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.

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.

A few more rockers on the order of the Armstrong co-write “Strangers & Thieves” would have raised the overall temperature, but each of these 14 tracks is an exquisitely constructed gem.

This remains yet another diverse, refined and intermittently provocative release from an experienced singer-songwriter who consistently provides the Americana goods with cleverness, class and style.

It’s those more daring musical elements, perhaps inspired by label boss/friend Jack White, that bring a fresh, vibrant approach to Mae’s sound. Arguably she didn’t go far enough chasing it, but this remains an impressive second effort that successfully expands her folksy pedigree into more creative, and interesting, territory.

The total effect of Thrashing Thru The Passion is that of The Hold Steady at their most casual and confident, tossing off these songs that would be tour de forces for anyone else as if they have a bushelful of them just hanging around the studio.

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.

Even as Vernon and his cast of thousands get further and further from the relatively simple, backwoods folkie sound that originally brought him to the forefront, he is making music that, far from being strange, is actually as inviting as anything he has ever done.

Regardless of Mixtape Vol. 1’s origins, it’s a fun, dynamic set. Let’s hope this is just the beginning of a series of likeminded follow-ups.

The remastered audio captures each instrument with surprisingly sharp and clean separation which makes this sound better than what an exhausted, rain-soaked, mud covered audience experienced hearing it live.

Multiple spins help define some of the melodies. Jackson’s voice is never less than distinctive and often riveting. At times this is a challenging listen because the personal revelations feel so intimate and private. But she locks into a rootsy groove that makes even the darkest concepts connect on an album that’s as honest, revealing and authentic as they come.

Strange, inexplicable and uncomfortable are descriptions the Femmes’ are likely proud of. Their ageing indie audience expects nothing less and should be more than happy to check into this hotel of last resort.

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.

A lovely, emotionally poignant album that moves Durant’s music far ahead of her somewhat gauzy, even reticent debut and into far more accessible waters.

The disc is like the best jukebox you ever heard in a sleazy, punky country bar, perhaps like the broken down Seeburg pictured on the back sleeve. Plunk down your quarter and wherever the needle falls, you’ll end up on the dance floor.

The outfit gets points for releasing an album comprising new compositions (minus Petty’s tune), which helps establish them as more than another ABB cover act, albeit one with undeniably valid credentials.

The 10 tunes fly by in the fastest 40 minutes of your life. No need to pick and choose favorites either, because there’s little filler on a debut that knows the approach it wants and nails it with graceful professionalism and buckets of passion.

The combination of Buddy’s husky rumble and Julie’s lighter but still incisive approach makes for an explosive vocal blend. There is no filler in these dozen tunes (over 50 were written, from which they chose the best) that remind us what we’ve missed in the decade since the couple last recorded together. It’s a continuation of a musical and personal partnership that’s entrancing, honest and one that makes for a mesmerizing listen.

All but one are previously unreleased and show not only how prolific he was but how much work he put into these demo recordings, which sound as good as the finished product. Better yet, it’s an example of the quality of material still lurking in the Prince archives. This hour-long collection will more than satiate fans of the artist until the next batch inevitably appears.

From the throbbing Led Zeppelin-styled hard rock of “Don’t Bother Me” (complete with short drum solo), to the following Elton John/10cc influenced piano ballad “Shine The Light On Me” and the riff-rawk driven “What’s Yours is Mine,” these four guys play together like a well-oiled machine, not one that has been idle for a decade.

The diversity works to Los Coast’s advantage, keeping a vibrant, generally exuberant approach coalescing around Pivott’s voice as it ignores stylistic boundaries more established outfits might be hemmed in by.

These diverse songs find their balance not just with a subtle mix of rootsy country, folk, pop, soul and Americana, but in Nelson’s homespun vocals inviting you to unplug and, well, do what the disc’s title suggests.

At the end of the 20 tracks, you’ll feel both closer to yourself and to Bill Callahan as you drift along with his expansive, occasionally humorous, always provocative and quirky mindset.

Together, they make gorgeously sensual music, with essential contributions from Calexico trumpeter Jacob Valenzuela, pedal steel player Paul Niehaus, keyboardist Rob Burger and bassist Sebastian Steinberg.

Western Stars is erratic in the first half, as Springsteen’s need for exposition sometimes grinds uneasily against the sweep of the music. But the second half is a profound pleasure. ... It makes you wish that Springsteen could dash off an album full of such country songs. Until then, Western Stars will have to do, and it does just fine.

Those unfamiliar with the artist can start here. But longtime fans should be prepared for a freshly energized Dylan LeBlanc, one who has found new vitality reflected in the lyrics “Dying to be born again.”

Even with its abbreviated length, there is plenty to chew on, both sonically and conceptually. The 60-year-old Farrell sounds inspired and as edgy as 30 some years ago.

Three discs worth of rehearsals are hit and miss; many songs are fragmentary and others don’t match the eventual live versions. Plus, the live shows don’t vary all that much in their set lists. Casual fans will probably stick with the ten or so Dylan songs they play on satellite radio. But true fans will greedily gobble this up and be more than pleased.