From Bill Haley’s frantic clock-rocking to Sting’s po-faced plucking, the double bass has written itself a pretty meaty book in the rock‘n‘roll bible. It’s strictly Old Testament, though, far more closely identified with the composers of rock’s creation story than to those tasked with mapping out its future. But hang on. Louisiana-born, Memphis-based singer-songwriter Amy LaVere might just be changing all that.

The anticipation of Glen Campbell’s valedictory concerts has gone far beyond the goodbye to his music. It’s involved a reflection on his entire life. The sugar-throated cowboy with film-star looks and ballads as epic as daybreak in Arkansas has lived life like a great American novel. One of 12 children of a sharecropper, he went on to play the guitar with The Beach Boys, act with John Wayne, marry four times, and count Ronald Reagan as his friend. But with the onset of Alzheimer’s this is the last time the public will get to see him reflecting on his extraordinary years.

Formed in 2000 by thirtysomething sisters Catherine and Allison Pierce, Alabaman duo The Pierces have spent over a decade flitting from style to style and label to label, the nuggets of critical acclaim heavily outweighed by public indifference. Everything finally clicked, however, with their fourth album, You & I, which entered the UK charts at number four earlier this year.

“Cocaine Blues” is a song whose murky origins lie at the very roots of blues, folk, country and rock’n’roll, possibly right back to the last days of minstrelsy. When Johnny Cash performs it on his riveting 1968 live album At Folsom Prison, it fairly hums with potency, just about as heartening as popular music gets. When Merle Haggard has a crack at “Cocaine Blues” on his latest album, however, the mood is the polar opposite. The clean easy-going tone conjures a country and western version of Hugh Laurie’s recent sedate, chart-bothering take on the blues.

Here's the thing. Call me a rhinoceros-hided heathen but I find Bon Iver's music a bit of a bore. Then again, Justin Vernon - Bon Iver - used to be in this group called DeYarmond Edison somewhere in Wisconsin. They split in 2006 but where he went off on an emotional quest into his soul that struck a chord with so many, the other three members, Joe Westerlund and Philip and Bradley Cook - Megafaun - explored more curious sonic pastures, glubbing deep into earthy country music while fiddling about with computers. I did like that.

"I wanted to do an album that would be very uplifting and positive, as well as inspirational," quoth the divine Miss P of her latest waxing. Starting as she means to go on, she opens with the chunky honky-tonk pop of "In the Meantime", which crams a panorama of hopes and fears behind its perky exterior. We shouldn't worry about nuclear war and Armageddon, she advises, because "nobody knows when the end is coming" and besides, "God still lives in the hearts of men". Oh, and we should take care to look after the planet, too.

No real surprises on John Hiatt's 20th album, except that he can still find ways to put together a fresh, punchy set of songs using much the same ingredients as he's been using for the past 40 years. The songs, as ever, are rooted in rock, blues, country, Southern soul and old-fashioned R&B, though producer Kevin Shirley (Aerosmith, Iron Maiden, Joe Bonamassa etc) has brought focus and weight to the sound. 

No real surprises on John Hiatt's 20th album, except that he can still find ways to put together a fresh, punchy set of songs using much the same ingredients as he's been using for the past 40 years. The songs, as ever, are rooted in rock, blues, country, Southern soul and old-fashioned R&B, though producer Kevin Shirley (Aerosmith, Iron Maiden, Joe Bonamassa etc) has brought focus and weight to the sound. 

These days Teddy Thompson seems entirely his own man. In fact, mentioning his family connections seems almost gratuitous. Last night, however, the son of Richard and Linda shared the evening with sister Kami and nephew Zak for a family knees-up before a devoted crowd. And, for the most part, they all seemed to be having a thoroughly good time. 

It was the invasion of the collapsible chairs at this year’s Co-operative Cambridge Folk Festival. From above it appeared that an army of extremely well-equipped picnickers was staking its claim on the quarter of a mile surrounding the main stage using only fold-up chairs, checked blankets and pints of cider, occasionally lobbing colourful balloon missiles into the air. To call it civilised would be an understatement. It was quite simply extraordinary how far people had gone in pursuit of convenience. Those of us poor sods who sat on the floor could barely see for the sea of green canvas furniture. But the relaxed (to the point of horizontal) atmosphere which such careful provision resulted in was perfect to greet a line-up of intriguingly different brands of folk.

His daughter may be Hannah Montana and he may have set country music sales records but, worldwide, Billy Ray Cyrus will never escape his mega-hit “Achy Breaky Heart”. Although that was a novelty record, it epitomised everything people find preposterous about America’s red states. Which is why, outside of America’s heartlands, most people find it difficult to take Cyrus seriously. It's something he finds very frustrating.