If Dream of the Blue Turtles was an unabashedly pretentious affair, it looks positively lighthearted in comparison to Sting's sophomore effort, Nothing Like the Sun, one of the most doggedly serious pop albums ever recorded. This is an album where the only up-tempo track, the only trifle -- the cheerfully stiff white-funk "We'll Be Together" -- was added at the insistence of the label because they believed there wasn't a cut on the record that could be pulled as a single, one that would break down the doors to mainstream radio. And they were right, since everything else here is too measured, calm, and deliberately subtle to be immediate (including the intentional throwaway, "Rock Steady"). So, why is it a better album than its predecessor? Because Sting doesn't seem to be trying so hard. It flows naturally, largely because this isn't trying to explicitly be a jazz-rock record (thank the presence of a new rhythm section of Sting and drummer Manu Katche for that) and because the melodies are insinuating, slowly working their way into memory, while the entire record plays like a mood piece -- playing equally well as background music or as intensive, serious listening. Sting's words can still grate -- the stifling pompousness of "History Will Teach Us Nothing" the clearest example, yet calls of "Hey Mr. Pinochet" also strike an uneasy chord -- but his lyricism shines on "The Lazarus Heart," "Be Still My Beating Heart," "They Dance Alone," and "Fragile," a quartet of his very finest songs. If Nothing Like the Sun runs a little too long, with only his Gil Evans-assisted cover of "Little Wing" standing out in the final quarter, it still maintains its tone until the end and, since it's buoyed by those previously mentioned stunners, it's one of his better albums.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

Nancy Sinatra and the team at Light in the Attic knocked it out of the park with the 2021 compilation Start Walkin' 1965-1976, an absolutely top-shelf selection of twenty-three of singer's best cuts from her prime era that beautifully showcased her hits as much as it did the wide streak of weird that ran through much of her material during that time. That set was so good that one would be rightfully suspicious that this 2023 companion piece focused on deep cuts, rarities, and unreleased tracks would be a barrel-scraping exercise meant for completists only. Well, the barrel may be getting scraped, but Nancy Sinatra's output from the mid-'60s through the mid-'70s was a delightful combination of high-gloss AM radio perfection and freewheeling experimentation.  These tracks may not have had the same cultural impact as "These Boots Were Made for Walkin'" or "Some Velvet Morning" but are still rewarding in their own way.The collection starts off strong with the evocative pop-noir of "The City Never Sleeps at Night" (the bouncy b-side of "Boots") and "The Last of the Secret Agents," a dazzlingly goofy novelty number that served as the title theme for a 1966 parody of James Bond films starring Sinatra. Although there are a few weaker numbers scattered throughout—"Tony Rome" is atypically apathetic, and an inexplicable cover of the Move's "Flowers in the Rain" shows that baroque psychedelia may not have been Sinatra's forte—Keep Walkin' is more than balanced out by dizzyingly great numbers like the languid and louche "Easy Evil" (a 1972 demo that was previously only available on the 1998 Sheet Music compilation) that show how her willingness to be weird never abated.Sinatra's early '70s material is often overlooked. Not only did the cultural zeitgeist decidedly move on from her style—too square for the cool kids and too quirky to be "easy listening"—but she only released two albums during the decade, both in 1972. She nonetheless had a great run of non-LP singles between 1973 and 1976, and while some of those A-sides made their way onto the Start Walkin' collection, Keep Walkin' rounds out the tracklist by including her phenomenal cover of Lynsey De Paul's "Sugar Me" (as well as the B-side, a somewhat questionable cover of "Ain't No Sunshine") and the stunning "Kinky Love" from 1976. © Jason Ferguson/Qobuz

Facing the third album blues, the Arctic Monkeys turned to Josh Homme, the Queens of the Stone Age mastermind renowned for his collaborations but heretofore untested as a producer. On first glance, it's a peculiar pair -- the heirs of Paul Weller meet the heavy desert mystic -- but this isn't a team of equals, it's a big brother helping his little siblings go wayward and get weird. Homme doesn't imprint his own views on the Monkeys but encourages them to follow their strange instincts, whether it's a Nick Cave obsession or the inclination to emphasize atmosphere over energy. Wading into the murk of Humbug it becomes clear that the common ground between the Monkeys and Homme is the actual act of making music, the pleasure of not knowing what comes next when an entire band is drifting inside a zone. Since so much of Humbug is about its process, it's not always immediately accessible or pleasurable to an outside listener, nor is it quite the thickly colored freakout Homme's presence suggests. The Monkeys still favor angular riffs and clenched rhythms, constructing tightly framed vignettes not widescreen epics, but they're working with a darker palette and creating vaguely abstract compositions, sensibilities that extend to Alex Turner's words too, as he trades keen detail for vivid scrawled impressions. Every element of the album reflects a band testing its limits, seeing where they could -- not necessarily will -- go next; it's a voyage through territory that's new to them as musicians (which doesn't necessarily mean that it's also new to their audience), offering at a peek at what lies beyond via three songs cut after the desert sessions, songs informed by what they learned during their sojourn with Homme. This trio of tunes, highlighted by "Cornerstone," aren't as darkly as evocative as the rest of the dense, gnarled Humbug but they're among the best songs the album has to offer suggesting that the record may mean more in the long-term that it does on its own. Nevertheless, Humbug makes two things clear: Arctic Monkeys are serious about being in a band, about making music, and they are the first major British band in generations unencumbered by fear or spite for America. Humbug was not done with hopes of breaking the American market or reacting spitefully against it, it is solely about big, loud, dark noise. No wonder Josh Homme sensed he had a band of little brothers in Arctic Monkeys. © Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

Elvis' 1957 original Christmas album is one of his most inspired early outings and the first time he tackled anything resembling a thematic concept. Split evenly between rockers and bluesy numbers like "Santa Claus Is Back in Town," "Blue Christmas," and "Santa Bring My Baby Back to Me," perennials like "White Christmas," "I'll Be Home for Christmas," and "Silent Night," and straight-ahead gospel favorites like "I Believe," "Peace in the Valley" and "Take My Hand, Precious Lord," the disc revealed a different side of the rocker for the first time on a public instead conditioned to expect something outrageous. One of the King's shining moments, this is quite simply still one of the best holiday albums available.© Cub Koda /TiVo

For their fourth album, 1981's Ghost in the Machine, the Police had streamlined their sound to focus more on their pop side and less on their trademark reggae-rock. Their jazz influence had become more prominent, as evidenced by the appearance of saxophones on several tracks. The production has more of a contemporary '80s sound to it (courtesy of Hugh Padgham, who took over for Nigel Gray), and Sting proved once and for all to be a master of the pop songwriting format. The album spawned several hits, such as the energetic "Spirits in the Material World" (notice how the central rhythms are played by synthesizer instead of guitar to mask the reggae connection) and a tribute to those living amid the turmoil and violence in Northern Ireland circa the early '80s, "Invisible Sun." But the best and most renowned of the bunch is undoubtedly the blissful "Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic," which topped the U.K. singles chart and nearly did the same in the U.S. (number three). Unlike the other Police releases, not all of the tracks are stellar ("Hungry for You," "Omegaman"), but the vicious jazz-rocker "Demolition Man," the barely containable "Rehumanize Yourself," and a pair of album-closing ballads ("Secret Journey," "Darkness") proved otherwise. While it was not a pop masterpiece, Ghost in the Machine did serve as an important stepping stone between their more direct early work and their more ambitious latter direction, resulting in the trio's exceptional blockbuster final album, 1983's Synchronicity.© Greg Prato /TiVo

For their fourth album, 1981's Ghost in the Machine, the Police had streamlined their sound to focus more on their pop side and less on their trademark reggae-rock. Their jazz influence had become more prominent, as evidenced by the appearance of saxophones on several tracks. The production has more of a contemporary '80s sound to it (courtesy of Hugh Padgham, who took over for Nigel Gray), and Sting proved once and for all to be a master of the pop songwriting format. The album spawned several hits, such as the energetic "Spirits in the Material World" (notice how the central rhythms are played by synthesizer instead of guitar to mask the reggae connection) and a tribute to those living amid the turmoil and violence in Northern Ireland circa the early '80s, "Invisible Sun." But the best and most renowned of the bunch is undoubtedly the blissful "Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic," which topped the U.K. singles chart and nearly did the same in the U.S. (number three). Unlike the other Police releases, not all of the tracks are stellar ("Hungry for You," "Omegaman"), but the vicious jazz-rocker "Demolition Man," the barely containable "Rehumanize Yourself," and a pair of album-closing ballads ("Secret Journey," "Darkness") proved otherwise. While it was not a pop masterpiece, Ghost in the Machine did serve as an important stepping stone between their more direct early work and their more ambitious latter direction, resulting in the trio's exceptional blockbuster final album, 1983's Synchronicity.© Greg Prato /TiVo

If Dream of the Blue Turtles was an unabashedly pretentious affair, it looks positively lighthearted in comparison to Sting's sophomore effort, Nothing Like the Sun, one of the most doggedly serious pop albums ever recorded. This is an album where the only up-tempo track, the only trifle -- the cheerfully stiff white-funk "We'll Be Together" -- was added at the insistence of the label because they believed there wasn't a cut on the record that could be pulled as a single, one that would break down the doors to mainstream radio. And they were right, since everything else here is too measured, calm, and deliberately subtle to be immediate (including the intentional throwaway, "Rock Steady"). So, why is it a better album than its predecessor? Because Sting doesn't seem to be trying so hard. It flows naturally, largely because this isn't trying to explicitly be a jazz-rock record (thank the presence of a new rhythm section of Sting and drummer Manu Katche for that) and because the melodies are insinuating, slowly working their way into memory, while the entire record plays like a mood piece -- playing equally well as background music or as intensive, serious listening. Sting's words can still grate -- the stifling pompousness of "History Will Teach Us Nothing" the clearest example, yet calls of "Hey Mr. Pinochet" also strike an uneasy chord -- but his lyricism shines on "The Lazarus Heart," "Be Still My Beating Heart," "They Dance Alone," and "Fragile," a quartet of his very finest songs. If Nothing Like the Sun runs a little too long, with only his Gil Evans-assisted cover of "Little Wing" standing out in the final quarter, it still maintains its tone until the end and, since it's buoyed by those previously mentioned stunners, it's one of his better albums.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

35 years later, this new re-edition finally corrects a terrible injustice. Despite its colossal success at the end of the 1970s, the powerful major distributing ELO in the United States vetoed the double-album project, forcing Jeff Lynne – who had become the band’s uncontested leader −, to change his strategy and tame his ambitions, settling for a reasonably long simple album. Professionals in the business had strong doubts over whether or not this veteran of the 70s could survive the 80s, a decade in which pop music lost all dignity. In other words, he who was one of the few to come close to the Beatles’ excellence and knew how to adapt, with more or less finesse, to the zeitgeist, particularly the disco wave, was in danger of becoming old fashioned… Still, his two previous albums, Discovery (1979) and the ambitious Time (1981) both topped the charts in many countries, as well as his original soundtrack for the disappointing film Xanadu.Listening to the 17 tracks of this revised and corrected version of Secret Messages, it becomes clear that Lynne’s updating work should have earned him more respect. Retaining its idiosyncratic components that allowed for rock’n’roll influences to harmoniously coexist with pronounced classical influences, ELO broadened their skill set while mastering the latest progress in technology. Tracks that had been scattered over singles, compilations, or the following album (Balance Of Power) have finally been re-integrated, with, as a bonus, a handful of previously unreleased songs that are well worth a listen. Only Beatles Forever is missing, the tribute Lynne still doesn’t deign to officially release, despite achieving his dream by producing the Liverpool band during their Anthology period, after collaborating with two of its members (George Harrison and Ringo Starr). © Jean-Pierre Sabouret/Qobuz

Stuart Murdoch and his mates in Glasgow's long-running pop auteurs Belle and Sebastian sound more jubilant today than ever. In 2021, after 26 years and 11 albums together, COVID forced Murdoch (vocals, guitar) along with original members, Stevie Jackson (guitar), Sarah Martin (vocals, violin), Chris Geddes (keyboards) and Richard Colburn (drums) as well as relatively new additions Bobby Kildea (guitar) and Dave McGowan (guitar, bass) to stay home in Scotland and record a new album. Some songs turned into A Bit of Previous, released in May 2022, and another album's worth of music from those fertile sessions has now become Late Developers. Far from being an odds and sods collection, these 11 tracks are an equally rich lode of Belle and Sebastian exploring pop music's prismatic spectrum. Echoes of the band's folkier past appear in "Will I Tell You a Secret," where a harpsichord effect on the keyboard gives the tune a 1960s chamber pop flavor. With horns, backing vocals and the pace of a classic R&B ballad "The Evening Star" changes the focus to Motown with a dash of Memphis soul snap. Gush is the emotional response that comes to mind when the handclaps, chiming guitars and luscious vocal harmonies of "Give A Little Time'' make their case: "Speculate, accumulate/ Embrace the love, erase the hate." But not all the words here ignore the more jagged aspects of the emotional inner life that has always been Belle and Sebastian's constant subject. In the sweet and sour vein of what their official bio calls "coaxing you towards inner peace with … a melody that lifts you out of the murk of all that terrifying truth," the very Smiths-esque "When We Were Very Young" finds Murdoch, who now has "kids and dystopia," lamenting against a perky melody: "I wish I could be content/ With the football scores/ I wish I could be content with my daily chores/ With my daily worship of the sublime/ I wish I could walk away/ From my scars and sores." Produced by the band and Brian McNeill with help from a quartet of mixers, the result is bright, full, and in-your-face. The cleverly titled Late Developers is filled with joy and now the wisdom of age; Belle and Sebastian continue to make smart, stylish pop music look easy. © Robert Baird/Qobuz

Less than a year after the release of his beautiful 3-track album, A Mermaid In Lisbon, Patrick Watson is back with Better In The Shade. This is another short record, with just seven tracks lasting 20 minutes, but since his debut some twenty years ago, the Canadian has got us all accustomed to his brevity. Besides, when his album stops playing, it’s followed by hours of wistful daydreaming which can still be considered the work of Patrick Watson. He’s nested his sound in bedroom folk, and it offers listeners a cosy cocoon high up above the world where it’s always peaceful. The first track on Better In The Shade is familiar territory: the high voice and tender songs caressed by string arrangements make you feel like you’re listening to a singer tightrope walk above a huge, blue void. He then abandons his trusty piano in favour of a synthesiser. But it’s not just any old synthesiser, it’s one that he made himself. Because of this it produces sounds you simply won’t hear anywhere else: a little muffled, a little undefined… like some kind of sonic apparition trapped somewhere in your ear canal. Every song on this album is drenched in mystery. On Blue, a micro-symphony in duet with singer Charlotte Loseh, Watson reaches a whole new level of serene melancholy, which is sustained in the following track (also in duet) La La La La La. As always, he oscillates between an acoustic folk sound and an almost galactic dreaminess, like a craftsman building his spaceship with little pieces of wood he’s gathered in the forest. © Stéphane Deschamps/Qobuz

If Dream of the Blue Turtles was an unabashedly pretentious affair, it looks positively lighthearted in comparison to Sting's sophomore effort, Nothing Like the Sun, one of the most doggedly serious pop albums ever recorded. This is an album where the only up-tempo track, the only trifle -- the cheerfully stiff white-funk "We'll Be Together" -- was added at the insistence of the label because they believed there wasn't a cut on the record that could be pulled as a single, one that would break down the doors to mainstream radio. And they were right, since everything else here is too measured, calm, and deliberately subtle to be immediate (including the intentional throwaway, "Rock Steady"). So, why is it a better album than its predecessor? Because Sting doesn't seem to be trying so hard. It flows naturally, largely because this isn't trying to explicitly be a jazz-rock record (thank the presence of a new rhythm section of Sting and drummer Manu Katche for that) and because the melodies are insinuating, slowly working their way into memory, while the entire record plays like a mood piece -- playing equally well as background music or as intensive, serious listening. Sting's words can still grate -- the stifling pompousness of "History Will Teach Us Nothing" the clearest example, yet calls of "Hey Mr. Pinochet" also strike an uneasy chord -- but his lyricism shines on "The Lazarus Heart," "Be Still My Beating Heart," "They Dance Alone," and "Fragile," a quartet of his very finest songs. If Nothing Like the Sun runs a little too long, with only his Gil Evans-assisted cover of "Little Wing" standing out in the final quarter, it still maintains its tone until the end and, since it's buoyed by those previously mentioned stunners, it's one of his better albums.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

As the years go by, the Secret Sisters are becoming less and less clandestine. The little secret of Laura and Lydia Rogers are their vocal harmonies. But also solid songs. Except this time, the work is born of suffering. Fired by their last label, struggling to find concert dates, embroiled in a lawsuit with their last manager and with a bank account that was looking distinctly anorexic, the Rogers sisters took refuge with their friend Brandi Carlile in Seattle who helped them get their lives back in order for the production of You Don’t Own Me Anymore. " It was in the hardest times that we saw the core of where our music and our souls originate. . We still had our homes, our family, our friends, and our fans. This is not a record about rising from the ashes. Rather, it is a deep look into ourselves in an attempt to put out the flames.  These songs are our catharsis; an effort to forgive, an effort to heal, an effort to look back into the darkness with newfound light and undeterred fearlessness, an effort to redeem ourselves. The damage was done, but our hearts remained; this is the product of that damage, for worse and for better. "Throughout You Don’t Own Me Anymore, we find the Secret Sister's undisguised love of Americana. A big, broad country. Only after having got a helping hand from the likes of T Bone Burnett, Jack White and Dave Cobb, they were finally able - thanks to Brandi Carlile - to get back to their own sound. And to finish up with a record that really sounds like them. A superb sally into neo-folk with a nod to country and the spirit of Tin Pan Alley. © MD/Qobuz