Tinkling pianos, vibes, tablas, brushed drums, string quartets and the singer’s innocent, laid back vocals all make this wistful gem perfect for lazy Sunday mornings. But thankfully these meditative songs never feel dreary, mopey or self-pitying due to Stamey’s sheer joy and enthusiasm.

This is a fun listen but also feels like a way for Hatfield to amuse herself, romping through a dozen interesting, far from essential interpretations of the Police’s music in 45 minutes as she works on new material.

Social Cues shows the group maturing musically without losing its grip on their ability to craft haunting, accessible tunes ready for the larger venues they have rightfully graduated to.

The Warren Haynes fronted quartet’s first studio album in four years and its Blue Note label debut is a typically gritty eleven song set of gutsy Southern blues rock.

Even though they were assembled from different years and with other artists’ input, Back Roads And Abandoned Motels feels as cohesive and organic as the best Jayhawks releases.

Another classy, sublime entry in the group’s expansive resume, one that has remarkably few missteps.

Existing fans will appreciate the uptick in sheer moodiness and offbeat experimental tendencies matched with fluid, often hypnotic melodies the quartet displays on the majority of Strange Little Birds. Newcomers to the Garbage experience can start here and work themselves backwards through an impressively edgy catalog brimming with more of the same.

Somehow simultaneously edgy yet soothing, these songs may not display the type of unbridled, jagged joy that these members’ main bands provide, but there is depth and complexity here, inviting immersive exploration.

A sometimes harrowing but ultimately hard-earned triumph, seems to have reinvigorated Showalter to keep Strand Of Oaks afloat as the search continues.

She's created an album that plumbs the kind of emotional depths that used to be expected from major rock artists.

Kamikaze is another solid entry in a catalog that’s put So So Glos in a league with fellow punk rabble-rousers Titus Andronicus and Joyce Manor.

Dude, The Obscure gets stronger as it goes, its second half filled with laments both specific (the complaint about a big-city wannabe in “NY”) and vague (the overarching malaise of “Lit By Midnight”).

The combination of the sister’s voices on this material is stunning in its natural beauty. Stripped-down arrangements and producer Teddy Thompson’s light hand help accentuate the words, emotions and the interwoven singing.

The album as a whole is not perfect; Ward's decision to follow his experimental ear results in a few excusable setbacks. But at its core, A Wasteland Companion shows yet again why Ward can be placed in the higher echelon of contemporary American songwriters.

Feat stomp and strum their way through a pretty good batch of new tunes that capture the band's distinctive musical gumbo but aren't exactly classics.

Webb's knack for purging the sentimentality out of these seemingly trite topics of conversation is most commendable.

Given the informal setting, those expecting some sort of regal revelation would best focus on the Traveling Wilburys recordings that arrived nearly two decades later. On the other hand, given the near mythical stature that these legendary Dylan-Harrison sessions have attained over the past five decades, compulsive collectors will find any inclusion welcome regardless.

The rugged Delta Kream captures the essence of what made this North Mississippi music so distinctive. While even this stellar lineup can’t truly replicate the dangerous backwoods stomp that injected a shot of adrenaline into the bloodstream of Carney and Auerbach all those years ago, it comes awfully close.

This is an impressive first effort. ... Her authority, poise and sense of self resonates as a new yet seasoned artist, just getting started and with a promising career ahead.

Murder By Death reach a new plateau in the development of their ongoing pursuit of rollicking gothic indie folk, simultaneously sounding born of an era long past yet grounded in a rock 'n' roll spirit that's nothing if not contemporary.

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.

For those so inclined, Songs for the General Public is a giddy musical roller coaster ride through the poppier aspects of the 70s with more twists and turns perhaps than are necessary. Hang on tight and enjoy the trip.

It's all lovely, melancholy, lyrically moving and beautifully performed. But older fans will miss the scrappy sparks Forbert used to effortlessly radiate on crackling live performances such as his spirited 1982 King Biscuit Flower Hour set.

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

Those looking for a cool album to throw on as invigorating background music will be delighted. Those who want a little more substance with the style should cherry-pick a few chosen tracks which spotlight why Yeah Yeah Yeahs still impress a decade down the road.

What We Walk This Road lacks in over-the-top displays of technique, it makes up for in soul, as Randolph's tasteful playing and subtle vocal phrasings emerge more clearly when not fighting for space inside overloaded arrangements.

If [Keith] Richards' participation helps revitalize these sounds and sends newcomers searching out the first versions well, that's just a bonus to a thrilling project that combines Neville's stunning voice with classic melodies whose sentiments remain timeless.

The vibrant, caffeinated production and pulsating sonics help these performances explode with dollops of the frazzled charm, roaring intensity, and sheer musicality we expect from a Jack White project. White, a faithful baseball fan, has knocked another one out of the park.

The effect shifts from sophisticated to just short of snooze inducing as the disc wears on and what starts out as tasty ends up as more of the same when the vibe stays locked in its classy, stylish, chill out groove.

While the blueprint of starting songs with sparse accompaniment and gradually building to resounding sing-along levels isn’t exactly fresh, the music is so well written that it avoids sounding like a cliché.

If you love stories of the broke, the broken, the alcohol-addled, the freakin’ fatalistic, sung and played by guys who know how vicious life can get, you’ll want this album.

In other words, if you’re looking for a good time disc to get your party started, you could do worse than slapping this on, turning up the volume and letting Snider and his pals kick start the fun.

There’s plenty to both enjoy and mull over as Cash’s thoughtful, often poetic lyrics spill out in a variety of settings. It makes this collection worthy of the man’s iconic status, which is saying plenty.

Simmons makes little attempt to vary her template. Eventually, despite the pleasant pastiche, the music all starts to sound the same. Absent any real shift in tone or tempo, the overall impact tends to be somewhat muted.

How Barn will shape up in terms of Young’s catalog of classics remains to be seen of course. The fact that he’s willing to revisit his older material in both style and substance ensures that the continued reverence for his work will remain unabated. In that regard, he remains forever Young.

It’s all interesting, at least once, and there is plenty to chew on in these nine tracks. How often anyone other than Scott fans will want to hear some of these again is unclear.

Jean’s vocals are on the thin side, especially for music that punches and pounds like the majority of these tracks. But she delivers her often dark-edged lyrics with the louche, ice-queen nonchalance of Debbie Harry and Belinda Carlisle which suits this snaking vibe.

While it’s not necessarily the kind of record that’s going to grab immediate attention, it does retain an amiable accessibility all its own. In that regard, listeners might just find that The Tallest Man On Earth makes music that’s all within an easy reach.

The percolating pop of “Home Again,” “Caught By Night,” “818,” “One Chance,” and “Libertude” are but a few of the examples of the catchy and quirky nature of Hammond Jr’s individual offerings.

The reunion was a long time coming and exudes the tasteful sophistication and sympathetic camaraderie you’d expect from this pair of veterans reveling in each other’s presence.

There’s no dancing allowed but anyone looking for a calm come-down after a night at the clubs, London Grammar speaks your language.

Stretching out with a few more solos would have given listeners a better bang for the buck, and made it more of a true bluegrass record. But if they make a few more albums, Lauderdale and Hunter may well end up attaining the almost mythical status of some of America's great writing teams. That's how good they are together.

The now mature musical relationship pays dividends as the baritone crooning of Lanegan and Campbell's breathy, Nico-inflected singing continue to deliver an atmospheric payoff.

The Yawpers never fall into cliché or dumb down their creativity, which makes American Man a success on every level.

This is an auspicious solo debut. Auerbach backs her with studio pros who have played on dozens of classic albums from Aretha to Neil Diamond, but she rises to the occasion with her commanding presence, terrific songs and powerhouse voice.

Hang on for a wild, careening drive as the Dead Weather take you on a searing ride through gutsy, fiery rock and roll that’s powerful and relentless, not to mention well played and tautly produced.

The new record is clearly an attempt to not only maintain their loyal legions, but also to expand their following through a more melodic MO. To that end, there’s a decided emphasis on providing the songs with compelling choruses, ready refrains and a sound that finds them operating within more catchy confines. To be sure, the band continues to rock both fearlessly and ferociously.

Despite its dark, cautionary subject matter, The Future Bites is Steven Wilson’s most powerful and commercially appealing set to date. Beautifully produced—it’s one of the first studio albums of new material mixed in Dolby Atmos surround—this is the bristling sound of Wilson taking a bite into the future of prog-rock.

The Hold Steady need not ever deviate from such a potent product.

Producer Flood (PJ Harvey, Sigur Rós) maintains the band’s raw appeal but lightly varnishes the sound to make the music’s intricacies truly glow amidst the atmospherics.

Forever Endeavour may be as solid a record as he’s has ever made, but it’s also more of the same, a retrenching rather than an expansion of his capabilities.

There's no fuss to his performance. He leans into the most desperate lines and nearly lets his voice crack, all in the service of the thing he's always been best at--making a heavyweight song hit home.

The crooning background vocals rise and trade phrases with a simple guitar solo that follows the melody of the main vocal line. It's a flush and full sound in perfect pairing with a sentiment that defines the entire album.

The record is, in many ways, the very project longtime fans of the Alabama singer-songwriter might have been hoping for for years: a direct collection of sharply-written originals that place White’s vulnerable vocals front and center.

These intimate performances are not made for the masses or background listening, and are all the more potent for that.

With the right material, this man as an artist has few flaws. Ghost on the Canvas allows Campbell one more chance to prove that again.

Slipstream is Bonnie Raitt's best album in years and one of the best of her 40-year career.

Still, assuming the point of any tribute album is to show the full breadth of the artist's influence, Rave On is a breezy success.

For all of its immediate sonic beauty, however, IE//CM’s slow, languid reveal requires patience and time to get acclimated.

While Stinson isn’t a great singer or songwriter, he exudes a scrappy persona that, like Keith Richards’, encompasses a heartfelt rock and roll strut.

This is another in a series of solid, R&B-soaked Sacred Steel albums, each a little better and more focused than the last, that further cements the pedal steel’s — and Robert Randolph’s own — musical place both in and outside of the church.

Together, the 12 songs reveal the distinct sound of The Magpie Salute, which successfully blends various genres without necessarily committing to any of them. Sonically, it sets a high water mark for a Part Three, should one be downriver.

Even if this is a stopgap release to buy time for writing new material, it’s a cool, fun and even informative set that’s as entertaining as the rest of the band’s work.

Few others, let alone from Texas, are creating anything quite like this. While it won’t bring Barrett back, The Black Angels are intent on keeping his art alive for future generations.

These selections twist in enough unique directions to keep from sounding dated, stale, or worse, ripped off outright. Rather, there’s crackling life and inspired sparkle to the performances despite the multiple overdubs and the lack of a band to gel with.

It's his easiest, least labored sounding record in years, still lushly produced yet not overly fussy.

The result is her finest, most poignant and accomplished album in an already impressive seven year solo career.

As an album, Valtari might not be the band's masterwork, but it very well could be their re-birth.

Maybe Jagbags would be better if it were tighter, but you’d lose the crucial impression of a man whose primary mission is now to entertain himself.

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

Bird is too much of a seasoned professional to release anything less than listenable, so although none of this is particularly compelling, it's all well performed in a relatively stripped down, acoustic setting.

LeBlanc has found firm footing with the help of fellow Muscle Shoals musicians John Paul White and Ben Tanner, who have helped the Shreveport, Louisiana native flesh out his musical strengths and make the most mature, cohesive record in his still-fresh career.

he album is a study in contrasts with Lauderdale’s recording debut: the 61-year-old singer’s voice has deepened and grown more resonant with age, more weary and weathered and measured.

Those in tune with Cowboy Junkies’ storied circumspect will likely find Songs of the Recollection an interesting outgrowth of the band’s desire to expand their parameters and offer homage to their influences. In that regard at least, these Cowboys appear to have corralled another winner.

The Old 97's latest effort mimics the end of the workweek. At first, the possibilities seem endless. Every moment, just like every possible meaning, could be the one you've been looking for.

Even if there is a sense that we’ve heard a lot of this before, People, Hell, And Angels is still a well-chosen and finely-presented collection that should not be blamed for that familiarity.

Shut Down The Streets really peaks at the end with a pair of downcast slow-builders which strike just the right balance of melancholy and melody.

Why Me? Why Not. is indeed comparable to one of Macca’s recent solo albums, a little modern, a little throwback, a lot of good stuff. Don’t miss out on the resurgence of Liam Gallagher while you’re hoping against hope for the return of his former band.

In many ways, this is as radical, experimental and mind-expanding of a pop album as you’re likely to hear anytime soon, let alone by a festival headlining artist.

Bang Zoom... is everything anyone would want from the Rock and Roll Hall of Famers at this late stage, and likely far more than even their staunchest fans expected.

Song choice is everything with a project like this, and Tweedy is wise to generally stray from obvious selections.

The album is at its best when it sticks to the timeless stuff about love and loss.

The Light Saw Me provides an intriguing proposition and may in fact end up as the album that eventually gets Boland and the boys the attention they so decidedly deserve.

Carry On stuns from start to finish and the quality only increases with each repeat listen.

The Ballad of Boogie Christ weaves beautiful narratives in and out of folksy numbers and rock songs, adding a layered palette of horn solos and soulful back-up singers.

A tough, tight and clearly inspired project as well as a most welcome return from the musical shadows for Steven Van Zandt.

Between the lyrics questioning relationships and music that swirls and soars, Sucker’s Lunch isn’t easy listening. But those who dig deeper into Madeline Kenney’s uncertainties about love and affection will relate to the difficulties this process of starting a new serious relationship can be, and how wonderfully these complex and beautifully crafted songs tackle, even obliquely, that thorny subject.

The songs are terrific, East sells them with his gritty, committed vocals and Encore is poised to push the talented singer-songwriter over the top and into the mainstream.

Glasper's formidable jazz chops are the album's constant attribute.

Ray is, above all else, bursting with heart, soul and rock 'n' roll, and that heady flush of humanity is what makes Lung of Love so near-perfectly imperfect.

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.

As is, our appetite has only been whetted and not satiated.

Ultimately, Second Nature finds Lucious at a precipitous point in their combined career, a reckoning of sorts that calls for reconciliation and resolve. Then again, if they can keep grooving on propulsive momentum, there’s a good chance they’ll succeed through sheer willpower alone.

Even the most rock 'n' roll track, "Bobcat Goldwraith," starts with and then later, after much cacophony, unravels to reveal the same building blocks underneath. The plinking and plunking riffs of No Ghost prove inescapable. That isn't necessarily a bad thing, mostly because what follows those riffs is done so well.

For the most part, this is an album that constantly projects joy and musical adventurousness, qualities which have signified this career for more than a half-century.

Do To The Beast is nowhere near as tortured as the band’s masterpiece, 1993’s Gentlemen. But it’s still comfortable in the shadows, and for that matter, kicking up a good bit of noise.

Sure sounds a bit like a certain New Jersey rocker who was born to run and also tackled the topic of the workingman's plight, both before and after he made it big. Take that example to heart, Sam Roberts Band. Tycoon and rebel? If you do it right, you can be both.