In spite of their rocky experiences with differing lineups, failing record labels, and periods of nearly giving up the ghost, Linford Detweiler and Karen Bergquist are on what is probably the biggest roll of their ten-plus-year career as a band. The first chapter might be called "the coffee shop" era: the up close and personal acoustic pop of Till We Have Face and Patience. Then came rock and roll. Over the Rhine put themselves on the radio and on the map in 1994 with Eve. It was a bold, playful, bluesy record with a searing electric sound. While it earned them a larger audience, it disgruntled some of the faithful for whom the band was like a well-kept secret that they preferred to keep to themselves. But Karen Bergquist’s vocals were growing stronger, and the sound indicated a readiness to play bigger venues. The lyrics were evolving too, combining their trademark poetry with some audaciously spontaneous lyrical tomfoolery. It only made sense that they add some new colors to their archive.

After their label folded, they struggled to get another record finished on their own, and what resulted was their most critically acclaimed project yet — 1996’s Good Dog, Bad Dog. It was naked and passionate where Eve was dressed-up and whimsical. Thanks to Good Dog’s word-of-mouth, their fan base across the country continued to grow. In 1999, they began a fruitful collaborative effort as the second half of the ever popular Cowboy Junkies, which put them on the stage of Sessions at West 54^th, and even The Late Show with David Letterman. That only threw fuel on the fire. More and more people were curious. And so, in 2000, Good Dog Bad Dog was re-released, as strong and fresh as ever. "The little record that could" further established their powerful talents for poetic lyrics, evocative guitars both electric and acoustic, and Karen’s amazing ethereal vocals.

So what next? An atmospheric low-profile Christmas album (The Darkest Night of the Year) and a mish-mash of new sounds and live recordings from the archive (Amateur Shortwave Radio) kept the fans happy while providing a preview of the future…a bigger, lush, resonant ambience.

Films for Radio may make some fans uncomfortable. It represents the band’s boldest metamorphosis to date. Trendy pyrotechnics — loops, samples, and drum machines — flicker around the edges. It seems here that Over the Rhine is not so much a band as it is Karen, transmitting Linford’s sentiments, with a rotating body of performers and tools that cast different light on her vocals. And oh…that voice. Karen’s singing has become increasingly confident, and here she’s quite an acrobat. She sings with the force of Tori Amos and Sinead O’Connor, without showing off. She brings powerful expression to some of Linford’s most soul-searching and riddling lyrics. The focus, this time, has turned further inward, less interested in the specifics of story that colored Good Dog Bad Dog and more concerned with mysteries and secrets.

In the liner notes, Detweiler describes the songs as being about "internal worlds, about the dialogue that runs inside all of us, conversations we have with ourselves." Indeed, the theme of all the things "left unsaid" rises again and again. The world seems a busy noisy place, and the singer is continually appealing for everything to pause to allow for communion, communication, and confession, again blurring the linguistic lines between sex and the spirit.

In "The World Can Wait", the lines seem an echo of Emmylou Harris’s "Deeper Well" describing a desperate quest for a thirst-quenching encounter with the beloved, either carnal or otherwise. Is the lover singing to his beloved, or the sinner to God, or the artist to the audience?

"Give Me Strength", written by pop singer Dido, was recorded for the soundtrack to a prime time drama, but here it boils the poetry down to a plaintive plea for freedom from past mistakes. In a sense, it echoes the recurring line in the film Magnolia—"We may be through with the past, but the past isn’t through with us."

"I Radio Heaven" seems to be the album’s banner lyric, as the singer "moves the antenna" and "switches the channels" in an attempt to connect with God. Here, Karen sounds almost desperate, repeating the chorus like a mantra.

"The Body is a Stairway of Skin", perhaps the most provocative musical striptease you’ll ever hear, leaves us to wonder if the subject is the singer or the song. The teasing continues in "I Radio Heaven" when, in the middle of what seems a prayer the voice suddenly changes—"I am the song that is grinning."

There will no doubt be a lot of talk among longtime fans about this new flavor of Over the Rhine. This record certainly indicates that the band is on a larger stage, with more resources, ready to conquer the world. That can be disappointing, to feel the wind carrying them away from those small and intimate venues, away from that direct and simple acoustic sound that gave Good Dog Bad Dog its weight. What I find a bit troubling is that Good Dog Bad Dog had a timeless quality to it, while Films for Radio brandishes current musical trends without apology. Good Dog was wholly and completely their own, Over the Rhine’s essence laid bare; Films could be interpreted as the band trying on many different costumes. I’ve lost track of how many vocalists have followed the example of Portishead, experimenting with the juxtaposition of drum loops and a haunting vocal. Not only that, but the songs on Films are much longer, which works in the explorative, unhurried "Little Blue River", but in the case of "Goodbye" becomes redundant and perhaps a bit bombastic for lyrics of such a private, confiding quality.

But this band’s recordings are not their strongest suit. Over the Rhine is one of those bands that should be experienced, first and foremost, as a live act. The album stands more as a journal of their discoveries along the road. There is a chemistry between Detweiler, Bergquist, and their changing body of collaborators that can’t be captured fully on a record. In fact the best thing about Films for Radio, in my opinion, is its live-quality, unembellished version of "Little Blue River", presented in the full eight-minute splendor of its in-concert manifestation. It is the centerpiece of this collection. And the album closes with "When I Go", as sparse and razor-edged as anything in their past work. There you can tell that Over the Rhine hasn’t lost hold of who they are. They’ve just enhanced the exciting variety of music they can accomplish.