An extra disc of 19 newly remixed demos is more than window dressing. Stripped from the production flourishes, these early raw versions of every OOT track show the songs taking shape with hummed sections where words hadn’t been written, different lyrics and sometimes no lyrics at all. Not just for fans, these bring us closer to the creation of the tunes, generating a terrific alternative version of one of R.E.M.’s finest collections.

This analog affair sounds cinematic even without the visuals.

Despite, or maybe because of, the disparate approaches, the consistently entrancing Eternally Even is a stimulating and often spellbinding listening.

Like any live recording, this can never replicate the electricity in the intimate venue with Otis and his band firing on all cylinders but, all things considered, it’s as close as we’re likely to ever get.

Even if the sound is perhaps slightly slicker than fans might expect, Redemption & Ruin is a wonderfully successful foray that solidifies and expands the band’s already impressive credentials around a concept that’s a natural extension from their existing catalog of originals.

There are no weak tracks, proving that this collaboration with Buck & McCaughey provided the energy and creativity to help Escovedo’s 12th studio release be one of his finest, which is no small feat in his already exceptionally productive, creative and influential career.

[Frontman Kurt Wagner] doesn’t write these songs so much as he unwrites them, and the effect is vividly disorienting, sometimes--as on “NIV” and “Directions To The Can”--even perversely beautiful.

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.

The songs aren’t easily digestible but, as he winds into the final stages of his life, they are honest, intricate, personal and above all, uniquely the work of David Crosby.

Chrissy Hynde remains a powerful and iconic presence. We should be thankful she’s still at it and recording music as impressive and distinctive as Alone.

While there aren’t drastic changes to their sound, there’s a sense of sureness to the songwriting, playing and Charlie Starr’s singing that reflects a decade and a half of the same dudes slinging it out together on the endless highway.

And so it goes for nearly 40 minutes. Clearly, this is not easy listening, but neither is it impenetrable either. Rather, Oberst’s naked presentation and generally obtuse concepts feel genuine and are worth mulling over for a deeper understanding of his expressive and largely enticing thoughts.

The combination of the macabre subject matter and the celebratory music feels akin to last spring’s Pile, an album by Houston, Texas’ A Giant Dog. But where that band explodes with party-friendly garage rock, Shovels & Rope let things sizzle a little bit longer.

This is music that fascinates on first listen but requires multiple spins for its complexities and idiosyncrasies to take hold.

The singer’s grainy, everyman voice works beautifully with this often sorrowful material, making it believable and potent.

22, A Million occasionally confronts and challenges with its willful weirdness, but Bon Iver can still locate that lonely cabin, if only in spirit, when Vernon really wants to dig deep.

Taken as a whole, American Band is the group’s most thematically coherent work since their pinnacle of Jason Isbell-assisted records in the early 2000s.

The entire set is as classy, often self-indulgent and challenging as the man himself.

Pixies’ full acceptance of the shifts in their schema only further solidify their inimitable identity. The exultant result: Head Carrier, a new classic.

Since their music so effortlessly recalls the best of Jackson Browne, consider We’re All Gonna Die to be Dawes’ version of Browne’s 80’s curve ball Lawyers In Love, a stylistic detour with high points that outweigh the misfires.

The production is raw enough for the guitar chords to slash and burn, yet clean enough for the words that are so integral to this band’s attack, to be understood and felt. Like the music of the Replacements, the melodies creep up on you and by the second time through, each one has a chorus that’s tough and memorable.

It’s required listening for even moderate rock fans. This upgraded version, while not necessary for casual listeners, especially those who already own the first pressing, improves on it with supplementary music and, almost as importantly, expanded liner info, rare photos and enhanced track details in a 44 page book that dedicated Zepp followers will revel in.

Grace sings with macho guts and Shape Shift With Me, with its provocative title and explicit, non PC cover art no major label would approve, continues the band’s string of powerfully uncompromising but surprisingly tuneful albums that make you think, but only if you’re not busy thrashing in the mosh pit.

Everything about the intriguingly titled Sea of Noise--from the classy but never predictable production, to sharp playing, clever lyrics, memorable melodies and especially the dialed down arrangements--is an enormous step forward.

Unless you are a White fanatic, the few hard to find selections generally aren’t compelling enough to purchase lots of songs easy to obtain. That makes this an interesting but hardly essential stop-gap release until White’s next official project.

Though he has many glorious accomplishments, with this album, Ian Hunter proves he is still incredibly active. As well as a man capable of taking his own advice.

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.

Scott McCaughey, in his Minus 5 guise, funnels his eclecticism into a somewhat cohesive whole that marries folk, country and rock with disarming ease. He uses his veteran musical instincts to craft tuneful yet genre pushing material that thankfully is now widely available for all to appreciate.

A welcome if particularly edgy comeback that positions the album as Cook’s finest, most riveting and intensely personal work.

An immediate comparison that comes to mind is Van Morrison’s Astral Weeks, though by no means as expressive or adventurous. Away is, however, one of Okkervil River’s prettiest records to date.

The second, slower side is the less immediate of the two, but the one that features its most jaw-dropping moments, namely twin seven-minute monoliths “Sister” and “Woman.”

You’ll just go with the flow and appreciate the sheer songcraft of a journeyman who could probably release an album as solid as this every year without breaking a sweat.

This is shrewd, layered music that demands the songs be mulled over and scrutinized; even if that may not provide answers to questions McCombs poses.

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.

Melodies take longer to reveal themselves and choruses don’t have the natural hooks Loveless has crafted before. Which just means you’ll need to spend additional time exploring the songs, mulling them over, absorbing the lyrics and letting their more elusive charms sink in.

Occasionally the sound can get a bit monochromatic. But co-producer/multi-instrumentalist Jacob Hanson keeps Bonar’s voice--similar to that of Britta Phillips--up front. And these songs are so powerfully melodic, it’s difficult not to get swept into the world of an artist who is more than ready for her time in the spotlight.

Typical of these compilations, some interpretations work better than others.

Those who believe the singer’s best work is behind him will rethink that after one spin of the impressive Apache, an album--significantly the first on his own label--that ranks with the finest in Neville’s storied career.

After a few listens, every track reveals gem-like layers in Collingwood’s tunes, often missed on initial listens.

It may not be the Tiger Army fans were expecting or hoping for, but if you close your eyes, it will transport you back to a time when men smoked unfiltered cigarettes and women in frilly party dresses and pony tails swooned over them.

For anyone who feels similarly disenchanted about country music, Outlaw’s songs--closely bound to tradition, endlessly romantic--are the perfect remedy.

Rather, at 72, Jeff Beck continues to push the envelope and stays as edgy and restless as those less than half his age.

It’s intimate and sprawling, personal and universal, affectionate and daring.

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.

The full-band electric tracks have many intriguing elements, including a vibe that captures the wonder of Crazy Horse while infusing that chunka-chunka sound with skittery guitar riffs and other young-blood input. But the new-era tunes tend to be marred by seriously clunky lyrics.

On Life In The Dark, the Felice Brothers continue their decade-plus quest of chronicling our crooked national pathologies with quirky humor, slacker indifference and guarded folkie optimism. Never before has the Felice Brothers taken in their country with so much wide-eyed wonder.

The sometimes heavy quality of the concepts never overwhelms music that takes Dusty in Memphis as its stylistic template and moves it into a contemporary, but not slick, setting.

It’s impossible not to be enchanted by one of this year’s freshest, most delightful and all around grooviest releases.

The end product is an incoherent jumble of occasionally pleasant soft folk with mind-numbingly aimless pieces that seem arbitrarily constructed with little direction or focus.

It’s impossible to overstate how marvelously moving and purely enjoyable the end result is, paving the way, we hope, for a follow-up.

Robert Ellis’ self-titled album is the sound of a young songwriter solidifying his blend of East Nashville country with whatever sounds, styles, and sentiments that suit his interests.

Typical of many timeless albums, the whole of The Exodus Suite is greater than its impressive parts. Carve 50 minutes out of your life and spend time reveling in its thought provoking, often mesmerizing and riveting pleasures.

At just over 30 minutes, it’s over pretty quickly so let’s hope this is just the beginning of a fruitful musical relationship.

By shifting back to his roots, Eli Paperboy Reed swings into the future for his most direct, honest and propulsive set yet.

What could be a raucous mess is smartly written, well produced and arranged hard rock/power pop with slight prog and punk tendencies.

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.

It’s hard to imagine that after a few spins, most won’t file this with Williams’ other similarly styled albums that, even with his distinctively wacked-out approach, are starting to sound routine, if not flat out lazy.

Taken individually, the songs resonate better. But lumped together the effect is claustrophobic and cheerless.

The result is this consistently enjoyable, often terrific, frequently challenging 11 track, 51-minute aural rocket ship exploration quite rightly tagged “delirium” by its duo of frontmen.

This album is just more evidence that few have ever been as fluent in that tongue as Paul Simon.

Even with the slight stench of commercialism tainting this release, and some sub-par material Good Times! exudes enough, well, good times to capture what made the Monkees so much better than their teeny-bopper peers and maintained a dedicated fan base for five decades. If this is their final recorded bow, at least they’ll go out in style.

He’s just a diehard rock and roller with a cool voice and an itchy pen slamming out another pretty great album because that’s what he has always done.

For fans that have stuck with him for the decades-long ride, Rain Crow is yet another stunning example that Tony Joe White’s uncompromising, often ominous vision, shows no signs of diminishing.

On Bloodhounds, the harder Victoria works to reckon with the dark Southern demons of her youth, the further she’s pulled back and drawn in by the music she’s discovered along the way: the lonesome wail of Junior Kimbrough, the isolationist cry of Outkast, the mournful lament of Patsy Cline. It’s this push and pull that provides her music’s driving tension.

Clearly this is a heartfelt, meticulously crafted package for a cult artist who deserves far more acclaim and respect from a wider audience. As a single disc, non-boxed set re-release, it’s everything this classic deserves and a beautifully realized example of how reissues should be done.

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.

As usual, Petty makes it seem easy. And with help from his fellow Mudcrutchers, the unassumingly titled 2 is proof that even Tom Petty’s modest side projects are better and more compelling than many acts at their best.

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.

Despite the ominous lyrical content, Nadler creates music with warmth, grace and genuine humility.

There is enough talent, subdued enthusiasm and commitment on I Still Do to justify most fans’ money and attention, with the understanding the fire and intensity of the Slowhand days only appear intermittently.

Despite the downbeat album title, Johnson has crafted winning, uplifting music that’s inspirational, even rousing, under any name.

For a long time now, Radiohead has been achieving mesmerizing results by blazing the trail for synthetic sounds in rock and roll. But it’s the humanity, oh, the humanity, that makes A Moon Shaped Pool so moving.

Lyrically, the concepts are obtuse and diffuse, but with all the effort Little Scream and co-producer/multi-instrumentalist Richard Reed put into the soundscape, it’s likely there are some intriguing concepts here, if you can untangle them.

Nothing here hasn’t been done many times before, and much better, by either the original artists (do we need a shockingly feeble-voiced Willie Nelson dueting with Lauper on his “Night Life”?) or others closer to the country aesthetic.

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.

While Luck or Magic isn’t a major transformation for Britta Phillips, it’s never less than an enjoyable listen. It also reaffirms her substantial if low key vocals and displays a vision as essential to the Dean & Britta albums as her higher profile husband.

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

As often as White Hot Moon feels like a diary entry recitation, its real catharsis is in the sheer acts of volume that back up Drake and Greaves’ lyrics.

With or without Olson, the Jayhawks remain one of the lynchpins of Americana, a position they proudly solidify on the impressive Paging Mr. Proust.

The lack of the Spector-ish sound, while understandable--Ronnie’s marriage to Phil was legendarily troubled--along with material that is far more powerful and enjoyable in its original form, makes this an experiment that fails on most levels, in particular from Scott Jacoby’s ill-fitting production and sonic approach.

With any luck, he’ll have plenty more gas in his tank to release albums as rugged, diverse and memorable as this in the foreseeable future.

Ultimately, it takes a real curmudgeon to dislike this often enchanting, rosy-cheeked, harmony laden alliance, even if you wish it was better. It also does little to display the vocal talents of Kelly Jones who has a handful of terrific albums under her own name but whose own style gets lost here.

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.

Not only is this a treat for longtime fans, but hopefully a sign for others to take Harper’s lead, creating relevant, incisive songs that are lyrically, musically and philosophically as inspirational and provocative as those here.

Robbie Fulks at 53 might be a kinder, gentler version of the rascal of old, but one who has perfected balancing touching, reflective ruminations and a sardonic outlook with effortless aplomb.

If these results reflecting about two years of work in Rhodes’ home studio with producer Chris Price don’t quite capture the vibrancy of his earlier work, they are close enough not to disappoint those who stuck around waiting for them.

There may not be many moments here that couldn’t have been included on his other two albums, but when an artist finds his pocket and groove as perfectly as Bradley has, that’s an insignificant detail.

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.

These are some of the most musical and enjoyable tunes of his more than 20-year career; one that has found him shifting styles without abandoning a dedication to compelling words matched by intriguing songs that never take his audience for granted.

At only 36 minutes, it’ll leave you wanting more, convinced that Parker’s previous set was no fluke and that his career as an electrifying singer-songwriter has just begun.

The tunes here aren’t necessarily in a class with some of the material Bonamassa has recorded in past years, songs by blues giants like Willie Dixon or writers like John Hiatt and Tom Waits. But they suit the artist perfectly.

On Weighted Mind she showcases her obvious instrumental talents while displaying a newfound attention to reflective, beautifully conceived songwriting.

Jurado manages to fill Visions Of Us On The Land full of musical surprises, but the unfettered emotion that sneaks in toward the end is the most welcome surprise of all.

An album of songs built to linger and last.

These songs may take a few spins to connect and early fans of La Sera may need to open up to accept the revised style. But most will appreciate Wisenbaker’s higher profile input and Goodman’s ability to remain distinctive in the La Sera guise while maintaining the music’s chameleonic qualities and urging it forward in her still dreamy fashion.

Those willing to take the plunge will be rewarded with one of the more challenging major label efforts released this year.

As both a comeback and perhaps a farewell to recording, with Full Circle Lynn continues with the style, talent and class that have personified her lengthy, legendary career.

Perhaps a better balance of rockers and reflective selections might have made this stronger and more diverse. But those who shied away from Wynonna’s slicker commercial heyday will find this direct, collective style a refreshing transformation for the better. For the rest of us, it’s yet additional proof of her tough/tender, sassy/sensitive vocal prowess and arguably the finest release of her extensive career.