SUZANNE VEGA'S first two A&M albums were like poetry recitals accompanied by a very polite folk-rock band. Her spoken-sung vocals were the crystalline focus of attention, and the spare arrangements were meant to enhance the words, but not to disturb them. "Days of Open Hand," Vega's third for A&M, takes some liberties with that approach; she omits her acoustic guitar in a number of tracks and relies less on fixed rhythms. The new album still has the sound of folk music in places, but overall it sounds like delicate, introspective pop. As before, the lyrics have the delicacy of bone china, only now they are set more beautifully on the table.

As before, Vega refuses to compromise her vision. Her blank, inward gaze takes in unsettling details, which she shapes into disquieting narratives and chilly portraits of the world within and without. A song about abortion, Men In A War, compares the numb feeling of an amputee with that of a woman who has aborted. The song does not take a moral stance on abortion, yet it is all the more powerful because it focuses on the emotional consequences of the act.

Elsewhere in the album are equally tramautic images of blockage, wounds, suicide. The overall theme is of trauma and its aftermath. There are some indications of hope, however. In "Tired Of Sleeping," Vega sings of renewal: "Oh Mom/The dreams are not so bad/It's just that there's so much to do/And Im tired of sleeping." And in "Book Of Dreams" she claims to have "healed the hole that [I] ripped in living." But even the optimistic moments have a tough, desperate quality.

Vega doesn't provide catharsis lyrically or musically. She doesn't sing so much as recite. Each word lands quietly and carefully, with light but firm inflection. She sets down her lyrics much the way a toddler plants his feet-with such extreme caution that you get the sense of an underlying instability. The life of the mind, which matters more to Vega than anything else, is hard to understand and even harder to regulate. At least she can control the way she sings. It's not much, but it's a beginning.

Musically, the album is restrained, though less so than its predecessors. In four of the songs, the lack of a steady rhythmic pulse at the center of the arrangements lets the music wander a little. The instrumental backing underscores the agitation or exhiliration or rectitude of the songs through texture and atmosphere. You don't hear them as much as feel them. Synthesizers provide an edgy aural backdrop in "Institution Green," a song about disclocation in a mental facility, and the persistent clacking percussion is almost loud enough to be nerve-racking, but not quite.

You might say the same thing about "Days of Open Hand" as a whole. It is unsentimental in the extreme. It is not fun to listen to. Yet it has the power to change us. Suzanne Vega is in a class by herself.

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Submitted by Julie Chan

VegaNet@aol.com