Freedy Johnston: Blue Days, Black Nights

If any criticism has stuck to otherwise acclaimed singer-songwriter Freedy Johnston, it's the assertion that his major-label albums have been too mild, mannered, and mild-mannered: Slickly produced and filtered through a distinctively honeyed voice, his songs skillfully convey places and capture slices of life, but haven't exactly been intense. After Johnston jumped to a major label following 1992's justifiably adoration-heaped Can You Fly, he released This Perfect World, a pretty, ballad-driven record that found Can You Fly's dramatic punch bleached a bit by Butch Vig's production. A follow-up, Never Home, was a bit more rock-driven, but with mixed results. And the new Blue Days, Black Nights finds Johnston back in clear, direct, soft-spoken form, this time produced by T. Bone Burnett and Roger Moutenot—and again perpetually teetering on the brink of blandness, if never quite plunging all the way over the side. Opening with the sing-songy "Underwater Life," Blue Days quickly settles into a groove, delivering pretty (if slightly sterile) ballad after pretty (if slightly sterile) ballad. Oddly, Johnston only really falters when he tries to cop an attitude: The single, "Changed Your Mind," feels clumsy and forced. But he deviates from form so rarely that Blue Days, Black Nights' unwillingness to take risks ultimately becomes strangely soothing. Johnston has done better, and someday will again, but this warm, soft, sugar-enhanced sonic oatmeal will certainly do for now.