Surprise,' the debut album by sometime Golden Palominos singer Syd Straw, is an ambitious, erratic record. It subverts pop forms at every turn, yet ends up following the Golden Palomino imperative that no matter how much you mess around with the strictures of pop, you still love them.

With an impressive cast of accompanists (ranging from Richard Thompson to Daniel Lanois) showing her the way, Straw sets her sights on a dazzling array of styles that showcase the versatility of her defiant, vulnerable voice without calling undue attention to her technique. For all the soaring singing, there's very little showing off. Surprise coughs up an occasional misstep, especially when Straw gets self-consciously arty, yet the diversity serves to diffuse the record's shortcomings. A duet with the reliable John Doe on a recasting of Stephen Foster's century-old rural plaint "Hard Times" is wild but restrained. Even the shaggy-dog tale "Sphinx" offers up some trenchant chucklers. You can hear Straw having fun with the songs, playing with syllables, daring us to guess where she'll go next.

Underneath all the pop theory, Surprise is a sturdy set that deepens with repeated listenings. Straw takes you all over the place on her debut, and leaves you wiser for the journey. This is an auspicious beginning: Let's hear how Syd Straw expands on it. (RS 561)

JIMMY GUTERMAN