Jennifer Nettles

“THAT GIRL”

Mercury Nashville Records

The four-word phrase that’s fast becoming a four-letter word in pop music is “produced by Rick Rubin.” The eminence-grise phase of Rubin’s career began with projects — Johnny Cash, Red Hot Chili Peppers — in which he distilled complex artists to hard, essential cores. He became the legend whisperer. Last year, Kanye West benefited from Rubin’s trademark gifts of reduction, but West was a maximalist in search of severity, a talent that could meet Rubin at eye level, or above.

Generally, though, those who make the trek out to Rubin’s Shangri-La Studio, in Malibu, Calif., are supplicants: They want something from Rubin they don’t find in themselves. For a great but unimaginative singer like Jennifer Nettles, frontwoman of the genial and sometimes ambitious country outfit Sugarland, securing Rubin to produce her solo debut album, “That Girl,” is a loud plea to be taken seriously, a coup and also a waste of energy.

At minimum, “That Girl” does work that Sugarland albums, strong as they sometimes have been, never could. Sugarland excels at two things: goofy rural charm and blunt-force melodrama, though it’s the lighthearted side that truly sets it apart from the rest of Nashville.

On her own, Nettles is free to chase her muse, which may not be a more exciting, or more challenging, prospect than what she’s been doing for a decade.

On this always pleasant and occasionally more-than-that album, the chase leads her to a couple of songs (“This Angel,” about a newborn, and “Thank You”) delivered with Christian-rock restraint, and also to “This One’s for You,” written by Nettles with Sara Bareilles, perhaps for a Carole King-impression competition. (Nettles has a writing credit on every track but one.)

Only rarely does this album capture Nettles’ remarkable voice, a twang-thick burr with real soul-music depth. It flutters beautifully on “Falling” and gets winningly raspy on the end of the title track. But she never truly lets it loose. Perhaps she believes quiet is her real milieu.

— Jon Caramanica,

The New York Times

Lone Justice

“THIS IS LONE JUSTICE: THE VAUGHT TAPES, 1983”

Omnivore Recordings

Twelve songs recorded straight to two-track, the adrenalized country music on “This Is Lone Justice: The Vaught Tapes, 1983” captures a fiery band at the beginning of its impressive run. The L.A. country-rock band, birthed by vocalist Maria McKee and guitarist Ryan Hedgecock, is best known for its run of near-misses (despite being managed by a young Jimmy Iovine) in the mid-‘80s, but before signing with Geffen Records it buzzed through town on the wings of McKee’s soprano.

“This Is Lone Justice” introduces McKee & Co. with a combination of covers and originals. Among the classics they tackle are Merle Haggard’s “Working Man’s Blues,” the George Jones/Roger Miller song “Nothing Can Stop My Loving You” and the oft-recorded “Jackson.” The song selection suggests a band that had internalized a heck of a lot of country ideas at a young age.

McKee, after all, was only 18 when this stuff was recorded, and her youth is most obvious in the cut-and-paste Dust Bowl-themed lyrics that dot the originals here. Still, the virtuosity within “The Grapes of Wrath,” “Dustbowl Depression Time” and “Soap, Soup and Salvation” presents a confident mix of yowling twang and a heavy backbeat (courtesy of drummer Don Heffington and bassist Marvin Etzioni) that eclipses lesser lines.

Overshadowing all, though, is McKee, whose voice sounds like that of a young Dolly Parton fueled by Exene Cervenka’s passion.

— Randall Roberts,

Los Angeles Times

Ryan Star

“ANGELS + ANIMALS”

Self-released

Ryan Star graduates to a new level of artistry on “Angels + Animals,” taking the emotion his work has always had and the craftsmanship he learned on his major-label debut, “11:59,” and setting it in a new, ambitious context.

Pop concept albums are exceedingly hard to pull off, but Star manages in this tale of love lost and reclaimed. It’s like he commandeered adult pop radio to tell his story, with “We Were Kings” as dramatic as Imagine Dragons, “My Life” as emotional as Passenger and the single “Impossible” using catchy rhythms and subtle guitar to build an inspirational sing-along.

— Glenn Gamboa, Newsday