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2000 was a banner year for woman singer/songwriters to show that they're in for the long haul. For example, Jill Sobule pulled off her third album with aplomb. Amy Rigby is facing a similar point in the musical career gauntlet. A championed first album and a spotty second would seem like pretty good achievement, but some might only see the makings of a downhill trend. Like the on-her-own thirtysomething of the movie Alice Doesn't Live here Anymore, Rigby's story is one of steps toward greater self-expression that leave a trail with ghosts of what was left behind. Her 1996 debut Diary of a Mod Housewife was a dead-on portrait of a liberation that's so hard won that the singer's got to leaven the bad moments with wild humor. By now, some romanticism has entered Rigby's mix-and it's so moon-June-spoon basic as to be jarring. But Rigby is a naturalistic performer who has no trouble showing how true these feelings are. She continues to use a broad and bitchy sarcasm (to particularly good effect on "Rode Hard" and "Balls"). And her band swings hard. The fuzz guitar and organ on "Stop Showing Up In My Dreams" wouldn't be out of place on a Smash Mouth album. The pedal steel on "Angel After Hours" is thick enough to be initially reminiscent of countrypolitan, but it's also raw and a bit rau! cous in the details. The cut-loose quality of the instrumental performances. The lyrical zingers that Rigby can still deliver with the ironic sharpness of stiletto heels bought at WalMart. Her newfound sweetness with barely softened focus. Like three stars far apart in the sky, they make unlikely candidates to go together in a constellation. But somehow, they balance in beauty. -T.E. Lyons
 TOO $HORTYou Nasty Jive You have to give it to Too Short, he is the epitome of keepin' it real. He has been rapping about snitches and hoes for twenty years and has not changed his style through any of them. You Nasty is another edition to his great legacy of cuss words and woman degradation by Short Dawg. Don't get me wrong, I don't necessarily approve of his slander, but he lays everything out on the table for everyone to learn from. Songs like "Pimp Sh*t," "Call Me Daddy," and "2 B*tches" really establish this album as not for the kiddies. Too Short has made his success off of funky slammin' beats (reminiscent of James Brown and P-Funk) as well as controversial lyrics. You Nasty has both of these traits and is bound to go platinum. The album starts out funky as hell and sort of dies out by the end. I'd say an 8:14 ratio on the dope scale. Yet if you are a true Too Short fan you may feel a little disappointed. I've listened to Too Short for eleven years, loving every album he's done, except for that collection of no name rappers on the album Too Shorts Presents. On You Nasty, T Double brings in some more no namers who cheese out this album as well. Remember the Dangerous Crew (Ant Banks, Goldie, Blue, etc.), on albums such as Get In Where You Fit In and Cocktails. What happened to them? They cameoed on Too Short's albums and made them the best of his fine collection. Too Short is back from retirement and funkier than ever, so go scoop the album and if you are a kiddy hide it from your moms! -Michael Geneve
The Kentucky-cum-California cowboy has been just about everywhere in the last five years. His recordings show a worldly sense of play with a range that stretches easily from daring stylized versions of classics by The Kinks and The Clash (both on Between The Covers) to the low-key duets with Buck Owens that close out his new collection (presented- in a clever dig at how extra tracks get marketed- as "Bonus Bucks"). Yoakam may still be cutting-edge country when it comes to getting his band to rock out or interjecting wit amid the traditional song styles, but these new studio tracks have to be considered something of a pullback. The first four or five songs sound very similar-and their arrangements all place a great weight on pedal-steel. In contrast, the first twenty minutes of his last all-new studio effort (A Long Way Home) contained a punk-hillbilly rave-up, an anthemic single recorded with lots of echo, and a ballad that emphasized vibraphone and was reminiscent of Dean Martin's visits to Nashville. The latter half of the fourteen-track collection finally opens a few more doors, revealing an unexpected classic in "Dreams of Clay" and a catchy transposition of Cheap Trick's "I Want You To Want Me" that sounds effortless. Yoakam doesn't seem interested in showcasing or showboating here. It's only with the gradual accumulation of the solid songwriting, singing with some power but no pyrotechnics, and little experiments with guitar (and tambourine, of all things, on "For Love's Sake") that this country maverick sets himself apart once again.-T.E. Lyons
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AMY RIGBY 
DWIGHT YOAKAM