The big brunette toting a six-string sidled up to the microphone on a small stage at the far end of a 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 drops by half, and faces in the center of the room swing 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 sense of maturity unexpected in a 21-year-old, a blend of punky confidence and bluesy anguish with an undercurrent of pleading uncertainty.

Her alternative folk ballads use basic chords in mostly major keys and perky, hummable melodies. Her lyrics brim with casual sex and alcohol.

"There's been too many boys in my bed lately, cuz I was never any good at keeping my own secrets, especially after a bottle of wine."

Some might call her plain and plump, 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 knee-length, sleeveless black dress accessorized only by a polychrome scarf from Value Village, every male in the house stared at her with wide and hungry eyes.

Bit by bit, one table, booth or barstool at a time, the chatter quieted down. When she finally called it quits, even those standing along the walls by the door were focused on her siren call. A sympathetic and appreciative cheer went up from about as many people as live in her hometown: Sleetmute, Alaska.

No movies or malls

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

Life there is a culture of snowmachines, subsistence fish and, until recently, honey buckets and outhouses.

"You don't go to movies, you don't go to the mall," Hill said.

Henry, her 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.

"The heating and insulation was just terrible," Henry recalled. "It was really tough."

Eventually Henry cut and milled enough local lumber to build a bigger house.

The house also served as the village store. Today the Hills' operation includes fuel distribution and a lodge that, for bush Alaska, is downright luxurious; for example, the toilets flush.

Growing up in Sleetmute (and, for a couple of years, downriver 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.

At 14, Hill moved to stay with relatives in Palmer, a relative metropolis.

"Palmer High had a really good music program," said her sister, Sarah Phipps. "She sucked it up, participating in everything she could, eventually winning a state vocal competition."

Hill graduated from 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 that Daily News reporter Melodie Wright described as a "Sarah McLaughlin-like warble."

"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."

She now lives in Oregon. The move to the Lower 48 put her in a place where she could play more gigs, meet more musicians and get heard by more people.

Family support was crucial

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

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 her dream is another plus. Bambi is the de facto manager of Kuskokwim Records, Hill's label. Sister Sarah helps with the bookings.

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."

"Emma's famous for her work ethic and frugalness," said Phipps. "From the time she was 8, she worked in the family business, put in real hours and had to save part of (her) paycheck, contribute part to the family and keep one-third."

"There was never an idea that wasting money was OK," Hill said. "All my clothes come from thrift shops."

Phipps speculated that this attitude came from the fact that Dad had to grow, catch, shoot or fly in just about everything the family needed.

EMMA HILL

WHAT: The native of Sleetmute, Alaska, brings country twang and old-timey blues to her performances. In the latest of three albums,"Meet Me at the Moon," she belts out sultry, folksy vocals about sex, torment and lost love.

WHEN: 9 p.m. Saturday

WHERE: Marilyn's on K, on K Street between Ninth and 10th streets, Sacramento

COST: $8

INFORMATION: (916) 446-4361, www.marilynsonk.com, www.emmahillmusic.com

MUSICFor more on music sacbee.com/music

© Copyright The Sacramento Bee. All rights reserved.