Zoe Basha swings on her debut, Gamble

More an amalgam of classic genres: from blues to jazz, soul, folk, and even country, this is smooth, brassy, swinging, yet delicate stuff – with a touch of the Chanson. It's also more expansive than her work with Rufous Nightjar. Indeed, her jazzy band sound as though they're straight out of 40s New Orleans (via the Rue des Lombards in Paris). Some of the swing is infectious, like a rattling train bustling in two-time – all of which serves as an effective foil for the slower numbers.

"Love is Teasin'" is one such slow song – and full of anguish. Basha's acapella cover, once memorably sung by The Chieftains and Marianne Faithfull, strips to the core. Her bare voice complements the lonely, Kavanagh-esque fog: "He's like a star on a foggy morning / When you think he's near he is faraway". The voice's sharp contrasts in volume are impeccable; we feel them in the haunting silences between.

Then she mixes it up, which is perhaps in keeping with her Franco-American roots. Title-track "Gamble" begins in bluesy-fashion before it morphs into good old-fashioned country-swing. The emphatic shift in tone in many ways embodies the nomadic feel of the album. And the song's variable form both mirrors and contradicts a whole range of emotions. Sometimes it feels as though she's running from the very thing she's describing.

"Traveling Shoes" begins like a Parisian Chanson, with Brassens / Barabara-esque acoustic guitar; a clarinet in the background evokes Gainsbourg's "Les Goémons", or "Black Trombone". This song reflects the dark side of nomadic travel: the uncertainty, the existential and romantic peril. She notes with striking vulnerability, "Don't follow me down this way [...] Dear, darling lovebird, let me hold you".

Then she inserts another folk song. "Three Little Babes" is a an Appalachian tune, also once covered by The Chieftains. This time she is accompanied by Rufous Nightjar bandmate Anna Mieke, along with a shruti box and ominous harmonies. The context is, once more, about loss. The words are sharply delicate: "There was a night, and a lady bright / And three little babes had she". It's a remarkable song that cuts through with upmost sincerity. The implicit mother-child separation points to the oppression of women, both at home and abroad. The song feels particularly significant after a year in which more women and children have been killed in Gaza by the Israeli military than the equivalent period for any other conflict over the past two decades.

"Dublin Street Corners" opens with foreboding, screeching production before it switches to bittersweet, tongue-in-cheek folk. The song meanders wryly; a wistful trill in the voice and an upbeat piano carry us eerily through the Dublin streets. The music video shows masked characters dancing around one another, engaged in some kind of collective, sexual deceit. Kubrick’s Eyes Wide Shut comes to mind amid the farcical macabre. Her startling line, "Dublin street corners are broken / the unspoken rage makes its way in bouts of vicious self-righteous armour", is a withering rebuke from an outsider or 'foreign' perspective. Exasperated, she speaks out in her native French, which ironically sets her apart: "Mon amour, who are you foolin'?"

Gamble touches on deep melancholy, frustration and mystery without ever losing its acute sense of humour. Basha delivers her songs with a knowing panache, a healthy dose of hard-won cynicism. Throughout, she doesn’t so much stake a claim as slip between borders and genres – leaving behind a trail of riddles, warnings, and painful memories.