Like the best of today’s roots-rockers, the Gourds burn with an honesty and simplicity that keeps the music in perspective. No character is a cliché, no story drowns in either irony or sentiment, and no guitar wails or accordion squawks. This Austin, Texas group comes naturally from the ground level; the loveable losers are never too loveable, characters never too quirky.

On Haymaker!, the band’s ninth studio release, a hodgepodge of whores, hitchhikers, metalheads and country gals come to life, but not caricature. It’s all set to a mid-tempo twang deftly flecked with accordions, fiddles and piano. You can hear Kevin Russell crowing in an almost Buck Owens-like strain on “Tex-Mex Mile,” where he observes, “The ho’s got their johns following single file / They ain’t good lookin’ but they got that freaky style,” to an off-handed honky-tonk beat underscored by Russell’s flowing accordion.

The Gourds know their place, literally, as evidenced in song titles such as “Country Love” and “Country Gal,” where star-gazing and fresh breezes take on almost sensually magical proportions. Not that this band needs to shake the ironic trappings they might have felt from their now-decade-old cover of Snoop Dogg’s “Gin and Juice”; that was stripped years ago. No, Haymaker! just delivers another true punch to the gut—and heart.

BeauSoleil has long been a band that can be taken for granted. To win Grammys, to become representative of a genre, and to become keepers of a cultural flame can be a blessing and a curse. Because, at the end of the day, it’s all about how the music moves you

Truth be told, I’ve looked forward to Steve Riley and the Mamou Playboys more than BeauSoleil, which is a little ass backwards when you consider that it was the latter that helped pave the way for the former. But when it comes to energy, vitality and pure joie de vivre, Steve Riley’s done it for me and BeauSoleil has often underwhelmed me with their reverence. (Can a band be too good at what it does?

Alligator Purse—their first studio album in four years—changes this dynamic, happily so. Not that Cajun music’s great ambassadors haven’t pushed boundaries before, but there’s something a little more kinetic, a little more freewheeling going on here that makes reprisals of such classics as “Théogène Creole” feel more like museum pieces. Hell, it almost rocks, something that eludes BeauSoleil more than it should

Alligator Purse deserves recognition for its varied guest appearances, including Natalie Merchant, John Sebastian and Garth Hudson. But don’t let it distract you from the fact that BeauSoleil is fully in command of the work here

How else could you explain the magic of a song like “Rouler et Tourner”, a French-language cover of Bob Dylan’s version of Muddy Waters’ “Rollin’ and Tumblin’.” You’d think something might get lost in so many translations, but the chugging tempo and the energetic interplay of Michael Doucet’s fiddle and brother David’s guitar feels part duel, part harmonic convergence. Michael practically growls the words, too, another indication that this time around, BeauSoleil isn’t just playing around; it’s getting right to the heart of the matter. That’s pretty moving.

If there was one thing that made artists establish Stax Records and the Muscle Shoals studios as their homes away from home, it was economy. From the punchy horn arrangements to the syncopated drums and the crisp guitar licks, ’60s soul music showed how much you could do with just enough. JJ Grey, the Mofro frontman, is at his best when he embraces this less-is-more aesthetic, which works more often than it doesn’t on their fourth release, Orange Blossoms.

JJ Grey and Mofro know not to overstay their welcome, whether in Grey’s blue-eyed soul vocals or the backing instrumentals. On “She Don’t Know,” his most overt shout-out to his idol, Otis Redding, Grey barely strains his vocals over mournful electric piano, a soft drum riff and threadbare violin: “She don’t know how much I love her / She don’t know how much I need / If the morning finds her gone, don’t know if I can carry on.” Too often, singers drown their emotions in vocal histrionics; Grey suggests he’s in too much pain to wail. When he tries to lay it on thick, as on “On Fire,” with his “girl is awn fi-ya!” sneer, he loses his sense of scale. Fortunately, those are the rare moments.

Soul needs to be handled with care, and if JJ Grey & Mofro’s music has become a bit familiar by now, it’s comforting to know they don’t overdo it.

When it comes to the Iguanas, patience is a virtue. With If You Should Ever Fall on Hard Times, the New Orleans group has proven once again that it’s worth the wait. The album is the group’s first work in five years, making it the first since Hurricane Katrina shook up both the city and the band’s members. (Many in the group scattered to other cities; saxophonist Derek Houston is no longer a member.)

This extended down time is reminiscent of the build-up to 2003’s Plastic Silver 9-Volt Heart, yet the circumstances are remarkably different. On that album, the Iguanas forever laid to rest that they were New Orleans’ lightweight equivalent of Los Lobos, a party band once signed to Jimmy Buffett’s Margaritaville Records that mixed its Tex-Mex influences with classic Crescent City R&B grooves. They did this even while embracing Los Lobos contemporary Dave Alvin, who performed on the title track. 9-Volt turned out to be not only the band’s best album, but also, arguably, one of the best albums to come out of New Orleans in the new millennium.

By contrast, If You Should Ever Fall on Hard Times should forever lay to rest any notions that the Iguanas can’t be a New Orleans band, even when it doesn’t adhere to any preconceived notions about how one is defined as such. The Iguanas play with some of the more conventional New Orleans sounds—swinging jazz horn arrangements, greasy funk, Latin shuffles—but the result is something that skews more toward the possibilities of roots rock and that genre’s own hard-to-find boundaries. So for every accordion flourish that romances tunes such as “Celos Con Mezcal,” there is the early Rolling Stones vibe that pushes “Dancing for Dollars Again” beyond the party anthem realm. “Sour Grapes,” with its syncopated guitar licks and tight horn riffs, could be mistaken for a Booker T & the MGs instrumental until the vocals kick in.

Co-founder Rod Hodges is responsible for those guitars and vocals, and he has an uncanny ability to use them to complement each other. On the opening and title track, Hodges fuzzes up the guitar and smoothes out his vocals over hand claps with the upbeat promise of being there when needed: “If you should ever fall on hard times I’ll come running… I’ll come running straight to you.” Familiar Iguanas producer Justin Niebank recorded the band in Nashville and New Orleans, much in the way he did the previous album, and once again tries to go for a live-setting feel with minimal tricks.

Despite its belated timing and reassuring title, If You Should Ever Fall on Hard Times is not so much a post-Katrina album as much as it is an attempt to return a pre-Katrina path. It’s heartening to hear the Iguanas get back on that path, however crooked, to present another head-turning effort.

The year 2007 was an incredibly busy year for the seemingly always-busy New Orleans jazz trumpeter Terence Blanchard. Along with earning two Grammy Awards (winning one) for leading his quintet and a 40-piece string orchestra through A Tale of God’s Will (A Requiem for Katrina), Blanchard also served as artist-in-residence for the Monterey Jazz Festival, which included performing with the MJF’s 50th Anniversary Band at the September festival (as well as a subsequent tour). Their MJF performance is captured here on this disc, and the result underscores how effortless Blanchard appears to be in the collaborative mode.

Part of that is because the overall combo is a celebration of generations, with legends and hot-shots working together: Blanchard, the former Jazz Messenger, on trumpet; James Moody on saxophone; Derrick Hodge on bass; Kendrick Scott on drums; and musical director Benny Green on piano, with Nnenna Freelon serving as the a featured vocalist.

I keep waiting for Blanchard to take his rich, round and warm tones to dominate in a combo setting, and he keeps me waiting. There are times when can be a showman, but this is where his discipline and experience (preference?) working with others continues to pay off. His solo on “Benny’s Tune,” from his 2005 album Flow perfectly complements Green’s piano work, his modal-style playing a study in the power of simplicity. The listener can hear the audience responding warmly to the most delicate of phrasings by every performer, catching and approving the subtleties with glee.

Blanchard also appears on saxophonist Tom Scott’s tribute to one of his influences, Julian “Cannonball” Adderley, which is paved with a rich layer of respect, but otherwise doesn’t seem to reveal anything new or passionate. Backed by a sterling support cast that includes one-time Cannonball collaborators George Duke (on piano) and vocalist Nancy Wilson as well as Blanchard, Scott doesn’t appear to sure about where he wants to go with all of this.

There’s a certain irony in the song selection. Cannonball’s brother Nat composed the soulful and bouncy “Jive Samba” and “Work Song,” and while the former is a delightful way to kick off the proceedings, “Work Song” is tame almost to the point of tedium. Scott should remember that soulful can also mean exuberant. Even the tempo feels restrained, and Blanchard is left to play it safe along with Scott’s simple phrasings. (I’ve heard New Orleans vocalist Henri Smith and his backup band deliver a more spirited delivery of the song.) “Jive Samba” is at least a little more playful and spirited.

Given that these two re-recordings come 47 years after their debut, Nancy Wilson’s work on “Save Your Love for Me” and “The Masquerade Is Over” could be forgiven for not being more inspirational. Instead they serve as a pleasant reminder of Cannonball Adderley’s works; Scott’s album leaves a similar impression, if not much more.

The year 2007 was an incredibly busy year for the seemingly always-busy New Orleans jazz trumpeter Terence Blanchard. Along with earning two Grammy Awards (winning one) for leading his quintet and a 40-piece string orchestra through A Tale of God’s Will (A Requiem for Katrina), Blanchard also served as artist-in-residence for the Monterey Jazz Festival, which included performing with the MJF’s 50th Anniversary Band at the September festival (as well as a subsequent tour). Their MJF performance is captured here on this disc, and the result underscores how effortless Blanchard appears to be in the collaborative mode.

Part of that is because the overall combo is a celebration of generations, with legends and hot-shots working together: Blanchard, the former Jazz Messenger, on trumpet; James Moody on saxophone; Derrick Hodge on bass; Kendrick Scott on drums; and musical director Benny Green on piano, with Nnenna Freelon serving as the a featured vocalist.

I keep waiting for Blanchard to take his rich, round and warm tones to dominate in a combo setting, and he keeps me waiting. There are times when can be a showman, but this is where his discipline and experience (preference?) working with others continues to pay off. His solo on “Benny’s Tune,” from his 2005 album Flow perfectly complements Green’s piano work, his modal-style playing a study in the power of simplicity. The listener can hear the audience responding warmly to the most delicate of phrasings by every performer, catching and approving the subtleties with glee.

Blanchard also appears on saxophonist Tom Scott’s tribute to one of his influences, Julian “Cannonball” Adderley, which is paved with a rich layer of respect, but otherwise doesn’t seem to reveal anything new or passionate. Backed by a sterling support cast that includes one-time Cannonball collaborators George Duke (on piano) and vocalist Nancy Wilson as well as Blanchard, Scott doesn’t appear to sure about where he wants to go with all of this.

There’s a certain irony in the song selection. Cannonball’s brother Nat composed the soulful and bouncy “Jive Samba” and “Work Song,” and while the former is a delightful way to kick off the proceedings, “Work Song” is tame almost to the point of tedium. Scott should remember that soulful can also mean exuberant. Even the tempo feels restrained, and Blanchard is left to play it safe along with Scott’s simple phrasings. (I’ve heard New Orleans vocalist Henri Smith and his backup band deliver a more spirited delivery of the song.) “Jive Samba” is at least a little more playful and spirited.

Given that these two re-recordings come 47 years after their debut, Nancy Wilson’s work on “Save Your Love for Me” and “The Masquerade Is Over” could be forgiven for not being more inspirational. Instead they serve as a pleasant reminder of Cannonball Adderley’s works; Scott’s album leaves a similar impression, if not much more.

Cow Island Hop finds Feufollet all grown up with somewhere to go. Formed in 1995 by accordionist and fiddler Chris Stafford and Chris Segura when Stafford was 8 and Segura was 11, Feufollet grew into its own a while back but now seems as self-assured as a veteran Cajun band should.

There have been personnel changes over the years, but now this group—all around college age except for fiery guitarist Joshua Clegg Caffery—Feufollet definitely appears to have grown into itself with this lineup as it cranks out loving covers and original material almost without any discerning difference.

The difference comes in the execution, with the Magnolia Sisters’ “Prend Courage” opening the album with an almost rocking aesthetic (Is that a Hammond B3 I hear melding with the accordion?). Then here comes co-lead vocalist Anna Laura Edmiston, who, on mentor Steve Riley’s “Eunice Waltz,” is one of the few who can make Cajun music sound downright sultry with her clean, smooth alto. Then “Femme L’a Dit” (again with Edmiston singing) shows the band in a hot club mood that would knock out most of the Spotted Cat crowd.

Cow Island Hop shows that Feufollet appears equally adept at looking at Cajun’s past and present, but there are times when it still feels like the gang might be spending a bit too much time in the woodshed. That’s understandable; even Steve Riley takes care in trying to make Cajun sound “progressive.” Here’s hoping the younger team of Feufollet takes even more chances next time around. For now, they’re sublime, respectful and fun to listen to.

Perhaps the most curious disappointment of John Sayles’ latest film, Honeydripper is its woeful unemployment of the music it is supposed to celebrate. Set at a small Alabama juke joint in 1950, Honeydripper only hints at the boogie-woogie foundation that will soon herald the age of rock ‘n’ roll. Instead of in a joyous deluge, the music comes in drips and drabs, with the real deluge relegated to the movie’s soundtrack.

Which may be where it belongs, anyway, because here the listener can enjoy the music outside of the movie’s clichéd and stereotyped construct (Heaven and Hell! Fried chicken-cooking mamas! Jive-talkin’ sharecroppers! Racist sheriffs!). The movie feels like a chance to pump up the resume of hot-shot young blues guitarist Gary Clark, Jr., who plays one of the leads, and he holds his own on a closing trilogy of classics: “Good Rockin’ Tonight,” “China Doll” and “Blue Light Boogie,” all sung with a sharp baritone that evokes Chuck Barry.

Keb’ Mo’ keeps things interesting both on screen and here with his wailing take on “Stack O Lee,” but this soundtrack is at its best with its surprises. Star Danny Glover, who plays the juke joint owner, is a delight on “Goin’ Down Slow,” letting his vocals keep pace with the piano fills and not trying to overwhelm them. Unfortunately, Ruth Brown died before she could co-star in the movie as the fading house “star,” but her “Things About Coming My Way” made its way onto the soundtrack. Louisiana native and Stax veteran Mable John not only filled in for Brown in the role, but also had a chance to sing the dirty little “No Matter How She Done It,” with the tempo slowed to a crawl. “You women don’t have to worry about your life,” the 77-year-old belts, “She made Jack the Ripper throw away his knife!”

The Cowboy Junkies didn’t so much burst onto the roots-rock scene with The Trinity Session in 1987 so much as they crept onto it, masters of restraint in their moody evocations of Margo Timmins’ breathy ruminations set over brother Michael’s teasing mandolin. Less known for their originals, they completely redefined such seemingly disparate classics as Velvet Underground’s “Sweet Jane,” the Marcells’ “Blue Moon” and the country double-whammy, Hank Williams’ “I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry” and Patsy Cline’s “Walking After Midnight.” I’m sure their fans would insist the Junkies charted their own original path from that auspicious debut; others are still waiting.

All of that makes Trinity Revisited seem unnecessary and precious as they try to recapture a career that never quite happened. Returning to the scene of the crime, Toronto’s Trinity Church (captured on the bonus DVD), the bandmates recruited peers and fans Natalie Merchant, Vic Chesnutt and Ryan Adams to see if they could recapture the magic.

And they almost succeed.

By the fourth track, all the guests have announced their arrival. Merchant, whose measured vocals have too closely matched Margo’s over the years, takes control on the one original gem, “Misguided Angel,” rising to an aching wail that might have been 20 years in the making and almost worth the wait. Chesnutt, always a sly one, makes “Blue Moon” even slyer with his creeping insinuations. And Adams makes this band rock about as hard as it ever will on “I Don’t Get It,” with Michael Timmins’ electric guitar almost coming to life for a grinding solo. Still, it all comes down to “Sweet Jane,” their one big moment, which alternates between a raucous psychedelic jam and a mid-tempo groove for its eight minutes, another Junkie tease but with some rare guitar muscle.

Trinity Revisited is a frivolous, fun and decidedly nostalgic step back. Too bad the Junkies may never go too far forward. No hurry.