Music reviews. CD reviews. Critically hip!

Eventually, when all the trivia and minutia get eaten up and the talk about music starts to really get serious- out come the rankings.

Best album. Best producer. My pal Rip Rinehart used to insist on breaking things down to a best side of an album (I swear so he could slip in some obscure Strawbs vinyl).

Best show. Worst opening act. Strangest double-bill (Stephen Bishop with Little Feat was one of my all-time chin-scratchers).

Most memorable moment. Over the years, I heard a lot of opinions. When Jimmy Page reached for the violin bow. Patti Smith swan-diving backwards offstage. The singer in Earth Crisis cold-cocking some kid in a parking lot.

While I was lucky enough to catch a young Stevie Ray Vaughn in some small Clearwater club and a formative Marilyn Manson in some small dive on South Beach, my most unforgettable was off the beaten path and up into the holler.

In all the shows, my most memorable moment was with Ralph Stanley at the Morgan County Sorghum Festival.

What I was doing there was another story, but Stanley and his Clinch Mountain Boys were in the midst of another set of bluegrass standards on that late fall Saturday afternoon. Even for the modest draw of the Sorghum celebration, it was unusual for a headliner like Stanley to be playing so early in the day. Then someone in the crowd pointed out that Stanley had yet another show elsewhere that night, and then head west for the Renfro Valley Gospel Broadcast the next morning.

I couldn't be absolutely sure that the song the Boys were playing was "Great Speckled Bird," but at the closing of the tune, Stanley stepped up to the mic and began singing accapella. His high lonesome voice cut through the valley like nothing I've ever heard in my life. Obviously, I wasn’t alone in that opinion. In the space of half a minute, Stanley tore through the song’s last stanza like he was on the shoulder of God, like he was going to utter his final say on this earth before being struck down or swept away.

The reaction from the audience was just like in the movies. Everyone stopped their idle gabbing and slowly turned their attention to the stage. The nearby carnival rides came to an eerie halt. I swear, even some the birds in the air- as if under Hitchcockian direction- started flying in under the building eaves as if to shelter themselves from a storm.

To mention that it was compelling, poignant and magical would be a lie. It was spine-shivering weird. And then just as modestly, Stanley ended it all with a self-bemused laugh and the Clinch Mountain Boys started in again.

I'm not sure if producer T-Bone Burnett ever heard Stanley in a performance like that, but I was immediately reminded of it during the solo segment of "Twelve Gates To The City," off of Ralph Stanley's new self-titled album on DMZ. At 75 years old, Stanley's voice has weathered considerably since that day, but it's the substance and tenacity of his voice that still reminds me of that afternoon and invokes those same shivers.

Which seems to be at the root of Burnett's direction, muting all of the busy and bustling bluegrass technique and high-end harmonies in favor of a subdued acoustic backing. There's very little soloing among the soft touches of guitarist Norman Blake, banjo player Stuart Duncan and mandolin master Mike Compton- even underscoring their picking in deferring to Stanley's enigmatic voice. Similar to the vibe of the Rick Rubin/Johnny Cash collaboration “American Recordings,” the mood here is stark and intimate, as if emphasizing the musician's sacrifice to a lifetime of song.

And maybe Stanley’s mood is cast a little darker. While the bulk of Stanley's work has always been rooted in spirituals, the choice of material here is destined for the hereafter. Songs like "Lift Him Up, That's All" and "I'll Remember You Love In My Prayers" are supernatural, even chilling, in their relationship with death, as if Stanley has become consumed by the songs themselves.

In an instant, I'd recommend any of Stanley’s earlier work on the King, Rebel and Jalyn label. That's really where you will hear the definitive Stanley, his late brother Carter, and the original Clinch Mountain Boys at their finest, determining (along with Bill Monroe) the art of modern bluegrass.

But if you want hear the heart of bluegrass, Ralph Stanley's latest album is a noble effort.

I wish you good shivers.