Eleanor Friedberger's vocals are perpetually thin; her accent and intonation sound hokey to me, but are in the end so undistinctive that they're probably just how she sings rather than pretense, which makes me feel bad for not liking them but doesn't make me like them. And the lyrics... skimming the (huge) lyric sheet, I'm intrigued. When listening, though, the only lines I catch are faux-blues gooferisms and the occasional jarring reference to Dairy Queen.
This record manifestly requires several listens to appreciate. But the scent of bungled ambition puts me off sometimes, and I've largely broken the habit of listening to records only because I think I ought to. I sure will be damn impressed by this if I ever turn out to like it much at all, though.