Break out the shawls and “all summer long” boots, the beloved Welsh witch of rock is back to answer her own question of yesteryear, “Have you any dreams you’d like to sell?” Apparently more than a few, as evidenced by this lovely collection of tunes called 24 Karat Gold – Songs From The Vault which was born from a bravura premise…give the fans what they want. At age 66, looking and sounding superb, Stevie Nicks’ latest round of dreamland chronicles came together from her superfans’ favorites from the plethora of online bootleg demos, outtakes, and rough cuts that exist in the Stevie underworld. With song origins ranging from the 70s to the 90s, this group of songs, with all brand new vocal and instrumental performances, sounds incredibly synchronous, like planets in a universe where the original gold dust woman is the obvious sun.

All the vintage Stevie-isms are out in full force; the mystical text painting, the nonsensical tense shifting, the truncated phrasing, qualities which have always placed her vocal style and songwriting each in a realm by itself, but together becoming a cocktail irresistible to millions of her thirsty faithful. From the lively opener “Starshine” to the bittersweet closer “She Loves Him Still” (most likely about Lindsey Buckingham, of course), one can practically see the twirls and high kicks and yearning gazes of Stevie legend, delivering the goods here with the extra poignancy of presenting her true fans with these specific gems she knows they love, in the ways she knows they want them presented.

Overall, the sound recalls her first solo project, 1981’s greatly revered Bella Donna as well as her new millennium successes, Trouble In Shangri-La and the most recent In Your Dreams. Once again Dave Stewart proves to be a brilliant studio midwife, whose top hat and feathers influence peeks through at just the right times, especially on the surprising jazzy lark, “Cathouse Blues.” But upon closer inspection, the main muse pleasantly emerging from the sideman shadows is legendary guitarist’s guitarist Waddy Wachtel. His eclectically warm, unpretentious vibe radiates from song to song, fine-tuning each of these musical Stevie wonders as only one with intimate knowledge and connection can do. For instance, the title track sounds like a fresh mash-up of the driving A minor of “Rhiannon” with the feminine sway of “Dreams,” two tunes he has performed at Stevie’s side umpteen times. And the most obvious swing for the epic rock fence, “I Don’t Care,” exudes Zeppelin-esque crunch in the rock goddess mode that is Nicks’ most appealing and enduring.

The centerpiece of this effort, both literally and symbolically, is “Lady” which showcases Stevie with solitary piano accompaniment, wistfully reflecting on the down side of the dream, and being “tired of knocking on doors when there’s nobody…there.” Other standouts include “Hard Advice” where the tough love character of “That Made Me Stronger” from Trouble In Shangri-La returns for another reckoning (widely rumored to be Tom Petty), and “Carousel,” a sweet Vanessa Carlton tune from 2011 included here as a tribute to Stevie’s late mother Barbara. Though it is the only song deviating from the Stevie vault criteria, it fits in nicely thanks to Dave Stewart’s twinkly Celtic production.

Faring less well are the ballads, mostly stuck in a medium intensity slump. “Blue Water” featuring Lady Antebellum should have glittered with the fairy dust of their CMT Crossroads special together, their episode praised as one of the series’ all-time best (as was the one featuring Buckingham with Little Big Town). But it unwisely swaps the original demo’s lullaby mood for an unconvincing mid-song soul progression, reverting briefly for a splendid a cappella conclusion. And even though “All The Beautiful Worlds” and “If You Were My Love” are similarly sleepy, both are elevated by Stevie’s longtime harmony angels, Sharon Celani and Lori Nicks.

But minor quibbles aside, aging gloriously agrees with Miss Nicks, who exudes remarkable passion and resilience throughout, free from the pressures of the hit-making machine, ensconced in a comfort zone reserved for only the most iconic of musical icons. She has never gyrated for the masses in a G-string or resorted to wild attention-begging stunts. Yet she remains one of the sexiest, most compelling musical women of all time.

Deeper listens of this album may cause one to consider how much more commercially and critically impactful the middle years of her solo career could have been, if not for the unfortunate recipe of personal demons mixed with poor inauthentic production choices. But the happy lesson to be learned is that it is never too late to spin life’s musical and non-musical straw into 24 karat gold. The most fanatic Stevie devotees know that the list of songs in her magical vault is a mile long, so subsequent volumes like this would be worthy and welcome additions to the Stevie pantheon. The unhappy lesson is that a project like this from a more mature woman in excellent form with valuable wisdom to impart is buried and dismissed by the industry as no longer marketable, at a time when those next generation listeners who could most benefit from her inspiration are continually fed greed-infested musical nightmares instead of luscious Stevie-style dreams. But commerce’s loss is art’s gain, because this group of no longer hidden treasures shows that without a doubt, “the gypsy that remains” is beautifully and soulfully golden.