It's been more than a decade since Indigo Girls Amy Ray and Emily Saliers left Emory University and ventured out into the harsh, cruel world, but to judge from their new album, Shaming of the Sun, they're still reeling from the shock. "The white-haired men have gathered, spilling their sons' blood like table wine," Saliers croons in the plaintive ballad "Everything in Its Own Time." In "Burn All the Letters," she warns us: "The government's on the phone.... Soldiers are coming to plunder." Bummer.

As always, there are two distinct types of Indigo Girls songs: Saliers', which are tender, folky and earnest, and Ray's, which are gritty, folky and earnest (though a bit more playful). Neither type is entirely insufferable, thanks to the Girls' disarming candor and warmth. No one could deny the exotic sexiness of Ray's "Cut It Out" or the ingratiating guitar-pop bounce of Saliers' "It's Alright," one of several songs that openly address homosexual issues and desires. Both women are to be admired for their fearless and sensuous depiction of female lovers, from lost dreamer Saliers' wistful, violin-laced "Caramia" to the wacky sadomasochist in Ray's driving "Don't Give That Girl a Gun."

Still, Indigo Girls' overwrought intensity can be cloying. Personal confession and social protest have rich traditions in pop music, of course, but not every moony coed who strums a guitar in a campus coffeehouse grows up to be Bob Dylan or Joni Mitchell. Indigo Girls may have their earth-sister charms, but they've yet to make music that's rounded enough to reflect life in the real world. (RS 762)

ELYSA GARDNER