Unless you were the kind of Prince fanatic who subscribed to his website for musical downloads or stood in line for hours after hearing whispers of his low-key club performances, the only Prince music you probably heard during his self-imposed exile was golden oldies.

Maybe that's why his much-hyped return to the spotlight with 2004's Musicology -- his first album on a major record label in years -- was so disappointing. Compared to the classic Prince we'd been listening to, it was hard to deny that Musicology lacked the fire, passion and innovation that made him such a groundbreaking '80s force. One had to wonder whether his time away from the spotlight or his conversion to the Jehovah's Witness faith had tamed his Royal Badness for good.

Such concerns evaporate upon listening to his latest CD, 3121. Tantalizing, sexy, even uplifting, this Prince sounds like the vintage Purple One.

Well, almost. Though Prince ramps up the sex appeal on 3121 with the throbbing club track Black Sweat, it's generally a pretty tame affair, unlike the salacious content of his prime. On Lolita, he declares to a temptress, "You'll never make a cheater out of me," while on sensual, pillow-soft ballads such as Incense and Candles, it's true love, and not lust, being celebrated. In fact, some of the most passionate songs have nothing to do with romantic love, but a spiritual one, such as the lovely Beautiful, Loved and Blessed, a duet with his protege, Tamar. There's also an inspirational uptempo track, The Word.

And unlike the Prince of old, he doesn't mine any new musical ground here. You'll still hear the dance grooves that are heavily reliant on synthesized funk or those that sound like you've dropped in on a free-for-all jam session. But with killer jams such as the horn-and-drum centred Get On the Boat, that's hardly a bad thing.

If there's one thing you can always count on Hawksley Workman to do, it's the thing that you never counted on him to do. Which is to say: After the sexed-up, hammy glam-pop of his last couple of discs, you would not expect Workman to dish up a set of introspective and unironically beautiful piano balladry. So that's precisely what the iconoclastic singer-songwriter cooks up for his fifth full-length, Treeful of Starling.

Wiping away the mascara and discarding his sequined hot pants, Workman settles down and gets back to basics with nine delicate and poetic odes that ponder the passage of time, the meaning of life and the fleeting nature of love instead of being jealous of your cigarette.

As usual, aside from the occasional horn line or string part, Hawksley does all the heavy lifting here, playing all the instruments and producing himself. But as always, the most impressive achievement is Workman's superior songcraft, which has never sounded more mature or honest. Is he growing up? Getting over a breakup? Only he knows what prompted him to change his tune. But as he puts it: "The one certainty of living is that you're gonna die, so why not stand in awe of it instead of asking why?" We would suggest approaching Treeful of Starling the same way.

Principal tunesmith Kristyn Osborn's knack for breezy, accessible hooks is enhanced here by a stable of strong collaborators, among them versatile producer John Shanks, whose roots-pop savvy is well suited to the trio's honeyed-oats sound.

Another Shanks cohort, Sheryl Crow, also serves as co-writer on the buoyant Whatever It Takes and the achingly lovely Healing Side. Not every track is as impeccably crafted, but the Osborns and their supporting team play with pluck and grace throughout.

Solo albums can be power plays. They can be changes of pace. Or, if you're Rhett Miller of alt-country twangers the Old 97's, they can be a little bit of a balancing act. Sure, like you'd figure, the singer-guitarist is front and centre on his second major-label extracurricular effort, The Believer, commanding the bulk of the writing credits and handling all the lead vocals. But ultimately, he ends up giving up as much control as he retains. Turning over the producer's reins to George Drakoulis and putting away his guitar, Miller lets a crew of cohorts (including L.A. multi-instrumentalist Jon Brion and former Jayhawk Gary Louris) accompany him on an eclectic lineup that swings from the expected (rootsy janglers such as My Valentine and Help Me, Suzanne) to the unexpected (sophisticated pop such as Brand New Way and slow, sad waltzes such as Fireflies) to the just plain weird (the T. Rex glam boogie of Ain't That Strange). Miller even tosses in a couple of Old 97's numbers (Singular Girl and Question) -- and if that doesn't make you believe he's put his solo work and his band in balance, nothing will.

She rounded up longtime collaborators Lee Alexander, Richard Julian and Dan Rieser, along with country guitarist Jim Campilongo, to put their brand on a slew of covers --- including Willie Nelson, Kris Kristoffferson, Townes Van Zandt and Hank Williams.

The Little Willies sound more like Joni Mitchell, L.A. beatnik singer-songwriter Eleni Mandell or the Continental Drifters, another collection of musicians who made their name in pop before taking a ride in the country.

The 13-song recording is fleshed out by four very solid originals. One, a joking ditty about notoriously urban rock 'n' roller Lou Reed going cow-tipping, shows the group isn't taking itself too seriously.

Some second-generation performers do everything they can to distance themselves from their famous forebears. Not Teddy Thompson. The son of British folk-rock icons Richard and Linda Thompson, the 30-year-old singer-songwriter doesn't just embrace his parents' rich legacy on his sophomore set Separate Ways; he turns recording into a family affair. Dad's instantly identifiable guitar sting turns up on a handful of cuts (as it did on his self-titled 2000 debut), while mom reportedly surfaces for a duet on a hidden cover of the Everlys' Take a Message to Mary. Even Fairport Convention drummer David Mattacks drops by to lend a hand. And in a truly inspired bit of guest casting, fellow musical offspring Rufus and Martha Wainwright add backing vocals along with Jenni Muldaur. But make no mistake; the real star of the show is Thompson, whose impeccably crafted roots-pop melodies, bittersweet lyrical confessions and throaty, warm vocals remind you of Ron Sexsmith.

Josh Rouse is a travelling man. And every time the singer-songwriter's wanderlust takes him somewhere new, he comes back with another stylistic sticker on his musical suitcase. A couple of discs ago, he added '70s pop to his rootsy sound. Last year, he was bidding goodbye to his marriage and his home on the country-textured Nashville. Now, the rootsy singer-songwriter has relocated to Spain, where he recorded much of his sixth solo set Subtitulo. The warm and sunny climes of Rouse's adopted home brighten these 10 postcard-pretty cuts, from the breezy acoustic guitars and samba grooves of Summertime and The Man Who . . . to the glistening languor of the Layla-esque La Costa Blanca to the Latino Steely Dan mix of His Majesty Rides. But Rouse doesn't forsake the old for the new --the melancholy retro-pop of It Looks Like Love and Givin' It Up, along with the rootsy troubadourism of Jersey Clowns, prove that no matter where Josh goes, he never forgets how he got there. Subtitulo is beautiful.

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