Country boy in the big city

Steve Earle

“Washington Square Serenade” (New West)

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THIS Texas-reared, longtime Nashville-based singer-songwriter is upfront about the challenge he’s taken on in his first album in three years, a chronicle of his thoughts, feelings and impressions as a leftist troubadour now strolling the mean streets of New York in pursuit of artistic inspiration.

It’s not that he’s a half-century or more late throwing his musical hook onto the coattails of Woody Guthrie, Ramblin’ Jack Elliott, Dave Van Ronk, Bob Dylan and all the others who’ve used the city that never sleeps as a base for their explorations into the meaning of truth, justice and precisely what constitutes the American Way.

But even with skills as prodigious as those Earle has consistently exhibited in the two decades since he arrived with the dazzling debut album, “Guitar Town,” it’s an awfully tall order to come up with anything approaching fresh insights in this milieu.

“I’m walking down W. 4th St. taking great pains not to disappear into the footprints of giants,” he writes in the CD booklet, “and even my accent isn’t making much of an impression because I ain’t the first cowboy up at this rodeo.”

But even though there are moments in this outing heavy on tried-and-true folk trappings -- lots of mandolin, banjo, acoustic guitar -- in which Earle sounds more as if he’s echoing his role models than joining them as an equal, for the most part he succeeds in moving the dialogue forward.

The opening “Tennessee Blues” overtly acknowledges the dramatic shift he’s making, as he sings, “Goodbye guitar town.” It’s not indulgent autobiography but a meditation on the process of life change and the self-examination that necessarily comes with it.

He’s less the political provocateur he’s been in his last couple of albums than a sociological observer and commentator, here trying to celebrate diversity (“City of Immigrants,” with energetic pan-Latin accompaniment from Forro in the Dark) and there musing on the proliferation of media forums and whether they truly serve the cause of individual freedom (“Satellite Radio”).

He doesn’t forget to appreciate the power of love (“Sparkle and Shine,” “Days Aren’t Long Enough”) along his journey, which veers into mythical territory with “Jericho Road” before closing with Tom Waits’ “Way Down in the Hole,” which evokes the eternal inner struggle between the forces of light and dark.

That’s a land infinitely more expansive than the Big Apple, one with plenty of room for a fresh set of eyes and ears.

-- Randy Lewis

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She’s independent and confounding

Nellie McKay

“Obligatory Villagers” (Hungry Mouse)

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“MCKAY” still rhymes with “bye bye,” as the singer continues her trajectory from pop-star-in-waiting to pop’s most confoundingly content cult figure.

After noisily breaking with the major-label patrons who released her debut album, the New York-based maverick returned last year with an independent collection, “Pretty Little Head,” that indulged her eccentricities and social activism while preserving much of her pop-music versatility and charm.

In “Obligatory Villagers” (out today), McKay narrows that musical range, retreating to a jazz enclave in the Poconos to record with a group of seasoned veterans, including David Liebman and Bob Dorough, whose froggy vocals are an incongruous presence throughout the album.

The big-band and stage-musical arrangements are not a stretch for someone so fluent in the nonrock pop vernacular, but the jazz setting hasn’t invigorated McKay as an artist. The album is her shortest by far, at just 31 minutes, and it also manages to be her most uneven, drifting along without the compelling social conscience and musical ambition that braced “Pretty Little Head.”

The opening “Mother of Pearl” is a surprisingly stale skewering of antifeminist clichés, and the album ends with a strained novelty, “Zombie.” Other songs -- notably “Galleon,” a frenetic, complex look at a heated backstage scene -- are more musically impressive than emotionally involving.

“Gin Rummy” and “Politan,” more intimate and modern tunes with a Steely Dan touch, are welcome relief, and “Identity Theft” is the one successful epic, a sassy, calypso-flavored assessment of the current social landscape that has some of her most engaging music and colorful language.

McKay, who plays the Largo on Oct. 11 and 12, might be happy as a rugged individual following an erratic muse, but those moments make you wish she’d bring some focus and direction into the picture.

-- Richard Cromelin

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Quick Spins

Melissa Etheridge

“The Awakening” (Island)

Fans expect a mix of sincere introspection and epic riffs from the veteran rocker, and she has much to ponder on her ninth studio album. While many songs reference her sometimes bumpy life, she also addresses more global concerns. Toning down the sonic drama creates an appealing intimacy, but an hour’s worth of blues- and folk-flavored ballads becomes monotonous. If only she’d included more numbers like the droll, twangy “Threesome,” which is just as heartfelt but slyly funny as well.

-- Natalie Nichols

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Ministry

“The Last Sucker” (Thirteenth Planet)

After this third straight album of anti-Bush rants, Al Jourgensen is pulling the plug on his long-running industrial-metal machine, Ministry, to blaze a producing path. Play it loud: This is a hostile environment you can wallow in. Impersonating a soldier’s drill yard yell, Jourgensen declares, “I kill everything that moves.” Elemental guitar riffs knock around the noisy yet balanced mix like grenades in a Maytag full of crankcase oil, as electronic beats launch forward, clash hand to hand, spit automatic fire. The multichaptered “End of Days” closes with leather-bound grandiosity. It works.

-- Greg Burk

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The New Pornographers

“Challengers” (Matador)

Bandleader A.C. Newman makes pure pop for indie people. His weakness for melancholy melody washes over everything on the Canadian confab’s fourth album, with a bit of Beach Boys harmony on “My Rights Versus Yours” and a pluperfect shot of Lindsey Buckingham folk-rock on “All the Old Showstoppers.” And with lush, aching vocals from Neko Case, songs mine emotion and wisdom within the eccentric and the heartbroken.

Steve Appleford

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Albums are rated on a scale of four stars (excellent), three stars (good), two stars (fair) and one star (poor). Albums reviewed have been released except as indicated.