It’s another pretty great Ron Sexsmith album.

Carrie & Lowell demonstrates, brilliantly and harrowingly, over and over again, how life’s most valuable lessons can only be gleaned by enduring its worst circumstances.

The Nashville by way of Texas singer-songwriter ups his game for this self-assured sweetly melodic sophomore release.

His singing partners, all of whom bring their “A” game. They help make what could have been a forgettable, tossed off, commercially driven, contract fulfilling item into one of the singer’s more memorable projects. And with a catalog as rich and deep as Van Morrison’s, that’s high praise indeed.

What Sometimes I Sit And Think And Sometimes I Just Sit reflects is that Courtney Barnett is a burgeoning talent whose future likely holds great improvement from this already-impressive starting point.

Touches of Celtic, jazz, country and folk, but seldom rock, inform these lovely tunes that take their time as if on a leisurely stroll.

Her eighth studio release flows with remarkable continuity. Notwithstanding the melancholy circumstances, Moorer is rocking out forcefully on chugging, swampy gems.

These songs are as trippy, wonderfully produced and well-written as anything in his catalog.

It’s quietly hypnotizing music, unconcerned with commercial trends and miles away from the more hoedown revival of Old Crow.

There is always room in the world for another well written, classy pop-rock gem, and with Chasing Yesterdays Noel Gallagher proudly delivers 10 of them.

Grey and his band’s drive, energy and enthusiasm go a long way to selling this music but at nearly an hour the effect is diluted. Leaving a handful of the weakest cuts in the vaults and honing the best parts from some of the others would have resulted in a stronger outing.

Archive Series, Vol. 1 is a collection of 16 pop prayers and private whispers that offer a striking alternate version of Iron & Wine’s mythic inaugural release.

Its title seems clichéd but there is nothing predictable about the exuberance or the obvious attention to detail McPherson applied to his rolling good times.

It’s an album that shows again and again that very few songwriters on this planet illuminate the oft-unfair rules of this game or the inner workings of the players quite like he can.

There is a vibrant exuberance to these performances that, like its old-school audio, feels alive and fresh making the Mavericks one of the few bands better in their second act than in their first.

Despite the adept lyrical approach, Gonzalez’ guitar virtuosity is still one of the main draws here.

Earle is far too musically adventurous to linger too long in any one genre, and kudos to him for that, but Terraplane is such a standout that we can only hope he makes his way back around to the blues relatively soon.

shed. It’s beautiful, intense, occasionally relaxing but most of all challenging music that borrows from a myriad of influences and never feels derivative.

While there aren’t any rousing sing-along choruses, let alone pop crossover potential, this is Americana that’s conceptually consistent.

The combination of Burnette’s characteristically genuine, acoustic based production, Giddens’ sumptuous voice and a conceptual set list that never feels musty, yields a wonderful album whose restrained pleasures reveal themselves gradually over repeated playings.

This dream of an album sounds like little else currently in the pop field, and the fact that it’s a debut from a relative newcomer makes it even more impressive.

He hasn’t run from success as much as escaped its grip to release music that’s honest, raw and comes straight from the heart.

Since White has the more recognizable name, and also produced the project, Take it Like a Man bears more of his absurdist influence, which is a good thing.

Though Title Fight may have accomplished what they wanted to achieve on Hyperview, it seems the group is still searching for that ideal combination of aggression and peace.

Ultimately this is a missed opportunity to either unearth obscure, under the radar gems from this era or push Krall outside her comfort zone with challenging interpretations that reveal new meanings in songs we already know by heart.

While it may be a brief career diversion instead of a new direction, Butch Walker adds to his long list of accomplishments with an album that’s as impressive in its laid back way as any of the tougher, edgier, more aggressive entries that dominate his catalog.

[A] superb if somewhat restrained There’s a Blue Bird in My Heart.

While the result can’t be dismissed as a gimmick, the best tracks of both would have made a great single album. Spread out over two shorter ones, the effect is diluted.

Cole has written a batch of terrific songs and turns in some of his most passionate and committed performances. The tunes are literate, often wickedly funny but remain laced with Cole’s smooth hang-dog vocals.

The singer’s distinctive baritone, dry yet emotive talk/singing style and the crystal clear recording quality focuses attention on his dynamic, sometimes humorous, always poetic lyrics. The interplay with his three backup singers also brings depth and a sensuality often lacking from the studio versions, making some of these laconic and extended performances definitive.

At this stage, you’re either a fan or have decided to leave these pumpkins squashed on the porch of rock history. For those in the former category, this is Billy Corgan at his most playful and, well, enjoyable.

Even though this is done and dusted in just over 30 minutes, the raw rocking and joyous attitude will stick with you long afterwards.

Ultimately despite, or perhaps because of, its minor ambitions, Classics succeeds on its own terms.

Those new to, or unfamiliar with, Bowie’s expansive catalog would do well to start here and older followers who have lost the plot, especially over the past ten years, can catch up to one of the most consistently challenging artists of the past five decades.

How much appeals to you will depend on your tastes, but it’s clear that all of the contributing musicians did this as a labor of love, something obvious from the honesty and quality of the performances.

As usual, the originals prevail. Yet even with its musical limitations, it’s hard to dislike an album that’s ultimately a lot of fun.

Regardless of the eclectic nature of these albums and their often subpar material, George Harrison deserves the elaborate treatment he gets here which makes this a worthwhile addition to any Beatle lovers’ bulging collection, even if they may not play much of it all that often.

[A] remarkable exploration of and ode to American music.

As with the previous three reissues, the pristine remastering removes a slight audio film that was still present after the 1992 versions. That’s especially obvious on the guitar parts of the more delicate songs but also shines a brighter light on John Bonham’s remarkable drumming that both grounded the band and pushed the other members into expanding their own boundaries.

As with the previous three reissues, the pristine remastering removes a slight audio film that was still present after the 1992 versions. That’s especially obvious on the guitar parts of the more delicate songs but also shines a brighter light on John Bonham’s remarkable drumming that both grounded the band and pushed the other members into expanding their own boundaries.

Maybe they’re mostly polished pop songs where the ’67 cuts embodied the raw, haphazard spirit of a songwriting era long gone--one that intuitively anticipated the impeccably executed Americana and folk heard on these new recordings--but the idea behind their origin will help them remain as timeless as the originals.

We’re treated to a combination of short, instrumental segments and lyrically-driven, radical, long jams that sound familiar, yet unpredictable enough to demand further listening

The songs on Storytone glide between those highs and lows with very few false moves, making this one stylistic detour that takes Neil Young very close to his artistic home.

Five stars aren’t enough, of course, to sum up this music. Maybe there are some tapes hidden out there for the bootleggers to scrounge up, but it seems likely that The Basement Tapes Complete has given us everything we truly need to hear from that extended magical moment in musical history.

These new songs should mesh gracefully with the classic music that rightfully made Cat Stevens a household name in the ’70s.

Unlike other such projects that prop up ageing rockers with a surplus of headliners respectfully going through the motions, Lewis is totally in control as he cranks out these tunes with a fire and intensity that doesn’t seem to have dimmed despite his six decade career.

This is no halfhearted sideshow done on a drug prompted whim, but a serious if twisted and undeniably idiosyncratic re-make/re-model.

There are no wasted moments, let alone throwaways on this superbly sequenced 40 minute disc. Every track glistens with Lanegan’s emotional and expressive words, perfectly sung with just the right balance of ennui and intensity.

If this underwritten, over produced debut for Capitol (after being affiliated with Columbia since 1973) is the best he can muster up in six years, it’s sad to say, it’s time to consider retirement.

Those willing to take the plunge are likely to find enough here worthy of a future return to explore further and ignore, or more likely respect, its self-indulgent qualities.

It’s encouraging that Seger is expanding his boundaries, especially this late in life. But a few more representative tough rockers interspersed in the album’s disappointing second half would have helped what starts out like a revitalized return to form from--here’s that car/Detroit metaphor again--running out of gas.

With 10 songs running just over 40 minutes, the disc is compact and taut. That helps makes this a moderately successful return for a veteran singer and occasional songwriter who always seems one hit away from the mainstream audience that threatens to constantly elude her.

This is the work of a mature artist, comfortable in his skin, creating insightful, brilliantly recorded and performed reflective music he knows will never find favor on the radio.

As it stands though, Foxygen bit off more than they can chew, leaving ...And Star Power as an occasionally interesting failed experiment.

Hesitant Alien features some of Way’s best material yet.

They’ve created the rare sort of album that manages to be both familiar and disorienting at the same time, an expansively cinematic experience that remains unpretentiously grounded.

The styles vary while the tonality is so consistent, so dialed in that all feels seamless and the transition from gorgeous to gutbucket feels as natural as sunset.

Womack and husband/producer Frank Liddell have collected 13 terrific songs that not only stand on their own, but reflect an older, more mature look at life when taken as an album.

This a powerful, uncompromising release and one that doubles down on her established style while pulling no punches.

Those who dismiss his vocals as monotone are missing out on the soulful power he brings to “Did I Ever Love You” or the sly humor he ladles on “Slow.”

There are a lot of songs here, and it overwhelms in one sitting, but even in small pieces, it’s clear that Tweedy takes home the songwriting ribbon at the father-son picnic.

Winchester won’t be recording any more music, but he has left us with plenty of classics and undiscovered gems with this final one a wonderful example of his humble yet impressive gifts.

Considering the hit or miss variables of other such tributes, Dead Man’s Town is remarkably focused and consistent.

This is a tough listen and not in a good way. Most of the songs are little more than unfinished sketches, most just over a minute long, waiting for more inspiration to be completed.

An album of warm colors and earthy textures, Lateness is an album for warm sweaters and hard ciders, backyard firepits and late-autumn barbecues.

Ultimately it’s another pretty great Loudon Wainwright lll release, not significantly different from its many predecessors, which will no doubt come as a relief to those cult fans who have followed his career for the past 45 years.

Whatever category you might inhabit, Justin Townes Earle has something here you need to hear.

This stunning entry into his already impressive catalog shows he refuses to rest on his laurels.

Ryan Adams as an album might not be uplifting but it sure is outstanding, reaffirming the singular talent of its namesake.

It’s another remarkably strong and mature entry in a sturdy body of work that hasn’t shown any missteps yet.

Intriguing and introspective, The Man Upstairs warrants considerable praise.

With Brill Bruisers providing another example of their amazing chemistry, it seems more and more likely history will show that this group was meant to be their day job all along.

With 17 tracks stretching over 57 minutes, perhaps some judicious editing could have trimmed the excess, but this remains a major step forward for Segall and a logical extension of a direction he was already headed in.

It’s an impressive, often explosive first effort and a reminder that the organic combination of a tight outfit backing a talented, distinctive singer with a parcel of compact, rugged tunes and unaffected production to tie it together will turn heads and rock the house.

No one expects sing-along, hit single material from the edgy, thought-provoking Heap, but this seems excessively random.

It’s a feisty, dynamic hour long set that does what it sets out to: captures Armstrong’s indefatigable spirit and keeps his music alive for a new generation.

It’s tough and grimy but you have to wonder how many others are out there bashing out similarly trashy rock who haven’t gotten Booker’s breaks

Bahamas Is Afie is a triumph in soulful, roots music, and instead of just trying to sound old-timey, the record is full of personality.

The verbal intensity and reaching for the back rows attitude seldom pauses long enough for the listener to catch their breath.

Shaver’s deep, dusky, rugged voice is perfectly suited for this material.

[Producer Ryan Adams] allows Johns’ emotionally driven music to simply and effectively do its job, capturing a two day moment in time that will continue to resonate for years.

Live From Atlanta is a more effective career retrospective for the alt-country stalwarts than any formal greatest hits compilation could ever be.

Established fans will appreciate the trip back in time and perhaps acquire new respect for the more obscure tracks such as “Persuasion.” But those new to Richard Thompson are just as likely to relish these terrific songs played and sung by a master still at the top of his game and wise enough to realize he actually can improve on the originals.

For the first time, a new Spoon LP feels like business as usual, a creative step sideways.

While O’Connor never really went anywhere, this self-assured and confident release feels like a comeback. It has elements of what made her so strong and startling back on her still dynamic 1987 debut but tempered and matured with the wisdom of a quarter century of experience.

For all the eccentric performances and approaches, it’s hard to warm up to these songs.

By any standards, this is an expansive, terrific and lovingly curated set that displays the impressive life’s work of a classy, talented, journeyman rocker yet to find the commercial or critical acclaim he deserves.

As befits his sideman status, McLagan is neither a particularly riveting vocalist nor songwriter--some of his lyrics are rudimentary bordering on simplistic--but he makes the most of his limitations by sheer heartfelt resolve.

Hypnotic Eye is a bastion of consistent excellence.

The contrast of light and dark has always driven the Raveonettes’ music, but it’s especially effective on this beautifully realized collection that shows the couple to have plenty of tricks left in their already unique and compelling sonic bag.

Where Cale would experiment with horns, vibes, female backing vocals and even restrained orchestration, these tracks stay rooted in a respectful if rather heavy lidded closet.

On stage, the stretched out pieces allow the group to more seamlessly stitch their tapestry together, a talent that isn’t quite as effective in this occasionally inspired but just as often hectic studio set.

Ultimately you wish they would have put more effort into what seems to be a really relaxed, yet not lackadaisical release.

For all its timid trepidation, Stay Gold is an ambitious sounding record, full of massive hooks, and expansive arrangements.

Because the sound is so jam-packed with instrumentation, and Martin’s voice so often bouncing about in the same patters, the sound can sometimes get a little muddy--a little salt to cut the sweetness would have been welcome here and there.

Stripped of the beefy, full-band arrangements of The Constantines, Webb loses none of his potency. He’s just found a way to channel it without cranking up the volume.

The Voyager, however, is Lewis’ most cohesive and powerful set of songs since her Rilo Kiley days.

The result is a warm, generally introspective but far from musty set that revels in predominantly acoustic material sung with Hiatt’s increasingly gruff, whiskeyed voice.