La Lugh "Senex Puer" (Lughnasa Music/Sony)

Whatever they're at, eight of 14 tracks on this new album were also on this Louth-based pair's last album, Brighid's Kiss, and sure maybe it's no harm to hear them again.

Gerry O'Connor's fiddle is infectious as ever, breaking from the undergrowth every so often, but the delicate, ornamented vocals of Eithne Ni hUallachain's merrymaking songs and laments are more to the fore. Neil Martin's cello and Mario N'Gomo's percussion add to arrangements, with some nice guitar backing from Garry O Briain and Gilles Le Bigot's nice swing undertow. Ni hUallachain puts in a few bare, haunting chalky-voiced songs, while the new title track, Senex Puer, segues from spaced sacred Latin-Gaelic music to canon to reggae, in a chilled Dead Can Dance-style production. Mm-hm. Mic Moroney

Various Artists: "Trad Trathnona" Tionscnamh Lugh

There's enormous, wandery charm to this live album recorded by Manus Lunny at weekly sessions last year in the Donegal Gaeltacht of Dun Luiche. There are more amhrans than dance tunes: Anna agus Mairead Ni Mhaonaigh's unison; Gearoidin Breathnach's mood singing; Aoife Mhic Fhearraigh; crisp Connie Mhary Mhici O Gallchoir with his nasal hum and dangling mournsome notes reminiscent of the Begleys; or the arresting old style of Neidi Mhary Hughie O Gallchoir. The musos (Paula Doohan, Stephen Campbell and Hugh O Gallchoir) chip in on song arrangements and raggedy sessions, and hark the rousing tattoo of Joe Mhici Jimi Mac Grianna's whistle on the couple of echoing reels. This is a lovely, drowsy little album: highly polished for the most part, but with the intimacy of an old kitchen. Mic Moroney

Chris Whitley: "Dirt Floor" (Ulftone)Now here's a strange fish. Chris Whitley was a man with silver in his spurs early in the decade when his debut, Livin' With The Law, provoked mutterings of great promise and praise. The scent went dry thereafter, though his biog tells us he completed his major label contract with two more albums before departing for indie street. Dirt Floor is the first issue of his new dawn and a stark and startling thing of ragged beauty it is. Whitley is steeped in the blues, but, not unlike early John Martyn, he twists the tortured melodies and rhythms into a deeply personal canvas of haunted images. This audio verite approach is accentuated by the primitive nature of the recording in which Whitley accompanies himself on either acoustic guitar or banjo, wringing every last drop of emotion from the silver strings while his voice groans and soars as on the intriguing Scrapyard Lullaby. Check him out at Dublin's New Vicar Street venue on Tuesday. Joe Breen