Shelby Lynne

Bottle rockets and swamp water, whiskey and cigarettes: That's Shelby Lynne. Once a Nashville career girl somehow locked out of stardom, the singer-songwriter busted loose five years ago with the real deal: the rocking, confessional I Am Shelby Lynne. It made the case for the Alabama native as a deep Southern soul mama, steeped in faded glory of the Muscle Shoals Sound and the polk salad funk of Elvis Presley's 1969 made-in-Memphis comeback. That she also delivered a cover of John Lennon's "Mother" as a harrowing piece of autobiography only made Lynne seem fabulously complex. But a glossy sequel flopped amid too many Sheryl Crow comparisons—which makes Lynne's latest somehow all the sweeter to hear.

The laid-back shimmer of Suit Yourself, with its shuffling rhythms, bluesy vibes and tunes about back-porch strumming and iced tea, turns the volume down considerably and pulls you in for a late-night conversation. The casual recording style is winningly intimate, dispensing would-be hits like "I Won't Die Alone" (which could easily translate into a punchy, defiant power ballad) with the same lack of fuss as a tossed-off ditty like "You and We" (a somewhat pointless salute to pronouns). But Lynne can't resist at least one big number, and "You Don't Have a Heart" delivers: It's packed with "Like a Rolling Stone" organ flourishes and slide-guitar solos, and Lynne's cheerful scorn is nothing less than redemptive. Given all the brokenhearted payback the singer loves to evoke, it's telling that the album's high point is tucked away at the end: a seven-minute version of Tony Joe White's "Rainy Night in Georgia" that may be about the ache and melancholy of erotic memory, but sounds like irresistible pillow talk to us.—Steve Dollar