“That’s How Rumors Get Started”

Margo Price

Loma Vista

Margo Price made a rowdy entrance in 2016 with “Hurtin’ (On the Bottle),” the debut single from “Midwest Farmer’s Daughter,” an album released on Jack White’s label whose title nodded to Loretta Lynn while introducing Price as a honky-tonk rebel.

Two albums down the line, Price has progressed impressively, growing more ambitious with the thematic scope of 2017’s “All-American Made” and now comfortably working in 1970s rock mode with the bold “That’s How Rumors Get Started.”

The album doesn’t make a show of its subversiveness like Simpson’s 2019 metal-edged “Sound & Fury.” Instead, it confidently goes its own way, largely leaving steel guitars and all manner of twang behind as Price settles in to make a top-notch rock record.

The surfaces are smooth, and there’s tension roiling underneath. “Rumors” is a superbly crafted 10-song set that was written, recorded, and planned for release in 2019. It was pushed back first by the birth of Price’s daughter, Ramona, then by record company drama, and again by the pandemic and the illness of Price’s husband and musical partner, Jeremy Ivey, who has had several inconclusive tests for COVID-19.

No matter if songs like the simply soulful “What Happened To Our Love” or “Stone Me” are absolutely brand new: They capture Price working at a high level, ever more confident in her artistry.

“Gaslighter”

The Chicks

Columbia Records

The newly minted The Chicks pull a phoenix-like move with eighth studio album “Gaslighter.”

The Dixie Chicks have died, long live The Chicks. In a stunning act of double re-invention, the country-pop trio have changed their name and re-emerged from a 14-year hiatus and personal turmoil with their new album — one that feels so private it’s almost as if you are there, nose-pressed, steaming lead singer Natalie Maines’ windows. The artist — who worked through her feelings about her divorce from actor Adrian Pasdar creatively — commits an act of immolation of her marriage so radical, it bursts through every lyric on the record.

The Chicks’ two singles from the album, the title track and “March March,” envelop one in their up-tempo; the former with its boppy, almost playful drums, and the latter with its dramatic, synthy waterdrop effect that makes one forget its call-to-arms intent. They burst through with vigor and the promise of an energizing reinvention.

Instead, the 12 tracks are a deconstruction and reconstruction of emotions that sometimes drag with its quiet, ballad-heavy set.

The Jack Antonoff-produced record’s low-key instrumentals — lots of strings in “Tights on My Boat,” “Young Man” and “Set Me Free,” banjos in “Sleep at Night,” the touch of the violin in “Julianna Calm Down,” a dash of church organ in “My Best Friend’s Weddings” — and stripped-down vocals make for a curious Schrodinger’s cat of a record.

The Chicks have worn their hearts on their sleeves, but they’re afraid to move on and have fun. After all, they’ve all been burned before.