Horn takes her time on every track, and that patience is exactly the point.
By 1989, Shirley Horn had been around long enough that a lot of people were just discovering her. Her profile had risen after years of work, and signing with Verve gave her a proper platform. Close Enough for Love (1989) finds her fully settled into what she does: singing and playing piano simultaneously, setting a pace that most singers wouldn't dare, and making you feel like she's in no rush because she genuinely isn't.
The album is a set of standards — the kind of repertoire Horn had been living with for decades. What makes it worth your time is the intimacy. Her piano playing is spare and deliberate, and her voice sits right on top of it without any fuss. She doesn't oversell a lyric. On a song like the title track, she lets the melody breathe so long you almost wonder if she forgot where she was going — and then she lands it. That restraint is a skill, and not everyone has it. This is not a showy record. If you want acrobatics, look elsewhere.
What you get here is a very specific kind of late-evening mood. Horn's trio format keeps things clean, and the Verve production suits her well — nothing cluttered, nothing trying to modernize her sound in ways that would date badly. This is a solid album, maybe not the single place to start if you're new to her work, but absolutely worth your time once you're in. It confirms why she built the reputation she did, quietly and on her own terms.