While a number of country veterans released their strongest albums in years – Willie Nelson’s God’s Problem Child and Brad Paisley’s Love and War, among them – 2017 belonged to new artists. Fresh faces like Carly Pearce, Luke Combs, Midland and RaeLynn delivered debut LPs that both looked forward and revived the tenets of the genre: personal stories, smart lyrics and sing-along hooks. After a few years of awkwardly wandering in the trend-chasing wilderness, Nashville is once again finding its footing, realizing that pop, rock and hip-hop influences can fully exist in country if they’re allowed to occur naturally. Elsewhere, the Americana world was also reliably on point, with LPs from David Rawlings, JD McPherson, Becca Mancari and Rhiannon Giddens illustrating the scope of modern roots music – there were records of introspective folk, twangy country, early rock and even Sixties protest songs. Herewith, our picks for the 40 best albums of the past year.
Thomas Rhett doesn’t cut the same brooding figure as fellow sonic experimenter Sam Hunt, but instead throws a party where fans of Alabama, Childish Gambino and Buddy Holly can all find some common ground. Shaped by the imminent arrival of his two daughters, Life Changes finds Rhett tinkering with strains of silky R&B, Chainsmokers-style EDM and effervescent pop for a series of head rush-inducing jams. The title track mixes late-Nineties alterna-pop with hyper-personal lyrics about success, marriage and fatherhood – topics he explores in many of the other tracks, like the thundering album closer “Grave.” J.F.
“Can I trust you now for sure?” Jessica Lea Mayfield asks on “Meadow,” one of the sharpest rhetorical questions on this awesomely acerbic breakup album. Songs like that one, or the worn acoustic lament “Safe 2 Connect 2,” or the grungy ballad “WTF,” are even more powerful if you know the album’s traumatic backstory. But you don’t need that context to appreciate Mayfield’s radically compelling brand of emotional honesty. Leading a limber session band that includes Sonic Youth’s Steve Shelley on drums and Seth Avett on keys and backup vocals, she’s in full command. A 37-minute thunderstorm inside a candy shell of aching melody. S.V.L.
Are Rawlings’ “solo” LPs lesser than those he’s made with Gillian Welch? Hardly, as this set proves once again. Most of these originals sound like vintage folk classics, and his sibling-deep harmonies with Welch – who sings throughout – remain glorious. His pop tastes, intriguingly, are becoming more explicit. “Airplane” is a country hit posing as orchestral folk, and “Cumberland Gap” conjures Fleetwood Mac as vividly as Haim. W. Hermes
Brad Paisley’s protest-song devotion is part of his country traditionalism, which continued with his 11th studio set, whose title track is a bullseye John Fogerty collaboration denouncing America’s shameful treatment of vets. Star cameos include Mick Jagger and, in a matter-of-fact refusal to be defined by “Accidental Racist,” Paisley’s Southern neighbor Timbaland. But the most vivid activist gesture might be “selfie#theinternetisforever,” which rhymes “tweet it,” “delete it” and “unsee it” in the interest of a healthier media ecosystem. W. Hermes
Little Bandit bandleader Alex Caress has a timeless Roy Orbison/George Jones croon and a taste for note-perfect Countrypolitan arrangements. That sound alone is enough to draw listeners in to his East Nashville crew’s debut; what makes it one of the year’s finest country LPs is everything else. Caress is a canny songwriter, with a wicked sense of humor (see the mock-mournful murder ballad “Scattered and Smothered”) and a tendency toward conflicted passion, whether the object is a fast-moving town (“Nashville”) or a noncommittal lover (“Pitiful Heart”). He’s admirably dedicated to resisting cliché even when he flirts with familiar forms. These songs feel lived-in and real, even when – maybe especially when – they’re delivered with the slightest ironic smirk. S.V.L.
“Daddy got sober, mama got his best friend. I’ve cut down crying to every other weekend,” sings Lauren Alaina in the killer opening couplet of “Doin’ Fine,” from her excellent second album Road Less Traveled. It’s a clear indication that the former American Idol runner-up has done some living in the six years since she released her debut album Wildflower. She looks at the sacrifices one has to make to have a musical career in the heart-rending “Three,” spreads a body-positive message in “Pretty” and wrestles with a family member’s addiction in “Same Day, Different Bottle,” but also cuts loose on pleasure-inducing pop-country numbers like “Queen of Hearts” and “Next Boyfriend.” Alaina once entered the music industry as a big-voiced teenager – on Road Less Traveled, she’s a grown-ass woman in full command of that voice. J.F.
With the release of A Long Way From Your Heart, the Turnpike Troubadours all but break free from the constricting “Red Dirt” label. While elements of that expansive, road-worn sound remain, the indie band from Oklahoma isn’t afraid to tighten up on songs like “The Hard Way,” an under-three-minute lament about always coming in second; “Unrung,” with its can’t-right-a-wrong message; and “Pipe Bomb Dream,” which traces a path via new member Hank Early’s gliding pedal steel licks. Still, this is singer and chief songwriter Evan Felker’s canvas, and he drops hyper-descriptive lyrics throughout. “You ran out to roll your window up, light rain falling in your hair, your tan legs checkered from a folding chair,” he sings in the ominous “A Tornado Warning,” a metaphor for an equally fast-moving relationship. J.H.
Pegged early on as a rockabilly revivalist, this Oklahoma native takes a hard left turn into Nashville garage rock on this, his third album. And Undivided Heart & Soul is all the better for it, a blast of maximum R&B that sounds like the Black Keys getting together with Amy Winehouse for a country bender. Parker Millsap, Butch Walker and Aaron Lee Tasjan are among the co-writers of various songs, but the highlights are the bluesy blasts of soulful rock throughout the entire proceedings. Best of all is “Lucky Penny,” which sounds like a cutting contest between McPherson’s intensely piercing voice and shredding blues-rock guitar that seems capable of killing small animals. D.M.
Michael “M.C.” Taylor, the blue-collar visionary leader of Hiss Golden Messenger, is Tom Joad come to life – a plainspoken everyman just trying to make sense of his own heart in hopes it might help him figure out the rest of the world, too. It’s that heart that shines through Hallelujah Anyhow, an album that lives up to that seemingly contradictory title by somehow conveying both hopefulness and weary resignation. Stately country-soul arrangements lend the proceedings a sense of dignity, with Taylor’s matter-of-fact voice conjuring up truth as well as beauty. This is comforting balm at a time when day-to-day reality can seem like the stuff of madness-inducing nightmares. D.M.
It’s only natural that the Band of Heathens – a tireless touring outfit – made one of the year’s best driving records. The Austin group’s latest album is a high-octane mix of skronky R&B (“Daddy Longlegs”), hazy CSN&Y pot anthems (“Green Grass of California”) and even emotive alt-rock (“All I’m Asking”), all combining to create one of the most far-reaching and genre-melding Americana LPs of 2017. Still, it’s a disciplined project, clocking in at a tasty and succinct 40 minutes – the ideal length for decompressing during the afternoon commute. If the Keith Richards riff of “Trouble Came Early” doesn’t make you stomp the gas, you’re probably taking an Uber home. J.H.
Jade Jackson’s Gilded, released by the vaunted Anti Records imprint, combines her native California’s storied punk history with her warm vocal rasp, vivid lyrical insights and melancholy melodic lines. Working with producer Mike Ness (of Social Distortion), Jackson is fearless as a storyteller, bidding adieu in the wanderlust-over-love kiss-off “Motorcycle,” searching the horizon for silver linings in “Finish Line” and leading the twangy barroom slink of “Troubled End.” Instrumental virtuosos Sara Watkins and Greg Leisz add to the desert-at-dusk ambiance of Gilded, making for one of the year’s most self-assured debuts. W. Hodge
With his almost absurdly weathered baritone, Colter Wall is impossible to mistake for any other 20-something Canadian troubadour. But it’s the serious songwriting on his self-titled debut that distinguishes him in the country-folk-Americana landscape. Produced by the ubiquitous Dave Cobb, Colter Wall nods to Dylan, Prine and Arlo Guthrie with sprawling story-songs that draw on Wall’s own experiences, like the in-a-bad-way “Thirteen Silver Dollars.” These are lived-in ballads, delivered by a raconteur with an attention to detail and the confidence to exist far outside of the mainstream. J.H.
More than two years passed between RaeLynn’s excellent Me EP and her full-length debut, but she used this period to amass a strong collection of songs. Many tracks here were co-written with Nicolle Galyon, who helped with RaeLynn’s breakout hit “God Made Girls” and shines again on “Love Triangle,” one of the more devastated – and devastating – songs to break the Top 30 at country radio this year. The lead single sets the tone for WildHorse, which is often more meditative than the breezy Me, with standouts like “Say,” a yearning 6/8 ballad with Dan + Shay, and “Praying for Rain,” a muted closing incantation. But RaeLynn injects “Young” with some of the verve that made early songs like “Kissin’ Frogs” and “Careless” essential: “Flirt with some boy and ask him to dance,” she sings. “Lean in and kiss him right on the lips ’cause I can.” E.L.
While Cory Branan has established a notable career as a punk troubadour, his fifth studio album Adios is a coming-out party for his dexterity in all genres. The album opens with the early rock & roll rumble of “I Only Know” and closes with the drunken country waltz of “My Father Was an Accordion Player,” with stops along the way for political punk-tinged protest (“Another Nightmare in America”), heartland rock sing-alongs (“Blacksburg”), moody jazz-infused folk (“Cold Blue Moonlight”) and a Springsteen-esque paternal ode (“The Vow”). Branan refines all of those inspirations through a singular lyrical filter of wit and ache, making an album that woos your heart as it breaks it. With additional sonic splashes from guests Amanda Shires, Dave Hause and Against Me’s Laura Jane Grace, Branan’s Adios captures the boundless spirit of Americana rock. W. Hodge
After providing country radio with one of its strongest hits of the year with her haunting ballad “Every Little Thing,” Carly Pearce showed off her versatility on her first LP. Every Little Thing is a wide-reaching, elegant album, a mix of devastated torch-ballads (“If My Name Was Whiskey”), mid-tempo radio fodder (“Careless”) and raucous country-rockers (“Catch Fire”). Working with pop specialist Busbee (who produced Maren Morris’ 2016 Hero) and Music Row’s finest co-writers like Natalie Hemby, Shane McAnally and Barry Dean, Pearce navigates the dangers of small-town gossips and boys who cry love with maturity and wit. Despite its sprawling 13 song tracklist, Every Little Thing is a sturdy, declarative debut that establishes Pearce as one of 2017’s freshest young voices. J.B.
For her first solo album in 18 years, the finest vocalist in country music assembled a group of bluegrass, pop and classic country songs she’d grown up listening to. The result is a sentimental, aching meditation on musical nostalgia and a love letter to Nashville’s mid-century Countrypolitan boom. Those sounds are faithfully updated here by producer Buddy Cannon, who enlisted the city’s finest session pros and a full string section to round out the album’s warm sound. Singing a collection of mostly ballads originally recorded by legends like Brenda Lee, the Osborne Brothers and Roger Miller, Krauss delivers one of the most affecting vocal performances of her career, imbuing songs like “River in the Rain,” “All Alone Am I” and “Dream of Me” with a gentle intimacy and modern urgency. J.B.
On three of their last four albums, Little Big Town have settled on an impeccable formula: Round up some of country’s best songwriters (including Lori McKenna, Hillary Lindsey and, for the first time here, Taylor Swift); call producer Jay Joyce, a master of analog-sounding A.M. gold redux; and let their exquisite four-part harmonies do the rest. They lean toward crunchy early Seventies Southern rock on “Rollin'” and nod to U2 on “Night on Our Side,” but Little Big Town are always at their best when those harmonies are unobstructed. Vocal groups are so rare these days – in both country and pop more generally – that even the wordless parts of The Breaker feel generous: Listen to the last 30 seconds of “Lost in California,” in which Little Big Town need nothing more than sighs and “ooohs” to command attention. E.L.
As under-appreciated resources go, the Mavericks are pretty much in a class by themselves. The band, led by Raul Malo – the Miami-born Caruso of country music – has been making first-rate Latino-flavored honky-tonk albums for a quarter-century now, with a consistency of quality that’s easy to take for granted. Brand New Day, the Mavericks’ third album since regrouping in 2013 following a decade-long hiatus, was produced by Niko Bolas from Neil Young’s orbit, and he wisely keeps the focus where it belongs – on Malo’s glorious bellow, which has never sounded better. Brand New Day, already nominated for a Grammy, is another impeccable, lushly operatic set, suggesting that Malo really is the Roy Orbison of our time. D.M.
An album that almost never got made, You Don’t Own Me Anymore from the Secret Sisters stands as one of the year’s most confessional and cathartic collections of songs. To get there, the Rogers sisters overcame a lawsuit, impending bankruptcy and a crisis of creative confidence to craft inspired songs that traffic in newfound resilience (the title track), quirky lonesomeness (“Tennessee River Runs Low”), nostalgic identity (“Little Again” and “King Cotton”), and engaging cinematic narratives (“He’s Fine” and “Mississippi”). In the end, You Don’t Own Me Anymore, with its majestic harmonies and the deft touch of Brandi Carlile as producer, earned the sibling duo their first Grammy nomination for Best Folk Album. W. Hodge
Along with holding down lead guitar duties for Foo Fighters and hosting his own Walking the Floor country-Americana podcast, Chris Shiflett somehow found the time to release his rowdy and reflective solo record West Coast Town. Recorded at Nashville’s historic RCA Studio A with producer Dave Cobb, the album finds Shiflett creatively blending his Left Coast country tastes with his punk-rock roots in ways that nod to both Buck Owens and Social Distortion’s Mike Ness in equal measure. From the autobiographical title track to the allusion to punk legends NOFX in “Tonight’s Not Over” and the day-in-the-life honky-tonk swagger of songs like “I’m Still Drunk” and “Goodnight Little Rock,” West Coast Town reveals itself as Shiflett’s musical memoir. W. Hodge
“When you’re young, you don’t think about getting old,” sings Travis Meadows on “McDowell Road,” a moment on First Cigarette that’s about taking stock of how quickly life passes us by, and how delicate each breath is. Meadows would know – he’s fought addiction, overcome illness and pulled himself out of desolation to become one of country’s most treasured songwriting weapons (called in by Eric Church and Dierks Bentley to give their albums a potent punch). Meadows sings like a man who’s felt the pull of the darkness but chose to find the light: With a raspy imperfection to his delivery, he illustrates his stories through details that penetrate, from the kiss of some Coppertone on the skin to the deep, dangerous satisfaction of the morning’s first cigarette. It’s in the minutiae that Meadows finds the universal moments, coming out with an album that’s equal parts hurt and healing, and one that may linger long after the smoke has cleared. M.M.
Nashville-based songwriter Becca Mancari got headlines for being part of Bermuda Triangle, her new trio with Alabama Shakes’ Brittany Howard and Jesse Lafser, but her solo debut Good Woman is equally worthy of interest. It’s heavy on the hazy folk-rock atmospherics of Mazzy Star or Beck’s Sea Change, but occasionally allows the sunlight to stream in, as with the breezy strums and pedal steel on “Summertime Mama.” Mancari searches her soul across nine impressionistic tracks, singing of a love that flamed out quickly in “Arizona Fire” and another that faded imperceptibly in “Kitchen Dancing.” Taken as a whole, it’s the kind of album that gives you enough space to spread out and luxuriate. J.F.
Two years after becoming the most successful new female country solo artist since Taylor Swift with her debut The First Time, Kelsea Ballerini responded with Unapologetically, a pop tour-de-force that deepened the Tennessee singer’s emotional palette while expanding her musical sensibilities. From her deft phrasing on the chorus of the opening “Graveyard” to the anxious inner dialogue during the chorus of “Get Over Yourself,” Ballerini shows off her sharp skills as a nuanced songwriter (see “I Hate Love Songs”) and supple vocalist on this 12-song collection that traces a narrative arc of heartbreak, soul-searching and perseverance. Along the way, she flirts with mainstream flourishes on “Roses” and makes a convincing Top 40 grab on “Miss Me More,” evidence that, at 24, Ballerini may continue to follow Swift’s path. J.B.
Crowell is incisive and scrappy on Close Ties, his best album of the decade. Many of these songs are musings on country history, offering a veteran a chance to remember his relationships with Guy and Susanna Clark, the peerless songwriting of Harlan Howard and Mickey Newbury, and the youthful hubris he displayed as an “insecure little shit” on his breakout solo album, 1988’s Diamonds & Dirt. There’s plenty of ambivalence on Close Ties: “Things have changed around here, you bet/But it don’t seem much better yet,” Crowell sings in “Nashville 1972.” But this is the work of an artist still determined to rustle up another great song, just as he was when he moved to Music City more than five decades ago. “I don’t care what you think you heard,” he asserts on “It Ain’t Over Yet,” a gratifying collaboration with Rosanne Cash and John Paul White. “We’re still learning how to fly.” E.L.
Country music is a big tent, but California is even bigger on this tribute to America’s Left Coast by the omnivorous country star Marty Stuart. Mike Campbell, lead guitarist and co-pilot of the late Tom Petty’s Heartbreakers, serves as producer and co-conspirator on Way Out West, an album that covers a lot of ground – from the Byrds to the Beach Boys, Dick Dale to Glen Campbell, Bay Area psychedelic to Southern California mariachi, with the occasional Native American flourish. Stuart and Campbell’s dueling guitars conjure up the missing link between beaches, deserts and honky-tonk. And thanks to their six-string virtuosity and smoking performances by Stuart’s longtime band the Fabulous Superlatives, the twang remains the same no matter the genre. D.M.
Perhaps no other country performer had a bigger breakout in 2017 than Luke Combs, the North Carolina native whose burly single “Hurricane” – about a woman, not weather – stormed its way to Number One and Gold status by mid-year. Combs’ debut album This One’s for You doesn’t shy from incorporating a few programmed beats, but somehow sounds entirely fresh by nodding to Nineties country and offering a mastery of songwriting fundamentals. Combs, a singer with enough grit and personality to bring it all to life, plays the sly, beer-drinking party dude in the reggae-tinged “Don’t Tempt Me” one minute and then effortlessly switches to romantic leading man on “I Got Away With You.” He’s equally charming as the unrepentant wiseass in “When It Rains It Pours,” parlaying a breakup into an epic streak of good luck and one hell of a silver lining: “I ain’t gotta see my ex-future-mother-in-law anymore.” J.F.
Tyler Childers’ second album, Purgatory, was no great surprise for many in Kentucky and West Virginia, where the young country singer-songwriter has been heralded as a local legend for years. But for most of the country, the Sturgill-Simpson-produced LP was the most exciting roots-leaning country debut of 2017, a thrilling mix of brutal realism, literary narrative and romantic autobiography set to a delicate mix of Kentucky bluegrass, folk-rock, honky-tonk and stadium rock from the singer’s longtime backing band the Food Stamps. In his East Kentucky drawl, Childers pulls off sensitive storytelling (“Feathered Indians,” “Universal Sound”) just as adeptly as he leads his band through roadhouse anthems (“Whitehouse Road,” “Purgatory”), resulting in a fully-formed, vivid portrait of Saturday night excess and Sunday morning reality in 21st-century Appalachia. J.B.
It speaks volumes about Charlie Worsham that his sophomore album, Beginning of Things, kicks off with 14 goofy seconds of Roger Miller honky-tonk called “Pants,” and then leaps immediately into “Please People Please,” perhaps one of the more sophisticated and mature modern country songs this year. What it says is that Worsham, leading contender in the pool of Nashville’s most underappreciated artists and instrumentalists, is able to meld humor and lightness (through tracks about forgotten britches and wobbly drunken escapades) with introspective, inspirational odes to paving your own way. Beginning of Things is less about the starting line as it is about the journey, following through Worsham’s process of self-doubt and discovery, and taking stock of his wounds – specifically, the open gashes left from some crushed music industry dreams. “When the needle drops down, what you gonna do?” he sings on “Cut Your Groove,” asking anyone who is listening, but himself, too. “Life is a record, better cut your groove.” Unlike the genre’s current class of slick gentlemen, Worsham’s unafraid to show that he’s not perfect. M.M.
Hemby is the latest in-demand country songsmith to move from Music Row writing rooms to center stage, following solo breakouts from Brandy Clark, Chris Stapleton and Brent Cobb. And just like those artists’ albums, Puxico – named for the Missouri town where Hemby’s grandfather lives – is vividly written and charmingly un-flashy. Hemby has thrived in Nashville for long enough to know that fancy production is unnecessary if the song is a good one, so acoustic guitars dominate here, and the percussion is unobtrusive. On the melancholy highlight “This Town Still Talks About You,” Hemby leaves a drum machine on the track, as if she were preparing to pitch it to a country-radio star. We’re glad she didn’t. E.L.
Kip Moore’s always been one of Music Row’s most defiant ones: insistent on recording his own songs, unwilling to keep his opinions silent and unable to play by the rules. And because of it, the genre has had trouble figuring out exactly where to land him, despite a fan base that is quickly reaching an Eric Church-level of dedication. But it all works for Moore on Slowheart, his third record, which rejects current country trends in favor of a raw, rollicking Southern-rock journey that doesn’t depict him as anything but an adult man with a weakness for love (or a little casual sex, on the deliciously naughty “I’ve Been Around,”), a tentative heart (the aching, Motown croon of “Try Again”) and an allegiance to music above all else (the album’s stunning live-to-tape closer, “Guitar Man”). With Moore overseeing a bulk of the production, Slowheart is strikingly stripped-down while still ringing arena-friendly, and finds a vulnerable artist never content to stay in one place for long. M.M.
“I don’t want to be an outlaw, I don’t want to be a renegade,” sings Angaleena Presley on her song “Outlaw.” It’s one of several bitter pills the Kentucky native has to swallow on her second album Wrangled, as she grapples with the boxes into which she’s been placed and the opportunities she’s missed. On “Dreams Don’t Come True,” she reckons with the reality that success doesn’t look or feel anything like she imagined, with musical flourishes that mirror a spiraling descent into depression. She spoofs radio country’s fixation on jeans, trucks and dirt roads in the raging “Country,” enlisting Southern rapper Yelawolf for a few fiery bars. Whether calling out a “spoiled-rotten daddy’s girl” for not supporting other women in “Bless My Heart” or raining biblical justice on an abusive preacher, Presley proves she’s way more than an outlaw – she’s one of most fearless songwriters working in country music. J.F.
She may be a Nashville gal, but Lilly Hiatt drops names like Springsteen and Prince into these 12 songs, one of which is called “The Night David Bowie Died.” She’s a rocker, writing lived-in autobiographical details about unhealthy habits, nagging obsessions and love gone bad (or worse). Like her father John, Hiatt has a way of finding the just-right lyrical detail: “Your mother loved driving to the B-52’s,” she tells a would-be paramour in “So Much You Don’t Know.” Her willingness to bare scars can seem alternately courageous, foolhardy and disarming – and, at her best, all of that at once. Plus she rocks throughout Trinity Lane with enough bona fide commitment to signify that she’ll own her mistakes, by God. This is a record that portends even greater ones to come. D.M.
It’s no small feat when a tried-and-true legend delivers some of his most masterful work in the latter years of his career. Released the day before his 84th birthday, Nelson uses humor, introspection, wistfulness and even a bit of optimism to address mortality (both the listener’s and his own) head on in nearly every one of the album’s 13 tracks. Although there are a few more cracks in Nelson’s distinct warble these days, his inimitable spirit and one-of-a-kind musicality shines as bright as ever on “Still Not Dead,” “Delete and Fast Forward,” “Little House on the Hill” and the Merle Haggard tribute “He Won’t Ever Be Gone.” However, it’s Nelson’s ever-present romantic side on tracks like “True Love,” “Your Memory Has a Mind of Its Own,” and “A Woman’s Love” that provide God’s Problem Child with some of its most distinct moments of heartfelt vitality. W. Hodge
The new Texas trio caught their share of shit this year for not being “authentic enough” – whatever that means – but the band’s bona fides are all over their debut album, an excellent collection of undeniably country music. Whether writing and singing about boozy self-medication (the Grammy-nominated “Drinkin’ Problem”), cold-hearted breakups (the castanets-driven “At Least You Cried”) or the not-so-romanticized imagery of the road (“Check Cashin’ Country”), Midland keep one custom-made boot firmly on twangy ground. The results are glorious – no matter what you think of the guys’ elegantly unkempt hair. J.H.
During a year when Confederate monuments served as a symbolic springboard for racial violence and hatred, no songwriter provided a more important window into our nation’s ugly history than Rhiannon Giddens. The former Carolina Chocolate Drops frontwoman emerged as country/roots music’s most vital storyteller and public historian with Freedom Highway, a collection of under-represented tales that spans several hundred years of American tragedy and persistence, from the slave narrative of “At the Purchaser’s Option” to the Sixties civil rights prayer “Birmingham Sunday” to the vital Black Lives Matter-era police brutality anthem “Better Get It Right the First Time.” On her second solo album, Giddens makes a most necessary argument for the contemporary urgency of centuries-old roots music stylings, weaving pre-war gospel, Sixties R&B, 19th-century slave spirituals, hip-hop and Cajun folk into an exuberant whole. J.B.
It’s clear in the first few bars of “All the Trouble,” the opening track of The Lonely, the Lonesome & the Gone, that something mysterious – and something tempestuous – is brewing inside of Lee Ann Womack. Oozing with stark and moody blues, she sounds more Lightnin’ Hopkins than anything sitting comfortably on terrestrial radio. But in the more than two decades she’s been in the spotlight, Womack’s proven that she’s completely undaunted when it comes to taking risks on unknown songwriters or veering toward the traditional. Recorded at SugarHill studios in Houston with husband Frank Liddell on production, Womack had a hand in writing half of the album’s tracks, which range from the steel guitar-laced “Talking Behind Your Back” to the soulful swank of “He Called Me Baby,” which both further cement Womack as one of the genre’s most formative vocalists. It’s Nashville’s younger generation who often gets to hold the candle for reinventing and rebirthing country’s classic sounds, but The Lonely, the Lonesome & the Gone is one the best examples this year of how old can be new again. Or, in Womack’s hands, timeless. M.M.
A collection of songs written 10 years ago, Stapleton’s eagerly awaited follow-up to 2015’s Traveller could have come across like some K-Tel Best of the Beard compilation. But the supremely talented singer doesn’t rest on old laurels. These performances crackle and pop with new energy, as Stapleton embraces the R&B, Southern rock and country components of his pedigree. On “Second One to Know,” he lets his voice run wild, setting up a wicked one-note guitar solo, and later dials it back on the hushed “Either Way.” It’s that kind of juxtaposition that makes Volume 1 (as well as the just-released Volume 2) an authentic snapshot. J.H.
Valerie June perfected her handsomely idiosyncratic brand of Americana on this second LP, steeped deep in electric blues and old-time folk, gilded in country twang and gospel yearning. The press-repeat standout is “Astral Plane,” with its woozy reverb and disarmingly tender, flying-on-the-ground vocals. “Shakedown” is an impressionist juke-joint party jam. But the headiest moments are “If And,” which taps into Tuareg styles to map African sounds from old world, to new, then ’round again; and “Got Soul,” a matter-of-fact re-braiding of Southern musical history with banjo, fiddle and Stax/Volt brass. Who knew musicology could feel so good? W. Hermes
“I ain’t fighting with you down in the ditch, I’ll meet you up here on the road,” sings Jason Isbell on “Hope the High Road,” the declaration of unyielding perseverance that ties together his sixth studio album, a 10-track Americana jewel. Indeed, Isbell elevates relationships (“If We Were Vampires”), discussions about privilege (“White Man’s World”) and the art of songwriting itself to a higher plane on The Nashville Sound. But the LP addresses nationwide blue-collar hardships, from the trap of addiction (“Cumberland Gap”) to crushed dreams (“Tupelo”), proving Isbell is a voice for all people, not just the ones in the South. J.H.
Margo Price’s 2016 debut, Midwest Farmer’s Daughter, established her as one of the sharpest songwriters in Nashville, but her second LP upped the ante in remarkable fashion. All American Made is a fierce protest album about the ways that the American dream has failed so many – see the feminist ballad “Pay Gap,” where she channels Loretta Lynn and Donna Summer for a frank discussion of capitalism’s double standards. It’s also a reverent tribute to music’s past, featuring a tender duet with Willie Nelson and a slew of other songs that recall his Seventies heyday. No other country act, and precious few from any genre, went nearly as deep as Price did this year. S.V.L.