Critics and audiences aren't the only ones struggling to describe Nellie McKay's music. The accomplished singer, songwriter, actor and activist struggles with labels as well, calling her approach 'schizophrenic voodoo.' Schizophrenic because she jumps genres – from Tin Pan Alley pop and cabaret to reggae, rap and jazz - voodoo because these elements mysteriously gel with her evocative, playful, and bold lyrics.

McKay's Obligatory Villagers is a nine-song, jazz-informed odyssey ranging from earthy drinking ditty “Livin'” to her denunciation of a murderer's row of postmodern villains, “Identity Theft.” She turns her activist heart to matters local (“Testify,” about the need to remain in the streets, fighting injustice) and global (“Zombie,” which she calls 'a pretty good explanation of our state in the world right now.') And those hooked on McKay's sly, acerbic wit will relish the record from track one: “Mother of Pearl” is a swinging shuffle that provocatively posits, “Feminists don't have a sense a humor....”

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McKay can't be faulted for lacking ambition. After a successful collaboration with Beatles engineer Geoff Emerick on Get Away From Me, she's taken the reins of artistic control, and she's taken them seriously.  On Obligatory Villagers (as with Pretty Little Head) the songs, orchestrations, and production are all hers. To bring the arrangements to life, McKay decamped for Red Rock Recording Studio in the Poconos with some of the world's most seasoned jazz musicians, including three former teachers - vocalist Nancy Reed, pianist Eric Doney, and alto saxophonist Phil Woods. “You'll find no better musicians in the world,” she says. “They're some of the greatest players alive.”

But if she was intimidated, it doesn't show. McKay's arrangements shine, from the Duke Ellington-conjuring stacked horns of “Oversure” to the Latin charmer “Politan,” reminiscent of Stan Getz and Joao Gilberto. Typically, The modest twentysomething disavows credit for the stunning results. “The way they play, you could give them Chopsticks and they'd make it sound like Chopin,” she says.

About her musical approach, McKay adds: 'I love Billy Strayhorn - a lot of sweat and labor goes into those charts and the orchestrations. To not only make them happen but make them happen in a way that every instrument has its own melodic line, has something interesting to say, takes extraordinary skill - which I am, for the most part, lacking.  When you're working with musicians as tremendous as these, no arrangement seems worthy.'

A roll call of tremendous musicians would be incomplete without octogenarian jazzer Bob Dorough, best known as musical director of TV's Schoolhouse Rock, but with five-plus decades of amazing, oft-overlooked work, including collaborations with Miles Davis, Joe Lovano, and Dave Frishberg, to name just a few. On Obligatory Villagers, Dorough's unmistakable hepcat rasp acts as a perfect foil for McKay's supple, shape-shifting voice.

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That McKay finds inspiration in collaborating with jazz musicians 50 years her senior should surprise no one who's been following the iconoclastic musician since 2004's Get Away From Me, the first major-label, double-album debut from a female artist. The album, which followed a label bidding war, made many critics' year-end lists and immediately created an ardent following for the artfully eclectic, politically minded songwriter. Her second album, Pretty Little Head, didn't disappoint - again she confounded expectations, proving herself a truly fresh and original artist.

Now independent, McKay has broadened her outlets in sync with her creative restlessness. Last year she portrayed Polly Peachum on Broadway in the Brecht/Weill classic, The Threepenny Opera, with more acting gigs in the works. And as fans devour Obligatory Villagers, the forward-thinking McKay will be on to the next project.

It may dizzy audiences and confuse the uninitiated, but clearly,’ schizophrenic voodoo' is the magic that works for Nellie McKay.