As far as sophomore slumps go, bands have done a whole lot worse than The Black Crowes. Their debut, Shake Your Money Maker, blew through the stultified 1990 mainstream rock scene with a shameless pillaging of southern rock, Memphis soul, and arena swagger that may have been largely unoriginal, but was delivered with such infectious, sleazy sincerity that it was unsurprising that it racked up hit after hit and wound up going multi-platinum. A clear fork in the road presented itself to the band when it came time for the follow-up: Continue being the best bar band in America or dig in and make an "artistic statement" that risks derailing their ascent like so many other bands before them? Well, apparently the Crowes said "Why not both?" and emerged with The Southern Harmony and Musical Companion, in which they dove even deeper into their roots to emerge with a singular take on gutbucket Americana. Still thick with the charm and audaciousness that defined the best moments on Money Maker, the 10 tracks of Southern Harmony are all-killer-no-filler, yet still remarkably dynamic in tone and tenor. Although the opening fusillade of "Sting Me," "Remedy," and "Thorn in My Pride" front-loads the album with its biggest hits, the album truly reveals its treasures when it moves past those straightforward rockers and ballads and gets murkier. Having enlisted a new guitarist (Marc Ford) and keyboardist Eddie Harsch, the band's sonic palette had grown and matured, so on cuts like "Black Moon Creeping" and "My Morning Song," the brothers Chris and Rich Robinson get to flex their weirdo urges and stretch out into proto-jam-band territory. And yes, there's a cover here, but instead of a barnstormer like Otis Redding's "Hard to Handle," it's a cathartic, soulful take on Bob Marley's "Time Will Tell." While Southern Harmony didn't sell quite as well as its predecessor, its chart hits and double-platinum status were none too shabby, and, when combined with the album's creative accomplishments, it positioned the band as a long-term artistic contender rather than a good-time supernova. This incredible anniversary edition excellently expands on that theme, delivering unreleased outtakes, live-in-studio performances, and a fierce live concert that show just how powerful and inspired the Crowes were during this era. © Jason Ferguson/Qobuz

During pandemic lockdown, some people baked bread, others took up fostering kittens. Chris Martin, apparently, watched Star Wars. The Coldplay frontman has said that the band's ninth album was partly inspired by the Mos Eisley cantina band and "wonder[ing] what musicians are like across the universe." And honestly, thank god we have a band big enough to be able to afford to take chances like Music of the Spheres, because the results are thrilling. After the spacy intro "Music of the Spheres," opener "Higher Power" is a flat-out dance track, powered by a punchy electro beat, and joyously uplifting. Martin has said "the song is about trying to find the astronaut in all of us, the person that can do amazing things." (Although, at one point, he sings "Drocer nekorb a ekil mi"—"I'm like a broken record" in reverse.) It's the first example of the album being a family affair, too, as Martin's daughter Apple delivers the opening lilt. She also has a co-write on "Let Somebody Go," a lovely piano ballad that finds Martin duetting with Selena Gomez; it takes a surprising turn on the bridge, slipping into smooth jazz. Apple's brother Moses joins in on the chorus of "Humankind" (with an altered Stephen Fry on the intro), a supercatchy and energetic collection of bleeps and bloops and "alien" voices, '80s synth and strident acoustic guitar that is going to be awesome to work out to. It's a bit of a throwback to the dance-pop sounds of bands like MGMT circa 2008. It won't surprise you here to find out the record is produced by Max Martin, the man behind slick hits from Britney Spears, Katy Perry, Taylor Swift and others. His polished style is a surprising complement to Martin's unpolished rasp and a major asset on songs like "My Universe," a collaboration with BTS performed in English and Korean that cruises a funky groove of ’80s FM pop; it's an earworm we'll all be stuck with for months. "People of the Pride" pushes Coldplay in a new, edgier direction—complete with ominous garage-rock guitar and an emo-pop stomp. Curiosity "Biutyful" warps the vocals to sound like a cutesy ET crooning a space-lounge melody. Twinkly "Infinity Sign" incorporates the soccer chant "Ole Ole Ole." The record closes out with one of the most wonderfully grandiose, swing-for-the-stars songs of Coldplay's career. Clocking in at 10 minutes, "Coloratura" is the band's The Dark Side of the Moon moment, weaving in a music box melody, fluttering strings, McCartney piano and spacey Gilmour guitars. It name-checks Galileo's discovery of the Callisto moon and declares,"It's the end of death and doubt and loneliness is out ... Coloratura, the place we dreamed about." (It will be great for planetarium laser shows.) Martin's voice cracks in all the right places, and the idea—"In the end it's all about the love you're sending out—is so elemental but expressed with such a sense of wonder about and gratitude for the universe, you can’t help but feel a sense of hope. © Shelly Ridenour/Qobuz

To Pimp a Butterfly's proper and oft-biblical follow-up arrived on Good Friday, 13 months after untitled unmastered., an intermediary release that eclipsed the best work of most contemporary artists. If Kendrick Lamar felt pressure to continue living up to his previous output, there's no evidence on DAMN. He's too occupied tracing the spectrum of his mental states, from "boxin' demons" to "flex on swole," questioning and reveling in his affluence, castigating and celebrating his bloodline, humble enough to relate his vulnerabilities, assured enough to proclaim "Ain't none of y'all fuckin' with the flow." Throughout, he intensely examines most of the seven deadly sins, aware all along that his existence is threatened by anyone who objects to the color of his skin or clothes -- or, in the case of the blind stranger who shoots him during the album's opener, nothing that is apparent. Compared to the maximum-capacity, genre-twisting vastness and winding narratives of Good Kid, M.A.A.D. City and To Pimp a Butterfly, DAMN. on the surface seems like a comparatively simple rap album that demands less from the listener. There's relative concision in the track titles and material, and a greater emphasis on commercial sounds -- such as Mike WiLL's lean and piano-laced trap beat for the strong-arming "HUMBLE.," Lamar's first Top Ten pop hit, and a couple productions that are merely functional backdrops lacking distinction. In a way, however, DAMN. is just as lavish and singular as the preceding albums, its quantity and weight of thoughts and connected concepts condensed into a considerably tighter space. It contains some of Lamar's best writing and performances, revealing his evolving complexity and versatility as a soul-baring lyricist and dynamic rapper. Although it's occasionally distorted, stretched, smeared, and reversed to compelling and imagination-fueling effect, his voice is at its most affecting in its many untreated forms. Take "FEAR.," in which he switches between echoing hot-blooded parental threats to enumerating, with a 40-acre stare, various death scenarios. His storytelling hits an astonishing new high on "Duckworth," the album's finale. Over ethereal funk sewn by 9th Wonder, Lamar details a potentially tragic encounter between his father and future Top Dawg CEO Anthony Tiffith -- and the conditions leading to it -- that occurred long before Kung Fu Kenny was known as K. Dot.© Andy Kellman /TiVo

Recorded in December 1983, In Session captures an in-concert jam between Albert King and Stevie Ray Vaughan, the latter of whom had become the hot blues guitarist of the year thanks to his debut Texas Flood, as well as his work on David Bowie's hit Let's Dance. Vaughan may have been the new news, but King was not suffering, either. He had a world-class supporting band and was playing as well as he ever had. In other words, the stage was set for a fiery, exciting concert and that's exactly what they delivered. Vaughan was clearly influenced by King -- there are King licks all over his first two recorded efforts, and it was an influence that stayed with him to the end -- and he was unafraid to go toe-to-toe with his idol. King must have been impressed, since In Session never devolves into a mere cutting contest. Instead, each musicians spurs the other to greater heights. For aficionados of either guitarist, that means the album isn't just worth a listen -- it means that it's a record that sounds as exciting on each subsequent listen as does the first time through.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

The life of a traveling blues musician isn't easy. The vocation is rife with loneliness, bad food, cheap hotels, and lack of sleep. Walter Trout is a survivor of that life (just barely). During the late 1960s and '70s, he worked the road with Big Mama Thorton, Joe Tex, and John Lee Hooker. In the 1980s, it was Canned Heat and John Mayall & the Bluesbreakers. He's led his own bands since 1990 and experienced cycles of triumph, tragedy, alcohol and narcotic addiction, and recovery from a near-fatal liver transplant that required two surgeries. Trout's dues are paid and then some.Ordinary Madness was produced by longtime collaborator Eric Corne and cut in analog at guitarist Robby Krieger's studio. Its many surprises reveal it to be unlike any other record in his large catalog. Its 11 songs detail with brutal honesty incidents of childhood and adult trauma, struggles with mental, emotional, and physical health issues, personal shortcomings, and more, all without grousing. The title track is introduced with ambient electronics before emerging a slow, intense guitar blues, appended by organ, electric piano, and rhythm section. Trout's harrowing lyrics portray a mind observing itself in an act of self-destruction, frustrated by its lack of control: "It feels like a stalker, that's always around/It's an interior talker, that's trying to take you down." His slow, screaming solo ratchets the intensity. "Wanna Dance" is a scorching hard rocker examining life on the edge, soothed by music and the motion it dictates. "Heartland" is a love song that weds electric and acoustic guitars to an intricate roots rock melody. The uncharacteristically tender "My Foolish Pride" unflinchingly reflects on Trout's failures with hard-earned wisdom and equanimity -- as well as the influence the '70s singer/songwriter era: "Ain't it hard/when you've got no one but yourself to blame." "The Sun Is Going Down" is singular in Trout's recording career. It's a slow, droning, desert-tinged blues, drenched in Hendrix-ian psychedelia. Trout borrows from the Delta blues in the opening line, "Stones in my passway...," before addressing the inevitable encounter with mortality in his own words, "And time has no mercy, it just don't seem to care," then cuts loose with the first of two blistering solos in overdrive. In "Make It Right," he employs funky Chicago blues and soulful vocals in trying to make amends with his beloved before the clock runs out. There is real anger and frustration in his solo, while the band pushes hard for more. Set closer "OK Boomer" is a perfect manifesto for Trout as a guitar slinger nearing 70. He turns the generational insult on its head with raucous, loud, dirty hard rock blues that's indebted to records by early Deep Purple and Led Zeppelin. On Ordinary Madness, Trout takes unprecedented chances with his legacy. His musical and lyrical depth reveal an overflowing abundance of restless creativity. This album is perfect for American audiences to finally embrace Trout as a blues icon; Europeans did that decades ago.© Thom Jurek /TiVo

In many ways, U2 took their fondness for sonic bombast as far as it could go on War, so it isn't a complete surprise that they chose to explore the intricacies of the Edge's layered, effects-laden guitar on the follow-up, The Unforgettable Fire. Working with producers Brian Eno and Daniel Lanois, U2 created a dark, near-hallucinatory series of interlocking soundscapes that are occasionally punctuated by recognizable songs and melodies. In such a setting, the band both flourishes and flounders, creating some of their greatest music, as well as some of their worst. "Elvis Presley and America" may well be Bono's most embarrassing attempt at poetry, yet it is redeemed by the chilling and wonderful "Bad," a two-chord elegy for an addict that is stunning in its control and mastery. Similarly, the wet, shimmering textures of the title track, the charging "A Sort of Homecoming," and the surging Martin Luther King, Jr. tribute "Pride (In the Name of Love)" are all remarkable, ranking among U2's very best music, making the missteps that clutter the remainder of the album somewhat forgivable.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

In the decades since Slayer's inception in 1982, although the band have messed about with various techniques and sounds -- they even cut a disastrous nu-metal album -- they've never really been big on experimentation. Of the big four -- with Metallica, Anthrax and Megadeth -- they've remained closer to their roots than any of the others. Repentless, their debut for Nuclear Blast, is their first record in six years and showcases a host of changes. The most significant one, of course, is the death of founding guitarist Jeff Hanneman in 2013 -- the chief architect of the band's sound. As the composer of many classic Slayer tracks including "Hell Awaits," "Angel of Death," "Dead Skin Mask," "Raining Blood," etc., he brought an unhinged punk spirit and inventive creative intuition to Slayer's metal palette. It contrasted sharply with fellow guitarist Kerry King's thrash approach and carved out a signature sound. Gary Holt of Exodus was selected as Hanneman's replacement, but his approach is closer to King's, making new songs less distinct. Repentless also marks the return of drummer Paul Bostaph after the controversial firing of Dave Lombardo. If Slayer ever needed a reason to look back for inspiration, it's here. The lion's share of responsibility for their sound has been passed on to King. He is not as imaginative as Hanneman, but does a more than acceptable job. This is mostly a thrash metal offering, full of manic tempos, blistering riffs, naked aggression, typical misanthropy, and angry grief (check "Chasing Death" as proof of the latter). The title track single attempts to mirror the band's earliest attack and mostly succeeds. "Take Control" is an anthemic call to warfare with Araya in grainy but still ferocious voice. Fine breaks by King and Holt elevate it to choice cut status. "Vices" is a crushing paean to violence ("...It's a rush you can't deny/a little violence is the ultimate drug/let's get high!…") emphasized by a blistering solo from King. Hanneman has a writing credit on "Piano Wire," partially composed at the time of his death. It offers a chugging, grooving riff and a couple of sharp tempo changes. Bostaph's drumming is solid. He's quick, technical and physical -- listen to the alternating double bass and hi-hat work on "Cast the First Stone." "When the Stillness Comes," an outlier in the middle of the record, commences with doom and mystery as Araya whispers atop a moody guitar and cymbals. While it shifts to crunchy, midtempo riffing, it doesn't go anywhere -- it's just album filler. That's compensated for by the insane pace and guitar soloing in "You Against You." Repentless is a retro, workmanlike effort from a band determined to soldier on, and that's fine. There are hardcore devotees who never want their favorite bands to change; this is for them. But again, given all that's transpired since 2009, Slayer get points for even pulling this off.© Thom Jurek /TiVo

"My only intention," Joy Oladokun told The New York Times of her fourth album, "is to make music to help myself process everyday life, and to help other people process everyday life." There is a remarkable lightness and ease to her music, and a sense of humility in her plain-spoken truths and observations. "Keeping the Light On" has an easy-breezy country flavor and honest, no-drama lyrics about battling darkness. "Found a girl and found a job/ Just like they say good people do/ But every now and then/ I turn to salt inside her wound … Don't deny that it feels so hard/ When the night gets so dark/ Keep keeping the light on." She also refuses, pragmatically, to give up on optimism on the John Mayer-esque "Changes," singing, "I was a baby during the L.A. riots/ And I've seen cities burn again … And people still don't understand/ What it's like to hope again and again." Raised in rural Arizona, the queer child of Nigerian immigrants, listening to Green Day and Tracy Chapman and Wynonna, Oladokun has a fresh perspective on worlds that can feel confining. She effortlessly plays with catchy, Bieber-style pop on "Trying," laser-show riffs on the sassy "Spotlight" and mid-aughts folk on "Flowers" and "Purple Haze." There are also touches of contemporary, Maren Morris-style country on "The Hard Way"—with its thriller line "Jesus raised me, good weed saved me"—and "Somebody Like Me," which is punctuated with gospel-choir jubilance and a plea: "Can anybody say a prayer/ Can anybody light a candle/ For somebody like me." Oladokun has said she rejected an offer to duet with country mega-star Morgan Wallen after he was caught on camera using the n-word, adding, "Country music broke my damn heart." But she’s found her people in her adopted hometown of Nashville including pal Morris and Chris Stapleton, her duet partner on the incredible and oh-so romantic "Sweet Symphony." His worn-in, knockout voice seems, on paper, like it shouldn’t work with her purity, but true alchemy is conjured as they harmonize. Oladokun also teams with Mt. Joy on "Friends," Manchester Orchestra for "You at the Table," Nigerian-American rapper Maxo Kream on "Revolution" and singer-songwriter Noah Kahan for the infectious, glam-emo track "We're All Gonna Die." And her voice is clear as a bell on the simple piano ballad "Pride," as Oladokun declares "Love for my haters/ Dark in their anger/ We won't apologize/ Sooner or later/ They won't be afraid." © Shelly Ridenour/Qobuz

Using the textured sonics of The Unforgettable Fire as a basis, U2 expanded those innovations by scaling back the songs to a personal setting and adding a grittier attack for its follow-up, The Joshua Tree. It's a move that returns them to the sweeping, anthemic rock of War, but if War was an exploding political bomb, The Joshua Tree is a journey through its aftermath, trying to find sense and hope in the desperation. That means that even the anthems -- the epic opener "Where the Streets Have No Name," the yearning "I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For" -- have seeds of doubt within their soaring choruses, and those fears take root throughout the album, whether it's in the mournful sliding acoustic guitars of "Running to Stand Still," the surging "One Tree Hill," or the hypnotic elegy "Mothers of the Disappeared." So it might seem a little ironic that U2 became superstars on the back of such a dark record, but their focus has never been clearer, nor has their music been catchier, than on The Joshua Tree. Unexpectedly, U2 have also tempered their textural post-punk with American influences. Not only are Bono's lyrics obsessed with America, but country and blues influences are heard throughout the record, and instead of using these as roots, they're used as ways to add texture to the music. With the uniformly excellent songs -- only the clumsy, heavy rock and portentous lyrics of "Bullet the Blue Sky" fall flat -- the result is a powerful, uncompromising record that became a hit due to its vision and its melody. Never before have U2's big messages sounded so direct and personal.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

To celebrate their 20th anniversary, the Black Crowes decided to revisit several of their staples from the past two decades, giving them acoustic rearrangements. While some of the songs are revised heavily, some are merely given strength by the new setting, not so much because the songs sound better stripped down to bare bones, but because the Crowes are still riding the wave that started with their 2008 comeback Warpaint, retaining the rustic, ragged live vibe of Before the Frost/Until the Freeze. This is the opposite of that live-in-the-studio record, where the band laid down new songs on tape preserving their freshness; instead, this is the sound of seasoned veterans still finding new ways to play old favorites. Naturally, this makes this set the province of diehards, but at two discs, this is a generous, entertaining gift to the fans who have stayed true throughout the years.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

Dookie gave Green Day success, but it was never really clear whether they wanted it in the first place. However, given the incessantly catchy songwriting of Billie Joe, the success made sense. Green Day were traditionalists without realizing it, learning all of their tricks through secondhand records and second-generation California punk bands. They didn't change their sound in the slightest after signing to a major label, which meant that they couldn't revert back to a harsher, earlier sound as a way to shed their audience for Dookie's follow-up, Insomniac. Instead, they kept their blueprint and made it a shade darker. Throughout Insomniac, there are vague references to the band's startling multi-platinum breakthrough, but the album is hardly a stark confessional on the level of Nirvana's In Utero. It's a collection of speedy, catchy songs in the spirit of the Buzzcocks, the Jam, the Clash, and the Undertones, but played with more minor chords and less melody and recorded with a bigger, hard rock-oriented production. While nothing on the album is as immediate as "Basket Case" or "Longview," the band has gained a powerful sonic punch, which goes straight for the gut but sacrifices the raw edge they so desperately want to keep and makes the record slightly tame. Billie Joe hasn't lost much of his talent for simple, tuneful hooks, but after a series of songs that all sound pretty much the same, it becomes clear that he needs to push himself a little bit more if Green Day ever want to be something more than a good punk-pop band. As it is, they remain a good punk-pop band, and Insomniac is a good punk-pop record, but nothing more.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

After two LPs with little or no energy, Sade demonstrated some intensity and fire on her third release. Whether that was just an attempt to change the pace a bit or a genuine new direction, she had more animation in her delivery on such songs as "Haunt Me," "Give It Up," and the hit "Paradise." Not that she was suddenly singing in a soulful or bluesy manner; rather, Sade's dry and introspective tone now had a little more edge, and the lyrics were ironic as well as reflective. This was her third consecutive multi-platinum album, and it matched the two-million-plus sales level of her debut.© Ron Wynn /TiVo