Gonna do some quick ones this week. I’ve chosen four albums with no connections between them that I can see, except that they’re all worth your time and attention. I’ve been going to the same record store (Kiss the Sky in Batavia) for 16 years now, and they’re used to me now. But I do miss the strange looks I used to get from record store clerks when I would buy four albums like this together. “Yes, they’re all for me. Yes, I like all of this.” (Heck, at the same time I picked these up I also bought Inter Arma’s covers record, and I’m not even featuring that one here.)

Anyway, four albums, no connecting threads. Here we go.

Noah Gabriel, Summer’s Gone.

I’m sometimes wary about talking up my friends in this space, because how would you know if I’m genuinely impressed with an album or just helping out someone I know? I hope I’ve spent the last 20 years in such a way that you’d be surprised if I promoted something I didn’t truly admire in this space, but I’m always cognizant of the need for full disclosure. So yeah, I know Noah. I’ve even shared a stage with him. And yes, I really like his new record, Summer’s Gone, and would even if I didn’t know him.

Summer’s Gone is Gabriel’s tenth solo album, and each one of those has been a different beast. This time he’s stripped things down – acoustic guitar, bass, drums and vocals – and made a sparse yet full-sounding album that lets the rawness of the performances take the spotlight. Gabriel has always had a love for ‘90s music, and this one combines that with his more obvious inspiration here, Chris Whitley.

The songs are all Gabriel, though, and they’re good ones. I’m impressed with how smoothly “Rocking Horse Road” switches from 5/8 to 6/8, and how nimbly bassist John Abbey and drummer Gerald Dowd navigate these changes. Gabriel is a hell of a guitar player – you can hear him in full electric mode on the two records he made with his band, Noah’s Arcade – but here he sometimes barely plays anything, just enough to set the song’s atmosphere and nothing more. That’s especially true on standout “Crazy,” which feels like it’s hanging together through sheer willpower. I admire Gabriel for not touching that performance, for letting it appear here just as it is.

Gabriel has been clear about his inspirations for this album, but this never sounds like an imitation or a pastiche. It’s just Noah trying on new clothes, and finding that they fit beautifully. The sound of this record is remarkable, minimal yet room-filling. And I love that he ended it with a song called “Never Say Goodbye.” Gabriel is a prolific writer – I’m sure in the time it took me to formulate these thoughts he’s written another album or two – but this one feels like an album to pause on for a bit, to really take in. It’s a special one.

You can hear and buy Summer’s Gone here.

Margo Price, That’s How Rumors Get Started.

I’m not sure why Margo Price isn’t already a household name. But if there’s any justice, her third album, That’s How Rumors Get Started, will be the one to do it.

Price is part of the alt-country movement that includes Chris Stapleton and Jason Isbell and Sturgill Simpson, who produced this new record. She sings like a bird and writes impressive, heartfelt songs. Really, that’s it. There’s no other gimmick or hook here, just ten lovely songs, sung beautifully and played by a dream team including Simpson, Benmont Tench and Pino Palladino. If that sounds good to you, buy this now.

For my part, I think this album is her best. The more traditional twang of Midwest Farmer’s Daughter is all but gone, and in its place is a mix of Tom Petty and Fleetwood Mac that works brilliantly with her voice. “Letting Me Down” is a perfect barnburner of a single, “Stone Me” is a classic epic ballad, “What Happened To Our Love” rides a “While My Guitar Gently Weeps” groove, and the terrific “Hey Child” gives that voice a workout, with a choir of voices backing her up. She saves the best for last with “I’d Die for You,” a song that feels magical to these ears. The performance here is stunning.

I can only hope that we live in a different world than I think we do, one that will embrace this record and give Price the attention and love she deserves. Three records in and she’s firmly established herself as a songwriter worth watching and a performer worth falling for. She’s one of the most straightforwardly great new voices in popular music, and I recommend this album (and her other two) highly.

Enuff Z’Nuff, Brainwashed Generation.

I think this time I’m going to skip all of the “you don’t know Enuff Z’Nuff” rigamarole and just get right to it. Let’s take it as a given that EZN is one of the most consistent and consistently overlooked power pop bands in the world, with a catalog far richer than their two hits back in the late ‘80s would indicate. Let’s also take it as a given that Donnie Vie’s solo career is similarly rich and overlooked, and that you should buy his wonderful album of last year, Beautiful Things, right now.

Brainwashed Generation is the 15th Enuff Z’Nuff album, and the second to be led by bassist Chip Z’Nuff. Donnie Vie left the band acrimoniously some time ago, but kept coming back for new recordings. But with 2018’s Diamond Boy, Z’Nuff took full control of the band, writing and singing all the songs. And it was pretty good, honestly. Not nearly the same level of quality as the Vie-Z’Nuff partnership produced, and Z’Nuff’s voice leaves a lot to be desired. But it was pretty good.

Brainwashed Generation is similarly pretty good. It’s in the same vein as its predecessor, if a little darker and more drawn-out. Songs like “Drugland Weekend” and “Help I’m in Hell” are pretty much what you think they will be from their titles – crawling riff monsters that emphasize the harder aspects of the band’s sound. Z’Nuff never forgets the melodies, of course, and the Beatles influence remains as strong as ever. The songs are longer and slower than on Diamond Boy, but they still sound like EZN.

And then there is “Strangers in My Head,” the one song here to feature Vie on vocals. He wrote this one with Z’Nuff, their first collaboration in about a decade, and (sorry Chip) it’s the best thing here. I have been enjoying Chip’s version of the band, but I find myself hoping that “Strangers” is just the start of a renewed partnership. I’d love to have at least one more Vie-Z’Nuff album.

In the meantime, Brainwashed Generation is a decent record that serves as a fine addition to the catalog. All power pop bands should have this one’s sense of harmony and tunesmanship. I’m happy to have found them and to have followed them all these years. Long may they run.

Joshua Redman, Brad Mehldau, Christian McBride and Brian Blade, RoundAgain.

I don’t talk about jazz too much in this space, even though I’m a fan. The main problem is that I can’t figure out what to say about most jazz records. “Hey, listen to this, the playing is really good.” Like, over and over again. I’m afraid that’s what this little review will boil down to, but in my defense, the playing here is really good and you should listen to this.

Back in 1994, saxophonist Joshua Redman released an album called Moodswing. It was the first of his albums I picked up, and it remains in rotation at my house. His backing band consisted of three young guys just starting their careers. You can see their names up there, and if you know jazz, you know that in the ensuing 26 years, all three have carved out remarkable careers. I’m a piano player, and Brad Mehldau is one of my idols. And I’m not sure there are better bassists and drummers in jazz than Christian McBride and Brian Blade.

RoundAgain is a reunion album, then, only this time all four players are significant enough to have their names on the cover. They play here like they’ve been practicing together for all of those 26 years. These seven songs all give the players room to jam, and their interplay is electric. Redman can sometimes be a little sedate for me, but he’s on fire for much of this, feeding off of his rhythm section. Blade is astonishing, as always, thinking through every percussion hit and how it serves the song.

All four write here, and I was struck by how clear the authorship was. Redman’s tunes are straightforward bops, like “Silly Little Love Song,” where Mehldau’s are complex workouts. There’s a rhythmic shift near the end of the what-the-hell-time-signature-is-this-in “Moe Honk” that feels so organic that it’s almost supernatural. McBride’s “Floppy Diss” leaves room for the bass to shine, while closer “Your Part to Play” is Blade’s ballad, a generous offering that provides the most spare and atmospheric five minutes of the record.

Really, though, this all can be summed up by saying “the playing is really good.” It’s a joy to hear these four guys back together, making gorgeous music, and I can only hope that they have another one or two (or ten) records in them as good as this one. I’ll be first in line.

Next week, I’m not sure, but I have a few options. August is crazy with new releases, but July leaves me wanting a little bit. We shall persevere.

See you in line Tuesday morning.

So there’s this new Ben Folds single.

It’s called “2020,” and it’s his first new song in almost two years. I’ve not heard whether this is the first rumblings of a new Ben Folds album, but if it so, it will be his first in five years. He’s spent that time writing a memoir and working as the artistic advisor to the National Symphony Orchestra in Washington, D.C., so he hasn’t been idle by any means. But this is the first real Ben Folds single in some time, and I was excited to hear it.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I like this song a lot. It’s got a classic Folds piano foundation, a sweet melody and a good hook. But it also sounds like a tune Folds could have written in five minutes. (I know it’s a product of his regular quarantine live shows.) It sounds very much like the b-sides he used to write quickly, like “One Down.” It makes its singular joke a couple times, takes a bow and leaves.

I want to reiterate that there’s nothing wrong with this. It’s fun, it’s of the moment, it’s well put together. But for a songwriter known for his observational skill and incisiveness, this one doesn’t rank among his best. It’s perfectly fine, and I’m happy to hear it and happy that it exists. But will I remember it fondly in ten years? Probably not.

I mention this because this is how I am starting to feel about the new Rufus Wainwright album, Unfollow the Rules. Wainwright’s story is similar to Folds’ – Rules is his first new album in four years, and his first pop album in eight. He’s spent a lot of that time writing his second opera and re-staging his first, and it feels like his heart is truly in these projects. I’m glad we got at least one more glittering orchestral rock record from him.

And the album itself is quite good. Let’s start off by saying that I would listen to Rufus Wainwright sing my tax returns back to me. His voice is absolutely flawless, and at 47 he hasn’t lost an iota of impact from that instrument. He sounds amazing on Rules, from first song to last. The production by Mitchell Froom is as big and ornate as you could want, and these songs are treated lovingly.

The songs themselves, though? They’re fine. They’re good, even. The opening one-two punch of “Trouble in Paradise” and “Damsel in Distress” draws you in nicely, the title track builds convincingly over six and a half minutes (and that falsetto in the climactic minutes is lovely), and tunes like “Romantical Man” sound like they were lifted right from a Broadway show. Wainwright indulges his funnier side on “You Ain’t Big,” and it’s a hoot.

I had a really good time listening to Unfollow the Rules, even when it started to drag in the middle. I especially appreciated the final act, where things get dark – “Early Morning Madness” and “Hatred” are minor-key powerhouses, and the wild bridge of the former may be my favorite moment on this album. The closing track, “Alone Time,” is a perfect comedown after that. The third act contains the rise and fall of emotion that I missed in the previous two acts, and when it arrives it’s a nice surprise.

So yes, this is a good record, and I’m happy to recommend it. But as I listen to it again, I’m struck by how often these songs are content to stay within the realm of good, and don’t break out into great. If you’ve been reading this column for a while, you know I think Rufus Wainwright is one of the best songwriters in the world, and that Poses and the two Want records are close to perfect in my mind. This one doesn’t do it for me quite as much as those masterpieces did. It reminds me more of Release the Stars, a record I like but don’t often return to.

That is, of course, fine. These 12 new songs are pretty and dramatic, and as I mentioned earlier, Wainwright sings them like a dream. If they don’t match up to his earlier material, well, his earlier material is almost impossibly good. Unfollow the Rules is a fine record, and I hope I grow to eat every critical word I’ve said about it here. But as of right now, I like it a lot, but I don’t love it like I used to love Wainwright’s work.

I can say the same about the new Ray LaMontagne album Monovision. Like with Wainwright, I’ve been a fan of LaMontagne’s for a long time, back to his first record, 2004’s Trouble. He’s got one of those husky yet silky voices and his catalog is impressively restless, moving from the orchestrated folk of Till the Sun Turns Black to the pop of Supernova to the electrified psychedelia of Ouroboros. I’ve liked most of it, but loved his work only sporadically.

In case you couldn’t see this coming: I like Monovision, but don’t love it. For this record – actually recorded in mono – LaMontagne challenged himself to play every instrument, which results in a stripped-back, breezier affair. There’s little but acoustic guitar and vocals on several of these tracks, like the Robert Plant-ish opener “Roll Me Mama, Roll Me,” which is fine, because he’s a serviceable drummer at best on tracks like “Strong Enough.” The focus here is on his voice, and it’s stunning as always.

But am I going to remember these songs next year? I don’t think I am. The whole record feels somehow weightless. “Summer Clouds” is nice but a little formless, while the Western-tinged “We’ll Make It Through” is very pretty but very surface-level. I admire LaMontagne for making an album so steeped in positivity and peacefulness during these times, and in many ways it’s exactly what I needed right now.

But it wafts away on the wind as soon as it’s done playing, and I don’t know how much of it will stick. LaMontagne’s best work is indelible – I can still remember the first time I heard “Be Here Now” – and this sweet little thing makes as little noise as possible, almost apologetic in its slightness. I hope LaMontagne got what he wanted to out of it. For my part, I like Monovision, but don’t have a lot to say about it. It is, in the words of one of the songs, here and gone again.

Next week, probably a few records that have no discernible connection. Come on back to find out what they are.

See you in line Tuesday morning.

I don’t know about you, but I’m getting tired of isolation.

As David Lee Roth once sang, I ain’t got nobody, so I’ve been riding out this pandemic on my own. Some days I’m totally fine with it – I’ve always enjoyed my own company, and I certainly have enough books, movies, TV shows and music to keep me busy for ten or so years. Some days (and even weeks), though, it all gets to me and I find it hard to motivate myself to do anything.

June, as I may have mentioned last time, was one of those days extended to a whole month. Getting out of bed felt like a triumph some days. With the world on fire and Corona still raging and my health fluctuating and having had no human contact since March, I honestly give myself credit for seeing the other side of the month. I tell you all this not because I want pity, but because I made a bit of a mistake last week and I want to put it in perspective.

I forgot an album on the Second Quarter Report, one that undeniably belongs there. I’m not sure how I did it – my only excuse is that there’s no physical version of this album yet, and I do sometimes find it difficult to bring download-only efforts to the front of my mind. (Although Fiona’s record is download only too, so whatever with all that noise.) This is my issue, definitely, but it’s another reason I don’t like paying for air, and will hold out for a CD release from all but the most important artists to me.

Michael Gungor is one of those, though. I think I hesitated all of five seconds before paying to download his new solo project under the name Weiwu. It’s called Are You Perfect Yet and it’s absolutely stunning. And I can’t believe I forgot about it.

You may remember Michael Gungor as one-half of the band that shares his last name. Quite a lot has happened since I named their album I Am Mountain the best of 2013. The band made a trilogy of excellent records after Mountain and then went on a farewell tour. Michael, who started his career writing liturgical music, underwent a deconstruction of his faith, exploring Buddhism and Hinduism. He now calls himself Vishnu Dass, partially because his own name, Gungor, is so entrenched in the music world he left behind.

His journey continues, but Are You Perfect Yet provides a musical and spiritual touchstone, giving you a glimpse of where he is now. And it’s far, far away from the music and spirituality he used to traffic in. It’s also far, far away from 90 percent of the music I own. It’s electronic at its base, full of programmed drums and synth washes, but it’s difficult to describe it from there. It’s an insanely complex electronic symphony with Eastern overtones and lots of beautiful melodies, and it is clearly meant to be experienced as a whole.

I say that because these songs bleed into one another, but also because they turn on a dime, going different places every few minutes, and the joyous disorientation feels like the intention here. No individual track – not even the catchy single, “Ya Wei,” the closest this record comes to a complete done-in-one tune – can give you the effect Gungor is hoping for. Are You Perfect Yet is a meditation, carrying you through from first note to last, and it is like taking your soul for a long drive.

Sufjan Stevens might be the best touchstone for this, and that is not a name I invoke too often. Are You Perfect Yet has the same electronic glitchiness and miles-wide grandeur of The Age of Adz, and it changes dramatically every few minutes, as if Gungor can’t wait to get to his next idea. “She’s Fire” is almost a pop song for a minute or two, but it lasts for six, and flips itself upside down more than once, crashing its own momentum to head off in new musical destinations.

There isn’t much linear about this record, but from a 30,000-foot view, it moves from laments like “Growing Tired” to joyous spiritual dance parties like “Ya Wei” and “Shiva.” And like most stories, it ends in death – the concluding trilogy, beginning with “Color on a Pale Dark Ground,” is among the most beautiful in Gungor’s arsenal. The closing track, “Stillness,” is six minutes of ethereal vocals surrounded by chimes and gongs, and it sends this out on a note that feels bigger than a mere set of songs. It’s clear we are meant to connect with something deeper, something eternal, through this music.

I still have a lot of listening to do before I can claim to fully understand Are You Perfect Yet, but that’s my failing, not Gungor’s. He certainly put a lot into this, and even in my half-dozen listens so far I’ve gotten a lot out of it. But this is the rare record that feels like it has only just begun to share its secrets. Luckily continuing to explore its contours is not even remotely a chore. I can’t believe its existence slipped my mind, because it’s easily one of the most memorable albums of 2020 so far.

If you’re wondering, Are You Perfect Yet would slot into the top 10 list at number four, dropping everything else down one notch. Hopefully I’ve made you want to listen to it, and if so, check it out here.

Next week, we have a ton to choose from, including the first new Rufus Wainwright pop album in eight years.

See you in line Tuesday morning.