Her Voice Is the Focus

Last year around this time, the critics were falling all over singer-songwriter Shelby Lynne. They marveled as she bared her ragged country soul on her bluesy, minimalist sixth album, “I Am Shelby Lynne,” which earned her a somewhat incongruous--given her long career--best new artist Grammy Award.

But with the release this month of the much slicker and seemingly glib follow-up “Love, Shelby,” a lot of the same folks are wondering if this could be the same artist they fell so painfully in love with.

During her Tuesday performance at the House of Blues, the Virginia-born singer quite capably reconciled the differences between the two albums. At times reveling in the power of her instrument, she made her agile, nuanced, smoky-to-sweet singing the focal point, underscoring that the main problem with the Glen Ballard-produced “Love, Shelby” is not so much the material but more an overwrought presentation that distracts from her remarkable talent.

Lynne, 33, hasn’t been a total chameleon over her 12-year recording career, but, like k.d. lang, she became restless in the country slot she initially occupied and began experimenting with different styles, including big-band swing and jazz. Indeed, becoming a country singer was perhaps inevitable for Lynne, who as a teenager experienced the kind of tragedy that’s the stuff of teary ballads when her father murdered her mother and then killed himself.

On Tuesday, the singer-guitarist showed off her versatility, harmonizing a cappella on a gospel tune with her backing vocalists, offering a sinuous, glacially seductive rendition of the classic “Do Right Woman,” and flashing a pop sensibility with her own country-lite ballad “Killin’ Kind.”

An adept sextet provided a fluid blend of classic soul, country-rock, blues and jazz that smoothed over the disparate elements of her style. She came across like the woman on “I Am Shelby Lynne”--earthy, sexy, engagingly raw. More often than not she worked the honest emotional mojo that hooked so many scribes last year, whether crooning longingly of needing someone to love her on the twangy-torchy “I Can’t Wait” or mournfully of betrayal on the bluesy “Your Lies.”

Wearing a tiny black top, a miniskirt and red-heeled stiletto boots, the Palm Springs resident was utterly comfortable on stage, hollering, “I love you, too, baby!” to vocal fans and occasionally stopping after a song’s opening bars to offer wry comment. When her mike stand broke in the middle of a dynamic, soulful take on John Lennon’s “Mother,” she calmly handed the base to a bemused guy in the front row and carried on with the microphone still attached to the pole.

The sentiment of “Mother,” one of Lennon’s more soul-baring moments, struck a poignant note given Lynne’s story. Even more affecting in that regard was her solo acoustic encore rendition of the bittersweet “Tarpoleon Napoleon,” which she almost disingenuously said was “about my daddy.”

Rather than tearing at heartstrings, she never overplayed her pain in the song, instead phrasing the starkly poetic lines with a jazzy lightness. Still, the effect was striking, as her voice betrayed a deeper agony, perhaps softened by time but still palpable.