Shenandoah Davis’ piano sound strikes a match in the ear. Her ivories seem old and rustic, almost as if recorded from a bygone era, and her voice is beautiful and warbly, like a baby robin waddling to its nest. Not the standard fare for us at Cerberus, save the synths, and that’s just fine, thanks. A kindly mix of Josephine Foster, Regina Spektor, and The Finches never hurt anyone; the fact that Davis might someday “make it” in the traditional sense (and not in the dirty way) is neither here nor anywhere. Her voice is pleading, her compositions plodding but in a meaningful way. Maybe even jazzy, a bit? Yeah, things get sassy too, albeit never off-puttingly so, and that’s saying something because I even hear a glint of showtune boisterousness in there. She fares best with the direct, achingly sincere solo piano numbers, like the one that’s melting my heart right now, which is called “Hobos and Bulls” and is so pretty it draws emotion from me like Davis is siphoning tears from my ducts, but that’s not important right now. Davis is; let her in. If Zooey could sing like this, we would give a damn. Maybe.