Originally, Sheryl Crow planned to have her follow-up to 2002's Top Ten hit C'mon, C'mon be two simultaneously released albums, announcing their autumn release at the beginning of 2005, but by the time the fall rolled around, the project had been scaled back to a single album: Wildflower. If C'mon, C'mon was a cheerful, bright record ideal for sunny summer days, Wildflower is its opposite, a warm, introspective record that's tailored for the fall. It's not dissimilar to 1998's The Globe Sessions, which felt like a somber hangover to the wonderfully weird party of her eponymous 1996 second album, but where The Globe Sessions had a weary, heartbroken feel, there's a comfortable, lived-in atmosphere and sense of genuine affection on Wildflower.
She ditched the rock-chick image and good-time attitude for undemanding pop a while ago, but Sheryl Crow still clings to the MOR Americana that soundtracked the 1970s. Often prone to a bout of introspection, she is now keen to reinvent herself as one of the most enduring symbols of that era: the singer-songwriter. Wildflower is Crow's attempt to make her very own Tapestry, the album that was to a generation of women who had burnt their bras what Alanis Morissette's Jagged Little Pill was to their daughters - a safe spoonful of empowerment.