How many times can a singer introduce herself before the act become meaningless? Shelby Lynne released several albums of contemporary country throughout the late 1980s and early 90s before reemerging (and recreating herself) on 1999's renewed statement of purpose I Am Shelby Lynne (in true Grammy fashion, she won a Best New Artist award for this, her sixth album). Yet despite that album's relative success, Lynne proved as restless as ever with 2001's poppy Love, Shelby, 2003's aptly named Identity Crisis, and 2005's Suit Yourself, which further toned down the twang in favor of spare, moody rock (not nearly as eclectic as some claimed, even as Lynne showed clear, confident growth as a songwriter).
Lynne has made another about face, this time with Just a Little Lovin', a tribute to Dusty Springfield. The timing of the disc is curious, to say the least. A known quantity, Lynne seems to be trying re-establish herself once again, gaining a new foothold as a chanteuse and interpreter with a critical catnip move that, at least on its face, appears pretty safe. After all, a Springfield tribute would have been the perfect attention-gaining move, say, 10 years ago. In 2008, it seems a bit like playing a "get out of career jail free" card she's been holding in her pocket for at least as long.
Lynne (and, for that matter, little sister Allison Moorer, also out with a new covers disc) has been earning comparisons to Springfield for years, but to her enormous credit seems to have been the first to acknowledge the 800-lb gorilla in the room: Just a Little Lovin' may pay tribute to Springfield, but it treads very lightly when it comes to Springfield's definitive Dusty in Memphis, whose sessions inspired just four of the remakes on this disc. The rest come from Springfield's 1964 debut A Girl Called Dusty, plus a pleasant run through the oft covered (by Dusty and others) "The Look of Love" and "How Can I Be Sure".
And then there's "Pretend", the biggest risk on the album, an original song inspired by Springfield and as good a place to start as any when tackling such a loaded disc. Respectfully deferring to the legacy of Dusty in Memphis (and, specifically, "Son of a Preacher Man", which Lynne wisely did not record) is one thing. But including an original song on a disc otherwise composed of songs associated with Springfield is another. It's a tall order to summon up a song Dusty Springfield might have sang. Then again, few would have ever imagined Springfield would have a hit collaboration with the Pet Shop Boys, so who knows.
But does "Pretend" work? Sure, why not, which gets to the conflicted crux of this project. Lynne could have easily attempted to emulate Springfield, but she doesn't. Just a Little Lovin' could have easily attempted to emulate Springfield's arrangements, too, with horns or strings, but it doesn't. Instead, both Lynne and album alike attempt to pay tribute to the songs Springfield sang and made famous as much as the singer herself.
That's an honorable approach, to be sure, with one catch: Springfield didn't write her songs, so if you take away the things that made them hers what's left are songs that may as well be anyone's. With jazzy, crystal-clear production favoring intimate acoustic guitar and upright bass, Lynne does justice to these tracks, her voice just the right mix of smoky, sad and soulful even if the milquetoast backing lends it little muscle. The title track and "I Only Want to Be With You" are light and airy, with extra credit to the latter for twisting such a standard into an entirely new shape. The Delta blues underpinnings of Lynne's "Willie and Laura Mae Jones" may not quite be a revelation, but the swamp vibe feels perfect.
On the other end of the spectrum, while Springfield might have recorded the first version of "The Look of Love", the song's since moved well past any claim to ownership. Just as Lynne steered clear of "Son of a Preacher Man", she should have steered clear of this over-exposed cliché of a song, too. But a bigger problem can be found in the sultry gait of "Breakfast in Bed", which boasts (and highlights) something missing from much of the rest of the record: some playful sexiness. By stripping them down to their bones, Lynne gets the skeleton of these songs right, but in the end you can't help but miss the meat that made Springfield who she was. Springfield never made music meant for the background, but that's unfortunately just where Lynne's emotional in intent but passive in execution take on Springfield's legacy ultimately belongs.
