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Here is a man unafraid to rep for the drippiest balladeer ever, Dan Fogelberg--and no one will call Edmonds on it, because his restraint and care eliminate any sense of the maudlin.
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Passion, not laid-backness, rules on Playlist, a set of originals and covers.
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Everything is suited for Babyface, often to the point where the songs don't sound tremendously different from what he has written during the last several years.
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His performance throughout is solidly heartfelt.
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Sonic sap threatens everything here, but Edmonds usually manages to stave off Hallmark ickiness with an ear-tickling detail or two.
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However a hard sell this album may be, though, it’s a satisfying trip down memory lane.