Despite the Joan Jett-ishness of opening track “Oh My,” this Austin chick is a chill creampuff; once the bar-rock clatter of that track’s out of the way she commences to her real business, scrunching her floaty-boozy Martina Topley-Bird soprano into Kate Havnevik sourball-puckers and Amy Winehouse sneers. She’s too gifted to be working so hard at these affectations and postures, some of which can seem fake — see, I’d venture most people know someone like this, the plain Jane with the voice of gold who can karaoke Feist and Tori Amos alike til the bar shuts down, all well and good, but the posturing gets a bit thick here: we get it, you’re a 20something trying to make your way in possibly the hippest town on Earth, so play up the sketch and maybe people will bite.  There’s also a small issue with focus, as the tunes sway from ’40s-jazz to (some pretty nice) trip-hop (“Havana”) to open-string acoustic to Submarines chill-tech, the latter proving not her strong suit (“StupidFace” seems like one long uneventful verse). Don’t mind me too much, though; this is riskier stuff than her peers usually attempt.  B     -Eric W. Saeger