If genuine country music can be likened to a shot of Jack Daniels with a Jim Beam chaser, then Sally Timms' collection of country-tinged tunes might be like sipping a cup of Earl Grey tea. And I guess by "genuine" country I mean the bastard shit-kickin' Johnny Paycheck and Merle Haggard kinda country. Timms' take on the genre isn't exactly strong, intoxicating medicine for your troubles, but it might do just fine on a lonely winter's eve.

I'll carry the beverage motif no farther, and just say that Sally Timms is by no means a great traditional country singer or songwriter. Truthfully, though, her voice never sounded better. It's dreamy, angelic, and totally guileless, not artificially countrified. But then again, she sang with those country-lovin' Brits, the Mekons-- a band that blended punk and rootsy Americana influences with British Isles folk. They never intended to be musical purists in the least. And here, Timms is paying her own distinct tribute to the music she loves. It's all elegantly rendered in her laid-back, monochromatic vocal style. There's no hipster irony, no feigned country accents, and no obnoxious posing here.

I recently read a review in which Timms' latest album is denounced as a sham of sorts-- the treatment of these songs was evidently too un-country to register with this particular expert on the aesthetics of Hick. I mean, is it so inconceivable that the Beatles' versions of Buck Owens' "Act Naturally" or Carl Perkins' "Matchbox" could rival the originals? Here, Sally's just doing a little pretending, too. Nothing to get uptight about.

Hell, for years now the Brits have been obsessed with the American West-- the frontier myths, cowboy culture, and especially the music associated with the region. Timms is simply living out her fantasy of being a barefoot, backwoods hillbilly songstress; she's sitting by the campfire, strumming her acoustic guitar, singing to the tumbleweeds and coyotes. Sure, there's nothing brilliant or ground-breaking about it, but no harm done on the ears, neither.

And no, the production isn't the earthiest in the world, but the arrangements are simple and tight: it's mostly pedal steel guitar, fiddle, and occasional banjo-picking over delicate acoustic strumming. And it's damn hard to argue with the material Timms chooses to cover, namely Johnny Cash's brutal caveat to a lover gone astray, "Cry Cry Cry." Other highlights include a Timms original-- the Tex-Mex spice of "Canciones Para Mi Padre"-- and even a little contemporary alt-country in the form of Jeff Tweedy's "When the Roses Bloom Again" and Jill Sobule's "Rock Me to Sleep."

The title is appropriate, too, since the album really is catered to the buckaroo that's simply "lost." However, if you're a lost, lonely, jilted, drunk, unemployed, emasculated, near-suicidal buckaroo, maybe you should try some early Tammy Wynette, or a Merle Haggard Christmas album. Then you'll be shocked into existential contentment by what real country-fried pain and heartbreak is like. But if you're not quite ready to wallow in the "authentic" country music pigpen of abject sadness and depression, maybe try Cowboy Sally's Twilight Laments for Lost Buckaroos.

-Michael Sandlin