Jeff Bowles

It’s a sign of Joe Bonamassa’s increasing profile that he got blues legend B.B. King to guest on his eighth album Black Rock and if what you’re doing is good enough to rope B.B. in, there’s not much reason to change, so Bonamassa doesn’t tinker with his formula here, retaining a little of the folky undertow of The Ballad of John Henry, but with its remaining roots in a thick, heavy blues-rock more redolent of ‘60s London than the ‘50s Delta.

It’s a sign of Joe Bonamassa’s increasing profile that he got blues legend B.B. King to guest on his eighth album Black Rock and if what you’re doing is good enough to rope B.B. in, there’s not much reason to change, so Bonamassa doesn’t tinker with his formula here, retaining a little of the folky undertow of The Ballad of John Henry, but with its remaining roots in a thick, heavy blues-rock more redolent of ‘60s London than the ‘50s Delta.

Ute Lemper Sings Kurt Weill, Volumes 1 and 2' released in 1988 and 1993, plus the third album of Weill's two most important song cycles in German, `The Seven Deadly Sins' (`Die sieben Todsunden') and `Mahagonny Songspiel' released in 1990 unequivocally established Ms. Lemper as the leading Kurt Weill interpreter since Lotte Lenya, Weill's wife and the singer for whom many of his vocal pieces were written. These three disks, sample pieces from most major Weill works written in German, including his most famous musical play, `The Threepenny Opera' (`Die Dreigroschenoper').

One of the most striking and strangely moving moments onJake Xerxes Fussell’s gorgeous Good and Green Again—an album, his fourth and most recent, replete with such dazzling moments—arrives at its very end, with the brief words to the final song “Washing-ton.” “General Washington/Noblest of men/His house, his horse, his cherry tree, and him,” Fussell sings, after a hushed introductory passage in which his trademark percussively fingerpicked Telecaster converses lacily with James Elkington’s parlor piano. That’s the entire lyrical content of the song, which proceeds to float away on orchestral clouds of French horn, trumpet, and strings, until it simply stops, suddenly evaporating, vanishing with no fade or trace, no resolution to its sorrowful minor-key chord progression, just silence and stillness and stark presidential absence. It feels like the end of a film, or the cold departure of a ghost, and is unlike anything else Jake has recorded.