Kelly Willis: What I Deserve (Rykodisc)

It may be early days yet, but Kelly Willis's long overdue fourth album sounds a sure-fire contender for album of the year. Great songs, classy musicianship and an aching voice full of sensitivity, nuance and empathy. It is a remarkable comeback for the Austin, Texas, singer who in the early 1990s was given the Nashville treatment by MCA only to be discarded when commercial success failed to follow. Now she has teamed up with some sturdy figures of the hardcore alternative country scene, such as Gary Louris - with whom she writes a couple of tracks - and Chuck Prophet, who contributes some typically cutting guitar. Dave McNair's tasteful production strikes the right tone and pace throughout, especially on key songs like the title track and the seductive Cradle Of Love. Strongly recommended.

By Joe Breen

Paddy Hayes & Johnny Ray; "Return to Kilty" (Independent)

An old-style accordion album from Kiltyclogher in Leitrim, with Paddy Hayes showing off unhurried virtuosity over an energetic sawing rhythm. But there's plenty to pleasure the head in the melodious flow of lived-in tunes, the humour of the brusquely fluttering triplets and the belting chords that stomp over much of Johnny Ray's delicate guitar (although the latter lays some nice swing beneath the hornpipes). Hayes lays claim to a serious number of tunes here giving credit where it is due to P. J. Hernon, Cherish the Ladies, Jimmy Keane and Paddy Fahy. Originally from Piercetown in Wexford, Hayes has a big, swelling, physical sound which truly grows on you.

By Mic Moroney

Donal Lunny: "This Is My Father" (Hummingbird Records)

It's often said that many component elements of cinema are at their best when they're invisible, and Donal Lunny's minimalist, gentle and synth-heavy soundtrack is certainly soaked up by the Quinn brothers' film. This despite the presence of Sharon Shannon's accordion, Nollaig Casey's strings and other regular suspects such as John McSherry's low whistles and pipes. Occasionally the crew rouse themselves for a skite like Off To Galway; otherwise, the independent ceili band sessions are the only really punchy intrusions into a somnolent easy-listening album which, though often sweet, is little more than vapid merchandising.

By Mic Moroney