Gene Clark Sings for You

Gene Clark

The first eight songs come from 1967 demos that the talented but self-sabotaging ex-Byrd circulated in hopes of landing a solo record deal. The last six come from demos that he gave to the one-hit-wonder folk-rock group the Rose Garden. “Down on the Pier” is to Dylan’s “4th Time Around” what “4th Time Around” is to the Beatles’ “Norwegian Wood.” McGuinn, Crosby, and Hillman could do a lot worse than to record valedictory versions of all 14. They should start with “Doctor Doctor.”

Our Country: Americana Act 2

Ray Davies

This sequel to last year’s Americana sounds good even when it’s self-indulgent. It’s almost as if Davies relishes the life that the Jayhawks impart to his music too much not to go on too long or about too many subjects. He recycles old material, experiments with multiple styles (sometimes in the same song), awakens the actress in Karen Grotberg, and scripts two F-bombs. He also delivers “When We Get There,” possibly the loveliest 21st-century song by a Rock and Roll Hall of Famer to date.

Passwords

Dawes

Not that Taylor Goldsmith isn’t his own man—his uniter-not-a-divider sentiments (“Crack the Case,” “Living in the Future”) alone make him unique nowadays—but “Feed the Fire” and “Mistakes We Should Have Made” belong on Best of the Doobies Volume II, so smoothly do their cushy chords, layered vocals, and Goldsmith’s approximation of blue-eyed soul build stylistic bridges not walls. Almost as good: “Telescope,” which could’ve been titled “Sympathy for the Increasingly Common Man.” The Doobies couldn’t have imagined it in a million years.

Another Time, Another Place

Jennifer Warnes

Recently, and permanently, deprived of her duet partners Joe Cocker and Leonard Cohen, Warnes assays Pearl Jam’s “Just Breathe,” Mickey Newbury’s “So Sad,” and Marcus Hummon/John Legend’s “Once I Was Loved,” each of which she movingly inhabits and each of which appears on what would’ve been Side 1 were this album available as vinyl. The songs on what would’ve been Side 2, however, including the one that she co-wrote, remain beyond or beneath her, suggesting that, from here on out, melancholy is what she’ll do best.

ENCORE

During the phase of his career represented by the just-released Columbia Sessions (1956-1964) (Columbia/Legacy), Frankie Laine had just passed his commercial peak. Middle-aged in an increasingly young man’s world and best known for belting cowboy-film theme songs, he was, unlike Sinatra (another Italian Frank and just two years Laine’s junior), deemed too square to be hip.

But Laine could’ve still been a contender. He made Billboard’s Top 10 twice during that period (with songs for some reason left off Columbia Sessions’ 70-track running order), and he could wring as much emotion from hushed, sentimental ballads as Elvis could. “Take Her,” meanwhile, proved that he could’ve bolstered the Four Seasons had Frankie Valli (yet another Italian namesake) taken a powder, and “Tangolita” surely gave Scott Walker ideas. Then there’s “I’m Gonna Be Strong”: Not only did Laine beat Gene Pitney to it by a year, but he also wrung teardrops from it in four languages. —A.O.