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I Do Not Want What I Haven't Got became Sinéad O'Connor's popular breakthrough on the strength of the stunning Prince cover "Nothing Compares 2 U," which topped the pop charts for a month. But even its remarkable intimacy wasn't adequate preparation for the harrowing confessionals that composed the majority of the album. Informed by her stormy relationship with drummer John Reynolds, who fathered O'Connor's first child before the couple broke up, I Do Not Want What I Haven't Got lays the singer's psyche startlingly and sometimes uncomfortably bare. The songs mostly address relationships with parents, children, and (especially) lovers, through which O'Connor weaves a stubborn refusal to be defined by anyone but herself. In fact, the album is almost too personal and cathartic to draw the listener in close, since O'Connor projects such turmoil and offers such specific detail. Her confrontational openness makes it easy to overlook O'Connor's musical versatility. Granted, not all of the music is as brilliantly audacious as "I Am Stretched on Your Grave," which marries a Frank O'Connor poem to eerie Celtic melodies and a James Brown "Funky Drummer" sample. But the album plays like a tour de force in its demonstration of everything O'Connor can do: dramatic orchestral ballads, intimate confessionals, catchy pop/rock, driving guitar rock, and protest folk, not to mention the nearly six-minute a cappella title track. What's consistent throughout is the frighteningly strong emotion O'Connor brings to bear on the material, while remaining sensitive to each piece's individual demands. Aside from being a brilliant album in its own right, I Do Not Want What I Haven't Got foreshadowed the rise of deeply introspective female singer/songwriters like Tori Amos and Sarah McLachlan, who were more traditionally feminine and connected with a wider audience. Which takes nothing away from anyone; if anything, it's evidence that, when on top of her game, O'Connor was a singular talent.© Steve Huey /TiVo

I Do Not Want What I Haven't Got became Sinéad O'Connor's popular breakthrough on the strength of the stunning Prince cover "Nothing Compares 2 U," which topped the pop charts for a month. But even its remarkable intimacy wasn't adequate preparation for the harrowing confessionals that composed the majority of the album. Informed by her stormy relationship with drummer John Reynolds, who fathered O'Connor's first child before the couple broke up, I Do Not Want What I Haven't Got lays the singer's psyche startlingly and sometimes uncomfortably bare. The songs mostly address relationships with parents, children, and (especially) lovers, through which O'Connor weaves a stubborn refusal to be defined by anyone but herself. In fact, the album is almost too personal and cathartic to draw the listener in close, since O'Connor projects such turmoil and offers such specific detail. Her confrontational openness makes it easy to overlook O'Connor's musical versatility. Granted, not all of the music is as brilliantly audacious as "I Am Stretched on Your Grave," which marries a Frank O'Connor poem to eerie Celtic melodies and a James Brown "Funky Drummer" sample. But the album plays like a tour de force in its demonstration of everything O'Connor can do: dramatic orchestral ballads, intimate confessionals, catchy pop/rock, driving guitar rock, and protest folk, not to mention the nearly six-minute a cappella title track. What's consistent throughout is the frighteningly strong emotion O'Connor brings to bear on the material, while remaining sensitive to each piece's individual demands. Aside from being a brilliant album in its own right, I Do Not Want What I Haven't Got foreshadowed the rise of deeply introspective female singer/songwriters like Tori Amos and Sarah McLachlan, who were more traditionally feminine and connected with a wider audience. Which takes nothing away from anyone; if anything, it's evidence that, when on top of her game, O'Connor was a singular talent.© Steve Huey /TiVo

Uh-Huh found John Mellencamp coming into his own, but he perfected his heartland rock with Scarecrow. A loose concept album about lost innocence and the crumbling of small-town America, Scarecrow says as much with its tough rock and gentle folk-rock as it does with its lyrics, which remain a weak point for Mellencamp. Nevertheless, his writing has never been more powerful: "Rain on the Scarecrow" and "Small Town" capture the hopes and fears of Middle America, while "Lonely Ol' Night" and "Rumbleseat" effortlessly convey the desperate loneliness of being stuck in a dead-end life. Those four songs form the core of the album, and while the rest of the album isn't quite as strong, that's only a relative term, since it's filled with lean hooks and powerful, economical playing that make Scarecrow one of the definitive blue-collar rock albums of the mid-'80s.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

It may have taken the Notorious B.I.G. a few years to follow up his milestone debut, Ready to Die (1994), with another album, but when he did return with Life After Death in 1997, he did so in a huge way. The ambitious album, intended as somewhat of a sequel to Ready to Die, picking up where its predecessor left off, sprawled across the span of two discs, each filled with music, 24 songs in all. You'd expect any album this sprawling to include some lackluster filler. That's not really the case with Life After Death, however. Like 2Pac's All Eyez on Me from a year before, an obvious influence, Biggie's album made extensive use of various producers -- DJ Premier, Easy Mo Bee, Clark Kent, RZA, and more of New York's finest -- resulting in a diverse, eclectic array of songs. Plus, Biggie similarly brought in various guest rappers -- Jay-Z, Lil' Kim, Bone Thugs, Too $hort, L.O.X., Mase -- a few vocalists -- R. Kelly, Angela Winbush, 112 -- and, of course, Puff Daddy, who is much more omnipresent here than on Ready to Die, where he mostly remained on the sidelines. It's perhaps Puffy himself to thank for this album's biggest hits: "Mo Money Mo Problems," "Hypnotize," "Sky's the Limit," three songs that definitely owe much to his pop touch. There's still plenty of the gangsta tales on Life After Death that won Biggie so much admiration on the streets, but it's the pop-laced songs that stand out as highlights. In hindsight, Biggie couldn't have ended his career with a more fitting album than Life After Death. Over the course of only two albums, he achieved every success imaginable, perhaps none greater than this unabashedly over-reaching success. Ready to Die is a milestone album, for sure, but it's nowhere near as extravagant or epic as Life After Death.© Jason Birchmeier /TiVo

Maybe it was his time in prison, or maybe it was simply his signing with Suge Knight's Death Row label. Whatever the case, 2Pac re-emerged hardened and hungry with All Eyez on Me, the first double-disc album of original material in hip-hop history. With all the controversy surrounding him, 2Pac seemingly wanted to throw down a monumental epic whose sheer scope would make it an achievement of itself. But more than that, it's also an unabashed embrace of the gangsta lifestyle, backing off the sober self-recognition of Me Against the World. Sure, there are a few reflective numbers and dead-homiez tributes, but they're much more romanticized this time around. All Eyez on Me is 2Pac the thug icon in all his brazen excess, throwing off all self-control and letting it all hang out -- even if some of it would have been better kept to himself. In that sense, it's an accurate depiction of what made him such a volatile and compelling personality, despite some undeniable filler. On the plus side, this is easily the best production he's ever had on record, handled mostly by Johnny J (notably on the smash "How Do U Want It") and Dat Nigga Daz; Dr. Dre also contributes another surefire single in "California Love" (which, unfortunately, is present only as a remix, not the original hit version). Both hits are on the front-loaded first disc, which would be a gangsta classic in itself; other highlights include the anthemic Snoop Dogg duet "2 of Amerikaz Most Wanted," "All About U" (with the required Nate Dogg-sung hook), and "I Ain't Mad at Cha," a tribute to old friends who've gotten off the streets. Despite some good moments, the second disc is slowed by filler and countless guest appearances, plus a few too many thug-lovin' divas crooning their loyalty. Erratic though it may be, All Eyez on Me is nonetheless carried off with the assurance of a legend in his own time, and it stands as 2Pac's magnum opus.© Steve Huey /TiVo

Since Alicia Keys' 2001 debut album, Songs in A Minor, was ever so slightly overpraised, expectations for her second album, 2003's The Diary of Alicia Keys, were ever so slightly too high. Songs in A Minor not only kicked off a wave of ambitious new neo-soul songsters, it fit neatly into the movement of ambitious yet classicist new female singer/songwriters that ranged from the worldbeat-inflected pop of Nelly Furtado to the jazzy Norah Jones, whose success may not have been possible if Keys hadn't laid the groundwork with such soulful work as her hit "Fallin'." Such success at such a young age, even if deserved, can be too much too soon, since young songwriters showered with praise and riches may find it hard to see the world outside of their own cocoon. The very title of The Diary of Alicia Keys -- at once disarmingly simple and self-important -- suggests that Keys, like Furtado, took her stardom a little too seriously and felt compelled to present her worldview unfiltered, dispensing with artistic ambiguities and leaving each song as a portrait of Alicia Keys, the woman as a young artist. As she somewhat bafflingly says in her liner notes, "these songs are like my daily entrees," which likely means that these were indeed intended to play like unedited entries in a journal, a goal that she's fulfilled quite successfully, even if it does mean that the album often plays as a diary, leaving listeners in the role of observers instead of seeing themselves in the songs. This was a problem on Furtado's nearly simultaneously released Folklore, but Keys trumps her peer in one key way -- musically, this is a seamless piece of work, a sultry slow groove that emphasizes her breathy, seductive voice and lush soulfulness. Tonally, this is ideal late-night romantic music, even when the tempos are kicked up a notch as on the blaxploitation-fueled "Heartburn," yet beneath that sensuous surface there is some crafty, complex musicality, particularly in how Keys blurs lines between classic soul, modern rhythms, jazz, pop melodies, and singer/songwriter sensibility. It's an exceptionally well-constructed production, and as a sustained piece of sonic craft, it's not just seductive, it's a good testament to Keys' musical strengths (which can even withstand Andre Harris and Vidal Davis' irritating squeaky voice production signature on "So Simple"). What the album lacks are songs as immediate as "Fallin'" or as compelling as "A Woman's Worth," and that, combined with her insular outlook, is where Diary comes up short and reveals that it is indeed merely a second album. Such is the problem of arriving with a debut as fully formed as Songs in A Minor at such a young age -- listeners tend to expect more from the sequel, forgetting that this an artist still in her formative stages. So, those expecting another album where Keys sounds wise beyond her years will bound to be disappointed by The Diary of Alicia Keys, since her writing reveals her age in a way it never did on the debut. Yet that is a typical problem with sophomore efforts, and while this is a problem, it's one that is outweighed by her continually impressive musical achievements; they're enough to make The Diary worth repeated listens, and they're enough to suggest that Keys will continue to grow on her third album.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

Since Alicia Keys' 2001 debut album, Songs in A Minor, was ever so slightly overpraised, expectations for her second album, 2003's The Diary of Alicia Keys, were ever so slightly too high. Songs in A Minor not only kicked off a wave of ambitious new neo-soul songsters, it fit neatly into the movement of ambitious yet classicist new female singer/songwriters that ranged from the worldbeat-inflected pop of Nelly Furtado to the jazzy Norah Jones, whose success may not have been possible if Keys hadn't laid the groundwork with such soulful work as her hit "Fallin'." Such success at such a young age, even if deserved, can be too much too soon, since young songwriters showered with praise and riches may find it hard to see the world outside of their own cocoon. The very title of The Diary of Alicia Keys -- at once disarmingly simple and self-important -- suggests that Keys, like Furtado, took her stardom a little too seriously and felt compelled to present her worldview unfiltered, dispensing with artistic ambiguities and leaving each song as a portrait of Alicia Keys, the woman as a young artist. As she somewhat bafflingly says in her liner notes, "these songs are like my daily entrees," which likely means that these were indeed intended to play like unedited entries in a journal, a goal that she's fulfilled quite successfully, even if it does mean that the album often plays as a diary, leaving listeners in the role of observers instead of seeing themselves in the songs. This was a problem on Furtado's nearly simultaneously released Folklore, but Keys trumps her peer in one key way -- musically, this is a seamless piece of work, a sultry slow groove that emphasizes her breathy, seductive voice and lush soulfulness. Tonally, this is ideal late-night romantic music, even when the tempos are kicked up a notch as on the blaxploitation-fueled "Heartburn," yet beneath that sensuous surface there is some crafty, complex musicality, particularly in how Keys blurs lines between classic soul, modern rhythms, jazz, pop melodies, and singer/songwriter sensibility. It's an exceptionally well-constructed production, and as a sustained piece of sonic craft, it's not just seductive, it's a good testament to Keys' musical strengths (which can even withstand Andre Harris and Vidal Davis' irritating squeaky voice production signature on "So Simple"). What the album lacks are songs as immediate as "Fallin'" or as compelling as "A Woman's Worth," and that, combined with her insular outlook, is where Diary comes up short and reveals that it is indeed merely a second album. Such is the problem of arriving with a debut as fully formed as Songs in A Minor at such a young age -- listeners tend to expect more from the sequel, forgetting that this an artist still in her formative stages. So, those expecting another album where Keys sounds wise beyond her years will bound to be disappointed by The Diary of Alicia Keys, since her writing reveals her age in a way it never did on the debut. Yet that is a typical problem with sophomore efforts, and while this is a problem, it's one that is outweighed by her continually impressive musical achievements; they're enough to make The Diary worth repeated listens, and they're enough to suggest that Keys will continue to grow on her third album.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

Although it hardly deserved it, Try This -- P!nk's 2003 sequel to her 2001 artistic and commercial breakthrough, M!ssundaztood -- turned out to be something of a flop, selling considerably less than its predecessor and generating no true hit singles. Perhaps this downturn in sales was due to the harder rock direction she pursued on Try This, perhaps the songs she co-wrote with Rancid's Tim Armstrong weren't quite pop even if they were poppy, perhaps it was just a matter of timing, but the album just didn't click with a larger audience, through no fault of the music, which was the equal to that on M!ssundaztood. When faced with such a commercial disappointment, some artists would crawl back to what made them a star, but not P!nk. Although she does pump up the dance on 2006's I'm Not Dead, it's way too simple to call the album a return to "Get the Party Started" -- P!nk is far too complex to do something so straightforward. No, P!nk is complicated, often seemingly contradictory: she tears down "porno paparazzi girls" like Paris Hilton just as easily as she flaunts her bling on "'Cuz I Can"; she celebrates that "I Got Money Now"; she'll swagger and snarl and swear like a sailor, then turn around and write sweet songs of support to a teenager, or a knowingly melancholy reflection like "I Got Money Now"; she'll collaborate with Britney Spears hitmaker Max Martin on one track, then turn around and bring in the Indigo Girls for support on a stripped-down protest song. She'll try anything, and she does on I'm Not Dead. It Ping-Pongs between dense dancefloor anthems and fuzzy power pop, acoustic folk-rock and anthemic power ballads, hard rock tunes powered by electronic beats and dance tunes sung with the zeal of a rocker. It's not just that P!nk tries a lot of different sounds, it's that she seizes the freedom to hurl insults at both George W. Bush and a sleazoid who tried to pick her up at a bar, or to end a chorus with a chant of "Ice cream, ice cream/We all want ice cream." Far from sounding cow-towed by the reaction to Try This, P!nk sounds liberated, making music that's far riskier and stranger than anything else in mainstream pop in 2006. And it's a testament to her power as both a musician and a persona that for this record, even though she's working with singer/songwriter Butch Walker, Max Martin, and Teddy Geiger's cohort, Billy Mann -- her most mainstream collaborators since LA Reid and Babyface helmed her 2000 debut, Can't Take Me Home -- she sounds the strangest she ever has, and that's a positively thrilling thing to hear. That's because she not only sounds strange, she sounds stronger as a writer and singer, as convincing when she's singing the bluesy, acoustic "The One That Got Away" as when she's taunting and teasing on "Stupid Girls" or "U + Ur Hand" or when she's singing a propulsive piece of pure pop like "Leave Me Alone (I'm Lonely)." In other words, she sounds complex: smart, funny, sexy, catchy, and best of all, surprising and unpredictable. This is the third album in a row where she's thrown a curve ball, confounding expectations by delivering a record that's wilder, stronger, and better than the last. And while that's no guarantee that I'm Not Dead will be a bigger hit than Try This, at least it's proof positive that there are few pop musicians more exciting in the 2000s than P!nk.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

Perhaps no other album of the '90s musically exhibits the shift in the hip-hop ethos that occurred in 1993 better than Black Moon's classic gemstone Enta da Stage. Listen to this album and you can hear hip-hop change. Prior to this, many of hip-hop's most confrontational vibes were presented as gifts from bellicose outfits like Public Enemy, Ice Cube, and other acts whose music raged. Enta da Stage features enough of that, but it also offered, perhaps even introduced, a brooding vibe. It was a pioneer sound. The group released "Who Got the Props" in the winter of 1992, about a year before the album dropped in November of 1993. It was a song in the same vein of Onyx's "Throw Ya Gunz," a hard track, with rough rhymes and a staple N.Y.C. hook with a chorus of rowdy b-boys shouting in unison. The album featured similar tracks, from "Make Munne" to "Son Get Wrec" to "Buck Em Down" to the opener, "Powaful Impak!" -- all time-capsule tunes that embody early-'90s N.Y.C. hip-hop. The album begins like it was meant to be a Brooklyn version of Bacdafucup. But months prior to the album's release, Black Moon's second single, "How Many MC's...," hit the streets. It was a total departure from the vibe present on "Who Got da Props." DJ Evil Dee and da Beatminerz supplied a subtly horrific track over which Buckshot premiered a more deliberate flow that bespoke controlled menace. There is a story behind this transformation. Buckshot said he, Evil Dee, and the 5Ft Accelerator recorded half of the album -- the "Who Got da Props" half -- in 1992 before he went on tour with Kool G Rap and a young Nasty Nas. During a freestyle cipher, listening to Nas and Kool G Rap led Buckshot to an epiphany that motivated him to switch up his rhyme-style, and da Beatminerz tweaked their production to complement. The "How Many MC's..." half of the album -- songs like "I Gotcha Opin," "Slave," "Shit Iz Real" -- displayed Buckshot's new motif: a raspier tone, a more intricate flow and cadence, and a serious presence that was just as threatening as the temperamental MC on the earlier songs. The rowdy crew hooks gave way to what were more like stripped down musical breaks that often featured a jazz horn sample and nothing else. The production -- which should enter into any discussion of the greatest hip-hop production efforts of all time -- was every bit as radical as what the RZA introduced this same year or the Bomb Squad cooked up in the late '80s. The elements existed before, but never had they been synthesized into a hardcore East Coast outfit with the skill and artistry of Black Moon's Enta da Stage. The release of this album was overshadowed by the landmark Wu-Tang Clan debut and the popular success of Midnight Marauders and Doggystyle. But make no mistake, this is one of the '90s most important hip-hop classics, an album that deserves its own node on the hip-hop timeline.© Vincent Thomas /TiVo

Usher has the reputation as a loverman, largely because he fits the bill so well. He looks good, his material is smooth and seductive, and he has a nice voice, even if he tends to favor melisma. This has been true throughout his career, and remains true on his third album, 8701, a classy, seductive affair masterminded by Usher, Jermaine Dupri, and Antonio "L.A." Reid. There's not much new here, but Usher does move further in both directions -- the ballads are lusher, the dance numbers hit a bit harder -- but not so much so that it's really noticeable. Overall, the record is probably his strongest yet, but he still suffers from a lack of really memorable material (the singles usually are pretty good, but the album tracks are filler) and a tendency to oversing. Because of these two things, 8701 is more mood music than anything else, and while it does work fairly well on that level, it's not memorable outside of that mood.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

It may have taken the Notorious B.I.G. a few years to follow up his milestone debut, Ready to Die (1994), with another album, but when he did return with Life After Death in 1997, he did so in a huge way. The ambitious album, intended as somewhat of a sequel to Ready to Die, picking up where its predecessor left off, sprawled across the span of two discs, each filled with music, 24 songs in all. You'd expect any album this sprawling to include some lackluster filler. That's not really the case with Life After Death, however. Like 2Pac's All Eyez on Me from a year before, an obvious influence, Biggie's album made extensive use of various producers -- DJ Premier, Easy Mo Bee, Clark Kent, RZA, and more of New York's finest -- resulting in a diverse, eclectic array of songs. Plus, Biggie similarly brought in various guest rappers -- Jay-Z, Lil' Kim, Bone Thugs, Too $hort, L.O.X., Mase -- a few vocalists -- R. Kelly, Angela Winbush, 112 -- and, of course, Puff Daddy, who is much more omnipresent here than on Ready to Die, where he mostly remained on the sidelines. It's perhaps Puffy himself to thank for this album's biggest hits: "Mo Money Mo Problems," "Hypnotize," "Sky's the Limit," three songs that definitely owe much to his pop touch. There's still plenty of the gangsta tales on Life After Death that won Biggie so much admiration on the streets, but it's the pop-laced songs that stand out as highlights. In hindsight, Biggie couldn't have ended his career with a more fitting album than Life After Death. Over the course of only two albums, he achieved every success imaginable, perhaps none greater than this unabashedly over-reaching success. Ready to Die is a milestone album, for sure, but it's nowhere near as extravagant or epic as Life After Death.© Jason Birchmeier /TiVo

Few people, even among Nicolas Jaar’s fans, know that it’s actually the American-Chilean who is behind the alias A.A.L. (Against All Logic). This project, the “club” alter ego of one of the most acclaimed electronic artists of the last few years, is reminiscent of the deep house and four-on-the-floor style of his beginnings on the label Wolf + Lamb – before his experimental faze –, in which he released in 2010 one of his classics, the hit Time for Us / Mi Mujer. Good news for his nostalgic fans! 2012 - 2017 is a compilation of previously unreleased titles and is to this day the largest track collection released by Nicolas Jaar under this A.A.L. alias. And as it is often the case with the fiercely independent artist, the result is both a total surprise and a great success. Between two genuflections, kicks, synthesiser filters and old gospel samples, it will undoubtedly remind connoisseurs of the mysterious tracks Jaar has been performing in his live shows for years that have become an unavoidable topic of discussion, with the remaining question: how can we get them? © Sylvain Di Cristo / Qobuz

Just over a month after the release of her third self-titled album, Aaliyah died at the age of 22 in a plane crash along with nine other people. The shockwaves of sadness only heightened the impact of this record, released on 17 July 2001, which was also graced by the deft and grandiloquent electronic stylings of her producer-mentor Timbaland. From this collaboration were born the timeless singles More Than A Woman, We Need A Resolution and Try Again. But it would be unfair to this record to reduce it to those few strokes of genius, however superb they may be. Other producers like Key Beats, Bud'da, Eric Seats and J-Dub were also architects of this RnB classic. In fact, it was the latter who provided the instrumentation for the track I Refuse, a single that was somewhat forgotten over the years and which stands out for its gravity and tension. Aaliyah's voice is sublime on Rock The Boat, with complex and beautifully mixed harmonies in the tradition of Mariah Carey or Brandy. The singer was killed on her way to the video shoot for the song on 25 August 2001 in Marsh Harbour, in the Bahamas. But the song is full of optimism, sensuality, excellent synthetic arrangements, and it symbolises the artist's thirst for musical discovery. © Brice Miclet/Qobuz

This CD features a logical combination of two talented Frenchmen, violinist Stéphane Grappelli and pianist Michel Petrucciani, who had never recorded together before. With the assistance of bassist George Mraz and drummer Roy Haynes, the co-leaders romp on a variety of standards. Petrucciani was 32 at the time of this June 1995 set, a mere child compared to the 87-year-old Grappelli. Despite his age, Grappelli's violin playing sounds as youthful and enthusiastic as it had been in the 1930s; the 60 years of practice had not hurt. While Petrucciani's music is usually in the Bill Evans post-bop vein, he was happy to visit Grappelli's turf on this occasion, mostly playing veteran standards. On such songs as "Sweet Georgia Brown," "How About You" (here mistitled "I Love New York in June"), "I Remember April," and "There Will Never Be Another You," Stephane Grappelli is both joyful and masterful. Highly recommended.© Scott Yanow /TiVo

A scorching album of funky grooves from Maceo Parker, assisted by the rest of the JB's on backing horns. The album was recorded in concert at a club called Stadtgarten in Cologne, Germany, and the crowd seems just as responsive in most ways as any Atlanta mob. Along with the JB horns, Vincent Henry accompanies on bass throughout the album/concert. The album starts out with an original Maceo composition, then moves into a pair from his old boss James Brown. After that, there's another Maceo number, a cover of "Addictive Love," a rendition of "Georgia on My Mind," and a composition undertaken by a veritable army of funk veterans. This is probably just about the best solo Maceo Parker album there is, at least until the release of Funkoverload. If you're a funk fan, or a soul-jazz fan, this album might just provide what you need. Maceo on his own always provides a nice collection of soul and funk, and this one is no exception.© Adam Greenberg /TiVo

Shortly after 2Pac died, there were rumors that hundreds of unreleased songs remained in the vaults; a mere two months after his death, the first posthumous record, The Don Killuminati: The 7 Day Theory, appeared. Death Row released the record, and shortly afterward, 2Pac's mother, Afeni Shakur, gained the rights to all of his unreleased recordings from both the Interscope and Death Row labels. She founded the Amaru label and released the double-disc R U Still Down? (Remember Me) in late 1997. Culled from 2Pac's unreleased Interscope recordings between 1992 and 1994, including several tracks that have had backing musical tracks "reconstructed," R U Still Down? doesn't have the aura of exploitation that haunts the Makaveli album. For the most part, Shakur sounds good, spinning out rhymes that are alternately clever or startling, although he eventually begins repeating himself. As for the music itself, it's pretty much standard-issue gangsta rap that never deviates from the course. There are enough hidden gems to make R U Still Down? worthwhile for hardcore 2Pac fans.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

Debby Friday's first two EPs were fierce, commanding bursts of energy that amalgamated synth punk, electro, noise, and industrial hip-hop. The Nigeria-born, Canada-based artist has since collaborated with clipping. and premiered a trilogy of rave-inspired dystopian sci-fi works, the first of which (Link Sick) was an audio play created as her Master of Fine Arts graduate thesis project. Good Luck is her Sub Pop-issued full-length debut, and it's a refinement of her style that reveals a wider array of emotions than her previous work. She has an intensely swaggering persona, often sounding sweet, seductive, and shocking all at once. "Good Luck" opens the album with slithering bass and monstrous dubstep beats, while Friday's lyrics are both assuring and inciting. "So Hard to Tell" is a surprising (and glorious) leap into pop, with Friday's sugary lead vocals and cascading harmonies expressing tenderness as well as excitement. The thumping industrial techno of "I Got It" (featuring a bewildering guest verse by Chris Vargas of Pelada and Uñas) and the shrieking club terror of "Hot Love" are closer to the sound of Friday's EPs. "What a Man" and "Let U Down" both contain post-punk bass guitar and slow, booming drums, as well as lyrics that reveal Friday's vulnerable side. "Safe" starts out patiently, with pitched-down lyrics expressing concern for one's safety, then concludes with a burning, sexually charged rap verse. "Pluto Baby" similarly seems minimal and calmly paced, but it becomes tense with the addition of Friday's vicious, poetic lyrics and erratic, paranoid synth beams. While the energy level feels drastically different between the album's clubbier first half and its slower second, Friday's music is always dramatic, honest, and futuristic.© Paul Simpson /TiVo

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Though backing posses had become de rigueur for commercially successful rappers by the early 2000s, 50 Cent's posse, G-Unit, is somewhat exceptional, as showcased on its album debut, Beg for Mercy. Following 50's unsuccessful stint with Columbia Records during the late '90s, he returned to the streets and willfully assembled a backing posse, with himself as the superstar and his cohorts as his street-level representatives, thereby ensuring himself future street credibility and enough firepower for entire mixtapes. The plan paid off in spades as G-Unit worked the mixtape circuit, releasing one after another, while 50 in turn blew up in 2003 with his solo debut, Get Rich or Die Tryin', yet maintained his street cred with his well-bred posse, touring extensively and releasing still more mixtapes. All of this made the eventual release of Beg for Mercy a real event -- and all the more so because Murder Inc had announced that they would simultaneously release a new Ja Rule album and go head to head, sales-wise (though they wisely reconsidered), and because Interscope bumped up the release date of Beg for Mercy to November 14 (citing bootlegging concerns) so that G-Unit could contentiously go head to head with Jay-Z and his much-anticipated Black Album. It's thus difficult to distance yourself from the aura of hype surrounding Beg for Mercy and evaluate it as music rather than as an event. Of course, when you deflate the album of its hype, it's not quite as exciting as it probably sounded fresh out of the cellophane first thing in the morning on November 14, but it's still a considerably exciting listen nonetheless. For one, 50 and his cohorts (Lloyd Banks, Young Buck, and on two long-ago-recorded songs, an incarcerated Tony Yayo -- with no guests whatsoever) are sky-high on confidence here -- brash as hell, taunting the world and absolutely reveling in their newfound celebrity. For two, G-Unit get a wide array of fresh beats from a legion of up-and-comers, along with a few former collaborators: Dr. Dre, Red Spyda, No I.D., Megahertz, and Midi Mafia. For three, 50 takes charge like a leader should, lacing pretty much every track with his trademark singsong hooks and prominently appearing on every one of the 18 tracks. And lastly, G-Unit stick to the script -- guns, women, haters, drugs, wealth, and more guns -- and deliver exactly the album their fans wanted. As for highlights, there are a few: the Dre/Scott Storch album opener ("Poppin' Them Thangs"), the flashy lead single ("Stunt 101"), a laid-back Marvin Gaye-sampling pimp anthem ("Wanna Get to Know You"), Lloyd Banks' crossover bid ("Smile"), and a Yayo mixtape favorite ("I Smell Pussy"). For the most part, however, Beg for Mercy is surprisingly solid, sounding very much like a whole rather than the usual hodgepodge of singles and filler. Granted, 50 sometimes sounds like he's unenthusiastically coasting, but Banks and Buck bring the heat consistently, proving their respective worth quite well. Even so, Beg for Mercy doesn't measure up to Get Rich or Die Tryin', but then, how many rap albums do? Surely not many, and when you measure Beg for Mercy against any standard rap album circa 2003, it's very satisfying, especially if you're hungry for some more 50 after having played out Get Rich months earlier.© Jason Birchmeier /TiVo

Sleazy South African troublemakers Die Antwoord bring their circus of bad taste and big beats back on fourth outing Mount Ninji and Da Nice Time Kid. As ever, the alley-trash duo of Ninja and Yo-Landi Vi$$er keep it crass while rapping and angel-cooing over hip-hop beats and drug-fueled rave loops. A few contemporary updates mark an evolution (however small) this time around, including some dabbling with trap music on the charming "Fat Faded Fuck Face" and the Gucci Mane-sampling "Stoopid Rich." Production is the most polished it's ever been, thanks to the talents of G.O.D. (formerly known as DJ Hi-Tek, the oft-unseen third member of the group) and the Black Goat. Mount Ninji is front-loaded with some of Die Antwoord's best songs to date. The catchiest include the erotic "Gucci Coochie," a deeply seductive throbber that features Dita Von Teese; "We Have Candy," a deranged fever dream that includes a choir, a chest-punching beat, and a dizzying interchange between Yo-Landi and Ninja; "Daddy," which showcases Yo-Landi's full range and sounds a lot like fellow genre-blurrer Grimes, and "Banana Brain," a classic Die Antwoord raver that rides the sampled wave of Dark Oscillators' frantic "Stereophobia." Guest appearances add some distraction from the Ninja/Yo-Landi show, some hitting the mark better than others. Cypress Hill's Sen Dog brings the heat on "Shit Just Got Real," which samples Panom Promma's '70s Thai throwback "Mainaa Tam Pom Loey." Elsewhere, Jack Black dons his Tenacious D hat for "Rats Rule," a kooky carnival tune that sounds like an early Eminem song put through a meat grinder with some psychedelics, a sub-woofer, and one of Rob Zombie's dreadlocks. Young rapper Lil' Tommy Terror has the honor of showcasing his developing rap skills on a pair of lunatic tracks that will make or break the flow of the album, depending on the listener. Take the titles -- "Wings on My Penis" and "U Like Boobies?" -- and be the judge. The latter includes some problematic usage of the n-word by a team of white musicians, which, whether tongue-in-cheek or not, is still in poor taste. Another sophomoric interlude, "Jonah Hill," may be the first and only time the actor is compared to Ninja's testicles. Despite the distraction of these throwaway "skits" in the midsection, the album ends strong, with some of Die Antwoord's only (seemingly) genuine and vulnerable moments. Yo-Landi opens up on "Alien" and "Darkling," while Ninja reveals a surprisingly pretty singing voice on "Street Light." If one can make it through the slog in the middle, the ending is rewarding for those looking for a little more from the bratty pair after sticking with them for four albums of pretty much the same schtick. On the album cover, the dystopian crust-punks -- Yo-Landi looking like Harley Quinn as a neon babydoll and Ninja as a vampire rocking appropriated ethnic garb -- are standing in a garbage dump. It's appropriate imagery: Mount Ninji is a hedonistic party in a trash heap. © Neil Z. Yeung /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