hirty seconds in and Paula Frazer’s sweet, high-lonesome vocal comes close to collapsing. Emitting the erudite trickery of a tightrope walker, she wobbles and wavers for effect, hitting the high note whilst effectively dangling one foot off the wire at the same time. She’s in control though. Like a kite flyer caught off guard by a gust of wind, she reins the note in and rolls it down an octave or two. Unfortunately, for fans of Frazer and her old band Tarnation (whose name she resurrects for this outing), her vocal dexterity is downplayed on Now It’s Time. Instead of the Patsy Cline swoops of albums past, Frazer embraces a folk vibe that’s more Sandy Denny than sweetheart of the rodeo.

Though this stylistic shift is slight, it’s something she’s gravitated towards since going solo. Better known for guest appearances (Cornershop, Tindersticks, Handsome Boy Modeling School) than her own records, Frazer formed Tarnation in 1991 after ten years of playing in punk bands. Anchored by a revolving array of musicians, the group released two well-received alt-country albums that paired countrypolitan accoutrements with Ennio Morricone atmospherics. Atop of all this sat Frazer’s voice: its haunting lilt and wordless prowess, coupled with her ability to roll notes around with ease, made the band a blank canvas for her to paint upon.

Perhaps realizing this, Frazer tossed away the Tarnation tag in 1998, releasing three records under her own name that explored a lush, symphonic sound. While writing songs for this new album though, she sought the canyon echo of old and re-called the name. Now It’s Time however, is a refined version of that band’s early nineties output. Drums don’t appear until track three. Guitars are plucked and lightly strummed. Piano motifs pop in and out. The unifying factor is Frazer’s voice, which, befitting her day job (she’s a professional weaver) binds everything together.

Now It’s Time finds Frazer languid and longing: out of love, yet still in love. On the opening track, “August’s Song,” she’s forlorn yet forgiving (“Do the new things you know bring you happiness now / I don’t know / But I hope so”). The ragtime piano-propelled “Bitter Rose,” whose title and tune brings to mind Laura Cantrell, finds Frazer fumbling for answers (“If I stay in your heart will you set me free?”). And on the plaintive folk of “Another Day,” she reminds us, “You can’t go back because now it’s gone.”

The past, it seems, is a perpetual pest. Frazer’s last album was, after all, entitled Leave the Sad Things Behind. And while she wasn’t able to take that album title advice to heart, the downbeat nature of the lyrics is often usurped by her musicianship. As the pastoral proceeds into pedantic she pulls us back in with a sublime vocal turn or twisting melody. “Nowhere,” with its stasis-like verse, is saved by a soaring chorus. The mature title track loses its MOR shackles thanks to Frazer’s emphatic vocal inflections. And the album itself is given a well-needed shot with the whiskey soaked slide guitar of “I’ll Never Know.” For those worried about Frazer’s frame of mind (she informs us earlier that the moon is her only friend), the album ends on a high note. Her valleyed vocals echo around the closing “All the Time,” assuring us that she is, in fact, “feeling good.” We suspected as much.