Who's Next is not an album lacking for reissues. In addition to a deluxe edition from 2003, there have also been multiple audiophile editions and remasters of the album since its 1971 release. So what could a "super deluxe edition" possibly contain? Quite a bit, as it turns out. As even casual Who fans know, the genesis of Who's Next was as Lifehouse, a multimedia rock opera even more ambitious than Tommy. Pete Townshend had developed a bizarre, dystopian story that somehow merged his devotion to Indian guru Meher Baba, his recent fascination with synthesizers, and the idea that the only thing that could save humanity from a test-tube-bound future was "real rock 'n' roll." Yeah, the aftereffects of the '60s were wild. After some live shows at the Young Vic in London and a series of marathon recording sessions, a 16-song tracklist was finalized, but by this point, it was collectively decided—both creatively and commercially—that perhaps another concept-dense double album might not be the best studio follow-up to Tommy. So, eight Lifehouse songs were re-cut and one new song ("My Wife") was recorded and the leaner, meaner Who's Next was released in August 1971. The album was both an instant success and has become an undisputed part of the classic rock canon, thanks to the inclusion of absolutely iconic tracks like "Won't Get Fooled Again," "Baba O'Riley," and "Behind Blue Eyes."While one could make an argument that the taut and focused power of Who's Next inadvertently proved the point of the Lifehouse story (namely, that rock 'n' roll is most effective when it's at its most primal), it's important to remember that Who's Next was also a giant artistic leap forward for the Who, as it found them at the peak of their powers as a pummeling rock band and as a band willing to be experimental and artful in their approach to being a pummeling rock band. (If any evidence is needed of the group's unrivaled power, check out take 13 of "Won't Get Fooled Again" on this set, which is so immediate and electric that it could easily be mistaken for a concert performance.) While several Lifehouse tracks found their way to other Who and Townshend records, getting a sense of the contours of the project has been difficult. But this massive, 155-track set creates those lines thanks to the inclusion of multiple Townshend demos as well as recording sessions of Life House tracks that occurred both before and after the release of Who's Next, and, most notably, two freshly mixed live shows from 1971 (including one of the Young Vic shows) that provided both the energy and, in some cases the basic tracks, for the album versions. While nothing on this bursting-at-the-seams edition overrides the all-killer-no-filler approach of Who's Next, it does provide plenty of long-desired context and documentation for what made that record so powerful. © Jason Ferguson/Qobuz

From the opening rumble of John Lennon's "Come Together" leading into George Harrison's seductive "Something," Paul McCartney's tuneful doowop ballad "Oh Darling," and Ringo Starr's charmingly goofy "Octopus Garden," (all progressing to the nearly side-long medley that appropriately closes with "And in the end/the love you take/is equal to the love you make") Abbey Road—renowned as the final golden moment in The Beatles’ otherwise unpleasant demise—is arguably the band's masterpiece. The latest in a systematic remixing and reissuing of the Beatles catalog directed by original producer George Martin's son Giles, Abbey Road has been remixed and reissued in various configurations including 5.1 surround and Dolby Atmos to celebrate the fiftieth anniversary of the album's release. The 96 kHz/24-bit high resolution stereo remix adds space and dynamics to deepen and brighten the original. The allure for those already familiar with the original album are 23 alternate takes and demos meant to shed light on the band's famed creative process. The revelations are subtle but telling. Lennon's wit shows through on a bit of studio patter left into an alternate take of "I Want You" (he responds to a noise complaint from Soho neighbors of Trident Studio with "What are they doing here at this time of night?" and his impassioned vocals on "Come Together (Take 5)," where at the end he can be heard saying "I'm losing my cool," speaks to the enthusiasm that the band had for these sessions. The nearly-there 36th take of "You Never Give Me Your Money," and the 20th takes of "Sun King" and "Mean Mr. Mustard," are examples of how the material evolved and was sharpened in the studio. Conversely, McCartney's piano and plaintive singing on "Golden Slumbers/Carry That Weight" (Takes 1-3), a tune whose line, "Once there was a way to get back homeward," often cited as an expression of regret over the band's crumbling—shows how the band sometimes had a concept firmly in mind before the tape began to roll. Although the previously recorded Let It Be would be released six months later (and just a few weeks after the Beatles' break-up), Abbey Road is the sound of the most unique creative force in the history of popular music bidding farewell; those incredibly talented parts become a fabulous whole for the last time. © Robert Baird / Qobuz

With its title taken from Tina Turner's role in Ken Russell's film version of the Who's classic Tommy, the singer's second solo album is a fiery workout of hard-rocking covers that, given the songs' predictability, should have been a forgettable exercise. But, of course, Turner is anything but predictable, and Acid Queen is thus an immensely enjoyable affair from start to finish. Her version of Led Zep's "Whole Lotta Love" takes the dynamics of the original and turns them upside down to deliver an affair that is on par with some of Isaac Hayes' finest moments. There are also a few originals, including the last big hit ("Baby Get It On") she recorded with her husband, Ike. Not only did Acid Queen prove that Tina was the force to be reckoned with in the duo, it also foreshadowed the brilliant second phase of her career that lay ahead.© Rob Theakston /TiVo

Released early in 1971, a few months after Come Together, their first album for Liberty Records, Workin' Together was the first genuine hit album Ike & Tina had in years; actually, it was their biggest ever, working its way into Billboard's Top 25 and spending 38 weeks on the charts. They never had a bigger hit (the closest was their Blue Thumb release, Outta Season, which peaked at 91), and, in many ways, they didn't make a better album. After all, their classic '60s sides were just that -- sides of a single, not an album. Even though it doesn't boast the sustained vision of such contemporaries as, say, Marvin Gaye and Al Green, Workin' Together feels like a proper album, where many of the buried album tracks are as strong as the singles. Like its predecessor, it relies a bit too much on contemporary covers, which isn't bad when it's the perennial "Proud Mary," since it deftly reinterprets the original, but readings of the Beatles' "Get Back" and "Let It Be," while not bad, are a little bit too pedestrian. Fortunately, they're entirely listenable and they're the only slow moments, outweighed by songs that crackle with style and passion. Nowhere is this truer than on the opening title track, a mid-tempo groover (written by Eki Renrut, Ike's brilliant inverted alias) powered by a soulful chorus and a guitar line that plays like a mutated version of Dylan's "I Want You" riff. Then, there's the terrific Stax/Volt stomper "(Long As I Can) Get You When I Want You," possibly the highlight on the record. Though they cut a couple of classics over the next few years, most notably "Nutbush City Limits," the duo never topped this, possibly the best proper album they ever cut.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

Capitol's 2005 collection All the Best weighs in at only 18 tracks, which is a little bit light to truly contain all of the best songs Tina Turner has recorded over her lengthy career. And, truth be told, it doesn't come close to containing all of her best -- it concentrates on material she recorded from her '80s comeback, Private Dancer, on, stretching all the way into the '90s but focusing on such '80s hits as "What's Love Got to Do with It," "Private Dancer," "The Best," "Better Be Good to Me," "Typical Male," and "We Don't Need Another Hero (Thunderdome)," adding her biggest '90s hit, "I Don't Wanna Fight," plus a couple of OK but forgettable new songs. The classic 1973 version of "Nutbush City Limits" is here, but it's the only Ike & Tina cut; the version of "Proud Mary" is taken from the soundtrack of her 1993 biopic What's Love Got to Do with It. That highlights the problem with All the Best -- it has many of the big hits, but for one reason or another ignores the music on which her legend is built. Still, as a summation of her comeback and beyond, it's good, and for fans who favor this sound, it's a good disc to have.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

Simply the Best is surrounded by some of the best situations a compilation can hope for. Tina Turner's work for Capitol past Private Dancer was spotty, she made a bunch of appearances on soundtracks and other artists' albums, and most of the tracks on Private Dancer are good enough to own twice. Almost half of Private Dancer shows up on Simply the Best, but you don't have to endure the way the original album spiraled down into slick fizzle. Instead you have to endure a misguided, pumped-up house remix of "Nutbush City Limits," but that's it. Everything else here is either top-notch or campy, certifiable fun. A duet with Rod Stewart on "It Takes Two" supplies the fun along with the new track, "I Want You Near Me" (Turner to lover: "You're so good with your hands/To help me with a hook or zip"). The two other new tracks tacked to the end beat out most of the album cuts the collection passes on, plus you get the bombastic "We Don't Need Another Hero (Thunderdome)" without having to buy a dull soundtrack. The oldest cut by years is the monolithic "River Deep-Mountain High," which is a bona fide classic but sonically out of place here. Reprogram the disc to play it at the beginning or end, skip the new "Nutbush" completely, and you've got sparkling, nearly perfect overview of Turner's postcomeback career.© David Jeffries /TiVo

His look hasn’t changed. The same goes for his cocktail of vintage rock mixed with soul and funk. And yet, Lenny Kravitz makes a clean sweep with each new project. This eleventh − self-produced − album confirms his talents as a songwriter as well as sound producer. As usual, the New York artist calls upon his elders’ legacy (Marvin Gaye, Prince, Curtis Mayfield, John Lennon, Bill Withers) to make it his own and create pure and unadulterated Kravitz sounds. Whether they are intimate and very introspective, or openly engaged to underline the planet’s woes, the songs on this 2018 vintage effortlessly zigzag between funky uppercuts, stadium anthems and dance-floor soundtracks. And on the single Low, Lenny even grants himself a marquee (virtual) guest star with an iconic cry: Michael Jackson! Unsurprising, but effective as always! © Clotilde Maréchal/Qobuz

Part of Avril Lavigne's appeal -- a large part of it, actually -- is that she's a brat, acting younger than her 17 years on her 2002 debut, Let Go, and never seeming like she much cared about the past (she notoriously mispronounced David Bowie's name when reading Grammy nominations), or anything else for that matter. She lived for the moment; she partied with sk8er bois; she didn't want anything complicated. Thanks to production gurus the Matrix, Avril's proudly adolescent anthems were delivered in a shiny package built on steel-girded hooks -- a sound so catchy it came to define the mainstream not long after Let Go hit the radio. The Matrix became ubiquitous on the strength of their work with Lavigne, who herself became a big star, earning constant play on radio and MTV, kick starting a fashion trend of ties-n-tank tops for girls, and inexplicably providing a touchstone for indie rock queen Liz Phair's mainstream makeover. Fame, however, didn't pull the two camps together; it pushed them their separate ways, as the Matrix went on to record their own album and Avril decided to turn serious, working with a variety of co-writers and producers, including fellow Canadian singer/songwriter Chantal Kreviazuk, for her second album, 2004's Under My Skin. Lavigne hasn't only shed her trademark ties for thrift-shop skirts, she's essentially ditched the sound of Let Go, too, bringing herself closer to the mature aspirations of fellow singer/songwriter Michelle Branch. Since Avril is still a teenager, she's livelier than Branch. There may be an abundance of minor keys and midtempo cuts, but Under My Skin is fueled by teen angst; sometimes, it seems as if she's the first to discover the joys of love and the pain of heartache. In a sense, she comes across as Alanis Morissette's kid sister, especially now that the Matrix are gone and the hooks have been pushed to the background for much of the record; it's the teen spin on Supposed Former Infatuation Junkie, where she's self-consciously trying to grow as an artist. Naturally, this means that Under My Skin isn't as infectious as Let Go since there's nothing as giddy as "Sk8er Boi," even if much of it is written from a similarly adolescent vantage point. Lavigne's collaborators, Kreviazuk and Evan Taubenfeld chief among them, have helped streamline her writing via their meticulous arrangements, and her performances are assured, so Avril sounds as if she's maturing a bit. In fact, that blend of confidence and confusion gives Under My Skin its pulse; no matter how polished the surface, there's no hiding Avril's attitude and ambition.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

When it dropped in 1994, the Beastie Boys' fourth album was initially received as a "more of the same" effort that expanded on the alt-punk-funk-rock-rap of Check Your Head—and it's true that Ill Communication is their first album that doesn't feel like a brash reinvention that does something entirely new from its predecessor. But it's also the best exhibition of how the Beasties effectively found a way to make all their disparate references and enthusiasms cohere into something distinctly theirs. It's not just hard to imagine any other '90s group this equally conversant in late-Golden Era hip-hop ("Root Down"; Q-Tip feature "Get It Together"), hardcore punk ("Heart Attack Man"; "Tough Guy"), and garage-funk jams ("Futterman's Rule"; "Ricky's Theme") while also delivering the absolute scream-the-walls-down pinnacle of aggro rap-rock ("Sabotage"). It's that they do all this stuff with the level of commitment and bravado of a crew who channeled their always-present snotty defiance to increasingly positive and introspective ends. MCA's misogyny-rebuking verse on opener "Sure Shot" and his Buddhist awakenings on "Bodhisattva Vow" carry a lot of that weight, but Ad-Rock and Mike D also back up this emergent identity of anti-slacker, pro-unity DIY communalism running through that feels like the perspective of artists who realize they're building a deeper legacy than they originally thought. And though there's still plenty of room for goofy vulgarity, by this point it's easy to hear the Beasties' in-progress maturation efforts as a well-struck balance between pop-culture-addict irreverence and activist-adjacent '90s bohemian philosophy that's aged surprisingly well. © Nate Patrin/Qobuz

When it dropped in 1994, the Beastie Boys' fourth album was initially received as a "more of the same" effort that expanded on the alt-punk-funk-rock-rap of Check Your Head—and it's true that Ill Communication is their first album that doesn't feel like a brash reinvention that does something entirely new from its predecessor. But it's also the best exhibition of how the Beasties effectively found a way to make all their disparate references and enthusiasms cohere into something distinctly theirs. It's not just hard to imagine any other '90s group this equally conversant in late-Golden Era hip-hop ("Root Down"; Q-Tip feature "Get It Together"), hardcore punk ("Heart Attack Man"; "Tough Guy"), and garage-funk jams ("Futterman's Rule"; "Ricky's Theme") while also delivering the absolute scream-the-walls-down pinnacle of aggro rap-rock ("Sabotage"). It's that they do all this stuff with the level of commitment and bravado of a crew who channeled their always-present snotty defiance to increasingly positive and introspective ends. MCA's misogyny-rebuking verse on opener "Sure Shot" and his Buddhist awakenings on "Bodhisattva Vow" carry a lot of that weight, but Ad-Rock and Mike D also back up this emergent identity of anti-slacker, pro-unity DIY communalism running through that feels like the perspective of artists who realize they're building a deeper legacy than they originally thought. And though there's still plenty of room for goofy vulgarity, by this point it's easy to hear the Beasties' in-progress maturation efforts as a well-struck balance between pop-culture-addict irreverence and activist-adjacent '90s bohemian philosophy that's aged surprisingly well. © Nate Patrin/Qobuz

In the year of his 90th birthday (which he would have celebrated on the 23rd of September 2020 had he not died in 2004), Ray Charles is honoured with a new 90-track compilation box set. Just another compilation like all the rest? Yes and no. Ray Charles is undoubtedly one of the most-compiled artists in the history of music. Published by Tangerine, the label that the musician set up at the end of the 50s to keep the rights to his songs, this box set starts out like all the others: with the post-Atlantic hits, Georgia On My Mind, Hit The Road Jack, One Mint Julep, Busted... These are timeless treasures of proto-soul, but there doesn't seem to be much novelty here. The rest is much more interesting, and much rarer: tracks recorded between the second half of the 1960s and the 2000s, many of which were only released on vinyl, never reissued on CD and until now unavailable on digital. This is the first time that Ray Charles' lesser-known years have been given the compilation treatment in this way, and it is a revelation. In the 90s and 2000s, the production of his songs had a synthetic feel, and they did not age too well. These rarer songs are often hidden gems of southern soul, flavoured with country and wrapped in sumptuous symphonic orchestrations. Whether he is singing the Muppets (It's Ain't Easy Being Green) or Gershwin (Summertime, a duet with Cleo Laine), Ray Charles is always deeply moving. Now, the dream is to hear reissues of all these albums in their entirety. © Stéphane Deschamps/Qobuz

Released as a tie-in to Tina Turner's fall 2008 tour of North America, Tina! follows her last greatest-hits album All the Best: The Hits by a mere three years and it has the same number of tracks as its predecessor, six of which are songs shared between the two compilations. This makes Tina! feel similar to All the Best but it's a different compilation in many ways, with a broader scope, reaching back for "River Deep Mountain High" and "The Acid Queen," neither of which were on the 2005 comp, and containing two previously unreleased bonus tracks. It also contains a hefty dose of live tracks -- "Let's Stay Together," "I Can't Stand the Rain," and "The Best," are all present in live versions -- her James Bond theme "Goldeneye" and a 1993 re-recording of "Proud Mary." So, Tina! covers a lot of ground and gives a pretty good indication of Turner's far-reaching talents and long-ranging career, but it's also a bit of a mess, jumping between eras, overlooking some big hits, and substituting live versions when the studio is superior. So don't think of Tina! as a definitive comp, something that has yet to be assembled on Tina, but rather as a sampler that contains some, but not nearly all, of her best.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

At the end of the 80s, England discovered acid jazz, a genre that combines elements of funk, soul, disco and jazz fusion. It was hugely popular, especially thanks to artists such as Incognito, the Young Disciples, Galliano, Us3, Corduroy, Snowboy, the Sandals and even Jamiroquai. In 1987, the DJs Gilles Peterson and Eddie Piller even dedicated a label to the genre, Acid Jazz Records. Within this groovy movement, which finally started to decline at the end of the 90s, The Brand New Heavies were one of the torchbearers, largely thanks to the energy injected by the various singers including N’Dea Davenport, Siedah Garrett and Carleen Anderson. The gang led by Simon Bartholomew and Andrew Levy has never stopped making music, and over the years and albums they’ve always had a hardcore fan base. This 2019 vintage, simply named TBNH, marks a turning point as it has been released on Acid Jazz Records. The album boast a 5-star line-up of singers including Beverley Knight, Angie Stone, Siedah Garrett, Angela Ricci, Jack Knight, Honey Larochelle, Laville and even N'Dea Davenport with a cover of Kendrick Lamar’s These Walls, produced here by none other than Mark Ronson. The record is a wonderfully funky toe-tapper that combines Stevie Wonder-style soul, Roy Ayers-esque funk, disco à la Chic and Herbie Hancock-like jazz rock. In short, all well-known ingredients that Simon Bartholomew and Andrew Levy cook up with exceptional know-how. © Marc Zisman/Qobuz

Beastie Boys Music is a compilation that arrives at the end of a period or self-reflection by the surviving Beastie Boys, an era kicked off by the 2018 publication of Beastie Boys Book, which was supported by a brief theatrical tour, which in turn was captured in Spike Jonze's 2020 film Beastie Boys Story. Beastie Boys Music arrived a few months after Beastie Boys Story, and it covers familiar territory, containing 13 of the 15 songs from 2005's Solid Gold Hits (everything you'd expect, from "[You Gotta] Fight for Your Right [To Party]" through "Sabotage" to "Intergalactic"), then adding five cuts to help round out the narrative. These additions and swaps make a big difference. Two cuts from To the 5 Boroughs, "An Open Letter to NYC" and "Triple Trouble," are dropped in favor of "Make Some Noise" and "Don't Play No Game That I Can't Win," both from 2011's Hot Sauce Committee Part Two, then "Paul Revere," "Hold It Now, Hit It," "Shadrach," "Get It Together," and "Jimmy James" are all necessary ingredients added to the mix. The result is the best Beastie Boys greatest hits yet assembled: it has all the major items, presented in a lively fashion.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

For nearly half a century, Marvin Gaye has had the final word on the dissolution of his marriage to Anna Gordy in the form of his album Here, My Dear. Famously recorded as part of their divorce settlement—Gaye, being pretty bad with money, had to offer up half the advance and all the royalties from an upcoming album in lieu of a cash alimony payment—Here, My Dear captures the sadness, confusion, and anger swirling around the end of a 14-year marriage. It only captures Marvin Gaye's perspective on those emotions, and while yes, there are always two sides to every story, the case that Marvin presents here is, frankly, kind of bogus. Spread out over two vinyl albums, the songs of Here, My Dear draped their protagonist in a blanket of self-pity, justification, and recrimination with little evidence of any acceptance of his responsibility for the end of the marriage. Gaye's self-centered approach to the lyrics is deeply problematic and sadly misogynist, casting Anna Gordy Gaye as a kind of gold-digging opportunist who somehow managed to fall out of love with the man who explicitly sought out a relationship with her due to her proximity to Motown's power centers, blew most of their money on drugs and whatever else struck his fancy, and was repeatedly unfaithful throughout their marriage, including a relationship with an underage Janis Hunter (whom he would marry immediately upon divorcing Anna Gordy) while recording Let’s Get it On. Needless to say, casting Here, My Dear as Gaye's woe-is-me divorce album is selling the reality of the situation short. However, the relative musical freedom he clearly felt in crafting the album—after all, he surely was ambivalent at best about its sales potential—absolutely resulted in what was the artist's last masterwork. Possessed of an atmosphere that amplifies the more ethereal tendencies of Let’s Get it On’sspacious grooves, Here, My Dear is nearly gossamer in its production, with instruments and vocals floating in and out of the mix, all barely anchored by a recurring theme ("When Did You Stop Loving Me") that not only shows up in three similarly titled tracks, but also in melody lines and musical refrains that emerge and retreat throughout. Locked into a mid tempo groove from the very first track, the album seamlessly blends together, especially in the first half. The second half proves fertile ground for Gaye's experimental nature. While maintaining the vibe (and self-pity) of the opening half "Sparrow" begins gently and mournful and turns acidly bitter with gritty, wailing saxophone and hissed lyrics, and then goes even darker and weirder than its already dark and weird predecessors. Even in a career full of weirdo lyrics and deceptively left-field grooves, "Funky Space Reincarnation" stands out for its combination of lasciviousness ("Hey, baby, let's mess around; Let's feel each other's ass") and looniness ("Hey little baby, let's magnetize magnets!"). By the time the album winds down with the theoretically optimistic "Falling In Love Again" (about Gaye's relationship with Janis) and a brief, haunting reprise of "When Did You Stop Loving Me" (worth noting: Marvin and Janis Gaye separated less than a year after the release of Here, My Dear ), it's clear that this album is less a document of a divorce than it is a cathartic exposition of one man's incredibly unhealthy approach to relationships. © Jason Ferguson/Qobuz

It's often unfair to compare the Rolling Stones to the Beatles but in the case of the group's mono mixes, it's instructive. Until the 2009 release of the box set The Beatles in Mono, all of the Fab Four's mono mixes were out of print. That's not the case with the Rolling Stones. Most of their '60s albums -- released on Decca in the U.K., London in the U.S. -- found mono mixes sneaking onto either the finished sequencing or various singles compilations, so the 2016 box The Rolling Stones in Mono only contains 56 heretofore unavailable mono mixes among its 186 tracks. To complicate things further, the box -- which runs 15 discs in its CD version, 16 LPs in its vinyl incarnation -- sometimes contains both the British and American releases of a particular title (Out of Our Heads and Aftermath), while others are available in only one iteration (Between the Buttons is only present in the U.K. version). All this is for the sake of expedience: this is the easiest way to get all the mono mixes onto the box with a minimal amount of repetition. To that end, there's a bonus disc called Stray Cats -- with artwork that plays off the censored plain white cover art for the initial pressing of Beggars Banquet -- collecting the singles that never showed up on an official album, or at least any of the albums that made the box. Along with the odd decision to have the CD sleeves be slightly larger than a mini-LP replica (they're as big as a jewel box, so they're larger than a shrunk vinyl sleeve, a size that's rarely seen in other releases), this is the only quibble on what is otherwise an excellent set. The sound -- remastered again after the 2002 overhaul for hybrid SACDs -- is bold and colorful, with the earliest albums carrying a wallop and the latter records feeling like they're fighting to be heard in two separate channels and all the better for it. If nothing here provides a revelation -- none of the mixes are radically different, the way that some Beatles mono sides are -- this nevertheless is the best the Rolling Stones have sounded on disc (or on vinyl) and there's considerable care in this package, from the replications of the sleeves to the extensive notes from David Fricke. Plus, hearing the Stones in mono winds up being a hot wire back toward the '60s: this feels raw and vibrant, as alive as the band was in the '60s.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

After releasing the hugely popular but artistically underwhelming Views in 2016, Drake went back to the mixtape approach for his next release, 2017's More Life. Over the course of 22 songs and almost an hour and a half of music, Drake shows again why he's one of the most frustrating rappers in the world. The main problem is that he's a better hip-hop-inspired R&B singer than he is an R&B-inspired rapper, but he refuses to acknowledge it. Listening to track after track of molasses-slow trap featuring Drake going on about how once he was on the bottom and now is firmly cemented at the top is tiresome at best, painful at worst. He only really comes to life on the songs where he drops the hard façade and lets some of his emotion show through, like the lovely island-inflected groover "Get It Together," which features Jorja Smith killing it in the role often occupied by Rihanna, or the dark-night-of-the-soul ballad "Nothings into Somethings," which balances his intimate crooning with introspective rapping. The bubbling "Passionfruit" is Drake at his smooth, melancholy best, showing off his skill at creating surprising melodies and entrancing atmosphere. These moments are too few and far between and most of the record sits right in the center of the rut Drake has dug for himself over the years. There are some tracks that break free of the boredom and show some kind of pulse -- usually the tracks where guests drop by and add their skills to the mix. Young Thug, in particular. His dramatic rapping and outsized persona put Drake to shame on "Ice Melts." He's Technicolor, while Drake is various shades of gray. That track and Sampha's feature ("4422"), where the singer gets deeper emotionally than Drake ever has, don't do Drake any favors. They only serve to showcase his flaws and make it clear that More Life is another overly serious, musically uninteresting effort. The few choice tracks, high-profile guests, and occasional stylistic shifts aren't enough to keep More Life from being another disappointing release. That it proved immensely popular upon its release will only serve to reinforce his misguided belief that he's the best rapper around.© Tim Sendra /TiVo