Reggae a bit beyond the outlaw

Willie Nelson

“Countryman” (Lost Highway)

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SUCCESSFUL marriages can result from unlikely pairings, like the first time somebody inadvertently stuck a chocolate bar into a jar of peanut butter. Others, like champagne and waffles or Willie Nelson and reggae, are probably better left sitting on the work bench in the experimental lab.

It’s not that this decade-old project pairing the great country singer-songwriter with producer Don Was and some top Jamaican musicians was inherently misguided. But in practice, Nelson’s signature idiosyncratic vocal style generally doesn’t mesh with the pulsing lope of the reggae beats.

Nelson’s song “One in a Row” weathers the Mutt and Jeff musical nuptials well enough, and “Undo the Right,” which he wrote with Hank Cochran, also has a certain appeal. But his renditions of the title song and “Sitting in Limbo” from “The Harder They Come” wither next to the originals.

Equally revealing, a duet on Johnny and June Carter Cash’s “I’m a Worried Man” only pops to life when Jamaica’s Toots Hibbert brings his smoky, on-da-beat vocals to bear.

Then again, maybe the real charm of Willie’s island vacation only wafts out late at night when you’re in the right, er, frame of mind.

-- Randy Lewis

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A honky-tonk refresher course

Dwight Yoakam

“Blame the Vain” (New West)

* * 1/2

The Los Angeles-based country singer has split with his longtime guitarist and producer Pete Anderson, but he hasn’t eased up on the guitar. His first new full-band studio album since “Population Me” in 2003 is a six-string-centric construct of sliding, twanging, bending, stinging electric guitar work serving the veteran’s return to a lean, roots sound.

Not that he’s ever been far from that. But by hooking up with some players from L.A.’s current alt-country scene, Yoakam has tapped a spirit that evokes his mid-’70s, career-launching cowpunk days. The no-frills directness is refreshing, and Yoakam has shaken off much of the affectation that has interfered with his artistry in the past.

Yoakam’s musical itinerary goes from Memphis (the “Suspicious Minds” echoes in “When I First Came Here”) to London (British Invasion reverb moodiness in the title song) to extended stays in Buck Owens’ Bakersfield. The two slowest songs, “Lucky That Way” and “Does It Show,” are the strongest. Resisting the urge to hurry along, they defiantly milk every bit of honky-tonk heartache they can.

Eventually the record’s lack of ambition and its creeping repetition -- and a couple of misfired attempts to inject some comedic voices -- put a damper on things. Yoakam’s next job in the post-Pete era is to rediscover the sense of adventure his old partner seemed to foster.

-- Richard Cromelin

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Bubble gum with intriguing flavor

Annie

“Anniemal” (Vice)

* * 1/2

There is a bit of an argument surrounding “Anniemal,” the debut album from this Norwegian electro-pop chanteuse. It goes like this. Point: “This is unabashed, bubble-gum pop music, therefore it is good.” Counterpoint: “This is unabashed, bubble-gum pop music, therefore it is bad.”

It’s a bit odd that a record that conjures Tom Tom Club, Kylie Minogue and early Madonna would raise such questions (or any at all), but the same scenesters, bloggers and indie critics that once lambasted pop music of this sort now seem bent on embracing it, if only to defy expectation. Pop begat anti-pop. Anti-pop begets anti-anti-pop (better known as, uh, pop).

Such things are cyclical, of course, and we can expect irony to make a comeback.

Songs such as “Greatest Hit,” “Me Plus One” and the utterly hummable “Chewing Gum” are less at home on a critic’s stereo than a dance floor in 1989, replete with disco shimmies, step haircuts and the white man’s overbite. And though a few of the tracks are downright painful (“Come Together” manages to dumb down Saint Etienne with an amorphic call for unity), the end product is certainly something to chew on.

-- Mikel Jollett

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Birdman has more to boast about

Birdman

“Fast Money”

(Cash Money/Universal)

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On the celebratory “Get It All Together,” this New Orleans rapper proudly and bitterly reflects on his business history, which includes launching the supergroup the Hot Boy$, which consisted of Juvenile, Lil Wayne, B.G. and Turk. Wayne, who appears throughout “Fast Money,” is the only member still on Cash Money, and it’s clear throughout his second album that Birdman, never known for his lyrical agility, wants to establish himself as a rapper as respected as his departed stars.

That doesn’t happen here, as his lyrics are less inventive and vivid than those of Juvenile or B.G.; nonetheless, he does deliver a solid album that makes him a credible rap force.

He has wisely abandoned the reliance on forced guest appearances and sugary hooks that derailed his 2002 debut album. Instead, Birdman largely sticks to what he does best: boasting of his material spoils and rapping about the ghetto drug world and the challenges and pitfalls of trying to escape that lifestyle. Standouts such as the pulsating “My Territory” and the lively “Ghetto Life” with Bun-B and 6 Shot are enjoyable slices of reality rap.

-- Soren Baker

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Albums are rated on a scale of one star (poor), two stars (fair), three stars (good) and four stars (excellent). The albums are already released unless otherwise noted.