Shimmering neon lights: Ashley Monroe and Dawn Richard

Two of my favorite artists immerse in electronics. The results? Mixed for a certain country artist.

Ashley Monroe – Rosegold

Her last album had hinted at the shift in priorities, but the transformation into electronica will surprise listeners. This is not to say Ashley Monroe has turned into Roisín Murphy; rather, she and her collaborators look to strummers who sought a synthesized spritz to match the increasingly carnal songwriting. If a precedent exists, look to k d lang’s somewhat obscure All You Can Eat (1995), in which she replaced torch and twang with ice and croon, or even adult contemporary touchstones like Rosanne Cash and Amy Grant. No way do Monroe’s new songs match their best, though the stillness of “See” and the multi-tracked husk on “Til It Breaks” boast some of her intensest performances to date. But “Groove” is no such thing and “Drive” stalls. That’s the problem with Rosegold. With each album Monroe’s humor has ebbed. As one-third of Pistol Annies she’s in charge of the heartbreak, the trio’s Tammy Wynette and Barbara Mandrell; by herself she has turned into a specialist in pressed-flower pathos; she’s become too precious. Brandy Clark’s Big Day in a Small Town (2015) is a superior example of baby-I’m-burnin’. So for that matter was All You Can Eat, especially when lang consented to dance remixes.

Dawn Richard – Second Line

Most herself when she hides or distorts her voice, the former member of Danity Kane offers fifty minutes’ worth of dance-inflected R&B in kinetic and languorous moods. The first half, which she has called “a machine version” of King Creole, doesn’t let up: dance tracks with hooks as sharp as “Bussifame” and peaking with “Jacuzzi,” pronounced with a stress on the last syllable and devoted to every use for water (let your imagination run as free as hers, readers). The second half offers meandering electronic tracks dependent on the strength of Richard’s declarations. “They tell me slow down, bitch, never me,” she rasps before the album does. But “Perfect Storm” zips from ballad to jungle and makes you like it and “SELFish (Outro)” is like the Kraftwerk of “Neon Lights” with extra wattage. Also of note: here’s one album whose spoken word interludes don’t deserve a skip. The recordings of Richard’s mom answering questions about family and faith are touching in themselves and add necessary gestalt.