Even before this fourth Tame Impala album came out, Kevin Parker was, more than ever, everywhere! Kanye West, Kali Uchis, Lady Gaga, Travis Scott, Theophilus London, The Avalanches and a handful of others were lining up to pick the Australian’s brain in one way or another; on his part, the leader of Tame Impala has dazzled the world with his talents since 2007, blending psychedelic rock, XXL rhythms and airtight choruses. However, the ultra-hypnotic psychedelics have been put on mute for The Slow Rush, his sunniest and most hedonistic work to date. There is a serious feel-good factor to this chill, 80s-sounding album which can occasionally sound very FM even slightly cheesy… The fluffy R&B of Hall & Oates and The Bee Gees, the soft art pop/rock of 10cc or Supertramp and the polished finish of early Air music are all clear influences, with the synths tending to eclipse the guitars. But such is Kevin Parker’s talent that he submerges these inspirations in a production that is 100% 2020. The Slow Rush is a formidably effective record, and the catchy Is It True could propel it to dizzying heights. © Marc Zisman/Qobuz

The back-to-back success of The Stranger and 52nd Street may have brought Billy Joel fame and fortune, even a certain amount of self-satisfaction, but it didn't bring him critical respect, and it didn't dull his anger. If anything, being classified as a mainstream rocker -- a soft rocker -- infuriated him, especially since a generation of punks and new wave kids were getting the praise that eluded him. He didn't take this lying down -- he recorded Glass Houses. Comparatively a harder-rocking album than either of its predecessors, with a distinctly bitter edge, Glass Houses still displays the hallmarks of Billy Joel the pop craftsman and Phil Ramone the world-class hitmaker. Even its hardest songs -- the terrifically paranoid "Sometimes a Fantasy," "Sleepin' With the Television On," "Close to the Borderline," the hit "You May Be Right" -- have bold, direct melodies and clean arrangements, ideal for radio play. Instead of turning out to be a fiery rebuttal to his detractors, the album is a remarkable catalog of contemporary pop styles, from McCartney-esque whimsy ("Don't Ask Me Why") and arena rock ("All for Leyna") to soft rock ("C'etait Toi [You Were the One]") and stylish new wave pop ("It's Still Rock and Roll to Me," which ironically is closer to new wave pop than rock). That's not a detriment; that's the album's strength. The Stranger and 52nd Street were fine albums in their own right, but it's nice to hear Joel scale back his showman tendencies and deliver a solid pop/rock record. It may not be punk -- then again, it may be his concept of punk -- but Glass Houses is the closest Joel ever got to a pure rock album.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

The symbiotic relationship between hip-hop and jazz has such deep roots at this point that we've seen multiple evolutions of this hybridization: the live bands who emulate and elaborate on the break-looping structures of the beat, the producers who use sample-based beats to imitate an ensemble of musicians, and the composers who take the technologically derived mechanical reproductions of hip-hop production and transmute them into malleable improvisational structures. East London-rooted pianist/rapper/composer Alfa Mist's sound seems to acknowledge the moves his precursors made in all these modes (even when he doesn't always use them himself) and the ensuing work he's made synthesizes those disparate approaches into a form of soul-jazz that's in constant recursive communication with this relationship. If that means Variables simultaneously evokes the '60s and '70s jazz records beloved by Golden Era producers and the beats those producers made from those records in the '80s and '90s, it does so without freezing itself in either of those eras—or even in the super-mellow post-Dilla/Nujabes "lo-fi beats" atmosphere these hybrids usually result in. His range is broad but links up ideas in a way that flows logically; the way "Foreword" presents a traditional bop-rooted charge out the gate and then switches up its rhythm to a swing-heavy take on trap drums is only the most audacious example. "The Gist" pulls off a subtler trick to stirring effect, with the rhythm's cymbal-stuttering fluidity egging on Alfa's electric piano until its glimmering tone starts radiating volcanic heat. And "BC" hits a sweet spot of drum'n'bass freneticism and Eddie Henderson-ian cosmic-fusion atmospherics that quickly unfurls into a spectacularly dynamic succession of intense solos. But Variables is never content to remain in one mode, and tracks like the boom-bap Rhodes-and-vibes loner rumination raps "Borderline" and "4th Feb (Stay Awake)," the highlife-inflected warm drones of Bongeziwe Mabandla feature "Apho," and Kaya Thomas-Dyke's airy yearning on the folky R&B of "Aged Eyes" show another way into this world—one where you don't need to be a crate digger to find new genres to stretch your wings in. © Nate Patrin/Qobuz

With her second album My Everything, Ariana Grande already made a clean sweep of awards in 2014. Four years later, now 25 years old, she seems more comfortable than ever on Sweetener, a multi-textured pop album. The young woman, who had a tendency to lose herself in weeping lyrical musings, has found a new path on which she’s able to lay out her strong personality. Behind her angelic face hides a fierce predator, capable of venturing onto risky territories. She doesn’t appear unfazed by Pharrell Williams on their retro 90’s duo Blazed. Ariana Grande knows how to take her rightful place, even with the queen Nicki Minaj, who confronted her in a hip-hop test (The Light Is Coming). With REM and God Is a Woman, there is no longer any doubt. The young singer blurs boundaries and expands her musical field to the point of embodying a goddess. But the charm of Ariana Grande is the ease and humility with which she plays with her various facets. Kitsch and romantic, intense and funny, Sweetener is without a doubt the album that resembles her the most, by its fantasy, and the fact that she composed ten out of the fifteen tracks or so. As a confirmed singer-songwriter, Grande now joins the next level with a solid album, but not as experimental and scattered as her previous ones. © Anna Coluthe/Qobuz

Solange Knowles started writing her third album in New Iberia, Louisiana, a town where her maternal grandparents lived until a Molotov cocktail was thrown into their home. That setting helps explain how A Seat at the Table turned out drastically different from Knowles' previous output. There's no revisitation of beachy retro soul-pop and new wave akin to "Sandcastle Disco" or "Losing You." Nothing has the humor of "Some Things Never Seem to Fucking Work" or the bluntness of "Fuck the Industry." There certainly aren't any love songs in the traditional sense. Instead, surrounded by a collaborative throng that includes Raphael Saadiq, Dave Longstreth, and Adam Bainbridge, Knowles composed and produced alleviating pro-black reflections of frustration and anger. They regard persistent dehumanizing burdens dealt to her and other persons of color in a country where many are hostile to the phrase "Black Lives Matter" and the equality-seeking organization of the same name. Remarkably, tender elegance is the mode for much of the album's duration, as heard in the exquisitely unguarded "Cranes in the Sky" and dimly lit left-of-center pop-R&B hybrids "Don't You Wait" and "Don't Wish Me Well." Those songs crave release and reject character assassination and stasis while hinting at inevitable fallout. Their restrained ornamentation and moderate tempos are perfectly suited for Knowles, an undervalued vocalist who never aims to bring the house down yet fills each note with purposeful emotion. When the rhythms bounce and the melodies brighten, as they do during a short second-half stretch, the material remains rooted in profound grief and mystified irritation. In "Borderline," a chugging machine beat and a lilting piano line form the backdrop of a scene where Knowles and her partner tune out the world for the sake of their sanity. Then, after Nia Andrews and Kelly Rowland's half minute of proud harmonic affirmation, along comes "Junie," a squiggling jam on which André 3000 makes like the track's namesake (Ohio Players and Parliament legend Junie Morrison), where Knowles delivers a sharp metaphorical smackdown of a cultural interloper like it's merely an improvised postscript. All of the guests, from Lil Wayne to Kelela, make necessary appearances. The same goes for Knowles' parents and Master P, who are present in the form of short interludes in which they discuss segregation, self-reliance, cultural theft, and black pride. These segues shrewdly fasten a cathartic yet poised album, one that weighs a ton and levitates.© Andy Kellman /TiVo

"Ry X will be there to serenade you with his languid vocals and songs that serve to take stock of his emotional temperature. He runs pretty hot and cold throughout as he seeks out the perfect partner, the perfect moment and the perfect melody."© TiVo

Jailbreak was such a peak that it was inevitable that its follow-up would fall short in some fashion and Johnny the Fox, delivered the same year as its predecessor, did indeed pale in comparison. What's interesting about Johnny the Fox is that it's interesting, hardly a rote repetition of Jailbreak but instead an odd, fitfully successful evolution forward. All the same strengths are still here -- the band still sounds as thunderous as a force of nature, Phil Lynott's writing is still graced with elegant turns of phrase, his singing is still soulful and seductive -- but the group ramped up the inherent drama in Lynott's songs by pushing them toward an odd, half-baked concept album. There may be a story within Johnny the Fox -- characters are introduced and brought back, at the very least -- but it's impossible to tell. If the album only had an undercooked narrative and immediate songs, such digressions would be excusable, but the music is also a bit elliptical in spots, sometimes sounding theatrical, sometimes relying on narration. None of this falls flat, but it's never quite as gripping as Jailbreak -- or the best moments here, for that matter, because when Johnny the Fox is good, it's great, as on the surging "Don't Believe a Word" or the elegiac "Borderline." These are the reasons why Johnny the Fox is worth the extra effort, because it does pay off even if it isn't quite as good as what came immediately before -- or immediately afterward, for that matter.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

According to Joni Mitchell, Travelogue is her final recorded work, and if that is so, it's a detailed exploration of moments in a career that is as dazzling as it is literally uncompromising. Over 22 tracks and two CDs (and as stunning package featuring a plethora of photographs of Mitchell's paintings), Travelogue is a textured and poetic reminiscence, not a reappraisal, of her work -- most of it from the 1970s through the 1990s. A 70-piece orchestra, as well as jazz legends Herbie Hancock, Wayne Shorter, and Kenny Wheeler, drummer Brian Blade, bassist Chuck Berghofer, producer Larry Klein, and organist Billy Preston, among others, accompanies her. It's true that Mitchell dabbled in this territory in 2000 on Both Sides Now, but that recording only remotely resembles this one. Cast in this way it is true that this is no easy cruise, but given the nearly 40 years of her sojourn in popular music, Mitchell's work, particularly from the mid-'70s on, has been difficult for many to grasp on first listen and always gives up its considerable rewards, slowly making her records age well over time; they are not disposable as much of the music from her peers is. These completely recast songs cover the entirety of her career, from her debut, Song From a Seagull, to Turbulent Indigo (with certain albums not being represented at all). It's true there aren't high-profile cuts here except for "Woodstock," which is radically reshaped, but it hardly matters. When you hear the ultrahip, be-bopping "God Must Be a Boogie Man," there is an elation without sentimentality; in the scathing and venomous "For the Roses" and "Just Like This Train," the bitterness and aggression in their delivery offers the listener an empathy with Mitchell's anger at the recording industry -- and anyone else who's crossed her. But while there is plenty of swirling darkness amid the strings here, there is also the fulfillment of prophecy; just give a listen to this version of "Sex Kills" that bears its weight in full measure of responsibility and vision. Her voice, aged by years of smoking, is huskier and is, if anything, more lovely, mature, deep in its own element of strength. The restatement of W.B. Yeats, "Slouching Toward Bethlehem," is more stunning now than ever before as is "Hejira." In "The Circle Game" and "Slouching Toward Bethlehem," you hear the ambition in Mitchell's musical direct as she has moved ever closer to the tone poem as a song form. Though it may not be as easy on first listen as Court and Spark, Travelogue will continue to unfold over time and offer, like her best work, decades of mystery and pleasure.© Thom Jurek /TiVo

Alison Krauss & Union Station continue their winning streak on the aptly titled Lonely Runs Both Ways. While they have in some part grown away from their earthy, rollicking bluegrass roots, they've been able to craft a really polished and honest-sounding brand of mid-American adult contemporary that never dips into the schlockiness of mainstream AC or the formula-driven sound of young country. Instead, Krauss, co-songwriter Dan Tyminski, and the Station dig deep into the classic themes of rural American music, polishing them with terrific production, the finest instrumentation, and two of the best voices around. Lonely Runs Both Ways shifts back and forth between Krauss' angelic love songs and Tyminski's earthier tales of rain, roads, and rivers, with one blazing Jerry Douglas-led instrumental entitled "Unionhouse Branch." Banjo player Ron Block takes a vocal turn on his own "I Don't Have to Live This Way," but allows Krauss to take vocal lead on another of his songs (and the album's highlight), "A Living Prayer." This gentle lullaby rocks the album to sleep with its light instrumentation and quietly soaring vocals, appropriately putting the ribbon on the whole tidy package. Although bluegrass purists may long for the days when Krauss rosined up her fiddle with the Cox Family, the pure beauty and craftsmanship of Alison Krauss & Union Station's more commercial sound is undeniable, and somehow they manage to avoid sounding slick and formulaic, still retaining the spark of honesty that seems to be missing from the recordings of so many of their contemporaries. While the group made plenty of longtime fans nervous with its sexed-up 2001 release, New Favorite, Lonely Runs Both Ways should reinstill their faith in the fact that this band is far and away the best contemporary bluegrass act recording today.© Zac Johnson /TiVo