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Artist: Son Little
Album: "Son Little"
Songs: "O Mother," "The River"

This is a golden age of contemplative, powerful, sonically inventive, for-lack-of-a-better-term soul music — young men (and it’s mostly, though not exclusively, men) describing their struggles to find their place in the world, set in poetic words and arresting, often somber sounds: Kendrick Lamar, Miguel, Frank Ocean, Earl Sweatshirt, Benjamin Clementine, the Weekend, D’Angelo (he being the veteran and, arguably, inspiration of the crop) among those in the last couple of years to show themselves as true artists of note.

Now comes Son Little with a debut album full of the dark mystique evoked by his nom-de-tune, intentionally or otherwise recalling ‘30s bluesman Son House. Son House sung of his struggle between flesh and spirit — and lived it, quitting music at one point to become a traveling preacher. Son Little, coincidentally or otherwise, is the son of an L.A. preacher. His real name is Aaron Livingston, and relocated to New York he developed an approach that moved beyond genres, or ignored them, in the interest of expression. It was introduced last year on a tantalizing EP, and is fully realized here on is debut album.

It’s striking from the very first notes of the opening song, "I’m Gone," a chorus of his own layered, auto-tuned vocals making a declaration of independence/isolation that starts with the statement, "You get what you get and don’t expect a thing," It’s as if he’s holding us off at arms length, but with his hand waving us in to join him. And the music is spare — a slow, steady bass line, occasional off-center guitar lines and some odd sound effects, the soundtrack of a disorienting dream. The real statement song, though, is "O Mother," a classic case of a boy pushing away to prove he’s a man as he navigates a confusing, troubling world.

That remains the emotional motif throughout. "Your Love Will Blow Me Away" on the surface has a tone of romantic R&B, but he sings of being afraid of that kind of love, of being consumed. Even the smoldering seduction of "Lay Down" has elements of a power struggle, of tension that’s not all sexual.

Whatever the insecurities of the lyrics, the music is confident and assured at all turns. And there are turns indeed, from the subdued soul to guitar-spiked rock ("Toes") to modernized blues ("Doctor’s In"). With "The River" he goes full into churning, pulsating quasi-gospel, perhaps drawing on his church upbringing as he seeks his own way in life. Of course, the song that follows is "About a Flood," so there’s that too.

There’s a touch of Marvin Gaye here, a touch of Prince there, but they just seem starting points for Livingston/Little’s exploration. It could be a very interesting journey as this Son grows into a man.

Artist: Los Cenzontles
Album: "Alma Campirana"
Songs: "Pelo De Oro," "El Polvorete"

The song "Pelo de Oro" ("Golden Haired") was sung to Fabiola Trujillo by her grandfathers when she was a little girl. It’s a perfect song for a child, a sweet corrido about a woman undone by her ambition, betrayed by her drug-lord lover. Uh…

Content aside, this is exactly what the ensemble Los Cenzontles is all about — traditions of Mexican culture passed down from generation to generation. Well, content too. These tunes and tales, cautionary or otherwise, are the fabric of culture, woven strongest when passed along in the home like this.

If Trujillos’ grandfathers are only with her in spirit in her role as featured vocalist in Los Cenzontles — "the Mockingbirds" — the group does contain a father and son in Eugene and Emiliano Rodriguez. And Trujillo has been part of it since she was 15, as has the fourth musician on this album, Luciana Rodriguez (no relation). And the band, founded by the senior Rodriguez 25 years ago, is just one part of Los Cenzontles Cultural Arts Academy, the non-profit Bay Area institution that grew out of it, dedicated to the exploration, teaching and promotion of Mexican-rooted arts and culture.

In the course of nearly two dozen albums, three documentary films and thousands of concert presentations, Los Cenzontles’ musical mission has been a wide-ranging one, from the very traditional, drawing on music from various Mexican and Latin American regions, to more updated hybrids, including collaborations with Ry Cooder and Los Lobos, among others. This album returns the venture to the traditional side of things. It’s just the four core musicians, in very straightforward vocals-and-string-band settings — not even an accordion or horn in earshot, let alone rock instruments. And the material is all of the nature of "Pelo de Oro" in terms of its venerable, folk nature.

The title, "Alma Campirana," roughly translates as "Country Soul," though not in the sense of country music as we know it. This is rural music, corridos and rancheras, tales of love and woe, even bits of history ("El Sepulcro de Zapata" — "The Grave of Zapata") and adventure distilled into colorful, passionate verse for transmission through the ages. Some have been kept alive through popular renditions by stars from Lydia Mendoza to Vicente Fernandez to Linda Ronstadt, while others have survived in mountain villages and, well, via grandfathers singing to their heirs.

"El Polvorete," a song with Colombian origins, was made famous by Fernandez in a full mariachi arrangement. Los Cenzontles, though, strips that away to present it as a son abajeño, a style associated with coastal Michoacan and Guerrero, here using traditional guitars, vihuela and bass.

For all the adherence to tradition, there is a sense of new voices being added, strong new threads to the tapestry.

Los Cenzontles will be performing Oct. 24 at the LA Plaza de Cultura y Artes downtown.

Artist: Nicole Mitchell, Tomeka Reid, Mike Reed
Album: "Artifacts"
Songs: "Jo Jar," "Composition B23"

A friend really dislikes flute jazz. She loves jazz, but just doesn’t take to the floating, trilling, airy tones of this particular instrument in this particular context. Well, we respectfully disagree.

Nicole Mitchell is one of the leading jazz flutists… uh, flautists… uh, flute players today, and one of the most consistently creative and often challenging leaders in contemporary jazz. Her music is often ambitious, sprawling, heavy on improvisation both individual and collective in varieties of settings, most notably her ambitious Black Earth Ensemble. Of course, to many those are code words for "difficult" and even "unapproachable," affirmed by her leadership role in recent ears within the Association for the Advancement of Creative Musicians, the Chicago-originated movement that has given us some of the essential figures of modern jazz, notably the always-challenging Art Ensemble of Chicago.

With this album in which she leads a trio also featuring cellist Tomeka Reid and percussionist Mike Reed, though, the music is unfailingly delightful, even charming. These are almost chamber-music miniatures, often tuneful, playful and sparkling with a real warmth. Ironically, perhaps to some, the album celebrates the AACM’s 50th anniversary, and is made up of compositions by some of the great figures in that organization’s history: Roscoe Mitchell and Muhal Richard Abrams (both of the Art Ensemble), Anthony Braxton, Fred Anderson, Amina Claudine Myers and the trio Air, among them.

With Mitchell’s "Jo Jar," from 1966 and pre-dating the Art Ensemble’s formation, there’s a nimbleness and innocence to the playing, three butterflies cavorting in the sun. Yet at the same time it would fit right in a beatnik cafe of the early ‘60s. It’s the light side of noir. Dig?

Which isn’t to say there aren’t challenging, even difficult pieces here. The album opens with Braxton’s "Composition 23B" — he has a habit of titles such as this, as if it’s a structure rather than music, and some performances of his works reflect that. But this trio injects great deals of humanity into it, the unison playing that occurs in much of it requiring great precision, but the feelings of it never restricted to, or by, that precision. On Leroy Jenkins’ abstract "The Clowns," the three make the most of their considerable improv skills, sensitive and responsive to each other. Myers’ "Have Mercy on Us," with Mitchell chanting the title line a few times, is a prayerful echo of John Coltrane’s "A Love Supreme." And "Munkt Munk," written by Abrams, is described in the liner notes as "angular." It is that, but in these hands the turns are not mathematical, but the switchbacks of an invigorating trail hike.

If that all sounds inviting and friendly, well, it is. That’s the point this trio is making: This music is not unapproachable. It’s just a matter of how you approach it. Musician and listener.