Little Simz's fourth album the biggest success of her career. Aptly dubbed Sometimes I Might Be Introvert (whose initials, SIMBI, are a reference to the rapper's first name), it is a superb exploration of intimacy. The Londoner mobilises big string arrangements, as on Standing Ovation or the long intro Introvert, while mixing the organic and the electronic with disconcerting skill. This album sketches different aspects of her personality, going back to her Nigerian origins with the tracks Point and Kill (featuring rising star Obongjayar) and Fear No Man, all the way to the decidedly English sounds on Rollin Stone, which verges on grime without diving fully into that sound. With an aesthetic that veers close to the American alternative rap of the late 1990s, she studs this record with welcome, relevant interludes, sonic breaks, dotted throughout the tracklist. In terms of her flow, the technique is the same. It is still all about playing with time, even when it gets more uniform on the excellent single Woman, or more full-frontal on Speed. Sometimes I Might Be Introvert stands out as one of the highlights of English rap in 2021, accomplished and enjoyable without denying its social message. A real success. © Brice Miclet/Qobuz

Shawn Mendes translated his Vine superstardom into genuine pop stardom in 2015 thanks to "Stitches," a lively piece of pop with a slightly soulful undercurrent. Wisely, Mendes and his team decide to play off these soulful inclinations on Illuminate, the album released almost 18 months after his 2015 debut Handwritten. This isn't to say that Mendes is a crooner, nor is he riding anything resembling a funky groove. Instead, Illuminate uses light R&B rhythms as a way to give a bit of grace and warmth, the airiness of "Ruin" and "Three Empty Words" spinning heartbreak into seduction. As it turns out, this wide-eyed puppy dog routine is the key to Mendes' appeal. He's not forceful, and whenever he slides into a loverman routine, there's never a sense that he's a player: his voice is so small and sweet, it feels as if he's whispering sweet nothings to his high school sweetheart. On Handwritten, such quivering sensitivity seemed tentative, but on Illuminate, it has gelled into his pop persona; he's charming because he embraces his ordinariness. Sometimes on Illuminate the songs are a bit too diffuse to benefit from these qualities -- whenever they lack a hook or pronounced melody, the tracks tend to drift -- but a lot of the record provides a good showcase for his tenderness. And these aren't necessarily ballads, either. Certainly, he feels at home on a nice slow-burning torch number like "Don't Be a Fool" -- an old-fashioned slice of swaying '60s soul -- but on the insistent pop of "Treat You Better" and sunny seaside vibes of "Honest," this boyishness is equally appealing, and those sly shifts in tone are why Mendes comes into his own on Illuminate.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

Following his early 2010s work on the first Captain America and Avengers films, composer Alan Silvestri returned to the Marvel universe for 2018's blockbuster Avengers: Infinity War. Landing in the Top 100 on the Billboard 200 upon release, the Avengers: Infinity War original motion picture soundtrack featured an epic, Thanos-sized score to pair with the non-stop intergalactic action of the film (with song titles that gave away nothing of the major plot twists).© Neil Z. Yeung /TiVo

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Taking full advantage of their current renaissance, recently reunited Australian synth pop pioneers Icehouse follow up their string of well-received festival appearances and remastered reissues with this extensive retrospective, White Heat: 30 Hits. While not as comprehensive as 1995's three-disc The Singles, it still contains pretty much everything any casual fan needs to know, with nearly all of their official single releases included, from their debut chart hit "Can't Help Myself" to their European breakthrough "Hey, Little Girl" to their John Oates-penned U.S. smash "Electric Blue." With the exception of 1995 covers album The Berlin Tapes, all nine of their studio albums are represented here, from 1980's self-titled first offering (originally released under the guise of Flowers) to 1986's Brian Eno-featuring Measure for Measure ("No Promises") to their sole chart-topper Man of Colours ("Electric Blue") to 1993's Big Wheel (swan song release "Invisible People"). There are a few curiosities along the way, with instrumental "Glam" replacing "Uniform" as the fourth contribution from 1982's Primitive Man (virtually a solo project from frontman Iva Davies), while 1981 single "Love in Motion," the first track recorded under the Icehouse name, appears here twice, in both its original form and as a duet with the Divinyls' Christina Amphlett (from the 1992 hits collection Masterfile). But with an an all-encompassing track list, handily compiled in chronological order, it's still the most essential beginner's guide to one of Sydney's biggest homegrown '80s acts.© Jon O'Brien /TiVo

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Based on the principles of balance, Measure for Measure is half-produced by David Lord, half by Rhett Davies. American and European editions benefit from a better track list, which opens with the Davies-produced "No Promises." A little too close to Bowie and Metheny's "This Is Not America," perhaps, but very nice all the same. "Cross the Border" resembles and continues the close relationship with Simple Minds, and features a strong Brian Eno back vocal motif. Another of the RD-produced pieces, "The Flame," although about the struggles in South Africa, opens with a watery, orient-like synth treatment before a strong beat, courtesy of Steve Jansen, and a Talk Talk-sounding synth take charge. Newer realms are visited by Spanish guitar on "Angel Street," but the Bowie references can't be shaken, with much of the later part relying on squally glam rock ("Regular Boys" and the career-reviving "Baby You're So Strange"). Had the color of bonus CD cuts "Too Late Now" (a definitive Icehouse sound) and "Into the Wild" been included, how different things might have been. A few blocks up from the bland Sidewalk but a few buildings short of Man of Colours.© Kelvin Hayes /TiVo

To an extent greater than that of Over It, Still Over It exhibits Summer Walker's knack for writing with detail and specificity while relating to a broad range of listeners. Take "4th Baby Mama." First, there's the title, named for the singer's role in the life of London on Da Track, the producer of nine of the album's other songs. The ballad digs into the minutiae of Walker's grievances with her ex, but it's the numbness and bafflement at egocentricity, unfaithfulness, failure to accept responsibility, and other issues common among bad partners, that cut through. In the majority of the songs ahead of it, Walker likewise lays bare her thoughts no matter how particular or detailed. Colorful and plain critiques alike, from "I wanna start with your mama/She shoulda whooped your ass" to "You should know my body by now," have major significance. One doesn't need to have experienced such unique scenarios, or even be familiar with how Walker's life has played out on social media, to understand and feel where she is coming from. Somewhere in the second half of this hour-plus album, the mostly sedate sequence of productions -- some without beats, others with dragging trap-styled percussion -- make for laborious listening. The trade-off is Walker's vivid and biting lyrics and knack for singing them with such grace that they please the ear as much as they raise eyebrows. The stagnation is all the more tolerable when the first half contains "Ex for a Reason," a Miami-meets-Atlanta bass jam and one of the era's most flavorsome crossover R&B hits. The la-di-da "Try me, trespass/Guaranteed to beat yo ass" is wielded like a knife coated in icing. © Andy Kellman /TiVo

Bastille is a band on familiar terms with looming disaster. Even their album about a night out was called Doom Days, a title that feels all the more prescient considering that the COVID-19 global pandemic brought everything to a halt less than a year after its release. It's not surprising, then, that they found plenty of inspiration during lockdown-induced screen time. Give Me the Future's hyperarticulate songs channel Doom Days' escapism into a virtual world and muse on the ramifications, both good and bad. Dan Smith and company set the tone with "Distorted Light Beam," a piece of gleaming electropop that sells the boundless potential of a virtual life -- and hints at just how quickly the boundaries between fantasy and reality can vanish. Bastille are as culturally literate as ever, presenting the past and the future as equally viable options to get lost in with copious pop culture allusions. The 1980s have always been dear to the band's heart, but the references to the decade's technological advances and societal upheaval, as well as its sounds and images, are especially relevant this time around. On the whole, Give Me the Future feels as indebted to '80s concept albums like Styx's Kilroy Was Here as it does to Random Access Memories; along the way, Bastille shout out to Keith Haring on "Club 57," pay tribute to "Raspberry Beret" and one of film's ultimate escapes on "Thelma and Louise," and pack a comic convention's worth of sci-fi allusions into "Back to the Future." As conceptual as Give Me the Future gets, the humanity in Bastille's music presides. The craving for connection that only gets stronger as the world -- both real and virtual -- grows more fragmented is reflected not just in the band's music but in how they made the album. For the first time, Bastille worked with outside songwriters on songs like the brooding "Stay Awake?" and brought in Riz Ahmed for some twisty wordplay on "Promises." It's no coincidence that many of the strongest moments on the album are about reaching out in real life. "No Bad Days" offers a glimpse of real-life emotions that can't be avoided, "Shut Off the Lights" is a bouncy, Graceland-worshiping reminder for the very online to take a break every now and then, and "Future Holds" closes the album on an optimistic note with a return to Doom Days' gospel influences. While thematic consistency is undeniably one of Bastille's strengths -- they're one of a handful of pop bands to focus on concept albums -- at times Give Me the Future feels a bit heavy-handed. Fortunately, the album's brisk pace saves it from feeling overblown. This is music for and of its moment, with a mix of ambition and pop concision that's unmistakably Bastille.© Heather Phares /TiVo

Although Animal Magnetism contains such classic songs as "The Zoo" and "Make It Real," the album is somewhat disappointing when compared to its predecessor, Lovedrive. The well-written songs on this album end up saving it from total disaster, and it's obvious the band wasn't sure what to exactly put on this record -- many of the songs sound like the work of some other rock group and simply don't blend together as they should. Singer Klaus Meine, known for his excellent vocal performances, sounds bored and just plain overshadowed. Although far from bad, Animal Magnetism isn't a highlight of the Scorpions' career.© Barry Weber /TiVo

Stacked back to back, the records made by Emitt Rhodes in the short time between 1969 and 1973 stand up as one of the great brief flashes of inspiration and greatness in pop-music history. The Emitt Rhodes Recordings 1969-1973 collects all four albums the singer/songwriter/musical wiz recorded over that period of time and adds one extra track (the 1973 single "Tame the Lion"). The set starts off with the album Rhodes recorded after his band, the Merry-Go-Round, broke up in 1969. The songs are a mix of newly written ones and Merry-Go-Round leftovers recorded with studio pros filling in for the band. Not surprisingly, the record is a little scattered-sounding, with some of the songs sounding like the Baroque pop that the MGR had mastered ("You're a Very Lovely Woman," "The Man He Was"), some are experiments in different styles (the calypso-tinged "Mary Will You Take My Hand," the folky "Textile Ranch"), and quite a few point toward the simple sound he soon crafted on his debut ("Let's All Sing," "Saturday Night," "Pardon Me"). That self-titled record from 1970 is the best of the bunch; in fact, it is one of the best pop records of the '70s, and sounds like what would have happened had Paul McCartney saved up his most emotionally powerful and melodically rich post-Beatles' songs and recorded them with Badfinger as his backing band. Each song sounds like it should have been a hit single, from the heart-breakingly direct "Long Time No See" or the deceptively jubilant breakup song "With My Face on the Floor," to the anthemic George Harrison-esque "Live Till You Die" or the rollicking "Fresh as a Daisy." The pacing, sound, and feel of the record are as near perfect as you could hope, and the most impressive feat is that Rhodes did everything on the record himself. It's truly a moment of genius that Rhodes found hard to repeat. His next album, 1971's Mirror, repeats the same basic formula as Emitt Rhodes but has fewer knockout songs, and there are some hard rock (on the title track) and blues (on "I'm a Cruiser") influences creeping in around the edges and scuffing up the perfect pop. Still, the album is filled with great songs like the rollicking "Birthday Lady," the rocking "Really Wanted You," and the bleak ballad "Love Will Stone You" that help make the record a solid and highly listenable follow-up. By the time of Farewell to Paradise, though, the twin factors of pressure from the record company and Rhodes' increasing perfectionism led to his recording a melancholy, downhearted album that has far less pop and far more introspection in its soul. There is a newfound feeling of pain and hurt that suffuses Rhodes' vocals on songs like "Trust Once More" or "Blue Horizon" that gives the record some real depth, and the less focused and more folky arrangements give the record more of a Van Morrison feel than a McCartney feel. It would be easy to view the record as a disappointment on pure pop terms, but as a statement of Rhodes' disillusionment and frustration, it totally works and actually could be considered a lost treasure of the singer/songwriter era. Hearing it in context of his previous work shows just how much Rhodes had begun to change, and it makes it even more of a loss that Rhodes basically walked away from his career at the age of 24. The Emitt Rhodes Recordings 1969-1973 is essential to any fan of late-'60s/early-'70s pop music and hats off to Hip-O Select for giving Rhodes the attention he deserves. © Tim Sendra /TiVo

It's not terribly hard to imagine what led Simone Felice to part ways with his siblings in the Felice Brothers and strike out on his own as a solo artist. Without Simone, the Felice Brothers have a tendency to embrace a playfulness that falls just short of goofy. Writing for himself, Simone isn't without humor and he possesses a very genuine joie de vivre. However, his imagination is clearly sparked by life's major dramas, and he approaches his themes with the bold, impassioned tone of a great poet. On 2022's All The Bright Coins, Felice shows no fear of his actorish side, so much so that four of its eleven tracks are spoken word pieces accompanied by music, where he fills his delivery with plenty of theatrical brio, and when he sings, his thoughts are mired in misadventures of the past and a sense of loss that pervades his present. It would be very easy for this sort of material to sound a bit pretentious, and it's a testament to Felice's talent that All The Bright Coins never slips over the border into melodrama. His passion registers as sincere and honest on every track, his vocals have a nimble stride that draws in the listener and keeps them engaged. His knack for the details of a life lived with less caution than might be advisable serves him well, giving it all a heady gravity that's hard to resist. Felice's talents as a producer and arranger play a significant role in the success of All The Bright Coins; his vocals dominate this album, but the accompaniment, often spare and artfully weaving in and around these stories, is superb and the execution is impressive. Simone Felice wears his heart on his sleeve on All The Bright Coins, and while that's an easy way for an artist to sound foolish, in this case he's created something brave and exciting in its embrace of the human spirit, and it's often strikingly beautiful. © Mark Deming /TiVo

After the runaway success of her charming, folksy first album Quelqu'un M'a Dit, Carla Bruni's sophomore effort takes a more difficult route and sees her setting canonical works by such poets as Yeats and Emily Dickinson to music, often calamitously. W.H. Auden's "At Last the Secret Is Out" offers a case in point. Set to a brisk Jack Johnson-style swinging guitar, the poem becomes stripped of all its meaning: no one word is allowed to stand out, as each line is madly shoehorned into a sensible rhythm, and the wistful, yearning tone of the poem gets lost in the breezy melody of the song. Therein lies the problem. Bruni's blues guitar template is too rigid to allow these words to breathe. The lines "Wrapping that foul body up/In as foul a rag" in Yeats' "Those Dancing Days Are Gone" are delivered almost winsomely, where in fact the word "foul" should be allowed to drag, and to weigh down the rest of the line. Metered verse cannot fit this sort of verse-verse-chorus model. Of course, an album must be judged on its musical merits, and the overall mixture of rhythm and pedal steel guitars, with a touch of harmonica here and there, is a serviceable foil to Bruni's smoky voice. But even here, one would wish for more clarity in the line readings: the breathlessness of her singing means that sentences often fizzle out. Dorothy Parker's stark "Afternoon" is maltreated in this way, as is Emily Dickinson's wonderful poem "I Felt My Life with Both My Hands" -- and the absurd jauntiness of both songs is almost unbearable. The one highlight of the set is the doo wop piano-and-guitar jam on Dickinson's "If You Were Coming in the Fall," which lends itself oddly well to Bruni's sauce. But this is an impersonal set of disparate poems set often unimaginatively to incongruous arrangements. It is a brave failure, but a failure nonetheless.© Caspar Salmon /TiVo