SOUNDCHECK: A Little Less Country

ON THE DUEL, her fourth studio album and first since leaving major labels behind, alt-country singer Allison Moorer further expands her sound, building on the hints of country-rock she brought out on last year's spectacular live album, Show. Though this is still certainly a country record, most of the songs are dominated by electric guitar, and traditional country instrumentation, including mandolin, fiddle, pedal steel and the like, is nearly nonexistent.

Like her sister, Shelby Lynne, Moorer synthesizes various influences, from rock to soul to R&B, into country music and makes something uniquely her own. On The Duel, she often channels Neil Young, especially on the opener "I Ain't Giving Up On You" and "All Aboard," which also has hints of Lucinda Williams. Then there's the haunting title track, a piano-driven apostrophe to God, the kind of thing that country music really needs more of.

That description could apply to pretty much everything Moorer does, and it's a relief to see that her label tribulations have only made her music stronger.

THIS IS MUSIC to do other stuff to. It's too shimmering, too ethereal, too spacious—it never quite pulls itself together to become a listening experience on its own. But if you've got some data entry to do, or some lengthy forms to fill out, or a term paper to finish right before class, this ringing, reverby guitar rock has definite soundtrack potential. (I can vouch for its usefulness as background music to write CD reviews to.)

It's not so New Age soothing that it disappears into the sonic background; Henry Frayne's guitar work is too evocative for that. His guitar lines move around you, rubbing your shoulders, keeping you company, content with your partial attention. (There's little sense critiquing individual tracks; they're all fashioned along the same lines.) Fans of guitar jazz will hear echoes of Bill Frisell at his most melodic; others might think of U2's The Edge in his more earnest, expansive Joshua Tree moments.

But on Highways, Frayne doesn't display anything like Frisell's bursts of angular weirdness, his tendency to quote from disparate genres. There are no wild-hair touches to break the spell. (The oddest element comes in the title cut, which is punctuated by large swaths of silence.) Rather, this is music that seamlessly evokes sweeping vistas and scenic overlooks and periods of poetic introspection when you wonder about the larger mysteries of the ... aw, hell, I'm making this sound more boring than it is. Let's say it's excellent music if you like lyrical, contemplative guitar noodling -- also, these days, who doesn't have some sustained typing to do? -- and leave it at that.