The first posthumous album from the legendary JJ Cale will leave you desperate for more

As such, Cale's typically half-whispered pledge to keep "just doing my thing" amidst the murky groove of "Lights Down Low" is bound to delight devotees to his laidback cause, list of whom includes such luminaries as Eric Clapton, Neil Young, Beck and Hiss Golden Messenger. The first album of previously unreleased studio recordings to be issued since Cale's passing at age 74 in 2009, Stay Around sticks to the tried and tested formula the Oklahoma-born guitarist and songwriter cultivated ever since his singularly easy-going but never, ever bland blend of swampy blues, folk, country and early rock 'n' roll first strolled unhurriedly off the porch on 1972's classic debut Naturally.

Considering the occasionally barrel-scraping nature of posthumous shelf-clearing, the quality is impressively high throughout, even if Cale's stockpiled recordings don't unearth any timeless classics ala "Magnolia", "Lies", "Don't Cry Sister" or "Cajun Moon" (although the beautifully languid title track comes close, due not least to Cale's guitar channelling the haunting sound tears might make as they roll down a cheek). Cale's long-time life and musical partner Christine Lakeland hasn't messed around with the source material: occasional rough edges and all, Stay Around is the unsweetened real deal, exactly as Cale must have intended these tunes to emerge into the world. It says something of Cale's dedication to his uncluttered cause that it's impossible to tell which era the tunes derive from. The smoky "Winter Snow" and "Go Downtown" could fit easily amidst the swamp-folk-funk of 1972's Really, whilst the tender, jazz-hued loose groove of "Tell Daddy" may well have fallen off 1989's Travel-Log. A seamless collection of tracks recorded with a band or by Cale overdubbing instruments at home, Stay Around also provides a welcome reminder that Cale's default setting as a horizontal, heavy-lidded master of the laidback hides some serious musical ambition. Cale was an early adopter of drum machines (whether due to a thirst to experiment or a deep-seared wish to avoid any and all trappings of the recording industry, including studios, is open to debate) and his background in electronics led to production skills that instil hypnotic pull to base materials that would have turned into a recipe for yawn-inducing tedium in lesser hands.

For all his skills as a guitarist and producer, Cale is first and foremost a songwriter. Any attempt to describe this material is bound to do it a grave disservice. As funky blues shuffles, folky strums, nearly submerged vocals, low-key displays of Cale's honey-and-bourbon virtuoso guitar and tales of love, lust and the ever-elusive ladies glide by, we're seemingly at the very core of cliché. But that's only on surface level. Listen deeper, and Cale's subtle way with a hook and idiosyncratic soundscape (muttered vocals are buried deep in the mix, perhaps reflecting Cale's deep-set aversion to the spotlight, whilst unexpected instruments are accentuated over the usual focus on the 'star') accrues a hypnotic pull that - as with all truly great stylists - can't be satisfactorily analysed and intellectualised: this is substantial, satisfying music for us to feel, not think about.