What’s so profoundly American about these songs are the way they often deploy humorous metaphor and simple, child-like storytelling devices to convey deeper, darker truths. Other times, the songs are simply funny stories without a larger lesson.

There’s soothing, but never clichéd warmth in this retro-style. Both LaMontagne’s craftsmanship in the composition of these songs and his easygoing, unaccompanied playing will come as comfort food to established followers who should welcome this most organic return to his roots.

Ultimately, Heavy Nights isn’t the sort of album designed to create an immediate impression. It demands repeated listens and an opportunity to dig deep well below the surface.

Some selections could have been edited to make this a shorter, stronger collection, especially since the smooth, unruffled mid-tempo groove gets a little stale by the album’s final third. But it’s a pleasure to have Penn back on the music scene he is so inextricably tied to, writing and cutting fresh tracks with the same attention to detail and overall mojo he applied to the timeless gems that made him such an iconic name in American soul music.

Still Corners stitches a seamless amalgamation of lyrics, vocals, production and song composition, all of which makes The Last Exit an early contender for one of 2021’s finest, and most enduring releases—one to listen to, absorb and bask in.

Any of these gems would sound natural emerging out of a tinny ‘60s transistor radio. That’s clearly what Waterhouse and Butler were aiming for on an organic album that feels fresh and alive while respecting and recalling the past.

There are no musical revelations but recreating the groove of the terrific In Yo’ Face! The History of Funk series of sadly out of print compilations from Rhino is harder than it sounds.

Combs describes the disc’s overall tone as that of a black and white film. Add foreign to that description (one song was inspired by an Ingmar Bergman flick) and you’re a few steps closer to this stirring, decidedly non-commercial music that sounds like little else.

The performances smartly stick to rockers since the few ballads (“Guernica” and “No Hard Feelings”), while darkly tuneful, expose the limitations of Hunter’s voice, now a shadow of his “All the Young Dudes” heyday. But give him credit for refusing to tweak it with electronic enhancers and writing some terrific tunes, which he attacks with more vigor than many a quarter of his age.

Given that these performances take on a sparse demo-like approach, the intimacy is obvious and revealing, as if the listener is eavesdropping on the artist at a particularly vulnerable moment, or even more likely, while he’s simply opting to run through some songs for his own pleasure and satisfaction.

Adorable, confident, and self-assured define beabadoobee on her most mature album yet.

While a number of other covers grace the set like Merle Haggard’s “Working Man Blues” and Johnny Cash and June Carter’s “Jackson,” the group also penned some fantastic originals.

This is clearly an album to be absorbed, perhaps alone, as you read the words and let the music wash over you, taking you places few singer-songwriters dare to explore, let alone those on their first albums. Similar to the early work of the equally unconventional PJ Harvey.

It’s a set of songs somehow manages to come across as both subtle and assertive in equal measure. That’s not an easy task of course, but it’s a credit to the band’s particular prowess that they not only tow that tricky divide, but do it so efficiently.

Fleet Foxes producer/engineer/mixer Phil Ek warms up the band's previously chilly sound to yield arguably their best, and certainly most accomplished album yet.

The King of Limbs is Radiohead's Sky Blue Sky–a reliably enjoyable record that follows a heightened run of musical genius.

Generally more subdued than the Lambert-led Pistol Annies and less groundbreaking than Trio (the iconic Emmylou, Dolly, Linda Ronstadt project that was a clear influence here), some of this doesn’t qualify as country. It would have helped if all four women participated in every performance since at least one is MIA on the majority of tunes. And while Dave Cobb’s production is typically professional, it’s also a little dry. Regardless, this is a much needed shot in the arm from talented female singer-songwriters.

For all of his disparity, he still holds to some basic pop precepts and a style and stance that find him staying within the realms of a giddy musical motif. There’s little not to like, and those that appreciate abject originality plied from a generally left-of-center persona ought to find K Bay a mostly pleasing proposition.

The record's songs maintain Oldham's characteristic simplicity and sparseness that hearken back to the now ancient songs of American music's past. All the while, this familiarly fresh set of arrangements gives Oldham's restless phrasings the virgin textures upon which to project cryptic and fearless lyrics.

Like R.E.M., this package is classy and creatively designed. It illuminates a challenging yet fulfilling turning point in the group’s impressive and influential legacy.

Once you hear any of them, you’ll want more, especially since this compact 32 minute disc ends way too soon.

Existing fans will rightfully be thrilled that Hitchcock not only hasn’t lost his edge, but has sharpened his knives on this superb set.

New liner notes from Barry Hansen provide essential background. But all you need is the music to understand that Arthur Alexander is one of the greatest “unknown” artists of the soul era, and one whose legacy is enhanced by this classy re-issue of one of his finest works.

Those less focused might find their attention taxed, but this is a meticulously crafted and uncompromising work that shows Henry to be at the top of his game releasing challenging music not made for prime time.

Ultimately, without the abundance of the fitful, electrified abandon that permeated White’s past records--plus the fact that this album is clearly just another tiny sliver of the lexicon that may someday reveal his true scheme--some fans may feel moored on a lazaretto of dissatisfaction. Yet in the meantime, at the very least, Lazaretto is a damn catchy segue spot to await the arrival of the next intricate puzzle piece.

Amidon’s plaintive, boyish vocals make up in character what they lack in uniqueness.

While City Music certainly doesn’t surpass Singing Saw, it’s a hell of a lot of fun to hear Morby take a walk on the wild side.

An impressive collection that’s innovative and inventive if not collaborative.

The Invisible Way is Low’s essence distilled--potent, powerful and pure.

Consistency is still key, and it’s good to know that Pearl Jam still maintains the edged angst that’s served them well from the start. Indeed, Gigaton provides a most pervasive perspective.

In these tough times, Thile's words, and the album as a whole, are more effective than the titular tonic at staving off inclement weather, at least of the emotional variety. A strong dose of Antifogmatic goes a long way.

Soaringly tuneful rock is back on this brilliant, cohesive CD.

In the end, Jewel Box is a lot to sift through, but ultimately it’s well worth the effort. Go through the couch cushions and save up some coin. Elton’s jewels provide a worthy cache indeed.

The setlist is expanded and the sound quality is more than adequate to ensure Young is spotlighted in fine form. Taken in tandem with his other live recordings, Dorothy Chandler Pavilion 1971 ranks among the more essential offerings of Young’s current crop of releases.

Bobby Fuller Died For Your Sins is yet another example of not just his love of rock and roll, but an ability to create it with the spirit and intensity of the best of those that influenced him.

Sex, Dope & Cheap Thrills fills in crucial missing pieces of the iconic record and makes a worthy addition to it for those looking to explore more of where the mojo that created it came from.

An album that succeeds on all fronts, both as an artistic endeavor and as an expression of conscience and clarity. With Georgia Blue, Isbell and company have made an album for the ages.

It’s over in a compact 36 minutes but that’s plenty of time to realize this outfit is taking no prisoners in the quest to tear the roof off the sucker.

This is just one more related side trip in the band’s tenure and, as usual, they rip into it with typical vibrancy, rearranging Lowe’s material so creatively, these sound like Los Straitjackets originals.

The head-scratching concepts go down easy for music that feels like a comforting warm breeze on a cool spring day.

Lead track “Mile Marker 29” gets things off to a rousing start courtesy of the song’s riveting refrain. The tangled tapestry of “All Your Friends Are Dying” doesn’t offer the most promising premise, but it’s intriguing nevertheless. Still, when the band slows the tempo and recasts the proceedings with some mellower melodies, the album truly hints at greater glories.

None of this is sonically abrasive but it’s all challenging and a little goes a long way. At over 50 minutes, it’s a heavy lift that may confuse some but also intrigue others.

The contemplative sound of the album’s most beautiful ballads “Sure As the Rain,” “Ghost” and “Between Us There Is Music” are calming and captivating, even though the eerie ambiance and atmosphere may suggest otherwise.

It’s an understatement to say the album’s audacious tone and approach will take some getting used to for Americana fans. But those with open minds and an affinity for ’80s sounds should warm up to this unanticipated, intense but generally enticing music.

From the opening pensive, repetitive reverbed guitar washes of “Doris” where Bridges works wonders with his Marvin Gaye inflected falsetto, to the closing easy groove of “Mariella,” this is a near-perfect meeting of minds.

The lyrics are maybe a bit more intricate this time around, but they still rely on open-hearted platitudes about life lived hard and love without restraint, the eternal human struggle between the righteous path and inclinations to darkness, and, of course, well-timed “whoa-oh” shouts than can sometimes say it all.

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.

Production by longtime collaborator Thomas Bartlett and ex-Frames member David Odlum is inviting, alluring and engaging. It pushes Hansard into his finest performances yet on originals that are haunting, poignant and beautifully conceived.

You'd be mistaken to pass up the greatest album of Loudon Wainwright III's four-decade career, and an easy frontrunner for this year's best album, period, as 2012 enters its second half.

Each song revisits some real or imagined past that leaves the narrator empty-handed or disappointed, culminating in the impassioned mid-album plea for faith and renewal.

Apart from several live recordings of older classics, which feel unnecessary on an album that highlights Clark’s late-career work, this collection is a testament to the spectacular consistency of quality and depth in Clark’s songwriting genius even as he struggled through declining health in his final decade.

Even with all the experimentation, this remains a recognizable David Gray album with subdued melodies, unforced vocals, subtle acoustics and honest lyrics even in their more obtuse state.

Between Lane’s sexed up sassy testifying on cuts like the opening “Right Time” and “Sleep with a Stranger” along with in the pocket production that walks a nifty tightrope between ’60s countrypolitan and ’00s gutsy Americana, this is a combination we’d like to hear more from in the future.

Band of Brothers is Willie Nelson’s first album of largely self-penned tunes in almost two decades, but on his latest, Nelson mostly proves he’s still as sharp a vocalist as ever.

In the hands of a wannabe, the aforementioned songs might sound somewhat cloying, but given Young’s rugged vocals and apparent reservoir of conviction, the emotions ring true.

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.

With his latest, Jonny Fritz cements his standing as a first-rate satirist whose off-kilter sensibility expands and challenges the very boundaries of what constitutes fair game in pop songwriting.

On his latest album, Millsap continuously plays with the tension between motion and stability, and the result is a rewarding, weighty LP that will surely serve as a trusty emotional roadmap for years to come.

Even though it was recorded during dark times for both Dobson and the country, Impossible Weight is the strongest and most powerful statement yet from a talent on the verge of breaking out.

Not all of Hope Six is mired in dissonance. Harvey frequently returns to the well of pop music, but the irony of wrapping a grim lyrical message in upbeat music is that those uncomfortable truths become that much harder to overlook.

Everything is wrapped up in a breathless half hour and except for titles that aren’t quite as controversial as the immortal “I’m Not a Sicko, There’s a Plate in My Head,” this makes similar groups such as the veteran Fleshtones sound like Taylor Swift.

Credit goes to multi-instrumentalist/producer James Elkington who balances a near perfect blend of acoustic and subtle electric instrumentation, ghostly supporting vocals and strings along with Gunn’s own singing and exquisite guitar. He molds this hypnotic mélange that finds its footing early and tugs you deeper into the vortex of sound through the next 45 minutes, crafting a swirling, effortlessly artsy album with an almost surreal atmosphere you won’t soon forget.

The beauty of Vile and Barnett being on such similar wavelengths is that each song would work just fine for either artist individually, but combined, their talents--particularly their vocal harmonies--often amount to a whole greater than the sum of its parts.

With their extended songs, complex– some might say obtuse– lyrics and Geddy Lee's piercing vocals, Rush largely plays to a cult audience.

Improved songwriting and assured ambition have turned them into formidable recording artists as well.

Like most of Doe’s solo work, this one grows on you.

While the sisters have never made a bad album, as soon as you push play and the title track comes roaring out with its classic Led Zeppelin-styled riff, sung and played simultaneously by Rebecca, it’s clear that the sisters have found their footing.

The tone is consistent throughout, a sound so giddy and engaging, that it can easily break down barriers in order to allow for a communal embrace.

An album with a self-deprecating title that belies the ambitions and talent displayed within it by this band on the verge of bigger things.

Regardless of its compiler’s obvious intent to generate more cash from Jones’ name, this is a consistently enjoyable listen. It’s a lot of fun and a reminder of the enormous talent taken from us as she was hitting her artistic peak.

An album that’s not just an impressive follow-up to a career that fans thought was long over, but a splendid entry into the contemporary Americana field, one that The Long Ryders had an underappreciated hand in crafting.

A River Running to Your Heart qualifies as a complete triumph and one that serves Fruit Bats’ legacy well. To describe it as simply exceptional doesn’t say it all.

Crowell mostly uses the theme in a light-hearted manner, recounting both the charms and foibles of the state’s citizens. ... Even when the connection to the location seems tangential at best, there is a sense of ease and fun that makes Texas pretty irresistible.

In other words, it’s McClinton as we’ve come to know and love him, cranking out another solid disc of Americana, Delbert-style. It sounds inspired and freewheeling, like he’s just getting started. And considering his age and extensive resume, that’s quite a compliment.

Reportedly recorded in three days, and obviously without many overdubs in such a short span, What Makes Bob Holler is an excellent recording by three skilled musicians who can seemingly just tune up and play, something that's becoming increasingly rare these days

Love Letter for Fire shows what can happen when two near-strangers explore each other’s deepest emotions and private pains in song: They may still ultimately remain strangers, but they’ve created something profound in the process.

An intimate, multifaceted reflection of her always complex, frequently indistinct character. These often inscrutable songs offer kaleidoscopic glimpses into what seems like a complicated persona

Songs to Play may not be as incandescent and life affirming as the best of the wonderful Go-Betweens but at times it gets close, which is high praise indeed.

These stories resonate with strength and an irrepressible spirit few other artists can summon. Williams’ ability to persevere over issues that would sideline lesser talents and create music this impressive is a testament to the vitality of her rock ’n’ roll heart.

Blessed ultimately remains an optimistic record that juxtaposes her typically heartrending croon.

The problem with Psychedelic Pill, and it's a substantial one, is that, besides that inspired ending, the instrumental passages don't distinguish themselves as being all that memorable.

Even if this generally melancholy collection takes a few spins to sink in, Watkins has delivered a deeply personal and moving album infused with maturity and unflinching truth in both its lyrics and overall approach.

Silver Tears is an achievement that would make any singer-songwriter proud.

This is a unique and poignant album that was clearly a labor of love for all involved.

These performances could have come from an old Folkways album. Colter Wall captures a long-forgotten time and place, keeping the cowboy folklore alive by reminding us that poignant songs sung by a superb singer will never sound outdated.

It remains an electric, inspired show thanks to an exceedingly talented band led by guitarist Rick Holmstrom, and of course Staples’ larger than life voice, vitality and sheer personality. Pushing 80, she seems unstoppable.

For anyone expecting a stark left-turn from the songwriter, What It Is will be a let-down. But the record’s greatest strength is also what makes it predictable: as Carll settles into the warm consistency and careful craft of middle-career, he’s less interested in proving who he is than in refining what he does best.

Some songs suffer from being underwritten and overplayed. Still, there are enough impressive moments to ensure that, at least on stage, they will detonate with the passion and soul the Tedeschi Trucks band generates at every show.

He, producer Josh Kaufman, and the supporting musicians have added lovely flourishes along the way. This album luxuriates at times in languid, jazzy ambience, while female backing vocalists coo in response to Finn’s lead and brass coexists winningly with synths.

Whether or not this will be Bulat’s breakthrough record remains to be seen. The sound sustains the suspense, but rarely does it leap out at the listener. It hardly matters though. Are You In Love? answers its own question with every repeated encounter.

There are enough moments when everything clicks to make this a pleasant, intermittently compelling listen. But it’s hard to shake the nagging feeling that it could have been much better with a starker instrumental edge and less processing.

The production, arrangements and overall audio are beautifully crafted, McCombs’ askew concepts are, well... intriguing, and this hour long album is another impressive notch in the belt of a talented artist whose unusual, often offbeat approach is what makes him so distinctive, entrancing and appealing.

As powerful as Dacus can be with the roar of a full band behind her, she only needs a guitar and a little bit of reverb to leave an impact.

The "big-in-England" quartet's fourth release is more of the same that made them so admired overseas;ie trippy yet expansive psychedelic Brit-pop sung and played with attitude (some may say ego), a whip smart attention to melody and an arena sensibility/swagger that screams "rock stars."

Over the course of 16 tracks, Costello flexes his stylistic muscles and exercises that famously acerbic wit.

Adams does his job just well enough on this album that we’re willing to join him on that downward spiral and maybe, as listeners, locate the catharsis that eludes the lonely “I” living the songs.

While his vocal style is not for everyone, Matsson is an imaginative songwriter whose songs deserve your attention.

Consider Shook an example of auditory excess plied with aural intrigue.