Teenage Dream did its job. With its five number one singles, the 2010 album turned Katy Perry into a genuine superstar, the kind of musician whose image rivaled her music in popularity, the kind who could topline her own 3-D theatrical documentary, the kind whose name became shorthand for a sugar-pop sensibility. This meant there was only one thing left for her to do on its 2013 sequel, Prism: to make a graceful pivot from teen dream to serious, mature artist. Prism hits these marks precisely yet isn't stuffy, not with its feints at trap-rap, but even with the preponderance of nightclub glitz, there isn't a shadow of a doubt that Katy Perry has toned down her cheesecake burlesque, opting for a hazy, dreamy, sun-kissed hippie Californian ideal that quietly replaces the happily vulgar pinup of her earliest years. All the lingering nastiness of One of the Boys -- the smiling Mean Girl backstabbing of "Ur So Gay," for instance -- and the pneumatic Playboy fantasy of Teenage Dream are unceremoniously abandoned in favor of Perry's candy construct of a chipper, cheerful grown-up prom princess, the popular girl who has left all her sneering dismissals in the past. Perry remains a terminal flirt but she channels her energies into long-term relationships -- the sexiest song, "Birthday," is a glorious retro-disco explosion delivered to a steady boyfriend, while elsewhere she testifies toward unconditional love -- and the overall effect transforms Prism into a relatively measured, savvy adult contemporary album, one that's aware of the latest fashions but is designed to fit into Katy's retirement plan. Ultimately, this makes Prism a tighter, cleaner record than its predecessors -- there are no extremes here, nothing that pushes the boundaries of either good taste or tackiness; even when she cheers on excess on "This Is How We Do" she's not a participant but rather a ringmaster, encouraging her fans to spend money they don't have just so they can have a good time. Ultimately, this sense of reserve reveals just how canny Katy Perry really is: she's determined to give her career a dramatic narrative arc, eager to leave behind the bawdy recklessness of her early years in favor of something that's age appropriate. That's why the lead single from Prism was "Roar," an homage to Sara Bareilles so transparent that the singer/songwriter may deserve co-credit: the inspirational adult contemporary single signaled how Perry no longer views herself as a fluffy confection but rather a showbiz staple who'll be here for years and years, and Prism fully lives up to that carefully constructed ideal.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

With his first solo tour looming ahead in November and December of 1974, George Harrison felt impelled to rush out a new album, and even a steadily worsening case of laryngitis wouldn't stop him. Would that it did, for the appallingly weak state of his voice would torpedo this album and the tour, to his great embarrassment. "Hari's on Tour (Express)" -- with Tom Scott's L.A. Express churning out all-pro L.A.-studio jazz/rock -- gets the doomed project off to a spirited start, but it's an instrumental, and Harrison's vocal distress becomes obvious to all in the next track, "Simply Shady." Some of George's tunes -- particularly the title track and the exquisite "Far East Man" -- might have benefited from waiting for a better time to record, while others probably could not have been saved. The recording quality, like the voice, has a raw, coarse-grained sound that belies the impeccable musicianship. Dark Horse is perhaps most notorious for Harrison's bitter, slipshod rewrite of the Everly Brothers' hit "Bye Bye Love" -- referring openly to George's wife Pattie running off with Eric Clapton and, for good measure, having both of them on the session! Dark Horse would also be the name of Harrison's soon-to-be-formed new label, as well as a metaphor for the underestimated Beatle who leaped artistically and commercially ahead of his three colleagues immediately after the Beatles' breakup. Unfortunately, this album -- despite its humorous Sgt. Pepper parody on the cover and outright plea to critics on the margins of the inside jacket to go easy on its contents -- would only undermine Harrison's hard-fought campaign for respect.© Richard S. Ginell /TiVo

The gap between The Sea and The Heart Speaks in Whispers, Corinne Bailey Rae's second and third albums, was over six years in duration. During the wait for full-length number three, Bailey Rae released The Love EP, a brief set of covers that featured a Grammy-winning update of Bob Marley's "Is This Love." She married Steve Brown, a keyboardist and producer who had been a factor in all of her releases for Capitol. Bailey Rae also shifted from that label to Virgin and worked on new recordings with a handful of old and new collaborators, including Brown and Steve Chrisanthou, as well as Paris and Amber Strother of the emergent King. The Heart Speaks in Whispers naturally doesn't pack the heavy emotional weight of The Sea, an album issued after the multi-instrumentalist tragically lost her then-partner Jason Rae. It's all spirited and lively. At their best, the wide-eyed folk-soul moments tend to evoke a contemporized version of fellow Englishwoman Linda Lewis, even on "Do You Ever Think of Me," assisted by songwriting demigod Valerie Simpson and, through references to "The Makings of You," Curtis Mayfield. The more electrified and groove-oriented material is bound to elicit parallels drawn to the likes of early Erykah Badu and, well, King. Each one of the Strother collaborations is stimulating, with lyrics and productions that complement one another. "Been to the Moon" swoops and slides, reflecting Bailey Rae's alternation between delighted and demanding exclamations. Its dazzling electro-soul gives way to a trumpet, saxophone, and flute coda that works far better than it should. "Horse Print Dress," more like purple paisley, is ecstatic, private, joyful synth-funk, while the dazed "Green Aphrodisiac" drifts along on a sinewy, unmistakable Marcus Miller bassline. Multiple allusions to working past bitterness and metaphorical storms help cast the album in a rejuvenating light. Despite all the likenesses that can be heard, it all comes out fresh, pieced together and transmitted in a way that no one but Bailey Rae -- a remarkable and flexible artist with some very real life experiences -- can approximate.© Andy Kellman /TiVo

Nickelback are not known for their insight, but Chad Kroeger's caterwauling claim that "we got no class, no taste" on "Burn It to the Ground," the second song on their sixth album, Dark Horse, is a slice of perceptive, precise self-examination. Nickelback are a gnarled, vulgar band reveling in their ignorance of the very notion of taste, lacking either the smarts or savvy to wallow in bad taste so they just get ugly, knocking out knuckle-dragging riffs that seem rarefied in comparison to their thick, boneheaded words. Of the two, the music is far less offensive, particularly on Dark Horse, where they work with the legendary producer Robert "Mutt" Lange, the sonic architect behind Back in Black and Pyromania, two of hard rock's towering monuments. Mutt Lange decides to give Nickelback a production caught somewhere between the two extremes of AC/DC and Def Leppard, pumping up some muscle on Nickelback's heaviest rockers and adding some color to their power ballads, suggesting some heretofore verboten suggestions of modernity in the form of electronic rhythms, even taking it to the extreme of adding drum loops to the surefire crossover hit "Gotta Be Somebody." Nickelback do manage to shed their leathery rock skin a couple of times, first with an arena-rocking "Burn It to the Ground" and then echoing Toby Keith's "Let's Talk About Us" on the white-boy rap pre-chorus for "Something in Your Mouth," but these are mere glimpses of something unpredictable; Dark Horse was constructed entirely from the group's standard templates of bleating power ballads and dulled hard rock. These two sounds have been the group's trademark for a while now, ever since Kroeger started plumbing the depths of his shallow soul to spit out invective toward lovers and fathers on 2001's Silver Side Up, but stardom has stripped away all lingering angst, leaving behind slow songs about love and fast songs about partying, all designed to woo women he'll later hate. Underneath the housewife-hooking power ballads -- "I'd Come for You," "If Today Was Your Last Day" -- plus "Just to Get High," an ode to a fallen junkie friend that's part of the proud tradition that stretches back to at least Body Count's "The Winner Loses," Dark Horse seethes with ugly misogyny, as Kroeger trots out a parade of dirty little ladies in pretty pink thongs, porn stars, strippers, and sluts, all of whom are desired and despised for showing too much skin. Kroeger may claim that "S is for the simple need/E is for the ecstasy" in his middle-school chant "S.E.X.," but there is no joy in his carnality, just bleak veiled violence, and that nasty undercurrent undercuts his pleading lovesick ballads; he's either had his heart broken by those loose women, or he's singing to the good girl left at home while he's out on the town. This all turns Dark Horse into a murky, wearying listen, with the mood only lightening at the end of the record, when Kroeger and company take a break from carousing to kick back with bros and a bong for "This Afternoon" -- its strum-along choruses are a relief but so is its mellowness, as Kroeger seems calmer, relaxed, even friendly. Maybe it's because there were no women in the picture.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

The title On My Own is a nod to Plays Well with Others, the 2018 album where Lera Lynn collaborated with a number of similarly minded musicians. This 2020 record flips that notion on its head: Lynn created the entire project on her own, from its composition to its production. Remarkably, On My Own doesn't feel as spare and spectral as Resistor, the 2016 record she released in the wake of her appearance on True Detective's second season. Make no mistakes, it's still moody, even spooky, but there's an enveloping warmth to the ten songs on On My Own that makes it seem reassuring, not lonely. Some of that consoling spirit is due to Lynn playing more with rhythms and textures, a move that results in the insistent opener "Are You Listening" and the chill groove of "Let Me Tell You Something," not to mention the evocative creep of "Isolation." These lively, colorful numbers outweigh the expertly executed sad songs scattered throughout the record, giving the music shade and momentum, characteristics that help make On My Own Lera Lynn's richest and best album yet. © Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

George Harrison returned to the stage for the first time in years in 1991; that Japanese tour is documented on the fine double-disc set Live in Japan. Backed by a stellar supporting band led by Eric Clapton, Harrison turns in surprisingly strong versions of his best solo material; it easily surpasses Paul McCartney's double-disc Tripping the Live Fantastic or Paul Is Live. Not bad for a guy who doesn't like to give concerts.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

Wayne Shorter's saxophone was so omnipresent throughout jazz's waves of upheaval in the '50s, '60s, and '70s that it would have been easy to mistake the man for the type of standard bearer that kept the genre anchored to its roots while iconoclasts were busy pushing boundaries. There he was with Art Blakey, there he was with Miles, there he was on Blue Note, there he was with Weather Report. However, in all of those scenarios, Shorter was absolutely not there to provide a grounding assist; instead, he was often one of the primary people (if not the only person) whose daring compositional prowess and improvisational innovation was a defining factor in that music's spectacular uniqueness. To be fair, Shorter is the recipient of all sorts of readers' poll victories, lifetime achievement awards, Grammys, and effusive praise from his musical contemporaries and descendants, so while he is far from being some well-kept secret, any opportunity to spotlight his contributions is a good one. And in that spirit, trumpeter Terence Blanchard's latest album is designed as a tribute to Shorter's genius and influence. Interestingly, only five of the 12 tracks here are Shorter compositions—"The Elders," "Fall," "When It Was Now," "Diana," and "More Elders"—while the others were penned by Blanchard and members of the jazz quartet E-Collective, who back Blanchard on the album, alongside the strings of the Turtle Island Quartet. Thanks to the presence of those groups, this is an album that—like Shorter's career—is full of sonic surprises. Some cuts like "The Second Wave" veer sharply into contemporary classical territory, with invigorating compositional complexity and dynamic performances in which Blanchard—and "jazz" as a construct, for that matter—take a decided back seat. In fact, Blanchard and "jazz" are seldom the focal point of many of these tracks. Even on Shorter-penned numbers like "Diana" (from 1974's Native Dancer, his divisive bossa-fusion album), the emphasis is on capturing the essence of the composition, rather than strictly recreating the original, a feat which is accomplished by Blanchard modifying his magnificently precise tone into a more open and exploratory one. The result is a dense, provocative, and incredibly rewarding album that recontextualizes all of the forms that Shorter worked in—fusion, modal, hard bop, and even third stream—into defiantly modern and genre-fluid textures. No doubt that the legend would approve. © Jason Ferguson/Qobuz

This Canadian singer has a pop-rock style reminiscent of Sheryl Crow, with a dash of Melissa Etheridge's growl. Her earlier influences range from folk-popper James Taylor (evident on "Trust Me [This Is Love]") to her countryman Bryan Adams ("Sitting On Top Of The World"). As in Crow's songs, characters from all walks of life populate Marshall's songs, whether it's the Southern homemaker escaping her alcoholic spouse in "Birmingham" or the lost soul looking for salvation in "Last Exit To Eden." Only 10 songs long, AMANDA MARSHALL is a tasty appetizer for what promises to be a delectable body of work.© TiVo

Teenage Dream did its job. With its five number one singles, the 2010 album turned Katy Perry into a genuine superstar, the kind of musician whose image rivaled her music in popularity, the kind who could topline her own 3-D theatrical documentary, the kind whose name became shorthand for a sugar-pop sensibility. This meant there was only one thing left for her to do on its 2013 sequel, Prism: to make a graceful pivot from teen dream to serious, mature artist. Prism hits these marks precisely yet isn't stuffy, not with its feints at trap-rap, but even with the preponderance of nightclub glitz, there isn't a shadow of a doubt that Katy Perry has toned down her cheesecake burlesque, opting for a hazy, dreamy, sun-kissed hippie Californian ideal that quietly replaces the happily vulgar pinup of her earliest years. All the lingering nastiness of One of the Boys -- the smiling Mean Girl backstabbing of "Ur So Gay," for instance -- and the pneumatic Playboy fantasy of Teenage Dream are unceremoniously abandoned in favor of Perry's candy construct of a chipper, cheerful grown-up prom princess, the popular girl who has left all her sneering dismissals in the past. Perry remains a terminal flirt but she channels her energies into long-term relationships -- the sexiest song, "Birthday," is a glorious retro-disco explosion delivered to a steady boyfriend, while elsewhere she testifies toward unconditional love -- and the overall effect transforms Prism into a relatively measured, savvy adult contemporary album, one that's aware of the latest fashions but is designed to fit into Katy's retirement plan. Ultimately, this makes Prism a tighter, cleaner record than its predecessors -- there are no extremes here, nothing that pushes the boundaries of either good taste or tackiness; even when she cheers on excess on "This Is How We Do" she's not a participant but rather a ringmaster, encouraging her fans to spend money they don't have just so they can have a good time. Ultimately, this sense of reserve reveals just how canny Katy Perry really is: she's determined to give her career a dramatic narrative arc, eager to leave behind the bawdy recklessness of her early years in favor of something that's age appropriate. That's why the lead single from Prism was "Roar," an homage to Sara Bareilles so transparent that the singer/songwriter may deserve co-credit: the inspirational adult contemporary single signaled how Perry no longer views herself as a fluffy confection but rather a showbiz staple who'll be here for years and years, and Prism fully lives up to that carefully constructed ideal.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

Marc Copland joins forces with a trio of fellow seasoned veterans, including guitarist John Abercrombie, bassist Drew Gress, and drummer Billy Hart for this 2007 studio session. The chemistry between the four men is apparent from the very beginning. The pianist's introspective ballad "Like You" is a complex affair, frequently showing the influence of Bill Evans in his lyrical ideas, though Copland's dark interwoven lines take in him other directions as well. Another of his works, "Another Place," has an eerie air in a somewhat breezy setting. Abercrombie's "River Bend" opens with a slow but tense air, a feeling that never entirely dissipates even as the tempo picks up considerably. Gress' "Dark Horse" is an introspective miniature with a brief solo by its composer, though the focus is more on the ensemble. The sole standard is a soft but swinging take of Cole Porter's "Everything I Love." This delightful outing is one of Marc Copland's finest dates as a leader. © Ken Dryden /TiVo

Nightmare Daydream, the Velveteers' debut album, is an explosive cocktail of powerful riffs and punchy rhythms. One can't help but hear in it echoes of Led Zeppelin or even T. Rex. The secret ingredients? Two drumkits and the ubiquitous Dan Auerbach behind the console. This one half of the Black Keys has found an ideal project: "I instantly dug them. They’re amazing live, and their videos are so creative. And they just sound so powerful. Any time you doubletrack drums on a record, it’s going to sound so heavy. Then you put that together with this baritone guitar player who is so unique, and it’s so bombastic. There’s nothing like them.” And indeed, we find the heavy stuff right away with Dark Horse, which combines the same elements that we will encounter throughout this record listening: saturated guitars and tempestuous drums contrasting with melodic interludes with sixties accents. When a lull appears, on the No Doubt-esque Brightest Light, it's not for very long, and it only makes it more affecting when, on Choking, we hear Demi Demitro's voice chopped up by her two drummers and wrapped up in her dissonant riffs. The moments of lightness sound as if Asteroids Galaxy Tour were gigging in a haunted castle (Nightmare Daydream). We also find the bombast that Auerbach loves so much at the end of the album, on Limboland with its melancholic violins which have the air about them of someone trying to clean up after a tornado. But they're still worth playing seriously loud. © Alexander Fay/Qobuz