"Yoga" was an ostensibly minor part of the Janelle Monáe discography by the arrival of Dirty Computer. Three years old and outshined by another Wondaland release, Jidenna's "Classic Man," it nevertheless became Monáe's first single to hit the Billboard Hot 100. That Monáe hadn't previously hit the chart as a headliner was further evidence of a flawed industry, given that they and primary collaborators Nate Wonder and Chuck Lightning had been making songs with pop appeal for nearly a decade. "Yoga" did show that Monáe was more open to messing with contemporary trends. Moreover, the song's humanized, sexually uninhibited, and anti-authoritarian qualities -- they were earthbound, celebrating their body, asserting "You cannot police me" -- also indicated the course they have taken with their third album. Oddly enough, "Make Me Feel," the one Dirty Computer track on which Monáe employs a wholly pop songwriting team including Julia Michaels, Justin Tranter, and Mattman & Robin, is the funkiest and friskiest number here, clearly influenced by the late (and uncredited) Prince. Monáe and their trusty Wondaland partners, the album's dominant creative force, colorfully twist and flip new wave-leaning pop with booming bass drums and rattling percussion. They transmit powerful and defiant jubilance in response to "wack ass fuckboys everywhere (from the traphouse to the White House) who make the lives of little brown girls so damn hard," among dozens of other inspirations Monáe acknowledges in the essential liner notes. Almost every track is densely packed with quotables delivered in approaches that shift from easygoing elegance to hard-fought, triumphant conviction. The latter approach yields the album's apex, "Django Jane," in which Monáe raps throughout with inhuman precision, threatening a pussy riot, declaring "We ain't hidden no more," and uplifting the "highly melanated" while dropping some of the set's few sci-fi allusions, "Made a fandroid outta yo' girlfriend" among them. Not to be lost in all the power moves are indirect and direct references to a romantic relationship -- another form of dissent -- referenced and explored throughout, from the glowing "Crazy, Classic, Life" through the fiery "So Afraid," the only moment of emotional fragility. While this is easily the most loaded Monáe album in terms of guests, with Brian Wilson, Stevie Wonder, and Grimes among the contributors, there's no doubt that it's a Wondaland product. It demonstrates that artful resistance and pop music are not mutually exclusive.© Andy Kellman /TiVo

Looking for some bone-crunching aural action? Die-hard heavy, death, and nu metal fans need look no further than Fear Factory. The hard-rocking quartet has churned out another spine-chilling album with their 2001 release, Digimortal. Born of all things electronic and evil, Digimortal is a cornucopia of apocalyptic views of the evils waiting outside your door, under your bed, and inside your computer. The complete set of warnings on the dark days ahead linger like dense, lurking shadows in the form of the 11 foreboding tracks on the album. A sincere sense of heeded warning comes straight from Fear Factory's ominous crystal ball on tracks like the terse "What Will Become." The roar-filled title track, "Digimortal," where singer Burton C. Bell speaks of lost innocence and wails repeatedly about getting "one step closer/to my fate," is a more rhythmic version of the same cynical outlook, but with a more musically muscular impact. The techno-like beat and the pounding guitar of "Linchpin" combine to form the perfect eerie backdrop for rap-like spitting of lyrics for Fear Factory's gravely serious pleas for social awareness, when Bell sings, "We will never see the end/we will never breathe again." The lyrics take a defiant stance with "you can't change me," a statement that echoes the sincerity of the sentiments in the movie Shawshank Redemption when the prisoners speak of the safeguarded hope (that place they can't tamper with or destroy) deep inside. Digimortal is an ear-drum puncturing and adrenaline-induced cry out against a warning that the digital age may bring everyone those final fatal steps closer to their eminent doom as vital, viable human beings.© Kerry Smith /TiVo

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To record and successfully release four albums in the ever-volatile drum'n'bass market is a feat in itself, though Rob Haigh's consistency throughout his involvement with the genre is certain to be his most outstanding achievement. Although his anthemic leanings have occasionally acted against him, dating his previous long-player outings perhaps quicker than they should have been, Byte Size Life marks a sea change, with the warm synths and emotive keys which have characterized his work this time notably free of cliché. The resultant body of work, though ambitious, offers an enjoyable alternative to the faux funk and jazz rhetoric that dominates the atmospheric side of the movement. The new birth of cool. © Kingsley Marshall /TiVo

Looking for some bone-crunching aural action? Die-hard heavy, death, and nu metal fans need look no further than Fear Factory. The hard-rocking quartet has churned out another spine-chilling album with their 2001 release, Digimortal. Born of all things electronic and evil, Digimortal is a cornucopia of apocalyptic views of the evils waiting outside your door, under your bed, and inside your computer. The complete set of warnings on the dark days ahead linger like dense, lurking shadows in the form of the 11 foreboding tracks on the album. A sincere sense of heeded warning comes straight from Fear Factory's ominous crystal ball on tracks like the terse "What Will Become." The roar-filled title track, "Digimortal," where singer Burton C. Bell speaks of lost innocence and wails repeatedly about getting "one step closer/to my fate," is a more rhythmic version of the same cynical outlook, but with a more musically muscular impact. The techno-like beat and the pounding guitar of "Linchpin" combine to form the perfect eerie backdrop for rap-like spitting of lyrics for Fear Factory's gravely serious pleas for social awareness, when Bell sings, "We will never see the end/we will never breathe again." The lyrics take a defiant stance with "you can't change me," a statement that echoes the sincerity of the sentiments in the movie Shawshank Redemption when the prisoners speak of the safeguarded hope (that place they can't tamper with or destroy) deep inside. Digimortal is an ear-drum puncturing and adrenaline-induced cry out against a warning that the digital age may bring everyone those final fatal steps closer to their eminent doom as vital, viable human beings.© Kerry Smith /TiVo

In 2001 Savant Records brought out Blythe Byte, an album by alto saxophonist Arthur Blythe. For his second Savant release and sequel to the excellent live album Spirits in the Field, Blythe chose pianist John Hicks, drummer Cecil Brooks III, and Dwayne Dolphin, the Oakland-cum-Pittsburgh bassist who came up working with Wynton Marsalis and Hank Crawford. What resulted was a well-balanced assortment blending three original compositions, an old-fashioned spiritual, the Latin pop tune "Besame Mucho," Billy Strayhorn's reflective "My Little Brown Book," John Coltrane's "Naima," and three exquisite airs by Thelonious Monk. As would be the case with his 2003 Savant release Exhale, the title track on Blythe Byte is a miniature lasting less than 60 seconds. © arwulf arwulf /TiVo