Bragg, one of the world's finest contemporary folksingers, appropriately sang "Handyman Blues" as his first tune — and was quickly met with lot of hammering on our rooftop by some real handymen as they put the finishing touches on NPR's new home.

Bragg, along with Dobro player C.J. Hillman, also channeled the spirit of legendary American folksinger Woody Guthrie, with whom Bragg collaborated — albeit posthumously, in Guthrie's case — when he took Guthrie's unsung words and set them to song with the help of Wilco. Here, he takes a song Guthrie himself co-opted and altered: a gospel tune ("This World Is Not My Home") he'd turned into an anthem against inaction.

In "I Ain't Got No Home," Bragg follows in the folk tradition by altering the song to address the issue of universal health care. It's a rare talent to make it work, but Bragg, as always, finds a way to blend politics and music with grace, charm and a rough edge.

He's also a drummer, and though he grew up in Southern California, his time in New Orleans left a deep impression. Inspired by the Crescent City's modern brass bands, in 2006 he started the NO BS! Brass Band with trombonist Reggie Pace. They had a place to fit between 10 and 13 musicians for rehearsal, and they had the means to document their work. And, owing to VCU and its conservatory program — with a history of producing top-notch jazz players — they had plenty of great horn players at their disposal.

Funky and danceable, the NO BS! Brass Band takes after the full black-music continuum you hear in groups like Rebirth or the Hot 8. But it's also proggy, and a bit brutalizing, and full of pride in a different Southern outpost. The group's new album is called RVA All Day, after all. And about that jazz cred: In July, it'll release another album called Fight Song, so named because it features the band's arrangements of Charles Mingus compositions.

Recently, Koehler, Pace and nine other musicians piled into a bus and journeyed up the freeway to NPR Music's Tiny Desk in Washington, D.C. They blasted us with songs from the new album — it was so loud, you could hear the music on the other side of the building, a floor down. And this summer, when Pace isn't out with Bon Iver's touring band, they'll strike out from Oregon Hill to fly the Richmond flag up and down the East Coast.

In the days leading up to this hotly anticipated performance by The National — recorded at the obscenely early time (for touring bands anyway) of 10:30 in the morning — we'd gotten word that the group would strip its sound way down for the occasion, sticking to two acoustic guitars and a bit of hand percussion. What we got instead was a fully fleshed-out septet, complete with horns and piano; the band showed up at 9:30 to rehearse and sound-check.

Though singer Matt Berninger had barely rested his voice from a show in the area the night before, The National dutifully performed gorgeous acoustic renditions of four tracks from its fine new album, Trouble Will Find Me. Its members even treated the hundreds of worshipful gawkers to Building 2.0's first-ever Tiny Desk encore, in response to a roar of applause that could be heard in the far reaches of the newsroom downstairs. Here's to many more.

Earlier this year, we needed to figure out the best possible way to move my Tiny Desk from NPR's old headquarters to our new facility just north of the U.S. Capitol. We wanted to go out with a bang and arrive at our new space in style, so our thoughts naturally turned to a catchy pop band we love: OK Go, whose unforgettable videos have been viewed tens of millions of times on YouTube.

Bandleader Damian Kulash used to be an engineer at an NPR member station in Chicago, so we figured he'd be up for helping us execute a simple idea: Have OK Go start performing a Tiny Desk Concert at our old location, continue playing the same song while the furniture and shelving is loaded onto a truck, and finish the performance at our new home. In addition to cameos by many of our NPR colleagues — Ari Shapiro, Audie Cornish, David Greene, Guy Raz, Scott Simon, Alix Spiegel, Susan Stamberg and more — this required a few ingredients:

Number of video takes: 223

Percent used in final version: 50

Number of raw audio channels: 2,007

Percent used in final version: 50

Number of microphones: 5

Number of hard-boiled eggs consumed: 8, mostly by bassist Tim Nordwind

Number of seconds Carl Kasell spent in the elevator with OK Go: 98

Number of times Ari Shapiro played the tubular bells: 15

Number of pounds the tubular bells weighed: 300

Number of times the shelves were taken down and put back up: 6

Number of days it took to shoot: 2

Number of cameras: 1

OK Go played "All Is Not Lost" from Of the Blue Colour of the Sky, with words tweaked by the All Songs Considered team. And so begins a new era for the Tiny Desk, after 277 concerts (counting this one) in our old home. 

Joined by three excellent collaborators, brothers Sohrab and Tahmoures Pournazeri (celebrated musicians in their own right as leaders of Iran's Shams Ensemble) and French percussionist Robin Vassy, Ostad ("Master") Shajarian gave what amounted to a brief master class in the art of singing. In the course of this love song, titled "Az Eshgh," Shajarian unleashed torrents of swooping, soaring, goosebump-inducing sound — still perfectly controlled at age 73.

Over the past several years, Shajarian has emerged as a strong voice in other ways. Though he's been an artistic icon for decades at home, he was never particularly outspoken on political issues. But since the Green movement began in Iran in the wake of President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad's reelection in June 2009, Shajarian has openly made reference to supporting the opposition, and has demanded that state-run media stop using his songs in their broadcasts and films. Those moves carry a heavy cost: He has been effectively barred from performing live in Iran, and instead now spends most of his time touring the world to diaspora and non-Iranian audiences alike. But at his heart, Shajarian is a great artist, not a politician — and perhaps now, even more will have the chance to experience his brilliant beauty and power as a singer.

Buddy Miller is the guitar player to hire if you're playing heartfelt, not-so-shiny country-rock songs. Ask Robert Plant and Alison Krauss, with whom Miller toured for their Raising Sand tour, or Emmylou Harris,Shawn Colvin and Patty Griffin, who named their tour together "Three Girls and Their Buddy."

Jim Lauderdale writes award-winning country songs — hits for George Strait, Patty Loveless and the Dixie Chicks. He'll once again host the Americana Music Awards alongside Miller, with whom he shares a radio show on Sirius XM's Outlaw Country Channel; that's where the corny humor comes in. You'll hear some of that in this Tiny Desk Concert, but you'll also hear musical merrymaking and timeless harmonies, with songs from their first full-album collaboration, Buddy and Jim.

The songs they performed, at NPR's offices and on the album, have titles like "I Lost My Job [insert pregnant pause here] of Loving You." Some good fun to be had at the expense of heartbreak and life's loves, both lost and found.

Benedetti has since become an international performer of note: She's recently appeared as soloist with groups like the New York Philharmonic, the Chicago Symphony Orchestra and the San Francisco Symphony, and she was given the huge honor of playing the last night of the Proms in London last summer. But Benedetti just might be best appreciated in an up-close-and-personal setting, whether she's performing or working with kids, which is one of her greatest passions; she's a proud "big sister" to El Sistema Scotland.

At this Tiny Desk Concert, though, she's simply radiant. Maybe that's partly due to her affable and gracious personality, or to her huge and sweet tone, enhanced by the 1717 Gariel Strad she plays. (It's worth some $10 million.) Or maybe it's the way she lets John Williams' theme from Schindler's List spin out in such aching fashion, or the way she makes room for silence in Bach's Chaconne before tearing deep into its dense warp and weft. In any case, she's enchanting. 

I walked up to Adam Schatz, the man behind the saxophone and chief instigator in Father Figures, and told him his band needed to play the Tiny Desk. How this music would translate to the brightness of day — to say nothing of a busy office — was hard to anticipate. But from the moment the band squeaked its first squawk, it was clear that it would conjure up an adventure. These guys mix rock and jazz the way King Crimson did at its fiercest.

Father Figures formed at New York University in 2007 with Adam Schatz on sax and effects, Jas Walton on sax, Spencer Zahn on upright bass, Ian Chang on drums and Ross Edwards on keyboards. If they come to a club or living room near you, drop all plans and go. This video is just the beginning.

You can hear Sosa draw on more than 100 years of Cuban piano in the recognizable rhythms of his country's music. But in Sosa's hands, it's not all fiery and bombastic; he's most effective when he uses Afro-Cuban tradition as a guide to his distinct, subtle and nuanced approach.

In Paolo Fresu, Sosa has found a sympathetic musical partner. Fresu's work on trumpet and flugelhorn provides a perfect foil for Sosa's introspective intersection of jazz, Afro-Cuban sounds and a chamber-music mentality.

Sosa and Fresu's quietly energetic performance behind Bob Boilen's desk enveloped everyone in attendance like a soft mist. Fresu's use of digital delay never clashed with Sosa' acoustic piano, instead adding another color to the palette; at times, Fresu uses it to add a layer of rhythm with either the ring on his finger or a blowing technique into his horn.

Omar Sosa and Paolo Fresu were as much fun to watch as they were to hear. Watch this Tiny Desk Concert and see for yourself.

It's precisely that creative energy that led to Efterklang ransacking our kitchen utensils and desks in search of sound-making material. The band is a joy to witness live with a small orchestra, but it's equally compelling just the way it is here, huddled around my desk and trying ideas it's never tried. A true adventure.

But for a moment, stop, put aside your notion of jigs and reels, and just listen. Martin Hayes plays his fiddle with an exquisite touch and tone, as well as a magnificent sense of melody and rhythm that never ceases to astonish.

I'm a year-round Irish-music guy. I've spent many summers at Celtic-music camps trying to improve my mediocre guitar skills and enjoying late-night Irish music sessions. I've seen Hayes at these camps as a teacher and performer; his playing has brought me to tears at times, and at others has made me burst out with joyful laughter. I couldn't be prouder to have him perform for us.

Hayes has worked with many accompanying musicians, and some are equal partners, but with Dennis Cahill you get delicate support. It's a rhythm that keeps the tune in; that accents and colors it but never overtakes it. It's brilliant restraint that serves the music and perfectly suits his parter. So with fresh ears, come join us in a rare treat with a familiar sound.

Kanene Pipkin and Brian Elmquist aren't just supporting players; they're vital. Their voices harmonize with Williams', sometimes making vocal power chords and at other times supplying delicate textures. Pipkin's mandolin and Elmquist's guitar create melodies and rhythms that seem a lot bigger than 14 unamplified strings normally make.

Williams began writing songs not too many years back while living in Georgia, inspired by tragedy — a riding accident that left his young wife temporarily paralyzed. That inspiration and undeniable heart comes through in every song. I'm so glad we got The Lone Bellow on the rise, because I have a feeling they're about to get very, very busy.

Guitarist Mary Halvorson didn't come to this standard practice just by playing standards. As a sidewoman, she's often tapped to play in open improvising situations; her mentors include the unclassifiable composer Anthony Braxton and the free-jazz guitarist/bassist Joe Morris. Among her sonic signatures are craggy distortions, bent strings and delay-pedaled blurts through a hollow-body guitar.

Yet Halvorson has now recorded two albums with her quintet, one with alto saxophone (Jon Irabagon) and trumpet (Jonathan Finlayson) up top. (The rhythm section is also among New York's finest, with John Hebert on bass and Ches Smith on drums.) From the way her songs balance order and entropy, you can hear that she's studied how golden-era hard bop blended those voices, and how later generations morphed, rephrased and imploded those ideas.

We thought we'd spring this particular sound of surprise on the Tiny Desk. So when they showed up in town to perform, we invited Mary Halvorson and her quintet to NPR Music's headquarters, where they got comfortable enough to get rad.

We thought Yellen might show up for this Tiny Desk set by himself — all the better to show off that amazing voice, with maybe just his own guitar as backup. But he opted to go all-in with the full Night Beds touring band, including lap steel and keys. The resulting performance was both lighthearted and deeply affecting.

Fortunately, you still get a chance to hear Yellen's voice in the clear: The group kicked off its four-song set with "Faithful Heights," the a cappella opening track from Night Beds' full-length debut, Country Sleep. The song segues seamlessly to "Ramona," followed by "22," before the set closes with with "Hide From It," an unreleased song.

As Night Beds' members were packing up after their performance, I asked Yellen if he ever has to work on his voice or if he was just born with it — I'd assumed the latter. "I actually just started taking voice lessons," he said. "I knew I could be so much better before heading out for this tour."

It's hard to imagine it sounding any better.

The xx's second album, Coexist, came out last fall, and it plays like a series of tensely lovely interludes, each building to a climax that never arrives. Plopped in front of Bob Boilen's desk and asked to play a few songs from the record, singer-guitarist Romy Madley Croft and singer-bassist Oliver Sim have reason to look slightly ill-at-ease: The setting and band configuration robs them of cover. No beats from member Jamie Smith, who opted to hang back at the hotel; no shroud of darkness or bright lights pointed outward to blunt the crowd's stares. Throughout their characteristically compact seven-minute performance, Croft and Sim avoid eye contact, as they visibly try to ignore the huge throng and cameras positioned maybe 10 feet away from them.

What comes out of their performance is not just beauty, but humanity — the sense that, in all of The xx's songs, all the calm chilliness in the world can't quite contain an exposed heart.

The members of the male vocal ensemble called Cantus, who huddled around Bob Boilen's desk to sing for us, hail from that vortex — specifically Minneapolis-St. Paul.

A quick note on the group's name, because it's more appropriate than you might think. "Cantus" means "singing" in Latin, but it also refers to an old European tradition. A student group who gathered to sing traditional songs and drink beer was once called a "cantus." And this modern-day group of Minnesotans indeed got its start in 1995 as a student singing group at St. Olaf College in Northfield, Minn. They didn't tell us much about the beer, though.

Cantus went professional in 2000 and has cut 15 albums on its own label. Unlike some choral groups who specialize in one style of music, Cantus prides itself on diversity. Just take a look at the three songs its members chose for this concert.

"Wanting Memories" is a song steeped in African-American culture, written by Ysaye Barnwell from Sweet Honey in the Rock. "Zikr," composed by A.R. Rahman — the same guy who scored the hit movie Slumdog Millionaire — has roots in the Sufi tradition, where deep chords and repeated phrases signal a slow burn toward religious ecstasy. And the group closes with German composer Franz Biebl's gorgeous "Ave Maria," a signature piece for the group that blends traditional plainsong (or chant) with delicate melody and voluptuous harmonies that ascend heavenward.

Listening to Cantus, you understand that there's something about a group of people singing that touches listeners on a very human level. Perhaps it explains why so many of us sing — and not just in the shower. Chorus America estimates that 42.6 million American adults and children sing in choirs. (A lot of them live in Minnesota!)

For the rest of us, whose pipes aren't quite that golden? We've always got excellent groups like Cantus to do the singing for us.

So if you're looking for another side of Barnes' music — for comparison, check out the April 2012 Of Montreal concert we recorded for NPR Music, the description of which includes the words "wildly theatrical," "flamboyant," "synchronized dancing" and "strange, wandering creatures that look like amoebas" — you'll get it here. The singer told us that he'd been working on quieter, more personal material in recent months, and figured the intimate surroundings would be an ideal setting to try it out. The result is a rarely heard side of a band and a frontman for whom theatricality has long been a means of expression rather than an end unto itself.

As if to flesh out The Decemberists' more stripped-down Tiny Desk appearance from 2011 — only guitarist Chris Funk performed at both shows — Black Prairie played richly layered versions of three cuts from last year's A Tear in the Eye Is a Wound in the Heart. Like so much great folk music, there's a marvelous blend of darkness and light at work here, as the band lends a snappy, lilting quality to songs of alienation and darkness.

Both Berklee School of Music alumni, the two women moved to a Victorian home they'd found on Craigslist. As it turns out, that old Brooklyn home had a 60-year history as a recording studio and music school, complete with an old Steinway piano; it was there that they found their future bandmates. Danny Molad, Peter Lalish and Andrew Burri fill out the group with guitars and drums and an uncanny ability to create songs with vastly differing character.

One minute, Lucius sounds like a girl group circa 1961; the next, you could be hearing an Emmylou Harris outtake. And, though only four songs turn up on the band's 2012 EP, I feel a strong album on the way. Pair that with a dynamic and lovable stage presence, and what you're witnessing from Lucius at the Tiny Desk sounds like the early days of a long career. 

After releasing two albums, the 27-year-old performed as if he'd spent years of his life pressing rewind and pause on the great entertainers of our time — James Brown, Prince, Sam Cooke, Jackie Wilson, Michael Jackson. After he ended his set, I wanted to ask who'd taught him the most, but the crush of admirers loomed and I got out of the way of the cellphone cameras. He's a genuine, modern-day star.

On a recent morning, The Polyphonic Spree rolled up to NPR in their packed-to-the-gills bus and unloaded a small army of horn players, singers, and assorted gear for the largest Tiny Desk performance we've ever had. The band members spent much of the day getting ready for the three-song set and puzzling out the logistics of getting that many people behind Bob Boilen's desk. But, they said, it's a "human Tetris game" they've played many times before, and by the early afternoon they were ready to go.

While many of the larger bands we host at the Tiny Desk often opt for stripped-down performances, what you see here with The Polyphonic Spree is pretty close to the band's full-on production, with a horn section, cello player, guitars and drums, and of course the full group of singers, led by the wonderfully effusive Tim DeLaughter.

For this special holiday Tiny Desk performance, The Polyphonic Spree treated the NPR Music office to two traditional Christmas carols – "The Christmas Song (Chestnuts Roasting On An Open Fire)," "Silver Bells," and the relatively newer John Lennon classic "Happy Xmas (War Is Over)."

Seeing Alt-J live in concert — or here at the Tiny Desk — reveals a few of those mysteries, making a band that can be difficult on first listen a bit easier to digest. For one, seeing Joe Newman sing makes his words less oblique; for another, that curious rhythm at the foundation of the songs reveals not a hint of cymbals. And, though the drums are stripped down more than ever at the Tiny Desk, they still provide the essence of an original sound. Thom Green plays mostly with a mounted tambourine and cowbell for the sorts of things a hi-hat would accomplish — that tick tick sound, with the snap of the sound coming from a small-bodied 10" snare called a popcorn snare. The sparseness that happens in the absence of crashing cymbals leaves a lot of space in the music.

Alt-J is from Leeds, England — home to another of my favorite art-rock bands, Gang of Four. Both play angular, poetic music that takes unexpected turns, shifting gears when you least expect it. Alt-J made my favorite album of 2012, An Awesome Wave, and if you're new to the group, the understated sound may get lost on you at first. But listen to the words and study how the songs evolve: No one else is making music like this. This is an original, innovative band with a brilliant present and a brighter future.

So it's appropriate that Lovett would open this performance at the NPR Music offices by performing "Cowboy Man," the first track on his 1986 debut: He may be a music-industry veteran, but in many ways, he's starting over. With a fresh-faced accompanist in fiddler and backup singer Luke Bulla, Lovett gives a loose, engaging performance that feels like both an introduction and a victory lap.

He follows "Cowboy Man" with two songs from 1989's Lyle Lovett and His Large Band, so this is no mere promotional appearance. With nothing in particular to promote — though he did put out an album of covers, Release Me, earlier in the year — Lovett seems motivated primarily by the sheer joy of playing his songs. His pleasure is infectious.

Endearing as his admission is, once Bachman zeroes in on the center of a song, it's easy to get lost in it yourself. Strap on a pair of heavy boots and "Honeysuckle Reel" becomes an ecstatic dance tune or, at the very least, a foot-stomping good time. He closes with the reflective title track from one of two great albums he put out in 2012, Seven Pines, whose simple melody dives in and out of low-string chord crashes and tumultuous swirls of dizzying fingerpicking.

Thankfully, as this Tiny Desk Concert in the NPR Music offices demonstrates, Mitchell possesses a warm and ingratiating style to go with her evocative, impeccably crafted lyrics. Singing and playing alongside guitarist and longtime collaborator Michael Chorney, she performs three of Young Man in America's most bracingly beautiful songs with clear-eyed directness that requires no adornment.

The first time I heard "Same Love," it brought tears to the eyes of a roomful of people, myself included. The song is about equality, specifically gay rights, with an unambiguous message: "It's human rights for everybody / There is no difference." Then, in a flip of a backing-track beat, Macklemore (a.k.a. Ben Haggerty) sings about wearing a velour jumpsuit and some house slippers, "grandpa style."

The contrast in these songs, "Same Love" and "Thrift Shop," makes the levity all that much memorable; as producer, Ryan Lewis is a master at the hook and clever with the melody. But this Tiny Desk Concert didn't end there: The live, sweet, soulful sounds of singer Ray Dalton belting, "Like the ceiling can't hold us" had Macklemore standing on my desk and shaking the dust off the ceiling tiles. Watching this video fills me with that inspirational feeling we shared watching it happen: I'm still cleaning dust around my desk, but it only makes me smile. 

In 2009, Taken by Trees put out one of my favorite records of that decade, East of Eden. The album explored and was inspired by a visit to Pakistan, while her new Other Worlds was inspired by a journey to Hawaii. These songs seem to come from a place somewhere between a dream state and waking life: There's restraint to the way the players approach this music, almost as if they're trying not to wake the baby in the other room. There's charm to that. And, though Bergsman was under the weather when Taken by Trees performed at the Tiny Desk, it all works wonderfully. 

Wainwright's new album, Come Home to Mama, addresses her place on the continuum between her late mother (singer Kate McGarrigle) and her young son — particularly in the wrenching and insightful "Everything Wrong," a ballad Wainwright calls "my first song about motherhood." That song closes both Come Home to Mama and this concert in the NPR Music offices, and it's tremendous: raw and almost painfully intimate, wonderfully humane and ultimately hopeful.

Martha Wainwright is the second member of her family to play the Tiny Desk in the last few months, following in the footsteps of her brother Rufus. Their father, Loudon Wainwright III, released a marvelous record near the beginning of this year, so is completing the family trifecta too much to ask? Consider this an invitation.

Gibbard just released a solo album, Former Lives, which he's said is a repository for material that didn't work as Death Cab for Cutie songs; from that record, only "Teardrop Windows" pops up in his Tiny Desk Concert. For the rest, he draws from Death Cab's most recent album ("St. Peter's Cathedral," from Codes and Keys) and, of all places, last year's Arthur soundtrack ("When the Sun Goes Down on Your Street").

In all, Gibbard's set makes a fine choice as the 250th Tiny Desk Concert we've published since the series was born nearly five years ago: For all the big, elaborate set-ups we've entertained in the NPR Music offices, it's always nice to return to the series' origins as a place for quiet singer-songwriters to do their thing unadorned, without getting drowned out by other sounds. Even minus a band at his back, Gibbard warrants the undivided attention.

Two of the songs you hear Flaco Jimenez play in this Tiny Desk Concert are traditional German polkas; they were popular in the mid-1800s as German immigrants settled in Texas before it became part of the U.S. almost 20 years later. Over time, the two-step stayed the same, but the German lyrics were replaced by the Mexican storytelling song form known as corridos.

But Jimenez is no dusty relic; he's very much of the here and now. For almost six decades, he's carried on those traditions and taken them to places neither his grandfather nor his father could ever imagine. He's played with The Rolling Stones, Bob Dylan, Dr. John, Los Lobos, Willie Nelson and Ry Cooder; he's toured the world and won Grammys. He's become a symbol of ethnic pride among Mexican-Americans for not only preserving the conjunto sound, but also moving it forward.

Listen closely to this recording: I think the secret to Jimenez's longevity lies in the short bursts of improvisation in between verses he shares with bajo sexto player Max Baca, of the Grammy-winning band Los Texmaniacs. (The two have an album due out in the spring.) The notes seem to spin and strut just as the dancers do in the serious conjunto dance halls. There's a stutter here, a jazz-like riff there, and when he extends the notes and holds them playfully, I recall my own mother teaching me to spin her in a tight pirouette at family weddings and quinceñeras.

Jimenez was able to perform a Tiny Desk Concert because he had traveled to Washington, D.C., from his home in San Antonio to receive a Heritage Fellowship awarded by the National Endowment of the Arts. He was being honored for carrying on what his grandfather and so many other conjunto musicians have been doing for more than a century: getting people on the dance floor with an accordion and a song.

You've got to give the guy credit. Lytle could have slapped the higher-profile Grandaddy name on his beautiful, deeply moving 2009 album Yours Truly, The Commuter, and on his equally impressive record from this fall, Dept. of Disappearance, and few could have discerned the difference. But whatever. Lytle still makes some of the best music of his life.

So it's only fitting, and a rare treat, to see Jason Lytle go it alone in this Tiny Desk set, performing bare-essentials versions of songs he created and recorded at his home studio. He treated the NPR Music offices to two tracks from his current record, "Willow Wand Willow Wand" and "Get Up and Go," as well as a super-cool (and tear-jerking) acoustic-guitar version of "Jed the Humanoid," one of the most memorable songs he ever released as Grandaddy.

Passion Pit's Michael Angelakos is a fussy sonic craftsman: A keyboardist and singer who started out working solo on his laptop, he now makes fizzily catchy electro-pop that orbits around monster hooks. He's not, in other words, the first musician you'd associate with a stripped-down performance behind NPR Music's Tiny Desk, where Technicolor production tends to give way to unfiltered voices and bare instrumental essentials. But Angelakos, a gifted songwriter who's been publicly forthcoming and articulate about his battles with bipolar disorder and substance abuse, is no intellectual or musical lightweight.

Angelakos clearly saw an opportunity in bare-bones arrangements of his best-known songs — his 2008 breakthrough single "Sleepyhead" and two hits from this year's Gossamer, "Take a Walk" and "Carried Away" — that he couldn't explore with a full band. With only his own falsetto, an electric piano, and simple guitar lines from Passion Pit's Ian Hultquist, Angelakos gets to direct listeners toward his words, which blossom under scrutiny. "Take a Walk," for example, turns up in a zillion commercials thanks to that monster hook, but it's also a rich, thoughtful sketch of an immigrant family's experiences, expectations, dreams and disappointments. In this performance, the hooks do persist, but words rule the day.

Set List

"Take A Walk"

"Sleepyhead"

"Carried Away"

Credits

Producer: Bob Boilen; Editor: Denise DeBelius; Audio Engineer: Kevin Wait; Videographers: Denise DeBelius, Christopher Parks; photo by Ryan Smith/NPR

Lord Huron is a band for just about anyone: The rich harmonies are welcoming, the lyrics relatable and the live performances thrilling. The group started out as a solo project for singer Ben Schneider, but is now a full assortment of terrific musicians, all based in Los Angeles.

The band's first album, Lonesome Dreams, just came out — you might have seen the Western-style film that accompanied the first single, "Time to Run," which Scheider describes as, "A tragic tale of the foolish things a man might find himself doing for a woman, and the consequences that foolishness may bring upon him and those around him."

Dig into this Tiny Desk Concert, and pay no mind to the fact that, like me, Schneider showed up in the office wearing a hat and bolo tie — and, like me, plays the same black Martin guitar. We aren't in any way related, just kindred spirits.

Bringing blues music to the Top 40 isn't easy: Only a handful of musicians have done it in the 30 years Robert Cray has spent winning awards, selling millions of records and otherwise kicking around on the national stage. But Cray has, crossing over from blues-club stages to arenas with the double-platinum 1986 album Strong Persuader and its single "Smoking Gun," and has continued to stick around as one of the most reliably gifted and accessible guitarists around.

For all the attention Cray receives as an instrumentalist, it's his smooth, smoky voice that really sells his music. Equal parts soul man and blues belter, he presides over a crack band — bassist Richard Cousins, keyboardist Jim Pugh and drummer Tony Braunagel, who performs here by tapping a wooden box — at this Tiny Desk Concert in the NPR Music offices.

Like any great blues singer, Cray makes heartache and other romantic dysfunction sound engaging and relatable: Ironically, if not surprisingly, his saddest song here (yes, sadder than "Sadder Days") is the one called "I'm Done Crying." But all three of these tracks, culled from Cray's new album Nothin But Love, execute the deftest possible blend of emotional misery and instrumental majesty — just the way the blues ought to be.

Spirit Family Reunion was my favorite find at this year's Newport Folk Festival. The group makes music I'd call "new old-timey," but which its members call "open-door gospel" — gospel music that's not tied to any particular religious denomination.

 You'll hear fiddle, banjo, guitar and washboard, all gathered around a single microphone in an old-style tradition. An unsigned band living in Brooklyn, Spirit Family Reunion makes music filled with joy, perfect for a Tiny Desk Concert. Its members told Weekend Edition Sunday's David Greene that they've been traveling the country in a beat-up Chevy conversion van, sleeping on floors and wherever else they can lay their heads. The band recently self-released a new album, No Separation, and its songs translate perfectly into foot-stomping singalongs in the NPR Music offices.

We first met Kat Edmonson nearly four years ago, when All Songs Considered put out a challenge to songwriters on the eve of Barack Obama's inauguration. We asked musicians around the country to capture the moment in song, and Edmonson, a native of Texas, wrote and sent us "Be the Change." It was clearly the best song we received, and she sang it with a unique voice and wonderful phrasing — so spot on. Later, we loved her cover of the George Gershwin-DuBose Heyward standard "Summertime."

Hearing Edmonson makes it virtually impossible to do anything but stop and listen. It was clear, hearing the 29-year-old interpret "Summertime," that the era around the 1930s and '40s was a rich place for her voice.

These days, Edmonson writes some of her own songs, digging deep into the spirit of those more artistically innocent times, and she finds contemporary writers who tell tales of longing and desire and more. On her new album Way Down Low, and now at the Tiny Desk, Edmonson is no longer simply inspired by days gone by; with that fragile voice, she's given it new life. In a digital and branded age, she stands out soft and clear.

There just aren't many bands like Antibalas. These are jazz players making dance music: Their music is big and fun, and their guiding spirit is Fela Kuti, the brilliant big-band leader and Nigerian Afrobeat pioneer. Afrobeat is a musical style featuring nearly endless songs, mixing funk and jazz, grooves and riffs, with the rhythm carried by not only the drums, but everyone. Everyone — horn players, bass players, guitarists — plays rhythm in Afrobeat music.

Antibalas (Spanish for "bulletproof") is a Brooklyn ensemble, and 11 members turned up at the Tiny Desk. Many of these musicians may be familiar to listeners of Sharon Jones & The Dap Kings, The Roots, Paul Simon or Public Enemy. Most recently, Antibalas found some fame performing — and some of the members arranging and directing music — for the Tony-winning Broadway stage presentation of Fela!

It's one thing for a big group to make a big sound — and, sure, Antibalas does that — but what stands out is the subtlety of this ensemble; the way the horns weave in and out of each other, sometimes complementing and at other times inspiring and creating musical conversation between players. That extends to all the players, from vocals to guitar. When you start to listen to that conversation and you hear that build in a rhythm, it's so powerful, so full of joy. If they come to your town, drop what you're doing and go see them. Wear dancing shoes.

At NPR Music, we get stacks of CDs in the mail, as well as countless links to music streams, from bands trying to stand out and get some attention. It's safe to say that we all share similar previewing procedures: At some point, we just sit and listen.

What are we listening for? I can't speak for the others, but I'm constantly in search of music I haven't heard, but which sounds as if it's been in my life forever.

That's exactly what happened when I put on Yva Las Vegass' album, I was born in a place of sunshine and the smell of ripe mangoes. I was knocked out by the way she infuses Venezuelan folk traditions with a punk aesthetic. I heard songs as allegories, songs that told stories and songs that felt like deep primal screams, all accompanied by a traditional Venezuelan cuatro — a small stringed instrument similar to a ukulele.

At the NPR Music offices, Las Vegass weaves magic with her presence, her playing and especially her voice. You can't quite see her cut-off jeans and Chuck Taylor high-top sneakers behind Bob Boilen's desk, but in attitude and style, Yva Las Vegass is punk-rock through and through.

Lord Huron is a band for just about anyone: The rich harmonies are welcoming, the lyrics relatable and the live performances thrilling. The group started out as a solo project for singer Ben Schneider, but is now a full assortment of terrific musicians, all based in Los Angeles.

The band's first album, Lonesome Dreams, just came out — you might have seen the Western-style film that accompanied the first single, "Time to Run," which Scheider describes as, "A tragic tale of the foolish things a man might find himself doing for a woman, and the consequences that foolishness may bring upon him and those around him."

Dig into this Tiny Desk Concert, and pay no mind to the fact that, like me, Schneider showed up in the office wearing a hat and bolo tie — and, like me, plays the same black Martin guitar. We aren't in any way related, just kindred spirits.

Set List

"She Lit A Fire"

"Time To Run"

"Lonesome Dreams"

"Ends Of The Earth"

For all the attention Cray receives as an instrumentalist, it's his smooth, smoky voice that really sells his music. Equal parts soul man and blues belter, he presides over a crack band — bassist Richard Cousins, keyboardist Jim Pugh and drummer Tony Braunagel, who performs here by tapping a wooden box — at this Tiny Desk Concert in the NPR Music offices.

Like any great blues singer, Cray makes heartache and other romantic dysfunction sound engaging and relatable: Ironically, if not surprisingly, his saddest song here (yes, sadder than "Sadder Days") is the one called "I'm Done Crying." But all three of these tracks, culled from Cray's new album Nothin But Love, execute the deftest possible blend of emotional misery and instrumental majesty — just the way the blues ought to be.

Set List

"Sadder Days"

"(Won't Be) Coming Home"

"I'm Done Cryin'"

Credits

Producer: Bob Boilen; Editor: Denise DeBelius; Audio Engineer: Kevin Wait; Videographers: Denise DeBelius, Christopher Parks, Ryan Smith; photo by Lauren Rock/NPR

You'll hear fiddle, banjo, guitar and washboard, all gathered around a single microphone in an old-style tradition. An unsigned band living in Brooklyn, Spirit Family Reunion makes music filled with joy, perfect for a Tiny Desk Concert. Its members told Weekend Edition Sunday's David Greene that they've been traveling the country in a beat-up Chevy conversion van, sleeping on floors and wherever else they can lay their heads. The band recently self-released a new album, No Separation, and its songs translate perfectly into foot-stomping singalongs in the NPR Music offices.

Set List

• "Leave Your Troubles At The Gate"
• "Green Rocky Road"
• "I'll Find A Way"

Credits

Producer: Bob Boilen; Editor: Denise DeBelius; Audio Engineer: Kevin Wait; Videographers: Denise DeBelius, Emily Bogle, Lauren Rock; photo by Ryan Smith/NPR

Hearing Edmonson makes it virtually impossible to do anything but stop and listen. It was clear, hearing the 29-year-old interpret "Summertime," that the era around the 1930s and '40s was a rich place for her voice.

These days, Edmonson writes some of her own songs, digging deep into the spirit of those more artistically innocent times, and she finds contemporary writers who tell tales of longing and desire and more. On her new album Way Down Low, and now at the Tiny Desk, Edmonson is no longer simply inspired by days gone by; with that fragile voice, she's given it new life. In a digital and branded age, she stands out soft and clear.

Antibalas (Spanish for "bulletproof") is a Brooklyn ensemble, and 11 members turned up at the Tiny Desk. Many of these musicians may be familiar to listeners of Sharon Jones & The Dap Kings, The Roots, Paul Simon or Public Enemy. Most recently, Antibalas found some fame performing — and some of the members arranging and directing music — for the Tony-winning Broadway stage presentation of Fela!

It's one thing for a big group to make a big sound — and, sure, Antibalas does that — but what stands out is the subtlety of this ensemble; the way the horns weave in and out of each other, sometimes complementing and at other times inspiring and creating musical conversation between players. That extends to all the players, from vocals to guitar. When you start to listen to that conversation and you hear that build in a rhythm, it's so powerful, so full of joy. If they come to your town, drop what you're doing and go see them. Wear dancing shoes.

What are we listening for? I can't speak for the others, but I'm constantly in search of music I haven't heard, but which sounds as if it's been in my life forever.

That's exactly what happened when I put on Yva Las Vegass' album, I was born in a place of sunshine and the smell of ripe mangoes. I was knocked out by the way she infuses Venezuelan folk traditions with a punk aesthetic. I heard songs as allegories, songs that told stories and songs that felt like deep primal screams, all accompanied by a traditional Venezuelan cuatro — a small stringed instrument similar to a ukulele.

At the NPR Music offices, Las Vegass weaves magic with her presence, her playing and especially her voice. You can't quite see her cut-off jeans and Chuck Taylor high-top sneakers behind Bob Boilen's desk, but in attitude and style, Yva Las Vegass is punk-rock through and through.

This appearance behind Bob Boilen's desk captures more than just Garcia-Fons' masterful technique. His musical vision can be heard in the digital loops of rhythm and sound that he generates entirely from his upright bass. He thumps, strums and pokes as he mines the sonic possibilities of not just his bass, but also his imagination.

Garcia-Fons isn't always such a lone wolf; his collaborators include symphony orchestras, jazz groups and an amazing trio that practically defines the concept of world music. If you only knew him through one genre, you'd be surprised to discover these other sides to his skills.

For one fortunate group of NPR staffers, we had him all alone with just his bass and creativity.

Set List

"Aqua Jan"

"Hacía Compostela"

"Rock Wandering"

Wainwright was touring behind his new album, Out of the Game, and had scheduled a more formal appearance at Wolf Trap in Virginia that evening. Here, sporting a T-shirt and shorts, he performed three songs. By the middle of his closer, "Montauk," few dry eyes remained among the NPR employees and guests.

"Montauk" is Wainwright at his best. The piano lines flow with forward motion in a Philip Glass way, and there's also a hauntingly beautiful story. Wainwright sings to his daughter Viva, whom he raises with his husband and whose biological mother is Lorca Cohen. Cohen is Leonard Cohen's daughter; Wainwright is the son of Kate McGarrigle and Loudon Wainwright III. As if there weren't enough family ties already, the song imagines Viva grown up and visiting her two fathers in Montauk, a small community on the eastern tip of Long Island.

Wainwright plaintively sings:

One day you will come to Montauk

And you will see your dad wearing a kimono

And see your other dad pruning roses

Hope you won't turn around and go

"Montauk" is the story of a modern family filled with old family worries, an emotional range familiar to the singer-songwriter.

Set List:

"The Art Teacher"

"Respectable Dive"

"Montauk"

This stripped-down version of The Zombies features two founding members: Rod Argent, the very adept keyboard player and backing vocalist, and singer Colin Blunstone. It may be Blunstone's voice — that sultry, gentle, kicked-back style — that defined the band's sound. These days that voice packs more punch than it used to, which is odd and amazing for a 67-year-old singer, though it's still unmistakably him. We caught Blunstone early in the morning for this Tiny Desk Concert, a time of the day when his range was self-admittedly a bit strained. However, the essence is still all there and so is the chemistry between Colin and Rod, a chemistry that began 51 years ago.

Set List

"She's Not There"

"Any Other Way"

"Time of the Season"

"I Don't Believe In Miracles"

Credits

Producer and editor: Bob Boilen; videographers: Bob Boilen and Nick Michael; audio engineer: Kevin Wait; photo by Ebony Bailey/NPR

The classical violinist blends Bach and Charles Ives with flair, then tops it off with a fedora.

Dusky and deliberate, Chris Bathgate's music can be foreboding, even funereal. But the Michigan native invests his songs with warm, rustic beauty, which makes everything too pretty to function as a true downer.

The eminent pianist usually plays eight-foot Steinways. See what she does on an electronic keyboard in an intimate set behind the Tiny Desk at the NPR Music offices.

To immerse yourself in King Creosote and Jon Hopkins' album Diamond Mine is to be transported to the Scottish countryside. Standing in the NPR Music offices, the album's unassuming creators somehow lose little of their mystique.

Phosphorescent's Matthew Houck specializes in a sort of free-wheeling weariness, with songs and characters that work extremely hard at taking it easy. Watch Houck play a stirring, road-ragged solo Tiny Desk Concert at the NPR Music offices.