If Britney Spears is country, then how about Randy Newman? His sly lyricism and bluesy drawl underline his debt to Flannery O'Connor and Fats Domino alike, as well as his partial upbringing in New Orleans. However, most of the roots artists gathered on Sail Away have barely a clue how to handle his cockeyed Americana. There are a few gems: Allison Moorer (a throaty, torchy "Marie") and Kim Richey ("Texas Girl at the Funeral of Her Father") fare the best, joining the ranks of superb female interpreters of Newman (see Springfield, Dusty). And Béla Fleck's solo instrumental of "Burn On" pays tribute to Newman's compositional greatness. Most everything else is pleasant but unnecessary, except the comically awful, like Marc Broussard's would-be funk version of "You Can Leave Your Hat On" and The Duhks' burlesque "Political Science." Steve Earle's "Rednecks" unwittingly serves as a crucial lesson: He lards on scratchy guitars and distorted vocals, but the adaptation contains none of the shocking power of Newman's original. Sail Away won't sway stereotypes of NPR-aided roots music, and it doesn't do Newman too many favors either.

Now here's a weird one. This tribute to Big Star languished in the vaults for seven years. It's like The Gin Blossoms and Whiskeytown came back from the dead just so they could commit uninspiring takes on "Back of a Car" and "Give Me Another Chance." Hardly anyone on the album bothers to try a new arrangement, except for The Afghan Whigs, who amped up "Nighttime." In 1999—when many people were only just learning where That '70s Show's theme song came from—this album would've made sense. Now Big Star, Small World just seems like a quaint relic of the flickering, final days of the alt-rock era. Still, Jeff Tweedy completists will get a kick out of Wilco's purty "Thirteen," recorded when his voice still had that affected twang. And if nothing else, the album is better than Big Star's crap reunion disc from last year.

Some people wait for Chinese Democracy, others long to see Jerry Lewis' The Day the Clown Cried. I, however, am a simple man and merely anticipate the full re-emergence of Jarvis Cocker of Pulp. After making do with Cocker cameos in Leonard Cohen: I'm Your Man (awesome!) and Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire (rip-off!), this two-disc compilation of favorite songs from Cocker and Pulp bassman Steve Mackey is a treat. The band always seemed like they'd be experts at thrift-shop and flea-market finds; exquisitely sequenced, The Trip doesn't disappoint, unearthing eccentric gems like Porter Wagoner's twangin' tale of insanity, "The Rubber Room," and Elton Motello's "Jet Boy, Jet Girl," a homoerotic punk track that served as the musical basis for "Ca Plane Pour Moi." Lest you think their aims are purely kitsch, Cocker and Mackey also include some genuinely transcendent moments, from Dory Previn's gorgeous "The Lady With the Braid" to Moondog's appropriately titled "Pastoral." Not everything is a keeper (who knew they liked ersatz rockabilly so much?), but The Trip provides a surprisingly accurate glimpse into the Pulp aesthetic. Nice job—now Jarv, how's about that solo album?

This is hardcore: undertherock.blogspot.com.