Jenny Scheinman

We Say...

Review by Britt Robson

Of the two Jenny Scheinman discs simultaneously released in mid-2008, Crossing the Field is the typically adventurous jazz set featuring guest spots by Bill Frisell and Jason Moran, and Jenny Scheinman is the eye-opening singer-songwriter vocal debut. There are six covers among the ten tunes here, and some are wonderful, including the dirt-rural traditional folk blues, “I Was Young When I Left Home,” arranged by Bob Dylan, a classic-rocking rendition of Jimmy Reed’s last hit from 1963, “Shame Shame Shame,” and a faithful take on the creamy swing of the Platters’ “Twilight Time.” But Scheinman’s four originals are gems, too — the top quartet of tunes on the entire record, in fact. The gift for melody so apparent in her jazz writing is paired with poetic lyrics and intrepid sense of rhythm, creating free-verse double entendres and twists of inflection that change, and frequently charge, the narrative.

On “Newspaper Angels,” for example, delightfully pregnant pauses twice alter the context: One has a “sister looking at her baby [pause] brother” and another describes how “there’s five miles between them [pause] and the nearest neighbor.” These subtle bits of wordplay enable her flat, honest vocals — reminiscent of Sheryl Crow — to create depth and wisdom and surmount her tonal limitations. “Come On Down” is an unabashed rocker (and makes the Crow resemblance more explicit). “The Green” is a fascinating, erudite whodunit that opens and closes with “Where is my mother’s sister?/ Did she climb in the back of a shiny El Camino?” And “Skinny Man,” the highlight of the collection, is a lament so beautifully sad you won’t know whether to cry or celebrate.

In addition to her cutting-edge jazz work, Scheinman has backed up Norah Jones and other refined pop stars, which makes this eponymous disc vulnerable to cries of sellout from jazz purists. But check the way Scheinman plays fiddle with a haunting bluegrass reverence on Mississippi John Hurt’s “Miss Collins,” and then uses the same instrument as a grand violin to bring home the complexity of emotions on Tom Waits’ “Johnsburg, Illinois.” Or check Frisell’s guitar lines on “Rebecca’s Song,” which modulate from a whisper to a murmur. Jenny Scheinman sings on Jenny Scheinman, it’s true. But the music ain’t half bad either.