Marcus Garvey hit Jamaica like a force ten gale, its legacy so great that in later years many fans mistakenly came to believe it was Burning Spear's debut album (it wasn't, two earlier records were released by Studio One). It made an instant hero of Winston Rodney, and the album remains a cornerstone of the entire roots movement. Spear was accompanied by the Black Disciples, a baker's dozen of the island's best musicians, including bassists Robbie Shakespeare and Aston Barrett, guitarists Earl "Chinna" Smith and Tony Chin, and drummer Leroy Wallace. The Disciples helped the vocal trio bring their vast potential and musical vision to vinyl, one they'd threatened with previous releases, but never quite attained. Producer Jack Ruby's was equally important to the album's sound, gracing it with a deep roots mix that accentuated the haunting atmospheres of the music. Unfortunately, the listener experiences only wisps of that here. The Island subsidiary Mango believed the production too threatening, or at least too commercially inviable, for white audiences, and thus remixed it into what they considered a more palatable form. However, Marcus Garvey is so powerful a record that, even in this diluted state, it remains a masterpiece. If the music itself defined and glorified the roots sound, it was Winston Rodney which gave the movement's philosophy voice. Rodney's vocal talent is actually fairly minimal, his delivery more a chant than actual singing, but his intense passion overcame any deficiencies, with Rupert Willington and Delroy Hinds dulcet backing vocals counterpointing Rodney's rougher tones. A fervid rastafarian, Rodney used Marcus Garvey as a shining torch to light the way to political and religious consciousness. The album's twinned themes of cultural concerns and religious devotion combined to create a powerfully intertwined message of faith and political radicalism. "No-one remember old Marcus Garvey," Spear sing at the beginning of "Old Marcus Garvey"; by the time the song's over, it's unlikely anyone will forget again. These musical mnemonics of Jamaica's past heroes and history, which include the hit title track, of course, "Slavery Days," another Jamaican hit, and "The Invasion" are amongst the album's strongest tracks, with the three devotional numbers equally inspiring. Oppression may be the fate of many Jamaicans, both past and present, but by giving voice to those trampled by poverty, slavery, or politics, Spear's underlying message remains one of hope.© Jo-Ann Greene /TiVo

The primary feeling elicited from this live recording by Katie Melua is one of absolute sincerity, thanks to the autobiographical nature of the programme. Recorded in December 2018 at the Westminster Central Hall, the album opens with a traditional Georgian folk song (her country of origin), Tu Ase Turpa Ikavi, before following with Plane Song in which the singer describes her arrival in Northern Ireland (her adoptive country) in 1993. In the space of a few minutes, Katie Melua manages to take us through her journey charged with raw emotion. Accompanied by only a guitar, a piano and a discreet rhythm section, the singer has the power to showcase her velvety voice as well as the quality of her songwriting which blend pop and folk music. Of course, she performs hits like Nine Million Bicycles and The Closest Thing to Crazy, but there are a couple of surprises, like the cover of The Cure’s Just Like Heaven or What A Wonderful World. By slowing down the tempo of Louis Armstrong’s classic and joining forces with the Gori Women’s choir (who feature on several other songs from the album), Katie Melua imbues a relaxed ambience in the London concert hall. If we’re still talking about covers, we should mention the vibrant All-Night Vigil - Nunc Dimittis (a Russian religious song composed by Sergei Rachmaninoff in 1915) and Fields of Gold by Sting. It appears that Katie Melua enjoys plunging herself into as wide an array of genres as possible, but thanks to her melancholic voice and radiant sensitivity, she nevertheless manages to instil a sense of unity to this magical concert. © Nicolas Magenham/Qobuz

As part of his lifelong tour dusting off chunks of the past, Dan Auerbach of The Black Keys has made a second album with his excellent side band The Arcs—following up 2015's Yours, Dreamily with another "neo-psychedelic soul-rock odyssey." (Though it comes after the death of drummer Richard Swift from complications of chronic alcoholism in 2018, Electrophonic Chronic was primarily recorded beforehand so that Swift is, gloriously, all over the record.) The Arcs tend to get pigeonholed as "garage rock" (that catchall for much of Auerbach's personal work), but there is so, so much more to this. Call it heresy, but it must be said that the spaced-out soul of "Heaven Is a Place" is almost Prince-like, with red-hot guitar and Auerbach hitting some deliciously nasty "oohs." "Rollin' through the clouds/ Lean back in my dove white Cadillac/ Just cruisin' slow/ Heaven is a place I know where all the lovers go," he sings. He plays old-school crooner on "Eyez," with its slow-cruising rollercoaster of bass and synth. "River" is David Ruffin-esque and layers on shimmering, tentative Hammond B3—courtesy of Leon Michels—for a dose of drama; "A Man Will Do Wrong" is Miracles-smooth with its Motown romance and harmonies. Reeking of woozy B3 and a hit of flute, "Backstage Mess" evokes doo-wop's shuffle-and-shoop. Detroit is not the only reference, as you can hear plenty of Memphis Stax soul—that extra-heart wrenching, drunk on the blues style—on "Only One for Me." Punched up by spritely glockenspiel, it's a lonely-boy love song with a twist: "I got a feeling I'm the only one for me." After all, Auerbach sings, "No one's ever made me feel much better/ Stay with me through all the stormy weather." "Love Doesn't Live Here Anymore," meanwhile, loops in haunted mellotron for its pragmatic plea for peace in the wake of a break-up: "We should take care of one another/ Not destroy each other … What are we fighting for?/ Love doesn't live here anymore." Bright and '70s laid-back "Sunshine" lives up to its name thanks to a childish "sha la la" bridge and punch-drunk horns that will crack open your heart. Offering an intriguing left turn, "Behind the Eyes" mixes vintage soul and an almost The Band shamble, proving that soulfulness is all over the place. © Shelly Ridenour/Qobuz

Marcus Garvey hit Jamaica like a force ten gale, its legacy so great that in later years many fans mistakenly came to believe it was Burning Spear's debut album (it wasn't, two earlier records were released by Studio One). It made an instant hero of Winston Rodney, and the album remains a cornerstone of the entire roots movement. Spear was accompanied by the Black Disciples, a baker's dozen of the island's best musicians, including bassists Robbie Shakespeare and Aston Barrett, guitarists Earl "Chinna" Smith and Tony Chin, and drummer Leroy Wallace. The Disciples helped the vocal trio bring their vast potential and musical vision to vinyl, one they'd threatened with previous releases, but never quite attained. Producer Jack Ruby's was equally important to the album's sound, gracing it with a deep roots mix that accentuated the haunting atmospheres of the music. Unfortunately, the listener experiences only wisps of that here. The Island subsidiary Mango believed the production too threatening, or at least too commercially inviable, for white audiences, and thus remixed it into what they considered a more palatable form. However, Marcus Garvey is so powerful a record that, even in this diluted state, it remains a masterpiece. If the music itself defined and glorified the roots sound, it was Winston Rodney which gave the movement's philosophy voice. Rodney's vocal talent is actually fairly minimal, his delivery more a chant than actual singing, but his intense passion overcame any deficiencies, with Rupert Willington and Delroy Hinds dulcet backing vocals counterpointing Rodney's rougher tones. A fervid rastafarian, Rodney used Marcus Garvey as a shining torch to light the way to political and religious consciousness. The album's twinned themes of cultural concerns and religious devotion combined to create a powerfully intertwined message of faith and political radicalism. "No-one remember old Marcus Garvey," Spear sing at the beginning of "Old Marcus Garvey"; by the time the song's over, it's unlikely anyone will forget again. These musical mnemonics of Jamaica's past heroes and history, which include the hit title track, of course, "Slavery Days," another Jamaican hit, and "The Invasion" are amongst the album's strongest tracks, with the three devotional numbers equally inspiring. Oppression may be the fate of many Jamaicans, both past and present, but by giving voice to those trampled by poverty, slavery, or politics, Spear's underlying message remains one of hope.© Jo-Ann Greene /TiVo

Jonathan Demme's creative direction and this group's brilliance make for an unusual live performance event. Starting solo with David Byrne, each song brings another band member to the stage until the full band kicks in. With Bernie Worrell on keyboards and a strong hit-filled set from the Speaking in Tongues tour, this is definitely worth checking out.© Scott Bultman /TiVo

While there's no debating the importance of Jonathan Demme's classic film record of Talking Heads' 1983 tour, the soundtrack released in support of it is a thornier matter. Since its release, purists have found Stop Making Sense slickly mixed and, worse yet, incomprehensive. The nine tracks included jumble and truncate the natural progression of frontman David Byrne's meticulously arranged stage show. Cries for a double-album treatment -- à la 1982's live opus The Name of This Band Is Talking Heads -- were sounded almost immediately; more enterprising fans merely dubbed the VHS release of the film onto cassette tape. So, until a 1999 "special edition" cured the 1984 release's ills, fans had to make do with the Stop Making Sense they were given -- which is, by any account, an exemplary snapshot of a band at the height of its powers. Even with some of his more memorable tics edited out, Byrne is in fine voice here: Never before had he sounded warmer or more approachable, as evidenced by his soaring rendition of "Once in a Lifetime." Though almost half the album focuses on Speaking in Tongues material, the band makes room for one of Byrne's Catherine Wheel tunes (the hard-driving, elliptical "What a Day That Was") as well as up-tempo versions of "Pyscho Killer" and "Take Me to the River." If anything, Stop Making Sense's emphasis on keyboards and rhythm is its greatest asset as well as its biggest failing: Knob-tweakers Chris Frantz and Jerry Harrison play up their parts at the expense of the treblier aspects of the performance, and fans would have to wait almost 15 years for reparations. Still, for a generation that may have missed the band's seminal '70s work, Stop Making Sense proves to be an excellent primer.© Michael Hastings /TiVo

According to Pat Metheny, From This Place is not just another album to add to his already super-size discography. “I have been waiting my whole life to make this record,” the guitarist from Missouri says outright. “It’s a kind of musical culmination, reflecting a wide range of expressions that have interested me over the years, scaled across a large canvas, presented in a way that offers the kind of opportunities for communication that can only be earned with a group of musicians who have spent hundreds of nights together on the bandstand.” With his longtime collaborator, drummer Antonio Sanchez along with bassist Linda May Han Oh, pianist Gwilym Simcock and the Hollywood Studio Symphony conducted by Joel McNeely, Metheny begins his ambitious project with a composition of over thirteen minutes, America Undefined, centred around a beautiful arrangement by Gil Goldstein. The lyricism of the theme, the theatrical arches and the inspired but never over zealous interjections from the guitar come together to form this majestic landscape. Pat Metheny manages to avoid falling into the classic traps of symphonic jazz, instead proving to be quite the master of creating an amazing melodic line. This is not surprising, as already with the release of As Falls Wichita, So Falls Wichita Falls with ECM in 1981, an album he made with keyboard player Lyle Mays (who passed away 15 days before the release of From This Place), he excelled in perfectly calibrated lyrical narration. This level of craftsmanship returns on Same River, a prime example of the kind of composition that could easily fall into the banal or the tear-jerking but manages to remain purely beautiful. With Meshell Ndegeocello on vocals, Grégoire Maret on the harmonica and Luis Conte on percussion for certain tracks, the American guitarist has carefully chosen his guests, whose contributions only serve to confirm the precision of Metheny’s vision, a concept much more easily understood after listening to the album in full. © Max Dembo/Qobuz

Her debut album was not released until October 2021, but Chelsea Carmichael has been a fixture on the buzzing London jazz scene for some time. As a member of the SEED Ensemble or as a sidewoman for Theon Cross, Joe Armon-Jones, the Outlook Orchestra and the Neue Grafik Ensemble, the saxophonist, who was born in Warrington (between Liverpool and Manchester) and has been living in London since her studies at Trinity Conservatory, has already made her mighty breath felt. It's a warm rumble inspired somewhat by Shabaka Hutchings, which is understandable given that the older saxophonist, the godfather of this English scene is the producer on The River Doesn't Like Strangers and has released it on his own label, Native Rebel!Chelsea Carmichael belongs to this family of artists who connect their jazz to the music of the Caribbean diaspora, not hesitating to look towards the African continent. Together with guitarist David Okumu, bassist Tom Herbert and drummer Edward Wakili-Hick, she focuses on emphasising the contours of her compositions, which are always rooted in real melodies. This is one of the great strengths of the record: never letting the improvisations drown out the melodies, even when the piece has a trance-like feel (Myriad), when it goes in for repetitive meditation (Bone And Soil) or when it revolves around percussion (There Is You And You). In short, a real revelation. © Marc Zisman/Qobuz

Marc Copland joins forces with a trio of fellow seasoned veterans, including guitarist John Abercrombie, bassist Drew Gress, and drummer Billy Hart for this 2007 studio session. The chemistry between the four men is apparent from the very beginning. The pianist's introspective ballad "Like You" is a complex affair, frequently showing the influence of Bill Evans in his lyrical ideas, though Copland's dark interwoven lines take in him other directions as well. Another of his works, "Another Place," has an eerie air in a somewhat breezy setting. Abercrombie's "River Bend" opens with a slow but tense air, a feeling that never entirely dissipates even as the tempo picks up considerably. Gress' "Dark Horse" is an introspective miniature with a brief solo by its composer, though the focus is more on the ensemble. The sole standard is a soft but swinging take of Cole Porter's "Everything I Love." This delightful outing is one of Marc Copland's finest dates as a leader. © Ken Dryden /TiVo

Ben Watt and Tracey Thorn returned to the direct record-making style of their first two albums on Worldwide. Here, the music was carried largely by Watt's bank of keyboards. But the duo's lyrical concerns reflected their recent frenetic lifestyle. Sooner or later, every group that lasts makes a road album, and this was the one for Everything But the Girl, its songs nostalgically reminiscing about childhood back in England, along with reflections on the big-time touring life in America. Happily, there was still room for a few of Everything But the Girl's complicated adult love songs, notably Thorn's "Understanding," though even that one talked about how love "depends on geography." The breezy subject matter contrasted with the more contemplative music. © William Ruhlmann /TiVo

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On Forty Eight Hours, which came out on Pschent in 2012, produced by Arnaud Rebotini, Yan Wagner was not hiding his passion for the electro-pop and new wave sounds of the 1980s. This penchant of his was amplified by the presence on one track of one Etienne Daho. Between the solemnities of Depeche Mode (his voice recalls that of Dave Gahan) and the synth sounds of the New Order period (Ceremony), the Franco-American producer offers up an electro which perfectly balances light and shade, the somewhat cerebral and introspective, and the open dancefloor. This is a universe that we find again, five years later, in This Never Happened. The ghosts of Depeche Mode are certainly present on Blacker, and Bowie's shade also appears on SlamDunk Cha-Cha. Produced by Wagner himself, the sound is warmer this time, more sophisticated. With the voice of a modern crooner, somewhere between Lee Hazlewood and Frank Sinatra (whose It Was A Very Good Year he revisits), he works miracles and renders each song more human. The analogue synths and the drum machines are still in the mix, but Yan Wagner brings a more mature tone and masterful style to this second album. © MD/Qobuz