After hearing the opening track in a friend’s room this past weekend, I geared up for forty-five minutes of fun, unsubstantial acoustic pop. My excitement was overwhelming. Being hired to spectate on some easygoing mediocrity, write about whatever fills space: mention she’s Justin Vernon’s (of Bon Iver) new girlfriend, make vague references to vague songwriting, go to bed with misplaced pride, wake up guilt free, be complacent about my business. Immaculate planning like this has a tendency to fail. I probably should have listened a bit more to what she was saying.

Voyageur is surprisingly refreshing. Beneath the bias of her pretty and impressive voice arrives a set of tracks conveying a visceral feeling of disappointment and loss. Edwards has some real songwriting talent - not incredible, at least not yet, but more than functional.

Love and grief are the mainstays here in one form or another but Edwards conjurers these feelings with more persuasiveness than some of her peers - the stark simplicity of the closing track with its repetition of “For the record/I only wanted to sing songs” stands out in particular. The catchy ‘Empty Threat’ captures the questionable substance of what we say at times of emotional vulnerability, while the production is ethereal and hazy, complimenting the ballads like ‘A Soft Place to Land’ particularly well.

Not without its imperfections, the middle of the album trudges through a curious mismatch of styles. The country-rock ‘Mint’ and ‘Sidecar,’ complete with distorted guitars, don’t do her voice so many favors; they prevent the record from sinking into monotony, a precipice it gambles with repeatedly, but they don’t add anything of real interest.

We are left with a record that is entirely satisfying; far from bad, but with little excellence, innovation or risk outside of its emotional nakedness. If melancholic pop is what you crave, this may well exceed expectations. Just don't count on too much more.