After experimenting with the blues on 2003's misguided Trouble No More, singer-songwriter John Mellencamp seemed rather lost. It was as if the iconoclastic rocker couldn't quite figure out what to do so he turned to the tried and true. But Mellencamp is known for his original material and, while I wouldn't argue that his late '70s and early '80s material holds up well over time, Scarecrow and The Lonesome Jubilee still rank as definitive works. Leave it to producer T-Bone Burnett (Elvis Costello, Roy Orbison, Robert Plant and Alison Krauss) to get Mellencamp back on track.

This album has a sublime sound to it that's apparent right from the opening notes of "Longest Days," a tune that finds Mellencamp reminiscing on the way "life used to be." A song about broken dreams, it's every bit as affecting as anything on Bruce Springsteen's Nebraska, the album that Love and Freedom most clearly recalls, especially as Mellencamp sings "nothing lasts forever" and echoes the Boss' "Reason to Believe." With its raspy vocals and narrative twists, "John Cockers" ventures into Tom Waits territory and "If I Die Sudden" is a rumination on death that features a fuzzy guitar riff and spooky ambiance. The album's intensity never lets up as Mellencamp dwells on mortality ("Don't Need This Body") and revisits the trial of the Jena 6 in the haunting "Jena." Anyone who questioned Mellencamp's Rock Hall induction earlier this year would do well to hear just how well the man returns to form with this excellent album. — Jeff Niesel

Donna the Buffalo
Silverlined (Sugar Hill)

For the past 20 years, singer-multi-instrumentalist Tara Nevins and singer-guitarist Jeb Puryear have guided Donna the Buffalo through a sonic travelogue of American music, serving up a hybridized gumbo of bluegrass, rootsy rock, folk and country, spiced with exotic bits of Cajun and reggae. Considering the diverse genres that DTB draws upon and the freewheeling manner in which they interpret them — particularly with Nevins' Emmylou Harris/Dolly Parton/Natalie Merchant warble and Puryear's laconic Buddy Miller/Pat MacDonald delivery — the band has become a rootsy fave within the jam community.

For Silverlined, Donna the Buffalo's latest album, the quintet does what it's always done exceedingly well, which is incorporate a broad range of styles into its soulful American blend. The beauty of DTB's presentation and the secret of its success and longevity is the purely organic way it weaves genres together without diluting them, from the Memphis soul reggae of "Temporary Misery" to the winsome 10,000 Maniacs/alt-country sway of "Locket and Key" (featuring banjo sensei Bela Fleck) and the roots-pop jangle of "Broken Record." All of DTB's gifts are brought to bear on the Grateful Deadgrass lope of the title track and the kitchen-sink joy of the album's high-spirited finale, "Forty Days and Forty Nights." A good many bands can't generate this kind of enthusiasm and energy in half as much time and with half as many albums as Donna the Buffalo has sustained over the past two decades and seven studio albums. Long may they stampede. — Brian Baker

Eat Skull
Sick to Death (Siltbreeze)

Despite the doltish hardcore-esque band name and penchant for gruesomely titled releases (its last single was called "Dead Families"), Portland's Eat Skull produces some of the cheeriest, if a bit sideways, sunshine-blitzed summer sounds a listener could ask for. The band's full-length debut, Sick to Death is all distortion-fried basement-slop symphonies bursting with hooks that crustily take a cue, buried as it may get in the mix, from the convertible-cruising beach bunk of Jan and Dean and other fixtures of '60s AM pop. Supremely infectious melodies whir and crackle like they could fall apart at any second but, no matter the varying tempos, continue driving on, reaching a brainsick crescendo that soars to the moon and knocks my ass flat every cut. The production is as fittingly crude as the hand-drawn, juvenile sleeve that depicts slasher- flick heroes and mutants with bongs indicates it will be. The whole messy thing reeks of a mail-order, homemade pre-punk album that could've been advertised in one of the mimeographed fanzines that in 1973 were as unavoidable as the air pollution layered over our great country. — Steve Newton

Los Lonely Boys
Forgiven (Epic Records)

Catchy melodies accompanied by lame lyrics pretty much sums up Forgiven, the third studio attempt by Los Lonely Boys, produced by Steve Jordan (John Mayer Trio). Although this Texas trio of brothers — Henry (guitar), JoJo (bass) and Ringo Jr. (drums) Garza — brings out the essence of "familia" in its new rock album, the group winds up with likable tunes that remain predictable and unimpressive. Perhaps the best song on Forgiven is the edgy opening track, "Heart Won't Tell a Lie," where blues meets rock 'n' roll while also displaying Henry Garza's remarkable guitar chops. Another noteworthy track is "I'm a Man," as the brothers honorably take on the Steve Winwood/Spencer Davis Group classic, but the other songs that follow are noticeably dull. "Loving You Always" takes the trio back to its Tejano roots, sounding a bit like the group's award-winning "Heaven," though it lacks a certain spunk that made the brothers such a hit. Ringo makes a noble lead-singing debut in "Superman," but still, the lyrics tend to fall short, as they do in "You Can't See the Light," a supposedly inspirational song that remains, well, uninspired. The passion may be there, but the soul most definitely isn't. — Lauren Yusko

Yaz
In Your Room (Mute)

After leaving Depeche Mode and before forming Erasure, British synthmeister Vince Clarke had a brief but successful period with singer Alison Moyet as the dance-pop duo Yazoo (shortened to Yaz in the US for goofy legal reasons). Like the Eurythmics, Yaz paired a male synthesizer whiz with a soulful, charismatic, androgynous, alpha-female vocalist. Yaz shared the Eurythmics' icy new-wave coolness but furthered it with Clarke's effervescent melodies and Moyet's personable sweetness. This boxed set remasters both Yaz albums plus single sides and remixes on three CDs. There's also a DVD of music videos, TV appearances, and both albums remixed in 5.1 Surround.

Yaz's 1982 debut, Upstairs at Eric's, holds up fabulously as a nonstop masterpiece of UK new-wave dance pop, with a fascinating experimental playfulness throughout. Digitally diced-up dialogue explorations like "In My Room" and "I Before E" are admittedly dated but manage to defy being stale by being genuinely fun. And tunes like "Only You," "Don't Go" and "Bad Connection" are as infectiously catchy as pop songs get. Upstairs has proven itself as an addictive album that manages to be smart, cool and sophisticated without getting calculatedly artsy or soulless. The second and final original Yaz album, 1983's You and Me Both, has some hip tracks like "Ode to Boy" and is a classy, more even-sounding record. However, overall it lacks the memorably exhilarating quirks and carefree creativity of its predecessor. — Michael David Toth