I can’t even pretend to offer a comprehensive list anymore. When I was a newspaper music critic, I tried to keep up with most everything. But life gets in the way, and these days I find myself much less willing to give things a chance. Hook me immediately or be consigned to the dustbin. So this is a list of favorites, not a best of.

I spent as much time listening to old favorites as I did new music this year. As such, there is only one artist on this list (King Creosote) that I hadn’t heard and/or didn’t already own something by before this year.

The nice development was the elevation of many a game. William Elliott Whitmore, Wye Oak, Tim Finn… all were artists I liked, certainly admired. But they hadn’t done anything that would earn them a spot on a list like this. But this year, all three and others really connected, taking their music to new, more exciting places.

1. William Elliott Whitmore – Field Songs
The best album of the year is also the simplest. With little more than a guitar or banjo and his deep, resonant voice, Whitmore has crafted the best album of his career. To date, his music has felt out of time, a recreation of something that came before. With Field Songs, Whitmore sings about today, but the context of his sound, which still harks back to the dustbowl days, shows how little progress we’ve made. It is a powerful socio-political statement that packs just as much of a punch musically.
“Field Song”

2. Boston Spaceships – Let it Beard
While Robert Pollard was busy leading the reunited “classic lineup” of Guided by Voices around the country, his fellow Spaceships Chris Slusarenko and John Moen were putting the finishing touches on that band’s (for now) swansong, a sprawling two-album (1 CD) set that makes good on Pollard’s quest to capture the 4 Ps: prog, pop, psych and punk. Not since his post-GBV solo bow, From a Compound Eye, has a Pollard package been so complete. Despite its length, there is hardly a weak song in the bunch (and those that are are so short you’d hardly notice). Includes Colin Newman, J Mascis, Steve Wynn and more.
“Blind 20-20″

3. Wye Oak – Civilian
Jenn Wasner is a guitar god(dess). And she has a great rock voice. And her songs have the right blend of murk and light, joy and sinister. Then there’s Andy Stack, a jack-of-all-instruments who plays drums and keyboards (usually at the same time). This band started good, got better and is now just flat out excellent. Catch them live and marvel at how this much sound can come from two people. Plus, they kill every time they visit the AV Club’s Undercover studio. As much as any act on this list, I truly can’t wait to hear what they cook up next.
“Holy Holy”

4. Feelies – Here Before
Yes, the title sounds like a commentary on the contents, and to an extent it is spot on. This does sound like the album the Feelies would have made 20 years ago to follow Time for a Witness. But it feels contemporary, too, as Glenn Mercer and Co. meet aging head on. Mercer always said he was waiting for Bill Million to return before the Feelies could be reborn, and it seems the wait was worth it (and justified). Those guitars, that beat… it’s all here. Don’t stay away so long this time, folks.
“Nobody Knows”

5. Matthew Ryan – I Remember Standing as if Nothing Could Fall
Ryan started out rocking, then took things down several notches on subsequent releases. He’d rock from time to time, but low-key melancholy was his typical speed, wrenching the emotion out of every track without the cover of loud guitars. On his latest, he finds a middle ground that allows him to harness all of his talents, all of his sounds, and the result is an album that sounds – at least on some days – like his best yet. I had a lengthy correspondence with Ryan about the album that helps to illuminate his motivations and goals for the projects.
“All Hail the Kings of Trash”

6. Tim Finn – The View is Worth the Climb
I picked this up on a lark. I’m a big, big fan of Tim’s little brother, Neil, and have come to appreciate the work of Tim as an extension of that fandom. Something clicked with this album, though, as Tim offers a mature, organic collection of songs that focus on the sweet center of these songs – the vocal melodies and the rich strums of an acoustic guitar. Tim solo always has been less manic/crazy than Tim as leader of Split Enz, but this strips things down even more. The view, or in this case, the sound, is worth the climb.
“Going Going Gone”

7. Tommy Keene – Behind the Parade
Keene has been quietly adding to his catalog over the past decade, crafting the same kind of densely layered power pop that earned him a modicum of fame in the late 1980s. Behind the Parade offers nothing new (unless you count the odd synth interlude of “La Castana”), which is exactly why it is so good. The hooks are plentiful and strong, the guitars muscular and chiming and the beat insistent. It’s as if the past 20 years never happened. Unfortunately, Keene’s profile is no higher than it was then. Thankfully, that doesn’t stop him.
“Deep Six Saturday”

8. Wilco – The Whole Love
After two albums that were perfectly fine, Wilco again experiments… a little. The experimental nature of the album has been overstated thanks to its presence at the beginning of the album. The real draw of the album is the fact that the band seems to be willing to push again, to take Jeff Tweedy’s songs as the base for improvisation rather than the be all end all. That was the case with the pleasant but unchallenging two albums that precede this one. Here, the band, by now well seasoned, pushes and pulls at these songs, taking them to unexpected places.
“I Might”

9. St. Vincent – Strange Mercy
The other female guitar shredder in the top 10, Annie Clark is the complete package. A great guitarist, a captivating singer and a top-notch songwriter, she creates music that is catchy yet quirky enough to be identifiable as her creations and hers alone. Strange Mercy is her third stunner in a row, the third collection of songs that play to her many strengths. Her music would seem to be constrained only by her imagination, which thus far seems limitless. Check her work with Beck on a deconstruction of INXS’s Kick for further evidence of her talent.
“Cruel”

10. King Creosote and John Hopkins – Diamond Mine
This was a blog discovery that hooked me immediately, and saw its profile raised throughout the year. King Creosote is an artist who reminds me of Appendix Out/Alasdair Roberts or the Harvest Ministers: quiet folk with high, warbling vocals that just work. The assistance of John Hopkins, who adds subtle touches that flesh out that skeletal sound, makes this the perfect package. To get a sense of the delicate beauty of the music made by these two, check out their Tiny Desk Concert at NPR.org.
“Bubble”

And the next 10, which includes a stunning comeback,  reliable master, two indie-supergroups, another welcome return, a poppy change of pace, a rechristened (yet unheralded talent), a bubblegummy delight, an improbably second inning and an album that succeeds despite it’s vocals being shouted at you.

11. Gillian Welch – Harrow and the Harvest
12. Nick Lowe – The Old Magic
13.  Middle Brother – Middle Brother
14. Wild Flag – Wild Flag
15. Sea and Cake – Moonlight Butterfly
16. Richard Buckner – Our Blood
17. Release the Sunbird – Come Back to Us
18. Jonny – Jonny
19. Baseball Project – High and Inside
20. Fucked Up – David Comes to Life

I’ve always admired Tim Finn‘s music, usually more than I’ve actually wanted to listen to it. Loved his work with Split Enz, thought his contributions to Crowded House gave the band a needed shot of variety at the right time, and his work with Neil in the Finn Brothers is fantastic.

But his solo stuff? Eh. There are high points, but if I made a list of favorite Finn-related discs, Tim’s work wouldn’t crack the top 10.

Until now. I clicked to listen to the single from his new album, and was hooked. “Going Going Gone” is a simple, pastoral gem, a song that serves as an aural warm blanket, perfect listening as the fall chill turns to winter cold. I took a chance and ordered the album, The View is Worth the Climb. To play off that title, the album is worth the import cost.

What makes it so good? Well, it might sound simple, but it’s the songs. Finn albums always have sounded good. He is a top-notch arranger, and his vocals are among the most distinctive in rock. But the songs weren’t always there. They seemed more hints at an idea than the idea itself. Working with Neil, he added elements that gave texture to his brother’s pop sensibilities. But on his own, he seemed to lack the hooks necessary to put a song over the top.

On The View, he brings the complete package. The songs are simple and direct, their hooks are strong. And the arrangements are simpler still. Where in the past he seemed to want to adorn his songs with bells and whistles, here they are largely conveyed with acoustic guitars and his vocals, with all other elements shading the picture rather than dominating it.

This transition began on his last album, The Conversation. It stripped things down from its predecessor, Imaginary Kingdom. The View maintains that simpler feel, but it contains better songs. Maybe I’m simply getting older and this more mellow music is now in my wheelhouse, but I think it as much that Finn is finally making music that feels organic, natural and content. Whatever the cause, it’s a winner.

The previous meeting of these two camps was billed as a fight: Antipop vs. Matthew Shipp. Perhaps that was a statement about the times, though by that point jazz and hip hop already had met, circled each other warily and eventually shaken hands. Or, more likely, it was marketing; check out this rumble between the genres! Alas, it was a respectful summit rather than a fracas.

Here, the simpatico nature of the meeting is reflected in the title. Much as on a jazz record, where the participants are simply listed, the album is credited to Matthew Shipp, William Parker, Beans and HPrizm (formerly Priest). Four men enter… and one band exits. Yes, this really is a band. As on the first album – more so, even – these musicians combine their talents to create something that often transcends the individual contributions.

At its heart, Knives From Heaven is a hip hop record. The beats and rhymes are simply too dominant for it to be anything but. However, the base of the songs is most definitely jazz. There is a swing to these songs, a skittering pulse that is uniquely Shipp’s, that grounds the music.

The person who seems to get lost here is Parker. Bass is such an important part of hip hop that this comes a surprise. It’s not that Parker isn’t there, of course, but that his work is obviously subsumed by the whole more than Shipp’s. It’s easier to here Shipp’s block chords rise and fall through some of the quieter passages of these tunes than it is to discern Parker’s low-end rumbling through.

The musical base of the individual tracks is more sample-based than on the previous album. For every tune like “Terra Cotta” or “Deadpan Stare” that is essentially Shipp and Parker as an unaccompanied duo, there are tracks where their presence would be unremarked were their names not on the CD cover. Part of this stems from the fact that drummer Guillermo Brown, vibraphonist Khan Jamal and trumpeter Daniel Carter – who all performed on the first disc – are absent here.

Interestingly, tracks like “Half Amazed A/B” and “Rockers Hifi” owe their hooks to short sampled saxophone lines. Too bad long-time Shipp/Parker collaborator David S. Ware wasn’t called in to really add some fire to these sessions.

At its heart, Knives From Heaven continues what Antipop vs. Matthew Shipp started, a fruitful collaboration that isn’t likely to draw hardcore fans from either genre, but which will please the open-minded few in the overlap.

R. Stevie Moore, who has recorded and released a reported 400 albums on his own and through very small, boutique labels, had never toured before the current schedule of dates that took him across the U.S. this summer.

Knowing little more than Moore’s name and that he was a quirky artist with an eclectic catalog, I supposed that this was simply in keeping with his eccentricity. But, having seen Moore perform Sunday night in Iowa City, I have a new theory: He didn’t tour because nobody bothered to ask him.

There is a reason that Moore has self-released his music. Actually, there are two. Taking no credit away from his do-it-yourself ethos, I’m sure that he was content, if not resolute, in releasing his own work. But that work is at best a bit off kilter, at worst nearly unlistenable.

All of that was on display in the live setting. Moore was clad in a pair of red pajamas and a green silk jacket with “Brooklyn” embroidered across the chest. He was backed by the Brooklyn band Tropical Ooze, an unfortunate name for a perplexing band. After a short set during which the band tried on a number of styles, none with much success, Moore joined them on stage. He played bass and read his lyrics off sheets stacked on a music stand (one item on the merch table was a $60 collection of CDRs promising 922 songs; given that output, he can be forgiven for needing assistance remembering his own work).

Things started promisingly. The songs had a melodic thread and instrumental verve that Tropical Ooze lacked when playing its own material. Moore was an oddly captivating presence, like a recluse who stepped out to get the morning paper only to be surprised when an instrument was thrust in his hands and a crowd materialized to watch his performance. But when he played the closest thing to a hit he has penned, the mid-80s oddity “I Like to Stay at Home,” it was clear this was not going to be a top-shelf show. Moore’s voice, never a clarion of pop perfection, seems to have largely abandoned him, leaving the singer to shout his lyrics angrily, changing the tenor of the song from content to sociopathic.

After just a handful of songs, the musicians left the stage. Tropical Ooze’s members took up spots in the crowd and Moore returned alone. He grabbed a guitar and started pacing back and forth across the stage, speaking (one couldn’t call it singing) into the microphone each time he passed. His strums occasionally resolving into chords, he began lyric that seemed to be about perusing the menu in a seafood restaurant. Great pop songs have been built on less – this wasn’t one of them.

When the next “song” continued in similar fashion, the lure of the pillow proved to be too great. Perhaps it was seeing Moore in his pajamas, but I was more interested at that point in sleep than in giving the mental energy necessary to find anything redeeming in Moore’s performance. So, take this criticism with a grain of salt. It’s possible that he pulled it together and absolutely killed in the latter half of his set. For the sake of the couple dozen people who were braver/more dedicated than I, I certainly hope that was the case.

If there is a silver lining, it is that I spent some time before the show familiarizing myself with Moore and his work. His is a name that floated around my periphery. I was aware of him but not necessarily his achievement. His web site has a lot of free material to peruse, and I’ll spend some more time with it in the coming weeks. Interest in Moore seems to be peaking, as far as that goes, with a documentary film in the works and some of his most high-profile releases having come in the past couple of years. It makes sense; when you last as long as Moore has, that simple fact generates interest. But it’s a shame that Moore wasn’t coaxed out onto the road a decade or two ago when he could perform in a way that lived up to, rather than tore down, his reputation.

Back when we were dating, I wooed my wife with occasional mixtapes (yes, I’m that old). On an early one, I included (perhaps even began with) Freedy Johnston’s “Two Lovers Stop.” I did so because it’s a great song, a driving little pop number that was among the most accessible on his then-new album. Listening once, she asked me, “Should I be worried that you put a song on here about a couple committing suicide together?” Somewhat horrified, I assured her that she shouldn’t, and vowed to pay a bit more attention to the lyrical content of the songs I gave her.

That points out, as clearly as anything, that I’m into music for the music. If a clever lyric snags my attention, so much the better, but I need a big fat hook to grab me or all bets are off. Having learned my lesson, I was smart enough a couple of years later to put Johnston’s “You Get Me Lost,” a clear-cut love song, on a subsequent tape.

This came to mind because, as I sat listening to Johnston perform a solo set last night, I was struck by the words to songs I’d heard for 20 years. A song like “Mortician’s Daughter,” performed because he was playing at the Yacht Club, housed in what was once an Iowa City funeral home, has depths that I’d never really plumbed. It’s a melancholy little gem, with keen details about the singer and the girl in question drawing hearts on dusty coffin lids. But, really listening to the song for the first time — as opposed to just hearing the melody and music — I heard the short-story worthy tale being told.

As a writer, I marveled at the economy of Johnston’s lyrics, able to convey complex emotional situations in a line or two.  That’s a big part of why his music continues to resonate. Yes, it lodges in the ear because it’s catch and unique, but it has permanence because there’s always something new to discover and marvel over. In a set that hit high points from throughout his career, he proved himself to be a remarkably consistent  songwriter.

His set (not in exact order): We Will Shine/Remember Me/Lonely Penny/Cruel to Be Kind (Nick Lowe)/The Morticians Daughter/Underwater Life/Don’t Fall in Love with a Lonely Girl/You Get Me Lost/Bad Reputation

My fandom of Marshall Crenshaw has gone on even longer than that for Johnston. I first encountered Crenshaw when I was in high school and checked out the vinyl album Attack of the Killer B’s from my library. It was a compilation of B-sides from Warner Brothers artists, released in 1983. I probably picked it up in 1985 or so, tempted by a rarity by then-new discovery Talking Heads. But it was Crenshaw’s “You’re My Favorite Waste of Time” that hooked me. Oddly, it didn’t lead me to go get his first album, but I did pick up a copy of Downtown on cassette for cheap not long after.

I’ve since acquired Crenshaw’s entire catalog, and save for his last couple of albums that aren’t quite as immediate for me, there’s nary a bad song  in the bunch, and a whole lot of classics. Crenshaw’s set last night began with a mix of relatively recent material, and I found myself appreciating it more in this setting. The hooks aren’t as towering, but like contemporary Nick Lowe, he has found a way to offer a more subtle, no less satisfying take on roots-inflected pop.

As the set continued, he began to salt it with more “old stuff,” playing a good chunk of his debut album. He avoided much of his middle catalog, however, opting only to indulge a shouted request for “Like a Vague Memory” and zipping through “Fantastic Planet of Love” from the underappreciated Life’s Too Short. His guitar playing was stellar and clearly the focus. His vocals took on a jazzier tone, with oft-times different phrasing from what fans have heard on record for years.

His set (Not in order and not complete): Someday Someway/Girls/Cynical Girl/Mary Anne/Like a Vague Memory/Fantastic Planet of Love/What Do You Dream Of?/2541/Dime a Dozen Guy/Television Light/Passing Through/Live and Learn/My Favorite Waste of Time/Something’s Gonna Happen/Nervous Breakdown (Eddie Cochran)/Crying, Waiting, Hoping (Buddy Holly)

The marvel of this show is how intimate it was. Each performed alone standing on a six-inch stage in the corner of what is essentially a basement, about 60 people scattered about taking it in. At one time, each man was slated for bigger things, but each proved to be a blip on the pop culture radar rather than a fixture. That meant a harder life for them, but surely a more creatively satisfying one as well. And it meant being a few feet away from two of the best songwriters of the past 20 years (30 in Crenshaw’s case) for a night of great song after great song.

OK, so good intentions and all that. I had planned to offer a daily blow-by-blow of the Mission Creek Festival, and here it is a week after it got done, and I’ve yet to make good on the promise. Here’s what happened: life got in the way. The busiest week and work I’ve had in years coincided with the festival, so I was lucky to see all of the shows I did, let alone report on them. So, here, with a week’s worth of hindsight, is a quick wrap-up, highlighting all the bands I saw.

British Sea Power: A review I read of the band’s new album said something to the effect that BSP had made another compelling record that was once again free of hooks. That sounds harsh, but in a way, it’s true.  Save for the chantlike first single, “Who’s in Control?” there is nothing from the set I can recall, and certainly nothing I found myself humming even as I walked back to my car after the show. Yet it was a pretty great set, an arena-sized performance crammed into a small club. Roaring guitars, inventive songs and a slithering violin snaking through the proceedings made this a great way to start the festival. Openers A Classic Education have internalized whole genres that petered out before they were born, offering up a nice mix of shoegaze and Sarah Records-era pop.

Railroad Earth: I described this as jam band bluegrass, and that comes as close to the truth as anything. Great, fast picking, wonderful harmonies, and songs that went on far too long. When the band played together, it was really nice. When the individual members took interminable solos, not so much. I saw five songs in 45 minutes and, having had my fill, took off. The beauty of the all-access pass.

Jeff Tweedy: This was probably the most entertaining and most puzzling show of the fest. I had read a review of Tweedy’s show from the previous night, which reported that the crowd was unruly and obnoxious. I began to wonder about halfway through the set if that’s something Tweedy brings on himself. He’s not obnoxious, far from it. But he has developed a sharp wit and a masterful stage presence, and it is as if his stance –whether by design or default — seems to encourage the crowd to test him. So, while his song choice and performance was top-notch as always — a solo version of “Wilco (the song)” proving he can do just about anything in that context — the crowd took things out of his hand for a while. At one point, a drunken girl shouted, “my dad is the mayor of Cedar Rapids!” “Now we know who you are,” Tweedy said. He subsequently played the Handsome Family’s “So Much Wine” as a sort of kiss off.

Thurston Moore/Kim Gordon: This was the let down of the festival. A Q&A with the Sonic Youth founders that was moderated by University of Iowa professor Kembrew McLeod was often boring, with the two laconic artists rarely engaged, and McLeod’s questions ranged from too specific to too self-serving (yes, you know Public Enemy. Good for you). A show later that evening with the amazing drummer Chris Corsano was also a dud. The pair had promised two sets — one of noise, the other of “song-based” material. Instead, we got one slightly longer set of noise, capped with a slightly less noisy song where Kim Gordon “sang.” I had hoped for material like that found on Moore’s fairly brilliant Trees Around the Academy release, but instead got the typical head-down noodling and feedback that is interesting only in the service of a song.

Guided by Voices: This was the highlight of the festival. Anyone who reads this with any regularity knows GBV is my favorite band, so the chance to see the reunited group about a mile from my house (after having traveled to Minneapolis and Chicago to see them last fall) was wonderful. Of the three reunion shows I saw, this was the best. I think the size of the room and my proximity account for much of that, but the set, having evolved to include a few tracks from Mag Earwhig! and excluding much of Mitch Mitchell’s ridiculous rap on the too-long reimagining of “Lethargy,” didn’t hurt. They’re playing Pitchfork and a few other places, but I think I’m sated now.

Kurt Vile: I didn’t get the hype about Vile until hearing his new album. There, promising moments coalesced into promising songs. In a live setting, some of the songs were elevated, the energy of performance giving them an extra kick. Others sagged, missing the atmosphere of the studio. Overall, the sound was less nuanced, more forecful, sounding for all the world like a second-tier Seattle band from the early 1990s (that’s not a slight; that second tier takes up significant shelf space in my CD collection). That new album and Vile’s performance moved him up my list from “mild curiousity” to “one to watch.”

Wye Oak: I’ve missed Wye Oak the past few times they have played town, but I won’t again. I’ve really liked their three albums, but I loved their set. Everything clicked for me seeing them live. Jenn Wasner is a monster on the guitar, and Andy Stack is dextrous and assured as he plays drums and keyboards simultaneously. Going back to listen to the albums after seeing the show, they have added depth and color. What a great band.

With Guided by Voices as the top-billed act, you know it’s a lock that I’m going to be all over the Mission Creek Festival. Starting tonight and running through next Monday, the festival brings dozens of music acts and authors to town for eight big nights of rockin’ and reading. In its sixth year, the festival seems to have come into its own, nabbing top-drawer acts that span genres, and putting together a schedule that is manageable and appealing.

Over the course of eight nights, there are shows I want to see on at least seven of them (a great local band that I’ve seen dozens of times plays Friday, and that might give me the chance to catch up on some sleep). I’ll write a bit about each night, which will include reports about several bands I’ve not heard before, as well as some like Jeff Tweedy, Kim and Thurston from Sonic Youth and Guided by Voices — that I have seen before.

One of the top draws is one I’ll likely pass on: filmmaker John Waters. I saw him lecture in Iowa City a few years ago, and while he was entertaining, I don’t need to hear him again.

Here’s what to expect in next day reports:

Tuesday: British Sea Power
Wednesday: Railroad Earth
Thursday:  A taping of the great Sound Opinions radio show and a solo Jeff Tweedy show.
Friday: Gordon/Moore (a lecture and performance)
Sunday: Guided by Voices
Monday: Kurt Vile
Tuesday: Wye Oak

There also are several top-notch authors in town for the fest, and as energy and life allow, I’ll check out some of them as well. Stay tuned for much more.

I came across a copy of Bob Dylan’s Saved at the local public library a couple of weeks ago, and it was the catalyst that led me to a reassessment of Dylan’s trio of so-called Christian albums, Slow Train Coming, Saved and Shot of Love.

Thirty years after the fact, these albums don’t feel like the radical departure they were depicted as at the time. That’s not to say I wouldn’t have felt that way – a sense of betrayal, really – at the time. But rather that the value of hindsight affords me the chance to hear these in the full context of Dylan’s catalog. With that context, these feel less like Dylan allowing his talents to be diminished as he channeled his new-found faith and more like an artist who was burned out finding a new subject that positively revitalized him.

I won’t get into the particulars of Dylan’s conversion – you can read much more about it elsewhere – but will instead focus on the music he made during this period. After the Rolling Thunder Revue, which seems like the culmination of his second great phase, Dylan seemed to be searching for a new direction. Street Legal, while containing its share of strong mid-period songs, seems to be an album by an artist searching for a larger narrative. On its follow-up, Slow Train Coming, Dylan has found it.

The album is clearly the strongest of the three Christian albums, as a Dylan still in full ownership of his songwriting prowess brought those powers to bear on these new lyrical pursuits. “Gotta Serve Somebody,” “Precious Angel” and “I Believe in You” are a strong 1-2-3 punch to start the album, the middle of those about as gorgeous a song as Dylan has recorded. There are clunkers here – “Man Gave Names to All the Animals” is a misguided bit of comic relief, and “Gonna Change My Way of Thinking” feels a bit hamfisted among its neighbors – but this is a potent album.

Saved is the most overtly religious of the three albums, as Dylan’s faith seems to be in full flower. This is as close as he got to a gospel album, from the praise-worthy title track to the quietly insistent gem “Pressing On.” The singer’s passion elevates some of his most pedestrian songwriting, the fiery performances making this a real joy to hear.

Shot of Love feels like the other end of the bell curve that started with Slow Train Coming. Where that album signaled the ascent of Dylan’s faith, this one records its recession, at least from a musical standpoint. The religious content is still there, of course, but the music is more interesting and thus not as beholden on the singer’s delivery for their success. That he continues to sing with verve that practically oozes a focused intent certainly delivers these songs to a place otherwise unobtainable. Classics like “Groom’s Still Waiting at the Altar” and “Every Grain of Sand” make this otherwise uneven album worth hearing.

Ultimately, these three albums are full of love songs. The problem for some is the subject of that feeling. One can try to divorce them from that source as they listen, but Dylan’s passion is difficult to ignore.

Not everything here is good, but the best of it is fairly outstanding. A playlist assembled from many of the songs mentioned above makes a 10-track collection that stands shoulder-to-shoulder with nearly anything outside of Dylan’s ’63-’66 heyday.