VAN MORRISON
Keep It Simple
(Lost Highway)

(NO DEPRESSION.NET) -- Van Morrison is the kind of superlative singer who justifies the cliche about the artist who "could sing the phone book." The songs on Keep It Simple are certainly better than names and numbers, though none of them rank with Morrison's best. To be fair, competing with one's finest work is a Herculean challenge for an artist who has made records for over four decades and just recently repackaged his past into multiple volumes of "hits."

Blues shuffles and country ballads are the templates for much of Keep It Simple. A beefy organ riffles through the bluesy songs, such as "How Can A Poor Boy", while pedal steel surfaces on the country-styled tunes. Background singers who turn occasionally schmaltzy are applied liberally, and familiar lyrical phrases abound. "Don't get around much anymore," admits Morrison on "Don't Go To Nightclubs Anymore", while on "School Of Hard Knocks", the singer is left "high and dry." Morrison as much as admits that the verse melody of "Love Come Back" owes a debt to Hanks Williams' "I'm So Lonesome I Could Cry", but instead of the moon, his song finds the "sun behind the clouds."

"Song Of Home" is a sweet country waltz that transcends its familiar allusion to "harbor lights," but on "Soul", Morrison's blue-note exhortations best explain what he otherwise expresses in mundanely literal words. On "Behind The Ritual", a meditative seven-minute groove that closes the collection, Morrison chants of "drinking that wine" and later sings a verse of, literally, "blah blah blah." Blame it on the pleasurable perspective of being a Morrison fan for decades, but that just doesn't seem as poetic as the "nah nah nah" calls of "Caravan".

-- JOHN MILWARD
Copyright c. 2008 No Depression Inc. and/or John Milward.

ABIGAIL WASHBURN & THE SPARROW QUARTET
self-titled
(Nettwerk)

(NO DEPRESSION.NET) -- Abigail Washburn has resisted categorization from the start of her relatively young career. She plays banjo with the traditionalist all-female string band Uncle Earl, but she released a solo album in 2005 that included, alongside old-time chestnuts, a couple of songs written and sung in Mandarin Chinese. That year she also put out a deceptively modest EP with the Sparrow Quartet, which she formed with her banjo mentor Bela Fleck, cellist Ben Sollee and fiddler Casey Driessen. The five-song disc only hinted at the quartet's stylistic expansiveness, and at the options it made available to a singer and songwriter of Washburn's imagination and talent.

Both are given plenty of rein on this spirited and elegant album, produced by Fleck, which permanently removes Washburn from the ranks of revivalists and puts her in a broad if loosely defined art-folk community with musicians such as Joanna Newsom and Nina Nastasia, whose work expands the possibilities of folk idioms in personal and unpredictable ways. In Washburn's case, that means a mingling of Appalachian banjo tunes, traditional Asian forms (mostly Chinese, but one song is called "A Kazakh Melody") and jazz inflections.

Hybridization is a tricky business, particularly in the realm of "world music," where literal-minded forced marriages often produce something less than the sum of their parts. What Washburn understands, either implicitly or explicitly, is that folk forms themselves are often hybrids of one kind or another. (Consider the phrase "Appalachian banjo tune," which describes an alloy of African, English and Celtic cultures, forged over a century of cross-fertilization.) And hybrids work best when they make sense in some intuitive, non-academic, non-gimmicky way to their creators.

Washburn's forays into Chinese forms, such as the breathtaking "Taiyang Chulai", don't feel like exoticism for the same reason the native midwesterner's Appalachian appropriations don't: Both are built on an affinity that goes well beyond mimicry or high-minded tribute. Washburn majored in East Asian studies and has spent a lot of time in China off and on for the past dozen years. She came to its music by way of its language, which she is reported to speak fluently. I have no way to judge the fidelity of her pronunciation or pitch, but the key from the perspective of a western listener is that her vocals on a handful of Mandarin-language songs sound comfortable and unaffected. The same is true of her singing in English, for that matter; she has a strong and pretty voice that she does not try to contort into some exaggerated mountaintop wail.

But the 28-year-old's linguistic and cultural dexterity is just the starting point of the adventurousness on display here. The Sparrow Quartet is a real ensemble, not a backing band, and most of the music was written collaboratively. All four members show a fluid ease in moving between conventions and genres, and sometimes in abandoning them altogether. It is hard, for example, to categorize a song such as "A Fuller Wine", with its rolling banjos, chugalug fiddle and swooping, sonorous cello. The complex arrangement picks up the melody of Washburn's vocal line and plays it out in variations that ricochet back and forth, transforming what could have been a piece of pleasant coffeehouse folk into something much richer.

The same thing happens on other tracks, from the moody blues of "Strange Things" to the superficially straightforward string-band rave-up "Banjo Pickin' Girl". Despite the presence of two banjos -- and despite one of them being played by Bela Fleck -- the bowed instruments really set the tone of the album. Washburn and Fleck trade licks and provide propulsion, but the interplay between Sollee and Driessen creates the stylistic bridges that support Washburn's melodic and cultural explorations (which include, I should note, yodeling).

The result is an unusual and unexpected album, one that inches toward some global-folk ideal without sacrificing anything by way of specificity or peculiarity.

-- JESSE FOX MAYSHARK
Copyright c. 2008 No Depression Inc. and/or Jesse Fox Mayshark.

DUFFY
Rockferry
(Mercury/Rough Trade)

(NODEPRESSION.NET) -- Someone with ears mentioned Duffy's name during SXSW, but long experience has taught me not to believe the hype from England (and James Hunter doesn't count). Or maybe there isn't any hype, and whoever it was I was talking to has especially good ears.

Duffy, in any event, is a comely young English woman with a fondness for 1960s orchestral pop. Mostly a recipe for disaster, but she's got it just about right. If there is a Petula Clark/Dusty Springfield divide, she falls closer to the Petula Clark side. But all nods to the past aside (and there are many on her self-titled debut), Duffy's voice is quite her own. And it's worth noting that she's co-written the ten songs on this slender, 37-minute album. Just the right length for the LPs from which Rockferry clearly draws inspiration.

And it is Duffy's voice which is the principal charm of her debut. It has a nice little rasp to it in the lower register (I am reminded of the Canadian singer Romi Mayes, though nobody else will make that jump), but as she slides effortlessly upward it becomes sweet and a tiny bit breathy. It is, in any event, a solid instrument over which she has substantial control, and which she uses quite tastefully.

The songs are mostly the kind of relationship fluff which fits neatly atop a string section (notably what I gather is the first single, "Warwick Avenue," which opens with what one hopes is a knowing nod toward "My Girl"; as "Hanging On Too Long" vaguely echoes "Smiling Faces"), and she's not above a drum machine ("Serious"). Set against a hollow-body guitar -- and nothing else -- on "Syrup & Honey" she acquits herself marvelously. No cheap tricks, careful technique, plenty of emotion. And it's as good a song as she offers in this set. Her New Orleans nod, "Mercy," swings along nicely, with a more nasal, sassier voice than she shares elsewhere. And a more knowing point of view. And a fabulous hook.

Like the 1960s albums Rockferry is meant to acknowledge, some of the songs are dross ("Delayed Devotion" and "Hanging On Too Long"; or maybe my dislike of Philly soul deafens my ears to its pleasures). And even the middling songs are carefully, freshly, lovingly executed.

The inevitable comparison is, I fear, to Amy Winehouse. Ms. Duffy has a better voice, and more to say. More room to grow. More likelihood of recording a second album. I'm not a real aficionado of her reference points, but Duffy has a first-rate voice, and this is as good an album as I've heard this year.

-- GRANT ALDEN
Copyright c. 2008 No Depression Inc. and/or Grant Alden

TIM O'BRIEN
Chameleon
(Proper American)

(NODEPRESSION.NET) -- Chameleon finds former Hot Rize hotshot Tim O'Brien puttering around co-producer Gary Paczosa's garage with a "hillbilly apparatus" that includes guitar, mandolin and bouzouki. O'Brien plays the hell out of them, swinging minor-key blues on "Where's Love Come From" and making something nicely obsessive of his fiddle accompaniment on "Phantom Phone Call". He sings in a warm, bluesy voice, and the material -- by O'Brien and a brace of collaborators that includes David Olney and John Hadley -- confounds expectations in charming fashion. On "Phantom Phone Call", he declares that "the mobile phone is a threat to the human race," while "Megna's" is a piece of reconstituted childhood memory on which O'Brien sings the praises of a vendor whose melons, okra and aubergines gain him the attention of "pretty women."

Chameleon transcends formalism; O'Brien has something to say about imperialism on "This World Was Made For Everyone", which praises "our robust economy" in ambiguous fashion. "Father Forgive Me" features an appearance by Jesus and O'Brien himself, who meditates on fate, "the midnight garden of agony," and gigs that compromise a working musician's soul. "Hoss Race" places the singer at the track, where, for once, he's winning.

Jaunty, accomplished and funny, Chameleon presents a persona along with the amazing licks; this is an average guy too observant for his own good. Global warming foils his suicide attempt in "World Of Trouble", which also mentions Humvees and Asian bird flu. Is it time to "plant orange groves in the Smokies"? Could be, now that he mentions it.

-- EDD HURT
Copyright c. 2008 No Depression Inc. and/or Edd Hurt.

SPECTRUM MEETS CAPTAIN MEMPHIS
Indian Giver
(Birdman)

(NODEPRESSION.NET) -- Spectrum Meets Captain Memphis sounds like an encounter of comic book superheroes. In reality, it's an unlikely but satisfying collaboration between Peter Kember (a.k.a. Spectrum) and legendary producer Jim Dickinson. "The Lonesome Death Of Johnny Ace", a reflection on the R&B singer who died in a game of Russian Roulette, is the standout track. The eight-minute song has a swirling, otherworldly vibe that sounds like a radio broadcast from beyond the grave as Dickinson recounts Ace's sad fate. "Til Your Mainline Comes" and "The Old Cow Died" mix surrealism with dry humor and recall Dickinson's spoken-word CD Fishing With Charlie. Kember takes center stage for the pop-influenced "Take Your Time" and a foreboding, distorted version of Mudhoney's "When Tomorrow Hits". The album is bookended by the instrumental "Mary", a little padding on an album that doesn't need it.

-- TOM WILK
Copyright c. 2008 No Depression Inc. and/or Tom Wilk.

BASIA BULAT
Oh, My Darling
(Rough Trade)

(NODEPRESSION.NET) -- If there were a futures market in upstart artists, Basia Bulat would be rated a buy -- if not for what she's managed to produce so far in her short career, then for what the 24-year-old might yet yield with time and seasoning. The debut album by the Toronto native and resident of London, Ontario, is a gossamer folk collection mixing elegant folk melodies with rustic instrumentation (autoharp, ukelele) and some old-world rhythms (she may single-handedly resurrect the staccato handclap) in a manner that is always pleasant, often novel, but not always revelatory.

Bulat's voice is a moving target. She displays an anachronistic pop trill on "Birds Of Paradise" and "La-Da-Da", then a huskier croon on "A Secret" and the anthemic gallop "In The Night". The vocal shape-shifting might be attributed to the vocal nodes (since cured) Bulat acquired while the making of the record, but the variety and variation in her voice enhances the record's impact.

It's her pen, not her voice, that holds Oh, My Darling short of greatness. The baroquely-arranged, dramatic "I Was A Daughter" ("We swam in the rivers/We sigh with the birds/Gave away our hearts before we knew what they were") sets a high bar that none of the other dozen songs quite matches. But these are early days, and this is a formative recording from a beguiling new artist who warrants anticipation for whatever comes next.

-- PAUL CANTIN
Copyright c. 2008 No Depression Inc. and/or Paul Cantin.

MOUNTAIN GOATS
Heretic Pride
(4AD)

(NODEPRESSION.NET) -- John Darnielle has been sketching out a stubborn, frenetic career arc for seventeen years now, and he's been successful enough that the top result on a Google search for "mountain goats" gives you him (instead of, you know, mountain goats). But the same things that get him noticed have kept him at cult stature: his smart lyrics, his nasal yawp, and his prickly insistence on doing things his way.

That self-determination is still very much in evidence on Heretic Pride, the 15th or 16th or God knows exactly how many Mountain Goats albums there have been. This is his first in two years, and it shows how comfortable the former lo-fi DIY-er has become with full-band, warm-toned production. The most prominent instrument is Erik Friedlander's cello, which is elegiac sometimes and ominous others, but there are also loud drums and moments of unabashed grandeur.

For all the evolutionary shifts, Heretic Pride won't particularly surprise Darnielle's fans; it won't disappoint them either. Lyrically, it draws on his familiar smorgasbord of fable, confession, pop-culture anthropology (H.P. Lovecraft, slasher films, Prince Far I), paranoia, ecstasy and hurt feelings. He's as word-nerdy as ever: Not many songwriters would write "My heart's an autoclave," and not many singers could make it sound less than awkward. Darnielle manages both.

His singing, by the way, is a beneficiary of his move away from bedroom production. No longer needing to squawk to be heard, he often takes a softer, more intimate tone. And his origamic melodies reveal their folds over multiple listens; there are a lot of pretty tunes here. Including the one about the Chinese lake monster.

-- JESSE FOX MAYSHARK
Copyright c. 2008 No Depression Inc. and/or Jesse Fox Mayshark.

K.D. LANG
Watershed
(Nonesuch)

(NODEPRESSION.NET) -- Cowpunk, chanteuse, pop crooner, cover artist: K.D. Lang has hung out her share of stylistic shingles over the years, the one constant being her outsized personality and frequently outsized voice. Watershed has no such obvious selling points, but that doesn't mean it's without its high concept. A collection of languid, meditative, naturalistic ballads, it's the first album by Lang that she produced on her own, playing everything from guitar and keyboards to harp, banjo and drum programming.

It's a handsome production, full of lovely touches. The way the full-hearted strings (arranged by Teddy Borowiecki) melt into Greg Leisz's swooning pedal steel guitar on "I Dream Of Spring" is...well, dreamy. There is no more sensual bass player in pop music than David Piltch, who can express more feeling in two notes than most bassists can in 40. New age trumpeter Jon Hassell enhances one track.

But for all its beckoning qualities, Watershed never really grabs the listener. As on some of Elvis Costello's recent albums, the songs tend to blend together, a matter of the artist putting too much stock in literate words and not enough stock in strong, catchy melodies. Lang says this album is "a little bit of jazz, a little country, a little of the Ingenue sound, a little Brazilian touch." But she mutes her personality so much in trying to "find myself and what I became," those styles get muted as well.

-- LLOYD SACHS
Copyright c. 2008 No Depression Inc. and/or Lloyd Sachs.

BARTON CARROLL
The Lost One
(Skybucket)

(NODEPRESSION.NET) -- Barton Carroll has gigged as a sideman with Crooked Fingers and Dolorean, but his solo releases serve a more singular muse. The arrangements on this third solo project are more traditional than 2006's Love & War, and though his flights from high tenor to falsetto are more controlled, the performances are still emotionally unnerving. There's a taste of Jimmie Dale Gilmore's old-timey warble in his voice, but the sing-song melodies (which bring to mind northwest folkie Jim Page) and deliberate tempos are dramatic, and at times quietly unhinged.

The opening track's country-folk-noir spells defeat with its languid portrait of aging resignation and reactionary fear of intimacy. Carroll's songs anticipate relationships and the repercussions of fallout in a single thought. He's fretful and begging on "Superman" and creepily threatening on "Burning Red And Blue", but this seems to be two sides of the same broken character. His confidence shines briefly on "Brooklyn Girl" as he brushes aside hipper competitors, and his interest in history provides images of Berlin's fall to the Russians for "Small Things".

The accompaniment is mostly acoustic or quietly electric, though "Brace Yourself" and "Certain Circles" rise to shuffles, and "Ramona" rocks with organ, electric guitar and full kit drumming. Where Carroll's earlier work challenged listeners with erratic instrumental sparseness, The Lost One fills the musical space more conventionally while still retaining an original blend of emotionally exposed lyrics, vocal eccentricities and dramatically slow tempos.

-- ELI MESSINGER
Copyright c. 2008 No Depression Inc. and/or Eli Messinger.

JIM LAUDERDALE & THE DREAM PLAYERS
Honey Songs
(Yep Roc)

(NODEPRESSION.NET) -- The "Dream Players" Jim Lauderdale recruited for this new set of original songs is an impressive bunch. Pioneer rockabilly guitarist James Burton -- sideman for Bob Luman, Rick Nelson, Elvis Presley and Emmylou Harris -- also enjoyed a distinguished Hollywood studio career. Pianist Glen Hardin and drummer Ronnie Tutt worked with Burton in Presley's band. Al Perkins filled the Flying Burrito Brothers' pedal steel chair when Sneaky Pete Kleinow departed, and Garry Tallent is the E Street Band's original bassist.

Dream players, of course, mean little if the singer and the songs aren't up to the occasion. Not a problem for Lauderdale. The tracks here have a feel similar to his shamefully un-reissued 1991 debut Planet Of Love. Following the Waylonesque "Honeysuckle Hornpipe", Lauderdale explores substance abuse and intervention on "Hittin' It Hard", contrasting with the white-knuckle chronicle of romantic loss on "It's Finally Sinking In". While "The Daughter Of Majestic Sage" is western fable, social conscience drives "Those Kinds Of Things Don't Happen Every Day", with "Molly's Got A Chain" standing as drama in miniature.

Together, the material is not only satisfying, it leaves a gnawing sense of regret that mainstream Nashville so rarely taps stuff of this caliber, favoring instead the multi-collaborative hackwork of their favored writers. Burton's muscular riffs, Perkins's smart embellishments, and the granite-solid Hardin-Tutt-Tallent rhythm section offer a flawless, cohesive foundation, with cameos by Buddy Miller, Kelly Hogan, Emmylou, Patty Loveless and Dawn Sears.

-- RICH KIENZLE
Copyright c. 2008 No Depression Inc. and/or Rich Kienzle.

MANDO SAENZ
Bucket
(Carnival)

(NODEPRESSION.NET) -- Mando Saenz is that guy: that seductively, entirely incidentally, totally wrong guy. He's the dreamer, the brooder and, ultimately, the heartbreaker, but at least, for all the good it'll do you, he's right up front about it. "Wrong Guy" spells it out in the opening track, just as clearly as "Go Away From My Window" did for your mother's generation. And he knows our side of it, too. Track two, "A Pocket Of Red", co-written with Kim Richey, is, in the end, mostly a "bucket of blue."

But Saenz is a lover and a poet, and he can't help himself. The crowd-pleasing "Pittsburgh" (you can just picture a club full of fans singing along) is at once an inscrutable and immutable image of a steel city rose, subsisting on a diet of fire, sandstone and swallowed pride. "Seven Dollars" turns on spinning fans, crimson showers and stained-glass eyes. "Last Goodbye" finds him "hangin' out with the girl down the street, who couldn't find her soul if it bounced off her own feet."

We're not used to such metaphors rising above a country pop melody, but Texan Saenz doesn't record country pop by the numbers either. His arrangements soar with a constellation of such musicians as Kenny Vaughan, Chris Carmichael and David Grissom, and a guest harmony by Richey. Produced by R.S. Field, these tracks sparkle with subtle surprises in instrumentation and dynamics. If all country pop was this engrossing, we wouldn't need to program so many buttons on the radio.

-- LINDA RAY
Copyright c. 2008 No Depression Inc. and/or Linda Ray.

TIFT MERRITT
Another Country
(Fantasy)

(NODEPRESSION.NET) -- As indicated by the "free man in Paris" liner notes, the foreign land is France, though the rapturously romantic title ballad informs that the other country is also "love." Fear not, Tift fans, she hasn't turned chanteuse on us, except for the concluding "Mille Tendresses" ("A Thousand Tendernesses"). Musically and lyrically, Merritt's third album is the most stripped-down and straightforward of her career, with all songs written by Merritt, and her regular band providing most of the musical support (augmented by guitarists Charlie Sexton and Doug Pettibone).

Where her Bramble Rose debut introduced an artist of enormous promise, the Tambourine follow-up suffered from overproduction and eclecticism, as if it were a make-or-break attempt to take her career to the next level. Working again with producer George Drakoulias, she now sounds like a mature artist who is in it for the long haul, no longer the alt-country ingenue to be shaped or molded. Or "the mixed-up girl with plenty to hide," as she describes herself in "I Know What I'm Looking For Now", the pivotal track here.

Though "Hopes Too High" and "Keep You Happy" flirt with folkie preciousness, the conversational phrasing, intimacy of the material, and spare, airy arrangements suggest an artist with nothing to hide and nothing to prove. Encompassing the affirmation of "Broken" ("I think I will break but I mend"), the melodic twists of the hymn-like "Morning Is My Destination", and the older-but-wiser country balladry of "Tender Branch", Merritt's first release for Fantasy holds together better than either of her two for Lost Highway. She sounds like an artist who knows exactly who she is.

-- DON MCLEESE
Copyright c. 2008 No Depression Inc. and/or Don McLeese.

KATHY MATTEA
Coal
(Captain Potato)

by GRANT ALDEN

(NODEPRESSION.NET) -- A curious sponsor underwrites CNN's election coverage, something called Americans For Balanced Energy Choices. The organization's website says they are spending $35 million during the present electoral cycle to share their message -- "Clean Coal. America's Power." -- and to oppose global warming legislation.

By "clean coal" the 23 coal-based energy providers who underwrite this group -- including the heirs to Mr. Peabody's coal train -- wish to argue that technology now makes it possible to burn coal without damaging the environment, at least not too much. And they mean to remind us that coal accounts for roughly 50 percent of the electricity we consume. (And doesn't come from the Persian Gulf.)

Whatever the merits of scrubber technology may presently be, the mining of coal is a hard, dirty, violent business. It is not clean. It may be necessary -- and this is a complicated policy debate we are, with luck, about to have. But it is not clean. If you live in or drive through the Appalachian coal country of West Virginia or Kentucky, a fine gray grit will cover your car. It will shade your house. In Kentucky the trucks hauling coal are allowed to be tens of tons heavier than any other vehicle on the road; each year, on those winding mountain highways, people die and are maimed when coal trucks or their drivers fail. They are frightening, those big trucks, and they are in a hurry, for we have appetites which must be fed.

Hunger for coal will change our landscape forever.

Whole mountaintops are now being removed, streams damaged, ecosystems destroyed, though it is hard to know if the rest of the country notices. Or cares. (The coal industry argues mountaintop removal benefits residents by creating more buildable flat land, an argument that it is possible to make only if one values strip malls over wild flowers, wildlife, and quality of life. Many do.) Out west, where coal is more of a growth industry, they dig enormous pits into the earth, and great trains move the coal to where it will be burned.

The unionization of coal workers has provoked some of the most violent strikes in U.S. labor history. The national imagination is occasionally captured by the ordeal of trapped and dying miners.

This is not simple, nor so simple as I have made it. In a region where there are fewer and fewer jobs, coal mining pays tolerably well. Electricity has to come from somewhere. (I am not writing, after all, on a manual typewriter.) And mountaintop removal is a good bit safer for the workers running heavy equipment than boring tunnels into the earth ever will be.

All of which is rather a longer preamble than West Virginia native Kathy Mattea needs. Both of her grandfathers worked in the mines, her mother worked for the union, and she presumably grew up with some of the songs on her new album Coal. Still, it took singing at a memorial for the twelve miners killed at Sago and seeing vice president Al Gore's global warming PowerPoint presentation at Vanderbilt University to goad Mattea into this album. She is releasing it independently.

Hers is not a strident voice. It is careful and carefully modulated, disciplined. It is tempting to think of the singer of Nanci Griffith's "Love At The Five And Dime" and Tim O'Brien's "Walk The Way The Wind Blows" as a female Don Williams. Like Williams, she is comfortable in the room and her performances have always been easy to listen to, modulated, centered.

She is someone with whom you might have a long conversation, no matter who you are, and both of you would learn something. Or, at least, so her voice sounds. So she seems. So, in particular, this album seems.

Coal is not, then, an angry record. It is not cathartic, nor dogmatic. Nor is it passionless, not hardly. But it is a complicated conversation, one she seeks gently to engage all of us in.

That is her gift, and her limitation.

Nor is it a deep excursion into the sad catalogue of traditional coal mining laments. She has chosen fairly obvious songs, including Hazel Dickens' "Black Lung" and Jean Ritchie's "The L&N Don't Stop Here Anymore" (and wisely not John Prine's "Paradise"). Si Kahn's "Lawrence Jones", about a young Harlan County, Kentucky, miner killed in an early '70s strike, is given a sad, respectful reading, though there is also an edge of fury to her vocals. Utah Phillips, no mean polemicist, is represented by "Green Rolling Hills", and not something more didactic.

But by far her strongest take -- soaring, profoundly moving -- is Billy Edd Wheeler's "Red-Winged Black Bird". It's a beautiful melody line, but it is the richness of the metaphor which seems most to engage her.

Producer Marty Stuart has set her voice against subtle, beautifully played acoustic instruments, anchored by Byron House's calmly elegant bass lines. There is no fire to the solos, nor should there be. This whole, immensely sad process is about contemplation. About dialogue, no matter how overused that word has become.

And so, when Mattea gets to Darrell Scott's "You'll Never Leave Harlan Alive", she grasps firmly the song's duality, the region's challenge: Work or starve; leave for prosperity in an unfamiliar landscape or stay home and suffer other privations. Her voice comes heavy and rich.

It's not all a success. Billy Edd Wheeler's third contribution, "Coming Of The Roads", plays to Mattea's more prosaic instincts, and she succumbs to the temptation to fill her voice with shuddering drama. She finds nothing to add to Merle Travis' "Dark As A Dungeon".

But it ends well, Marty Stuart's graceful mandolin leading into a spare, a cappella reading of Dickens' "Black Lung". It is a lament for the broken, for the cost.

And it is a beginning - a brave beginning -- a way to start a conversation without inviting a fistfight or slamming any doors. If anybody chooses to listen.

Copyright c. 2008 by Grant Alden and/or No Depression Inc.
Illustration by Shocko Grafix

(NODEPRESSION.NET) -- Fresh off a couple of stops in rehab, Fort Worth's Collin Herring releases his third album, an unflinchingly autobiographical journey through the heart of a troubled songwriter. Not surprisingly, the material here is much more somber (and sober) than that of his fantastic sophomore effort, The Other Side Of Kindness, but the lower volume doesn't necessarily mean less intensity. "I listen to you, but you don't listen to me/Now I'm beside myself," sings Herring on "Beside", one of several remorseful ballads that examine loneliness from unexpected angles. The rocking "Yard Cars" is more akin to Herring's earlier work, a glorious mix of Husker Du and Merle Haggard topped off with his sneering vocals and his father's aching pedal steel.

-- DARRYL SMYERS
Copyright c. 2008 No Depression Inc. and/or Darryl Smyers.

KASEY ANDERSON
The Reckoning
(Terra Soul)

(NODEPRESSION.NET) -- Kasey Anderson's sophomore effort delivers on the promise of 2004's Eric Ambel-produced Dead Roses -- and then some. A versatile and confident songwriter and singer, Anderson nails these hard-luck tales with grit and gumption. He blends clever barroom rave-ups like "Wake Up" and "Hometown Boys" with more complicated fare such as the title track, a raw politically charged dirge that opens the disc. Other notable tracks include the piano-and-feedback-driven "You Don't Live Here Anymore" and the fully-realized character sketch "Buddy Bolden's Blues" (with Ambel on trumpet). Keith Christopher (one of Ambel's cohorts in the Yayhoos) and Catherine Popper (formerly of Hem and Ryan Adams' Cardinals) also contribute, but Anderson himself is front and center.

-- ANDY TURNER
Copyright c. 2008 No Depression Inc. and/or Andy Turner.