New Albums by John Mayer, Haley Reinhart and Linda Oh Born and Raised Columbia Infamy has its uses, and atonement has its limits. John Mayer, who has come to grips with at least one of those truths, doesn't want to seem ungracious in the face of judgment. He wants you to know that he's his own harshest critic, even if he can't help saving a piece of justification for himself. Over the last two years, anyway, in the wake of a self-damaging round of publicity and a corresponding shudder of contrition, he has plumbed the depths of his broken soul, returning with lessons in song. So goes the irresistible subtext of "Born and Raised," Mr. Mayer's fifth studio album, a precious gift wrapped in burlap and baling twine. As palatably sure-footed as anything in his multimillion-selling catalog, the album - which he produced with Don Was, a veteran rock "n" roll ego whisperer - nonetheless reflects a shrewd adjustment, swapping out his usual airtight gleam for a touch of confessional Laurel Canyon folk-rock. The opening track, "Queen of California," name-checks early 1970s landmarks by Neil Young and Joni Mitchell over an easeful groove cribbed from the Grateful Dead. The title track, about owning up to the passage of time, has new background vocals by David Crosby and Graham Nash. This is an album of dual impulse, in other words, an attempt to turn back the clock while moving forward. "If I Ever Get Around to Living," another Dead-evoking tune, paints an image of Mr. Mayer's 17-year-old self, dreaming and hopeful, as-yet unmarked by tattoos or TMZ. "I think you better wise up, boy," he sings during the fade-out, and it's unclear whether he's admonishing his younger self or his current one. Elsewhere he leaves no such uncertainty. "The stage was set, the words were mine/I'm not complaining," he quavers softly in "Whiskey, Whiskey, Whiskey," a patently Mayeresque ballad. "The Age of Worry" mines similar territory: "Know your fight is not with them/Yours is with your time here." And the album's gently twangy lead single, "Shadow Days," has been widely construed as a response to the country-pop star Taylor Swift and her indignant anthem "Dear John." The meta-narrative may be heavy-handed, but it anchors the songs convincingly. Maybe Mr. Mayer didn't really set out to make his version of a Ryan Adams album, but it suits him at this moment, even when he lodges a curmudgeonly critique of the modern musical landscape, as on "Speak for Me." (Wait, could that be another rejoinder to Ms. Swift, who used "Speak Now" as her most recent album title? Calm yourself.) One of the strangest and most affecting songs here is "Walt Grace's Submarine Test, January 1967," about a basement tinkerer who set off in a homemade submersible despite the advice of everyone close to him. Mr. Mayer unravels the tale dispassionately, though it's not hard to see his investment in it: the solitude, the skepticism, the perilous depths. And eventually, against long odds, coming up for a new lungful of air. Listen Up! 19/Interscope The signature shift in the post-Cowell era of "American Idol" is the show's long-overdue reckoning with the marketplace. With Jimmy Iovine, the chairman of Interscope Geffen A&M, as a mentor on the show, guiding contestants each week and underscoring their most appealing qualities while aiming to bang out their idiosyncratic dents, "Idol" is as primed as it probably can be to build a modern pop star. Last year, when Haley Reinhart climbed her way to third on the show's 10th season, she appeared to be anything but that. A gritty rock belter with an outsized voice that felt as if it needed boundaries, she often looked uncomfortable and unnatural onstage and uncertain about why pushing her voice to extremes wasn't always the right idea. If Ms. Reinhart is still overexerting herself on "Listen Up!," her debut album, you can't tell. "Listen Up!" is all shape, all fixed-data points for Ms. Reinhart to adhere to - a taut album full of meaty, thickly arranged pop-soul that suits her booming voice extremely well. Ms. Reinhart still isn't a pop star, but that's fine. Produced primarily by Rob Kleiner and busbee, these songs hark back to the 1960s and "70s, when Motown girl groups were ceding ground to soul-driven rock. It's singers" territory that shows off both the smooth power of Ms. Reinhart's voice and its engine-revving churn. She lingers elegantly over notes at the end of lines, as on "Now That You're Here," and can tighten up into a growl when needed, as on "Liar." In contemporary pop terms, this is territory staked out by the likes of Bruno Mars, and the long shadow of Amy Winehouse hangs over the more wrenching soul numbers like "Wasted Tears" and "Oh My!," on which Ms. Reinhart sounds comfortable, even flirty. That song is saddled with a nonsensical verse from the toothless rapper B.o.B, an absurd concession to the times and the only glaring misstep here. On "Hit the Ground Runnin,"" Ms. Reinhart easily channels the Supremes, blending melody and sass: If you think that I'm sweet Sugar in your teeth You better watch your mouth, boy Cause I don't miss a beat And you don't know a thing about me. It's convincing and fresh. In a sense, this is what Cowell's "Idol" had long been advocating - a return to standards and classic pop modes. It's unfashionable and a bit out of touch, and what a smart thing that turns out to be. Initial Here Greenleaf Music Casual listeners to jazz who might not tune into big differences between bass players would notice Linda Oh. Her music leans forward at you. She has a percussive touch, graceful and sometimes aggressive, and she likes playing fast, walking or soloing or delivering a jagged ostinato. She's justifying the role of bassist as bandleader, starting the tunes, pushing the band, delivering clean, strong rhythm and melody. Two years ago she made "Entry," an album for bass, trumpet and drums. It was a feat, and a narrowly focused one. On her second album, "Initial Here," released by Dave Douglas's label, Greenleaf Music, she shows more resources of harmony, instrumentation and repertory, greater variety all over. The new album comes with a new band: a quartet that includes the pianist Fabian Almazan, the tenor saxophonist Dayna Stephens and the drummer Rudy Royston. The album works on a few different levels. In two covers - one a fast-swing gloss on joined melodies from Bernstein's "Something's Coming" and Stravinsky's "Cinq Doigts," the other a slow, respectful version of Ellington's "Come Sunday" - Ms. Oh shows her connection to jazz's traditions, its music and its methodology. In much of the rest, she's asserting newness. Fast or slow, this band devours its music. From drums, piano and bass come a clean, hyper-alert precision, with extra fills and fractured funk and rhythms within rhythms. Ms. Oh plays electric bass on a couple of tracks, not much differently from how she plays acoustic, full of melodic improvising. It can get relentless and overgrown. Sometimes it needs to be rescued from virtuosity, and Mr. Stephens does it. He's a soft-toned player who knows when to intimate or play long tones or stop playing altogether: an older soul. He's got some Wayne Shorter mystery in him. The exception to all of the above is "Thicker Than Water." It's not a quartet piece and isn't really jazz. It's an art song involving the vocalist Jen Shyu, who sings in Mandarin, English and wordless syllables. It feels significant, not just for language reasons, but also for the wholeness of feeling Ms. Shyu brings to it, and because the rest of the music consists of Ms. Oh playing bassoon and multitracked bowed basses. It's a whole other possible direction, a guarantor that Ms. Oh has a lot more to say.