It’s true, Baez has other, more important concerns. That doesn’t excuse, however, her sleepwalking through this whole LP. Lullaby has no awakenings, rude or otherwise. The most disappointing of her 27 albums also suggests that the once exquisite voice has lost some of its range of soprano surprises. Her rendition of Let Your Love Flow is lifeless, and she manages to sanitize No Woman, No Cry into pseudo-reggae. Charlie McCoy’s harmonica saves The Song at the End of the Movie, and only on Jackson Browne’s Before the Deluge does Baez deliver any real feeling. Her own new songs bog down with cloying, selfconsious lyrics. Missing is the angst and irony that used to impel Baez through sometimes faltering melodies.