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I don’t own a single Johnny Cash album, but I have to say I miss him.

When his career got a boost in the early ’90s, I didn’t understand it. The idea of a country singer covering Soundgarden sounded, well, cheesy.

That was before 1995, when Emmylou Harris’ Wrecking Ball formally introduced me to the genre. (Pleased to meet you!)

And it was Cash who inspired Harris to back away from a Nashville label deal, go independent for a few years, then write her own moody material on two albums for the eclectic Nonesuch label.

I’m not sure whether Cash had any bearing on Loretta Lynn’s decision to work with the White Stripes’ Jack White on Van Lear Rose, but it does seem to follow a generational gap.

The artists country radio have long left behind are connecting with audiences country radio wouldn’t bother with.

Cash singing Nine Inch Nails. Harris working with U2 drummer Larry Mullen, Jr. Now Lynn working with Jack White.

It’s producing some of the most rocking country music in recent memory, and it’s leaving the current crop of country charttoppers in the dust.

I mean, really — Kenny Chesney, the crown prince of male country singers, is working with … Uncle Kracker?

By now, a lot of ink has already been spilled about the forceful clarity and sheer bravado of Lynn’s performance on Van Lear Rose.

“Write what you know” may be somewhat disparaged in pockets of the literati, but for some songwriters, they can plumb the depths of personal experience and still have a lot leftover.

The songs on Van Lear Rose follow in Lynn’s style of homespun tales. She not out to make a statement about the criminal justice system on “Women’s Prison”, nor about the sanctity of marriage on “Family Tree”, nor about poverty in “Little Red Shoes”.

She just reports the happenings, thank you, and lets you make up your own mind about them. These aren’t fables.

(She does, however, get preachy on “God Makes no Mistakes”.)

What makes Van Lear Rose different is the performance. White’s raging guitar on “Have Mercy” really brings out a fire in Lynn. “Portland, Oregon” finds White and Lynn trading verses, and yes, it’s something to hear, all right.

“High on the Mountain Top” brings the album back down from its brasher moments, while “Little Red Shoes”, a narrated song, goes for something a bit more experimental.

But all this has been said before.

What’s heartening is the fact two generations at opposite ends — a relunctant star of the underground and a legendary performer of her field — can create work that flies in the face of commercial metrics.

Maybe it’s art, but it sure sounds good.

It’s rarely a good idea to crash an album before it has a chance to start.

That’s not to say slow songs can’t be opening tracks on an album, but if they’re going to be slow, they should also be compelling.

Clocking at 7’18”, the title track of soulsberry’s second full-length album, Stone, could try the patience of even the most tolerant listener.

When the guitars go full tilt, it doesn’t feel like the big gesture it’s supposed to be, and when the song ends, it’s a challenge to stay interested in the rest of the album.

The problem with “Stone”, the song, affects pretty much the entire album — unwise use of reverb.

soulsberry’s last album, The end of vacation, was upfront and tight, capturing the essence of the band’s live presence.

Stone, unfortunately, is bogged down in reverb, and the resulting compressed sound undercuts the band’s writing.

A song like “Close”, a mid-tempo number with majestic moments, sounds like it was recorded in an empty warehouse and loses immediacy because of it.

More up-tempo numbers such as “Friendship” and “Goldstar” sound muddy, and singer Ishizuka Tomohiko is buried under all that bleed.

There’s a sense that soulsberry’s writing on Stone is every bit as catchy as its last outing, but the way the album sounds is distracting even on a subconsious level.

“Forgot, Falling Down” has a nice, simple harmonized chorus. “Kaikyoo” has a straight-forward melody and a great driving pulse. The shuffle beat on “Oasis” feels like early Old ’97s, and on “Jet”, Ishizuka’s singing is downright beautiful.

In order to get to these observations, you have to cut through a haze of lousy production. A band that can write as good as soulsberry deserves far better.

Dr.StrangeLove’s 1999 album Twin Suns was a tight, focused album that set up momentum for a follow-up.

A follow-up that wouldn’t arrive for another five years.

Takamune Negishi and Susumu Osada have such a successful side business as producers and session players, the duo’s output is far from prolific.

And rather than pick up where they left off with Twin Suns, the pair pretty much start from another direction, one based on introspection and the blues.

Right from the start, The River of Blue Blood establishes it isn’t going to be a rocking affair.

The sparse, cavernous percussion and lone guitar picks of the opening track, “The Garden”, evoke images of ghost towns. With a few more pedal effects, Dr.StrangeLove could have sounded like Daniel Lanois.

“Midnight Blues” is exactly that — steeped in the blues, thanks to that rough harmonica.

“Kaze -Lun-” almost sounds like an instrumental version of U2’s “So Cruel”, while “The Blue Angel” brings the band back to the indie songwriting of its earlier work.

In fact, the word “blue” figures into the title of five of the album’s 13 tracks — “Midnight Blues”, “The Blue Angel”, “The Sky is Too Blue Without You”, the title track and “Aoi Kawa” (“blue river”).

An indication of the group’s state of mind? Perhaps, if the music is any indication.

“The Sky is Too Blue Without You” is a plaintive piano ballad in the classic broken-hearted vein. A Bo Diddley-rhythm drives “Aoi Kawa -Fly Me to the Sky-” to its cautious peak, and the album’s title track is an exercise in instrumental ambience.

Even the songs in which “blue” doesn’t figure into the title point inward. A minimal guitar riff and a lot of reverb places “Falling Angel” somewhere between Interpol and Mazzy Star, while “The Apple Tree Song” feels vintage.

When Dr.StrangeLove depart from the general mood of The River of Blue Blood, it’s drastic. “Burning Spear” gets noisy with a live drum ‘n’ bass beat and guitar noise more characteristic of mono, while “Escape 2004” is a misplaced jazz excursion.

The River of Blue Blood isn’t as coherent as Twin Suns, and the writing isn’t as hook-conscious.

But the album does excel in sustaining a “blue” mood, as it were, and the strong parts of the album — particularly where Takamune and Osada fall back on their songwriting than on their production — anchor the more ethereal areas.

Just as notable is the packaging — housed in a cardboard pack, the compact disc itself slides into a bay instead of resting on small spindle.

For cardboard packages, it’s a terrific innovation. Unlike regular jewel boxes, a custom-designed cardboard package can’t be replaced if the spindle breaks.

It may have taken Dr.StrangeLove five years to release a follow-up to Twin Suns, and while the band sounds terrific when its rocking out, The River of Blue Blood makes a good case in favor of a more laid back sound.

Holy shit.

If “what the fuck” was my reaction to Zazen Boys’ first album, this was my reaction to its follow-up.

Holy shit.

The last time out, I wrote Mukai Shuutoku had a way to go before Zazen Boys possesed a sense of identity. I didn’t think he’d managed to find it in nine months.

With Zazen Boys II, Mukai reclaims the songcraft he eschewed on the band’s self-titled debut. He’s also managed to expand the band’s sound while retaining its distinctiveness, especially compared to his previous work.

Mukai continues to explore the spoken word realm, opting to recite his lengthy verses in his own rhythmic delivery. (He’s smart enough to know he’s not a hip-hop MC.)

The first half of the album is driven by his recitations — “Crazy Days Crazy Feelings”, “No Time”, “Cold Beat”.

He sings a lot more on this album, too, and that’s wonderful — Mukai’s blood-curdling scream and his off-kilter melodies were missed on the last album.

At the same time, he’s incorporated more varied instruments into Zazen Boys’ sound. The “Zazen Bo” interludes are driven not by guitars but by drum machines and synthesizers.

Shiina Ringo’s backing vocals on “Crazy Days Crazy Feelings” and “Amin Bou” offer a welcome contrast to Mukai’s ravings. And the organ on “Amin Bou” is some of the wildest playing on anywhere.

He’s gotten much more sophisticated in his production as well. Drummer Ahito Inazawa towers over “Crazy Days Crazy Feelings” and “Saizensen”, and he positively explodes on “Kuroi Shitagi”, the band’s most frenzied song.

Inazawa’s drumming has become so intrinsic to Mukai’s music, it’s difficult to imagine anyone else powering it. Let’s hope these two stay collaborators for a long time.

Sonic considerations aside, the real selling point for Zazen Boys II is the writing — it’s some of Mukai’s most complex and diverse yet. And amazingly enough, some of his most coherent.

“Cold Beat” is a busy song with a difficult rhythm and a brilliant percussion solo, and it doesn’t sound out of place next to “You Make Me Feel So Bad”, a melodic song on which Mukai brings back his soul man falsetto.

Guitarist Yoshikane Sou goes haywire on “Daigakusei”, and it fits in well with the “delayed brain”-style effects of “Chie Chan’s Landscape”.

“Roppon no Kurutta Hagane no Shindoo” is driven by both a disco beat and some eccentric guitar work, while “My Crazy Feeling” demonstrates Georgia blues can get punk as all get out.

The first Zazen Boys album was a dress rehearsal, a trial run to see how well the band can navigate through Mukai’s evolving songwriting.

Zazen Boys II, though, is the real deal. Mukai has found his footing with this album, staying true to the foundation of his muse while also pushing its limits. Incredible, indeed.

It’s tough not to cast Lisa against her former bandmates in m-flo in an imagined rivalry.

If Taku was the brains of m-flo and Verbal the guts, Lisa was most certainly the heart. And the chemistry those three musicians produced is the exception, not the rule.

At the same time, it’s also clear Lisa, while possessing one of the loveliest voices around, isn’t a writer on the level of her former cohorts.

Her debut album, 2003’s Juicy Music, sported a fine performance, but the material itself didn’t have the fire of her former group.

Lisa’s second album, Gratitude, finds her branching out more.

One thing is apparent — Lisa gave m-flo a lot of soul. Musical soul, that is.

“Get Real” finds the singer backed by an easy groove similar to Utada Hikaru’s early work. “My Dearest” would have sounded like straight-ahead funk if played on live instruments, while the stuttering beats of “So Beautiful” recall m-flo’s “Hands”.

Lisa doesn’t go out on the same kind of limb as m-flo does on Astromantic, but she does open herself up to a broader sonic pallette.

The swaggering beat of “Switch” shows off Lisa’s gritty side, while the stripped-down rock guitars on “Eien” finds her using an avenue other than balladry to get emotional.

“Peace in Love” is a saccharine attempt at reggae that would have sounded phenomenal with juice from expert reggae players. (Paging Tokyo Ska Paradise Orchestra.)

And “Gracias a Dios” is admirable for the simple fact Lisa gives nods to her part-Latina heritage. She sounds good on this track.

A second disc consisting mostly of covers accompanies the album, but let’s just not go there. (Thank you.)

Gratitude is much stronger outing for Lisa. It’s diverse but focused, performed with strength and grace. On its own, it’s a decent album.

Still, it’s tough not to compare her work with her legacy, and while Lisa can stand on her own as a performer, there’s a sense she can still do much more, while maintaining her autonomy.

No, she shouldn’t get back with m-flo. But it would be nice if she could recapture the magic she shared with them.

Verbal and Taku are smart.

The remaining members of m-flo knew singer Lisa was a commodity, and they knew any replacement would have a high bar to surpass.

When Lisa announced her departure from m-flo in 2002, a lot of people — myself included — thought the space-age R&B/hip-hop trio was done. (Because let’s face it — Verbal isn’t that strong of an MC to carry it by himself.)

And instead of rushing in, trying to prove themselves, Verbal and Taku worked on their own things, never ruling out m-flo’s continuation.

The time off did the pair some real good.

m-flo 2004 is now a collaborative unit, allowing guest musicians to build upon the duo’s beat-heavy foundation. Astromantic, the group’s first album without Lisa, is m-flo’s most expansive but most focused work yet.

The album features a who’s who of Japanese pop: Crystal Kay, Chemistry, melody., BoA, Yamamoto Ryouhei. It features some eye brow-raising guests as well: composer Sakamoto Ryuichi, rap-rockers Dragon Ash, Pizzicato Five chanteuse Nomiya Maki.

For the most part, m-flo sticks to the dance floor pop that brought them success. melody. (yes, that period is part of her name) and Yamamoto offer a nice interplay on “miss you”, and both anchor the song when Verbal injects his part.

BoA holds her own on “The love bug”, a track that combines acoustic guitar with a driving beat. Taku does an incredible job manipulating the vocal samples of Chemistry on “Astrosexy”, while Crystal Kay delivers one of the band’s most enduring choruses on “Reeewind!”

“I really, really like it,” Kay sings. Amen.

Astromantic gets really interesting when the non-dance collaborators weigh in. “Way U Move” starts off as the kind of rock ballad Dragon Ash masters, but it then morphs into a four-on-the-floor fantasia.

“Vanessa”, featuring the Bloodest Saxophone, is pure swing — Taku was wise to just get out of the way. Nomiya shines on the lounge number, “Cosmic Night Run”, and even the ska conclusion, “Uchuu no Woah Woah” featuring Boy Ken and Bottom Brass Band, is exuberent.

“Don’t call it a comeback,” Verbal asserts on “Reeewind!”, and it’s a forceful statement. m-flo never considered itself gone when Lisa left, but Verbal and Taku certainly knew they had to prove some assumptions were just plain wrong.

Astromantic is the sound of a band embracing an unknown — and rather daunting — paradigm shift, and it does a superlative job of establishing m-flo as something bigger than its individual members.

It isn’t a comeback at all. It’s a new start.