Between the quality of the songs (five written or co-penned by Raitt, an unusually high number), the relaxed yet taut performances and Bonnie’s characteristic smooth whisky drawl, the appropriately titled Dig In Deep is another distinguished and near perfect entry into a classy, bulging catalog that has seen few missteps.

The end product feels natural, unforced and even at times humble, making this appropriately titled sixth Stringdusters album yet another successful effort that moves the act beyond its string roots while keeping their collective feet planted in them.

It may take a leap of faith, and it’s hard to imagine how convincingly Lake Street Dive can pull off this slick, immaculately produced studio album on stage, but once you let yourself go with the disc’s flow, it’s tough not be engaged by the sheer vivacity and likeability of a set that sounds like it was plucked out of a time capsule.

If Gill maintained the rawness displayed on a few tracks and added more upbeat tunes, this would have been an edgier return to form.

Sometimes, as on “Shroud,” the introspective songwriting isn’t strong enough to sustain the bold attack and the seriousness can feel confining.

The ten taut songs sashay by in just over a half hour ensuring nothing overstays its welcome and everyone leaves with a smile as goofy and frisky as Austin Powers looking for a shag.

Longtime fans who have patiently waited for this resurgence will be thrilled with results that gently tug at the boundaries of their established sound. But even listeners new to the Freakwater experience can start here and work backwards through a rich catalog dedicated to the darker roots of Americana.

Much of this revamped version of Psychedelic Swamp is vastly more conventional--even normal--than the record that inspired it, which is as much a selling point as it is a slight source of disappointment.

It’s hard to shake the nagging notion that this hews too closely to a classy, not-so-subtle advertisement enticing more customers onto future trips. Despite those reservations (pun intended), there is enough wonderful music here for even landlubbing Americana fans to enjoy.

The album exudes the salty air of the conditions it was recorded in, which makes it a success on that level. How much your tastes lean towards undiluted, traditional Brit folk will gauge your enjoyment for this batch of unadulterated music in that genre, played and conceived with the purest of intentions.

Don’t slot these guys into an Everly Brothers pigeonhole because not only is no one else releasing music like this, but the refined songwriting and flawless performances push these tunes into near classic territory.

This is clearly for existing fans; those new to Oldham’s expansive, often confusing catalog are advised to start elsewhere. But if you are already converted to his stridently uncommercial musings, these once difficult to find performances make a wonderful addition to what is likely your already extensive Oldham collection.

It’s a haunting, generally melancholy 40 minutes that cries out for repeated playings to best capture the fleeting melodies, atmospheric performances and the singer’s delicate concepts.

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.

Despite its many highlights though, it nonetheless falls short of accomplishing its goal with a performance that is highly professional, yet generally too measured and safe.

They just make music that pleases them and in doing that also created one of the most adventurous, least predictable albums of the year.

Lyrically, Bowie it at his best here when he dives fully into off-kilter impressionism and ponders the uncertain present and apocalyptic future.

This is the Shack Shakers as we know them with every sweaty, caffeinated concert and rollicking disc bringing the group closer to the “legendary” status flaunted even before their first release.

Such is the bounty contained on The Ties That Bind that it might make you question Bruce Springsteen’s judgment even as you marvel at his ridiculous talent.

Even diehard Neil Young fans may not fully appreciate this offshoot in his bulging catalog. But this remarkably vibrant and immediate live compilation shows that Young took this side road very seriously and it was more than just a forgettable, momentary quirk in his diverse and winding career.

25 can seem like 11 singles instead of an album at times; all the big-name producers and co-songwriters muscling their way in doesn’t allow for too much restraint.

This is another in a long line of quality Chris Isaak releases that optimizes his well-established vocal and songwriting strengths, brings a bit of retro, rootsy cool, and ends up a solid entry into an already impressive catalog.

A perfectly pleasant, largely successful return to form that’s a delight for existing fans yet ultimately missing a bit of the “je ne sais quoi” that made the best ELO music so timeless and classic.

The 65-66 era of his career occupies rarefied space in the annals of rock; The Cutting Edge somehow demystifies it and makes it seem more impressive all at once. For a guy who once warned us not to look back, Bob Dylan keeps giving us irresistible reasons to do exactly that.

Collectively, they reflect the life’s work of a tight, hardworking/hard traveling act that plays by its own rules. And, judging from the almost three and a half hours of music here, one that continues to improve with age.

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

Unlike Bruce Springsteen’s similarly rootsy and far peppier tribute to Pete Seeger, this fine ballad heavy collection probably won’t attract the attention its compilers are hoping for and garner the posthumous stateside appreciation MacColl deserves.

Even non-ZZ Top fans will appreciate the vitality and exuberance that jumps out of every track and those who have followed Gibbons’ 45 (and counting) year career should be delighted with this energetic if temporary change in direction.

Another Country has far too many moments that will have them lurching for the track-forward button while admitting this once talented songwriter needs someone to tell him when his reach exceeds his grasp.

Both respectful to rustic tradition while energizing and expanding it, the Supersuckers semi-humorously declare themselves “the greatest rock and roll band in the world.” And, even in their less forceful country guise as here, few would dispute that claim.

Existing fans will find enough to satisfy them, but newbies should choose from earlier Los Lobos works for a better understanding of what makes these guys so special.

Cobb’s touch could use a little more grit overall, but Lund delivers an enjoyable romp that gets points on diversity. The album displays his impressive lyrical skills and enough sparks that could catch fire in tougher live versions propelled by rowdy crowds and concert electricity.

Honeymoon isn’t quite as fine as Ultraviolence, but that’s less an indictment of the new album than high praise of the older one, which feels like an immediate classic. In any case, Del Rey’s rollercoaster of a career seems to have steadied on an impressively high level.

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.

It’s all very much an artifact of its short era and is best appreciated as such. But Press Color captures a vibrant moment in New York City’s historically rich music history that can never be replicated. Even with its obvious flaws and retro vibe, it still feels creative, pulsating and oddly inspirational.

This project is far more adventurous in its presentation of a unique and provocative sonic palette.

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.

There is a tendency to scoff at the clichéd “back to his roots” concept of Cass County and you can’t help but wish some of the occasionally slick production was dialed down a notch. Regardless, it yields arguably Henley’s finest solo work and, at its best, music that stands with the Eagles’ finest country influenced moments.

All A Man Should Do keeps their solid streak going while tweaking the formula just enough to both earn new converts and surprise the faithful.

At fifteen tracks, the formula could easily have run stale were it not for a couple of sneaky surprises.

It is 1989 reimagined, with often startling results.

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.

There’s not a weak track in the dozen making this another candidate for blues release of the year from brothers who almost never got to play another note together. Making up for lost time never sounded so good.

How many times you’ll return to it is questionable, especially for power pop fans, but it’s a logical extension from the chamber accompaniment of the album’s opening songs and shows Folds to be even more gifted than many of his followers thought.

With the buzz silenced and the rag headlines but a thing of the past, it’s encouraging to see that The Libertines have lost none of what made them worth the hype in the first place.

It’s still early to throw accolades like “visionary” around but aspects of Clark’s music encourage that reaction. “This music sets me free,” he continues on “Healing,” and it’s likely to have the same effect on you.

Finn is still as sharp as ever with his details and as striking as ever with his lyrical gambits.

Nothing takes the place of Muddy’s performances with their emotional intensity and mind blowing musicality. But this heartfelt project makes a terrific reminder of just how great these songs are, unearths interesting, seldom heard Muddy sides even fans might not know and works as both a tribute to the legendary blues man and an impetus to go back and experience the originals.

After a few spins, some melodies seem a little less meandering. That’s part of the charm for this predominantly acoustic indie folk that feels as honest and truthful as it sounds.

It remains thrilling to hear the whiskey throated Stewart charging through these songs, urged on by Kenney Jones’ often frantic drumming and McLagan’s ever present keyboards. It’s also clear that a solo career was inevitable, a fact that ultimately broke up the band. None of the Faces’ four albums were without flaws, but even at their weakest, they get by on energy and a loopy yet palpable enthusiasm any act would envy.

Even though a handful of tunes seem forced, for the most part, Rateliff’s material and the brassy, bossy attack work well enough together to suggest this was a savvy career move, both artistically and commercially. Next time, if the songs mesh better with the arrangements, he might have a classic on his hands.

Like the band’s 2008 album Devotion, Depression Cherry is an impressive showcase of the kind of beauty that two musicians are capable of when stripped down to a bare-bones approach. It’s worked before, and it works again here.

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.

Based on recording location alone the varied musical approach to these 10 cuts veers from straight country, to rockabilly, R&B, rootsy rock and even some pop, all connected by Ortega’s trilling, bittersweet, instantly recognizable vocals.

Those willing to put forth the effort will be rewarded with a beautiful, stimulating and eclectic album that stands alone in a genre of its own making.

It’s not just quantity that makes this such a successful pairing. Haynes and Railroad Earth work beautifully together to create primarily unplugged music that is as driven, passionate and meticulously crafted as anything either has done on their own.

At 11 tracks that clock in just over half an hour, it’s done too quickly. But we spend just enough time in La Luz’s nocturnal surf world to push repeat and return again, an action the best albums always provoke.

By any measure, this is an engaging, complex, lyrically confrontational and intellectually intense 80 minutes.

Her most diverse work yet, careening from the stark acoustic with sparse drums and bass opening “Grace” to the crashing, grinding grunge guitars of “Wheelbarrow,” the latter an electrifying performance closer to Nirvana than anything in the Americana genre Chambers calls home.

Star Wars may have been released on the spur of the moment, but Wilco’s alchemistic gifts ensure that it’s a moment which fans will want to keep on reliving.

Give credit to the band’s founders and co-producers bassist Robert Mercurio and saxist Ben Ellman who molded this album and show that Galactic doesn’t need a stable front person, or even a singular approach, to make their dynamic music connect with playful passion and vibrant integrity.

Other than the oddball horn infused Mexican polka “Tienes Cabeza de Palo” that sounds like Tom Jones taking an excursion south of the border, Call Me Insane plays to established strengths.

Isbell revisits favorite themes with powerful results.

The Deslondes provide a thrilling, original blend of American music that can’t be found anywhere else.

As it stands, it’s another entry in Young’s bulging catalog that, like Storytone, Greendale, Le Noise and others, you might play once or twice to see what he’s up to, then return to far more listenable classics like Rust Never Sleeps.

Neither easy listening or abrasive, Simple Songs is the sound of O’Rourke spraying his idiosyncratic fairy dust over a genre he clearly appreciates, albeit through the lenses of his own somewhat eccentric vision. Once you get into his groove though, it’s easy to appreciate the artist’s tenacity and often volatile vision.

When Feels Like is at its best, it’s a reminder of how exciting it can be to plug into a distortion pedal and let it rip. In its lesser moments, that’s still more or less what it is.

With Still, Richard Thompson fans can rejoice in knowing all the aspects of his exemplary talents remain intact.

It could be all tongue in cheek--and some of it probably is--but in the end, this isn’t an Occupy rally, it’s a rock album. And it’s not a shabby one at that.

Every pretty melody, every sweet-tart lyric, every vocal and instrumental flourish... they definitely earn her--to borrow a title-song reference--a 4.0.

The album’s title implies a wider expansion of the SteelDrivers’ already elastic sound that doesn’t appear, yet the group has rarely sounded more focused or passionate. That makes The Muscle Shoals Recordings another notable entry into the group’s already distinctive catalog.

Stamey makes the most of an ordinary if engaging voice and lyrics that sometimes feel undercooked.

All Your Favorite Bands is an inspired record full of space, swagger and warm, analog glow.

It’s a perfect combination of restrained vocal phrasing with madly creative production and a certain candidate for one of the finest albums of the year.

Existing fans will be thrilled with both the material and performances that show nearly 30 years down the line, the twosome finds innovative ways to keep their music fresh while maintaining the unique qualities that made it so distinctive to begin with.

Neither has anything left to prove but the utter joy and comradery on display makes you hope this isn’t their final collaboration.

While it doesn’t come close to their best work, there is enough spunk and pluck on Mystery Glue to provide the Parker faithful with confidence that better work remains in him.

The duo has a knack for affecting turns of phrases such as that, which helps offset the lack of finite details to ground the songs on Monterey.

This rollicking outing confirms that his output and talents are just hitting their peak, with hopefully more to come.

Give ‘em credit for self-composing every track on this initial fist to the face offering even if there isn’t much originality to the sound. There is however sufficient raw blues and restraint in rugged ballads such as “No Good” and “Old Ways” to throw Joplin in as a logical touch point.

The mostly original songs capture the gospel spirit in ballads (“The Highest”), funk (“Speaking in Tongues”), New Orleans second line (“Soul Food ll”) and driving blues rock (“Play All Day”) that will satisfy existing fans of any of the participants and win over some new ones too.

This remains a moderate leap forward for them and indicates an adventurousness they will hopefully explore further on forthcoming albums.

It’s when you start listening a bit closer that the nuance of the writing, the subtlety of the arrangements, and the magical interplay of the two voices, in harmonies alternately high-spirited and heartbreaking, start to break you down and leave an indelible impression.

The sheer quality of the songwriting and performances were sharpened and refined over many months yielding a set that’s impressively catchy and immediately satisfying.

With Leave No Bridge Unburned, they successfully magnify an already impressively established sound and create one of the best and most exciting Americana albums of the year.

Everything here captures the classy, sometimes sassy and always heartfelt essence that makes Shelby Lynne one of her generation’s most passionate and determined voices.

One of the band’s finest and most alluring offerings to date.

Best Coast might not have totally shaken the frivolity on California Nights, but it’s hard to care when it sounds this good.

It’s the start of a somewhat short but compelling 10-track, 41-minute ride that rocks hard while remaining firmly in country/roots territory.

Whether couched in the hush of his delicate acoustic finger-picking or amped up with a bit of tempo and electricity, sooner or later, his words demand attention.

Sometimes the rhythms skitter and stutter; sometimes they throb, or soothe. More often than anything, they surprise and intrigue.

While doubters might see this as a quirky, flash in the pan, Tiny Tim styled anomaly, there is no denying the goofy delight and enthusiasm that jumps out of the speakers on every track of this immensely enjoyable, if decidedly unconventional, album.

It’s a cohesive and complete statement, one of Calexico’s best yet.

Rouse uses his recent psychoanalysis sessions to question universal questions of our place in life as we age. That he does so with such beautifully crafted, hummable pop songs is a testament to his long established talents as one of America’s more overlooked singer/songwriters.

He sounds completely rejuvenated here. It makes Modern Blues one of his most compelling releases and a potent example of how a change of scenery can unexpectedly yet effectively revitalize a career.

Hubbard has always been a lyricist of gritty honesty. Here though, with help from an infusion of blues, his music is equally as taut, dynamic and compelling.

Existing Wilson fans will find this an enjoyable enough diversion, but even they will have to admit, it’s a little flimsy and simply not up to the high water mark Wilson has set for himself.

Thankfully the somewhat imposing concept never gets in the way of moving, often raw, always organic rock and roll as Malin adds another impressive entry into his already inspiring resume.