That’s a lot of different aspects of distinction and yet they somehow manage to co-exist often with a single song.

Of course the album is sung in a deep ponderous tone that embodies every bit of his 77 years, but it’s an apt voice for a man simultaneously contemplating his mortality and wrestling with his flickering romantic urges as he does on the closer Different Sides, where he croons against the angelic voice of Dana Glover. Soaring high notes were never his long suit anyway. Glover performs another virtual duet with Cohen on Come Healing , another white mans gospel song.

The album opens with Going Home, an insightful letter to himself where he describes his correspondent as ‘a lazy bastard, living in a suit’.  He sings/speaks the words in a voice that is so intimate that he almost disconcertingly present in the room.  Amen is slow and light and it almost evokes the inevitable rise to a celestial plain that it considers.

The highlight is the triumvirate of the elegiac, intimate Show Me The Place, the slinky, seductive groove of Darkness and the stark, emotionally brutal Anyhow.  The former is a hymm-like song that recalls the delivery of Tom Waits, and provides one of the most powerful and yet humble lyrics on the album. Jennifer Warnes makes her only appearance on the album on this track with an incredibly gentle vocal contribution. Darkness is built around a quietly insistent rhythm and perhaps is Cohen’s statement about the financial predicament that ironically re-generated his career. Anyhow is a barroom lament where he pleads, “I know you have to hate me, but could you hate me less”. By the end of the song as he mixes and repeats his pleadings provided more coherently earlier in the song, you actually start to feel sorry for his emotional state.

There’s one school of thought that will suggest that Cohen has simply continued to trade in a very safe commodity, and one that will provide very few surprises, but to me this is hardly a criticism. The surprises are there but they are a matter of degree not magnitude.  A sense of perspective is needed also, something that is often lacking in considerations of Cohen. This is a man in his late 70’s making his first album in over seven years. The sheer quality of these songs is astounding and there are many of these that wouldn’t be out of place on his finest albums. Do they exceed any of those songs in terms of quality? Does it matter? The point of this album is not to compete with himself.

Old Ideas could have been a semi-apologetic parting gesture but it’s actually an unmitigated triumph.

But from the first song on this solo album, Apollo Bay, (which incidentally name-checks the 12 Apostles and Victoria Bitter), Finn is searching for something, that gives him a framework that isn’t determined by the next gig or the next post-show party.

Clear Heart Full Eyes is Finn’s Nebraska, – but it isn’t a folk or acoustic album, just a less celebratory, more melancholy, use of rock instruments and some additional colors provided by slide and sullen dobro.

Finn again populates his songs with named characters and places but they seem almost incidental to his self-examination as he dares to ponder life outside (or after) the band scene. In Rented Room he considers the position of a single man wondering what went wrong with his overly optimistic life plan, and there’s an element of “but for the grace of god go I” about the song. Several of the songs even find him playfully wrestling with issues of spirituality, although the context remains from his band days, when he offers “It’s hard to suck with Jesus in your band”.

This is a valuable point of punctuation in his compelling musical evolution, and one that has probably re-invigorated him for the forthcoming Hold Steady album.

One of those moments is on the harrowing Company Man, when she dissects a failed relationship with a surgeon’s skill utilizing a sparse background that has a similarity with Adalita. A similarly dark mood pervades Faking Your Best, a song that offers a revealing honesty. Your Comedown has a knowing, sneering edge that belies its exhilarating pure pop melodicism, while Skydive is an unashamedly shimmering pop rock tune, slightly ‘by-the-numbers’, but hard to dislodge from the sub conscious.

Connolly’s golden voice is her cornerstone, but producer Josh Schuberth (Josh Pyke, Ben Folds) coaxes an intimate and sassy performance from her when she could have been satisfied with riding the wave of the irresistible melodies easily to shore. She is prepared to strive for more than the regulation guitar-pop parameters and is rewarded with an album with a deeper luster than mere surface sparkle.

The dominant sound on this album is the Hammond B3 of Ike Stubblefield and many of the tracks are virtual duets between Foster’s delicious soulful vocal styling and some conversational contributions from the B3. There’s a cool restraint in her singing that allows her to sit in the groove created by the music rather than stomp all over it, as many other modern soul belters would have chosen to do.  This is most notable on her cover of Adele’s Set Fire To The Rain, which she invests with a welcome subtlety.

While covering Adele is a brave thing to do in the current climate, it’s not the only, or even the best cover song that Foster attempts on this album . The Band’s It Makes No Difference is performed soulfully, while  and the iconic Johnny Cash song, Ring Of Fire is re-invented as smouldering blues to good affect.  Another interesting and effective choice is  Los Lobos’ This Time while her duet with William Bell on You Don’t Miss Your Water is a powerful effort as well.

Her version of The Black Keys’ Everlasting Light is another song that benefits from her substituting a luxurious groove for the original’s mechanical grind. Any album covering both The Black Keys and Adele, has to be a first!  The album closes with a remarkable acapella rendering of the traditional lament, The Titanic with the Blind Boys of Alabama, joining Foster for a vocal tour de force.

Signed to White’s label Third Man, the Black Belles, are four darkly mysterious southern gothic femme fetales, playing a trashy blend of alt (very alt) country mixed in with garage rock of the type popularized (in select circles) by The Cramps and later by Southern Culture On the Skids, sprinkled with some of the mock-goth stylings of Lene Lovich and Souxsie Souix. The fearsome foursome are then dressed in top to toe shades of black and provided with a wardrobe that could have been borrowed from a fictional Tim Robbins film about a cult of females undertakers.

The band first came to public attention providing a theme song to an Elvira television show before performing as Stephen Colbert’s backing band on The Colbert Report. It all sounds almost too well executed to be true.

The whole package is initially irresistible, of course, but it would quickly descend into farce if it weren’t for the fact that their spiky garage rock actually ‘rocks’. The best songs on this album, such as Honky Tonk  Horror and Breathing Down My Neck are brilliant in a cartoony kind of way, but even the lesser songs are short, sharp and incisive enough to get out of their own way without too much damage being done.   There’s some really cool sounds used from harpsichord sounding keyboards, to soul styled organ and of course snarling guitars that oscillate between light metal and garage punk. And the vocals more than hold up their end of the bargain moving between a nasty sneer and ‘little girl lost’,  often in the one song.

Realistically this whole train could easily become derailed, but I’m prepared to suspend disbelief long enough to enjoy the ride while it lasts.

However the delectable tone of their unison singing isn’t quite enough to fulfill the expectations created by their earlier work that hit a high water mark with 1995’s Tomorrow The Green Grass. That album was a definitive moment in the evolution of alt-country, but in the Jayhawks absence the sub-genre has evolved, and this album sometimes sounds like a band trying a little too hard to reclaim their position of eminence.

It’s not  devoid of thrilling moments though. The singing on Cinnamon Love and High Water Blues defies gravity, while Blackeyed Susan has a darker country-gothic tone that works well. The album’s closer Hey Mr. Man is burdened with an absurd title, but it evokes a Crosby Stills Nash and Young-like enthusiasm.

The Jayhawks are touring Australia next year as a part of Bluesfest and if they select the highlights from this album to augment their exceptional back catalogue there’s no doubt that the live set is going to be nothing short of uplifting.

In isolation Mockingbird Time doesn’t find The Jayhawks at the peak of their powers but that was always going to be a difficult mountain to climb. It is however a worthy addition to their heritage, which will have fans pleased with their return.

While Fallon is one of the more authentic voices in new American rock, owing his styling to equal parts Springsteen and The Clash, on this album he narrows his focus and substitutes the panoramic sweep and urgency of the Gaslights, for a more claustrophobic mood. While the result isn’t a million miles away from his main band (especially on the buoyant Beyond The Hurricane and the strident Go Tell Everybody), the largely low-key approach creates a menacing atmosphere that serves as a platform to tell the stories of some emotionally wounded characters.

The album opens with Last Rites, a sinister, dark, stark song that finds Fallon brooding over harsh piano chords. The album begins to open out from there with the familiar incessant, soulful brooding of Sugar, which rides a gentle wave to the foot of Beyond The Hurricane.

Fallon has always appeared to be wrestling between his heartland rocker side and his urban soul side and this album provides a valuable outlet for his more subdued styling.  When he whispers the vocal of I Witnessed A Crime over a faux reggae rhythm it’s clear that there are still more strings to his bow.

There’s songs on the album that do sound like they could be sketches for the next Gaslight Anthem opus, rather than completed works in their own right, but on the whole Elsie adds another respectable layer to the catalogue of a believable artist whole dares to defiantly champion the on-going importance of rock n’ roll as a relevant contemporary artform.

Dave Stewart

This album has you wondering why he has hid his light under the proverbial bushel.

The Blackbird Diaries had all the hallmarks of being an exercise in self-indulgence, but surprising is  lean and doesn’t suffer from a lack of self-editing. Recorded in Nashville in five days, the album is a combination of rollicking country-inflected rock n’ roll which fits into the oeuvre made notable by the likes of Tom Petty, the all-electric Bob Dylan (exemplified best by the irresistible The Gypsy Girl and Me and Cant Get You Out of My Head), and elements of literate songwriters like Lloyd Cole (most notably on Bulletproof Vest, a duet with the honey-voiced Colbie Caillat). Stewart wears his heart on the sleeve lyrically and while his voice is kinda unremarkable it gets the job done on most songs. One of the highlights is when he gets all dark and threatening on the excellent murder ballad, The Well.

The album opens with So Long Ago, Stewarts tribute to artists of by-gone days – it’s a superb piece of ensemble rock that sounds like something the X-Pensive Winos might have dished up. Another highlight is the Dylanesque Magic In The Blues which may reflect on Stewart’s own musical journey, and a couple of its key milestones.

There are a couple of duets on the album. All Messed Up is more a Nashville styled sweeping country ballad, featuring Martina McBride, while Stevie Nicks appears on Cheaper Than Free, which such manages to stay on the acceptable side of saccharine.

Stevie Nicks also seems to be the inspiration behind Stevie Baby where Stewart appears to be channeling Tom Petty, both lyrically and musically.

The craftsmanship in Stewart’s songs is undeniable.  He might be perceived as marching out of step with the other little black ducks but he’s a formidable musical presence and this album is a seriously impressive effort.

The Marines

Not that they are simply mimicking those high quality record collections, but there’s no denying that musicologist listeners are likely to spot strains of artists like Lou Reed, Wilco, Jeff Buckley, World Party and Radiohead threading through these songs.

I’m finding a lot to like about that list.

Thankfully The Marines manage to distill those flavors into something potent and intoxicating in its own right. This is music with not just pedigree but also with undeniable inspiration in its own right. Much of this comes from the songwriting, which is apparently largely the province of singer Dan K. He’s a daring writer who is willing to stretch the boundaries but not self consciously so. His unorthodox twists and turns seem to be the result of instinct in a similar way that an artist like Todd Rundgren or Brian Wilson might have been guided by the voices in their heads, rather than a deliberate attempt to re-produce an admired aesthetic.

The band that has gathered under the name The Marines seems completely empathetic to this approach.  They play very well, but more importantly they play with intelligence – which of course sometimes means knowing when to hold back, or even, not play at all. The Buckley-like Borderline is a case in point, whereas the title track, finds the same band getting all fuzzy and gritty like they were residents of Dirty Boulevard. Dreams remarkably manages to merge this approach with a Beach Boy style vocal approach.

A distinctive element of this band are the harmonies, which may include Dan K’s own contributions (which were apparently recorded post-tracking, in his car). On songs like Trouble the harmonies complement Dan K’s idiosyncratic lead vocals really well. His lead vocals themselves provide some amazing moments as he achieves a hypnotic falsetto to go with his gruffer semi-spoken work on other tracks.

It will be interesting to see what sort of reaction this album gets. By rights it should attract a fervent following and it’s hoped that word of mouth can bring it the attention it deserves.

The songs on Future Universe were written by Peno and guitarist Cam Butler, although at times you feel like the ghost of (the very much alive!) Jimmie Webb may have floated through the room too. There is a strange element that Webb builds into his songs that manages to be simultaneously unorthodox and immediately familiar – and that element is also found in songs like Fall From Above, New Blood and Gameplan where soaring and melancholy string arrangements are layered around Peno’s plaintive vocals. Fall From Above in particular is a powerful song, building from a stark beginning to a crescendo.

Ron Peno remains an interesting singer. He’s not a technically great singer in the ‘melody and tune’ senses of the craft, but he makes you feel something when you listen to him, and that’s undoubtedly more important than perfectly pitched notes. For instance on the slinky Blue Velvet-like I Wish, he creates a sense of intimacy that has him creepily in the room with you, looking over your shoulder as you type.

Fans seeking a dose of Died Pretty could do far worse than Livewired  which has that intoxicating swirl of Peno’s most famous band while PS Blues is a nod to that band also in both title and style.

An important player on this album is drummer Mark Dawson. Adept at playing in stripped back situations as he has done over many years with Ed Kuepper, Dawson contributes a very enticing groove to many of these songs that is both minimalist and driving.

Future Universe is a really well balanced album. It sounds like what you’d expect from a Ron Peno recording but it has surprising moments as well. It finds one of Australia’s most distinctive singers and frontmen in a really good place, inhabiting a strange middle ground between rock singer and lounge lizard. There’s not many artists could get away with that as well as Peno does on this album. On the closing track when he sings about having his ‘own fire to light’ you know he’s convinced you that song’s title is true.