About that boy – you know, the Badly Drawn one who dreamed up the soundtrack to About a Boy along with his last, underrated studio opus, Have You Fed the Fish? (Artist Direct) within months – how does one go about topping oneself when one has gathered prizes hither and yon? When one has reached deep down into one's soul vinyl collection and come up with a fine interpretation of both Stevie Wonder and pre-"Wonderwall" Britpop? One delivers riddles like One Plus One Is One, natch, and skittles off sideways on knowing, naïve tangents informed by the puzzle-piece complexity of Love, the homebody intimacy of Nick Drake, and the gentle pedagogy of children's sing-alongs. That explains part of One Plus One Is One's equation, as embodied by the hummable kiddie chorus and positive energy of "Year of the Rat" and the cheery tambourine, piano, and hand claps of "Four Leaf Clover" – so reminiscent of the catchy musical productions of the Children's Television Workshop. Get this boy, a.k.a. Damon Gough, to Sesame Street, lickety-snickety.

Most lovable, though, are Gough's expressions of affection for cozy, creative domesticity – his own friends-and-family plan, complete with seasonal change and rattling doors. Witness heartfelt, autumnal ballads such as the title track, with its ode to togetherness; "This Is That New Song" and its fingerpicking loveliness; "Logic of a Friend," with its cocktail time heure bleu; and "Take the Glory" and its fusiony fiddles. "Summer takes all the glory / Blue skies turning to gray," he murmurs on the latter. "To live in the hearts of those that you love is not to die." The arrangements – strewn with tubular bells, brass, flute, gong, glockenspiel, and the like, with much played by Gough himself – are so interlocked that they sound like a family band, chamber folk rock crafted in one's own chambers. And perhaps that's the irony at the heart of One Plus One Is One – that such a hymn to closeness should so often come down to one, underlining the dark side of domestic bliss – the fear that it could all flutter away like so many fall leaves. (Kimberly Chun)

Amp Fiddler
Waltz of a Ghetto Fly (Pias America)

If post-soul (née "neo-soul," "alternative R&B," "retro soul," "black pop," or any of the other 47 terms used for black music beyond hip-hop and Usher) were a western, I'd cast Martin Luther and Cody Chestnutt as rebel outlaws, Van Hunt as the sweet-faced boy who saves the day, and Amp Fiddler as the wise elder statesmen of few words, the dude with the freshest horse and a steely, pith-filled gaze. Because that's how Fiddler's first solo album, Waltz of a Ghetto Fly, rides into town – smooth, solid, and without fanfare – an exercise in steady grooves and minimal hooks sporadically punctuated by hints of history that gesture toward his almost 30 years in the music industry. At 45, the Detroit native has jammed with everyone from George Clinton to Maxwell to Warren Zevon and has spent the last decade flipping soul music's script with the likes of techno pioneers and fellow Motor City denizens such as Juan Atkins, Kevin Saunderson, and Carl Craig (with whom he collaborated on last year's Detroit Experiment). You can hear these encounters threaded throughout Fiddler's productions – in the grimy funk of the title track, the buoyant live jam of "If You Can't Get Me off Your Mind," and the sexily programmed piano loops of "Unconditional Eyes," all topped nicely by the singer-keyboardist's versatile, unfussy vocals.

The understatement isn't always effective, though; the album does lack a certain oomph at times and could definitely use a few more vibrant hooks and lingering melodies amid its vamp-strewn landscape. Ah well, it's nothing the guy with the freshest horse can't take care of the next time around. Amp Fiddler plays Sat/21, Bimbo's 365 Club, S.F. (415) 474-0365. (Sylvia W. Chan)

The Concretes
The Concretes (Astralwerks)

Given their stodgily retro shtick, it's ironic that the first song on the full-length debut from the Concretes is called "Say Something New." After all, the Swedish octet's repertoire features a song about Diana Ross, another one inspired by a Supremes hit ("You Can't Hurry Love"), and about a thousand permutations on the drums from the Ronettes' "Be My Baby." But with their sharp melodies, thick arrangements, and tasteful swaths of fuzz, the Concretes somehow manage to deliver something fresh, turning a whole record shop full of old ideas into something warm and new. "New Friend" suggests a fleshier, filled-out update of the Spartan sound and feel of early Jesus and Mary Chain, while the lovely "This One's for You" is a candlelit drone eased along by singer Victoria Bergsman's warm, glassy whispers. Bergsman is especially good on "Say Something New," achieving a gloriously immovable, Hope Sandoval-like nonchalance. Besides their singer's playfully intimate diary entries and character sketches ("Foreign Country," "Chico"), the Concretes' greatest strength is their size: though their songs bear soft, brittle cores, on spirited numbers like "Seems Fine," the band's brass section makes everything they do sound grand, world-beating, and even new. (Hua Hsu)

Dave Alvin
Ashgrove (Yep Roc)

Dave Alvin's work has gotten decidedly stronger over the years. He was a tentative presence as a solo artist when he left the Blasters in the mid-'80s and went out on his own. His songwriting was his strongest suit – although at first it was less focused than the tight, tidy slices of blue-collar life he created as a Blaster for his brother Phil to sing. His feeling that the tight-knit Blasters were suffocating him was real (feelings are like that), but his work suffered without the rock-solid center of gravity drummer Bill Bateman and bassist John Bazz provided. As has been widely noted, Alvin lacked confidence in his singing, and it showed.

But if he started unevenly, his gifts were always there, and with the confidence that comes from experience, he's forged a unique place in contemporary roots music. Most Alvin fans will probably say Ashgrove – a few uptempo bluesy rock numbers and a number of finely crafted, pensive songs filled with a familiar ache – is as good as anything he's recorded so far. I'm saying that too, but with an important qualifier: Ashgrove's strengths – the clarity and focus Alvin has worked so hard for – expose a weakness he has yet to confront. Despite the shifts in style and delivery – "Ashgrove" 's bluesy shuffle, "Rio Grande" 's folksy country, "Black Sky" 's rock – Alvin's work comes alive in a nostalgic vision of the past. He has created a sepia-toned scrapbook built around imagined snapshots of long-gone days, dating back to Blasters songs like "Border Radio" and "Long White Cadillac," that, for him, evoke emotions the living, breathing present never will. If we wait long enough, Alvin might start composing aching tributes to the glorious days of the Blasters and the fine times he had with brother Phil. Should that happen, I hope someone reminds him of how that movie ended. Dave Alvin and the Guilty Men perform Sat/21, Slim's, S.F. (415) 255-0333. (J.H. Tompkins)