Melding with the neo-medieval-folk sensibilities that Dead Can Dance re-popularized, Birch Book's Michael B'eirth labors to resuscitate the troubadour tradition in this now out-of-print collection of psychedelia-tinged folk originals. Not since John Renbourne, Bert Jansch and the Dransfield brothers of the sixties have I heard such serious acoustic guitar-driven intent to praise the itinerant minstrel. An American to boot, the man is also an accomplished custom luthier (guitar maker) based somewhere in the Pacific Northwest.

Though not in as cerebral a mindset as Nick Drake, B'eirth rhymes and chooses his words well enough to make his ultra-lilting, whispery delivery bearable (for those who are not too into having some guy breathing in their ear). In other words, if you loved the movie Once, you may not be able to do without Fortune & Folly. A great moment comes from track six, the instrumental "Diaspora," a frightening take on Leonard Cohen with a beautifully mixed-in jet airplane sound, although some lyrics would have made it brilliant. The only complaints as far as technique is concerned are a few wobbly harmonies and strangely dubbed vocals on track four, "Young Souls."

A significant letdown, however, is that the lyrical themes largely center on the troubadour himself and little else, as in track 7, "Wandering Boy"; track nine, "The Trip Goes On" is a pernicious example of overindulgent repetition. There is little room left for the picaresque narratives and fables that should actually come from the bardic tradition from which B'eirth takes his cue. Where are they? Alas, the beasts with two backs and the jealous cuckolds are nowhere to be seen. Fortune & Folly is an otherwise promising folk outing that smolders with ambition, yet is hobbled by the crippling self-importance that helped scuttle the previous great folk movement. It could be that there is such a thing as too much transcendence.