What does a shrug sound like? On "Don't Know Why,” the opening track of her debut effort, Norah Jones suggests a few possibilities. The first time she sings the title phrase, she gives it a touch of indifference, the classic tossed-off movie-star shrug. Her tone shifts slightly when she hits the chorus, to convey twinges of sadness; here the casual phrasing could be an attempt to shake off a sharp memory. Later, she shrugs in a way that conveys resignation, possibly regret—she's replaying a scene, trying to understand what happened. Those shrugs and shadings, tools deployed by every jazz vocalist of the 1950s, are inescapable throughout Come Away With Me—in part because everything surrounding Jones' voice is so chill. There's room for her to emote, and room for gently cresting piano and organ chords. Unlike so many of her contemporaries, Jones knows instinctively how much (or how little!) singer the song needs. The secret of this record, which came out when Jones was 22, is its almost defiant approachability: It is calm, and open, and gentle, music for a lazy afternoon in a porch swing. As transfixing covers of Hank Williams' "Cold Cold Heart” and Hoagy Carmichael's "The Nearness of You” make clear, Jones thinks about contours and shadows when she sings; her storytelling depends as much on the scene and the atmosphere as the narrative. And Jones applies the same understatement to the original songs here, which weave together elements of country, pop, jazz and torch balladry in inventive ways. It's one thing to render an old tune with modern cleverness, a skill Jones had honed as a solo pianist/singer before she was discovered. It's quite another to transform an original tune, like Jesse Harris' "Don't Know Why,” into something that sounds ageless and eternal, like a standard. Jones does that, over and over, using just shrugs and implications, rarely raising her voice much above a whisper. © Tom Moon/Qobuz

When Natalie Merchant left 10,000 Maniacs in 1994, she had given the band two years notice and was ready to embark on a solo career. Given her high profile, she could have done anything she wanted -- and she did. She bucked conventional music biz wisdom, hired her own band, and self-produced the multi-platinum-selling Tigerlily. Some of its songs are still part of her live set and the classic album endures with fans and continues to find new ones. Twenty years later, Merchant presents Paradise Is There: The New Tigerlily Recordings. It's completely re-recorded, re-arranged, and revisioned. The obvious question -- why mess with a classic? -- is answered convincingly. She's learned a lot about these songs in the interim. Her approach remains holistic; her optimism has not been tempered by time as much as deepened with it. The running order is very different. "Wonder," for instance, is now the album's closer. It has been stripped of electric instruments and adorned by acoustic piano, guitars, and a brushed trap kit. "River," an elegy for the late actor River Phoenix, remains a lament. The electric guitars are still there, but a string quartet bears up Merchant's voice. It continues to reflect her anger at the sensationalistic coverage of his death, but it's balanced now by an enduring sense of loss imbued with the weight of the heart's memory. A backing chorus featuring Gail Ann Dorsey and Elizabeth Mitchell adds spiritual resonance to her delivery. This version of "The Letter" is nearly twice as long. Merchant's vocal is accompanied only by an upright bass and the string quartet. "Cowboy Romance" offers a taut, upright bassline, a lonesome violin, a wafting accordion, and brushed snare. Merchant's voice is much deeper now, but also richer; it carries the authority of a personal truth that's been lived in. The wide-eyed innocent who delivered the line "...There's no man born that can rule me…" is gone. There is a nearly militant emphasis on those words here, offering the poignancy of experience as a testament. The rock & roll core of "Jealousy" has been replaced by a vintage R&B feel. Simi Stone's Motown-esque duet vocals and Sharel Cassity's tenor saxophone provide organic counterweights to Merchant's in-the-rear-view delivery and finally free of frustrated desire; the evidence of a lesson learned the hard way. On Paradise Is There, her songs thrive in new presentations. Their meanings have shifted and grown. This is not just a nostalgic look back at a classic album, but Merchant fully inhabiting the material in the present tense. The depth in these recordings makes it a welcome companion to Tigerlily.© Thom Jurek /TiVo

Just six months after the release of her third studio album, Charli, Charli XCX found herself confined in her home in Los Angeles. The hyperactive English songwriter quickly set herself the challenge of writing an album from scratch in just six weeks and, most importantly, she made the project an interactive experience with her fans. While she was guided by industry titans such as A.G. Cook, (founder of the label PC Music) and BJ Burton (producer for Bon Iver and Miley Cyrus), everyone was invited to take part in the project. Some people sent her snippets of music while others gave their opinion on the demos she played on Instagram or the lyrics she posted on Twitter. She also organised Zoom conferences with hundreds of participants. The result is a pretty solid album by Charli XCX that remains faithful to the futuristic electronic pop sound that made her famous, with potential hit songs like the autotuned ballad Forever, the more dance-y Claws, as well as the lovely hybrid electro-pop song, I Finally Understand. And it seems like the artist may even carry on down that road: “I don’t know why I didn’t do it sooner!”. © Smaël Bouaici/Qobuz

Hubert Parry's Scenes from Shelley's Prometheus Unbound, from 1880, here receives its world-recorded premiere. Perhaps recording companies thought there wouldn't be much of a market for a heavy 19th century choral work with, it must be said, a ponderous text by Percy Bysshe Shelley (Prometheus was a play intended to be read, not performed, just to give an idea). How wrong they were. This release made classical best-seller lists in the summer of 2023, and it is altogether enjoyable. At the time, Parry was under the spell of Wagner, whom he traveled to Bayreuth to meet. That influence certainly shows up in Scenes from Shelley's Prometheus Unbound, with its basically declamatory text, partly through-composed music, wind-and-brass-heavy orchestration, and splashes of chromaticism. Yet what is remarkable is that the music does not come off as an imitation of Wagner at all. Rather, it uses elements of his style to match a specific kind of English literary text. The work gradually disappeared, but it would be surprising if Elgar, whom it clearly prefigures, did not know it well. The performances here are luminous, with William Vann using the lighter-than-expected London Mozart Players to create transparent textures against which he can set the substantial voices of Sarah Fox, Sarah Connolly, and other soloists. Parry did write some shorter pieces that remain in the repertory; one of these, Blest Pair of Sirens, is included here as a finale. However, the Scenes from Shelley's Prometheus Unbound are the main news here, and this performance, showing how this kind of thing should be done, may generate a new life for the work. © James Manheim /TiVo

Like the show itself, the soundtrack to the final season of Game of Thrones contains a number of callbacks to events and music that came earlier. Composer Ramin Djawadi weaves his main theme throughout his new compositions, using it tenderly and sadly on "For Cersei" and as a glimpse of hope on the closing "A Song of Ice and Fire;" elsewhere Serj Tankian of System of a Down makes a cameo performance on "The Rains of Castamere." While familiar motifs reign on Game of Thrones: Season 8, these echoes of times past also help give this score a sense of bittersweet finality, while also letting the moments that run against the grain shine in sharp relief.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

What does a shrug sound like? On "Don't Know Why,” the opening track of her debut effort, Norah Jones suggests a few possibilities. The first time she sings the title phrase, she gives it a touch of indifference, the classic tossed-off movie-star shrug. Her tone shifts slightly when she hits the chorus, to convey twinges of sadness; here the casual phrasing could be an attempt to shake off a sharp memory. Later, she shrugs in a way that conveys resignation, possibly regret—she's replaying a scene, trying to understand what happened. Those shrugs and shadings, tools deployed by every jazz vocalist of the 1950s, are inescapable throughout Come Away With Me—in part because everything surrounding Jones' voice is so chill. There's room for her to emote, and room for gently cresting piano and organ chords. Unlike so many of her contemporaries, Jones knows instinctively how much (or how little!) singer the song needs. The secret of this record, which came out when Jones was 22, is its almost defiant approachability: It is calm, and open, and gentle, music for a lazy afternoon in a porch swing. As transfixing covers of Hank Williams' "Cold Cold Heart” and Hoagy Carmichael's "The Nearness of You” make clear, Jones thinks about contours and shadows when she sings; her storytelling depends as much on the scene and the atmosphere as the narrative. And Jones applies the same understatement to the original songs here, which weave together elements of country, pop, jazz and torch balladry in inventive ways. It's one thing to render an old tune with modern cleverness, a skill Jones had honed as a solo pianist/singer before she was discovered. It's quite another to transform an original tune, like Jesse Harris' "Don't Know Why,” into something that sounds ageless and eternal, like a standard. Jones does that, over and over, using just shrugs and implications, rarely raising her voice much above a whisper. © Tom Moon/Qobuz

In the year of his 90th birthday (which he would have celebrated on the 23rd of September 2020 had he not died in 2004), Ray Charles is honoured with a new 90-track compilation box set. Just another compilation like all the rest? Yes and no. Ray Charles is undoubtedly one of the most-compiled artists in the history of music. Published by Tangerine, the label that the musician set up at the end of the 50s to keep the rights to his songs, this box set starts out like all the others: with the post-Atlantic hits, Georgia On My Mind, Hit The Road Jack, One Mint Julep, Busted... These are timeless treasures of proto-soul, but there doesn't seem to be much novelty here. The rest is much more interesting, and much rarer: tracks recorded between the second half of the 1960s and the 2000s, many of which were only released on vinyl, never reissued on CD and until now unavailable on digital. This is the first time that Ray Charles' lesser-known years have been given the compilation treatment in this way, and it is a revelation. In the 90s and 2000s, the production of his songs had a synthetic feel, and they did not age too well. These rarer songs are often hidden gems of southern soul, flavoured with country and wrapped in sumptuous symphonic orchestrations. Whether he is singing the Muppets (It's Ain't Easy Being Green) or Gershwin (Summertime, a duet with Cleo Laine), Ray Charles is always deeply moving. Now, the dream is to hear reissues of all these albums in their entirety. © Stéphane Deschamps/Qobuz

In Search of Space strengthened Hawkwind's science fiction-type brand of progressive rock, gaining bass player Dave Anderson and galactic poet extraordinaire Rob Calvert, while losing John Harrison at the same time. The album opens with the mind-numbing galactic haze of "You Shouldn't Do That," a spooky little 15-minute excursion that warps, throbs, and swirls with Dik Mik's "audio generator" and the steady drum pace of Terry Ollis. Then comes the ominous whispering of the title, set to the pulsating waves of Dave Brock's guitar and Turner's alto sax, with Dettmar's synth work laying the foundation. Wonderfully setting the tone, "You Shouldn't Do That"'s improvisational looseness and rhythmic fusion smoothly open up the album into the realm of Hawkwind. The peculiarity never ceases, as "You Know You're Only Dreaming" and "We Took the Wrong Steps Years Ago" delves even deeper into obscurity, sometimes emanating with the familiar jangle of the guitar which then has its acquaintance overshadowed by the waft of the keyboard. Just as "Master of the Universe" chugs and rolls with a foreboding rhythm, "Adjust Me" retaliates with its moaning verse and tonal fluctuations fading into oblivion. The groundbreaking sound which Hawkwind achieved on In Search of Space helped to open up a whole new avenue of progressive rock. This album would lead to their most successful release in Space Ritual, coming two years after In Search of Space, with their interplanetary groove already set for takeoff.© Mike DeGagne /TiVo

There is little question that Natalie Merchant has a devoted audience, yet it still is curious that she released Live in Concert as her third solo album. After all, two albums don't really provide enough of a repertoire for a live record, especially if she's reluctant to sing 10,000 Maniacs material. Furthermore, she doesn't really change the recorded arrangements of her songs for performance -- which may not be a problem in a live setting, since a concert is about mood as well as music. But when that same performance is translated to disc, it doesn't have the same feeling, and that's the case with Live in Concert. Assembled from the tapes of her five-show stand at the Neil Simon Theater in June 1999, this recording leans heavily on Tigerlily, containing no less than five songs from her solo debut. The remainder of the record is devoted to covers, plus two 10,000 Maniacs numbers and just one song from 1998's Ophelia, the album she was supporting on the tour. Since Ophelia did not match Tigerlily's success, this sequencing highlights the material that the majority of her fans love, but it also makes Live in Concert feel like an alternate version of Tigerlily, especially since there's little difference between these live takes and the original versions. Merchant is in fine voice throughout the record, performing with conviction, and her backing band is appealingly professional, meaning that this is a solid record. However, since its material adheres so faithfully to the original recordings -- even the 10,000 Maniacs songs are only slightly changed -- it only becomes interesting when she tackles songs she hasn't recorded before: the covers, which she reworks into her signature style. Still, it's not enough to make Live in Concert more than anything but a souvenir for hardcore fans.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

Recorded over a seven-year span, Godsmack frontman Sully Erna's solo debut may come as a surprise to fans expecting another chiseled collection of angst-fueled midtempo slabs of alternative metal. Erna’s still filled with angst, but musically he’s branched out, choosing the tribal, Far East motifs that have begun popping up on Godsmack's most recent albums over the bleak post-grunge approach that has earned them multiple Grammy nominations. This change is most evident on Avalon's opulent title cut, a sweeping, cinematic acoustic gem that sounds like a cross between Led Zeppelin's “Battle of Evermore” and Evanescence's “My Immortal.” That sound expands to an even greater extent on the single “Sinner’s Prayer,” bolstered by guest vocalist Lisa Guyer, Bulgarian cellist Irina Chirkova, and Dead Can Dance percussionist Niall Gregory. As with all of Erna’s work, the subject matter is intensely personal yet simply rendered, and the overall effect can be both majestic and sullen. The weight of the world does indeed grow heavier (for the listener) as the album progresses, but there’s a lot to be said for managing to crank out such a powerful product with all of the amps turned off.© James Christopher Monger /TiVo

Tigerlily, Natalie Merchant's first solo record, does sound different than 10,000 Maniacs. Instead of relying strictly on jangly folk-rock, Merchant continues opening her music up as she did on Our Time in Eden, her last album with the Maniacs. From the understated groove of "Carnival" to the rolling "San Andreas Fault," the added emphasis on rhythmic texture works, creating an intimate but not exclusive atmosphere that holds throughout the record, even when her occasionally sophomoric, sentimental poetry threatens to sink the album in the weight of its own preciousness (as in "River," her tribute to the late actor River Phoenix).© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

Jumping on the post-grunge industrial bandwagon with Outside didn't successfully rejuvenate David Bowie's credibility or sales, so he switched his allegiance to techno and jungle for the follow-up, Earthling. While jungle is a more appropriate fit than industrial, the resulting music is nearly as awkward. Though he often gets the sound of jungle right, the record frequently sounds as if the beats were simply grafted on top of pre-existing songs. Never are the songs broken open by a new form; they are fairly conventional Bowie songs with fancy production. Fortunately, Bowie sounds rejuvenated by this new form, and songs like "Little Wonder" and "Seven Years in Tibet" are far stronger than the bulk of Outside. Still, the record falls short of its goals, and it doesn't offer enough intrigue or innovations to make Earthling anything more than an admirable effort.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

Norah Jones' debut on Blue Note is a mellow, acoustic pop affair with soul and country overtones, immaculately produced by the great Arif Mardin. Jones is not quite a jazz singer, but she is joined by some highly regarded jazz talent: guitarists Adam Levy, Adam Rogers, Tony Scherr, Bill Frisell, and Kevin Breit; drummers Brian Blade, Dan Rieser, and Kenny Wollesen; organist Sam Yahel; accordionist Rob Burger; and violinist Jenny Scheinman. Her regular guitarist and bassist, Jesse Harris and Lee Alexander, respectively, play on every track and also serve as the chief songwriters. Both have a gift for melody, simple yet elegant progressions, and evocative lyrics. (Harris made an intriguing guest appearance on Seamus Blake's Stranger Things Have Happened.) Jones, for her part, wrote the title track and the pretty but slightly restless "Nightingale." She also includes convincing readings of Hank Williams' "Cold Cold Heart," J.D. Loudermilk's "Turn Me On," and Hoagy Carmichael's "The Nearness of You." There's a touch of Rickie Lee Jones in Jones' voice, a touch of Bonnie Raitt in the arrangements; her youth and her piano skills could lead one to call her an Alicia Keys for grown-ups. While the mood of this record stagnates after a few songs, it does give a strong indication of Jones' alluring talents. © David R. Adler /TiVo