Her voice is an alluringly warm, friendly instrument - sweet without becoming cloying, tender and heartfelt and rich from just a hint of a soft husky purr from time to time. Love, family, and friends - and now and then, the open road - form the bulk of her songwriting material, and her many of her compositions are constructed from such straightforward, elemental phrasing that they feel quickly familiar. This is meant as a compliment, of course: one of the main goals of folk music has always been a speedy connection with its listeners, and Laube accomplishes this readily with such engaging, convivial songwriting. Fans of Sarah Harmer's easygoing indie folk or the Be Good Tanyas' front-porch-and-a-beer tribute to old-timey sounds will find much to love in Laube's material, as it shares many similarities with those artists.

Countrified folk is one of Laube's greatest strengths; her come-sit-here-and-let-me-tell-you-my-story delivery gives these songs a genuinely real, unfussy confessional quality, and the careful touch of twang in her voice is just enough to bring added authenticity. Midtempo opener “This Moment With Me” - “yesterday's already gone / tomorrow's no guarantee” - is a solid example of what I mean. It's simple, direct, plainspoken - and this matter of the subject's getting right to the point is nicely served by strident strummed guitars and subtle accents of hand claps.

The addition of accordion on “California King” was a wise move: the instrument's wistful churning and chugging makes a fine repartee with Laube's sweetly purred observations. (For a few moments II was even reminded of Iris DeMent - a fine thing.) The Be Good Tanyas vibe runs the strongest on “I Just Had to Say," a slinky, swaying number powered by a hard-strumming electric guitar rhythm and playful banjo counterpoint. Her vocal switch-offs with harmony backup Sarah Morris are particularly inspired, and once again much of the song's formidable-but-understated might stems from emotionally direct, uncluttered phrasing: “I had to tell you I love / so I wrote down this song.”

Laube primarily focuses on acoustic sounds on the disc, but electric guitar get its spotlight here and there. Most effectively, the instrument is used on the '50s-styled slow waltz, “I Found Love," a wonderfully deceptive track that at first sounds like a declaration of undying love (“sitting next to you, I was just happy to be alive”) but eventually reveals itself to be a sighing parting gesture (“that's why it's so hard to set you free”).

Lastly, shuffling folk-blues find their way onto a couple of Pool All the Love's most enticing tracks: “Kihei Blues” benefits greatly from the throaty grrrs Laube slips into her choked-harmonica confessions, and “I Left My Heart in San Francisco” (not a cover song) is a woozy, banjo-peppered ramble a la Jolie Holland. The latter is perhaps the disc's biggest standout, and hopefully indicative of what's to come from this talented songwriter.

Davis Jones' affable, boyish tenor - kind and engaging, but with just a trace of sadness - makes his self-issued disc Winter Midnight, which came out in November, an easily approachable charmer - flush with friendly sentiment and honest delivery. Pitched somewhere between Josh Rouse and Elliott Smith, the album offers both the laid-back charms of the former and the emotional vulnerability of the latter.

Elsewhere, I've read comparisons made to Jack Johnson's work, but I don't see that pairing at all, as Jones offers considerably greater depth of emotion than the Hawaiian singer-surfer. I do, however, notice the occasional similarity to the early solo career of Paul Simon - the soft, unhurried quality to this recording feels much closer to the informal intimacy of the non-single tracks from 1972's Paul Simon (Warner Bros.) than anything I've heard from Johnson. His phrasing also has a few things in common, and there's a soulfulness at work that leaves me entertaining notions of Davis covering “Mother And Child Reunion” one of these days.

As suggested earlier, I'm a fool for a deceptively upbeat toe-tapper, and “Letter for Delilah” is a great addition to said category. Almost jaunty from quickly strummed acoustic guitar and generous shakes of tambourine, the song is one of a handful of post-breakup songs, with the letter in question left for an ex-lover as a “final farewell.” “I won't tell you that I'm sorry, or even that I love you / I don't want to lie," he confesses, sounding very much like Josh Rouse in timbre but even more like Elliott Smith in tone.

The song's followup, “Roses," is a fitting successor, deliciously dark with downcast acoustic guitar picking and foreboding groans of upright bass. Honestly, I'm still uncertain what exactly is being conveyed here, but no matter - the way Jones sings of “roses that grow alone” is convincing enough to engage in a moment or two of sadness. “Ballad of the Lizard Queen” effectively updates the early Paul Simon songbook - wistful saxophone, restrained percussion, sighing, poetic delivery - while “Trees” benefits from a gloriously delicate, light-bouncing acoustic guitar pulse worthy of the Elliott Smith comparisons. It's another tenderly rendered breakup song, and maybe the most quietly affecting number on the entire full-length.

The rushing, pushing, flute-whirling “What Went Wrong” is another highlight, with Jones chronicling a tale of loss and regret (“he wonders what went wrong, till he wishes he was gone”) over a galloping, breathless rhythm. The disc's most playful moment? An easy answer: “Her Song,” a head-bobbing romp and celebration of bright-eyed individuality spilled out over crashing cymbals and rolling drumbeats. The tune also offers plenty of testimony to Jones' abilities as a storyteller, dragging the listener along with the high jinks perpetrated by the free-spirited girl in question: “Authorities have the building surrounded, and she was on the rooftop, singing her song.”

Couldn't find any clips of Jones performing songs from Winter Midnight, so here's a clip from last year. He performs “Mountains of Memories” at the Hotel Utah:

ANNA LAUBE AND DAVIS JONES
With Courtney Nicole and Rebecca Cross
March 12, 8:30 p.m., $6
Hotel Utah Saloon
500 Fourth St., SF
(415) 546-6300