Womack’s Old Country Charm

Lee Ann Womack is lucky her father was working as a country deejay in the ‘70s rather than the ‘90s. Instead of being exposed early on as she was to country’s deep and rich wellspring of music by Merle Haggard, Bob Wills, George Jones, Patsy Cline, Dolly Parton and others, she might have been weaned on Brooks & Dunn and Shania Twain.

And where would that leave her? Decidedly short of where she is now: one of country’s most promising freshmen. This tiny but mighty Texan secured that spot with a confident, unforced one-hour concert Monday at the Crazy Horse Steak House that was long on country roots and refreshingly short on artifice.

So short, in fact, that at times Womack seemed a step away from twiddling her thumbs when she wasn’t actually singing. But the absence of showy stage moves wasn’t a problem measured against her adept vocals, sharp ear for material and a crackerjack band that helped serve her 16-song set so tastily.

Her closest vocal model is Parton in her pre-pop prime, a model Womack brought front and center with a version of Parton’s “Jolene” that was maybe even more hauntingly desperate than the original in its portrait of a woman terrified of losing her man to a skilled seductress.

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Womack’s treatment of Willie Nelson’s done-to-death standard “Crazy” showed why there’s no reason for confusion between this Lee Ann and country’s other one; it’s the difference between a 14-year-old who takes over a song by sheer vocal force and a 31-year-old who has lived inside it.

A superb arrangement gave the song’s jazz underpinnings more prominence than signature versions by Cline, Nelson and Linda Ronstadt. Womack’s vocal--gently hushed one moment, quietly aching the next--avoided the road to overkill that’s so tempting in this melodic showpiece. She didn’t make you forget earlier versions, but she didn’t force you to remember them, either.

Her six-man band would appear to hold Haggard’s versatile Strangers ensemble as its musical role model--no surprise since guitarist-singer Joe Manuel left Haggard’s band not long ago to lead Womack’s.

As good as her ear is for classic songs to cover, her 1997 debut album, “Lee Ann Womack,” also displays her preference for new songs with depth of feeling as well as catchy lyrics and inventive melodies.

Her first hit, “Never Again, Again,” is an instant classic--despite its melodic and lyrical echoes of the late-’70s Buck Owens-Emmylou Harris duet “Together Again, Again”--thanks to its “I’ll never learn” confession from a woman who’s been wronged repeatedly.

“The Fool,” which became her first No. 1 country single, seems at the start to be another tell-off-the-other-woman scenario but sidesteps that cliche by developing the theme of a rude self-awakening for a woman who is competing for attention with her partner’s romanticized memories of a past love.

It’s a particularly revealing aspect of Womack’s music. As contemporary country--radio especially--has embraced an idealized version of life and love better left to romance novels, Womack hopefully heralds a welcome swing of the pendulum back toward life as real people live it.

She toes that line both as a singer and a songwriter.

One song from the album that Womack co-wrote, “Am I the Only Thing That You’ve Done Wrong,” and another she hasn’t recorded, “If You’re Ever Down in Dallas,” are good enough to cause a songwriting pro such as Harlan Howard to take notice of this former staff writer for a Nashville publishing house. Yes, they have great hooks, but those hooks aren’t the sole reason for the song to exist.

“Montgomery to Memphis” allowed her to dig deep into a lyric about a woman who has discovered, perhaps to her own surprise, that she has the strength to pick up the pieces and move on after a broken love affair.

The only time she over-emoted during the evening was when she unnecessarily pushed a line in her current single, “You’ve Got to Talk to Me.” The rest of the time she displayed an admirable respect for the concept of less is more.

She joked about her affinity for downer ballads, but she also knew how and when to have fun. She did a terrific version of “Trouble’s Here,” a raging Cajun-inflected two-step by Orange County’s own Matt Barnes and Jann Browne. (So what if they spelled her name “Brown” in the album credits, as long as she and Barnes get some well-deserved recognition--and songwriting royalties?)

Womack also knows how to reach for higher ground--and how to do it without sounding as if she’s manipulating the religion card--closing the set with the album’s final number, the infectious gospel rave-up “Get Up in Jesus’ Name.”

She’ll be back in April on a stadium tour, opening for George Strait--if she doesn’t jump to headlining status on her own first.