Donuts was made on a hospital bed and in a home studio, on a stripped-down setup with a stack of vinyl. Released on its maker's 32nd birthday, three days before he passed away, the album has a resonance deeper than anyone could've hoped for or even imagined. Some who were close to Dilla have said that there are hidden messages in the samples, the track titles, and who knows where else. It's impossible not to speculate about some things, like the track titled "Don't Cry," the looped "broken and blue" from a version of "Walk on By," the presence of Eddie Kendricks singing "My people, hold on," or the fact that there are 31 tracks, a possible signal that Dilla survived a little longer than he expected. Then again, for every possible message, there are two or three elements that could've been designed to throw any analysis off its trail. After all, if there's one single image that the disc brings to mind, it's that of Dilla goofing off, having fun with some of his favorite records, and messing with some heads in the process. (And you could probably make the album's title out to be a metaphor for the circle of life, but sometimes a donut is just a donut.) Armed with sources that are either known to novice sample spotters or only the most seasoned diggers -- surprisingly, the former greatly outweighs the latter -- Dilla's also just as likely to leave his samples barely touched as he is to render them unrecognizable. It's fitting that Motown echoes, a predominant theme, are often felt, from the use of Dionne Warwick's Holland-Dozier-Holland-written "You're Gonna Need Me" (on "Stop"), to the shifting waves of percussion plucked from Kendricks' "People... Hold On" (on "People"), to the Stevie-like piano licks within Kool & the Gang's "The Fruitman" ("The Diff'rence"). Most of the tracks fall into the 60-90 second range. It's easy to be overwhelmed, or even put off, by the rapid-fire sequence, but it's astounding how so many of the sketches leave an immediate impression. By the third or fourth listen, what initially came across as a haphazard stream of slapped-together fragments begins to take the shape of a 44-minute suite filled with wistful joy. Like everything else Dilla has ever done, Donuts is not defining; in fact, elements of its approach bare the apparent influence of Jaylib collaborator Madlib. His mode has always been too slippery and restlessly progressive to be equated with any one track or album, but Donuts just might be the one release that best reflects his personality. © Andy Kellman /TiVo

Media darlings after the commercial success of their debut, Digable Planets attempted to prove their artistic merit with this second album, and succeeded wildly. A worthy, underrated successor, Blowout Comb was just as catchy and memorable as their first, and also offered the perfect response to critics and hip-hop fans who complained they weren't "real" enough. Except for a dark, indecipherable single named "Dial 7 (Axioms of Creamy Spies)," Blowout Comb excelled at pushing great grooves over sunny-day party jams, even when the crew was providing deft social commentary -- as on "Black Ego" and "Dial 7 (Axioms of Creamy Spies)." The trio used their greater clout to invite instrumentalists instead of relying completely on samples, and the music took on more aspects of the live jam than before. Though Blowout Comb still borrowed a host of riffs from great jazz anthems (from Bob James to Bobbi Humphrey), Digable Planets used them well, as beds for their back-and-forth freestyling and solos from guests. The Digables remade Roy Ayers' "We Live in Brooklyn, Baby" into "Borough Check," and invited Guru from Gang Starr to salute Brooklyn's block-parties and barbershops. (The focus on the neighborhood even carried over to the liner notes, laid out like a community newspaper.) The closer, a brassy, seven-minute "For Corners," also captured that fleeting feeling of neighborhood peace. Though Blowout Comb lacked the commercial punch of Reachin', Digable Planets made great strides in the two areas they'd previously been criticized: beats and rhymes. The beats were incredible, some of the best ever heard on a rap record, a hip-hop version of the classic, off-kilter, New Orleans second-line funk. The productions, all crafted by the group themselves, were laid-back and clearly superior to much hip-hop of the time. The raps, though certainly not hardcore, were just as intelligent as on the debut, and flowed much better. While Reachin' came to sound like a moment in time for the jazz-rap crowd, Blowout Comb has remained a timeless classic.© John Bush /TiVo

Digable Planets were victims in two senses. First of all, they were victims of their own artistry, returning after a breakout debut with a sophomore set that carried no obvious hit singles (but certainly didn't suffer from the lack). Blowout Comb may have succeeded anyway -- A Tribe Called Quest never aimed at the charts, but still went platinum based on the strength of their music -- but by the time it appeared, in 1994, gangsta rap had hit the mainstream and soon applied a stranglehold to the charts (thus the second sense of their victimization). Whatever the reasons behind their split, Digable Planets later faded away, and despite promises of solo material soon to follow, nothing appeared for close to a decade (and none of it approached the quality of what they produced together). When rumors of a reunion finally materialized, Blue Note assembled a DP compilation to satiate fans and, hopefully, introduce the group to new listeners (who would then buy the new recordings as well). The trio's music -- with its spare, funky style and innovative beats -- had not dated a whit in the intervening decade (which isn't true of most other jazz-rap fusions). While both of the trio's first two LPs are nearly essential to a serious rap fan's understanding of the genre, Beyond the Spectrum: The Creamy Spy Chronicles serves both fans and newcomers very well. The 13 songs make time for the hits ("Where I'm From," "Rebirth of Slick [Cool Like Dat]") but also compile a string of excellent album tracks ("Pacifics," "Jettin'"), while fans will be served by the four rarities (two are remixes of already-known songs and two are B-sides). Far better to just spring for both albums, but it's impossible to deny the high quality of music heard here.© John Bush /TiVo

This Ondine release features superb performances of two major works by Magnus Lindberg, one of the most prominent Finnish composers to emerge in the late 20th century. The half-hour Graffiti has a title with contemporary, colloquial associations, but the graffiti that the composer takes for his texts comes from the walls of public places in Pompeii, written soon before the city was destroyed in A.D. 79 by the eruption of Mount Vesuvius. While some of the writings are specific to the time and place, such as advertisements for gladiatorial combats, a surprising number of the cranky political diatribes, silly aphorisms, and sexual encounters either documented or solicited, could, with the Roman names changed, be found in modern restrooms. Lindberg is essentially an orchestral composer, and apart from juvenilia and a piece for children's choir, Graffiti is his first work using a chorus. The skill with which he handles the voices, though, is evidence of his secure professionalism, as well as an obvious gift for choral writing. (He has expressed a long-held interest in writing an opera, and considers this piece a sort of warm-up.) He assembled the brief texts without an attempt to create a narrative, or even a thematic organization, so the logic that drives the structure of the piece is purely musical, and he is entirely successful in composing an engrossing, coherent large-scale work. The meanings of the individual Latin texts are submerged in the sweep of the larger musical structure, but the program notes describe his intention as being the creation of "a grand choral and orchestral fresco of the life of the town," and that is exactly what he has done. The orchestral work Seht die Sonne takes its title from the last section of Schoenberg's Gurrelieder, and while it makes no explicit musical references to that work, it conveys in its tone some of the ecstatic sweep of the Schoenberg. Its orchestration, like that of Graffiti, is typical of Lindberg -- brilliant, exotically variegated, full of unexpected but wonderfully effective juxtapositions. It has many gorgeous, immensely appealing moments -- in fact, it is made up of nothing but gorgeous, immensely appealing moments -- but it has something of a strung together feeling of one-thing-after-another, without a clearly discernible structure or coherent sense of direction. Its impact will probably depend on the individual listener's temperament, an appreciation for moment-to-moment impressions, versus the need for a sense of musical structure and integration. The Finnish Radio Symphony Orchestra and the Helsinki Chamber Choir perform with terrific energy, power, flair, and polish under Sakari Oramo. Ondine's sound is clear, spacious, and nicely defined. © TiVo

Graffiti's sole album was in some ways typical of numerous obscure psychedelic one-shots on fairly big labels in the late '60s: over-ambitious lyrics, a kaleidoscope of styles that butted heads as often as it blended, emulation of several passing psychedelic trends pioneered by bigger groups, and an absence of really good songs. All that said, as such albums go, it's better than average, though hardly noteworthy. That's kind of faint praise, but at least Graffiti were less ponderous than many such bands, with a sort of gossamer lightness to much of their material. As for what styles they mined, they're hard to pin down, though they're fairly influenced by West Coast psychedelia of the era, with some of the vocal harmonies so high that one can mistakenly think there was a woman in the group (there wasn't). Bits of jazz, classical guitar, blues-rock, psychedelic effects, and vocal harmonies both sunshine pop and Gregorian seep through from time to time as the band floats through ever-shifting melodies and styles. The songs and instrumental solos do tend to go on too long, however, and the songwriting isn't memorable.© Richie Unterberger /TiVo

Prince was shooting for the top of the charts with Graffiti Bridge, and he missed. The movie was a disaster, causing the soundtrack to sell very poorly. Despite its poor showing, Graffiti Bridge is not a bad album; in fact, it's often very good. Prince wrote all of the songs, but only performed a little over half the tracks, leaving the rest for The Time, Mavis Staples, and Tevin Campbell. With the exception of The Time's slamming "Release It" and Campbell's "Round and Round," the best songs are the ones Prince performed himself. The George Clinton collaboration "We Can Funk," the psycho-blues of "The Question of U," the sinewy single "Thieves in the Temple," and the pop/rock of "Can't Stop This Feeling I Got," "Tick, Tick, Bang," and "Elephants & Flowers" make Graffiti Bridge a thoroughly enjoyable listen.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

Though she looks incredibly sexy on the cover, listeners forced to examine the material between the sleeves here won't find Jane Birkin quite so attractive. Lolita Go Home balances a few lightweight French pop songs -- most written and produced by Serge Gainsbourg -- with the American pop standards "What Is This Thing Called Love?," "Love for Sale," "Where or When," and "There's a Small Hotel." Perhaps the language barrier prevents critical thought, since the French songs are done comparatively well. When Birkin takes on songs not written especially for her narrow range, however, the entire album unravels in a mess of amateurish singing. Over a slinky porn-film production, Birkin's breathy, off-key delivery on "What Is This Thing Called Love?" and "Love for Sale" positively slaughters a pair of the best pop songs ever written in English. True, Birkin's voice improved later on in her career (she later treated "Love for Sale" with much more professionality), but the only redeemable aspect of this mid-'70s excursion is -- you guessed it -- the artwork.© John Bush /TiVo