In a year when most divas couldn't get beyond post-Gaga spectacle, along came Brittany Howard, a twentysomething from Athens, Alabama, who reincarnated the ghost of Sixties rock and soul without resorting to oversinging histrionics or bald imitation. "Bless my heart, bless my soul/Didn't think I'd make it to 22 years old," she sings in a husky moaning-in-the-moonlight drawl, riding a groove steeped in the stew of Muscle Shoals and Stax-Volt. Heath Fogg's guitar line rolls forward, deceptively lazy, all dusty funk and twang, and Zac Cockrell and Steve Johnson lock down the rhythm like Duck Dunn and Al Jackson Jr. And then, in their own old-school version of a bass drop, the band ramps up on the chorus and Howard yells, "You gotta . . . wait!" just as they all stop the beat and soar for a breathless moment, like skateboarders hanging in midair, before crashing back to the rhythm. If there are ghosts in this music, they're personal ones, but Howard wrestles 'em down, making this a battle cry against failure – for herself and anyone else struggling against steep odds. In 2012, that was a lot of us.