The eMusic Dozen: Non-US Country Music

If it weren't for the fact that he hails from Taber, Alberta, Corb Lund would be regarded as one of the most resolutely old-school country artists currently working. His songs are simple, orthodox, three-chord affairs arranged for guitar, upright bass, banjo and lap steel, and his lyrics are preoccupied with whiskey, travel and picturesque crime. Lund is distinguished by two things, however. There's his confident sense of place, best displayed here on the gorgeous ballad "Prairies of Alberta," which makes hitherto obscure portions of Canada ring as true as Galveston or Phoenix; and there's his spectacular lyrical pyrotechnics: the title track is a frantically wordy talking blues about bootlegging which manages to make sense despite compressing a plot more complicated than The Sting into two and a half minutes, and "Time to Switch to Whiskey" is some measure more articulate than such a lustily encouraging drinking song has any right to be.

Despite a name suggesting that they might have formed between shifts on an Alabama cotton farm, Southern Tenant Union are a London-based sextet. Their diverse makeup and wide experience (Pat McGarvey is a former Coal Porter, guitarist Pete Gow has played with Chris Mills and Caitlin Cary) is reflected in their sound – which roves a broad sweep of country, bluegrass, gospel and folk. STFU are no mere pastiche-mongers -- the songs here are smart, literate and occasionally very funny. "Sweeter Times" and "Green-Eyed Girl (From Louisville)" are sprightly dust-ups borne by Oliver Talkes' gently tremulous vocal, and the two "Southern Tenant Folk Theme" instrumentals evade charges of self-indulgence through sheer virtuosity. Pete Gow's Iraq lament "Mosul Waltz," which recalls the Pogues' version of Eric Bogle's "And the Band Played Waltzing Matilda," is wrought from hard-won wisdom -- Gow, when not playing in the band, works in the Baghdad bureau of CBS.

The Coal Porters qualify as non-American alt country only on a technicality of residency. Though based for most of their 18 years of existence in London, they originally formed in Los Angeles as a vehicle for former Long Ryder -- and American -- Sid Griffin. 2008's Turn the Water On, Boy! is one of the most accomplished collections in the Coal Porters' hefty discography, an invigorating revisiting of Griffin's bluegrass roots. Though sufficiently orthodox to satisfy the most adamantine of purists, the Coal Porters nevertheless manage to stir a faint essence of London into the mix -- "Final Wild Son" would have fit neatly into the Pogues' catalogue. Griffin's reverence for his spiritual ancestors is demonstrated with a stately version of Gene Clark's "Silver Raven" -- and their requited admiration for him is proved by the willingness of former Byrd Chris Hillman to lend his mandolin to "Mr Guthrie."

In his native Australia, Kelly occupies a position in the cultural firmament not dissimilar to that held by Bruce Springsteen in the US: an almost universally recognised touchstone, an indefatigable chronicler of his nation's hopes and fears, and a sort of national uncle (his standing among fellow Australian musicians may be estimated from the presence on this album of the Bad Seeds' Mick Harvey). Outside Australia, Kelly remains barely recognised, and 2001's Nothing But a Dream is just one of a large catalogue of reasons why this state of affairs is genuinely scandalous. The albums tends more to the country side of Kelly's country-rock than most of what he does, most notably on the bluegrass shuffle "The Pretty Place" and the rueful ballad "I Wasted Time" ("And now," mourns the Merle Haggard-ish payoff, "time has wasted me"). Less concerned with his homeland than many of his albums, this is a superior collection of meditations on heartbreak and remorse.

Even by the standards of English country bands, Mojave 3's gestation was unusual. Before turning their attention to the creation of gentle, ruminative country ballads, Mojave 3's core members, Neil Halstead, Rachel Goswell and Ian McCutcheon were members of Slowdive -- a minor indie sensation of the early '90s, whose blissed-out backwashes of feedback-laced guitar owed rather more to the Cocteau Twins and My Bloody Valentine than they did to Gram Parsons. Although Excuses for Travellers is Mojave 3's third album, the languid ethos associated with Slowdive is still very much discernible -- three of the ten songs clear six minutes, and only on the brisk "Anyday Will Be Fine" does it sound like nobody involved is in danger of nodding off. This is far from a criticism -- Mojave 3's gently soporific ballads are a tantalising suggestion of what might have resulted had Nick Drake ever collaborated with the Flying Burrito Brothers.

England born and Canada-raised, precocious twentysomething Lee Mellor has nevertheless acquired a drawl, a delivery and a sensibility instantly evocative of places further south. Ghost Town Heart, his debut album of 2007, earned widespread comparisons to Steve Earle, and the reasons are obvious enough -- Mellor shares his obvious hero's facility for storytelling, and fascination with marginal characters whose tales might otherwise languish untold. The likes of "Nowhere, Manitoba" approach with the confident swagger of Earle circa "Guitar Town," and leave a headful of memorable images and an unbudgeable chorus, anchored by a riff of growling lead guitar. "Gravedigger Blues" and "The Biggest Killer in a Small Town" evoke the snarl of prime Charlie Daniels, and demonstrate that Mellor also possesses another prerequisite for any budding country great -- a fabulously bleak sense of humour.

Though this Torontonian concern, based around the perfectly named brothers Dallas and Travis Good, have yet to achieve widespread acclaim outside their native Canada, they don't want for the appreciation of their peers. Their 2006 live album, In Concert Volume 1, featured guest appearances by, among others, former member Neko Case, former Jayhawk Gary Louris and Giant Sand's Howe Gelb. 2007's New Seasons is by some stretch the Sadies' best album, a consistently thrilling synthesis of their core country and garage rock impulses (they can progress with startling grace from the angry clatter of "The First Inquisition" to something like "What's Left Behind," almost so graceful that Louris himself could have written it). These songs are short, the majority stating their case in comfortably under three minutes, but they're also sharp -- there's no reason why any fan of the Old 97s, for example, should not also love the Sadies.

If you've ever wondered how Jean Shepard or Loretta Lynn might have sounded with the faintest of British Columbia accents, this 2007 album by Austrian-English-Canadian Carolyn Mark -- former Vinaigrettes singer and a one-time collaborator with Neko Case -- should satisfy your curiosity. Songs such as "The One That Got Away (With It)" and "The Business End" are old-school soul-baring, wound-opening, laundry-airing, vengeance-taking ballads of domestic disarray, the stark acoustic arrangements throwing Mark's luxuriantly lachrymose voice into even starker relief. Mark is no humourless throwback, however -- a couple of the more upbeat tunes, especially "Happy 2B Flying Away" evoke something of the breezy lightness of touch of Laura Cantrell, and in "Pirate and Shotgun" and "Honest Woman," Mark demonstrates a kinship with the bleak, baleful humour of the gloomier depths of the Iris DeMent oeuvre.

From Brisbane, Australia, Pickering writes songs that keep matters recognisably alt country -- reminiscent, especially, of Wilco and Ryan Adams -- while his soaring yet affectingly fragile voice threatens to elevate them into some new genre entirely of Pickering's own invention. On the best moments on this album -- "Chalk Outline," "All as It Should Be," "Good Bye Cruel World" -- his startling vocal ushers the ghosts of Jeff Buckley and Art Garfunkel into view. And, unlike many self-released albums, A Safer Place does not suffer unduly from a conflict between ambition and budget. "The Stars Will Fall Down Tonight" escalates from gentle beginnings into a modest epic, making dramatic use of accordion, cymbals and sepulchral backing vocals.

Alan Tyler is as close as the UK alt country scene comes to boasting an actual kingpin. In the early '90s he fronted the superb Rockingbirds, who wrung glorious riches from the seam between the Flying Burrito Brothers and the Modern Lovers. Today, he runs a country club, Come Down & Meet the Folks, and fronts the Lost Sons of Littlefield, who serve as a vehicle for Tyler's own songs and cover versions. The latter is represented on this 2007 album with a brooding reading of "Ghost Riders in the Sky," but the real strength is Tyler's writing. Though the music is as straight-up country as anything recorded by Waylon Jennings, Tyler brings an unmistakably English sensibility to the words: "Middle Saxon Town" is a witty suburban historiography that might have dripped from the pen of Ray Davies. He also has a winning ear for distinguishing musical quirks: "Guns" boasts a queasy electric guitar wilfully over-modulated on a scale unequalled since George Jones' "Her Name Is..."

From one of the most English of English cities -- Oxford -- hail as American-sounding band as might be found anywhere. The Epstein's reverent, acoustic-oriented take on bluegrass recalls the likes of Creedence Clearwater Revival or Calexico, and their vocal harmonies are clearly the result of an ardent fondness for the Byrds' Sweetheart of the Rodeo. What the Epstein themselves bring to the mix is an acute but never overstated melodic sense and the kind of wintry melancholy can only be the result of a more or less constant overhead view of grey cloud (this is possibly the principal advantage that British country acts can forever hold over their American inspirations). Though the Epstein's greatest strength are their baleful, pedal-steel drenched ballads -- "Just the Wind," decorated with very Calexico-ish trumpets, is a particular highlight -- they can also tear it up when the occasion demands it: album opener "Black Dog" whoops and hollers like prime Corb Lund.