Brandi Shearer’s voice has been described as smoky, sultry and just about any other noir-like term that can be conjured up, and on tunes such as “Oh, Singer” and “Lullabies,” there’s no arguing with comparisons to late-night jazz and blues singers. Yet, Shearer also has a gentle side that’s smooth and reassuring (“Congratulations,” “That’s How You’ll Know”) and could easily slip past on an easy- listening station. Then there’s the sweet lethargy of “Swampland” that slips between genres with its bluesy roots, its ethereal guitars, and a moody patina that’s pure excellence. Shearer’s been trekking the globe for years, leaving an Oregon farm for a European Arts program that led her to the clubs of Hungary and the life of an itinerant singer-songwriter. Shearer’s hardly a traditionalist. Moments suggest Norah Jones but elsewhere (“Heaven,” “All I Have Left”) she’s on her own, evoking a long, disparate list of potential influences ranging from touches of Goth (Kate Bush, Nick Cave) to suggestions of old-school country music somewhere deep in the mix.