If Dreams Come True

I simply can’t conjure an ear, or a heart that would not beat in a more gentle rhythm when attuned to Ann Savoy’s voice. People don’t use it much anymore, but this album requires the resuscitation of the word “mellow.” When she sings “Melodie au Crepuscule” in her slightly accented Louisiana-tinged French, it’s just like dusk in the Delta when the moon’s about full, and the dishes are done and put back in the cupboard, and the whole damn universe just seems to perch on a moment of peace and tranquility. There’s a little Django Reinhardt in this album, a little Cajun swamp hoedown, a little femme fatale, a little 1950s honky-tonk jukebox, and a whole lot of flirty sexuality. Savoy puts a new spin on songs like “The Very Thought of You,” “The Way You Look Tonight” and “These Precious Things Remind Me of You,” sung in French. She’s accompanied by fiddle and guitar on most tracks, and the accompaniment is understated, tasty and—the word bears repeating—mellow. One more adjective, s’il vous plaît. This album is sweet. Sweet as cider, sweet as a mother’s lullaby and sweet as your first kiss.