Ahhh, the return of Lady T, “Honey” if you want her “Southern name,” Mary Christine Brockert if you want the (snore) legal one. Documentary proof that someone (I didn’t say anyone) can turn herself black given enough passion, Ms. Marie devotes some of this third comeback album to exploring her roots in New Orleans. More precisely, she honors her roots in the midst of laying down another Lady T amble through 21st-Century sensuality, one Jumbotron hot tub parked next to one king-and-queen sized mattress, satin sheets a must. As a lady of a certain age, she no longer aspires to the frighteningly danceable “Behind the Groove”s and “Lovergirl”s of decades past. Those songs commanded the body as they unsettled the mind, and their frantic, almost hyperventilating urgency (not to mention their morality plays—“Help Youngblood Get To The Freaky Party” needed a question mark on its end as she held, or so she felt, Youngblood’s immortal soul in her own hands) must have exhausted their creator as much as anybody else. Which is not meant as a rip. If nothing on this set bursts out of a medium tempo, the taste, arrangement, guest shots (MC Lyte, George Duke, Shirley Murdock, Howard Hewett), and idiosyncrasy save it from samey. If her tributes to Congo Square, Coretta Scott King, and some other worthy causes read a little didactic on the lyric sheet, put headphones on for the juice.