Barnes & Noble
This quirkily soulful singer-songwriter has flown under the radar for the better part of a decade, winning a cult following with her warm, burnished voice and knack for crafting vulnerable, personal originals. She's been absent from the scene for some time, but this largely acoustic disc finds her picking up exactly where she left off, pushing emotional buttons with her own compositions and teasing wickedly with forays into cover material like a Joni Mitchellinflected neo-coffeehouse take on Blue Oyster Cult's "(Don't Fear) the Reaper." Davis's ability to inhabit just about any musical style extant is amply evident here, as she swings from torch song muskiness (a vibe that permeates the longing "The Letter") to easygoing folk (the predominant flavor in the hoedown-ready "Wide Open"). Whatever the genre, however, Davis exudes an unfettered sensuality that's never too brassy, never too coquettish, a tenor that ramps up the impact of songs like the yearning "Right There" and "Desert Rose." Consider it a welcome return, and one that's easy to surrender to. David Sprague
All Music Guide
Alana Davis left Elektra in frustration after the label failed to effectively promote her sophomore effort Fortune Cookies. But the album itself struggled with direction -- it jumped from acoustic pop similar to her breakthrough 1997 cover of Ani DiFranco's "32 Flavors" ("Save the Day"), to the Neptunes-produced, 21st century R&B of "Bye Bye." 2005's Surrender Dorothy is much, much more cohesive, and a great statement of where Alana Davis is today. It's issued through her own Tigress imprint; she's the sole producer and arranger; she wrote every song but for two covers; and the band is stripped-down and easy behind her guitar and rich vocal work. "Letter" reintroduces Davis' soulful singing over an understated, but creative arrangement, while the crackling electric guitar and bold, layered vocals of "Benefit" suggest her as the female Ben Harper. There are laughs left in throughout the record, and Davis makes wordless noises that never sound needless. She could handle the hand-fluttering contemporary R&B aesthetic, but why? Something like "Vision" is way more fun to sing, where the lingering ends of her phrases flirt with wah-wah guitar and live percussion, and she adds some "Do-do-do"'s that are perfectly tossed off. Surrender Dorothy isn't slick, and that's on purpose. "Wide Open" returns to a rambling acoustic pop sound, "Jaded [Goodbye]" incorporates Stevie Wonder notes into its bright, searching interludes, and though it needs more cowbell, Davis' cover of the Blue Öyster Cult classic figures out how to blend the original's star-crossed fatalism with an airy acoustic arrangement and the casual quality of a Bonnaroo jam session. Davis is incredibly comfortable throughout all of this. She never over-sings, and her songs blend everything from vintage soul and wronged-woman R&B to Joni Mitchell and adult alternative pop with an ease that accentuates Surrender Dorothy's inviting nature. Johnny Loftus