Following on the heels of an album where he repudiated his past with his greatest backing band, Blood on the Tracks finds Bob Dylan, in a way, retreating to the past, recording a largely quiet, acoustic-based album. But this is hardly nostalgia -- this is the sound of an artist returning to his strengths, what feels most familiar, as he accepts a traumatic situation, namely the breakdown of his marriage. This is an album alternately bitter, sorrowful, regretful, and peaceful, easily the closest he ever came to wearing his emotions on his sleeve. That's not to say that it's an explicitly confessional record, since many songs are riddles or allegories, yet the warmth of the music makes it feel that way. The original version of the album was even quieter -- first takes of "Idiot Wind" and "Tangled Up in Blue," available on The Bootleg Series, Vols. 1-3, are hushed and quiet (excised verses are quoted in the liner notes, but not heard on the record) -- but Blood on the Tracks remains an intimate, revealing affair since these harsher takes let his anger surface the way his sadness does elsewhere. As such, it's an affecting, unbearably poignant record, not because it's a glimpse into his soul, but because the songs are remarkably clear-eyed and sentimental, lovely and melancholy at once. And, in a way, it's best that he was backed with studio musicians here, since the professional, understated backing lets the songs and emotion stand at the forefront. Dylan made albums more influential than this, but he never made one better.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

Already a social media star by the time her widely acclaimed mixtape To Hell with It changed the game in 2021, PinkPantheress made her mainstream breakthrough in 2023, when the Ice Spice-featuring sequel to her single "Boy's a Liar" became a major worldwide hit. "Angel," an Irish folk-influenced tune recorded for Barbie: The Album, also gained the artist major exposure. The cover art for Heaven Knows, her debut full-length, suggests that PinkPantheress is undergoing a makeover as a singer of sultry R&B slow jams. In reality, the album is a fully developed refinement of the brisk, intricately arranged pop style she's become known for, with lyrics about romantic infatuations set to pulse-quickening liquid drum'n'bass, U.K. garage, and filter-house rhythms. Unlike her mixtape, all of the songs exceed two minutes this time around (though some of them just barely do), and most of them are packed with enough ideas to make them feel longer than they are. She co-produced the album's tracks along with previous collaborator Mura Masa, pop maven Greg Kurstin, Count Baldor, and others, with Danny L. Harle, Sam Gellaitry, and Oscar Scheller each making contributions. While the songs generally sound upbeat, the lyrics are much darker, describing obsessions taken to their extremes. The funereal organs and bursting storm clouds of "Another Life" provide the album's dramatic introduction, and the lyrics attempt to process the shock following the death of a partner. Several other songs mention thoughts of death -- on "Mosquito," PinkPantheress is only concerned about dying because it would separate her from her loved one, and "Ophelia" sonically illustrates a drowning scene with bubbling water effects, detached vocal glitches, and police sirens. The ominously titled "Bury Me," a drill-influenced duet with Kelela, is about the desire for more than a surface-level relationship, and "Internet Baby" also seems to search for something deeper, while feeling attracted by the pressure. On the boom-bap cut "Feel Complete," she's unsure if she ever really knew her partner, and she contemplates whether she'll ever be able to love again during the ambitious, dazzling "Capable of Love." "Boy's a Liar Pt. 2" is tucked away at the end as a bonus track, but it fits in perfectly with the album's themes of questioning trust in others as well as one's own self-worth. Crucially, the song is a joyous dance-pop delight with a bouncy, Jersey club-inspired beat. Even as PinkPantheress explores her deepest, darkest emotions, her songs are vibrant, hook-filled, and wildly inventive, making Heaven Knows just as worthy of repeated listens as To Hell with It, and confirming her status as a pop visionary.© Paul Simpson /TiVo

Amazingly, 26 years and 10 albums in, Alkaline Trio still has enough punk puns in their back pocket to kick off an album with "Hot for Preacher." Of course, anything less would be disappointing, and this is not a band who made their bones by failing to deliver what fans expect. That sense of familiarity makes Blood, Hair, and Eyeballs an easy-to-grok record but  also makes it something of a predictable one. The gang choruses, energetic pop-punk harmonies, and stop-start dynamics are all here, and, more notably, the core lineup of Matt Skiba and Dan Andriano is still intact, more than a quarter-century after the band's debut. (Longtime drummer Derek Grant departed soon after Blood's recording.) While it's clear on soaring, dynamic cuts like "Shake With Me" and "Scars" that the band is still quite capable of crafting smart, anthemic punk rock, other tracks—the straightforward rocker "Broken Down in a Time Machine" or the meandering midtempo "Versions of You"—show that the band is content to let a kernel of an idea substitute for a fully thought-out composition. Punk rock being punk rock, this is far from a cardinal sin, and Blood, Hair, and Eyeballs is a remarkably strong album that manages to balance the band's status as elder eminences with the inherent limitations of the form. Album closer "Teenage Heart" could have been a dull bit of nostalgia—or worse, a weak-sauce attempt to connect with "the kids"—but instead it finds the band reflective on the sad state of affairs in the country. A chorus like "All I want for Christmas is an AR-15/ My stocking stuffed with fentanyl" would have been gimmicky and trite in lesser hands, but Alkaline Trio are wearied, wizened warriors who refuse to give up the fight. © Jason Ferguson/Qobuz

Morgan Wade has not only conquered the sophomore slump; the music and her raspy Virginia twang sound better than ever. "80s Movie" is redolent of the kind of nostalgia Eric Church does so well, referencing cassette tapes and small-town water towers, When Harry Met Sally and Dirty Dancing, and remembering boyfriends with "Tom Cruise hair." And, as with Church, it's as inspired by '80s guitar rock as classic '80s country. But there are plenty of '90s touchstones, too, including the folksy jangle of "Roman Candle" and smoky "Outrun." "Alanis," with its jittering guitar, pays tribute to Alanis Morisette and "You Oughta Know," which came out the year Wade was born. (She performed that song with Morissette and other country singers at the 2023 CMT Awards.) "Alanis, lived out your pain through sweet profanity … Alanis, how did you ever keep your sanity?" Wade sings, in awe of the way Morisette would "scream on the stage and let out the rage 'til the lights go dark." Appropriately, the song ends with Alanis-style harmonica. There's a Sheryl Crow open-mic vibe "Phantom Feelings," a Julia Michaels co-write, with Wade hitting a growl as she gets nostalgic about being "young and … dumb" and "getting drunk at a bar downtown quoting Sylvia Plath." There's also a longing for being 16 and carefree, before knowing "the world was so damn mean," on "Losers Like Me," which rips with juke-joint piano and siren-wail guitar. "We said we wouldn't get jobs and we'd burn our bras/ We wouldn't turn out nothing like our moms/ I didn't/ But I wish I did," Wade reckons. Inevitably, the songs on this record will be picked over for clues to Wade's nebulous relationship with Real Housewives of Beverly Hills star Kyle Richards, a favorite topic of internet gossip. Power ballad "Guns and Roses" should fuel the flames: "Chasing after you feels a little dangerous/ I could give it all, but it never is enough/ Just when I think we're friends/ All of your words turn to lead/ Planting flowers in my head/ Aiming for love, hitting me instead." And "27 Club," a bittersweet-sounding acoustic number, is sure to spur guessing games, as Wade sings about "laying in the bed at the Chateau/ With someone I saw on TV but barely even know" and being "out in LA with a Beverly Hills hottie/ The kind that wants to go and sniff the pills off my body." It builds and the guitars rock out, but Wade, who proudly wears her sobriety, is sometimes left "feeling so sad/ I could reach for the gun/ I could reach for the bottle/ But it's great/ I'm getting paid ... I didn't make the 27 club/ I'm 28." Glad she's here. © Shelly Ridenour/Qobuz

Unlike many bands that release notable debut albums and then take years to deliver a follow-up, the Strokes got Room on Fire out as quickly as possible after their lengthy tour for Is This It. Good thing, too; the two years between their debut and this album were long enough for the expectations for -- and the backlash against -- a new Strokes album to reach formidable proportions. And the Strokes sound like they have a lot to prove on Room on Fire, not to their naysayers, but to themselves. On the surface, the album isn't drastically different than Is This It, but it's not predictable. Instead of delivering an album's worth of "Last Nite"s, "Someday"s, and "NYC Cop"s, Room on Fire expands on their debut's off-kilter and complex tracks, like "Is This It?" and "Hard to Explain." The album's first single, "12:51," signals the Strokes' intent: its whistling, synth-like guitars and handclaps are undeniably catchy, but at first, the song seems to be searching for a structure. Eventually, though, it becomes sneakily addictive -- it's a stealth pop song. Likewise, the album opens with "What Ever Happened?," on which Julian Casablancas snarls "I wanna be forgotten/And I don't wanna be reminded" -- not exactly the likeliest start to what should be a triumphant second album from one of the most celebrated rock bands of the 2000s. In many ways, Room on Fire is the Strokes' bid to be taken seriously, which may be why they began this album with producer Nigel Godrich before returning to Is This It producer Gordon Raphael. To his credit, Raphael gives the album its own sound: it's brighter and fuller than Is This It's low-rent production. Room on Fire also has a distinct attitude. Is This It sounded effortless, but it's evident that a great deal of effort was put into Room on Fire. Yet the album's most crafted moments are its most exciting: "Automatic Stop," a playful, poignant look back at a love triangle, lopes along to a reggae beat (and features the witty lyrics "So many fish there in the sea/I wanted her/He wanted me"). "Under Control," an awkwardly gorgeous homage to '60s soul, is possibly the best Strokes song yet. Several songs recapture some of Is This It's exuberance; not surprisingly, they're the ones that the band wrote while on tour. "You Talk Way Too Much" revs on one of their most Velvets-y riffs; "Meet Me in the Bathroom"'s Motown-like bassline and shimmery guitars add some style to its underlying sleaze. However, the Strokes are a different band than when they recorded Is This It, and Room on Fire's best songs acknowledge that. There's a weariness lingering around Room on Fire like stale smoke, especially on "The End Has No End," a loop of a song about a nagging breakup that repeats its seemingly nonsensical title in a surprisingly affecting way. "Reptilia," meanwhile, sounds like a long night of partying turned sour. "Please don't slow me down if I'm going too fast," Casablancas wails (most of Room on Fire's distortion comes from his vocals, which give the impression that he's gargled with turpentine and brushed his teeth with steel wool for the past two years). The motif of moving too fast and not minding it winds through Room on Fire, reflecting its svelte 33-minute running time as well as the swiftness of the Strokes' career. This compressed feel, the precision of the band's playing and arrangements, and the way every song comes to an abrupt stop sometimes make the album sound too closed-off. Room on Fire's best moments fight against this tendency and suggest that the Strokes are continuing to grow, perhaps beyond what their listeners want from them. Some may gripe that it's never as good as the first time, but Room on Fire shows that even after all that happened to the Strokes, they can still surprise.© Heather Phares /TiVo

When One Direction went on hiatus and its members went their separate ways to work on solo projects, the most anticipated of them was Harry Styles. His charming persona and elastic vocals had him positioned as the Timberlake of the group -- the one who might be able to stake his own claim in the pop landscape. With his self-titled debut album, he does a fine job of delivering a statement of independence while staying true to the One Direction sound. Working with a small handpicked band and producer Jeff Bhasker, Styles crafted an album that ranges from intimate to epic, while always keeping the focus on his vocals and doing a little self-exploration in the lyrics. He and his team don't really stretch past what One D did musically; there are folky acoustic tunes ("Sweet Creature"), lush introspective ballads ("From the Dining Table"), nods to '80 hair metal ("Kiwi"), and silly pop songs ("Carolina") of the sort that could be found on any One D album. The difference is that with just one guy singing all the songs, Harry Styles sounds more focused and personal. And his voice is a thing of beauty; soaring on the big-screen ballads ("Sign of the Times"), reaching emotional depths on the hushed confessionals ("Meet Me in the Hallway"), and snapping with a Jagger-esque strut on the uptempo songs ("Only Angel"). His lyrics can't quite keep up; along with the occasional cliché, there are too many times when listeners are left guessing who he's singing about instead of losing themselves in the song. That being said, it's certainly no worse than the writing on One D songs. Besides, it's easy to forgive the weakness of the words when they are sung so powerfully and with such conviction. The band Styles employs isn't exactly distinctive, and the production sometimes errs on the side of slickness, but for the most part it all comes together in a pretty package topped by Styles' impressive singing. The album really clicks when the arrangements and production combine into something interesting. "Sign of the Times" is the kind of sweeping, heart-stoppingly epic ballad Robbie Williams mastered; "Ever Since New York" borrows the guitar riff from Badfinger's "Baby Blue," builds a lush wall of Styles' vocal harmonies, and comes off like a well-crafted folk-rock update; and the glammy, Elton John-inspired "Woman" adds some welcome '70s-style weirdness to the proceedings, which is something the album could have used more of. Harry Styles works exceedingly well as a modern pop album and an extension of the One D sound and brand, but as the kind of personal statement Styles wants to make, it comes very close, but ultimately falls just short. More weirdness, less slickness, and a distinct musical vision next time and maybe he'll get there.© Tim Sendra /TiVo

Following the tour for Rid of Me, Polly Harvey parted ways with Robert Ellis and Stephen Vaughn, leaving her free to expand her music from the bluesy punk that dominated PJ Harvey's first two albums. It also left her free to experiment with her style of songwriting. Where Dry and Rid of Me seemed brutally honest, To Bring You My Love feels theatrical, with each song representing a grand gesture. Relying heavily on religious metaphors and imagery borrowed from the blues, Harvey has written a set of songs that are lyrically reminiscent of Nick Cave's and Tom Waits' literary excursions into the gothic American heartland. Since she was a product of post-punk, she's nowhere near as literally bluesy as Cave or Waits, preferring to embellish her songs with shards of avant guitar, eerie keyboards, and a dense, detailed production. It's a far cry from the primitive guitars of her first two albums, but Harvey pulls it off with style, since her songwriting is tighter and more melodic than before; the menacing "Down by the Water" has genuine hooks, as does the psycho stomp of "Meet Ze Monsta," the wailing "Long Snake Moan," and the stately "C'Mon Billy." The clear production by Harvey, Flood, and John Parish makes these growths evident, which in turn makes To Bring You My Love her most accessible album, even if the album lacks the indelible force of its predecessors.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

When this two-LP set was initially released in January 1971, Canned Heat was back to its R&B roots, sporting slightly revised personnel. In the spring of the previous year, Larry "The Mole" Taylor (bass) and Harvey Mandel (guitar) simultaneously accepted invitations to join John Mayall's concurrent incarnation of the Bluesbreakers. This marked the return of Henry "Sunflower" Vestine (guitar) and the incorporation of Antonio "Tony" de la Barreda (bass), a highly skilled constituent of Aldolfo de la Parra (drums). Sadly, it would also be the final effort to include co-founder Alan "Blind Owl" Wilson, who passed away in September 1970. Hooker 'n Heat (1971) is a low-key affair split between unaccompanied solo John Lee Hooker (guitar/vocals) tunes, collaborations between Hooker and Wilson (piano/guitar/harmonica), as well as five full-blown confabs between Hooker and Heat. The first platter focuses on Hooker's looser entries that vacillate from the relatively uninspired ramblings of "Send Me Your Pillow" and "Drifter" to the essential and guttural "Feelin' Is Gone" or spirited "Bottle Up and Go." The latter being among those with Wilson on piano. Perhaps the best of the batch is the lengthy seven-minute-plus "World Today," which is languid and poignant talking blues, with Hooker lamenting the concurrent state of affairs around the globe. "I Got My Eyes on You" is an unabashed derivative of Hooker's classic "Dimples," with the title changed for what were most likely legal rather than artistic concerns. That said, the readings of the seminal "Burning Hell" and "Bottle Up and Go" kept their familiar monikers intact. The full-fledged collaborations shine as both parties unleash some of their finest respective work. While Canned Heat get top bill -- probably as it was the group's record company that sprung for Hooker 'n Heat -- make no mistake, as Hooker steers the combo with the same gritty and percussive guitar leads that have become his trademark. The epic "Boogie Chillen No. 2" stretches over 11 and a half minutes and is full of the same swagger as the original, with the support of Canned Heat igniting the verses and simmering on the subsequent instrumental breaks with all killer and no filler. The 2002 two-CD pressing by the French Magic Records label is augmented with "It's All Right," with a single edit of "Whiskey and Wimmen."© Lindsay Planer /TiVo

Lord Huron's fourth full-length effort and the follow-up to 2018's Vide Noir, the aptly named Long Lost sounds trapped in amber -- nostalgia has always been a topical and stylistic throughline for the Los Angeles-based/Michigan-bred indie-folk group. A fever dream of Baroque pop and country-western twang, the 16-track set commences with the first of several interstitial pieces before launching into the opulent single "Mine Forever." Outfitted with plenty of open road imagery, lush vistas, and wet, Morricone-inspired guitar stabs, it's unabashedly retro, stunningly beautiful, and generally indicative of what follows. Peppered with interludes that run the gamut from gang vocal callbacks to spectral radio emissions, Long Lost aims for total immersion, and when consumed in a single sitting, it is undeniably transportive. The sonic touchstones of past outings remain prominent -- the snappy "Not Dead Yet" bears the hallmarks of a Lindsey Buckingham production, and the title cut is awash in dense Fleet Foxes harmonies -- but for the most part, the band's verdant, Midwestern splendor has been consumed by rolling tumbleweeds and open prairies. Except for the jocular "At Sea," an exercise in Nilsson-esque Tiki Torch exotica, Long Lost feels like it was conceived and constructed in the alternate reality of an Old West version of the Moody Blues. Agreeable yet melancholic and peppered with moments of cinematic Lynch-ian weirdness, it's the purest and most satisfying distillation of Lord Huron's pastoral folk-pop to date, and the perfect soundtrack for a road trip to nowhere.© James Christopher Monger /TiVo

Little was heard from James Blake throughout an almost three-year period that followed Overgrown, his second straight Top Ten U.K. album. He appeared on an Airhead track and released a 12" on his 1-800-Dinosaur label, yet it wasn't until February 2016, during his BBC Radio 1 program, that listeners got their initial taste of album three. Drawn like a scene from a dissolving relationship that immediately precedes release and relief, "Modern Soul" hinted that the album could be a bit brighter with less of the anguish that permeated the singer/producer's first two albums. Another song, a vaguely aching minimal dub ballad, was aired two months later, possibly chosen because it too had a title, "Timeless," that could potentially wind up detractors. In late April, when it seemed like he might spring on his audience a tune named something like "Proper Music," Blake received a profile boost from Beyoncé, whose Lemonade prominently sported a pair of songs featuring his assistance. A couple weeks later, the long-delayed The Colour in Anything materialized at a length nearly that of his first two albums put together. Recording began in London. Once stalled by creative fatigue, Blake decamped to Rick Rubin's Malibu studio. The sunnier environment had no evident effect on the album's outlook. Regardless of location, Blake continues to deal in fraught romantic trauma, setting the album's tone immediately with "Radio Silence," a mix of mournful gospel and surging synthesizers in which "I can't believe this, you don't wanna see me" is stated something like ten times. As he sifts through the wreckage in puzzled and lucid states, he still stretches and distorts his frail but transfixing choir boy voice. A few lines are expressed with Auto-Tune fillips, some are enhanced through fine layering, and others are left unembellished, sometimes sunk into the mix of basslines that tap and thrum, percussion that gently skitters and scrapes, and synthesizers, applied like coating, that swell and swarm. Most disorienting is "Put That Away and Talk to Me," akin to a malfunctioning lullaby mobile playing a late-'90s Timbaland knockoff. Blake sought some help, not only from Rubin, who co-produced the Malibu sessions, but from Justin Vernon, who assisted with two songs and is heard on "I Need a Forest Fire," while Frank Ocean co-wrote another pair, including the all-voice closer, where Blake solemnly resolves -- ta-da -- that contentment is up to him. Compared to the self-titled debut and Overgrown, this a more graceful and denser purging, one that can soundtrack some intense wallowing or, at a low volume, throb and murmur unobtrusively in the background.© Andy Kellman /TiVo

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