Double albums are rare these days and the best ones came out decades ago in vinyl form. But country star Miranda Lambert revives that tradition in an expansive new album, “The Weight of These Wings,” which emphasizes the duality of her personality on disc A’s “The Nerve” and disc B’s “The Heart.” At times, the album feels a bit repetitive, but there are enough standout songs to make it worth the extra time.
The fiery guitar slinger from Texas highlights her rock side with a touch of distortion, echoing vocals and high-pitched guitar licks. First single “Vice” starts with the crackle of a record and her voice drips like a smoky dive bar singer as the bass line wavers.
She embodies the highway drifter trying to outrun her heartache on songs like “Runnin’ Just In Case,” but argues that it’s the journey that makes her stronger. “Happiness isn’t prison, but there’s freedom in a broken heart,” she sings on the album, her first record since her 2015 divorce to country star Blake Shelton after four years of marriage. She kicks up her heels with a little well-crafted lyrical levity on songs like “Pink Sunglasses” and “Highway Vagabond.”
The other Lambert we’ve all come to love is the heart-on-her-sleeve songwriter, who helped write 20 of the 24 songs. She creates a country classic in the waltzy “To Learn Her,” and she lets herself be timid with a new love on “Pushing Time,” a beautiful duet with her boyfriend Anderson East.
She seems to speak to her own legacy as an artist with “Keeper of the Flame,” a passionate anthem for blazing ahead to be a light for others.
Although releasing a double album in the reign of digital singles is likely a gamble, Lambert has a lot to say and there’s plenty of fans ready to listen.
The first single on Sting’s new album, “I Can’t Stop Thinking About You,” sounds like the love child of Police classics “Every Breath You Take” and “Can’t Stand Losing You.”
There are the achy lyrics of the former, which holds up well but has more of a stalker vibe than it seemed to the first time around. And there’s the driving bass line of the latter, the style of playing that made Sting’s former band one of the best of the 1980s.
“57th and 9th” as a whole sounds a lot like Sting’s old stuff, but that’s not a bad thing. It’s musically incredible and lyrically wiser, though it also veers into self-importance at times — just as the old stuff did.
Unlike a lot of aging rockers living on past glory, Sting’s return to rock ‘n’ roll from other projects seems driven more by a desire to return to something he loves than the need to make a buck. There’s a payoff for waiting.
Recorded in a period of weeks, the album has spontaneity but also a rawness. He could have scrubbed a few clichés from the lyrics — the sands of time on one song, old rockers never die (they just fade away) on another — but the pulsating rush that was the hallmark of Sting’s early work makes up for it.
A man who knows how to rock this well can be forgiven. It is good to have him back.
Martha Wainwright tests musical boundaries on “Goodnight City,” and not just when she pushes her voice to the top of her range and beyond.
The album is old-school singer-songwriter fare in that it’s autobiographical and confessional while addressing such topics as romance, parenthood and a mother’s death.
But Wainwright’s alto sends the songs into another realm. Like a roller-coaster, her theatrical delivery isn’t for everyone, but it commands attention.
Wainwright is over the top on “Around the Bend“; she wails with punk abandon on “So Down“; threatens to break glass on “Before the Children Came Along“; and adopts a boozy persona on a cover of Beth Orton’s “Alexandria.”
The arrangements are likewise varied. There’s little guitar, some piano and horns, and several tunes with keyboard programming that can be filed under EFM — electronic folk music.
Wainwright began work on the album after the death of her mother, singer-songwriter Kate McGarrigle, and much of the material is related to family. She sings about grief, and then about leaving the past behind.
Best is the final tune, “Francis,” written by Wainwright’s brother, Rufus, and graced with the clever wordplay characteristic of Wainwrights. Regardless of boundaries, there’s always room for a well-written song.