that one. What is bad art anyway? One man’s inspiration is another man’s atrocity. I can’t make judgments on art because it’s completely personal. It seems like I either like it or I don’t and it is hard to explain why. I could never be a music critic, I’m much too forgiving! Whatever blows your skirt up. If somebody gets a kick out of gluing little jewels and appliqués on their toilet paper warmers then more power to them. If you enjoy something and it brings something positive to your life such as helping you express yourself then it’s a beautiful thing whether or not it’s attractive to someone else.

An Early Frost

Edith Frost approaches roots music in a conscious, educated way. Though such an approach can sometimes lead to stagy, patronizing disasters, Frost resembles fellow country/folk troubadour Gillian Welch in coming at her late-found love with an affection so open and humble that it precludes condescension. And even though Frost’s self-released EP of last year¹ and her full-length album Calling Over Time were released on Chicago’s ultra-hip indie label Drag City, she seems embarrassed by the notion of being part of some "hip" scene. She’s just a 33-year old working gal in Chicago, thrilled to get her first $3000 royalty check from Drag City and trying to figure out how to buy a vehicle so she can go on the road more. "Last May was the first time I played in a town I didn’t live in," she explains.

Frost was raised in Texas but she wasn’t exactly a shit-kicking farm girl. She says, "I got exposed to a lot of kinds of music; country was about the only kind of music I didn’t hear." Her father was a jazz buff, her mother was into ’60s folk and pop, as well as classical music. "My mom is really cool, I have the greatest mom. Actually, I have the greatest dad too. But my mom has this amazing house in Austin, an old Victorian house that she’s fixed up with all kinds of stuff in it. She’s got an old Victrola and 78s and an old cylinder player."

It wasn’t until she went to college at the University of Texas in Austin that Frost started seeking out country music and specifically the works of women artists. "A friend of mine had a record by Janis Martin, this female rockabilly singer, and I taped it. I said, I should try to find female country stuff. I bet I would like it."

Eventually she ended up in New York where she spent six years, got married and unmarried, and started writing songs and performing with bands doing various permutations of country music, including rockabilly and western swing. Following her divorce,² she felt the need to distance herself from her old life. She moved to Chicago in late 1996.

That move was partially dictated by her decision earlier that hear to accept a recording offer from Drag City. Frost had sent her tape to five labels, based mostly on her admiration for certain artists on the labels. She sent one to now-defunct Austin roots music label DejaDisc, "because my friend Jo Carol Pierce had a record on the label." She sent another to Matador because she was a fan of Liz Phair and Bettie Serveert. She sent tapes to Sub Pop and Smells Like (owned by Sonic Youth’s Steve Shelley). And she sent one to Drag City, because they had the Palace Brothers, the artful country posers whose stark backwoods scenarios appealed to many indie rock fans. Frost’s passion for Palace’s music was so intense that she developed a Web site for them.

In fact, Frost, who now works as a Web site designer, had previously put together a Web site devoted to cowgirls that she says garnered more e-mail than anything else she’s done. But when her own musical career heated up, she found she was devoting more time to her own site and neglecting the others, so she took them down. (She bequeathed her cowgirl information to a woman in Colorado with a similar site.)

Although Drag City has its reputation for self-consciously arty rock bands, and though they enlisted such paragons of post-rock hipness as Gastr del Sol’s David Grubbs and Jim O’Rourke to play on Calling Over Time, Frost’s own fresh-faced sincerity sets the album’s tone. She lacks the practiced deadpan irony that Palace wears like a costume, opting for a plain-spoken delivery that could’ve come from Loretta Lynn. She doesn’t load her lyrics with ill-fitting ruralisms and fictional situations; she’s more like Alanis Morissette without the bomast and slick pop production, agonizing over bad love and her own (and life’s) shortcomings, and hoping cautiously for better love and better times ahead. She’s a mixture of awkward wisdom and residual girlishness. Her gentle soprano can be sing-song on "Denied," resigned on "Wash of Water," obliquely edgy on "Temporary Loan" and almost flirty on "Albany Blues."

Though Frost has performed with a five-piece band, for economy’s sake she’ll be touring only with bassist Ryan Hembrey when she performs at the Euclid Tavern this Saturday with the Grifters. "It’s really stark, but I like it. I’ve performed solo but I think people get bored just hearing me and my guitar."

<…> Recording under her own name, an indie heresy, Frost is perfectly at ease with her gentle strum, clear voice (more Emmylou Harris clarity than Lilith Fair acrobatic), and modest, country-inflected songs. Frost’s earthy sentiments — "Ahh… we’ll snort with pleasure/Ahh… we’ll forego washing" — are not those of the ice-maiden producer Rian Murphy sometimes seems to want her to portray, though David Grubbs’s piano on "Follow" and the harmonium and cymbals of "Denied" have their own sonic appeal. (Reportedly, her current touring band plays these songs markedly differently.)

Hardly slick, Calling Over Time is a forthright record that gains depth and resonance upon repeated listenings in a way that eludes those above. It’s typically perverse of Drag City to involve itself with an artist who could probably attract an adult-contemporary audience unconcerned with the credibility of its label or sidemen, an audience only slightly more likely to encounter Frost on Drag City than Smog fans are to rediscover Jackson Browne….

The timbre of Frost’s voice holds its own with Margo Timmins of Cowboy Junkies, Liz Phair and Barbara Manning. The lonely desperation and emotional struggles of the lyrics make Frost a peer of Lisa Germano. The murky, acoustic production suits Frost’s songs and voice. So why doesn’t Calling Over Time work the way a Lisa Germano or Liz Phair record works? Because it’s too quiet, the songs lack strong melodies or structure, and the whole thing just sounds too damn dreary and offhand. Or maybe not dreary enough: This music, at worst, sounds merely dim, not truly dark. Only on the solid final cut, "Albany Blues," (vaguely reminiscent of Bobby "Blue" Bland’s version of "St. James Infirmary"), does Frost break out of her mildly downcast mode and launch into something more direct and memorable.

edith frost: beauty’s barest elements

"He no longer loves me / I’m supposed to forget about him / I was just a harbor / A temporary love on loan…" sings Edith Frost on her new, debut full-length Calling Over Time (Drag City), a masterpiece of gently whispered beauty, a lullaby woven within gorgeous, minimal instrumentation. And while the music sways in and out of candle light, the themes of her songs revolve around the tension of love and love lost — sad, slow, and compelling. As her voice drifts about lazily, Edith Frost realizes that she is, like many of us, caught in the middle, diving in and out of other people’s worlds while maintaining her individuality, caught in the ebb and flow of intimate emotion. She is, in every sense of the word, an angel.

"There are songs about my relationships, but most are situation-type songs as I’m very voyeuristic and harvest ideas from other people’s business," explains Frost. "So they are snapshots of people that I have known and loved through the years. Sometimes they are about a particular person, and if you ask me, I can say, ‘Well, this is about so and so,’ which might seem funny." In the end, however, the impressions left behind by such observations seem strikingly private, as if we are led to eavesdrop on her world, too, wondering where she came from and hoping that she will stay in view forever.

Edith Frost is a big city girl. Born in San Antonio. Lived in Austin, New York, Guadalajara, Chicago. She’s never been camping. Went through ten years of different hair colors, is a big Cocteau Twins and Alice Cooper fan. But, most importantly, Edith has been playing music for more than 15 years, working in a private world shared by her boyfriend. "I’ve always been into music. I sang, and got a guitar when I was about 14. I’ve taken different lessons throughout my life. Sometimes I think I took many different lessons with too many instruments, never getting really all that skilled at one thing. The only instrument I can almost pass on is guitar, though I still can’t play a lead. I didn’t start accompanying myself until about five years ago. Still, I can’t imagine not playing music; I’ll do it until I die."

Edith grew up with a musician and had the support of her father as well, both fundamental experiences which inevitably aided in her growth as an artist. "My old boyfriend was a great musician," continues Frost. "An all-around wonderful guitarist, keyboardist, and programmer. So we had a home studio where we shared the equipment. We had an eight-track with a patch bay and a big board, with various keyboards and samplers."

A lot of Frost’s earlier songs were done with complicated gear. It wasn’t all tape decks with built-in microphones, which provided another important lesson. "I had gotten my first Apple computer in 1982 as a hand-me-down from my dad, and he had heard of these keyboards that could hook up to computers and was really excited, so he bought me one. This was way before the advent of MIDI technology, and I kept that thing for so long, now it’s useless. So my father helped me a lot, and my boyfriend was a maniac about music. I did vocals on stuff with him occasionally, and would sometimes work on my own, but usually I was trying to get him to write the stuff, something I could put vocals on. And I was really into the Cocteau Twins, so I would be like, ‘Make some really pretty songs that I can sing on top of.’ We did a couple of things that sounded really eerie, one which is very Twin Peaks-esque. We did some very geeky stuff back then."

Since moving to Chicago, Edith has released an EP on Drag City, a label she admits was mysterious to her at first. "When I first started working with them, I was a little embarrassed because I had no idea who they were, and asked them to send me some stuff from their label. Those guys are wonderful, almost like family, yet we don’t hang out and socialize because they work like dogs and are 100% committed to what they do. And they’re not getting rich on this. They live for the music, and I really trust them." The EP contains Frost’s favorite songs from her repertoire, including 1986′s "Waiting Room," a delicate, playful-yet-tense masterpiece which offers a subtle contrast to her recent work.

Calling Over Time is one of the best albums of this year, uniting the talents of such notables as Jim O’Rourke (recording and mixing) and Sean O’Hagan (keyboards). Edith has an incredible style and songwriting ability, and the songs she creates are as seductive as the promise of summer. And through it all — by the sadness and loneliness of the difficult days we sometimes carry — she sings to every one of us, satisfying our need for warmth while responding to her own. Which is what music is all about, really.

Edith Frost, a 32-year-old refugee from an underground country-music scene in New York who is now based in Chicago, has made a debut album that’s built to last. More to the point, it’s almost designed for a long wait before its discovery, with its close-to-the-vest inward guilelessness, its austerity and desolate emotionalism.

Calling Over Time frames basic heartbreak 11 different ways; in each case, the narrator remains consistent, unblamable, bereft. The sorrowful words, filled with water and fire imagery, are straightforward and resolutely unpoetic. But here and there a startling line surfaces: "loving hand turns burning sand to water," she repeats in the title song, offering redemption across long distances.

Ms. Frost is as unpreposessing a singer as she is a lyricist, and it’s not until "Too Happy," the country-tinged sixth track, that one has a sense of how durable an instrument her airy voice is.

Rather, it’s the melodies that draw a listener back. For most of the album she is accompanied only by acoustic guitar, dissonant organ chords or a spare bass line; the lack of background action levitates the gorgeous songs.

Si la musique d’Edith Frost reste chaste comme chez le plus austère John Cale, le chant se charge de caresser les sens.
Edith crée son
EDITH FROST Calling over time (Drag City/Pias)

Obligeant, le patronyme suggère un Sésame ouvrant la vénérable caverne aux métaphores. Frost, soit le gel ou le givre, qui sur la pochette mange les contours d’un mystérieux gratte-ciel aperçu au travers d’un pare-brise hivernal. Pour peu que Calling over time soit un rien coquin, on entrevoit d’emblée un joli capital d’images ne demandant qu’à fructifier — le feu couvant sous la glace, les braises taquinant la banquise, les chansons boréales irriguées d’un sang tropical. Figures imposées du discours critique en pilotage automatique, qui trouvent illíco leur emploi — dès la deuxième chanson, Follow, Edith Frost folâtre sur les sentes sensuelles au long desquelles on s’était habitué à suivre la chanteuse d’Elysian Fields. Entre de chastes gouttelettes au piano, la voix enjôleuse ondule du nombril: "Nous aurons des râles de plaisir, nous renoncerons à nous laver, nous ne ferons rien sauf l’amour…" Deux chansons plus loin, changement de cap — sur l’envoûtant Denied, on chavire en compagnie d’une Lisa Germano envahie d’une langueur contagieuse. Mais jamais Edith Frost n’étale une tripotée de traumatismes ou des névroses à tire-larigot. Aux effets de signature voyants et aux tics tape-à-l’oeil, elle préfère les modulations discrètes, les éclairages diffractés. L’orgue ondoyant fait entrer le psychédélisme vagabond dans une chambrette d’amoureuse au coeur en berne (Wash of water), une guitare cristalline tire du blues des larmes lumineuses (Pony song), la country se décontracte, réchauffée par un soleil timide (Thine eyes). Conviés à explorer les mélodies mutines d’Edith Frost, les invités (presque) célèbres sont exemplaires de retenue. Rick Rizzo, d’Eleventh Dream Day, Sean O’Hagan, le mordu des Beach Boys en congé de ses High Llamas, et Jim O’Rourke (repéré, entre autres, au violoncelle fantaisiste sur un album réellement merveilleux, le Wild love de Smog) entrent en sympathie avec des chansons ajourées et silencieuses, qui chatoient au hasard des brises furtives. Edith Frost pourrait pourtant aisément se passer du séduisant écrin qu’ils tissent à ses compositions. Quand, scule, elle laisse s’ébrotier sa voix, l’effet est assez mirobolant: Albany blues, teinté de gospel, est un splendide cheval de Troie introduisant dans la forteresse indée les night-clubs d’Hollywood où Julie London, en fourreau lamé, enflamma autrefois Cry me a river. De gel et de lourdeur frigorifique, il n’est plus question: limpide et délectable, Calling over time fait l’effet d’un précieux verre d’eau fraîche dans la tempête du rock féminin tout en nerfs.

If the music of Edith Frost remains pure as at the most austere John Cale, the song is given the responsibility to cherish the directions.
Edith creates sound
EDITH FROST Calling over time (Drag City/Pias)

Obliging, the patronym suggests a Sesame opening the worthy cave with the metaphors. Frost, is the freezing or the white frost, which on the small pocket eats contours of a mysterious skyscraper seen through winter windshield. For little that Calling over time is one nothing rascal, one only foresees from the start a pretty capital of images asking to bear fruit — fire brooding under the ice, the embers teasing the ice-barrier, the irrigated boreal songs of a tropical blood. Compulsory figures of the critical speech in automatic piloting, which finds illíco their employment — as of the second song, Follow, Edith Frost folâtre on feel sensual with the length of which one had been accustomed to follow the singer of Elysian Fields. Between pure droplets with the piano, the enjôleuse voice undulates of the navel: "We will have rails of pleasure, we will give up washing us, we will not do anything except the love…" Two songs further, change of course — on envoûtant Denied, one capsizes in company of a LISA Germano invaded of a contagious languor. But never Edith Frost does not spread out one tripotée of traumatisms or the neuroses with car-larigot. With the effects of signature indicators and the tics slap-with-the eye, it prefers the discrete modulations, diffracted lightings. The ondoyant organ inserted the wandering psychedelism in a small bedroom of in love in the heart to Bern (Wash of toilets), a crystal guitar draws from the blues of the luminous tears (Pony song), the country is relaxed, heated by a timid sun (Thine eyes). Invited to explore the melodies mutines of Edith Frost, the guests (almost) famous are exemplary of reserve. Rick Rizzo, of Eleventh Dream Day, Sean O’ Hagan, bitten of Beach Servant boys on leave of its High Llamas, and Jim O’ Rourke (located, inter alia, with the whimsical violoncello on a really marvellous album, Wild coils of Smog) enter in sympathy with openwork and quiet songs, which chatoient furtive breezes randomly. Edith Frost could however easily do without the tempting ECRIN which they weave with her compositions. When, scule, it leaves ébrotier his voice, the effect is enough mirobolant: Albany blues, tinted gospel, is a splendid Trojan horse introducing into the indé fortress the night clubs of Hollywood where Julie London, in sleeve lamé, ignited Cry formerly has to rivet me. Of freezing and refrigerating heaviness, it is not any more question: limpid and delectable, Calling over time makes the effect of invaluable fresh water glass in the storm of the female rock’n'roll all in nerves.

Flag Waving

Singer/songwriter Edith Frost is a giddily disarming new arrival in Chicago whose debut album on Drag City, Calling Over Time, is a notable entry from the city’s fertile musical scene.

Frost arrived in the Windy City in November from New York; she was still living in the Apple when she cut her album, after she secured a deal with Drag City with a homemade demo tape (some of which can be heard on her self-titled 1996 EP). For her full-length bow, she managed to engage some high-profile bandmates: Jim O’Rourke and David Grubbs of Gastr del Sol, Rick Rizzo of Eleventh Dream Day, and Sean O’Hagan of the High Llamas.

"The music scene’s really thriving here," Frost says with enthusiasm. "It’s a lot easier here for a musician than in New York. People go out more, and they’re a lot more supportive." She adds that she was rapidly embraced by her new hometown: "Two weeks after I got here, there was an article [on me] in the [Chicago] Reader. It blew my mind. I made friends really fast."

All the backup musicians on the album are noted for their extroverted performances, but they managed to mesh perfectly with Frost’s muted, introspective style.

Frost says of arch-experimentalists O’Rourke and Grubbs, "They’re just really sensitive, intuitive musicians. They would try something out in the studio, and usually the first thing they’d play would sound amazing."

Frost grew up in Texas; before moving to New York, she performed in country and rockabilly units around Austin. (note from Eda: that’s not true! I didn’t start with that stuff ’til after I moved to New York in ’90.) While the music on Calling Over Time bears a country tinge (not unlike the equally personalized approach of labelmate Will Oldham of Palace), subdued originals like the title track, "Wash of Water," and "Give Up Your Love" defy generic categorization.

"If I was aiming for one sound, I wouldn’t get it — I don’t have the chops," Frost says in typically self-deprecating fashion. "I don’t want anybody to peg [the music] in one style . . . It just kind of comes out like me."

Calling Over Time is a striking achievement that makes one look forward to Frost’s live performances. She plans to go on the road this summer with a band that will include guitarist Mike Daly, who worked with her in New York; multi-instrumentalist Mike Krassner; and drummer Glenn Kotche of Paul K & the Weathermen.

Touring will be an entirely new experience for Frost. She says, "I’ve never played outside of a town I’ve lived in… I’ve never been on a two-week road trip. I’m really excited."

Look for Frost on the East Coast in June; she hopes to make appearances in the West later in the year.

Intensely depressing songs of lost love and yearning for dead lovers, oozing with sadness, melancholy and despair. Minimal, dirge-like, mostly acoustic accompaniment (guitar, piano, organ) evoke a really depressed Mazzy Star, if that’s possible. Unlike blues, which can cheer up a broken heart, this will push you to contemplate suicide if you’re THAT low! Not my cup of tea these days! (1, raised to 2 so as not to bum Ms. Frost out too much further!)

"I sing the blues ‘most every night," sings Edith Frost on her album’s opening cut, "Temporary Loan," and the subdued blue tone of this song glows throughout her debut, which offers a very personal, very solitary version of the blues. Echoing the four melancholy tunes on her EP of last year, these new songs tip-toe in different directions, touching upon folk, blues, country and artier strains, but are always anchored by Frost’s breathy, but confident, voice. While she recalls other plaintive-voiced singers, Frost achieves her own distinctive voice: She has a higher, sweeter sound than Kendra Smith, and an earthier, less ephemeral tone than Mazzy Star’s Hope Sandoval.

Given the indie-luminary status of her backup musicians on Calling Over Time — Gastr del Sol’s David Grubbs and Jim O’Rourke, Eleventh Dream Day’s Rick Rizzo, the High Llamas’ Sean O’Hagan, as well as Rian Murphy (member of Plush, Palace, Mantis, and the disc’s producer) — it’s notable that the arrangements here present Frost’s songs relatively unadorned, dressing them in such simple clothes that the personality of their maker shines through freely. Frost’s vocals and gentle acoustic guitar playing are accompanied variously by piano, bass, organ and bits of percussion, establishing a consistent mood, even as the songs vary from more upbeat (relatively speaking) numbers like "Too Happy" ("I don’t wanna be too happy/just enough to keep me goin’") to moodier pieces such as "Follow," the singsong-y "Denied" and "Wash of Water." Also try the lonesome sound of "Pony Song."

Edith Frost a disappointing addition to Drag City
‘Calling Over Time’ settles for mediocrity

From its inception, Drag City Records has been on the forefront of the music industry.  Where others were too shy or hesitant, Drag City charged ahead, braving new and uncharted waters, discovering sonic exotica every time.  Looking back at the seminal first records by Pavement, the adoption of avant-garde superstars Gastr del Sol, the careful cultivation of the latent talents of Bill "Smog" Callahan, the rescuing of Mayo Thompson and the Red Krayola from 1960s obscurity (into 1990s obscurity), and Palace, it seems that the folks at Drag City knew something that no one else did.

But with the release of Edith Frost’s Calling Over Time, it seems that whatever remarkable intuition and foresight the masterminds behind Drag City once had is faltering — or they’re now settling for mediocrity, which is what mostly stands out from this album.

Characterized by a constant imbalance, the songs on Calling Over Time are either lacking in something, or they are just too stuffed with needless extras.  The quiet empty space that Frost tries to reveal herself in and weave her songs around is never quite quiet enough, often distastefully crowded with hackneyed country-esque guitar lines, or a voice that speaks more of a karaoke bar than of a recording studio.  When Frost’s voice does manage to come across in a convincing manner, the lyrics it carries fall short of giving her lyric-based blues/country/pop any sort of weight.

At least two songs, "Calling Over Time" and "Give Up Your Love," save Calling Over Time from the depths of utter banality and futility.  In "Calling Over Time" Frost’s voice takes on angelic dimensions, floating ethereally over gentle guitar strummings.  The gentle melody which carries throughout creates the tranquil mantra-like setting, which in other songs comes across only as an annoying drone.  "Give Up Your Love" is more playful, with Frost’s voice easing up and down in a repeating pattern, reminiscent of campfire singing rounds.

In both cases, Frost is alone, unaccompanied and uncrowded by needless extremities (even if they are provided by, amongst others, the reputable likes of Gastr del Sol’s David Grubbs and Jim O’Rourke).  If Frost wants to strip down and reveal herself, she should learn to remove all but the bare essentials.

Unlike labelmate Bill "Smog" Callahan, Edith Frost’s earnest-hearted acoustic pitter-patters are painfully uncompelling.  She tries her damndest to stir your soul, but since her music — though sometimes pretty and all — has little soulful quality itself, Frost’s efforts entirely in vain. [sic]