As it turns out, “Friday” had a lot more gas in the tank than anyone expected.

The culmination of Rebecca Black’s phenomenal rise came on Late Night With Jimmy Fallon last Friday, when the show’s host enlisted the services of comedian and fake news host Stephen Colbert (arguably one of the biggest stars in the world right now) for a bombastic live rendition of “Friday,” backed by none other than Grammy winning hip hop outfit The Roots. Halfway through the song, Colbert and Fallon (who contributed a verse of heavily auto-tuned guest vocals) were joined on stage by American Idol winner Taylor Hicks and the New York Knicks dance team. The performance climaxed in a huge crescendo of movement and color and may well be remembered as one of the most entertaining and culturally defining musical moments of the year.

That fact is sure to make blood boil among the legions of indie diehards still reveling in little-known rock band Arcade Fire’s monumental Grammy win for “Best Album,” but the truth is that Rebecca Black and her unbelievably bad song penetrated pop culture to a much greater extent than Arcade Fire’s unbelievably good album.

Arcade Fire’s The Suburbs has sold less than 1 million copies, even in spite of the band’s Grammy coup. In contrast, Black’s music video for “Friday” has been played on YouTube over 82 million times. Anecdotally, ask your friends or your co-workers what they know about Arcade Fire, and they’ll most likely stare back at you with blank faces. But ask them what they know about Rebecca Black, and you’re likely to see a considerably more animated response.

Perhaps that fact says something profoundly negative about our culture. Perhaps it’s a shame that we have collectively embraced something that is free, fast and intellectually easy as opposed to something that is textured, beautiful and more difficult to appreciate. Or perhaps that’s not the point at all. Perhaps the strength of music cannot be defined just by how textured, beautiful and intellectually rewarding it is. Perhaps, sometimes, music reaches the pinnacle of its potential when it becomes something that we share, not something that we experience and appreciate in relative isolation.

Conventional wisdom says that “Friday” is just an inside joke that we’re all in on. But Fallon and company performed it joyously, and the crowd’s enthusiasm for that performance was anything but a show for the cameras. Maybe people love to hate “Friday,” but they still love it—as evidenced by the fact that they continue to share it, propagate it and discuss it more than they have done with any song or artist in quite some time.

Over the past 15 years, our consumption of music has become tremendously idiosyncratic. Thanks to this infinite distribution stream called the internet, we can download or purchase any song or album made by any person anywhere in the world. And so our music collections reflect not simply our tastes, but our tastes and preferences with incredible specificity.

But while those collections satisfy our personal desires, they typically contain little collective energy. We listen to what we listen to because we like it, but there’s almost no synergy between what we like and what our neighbor likes. Even within genres and musical movements, there seems to be a limitless string of sub-genres and sub-movements, all of which serve to divide music fans into an increasing number of increasingly small groups. And so our music connects us tightly to a few people, but hardly at all to society at large.

“Friday,” in contrast, is a song that isn’t constrained by niche, genre, generational or racial considerations. It’s a song that we’re all experiencing together. And whether we engage with it in appreciation or ridicule, it’s encouraging us to talk to each about that shared experience.

That’s something that just doesn’t happen because of music very often these days.

Black made music that mattered socially, not just critically or commercially. And in doing so, she brought together a drastically disparate musical population–one that is more virtually connected, but more socially disconnected, than at any time in its history.

And if you ask me, that’s the mark of a very good song—regardless of how inane the lyrics may be.

It takes literally less than one minute for Sara Evans’ sixth studio album to reveal itself as a cliché monster, with the “Born to Fly” and “Suds in the Bucket” singer launching into a soaring chorus that declares, “All I want is to be loved desperately, like the sun loves the moon/Like the moon adores the shore.” A few seconds later, Evans—who co-wrote the song with Nashville songsmith and frequent collaborator Marcus Hummon—swaps her amateur poet hat for that of dimestore philosopher: “Babe, I believe that every day is a crossroad,” she sings. “We can take the right fork, or take the left, just as long as we move ahead.”

The album’s second track, “A Little Bit Stronger,” provides a glimmer of hope that perhaps the record won’t be the train wreck hinted at by its predecessor. Despite its heavy-handed optimism, the Luke Laird, Hillary Lindsey and Hillary Scott composition is a fully formed power ballad with a tight and modestly effective storyline that manages to escape the triteness of its theme and wind up as an earnestly empowering anthem.

But the reprieve is short lived, as “A Little Bit Stronger” is immediately followed by a droning cover of Rod Stewart’s synth-laden 1988 hit “My Heart Can’t Tell You No,” where the synth is replaced with some generic steel guitar fills. That ill-advised cut is followed by a song called “Anywhere,” which is Jo Dee Messina’s “Head’s Carolina, Tails California” without the urgency or impetus.

And it’s just downhill from there. In “Alone” (a ballad that opens to a quiet acoustic guitar and the always-foreboding lyrics “Thank you for the roses you sent me/They’re beautiful”), Evans’ character is leaving her forgiveness-seeking boyfriend a voice mail that says, “Please don’t call every time you think of me” and “Sometimes loving me means leaving me alone.” Ouch.

Following an awful Kara DioGuardi song called “Wildflower,” Stronger comes to a close with a not-very-bluegrass “Bluegrass Version” version of “Born To Fly” (effectively making this a nine-song album with a cheap-sounding bonus track).

Stronger is a collection of astonishingly bad songs, but there’s nothing especially noteworthy about that fact in today’s mainstream country music. In fact, most current mainstream country albums are full of astonishingly bad songs. But every now and then, mixed in with all of the trash, it’s possible to find a real gem.

And what’s ultimately the most devastating thing about this album is that, while it contains such a gem, Evans’ amazingly disconnected performance renders it useless.

Co-written by the very talented Nathan Chapman (producer for Taylor Swift and Laura Bell Bundy), “What That Drink Cost Me” is sung by a character who lost her alcoholic husband in a car accident. “I lost a good man to a bad habit/He didn’t love the whiskey, he just had to have it,” she sings. Lyrics like that are the stuff classics are made of.

But Evans’ performance is passionless, clueless and robotic, perhaps the epitome of a singer disconnected from her subject. She hardly sounds like she’s paying attention when she tells the story of waiting for him to come home, and falling to the floor as the police inform her that her lover is dead.

She should be reeling with pain and she cries, “I lost a good man.” But she just sounds sleepy.

If you wanted to give Evans the benefit of the doubt, you could say that her disinterested interpretation attempts to play up the idea she’d already lost him. There’s a line, after all, in the second verse where she sings, “So many nights I’d scream and shout/Even try to hide his keys/I tried everything to keep him from going down that road/Then my heart just let him go.”

But if that’s the case—and I think that’s a very big “if”—it represents a woefully poor interpretation of this character’s emotional turmoil. If you love someone, losing them like that would crush you—even if some part of you expected that you might someday lose them. But not so much of a trace of that pain is communicated through Evans’ delivery.

“What That Drink Cost Me” should be a song that transcends the rest of Stronger‘s disposable fare—every bit of which will be forgotten in no time flat.

Instead, it’s an epic fail from one of country music’s most underachieving singers.

Our rating: ★★☆☆☆ 

Later, on “Smile,” she proclaims that she’s “a crazy bitch” who “does what [she] wants when [she] feels like it,” and who wants to “lose control.” But the gusto of those songs can’t hide the obvious emotional turmoil at the core of the bulk of the songs on Goodbye Lullaby, an album which showcases a thoroughly dejected young woman who seems—with only a couple of exceptions—to have lost all faith in love.

Composed in the time surrounding her divorce from her husband of three years, Sum 41 lead singer Deryck Whibley (who produced a number of these tracks), even the sweetest of these fourteen songs presume that all love eventually dies and that all romantic relationships eventually fail.

Sometimes, that’s because the object of her affection drops the ball, like on “Not Enough,” where she sings: “You didn’t listen, you didn’t hear me/When I said ‘I want more’ I got no more.” Sometimes, it’s because she herself has grown discontent, like on “Push,” in which she confides: “I’ve seen too much of you lately and you’re starting to get on my nerves/This is exactly what happened last time.”

More often that not, however, Lavigne doesn’t pin love’s failure on one party or the other. Rather, she presents that failure as inevitable an inescapable. And nowhere is that fact more evident than on “I Love You,” which may in fact be the sweetest love song she’s ever written.

“I like your smile, I like your vibe, I like your style/But that’s not why I love you,” she sings, before explaining that the couple in question share a long history and a deep emotional connection that can’t be defined by such superficial things. So, it’s jarring (and disappointing) when she drops the following bomb: “Even though we didn’t make it through/I am always here for you.”

There is, of course, absolutely nothing in the rest of that almost saccharine song which would serve as evidence for their relationship being on the rocks. And by turning the song down that dark path, Lavigne only muddles the song’s spirit.

Still, the fact that she does so is strangely fascinating, in that it demonstrates how strongly an overall tone of loss is essential to these compositions—Goodbye Lullaby isn’t an album that talks about heartbreak, its one birthed from it.

Unfortunately, much of the songwriting that comprises the album is so generic that it doesn’t allow Lavigne to ever fully or effectively express the sentiments she’s trying to express. Goodbye Lullaby is full of cheap rhymes and amateurish word choice that runs counter to the obvious complexity at the heart of these songs.

At times, it’s even frustrating to watch Lavigne struggle to break through the clichés and blank phrases that so heavily weigh her songs down. Especially since the album is so beautifully sung. Lavigne has never sounded more convicted or committed to her material, and the album’s production smartly places her vocals way up front in the mixes.

But there’s just too many forced expletives (damns, bitches and fucks abound), too many rudimentary expressions and not nearly enough of the kind of disarming sarcasm and surprising charm that highlight this talented artist’s best work.

The album closes with “Lullaby,” and it’s a fitting end: “I have to go/But always know/I love you so,” Lavigne sings over a simple track highlighted by piano and strings. Like the rest of the album, she never gives any insight into the “why.” Here, she doesn’t say why she has to go—just that she “can’t hide what has come.”

Great songwriting doesn’t necessarily require specific details from the writer’s life. But, great songwriting does require some specific details, even if they’re fabricated. And the songs on Goodbye Lullaby are notably short of any such furniture. These are stories about loss, about walking away, about the end of things, but they fail to communicate anything meaningful about those topics—just an overbearing sense of defeat that seeps into every part of the album.

Our rating: ★★★☆☆ 

There’s no shocking girl-on-girl action, no cotton candy-laced teenage dreams and no flashing of peacocks in the California sunshine. “E.T.” is raw sexual energy set to a dark, thumping, rave-inspired beat. And although Perry’s voice has never sounded bigger or richer, that energy alone is not enough to save what is otherwise a thoroughly second-rate song that’s plagued by an ill-conceived concept.

In “E.T.,” Perry sings that she’s ready for abduction, as well as the relatively innocuous lines, “Infect me with your lovin’/Fill me with your poison.” But as the song pounds along to a beat ripped from Russian duo t.A.T.u.’s 2002 hit “All The Things She Said,” the constant string of outer space metaphors quickly grows tiresome.

The song never rises to more than that multitude of metaphors, seemingly searching for as many different ways as possible to say the same thing (though never actually saying anything). The cut’s just over three minutes long, but by the time the easily-predicted ambient breakdown rolls around at the 2:07 mark, you’re likely to feel as though you’ve been thoroughly bludgeoned by the song’s weird commitment to its equally weird theme.

Perry’s trio of super producers (Dr. Luke, Max Martin and Ammo) have rendered this entirely danceable, but some of the lyrics (which they co-wrote with Perry) are unintentionally hilarious. In addition to calling the object of her affection “an alien,” Perry refers to him as “supersonic” (he’s very fast?) and says she wants to be “filled by his poison” (I don’t even want to know).

The line “Fill me with your poison” isn’t delivered with the same knowing smirk as “I wanna see your peacock.” Perry sings it with a straight face, apparently oblivious not to the sexual meaning of it but to the pure awkwardness of its construction.

All of this results in a slice of audio genre fiction that never transcends its plot, and which seems almost too ridiculous to actually come from the hands of four people as talented as these.

Young men are repeatedly painted as deceitful, hormone-driven sex fiends willing to do or say anything to get into a girl’s pants, and they bear the full burden of failed relationships. The narrators themselves oscillate between ‘good girls’ who know better than to fall for Young Billy’s shenanigans, naïve hearts who give themselves away only to have their innocence plucked from their unwitting grasps, and “wildflowers” who flaunt their sexuality by shaking their asses (on “Merry Go Round”) and who—in one case—make clear their intentions by planting a kiss on the lips of an unsuspecting stranger (“Sugar”).

Which one of those narrators appears in a given song is entirely dependent upon what is needed to facilitate that particular exercise in requisite subject matter. Like its lead single “Wildflower,” The JaneDear Girls’ debut album is comprised of the raw ingredients that are often perceived to be the building blocks of contemporary country music, without much consideration for how those ingredients might work together to form something substantial.

Those songs run through the gamut of stock characters, predictable themes and old clichés, as if all it takes for a country music album to be enjoyable is for that album to touch on as many of the expected settings and scenarios as possible.

That’s not all it takes, of course, and this album suffers from the fact that there’s no point at which any of its material converges—it’s like a big X/Y graph labeled “COUNTRY,” with each song representing a randomly placed dot.

A great album doesn’t necessarily have to be thematic, but the less the songs work together the more they should work as isolated numbers. Unfortunately, the songs on The JaneDear Girls fail to ever break out of their roles and offer more than just a sketch of a particular stereotype. “Shotgun Girl” makes no statement that can’t be derived from its title, and seems to exist only to provide the singer both the chance to mention riding in a “big ol’ truck” and the space for the obligatory reference to listening to “Waylon, Willie and Merle” while driving around in said truck.

Likewise, “Merry Go Round” (which features truly pointless T-Pain style autotuning on the vocals) gives the girls a chance to sing about dirty dancing, but the hook rings empty—since when is a female butt referred to as a “merry?”

The song that most characterizes this album’s great fault, however, is “Saturdays in September” (which was written by a five-head committee featuring Jeffrey Steele). The song aims to add a dash of teen drama through a tale of first love set against a backdrop of autumn. But it never actually defines why September is relevant in the lyrics—it assumes that listeners are familiar with the canon of coming-of-age songs that are set in autumn, and it tosses out lyrics that mention “Friday nights” and “the thrill of fall” in hope that there mere utterance of those phrases will trigger the desired emotional attachment.

To some degree, it works. But that’s only because our popular culture—including country music—has been saturated with stories about September, October and November. This, we’re lead to believe, is when teenagers fall in and out of love.

“Saturdays in September” epitomizes The JaneDear Girls because it, like the rest of material contained on the album, asks listeners to accept art that is merely perfunctory. The album asks listeners to accept that just mentioning September is good enough to stir nostalgia about autumn, and it asks them to pretend that they haven’t heard all of these songs—and not just the themes, but the actual nuts and bolts of the lyrics—over, and over, and over.

That’s just not reality. Brown and Leverett have compiled a collection of common songs, and among all of the posturing and point-plotting you’ll find not a single genuinely uncommon one among the bunch. And, unfortunately, nothing matches the relative exuberance of “Wildflower,” which is the closest they come to showing any unforced personality.

On top of all of that, the duo makes a surprisingly weak first impression as a vocal force. As individual singers, their voices lack color and power. Perhaps to combat that, much of the album is performed in robotic harmony that does them no favors. These tepid vocal performances are backed by typically anonymous sounding session tracks that are every bit as boring and worn as the lyrics.

There are many reasons why some artists get signed to record deals while some don’t, and there are many reasons why some artists who do get signed to record deals never have a great deal of success. I wouldn’t be so bold as to venture a guess as to why The JaneDear Girls were signed to Reprise, but I will say that a long list of female duos—many of whom were immensely talented—have come and gone from country music’s landscape with little fanfare. The Kinleys, Regina Regina and The Lynns are among my favorites from that long list. Why would The JaneDear Girls succeed where all of those acts (and many more) have failed?

Their debut album does nothing to answer that question. Nothing here represents a demonstration of anything but rudimentary talent. And if it becomes a hit, it will certainly be for reasons other than because of how it sounds.

Our rating: ★☆☆☆☆ 

With Songs of the Statler Brothers, Cracker Barrel demonstrated that it was not only capable of landing a marquee act, but also that it was interested in producing valuable original content for its customers. Following that initial release comes The Grascals & Friends: Country Classics With A Bluegrass Spin, a robust release that could have found a worthy home with any label that deals in bluegrass or roots music.

The disc features the renowned sextet—perhaps one of the greatest bluegrass outfits ever assembled—performing hits from country music’s past, accompanied by some of modern country music’s biggest stars.

On the surface, it all seems like a recipe for disaster: Take a bunch of old hits, enlist some A-list friends for name credibility and throw it all together on a made-for-retail album that’ll be sold alongside pecan logs and pancake mix.

But there’s something truly fresh about much of the material here, and to an extent that’s because of the songs not included. “Folsom Prison Blues” (with Dierks Bentley) is among the offerings, as is “The Devil Went Down To Georgia” (with Charlie Daniels), and these two huge hits are ubiquitous songs that are instantly recognizable even to people who never listen to country music.

The rest of the album, however, contains a more nuanced selection of material. That’s not to say that songs like Buck Owens’ signature hit “I’ve Got a Tiger by the Tail” (performed here with Brad Paisley) and Mel McDaniel’s “Louisiana Saturday Night” weren’t big hits that still resonate today—indeed they are. But these songs aren’t among country music’s most covered or most identifying songs. They aren’t, that is, the kinds of songs that are so ubiquitous that deviating too drastically from their traditional arrangements and approaches could sound jarring or disorienting.

Choosing songs such as these afforded The Grascals a great deal of flexibility, and the band used that to infuse the material with a truly fresh, updated and innovative sound. Paisley’s lucid guest vocals and stellar lead guitar work bring color to “Tiger by the Tail,” a take that sounds so current that it could very well have been culled from one of Paisley’s own records.

Likewise, the group breathes new life into George Jones’ 1959 hit “White Lightning,” through a driving rhythm track and spectacular lead guitar work by Kent Wells that brings the cut back to its rockabilly roots. (“White Lightning” was written by J. P. Richardson.)

“White Lightning” is a classic, but it’s never sounded better than it does here.

Elsewhere, the group employs yet more inspired selections, such as Tom T. Hall’s “The Year Clayton Delaney Died” (a #1 hit from 1971) and The Oak Ridge Boys’ “Leaving Louisiana in the Broad Daylight” (a #1 hit from 1979). Both artists join The Grascals here, and both sound more energized and full of vigor than they have in quite some time.

The album falters a bit with one of its two originals, the immensely heavy-handed “I Am Strong.” The song was inspired by a trip the band made to St. Jude’s Children’s Research Hospital, and though it’s certainly a well intentioned number, it’s far too topical to offer any real musical or literary value.

Performed with Dolly Parton (who The Grascals once served as the backing band for, and later as an opening act for), “I Am Strong” would fit wonderfully in project specifically designed to raise money for the hospital. As part of a broader album, however, it sounds out of place—especially when it appears alongside the spectacular songwriting on Country Classics….

As a spotlight track, it misrepresents the kind of music contained on this album.

Aside from “I Am Strong,” however (which actually appears twice on the album, once with Parton and once with a cast of singers), this is a hugely lovable and entertaining record that’s certainly worthy of more attention than it will receive.

Many of these songs haven’t received such thoughtful treatments in ages, and it’s The Grascals vision—not just their application of bluegrass twists—that ultimately makes this record sound current and compelling. If you’re a mainstream country fan who doesn’t typically buy bluegrass albums, buy this one. And if you’re a lover of both, this is essential.

Newfield’s most defining song, however, was her 2008 debut solo effort, a song that—by chart standards—doesn’t distinguish itself from already-forgotten Trick Pony ditties like “Pour Me” (#12) and “Just What I Do” (#13).

“Johnny and June” finished its mediocre chart run at #11, but you can’t always judge the relevance of a song by its chart run alone. There’s something about that song—a lyric which possess no particularly fresh or notable songwriting—that feels essential. “And when you go, I wanna go too/Like Johnny and June” is an enormously simple hook, but Newfield belts it with devastating conviction.

When we hear her sing those lines, we know exactly what she craves more than anything in the world: a love so deep and encompassing that she can’t bear to live once she loses it.

Who among us doesn’t crave that? “Johnny and June” aches for a love so strong it sustains us until it kills us.

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That’s a desire that transcends a piece-by-piece analyses of the lyrics and what they say. That’s what great hooks do—they communicate something beyond just what they mean. “Johnny and June” communicates an essential, fundamental desire—and that makes us want to blast it from our radios for the world to hear. We all want a love like Johnny and June, and when we hear that hook we say, “Yes! That’s me!” It’s not a cerebral thought, but a feeling that comes from a much deeper place.

Listen to Newfield’s new single (her first since 2009) and you’ll hear something entirely different. “Stay Up Late” is carefully calculated piece of focus-group country that tells an unremarkable story about an unremarkable night in the lives of two unremarkable people.

Some of the world’s greatest songs are about unremarkable people, however, and there’s certainly something happening in “Stay Up Late” that’s worth writing about. In fact, there’s something indelibly magical about two lovers coming together and sharing each other in an intimate moment.

But “Stay Up Late” only explains the process by which that might occur, not the reasons why the singer wants or needs it. The song describes something we can relate to, but it doesn’t really affect us on any meaningful level. It deals with what is, but not why.

What’s interesting about two people staying home, drinking wine and making love? This song never moves beyond the surface of its topic and into the guts of the matter. It’s the passion and desire at the root of this story that makes it a worthwhile one to tell, not the action itself.

This is a criticism I’ve levied against other songs, but is appropriate here: “Stay Up Late” is about sex and passion, but it contains hardly any of the former and none of the latter. There’s just nothing sexy about this unbearably ordinary song, and that fact leaves it sounding safe and inconsequential.

In other words, it’s the polar opposite of “Johnny and June.” And it aims for and accomplishes so little that it’s unlikely to help Newfield move beyond the legacy of that song.

The emergence of Americana as a full-fledged genre with a distinct audience complicates the issue even more. Many of the artists embraced by Americana (like 2010 “Artist of the Year” Ryan Bingham) make it a point say that they’re not country, yet many of Americana radio’s most played albums in 2010 came from artists like Willie Nelson and Patty Loveless.

So, creating a list of the year’s “best country music” is as much an art as it is a science. Why is Taylor Swift called country, but Justin Townes Earle isn’t?

To some extent, it has to do with proclamation. Does the artist in question consider himself or herself to be a country artist? And, to some extent, it has to do with context. Does the music fit what a reasonable person would think of as country music?

Finally, and perhaps most of all, it has to do with how the definer hears the music. Sugarland says they’re a country band, and The Incredible Machine was marketed as a country album. Surely, if you ask most people what kind of music The Incredible Machine is, they’ll say it’s country music. When I listen to that album, however, I don’t hear anything that relates back to any of the things that I know country music to be. Not the production, the musical approach or the construction of the lyrics.

Of course, I reviewed that album right here on this country blog.

Every case is unique, and every case has to be evaluated based on whatever criteria one chooses to use. Many of the artists on this list could have be featured on one of our country lists. They weren’t, but that doesn’t mean they shouldn’t be mentioned in conversations about country music.

I hope that this list inspires you to explore music that you might have otherwise missed.

To help you along with that exploration, we’ve created a MOG playlist that features all of the “recommended tracks” from this list. MOG is a brilliant, cloud-based music application that gives you access to over 8 million songs on your computer or mobile device for $10 per month. I use the mobile app every day on my iPhone, and can either stream songs or download them to listen to when I’m offline. I don’t normally pitch products on this blog, but MOG is a service that I genuinely believe in and hope you’ll check out. When you sign up for a free trial by clicking on the button above, you also help support American Twang financially.

Once you’ve signed up for a free trial by using this link, you can listen to the playlist here.

#10. Madison Violet – No Fool For Trying

Brenley MacEachern and Lisa MacIsaac’s third full-length album doesn’t fully capture the energy of the Canadian duo’s stage show, but No Fool For Trying is still a beautifully crafted collection of bluegrassy folk and acoustic pop songs on which the singers’ exquisite voices are backed by a quartet that features acoustic guitar, banjo, fiddle and upright base–with a dash of accordion for flavor. It’s not the crispest album released this year, but No Fool For Trying is a great choice if you’re in the mood for some calm, soothing roots tunes.

Recommended tracks: “The Ransom,” “Lauralee” and “No Fool For Trying“

#9. Eilen Jewell – Butcher Holler

The better of the two Loretta Lynn tribute records released in 2010, indie artist Eilen Jewell brings a sexy jazz swagger to her delivery of these classic songs, and outstanding electric guitarist Jerry Miller fleshes them out with rockabilly-informed solos.

Recommended tracks: “This Haunted House,” “Whispering Sea” and “You Wanna Give Me A Lift.”

#8. Peter Cooper & Eric Brace – Master Sessions

This album’s title is no misnomer. Master Sessions features the musianship of Dobro icon Mike Auldridge (Seldom Scene), pedal steel legend Lloyd Green and electric guitar guru Richard Bennett, with guest vocal appearances by Julie Lee, Jon Randall and even Kenny Chesney. Top that off with Cooper and Brace—two gems of Music City in their own right—and you have a throughoughly enjoyable record. Master Sessions features a mix of covers and originals, and while the songwriting isn’t quite as sharp as that found on Cooper’s 2010 solo album (The Lloyd Green Sessions), it has a fuller and more robust sound.

Recommended tracks: “Wait A Minute,” “Silent Night” and “Behind Your Back.”

#7. Ray Wylie Hubbard – A: Enlightenment B: Endarkenment (Hint: There Is No C)

Hubbard mixes blistering slide guitar with grungy electric riffs on this raw and compelling release that draws from blues, rock, gospel and country wells. “Drunken Poet’s Dream” was written by Hayes Carll, and was named the 2010 Americana Music Association’s “Song of the Year.”

Recommended tracks: “A: Enlightenment B: Endarkenment (Hint: There Is No C),” “Drunken Poet’s Dream” and “Whoop And Hollar.”

#6. Tift Merritt – See You On The Moon

Tift Merritt is a singer-songwriter with a haunting flutter of a voice whose songwriting is poetic in the best ways, and See You On The Moon is a sensitive, thoughtful collection that manages beauty without seeming frail, airy or timid. These songs are hopeful but realistic and sung with the conviction of a woman who has something important to say to the world.

Recommended tracks: “Mixtape,” “All The Reasons We Don’t Have To Fight” and “The Things That Everybody Does.”

#5. Bobby Bare, Jr. – A Storm, A Tree, My Mother’s Head

It’s hard to go wrong with an album that includes terrifying song titles like “Your Goat Is On Fire,” “A Storm – A Tree – My Mother’s Head” and “Liz Taylor’s Lipstick Gun.” This is a somewhat bizarre record that takes a few listens to truly appreciate, but Bare is an inventive songwriter who is worth the effort.

Recommended tracks: “Rock And Roll Halloween,” “Don’t Go To Chattanooga” and “Swollen But Not The Same.”

#4. Ray LaMontagne – God Willin’ & The Creek Don’t Rise

“Beg Steal or Borrow,” which legions of listeners mistakenly believed was a Joni Mitchell song, brought folk singer LaMontagne a wealth of mainstream attention. The little single grew and grew until we were hearing it in places that folk and Americana artists seldom penetrate. In turn, LaMontagne’s reputation grew and his album became something of a celebrity fetish. Fortunately, it’s a worthy obsession.

Recommended tracks: “Beg Steal or Borrow,” “Repo Man” and “New York City’s Killing Me.“

#3. Shawn Mullins – Light You Up

Atlanta’s Shawn Mullins co-wrote Zac Brown Band’s #1 “Toes,” but his country tendencies shine brightest on Light You Up, which received a five-star review from our sister site American Noise. Mullins is a storyteller at heart, and songs like “Catoosa County,” “Can’t Remember Summer” and “The Ghost of Johnny Cash” fit firmly within the scope of modern Americana music.

Recommended tracks: “The Ghost of Johnny Cash,” “Catoosa County” and “Can’t Remember Summer.”

#2. Justin Townes Earle – Harlem River Blues

Good luck finding a more compelling folk singer alive today than Justin Townes Earle. Although he has only three albums under his belt so far, in my book he’s already eclipsed his father Steve as both a singer and a songwriter. Harlem River Blues may be jarringly less country-sounding than its predecessors, but the collection delivers more songs that will go down as some of the best of the era.

Recommended tracks: “Harlem River Blues,” “One More Night In Brooklyn” and “Christchurch Woman.”

#1. Brandon Flowers – Flamingo

It’s rare in this age of single-song downloads to find an album that contains no dispensable parts, but Brandon Flowers’ Flamingo is a masterfully cohesive and compelling record from beginning to end. Once you start listening to this rootsy yet forward-looking rock album, you won’t be able to turn it off. A special and visionary album, Flamingo was 2010’s best by leaps and bounds.

Recommended tracks: “Crossfire,” “Jilted Lovers & Broken Hearts” and “Hard Enough.”

Also read:
The 50 Best Country Songs of 2010 [American Twang]
Top 10 Country Music Albums of 2010 [American Twang]
10 Worst Country Albums of 2010 [American Twang]
The Best Country Music of 2010 [PopMatters]
The Best Country Songs of 2010 [The 9513]
Top 10 Bluegrass Albums of 2010 [The 9513]
The 10 Best Country Singles of 2010 [Country Universe]
20 Hidden Treasures of 2010 [My Kind of Country]
Dogs and Duds: The Worst Singles of 2010 [My Kind of Country]
Bucky Covington’s Top 10 Resolutions for 2011 [Farce The Music]
Top Country Songs of 2010 [The Boot]
Top Country Albums of 2010 [The Boot]

And it takes a lot more to compete in today’s pop landscape than simple peppiness. When Lavigne emerged in 2002, she was something of a pop counterculture figure. She wasn’t just a singer, but a symbol for people—primarily girls and young women—who were beginning to reject the gloss of overexposed female icons like Brittney Spears and Christina Aguilera. Lavigne’s skater-punk style made her seem earthy in contrast, and her self-penned songs—full of attitude and spunk—sounded like nothing else on the radio at that time.

She wasn’t just alternative, she was an alternative.

Now, however, Lavigne is culturally irrelevant. Her style has hardly evolved since those days, and her musical style has actually devolved to the point where it’s almost as glossy as what she was once rallying against. “What The Hell” couldn’t be slicker, fleshed out by an even and consistent arrangement that sounds tired and uninspired.

For her part, Lavigne sings about “just wanting to mess around,” and that line follows the “I don’t give a damn” sentiment that underscored her earlier work. But there’s no conviction in her voice when she sings it, only resignation. By the time she gets to the hook, she sounds more defeated than defiant.

A pop song that’s neither interesting nor daring stands little chance for success, especially when its singer doesn’t have a built in audience. Since “What The Hell” does nothing to establish Lavigne as an artist with something to say that’s relevant to “right now,” it’s likely to be another notch in her growing list of chart disasters.

In a way, Brody and Cooper couldn’t be more different as artists. Cooper is a highly literate, cerebral songwriter from East Nashvile whose music is laced with folk sensibilities. Brody, also a deft wordsmith, appears firmly within the scope of modern mainstream country music.

The differences between these two artists bring to light my favorite characteristic about country music: its diversity. Almost everyone has an opinion about what country music is or should be, but there is no absolute definition of the phrase. This list contains songs from chart mainstays like Taylor Swift, Kenny Chesney and Blake Shelton, and those songs runs side-by-side with the likes of singer/songwriter Darrell Scott and bluegrass band The SteelDrivers. Perhaps none of these artists fit the traditionalist’s view of “country music,” but together they paint a portrait of what country music is today; acoustic and glossy, traditional and poppy, mainstream and left of center. Then again, isn’t that what country music has always been?

You’ll also find a couple of artists on this list whose names you wouldn’t normally expect to see mentioned in a discussion about country music. Shawn Mullins and Brandon Flowers didn’t release country albums this year, but if you listen to the songs that appear on this list I think you’ll agree that they deserve to be here.

In our countdown of the year’s 10 best country albums, I wrote that 2010 was one of the worst years for country music in a very long time. If this list proves anything, it’s that country music has a great deal to offer even in its lean times.

#50: “Who Are You When I’m Not Looking” by Blake Shelton
#49: “Mean” by Taylor Swift
#48: “Like My Dog” by Billy Currington
#47: “Family Man” by Craig Campbell
#46: “Somewhere With You” by Kenny Chesney
#45: “In The Garden By The Fountain” by Rhonda Vincent ft. Dolly Parton
#44: “Bad Angel” by Dierks Bentley, with Miranda Lambert and Jamey Johnson
#43: “Playing The Part” by Jamey Johnson
#42: “Never Grow Up” by Taylor Swift
#41: “A Crooked Road” by Darrell Scott
#40: “Rye Whiskey” by Punch Brothers
#39: “Sweet Emmylou” by Catherine Britt
#38: “Draggin’ The River” by Blake Shelton and Miranda Lambert
#37: “Dumb Luck” by Peter Cooper
#36: “Waiting On The Pain” by Rodney Hayden
#35: “A Little More Country Than That” by Easton Corbin
#34: “Bring Back My Heart” by Kasey Chambers
#33: “Mama’s Funeral” by Elizabeth Cook
#32: “Speak Now” by Taylor Swift
#31: “This Beggar’s Heart” by Darrell Scott
#30: “Route 5 Box 109” by Joe Diffie
#29: “Curse The Bed” by Laura Bell Bundy
#28: “Ten” by Jewel
#27: “Good Corn Liquor” by The SteelDrivers
#26: “Notes To The Coroner” by Chely Wright
#25: “Lover, Lover” by Jerrod Neimann
#24: “From A Table Away” by Sunny Sweeney
#23: “The Clock Was Tickin’” by Brandon Flowers
#22: “Four Walls Of Raiford” by Jamey Johnson
#21: “Ain’t No Grave” by Johnny Cash
#20: “No Regrets” by Gary Allan
#19: “Ain’t No Son” by Court Yard Hounds
#18: “Colder Weather” by Zac Brown Band
#17: “Can’t Cash My Checks” by Jamey Johnson
#16: “Catoosa County” by Shawn Mullins
#15: “As She’s Walking Away” by Zac Brown Band ft. Alan Jackson
#14: “Devil On Your Back” by Kasey Chambers
#13: “El Camino” by Elizabeth Cook
#12: “The Day Before Thanksgiving” by Darrell Scott
#11: “Little White Church” by Little Big Town
#10: “Kiss Me When I’m Down” by Gary Allan
#09: “God Help My Man” by Joey + Rory
#08: “Heroin Addict Sister” by Elizabeth Cook
#07: “Where Rainbows Never Die” by The SteelDrivers
#06: “Shut Up Train” by Little Big Town
#05: “Dear John” by Taylor Swift
#04: “Lonely At The Top” by Jamey Johnson
#03: “Hangman” by Marty Stuart
#02: “The Porch” by Dean Brody
#01: “Elmer The Dancer” by Peter Cooper

Also read:
Top 10 Country Music Albums of 2010 [American Twang]
10 Worst Country Albums of 2010 [American Twang]
The Best Country Music of 2010 [PopMatters]
The Best Country Songs of 2010 [The 9513]
Top 10 Bluegrass Albums of 2010 [The 9513]
The 10 Best Country Singles of 2010 [Country Universe]
20 Hidden Treasures of 2010 [My Kind of Country]
Dogs and Duds: The Worst Singles of 2010 [My Kind of Country]
Bucky Covington’s Top 10 Resolutions for 2011 [Farce The Music]
Top Country Songs of 2010 [The Boot]
Top Country Albums of 2010 [The Boot]