Music

Various artists
Randy Jackson's Music Club Vol. 1
Dream Merchant/Concord

Not that his versatile chops should ever have been in doubt — he's not just name-dropping when he recites his credits on the show, y'know — but there's proof here, if any scoffing hater still needed it, that Judge Dawg is indeed as badass a session cat as he'd have us believe.

Doubters should refer to the sole interesting track on this release, a version of Willie Dixon's "Wang Dang Doodle" that finds Sam Moore, Keb' Mo' and a notably inspired Angie Stone making soulful over Randy's slippery syncopated groove. It's a sharp jam, but even it is flawed: The idea that Jackson can pitch any kind of, as the song says, wang dang doodle all night long with this roster is laughable.

Paula Abdul's dreadful leadoff single "Dance Like There's No Tomorrow" sure was a tipoff trouble would be afoot here. Problem No. 1 is it's hopelessly clumsy. Problem No. 2 is that she sounds as desperate to come off youthful as Janet Jackson these days. Problem No. 3 is that someone allowed her to sing "wherever the party is, that's where I'll be in a second" — a bad, haltingly delivered line that looks particularly unattractive on her.

That flop-smash aside, it doesn't fully prepare you for some of the groaners inside Jackson's Music Club, an album considerably blander than much of the tasteless American Idol glop we've come to expect. In part that's because some serious talents are fouling up here.

Joss Stone should know better by now than to attempt a formulaic rethink of Bacharach/David's "Walk on By," then shout through it with the same numbing relentlessness Bebe Winans and Mariah Carey bring to this disc's gospel finale, which takes its inspirational feel WAY over the top. What studio vampire sucked the blood out of Van Hunt and Anthony Hamilton?

What sort of cruel, greedy mind casts Kat McPhee in a duet with Elliott Yamin, knowing he'll instantly show her up as little more than the model-hot backing vocalist she is?

But the rest of this tries to pass itself off as first-rate fresh sounds when it's anything but. How sad to see a "pro" set such a willfully pedestrian example, when you know he knows how to lay it down a whole lot hotter.

The Black Crowes
Warpaint
Silver Arrow/Megaforce

The Brothers Robinson — dirtball guitarist Richard, swaggering singer Chris — mine the hard coal of pop's southerly past to form diamonds of countryfied blues, gospel and hillbilly soul. That deeply nuanced burr and aged-whiskey whine seeps through their every chord and pore.

From the rickety ruckus of "Goodbye Daughters of the Revolution" to the open-prairie moan of "Whoa Mule," there's Mississippi mud in the blue water mixing Warpaint's true colors. Having slide guitarist Luther Dickinson on the Allmans-like ride helps Richard take to the starry "Movin' on Down the Line" with greasy ease. And covering Charlie Jackson's "God's Got It" with a soulful kick is a blessing.

But it's Chris Robinson's beat-dog howl, snippy whinnying and hippie-ish cheer guiding tunes sadly ruminative ("Oh Josephine") and sunshiny ("Evergreen") through their dustiest paces that makes Warpaint battered. It's just like the difference between an old leather jacket and a new "distressed" one. You can't fake beat.

Carlene Carter
Stronger
Yep Roc

"I'm so cool," Carlene Carter brags, with her usual wink, on the frisky number of the same title from her first album in 13 years. Back in the early '90s, before she bottomed out with drugs and alcohol, the daughter of June Carter Cash and stepdaughter of Johnny Cash really did seem like the coolest chick in country. Now back on her feet — and a grandmother, to boot — the former Mrs. Nick Lowe sounds as if she is again.

Stronger exudes a lot of the vivacious intelligence and charm of Carter's most popular work. The singer and songwriter delivers crisp, twangy rockers; sweet, acoustic-textured numbers that echo her Carter Family heritage; and some exceptional ballads.

Rick Ross
Trilla
Def Jam

Given the outsized success of Rick Ross' summer 2006 smash "Hustlin', " it'd be easy to regard the Miami rapper as a one-hit wonder. Though that single was representative of the top-notch production heard throughout his major-label debut, Port of Miami, a closer listen reveals an MC without the greatest lyrical chops. Ross relies on hooky, elongated syllables ("I'm a bawwwssss.") and a husky, deliberate flow rather than evocative wordplay.

Now, on his follow-up effort, Trilla, his limitations as an MC seem even more apparent. Meanwhile, the disc's same-sounding beats rarely impress beyond the grandiose synth-heavy productions of his debut.

In fact, the singular bombast of his beats only mirror his bold lyrical pronouncements — loud and ominous but without nuance to make the details jump out of the speaker.

Even with big-name collaborators, the results are just average. The Runners-produced "Speedin' " features a soaring R. Kelly-sung hook but awkward rhyming by Ross. And all Jay-Z ("Maybach Music") and Lil Wayne and Trick Daddy ("Luxury Tax") do is highlight the gulf in talent between them and their host.

With Trilla, Ross proves he has all the right connections, just not enough savvy to elevate his game to the next level.

Pride Tiger
The Lucky Ones
Caroline

It doesn't seem like there's much left to mine in the Thin Lizzy lode — what do you do after twin-guitar rockers like "The Boys Are Back in Town" or "Jailbreak"?

Pride Tiger has the answer on The Lucky Ones: Ditch the irony; write awesome riffs; and crank the volume, just like Thin Lizzy did. That sums up the Canadian band's full-length debut. It's an earnest homage to lean guitar rock with bluesy underpinnings.

The blues influence is most obvious in the raucous slide guitar of "A New Jones" and the searing harmonica break on the hard-driving and leathery "The White Witch Woman Blues."

The best songs on the album, though, are the quintessential summertime get-psyched rockers. "Fill Me In" breezes along like the wind through the T-top of your '72 Camaro, with dual-guitar harmony fills and a big melodic chorus.

The title track builds from a jazzy intro into a full-on rock anthem that's just begging for inclusion in the backyard party scene of the next Hollywood coming-of-age comedy.

It's not deep, and it breaks no musical ground, but that was never the point. The Lucky Ones is music for good times, and Pride Tiger might be having the best time of all.