Local singer Holly Holt has just the right voice for the material she writes—it’s a tawny alto, with the kind of requisite world-weariness earned by working endless gigs in the service industry. Holt may be a trust-fund baby for all we know, but she sings like someone who’s punched plenty of clocks. Her songs are folk-tinged numbers that place her firmly in the Americana camp; their lyrics sketch contemporary people operating in a world framed by western-states myth. At her best (“Trains,” “Anderson” and “Sweet Forbidden Wine”), Holt captures the netherworld of a hard motel bed. But a few of her songs (“Greyhound” and “Highway Time”) lapse into clichéd lyrics, which wouldn’t be as obvious if her other stuff wasn’t so good. Jeffry Wynne Prince (of the Kimberly Trip) provided sensitive production.