Raising Sand carries the same level of atmospheric intimacy as these aforementioned albums - particularly Revival - and Burnett's tried and true quasi-antique production technique serves Plant and Krauss astoundingly well. Rather than just sounding like an Alison Krauss record "with special guest Robert Plant" or vice versa, what we have here is something altogether different.

Neither party seems to be relying too heavily upon the familiar Krauss-isms/Plant-isms - instead Raising Sand feels like the end result of two prominent artists declaring "to hell with what everyone expects of me" and opting for a bit of a challenge in the studio. And Burnett apparently was the perfect man for the job. Both vocalists have managed to sound curiously, alluringly "unlike themselves" at times on the record. But how? And how did he coerce such fascinating vocal turns from them and yet still manage to play it off like they've played together since day one? Can't wait to hear who he produces next.

Raising Sand starts off with "Rich Woman," an after-hours swampy hip-wiggler so humid you can see the ceiling fan whirring overhead. Plant's lazy braggadocio about a wealthy girlfriend who takes care of him (despite his wandering ways) - delivered in a coolly confident croon over a shuffling beat and wobbly guitar from Burnett and the inimitable Marc Ribot - is paired with a slightly pained harmony vocal from Krauss, suggesting that the woman in question is at least aware she's being used. Did I mention that this song is slinky? Might as well add sultry and sweaty to that list while we're at it, and how about one more: sordid. Why do I keep feeling like it's all going to end really, really badly? But hey, at least I'll be dancing when it all falls apart.

Its follow-up, "Killing the Blues," offers a gloriously restrained Plant falsetto floating the rueful observation "somebody said they saw me / swinging the world by the tail" over a heartbreaking pedal steel guitar, while Krauss' s harmonies hammer home the sorrow. Easiest point of comparison? Emmylou Harris's Wrecking Ball (Elektra), definitely. Krauss turns in a stunning Emmylou-esque delivery sure to shut the mouths of those who have in the past criticized her for sounding "too chirpy." As unfortunate as it might be to be faulted for coming across as too happy, I have to say it: she's simply stunning when she hits the sad notes. Raising Sand has plenty of 'em. Perhaps the other best example is "Polly Come Home," a Gene Clark ballad given a haunting-as-hell makeover, drenched in misty-moor ambiance and kept five feet above the ground thanks to billowing vocal harmonies.

But do they ever let loose? Mercifully so - after all, what's the point of a Robert Plant album that doesn't give room for a little belt-it-out? And who could ever deny the ever-smiling Alison Krauss a few moments of pure full-throated exuberance? As much as ole T-Bone does favor the slow and mid-tempo numbers, he does have the good sense to make sure our collaborators cut it up from time to time. Rollicking Everly Brothers cover "Gone Gone Gone (Done Moved On)" includes a few trademark blues-yowls from Plant, and the shake-a-tail-feather country-rock romper "Let Your Loss Be Your Lesson" offers a strutting Krauss at the mic, even indulging in a few Plant-isms of her own. Here's hoping she keeps it coming.

What's next? A tour, perhaps? Pretty please? Nothing's official yet, but that's the buzz going around. In the meantime, if you want to see what the two of 'em look like together in the same room, feast your eyes on this short film about the making of the album.