Lana Del Rey arrives at the Pre-Grammy Gala And Salute To Industry Icons at the Beverly Hilton Hotel on Saturday, Jan. 25, 2020, in Beverly Hills, Calif. (Photo by Mark Von Holden/Invision/AP)

Lana Del Rey’s “Chemtrails Over the Country” (Polydor), is both wild and intimate, as the pop chanteuse channels Americana on a road trip through the country. The record has some shimmering moments, on cuts like “White Dress,” where she aims high lyrically and vocally, her ethereal falsetto dancing in space, barely audible. It’s a sad-sack, piano-driven song but it leave an indelible mark. Introspective and subdued at its best, Del Rey is looking for answers, “eighty miles north or south will do,” she croons. “Chemtrails” showcases her register. Known for her political posturing, Del Rey doesn’t avoid controversy on this record, much like she hasn’t during the last year of her “question for the culture.” Politics aside, which is often difficult, Del Rey can’t compete with herself on “Chemtrails,” when you compare it to her last effort, 2019’s “Norman [bleeping] Rockwell!!” On the plus side, “Chemtrails” is similar enough to her earlier work to invite comparisons to “Rockwell” and other albums, but gorgeous tracks like “Tulsa Jesus Freak,” “Dark But Just a Game,” and “Breaking Up Slowly,” the latter a collaboration with outlaw country star Nikki Lane, who co-wrote the song. She switches gears with the second-to-the-last song “Dance Till We Die,” but listeners may argue that it’s too little and too late.

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Neil Young hands out albums like Dunkins hands out coffee. On “Way Down in the Rust Bucket,” (Reprise), the veteran singer, along with his band Crazy Horse, releases a set of tracks recorded in 1990 at a small Santa Cruz, California club, called the Catalyst. The jolt: Young grooves with some odd picks and warm and wooly vibes. This is Young’s 12th live album, and the irony of the tone of this record, coupled with the name of the aforementioned club can’t be lost. This is an invigorated Young & Crazy Horse, with the chemistry fluid and flowing. This two-CD set captures riveting versions of “Like a Hurricane,” “Cortez the Killer,” and “Cinnamon Girl,” which are tossed in for healthy measure. On “Rust,” Young & Co. find it’s best to retrench themselves in previous pursuits than necessarily idle on present stature. While a good chunk of “Rust” is taken from his album, “Ragged Glory,” hearing these live versions, not quite straying from the originals, seems fresh, with a “Wish you were here” message stitched into every note.

And further distinguishing this LP is that Young felt compelled to dig through his vaults for rare performances and some stellar debuts, with “Danger Bird” and “Surfer Joe and Moe the Sleaze,” the latter an angry tirade about yuppies, making the cut. “Rust” is another gentrified collection of songs from Young’s archives and at this point, Neil is unlikely the let up.

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With the posthumous release of “No One Sings Like You Anymore, Vol. 1,” (Universal Music), the former frontman for Soundgarden and Audioslave, Chris Cornell shows not only why he had the clever knack for interpreting other people’s songs but rather that the late singer rather enjoyed it that way. There is Prince’s “Nothing Compares 2 U,” done here with some groovy chamber soul, nestled up to John Lennon’s “Watching the Wheels,” performed humbly and straight, as he makes both songs uniquely his own. Elsewhere, Cornell tackles Guns ‘N’ Roses’ “Patience” a flips it on its ear, making it a dramatic, mid-tempo ballad. “No One Sings” isn’t about Cornell’s penchant for vein-popping screeching, instead it’s an album that features his vocals with a song and subtle approach. Even Ragovoy and Mort Shuman’s bluesy “Get It While You Can,” originally scuffed by Janis Joplin, is transformed into a synth-pop track for Cornell to show off his own distinctive gruff. The album, just ten cuts, is short and sweet but producer/mixer Brendan O’Brien navigates any iffy material and orchestrates the sound and overdubs without making them sound like a glossy tribute album. It’s a shame that Cornell isn’t around to see this arc in his career. He might have really enjoyed himself.

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Just a few months after Justin Towne Earle’s death, his father Steve Earle decided to pay homage to his song with an album dedicated to Justin and his music. “J.T.” (NewWest), is surprisingly upbeat, as the elder Earle interprets his songs originals and adds a new track, the Steve Earle composition, “Last Words.” Accompanied as always by his erstwhile backing band the Dukes, Earle is heavy on the upbeat, with rowdy and rambunctious selections such as “I Don’t Care,” which is fittingly the first track, as it’s the song that launched Justin Towne Earle’s career; “Maria,” the perfect pop ditty; “They Killed John Henry,” a bluegrass stomper; and “Harlem River Blues,” a driving song if there ever was once. Through the sadness, there is beauty in each track, which come across like jaunty hoedowns. This isn’t a record about mortality or losing a son; it’s a celebration of life of a young voice silenced too soon. Under the worst of circumstances, “J.T.” is a tribute to a child. (One hundred percent of the proceeds from “J.T.” go to a trust named for his daughter, Etta St. James.

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