There's nothing coy about Leah Andreone. What she has to say, be it beautiful or disgusting, she says with unabashed honesty and candor. She's brutally frank without being gratuitous, angry without screaming, and lovely without overt teasing. She's everything good about supervixens like Alanis, minus the monotonous overkill and plus about a ton of sincerity.

Andreone sings like an earthier Fleming McWilliams of (Fleming and John).; but her lilting tones tend to linger not on love songs and platitudes but on the uglier side of relationships and life -- small stories that are anything but small to the people stuck in them. Her vocal melodies might not be as intricate and snazzy as Fleming's, but she more than makes up for it in sheer gut-level emotion. "Happy Birthday" is a creepy little blues tune from the point of view of a fetus (!!) ("you are what you conceive... the deed is done / let's start day one / you're stuck with me... I know you inside out / what you already ate, I'll eat... I'm kickin' while you sleep"). "Problem Child" is chilling; a plaintive acoustic ballad about an abused child seeking violent revenge -- "I'm raping, I'm killing... am I all you hoped that I would be?" Not everything in Andreone's world is evil and gross -- "Imagining You" is a beautiful little song wondering about exploring another person. "Would a shower feel the same with you?... would you show me how you cry?" she asks. In three minutes, she sums up the fragile relationships, unrequited loves, and throbbing heartaches of everyone -- if you hear this song and it doesn't raise a lump in your throat, then you're a cold soul indeed, my friend.

Veiled alternates between rockin' bluesy numbers like "Hell To Pay" (another simple, great idea: would any of us be good if there was no punishment? Would you get out of bed if no one had to work?) and "It's Alright It's OK," to acoustic numbers that grab your heart and squeeze until it's painful. It's as if Andreone walked into my life, opened up her mind and heart like a junk drawer and dumped everything, good and bad, on the floor. In this day and age of bullshit braggadacio from both sexes, nice-but-naughty pseudo-vamping miscast as "liberation," and hyperventilating shrieking in the name of honesty, Leah Andreone sets up quietly in the corner and tells it like it is to anyone with the courage to listen.

Keith Bergman