Mona Bone Jakon only began Cat Stevens' comeback. Seven months later, he returned with Tea for the Tillerman, an album in the same chamber-group style, employing the same musicians and producer, but with a far more confident tone. Mona Bone Jakon had been full of references to death, but Tea for the Tillerman was not about dying; it was about living in the modern world while rejecting it in favor of spiritual fulfillment. It began with a statement of purpose, "Where Do the Children Play?," in which Stevens questioned the value of technology and progress. "Wild World" found the singer being dumped by a girl, but making the novel suggestion that she should stay with him because she was incapable of handling things without him. "Sad Lisa" might have been about the same girl after she tried and failed to make her way; now, she seemed depressed to the point of psychosis. The rest of the album veered between two themes: the conflict between the young and the old, and religion as an answer to life's questions. Tea for the Tillerman was the story of a young man's search for spiritual meaning in a soulless class society he found abhorrent. He hadn't yet reached his destination, but he was confident he was going in the right direction, traveling at his own, unhurried pace. The album's rejection of contemporary life and its yearning for something more struck a chord with listeners in an era in which traditional verities had been shaken. It didn't hurt, of course, that Stevens had lost none of his ability to craft a catchy pop melody; the album may have been full of angst, but it wasn't hard to sing along to. As a result, Tea for the Tillerman became a big seller and, for the second time in four years, its creator became a pop star.© William Ruhlmann /TiVo

Devastated by the death of his partner Tammi Terrell, who died of cancer on 6 March 1970 at the age of just 24, Marvin Gaye withdrew from show business and fell into a deep depression. He threw himself into football and signed with the Detroit Lions. In June of the same year, however, the social and political situation compelled him to return to recording. As America struggled with its own demons, both internal (segregation) and external (Vietnam), he released a masterpiece of conscious soul. With its politically-engaged prose, What's Going On, which was released on 21 May 1971,  shook the Motown label out of its rosy American dream and forced it to confront the realities of the time. But Marvin Gaye, a poet and above all an entertainer, saw to it that his social and political sermon was delivered with a truly unique groove. The album is a masterful symphony, both measured and calculated, in which the string section enchants the rhythm and chorus. But it wasn't easy to lay this cornerstone of Black American music: Berry Gordy, the head of Motown, was worried that this politically-charged project would damage the very positive (perhaps too positive) public image of both his label and his protégé. With What's Going On, Marvin Gaye forced Gordy to face up to the war in Vietnam, interracial tensions and the degradation of great American cities. The success of the record was immediate and hugely impressive, with What's Going On raking in heaps of awards. Perhaps more notable was the fact that this was the first time a Motown record had been produced and designed in this way, without complete control from Gordy. Marvin Gaye went on to sign a new contract with the label, this time for a million dollars, making it the biggest contract ever signed by a black artist at the time. As for What's Going On, it remains one of the greatest albums of the twentieth century. © Marc Zisman/Qobuz

At 23 years of age, Stevie Wonder’s music is in its innovative stages in Innervisions, released on August 3, 1973. Playing all kinds of instruments, featuring musicians such as Jeff Beck, Ray Parker Jr., David Sanborn and Buzz Feiten, and touching on a range of themes from drugs, ghetto, spirituality, politics, racism and of course love with a big L, Michigan’s musical genius manages to create the ultimate fusion of soul, rhythm’n’blues, funk and pop. The sound of his synthesisers was unprecedented at the time and works well with this spiritual soul music that is full of crazy melodies. Innervisions provides the perfect soundtrack for difficult times in America, like in Living for The City where Stevie recalls the trials and tribulations of a young black man from Mississippi who went to New York for a job he would never get, before ending up behind bars (to make his 7-minute composition even more realistic, he incorporates street recordings, siren sounds and arrest-dialogues). With He’s Misstra Know-It-All, Stevie takes a thinly-veiled dig against the incumbent president, Richard Nixon. This album is the perfect addition to Marvin Gaye’s What’s Going On released two years earlier as we leave the blues behind and embrace the broken American dream instead. It’s also very personal for Stevie Wonder, who has the original Innervisions cover engraved in braille, “This is my music. It’s all I have to say to you and all that I feel. Know that your love helps mine to stay strong”. © Marc Zisman/Qobuz

Instant-classic debut from the English rock band that introduced the world to the Gallagher brothers.© TiVo

Eye in the Sky provided the Alan Parsons Project with their first Top Ten hit since 1977's I Robot, and it's hard not to feel that crossover success was one of the driving forces behind this album. The Project never shied away from hooks, whether it was on the tense white funk of "I Wouldn't Want to Be Like You" or the gleaming pop hooks of "Games People Play," but Eye in the Sky was soft and smooth, so smooth that it was easy to ignore that the narrator of the title track was an ominous omniscient who spied either on his lover or his populace, depending on how deeply you wanted to delve into the concepts of this album. And, unlike I Robot or The Turn of a Friendly Card, it is possible to listen to Eye in the Sky and not dwell on the larger themes, since they're used as a foundation, not pushed to center stage. What does dominate is the lushness of sound, the sweetness of melody: this is a soft rock album through and through, one that's about melodic hooks and texture. In the case of the spacy opening salvo "Sirius," later heard on sports talk shows across America, or "Mammagamma," it was all texture, as these instrumentals set the trippy yet warm mood that the pop songs sustained. And the real difference with Eye in the Sky is that, with the exception of those instrumentals and the galloping suite "Silence and I," all the artiness was part of the idea of this album was pushed into the lyrics, so the album plays as soft pop album -- and a very, very good one at that. Perhaps nothing is quite as exquisite as the title song, yet "Children of the Moon" has a sprightly gait (not all that dissimilar from Kenny Loggins' "Heart to Heart"), "Psychobabble" has a bright propulsive edge (not all that dissimilar from 10cc), and "Gemini" is the project at its dreamiest. It all adds up to arguably the most consistent Alan Parsons Project album -- perhaps not in terms of concept, but in terms of music they never were as satisfying as they were here.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

461 Ocean Boulevard is Eric Clapton's second studio solo album, arriving after his side project of Derek and the Dominos and a long struggle with heroin addiction. Although there are some new reggae influences, the album doesn't sound all that different from the rock, pop, blues, country, and R&B amalgam of Eric Clapton. However, 461 Ocean Boulevard is a tighter, more focused outing that enables Clapton to stretch out instrumentally. Furthermore, the pop concessions on the album -- the sleek production, the concise running times -- don't detract from the rootsy origins of the material, whether it's Johnny Otis' "Willie and the Hand Jive," the traditional blues "Motherless Children," Bob Marley's "I Shot the Sheriff," or Clapton's emotional original "Let It Grow." With its relaxed, friendly atmosphere and strong bluesy roots, 461 Ocean Boulevard set the template for Clapton's '70s albums. Though he tried hard to make an album exactly like it, he never quite managed to replicate its charms.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

The Police never really broke up, they just stopped working together -- largely because they just couldn't stand playing together anymore and partially because Sting was itching to establish himself as a serious musician/songwriter on his own terms. Anxious to shed the mantle of pop star, he camped out at Eddy Grant's studio, picked up the guitar, and raided Wynton Marsalis' band for his new combo -- thereby instantly consigning his solo debut, The Dream of the Blue Turtles, to the critical shorthand of Sting's jazz record. Which is partially true (that's probably the best name for the meandering instrumental title track), but that gives the impression that this is really risky music, when he did, after all, rely on musicians who, at that stage, were revivalists just developing their own style, and then had them jam on mock-jazz grooves -- or, in the case of Branford Marsalis, layer soprano sax lines on top of pop songs. This, however, is just the beginning of the pretensions layered throughout The Dream of the Blue Turtles. Only twice does he delve into straightforward love songs -- the lovely measured "Consider Me Gone" and the mournful closer, "Fortress Around Your Heart" -- preferring to consider love in the abstract ("If You Love Somebody Set Them Free," one of his greatest solo singles, and the childish, faux-reggae singalong "Love Is the Seventh Wave"), write about children in war and in coal mines, revive a Police tune about heroin, ponder whether "Russians love their children too," and wander the streets of New Orleans as the vampire Lestat. This is a serious-minded album, but it's undercut by its very approach -- the glossy fusion that coats the entire album, the occasional grabs at worldbeat, and studious lyrics seem less pretentious largely because they're overshadowed by such bewilderingly showy moves as adapting Prokofiev for "Russians" and calling upon Anne Rice for inspiration. And that's the problem with the record: with every measure, every verse, Sting cries out for the respect of a composer, not a pop star, and it gets to be a little overwhelming when taken as a whole. As a handful of individual cuts -- "Fortress," "Consider Me Gone," "If You Love Somebody," "Children's Crusade" -- he proves that he's subtler and craftier than his peers, but only when he reins in his desire to show the class how much he's learned.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

Gary Clark, Jr. pushes hard on the envelope in JPEG RAW.  He's grown far beyond the blues into a multi-faced presence steeped in a variety of genres, from blues to pop and prog rock to the frontiers of modern funk.  Rather than referring to a digital photo file, JPEG here stands for "Jealousy, Pride, Envy, Greed," while RAW is an acronym for "Rules, Alter Ego, Worlds." Given that kind of ambition, it's no surprise that Clark's lyrics have branched out into life's most pressing conflicts, including a plea for unity in the album opener "Maktub": "And if we don't get it ourselves/ Then we can't be mad when we don't receive the paper/ We've come too far for our seeds to continue to look back and say/ That's the way it went." Using a favorite vocal effect over big beats in "Don't Start (feat. Valerie June)," Clark rages when he finds his woman cheating: "Better run, better, run and hide/ Better call your God, cause oh lord I'm 'bout to kill that man." The vocal processing is an acquired taste that appears several times but does not diminish Clark's performance, his most impressive as a singer to date.  Accompanied only by his effects-free electric guitar, Clark croons the short love song "To The Ends of the Earth" in a beautiful clear voice. On the following track, "Alone Together," he switches to smooth funk mode and a falsetto that's unmistakably reminiscent of Curtis Mayfield.  "Hyperwave" gives off a refreshing vibe of Prince's rhythmic vitality.  His collaboration with Stevie Wonder, "What About the Children," is a huge success, brimming with genuine emotion and melodic joy to spare. Clark continues his mastery of a wide variety of instruments, handling guitar, drums, synths, mellotron and percussion on most cuts. Produced by Clark and Jacob Sciba, JPEG RAW was recorded at various studios including Arlyn Studios, where it was also mixed. Loaded with effects and plug-ins, the sound, while processed, does not overdo its enhancements. From a blues cocoon, Clark is an original artist spreading his wings. © Robert Baird/Qobuz

One of the most hotly awaited second albums in history -- right up there with those by the Beatles and the Band -- Déjà Vu lived up to its expectations and rose to number one on the charts. Those achievements are all the more astonishing given the fact that the group barely held together through the estimated 800 hours it took to record Déjà Vu and scarcely functioned as a group for most of that time. Déjà Vu worked as an album, a product of four potent musical talents who were all ascending to the top of their game coupled with some very skilled production, engineering, and editing. There were also some obvious virtues in evidence -- the addition of Neil Young to the Crosby, Stills & Nash lineup added to the level of virtuosity, with Young and Stephen Stills rising to new levels of complexity and volume on their guitars. Young's presence also ratcheted up the range of available voices one notch and added a uniquely idiosyncratic songwriter to the fold, though most of Young's contributions in this area were confined to the second side of the LP. Most of the music, apart from the quartet's version of Joni Mitchell's "Woodstock," was done as individual sessions by each of the members when they turned up (which was seldom together), contributing whatever was needed that could be agreed upon. "Carry On" worked as the album's opener when Stills "sacrificed" another copyright, "Questions," which comprised the second half of the track and made it more substantial. "Woodstock" and "Carry On" represented the group as a whole, while the rest of the record was a showcase for the individual members. David Crosby's "Almost Cut My Hair" was a piece of high-energy hippie-era paranoia not too far removed in subject from the Byrds' "Drug Store Truck Drivin' Man," only angrier in mood and texture (especially amid the pumping organ and slashing guitars); the title track, also by Crosby, took 100 hours to work out and was a better-received successor to such experimental works as "Mind Gardens," out of his earlier career with the Byrds, showing his occasional abandonment of a rock beat, or any fixed rhythm at all, in favor of washing over the listener with tones and moods. "Teach Your Children," the major hit off the album, was a reflection of the hippie-era idealism that still filled Graham Nash's life, while "Our House" was his stylistic paean to the late-era Beatles and "4+20" was a gorgeous Stephen Stills blues excursion that was a precursor to the material he would explore on the solo album that followed. And then there were Neil Young's pieces, the exquisitely harmonized "Helpless" (which took many hours to get to the slow version finally used) and the roaring country-ish rockers that ended side two, which underwent a lot of tinkering by Young -- even his seeming throwaway finale, "Everybody I Love You," was a bone thrown to longtime fans as perhaps the greatest Buffalo Springfield song that they didn't record. All of this variety made Déjà Vu a rich musical banquet for the most serious and personal listeners, while mass audiences reveled in the glorious harmonies and the thundering electric guitars, which were presented in even more dramatic and expansive fashion on the tour that followed.© Bruce Eder /TiVo

During the era in which even grocery stores had large, well-stocked LP sections, it was a not-uncommon occurrence for Déjà Vu to be mistaken for a greatest hits collection. From the "family photo album" vibe of the cover (nobody at the grocery store knew who Dallas Taylor or Greg Reeves were) and the title itself, to the ridiculously front-loaded song sequence and the fact that it was often one of the only (if not the only) albums in the "CSN(&Y)" section, Déjà Vu gave the impression that it was designed to be representative of the very best that this group had to offer. Maybe in some weird, "underground" record store, a bunch more albums credited to the group could be found, but for regular folks, Déjà Vu was a sufficiently high-quality distillation of their creative output. Of course, Déjà Vu is not a greatest hits album, but one could be forgiven for making the mistake: three of the record’s 10 tracks were generation-defining top 10 hits ("Woodstock," "Teach Your Children," "Our House"), a fourth ("Carry On") was a radio staple, and four others (Crosby's "Almost Cut My Hair" and "Déjà Vu," Young's "Helpless" and "Country Girl") were iconic additions to their authors' oeuvres. Still, it was only the second album recorded by Crosby, Stills, and Nash, and the first to which Neil Young was invited to participate, so the lines were blurred between "follow-up," "debut," and "supergroup outing." And considering that each member of the ad hoc quartet brought their A-game to the sessions, it's none too surprising that the album made the impact that it did. © Jason Ferguson/Qobuz

Always tied to a confusing time line, the first released recording from the original configuration of Return to Forever was actually their second session. An initial studio date from the ECM label done in February of 1972 wasn't issued until after the band had changed in 1975. The Polydor/Verve recording from October of 1972 is indeed this 1973 release, featuring the same band with Chick Corea, Stanley Clarke, Airto Moreira, Joe Farrell, and Flora Purim. There's no need splitting hairs, as both are five-star albums, showcasing many of the keyboardist's long enduring, immediately recognizable, and highly melodic compositions. Farrell's happy flute, Purim's in-the-clouds wordless vocals, the electrifying percussion of Airto, and Clarke's deft and loping electric bass guitar lines are all wrapped in a stew of Brazilian samba and Corea's Fender Rhodes electric piano, certainly setting a tone and the highest bar for the music of peer groups to follow. "Captain Marvel" -- the seed for the band sans Farrell and Purim that was expanded into a full concept album with Stan Getz -- is here as a steamy fusion samba with Corea dancing on the keys. By now the beautiful "500 Miles High" has become Purim's signature song with Neville Potter's lyrics and Corea's stabbing chords, and unfortunately became a hippie drug anthem. Perhaps Corea's definitive song of all time, and covered ad infinitum by professional and school bands, "Spain" retains the quirky melody, handclapped interlude, up-and-down dynamics, exciting jam section, and variation in time, tempo, and colorations that always command interest despite a running time of near ten minutes. "You're Everything" is a romantic classic that surely has been heard at many weddings, with another lyric by Potter sung in heaven by Purim, while the title track is Purim's lyric in a looser musical framework with Clarke's chart coalescing with Corea and Farrell's pungent flute work. As much as the others have become icons, the extraordinary sound of Farrell on this date should never be trivialized or underestimated. The final track, "Children's Song," was a springboard for several of Corea's full-length album projects, and is heard here for the first time via a trio setting in a slow, birthlike motif. The expanded version of this recording includes many alternate takes of four of these selections, but also includes "Matrix," which was not on any RTF albums, and there are four versions of "What Game Shall We Play Today?," which was only available on the ECM release. From a historical perspective, this is the most important effort of Corea's career, quite different than his prior previous progressive or improvising efforts, and the pivotal beginning of his career as the most popular contemporary jazz keyboardist in history.© Michael G. Nastos /TiVo

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

The storied reggae artist (and heir to the throne as Bob Marley's second son) Stephen Marley takes a new turn on his fifth solo album Old Soul. After years as a supporting player and behind-the-scenes producer, Marley emerged with solo work in the late 2000s as a powerful hybrid of roots reggae and modernized hip-hop, sometimes speckled with moments of dancehall fun for good measure. Born from nightly acoustic jams at the beginning of the COVID-19 pandemic, Old Soul is considerably mellower, matching soft sentiments on love, family, and the circle of life with spare arrangements that float out of the speakers like a gentle breeze. Tunes like the autobiographical title track and the lover's rock-influenced "Standing in Love" (which features a cameo from Slightly Stoopid's Kyle McDonald) keep the percussion and electric instruments to a minimum, making acoustic guitar melodies and sweet vocal harmonies the main focus. Buju Banton contributes to the perky ska number "Thanks We Get (Do Fi Dem)" and there's a reggae foundation to the brooding "Cast the First Stone" (aided by brother Damian Marley), but even these tracks are lighter readings of traditional reggae and reggae-adjacent sounds. Elsewhere, Marley curiously explores whatever style he feels, drifting through jazz standards like "Georgia on My Mind" and "These Foolish Things (Remind Me of You)" and covering the Beatles' "Don't Let Me Down" before inviting Eric Clapton to join in on lead guitar as they revisit a cover of Marley's father's 1973 hit "I Shot the Sheriff." The lazy ramble of "Winding Roads" closes Old Soul out, sounding more like a folksy, amber-hued jam band tune than anything reggae related. Assistance from the Grateful Dead's Bob Weir and the perpetually affable Jack Johnson enhance the song's laid-back essence, and it's a lovely way to let the thoughtful, even-keeled album naturally decompress. Marley maintains a relaxed energy and a light touch throughout Old Soul, but the songs are built well enough that they feel refreshing and never sleepy. It's a pendulum swing from some of his more intense moments, but the strong material shows his depth as an artist, regardless of the muse he's pursuing.© Fred Thomas /TiVo