Singer-songwriter Joanna Newsom released her third full-length album, Have One on Me, in February.

My first listen-through of Joanna Newsom’s third official album Have One On Me left me feeling as if I had picnicked in a field of wildflowers at noontide, pedaled my vintage teal Schwinn bicycle (complete with wire basket) home to my Anthropoligie-ridden suburban cottage, in which I sang as I showered in my revamped white claw-footed bathtub, prepared myself a strawberry parfait, and were currently sitting out on my back porch eating said parfait in the late spring.

Newsom’s musical style echoes a melding of pseudo-country soul-singer Emmylou Harris and fellow Californian Tom Waits (in terms of composition and instrumentation). While Newsom herself claims no genre, she fits snugly into a modernized old-time American folk category, and is also considered to be part of the psych folk genre (began in the 60s, named for its attempt to imitate the trance-like state resulting from psychedelic drug usage.

The two-hour long, three-disc album is a refreshing commitment for the ears; each of the seventeen original songs is a pleasant experience that leaves the listener enthralled. The humanly raw and poetic nature of her lyrics captivates and pulls the listener into her world—one of oddball fantastical elfish parties and old-fashioned madrigals. Newsom’s folk-esqe poetry is complimented by the sultry, yet lively, manner in which she plucks her harp—her second signature, following close behind her quirky vocals.

Newsom’s voice is often a point of controversy for listeners. The response seems to be that her squeaks and crooning are either endearing or grating. Compared to her previous work, this album showcases subtler vocals that cater to a wider audience, especially as the album progresses. Her tone becomes more powerful and less child-like (a description often used that Newsom herself resents). This change is a result of the songstress contracting vocal cord nodules (a tissue growth that incapacitates vocal chords) early in 2009. She was able to recover and record Have One On Me in the same year.

With this album, a marvelous display of talent, creativity, and an ability to communicate personality, Newsom has firmly established her place in the ranks of this musical generation’s great singer-songwriters.

Gorillaz has always been somewhat of a novelty. The side project of Blur frontman Damon Albarn and comic book illustrator Jamie Hewlett, the band is best known for their hit singles “Clint Eastwood” and “Feel Good, Inc.” As an “animated band,” they have relied heavily on a rotating cast of guest artists and slick music videos for substance, but somehow this group of cartoon characters has enjoyed double platinum sales and five Grammy nominations.

Their newest album is titled Plastic Beach, and every song on it is crafted around a central image presented in the cover art: a lonely mansion perched atop an island formed from flotsam. The elaborately illustrated back story for the album retells the psychological tailspin of Murdoc Niccals, the cartoon “brains” and bassist of the band, who retreats to the island to record the “last LP on Earth.” During production, he learns that the island is actually an ecological disaster of collecting garbage that is growing as mankind declines.

This forms the basis for the album’s rich tones of apocalyptic paranoia. “The waves are rising for this time of year / And nobody knows what to do with the heat” sings Damon on “Rhinestone Eyes” and guest artist Gruff Rhys of Super Furry Animals warns that the “sea is radioactive” in the chorus of “Superfast Jellyfish.” The album is incredibly consistent thematically, considering the “band” has shied away from a firm identity in the past. And despite the uncertain future of the LP format, Plastic Beach is a concept album meant to be heard in its entirety.

Gorillaz has always been known as genre-bending band, but Plastic Beach explores new territory, deftly blending disparate musical styles. The album opens with a string score that fades into an electro-funk backing track for Snoop Dogg. Arabic orchestra and British grime find a home together on “White Flag.” Soul heavyweight Bobby Womack comfortably shares the mic with Mos Def on “Stylo.” De La Soul contributes the verses for “Superfast Jellyfish.” Even Mick Jones and Paul Simonon of The Clash make a brief appearance on “Plastic Beach.” These guest artists enhance Plastic Beach with their presence but are never allowed deviate too far from its wider vision.

For doubters, Plastic Beach is all the necessary proof that Gorillaz has transitioned from an MTV-fueled gimmick to a more mature musical endeavor. For fans, it shows that this so-called “side-project” may have much more in store.

Not too long before Johnny Cash died in 2003, he could still be found in his studio recording songs for the closing chapters of his American Recordings series. The final installment of those sessions (supposedly) was released last week, and is titled American VI: Ain’t No Grave. The 10-song album is mostly covers, and isn’t that different from anything we’ve heard since American V. But that’s not necessarily a bad thing. Keep reading.

True to his nature, Cash’s album begins on a note of defiance. But his challenges are no longer reserved for the wardens of San Quentin; they are instead directed at death himself. With chain gang percussion reminiscent of American V’s “God’s Gonna Cut You Down,” the record’s haunting title track has an ominous sound, as a haggard Cash taunts the reaper to try and hold him back at the moment of Christ’s return. Added to the mix is banjo plucking and foot stomping courtesy of the Avett Brothers, making for a chilling effect on the first listen.

As the album progresses, its musical tone lightens. But Cash’s assail on death does not stop. In the album’s only originally written song, “1 Corinthians 15:55,” Cash draws his inspiration from Paul’s powerful mockery of death, adopting it to his own foreseeable mortality. It is for this reason that while American VI may not offer anything new by Johnny Cash standards, it can’t be completely written off as a posthumous cash-in record for producer Rick Rubin, who has recently caught flack for releasing an album deemed by some critics as “unnecessary.” Cash knew his days were numbered; perhaps the critics should take a cue.

To be honest, the message of American VI is anything but “unnecessary.” Considering the scope of Cash’s career, the album, despite a few boring songs, is nothing short of remarkable. At death’s door, there is no fear in Cash’s voice, there are no doubts in his words; instead there is purpose. He knows where he is going, and goes willingly. Be careful. After listening to Ain’t No Grave a few times, you might just find a song you’ll want sung at your own funeral.