Molly Zenobia is a singer, songwriter and pianist. If you've heard any of the post-Lilith Fair crop of female singer-songwriters, you probably won't be surprised by anything on Wind Chains -- but Zenobia pulls this stuff off with unusual style and skill, injecting a solid measure of individuality into a genre that's been prone to cookie-cutter personalities.

Most listeners will be able to recognize elements of Sarah McLachlan, Tori Amos and Aimee Mann in Zenobia's music. The Tori Amos comparison almost goes without saying; both Amos and Zenobia favor the piano, and their vocal styles are similar. Fortunately, Zenobia lacks the overpowering emotional baggage that made listening to Amos' last few albums such a chore. You'll recognize the delicate, occasionally blustery piano/vocal combination used on "Porcelain" and "Fade", as well as the heavy, swaggering chords of "Porcupine", though Zenobia plays more confidently, well aware that she has many more weapons in her musical arsenal. Vocally, Zenobia is less prone to showy, operatic acrobatics, but both performers tend to snarl through sibilant phrases...which isn't necessarily a bad thing.

You'll hear a little McLachlan in Zenobia's sweet, occasionally ethereal non-verbal vocalizations -- see "Mermaid" and "Lullabee" -- and in her tendency to break extended vowels into two syllables (i.e. "Ligh-ight"), but the similarity is purely stylistic. Likewise, "Tombstone"'s wry delivery, waltz-like tempo and declarative piano recall Aimee Mann's recent work, though "Bubblegum" takes this orchestral pop structure a step further.

"Bubblegum" deserves particular note; it's a love-it-or-hate-it effort, with a distinctive refrain powered by an overdriven guitar and a distinctive, twanky eighties-style keyboard. Blurry, almost psychedelic guitar licks help to sustain the song's dreamlike quality. Ultimately, the refrain makes the song a lot "rougher" than most singer-songwriter stuff, helping Zenobia to forge a unique imprint.

Wind Chains' bag of tricks isn't empty yet. The opening track, "Frozen", combines a mid-tempo beat with some hauntingly delicate piano (once again hinting at McLachlan). The fuzzed-out guitar lurks in the background of the refrain, inserting a few choice jabs, while acoustic guitar and cascading drums add texture. It's a strong start, beginning the record on a richly cinematic note. "Hello" showcases Zenobia's nimble fingers; she jumps from a classical-style tune to some pop keyboard riffing, then spills into another Mann-esque syncopated refrain, punctuated by percussive strumming on muted guitar strings. "Silent Spring" leads with another heavy, gritty percussion loop, covering it with layered vocals and offering a neat little piano interlude at the midpoint, while "Night Light" concludes the album with a mellow epic, its muted piano and hushed vocals aptly conveying late-night introspection.

It's difficult to establish a unique sound when you're working in a genre that has evolved into a brand. While Zenobia's chosen instrument and vocal style are favored by other, better-known performers, Wind Chains -- her sophomore release, I believe -- carries a healthy dose of individuality and innovation along with its requisite measure of skill. By making a sincere effort to reach beyond the sound established by other female singer-songwriters, rather than simply riding their coattails to modest success, Zenobia establishes herself as a force to be reckoned with -- and an artist to watch.