Imagine a barn in the swamplands of the Gulf Coast, where locals come to dance after midnight, the old wooden floor creaking from strain, condensation dripping from the ceiling onto a throng of writhing, sweating bodies. Imagine the band that might play there—all driving rhythms and bluesy guitar riffs and ferocious, soulful vocals. Now imagine if that band filtered its primal sound through the prism of breezy, early ‘60s rock—hearkening to a time when rock music was more interested in making you move your hips than bang your head. This particular brand of rock isn’t what Fiawna Forté has always done—but then again, Fiawna Forté rarely does the same thing twice. With the upcoming “Deciduous,” her fourth full-length release (but just her second with a full band, following her 2010 debut “Transitus”), Forté seems to have made a conscious effort to veer away from the indie vibe of her debut and into pure, booty-shaking, roof-raising rock ’n’ roll. It should be noted that Forté is well suited to both the indie and the more traditional flavors of rock. Her distinctive voice—as comfortable in an emotive whisper or a melodic warble as in a fierce, growling yawp—defies easy genre classifications; she evokes feelings, not labels. Listen to the 11 tracks on “Deciduous” and I guarantee you’ll be knocked flat at least once per song by her fiery, raw vocal power. After the barreling opener “Stella,” the album jumps immediately to what is perhaps its highlight, “Love Ain’t Lovin’ Me.” The tune (and its spiritual twin, the slower-tempo “Ramona Mona”) drips with bluesy southern sweat—along with sneaky flourishes of laid-back surf rock—and peaks as Forté unleashes her inner beast to deliver that signature wailing gut punch. The album plays like a perfectly paced live show, and near the end it becomes clear this construction was calculated. Toward the back half of the penultimate track, “I Only Really Love Ya (If I Act Like I Don’t)”—one of the album’s finest numbers, which Forté co-wrote with her husband (and drummer) Phillip Hanewinkel—Forté slips into old-school bandleader mode, introducing each member of the group (rounded out by Zac Hardin on upright bass and Hank Charles on lead guitar) as each takes a solo for a few bars before Forté brings it all home with a rollicking, anthemic coda. Finally, for an encore, it’s just Forté and her acoustic guitar with the wistful, achingly gorgeous “Goodbye, Dear Tulsa,” a ballad Patsy Cline would’ve killed to get her hands on. It bids a perfect, somber farewell following an otherwise pulverizing collection of rockers, which neatly sums up the entire experience: When the sweat and blood’s run dry There’s not a single tear in anyone’s eye All that’s left is goodbye, dear Tulsa Goodbye -Matt Cauthron, Tulsa Voice