This is Victoria Williams' third album since contracting multiple sclerosis in the early eighties, and it's her first outing since Musings Of A Creekdipper in 1988.

As with our own Mary Coughlan, Williams doesn't just sing a song, she lives in it for a while, rearranges the furniture and makes it her own personal nest, most obviously on 'Joy Of Love', 'Little Bird' and the whimsical 'Lagniappe'. As a whole this album is more redolent of jazz overtones than previous outings, and Van Dyke Parks' arrangements add a lushness and a sass to tracks like 'Until The Real Thing Comes Along' and the beguiling 'Little Bird' that give Williams plenty of space in which to throw her voice around. A slew of musicians of the calibre of John Convertino of Calexico underpin the enterprise with a solid rootsish foundation resulting in a subtle mix of the basic with the complex.

On first hearing Water To Drink might seem too casual for its own good, but with repeated plays it converts you. Even if the inclusion of standards might suggest a little treading of water rather than drinking from the well of inspiration, Williams' reputation survives to fight another day.