Amy MacDonald wrote the song “The Road Home” six years ago, more than a quarter of a lifetime for the twenty-year-old Scottish musician. Aged 14, three years before signing her record deal, she had no idea that in 2007, the song would play a role in a moment of great national pride for her country, when it was used as the soundtrack to the city of Glasgow’s successful bid to host the 2014 Commonwealth Games. MacDonald’s lack of foresight in this matter is understandable given that, as she revealed last week onstage at the Living Room in New York City, the song was actually written about her dead dog.

The diminutive Scot is playing her final night of a three-night introduction to America, following in the footsteps of so many before her who have tried to break into the US market. Declaring that this is every UK musician’s dream is perhaps no secret, but it is certainly endearing. She jokingly dubs her band (four equally youthful and spirited players) as “the aliens with unusual abilities” referring to their US visa designations, but the relief and excitement at having finally made their first trip across the Atlantic literally rises the temperature in the room. Her acoustic guitar is held high like a shield, and she strums it confidently. MacDonald and her band emit an aura that is at once assured and genuine.

Amy MacDonald and Julia Clarke

Whereas many overseas musicians like U2 and the Beatles have reigned in their accents in song to achieve success Stateside, or even acquired a vaguely ambiguous spoken English accent a la KT Tunstall, MacDonald seems clear she’s not going to temper her Scottishness to become more accessible. She makes no attempt to mask her thick Bishopbriggs brogue between songs, and the stories she tells on her debut album This Is the Life are equally local in theme. She sings that “nothing beats the feeling of the high Barrowland ceiling” in “Barrowland Ballroom” — about the famed Glasgow music venue where the country’s most famous serial killer scoped out his victims, and where past acts have included Dylan, Costello, Bowie (and now McDonald) — and includes a cover of Dougie McLean’s “Caledonia,” one of Scotland’s unofficial national anthems, as the hidden track.

Yet she’s not making a patriotic assertion of national identity. She’s simply singing about what she knows and who she is, which is exactly what a twenty-year-old should be singing about. The contrast between the young singer’s soft speaking voice and her nuclear-powered singing voice that blasts the room like a rough-edged Dolores O’Riordan transform her remarkable tales of ordinariness into an astonishing live performance. With enough confidence and skill to be impressive and convincing, there’s no sheen here, just real roots rock with the best of folk.

–Julia Clarke

“Speak slowly/My eyes are so bleary/I guess I’m young but I feel so weary”

A night after canceling their first New York City show due to illness, Zooey Deschanel cheekily apologized by way of self-deprecation, poking fun at her ailment with “Black Hole,” a dreary tale of loneliness belied by a chipper melody, twangy slide guitar and jaunty pace that is one of ten original songs on Volume One, her new collaboration with M. Ward.

Certainly she looked the picture of health; exuberant, and unapologetically effervescent, wearing an uncontained smile as she tapped a tambourine cheerily against her thigh. But at the end of the song, she turned her back to the audience to reach for something behind her, then returned holding up a large sign with a handwritten message: “Hello New York.”

She’d lost her voice the day before and in order to give it all during the performance, she had to silently woo the crowd between songs. The effect was in fact as charming and as quirky as Deschanel herself, who produced various signs (“Hi,” “Thank You,” and “You Look Great, You Really Do!”), held her heart in a mock swoon at the applause, and jumped up and down like an excited school girl before launching into “Why Do You Let Me Stay Here?”

But perhaps more importantly, her muteness presented her with the challenge of winning over a first-time audience without the safety net so many new musicians fall into – witty stage banter to fill up the 90 minutes. Instead, Deschanel was left with charm, which she oozes, and of course the sweetly crafted compositions she recorded last year with M. Ward.

The songs on Volume One are almost without exception playful: “I’m just sitting on the shelf” she sings on “Why Do You Let Me Stay Here?” teasing a lover to come sweep her up; and deliciously retro - “I Was Taking a Walk” is pure 1950s swing. But to say Deschanel is simply imitating art would be not only wrong, but a huge underestimation of her talent; she is genuine in her inspiration from the music of her forbearers. Her voice is buttery smooth, at times haunting when she evokes the distant past on Smoky Robinson’s 1962 hit “You Really Got a Hold On Me,” and she effortlessly harnesses country, blues and jazz.

Though she’s better known as an indie actress with roles in films like Almost Famous, Deschanel grew up singing in church choirs, and has been singing with the jazz cabaret act If All the Stars Were Pretty Babies since 2001. She and M. Ward first recorded a duet together in 2006, and their chemistry lead to the full-blown collaboration, which they recorded retro-style using as few machines as possible. A year has passed since they laid down the tracks, and when they play live, the songs take on the perfection of practice, and the comfort of easy improvisation.

For his part, M. Ward remains mostly mum, and at first, I wonder why he didn’t simply take over emceeing responsibilities, but as the show went on it became clear that despite his omnipresence on Volume One, the grammatical order of their moniker is intentional. Though he has several shining moments on electric bass, his aim seems to be to shine that spotlight on Deschanel.

–Julia Clarke