This Vancouver trio could not have picked a better time to release this charming album. Following the Cohen brothers' O Brother, Where Art Thou?, traditional country music has seen an amazing revival. What makes this renewal so welcome is that it has returned country to its roots in lonesome banjos and foot-stomping raves, having scraped itself clean of the polished shellac weighing down Nashville's latest exports. The fact that it takes three Canadians to do this American art form justice speaks to both the sorry state of domestic bands and the shining talents of Andy, Susan and Jon.

The disc opens with "Field of Corn", one of those creepy backwoods numbers that sends shivers down the spine. With its shimmery steel and hollow banjo, you'd assume the song was recorded in an forgotten cemetery as autumn leaves fell to the ground; in fact, the entire album was actually recorded in a Vancouver apartment. This intimate recording setting lays a warm glow across the entire disc, invoking memories of coming around that last bend in the road on the way home. The recording environs probably also had something to do with the relative lack of percussion in the music (thankfully, nothing is marred by neighbors pounding on the walls). Because of the minimal percussion, it is easy to imagine these songs being played around a campfire. On tracks such as "Things I Coulda Been", the barely-there rhythms infuse the music with a free and easy mobility that is very appealing. It also makes the spare use of drumming extremely powerful; when "Field of Corn" breaks down to voice and a simple rim tap, the spare sound comes off like the monstrous tapping of bones, making a great song even more effective.

The album is well paced, carefully balancing gentle ballads, darker numbers and gleeful hoedowns. The most touching ballad is "Silent Type", which utilizes unobtrusive bass, glowing acoustic guitar and banjo to create an amazingly comfortable melody. The familiarity and closeness is also evidenced in Susan and Jon's intertwined vocals. In contrast, "Sorry Alibi" is a melancholy number that apologizes for failed love and uses hollowness to create a impression of distance. Among the happier numbers is "Amos Homestead", which pairs gospel harmonies with a chugging, hand-clapping pace. This tune is infectious; it's impossible to keep from rocking to the rhythm and smiling.

As a whole, Woodland is a very appealing country-folk excursion. With luck, Flophouse Jr. will be able to ride the wave of popularity traditional country is enjoying and drown their sorry competition. And if they don't manage to knock the Dixie Chicks from their pedestal, this fun album can still be our little secret.