Having had a breakthrough hit in 2021 with Sayin' What I'm Thinkin' and its accompanying single "Things a Man Oughta Know," Lainey Wilson offers something of a manifesto with its 2022 follow-up, Bell Bottom Country. Take the title slightly literally: it's deliberately, defiantly retro, dredging up images of the 1970s, an era when country singers weren't necessarily wearing bell-bottom jeans but rockers certainly were. Wilson simultaneously belongs to both camps, reviving some of the spirit of the outlaws and the hippie country-rockers that served as their counterparts. It's a territory previously explored by the likes of Eric Church and Miranda Lambert, a pair of singers produced by Jay Joyce, who also helms Bell Bottom Country. Joyce's sinewy yet nimble production is filled with muscle and color, its shifting sounds emphasizing how Wilson doesn't stay in one place: she can be a defiant rocker but also a sensitive troubadour, a writer with a flair for melody and a weakness for puns, a singer whose sentimental streak is happily tarnished by a gritty twang. She occasionally leans into the rock aspects of her persona a bit too hard -- even if she betters the original, there was no need for a cover of 4 Non Blondes' "What's Up?" -- and she does show a fondness for country corn, yet those traits are offset by her knack for narrative and natural earthiness, qualities that help make Bell Bottom Country a compelling listen.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

Nestled between the accomplished Crime of the Century album and 1977's Even in the Quietest Moments, Crisis? What Crisis? may not have given the band any chart success, but it did help them capture a fan base that had no concern for Supertramp's commercial sound. With Rick Davies showing off his talent on the keyboards, and Roger Hodgson's vocals soaring on almost every track, they managed to win back their earlier progressive audience while gaining new fans at the same time. Crisis received extensive air play on FM stations, especially in Britain, and the album made it into the Top 20 there and fell just outside the Top 40 in the U.S. "Ain't Nobody But Me," "Easy Does It," and the beautiful "Sister Moonshine" highlight Supertramp's buoyant and brisk instrumental and vocal alliance, while John Helliwell's saxophone gives the album even greater width. The songwriting is sharp, attentive, and passionate, and the lyrics showcase Supertramp's ease at invoking emotion into their music, which would be taken to even greater heights in albums to come. Even simple tracks like "Lady" and "Just a Normal Day" blend in nicely with the album's warm personality and charmingly subtle mood. Although the tracks aren't overly contagious or hook laden, there's still a work-in-process type of appeal spread through the cuts, which do grow on you over time.© Mike DeGagne /TiVo

Bruno Mars’ debut album Doo-Wops & Hooligans made the talented singer/writer/producer into a star, he racked up hit singles, hosted Saturday Night Live, and became something of a romantic icon thanks to loverman anthems like “Just the Way You Are” and “Grenade.” On the way to writing and recording his second album, Unorthodox Jukebox, something seems to have gone sour for Mars. Where on his debut he sang about falling on a grenade for his girl, on this record he’s more likely to throw her on top of a grenade. Between the songs about how he can’t help but succumb to the dubious charms of young girls (“Young Girls”), the “B” who stole his money and left him broke (“Natalie”), and the type of charmer who can only be made happy by fat stacks of money (“Money Make Her Smile”), Mars’ opinion of the opposite sex seems to have taken a nosedive. Add in the song about taking cocaine and having a romantic evening so violent the cops are called (“Gorilla”) and it’s clear that the heart of the album is a cold, dark one. That the rest of the songs have some of the easy-going charm of Doo-Wops, like the lilting reggae come-on “Show Me” or the MJ-inspired disco jam "Treasure,” isn’t quite enough to overcome the queasy feeling that comes with even a cursory listen to the lyrics. It’s too bad, because at his best, like on the single “Locked Out of Heaven,” which sounds like a breezy mashup of “Beat It,” the Police, and Dire Straits, or on the Sam Cooke-inspired album-closing ballad "If I Knew," Mars’ light vocal delivery and way with a hook is quite appealing. The record sounds good, too, with able production help from heavy hitters like Mark Ronson, Diplo, Emile Haynie, and his own crew, the Smeezingtons. Too bad it’s a step back from Doo-Wops in so many ways, leaving people who saw promise in his debut shaking their heads in disappointment and hoping Mars can sort out his feelings about women and get back to being a sweet romancer, instead of an icky hater.© Tim Sendra /TiVo

Six years after the classical Music of the Spheres, Mike Oldfield returns to his version of rock. Man on the Rocks is a slick production that recalls the AOR sounds of the late '70s and early '80s. He plays many instruments here but concentrates mainly on guitar. Among his collaborators are bassist Leland Sklar, keyboardist Matt Rollings, drummer John Robinson, guitarist Michael Thompson, and the Struts' vocalist Luke Spiller. Though these songs are housed in tightly written, hooky pop/rock melodies with conscious source checks from Queen and Toto to the Rolling Stones and the Steve Miller Band, they are among -- if not the -- most deeply personal entries in his catalog. Opener "Sailing" contains pained, troubled lyrics, yet its Celtic-flavored singalong chorus and ringing slide guitar solo add contrast and elevation. "Moonshine" is a poignant Irish immigrant's song. The opening guitar vamp deliberately evokes U2 (though one can convincingly argue that the Edge got it from Oldfield). A sweet backing chorus carries the refrain as martial snares, fiddles, accordion, pipes, and whistles increase the drama until an epic guitar break carries it out. The title track is one of the set's finest moments. Enormous drums, a chorale, sweeping strings, washes of organ, synth, and blazing guitars frame Spiller's anthemic vocal. On "Castaway," the pulsing keyboards and guitars recall Queen and Oldfield's guitar blisters, spitting angular riffs, and spiraling prog changes. "Dreaming in the Wind" begins as an acoustic rocker illustrated by strings, guitars, organs, and a fine lead vocal. Oldfield's guitar transforms it, melding arena rock, folk, and prog to its core. "Nuclear" again suggests Queen, but its thudding tom-toms, guitar layers, and orchestra are classic Oldfield. "Chariots" uses big zig-zagging synths and fat phased guitars working a Bo Diddley beat; it's where Toto meets Jim Steinman, but the deliberate excess works. This set does run out of steam near the end. The long ballad "Following the Angels" is repetitive and dreary. "Irene," where Oldfield takes on the Stones, is clever but feels out of place here. The closer, a read of William McDowell's hymn "I Give Myself Away" strays far too close to CCM. It's easy to dismiss Man on the Rocks as simply "dad rock," but it's more complex than that. These songs, all framed inside classic pop/rock, are beautifully written and played. Their fine lyrics contain complex emotions of crisis, struggle, resolve, and redemption. Oldfield is one of the few remaining musicians with the songwriting, production, and playing chops who could helm a big league session like this, let alone pull it off. Imperfections aside, this is a strange, oddly compelling addition to his catalog.© Thom Jurek /TiVo

Six years after the classical Music of the Spheres, Mike Oldfield returns to his version of rock. Man on the Rocks is a slick production that recalls the AOR sounds of the late '70s and early '80s. He plays many instruments here but concentrates mainly on guitar. Among his collaborators are bassist Leland Sklar, keyboardist Matt Rollings, drummer John Robinson, guitarist Michael Thompson, and the Struts' vocalist Luke Spiller. Though these songs are housed in tightly written, hooky pop/rock melodies with conscious source checks from Queen and Toto to the Rolling Stones and the Steve Miller Band, they are among -- if not the -- most deeply personal entries in his catalog. Opener "Sailing" contains pained, troubled lyrics, yet its Celtic-flavored singalong chorus and ringing slide guitar solo add contrast and elevation. "Moonshine" is a poignant Irish immigrant's song. The opening guitar vamp deliberately evokes U2 (though one can convincingly argue that the Edge got it from Oldfield). A sweet backing chorus carries the refrain as martial snares, fiddles, accordion, pipes, and whistles increase the drama until an epic guitar break carries it out. The title track is one of the set's finest moments. Enormous drums, a chorale, sweeping strings, washes of organ, synth, and blazing guitars frame Spiller's anthemic vocal. On "Castaway," the pulsing keyboards and guitars recall Queen and Oldfield's guitar blisters, spitting angular riffs, and spiraling prog changes. "Dreaming in the Wind" begins as an acoustic rocker illustrated by strings, guitars, organs, and a fine lead vocal. Oldfield's guitar transforms it, melding arena rock, folk, and prog to its core. "Nuclear" again suggests Queen, but its thudding tom-toms, guitar layers, and orchestra are classic Oldfield. "Chariots" uses big zig-zagging synths and fat phased guitars working a Bo Diddley beat; it's where Toto meets Jim Steinman, but the deliberate excess works. This set does run out of steam near the end. The long ballad "Following the Angels" is repetitive and dreary. "Irene," where Oldfield takes on the Stones, is clever but feels out of place here. The closer, a read of William McDowell's hymn "I Give Myself Away" strays far too close to CCM. It's easy to dismiss Man on the Rocks as simply "dad rock," but it's more complex than that. These songs, all framed inside classic pop/rock, are beautifully written and played. Their fine lyrics contain complex emotions of crisis, struggle, resolve, and redemption. Oldfield is one of the few remaining musicians with the songwriting, production, and playing chops who could helm a big league session like this, let alone pull it off. Imperfections aside, this is a strange, oddly compelling addition to his catalog.© Thom Jurek /TiVo

Tubular Bells II is the update and/or sequel to Mike Oldfield's landmark 1973 new age recording Tubular Bells, which will resonate forever as the haunting theme to The Exorcist. Here, Oldfield repeats his multi-instrumental performance, playing guitar, banjo, organ, percussion, mandolin, and the titular tubular bells, although in a nod to modernism, the latter instruments often appear as samples through Oldfield's Kurzweil synth rig. It's the piece's captivating main theme that again takes center stage here. The eight-minute opening track "Sentinel" plays it off of whining guitars and breathy female vocals. The latter element is a nice touch. The genre that the original Bells helped establish has come quite a ways in 20 years, and this fact isn't lost on Oldfield. Throughout II, he incorporates the multi-cultural influences that have cross-pollinated with new age, bringing in breathy ethnic flutes, Asian-inflected string sounds, and the whispered foreign words of "Sentinel." The famous ceiling of the album, where each instrument is introduced by a narrator, becomes another summit between old and new. Alan Rickman handles the introductions (during "Bell") and runs through a litany of instruments that includes "digital sound processor," reed and pipe organ, "the Venetian effect," glockenspiel, "two slightly sampled electric guitars," and vocal chords, which Rickman introduces as if they're an exotic museum piece. Some of Oldfield's fancy-handed riffs fail; the bagpipes of "Tattoo" seem too obvious and "Sunjammer" sounds like an unfortunate outtake from the Who's Tommy. But overall, Tubular Bells II succeeds mightily. It doesn't beat its predecessor, but does update its sonics and technology with Oldfield's flair for studied grandiosity.© Johnny Loftus /TiVo

Apropos of nothing, Georgian-born chanteuse Katie Melua surprised everyone with 2010's The House by hooking up with William Orbit and fusing her familiar brand of coffee table jazz-pop with flourishes of subtle electronica. Perhaps concerned that it failed to top the charts like her previous three records, the 27-year-old has reverted to type for its follow-up, Secret Symphony, by returning to mentor Mike Batt, the former Wombles songwriter responsible for her incredible early success. It's a disappointing and frustrating retreat back to safety. Melua's distinctive velvety vocals were always more intriguing than the so-laid-back-they're-horizontal arrangements which surrounded them, but her last effort was an encouraging sign that she could leave her usual dinner party background music firmly behind. And while Batt's contributions here -- such as the drowsy lounge pop of "The Bit That I Don't Get," the steel-laden country balladry of "The Walls of the World," and the yearning, string-soaked title track -- are all typically elegant, demure, and understated affairs, they're so overly polite and ultimately anodyne, they make Eva Cassidy sound like a death metal act. If any more evidence were needed that Batt appears to be restricting her talents, Melua is far more captivating on the self-penned chamber pop of "Forgetting All My Troubles," and the four cover versions included, from the soaring torch song reworking of Ron Sexsmith's "Gold in Them Hills," to the double bass-led shuffle treatment of Fran Healy's "Moonshine," to the straightforward rendition of Françoise Hardy's sultry chanson "All Over the World." Secret Symphony is therefore not without its charms, but ultimately it's a clear step backwards from an artist who appeared to be overcoming her notable lack of edge.© Jon O'Brien /TiVo

Lights' fourth full-length album, 2017's sophisticated Skin & Earth, is a dynamically rendered concept album that balances a post-apocalyptic, comic-book inspired story line with an addictive bevy of user-friendly hooks. A longtime fan of comics, Lights impressively taught herself how to write, draw, and produce her own six-issue comic book series while working on the music for Skin & Earth. Subsequently, the album was released in tandem with the comic books, and each of the album's 14 tracks correlates directly to a chapter within. But even if fans never check out the comic, there's nothing to stop them from enjoying the album, which features some of the Canadian singer's most emotive and powerful songs. Helping her achieve this new level artistry are a handful of like-minded collaborators including producers Michael Abram Schultz, Iain James, Alan Wilkis (aka Big Data), Flor's Dylan Bauld, Purity Ring's Corin Roddick, and others. These are soulful, open-hearted songs with a wide-screen production aesthetic that combines Lights' electronic inclinations with a textured mix of instruments from fuzzy, laser-beam synths and pounding beats, to razor-sharp electric guitars and floor-vibrating basslines. Additionally, with the comic's conceptual story line informing the production, the album has a pleasing emotional arc. As she sings on the swoony, R&B-tinged "Skydiving," "It all starts here/With a rush of blood to the head/And I feel no Fear." From there, Lights moves the listener along with cinematic pacing, touching upon the dancey, romantic uplift of "Until the Light," and the garagey swagger of "Savage" (featuring Twenty One Pilots' Josh Dun), through to the effusive pop of "Giants," and the poignant, Giorgio Moroder-esque closer "Almost Had Me." Along the way we get the smoldering En Vogue-meets-Grimes-sounding "New Fears," the yearning, falsetto-tinged balladry of "Morphine," and the whipcrack electronica of "Kicks." Taking nothing away from Lights' comic book ambitions, Skin & Earth works as a fearlessly mature, confidently articulated album with enough musical and lyrical gravitas to stand proudly on its own.© Matt Collar /TiVo

Though the roots of this 1977 album go back to the early '70s, Dennis Wilson's one issued solo project, Pacific Ocean Blue, is certainly a product of its time, both musically and texturally. The set's 12 songs reveal a songwriter who was looking to stretch out on his own and engage a vision of music that stood far outside what the Beach Boys were capable of handling or executing. Wilson himself panned the album, claiming it had no substance, and looked forward to the release of Bamboo, a record that remained unfinished and unreleased at the time of his death. (Brother Brian, however, loved the album and celebrated it with his usual childlike intensity.) Pacific Ocean Blue is a moody view of the SoCal landscape, and of Wilson's own interior life -- or his struggle to have one. From the environmental lament, "River Song," that opens the disc, we can hear a new kind of West Coast music emerging. It's not steeped in the weighty philosophical and political concerns that other Angelenos such as Jackson Browne were penning. Instead, it's a wispy rock tune revolving around a beautiful piano figure, shuffling guitars, and lyrics that take a personal concern for the state of the nature crumbling around it. "Dreamer" is a classic piece of '70s rock as it wound itself around the emerging R&B of the time, with interlaced horn lines, synths, and funky basslines cutting through the bridge and into the final verses; all steeped in a gorgeous, lush groove that even at this relaxed tempo won't quit. Mostly, however, Pacific Ocean Blue is a diary. Given that it was recorded over nearly seven years, the songs reflect the snapshot quality of Wilson's life in the studio: what he was capable of, what he learned, and how he stretched himself. Take, for example, the tender stoner balladry of "Thoughts of You" and "Time;" with their languid, echoing piano hovering in the mix with a shadow presence as Wilson sings with a longing that is true, yet muted by his seeming resignation to things being a total loss. The latter track also features a moody trumpet solo reminiscent of Chet Baker and transforms itself into a horn-driven anthem by its nadir. This album is a classic, blissed-out, coked-up slice of '70s rock and pop that is as essential as Fleetwood Mac's Rumours. [There is a bootleg version of Pacific Ocean Blue that contains -- besides a master that is every bit as good as the released version -- five bonus tracks (mostly backing vocal tracks) that may not be everybody's cup of tea, but fanatics will absolutely have to have them.]© Thom Jurek /TiVo

Although Free made excellent studio records, Free Live! is perhaps the best way to experience the band in all its glory. Led by singer-guitarist Paul Rodgers and lead guitarist Paul Kosoff, the band swings through nine songs with power, clarity, and a dose of funk. Of course, the hit single "All Right Now" is gleefully extended, much to the audience's and listener's delight. Superbly recorded by Andy Johns, this is one of the greatest live albums of the 1970s.© Matthew Greenwald /TiVo

Although Free was never destined to scrape the same skies as Led Zeppelin, when they first burst out of the traps in 1968, close to a year ahead of Jimmy Page and company, they set the world of British blues-rock firmly on its head. The band was a blistering combination of youth, ambition, and, despite those tender years, experience that across the course of their debut album, did indeed lay the groundwork for all that Zeppelin would embrace. The fact that Free and Zeppelin were cut from the same cloth is immediately apparent, even before you start comparing the versions of "The Hunter" included on both bands' debut albums. Where Free streaks ahead, however, is in their refusal to compromise their own vision of the blues. Even at its most commercial ("I'm a Mover" and "Worry"), Tons of Sobs has a density that makes Zeppelin and the rest of the era's rock contemporaries sound like flyweights by comparison.© Dave Thompson /TiVo

Supertramp came into their own on their third album, 1974's Crime of the Century, as their lineup gelled but, more importantly, so did their sound. The group still betrayed a heavy Pink Floyd influence, particularly in its expansive art rock arrangements graced by saxophones, but Supertramp isn't nearly as spooky as Floyd -- they're snarky collegiate elitists, an art rock variation on Steely Dan or perhaps a less difficult 10cc, filled with cutting jokes and allusions, best heard on "Bloody Well Right." This streak would later flourish on Breakfast in America, but it's present enough to give them their own character. Also present is a slight sentimental streak and a heavy fondness for pop, heard on "Dreamer," a soaring piece of art pop that became their first big hit. That and "Bloody Well Right" are the concise pop moments on the record; the rest of Crime of the Century is atmospheric like Dark Side of the Moon, but with a lighter feel and a Beatles bent. At times the album floats off into its own world, with an effect more tedious than hypnotic, but it's still a huge leap forward for the group and their most consistent album outside of that 1979 masterwork, Breakfast in America. © Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

It's been a good decade since Kate Stables last treated us to her luminous folk music. The multi-instrumentalist from Bristol, now an adopted Parisian, makes music that combines Karen Dalton's dreaminess, the serene melancholy of the Velvet Underground (think Pale Blue Eyes), the classical lyricism of Bert Jansch, the melodic force of Carol King, the poetry of Joan Baez… stop, that'll do! Ms This Is The Kit is above all, the artisan of a generous folk music which spread through her three previous albums, Krulle Bol (2008), Wriggle Out The Restless (2010) and Bashed Out (2015), and which now offers us even more shimmering lights on Moonshine Freeze. Produced the great John Paris, a disciple of PJ Harvey, this record was conceived by Stables with her group (Rozi Plain, Jamie Whitby-Coles, Neil Smith and Jesse D Vernon) in a studio in Bristol. A fan of the British artist, Aaron Dessner (guitarist for The National) also makes an appearance on some tracks. The result is a beautiful tango between musical sophistication and instrumental delicacy. © MD/Qobuz