The Bigger Picture
Dusted: Shelby Lynne
by Bob Moses
Some guys secretly pray for their wives to magically turn into Shelby Lynne — for an hour. And then they thank God they don’t have to face her the other 23. Frankly sexual, one of the guys while at the bar or on the stage, charming and pissed and back again within the time it takes to sing a song, the turbulent Lynne held a meeting of her secret admirers in Brooklyn in July. [Shelby will be appearing at a great venue, the Hiro Ballroom, on Friday November 21].
Lynne released what may be one of the best records of 2008 in January, Just a Little Lovin'a collection inspired by Dusty Springfield. And the Springfield classics are an inspired choice. The parallels are all there – the influence of r&b and blue-eyed soul, the country roots Dusty discovered in Memphis, the personal struggle, and most of all a voice that effortlessly makes ecstatic leaps and then chokes in the throat with wordless emotion. Producer Phil Ramone captured the sound of an all-pro small ensemble at work in a room, allowing the dynamics to range from hushed contemplation to crescendo, with Lynne’s powerful voice and phrasing making familiar material her own. (Watch Shelby in the studio:)
She had to make the unfamiliar territory of a nearly-empty rock hall in Brooklyn her own, too —and at first she wasn’t too happy about it. Taking the stage strapped with a Tele and leading a band of Nashville pros (including the estimable John Jackson on guitar, who’s also toured with Dylan and Lucinda Williams), she surveyed the knot of aforementioned 50-year-old guys, the empty balconies, and grimly got to work. Forgetting the words to opener “Life is Bad” from her breakthrough I Am Shelby Lynne and then upbraiding the band set the tone for the early proceedings. A squawky walkie-talkie aggravated her and obviously continued to rankle when it became a biting comic foil much later. None of this troubled the enthusiastic admirers pressed to the edge of the stage, who talked to her, and reached out for her throughout the night. Lynne rewarded them with sly come-ons, direct responses to their pleas, even a kiss to one enraptured soul (after advising another to just scoop up her breast and put it back in her slinky black top if it fell out).
But Lynne rewarded those fans with her voice, not her body. When she turned to the songs from Just a Little Lovin’, she created the intimate experience the work demanded. Her voice is a supple wonder, clear and strong when she rocks the r&b, natural and direct when sliding into Southern swamp such as Tony Joe White’s “Willie and Lauramae Jones” or “Old Times Sake,” and achingly wise on the Springfield catalogue. Lynne turned the big space into a little room, pulling all those secret admirers to the edge of the stage as she sat at its edge, looking us in the eye, saying take me as I am, even in this empty Brooklyn hall. Who wouldn’t secretly pray for that?
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