Picking up on the ‘60s soul undercurrent of Brothers, the Black Keys smartly capitalize on their 2010 breakthrough by plunging headfirst into retro-soul on El Camino. Savvy operators that they are, the Black Keys don’t opt for authenticity à la Sharon Jones or Eli “Paperboy” Reed: they bring Danger Mouse back into the fold, the producer adding texture and glitter to the duo’s clean, lean songwriting. Apart from “Little Black Submarines,” an acoustic number that crashes into Zeppelin heaviosity as it reaches its coda, every one of the 11 songs here clocks in under four minutes, adding up to a lean 38-minute rock & roll rush, an album that’s the polar opposite of the Black Keys’ previous collaboration with Danger Mouse, the hazy 2008 platter Attack & Release. That purposely drifted into detours, whereas El Camino never takes its eye off the main road: it barrels down the highway, a modern motor in its vintage body. Danger Mouse adds glam flair that doesn’t distract from the songs, all so sturdily built they easily accommodate the shellacked layers of cheap organs, fuzz guitars, talk boxes, backing girls, tambourines, foot stomps, and handclaps. Each element harks back to something from the past -- there are Motown beats and glam rock guitars -- but everything is fractured through a modern prism: the rhythms have swing, but they’re tight enough to illustrate the duo’s allegiance to hip-hop; the gleaming surfaces are postmodern collages, hinting at collective aural memories. All this blurring of eras is in the service of having a hell of a good time. More than any other Black Keys album, El Camino is an outright party, playing like a collection of 11 lost 45 singles, each one having a bigger beat or dirtier hook than the previous side. What’s being said doesn’t matter as much as how it’s said: El Camino is all trash and flash and it’s highly addictive.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

The Black Keys—childhood friends Dan Auerbach on vocals, guitar, bass and keyboards, and Patrick Carney on drums—found success after forming in Akron, Ohio, and moved to Nashville a decade ago. But geography seemingly has never had much bearing on this duo, who started out playing Mississippi hill country blues and who, now, 10 albums in, have recorded a collection of covers by legends including Junior Kimbrough, John Lee Hooker and R.L. Burnside. Delta Kream was recorded over just two days with the duo joined by Mississippi hill country guitar specialists Eric Deaton, who backed up Kimbrough until his 1998 death, and Kenny Brown, who Burnside considered his "adopted white son." (The album's name comes from the cover photo, a classic shot by photographer William Eggleston of a car parked in front of a run-down drive-in, the Delta Kream.) It's easy to revert to cynicism when listening to a new Black Keys record: Here's the beer commercial song, the truck commercial song, the sports league song. This time, the game is: Who did this one inspire? You can detect the low-key Hendrix vibe in Kimbrough's "Stay All Night," with its slow-psych guitar and Carney's hard-working but never showy fills, riffs and tambourine punches. Big Joe Williams' "Mellow Peaches"—woozy organ, loose-limbed rhythm, and a slow build into a (mellow) frenzy—has clear through-lines to the Allman Brothers. The sweltering stomp and serpentine guitar of Kimbrough's "Walk With Me" surely had an effect on ZZ Top. And, of course, there are plenty of "sounds like Creem" moments: Kimbrough's "Come On and Go with Me" and a terrific, slinky take on Kimbrough's cover of John Lee Hooker's "Crawling Kingsnake," complete with what Auerbach calls "almost a disco riff." But, more than anything, you hear exactly where the Black Keys' own style has its roots. Burnside's country blues "Poor Boy a Long Way From Home" exemplifies it with wild, possessed moments when the guitars completely erase the need for vocals. A cover of Rainie Burnette's "Coal Black Mattie" chugs and nods and struts like a rooster, the guitars sliding all over the place, and would've been right at home on the Keys' great El Camino. (Same goes for Burnside's "Going Down South," gussied up with Auerbach's falsetto.) And in fact, Kimbrough's "Do the Romp" showed up on their 2008 debut The Big Come Up as the delightfully nasty "Do the Rump"; this time around, it gets a spit-shine makeover that sounds like sexy confidence. © Shelly Ridenour/Qobuz

At some point every band makes a move towards commercial success. Accolades for purity of motivation and peerless references are great, but selling a few albums carries its own kind of rush. Oh sure, by 2011, The Black Keys had already hit paydirt licensing music for Victoria's Secret ads, among other brands, but the duo wanted their music rather than their opportunism to be respected. Routinely crediting The Cramps and The Clash while still sounding like the rough 'n' ready garage band from Akron, Ohio, that they'd been since the beginning made the journey to larger musical success problematic. Enter Brian "Danger Mouse" Burton, who produced guitarist Dan Auerbach and drummer Patrick Carney's preceding album, 2010's Brothers; recorded at Muscle Shoals Sound Studio in Sheffield, Alabama, it continued the Black Keys' move away from a lo-fi sound. Advised by Burton to record more upbeat material that would play well in the arena-sized venues they were aiming for, the pair convened at Auerbach's new Easy Eye Sound Studio in Nashville and began to work up fresh material. Like all Black Keys records, riff rock and Auerbach and Carney's back-and-forth interplay are the foundation, but now their usual dirty blues vibe gave way to a more straight ahead early rock and roll tone. Danger Mouse also became an active part of the songwriting process for the first time. Fast tempos and more pronounced pop hooks were the immediate focus. The opener "Lonely Boy," is impossible to resist. In "Dead and Gone" handclaps and the album's three female background singers Leisa Hans, Heather Rigdon and Ashley Wilcoxson beef up the poppy choruses. Recorded by Kennie Takahashi and Collin Dupuis, and mixed by Tchad Blake, the sound here is enhanced with plenty of reverb making everything that much larger in the process. Tunes like the working girl paean, "Money Maker," where Auerbach sings, "I wanna buy some time but don't have a dime," sound oversized and very much arena-ready. "Sister" is the Keys' elemental riff rock at its best, this time fleshed out by Danger Mouse on keyboard. Touches like the squiggly guitar line in "Run Right Back" confirm musical evolutions in their usual jam-it-up method. This reissue contains 20 tracks from a previously unreleased concert from Portland, Maine, an 11-track BBC Radio 1 session from 2012, and a 9-track 2011 Electro-Vox rehearsal session recorded prior to the 2012 El Camino tour. While both live sets are stacked with tracks from Brothers ("Howlin for You," "Tighten Up") and El Camino, the BBC set has a closer, densely packed sound, while the live sound of the Portland show in front of a rabid audience is huge and reverberant. The rehearsal session is predictably loose with slower tempos, though the arrangements are similar to what was eventually released. This reissue does bring up questions: is ten years long enough to create the demand and perspective necessary for a successful reissue? Have Keys fans even stopped listening to their original copies yet or is this more rampant commercialism from a band famous for it? Of course, it may also be that Auerbach and Carney are closing a chapter. Stay tuned for the next decade. © Robert Baird/Qobuz

Ariana Grande took her first tentative steps into adulthood with My Everything, the 2014 album that tempered her retro-diva stance with modern R&B. Released two years later, Dangerous Woman consolidates this soulful shift while offering a snazzier, sophisticated spin on the '90s pop that provides the foundation of Grande's music. Much of the latter comes from a fruitful partnership with producer Max Martin and his colleague Ilya, a team responsible for over half of the standard album's tracks (they also have their hands in several of the deluxe edition's bonus cuts). Tommy Brown and Mr. Franks are the other chief collaborators here, shepherding many of the cuts with a heavier R&B influence -- the stuttering "Let Me Love You," featuring a verse from Lil Wayne, the slow-burning torch of "Leave Me Lonely" -- but their productions aren't far removed from the Martin/Ilya cuts. "Everyday," a heavy thrumming jam featuring Future, is helmed by Ilya alone and the Rihanna-copping "Side to Side" bears a Martin credit. What all the producers do is keep the focus on the individual track, carving it into a seamless sculpture of rhythm and melody where Grande winds up as the accent to the song. Restraint serves her well: there are times she lets go with a full-throated roar, but she spends most of Dangerous Woman at a simmer that reinforces the sultry seduction of the title. A fair chunk of the album is devoted to cinematic ballads, which makes the bright blasts of disco -- "Be Alright," "Greedy" -- so alluring, but the entire record benefits from this single-minded concentration. Track by track, Dangerous Woman has sly, subtle distinctions -- a little bit of torch gives way to some heavy hip-hop only to have frothy pop surface again -- and while some of these cuts work better than others, the range is impressive, as is Grande's measured, assured performance.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

Paul McCartney retreated from the spotlight of the Beatles by recording his first solo album at his home studio, performing nearly all of the instruments himself. Appropriately, McCartney has an endearingly ragged, homemade quality that makes even its filler -- and there is quite a bit of filler -- rather ingratiating. Only a handful of songs rank as full-fledged McCartney classics, but those songs -- the light folk-pop of "That Would Be Something," the sweet, gentle "Every Night," the ramshackle Beatles leftover "Teddy Boy," and the staggering "Maybe I'm Amazed" (not coincidentally the only rocker on the album) -- are full of all the easy melodic charm that is McCartney's trademark. The rest of the album is charmingly slight, especially if it is read as a way to bring Paul back to earth after the heights of the Beatles. At the time the throwaway nature of much of the material was a shock, but it has become charming in retrospect. Unfortunately, in retrospect it also appears as a harbinger of the nagging mediocrity that would plague McCartney's entire solo career.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

In 2017, Gregory Porter released a tribute album - or rather a love letter, to the man he considers his ultimate hero: Nat King Cole. A remarkable musician who weaved his way between pure jazz and easy listening, an innovative and highly skilled pianist-virtuoso, and of course, a captivating singer/crooner with his deep, romantic and velvety voice that set him apart from everyone - this genius had never before been commemorated in so much style. In this live performance recorded on the prestigious stage of the Royal Albert Hall in London, Gregory Porter is supported by his trusty quartet (pianist Chip Crawford, bassist Jahmal Nichols, drummer Emanuel Harrold and saxophonist Tivon Pennicott) as well as by the 70 musicians of the London Studio Orchestra, conducted by Vince Mendoza. He features pieces that are closely associated with Nat King Cole (Mona Lisa, Nature Boy…) but also some of his own compositions ( Hey Laura, When Love Was King, Don’t Lose Your Steam…). Throughout One Night Only it is fascinating to see how Gregory Porter is just as comfortable when singing alongside the sophistication of the string section as he is in the rougher and groovier sequences. A vocal range that makes this show truly magical. © Clotilde Maréchal/Qobuz

Thin Lizzy found their trademark twin-guitar sound on 1975's Fighting, but it was on its 1976 successor, Jailbreak, where the band truly took flight. Unlike the leap between Night Life and Fighting, there is not a great distance between Jailbreak and its predecessor. If anything, the album was more of a culmination of everything that came before, as Phil Lynott hit a peak as a songwriter just as guitarists Scott Gorham and Brian Robertson pioneered an intertwined, dual-lead guitar interplay that was one of the most distinctive sounds of '70s rock, and one of the most influential. Lynott no longer let Gorham and Robertson contribute individual songs -- they co-wrote, but had no individual credits -- which helps tighten up the album, giving it a cohesive personality, namely Lynott's rough rebel with a heart of a poet. Lynott loves turning the commonplace into legend -- or bringing myth into the modern world, as he does on "Cowboy Song" or, to a lesser extent, "Romeo and the Lonely Girl" -- and this myth-making is married to an exceptional eye for details; when the boys are back in town, they don't just come back to a local bar, they're down at Dino's, picking up girls and driving the old men crazy. This gives his lovingly florid songs, crammed with specifics and overflowing with life, a universality that's hammered home by the vicious, primal, and precise attack of the band. Thin Lizzy is tough as rhino skin and as brutal as bandits, but it's leavened by Lynott's light touch as a singer, which is almost seductive in its croon. This gives Jailbreak a dimension of richness that sustains, but there's such kinetic energy to the band that it still sounds immediate no matter how many times it's played. Either one would make it a classic, but both qualities in one record makes it a truly exceptional album.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

Recorded in the legendary Abbey Road studios, Royal Tea introduces the American guitarist the legendary London venue which gave birth to While My Guitar Gently Weeps, the prolific collaboration between the Beatles and Eric Clapton in the summer of 1968. Realising a long-term ambition, Joe Bonamassa finds himself in the perfect environment to pay homage to one of his major influences: the British Blues Boom headed by legends Clapton, John Mayall, Peter Green and Jeff Beck. For the occasion, the bluesman is surrounded by guests and a variety of instruments. In addition to Kevin Shirley as guest producer, we note the presence of Berne Marsden from Whitesnake, Cream singer Pete Brown, Eurythmics’ Dave Stewart and Jools Holland on keys. The modest vintage instruments used on this record were carefully chosen on Denmark Street, famous for its vintage guitars. This languid blues-rock album, composed of ten tracks, reaches its emotional climax with Why Does It Take So Long to Say Goodbye, in which JoBo’s solos are backed by feminine choirs. A work that will fit well among the guitarist’s impressive discography as his virtuosity never ceases to improve and who’s debut album A New Day Now turns twenty years old in 2020! © Charlotte Saintoin/Qobuz

When the New York Dolls released their debut album in 1973, they managed to be named both "Best New Band" and "Worst Band" in Creem Magazine's annual reader's poll, and it usually takes something special to polarize an audience like that. And the Dolls were inarguably special -- decades after its release, New York Dolls still sounds thoroughly unique, a gritty, big-city amalgam of Stones-style R&B, hard rock guitars, lyrics that merge pulp storytelling with girl group attitude, and a sloppy but brilliant attack that would inspire punk rock (without the punks ever getting its joyous slop quite right). Much was made of the Dolls' sexual ambiguity in the day, but with the passage of time, it's a misfit swagger that communicates most strongly in these songs, and David Johansen's vocals suggest the product of an emotional melting pot who just wants to find some lovin' before Manhattan is gone, preferably from a woman who would prefer him over a fix. If the lyrics sometimes recall Hubert Selby, Jr. if he'd had a playful side, the music is big, raucous hard rock, basic but with a strongly distinct personality -- the noisy snarl of Johnny Thunders' lead guitar quickly became a touchstone, and if he didn't have a lot of tricks in his arsenal, he sure knew when and how to apply them, and the way he locked in with Syl Sylvain's rhythm work was genius -- and the Dolls made their downtown decadence sound both ominous and funny at the same time. The Dolls were smart enough to know that a band needs a great drummer, and if there's something likably clumsy about Arthur Kane's bass work, Jerry Nolan's superb, elemental drumming holds the pieces in place with no-nonsense precision at all times. "Lonely Planet Boy" proved the Dolls could dial down their amps and sound very much like themselves, "Pills" was a superbly chosen cover that seemed like an original once they were done with it, and "Personality Crisis," "Trash," and "Jet Boy" were downtown rock & roll masterpieces no other band could have created. And while New York Dolls clearly came from a very specific time and place, this album still sounds fresh and hasn't dated in the least -- this is one of rock's greatest debut albums, and a raucous statement of purpose that's still bold and thoroughly engaging.© Mark Deming /TiVo

Though his 2019 album Hotel Diablo mostly continued the commercial rap style that made Machine Gun Kelly famous, the record closed with "I Think I'm Okay," a melodic rock song featuring guest appearances from U.K. vocalist YUNGBLUD and blink-182's Travis Barker. The catchy tune injected Machine Gun Kelly's emotionally raw lyricism into a template of spirited guitar-driven pop-punk and it became a huge hit. For fifth album Tickets to My Downfall, Machine Gun Kelly commits fully to the pop-punk style that was hinted at with "I Think I'm Okay," making a bold-faced turn from moody rap songs to blasts of distorted guitar, uptempo drums, and vocal harmonies right out of the early-2000s mall punk playbook. Travis Barker is again a frequent collaborator, producing the album as well as contributing drums and occasionally co-writing some songs. This direct association might be part of why Tickets to My Downfall sounds inarguably enamored with blink-182, with songs like "Bloody Valentine," pained ballad "Play This When I'm Gone," and the explosive "Title Track" following blink's blueprint of straightforward melodies, huge hooks, and cathartic choruses. The rap elements of the past aren't completely scrubbed clean, with trap drums added to the mix of tunes like "Drunk Face," and cameo appearances from rappers like Trippie Redd and Blackbear. Even still, when Trippie Redd shows up on "All I Know," he's not rapping as much as singing some melodic lines that play nicely with the emo-rock format of the song. The themes of self-destruction, tainted romance, and struggles with depression that were often visited on Machine Gun Kelly's earlier material translate seamlessly from tormented rap to heart-aching pop-punk. Songs like the lovelorn and dramatic "My Ex's Best Friend" might have a delivery that's worlds away from the brooding rap he's known for, but he's still singing about the same problems as always. The profound stylistic upset of Tickets to My Downfall will leave some listeners flat, simply because what they enjoyed about Machine Gun Kelly as a rapper might be harder to find in his pop-punk songs. For those willing to come along for the ride, the album serves as a sincere and somewhat nostalgic embrace of pop-punk from the Myspace era. Machine Gun Kelly's personality is still at the heart of every song, even when trading 808 beats for crunchy guitar riffs. While some songs are more interesting than others and some tend too close to blink-182 worship, Tickets to My Downfall succeeds more than it falters. While it would rank as a slightly above average album for any given pop-punk band, there's an added excitement in how risky this about-face is for a multi-platinum artist who could have easily turned in the same record he made last time.© Fred Thomas /TiVo

The title gave us fair warning, but the world wasn't ready. In the year 2000, three years after he gave us a follow-up to his masterpiece Oxygène, Jean-Michel Jarre, now basking in the glory of a gigantic concert in Moscow's Red Square, brought out Métamorphose, which stunned fans because it contained vocals! The record opens with a collaboration with American singer Laurie Anderson, Je me souviens, over an Eighties electro instrumental, before Natacha Atlas comes in for the next piece. On C’est la vie, the diva of Transglobal Underground does what she does best, with her Near-Eastern vocal sallies, which producer Joachim Garraud, matches with percussion from the same climes, and trancey beats and keyboards with a slightly kitsch effect. Next up, Rendez-vous à Paris, in the hypnotic voice of Jarre himself, filtered through a vocoder against a glitchy, aquatic background, and accompanied by the Irish violinist Sharon Corr of the Corrs; Bells, one of the only completely instrumental tracks, while Tout est bleu and its techno beat marks a little departure from good taste. Despite a fine cast list, the record, which would not win the expected commercial success, was simply not understood by Jean-Michel Jarre's hardcore fans. Twenty years on, perhaps they'll give it another chance. © Smaël Bouaici/Qobuz 

Download not available
He'll never be the new Stevie Ray Vaughan, but at the rate blues-rock (emphasis on the latter) guitarist Joe Bonamassa is going, he can take a stab at being the next Gary Moore. Like the Irish guitarist, Bonamassa is influenced by the British blues-rockers more than the Americans they lifted their licks from. He's also just as prolific; this is his thirteenth album in twelve years and that's not including side projects with Black Country Communion and Beth Hart, and DVDs grabbed from his 200-night-a-year road schedule filled with sweaty, high-energy performances. Makes you tired just reading about it. Bonamassa isn't much of a songwriter so he wisely contributes only four tunes to this disc's eleven, with some relatively obscure deep blues covers from Howlin' Wolf ("Who's Been Talkin'"), Willie Dixon ("I Got All You Need"), and Robert Johnson ("Stones in My Passway") gravitating toward his roots side. Also included are offbeat choices from Bill Withers ("Lonely Town/Lonely Street") and Tom Waits ("New Coat of Paint"). For better or worse, they all end up sounding like Joe Bonamassa tracks, since he feeds them into his leathery rock sensibilities, churning out requisite hot guitar solos whether they serve the song or not. He's left his road-hardened band on the sidelines and calls in top-notch session guys, including Aerosmith's Brad Whitford, David Letterman drummer Anton Fig, and keyboardist Arlen Schierbaum, whose piano and organ add some much-needed R&B attitude to the hard rock attack. Bonamassa even relinquishes lead vocals to Australian Jimmy Barnes, who goes so over the top singing his own "Too Much Ain't Enough Love" it seems like he is auditioning for AC/DC. Longtime producer Kevin Shirley gets a slick, professional sound from these guys, and when everyone is cooking and the material is solid, such as on the grinding Bonamassa original "Dislocated Boy" and the Wolf cover (including a spoken word sample of the blues legend that kicks off the tune), the arrangements and guitars mesh together like whisky and soda. What Bonamassa lacks in a distinctive sound and singing, he makes up for with sheer determination, which is almost enough to push the album from pretty good to pretty great, especially on the horn-enhanced slow blues of "A Place in My Heart" that explodes out of the speakers in a way Gary Moore could summon at will. In other words, this is a keeper if you've already bought into the guitarist's more-is-more approach that has served him well thus far, and he shows no signs of abandoning it now.© Hal Horowitz /TiVo

Given Adam Naas’ voice and the stripped down visuals on this second album, you might have expected a load of stripped-back and post-soul gems, or perhaps even a disco revival. The Frenchman’s first EP appeared in the autumn of 2016, just months after Prince’s death—difficult to believe that was mere coincidence. Two years later, his début album landed somewhere between glam, pop and soul, serving only to confirm this princely lineage. Today, however, Adam Naas shows that if there’s one thing he’s learned from the Kid of Minneapolis, it’s his taste for freedom and artistic independence. He’s defined in equal measure by his characteristic fluidity between genres and influences.On Goldie and The Kiss of Andromeda, he loses (for the most part) the electronic sounds, or any other gimmicks from the 2010s, in favour of guitars (acoustic, electric and pedal-steel), piano, violins, backing vocals—all infused with this feeling that all the musicians are swaying gently behind their instruments. The album has an old-fashioned feel to it, but it doesn’t sound retro or nostalgic. Adam Naas has set sail, floating off into a musical territory which borders 60s country-pop, 80s new wave, choral gospel and 90s/2000s indie folk.With guitars that twinkle like fireflies in the moonlight, Adam Naas reveals himself to be something of an offbeat folk songwriter. Think Sparklehorse or Mac DeMarco. Although you won’t be thinking most of the time… Unplug and let yourself drift away to these dreamy, cottony songs. They’ll sound even better this summer, shirtless under the stars. Qobuzissime! © Stéphane Deschamps/Qobuz

American Kid is Patty Griffin's first album of primarily original material since 2007's Children Running Through. It's her most stripped-down recording since her debut, Living with Ghosts. Acoustic guitars of all stripes, mandolins, earthy drums, percussion, bass, and occasional piano and organ accompany her instantly recognizable voice. Co-produced by the artist and Craig Ross, she is joined by longtime guitarist Doug Lancio, as well as Cody and Luther Dickinson. Robert Plant appears on three songs, including the single "Ohio." The set was recorded in Memphis and Brooklyn. Griffin wrote most of these songs after learning of her father's impending death. They aren't so much about his actual life, but her making sense of the coming absence of his physical presence in hers, what she knew of him and his times. These songs are mostly acoustic; one can hear traces of early blues, various American folk styles, gospel, and vintage country music in her brand of Americana. There isn't anything extra anywhere in the mix. The space in the high lonesome "Go Wherever You Wanna Go," with Luther's National Steel guitar playing slide in counterpart to Griffin's earthy vocal, is almost spooky. The combined supplication and exhortation in the haunted "Don't Let Me Die in Florida" carries traces of prewar and Memphis blues. The duet between Griffin and Plant on "Ohio," is a shimmering, open-tuned droning float, it's lyric binds spiritual and physical love; it would not have been out of place on a Band of Joy record. The feeling of home and hearth saturates her excellent reading of Lefty Frizzell's "Mom & Dad's Waltz," while the musical sensation -- if not the form -- of the folk-blues courses through the disquieting "Faithful Son," with a haunting backing vocal by Plant. "Irish Boy" evokes an early 20th century parlor song; Griffin's only accompaniment is her piano. "Get Ready Marie" is a barroom waltz, complete with a male backing chorus and made loopy by an off-kilter Hammond B-3. The set closer, "Gonna Miss You When You're Gone," is Griffin speaking directly to her father, addressing the deep mark he made upon her life, even as he's passing through it. It's part Lonnie Johnson and Lil Green swing blues, and part Peggy Lee pop. It's slow burning, tender, and bittersweet, a three a.m. confession in an empty room, sung from one spirit to another. While the theme of mortality runs deep through American Kid, so does the celebration of life. Roughshod and unpredictable songs engage it in the present as well as the past, through courage, fear, love, memory, and the grainy, knotty, often invisible ties that bind. With its immediacy, economy, cagey strength, and vulnerability, Griffin delivers these 12 songs not as gifts or statements, but as her own evidence of what is, what was, and what yet may come.© Thom Jurek /TiVo