The creative resiliency that Slowdive has shown since their 2014 reunion has been remarkable. While immediate post-reunion festival gigs appropriately focused on the band's now-legendary '90s material, their 2017 self-titled album was ill-content to explicitly revisit past glories. Instead, the Slowdive album very much updated the immersive sonics and abstract weirdness of the band's initial three-album arc into something that sounded remarkably fresh while still appealing to their original Gen X fans. Six years later, with everything is alive, Slowdive continues to impress, atomizing their sound even further into adventurous new directions. Of course, some of the material here is atmospheric and ethereal in a very literal sense; a cut like "Prayer Remembered" is built upon sonic scaffolding that is dense to the ears but with very little explicit melody or rhythm. More broadly, the band continues to morph "shoegaze" into a lushly arranged version of synth-pop. Burbly synths get nearly as much attention in the mix as the dense guitars, and the half-speed groove that underpins most of the material sometimes makes it feel like what you'd listen to in your hypersleep pod while traveling the galaxy. And while nothing here approaches the icy post-rock of Pygmalion, many of the cuts on everything is alive evoke a similar sense of expansiveness, most notably on "andalucia plays," which somehow splits the difference between the sleepy-eyed psychedelia of the band's earliest EPs, the gentle acoustics of Mojave 3, and the spare nothingness of Pygmalion. That expansiveness, however, should not be mistaken for emptiness, and on more direct numbers like "alife" and album closer "the slab," Slowdive pushes past the stylistic limitations of the genre they helped pioneer. These cuts revel in an insistent energy that manifests in back-and-forth vocals, driving rhythm tracks high in the mix, and a refusal to be used as sonic wallpaper. While there have always been numbers like this scattered throughout Slowdive's catalog, on everything, they signal a clear movement toward more accessible (if no less daring) material. © Jason Ferguson/Qobuz

The Last Dinner Party is a love-them-or-hate-them band: Either you are charmed by the theatricality—the high-fashion take on barmaid/wench costumery, singer Abigail Morris' over-the-top delivery, the musical girl-power of it all—or you are likely to roll your eyes. Lush, louche, lusty and fun, the band's songs and style draw from a history of Siouxsie Sioux, Bryan Ferry, Florence Welch and early '80s New Romantics. It's the kind of grand-scale zeitgeist shift, kick-started by Wet Leg, that was inevitable after the humble trend of lo-fi bedroom pop. "Nothing Matters," the alternative-radio hit, is truly excellent, with an alchemic formula of clicky New Wave drums, hair-metal guitar riffs, vivid trumpets and a cathartic chorus meant to be shouted at shows: "And you can hold me like he held her/ And I will fuck you like nothing matters." "Caesar on a TV Screen" is wonderfully weird, encompassing swoony verses, a mischievous Roxy Music-style pre-chorus and a majestic chorus. Morris (who sounds like her arched eyebrow never drops) chews up all the scenery—over-enunciating, milking her English accent, and having the time of her life—with lines like "And just for a second, I could be one of the greats/ I am Caesar on a TV screen, champion of my fate!" Earworm "My Lady of Mercy" is about having a crush on Joan of Arc and sounds like crusaders rushing into battle, complete with cheerleader handclaps, rumble-strip rhythm, a snarling guitar line from Emily Robert and a monster chorus. The Infectious "Sinner" offers tempestuous Morris the sweetened foil of guitarist Lizzie Mayland, as the two trade verses and harmonize over Aurora Nishevci's baroque piano; it feels like a delightful game of cat-and-mouse. Appropriately, Prelude to Ecstasy is mixed by A-list producer Alan Moulder, who has a long history of working with high-drama bands like My Bloody Valentine, Nine Inch Nails and Interpol, and he helps The Last Dinner Party go up to 11: Spinal Tap meets Velvet Goldmine. (Visually, it's hard to recall a rock band having this much fun with fashion—referencing everything from Picnic At Hanging Rock to Sofia Coppola's Marie Antoinette—since early Duran Duran and Culture Club.) Even the less-bombastic moments, like ballerina-sweet piano ballad "On Your Side" or the chamber pop of "Portrait of a Dead Girl," play cinematically. © Shelly Ridenour/Qobuz

A misconception has sometimes been associate with Norah Jones: that the Texan is little more than a pleasant light-jazz singer whose albums serve as harmless background music for high-brow and proper evening dinners. Though her writing, playing and eclectic collaborations, she has clearly proved that she is far more interesting than this cliché. And this 2020 offering is a new illustration of her complexity. As is often the case with Norah Jones, Pick Me Up Off the Floor is not quite jazz, not quite blues, not quite country, etc… Her genre-defying music works primarily to suit the song being played. Here we find what has been left behind after sessions with Wilco’s Jeff Tweedy, Thomas Bartlett, Mavis Staples, Rodrigo Amarante and several others.But for all that the result is not simply a contrived mishmash of collaborations but a collection of songs that hold the same silky groove (present on six out of 11 tracks on the record in which Brian Blade’s drums work delicate miracles) and calm sound which increasingly suits the artist, somewhere between pure poetry and realism. “Every session I’ve done, there’ve been extra songs I didn’t release, and they’ve sort of been collecting for the last two years. I became really enamoured with them, having the rough mixes on my phone, listening while I walk the dog. The songs stayed stuck in my head and I realised that they had this surreal thread running through them. It feels like a fever dream taking place somewhere between God, the Devil, the heart, the Country, the planet, and me.” Rarely has Norah Jones sang with such strength, like on I’m Alive where she sings of women’s resilience, or on How I Weep in which she tackles love and exasperation with unequalled grace. © Marc Zisman/Qobuz

Janis Joplin's second masterpiece (after Cheap Thrills), Pearl was designed as a showcase for her powerhouse vocals, stripping down the arrangements that had often previously cluttered her music or threatened to drown her out. Thanks also to a more consistent set of songs, the results are magnificent -- given room to breathe, Joplin's trademark rasp conveys an aching, desperate passion on funked-up, bluesy rockers, ballads both dramatic and tender, and her signature song, the posthumous number one hit "Me and Bobby McGee." The unfinished "Buried Alive in the Blues" features no Joplin vocals -- she was scheduled to record them on the day after she was found dead. Its incompleteness mirrors Joplin's career: Pearl's power leaves the listener to wonder what else Joplin could have accomplished, but few artists could ask for a better final statement.© Steve Huey /TiVo

Slippery When Wet wasn't just a breakthrough album for Bon Jovi; it was a breakthrough for hair metal in general, marking the point where the genre officially entered the mainstream. Released in 1986, it presented a streamlined combination of pop, hard rock, and metal that appealed to everyone -- especially girls, whom traditional heavy metal often ignored. Slippery When Wet was more indebted to pop than metal, though, and the band made no attempt to hide its commercial ambition, even hiring an outside songwriter to co-write two of the album's biggest singles. The trick paid off as Slippery When Wet became the best-selling album of 1987, beating out contenders like Appetite for Destruction, The Joshua Tree, and Michael Jackson's Bad. Part of the album's success could be attributed to Desmond Child, a behind-the-scenes songwriter who went on to write hits for Aerosmith, Michael Bolton, and Ricky Martin. With Child's help, Bon Jovi penned a pair of songs that would eventually define their career -- “Living on a Prayer” and “You Give Love a Bad Name” -- two teenage anthems that mixed Springsteen's blue-collar narratives with straightforward, guitar-driven hooks. The band's characters may have been down on their luck -- they worked dead-end jobs, pined for dangerous women, and occasionally rode steel horses -- but Bon Jovi never presented a problem that couldn’t be cured by a good chorus, every one of which seemed to celebrate a glass-half-full mentality. Elsewhere, the group turned to nostalgia, using songs like “Never Say Goodbye” and “Wild in the Streets” to re-create (or fabricate) an untamed, sex-filled youth that undoubtedly appealed to the band’s teen audience. Bon Jovi wasn't nearly as hard-edged as Mötley Crüe or technically proficient as Van Halen, but the guys smartly played to their strengths, shunning the extremes for an accessible, middle-of-the-road approach that wound up appealing to more fans than most of their peers. “It’s alright if you have a good time,” Jon Bon Jovi sang on Slippery When Wet’s first track, “Let It Rock,” and those words essentially served as a mantra for the entire hair metal genre, whose carefree, party-heavy attitude became the soundtrack for the rest of the ‘80s.© Andrew Leahey /TiVo

Since emerging in the late 2010s, hyperpop duo 100 gecs' sound has been somewhere between pop and panic attack, chaotically combining the most extreme versions of multiple styles and then speeding everything up to near breaking points. It's fun, funny, knowingly and brazenly ridiculous music and would be easy to write off as simple obnoxious experimentalism if the songs weren't so fantastically catchy. Their 2019 debut 1000 Gecs sounded like club bangers made by psychedelic cartoon characters, and sophomore LP 10,000 Gecs (a "long-player" in name alone as its ten songs clip by in just under 27 minutes) expands the duo's cultural collaging to include cannibalizations of Limp Bizkit-style nu-metal, pop-punk, '90s alt-funk, ska, and anything else that captures the gecs' fleeting attention. "Hollywood Baby" sounds like blink-182 with the entire mix filtered through Auto-Tune, but the 8-bit feel somehow enhances the impact of the song's hooks. The album quickly detours between legitimately strong blasts of energy like the slap-bass weirdness of "Doritos & Fritos" or the computerized thrash metal of "One Million Dollars" to goofy Kidz Bop childishness like "Frog on the Floor" or the third wave ska send-up "I Got My Tooth Removed." Somehow 100 gecs take things even more over the top on 10,000 Gecs than they did on their already mind-boggling debut. The very nature of the group's hyperbolic and perpetually exploding design means they're still inherently polarizing, love-it-or-hate-it kind of music. For those who love it, 10,000 Gecs offers more -- so much more, always more -- to love.© Fred Thomas /TiVo

Guy-Manuel de Homem-Christo and Thomas Bangalter, the two French twenty-something DJs who make up Daft Punk, are relentless dance music aficionados and historians. And unlike many of their contemporaries, their interests don't just lie in the electronic beats that have been rockin' the clubs since the mid-'80s. The two knob-twiddlers are just as well-versed in Giorgio Moroder's Euro-disco grooves, Chic, and the old-school rhythms of Afrika Bambaataa and the Sugarhill Records catalog as they are in the Chicago house and Detroit techno traditions. When they're not assembling catchy-as-hell bits of electro-pop ("Around the World"), throwing down slabs of minimalist funk ("Da Funk"), or marrying Miami bass to Kraftwerk-ian blips ("Oh Yeah"), Homem-Christo and Bangalter try to impart a little knowledge. On "Teachers," they use a Ween-esque distorted vocal line to name-check a broad list of influences who includes Brian Wilson, Dr. Dre, and Armand Van Helden. Their broad focus, utopian determination, and, of course, their way with a beat earn Daft Punk's Homework a well-deserved 'A'.© TiVo

The Last Dinner Party is a love-them-or-hate-them band: Either you are charmed by the theatricality—the high-fashion take on barmaid/wench costumery, singer Abigail Morris' over-the-top delivery, the musical girl-power of it all—or you are likely to roll your eyes. Lush, louche, lusty and fun, the band's songs and style draw from a history of Siouxsie Sioux, Bryan Ferry, Florence Welch and early '80s New Romantics. It's the kind of grand-scale zeitgeist shift, kick-started by Wet Leg, that was inevitable after the humble trend of lo-fi bedroom pop. "Nothing Matters," the alternative-radio hit, is truly excellent, with an alchemic formula of clicky New Wave drums, hair-metal guitar riffs, vivid trumpets and a cathartic chorus meant to be shouted at shows: "And you can hold me like he held her/ And I will fuck you like nothing matters." "Caesar on a TV Screen" is wonderfully weird, encompassing swoony verses, a mischievous Roxy Music-style pre-chorus and a majestic chorus. Morris (who sounds like her arched eyebrow never drops) chews up all the scenery—over-enunciating, milking her English accent, and having the time of her life—with lines like "And just for a second, I could be one of the greats/ I am Caesar on a TV screen, champion of my fate!" Earworm "My Lady of Mercy" is about having a crush on Joan of Arc and sounds like crusaders rushing into battle, complete with cheerleader handclaps, rumble-strip rhythm, a snarling guitar line from Emily Robert and a monster chorus. The Infectious "Sinner" offers tempestuous Morris the sweetened foil of guitarist Lizzie Mayland, as the two trade verses and harmonize over Aurora Nishevci's baroque piano; it feels like a delightful game of cat-and-mouse. Appropriately, Prelude to Ecstasy is mixed by A-list producer Alan Moulder, who has a long history of working with high-drama bands like My Bloody Valentine, Nine Inch Nails and Interpol, and he helps The Last Dinner Party go up to 11: Spinal Tap meets Velvet Goldmine. (Visually, it's hard to recall a rock band having this much fun with fashion—referencing everything from Picnic At Hanging Rock to Sofia Coppola's Marie Antoinette—since early Duran Duran and Culture Club.) Even the less-bombastic moments, like ballerina-sweet piano ballad "On Your Side" or the chamber pop of "Portrait of a Dead Girl," play cinematically. © Shelly Ridenour/Qobuz

Ah, 1990s Seattle, the birthplace of grunge and dumping ground where indie rock, punk, metal, noise pop and many more cross paths. A golden age where the long-haired were transformed into beautiful losers, electric guitar-wielding poets with checked flannel shirts and tatty second-hand jeans. Only a few flawlessly talented survivors remain from this blessed time. Pearl Jam is the prime example. Gigaton, their March 2020 album is their best work in two decades and garnered some well-deserved critical acclaim. Accustomed to stadium performances, the band could easily have turned on autopilot, but they have nevertheless continued to innovate. The band has not forgotten, however, that a lot of its success is owed to its intense stage performances as well as its first album, the cult and unparalleled, Ten. It is again the famous Ten that we return to here in 2020. While the album itself was reissued in four different versions in 2009, the album allows led to the recording of their legendary MTV Unplugged on the 16th of March 1992. At the time, Pearl Jam had only this album on their repertoire as well as the soundtrack to Cameron Crowe’s film Singles on which three of the band members played. Around three days after having finished their American tour, the five musicians headed to New York to record an acoustic show that has since become legend. In seven songs, Pearl Jam had viewers on their knees. With a rare intensity, the performance exposed in plain sight Eddie Vedder’s incredible voice. Shy and uncomfortable, he utters some rare hesitant sentences before suddenly transforming into an incredible and unforgettable frontman the moment the first lines of Oceans are sung. The rest belongs to history. Aside from State of Love and Trust, taken from Singles, the rest of the concert allows one to appreciate part of Ten in a new light with the harrowing Black, the more spirited Even Flow and the single Alive. The show lasts around 36 minutes and leaves the listener in a state of bewilderment, floating between intense pleasure and frustration. It took another ten years and the release of another largely acoustic concert, Live at Benaroya Hall, to experience the band’s unplugged expertise from afar. Worse still, MTV Unplugged never saw an official release until 2019 and an ultra-limited vinyl pressing for Record Store Day. One year later, this reissue (and its new mixing realised by Nick DiDia) arrives with relief. A blessing. © Chief Brody/Qobuz

Escape was a groundbreaking album for San Francisco's Journey, charting three singles inside Billboard's Top Ten, with "Don't Stop Believing" reaching number nine, "Who's Crying Now" number four, and "Open Arms" peaking at number two and holding there for six weeks. Escape flung Journey steadfastly into the AOR arena, combining Neal Schon's grand yet palatable guitar playing with Jonathan Cain's blatant keyboards. All this was topped off by the passionate, wide-ranged vocals of Steve Perry, who is the true lifeblood of this album, and this band. The songs on Escape are more rock-flavored, with more hooks and a harder cadence compared to their former sound. "Who's Crying Now" spotlights the sweeping fervor of Perry's voice, whose theme about the ups and downs of a relationship was plentiful in Journey's repertoire. With "Don't Stop Believing," the whisper of Perry's ardor is crept up to with Schon's searing electric guitar work, making for a perfect rock song. One of rock's most beautiful ballads, "Open Arms," gleams with an honesty and feel only Steve Perry could muster. Outside of the singles, there is a certain electricity that circulates through the rest of the album. The songs are timeless, and as a whole, they have a way of rekindling the innocence of youthful romance and the rebelliousness of growing up, built from heartfelt songwriting and sturdy musicianship.© Mike DeGagne /TiVo

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After acquiring a substantial following with Dreamboat Annie, Heart solidified its niche in the hard rock and arena rock worlds with the equally impressive Little Queen. Once again, loud-and-proud, Led Zeppelin-influenced hard rock was the thing that brought Heart the most attention. But while "Barracuda" and "Kick It Out" are the type of sweaty rockers one thought of first when Heart's name was mentioned, hard rock by no means dominates this album. In fact, much of Little Queen consists of such folk-influenced, acoustic-oriented fare as "Treat Me Well" and "Cry to Me." Anyone doubting just how much Heart's ballads have changed over the years need only play "Dream of the Archer" next to a high-volume power ballad like "Wait for an Answer" from 1987's Bad Animals.© Alex Henderson /TiVo