With her wistful voice and torchy heart, Vicky Pratt Keating comes across on her new album, Blue Apples, as one of those singer-songwriters who's forever turning inward for answers, inspiration, and perhaps a glimpse or two of self-revelation. If she doesn't keep a diary, it's probably only because her songs serve the same purpose.

The confessional nature of her songs and their spare, if often elegant, folk settings are apt to evoke comparisons with Shawn Colvin, Suzanne Vega, and the like, but Keating's best songs are too personal to allow the comparison to stick. Mind you, that's not always a good thing--there are times when Keating sounds as if she's been up all night navel-gazing, scribbling down her poetic musings.

For the most part, though, Keating explores relationships and portrays various mindsets with such a gentle voice and a graceful pen that the themes, no matter how autobiographical, take on a broader dimension. Among other tracks, the somber reflection "Sylvie" (dedicated to author Sylvia Plath), the metaphorical and unrequited love song "Boy With a Kite," and the poignant ballad "NY 10/11/91" tap into fundamental emotions on an intimate level without succumbing to tiresome self-analysis. It helps, too, that guitarist Pete Kennedy and several other talented musicians were recruited to discreetly color and embellish the arrangements.