Grant Britt

On his latest outing, he bills himself as the one and only, but Scott H. Biram is still connected to a gang of outlaws. Waylon and Willie and later on Dale Watson paved the way for the unfettered chronicles of low-down livin’ that permeates Biram’s music. But Biram’s

Various and assorted assigners of labels are trying to lasso him with a cosmic cowboy lariat, but Sam Morrow won't be attending the roundup. He's too frisky to be tied down. Although he's a Houston denizen, Morrow’s music doesn't sound like

It's like hearing the voice of God. He commands your attention, a mix of the stern Old Testament God laying down the law and the New Testament one inviting sinners to gather round and learn something while they get cleansed. And instead of a scepter in his hand,

JJ Grey is a shape-shifter, a marauding swamp thing big-footin’ it through his ancestral Florida homeland, splashing muddy funk in all directions. Trying to nail those big feet down is like wrasslin’ gators: He's pretty much gonna do what he wants, so just grab hold and hang on

Tinsley Ellis has finally come unplugged. It took 21 albums to do it, but on Naked Truth the Atlanta-based bluesman has forsaken his Stevie Ray Vaughan amp settings for an acoustic gathering of originals and a sampling of a couple of old masters, including Son House's chilling “Death

If you don't like the Steel Wheels track you're listening to, just wait a few minutes. Shapeshifting seems to be a hobby of this Virginia-based group that started life as an acoustic stringband, adding instruments and members along the way to reach their current five-piece format.