On his 2023 album I Thought I Was Better Than You, Baxter Dury turns his trademark louche rambler persona with a line on late-night, neon-slicked grooves one twist to the left. With the help of producer Paul White -- who had worked with Danny Brown and Charli XCX in the past -- Dury turns his gaze to the privileged, fame-adjacent upbringing he enjoyed/suffered and sets his self-lacerating musings to a R&B- and hip-hop-inspired sound. To get the desired effect, White took Dury's homemade demos and gave them a polish. The result is a smoother, more relaxed backdrop for Dury's spleen venting and toxic reminiscences that focus on the strange benefits that came with being the son of a well-known musical icon. He doesn't spare himself much here, and the results can be a little bleak, something Dury knows all too well, and as in the past, much of the sonic landscape is taken up by sweetly sung choruses. These angelic commentaries are delivered here by a new cast of characters that includes Eska Mtungwazi, JGrrey, and Madeline Hart. They play their roles perfectly, and Dury's eye for collaborators is as sharp as his wit. As usual, that's very, very sharp, and to that end there are a sackful of memorable lines, rhymes, and asides to be found on the record. "Burger King trousers" and "kettlebells in the stairwell" are two fine examples of the kind of language not usually found on pop records, but they are the kind of gems that drop from Dury's lips like they were nothing. The choice this time out to adopt more of a hip-hop and R&B influence was a good one, and he and White make it work without lapsing into rip-off territory. Though his passion for the sound is evident, Dury never seems like a poser. As he says, he might want to sound like Frank Ocean, but he always ends up sounding like Ian. Dury, that is. And like himself, now. In fact, after releasing as many excellent albums as he has over the years, and forging a path that's truly unique despite the resurgence of blokes and birds talking over indie rock, Baxter Dury deserves to be considered fully free of his father's shadow. Maybe after releasing this subtly brilliant and pleasingly scathing album, he'll finally believe it too. © Tim Sendra /TiVo

Having delivered their comeback with ease, the Jonas Brothers were faced with a difficult prospect: they needed to keep the good times of Happiness Begins rolling. To that end, they decided to ditch many of the collaborators from that 2019 affair and hire Jon Bellion -- a songwriter/producer known for previous work with Jason Derulo, Justin Bieber, Maroon 5, and Eminem with Rihanna -- as executive producer. Bellion and the Brothers decide to extend the shiny sunniness of Happiness Begins by buttressing the frothy melodies with bright, soulful grooves that split the difference between disco and retro-minded modern revivals. It's a fleet, sleek sound that helps draw attention to the trio's natural effervescence without seeming especially sugary. It does seem tailored for the sunshine, though, particularly a stretch in the second half where the Jonas Brothers sing about "Vacation Eyes," "Summer in the Hamptons," and "Summer Baby," all amounting to a summery EP buried in the middle of an LP. Truth be told, most of The Album sounds as if it was made with relaxation in mind; it's all shimmering soft rock and tempered disco, soundtracks for Montana skies and celebrations. The exceptions to the rule are "Little Bird" and the Bellion duet "Walls," a pair of slower, introspective numbers that end The Album on a curiously dour note, as if the trio decided they'd had too much fun, so they added serious songs as an afterthought.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

Selah Sue has only released three albums in thirteen years. She first put her career on hold to become a mother, and later took another break due to depression. However, with every release this Belgian soul singer proves she’s not afraid to try new things and that her impressive voice isn’t afraid of experimenting with new ideas. Persona has no shortage of these new ideas, that’s for sure. With the help of her husband and keyboardist Joachim Saerens and producer Matt Parad, she’s delivered an incredible record. It captures all of her worries and intrusive thoughts, as well as the complexity of human emotions: and she does it across an incredible range of genres. Her single Wanted You to Know, featuring fellow Belgian Damso, gives us a taste of her versatility. Selah Sue finds origiality even in the most clichéd of musical tropes, never choosing the easy option. The best example of this is definitely All the Way Down, a huge, poignant soul track that’s so brilliantly executed. It’s as if she turns everything into a playground: the offbeat drums in Catch My Drift, the dancehall vibe reminiscent of her first album in Kingdom, trap sounds in Hurray and even slightly distorted pianos in Pills… Persona is a broad, rich album, and a real credit to its creator. © Brice Miclet/Qobuz

During their eight-year reign as one of the premiere R&B/funk bands, Kool & the Gang, featuring James "J.T." Taylor on lead, had one Top Ten hit after another and quite a few number one hits. This album did not spawn any number one singles, but it did house two festive Top Ten numbers in "Big Fun" and "Let's Go Dancin' (Ooh La, La, La)." The former has a rapid, groovin' bassline accentuated by some jittering horns. The latter is Caribbean-flavored single ideal for a popular party/cook-out dance called the electric slide. Respectively, they peaked at six and seven on the Billboard R&B charts. Though it appears that the lyric to the title song depicts a relationship between a man and woman, it is actually speaking of the band as an unit. The nine-piece outfit also pays homage to the great bandleader Cab Calloway with the rhythmic number "Hi De Hi, Hi De Ho." Aside from the two released singles, this album does not have that constant spark like some of their more accomplished efforts. © Craig Lytle /TiVo

The cover of Kylie Minogue's 15th album lets you know that, after a foray into country pop with 2018's Golden, the dance-floor queen is back—shellacked with turquoise eyeshadow and fire engine red lipstick, decked out in Studio 54 curls and chandelier earrings, and lit by disco-ball sparkle. Largely recorded at her London home during 2020's pandemic lockdown restrictions, DISCO is escapist fantasy. Feel-good music. Audio oxytocin. Opener "Magic" is a joyous 24-karat breeze of shimmering Phoenix-style synths, thumping percussion, shameless horns and infectious handclaps. The bright tropical brass and sweeping keyboards —not to mention that "whoo-whoo" backing chorus—of "I Love It" is like a shot of Vitamin C. And that's the thing with Minogue: For all that synth, these songs are warm and intimate. Even with talk-box effects, the Daft Punk-esque "Real Groove" ("Got that perfect body/ But she ain't got the moves," coos the eternally youthful 52-year-old) feels superbly human; you can easily imagine crowds happily twirling to the music. Merengue-flavored "Monday Blues" conjures up a street party dance scene and the "Xanadu"-meets-electropop "Say Something" should be the anthem of the pandemic's roller-skating revival. But there's also something appealingly melancholy in the longing of slinky "Miss A Thing"—a FOMO for the world's former "normal": "Come dance with me...I don't want to miss a thing." Yes, please. There are shades of Chic in the funk guitars of "Last Chance," and early Wham! vibes exude from "Where Does The DJ Go?" Meanwhile, "Celebrate You" improbably borrows from Saint Etienne, '60s girl groups, late '90s R&B and playground chants, to delightful effect. At once nostalgic and totally fresh, DISCO taps exactly into the zeitgeist by offering a shot of comfort and aspiration instead of complaints. And when quarantines finally lift and concerts return, we can count on one thing. Minogue’s shows will be dance parties. © Shelly Ridenour/Qobuz

Hardly content with fumbling around with the same sound, Simple Minds shifted gears once again for album number three, Empires and Dance. The "dance" aspect of the title needs to be emphasized, but it's apparent that the group's globetrotting and simmering political tensions in Britain affected their material in more ways than one. One gets the idea that Simple Minds did some clubbing and also experienced some disparate views of the world. The opening "I Travel" is the most assaultive song in the band's catalog, sounding like a Giorgio Moroder production for Roxy Music. Think "I Feel Love" crossed with "Editions of You," only faster; gurgling electronics, a hyperkinetic 4/4 beat, and careening guitars zip by as Jim Kerr delivers elliptical lyrics about unstable world affairs with his throaty yelping (this was still before he developed that predilection for foghorn bombast). The remainder of the album repeals the blitzkrieg frenetics of the beginning and hones in on skeletal arrangements that focus on thick basslines and the loping rhythms that they help frame. The hopping/skipping "Celebrate" isn't much more than a series of handclaps, a light drum stomp, some intermittent bass notes, and some non-intrusive synth effects. It goes absolutely nowhere, yet it's more effective and infectious than most verse-chorus-verse pop songs. The seven minutes of "This Fear of Gods," which boast another dense rhythm abetted by trebly atmospheric elements (distant guitars, percolating electronics, sickly wind instruments), come off like an excellent 12" dub, rather than an original mix. Just as bracing, the paranoiac disco of "Thirty Frames a Second" should have been played regularly at every club in 1980 and should live on as a post-punk dance classic. It's a true shock that this record was released with reluctance. The band coerced an unimpressed Arista into pressing a minimal amount of copies for release (fans still had trouble locating copies), but thankfully Virgin reissued it in 1982.© Andy Kellman /TiVo

After releasing two albums that turned Metric into an arena-filling indie rock band, with a sound designed to reach the very back rows, the band scaled back both their ambitions and approach on their sixth record, 2015's Pagans in Vegas. Kicking off with the clipped and swaggering "Lie Lie Lie," which sounds like a distant cousin of Depeche Mode's "Personal Jesus," Emily Haines and the band seem less interested in being epic this time out. The less bombastic arrangements and the attention to details of sound mean the songs don't have the same overblown feeling, which cuts two ways. It's a bit of a letdown to anyone who loved how huge the band sounded on their last two records, but it also allows Metric a chance to experiment a little and try to connect on a more personal level. In fact, the weakest parts of the album occur when the band do try to fill out their sound with giant choruses. While none of the songs are actively bad, they can seem a little forced and almost rote in comparison to those on earlier albums. "The Shade" is the only stadium track that really works, mostly due to the sticky vocal melody in the chorus, but also in part to the oddball synth squiggles that dart around the mix. Much better are the songs that don't try as hard, like the synth pop ballad "Celebrate," which blends peppy neo-disco verses with a blown-out, half-time chorus, or the songs like "Other Side" that aim for a kind of quiet melancholy and hit it dead-on thanks to the restrained performances and precise arrangements. Basically, when they set aside the understandable desire to make songs that have a chance to be hits, they instead make music that draws the listener in more by leaving space for them. Haines sounds more invested vocally in these tracks, the band's expanded use of synths and restraint within the mix makes the music more interesting, and it truly seems like this is the direction the band want to go in the future. They reached the top, and once there, maybe they decided it wasn't the most interesting place to be. Ending the album with a two-part synthesizer instrumental certainly would seem to bear this out. Metric didn't start off as a chart topping, arena-filling band, but they became a great one. Pagans in Vegas can be viewed as their first post-success album and while the struggle for their musical soul that plays out over its course makes for a sometimes less than coherent listen, it's always an interesting one.© Tim Sendra /TiVo

Having built a considerable and passionate fanbase, the Nephilim approached their second album with confidence and a clutch of stunning new songs. The resulting, semi-self-titled release blows away the first by a mile (the art design alone, depicting an ancient, worn book with strange symbols, is a winner), being an elegantly produced and played monster of dark, powerful rock. Even if McCoy's cries and husked whispers don't appeal to all, once the listener gets past that to the music, the band simply goes off, incorporating their various influences -- especially a good dollop of pre-Dark Side of the Moon Pink Floyd (think songs like "One of These Days") -- to create a massive blast of a record. Buchanan again produces with a careful ear for maximum impact, whether it be the roaring rage of "Chord of Souls" or the minimal guitar and slight keyboard wash of "Celebrate"; McCoy's vocal on the latter is especially fine as a careful, calm brood that matches the music. Perhaps most surprising about the album is that it yielded an honest-to-goodness U.K. Top 40 hit with "Moonchild," which is very much in the vein of earlier songs like "Preacher Man" but with just enough of a catchier chorus and softer guitar part in the verse to make a wider mark. Though the first part of the album is quite fine, including such longtime fan favorites as "The Watchman" and "Phobia," after "Moonchild" the record simply doesn't let up, building to a fantastic three-song conclusion. "Celebrate" is followed by "Love Under Will," a windswept, gloomily romantic number with a lovely combination of the band's regular push and extra keyboards for effect. "Last Exit for the Lost" wraps everything up on an astonishing high; starting off softly with just bass, synths, one guitar, and McCoy, it then gently speeds up more and more, pumping up the volume and finally turning into a momentous, unstoppable tidal wave of electric energy. © Ned Raggett /TiVo

My Dying Bride celebrate their 25th anniversary with Feel the Misery, their 13th studio album. It is a return of sorts, to a place or early inspiration: Academy Studios in Dewsbury, West Yorkshire, the birthplace of such albums as Turn Loose the Swans and The Angel & the Dark River, where they defined their depressing, particularly British brand of doom metal. Original guitarist Calvin Robertshaw has also returned to the fold, replacing Hamish Glencross; this is his first appearance with MDB since 1999's The Light at the End of the World. Feel the Misery is drenched with more than an hour of beautifully written, bleak gothic heaviness. Guitarist Andrew Craighan wrote nearly all of the melodies here, returning to the feel of the '90s with modern production values. It was recorded by Dan Mullins -- who also plays drums -- and mixed by Mags and Craighan. Opening track and first single "And My Father Left Forever" is a showcase for the band's signature dual-guitar sonics and Aaron Stainthorpe's clean vocals. Each word is colored with oppressive sadness and hunger: "When I wake up/I want to see you/Bring me the life within you/I charge myself off your body/But in my arms/The darkness deepens…." "To Shiver in Empty Halls" is Robertshaw's sole writing contribution and it's killer. It commences with a slow, gothic, dual-axe riff accented by explosive double-bass drums and cymbals. Stainthorpe's lyrics, expressed in a dirty, growled echo in the spirit of poet Charles Baudelaire's Les Fleur Du Mal without quoting it: "Wickedness with beauty/Is the devil's hook baited/Darkness is loneliness/With shadows tall and grim/And histories in sin." The title cut weaves keyboards and Shaun MacGowan's strings head on into a death metal guitar attack. Stainthorpe's clean singing balances the tension, every syllable is articulated with defiance. The doomed-out "I Celebrate Your Skin" is ripe with unholy lust and emotional malevolence. The vocalist switches between clean and dirty vocals but the band walks a processional in its riffing and rhythms. Closer "Within a Sleeping Forest" is the perfect bookend. Synths and melodic guitars wind around one another above a skeletal snare and bass drum, with Lena Abe's bassline humming through the center of the mix. Stainthorpe's vocals rise with glacial slowness, they're alternately mournfully sad and clean and fierce and filthy with jealous rage. This doppelgänger seeks to possess the beloved at all costs -- including murder. The track's drama builds in force and tempo until it crashes to an abrupt close. Feel the Misery is the sound of a band inspired, revitalized, focused, and relevant. This album may have been a gift to the band itself after 25 years, but in the end, it is a significant one, not only for the band's fans but for anyone who enjoys classic doom metal.© Thom Jurek /TiVo