Ozzy Osbourne's 1981 solo debut Blizzard of Ozz was a masterpiece of neo-classical metal that, along with Van Halen's first album, became a cornerstone of '80s metal guitar. Upon its release, there was considerable doubt that Ozzy could become a viable solo attraction. Blizzard of Ozz demonstrated not only his ear for melody, but also an unfailing instinct for assembling top-notch backing bands. Onetime Quiet Riot guitarist Randy Rhoads was a startling discovery, arriving here as a unique, fully formed talent. Rhoads was just as responsible as Osbourne -- perhaps even more so -- for the album's musical direction, and his application of classical guitar techniques and scales rewrote the rulebook just as radically as Eddie Van Halen had. Rhoads could hold his own as a flashy soloist, but his detailed, ambitious compositions and arrangements revealed his true depth, as well as creating a sense of doomy, sinister elegance built on Ritchie Blackmore's minor-key innovations. All of this may seem to downplay the importance of Ozzy himself, which shouldn't be the case at all. The music is a thoroughly convincing match for his lyrical obsession with the dark side (which was never an embrace, as many conservative watchdogs assumed); so, despite its collaborative nature, it's unequivocally stamped with Ozzy's personality. What's more, the band is far more versatile and subtle than Sabbath, freeing Ozzy from his habit of singing in unison with the guitar (and proving that he had an excellent grasp of how to frame his limited voice). Nothing short of revelatory, Blizzard of Ozz deservedly made Ozzy a star, and it set new standards for musical virtuosity in the realm of heavy metal.© Steve Huey /TiVo

These days, the only thing louder than the explosions in your average action/adventure/fantasy/science fiction film trailer is the music. After experiencing German composer Carl Orff's 1937 cantata Carmina Burana paired with slow-motion shots of men preparing for battle for the umpteenth time, composers Nick Phoenix and Thomas J. Bergersen decided that they would create their own production company, Two Steps from Hell, and create their own original trailer music. Skyworld, the company's third collection of compact bombast, is also its first to be widely available publicly (the previous two outings were marketed directly to film studios). The 22 tracks, all of which (as of 2012) have yet to find their celluloid soul mates, feel like the best parts of a Hans Zimmer score condensed into three- to four-minute bursts of over the top tension and melodrama, resulting in the perfect audio companion for a summer blockbuster fan in the doldrums of January, or an extreme sports enthusiast, conspiracy theorist, or necromancer. © James Christopher Monger /TiVo

In 2004, he said that his album Solo Piano was a project that had relieved him of a variety of complexes that he had had about the relationship of his music to his character. How to sum up this singer, musician, entertainer? This record with a strong whiff of Satie solved a lot of problems, Jason Beck alias Chilly Gonzalez said at the time... A good decade later, this brilliant Canadian Zebedee bounds between passports, costumes, locations, eras and styles, always one step ahead of getting pigeonholed into a single role or genre. But he regularly returns to this solo, introspective work, as if compelled. This time, Solo Piano III rounds off what he describes as a trilogy. "The musical purity of Solo Piano III is not an antidote for our times", he says, "it is a reflection of all the beauty and ugliness around us. "Less monolithic than its predecessors, this final volume racks up a series of refined nods and winks with a rare intelligence. Satie and Chopin are never far away, and the same goes for Liszt, Bach or, more recently, Chico Marx of the Marx Brothers, the childhood idol of his to whom he dedicated the well-named Chico. Each track on this timeless record is dedicated to one of his "underdogs". Thomas Bangalter of Daft Punk, Fanny Mendelssohn, sister of Felix Mendelssohn, Rudolf Steiner, founder of anthroposophy, composer and writer Hildegard von Bingen, aviator Amelia Earhart, the first woman to fly over the Atlantic in 1928, but also groups like Migos and Beach House or Conchita Cintron, the first woman rejoneadora: all are crowned with this pianist's laurels. © Max Dembo/Qobuz

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When Gypsy Alley was released in 1990, the person folk-pop singer/composer Sara K. was most often compared to was Joni Mitchell. There's no overlooking the fact that Mitchell's influence is quite strong on "After the Blizzard," "The Edge of Town," "There It Is (Never Had a Lot of Money)" and other introspective offerings. Mitchell's work has obviously taught Sara how effective subtlety can be. This isn't an aggressive album -- from "Watching You Fall Into Sleep" to "Aura of the Blade," Gypsy Alley maintains the type of reflective, quiet ambience Mitchell is known for. But as powerful as Mitchell's influence is, Sara wasn't an outright clone. And as the 1990s progressed, more and more of her own personality would assert itself. With Gypsy Alley, Sara was off to a decent start. © Alex Henderson /TiVo

The debut by the Tallest Man on Earth (alias Kristian Mattson, a youthful Swede of average height) is one of those albums that is truly difficult to convince yourself was actually made when it was made, and isn't a dusty artifact of a bygone era. The obvious point of reference is early Dylan at his most earnestly folky -- a no-brainer, especially given Mattson's richly gritty, slightly pinched voice and densely imagistic lyrics -- but Shallow Grave also hearkens back further to the rural sources of Dylan's inspiration, evoking the spirits of pre-war hillbilly folkers and Mississippi country bluesmen, and often more vividly than Dylan himself. The unvarnished but essentially clean recording quality aside, there's little to suggest that these tunes weren't recorded in the American South in the early part of the last century, on the porch of some particularly contemplative backwoods poet. Crucially though, it never feels as though Mattson is playing a character, even if in some sense he clearly is: the hard-won wisdom, sly humor, and deep-seated romance that infuse the Tallest Man's songs drip from Mattson's craggy larynx just as artlessly and effortlessly as his fiery, deftly picked guitar and banjo parts flow from his fingers. Interestingly, the duplicitous nature of persona -- and the startling lengths to which we'll go to maintain it -- forms the central thread of the album's most hauntingly resonant song, the tender yet unsettling "The Gardener," whose narrator confesses a string of murders (allegorical or actual) he's committed to preserve his image as "the tallest man" in the eyes of his loved one. Elsewhere, it can be a tall order to unravel the album's fractured narratives or make sense of its pastoral-phantasmagorical imagery (from "Pistol Dreams": "I will boil the curtains to extract the drugs of springtime/But that unicorn, he stirs up as a mule"), but it's hard to mistake the world-weary sentiment at the core of "I Won't Be Found" or the longing underlying the undeniably Dylan-esque "Honey Won't You Let Me In." A key point of disambiguation: while it may be a similarly scratchy acquired taste for some, and it's not exactly easy on the ears, Mattson's voice is a much finer vessel for melody than Dylan's ever was, and he imbues these songs with some excellent ones, immediately hummable tunes that only deepen their appeal with repeated listens. An immensely impressive and likable debut. © K. Ross Hoffman /TiVo

Harald Kloser's score for the environmental disaster film The Day After Tomorrow has an appropriately epic, orchestral heft. Mixing slow, implosive passages with sudden outbursts, pieces like "Tornado Warning," and "Sam!" mirror the film's concept of sudden, radical climate shifts wreaking havoc on the U.S.. Even the tracks that have a relatively consistent mood are juxtaposed to create contrast: the mounting panic implied by the squalling horns and percussion in the aptly crashing "Tidal Wave" and the tense "Russian Ghost Ship" is followed by the bittersweet calm of tracks like "Body Heat" and "Hall's Plan." For the most part, the score is ominous; although a few rays of hope peek through on tracks such as "Bedtime Story," "Cutting the Rope," and "President's Speech"; the grim drama of "Blizzard" and "Superfreeze," and the bleak strings on "Because of You" set the tone for the film's music. Despite the score's powerful feel, its pieces are remarkably short, with few of them topping the three-and-a-half minute mark. Given the film's spectacular nature, Kloser could have tried to compete with the visuals and crafted an overblown score, but the conciseness of his music gives the film a little more balance. The score's closing pieces, "The Human Spirit" and "Burning Books," border on the melodramatic, but most of The Day After Tomorrow is an effective counterpoint to the movie's action.© Heather Phares /TiVo

Blizzard Beasts, Immortal's fourth album, sounds like a rush job when compared to the rest of the band's triumphant catalog. The majesty of the group's songwriting is buried in the album's subpar production values, which render the potentially brilliant hyperspeed riffing and drum battery gutless and ineffectual. "Nebular Ravens Winter," "Suns That Sank Below," and "Frostdemonstorm" offer a few decent riffs and solid arrangements, and six-minute epic "Mountains of Might" leans toward the black-metal-by-way-of-German-thrash genius of subsequent albums -- but the rest of the record shows little progression from predecessor Battles in the North. Ultimately, Blizzard Beasts should be chalked up as a transitional album in Immortal's mighty career, being the last to feature guitarist and founding member Demonaz (he quit after a bout with tendonitis); bassist/vocalist Abbath would take over six-string and songwriting duties, ultimately leading the band out of blastbeat hell and across more broad-scoped, epic terrain. Still, it's hard to write off Blizzard Beasts as a failure; the record is brilliant when compared to similar Norwegian black metal acts mired in ludicrous "necro" aesthetics, but it just doesn't match up with Immortal's usual balance of underground credibility with high production and songwriting standards. © John Serba /TiVo

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Recorded live at the 'mdr Studio am Augustusplatz' Leipzig, Germany, Nocember 8, 2007