Shelby Lynne conjures a ‘Dusty’ spirit

Covers albums have become the easy road back for many singers who have faded from public view: Take songs many people know, apply a voice familiar from other contexts and you have a passable formula for success. Grammy winner and rebel country star Shelby Lynne isn’t one to take it easy, however, as she proved Tuesday at the Ivar Theatre in Hollywood.

Lynne’s upcoming release, “Just a Little Lovin’,” is a tribute to Dusty Springfield, whose power, nuance and warmth made her one of the indelible voices of the 1960s and perhaps the greatest white soul singer ever. The English pop legend is a natural role model for the Virginia-born Lynne, who began her career in country two decades ago but has followed Springfield’s path toward greater and greater eclecticism.

What made Springfield great was a rare combination of vocal power and emotional subtlety, and an achingly tender tone that made even the hokiest pop into a private communique. Could Lynne come close? This evening was her first public try.

Standing on the spare stage of this vintage theater, whose acoustics exposed every shift of a guitar pedal or misspent breath, Lynne focused mightily, clutching her fist and casting her eyes downward. She carefully took on Springfield favorites “Breakfast in Bed,” “Anyone Who Had a Heart” and “I Only Want to Be With You” -- but, wisely, no “Son of a Preacher Man.”

Spare arrangements, which mirror the tone of the Phil Ramone-produced album slated for February release, left no room for Lynne to hide. Early on, she noted the difficulty of the melodies and said she imagined Springfield “hanging out, going, ‘Girl, you missed that note!’ ” Springfield’s ghost must have very good ears. Beyond some very occasional line swallowing, to this mortal, Lynne sounded spot on.

Emphasizing Springfield’s most intimate side, Lynne played down other aspects of her oeuvre: This solemn set featured no shiny pop camp and little brassy big-band soul. Guitarist Mark Goldenberg took some hot solos, but mostly the four-piece band laid back and let Lynne coach herself through tricky numbers including Randy Newman’s “I Don’t Want to Hear It Anymore” and Burt Bacharach and Hal David’s “The Look of Love.”

Eventually, Lynne relaxed, visibly enjoying the challenge of reaching for Springfield’s high marks. Yet for all her grace on the more familiar songs and spunk on the few rarities, one of the night’s most thrilling moments came when she performed “Pretend,” the only song Lynne herself wrote for her tribute album. A cry of romantic abjection executed in a loving whisper, it lived up to the Springfield legacy. Lynne may prove to be a good spiritual daughter to the great Dusty, but she still has some stories of her own.

ann.powers@latimes.com