I'd go down under for Kasey Chambers 8 days a week, let's just get that out of the way. When they're hot, pack the pipes and can write their own songs . . . well, that just appeals to me on some sort of primordial level that I'm not altogether sure I want to explore.

Wayward Angel finds the Alt-country Sheila not necessarily returning to her roots, so much as turning around to face them. Her debut The Captain was a homespun, traditional affair that kept her safe within the nest of her musical family. Her brothers and father are solid musicians and as lore has it the family once lived a true cowboy life in the Outback, tending to the herd and singing around the campfire.

Kasey came out punching on her second album Brick Walls and Barricades. It was a significant departure from The Captain and a more obvious attempt to lasso a more mainstream audience (ala Sheryl Crow and Shelby Lynn.) Her gossamer twang was replaced by more bluesy, vamped-up approach that was more or less enjoyable, but still kind of a pose that only rang half true. Still it stayed faithful to her family values, what with her brother producing and her dad still playing session man.

Wayward Angel is, I dare say her best effort yet, but doesn't entirely satisfy - her masterpiece is still ahead of her. This time out she brings in some studio ringers, guitarists Steuart Smith, Rod McCormack and Mark Punch to punch up the musical side which is a mixed blessing. Along with some tasty guitar fills that sound like Mark Knopfler all hopped-up on Steely Dan, comes a less organic sounding record, that only gets Kasey into the red zone, where she has to settle for a field goal.

The songwriting is sound, the lyrics only occasionally suspect, but once you're in about half way it all starts to run together, like variations on the same rodeo queen theme. Vocally, she's definitely steered the vessel back toward The Captain - but a lot of it sounds affected and precious. At times her parchment twill reminds of Jill Sobule's "I Kissed a Girl," and she even brings it to a scratchy whisper that smacks of Victoria Williams.

Still and all, it's a solid recording, perhaps a bit lengthy and lacking in tunes that deliver enough chorus-hook pay-dirt, but she's still one of those artists who's definitely got the goods. Mark my mispelled words, one day, the down-under Cowgirl is going to come up-over and ride America like a bitch in heat. God knows I'm all for that.