Singer/songwriter Jill Sobule’s quirky tales of love, loss, and human frivolity would seem precious and cloying in the hands of a lesser interpreter. Underdog Victorious, her first release of all-new material since 2000′s Pink Pearl — she put out a retrospective the following year — features all of the sarcasm, wit, keen observation, and big-sister charm that fans have come to expect from the tenacious New Yorker. Sobule inhabits each of her characters with an equal amount of empathy and motherly whimsy, whether it be Third World prostitutes (“Tel Aviv”), “Strawberry Gloss”-wearing teen princesses, or closeted boys wilting beneath the Bible-clenched fists of intolerant fathers (“Under the Disco Ball”) — the latter, with its refrain of “they have a scheme/they have a plan/to take the children of our land/turn them into stylists and women who play golf,” is like 1995′s “I Kissed a Girl”‘s younger sibling. Sobule is a true pop aficionado, and her melodies have never suffered from the run-of-the-mill, singer/songwriter trappings of the genre, so when she builds an entire song off of the piano riff from Chicago’s “Saturday in the Park” — the ludicrously catchy first single, “Cinnamon Park” — it never feels calculated. The title track is the real gem here; with its Mott the Hoople-like chorus and Mick Ronson-era Bowie guitar lick, it captures all of the sunshine, self-deprecation, and joy of simply being allowed to be a musician with a big burning heart. Sobule’s voice lacks the sometimes icy pretension of oft-compared, hip contemporaries like Aimee Mann. In fact, a better comparison would be the perpetually underrated Cyndi Lauper, another mischievous pixie whose “New Yahk” accent and spirited irreverence often overshadowed her more somber and challenging offerings. It’s this homegrown accessibility that provides much of the aptly titled Underdog Victorious’ engaging warmth, and besides, it’s hard not to root for an artist who closes her record with a surprisingly heartfelt and genuine ode to misery without sounding the least bit whiny. – James Christopher Monger