Among the ways one might characterize what Eric Bibb does, one starts with the obvious: his roots in the 1960s folk revival, on the New York City end of which his father Leon Bibb, otherwise a stage actor, was a secondary figure. The younger Bibb is defined not just by the music but by the social conscience that came with it, as exemplified in the legacy of topical songs the scene bequeathed us. Like the bulk of his albums, Ridin' highlights a keen sense of historical injustice focused on the plight of Black Americans, subjected to lynchings, massacres and other forms of violence, alongside the everyday discrimination that defined quotidian life for most of our country's history.

Sadly, no one who pays attention will have failed to observe that in recent years ever more open expressions of racism, not to mention acts of racial terror, are back with us, as the vanguard of a political movement intending, with varying degrees of forthrightness, to peel away the gains of the civil-rights era and even to revive Lost Cause mythology. (Had there never been a Civil War- or a civil-rights era, there would have been no "Oh Freedom" and "Follow the Drinkin' Gourd" on one hand, "Blowin' in the Wind" and "We Shall Overcome" on the other.) So Ridin' addresses the centuries-old struggle, though as with most political music the audience will be overwhelmingly believers from the choir.

Bibb has a natural musical gift that enables him to color a core acoustic sound with jazz, blues, r&b and gospel shadings while never forcing a single such collaboration. His vocals are strikingly expressive, sufficient to allow him to communicate even the most disturbing content ("Tulsa Town," about the murderous assault on that city's Black district, and "Joybells," which names victims of racist-mob killings) while at the same time not driving away listeners.

A strain of sentimentality runs through some of Bibb's writing, no doubt as a consequence of his otherwise commendable human sympathy. In Ridin', while still present, it's a lesser presence. In fact, in "I Got My Own" Bibb allows himself to boast a little about his career and financial success. Oddly, the song opens by name-checking the deep Mississippi bluesman Son House. By the time the song has reached its end, it's safe to say listeners, perhaps bewildered, will have gone where they did not expect to go.

If I had to name one song that sparked my lifelong fascination with traditional music, it would be "500 Miles." I'm pleased to hear it here in an inventive but still respectful arrangement. The venerable spiritual "Sinner Man," also a joy, is encased in a surprising neo-stringband setting.