Portland, Oregon-based singer-songwriter Shelley Short resists easy
categorization. She’s got a light, sultry, and subtly expressive warble
with an ever-so-slight drawl that evokes jazz singers Billie Holiday
and Mildred Bailey (along with contemporary folk-rocker Victoria
Williams). Stylistically, Short’s songs are spare and minimalist in the
manner of neo-folk chanteuses Faun Fables and Marissa Nadler, but she’s
a few shades lighter in tone and lets a few mournful strains of country
music waft into the mix.
Her songs have a gentle, languid pace, and her palette includes
electric guitar, synthesizer, flute, and trumpet, but chiefly for
embellishment, and the acoustic bass of jazz ace Glen Moore
(coincidentally a member of the band Oregon) provides a primal
foundation on a few tracks. Short’s lonesome but compassionate voice
conveys the melodies, her lyrics flow with the elemental starkness of
ancient nursery rhymes and Anglo-American folk tales and, occasionally,
the Gothic poetry/prose of Edward Gorey. “Familiar” has the throbbing
cadence of a heartbeat and the resolute drive of Delta blues (And
since I met you I’m afraid of dying), while Moore’s bowed bass
wails and wheezes like a male voice.
A Cave could use a bit more diversity of tempo and mood
— it has such a downcast overall ambience that after a thorough
listening I felt like playing some Leonard Cohen or Mark Eitzel for a
quick pick-me-up. But it’s a fascinating set, especially if you’re up
for a synthesis of Victoria Williams and Lisa Germano. (Hush)
