In English, the Greek word "anastasis" is literally translated as "resurrection." The definition is apt as the title to Dead Can Dance's reunion offering, their first recording of new studio material since 1996's Spiritchaser. Lisa Gerrard and Brendan Perry established a well-deserved global reputation for pushing boundaries in popular music. Coming from the fringes of the gothic music world on the iconic 4AD label, they brought a sense of near classical discipline (and pretension) into their sound. They incorporated cutting-edge production techniques and also folded in -- mostly accurately -- several international musical traditions; combined, they created a deeply atmospheric, lushly textured, dramatic brand of post-gothic pop. Self-produced and released by PIAS, Anastasis features eight songs, and clocks in at just under an hour. The trace elements will be very familiar to DCD fans. In fact, Anastasis can be called, for the most apart, an album of tropes; it is much more a tour through much of the band's previous history than an exercise in delivering anything new. This is surprising given Gerrard's vast soundtrack experience and Perry's solo albums, various collaborative contributions, and film work. The musical tenets here derive from near-Eastern Mediterranean sources (mainly Greek and Turkish folk forms), and some from the various nations of North Africa. Immediately noticeable is Perry's voice (which holds forth on the fine meta-mystical opener "Children of the Sun" and the hollowed-out bliss of "Opium"); it is deeper, richer, more restrained in its delivery, but more powerful because of it. He and Gerrard rarely sing on the same tune. For Gerrard, her instantly recognizable instrument shines forth on "Agape" and "Kiko," with their Arab-scaled strings, dumbeks, ouds, and cymbaloms. The set's finest moment is "Return of the She-King," whose drones, and the processional multi-tracked vocals by Gerrard, are matched by strings, deep tom-toms, swooping ethereal guitars, ouds, and numerous instruments. Perry joins in at the end, and their twin voices meet in a gauzy dexterity and contrast amid a swirl of neo-classical strings. While Anastasis doesn't have any problems per se, it does feel all of a piece, and given the track lengths, they can seem to bleed together. With the exception of the surprising snare cadences on "Children of the Sun," the rhythmic palettes are surprisingly uniform, making the album feel as if it is devoid of a clear center. Anastasis will more than likely please longtime fans -- and to be fair that is who it seems geared to -- rather than win many new ones.© Thom Jurek /TiVo

It's natural to suspect that In Concert is simply the hastily constructed live album cash-in that comes after the long-awaited reunion (2012's Anastasis was the group's first studio album in 16 years), but it's actually a sweet souvenir of the world fusion duo's return to the stage, tastefully presented and impeccably recorded. Rarely do live albums sound so luxurious and warm, but besides being a fine demo disc for high-end speakers, this chamber concert on wax offers some more comfortable, more alive versions of Anastasis' studio material, along with a quick stroll through the group's early work. "The Ubiquitous Mr. Lovegrove" always sounded vintage but here it sounds downright wise with Brendan Perry's full-bodied voice properly aged and not weathered in the least. Speaking of voices, Lisa Gerrard is absolutely majestic on the aptly titled closer, "Return of the She-King," and anyone who puts "Sanvean" in a list of top ten heart-movers ever deserves to hear the fine version she delivers here. That fan favorite made its debut on the band's first live album, Toward the Within (1994), but this second live effort differs from that one in that very little new material is premiered. There are only two "new" tracks and they are cover songs, the first being the centuries-old Arabic song "Lamma Bada" and the second being the Tim Buckley (via This Mortal Coil) tune "Song to the Siren," both performed by Perry and the latter to perfection. The only thing left of concern is the editing out of the in-between song chatter (Perry's usual, informative intro to "Lamma Bada" is gone), but otherwise this is a well-executed capture of a great performance, pure and simple.© David Jeffries /TiVo

If ever there was a year to release a political punk album it was 2008, when the U.S. was consumed by the wildest presidential campaign in modern history. It seems like the perfect backdrop for Rise Against to release Appeal to Reason, their third major-label record, and in a way it is -- certainly, the group rages against the moral decay rotting the core of the U.S. on the opening "Collapse (Post-Amerika)," just as they strike out against the slow dumbing down of America on "Re-Education (Of Labor)" and tell Iraqi soldier stories on "Hero of War." The latter showcases the acoustic guitars that helped goose 2006's The Sufferer & the Witness into the Billboard Top Ten but the rest boast the manic rapid-fire hardcore delivery that hearkens back to Rise Against's politically minded forefathers Bad Religion. This balance of plaintive modern folk and carefully traditional protest punk is offset by Rise Against's increasingly strong fondness for heavy, slick production, the kind where the rhythms are too tight and the guitars overdriven and clean, the kind where it sounds more like '80s metal than '80s punk. Rise Against is hardly the only modern punk band to be weighed down by this contradiction -- it's entirely too devoted on chops and gear, Guitar Center punk -- but it stings a little more with them as their ambitions, smarts, and skills are higher than their peers. They seem like they shouldn't have such a beefy, big sound, particularly as it obscures their message, giving the group a weird dichotomy: they are clean, accomplished musicians and sincere, socially conscious rockers but those two halves don't complement each other well, at least not on the well-intentioned Appeal to Reason.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

In the "libretto" accompanying the second effort from the Mothers of Invention, Frank Zappa offers an unusual introduction to his endeavor: "The music of the MOTHERS speaks of the feelings of what might be described as THE VAST MINORITY. The feelings of the people on the fringe of everything," he writes. It's a gonzo mission statement that doubles as a canny counter-culture marketing ploy, and it goes on to describe that minority as people who "don't care if they're IN or OUT … don't care if they're HIP, HEP, SWINGIN' or ZORCH." Presumably the Zorch contingent resonated with the frantic, random-seeming musical juxtapositions and word-salad art that Zappa was slinging here. Absolutely Free touches on subjects that became integral to subsequent Zappa rants—the rise of clueless consumer culture, the worship of status—but often in diffuse, narrative-free fashion. Where later Zappa commentaries register as multi-level satire, tunes like "Plastic People" hardly make cultural arguments at all—they're closer to the delighted ravings of those hearing their voices on tape for the first time. The chaos within the wordplay amounts to adolescent lampoonery when compared with the rigorous delirium that prevails within the music. Zappa and his exceedingly talented collaborators understood and could evoke the allure of Motown hits (see "The Duke of Prunes") and the mesmeric qualities of the blues ("Why Don'tcha Do Me Right?"). But they were also at home quoting Holst and Stravinsky, or executing whiplash-inducing transitions between free-form jamming and intricate ensemble writing. Their cohesion is riveting, particularly on the standout "Brown Shoes Don't Make It." Though not as fully realized as the music that followed, Absolutely Free is not simply a scattered jumble of seeds but more like a series of roadmaps and ideas that sometimes lead to exalted states, and sometimes detour down sketchy dead-end streets, where there are no vegetables. © Tom Moon/Qobuz

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Robert Wyatt has been quoted as declaring that this record was "a conscious attempt to make un-misusable music," i.e., music that couldn't be appropriated by the right or broadcast on Voice of America. VOA doesn't broadcast uncommercial music such as this in any case, but Wyatt did succeed in stating some of his political concerns -- imperialism, the carnage in East Timor, the flaws of rigid political ideology -- in an understated manner. He went back to writing his own material for this album, after having focused on eclectic "covers" in the early '80s, with fair success. It's perhaps an even moodier outing than usual for Wyatt, his melancholia amplified by the foggy, spooky keyboards. It was reissued on CD in 1990 as half of Compilation, which also includes the entirety of Nothing Can Stop Us. Somewhat confusingly, it was also reissued on CD as half of Mid-Eighties, an entirely different Gramavision release that adds eight tracks from assorted EPs, singles, and compilations of the time. © Richie Unterberger /TiVo

The Completion Backward Principle was the first release on EMI/Capitol by San Francisco-based the Tubes. It found the outrageous septet working with producer David Foster, who gives the record a high-gloss sheen. It's a pairing that, while possibly surprising to fans of the band's earlier releases, actually works quite nicely. The ballads (the Top 40 hit "Don't Want to Wait Anymore" and the Toto-esque "Amnesia") don't suit the band, but most everything else does. There's a pair of catchy new wavish rockers in "Talk to Ya Later" and "Think About Me," the wacky "Sushi Girl," and the R&B-flavored "A Matter of Pride." The Completion Backward Principle rightfully earned the Tubes new fans and set the table for their commercial breakthrough, Outside/Inside, two years later.© Tom Demalon /TiVo

Their breakthrough success. The title track and soul covers point the band in a new, more mainstream direction.© Cub Koda /TiVo

Amnesia was Richard Thompson's second album with producer and keyboard player Mitchell Froom, and the two sounded a lot more comfortable with each other than they did on their previous project together, Daring Adventures. This being a Richard Thompson album, the high quality of the songs and the guitar playing is a given; while Daring Adventures had a few cuts that sounded like padding, Richard comes up aces this time out, and even sounds a bit more upbeat than usual, letting his political side rise to the surface on "Jerusalem on the Jukebox" and "Yankee, Go Home" and rocking out on "Don't Tempt Me" and "Gypsy Love Songs." (Be advised that the gloriously sad "I Still Dream" and "Waltzing's for Dreamers" are on hand to remind us this is a Richard Thompson album.) Froom's production makes more of a difference this time out; Amnesia sounds brighter and cleaner than Daring Adventures, with a sharp but glossy mix that truly flatters Thompson's fiery Stratocaster solos (not to mention Jim Keltner and Mickey Curry's drumming), and the blend of British folk-rock stalwarts (John Kirkpatrick, Phillip Pickett, Danny Thompson) and American session veterans (Keltner, Curry, Jerry Scheff, Tony Levin) makes for a set of tart and flavorful performances. Amnesia is one of Richard Thompson's best-sounding albums, and not a bad place for beginners; he hadn't sounded like he was having this much fun since Sunnyvista in 1979.© Mark Deming /TiVo