To some, he will always be the Austin Powers of music — the epitome of lubricious Swinging Sixties bump ‘n’ grind, with a straining zipper, a Maytag pelvis and a chest furrier than the Jungle Room’s carpet. But has another artist reinvented himself so many times, even if it’s the panty-magnet image that prevailed? Country singer in the 1960s (and beyond), techno-pop lounge lizard in the MTV era (remember his smash Art of Noise cover of Prince’s “Kiss”?), self-mocking cameo king in the ’90s (at least that’s what we think he was doing in The Jerky Boys and Mars Attacks) — and that leads us to last year’s Praise and Blame, wherein the 70-year-old Welshman uses his honey-dripping croon and orgiastic fervor (along with Kings of Leon producer Ethan Johns) to set alight a collection of gospel and blues tunes recruited from as far afield as John Lee Hooker, Bob Dylan and Sister Rosetta Tharpe. It’s an exciting record blessedly free of irony or tortured-artist cred-mongering — a reminder why Elvis Presley and Van Morrison counted themselves as admirers. If you want an inkling of why your otherwise straight-laced mom found herself fingering her hotel key that wild weekend at Caesar’s Palace four decades ago, go.