The key to Chris Stapleton's immense success, of course, is his remarkable, inimitable vocal tone: a worn-leather rasp that can stretch high and low, project real strength and sweetness, and isn't specifically "country"—there are traces of Stax soul, Ray Charles' R&B and deep-fried Southern rock. But Stapleton also feels reliable; he's an artist of integrity and good taste who doesn't bother with false moves or trying on trends. In short, he is classic in real time. And that hasn't changed with Higher, his fifth solo album (after fronting the band Steeldrivers for years) in less than a decade. Co-produced once again with Dave Cobb, the album taps into the catholic formula that works well for him. Single "White Horse" is glorious arena rock, a sinewy flex with some particularly heavy moments. "South Dakota" brings Memphis-blues stomp, slithering confidently and managing to make that prairie state sound badass: "I'm in South Dakota/ Trouble ain't hard to find." Written with Miranda Lambert, "What Am I Gonna Do" is a mid-tempo pleaser with lazy-sun Skynyrd guitar and Stapleton, as always, beautifully complimented by harmonies from his wife Morgane Stapleton. She matches him as an equal duet partner and not just support on "It Takes a Woman," a '70s-ish country ballad that gives Stapleton the chance to hit an otherworldly note as he sings, "You make me hiiiiiiiigh and keep my feet on the ground." Sultry "Think I'm In Love With You" delivers a very '80s adult-contemporary vibe, complete with urbane strings—violin not fiddle. "Loving You On My Mind" is silky R&B, Stapleton sounding like a natural lover man as he sings, "Ever since there's a morning/ I've been wondering/ How you do that thing you did last night." He pushes toward falsetto on that one, but goes all the way on soulful ballad "Higher." Acoustic "Mountains Of My Mind" is gentle as a mountain stream and evokes memories of Guy Clark, while memorable "The Bottom" has a Willie Nelson feel, as Stapleton finds a way to deepen country's tangling of love—and heartbreak—and alcohol: "The heart holds a memory/ And the memory holds a past/ And the past holds a woman/ At the bottom of a glass/ So I don't have a problem/ If I don't see the bottom." And "Crosswind" is a metaphor-rich driving song ("carrying a heavy load," "picking up speed") that mimics the rhythm of rolling truck wheels for an excellent snapshot of outlaw country: "Trying to keep all the rubber on 65/ Might not make it out alive/ White-knuckling the wheel just to survive/ Caught in the crosswind." The parts are old, but Stapleton makes it feel brand new. © Shelly Ridenour/Qobuz

Who We Used to Be is the seventh studio album from English singer/songwriter James Blunt, following the release of 2019's Once Upon a Mind. Alongside the upbeat, breezy songwriting that Blunt has become known for, this record also sees him exploring some darker themes centered around aging, loss, and the passage of time.© Liam Martin /TiVo

This 25-track collection breathes new life into each of the Bond themes over the years. Recorded in 2019 at Abbey Road Studios, the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra reimagine all 25 themes, including Billie Eilish's 2020's "No Time to Die"© Rich Wilson /TiVo

Most critics and pop music trainspotters didn't give Creed's 1997 debut My Own Prison much credit upon its release, even though it wound up going multi-platinum. At the time, they seemed like one of many heavy post-grunge guitar outfits -- especially to the disinterested observers who tend to name genres and classify bands. So, when the group unleashed their second album, Human Clay, in 1999, the industry, critics, and record collectors alike were stunned, positively stunned, when it entered the charts at number one, then stayed in the upper reaches of the charts for months on end. Nobody could figure out why this group managed to not just survive, but thrive when such fellow travelers as Our Lady Peace fell by the wayside. After all, at the time, not only were post-grunge bands dying, but so were such grunge heavyweights as Pearl Jam and Soundgarden's Chris Cornell. Listening to Human Clay doesn't really reveal any insights, either, since it is hard rock rooted firmly in the Seattle vein, complete with really big riffs and intensely introspective lyrics. Then, a realization sets in: Unlike their influences -- from Pearl Jam and Alice in Chains to Stone Temple Pilots -- Creed is happy to be a rock band. Their music may not be particularly joyous and they may even favor foreboding, heavy riffs, but they're not trying to stretch into political causes or worldbeat like Pearl Jam; they're not reveling in dark psychedelia like Soundgarden; nor are they attempting a glam Abbey Road like Stone Temple Pilots. Creed is a straightforward grunge and hard rock band, embracing everything that goes along with that, and doing it pretty well. They might not have as strong an identity as their forefathers, but they're not faceless, especially in the late '90s, an era when most popular hard rock is either rap-rock, industrial-tinged, or plain out thuggish (at times, of course, it's all three). Creed has more class than that and they write relatively solid riffs and hooks. It may not be the kind of thing that knocks out critics or grunge purists, but it does deliver for anyone looking for direct, grunge-flavored hard rock. Within that realm, the band does mix things up a bit -- it's not all mid-tempo sludge, for there are also ballads and some high-octane, up-tempo rockers -- and that makes Human Clay a stronger, better-paced record than its predecessor, which wasn't bad either. It's hard to tell on the basis of these two records if Creed has staying power. However, Human Clay does make it clear that there is an audience for post-grunge hard rock, as long as it's delivered without pretension and as long as it meets the audience's desire for straight-ahead, hard-hitting music.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

Dropped by a major label in 2018, The Wombats could have sunk like a stone. Instead, the Liverpool-formed trio has come out of that dilemma as energized as ever on their last two albums, including the new Fix Yourself, Not the World. In fact, they seem to take the title to heart: The record is the sound of a pessimist becoming a realist and trying to make the best of what they have (not exactly optimism, but baby steps). Which is pretty impressive considering the members were in three different countries during the recording sessions. "Ready for the High" starts off as a bottom-heavy monster, with dark-cloud, give-up lyrics about feeling stuck. "You can scream like a banshee and still nothing comes/ You can buy a heart balloon and watch the sky grow dull," Matt "Murph" Murphy sings. But then the whole thing opens up at the bridge, giving way to a sea of swaying trumpets symbolizing the true meaning: "The song is about being engulfed in a bad place, but rather than accepting this as immutable, acknowledging that it is only temporary and that better times are closer than they (currently) appear," Murph has said. "People Don't Change People, Time Does" sends a similar message, even if it's from a skewed perspective. "Everything I love is going to die/ So baby keep your big mouth shut and stop wasting my time," go the lyrics, reminding you to hold tight onto the raft you have. Sometimes, though, that cling wrap can look a bit like desperation. Depending on your view, bop "If You Ever Leave, I'm Coming With You" either promises or threatens, "I'm forever locking myself in the glass of your rearview." Throughout, the muscular synth comes on like, well, not quite Duran Duran—maybe more like the ⅗ Duran side project Arcadia—with exuberant, dancefloor-ready pop beats. "Wildfire" has a mid-tempo swagger that cruises on a funk groove and finds Murph putting his falsetto to good use. "Work Is Easy, Life Is Hard" shimmies and shakes. "Flip Me Upside Down" is as frenetic as Friday rush-hour city traffic. And "Don't Poke the Bear" could be a Parklife-era Blur melody. Sometimes songs sound so alike as to blend one into the other, but it's a good schtick—even when the outlook slips back into old habits: "it's not paranoia if it's really there," Murph frets on "Worry," its chorus like careening on a rain-slick road. © Shelly Ridenour/Qobuz

After releasing two excellent -- but very different -- records in 2017, Samantha Fish spent the last year undergoing some changes. She moved to New Orleans and left her longtime label Ruf Records for Rounder. The guitar slinger has always stretched herself musically. For years she soaked up examples imparted by mentors in her twin pursuits as a guitarist and bandleader, transforming what worked in her own image -- she remade the blues that way too. On Kill or Be Kind it's the worthy ambition to become a better songwriter. Not content to pen rhyming couplets to frame blistering solos and riffs, she has, since Belle of the West, sought the place where melody lives. Fish and Grammy-winning producer Scott Billington sought out top-notch co-writers to collaborate on the album. Jim McCormick returns for four songs. Kate Pearlman and Eric McFadden who usually write for country and pop artists are also here with Oklahoma roots rocker Parker Milsap and Ohio bluesman Patrick Sweeney. Fish cut the record in New Orleans and in Memphis.Love is the theme on this album. It's everywhere. So are the many changes that go along with having it, losing it, and abandoning it. Fish runs the blues voodoo down on the squalling slide opener "Bulletproof" with noisy, howling production that weds Billy Gibbons' nasty distorto-boogie to Tom Waits racket-making musicality. Immediately following, the title track's swampy Rhodes piano, organ, and roiling horns meet her incendiary vocal and a loose backbeat. "Watch It Die" is smoking blues-rock with killer lyric poetry. The words get rung out with a passionate vocal that matches Fish's wrangling slide guitar and punchy horns. "Fair Weather" weds gentle rock to R&B in a deep ballad about the aftermath of a broken romance. "Love Your Lies" pops out of the box with a '60s girl group vibe; testifying Memphis horns and Fish's guitar cook it down on the backbeat. Its hook is irresistible. The whomping tom-toms that introduce "Dream Girl" frame Americana pulled taut between desire and disappointment: "If I could give up the happy ever after/I'd be gone…." The guitar break is short and spare, yet it underscores all the emotion the lyrics convey. "She Don't Live Around Here Anymore," is sweet yet deeply sad soul. In the grain of Fish's voice lies a vulnerable tenderness that's held in check by the wisdom in her shattered heart. The bluesy R&B in "Dirty" underscores the dark, hurtful, ravenous side of love and names it unreservedly. Closer "You Got It Bad," is revved-up, gritty soul-blues where horns and Wurlitzer frame Fish's snarling slide and searing vocal. The cut sends the album off on a cautionary note that's as much a confession in a cracked mirror as an affirmation of love's redemptive and destructive power. Kill or Be Kind is a watermark for Fish. Her writing, singing, and playing all serve the truth of what she seeks here: the heart of song.© Thom Jurek /TiVo

After Willie Nelson's fragile appearance at the 2019 CMA Awards, duetting with Kacey Musgraves on a heart-wrenching version of "The Rainbow Connection," it wouldn't have come as a shock if the legend hadn't recorded another album. But Nelson, at 89, is on a prolific roll. He released two albums in 2021, as well as duets with Karen O and Michael McDonald, and performed at Farm Aid. He has a slew of tour dates on the calendar for 2022, to promote A Beautiful Time, his 72nd studio album. It's not always an easy listen, but it's an important one. Like Johnny Cash's American IV, you are enveloped by the sense of mortality. Written by Nelson, "I Don't Go to Funerals" has the feel of an outlaw classic and finds him humorously stubborn but also hopeful. "I don't go to funerals/ And I won't be at mine," he sings. Instead he plans to be "at a big old pickin' party" in the sky, alongside Waylon (Jennings), John (Cash), Merle (Haggard), Kris (presumably Kristofferson, who isn't dead yet) and "our sweetheart Patsy Cline." "Dusty Bottles" is a slow burn that lets Nelson's ragged voice play to its advantage: “Dusty bottles pour a finer glass of wine/ An old beat-up guitar just sounds better/ And wisdom only comes with time." "Live every day like it was your last one," he offers on "Live Every Day," "and one day you're gonna be right." Even though they're not all by him, the choice of songs says something about what's on Nelson's mind. It's a gentle record, with the music never getting in the way of letting Willie be Willie, even when he sounds particularly fragile on "I'll Love You Till the Day I Die," a romantic number written by Chris Stapleton and Rodney Crowell. (Throughout, longtime band member Mickey Raphael's harmonica is like a call from the past.) Nelson sounds strongest on "Energy Follows Thought," a stark and moving number delivered by a man who fought to find his place in Nashville (and who eventually gave up on that city to write his own rules). "Be careful what you ask for/ Make sure it's really what you want/ Because your mind is made for thinking/ And energy follows thought." It's a hoot to hear Nelson modestly purr a slinky cover of Leonard Cohen's "Tower of Song," including the line: "I said to Hank Williams, 'How lonely does it get?'/ Hank Williams hasn't answered me yet/ But I hear him coughing all night long/ About 100 floors above me in the tower of song." There's also a cover of "With a Little Help from My Friends," with Nelson's voice reaching up so sweetly on the bridge, it's like sunshine breaking through the clouds. The album closer, "Leave You With a Smile," is a weepie, "I just want to leave you with a smile/ Even though that hasn't always been my style/ I messed up best intentions/ But I've loved you all the while ... If I run out of time/ I'll wait for you in the sweet by-and-by." © Shelly Ridenour/Qobuz

The Carpenter, the sixth studio album (and second with producer Rick Rubin) from North Carolina’s Avett Brothers, is as amiable, quaint, mischievous, sad, and disarmingly sincere as its predecessor, landing somewhere between the easy, late summer nostalgia of Ron Sexsmith, the wise and wounded defiance of the Band, and the harmony-laden, pop-laced melancholy of the Jayhawks. Chillier and less piano-heavy than 2009's I and Love and You, The Carpenter feels like both an exorcism and a benediction, bringing down the magnifying glass on the myriad complexities of death while maintaining an unwavering sense of optimism, a delicate balance that's best exemplified on the lovely opener "The Once and Future Carpenter," a dusty, sprawling, yet meticulously crafted '70s folk-rock stunner that's built around the notion that "If I live the life I'm given I won’t be scared to die." That adherence to maverick decency permeates much of the album, dutifully utilizing the outlaw country archetype of the weary traveler in search of an honest woman and a respite from the spiritual grind of the open road. Scott and Seth Avett's glassy tenors may not harbor the grit and grime of Waylon Jennings or Townes Van Zandt, but set piece ballads like the bittersweet "February Seven" and "Winter in My Heart," the latter of which is pure Red Headed Stranger-era Willie Nelson with a bigger arsenal of chords, ache with the kind of weary, pre-dawn fervor that usually accompanies a wanderlust binge. It's not all tears and beers though, as evidenced by more propulsive cuts like the bouncy, banjo-led "Live and Die," "I Never Knew You," a skiffle-soaked takedown of an ex-lover, replete with stereo-panned Beatles harmonies, and the left-field, feedback-drenched art rocker "Paul Newman vs. the Demons," but it's the quieter moments that really resonate, despite what the group's notoriously kinetic live shows may suggest. At its heart, which is most definitely on its sleeve, The Carpenter is a relatively simple, country-folk record, albeit one with a college degree, and when it connects it hits that sweet spot between joy and despair that has served as the target for many a dusty brimmed singer/songwriter over the years. The Avett Brothers aren’t rewriting the book, they're just translating it for a new generation.© James Christopher Monger /TiVo

Gentry's debut LP, which went to number one on the pop charts, was a promising but not wholly satisfying disc, with the singer penning all but one of the songs. Inevitably, the title track dwarfed everything else by comparison, but a greater problem was that several of the other tunes recycled variations of the "Ode to Billie Joe" riff. On the other hand, "Mississippi Delta" is gloriously tough, throaty swamp rock; few other women pop singers have sounded as raw. Other good cuts were "I Saw an Angel Die," an effective mating of Gentry's country-blues guitar riffs and low-key orchestration, and the jazz waltz-timed "Papa, Woncha Let Me Go to Town With You." Her vocals are poised and husky throughout the record, on which she was definitely on the right track -- one that she was quickly diverted from, into more MOR-oriented sounds.© Richie Unterberger /TiVo

In response to the COVID-19 pandemic, Sam Smith delayed, reworked, and retitled their third album, originally planned for release in May 2020. Love Goes landed that October, and in somewhat anticlimactic fashion appends as bonus tracks most of the lead-up singles, spanning a period of well over two years, careening from the free and easy disco-house of "Promises" to the muddled arena pop of "I'm Ready." Another throw-in is the intended title track. Relegated as it is, "To Die For" -- a gentle piano ballad with Smith longing for idyllic companionship as they gaze at their "solo shadow on a sidewalk" -- fits with the album proper, drawn from the singer's first real-life heartbreak. The connection Smith makes with it and the surrounding material here doesn't sound any tighter than it did on In the Lonely Hour or The Thrill of It All, but that's less a criticism than a credit to them as a consistent performer. Smith previously had no trouble expressing romantic torment, and that continues throughout the reliably low-spirited and highly-expressive Love Goes. One divergence from the previous albums is in the way Smith handles separation, almost bursting with regret on the lean "Forgive Myself," reminiscing with fondness on "For the Lover That I Lost," and extending benevolent acceptance in the pulsing and swirling "Another One," containing one of their most nuanced and appealing vocals. Smith elsewhere romanticizes recklessness in the a cappella opener "Young" and the doubly wistful send-off "Kids Again," but contrary to those visions of cutting loose, there's little evident taking of risks from a creative standpoint. Made with staunch collaborators Jimmy Napes, Stargate, and Disclosure's Guy Lawrence, and a mix of other high-profile songwriters and producers expected to deliver hits, the album is all tightly hemmed and neatly pressed. The faintly cosmopolitan dance-pop grooves and finely measured ballads offer few unexpected turns. They're set apart more by a lack of gospel and soul, consequently rendering Love Goes plain by Smith's standard -- unfortunate for an artist whose instrument is anything but that.© Andy Kellman /TiVo

More than eight and a half hours of music! Bobby Gentry absolutely deserves such a generous celebration, even though her glory years only really lasted about a decade. Retiring in the early 1980s into total anonymity, this great voice of the 1960s and 1970s is presented here in a deluxe selection. Across 8 records, 177 tracks are brought together: her six studio albums for Capitol (Ode to Billie Joe from 1967, The Delta Sweete and Local Gentry from 1968, Touch ‘Em With Love from 1969, Fancy from 1970 and  Patchwork from 1971), the record she made with Glen Campbell in 1968 and over 70 unreleased tracks including alternative takes, demos, BBC live recordings and all kinds of rarities! Hidden behind the mystery of her premature retirement and the cult following which has only grown with time remain these songs. Bobbie Gentry was more than just a simple country, folk and pop singer like so many others of her generation. Only Bobby could’ve written hits like Mornin' Glory, Fancy, Okolona River Bottom Band, Chickasaw County Child and most famous of all, covered the world over, Ode to Billie Joe, the fascinating story of the suicide of the mysterious Billie Joe McAllister who leapt from Tallahatchie Bridge. In France, Joe Dassin would go on to put a French spin on the song: Billie Joe became Marie-Jeanne and the Tallahatchie Bridge became the bridge over the Garonne…There is class, freedom and striking sensuality in Bobbie Gentry's voice. There are also brilliant arrangements and an instrumentation that line up perfectly with the songs, from slightly kitschy lounge strings (but they're so cool) to a simple guitar that clings to the contours of her voice. Bobbie Gentry was never fully country, fully pop, fully soul or fully folk. She was Bobbie Gentry. Full stop. © Marc Zisman/Qobuz

After making a splash in 2018 with her debut EP If U Want It, which included the hits ABC and I DON'T CARE, Park Hye Jin went on to attract attention with live performances during which she would grab the mic to sing/rap over what she was mixing on the decks. Hastily branded the new prodigy of lo-fi house, on her first album the South Korean demonstrates that her palette is actually a lot broader than that. Coming from her base in Los Angeles, you can feel the laid back spirit of Californian rap hovering over this record, which starts with a UK garage vibe (but with a powerful kick) on Let's Sing Let's Dance. Park Hye Jin raps throughout the first half of the album, with moody choruses like on Good Morning Good Night with its muffled boom bap and reverb guitar that serve to accentuate the sunny side of the track. In the same vein, note the hypnotic I Need You or Where Did I Go, as well as the artist’s gift for simple and catchy choruses with a nonchalant flow that goes back and forth between the front and the back of the sound stage.While there's a very rap flow to the record, house is never far away. You can hear small elements of it on tracks such as Whatchu Doin Later or Can I Get Your Number (which is set to be remixed very soon); you hear it in the phrasing of the choruses, or in the effects on her voice. The second part of the record is more straightforward with 4/4 beats on Sex With Me (DEFG), which follows the principle of her hit ABC with slightly more daring lyrics, and Where Are You Think, a model of lo-fi house that is much too short. Hey, Hey, Hey and Never Die raise the BPM and move towards techno, the latter brightened by a looped piano chord and a voice that disperses like steam. It all ends in a steamy trap-style fusion on Sunday ASAP and i jus wanna be happy, a track that's as cottony as they come. Out of nowhere, Park Hye Jin has built a new bridge between hip-hop and electronic music; a more than deserving Qobuzissime. © Smaël Bouaici/Qobuz

Steve Earle is a rebel. Not in the Hollywood/James Dean/Easy Rider/rebel-against-society sense, but rather in a real and personal way. Throughout his life and career he has rebelled against the very industry that surrounded him and did not find the freedom he sought until he started his own label, E-Squared. He rebelled against his common sense and his health in search of true American artistry and did not find the freedom he sought until he hit the bottom of addiction, and he continues to rebel against mainstream American culture and politics with his attitudes and songs; Transcendental Blues is no exception. Transcendental Blues walks the line between Steve Earle the country-rock rebel who gave the world Copperhead Road and Guitar Town and Steve Earle the traditionalist who opened a new chapter in bluegrass with his last release, The Mountain. This album rocks with songs like "Everyone's in Love with You" and "All My Life." It soothes with "The Boy Who Never Cried" and "Lonelier Than This," and it two-steps with new country like "The Galway Girl" and "Until the Day I Die." Fans of alternative country music sing the praises of artists like Charlie Robison, Jack Ingram, and Robert Earl Keen, Jr., but Earle proves again and again that he is the original alternative to the glossy side of Nashville. Earle cut the path that all his followers thankfully hike along, avoiding the weeds and branches that made him what he is today.© Michael Cusanelli /TiVo