Welcoming Daughtry (center) to the BMI L.A. office are his manager Sterling McIlwaine, and BMI's Tracie Verlinde, Barbara Cane and Myles Lewis.

Daughtry's raw performance of Fuel's "Hemorrhage (In My Hands)" not only received critical acclaim from all three Idol judges, but also earned him a lead singer offer from the band, which he respectfully declined opting instead for a solo career.

Robert Earl Keen is definitely present these days — as an artist, writer, and painter of southern aural landscapes — and he’s better than ever. That signature wry, lyrical elegance is in full evidence, as is his notable appreciation for the underbelly of society. On this, his twelfth album, he gives us what is possibly his finest collection of Southern Lit songs. And that’s saying something with critical successes such as 1989’s West Textures, which yielded a first career song, “The Road Goes On Forever,” to 1993’s career-clinching A Bigger Piece of Sky (chock-full of astonishing songs), to 1994’s Gringo Honeymoon, which was essentially rocket Fuel for the fledgling alt-country movement. 

And while his last outing, Farm Fresh Onions, won great acclaim for eclectically showcasing some of his more raucous material, What I Really Mean is a welcome return to the acoustic country side of this revered singer/songwriter. 

With it, he reminds us of his purist path — the clarity of telling tales in song that both evoke emotion and entertain, usually all at once.  Case in point is “The Great Hank,” a dream-story about Hank Williams in drag. It’s not at all disrespectful, but instead showcases Keen’s deft ability to make us chuckle contemplatively. 

This English major is indeed a masterful writer, and has a grand flair at juxtaposing lyric with melody as in “The Wild Ones,” where the lyric exudes a bold, youthful life, while the arrangement is wistful.  Conversely, in “Broken End of Love,” the lyric is sad and prickly while the melody portends hope. And of course, he planned it that way. “That was my intent, to just let it all out, do the primal scream thing, almost. To say it without being nasty.”

And then there’s that ability of his to write cinematically, as in “A Border Tragedy,” a funny, back-alley film clip that ends with Ray Price singing “Streets of Laredo.” This one will become a classic. 

Besides Keen’s delicious writing, part of the joy of this record is the incredible talent he’s drawn to the project, including Danny Barnes, whose blithe banjo rolls melodically throughout, guitarist/producer Rich Brotherton, and mixing engineer Ed Cherney, who made a name with Bob Dylan, the B-52s and Roy Orbison, among others

So what Robert Earl Keen means now, this album might say, is to cement his status for all time as a songwriter and artist of impeccable quality and creativity.

In addition to their reliably popular albums of smartly humorous pop/rock tunes, the duo have written music for films (Austin Powers: The Spy Who Shagged Me ) and TV (Malcolm in the Middle ), recorded an album to accompany a 2001 issue of the literary magazine McSweeney's , and are featured in the new Cartoon Network series Squigglevision . TMBG's exploits were also the subject of the 2002 documentary feature Gigantic , and they're currently working on a project with noted animator/director Henry Selick (of Nightmare Before Christmas /James and the Giant Peach fame).

What all of the Giants' far-ranging projects have in common is the twosome's trademark combination of irresistibly melodic songcraft and left-field lyrical wit — qualities that are prominent on their two most recent albums, The Spine and Here Come the ABCs . The former is a typically crafty set of memorable pop numbers, while the latter is the band's second collection of children's songs. Here Come the ABCs manages to be both educational and fun, thanks to the two Johns' knack for merging the cerebral and the playful.

According to Linnell, the difference between making records for adults and children is "Not as much as you would think. Aside from the issue of what's appropriate, which tends to get overstated to the detriment of the quality of kids' music in general, the main difference is that kids don't tend to compare our music to the whole history of popular music. Young children live in a less context-dependent world, and the great advantage to us is that we can make up a song that will be the first of its kind the kids will hear."

They Might Be Giants' recent ventures into the youth market have led to them performing concerts in front of all-kid crowds. "Kids are pretty tough audiences," observes Linnell. "They're not as concerned with the flow of the concert as adults are. They don't applaud if they don't feel like it, and it doesn't seem to make kids nervous or embarrassed to watch a band struggle and fail. They also don't hold up their lighters during the ballads."

Flansburgh and Linnell have been friends since childhood and began writing songs together while in high school. After moving to Brooklyn from their native Lincoln, Massachusetts in the early 1980s, the resourceful team began to make a name for themselves on the local scene, compensating for the lack of a record deal by launching Dial-A-Song, serenading their growing fan base via answering machine.  

The same D.I.Y. spirit that spawned the lo-fi Dial-A-Song — which continues to this day — has led to TMBG emerging as an innovative force in online music distribution. They were one of the first acts to release a full album — 1999's Long Tall Weekend — exclusively as an MP3 download. They continue to explore new digital vistas, maintaining an online music subscription service via EMusic, offering fans exclusive new tracks every month.

"It seems like we've been rewarded for being ourselves, rather than calculating the formula for mainstream success," Linnell states. "We've never figured out what the recipe for a hit song is, so we've made our way by producing what we ourselves would want to hear. We've also been very lucky in the opportunities that have come along, and prudent in the offers we've turned down. We're still very excited about (They Might Be Giants) because it's still personal and fun, and that excitement has always been the jet fuel that keeps us going."

Sometimes it happens quietly, while alone penning lyrics, when out of nowhere something clicks and your whole creative perspective changes. Other times it’s positively dramatic, as in the case of producer/rapper Kanye West, whose own musical epiphany nearly cost him his life.

In 2002, the Chicago native, who has produced for Alicia Keys, Britney Spears, Jay-Z and Ludicris, reached a near-fatal crossroad. Kanye was involved in a terrible car accident on his way back to a Los Angeles hotel, following a late night recording session.

The sudden impact left his jaw fractured in three places. Instead of the violent act extinguishing his creative desires, it served as the fuel to ignite it.

Within weeks, he recorded “Through the Wire,” which recounted the fateful event that almost shattered his dreams. When it was released, the song sent shock waves across the music industry and hip-hop America, because the rapper had recorded the lyrics while his jaw was wired shut.

Kanye’s thematic perspective on commercial rap is atypical. It stems in part from his family roots: His father was an ex-Black Panther-turned pastor and marriage counselor, and his mother was head of the English department at Chicago State.

With the help of an enlightened upbringing, his double-platinum Roc-A-Fella Records debut set, The College Dropout, represents what could be described as an evolutionary leap in hip-hop. Certainly it’s one that has led Kanye to fame and fortune — after a chance meeting with fate at an uncommon crossroad.

Big production values and even bigger marketing campaigns usually help fuel top-selling artists in the digital age. What makes Norah Jones the industry’s feel-good story of the new millennium is the fact that she’s managed to sell massive numbers of albums without the benefit of advertising hype, image mongering and grandiose musical offerings.

Jones’s 2002 debut album, Come Away With Me, has managed to sell an astonishing 18 million + copies worldwide and capture eight Grammy Awards. Her follow-up album, Feels Like Home, shot out of the sales gate like a bullet, selling more than a million copies in the United States during its first week of release.

Musically, Jones is very much a throwback to a time when songs and performers were far more soothing and unpretentious than they are today.

The signature song from Come Away With Me illustrates the Dallas native’s appeal. The lushly romantic “Don’t Know Why” feels like it could have been written in the 1940s, though it was penned by a contemporary songwriter and friend, Jesse Harris.

The 24-year-old Jones hasn’t been marketed like so many young female singers. The fact that the vocalist-pianist hasn’t been targeted to any one or two demographic groups has arguably helped her appeal to a very broad audience. She’s the extremely rare artist who is capable of wooing everyone from seven-year-olds to septuagenarians. Jones represents a lesson to the youth-obsessed music industry: She’s proof positive that there are vast numbers of music consumers out there that aren’t between the ages of 12 and 30.

Feels Like Home arrived with major expectations and the inevitable chatter about a possible sophomore jinx, but the album has been an unqualified hit, with several cuts showcasing Jones’s songwriting skills. She also recorded songs written by the other musicians in her band.

In addition, the album includes three cover songs: Townes Van Zandt’s “Be Here To Love Me,” Tom Waits and Kathleen Brennan’s “The Long Way Home” and Duke Ellington’s “Melancholia,” which Jones wrote lyrics to and retitled “Don’t Miss You At All.” Guest musicians include Levon Helm and Garth Hudson of the Band, while Dolly Parton duets with her on “Creepin’ In,” a tune penned by Alexander.

Jones’s grandparents were fans of Parton and Willie Nelson, but she initially rejected country music while growing up in Texas. As an adolescent, she instead gravitated toward the very unsubtle sounds of heavy metal and grunge groups like Motley Crue, Guns N’ Roses and Nirvana.

But this rock phase only lasted between grades five and eight, and she subsequently fell in love with jazz. She attended a performing-arts high school in Dallas and studied jazz piano for two years at the University of North Texas in Denton.

Jones spent the summer after her sophomore year in New York City. After landing a few gigs, she decided to stay. She initially played in Italian restaurants and theater-district lounges.

The day after her twenty-first birthday, she auditioned with Bruce Lundvall, the president of Blue Note Records, and he signed her to the jazz label. When Come Away with Me was released in 2002, she was still waitressing. But the album sold 10,000 copies its first week and Jones was soon out on the road, opening up for small acts and then major ones like the Dave Matthews Band.

For an artist who would have been content if her debut album had only sold 25,000 copies, the continually escalating sales figures surrounding the work made her uncomfortable. Lundvall recalls Jones asking him if he could possibly slow down the seemingly unstoppable commercial momentum of Come Away With Me.

An introverted performer, Jones seems unimpressed with the trappings of fame and fortune. She continues to seek comfort and normalcy with Alexander and their tight knit band. A visitor to her tour bus is more likely to encounter a Scrabble tournament than anything resembling decadent partying.

Jones’s compelling vocal prowess, single-minded dedication to her craft and disdain for celebrity all point to an artist with a long and rewarding career in front of her.

Sometimes it happens quietly, while alone penning lyrics, when out of nowhere something clicks and your whole creative perspective changes. Other times it’s positively dramatic, as in the case of producer/rapper Kanyé West, whose own musical epiphany nearly cost him his life.

In 2002, the Chicago native, who has produced for Alicia Keyes, Britney Spears, Jay-Z and Ludacris, reached a near-fatal crossroad. Kanyé was involved in a terrible car accident on his way back to a Los Angeles hotel, following a late night recording session.

The sudden impact left his jaw fractured in three places. Instead of the violent act extinguishing his creative desires, it served as the fuel to ignite it.

Within weeks, he recorded Through the Wire , which recounted the fateful event that almost shattered his dreams. When it was released, the song sent shock waves across the music industry and hip-hop America, because the rapper had recorded the lyrics while his jaw was wired shut.

Kanyé’s thematic perspective on commercial rap is atypical,. It stems in part from his family roots: His father was an ex-Black Panther-turned pastor and marriage counselor, and his mother was head of the English department at Chicago State.

With the help of an enlightened upbringing, his Roc-A-Fella Records debut set, The College Dropout, represents what could be described as an evolutionary leap in hip-hop. Certainly it’s one that has led Kanyé to fame and fortune — after a chance meeting with fate at an uncommon crossroad.

In 2000, Fuel released a new album, Something Like Human , and their latest album, Natural Selection , is racing up the charts. The name Fuel was chosen because the band based itself on energy and aggression. They were attempting to be as powerful and as aggressive as they could, and they saw the sun as a huge source of energy, and an appropriate metaphor for the direction of the band's music.

Carl Bell was born and raised in Tennessee, and moved to Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, where the band released an independent CD in 1996. Then they essentially split up and started a record company. Brett Scallions was working radio, Jeff Abercrombie was doing merchandising, and Kevin Miller was taking records to retail. Carl Bell continued recording, and writing songs. The record companies heard some of the records, and before long, the band was receiving a lot of airplay in the Harrisburg area.

Fans are constantly searching out and downloading Fuel's music from the Internet. But it doesn't bother the band. Their first album, Porcelain , is out of print, so the musicians feel that if their fans go to the length to find it and download it, that's a testament to their level of dedication. It's when fans no longer seek out and download their music, they've said, that they'll start to worry.

"When it was all said and done, it just wasn't good enough," the British-born soul singer remarks. "It took a while to accept that fact, and a while longer to regain my perspective. But I don't think I could have done this album without going through that experience. It allowed me to begin again, to rediscover what I loved about music and how to best express that love."

The longtime Los Angeles resident moved back to London to record the 11 alternately sultry, soulful and sensitive songs that make up Seal IV . "There's a certain grit to that city, an energy and immediacy that had inspired me from the beginning," he says. "I just wanted to make the connection to a place that had always served me well."

Adding fuel to the fire was Seal's reunion with long-time production partner Trevor Horn, who helped guide Seal to worldwide sales of over 12 million units via such instant classics as "Crazy," "Prayer for the Dying" and "Kiss From a Rose," named Song of the Year at the 1996 BMI London Awards, earning the organization's highest accolade, the Robert S. Musel Award. "Kiss From a Rose" was also the 1996 Grammy winner for Record of the Year and Song of the Year.

"Trevor is a production genius of the old-school variety," Seal states. "He's got the discipline and dedication to keep obsessively focused on a verse, a chorus, a whole song or an entire album until it's absolutely the best it can be."

That approach is most readily apparent on horn-driven lead single "Waiting for You," a groove-ready tune that's making inroads on the pop charts, and on "Get It Together," an old-school r&b-flavored workout that's already a dance chart smash. Other notables include the clever wordplay of "Let Me Roll" and the emotive balladry that is "Loneliest Star."

Five years in the making (counting the aborted first try), Seal IV was very much a labor of love -- and one of which Seal is understandably proud. "You have to constantly dig deeper, pay the price and bear up under the pressure. You risk your health, your sanity and, in the end, there's no guarantee of success."

Still, he adds, "My songs are like kids. I love them all. I encourage them to grow, to reach their full potential, and then send them out into the world."

At 25, DeGraw exudes a charismatic presence, performing at such venues as New York’s Irving Plaza, Joe’s Pub and Wilson’s. Accompanying himself on piano and guitar, DeGraw sings soulfully about life’s love and heartache.

DeGraw grew up in the Catskill Mountains of upstate New York, inspired musically by his parents. While spending his teenage years performing in various cover bands (at the urging of his older brother), DeGraw attempted his first efforts at songwriting.

After attending Ithaca College on a music scholarship for one semester and Boston’s prestigious Berklee College of Music for one year, DeGraw decided to pursue an unregimented music career in New York. Upon relocatiing, he discovered a lifestyle and creative environment that would help to ignite his career.

“I kept having small successes,” DeGraw recalls in a recent interview. “Things like applause from small audiences, or people saying they’d heard about me. Those tiny bits of recognition were fuel for me to continue, and made me feel like I was on the right track.” Currently on tour through August, DeGraw is a precious secret soon to be discovered on a nationwide scale.