Way back in 1963, Paul McCartney sang "A Taste of Honey" on the Beatles' debut album, and "Til There Was You" on their second LP, establishing that his tastes ran far beyond the world of rock & roll and R&B. Over the years, he touched upon pre-rock & roll pop -- writing pastiches like "Honey Pie" with the Beatles and, crucially, snatching up the publishing rights to many of these tunes, thereby building his MPL empire -- but he never devoted a full record to the style until 2012's Kisses on the Bottom, a cheekily titled (pun not only intentional but solicited) collection of songs you know by heart. He's not the first Beatle to sing songs his mother should know: Ringo's first step outside the Fab Four was 1970's Sentimental Journey, a record of standards produced by George Martin. Sentimental Journey may share a tune with Kisses on the Bottom -- Ray Henderson and Mort Dixon's "Bye Bye Blackbird" -- but its splashy, show biz sensibility differs greatly from McCartney's intimate stroll through the past. Macca hired Diana Krall's band as his support, enlisted veteran vocal producer Tommy LiPuma, and then set up shop at Los Angeles' famed Capitol Studios, along with spots in N.Y.C. and London, to cut faithful, loving versions of songs he's always sung. Overachiever that he is, Macca throws in two new originals -- the quite good "My Valentine" and "Only Our Hearts," the former featuring guitar by Eric Clapton, the latter harmonica by Stevie Wonder -- that fit right into the soft-shoe shuffle of the rest of the record, enhancing its casual charm. And since McCartney is no longer quite the vocal powerhouse he used to be -- something the spare setting makes all too clear -- the chief appeal is its leisurely vibe, how McCartney settles into his surroundings, savoring each melody and every witty turn of phrase. As a vocalist, this may not be his natural forte, but he takes great care with the songs, and that palpable love is enough to make Kisses on the Bottom worth a spin or two.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

Way back in 1963, Paul McCartney sang "A Taste of Honey" on the Beatles' debut album, and "Til There Was You" on their second LP, establishing that his tastes ran far beyond the world of rock & roll and R&B. Over the years, he touched upon pre-rock & roll pop -- writing pastiches like "Honey Pie" with the Beatles and, crucially, snatching up the publishing rights to many of these tunes, thereby building his MPL empire -- but he never devoted a full record to the style until 2012's Kisses on the Bottom, a cheekily titled (pun not only intentional but solicited) collection of songs you know by heart. He's not the first Beatle to sing songs his mother should know: Ringo's first step outside the Fab Four was 1970's Sentimental Journey, a record of standards produced by George Martin. Sentimental Journey may share a tune with Kisses on the Bottom -- Ray Henderson and Mort Dixon's "Bye Bye Blackbird" -- but its splashy, show biz sensibility differs greatly from McCartney's intimate stroll through the past. Macca hired Diana Krall's band as his support, enlisted veteran vocal producer Tommy LiPuma, and then set up shop at Los Angeles' famed Capitol Studios, along with spots in N.Y.C. and London, to cut faithful, loving versions of songs he's always sung. Overachiever that he is, Macca throws in two new originals -- the quite good "My Valentine" and "Only Our Hearts," the former featuring guitar by Eric Clapton, the latter harmonica by Stevie Wonder -- that fit right into the soft-shoe shuffle of the rest of the record, enhancing its casual charm. And since McCartney is no longer quite the vocal powerhouse he used to be -- something the spare setting makes all too clear -- the chief appeal is its leisurely vibe, how McCartney settles into his surroundings, savoring each melody and every witty turn of phrase. As a vocalist, this may not be his natural forte, but he takes great care with the songs, and that palpable love is enough to make Kisses on the Bottom worth a spin or two. © Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

Way back in 1963, Paul McCartney sang "A Taste of Honey" on the Beatles' debut album, and "Til There Was You" on their second LP, establishing that his tastes ran far beyond the world of rock & roll and R&B. Over the years, he touched upon pre-rock & roll pop -- writing pastiches like "Honey Pie" with the Beatles and, crucially, snatching up the publishing rights to many of these tunes, thereby building his MPL empire -- but he never devoted a full record to the style until 2012's Kisses on the Bottom, a cheekily titled (pun not only intentional but solicited) collection of songs you know by heart. He's not the first Beatle to sing songs his mother should know: Ringo's first step outside the Fab Four was 1970's Sentimental Journey, a record of standards produced by George Martin. Sentimental Journey may share a tune with Kisses on the Bottom -- Ray Henderson and Mort Dixon's "Bye Bye Blackbird" -- but its splashy, show biz sensibility differs greatly from McCartney's intimate stroll through the past. Macca hired Diana Krall's band as his support, enlisted veteran vocal producer Tommy LiPuma, and then set up shop at Los Angeles' famed Capitol Studios, along with spots in N.Y.C. and London, to cut faithful, loving versions of songs he's always sung. Overachiever that he is, Macca throws in two new originals -- the quite good "My Valentine" and "Only Our Hearts," the former featuring guitar by Eric Clapton, the latter harmonica by Stevie Wonder -- that fit right into the soft-shoe shuffle of the rest of the record, enhancing its casual charm. And since McCartney is no longer quite the vocal powerhouse he used to be -- something the spare setting makes all too clear -- the chief appeal is its leisurely vibe, how McCartney settles into his surroundings, savoring each melody and every witty turn of phrase. As a vocalist, this may not be his natural forte, but he takes great care with the songs, and that palpable love is enough to make Kisses on the Bottom worth a spin or two.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

When the first album from Micah P. Hinson came out in 2004, the Americana crowd was shocked by the almost unnerving maturity from the pen of this young Memphis songwriter. An early spell in jail probably imparted a lot of precocious wisdom to this new bard with an odd baritone voice which is always lingering at the edges of tunefulness. Wrapped up in a fairly minimalist instrumentation punctuated with an echo to lift it up, this melancholy writing is rooted in his wild years. Not a thousand miles from Bright Eyes, Smog, Sparklehorse, Silver Jews, Lambchop or Willy Mason, Hinson consistently finds a killer melodic move, a little heady motif that adorns these stories of broken hearts: to stunning effect. He's a sharp melodist first and foremost, who sparingly injects drops of piano, cello, flute, melodica or organ into the hearts of these miniatures. Years after its release, Micah P. Hinson & The Gospel Of Progress remains an elegiac summit of timeless country-folk, just as sombre as it should be. © Marc Zisman/Qobuz

The key to Chris Stapleton's immense success, of course, is his remarkable, inimitable vocal tone: a worn-leather rasp that can stretch high and low, project real strength and sweetness, and isn't specifically "country"—there are traces of Stax soul, Ray Charles' R&B and deep-fried Southern rock. But Stapleton also feels reliable; he's an artist of integrity and good taste who doesn't bother with false moves or trying on trends. In short, he is classic in real time. And that hasn't changed with Higher, his fifth solo album (after fronting the band Steeldrivers for years) in less than a decade. Co-produced once again with Dave Cobb, the album taps into the catholic formula that works well for him. Single "White Horse" is glorious arena rock, a sinewy flex with some particularly heavy moments. "South Dakota" brings Memphis-blues stomp, slithering confidently and managing to make that prairie state sound badass: "I'm in South Dakota/ Trouble ain't hard to find." Written with Miranda Lambert, "What Am I Gonna Do" is a mid-tempo pleaser with lazy-sun Skynyrd guitar and Stapleton, as always, beautifully complimented by harmonies from his wife Morgane Stapleton. She matches him as an equal duet partner and not just support on "It Takes a Woman," a '70s-ish country ballad that gives Stapleton the chance to hit an otherworldly note as he sings, "You make me hiiiiiiiigh and keep my feet on the ground." Sultry "Think I'm In Love With You" delivers a very '80s adult-contemporary vibe, complete with urbane strings—violin not fiddle. "Loving You On My Mind" is silky R&B, Stapleton sounding like a natural lover man as he sings, "Ever since there's a morning/ I've been wondering/ How you do that thing you did last night." He pushes toward falsetto on that one, but goes all the way on soulful ballad "Higher." Acoustic "Mountains Of My Mind" is gentle as a mountain stream and evokes memories of Guy Clark, while memorable "The Bottom" has a Willie Nelson feel, as Stapleton finds a way to deepen country's tangling of love—and heartbreak—and alcohol: "The heart holds a memory/ And the memory holds a past/ And the past holds a woman/ At the bottom of a glass/ So I don't have a problem/ If I don't see the bottom." And "Crosswind" is a metaphor-rich driving song ("carrying a heavy load," "picking up speed") that mimics the rhythm of rolling truck wheels for an excellent snapshot of outlaw country: "Trying to keep all the rubber on 65/ Might not make it out alive/ White-knuckling the wheel just to survive/ Caught in the crosswind." The parts are old, but Stapleton makes it feel brand new. © Shelly Ridenour/Qobuz

Welcome To The Jungle, It’s So Easy, Nightrain, Mr Brownstone, Paradise City, My Michelle, Sweet Child O’ Mine, You’re Crazy… Look no further to explain the success of this monument that sold over thirty million copies worldwide: right from the start, it feels like a best-of album rather than a first studio effort… Even Out Ta Get Me, Think About You, Anything Goes and Rocket Queen, the four “weak tracks” of this masterpiece, would have satisfied fans of other bands who were sick of Guns N’ Roses at the time. Add to this two tracks that were sidelined at the time mostly for copyright reasons and are unearthed here, Shadow Of Your Love and Move To The City, as well as the studio version of Reckless Life. Though they feel like a walking disaster, this mighty gang had something others didn’t have in the microcosm of the Los Angeles hard rock scene: the ability to give birth to rock classics in record time. Some will no doubt find it unjust that the controversial track One In A Million was a kind of collateral victim of the reissue of Lies, from which it was removed. But this improved rerelease goes to show that, even if it wasn’t necessarily their goal, the musicians’ sound and performance are also two major components in any masterpiece. The reason they decided to include the before and after Appetite For Destruction, meaning the two EPs Live?!*@ Like a Suicide (the false live) and G N' R Lies, is because it is clear that all the ingredients were far from being in place at the Sound Studio where the twenty-ish alternative versions were recorded, featured here as a “bonus”. Mike Clink’s expert production, and Steve Thompson and Michael Barbiero’s calibrated and well-balanced mixing obviously helped give the selected original twelve songs their ultimate form. And therefore optimal efficiency. But other live or acoustic titles gleaned here and there to close out this reissue (Bob Dylan’s Knockin’ On Heaven’s Door (Live), It’s So Easy (Live), AC/DC’s Whole Lotta Rosie (Live), November Rain (Acoustic), the very short but promising The Plague, the instrumental Ain’t Goin’ Down No More or the Rolling Stones’ Jumpin’ Jack Flash (Acoustic)) prove that the band’s five members went through a period, albeit much too short, in which they were touched by grace. And there will most likely be further proof if one day Axl Rose decides to unearth the version of the album he re-recorded in 1999 with the new Guns N’ Roses line-up, without Slash, Izzy Stradlin, Duff McKagan and Steven Adler. It was with this winning cast that Guns N' Roses beat the ultimate sales record for a first album in the United States. And although the multiple line-up evolutions that followed didn’t lead to any commercial disasters, they never gave the band the opportunity to repeat the feat of Appetite For Destruction. © Jean-Pierre Sabouret/Qobuz

Use Your Illusion II is more serious and ambitious than I, but it's also considerably more pretentious. Featuring no less than four songs that run over six minutes, II is heavy on epics, whether it's the charging funk metal of "Locomotive," the antiwar "Civil War," or the multipart "Estranged." As if an attempt to balance the grandiose epics, the record is loaded with an extraordinary amount of filler. "14 Years" may have a lean, Stonesy rhythm, and Duff McKagan's Johnny Thunders homage, "So Fine," may be entertaining, but there's no forgiving the ridiculous "Get in the Ring," where Axl Rose threatens rock journalists by name because they gave him bad reviews; the misinterpretation of Dylan's "Knockin' on Heaven's Door"; another version of "Don't Cry"; and the bizarre closer, "My World," which probably captures Rose's instability as effectively as the tortured poetry of his epics. That said, there are numerous strengths to Use Your Illusion II; a couple of songs have a nervy energy, and for all their pretensions, the overblown epics are effective, though strangely enough, they reveal notorious homophobe Rose's aspirations of being a cross between Elton John and Freddie Mercury. But the pompous production and poor pacing make the album tiring for anyone who isn't a dedicated listener.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

Band on the Run is generally considered to be Paul McCartney's strongest solo effort. The album was also his most commercially successful, selling well and spawning two hit singles, the multi-part pop suite of the title track and the roaring rocker "Jet." On these cuts and elsewhere, McCartney's penchant for sophisticated, nuanced arrangements and irrepressibly catchy melodic hooks is up to the caliber he displayed in the Beatles, far surpassing the first two Wings releases, Wild Life and Red Rose Speedway. The focus found in Band on the Run may have to do with the circumstances of its creation: two former members quit the band prior to recording, leaving McCartney, wife Linda, and guitarist Denny Laine to complete the album alone (with Paul writing, producing, and playing most of the instruments himself). The album has the majestic, orchestral sweep of McCartney's Abbey Road-era ambition, with a wide range of style-dabbling, from the swaying, acoustic jazz-pop of "Bluebird" and the appealing, straightforward rock of "Helen Wheels" to the wiry blues of "Let Me Roll It" and the swaying, one-off pub sing-along "Picasso's Last Words (Drink to Me)." Though it lacks the emotional resonance of contemporaneous releases by John Lennon and George Harrison, McCartney's infallible instinct for popcraft overflows on this excellent release.© Al Campbell /TiVo

The twin polarities upon which Use Your Illusion has always derived its unique energy from are its absolute bigness and its unparallelled sense of vindictive martyrdom. This deluxe set—which doubles the length of the combined two original albums by including two full live sets—is definitely big, but without the inclusion of additional studio tracks (no demos, b-sides or outtakes) doesn't expand on the original in any meaningful way.  Which means that Illusion is still trapped in its own unique 1991 amber. From its odd sequencing—which alternates between melodramatic grandiosity, midtempo sleaze, and energetic rockers built solely on bitterness and spite—to the stultifying airlessness of the recording (all of the band members cut their parts separately), Illusion still feels like an overdetermined mess that somehow manages to consistently deliver the goods. Sadly though, those goods are steeped in an aimless rage that these days reads less like anti-authoritarianism and more like toxic narcissism. This is an album that gets out a "fuck you" in its first two minutes, and devolves from there into a master class on petty beefing: Whether it's "Right Next Door To Hell," "Get In the Ring," "My World" (ugh), "Back Off Bitch" (ugggghh), or any of the other tracks where poor Axl Rose blames all of his problems on everyone else in the world, the constant airing of tiny grievances is far more deadening than the set's length. All of this made Use Your Illusion a deeply cynical yet completely sincere work. Although it's incredibly indulgent and self-centered, it's almost certainly an accurate representation of the band's perception of the world at the time. Its deep currents of misogyny were both casual and aggressive, but also completely unapologetic, which is both alarming and pathetic. Sounds like a terrible album, right? It most definitely is not. Weirdly conceived and recorded? For sure. Problematic? Yup. Highly individual and completely non-reproducible by any other band on Earth? Absolutely. Even now, some 30 years later, it still manages to yield treasures. Tracks that were overlooked in the overwhelming onslaught of the original release are well worth revisiting; the druggy blues-rock of "Bad Obsession, "Locomotive" with its sideways reworking of "Welcome to the Jungle," "The Garden" (which sounds like a leftover from the first Masters of Reality album with an Alice Cooper rap shoved in the bridge), or the Duff McKagan-penned Johnny Thunders tribute "So Fine" all hold up remarkably well. The live shows are revelatory: The Use Your Illusion tour was as extravagant and overblown as the album(s) it was promoting, running for nine legs over 30 months with nearly 200 dates played.  It was truly one of the last of its kind from an on-the-charts rock 'n' roll band, represented here by a warmup theater gig at the Ritz in New York in May, 1991, and an arena show on the UNLV campus as the tour was running at full speed eight months later. Remarkably, both sets exhibit a warm and generous band giving their absolute all to the fans in attendance, turning the somewhat clinical performances of Illusion's album versions into explosive renditions on stage. © Jason Ferguson/Qobuz

In retrospect, it's a bit shocking how fully formed the signature Aerosmith sound was on their self-titled 1973 debut -- which may not be the same thing as best-executed, because this album still sounds like a first album, complete with the typical stumbles and haziness that comes with a debut. Despite all this, Aerosmith clearly showcases all the attributes of the band that would become the defining American hard rock band of the '70s. Here, the Stones influences are readily apparent, from the Jagger-esque phrasing of Steven Tyler to the group's high-octane boogie, but the group displays little of the Stones' deep love of blues here. Instead, Aerosmith is bloozy -- their riffs don't swing, they slide. They borrow liberally from Led Zeppelin's hybridization of Chess and Sun riffs without ever sounding much like Zep. They are never as British as Zeppelin -- they lack the delicate folky preciousness, they lack the obsession with blues authenticity, they lack the larger-than-life persona of so many Brit bands. They are truly an American band, sounding as though they were the best bar band in your local town, cranking out nasty hard-edged rock, best heard on "Mama Kin," the best rocker here, one that's so greasy it nearly slips through their fingers. But the early masterpiece is, of course, "Dream On," the first full-fledged power ballad. There was nothing quite like it in 1973, and it remains the blueprint for all power ballads since. The rest of the record contains the seeds of Aerosmith's sleazoid blues-rock, but they wouldn't quite perfect that sound until the next time around.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

After the breakup, Beatles fans expected major statements from the three chief songwriters in the Fab Four. John and George fulfilled those expectations -- Lennon with his lacerating, confessional John Lennon/Plastic Ono Band, Harrison with his triple-LP All Things Must Pass -- but Paul McCartney certainly didn't, turning toward the modest charms of McCartney, and then crediting his wife Linda as a full-fledged collaborator on its 1971 follow-up, Ram. Where McCartney was homemade, sounding deliberately ragged in parts, Ram had a fuller production yet retained that ramshackle feel, sounding as if it were recorded in a shack out back, not far from the farm where the cover photo of Paul holding the ram by the horns was taken. It's filled with songs that feel tossed off, filled with songs that are cheerfully, incessantly melodic; it turns the monumental symphonic sweep of Abbey Road into a cheeky slice of whimsy on the two-part suite "Uncle Albert/Admiral Halsey." All this made Ram an object of scorn and derision upon its release (and for years afterward, in fact), but in retrospect it looks like nothing so much as the first indie pop album, a record that celebrates small pleasures with big melodies, a record that's guileless and unembarrassed to be cutesy. But McCartney never was quite the sap of his reputation, and even here, on possibly his most precious record, there's some ripping rock & roll in the mock-apocalyptic goof "Monkberry Moon Delight," the joyfully noisy "Smile Away," where his feet can be smelled a mile away, and "Eat at Home," a rollicking, winking sex song. All three of these are songs filled with good humor, and their foundation in old-time rock & roll makes it easy to overlook how inventive these productions are, but on the more obviously tuneful and gentle numbers -- the ones that are more quintessentially McCartney-esque -- it's plain to see how imaginative and gorgeous the arrangements are, especially on the sad, soaring finale, "Back Seat of My Car," but even on its humble opposite, the sweet "Heart of the Country." These songs may not be self-styled major statements, but they are endearing and enduring, as is Ram itself, which seems like a more unique, exquisite pleasure with each passing year.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

The way that Chaka Khan turbocharged the career of Chicago funk band Rufus was extraordinary enough to warrant the group appending "featuring Chaka Khan" to its name throughout most of her hit-making tenure with them. So, it was inevitable that after four successful studio albums between 1974 and 1977 that "featured" Chaka Khan, Rufus would soon watch their star vocalist embark upon a solo career, even though that solo career mostly took place alongside her role in Rufus. (Khan would appear on several more—though not all—Rufus albums until the band's eventual dissolution in 1983, truly becoming a "featured" performer.) 1978's Chaka was released the same year as Street Player, her fifth studio album with the band, and the contrast between the two records could not be more sharp. While the latter focused on brassy funk and midtempo drama like "Stay," Chaka explodes out of the gate with "I'm Every Woman," a now-inescapable banger that finds both Khan and the songwriting team of Ashford & Simpson at the heights of their powers. Its lush, discofied groove makes the song an insistent dancefloor hit and also a remarkable showcase for Khan's voice.  While that voice had long been a focal point on Rufus albums, they often used group harmonies. On Chaka, her room-filling approach to singing is given plenty of space to shine, and she is unafraid to unleash its full power, which she does so tastefully and with plenty of dynamics. "I'm Every Woman" is undoubtedly the best-known classic, but the album also shines with other notable moments like the slow jam favorite "Roll Me Through the Rushes," which would become a deep-cut cornerstone of Quiet Storm radio, the gender-flipped Stevie Wonder cover "I Was Made to Love Him," and the jazzy romance of "We Got the Love," which finds Khan duetting with George Benson. Arif Mardin's production touch is a perfect match, expertly fusing a sophisticated soulfulness with dancefloor acumen and marshaling an army of session players to execute this material at its highest possible level, and this dynamic modern remaster delivers warmth and presence. © Jason Ferguson/Qobuz

Where Permanent Vacation seemed a little overwhelmed by its pop concessions, Pump revels in them without ever losing sight of Aerosmith's dirty hard rock core. Which doesn't mean the record is a sellout -- "What It Takes" has more emotion and grit than any of their other power ballads; "Janie's Got a Gun" tackles more complex territory than most previous songs; and "The Other Side" and "Love in an Elevator" rock relentlessly, no matter how many horns and synths fight with the guitars. Such ambition and successful musical eclecticism make Pump rank with Rocks and Toys in the Attic.© 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

Coming on the heels of the commercially and artistically successful Pump, the fitfully entertaining Get a Grip doesn't match its predecessor's musical diversity, but it's not for lack of trying. In fact, Aerosmith try too hard, making a stab at social commentary ("Livin' on the Edge") while keeping adolescent fans in their corner with their trademark raunch-rock ("Get a Grip" and "Eat the Rich"), as well as having radio-ready hit ballads ("Cryin'," "Amazing," and "Crazy"). It might be a studied performance, but since the album sounds good, many listeners will be willing to overlook those flaws and simply enjoy the ride.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

The tracks on this two-CD, 31-song anthology, spanning Cohen's career from his 1967 debut album through 2002's Ten New Songs, were chosen by Cohen himself. It could thus be regarded as an accurate mirror of how Cohen sees his own career path and catalog highlights. And there are many of the songs you would expect from any decent Cohen retrospective: "Suzanne," "Sisters of Mercy," "So Long Marianne," "Bird on a Wire," "Famous Blue Raincoat," and "I'm You're Man," for instance. Still, the balance and selection isn't ideal. There's just one song ("Famous Blue Raincoat") from Songs of Love and Hate, and no songs at all from Death of a Ladies Man. Cohen's 1988-2002 period is arguably overrepresented, with about half of the package's tunes dating from that era. And because his later period is so prominently featured, most listeners won't be able to get around the fact that his voice declined in expressive range in the later years, and his material was less striking than his best early songs. Still, for those who've enjoyed Cohen all along, it's a good dose of much of his better work, and certainly doesn't skimp on the running time, with each of the discs lasting 78 minutes.© Richie Unterberger /TiVo