Zappa in New York was recorded in December 1976 at the Palladium and originally intended for release in 1977. It was held up due to arguments between Frank Zappa and his then-record label, Warner Bros. When the two-LP set finally appeared in March 1978, Warner had deleted "Punky's Whips," a song about drummer Terry Bozzio's attraction to Punky Meadows of Angel. The Zappa band, which includes bassist Patrick O'Hearn, percussionist Ruth Underwood, and keyboard player Eddie Jobson, along with a horn section including the two Brecker brothers, was one of the bandleader's most accomplished, which it had to be to play songs like "Black Page," even in the "easy" version presented here. Zappa also was at the height of his comic stagecraft, notably on songs like "Titties & Beer," which is essentially a comedy routine between Zappa and Bozzio, and "The Illinois Enema Bandit," which features TV announcer Don Pardo.© William Ruhlmann /TiVo

It's an open secret that Sting's interest in songwriting waned after 2003's Sacred Love, an undistinguished collection of mature pop that passed with barely a ripple despite winning a Grammy for its Mary J. Blige duet "Whenever I Say Your Name." Sting spent the next decade wandering -- writing classical albums for lute, recording the frostiest Christmas album in memory, rearranging his old hits for symphony, then finally, inevitably, reuniting the Police -- before finding inspiration within the confines of a musical. The Last Ship tells the tale of a British shipyard in the '80s, one laid low by changing times, so there's naturally an elegiac undertow to Sting's originals, a sensibility underscored by his decision to ground nearly all these songs in the folk of the British Isles. Dockworkers in the '80s may not have been singing folk songs, but the genre is elastic, allowing for single-spotlight soliloquies along with rousing all-cast showcases, like the boisterous "What Have We Got?" Also, by having the bones of his songs belong to folk, Sting can put together a credible album of his own, as the songs from The Last Ship feel intimate in a way he's rarely attempted in his career. He brings in a few guests -- Jimmy Nail and Becky Unthank show up on the standard edition, AC/DC's Brian Johnson, a rock & roll dockworker if there ever was one, shows up on the deluxe -- but the focus is entirely on the songwriter. Occasionally, Sting's desire to inhabit roles within the musical is a little too strong -- not long into the album he adopts either a Scottish or Irish brogue, elsewhere he affects a workingman's vernacular, all the while sounding like nobody else but the posh Gordon Sumner -- but his songs are precise and cannily crafted, bearing the work of a songwriter who is intent on sculpting every line and every melodic progression. Unlike Sacred Love, The Last Ship isn't listless; even when the album is quiet -- which it often is -- Sting is engaged, relishing the different characters that inhabit his musical and seizing the challenge of writing in the longform. It's easy to sling arrows at The Last Ship -- there is a whiff of condescension to some of the blue-collar anthems, the air is often haughty ("The Night the Pugilist Learned How to Dance") -- but this is Sting's tightest collection of songs in ages, and they all play off each other, adding up to a cohesive whole that is surely one of his best latter-day records.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

The System Has Failed marks a return from the dead for Megadeth -- and quite a glorious return, it must be said. When bandleader Dave Mustaine was diagnosed in early 2002 with radial neuropathy -- strained nerves in his left arm and hand -- the snarling guitar shredder was forced to disband his once groundbreaking group after nearly two decades of activity. Granted, it wasn't that big of a loss at the time, chiefly so because Megadeth had long passed its prime. The band's key recordings date back to the speed metal era, from 1986 (the year of Peace Sells, Reign in Blood, and Master of Puppets) to 1992 (the year Megadeth, like Metallica a year earlier, made a distinct, more commercial shift, releasing Countdown to Extinction -- to the dismay of many longtime fans). Following Countdown, Megadeth struggled. The band continued to release albums, but they weren't well received and, very sadly, one of metal's once preeminent acts became a bitter has-been. So after Mustaine's injury, the disbanding of Megadeth didn't seem all that unfortunate at the time -- it seemed overdue, some would argue. Then in 2004, shortly after an exemplary reissue campaign, Mustaine resurrected Megadeth for The System Has Failed. And frankly, the band hasn't sounded this vital since Countdown to Extinction, if not Rust in Peace (to risk overstating just how much of a return to glory this album is). Mustaine is joined on guitar by Chris Poland, the very talented guitarist whom he'd fired after the masterful Peace Sells album back in the day. It's a surprise return, and no doubt a very exciting one for fans of Peace Sells (note the shred-fest "Kick the Chair" in particular). That re-pairing of Mustaine and Poland alone makes The System Has Failed worthwhile, but there are also the songs themselves. Put simply, they're ferocious! No, this isn't a good old-fashioned thrash album, but you can tell Mustaine is going for that vibe, especially on songs like "Back in the Day," one in particular that should give dyed-in-the-wool headbangers a giddy sense of déjà vu. The System Has Failed is actually more of a synthesis, taking the reckless abandon of pre-Countdown Megadeth and infusing it with the melodic songwriting of latter-day diamonds in the rough like "Symphony of Destruction" and "A Tout le Monde." Add to this some especially thoughtful lyrics (archly political, nakedly personal, and shamelessly mature), and you have the recipe for an excellent, damn near perfect Megadeth album, up there with Peace Sells, Rust in Peace, and Countdown -- as unlikely as that may seem. Regardless of where The System Has Failed ranks alongside Megadeth's other standout albums, however, it most certainly blows away practically every other aboveground metal album of 2004. No joke. This is the sort of latter-day masterpiece Metallica struggled in vain for a decade-plus to record to no avail.© Jason Birchmeier /TiVo

Despite the odds, the Rolling Stones' Stripped held out great promise. Voodoo Lounge was an energized return to studio form for the Borg of rock & roll road shows. From that platform, the idea of taking it back to small clubs -- live, lean, and pared-down without succumbing to the worn "unplugged" treadmill -- seemed an inspired move. Patched together from an embroidery of tour rehearsals and live club dates in Paris and Amsterdam, the project was an extension of acoustic sets the group introduced on the North American leg of the Voodoo Lounge tour. The concept offered an invigorating opportunity to dust off some rough gems from the past that no longer felt at home on sloping stadium stages. Unfortunately, the cover photo depicting a lean, determined, leather-clad combo in Spartan black and white proves to be misleading advertising. Within the brave packaging lies a listless, lethargic Dorian Gray bluff. Spongy keyboards gunk many of the tracks. The much-touted cover of Dylan's "Like a Rolling Stone" remains pointlessly devoted to the original. There are lazy, somnambulant versions of "I'm Free" and "Let It Bleed"; Keith Richards' "Slipping Away" is painfully intoned; and there are dozens of lost songs that any fan would choose to have renovated before "Angie."© Roch Parisien /TiVo

Zappa in New York was recorded in December 1976 at the Palladium and originally intended for release in 1977. It was held up due to arguments between Frank Zappa and his then-record label, Warner Bros. When the two-LP set finally appeared in March 1978, Warner had deleted "Punky's Whips," a song about drummer Terry Bozzio's attraction to Punky Meadows of Angel. The Zappa band, which includes bassist Patrick O'Hearn, percussionist Ruth Underwood, and keyboard player Eddie Jobson, along with a horn section including the two Brecker brothers, was one of the bandleader's most accomplished, which it had to be to play songs like "Black Page," even in the "easy" version presented here. Zappa also was at the height of his comic stagecraft, notably on songs like "Titties & Beer," which is essentially a comedy routine between Zappa and Bozzio, and "The Illinois Enema Bandit," which features TV announcer Don Pardo.© William Ruhlmann /TiVo

Eleven returned from a five-year hiatus (during which the band's leaders, Alain Johannes and Natasha Shneider, produced and performed on Chris Cornell's Euphoria Morning, then joined Cornell on the ensuing tour) with the satisfying Avantgardedog. Taking the band into more esoteric and richly textured territory, the self-produced Avantgardedog tones down the behemoth guitars of its predecessors but expands the group's tonal palette with a wider array of acoustic and electric instrumentation and a greatly evolved production acumen. New drummer Greg Upchurch complements Eleven's highly articulate, prog-influenced instrumental attack with more detail than previous skinsman Jack Irons (who departed to join Pearl Jam in 1995), while ornate drum loops and other slices of electronica augment the album's rhythmic tapestries. As always, co-lead vocalists Johannes and Shneider use their rich pipes to deliver memorable hooks on "Cool Cruel Baby," "Verb," and especially "It's Okay," with its delightfully bouncy, Beatlesque vocal counterpoint. Elsewhere, the band's dark, brooding tendencies are more effective than ever, particularly on the album-closing "Watergun," the tense and exotic "Lucky One," and Shneider's beautiful, haunting "Strands of Rain." Eleven's curse is that its music -- while focused and accessible -- is simply too unusual to pigeonhole, and therefore doesn't fit into easy marketing categories; consequently, Eleven remains a highly cherished and well-kept secret to its fans.© Andy Hinds /TiVo

The System Has Failed marks a return from the dead for Megadeth -- and quite a glorious return, it must be said. When bandleader Dave Mustaine was diagnosed in early 2002 with radial neuropathy -- strained nerves in his left arm and hand -- the snarling guitar shredder was forced to disband his once groundbreaking group after nearly two decades of activity. Granted, it wasn't that big of a loss at the time, chiefly so because Megadeth had long passed its prime. The band's key recordings date back to the speed metal era, from 1986 (the year of Peace Sells, Reign in Blood, and Master of Puppets) to 1992 (the year Megadeth, like Metallica a year earlier, made a distinct, more commercial shift, releasing Countdown to Extinction -- to the dismay of many longtime fans). Following Countdown, Megadeth struggled. The band continued to release albums, but they weren't well received and, very sadly, one of metal's once preeminent acts became a bitter has-been. So after Mustaine's injury, the disbanding of Megadeth didn't seem all that unfortunate at the time -- it seemed overdue, some would argue. Then in 2004, shortly after an exemplary reissue campaign, Mustaine resurrected Megadeth for The System Has Failed. And frankly, the band hasn't sounded this vital since Countdown to Extinction, if not Rust in Peace (to risk overstating just how much of a return to glory this album is). Mustaine is joined on guitar by Chris Poland, the very talented guitarist whom he'd fired after the masterful Peace Sells album back in the day. It's a surprise return, and no doubt a very exciting one for fans of Peace Sells (note the shred-fest "Kick the Chair" in particular). That re-pairing of Mustaine and Poland alone makes The System Has Failed worthwhile, but there are also the songs themselves. Put simply, they're ferocious! No, this isn't a good old-fashioned thrash album, but you can tell Mustaine is going for that vibe, especially on songs like "Back in the Day," one in particular that should give dyed-in-the-wool headbangers a giddy sense of déjà vu. The System Has Failed is actually more of a synthesis, taking the reckless abandon of pre-Countdown Megadeth and infusing it with the melodic songwriting of latter-day diamonds in the rough like "Symphony of Destruction" and "A Tout le Monde." Add to this some especially thoughtful lyrics (archly political, nakedly personal, and shamelessly mature), and you have the recipe for an excellent, damn near perfect Megadeth album, up there with Peace Sells, Rust in Peace, and Countdown -- as unlikely as that may seem. Regardless of where The System Has Failed ranks alongside Megadeth's other standout albums, however, it most certainly blows away practically every other aboveground metal album of 2004. No joke. This is the sort of latter-day masterpiece Metallica struggled in vain for a decade-plus to record to no avail.© Jason Birchmeier /TiVo

No matter how immature you are, you have to grow up at least a little with the passage of time, if only to keep the electricity from being turned off. NOFX have spent much of their career as the Peter Pans of punk rock, leading an unending parade of thrashy goofiness in their wake for over three decades. But the group's founder and mouthpiece Fat Mike has shown a greater willingness to open up and get personal as time wears on. On the surface, 2016's First Ditch Effort sounds like business as usual for NOFX -- dirt-simple but gleefully tuneful melodies, big chugging guitars, deep rubbery bass, and chunky, muscular drumming, all in the time-tested SoCal manner. It's when you start paying attention to the lyrics that the surprises on First Ditch Effort make themselves known. Fat Mike is no less of a goofball than ever here, but he's a goofball with his heart on his sleeve who wants to open up. He's trying to get past drinking and drugs ("Six Years on Dope," "California Drought"), he's coming out as a cross-dresser ("I'm a Transvest-lite"), he's got pretty serious self-esteem issues ("I Don't Like Me Anymore"), he's angry about the pharmaceutical industry ("Oxy Moronic"), and he's afraid of the future his kids will have to live in ("Generation Z"). While Fat Mike is dealing with heavier themes than one might expect, a lot of the time he still sees what's funny about it all, like a clown who's still folding balloon animals on the deck of the Titanic. And when he isn't going for laughs (as in "Generation Z" and his tribute to a fallen friend, "I'm So Sorry Tony"), he sounds sincere, no small achievement for a guy who has been trading in sarcasm since 1983. First Ditch Effort isn't a radical step forward for NOFX -- they're still a punk band who smirk more than they shout -- but it does successfully take them into a more thoughtful direction, and shows they can mature just a bit and still be themselves.© Mark Deming /TiVo

"Mosquitoes can enjoy me/ I can't go inside," Mitski sings—lulls—on "Buffalo Replaced," a bottom-heavy grunge ballad from her seventh album that finds the singer revealing a nagging self-vexation. "I have a hope/ Though she's blind with no name/ She shits where she's supposed to feed herself when I'm away/ Sometimes I think it would be easier without her." Like Tori Amos, Kate Bush, or Frank Ocean, Mitski has a tendency to reveal so much wildness via a calming presence. Not that the weight isn't heavy; back in 2019, she announced her "last show indefinitely," later admitting that she was worn down by physical and mental exhaustion caused by the music business and its "super-saturated version of consumerism," but also the demands of representation. She has criticized always having her Asian American heritage pointed out; "It's like racism masked in progressive thought … I'm a symbol." Last year she told the BBC: "I needed to step away to get out of that mechanism and just learn how to be human again, I think." That break led Mitski to what she calls "my most American album … This land, which already feels inhospitable to so many of its inhabitants, is about to feel hopelessly torn and tossed again—at times, devoid of love. This album offers the anodyne." Drawing from influences including Ennio Morricone's high-drama spaghetti western scores and Carter Burwell's "tundra-filling Fargo soundtrack," The Land Is Inhospitable and So Are We finds Mitski pairing her sometimes dark thoughts with music and sounds—an orchestra arranged and conducted by Drew Erickson, and a 17-voice choir—that convey turmoil. On "When Memories Snow," both piano and Mitski's vocals determine a marching pace while she presents a haunting internal scenario:  "When memories snow/ And cover up the driveway/ I shovel all those memories ... and when memories melt/ I hear them in the drainpipe/ Dripping through the downspout/ As I lie awake in the dark." Then the orchestral tension builds and explodes, horns and strings and choral voices elbowing each other for space. Opener "Bug Like an Angel" starts off like an acoustic campfire nod-along as Mitski sings, "As I got older, I learned I'm a drinker/ Sometimes a drink feels like family"—then, out of nowhere, a full-throated, big as Broadway choir trills "family!" She remains on even keel for "The Deal" as the music swirls like an atmospheric weather system, finally picking up to tornado strength, grabbing everything in its path and tossing it. It's not all chaos, though, as the anodyne settles in. Countrified "Heaven" is light with strings and Cowboy Junkies-esque. "My Love All Mine" is swoony romance, rich and full. And "Star" twinkles and explodes into a supernova, as Mitski convinces that lost love is never completely lost. At the end, "I Love Me After You," there is majesty—big buzz, crashing cymbals—as she performs a self-care routine (hydration, toner, brushing her hair) only to proclaim, "I love me after you/ King of all the land." © Shelly Ridenour/Qobuz

While both Liam Gallagher and Noel Gallagher have had some pretty good moments in their hit-or-miss solo careers, neither has been able to match what they had together as brothers in Oasis: the one-upmanship competition that pushed both to be better, yes, but also the us-against-the-world sibling camaraderie. Both need a foil to play off. Liam has been winning the race recently, though. For one thing, he's found the right producer in Greg Kurstin (Adele, Foo Fighters), who pushed him to great heights with 2022's C'mon You Know. But now he's teamed up with one of his hometown heroes: John Squire, legendary guitarist for Manchester's beloved Stone Roses, the band that Liam has said made him want to get behind a microphone. And damn if it's not an absolutely delightful, inspired pairing. (And if it makes Noel jealous, bonus points—right?) He's also brought Kurstin along for the ride, which was a wise decision. The set-up works as Oasis used to: Squire writes the songs, à la Noel, and Liam is just Liam. He sounds terrific here, and unmistakable. So does Squire, who absolutely wails on the excellent, Stone Roses-esque "Just Another Rainbow" and struts his stuff for groovy "Mars to Liverpool"; it's easy to imagine Oasis having gone in that direction had they not split in 2009. But the two don't just nod at their own past bands. Irresistible "One Day At a Time," which practically casts Squire's showy guitar as a duet partner for Liam, lifts a bit of the Rolling Stones' "Paint It, Black." Muscular "I'm So Bored" cribs from the Beatles' "Paperback Writer" (which also means it feels especially Oasis-esque). And "Love You Forever," which puts a psychedelic Madchester effect on Liam's sneer, owes a big debt to Hendrix and "Purple Haze." It's also boosted by monster fills from Joey Waronker—because if you're going to bring two Mancunian legends to Los Angeles to make a record, why not get that town's best studio drummer? Waronker adds a real kick to "You're Not the Only One," which also features great boogie-woogie piano and Squire's snarling runs. Single "Raise Your Hands" is a bit paint-by-numbers, but "I'm a Wheel" is unexpected: Squire and Kurstin, on bass, letting loose on 12-bar blues while an energized Liam delivers goofy lines like "Lock all the doors/ These aren't the droids/ You're looking for." It seems weird on paper—but wow, it works. (Thanks to Squire, too, for giving him lyrics like "Thank you for your thoughts and prayers/ And fuck you too" to gleefully nail.) "Mother Nature's Song" feels the most like a real Oasis-Roses crossover: Mersey paradise meets Beatlemania. © Shelly Ridenour/Qobuz

Love it or hate it, Over-Nite Sensation was a watershed album for Frank Zappa, the point where his post-'60s aesthetic was truly established; it became his second gold album, and most of these songs became staples of his live shows for years to come. Whereas the Flo and Eddie years were dominated by rambling, off-color comedy routines, Over-Nite Sensation tightened up the song structures and tucked sexual and social humor into melodic, technically accomplished heavy guitar rock with jazzy chord changes and funky rhythms; meanwhile, Zappa's growling new post-accident voice takes over the storytelling. While the music is some of Zappa's most accessible, the apparent callousness and/or stunning sexual explicitness of "Camarillo Brillo," "Dirty Love," and especially "Dinah-Moe Humm" leave him on shaky aesthetic ground. Zappa often protested that the charges of misogyny leveled at such material missed out on the implicit satire of male stupidity, and also confirmed intellectuals' self-conscious reticence about indulging in dumb fun; however, the glee in his voice as he spins his adolescent fantasies can undermine his point. Indeed, that enjoyment, also evident in the silly wordplay, suggests that Zappa is throwing his juvenile crassness in the face of critical expectation, asserting his right to follow his muse even if it leads him into blatant stupidity (ironic or otherwise). One can read this motif into the absurd shaggy-dog story of a dental floss rancher in "Montana," the album's indisputable highlight, which features amazing, uncredited vocal backing from Tina Turner and the Ikettes. As with much of Zappa's best '70s and '80s material, Over-Nite Sensation could be perceived as ideologically problematic (if you haven't got the constitution for FZ's humor), but musically, it's terrific.© Steve Huey /TiVo

While he was still leader of progressive rock group Genesis, Phil Collins launched his solo career and released Face Value in 1981. A record which quickly proves to be one of the biggest musical surprises of the year, and one which allows the British artist to begin his ascension as one of the biggest stars of the 1980s. Thanks to the deep and passionate voice of the singer, as well as the numerous pop/soul ballads and his talent for aggressive rock'n'roll, this record has sold (and is currently selling) better than any installment by Genesis. The Town House studio recording sessions in London have obviously greatly inspired Collins who experiments with many studio techniques and leaves plenty of room for his own rhythm guitar, in spite of the fact that he is widely known and admired for his drumming skills. He also takes advantage of his own independence to do a tribute to black American music which is so dear to him, as he invite Phenix Horns, the prestigious brass section for Earth, Wind & Fire, to perform on the record. ©LG/Qobuz

With 1971's Killer, Alice Cooper released a classic album that encompassed psychedelia, horror movies, musicals, prog and biker rock and compressed it all into timeless nuggets of hard rock gold. It also propelled the band into the rarified upper reaches of the charts and into larger concert halls too. While the next step for most bands would be to stick the the formula and double down on the hooks in ever more commercial ways, on 1972's School's Out these weirdoes did nearly the opposite. Apart from the brilliantly, brutally dumb title track, which indeed does strip their sound down to the thrilling basics and unleashes a perfect marriage of naggingly sharp riffs, hilarious lyrics, and sneering vocals -- the album flies off weird tangents that are barely related to anything the band had done before -- and also the last thing one might expect from them. Case in point the late night jazz ballad "Blue Turk" which comes complete with a finger snapping bass line, multiple horn solos, and a lounge lizard vocal by Cooper. Granted the subject matter is the joys of necrophilia, but the music is a million miles away from what rock fans who were clamoring to hear more Killer-style rockers might expect. "Alma Mater" is another plot twist of a song; a gentle doo wop-inspired ballad that flips the sentiments of the title track on their head as Cooper nostalgically laments his impending matriculation in tones that almost come across as earnest. These pale in the weirdness stakes next to "Gutter Cat vs The Jets," a loping. light-hearted tale of cool cats that morphs into a high-kicking version of "Jet Song" from West Side Story. Alongside these oddball gems, the band sounds locked in on the rockers like the piano-led "My Stars" and the happily vicious "Public Enemy #9"as well as suitably theatrical on "Luny Tunes" a deceptively melodic and orchestrated song about being locked up in the psychiatric ward. All these songs, and the album itself, have a light and almost swinging underpinning, almost nothing rocks as hard as Killer, some of it isn't even rock at all. Half the joy to be derived from listening to School's Out is to marvel at how daringly the band took all the goodwill they had engendered to this point and blew up their just barely established template in fascinating, aolmost reckless ways. The end result is a bewildering, impressively contrary album that's a glorious kiss off to expectations while also showing the band's range and ambition in glorious technicolor.© Tim Sendra /TiVo