Generally missing, though, are hooks that bring you back for another listen. The songs are melodic and easy on the ears if not particularly memorable.

The result is naturally a bit of a mish-mash, but all of the material is terrific and the sequencing makes this seem like a finished product.

On a single disc that runs just under an hour (each performance was about double that), there is unused time to add more. What’s here though is terrific with invigorated versions of Isbell’s best tunes given a crackling edge. Despite a mix that buries the keyboards, the sound is sharp and crisp, making this a great souvenir for fans and a solid primer of Isbell’s talents for newcomers.

If there’s anything keeping Dying Star from being an outright classic, it’s that Kelly can so effortlessly conjure up the regretful young man’s blues that the nearly hour-long album can coast at times. But for the most part, Dying Star is a triumph.

Listeners with liberal tastes and open ears will find enough quality music here to satisfy them for as long as it takes to plow through and absorb it all, which could be a while. Those new to the band will likely find their head spinning too quickly to grasp it all. But no one will complain it’s boring.

Follow Elvis Costello down the twisting paths of Look Now and you’ll find they lead to sublime musical destinations.

Let’s Dance is the highlight of this 11- disc compilation which finds Bowie moving from that high point to some of his most unsatisfactory, misguided, uninspired and at times even embarrassing music (the ear-wincing Mick Jagger duet on “Dancing in the Streets,” anyone?). ... Two more discs of 1987’s Glass Spider tour with Peter Frampton on guitar document a successful jaunt where Bowie rescued some of the newer material in a flashy, elaborate, well received live show. A Dance platter of extended 12 mixes included here is for diehards only and the fourth volume of Re: Call collects another two platters of rarities, single edits, hard to find live tracks and the like.

Clearly, this is not geared to the casual fan. But for those with an intense interest in either Lennon and/or arguably his finest work, it’s an understatement to say this ultimate edition lives up to its boastful name.

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place, keeping the cowboy folklore alive by reminding us that poignant songs sung by a superb singer will never sound outdated.

There are plenty of bands trying to capture this distressing atmosphere of dread, uncertainty and slowly enveloping darkness, but few do it with the class, subtlety and controlled intensity of All Them Witches. Five albums in, they are confident in their abilities and seem poised for a remarkable future.

Like Peggy Lee, Francoise Hardy, Jane Birkin and others, Molly Burch is a chanteuse, exploring the edges of noir songs with beauty, sadness, and an honest vulnerability that’s powerful yet strikingly understated.

Lenker has a penchant for songs that mine deep emotional depths, but even by her standards, the ten songs that comprise abysskiss are some of the most starkly vulnerable songs of her career.

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

No one breaks much of a sweat here. White’s distinctive mumble seems like it was recorded while drifting in and out of a narcotic-induced coma. Nevertheless, this music resonates with the dark, ominous, rootsy authenticity Tony Joe White has always exuded.

By compiling these often difficult to find sides, we get an intimate glimpse into talents of Joe Strummer many haven’t heard before. If anything it makes his untimely 2002 death at just age 50 even more tragic. But at least we have his music, and the stunning 001 is a near perfect summation of it.

There aren’t many surprises on My Way, but that’s unimportant. Nelson’s in terrific voice, he clearly loves the material and delivers each of the 11 tracks with beautifully nuanced authenticity.

He’s clearly infatuated with this raw sound and, like the Stones, at this late stage in his career, isn’t concerned with moving units or getting radio play. All of which speaks to the honesty and love of blues exuding from every track on this heartfelt tribute to the music that has always inspired Billy Gibbons’ best work.

The set was recorded in four days with no overdubs and only a few takes for each track. That provides a fresh, revealing quality that weaves through the songs. Although each can stand alone, there is a tangible groove to the playlist capped by the concluding “Gloryland,” a traditional hymnal that closes this terrific effort on an appropriately sanctified note.

It’s Prince as few have heard him: inspired, unrestrained, playing for no one but himself and the engineer who pushed the record button. Clearly this isn’t for everyone. But those looking for a glimpse into the artist, mostly pre-global fame, working out new and old material, will find it an invaluable and unique addition to his already bulging catalog.

Shemekia Copeland might have been born into the blues, but the riveting America’s Child shows her continuing to push those boundaries, creating music reflecting a larger, wider-ranging tract of Americana.

As with the best concept sets, you don’t need to follow the story, or even know there is one, to enjoy these songs, since most stand on their own. They may not be the best or catchiest ones Escovedo has written, but this is one of the most passionate, relevant, politically charged and personal projects he has released in a career pushing 40 years.

A band this large is best when they don’t overthink the arrangements and just groove, something you wish would happen more often on this impressive if occasionally strained release.

Overall, this is another quality entry into Thompson’s bulging yet impressive discography. It’s one that lets us explore the darkest recesses of his diary while composing tense, emotionally spellbinding music reflecting those feelings. At the same time he displays a talent for snaking, occasionally wordy songwriting and gripping lead guitar, both instantly identifiable as his.

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.

The album was intricately produced by John Simon, and meticulously arranged with three singers/players--Levon Helm, Rick Danko and Richard Manuel--sharing the spotlight (Robbie Robertson also took a rare lead vocal). Subtleties like oblique background horn charts, keyboard whiz Garth Hudson’s inspired and playful sounds (particularly on “This Wheels On Fire”) and Helm’s unique drum patterns are given a fresh glow, making this enduring classic even more enticing.

Ultimately, this set succeeds because of how natural and effortless it feels. Like Petty’s writing, these songs seem to emerge fully formed. Tasjan appears at home in this sonic environment.

With their beaming outpouring of positivity and joyous approach to life and love, this rousing music encourages togetherness in these troubled times.

Workaholic producer Dave Cobb keeps Shooter’s sound polished proving that for better, and sometimes worse, Shooter Jennings can play by the country-rock rules when he wants to.

The more sophisticated Chains are Broken reflects a willingness to push beyond the somewhat cult audience The Devil Makes Three has accumulated, into a wider framework without abandoning their reputable roots. While it may be a bit jarring on initial spin, the risk has paid off.

Be The Cowboy is a standout because of its restlessness, Mitski winding each lonely melody through the peripatetic music and always landing someplace unexpectedly moving.

Occasional horns spice up the approach adding tasty seasoning to an album that shows Boz Scaggs at 74 is bookending a remarkable career by reviving a love of the refined soul/blues that began over 50 years ago.

Even after over a decade away from the solo focus, Back Being Blue feels less like a return than a natural progression. That’s not to knock Willis’ two fine collaborations with Robison, but it’s a pleasure to have her talent front and center and not sharing the spotlight.

Fulks pens seven of the 13 tracks and helped curate the rest, plus assembled a band of veterans like Telecaster master Redd Volkaert to give the talented Lewis full room to shine. Which she does masterfully.

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.

Based on Among The Ghosts, the band sounds tighter, more intuitive and incisive than when they started in 1998.

On Blue Mesa, Luke Winslow-King reflects on his strengths, weaknesses and need to keep moving with the lyrical and musical integrity of a heartbroken journeyman who understands, believes in and respects the road ahead and behind.

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.

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”).

This is another impressive notch in the group’s expansive catalog belt and a further illustration that their classy, classic talents show no signs of dissipating as they settle into middle age.

This feels like the band’s fifth album, not their first, and that’s an enormous compliment. They blow the roof off but do it with style and class, nodding to the past without slavishly imitating it.

If Things Change has any fault, it’s that the North Carolina singer-songwriter doesn’t cover too much new ground. But for the most part, it’s an engaging latest chapter in the ever-evolving, consistently compelling storytelling saga of one of this generation’s most overlooked roots country singer-songwriters.

Ultimately the album is easier to appreciate as an unusual, occasionally successful and diverting artistic project that tries to make sense of Davies’ love and apprehension about America, than it is to enjoy.

There are enough artistic twists and turns to please even the most dedicated Jacket fan, showing that James remains as musically edgy as ever on an album that pulses with energy, enthusiasm and the restless spirit James has always personified.

She effortlessly combines her vocal, lyrical and melodic gifts into a perfect storm on the shimmering and often spellbinding Putting on Airs.

A full band backs the twosome and while this might seem like an unusual pairing on paper, the result is an alternatively sweet, touching, rousing and undeniably heartfelt set that plays to both artist’s strengths while pushing each slightly outside their comfort zone.

At just over a half hour of music, we’re not getting anything fresh here--no outtakes, studio chatter, demos, remixes, nothing--which, in this day of easily being able to build your own playlist, seems at best like a waste of time and at worst a greedy cash grab aimed at those who can’t figure out how to create this themselves.

The result is sometimes sublime, sometimes noisy and chaotic.

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.

With increasingly assured songwriting, Natalie Prass demonstrates that she is on top of her game in the here and now.

There is a chilly, somewhat detached vibe that often overtakes the material, making it a challenge to unpack each of these dense selections on an album that’s easier to appreciate and admire than enjoy.

As much as the veteran musician should be complimented for his work ethic, he can do better than the overall competent but unexciting Tomorrow’s Daughter.

There are echoes of Bjork (a major influence), Depeche Mode and the earlier, more melodramatic tendencies of the Cure. While that references the older aspects of Wayman’s music, there’s also an enduring, durable and somewhat ageless vibe that keeps this from feeling retro.

Sparkle Hard comfortably fits in alongside any of the other entries in his oeuvre, but it also feels like a more mature release. He’s mostly let go of the overt references to The Fall and Dadaist poetry that defined Pavement’s early material. Instead, he delivers the prettiest album of his recent career, one that still rocks but does so in a relaxed, contemplative manner.

The concepts may be well worn and bordering on cliché, but the execution is generally fresh and inspired, proving that writing what you know never goes out of style.

This long-awaited comeback of sorts for Cooder is a joyful, intense and occasionally humorous experience that any Americana fan will enjoy.

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.

A full orchestra occasionally adds more bloat to an already over-the-top sound.

While the playing remains somewhat generic and you can’t imagine the group without Price fronting it, Free Yourself Up refines and defines Lake Street Dive’s accessible, retro-leaning, radio-friendly pop aesthetic.

When Critical Equation isn’t trying too hard to solve those mysteries lyrically or complicate matters musically, it’s prime Dr. Dog. And that’s more than enough.

Fans who have stuck with Morrison for any length of time will eagerly welcome his recent spurt of creativity with You’re Driving Me Crazy (the title song has been covered by everyone from Billie Holiday to Frank Sinatra, Big Joe Turner and Louis Armstrong) as another worthy notch in Van Morrison’s remarkable and ever-expanding career belt.

Last Man Standing isn’t just a terrific album made by a living legend with nothing left to prove; it’s one of the most joyous, insightful and understated sets from Willie Nelson, a guy who acts like his best years are still ahead and refuses to slow down now.

Despite a few missteps, Volunteer is a worthy next chapter for a group that continues do its best work when finding new ways to tell old stories.

[An] impressive debut that at only 10 tracks and barely a half hour leaves you wanting more.

It’s inoffensive, unobtrusive, innocuous and difficult to hate. But it’s also hard to get excited about as these songs quietly fade into the background like the music of the generally forgotten acts of the ’80s Rouse tries to emulate.

What could be a convoluted jumble is instead a beautifully fashioned collection of sounds that flow and shift from the ornate qualities of “When It Grows Darkest” to the stark piano and voice of “The Meadow”; one that drifts with the pensive, thought provoking vibe of a foreign film or the undulating of the ocean tide.

Overall this is, perhaps not surprisingly, a mixed bag with enough impressive, even stirring moments to make it a moderately recommended listen, albeit one that too seldom validates its intent of bringing homespun country grit to the John/Taupin songbook.

The album is somewhat of a musical and philosophical rollercoaster. But that’s all in a day’s work for Everett who adds to his already impressive, uncompromising catalog with another expressive, rugged and diverse gem.

Whether you absorb it in bite-size pieces or jump into the 51-minute deep end of the pool while reading the lyrics, this superb and challenging album can be appreciated and enjoyed on a variety of levels.

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.

These dozen performances will make listeners reassess songs some already know. But more likely they’ll be stunned at how LaVette revitalizes and shape shifts them into her own soulful reflection.

Their music is unique and instantly identifiable, high praise indeed for brothers that have seemingly become tighter and more focused as their professional liaison has matured.

At just over 35 minutes (a “deluxe” version adds three live tunes) a few extra songs would be welcome. But this is a worthy successor to 2013’s terrific debut from these veterans and hopefully won’t be the last.

It’s a wildly eclectic yet entirely natural career progression for the unpredictable Wilkes, whose vocals and overall approach is slightly less frenzied than we have come to expect.

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.

Now, 47 years after his passing, music Hendrix never authorized is available, warts and all, in a package that, for all of its captivating moments, still exudes the faint yet noxious whiff of wringing every last dollar from his dedicated fan base.

At a conservative 35 minutes, there’s little fluff. Still, some songs feel longer than they are and the sheer abundance of words is sporadically exaggerated and tiresome.

Darlingside is an act that has latched onto a unique sound and rides it for 40 glorious minutes on the gorgeous and confident Extralife.

I’m With Her close out their impressive debut.

Rare Birds is a strikingly original, complex and inspired work, one that requires your attention and rewards repeated spins.

It’s a bold, eclectic and audacious approach to the bulging catalog of breakup ruminations; one that emerges from the crowded field and shows Marlon Williams’ talents are just beginning to blossom.

There isn’t a huge sonic difference between Onion and the past few Clams releases, but the songs and instrumentation are tighter and better crafted with defined hooks and choruses.

Though some longtime fans may feel as though some of the imperfections that adorned Toledo’s original DIY bedroom release are lost in translation in this gorgeously polished release, in its new iteration Twin Fantasy is a deeply moving statement from one of indie rock’s freshest young voices.

Recording in his Glasgow hometown helps provide a vibrant, unhurried enthusiasm that’s contagious. Each track is enhanced with guests periodically contributing horns, woodwinds, strings, and even French horns and glockenspiels.

There’s still so much going on that Little Dark Age is a lot to take in, but it’s worth going back for seconds.

Another in a series of endearingly quirky albums from one of Americana’s most intriguing and unconventional artists.

Rather than an uninspiring photo copy of the previous collaborations, the fourth go-round of this feisty association shows that it’s getting better and tougher, whetting our appetite for the next iteration.

While the dizzying array of sounds The Limiñanas fuse into their splendidly unique final product might make it seem like the mess you get throwing these against the wall, it works unusually well. And at a relatively compact 40 minutes, you’ll find yourself wanting more of wherever this came from.

First Aid Kit’s latest may be a slightly more conservative gesture than their last record, but it synthesizes their many musical strains more fully than ever before.

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.

The details in Childers’ intricate character descriptions make this one of the finest releases of the year and an impressive introduction to a talented newcomer with striking lyrical and musical talent.

The music’s not raw enough to be considered outlaw but it’s melodic, sharply arranged and driven by passion. That balance makes the Turnpike Troubadours both one of Americana’s preeminent purveyors and this album arguably their most accomplished set to date.

Versatile may ultimately be a minor addition to the Irish icon’s swollen catalog, yet it’s another example of Van Morrison’s inimitable flair as an interpreter and arranger. It’s hard to imagine spending over an hour with these 16 tunes and not coming away with an appreciative grin and an acknowledgement of the singer’s timeless talents.

The Visitor, his collaboration with Promise Of The Real, is broad and all-encompassing. If there is one unifying factor, it’s that the subject matter can be roughly described as Young’s unflinching look at the state of the world, in all its abject beauty and squandered promise. Don’t call it a comeback, but damn if it doesn’t feel like one.

It’s overwhelming proof, if anyone needed it, that Noel Gallagher’s best days aren’t behind him. If Who Built the Moon is any indication, the high flying British icon may just be getting started.

You may wish the songs were a little tougher (the Wilco frontman might have spread himself too thin writing the entire album), but Tweedy’s words preach without sounding overly preachy. The backing musicians effortlessly find a funky/soulful groove and even at low boil, Mavis Staples remains a force of nature.

It’s not just a rousing bookend to a remarkable, late-starting career, but a terrific and moving soul explosion that stands as one of the finest in her limited yet extraordinary catalog.

Not many albums still stop you in your tracks after 25 years of listening. This one does. It’s a pure masterpiece, from beginning to end.

Olsen locates every last ounce of heartache within the song’s tale of someone who’s trapped between wanderlust and homesickness. If these are the leftovers, it’s fun to imagine how tasty Angel Olsen’s next main course will be.