Four recent albums with folk-rock flavor

The Avett Brothers

The Avett Brothers

“Life cannot be written,” aver the Avetts at the start. “It can only be lived.” They then proceed to do what they say can’t be done—sometimes with humor, sometimes with pathos, but always with a sense of having walked the walk before talking (or singing) the talk. Only on “Love of a Girl” do they come on like an Americana Ramones with the subterranean homesick blues. Most of the time they’re introspectively working their way up to what they aver at the end: “If we’re forgiven / or we’re forgotten, / we may be lonely, / but we are loved.”

In Bloom

Jon Foreman

You know what Jon Foreman’s latest solo album won’t remind you of? Switchfoot. You know what it might remind you of? Graham Nash’s “Our House,” its Laurel Canyon luminescence repurposed to elucidate a 39-minute testament to living in the moment. Only on “Stay Wild, Wildflower” do Foreman’s Bono-isms rear their heads, and even these are portable with other graces weighed. The Beatitudes-paraphrasing “Heaven Is Yours” is afloat with them.

One Deep River

Mark Knopfler

The refined ghostliness of Guy Fletcher’s co-production (aided by five assistant engineers no less) is camouflage beneath which beats a heart of folk. Some of these songs sound so traditional that if Knopfler were to hop a time machine and unveil them stripped down at Gerde’s Folk City circa 1961, he might go down as someone who inspired (instead of someone who was inspired by) Bob Dylan. The spirit begins making itself felt on Track 3 (“Smart Money”) and peaks on Track 6 (“Tunnel 13”), but it never dissipates entirely. Too bad that to assess the folk-worthiness of all nine bonus tracks you have to buy the CD and the vinyl both.

Ship to Shore

Richard Thompson

The older Richard Thompson gets (he’s up to 75 as of this writing), the more that he seems to exist in a musical world of his own. Folk, rock, folk-rock—he continues drawing on each while adding mysterious ingredients derived from the confluence of his barbed guitar virtuosity, his doomily emotive voice, and his compassionately acerbic lyrics. Whatever his secret, his sound is both more identifiable and less folk, rock, or folk-rock than ever. The almost comically propulsive “Maybe” sounds like one that the Traveling Wilburys let get away.

Encore

In 1981, eight years removed from the last of her many country hits, Skeeter Davis teamed up with those charmingly informal jacks of many musical trades NRBQ for a 12-track mishmash of country, pop, Broadway, and schmaltz (in that order) called She Sings, They Play. Had it come out that year, it might’ve turned heads. Instead, it sat shelved until 1985, by which time MTV had become the de facto arbiter of Music That Mattered. Less MTV-friendly music would be hard to imagine.

Newly reissued by Omnivore, the album now includes two discarded studio cuts and, on CD and digital, four songs recorded live in 1985 at the Bottom Line—the first a loose run-through of the perennially catchy “Gonna Get Along Without You Now,” the last a loose run-through of the perennially eerie “End of the World.” Between songs, Davis giddily chats up the crowd. And speaking of giddy, the no-longer-discarded studio cut “I Want You Bad” is so energetic that it might’ve even turned heads at MTV. —A.O.