eing typecasted, in the music industry, is the kiss of death. Pigeonholed into a certain genre can stamp a permanent expiration date on your career, especially with a finicky public constantly moving on to fresher sounds. The neo-soul movement fell prey to this problem—the genre came and went with few survivors. Ironically, perhaps, those that were critically trapped within its walls never felt comfortable in its skin. Erykah, Jill, Maxwell and Amel, among others, seemed to both embrace and loathe the label at the same time, constantly pushing themselves artistically (to varying effects) to prove that they were here to stay.

Amel Larrieux, especially, was a strange act to bestow the label “neo-soul” upon. From her early days in the acid-jazz/trip-hop hybrid of Groove Theory to her more recent work with famed jazz trumpeter Clark Terry (on the sublime "Sophisticated Lady" from the Red, Hot and Indigo benefit compilation), Amel seemed too artistically hungry for one genre. She was simply a woman, with an amazing voice, doing her thing. Sales and popularity be damned.

And sales were damned. Her debut, the soulful Infinite Possibilities, was well received by critics and spawned two minor hits, but she was eventually dropped by Epic Records and forced to co-start her own label, Blisslife Records, to keep her name in the spotlight.

With her second solo release, Bravebird, Amel has used her life lessons to inform a collection of rich, moody and inspiring songs that transcend the categories being placed on it. As if channeling the determined spirit of Nina Simone, Amel tells her tales urgently, and with a raw power that is merged with a mostly unrefined, poetic approach to instrumentation. Not just a crutch to throw a melody on, they are cleverly utilized to showcase stories both common and singular. "Bravebird" an account of an African girl's struggle with ceremonial genital mutilation is complemented by a throbbing dance beat, creating a sensual and immediate connection that carries gravity the more the listener engages it. Later, the lone acoustic guitar of "Sacred" creates a warm and subtle home for her allegory on social ills. But it's "All I Got", the album's centerpiece, where everything comes together perfectly. A simple metaphor on materialism, it transforms into an epic collage of reverb and echoes with Amel squarely at the center of its universe, abandoning her usually restrained vocal approach to explore the capacity and dexterity contained in the minimal production. It's breathtaking to see her take risks like this when so many of her contemporaries are content to wallow in cliches constructed by their record execs and management teams. Gambles like this is what makes this album such a pleasure to digest and experience.

Maybe it's not earth-shattering or era-defining, but Amel has certainly dived in headfirst, this time, creating a collection that exudes both artistic integrity and a creative drive to push things forward. In a word, brave.