The maelstrom of hype surrounding self-modeled Hollywood pop star Lana Del Rey's 2012 breakthrough album, Born to Die, found critics, listeners, and pop culture aficionados divided about her detached, hyper-stylized approach to every aspect of her music and public persona. What managed to get overlooked by many was that Born to Die made such a polarizing impression because it actually offered something that didn't sound like anything else. Del Rey's sultry, overstated orchestral pop recast her as some sort of vaguely imagined chanteuse for a generation raised on Adderall and the Internet, with heavy doses of Twin Peaks atmosphere adding a creepy sheen to intentionally vapid (and undeniably catchy) radio hits. Follow-up album Ultraviolence shifts gears considerably, building a thick, slow-moving atmosphere with its languid songs and opulent arrangements. Gone are the big beats and glossy production that resulted in tracks like "Summertime Sadness." Instead, Ultraviolence begins with the protracted, rolling melancholia of "Cruel World," nearly seven minutes of what feels like a sad, reverb-drenched daydream. The song sets the stage for the rest of the album, which simmers with a haunted, yearning feeling but never boils over. Even the most pop-friendly moments here are steeped in patient, jazz-inflected moodiness, as with the sad-eyed longing of "Shades of Cool" or the unexpected tempo changes that connect the slinky verses of single "West Coast" to their syrupy, swaying choruses. Production from the Black Keys' Dan Auerbach might have something to do with the metered restraint that permeates the album, with songs like "Sad Girl" carrying some of the slow-burning touches of greasy blues-rock Auerbach is known for. A few puzzling moments break up the continuity of the album. The somewhat hooky elements of "Brooklyn Baby" can't quite rise above its disjointed song structure and cringeable lyrics that could be taken either as mockery of the hipster lifestyle or self-parody. "Money Power Glory" steps briefly out of the overall dreamscape of the album, sounding like a tossed-off outtake from the Born to Die sessions. Despite these mild missteps, Ultraviolence thrives for the most part in its density, meant clearly to be absorbed as an entire experience, with even its weaker pieces contributing to a mood that's consumptive, sexy, and as eerie as big-budget pop music gets. Del Rey's loudest detractors criticized her music as a hollow, cliché-ridden product designed by the music industry and lacking the type of substance that makes real pop stars pop. Ultraviolence asserts that as a songwriter, she has complete control of her craft, deciding on songs far less flashy or immediate but still uniquely captivating. As these songs shift her sound into more mature and nuanced places, it becomes clear that every deadpan affectation, lispy lyric, and overblown allusion to desperate living has been a knowing move in the creation of the strange, beguiling character -- and sonic experience -- we know as Lana Del Rey.© Fred Thomas /TiVo

With 1970's Workingman's Dead, the Grateful Dead went through an overnight metamorphosis, turning abruptly from tripped-out free-form rock toward sublime acoustic folk and Americana. Taking notes on vocal harmonies from friends Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young, the Dead used the softer statements of their fourth studio album as a subtle but moving reflection on the turmoil, heaviness, and hope America's youth was facing as the idealistic '60s ended. American Beauty was recorded just a few months after its predecessor, both expanding and improving on the bluegrass, folk, and psychedelic country explorations of Workingman's Dead with some of the band's most brilliant compositions. The songs here have a noticeably more relaxed and joyous feel. Having dived headfirst into this new sound with the previous album, the bandmembers found the summit of their collaborative powers here, with lyricist Robert Hunter penning some of his most poetic work, Jerry Garcia focusing more on gliding pedal steel than his regular electric lead guitar work, and standout lead vocal performances coming from Bob Weir (on the anthem to hippie love "Sugar Magnolia"), Ron "Pigpen" McKernan (on the husky blues of "Operator"), and Phil Lesh (on the near-perfect opening tune, "Box of Rain"). This album also marked the beginning of what would become a long musical friendship between Garcia and Dave Grisman, whose mandolin playing adds depth and flavor to tracks like the outlaw country-folk of "Friend of the Devil" and the gorgeously devotional "Ripple." American Beauty eventually spawned the band's highest charting single -- "Truckin'," the greasy blues-rock tribute to nomadic counterculture -- but it also contained some of their most spiritual and open-hearted sentiments ever, their newfound love of intricate vocal arrangements finding pristine expression on the lamenting "Brokedown Palace" and the heavenly nostalgia and gratitude of "Attics of My Life." While the Dead eventually amassed a following so devoted that following the band from city to city became the center of many people’s lives, the majority of the band's magic came in the boundless heights it reached in its live sets but rarely managed to capture in the studio setting. American Beauty is a categorical exception to this, offering a look at the Dead transcending even their own exploratory heights and making some of their most powerful music by examining their most gentle and restrained impulses. It’s easily the masterwork of their studio output, and a strong contender for the best music the band ever made, even including the countless hours of live shows captured on tape in the decades that followed.© Fred Thomas /TiVo

All bets regarding Abel Tesfaye's career arc were off once Trilogy, material previously released at no (financial) cost to the listener, went platinum. For a period after that, it seemed like the singer had peaked just short of pop-star status. His eager congregation pushed Kiss Land, the proper debut, to number two in the U.S., yet none of its singles, not even the one that featured Drake, reached the Hot 100. "Love Me Harder," a duet with labelmate Ariana Grande released in 2014, proved to be a masterstroke. It put Tesfaye in the Top Ten for the first time and began a streak of similarly effective singles that preceded -- and are included on -- Beauty Behind the Madness. "Earned It," a ballad recorded for the Fifty Shades of Grey soundtrack, showed that he could adapt to a traditional pop backdrop. That cut a path for "The Hills," in which Tesfaye alleviated his "day one" base with a typically degenerate slow jam, co-produced by Illangelo, that affirmed "When I'm fucked up, that's the real me" while taking the toxic narrative a step further with lines like "Drugs started feelin' like it's decaf." And then "Can't Feel My Face," a sleek slice of retro-modern disco-funk produced by Max Martin and Ali Payami, landed in June 2015. An obvious pop move, it worked -- it went to number one in the U.S. and several other territories. Tesfaye skillfully delivered his biggest hooks as he sang about dependency in that part-anguished, part-euphoric fashion derived from Michael Jackson. Like its advance singles, the rest of Beauty Behind the Madness is R&B and pop as drug-den paella: chemical and sexual abasement, self-loathing, and self-absorbed belligerence over narcotized sludge and less expected moves that peak with the wholly sweet "As You Are" and crest with a big-band diversion on "Losers." Collaborations with Kanye West, Ed Sheeran, and Lana Del Rey add star power; the last of that pack contributes to a moment where Tesfaye turns another corner by acknowledging a dead end through the fog, "addicted to a life that's so empty and so cold." The commercial strides are obvious. The creative advancements are less apparent, but they're in there.© Andy Kellman /TiVo

Cartwheel is thrilling, alive and so much cleaner, brighter—more high-fidelity—than the Brooklyn (by way of Minneapolis by way of Vancouver) shoegaze band Hotline TNT's previous extremely lo-fi releases. "It's transforming from a bedroom activity to a career," singer-songwriter Will Anderson (formerly of Weed) told NME of Hotline TNT's first album on Third Man Records. "That's where we're at right now." The "we," though, is still just Anderson plus engineers/co-producers Ian Teeple (Sn​õ​õper) and Aron Kobayashi Ritch this time. (Live, the lineup includes two more guitarists and a drummer.) "Protocol" is big in the way of My Bloody Valentine and early Lush, leaving you satisfied with the feeling of being completely full. It's about, Anderson has said, occasionally taking the blame in a relationship even if it's not fair: "Rip my pain off/ Make me do somersaults/ Break protocol," he sings in his sweet voice before the whole thing ends in vibrant feedback. Anderson is prone to describing his emotions through stomach-churning physical feats, like somersaults and cartwheels, as on "I Thought You'd Change" ("Cartwheel/ We're riding on our heels/ No deal/ A kiss would make it real"), which is about wanting a friendship to turn into something more and sounds like Stone Roses covering a Teenage Fanclub song. And that's the thing: There is so much lovely melody here, on songs like vibrating "BMX," with its harmonic layers; the giddy pop explosion of "Out of Town"; and even the slow-moving, luxuriant drone of "Maxine." "I Know You" opens with an ebb and flow of crashing guitar waves, but is really still a folk ballad. Many of the songs are short but complete sketches, clocking in at under three minutes—but that's all it takes for Anderson to execute a TKO. "Son In Law" is almost punishing in its opening heaviness before it mellows. Ride-like "Beauty Filter" shimmers and glimmers, with crashing drums punctuating the end of Anderson's lines. Excellent "History Channel" boasts muscular guitar that sounds as if it was sent through time and came home covered in shaggy fuzz; it's a pop song that practically teems with life. And "Stump" is a surprise and delight: a buoyant, cleaner-lined sunshine jangle with 1950s dream-angel vocals. © Shelly Ridenour/Qobuz

Eight years separate 2005's A Bigger Bang, the Rolling Stones' 24th album of original material, from its 1997 predecessor, Bridges to Babylon, the longest stretch of time between Stones albums in history, but unlike the three-year gap between 1986's Dirty Work and 1989's Steel Wheels, the band never really went away. They toured steadily, not just behind Bridges but behind the career-spanning 2002 compilation Forty Licks, and the steady activity paid off nicely, as the 2004 concert souvenir album Live Licks proved. The tight, sleek, muscular band showcased there was a surprise -- they played with a strength and swagger they hadn't had in years -- but a bigger surprise is that A Bigger Bang finds that reinvigorated band carrying its latter-day renaissance into the studio, turning in a sinewy, confident, satisfying album that's the band's best in years. Of course, every Stones album since their highly touted, self-conscious 1989 comeback, Steel Wheels, has been designed to get this kind of positive press, to get reviewers to haul out the cliché that this is their "best record since Exile on Main St." (Mick Jagger is so conscious of this, he deliberately compared Bigger Bang to Exile in all pre-release publicity and press, even if the scope and feel of Bang is very different from that 1972 classic), so it's hard not to take any praise with a grain of salt, but there is a big difference between this album and 1994's Voodoo Lounge. That album was deliberately classicist, touching on all of the signatures of classic mid-period, late-'60s/early-'70s Stones -- reviving the folk, country, and straight blues that balanced their trademark rockers -- and while it was often successful, it very much sounded like the Stones trying to be the Stones. What distinguishes A Bigger Bang is that it captures the Stones simply being the Stones, playing without guest stars, not trying to have a hit, not trying to adopt the production style of the day, not doing anything but lying back and playing. Far from sounding like a lazy affair, the album rocks really hard, tearing out of the gate with "Rough Justice," the toughest, sleaziest, and flat-out best song Jagger and Richards have come up with in years. It's not a red herring, either -- "She Saw Me Coming," "Look What the Cat Dragged In," and the terrific "Oh No Not You Again," which finds Mick spitting out lyrics with venom and zeal, are equally as hard and exciting, but the album isn't simply a collection of rockers. The band delves into straight blues with "Back of My Hand," turns toward pop with "Let Me Down Slow," rides a disco groove reminiscent of "Emotional Rescue" on "Rain Fall Down," and has a number of ballads, highlighted by "Streets of Love" and Keith's late-night barroom anthem "This Place Is Empty," that benefit greatly from the stripped-down, uncluttered production by Don Was and the Glimmer Twins. Throughout the album, the interplay of the band is at the forefront, which is one of the reasons the record is so consistent: even the songs that drift toward the generic are redeemed by the sound of the greatest rock & roll band ever playing at a latter-day peak. And, make no mistake about it, the Stones sound better as a band than they have in years: there's an ease and assurance to their performances that are a joy to hear, whether they're settling into a soulful groove or rocking harder than any group of 60-year-olds should. But A Bigger Bang doesn't succeed simply because the Stones are great musicians, it also works because this is a strong set of Jagger-Richards originals -- naturally, the songs don't rival their standards from the '60s and '70s, but the best songs here more than hold their own with the best of their post-Exile work, and there are more good songs here than on any Stones album since Some Girls. This may not be a startling comeback along the lines of Bob Dylan's Love and Theft, but that's fine, because over the last three decades the Stones haven't been about surprises: they've been about reliability. The problem is, they haven't always lived up to their promises, or when they did deliver the goods, it was sporadic and unpredictable. And that's what's unexpected about A Bigger Bang: they finally hold up their end of the bargain, delivering a strong, engaging, cohesive Rolling Stones album that finds everybody in prime form. Keith is loose and limber, Charlie is tight and controlled, Ronnie lays down some thrilling, greasy slide guitar, and Mick is having a grand time, making dirty jokes, baiting neo-cons, and sounding more committed to the Stones than he has in years. Best of all, this is a record where the band acknowledges its age and doesn't make a big deal about it: they're not in denial, trying to act like a younger band, they've simply accepted what they do best and go about doing it as if it's no big deal. But that's what makes A Bigger Bang a big deal: it's the Stones back in fighting form for the first time in years, and they have both the strength and the stamina to make the excellent latter-day effort everybody's been waiting for all these years.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

It’s not quite right to say that the Go-Go’s' 1981 debut, Beauty and the Beat, is where new wave caught hold in the U.S., but it’s not quite wrong, either. Prior to this, there had certainly been new wave hits -- Blondie had been reaching the Top Ten for two years running -- but the Go-Go’s ushered in the era of big, bright stylish pop, spending six weeks at the top of the U.S. charts and generating two singles that defined the era: the cool groove of “Our Lips Are Sealed” and the exuberant “We Got the Beat.” So big were these two hits that they sometimes suggested that Beauty and the Beat was a hits-and-filler record, an impression escalated by the boost the Go-Go’s received from the just-launched MTV, yet that’s hardly the case. Beauty and the Beat is sharp, clever, and catchy, explicitly drawing from the well of pre-Beatles ‘60s pop -- girl group harmonies, to be sure, but surf-rock echoes throughout -- but filtering it through the nervy energy of punk. With the assistance of Rob Freeman, producer Richard Gottehrer -- a veteran of the Strangeloves (“I Want Candy”) who also wrote the girl group standard “My Boyfriend’s Back” -- sanded down the band’s rougher edges, keeping the emphasis on the hooks and harmonies but giving the Go-Go’s enough kick and jangle that at times the group resembles nothing less than early R.E.M., particularly on “How Much More” and “Tonite.” But this isn’t Murmur; there is nothing murky about Beauty and the Beat at all -- this is infectiously cheerful pop, so hooky it’s sometimes easy to overlook how well-written these tunes are, but it’s the sturdiness of the songs that makes Beauty and the Beat a new wave classic.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

With a solid classical education, a pronounced taste for funk and pop and years of apprenticeship alongside the greatest jazz big bands of the modern era under his belt, Nils Landgren is eclectic by nature. The multi-talented trombonist, singer, composer, producer, arranger and conductor has established himself as one of the most iconic artists of the German label ACT (founded by Siggi Loch in 1992). He’s written over forty albums (and featured on around twenty more as both producer and guest soloist) and has now created an almost exhaustive overview of his musical talents with this three-CD box set. He brings together three generations of musicians, organised into small groups. Landgren varies the style and mood from one piece to the next, ensuring aesthetic coherence throughout with his articulate phrasing and the velvety sound of his trombone. There’s something for everyone here, from funk to chamber jazz to sophisticated pop songs. Plus, all of ACT’s star singers make an appearance (Caecile Norby, Viktoria Tolstoy, Anna Greta and Camille Bertault). There are some phenomenal tracks, such as the memorable trio (and quartet!) tracks with Lars Danielsson on bass and Michael Wolny on piano (‘White Moon’, ‘Ols’); the beautiful duet with Joachim Kühn (‘Weltall’); or the remarkable encounter with accordionist Vincent Peirani, saxophonist Emile Parisien and vocalist Youn Sun Nah (‘My Heart’s in the Highlands’). In this musical adventure, Nils Landgren demonstrates flawless craftmanship – a truly inspired and original musician. © Stéphane Ollivier/Qobuz

This recording has been highly anticipated. For years, Lithuanian soprano Asmik Grigorian has been renowned within the international scene, and now she’s finally released her first album: Dissonance, recorded with the Lithuanian-Russian pianist Lukas Geniušas. Dissonance—the name of one of Rachmaninov’s Romances, op. 34—consists of a total of 19 pieces, all of which are filled with intimate conflicts (at least in relation to their lyrics or the circumstances in which they were written). “On the contrary,” says the soprano, "our duo is in perfect harmony."In his Romances, which appeared roughly between 1890 and 1906, Rachmaninov immortalised, in music, poets and writers such as Alexander Pushkin, Afanassi Fet, Heinrich Heine, Anton Tchekov and Fiodor Tiuttchev, to name but a few. The same theme runs through all these texts: the intimate conflicts and sufferings that arise when two lovers are unable to overcome obstacles in order to fully embrace their true feelings for one other.From drama to poetry, from love to death, from beauty to suffering: all these themes are put to music in titles like Child, you are beautiful as a flower, op. 8 No 2, I wait for thee, op. 14 No. 1, How much it hurts, op. 21 no. 12, and the closing title: We shall rest, op. 26 no. 3. “In life,” explains Grigorian, “dissonance serves as a way to make consonance—that is, beauty and harmony—heard again. It helps us recognise and truly feel life’s brightness, something we can’t appreciate when there’s no suffering. "With their masterful technique and unique form of musical expression, Grigorian and Geniušas don’t sound like two musicians who’ve never recorded together before. Their artistic symbiosis creates a balance that’s perhaps further strengthened by the cultural affinity between the two performers and the composer himself. With this release, listeners are treated to a real musical romance. © Lena Germann/Qobuz

The blunt, chaotic sound of Sonic Youth's visionary but difficult early work had begun to give way to a more coherent and song-oriented attack on 1986's EVOL, and with 1987's Sister, Sonic Youth revealed that they were a great rock band as well as a great art band. From the shifting dynamics and disquieting mood of the opening track "Schizophrenia" to the ferocious coda of "White Cross," Sister was the work of a band that had grown impressively stronger and more unified in the 12 months since their previous long-player. The sheets of sound that issued from Thurston Moore and Lee Renaldo's re-tuned and modified guitars were still the core of their sound, but Sonic Youth's songcraft was steadily improving as they made better and more effective use of their aural palette and created a melodic context that helped their noisy report make greater dramatic sense. After going through a handful of drummers, Steve Shelley finally gave Sonic Youth the combination of chops, imagination, and force that they needed behind the kit, and while he certainly improved EVOL (his debut with the group), it was Sister where he truly make his mark: the steady pulse and rhythmic shadings of "Catholic Block," "Stereo Sanctity," and "Tuff Gnarl" helped firm up the tunes and added some discipline to Moore and Renaldo's exploratory guitar work that, remarkably, made their twisted instrumental figures more impressive and no less distinctive. And the warmth and clarity of Bill Titus' all-analog engineering made the guitars (and Kim Gordon's bass) sound as glorious as they always deserved; while Sonic Youth had been a band with great ideas from the start, Sister was where the execution finally caught up with the concept, and it was their first truly great album.© Mark Deming /TiVo

Tenor Piotr Beczala is better known for opera than for art song. He has recorded music from his native Poland, but Rachmaninov and Tchaikovsky songs (or Romances, as they were known by the Russians) wouldn't necessarily come to mind for him. However, he is a versatile figure, and here, he succeeds and more. The album came together when Beczala and pianist Helmut Deutsch discovered a mutual enthusiasm for these works. Beczala scales his voice back beautifully to song dimensions, and the album is well recorded at the Markus-Sittiges Hall in Salzburg, but the biggest attraction here is the coordination between singer and accompanist, which is extraordinary. Not only Rachmaninov, who was writing for himself, but also Tchaikovsky puts a lot of the action into the piano and in the songs of the latter, which include the entire Op. 73 set (the last pieces he wrote before the final "Pathétique" symphony), the piano introduces a lot of psychological currents beneath the fairly straightforward texts. The pair's performances of these are haunting; sample the final Again, As Before, Alone, which here seems to speak volumes about Tchaikovsky's state of mind. They're equally good in the Rachmaninov songs, tuneful things mostly written during the composer's youth. A casual listen may find the balance tilted too far in the pianist's favor, but listen again; it is carefully controlled by the performers. A major new entry in the discography for these not-terribly-familiar (except for Tchaikovsky's None But the Lonely Heart) songs. © James Manheim /TiVo

On his third date as a leader for ECM, Norwegian guitarist Jacob Young debuts an entirely new international quintet. His sidemen are saxophonist Trygve Seim, and pianist Marcin Wasilewski's trio featuring bassist Slamowir Kurkiewicz and drummer Michael Miskiewicz. Forever Young is more "song" oriented than either of his preceding albums. It's warm, spacious, rhythmically fluid, and deeply lyrical as evidenced by "Bounce," which moves along like a latter-era Roxy Music tune. But that melodicism isn't all pop-inflected. Opener "I Lost My Heart to You," introduced by the pianist, opens tentatively and tenderly and unfolds like a Brazilian folk song. Seim's articulation of the melody reveals its emotional resonance. Young plays a nylon-string guitar. His solo is free of angles; it offers tasteful arpeggios, accenting the changes as he plays into them. "Therese's Gate" is also touched by Brazil, but more by bossa, though its rhythmic signature is more elliptical. The interplay between Wasilewski, Young, and Seim is elegant, and full of ideas. "Sophia's Dance" features a wrangling acoustic guitar solo and Miskiewicz's rolling tom snare that evoke a tabla. The fat, electric guitar chords in "1970" recall early Wes Montgomery, but Young and Wasilewski unpack it into something more modern, sleek, and global with hints of Indian and Latin jazz. "Beauty" has an open country feel, with shimmering, strummed acoustic chords which frame Wasilewski's middle-register arpeggios in a breezy melody. Seim's insistent solo moves it toward the margins as Kurkiewicz's surging bassline urges him on. "Time Changes" is literal -- at least rhythmically -- it also swings through the head and bridge -- even when it engages a classic rock chord progression as one of its themes. Young's playing throughout offers great technical facility, but he is a democratic bandleader, never showy. Forever Young stands out in his catalog because it reveals an almost immeasurable growth in his compositional skills since 2007. These tunes inspire this fine band; they play as if they'd been playing them for ages.© Thom Jurek /TiVo