There are weeks when one can look at new album release lists and wonder who in their right mind would buy any of these?

This, however, is not one of those weeks.

I don’t know if anyone might’ve guessed ten years ago that contemporary country music would become one of the hottest genres going, but here we are. New releases by Lady Antebellum, the Pistol Annies and the Dixie Chicks’ own Natalie Maines are among this week’s most hotly anticipated albums, and all of them—however far removed they may be from the works of Hank Williams and Patsy Cline—represent where the public’s taste resides at the moment, and that’s not a bad thing at all. Because while each signals a deliberate move forward from the strict traditionalism of what some would call classic country, none are particularly blatant examples of crass commercialism, none appear to be specifically aiming at “crossing over” to pop at the expense of art, and all of them are actually quite interesting.

And then there’s that new Gatsby

They say that rock ‘n’ roll is a young man’s game, but of course “they” are inadvertently sexist—I’m told that chicks rock as well!—and clearly weren’t living in Los Angeles this week, where two of the hottest concert tickets came via private shows by one Rod Stewart (current age: 68) and the Rolling Stones (average age two years older than that of the US Supreme Court).

Unexpectedly, neither artist covered “Walk, Don’t Run” because they dug the fab irony!

But it drove home the point that with occasional exceptions, the old-school rockers, the ones whose careers were well in bloom ages before MTV came to be, still generate the most personal excitement among their fans. Which couldn’t be better illustrated than this year’s rather dreary Rock ‘N’ Roll Hall Of Fame Awards, largely celebrating a batch of post-MTV artists well past their commercial shelf life—with the notable exception of Rush, never a media favorite, who garnered the most vocal and notable support among observers, perhaps

Last week was an odd one for music fans: The year’s biggest music fest, Coachella, faded out with something of a whimper, overshadowed by, of all things, the surging popularity of a Daft Punk single and a video by the mildly amusing Psy, now apparently back for his second 15 minutes of fame, and what we have now come to call Record Store Day.

To those of use who once spent significant time behind the counters of various record stores, Record Store Day is a bittersweet event. Finding a record store that actually celebrates it is no easy task. Still, this Saturday I did my duty, drove by my local record store here in Sherman Oaks, California, saw a huge line in front of it, decided to come back a few hours later, and finally managed to pick up a single disc—that Universal reissue of the first American Nick Drake album, originally released via Island/Capitol back in the early ‘70s—for close to $30.

I then dutifully filed it away, feeling good about myself and simultaneously wondering

I’m embarrassed to admit that—though it was only a meager car ride away—I skipped attending this year’s celebrated Coachella Festival last week! And though it’s happening again next weekend, I’ll probably be skipping that, too!

And it isn’t just because I could stay at home and watch the proceedings on my completely wired home entertainment system and avoid the pesky body odors and bothersome tattoos accompanying the masses of humanity that might theoretically be attending the festival in order to witness the Red Hot Chili Peppers!

Nor is it because I could merely walk into my kitchen and pour myself the finest of today’s bottled liquors at my leisure while sparing myself the troublesome expense of gas money, Coachella tickets and excessive carbohydrates!

Sadly, I must report, I didn’t attend simply because I didn’t have a thing to wear!

Plus, I needed to pick up some creme rinse at Costco!

Fall Out Boy: Save Rock And Roll (Island) I think most of us have been frantically aware that

It struck me the other day that the human brain only has so much space inside it--only so much room for a music fan like myself to dutifully store the name of the bass player in Spooky Tooth, or the correct chronological sequence of all those Peter Gabriel albums with the same title, or the name of each rapper in Bone Thugs-n-Harmony—before it folds into itself. And then come the data leaks.

Within the last week: 1) I forgot the PIN number for the checking account I have had since 1992, 2) Every night when I drive home and reach the intersection of Beverly Glen and Mulholland Boulevards I think of the phrase “atomic douchebag” and have no idea why, and 3) I spent most of this afternoon humming the melody to a Hellman’s mayonnaise commercial I used to hear a lot in the early ‘70s and probably haven’t heard since.

I mention this only because I plan to formulate an opinion about the new album by Tyler, The Creator in a few short paragraphs--and, sadly, am already hazy about which end of a

In a given week, if I select the most noteworthy new releases for this blog--albums that either will sell the most (few) or are exceptionally interesting (fewer)—I’m not above pretending Celtic Thunder is Celtic Frost, that Josh Groban has devoted an entire album to the works of Pink Floyd, or that any artist named Dog Bite deserves a review simply because of his wonderful name!

Rare are the times I actually care about all 10 albums!

No need to worry, though. As long as Lil Wayne can put out albums with titles like I An Not A Human Being II, my work is not done!

And apparently his isn’t either!

Depeche Mode: Delta Machine (Columbia) If someone had suggested many, many years ago that of all Brit bands to emerge in the punk/new wave onslaught of the late ‘70s/early ‘80s, Depeche Mode would not only linger but grow…and grow…into the massive worldwide superstars they now are—well, they’d be smarter than I am! But they have indeed persisted, their music maturing album by album, their