Brian Wilson would be proud; Phil Spector too, and maybe even John Lennon would have raised the ghost of a smile. For Summerteeth is an album that wears its influences openly, yet somehow contrives to make them all sound new-minted. While fellow Uncle Tupelo alumnus Jay Farrar continues to stake out the centre ground of the alt. country scene with Son Volt, Jeff Tweedy and his Wilco cohorts have moved into altogether more eclectic territory. Tweedy's touching lyrical vignettes have the whiff of 3am whisky and cigarettes about them-"The ashtray says / You were up all night"-the time of night when disturbing thoughts surface without warning (the anti-climax of "She's A Jar" turns the whole song on its head in one devastating line). As ever, the band are a chameleon bunch, alternately providing chugging wall-of-sound riffs or sparse, fractured instrumental commentaries, all the while retaining their authentic mid-west accent (even when the production casts them in the role of a mid-60s psychedelic outfit). Occasionally erratic, sometimes frustrating, Wilco have never sounded more focused. -Mark Walker.

John Boorman's film about four city-dwellers getting their comeuppance while canoeing down a doomed river through inbred-land, exercised strict authenticity through a virtual absence of incidental music. So the idea of a soundtrack seems a bit "spooky" to say the least. The film's mere handful of music cues are all variations of the innocent-turned-demonic "Banjo Duel". The heartstopping rushes down the murderous Appalachian river needed no accompaniment, but the banjo theme proves a simple, effective tool in psychologising the countryside. It expresses the ominous "something" in the river, it shows up the city dwellers' short-lived oblivion, and "mickey-mouses" Jon Voight's desperate slide off the cliff. Once again John Boorman showed audiences that less is more. In the case of Deliverance, buying the soundtrack will ironically hold the opposite experience to watching the video. You're not buying a movie soundtrack at all, but some nice country "geetar" and banjo tunes that have nothing to do with the film-the only way to relive the movie experience is playing "spot the evil" during the title track, "Duelling Banjos". Deliverance the album will be the quirky item in your Bluegrass collection. -Yngvil V. [+]

Granted, Sweet Old World isn't the masterpiece that 1988's Lucinda Williams is. The too-simple explanations of "He Never Got Enough Love" aren't up to Williams's mile-high standards, and the arrangements throughout are often so similar to that previous release's that the melodic differences here aren't as clear as they might've been. But when she raises her vulnerable cry to sing the three, pained perspectives on suicide that are at the heart of this album-the title track, "Little Angel, Little Brother", and "Pineola"- -Williams's very humanity provides its own proof that, while this world can indeed be cruel, it can also be oh so sweet. -David Cantwell.

On Blue Horse, their debut CD, three young Canadian songbirds (Frazey Ford, Samantha Parton and Trish Klein) join the neo-trad movement that has given us such notable voices as Iris DeMent and Gillian Welch. But where Welch finds inspiration in the dark hollows and tragic tales of Appalachian music, the Be Good Tanyas seek out sweetness and light, revelling in the interplay of their beautifully trilling voices. Blue Horse is deeply rooted but no exercise in old-time purism; originals outnumber traditional songs, and the core accompaniment of guitar and banjo is often supplemented by bass and drums, creating a lilt redolent of Rickie Lee Jones in "The Littlest Birds" and a reggae-tinged groove on the haunting old ballad "Rain and Snow". The band name may be a bit tough to get your lips around, but the music of this talented trio is a refreshing drink from a clear mountain stream. -Jeffrey Pepper Rodgers.

In between the release of 1995's Vivadixiesubmarinetransmissionplot and this 1998 set, Sparklehorse mainman Mark Linkous almost died after curiosity compelled him to mix valium with antidepressants. A disposition to experimentation isn't always a good idea in life, but as far as making records goes, Linkous seems incapable of putting a foot wrong. Once again, this album oscillates between two poles. On one extreme, it's the clattering, melodic white noise that, on "Cruel Sun" and "Pig", recalls nothing so much as REM's classic Fables Of The Reconstruction. That'll do just fine-but the reason Sparklehorse are a band people get obsessive about rather than just love, is Virginia-raised Linkous's punch-drunk way with a fragile Southern ballad. "Come On In", "Maria's Little Elbows" and the concluding "Junebug" offer plenty of confirmation that no songwriter can make the abyss seem quite so homely. -Peter Paphides.

On first thought, the idea of the Man in Black recording such covers as "Bridge over Troubled Water", "Danny Boy" and "The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face" might seem odd, even for an artist who's been able to put his personal stamp on just about everything. But The Man Comes Around, which also draws on Cash's original songs as well as those by Nine Inch Nails ("Hurt"), Sting ("I Hung My Head") and Depeche Mode ("Personal Jesus"), may be one of the most autobiographical albums of the 70-year-old singer-songwriter's career. Nearly every tune seems chosen to afford the ailing giant of popular music a chance to reflect on his life, and look ahead to what's around the corner. From the opening track-Cash's own "The Man Comes Around", filled with frightening images of Armageddon-the album, produced by Rick Rubin, advances a quiet power and pathos, built around spare arrangements and unflinching honesty in performance and subject. In 15 songs, Cash moves through dark, haunted meditations on death and destruction, poignant farewells, testaments to everlasting love, and hopeful salutes to redemption. He sounds as if he means every word, his baritone-bass, frequently frayed and ravaged, taking on a weary beauty. By the time he gets to the Beatles' "In My Life", you'll very nearly cry. Go ahead. He sounds as if he's about to, too. -Alanna Nash.

It must rank as the most fortuitous bit of cloth-eared A&R decision-making in rock & roll history. In the early 1960s, The Everly Brothers and Elvis Presley both turned down a song called "Only The Lonely", leaving the frustrated writer of the song-a little-known Texan called Roy Orbison-to record it himself. The ensuing career is neatly summed up by this greatest hits package. Simply put, Orbison was one of the finest singers ever to have graced a rock & roll song-his astonishing vocal range was almost capable of shifting furniture around at its bottom end and his top notes make one fear for the hearing of nearby dogs. With this astonishing instrument, Orbison recorded a formidable catalogue of heartbreak, his unique voice underpinning the often trite lyrics with sinister menace: "Pretty Woman", "Dream Baby", "In Dreams" and-especially-"Crying" still eclipse all other contenders as songs to listen to while cutting old photos of old flames into very small pieces. -Andrew Mueller.

In the abstract, there are two Martina McBrides heard in this ample Greatest Hits collection, which features 14 songs from the Kansas-born singer's studio albums, along with four inspired new cuts. At one extreme, there's the demure cover-girl-pretty warbler who serves up fervent and endearing love pledges such as "Wild Angels", "Safe in the Arms of Love" and "I Love You". Then, there's the mature, poised, socially conscious mother of two who grapples with darker topics such as poverty and inequality ("Love's the Only House") and child and spousal abuse (the wrathful "Independence Day" and the ineffably sad "Concrete Angel"). There are certainly impressive samples of both Martinas on this anthology. On other cuts-the bluesy, naughty new track "When God-Fearin' Women Get The Blues" and the angry "Life #9", for instance-the forces of light and darkness, anger and felicity, commingle in a manner that's no less intriguing and provocative. -Bob Allen.

It's tempting to read these songs-many about hope in the face of potential heartbreak-as an adjunct to Keith Urban's own tabloid-fodder life, which lately reads "ex-junkie country star marries Nicole Kidman, enters rehab. " But his three previous albums have similar dark undertones. That would also be an underestimation of Urban's creative powers, which are broad enough to balance assembly-line Nashville pop with emotionally fine-tuned artistry. Breezy rockers like "Faster Car," sweet hooky ballads like "Shine," and readymade big-chorus hits like "Once in a Lifetime" rub elbows with more complex numbers like "I Can't Stop Loving You"-an essay about sad courage that starts with an acoustic guitar and adds instrumental textures as it unfolds-and "Stupid Boy," a tale of loss and self-discovery. It's no coincidence that both those songs climax with Urban's own crying guitar solos. As a player, his bold, midrange-heavy tone complements his most nuanced vocal performances. Another highlight is "Raise the Barn," which Urban co-wrote and sings with Ronnie Dunn. The cheerful tune, inspired by the survivors of Hurricane Katrina, is a tribute to the durability of the human spirit-a subject Urban seems to know more than a little about. -Ted Drozdowski.

When you first heard that Billy Bragg and Wilco were teaming up to set some Woody Guthrie lyrics to music, you knew it'd be an interesting project. But did anyone realistically think Mermaid Avenue would also wind up being one of 1998's finest albums? That's exactly what it is, a distinction it pulls off by simultaneously honouring Guthrie and blasting away any folksy expectations we might have of his music. Walking Guthrie's World War II-era lyrics into the 20th century's second, rock & roll half, Bragg and Wilco's Jeff Tweedy take turns on lead vocals, and the entire group collaborates on a sound that draws on folk- and country-rock, from Bob Dylan and the Band to Gram Parsons and Uncle Tupelo. The results are nearly flawless, ranging from yearning laments and playful children's rockers to horny ballads and brave protest songs that are not merely political but also profoundly moral. Like all of Guthrie's work, Mermaid Avenue is music to live better by. -David Cantwell.