Begin to Hope: B+

Regina Spektor, with her voice full of quirks and delicious turns of mood, has always been a rather off-putting artist. In 2004's "Soviet Kitsch" - her first cult success - her voice waxes and wanes with all the natural force of a hurricane. Her instruments clang-bang with a sort of delirious fervor, a devilish assault on the eardrums that invokes a certain ecstatic intoxication. Equally so her songs ebb and flow like the tide, some cresting beautifully ("Ode to Divorce") while others taunt you with their psuedo-novel playfullness ("Ghost of Corporate Future") while others still drag on, dying with a slow painful whimper ("Chemo Limo"). The common thread of all of them - and it may be the only thread in a C.D. this wildly theatrical - was her striking (albeit developing) talent as a nimble, crafty singer/song-writer. In "Begin to Hope", her most accomplished album yet, she matures - a thing to be lauded surely - even if it isn't completely.

I must concede at least that she has finally seemed to abandon those frustratingly opaque musical choices that have turned even some of her more fascinating work into drivel. Her first commercial hit, "Fidelity", has a lilting string tune so danceable, so charming that by the time her vocals burst triumphantly on the bridge your face just about breaks. More still, she has ramped up her once diminuative skill for narrative power, which leads to "Samson" - her first truly great song. The story, one of slight poetic melancholia, has a fascinating allure and once combined with her slow thoughtful (and blissfully bare) piano, the effect is like tonic: cleansing in its quiet statement that yes, yes there is a twenty-something hipster who can sing about something other than herself.

Her vocal and lyrical quirks still pop up. Except oddly enough in "Begin to Hope", they provide more cheeky fun than self-conscious wierdness. Take "Hotel Song" and "On The Radio": two strangely indecipherable tales about bees and knees and Orca Whales (don't ask about that last one till you hear it) that add up to a surprisingly enjoyable, oddly sharp kick; its like "Us", Spektor's smashingly thrilling ballad off of "Soviet Kitsch", revamped and redone into commercialized bliss - which, thankfully, allows most everyone to sample this woman's strange and abundant talents.

I won't say that she is perfect ("Edit", "That Time", and "Lady" still remind me of whonked-out crazy Regina) but when she is working at her best, or even on her newly found tragic dimension (e.g. "Field Below", the aforementioned "Samson"), she has a uniquely indelible force: creating whirlwinds of music at turns caustic, funny, creepy, insightful and - dare I say it? - brilliant. Regina Spektor has finally emerged, nearly 5 years after "11:11", as a true talent. Each creation is like a dream, melting away half-way through but leaving you with a great feeling none the less.