A siren from the wilds of Alaska

PORTLAND – A bohemian, mostly under-30 crowd filled the hole-in-the-wall LaurelThirst Public House in Portland on a recent Sunday night. Over vegetarian munchies and organic craft brews, few seemed to notice as a brunette with a six-string went to the microphone on the small stage at the far end of the bar.

“Remember the night,” she sang, a cappella. “The time we fell in love, with my stomach on the mattress and you whispering from above.”

The noise level dropped by half and faces turned toward the troubadour like weather vanes hit by a sudden wind.

Emma Hill’s strong, smooth, pitch-perfect alto has a unique personal timbre that commands attention. Her tone, while flirty, possesses a maturity unexpected in a 21-year-old, a blend of punky confidence and bluesy anguish with an undercurrent of pleading uncertainty.

Some might call her plain; or as she says in one of her songs, “I know I’ll never be that Hollywood girl of your dreams.” But as she swayed with her guitar, in a simple black dress accessorized only by a scarf from Value Village, every boy in the house stared at her with wide and hungry eyes.

Her range, which seldom ventures into either low notes or soprano territory, was more limited than usual at this show because she had the flu. She cut songs short and broke off one soon after starting it.

“I’ve never sung so sick in my life,” she told the audience, sounding apologetic and, with a national tour about to start, a little worried.

Yet she managed to sing for 45 minutes. One table or barstool at a time, the chatter quieted down. When she finally called it quits – sweating, shaking, her voice sounding like sandpaper – even those standing along the walls by the door were focused on her.

A sympathetic and appreciative cheer went up from about as many people as live in her hometown: Sleetmute, Alaska.

POPULATION: 100 (OR LESS)

Sleetmute has fewer than 100 people. The closest road is on the other side of Mount McKinley, some 250 miles west. Gas is $7.70 a gallon and a pack of 18 eggs costs $9.

Henry, Hill’s dad, is a bush pilot. Her mom, Bambi, was a teacher in Sleetmute’s two-room school when Emma was born Jan. 29, 1988. The family lived in a 12-by-16-foot cabin. They heated with wood and hauled water.

Growing up in Sleetmute (and, for couple of years, down river in Aniak) little Emma sang along to tapes of James Taylor and the Eagles.

“Even when she was 4 years old, she told us she was going to be a singer,” said Bambi.

Hill graduated high school a year early and earned a full music scholarship to the University of Alaska Anchorage. In the big city, she teamed up with other musicians, playing in little cafes, schools and open mike events. She garnered a small but astute following, drawn by her punk-folk lyrics and a singular voice.

“Hill has the lungs,” wrote local music critic Brandon Seifert. “She’s occasionally stunned crowds into startled silence – in a good way. Some compare her to Joni Mitchell or Joan Baez.”

Two years ago she relocated to Oregon, where she just wrapped up her junior year as an English major at Portland State University. The move to the lower 48 put her in a place where she could play more gigs and get heard.

This week, Hill starts a national tour to promote her new CD, “Clumsy Seduction.” Her second stop is Olympia. She and her band, the Gentlemen Callers, are traveling in a renovated church bus named Patsy Cline. In less than 40 days, they’ll perform at more than 30 venues from Puget Sound to the Great Lakes to Boston and New York before returning to Oregon via Tennessee, the southwest and San Francisco.

FAMILY VALUES

The annals of pop music are rife with talented youngsters who set off on the bright highway to fame only to have it turn into an ambiguous dead end. What does Emma Hill bring to the game that might make her succeed?

For one thing, she’s been here before. In 2007 she produced her first solo CD, “Just Me,” then arranged a tour that took her all the way to Texas, singing her songs and hawking her disc to small crowds night after night.

“My parents put the money up front for that CD,” she said. “I had to make the money back for them.”

“It cost $8,000,” said Bambi. “She sold them for $10 each on tour and we’ve actually made back everything we spent on it.”

The support of a dedicated family that believes in Hill’s dream is another plus. Bambi is the de facto manager of Kuskokwim Records, Hill’s label.

Sister Sarah helps with the bookings. Big brother Zach, now working on a doctorate in microbiology at the University of Washington, runs the distribution of the CD from his Seattle apartment.

Also, her penchant for penny-pinching should help the shoestring project’s bottom line.

“I told the band that I’ll pay for all tour experiences,” Hill said. “But don’t expect any luxuries. No stopping at the diner three times a day. We’ll be packing groceries and snacks for the road, camping in the woods at night and looking at the stars.”

Said sister Phipps: “Emma’s famous for her work ethic and frugalness.”