The Last Dinner Party is a love-them-or-hate-them band: Either you are charmed by the theatricality—the high-fashion take on barmaid/wench costumery, singer Abigail Morris' over-the-top delivery, the musical girl-power of it all—or you are likely to roll your eyes. Lush, louche, lusty and fun, the band's songs and style draw from a history of Siouxsie Sioux, Bryan Ferry, Florence Welch and early '80s New Romantics. It's the kind of grand-scale zeitgeist shift, kick-started by Wet Leg, that was inevitable after the humble trend of lo-fi bedroom pop. "Nothing Matters," the alternative-radio hit, is truly excellent, with an alchemic formula of clicky New Wave drums, hair-metal guitar riffs, vivid trumpets and a cathartic chorus meant to be shouted at shows: "And you can hold me like he held her/ And I will fuck you like nothing matters." "Caesar on a TV Screen" is wonderfully weird, encompassing swoony verses, a mischievous Roxy Music-style pre-chorus and a majestic chorus. Morris (who sounds like her arched eyebrow never drops) chews up all the scenery—over-enunciating, milking her English accent, and having the time of her life—with lines like "And just for a second, I could be one of the greats/ I am Caesar on a TV screen, champion of my fate!" Earworm "My Lady of Mercy" is about having a crush on Joan of Arc and sounds like crusaders rushing into battle, complete with cheerleader handclaps, rumble-strip rhythm, a snarling guitar line from Emily Robert and a monster chorus. The Infectious "Sinner" offers tempestuous Morris the sweetened foil of guitarist Lizzie Mayland, as the two trade verses and harmonize over Aurora Nishevci's baroque piano; it feels like a delightful game of cat-and-mouse. Appropriately, Prelude to Ecstasy is mixed by A-list producer Alan Moulder, who has a long history of working with high-drama bands like My Bloody Valentine, Nine Inch Nails and Interpol, and he helps The Last Dinner Party go up to 11: Spinal Tap meets Velvet Goldmine. (Visually, it's hard to recall a rock band having this much fun with fashion—referencing everything from Picnic At Hanging Rock to Sofia Coppola's Marie Antoinette—since early Duran Duran and Culture Club.) Even the less-bombastic moments, like ballerina-sweet piano ballad "On Your Side" or the chamber pop of "Portrait of a Dead Girl," play cinematically. © Shelly Ridenour/Qobuz

The Last Dinner Party is a love-them-or-hate-them band: Either you are charmed by the theatricality—the high-fashion take on barmaid/wench costumery, singer Abigail Morris' over-the-top delivery, the musical girl-power of it all—or you are likely to roll your eyes. Lush, louche, lusty and fun, the band's songs and style draw from a history of Siouxsie Sioux, Bryan Ferry, Florence Welch and early '80s New Romantics. It's the kind of grand-scale zeitgeist shift, kick-started by Wet Leg, that was inevitable after the humble trend of lo-fi bedroom pop. "Nothing Matters," the alternative-radio hit, is truly excellent, with an alchemic formula of clicky New Wave drums, hair-metal guitar riffs, vivid trumpets and a cathartic chorus meant to be shouted at shows: "And you can hold me like he held her/ And I will fuck you like nothing matters." "Caesar on a TV Screen" is wonderfully weird, encompassing swoony verses, a mischievous Roxy Music-style pre-chorus and a majestic chorus. Morris (who sounds like her arched eyebrow never drops) chews up all the scenery—over-enunciating, milking her English accent, and having the time of her life—with lines like "And just for a second, I could be one of the greats/ I am Caesar on a TV screen, champion of my fate!" Earworm "My Lady of Mercy" is about having a crush on Joan of Arc and sounds like crusaders rushing into battle, complete with cheerleader handclaps, rumble-strip rhythm, a snarling guitar line from Emily Robert and a monster chorus. The Infectious "Sinner" offers tempestuous Morris the sweetened foil of guitarist Lizzie Mayland, as the two trade verses and harmonize over Aurora Nishevci's baroque piano; it feels like a delightful game of cat-and-mouse. Appropriately, Prelude to Ecstasy is mixed by A-list producer Alan Moulder, who has a long history of working with high-drama bands like My Bloody Valentine, Nine Inch Nails and Interpol, and he helps The Last Dinner Party go up to 11: Spinal Tap meets Velvet Goldmine. (Visually, it's hard to recall a rock band having this much fun with fashion—referencing everything from Picnic At Hanging Rock to Sofia Coppola's Marie Antoinette—since early Duran Duran and Culture Club.) Even the less-bombastic moments, like ballerina-sweet piano ballad "On Your Side" or the chamber pop of "Portrait of a Dead Girl," play cinematically. © Shelly Ridenour/Qobuz

Ever since Moon Safari was hailed as an instant classic, Air have swung back and forth between the experimental and accessible sides that Nicolas Godin and Jean-Benoît Dunckel united so perfectly on their debut. 10,000 Hz Legend might have been too grandiose and aggressively experimental for some Air fans, but Talkie Walkie sometimes felt as if the duo was presenting the most widely palatable version of their music possible. On Pocket Symphony, Dunckel and Godin find a balance between pretty and inventive that they haven't struck since, well, Moon Safari, even though it isn't nearly as immediate -- even by Air's standards, this is an extremely introspective and atmospheric album. It's beyond clichéd to call the duo's music filmic; nevertheless, "Space Maker" and "Night Sight" play like the album's opening titles and ending credits, bracketing a set of songs that are sadder and wiser than anything Air has done since The Virgin Suicides (particularly "Lost Message," which could have easily appeared on that soundtrack). Made around the same time Dunckel and Godin were working with Jarvis Cocker and Neil Hannon (who also appear here) on Charlotte Gainsbourg's 5:55 and Dunckel was recording his solo project Darkel, Pocket Symphony could be seen as part of a loose trilogy; if so, it's more in line with 5:55's moody romanticism than Darkel's hyper-pop (where, apparently, any lighter-hearted tracks along the lines of Talkie Walkie's "Alpha Beta Gaga" or "Surfing on a Rocket" ended up). However, Pocket Symphony doesn't feel as serenely untouchable as some of Air's previous work, and these darker cracks and wrinkles give it character. These songs are often unsettling, but gently so, like dreams that are still vivid but hard to explain upon waking. The Neil Hannon-sung "Somewhere Between Waking and Sleeping" is the most obvious example of Pocket Symphony's fever dream atmosphere, but there are plenty of others: "Photograph," a quintessentially sensuous Air track, gives the impression of something a little sinister occurring just out of frame; "Redhead Girl" is a lush meditation on unrequited love so paralyzing that time itself stops. The entire album deals with toxic love and its fallout, but Dunckel and Godin alternate between romanticizing heartbreak and showing just how dreary it can be -- although, skilled mood-makers that they are, they manage to make dreary sound pretty romantic, too. The deceptively delicate single "Once Upon a Time" darkens its fairy tale imagery with the fact that once upon a time might be never, while the outstanding "One Hell of a Party," which features Jarvis Cocker on vocals, presents a breakup as a hangover (a sentiment Cocker also explored brilliantly on Pulp's This Is Hardcore). Pocket Symphony pairs Air with producer Nigel Godrich, which is an inspired choice -- not just because Godrich has a similarly atmospheric touch and adds lots of fascinating sonic details, but because he helps Air keep the album intimate, not polished into a state of distant perfection. "Left Bank," which blends humming with a cello and captures Godin's acoustic guitar so clearly it sounds like he's strumming it behind you, is a gorgeous example of how well this collaboration works. The Japanese influence on Talkie Walkie and Air's music for Lost in Translation is deepened on Pocket Symphony, with shamisen and koto (which Godin spent a year learning to play) adding to its ethereal beauty, particularly on "Mer du Japon." Musically and thematically, this is some of Air's most elegant, mature music; it does what it does so compellingly that any attempts to be "poppy" would miss the point. © Heather Phares /TiVo

After releasing and touring the intense This Year's Model, Elvis Costello quickly returned to the studio with the Attractions to record his third album, Armed Forces. In contrast to the stripped-down pop and rock of his first two albums, Armed Forces boasted a detailed and textured pop production, but it was hardly lavish. However, the more spacious arrangements -- complete with ringing pianos, echoing reverb, layered guitars, and harmonies -- accent Costello's melodies, making the record more accessible than his first two albums. Perversely, while the sound of Costello's music was becoming more open and welcoming, his songs became more insular and paranoid, even though he cloaked his emotions well. Many of the songs on Armed Forces use politics as a metaphor for personal relationships, particularly fascism, which explains its working title, Emotional Fascism. Occasionally, the lyrics are forced, but the music never is -- the album demonstrates the depth of Costello's compositional talents and how he can move from the hook-laden pop of "Accidents Will Happen" to the paranoid "Goon Squad" with ease. Some of the songs, like the light reggae of "Two Little Hitlers" and the impassioned "Party Girl," build on his strengths, while others like the layered "Oliver's Army" take Costello into new territories. It's a dense but accessible pop record and ranks as his third masterpiece in a row.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

Carly Rae Jepsen may not be the most prolific pop star, but when she releases an album, she makes it count. On 2015's E-MO-TION, she proved just how much more there was to her music than "Call Me Maybe" as she expanded the sugar rush of 2012's Kiss into pop songs that were equally joyous and introspective. Four years after E-MO-TION, she makes another leap forward with Dedicated, an album that reflects her growing maturity as a songwriter as well as the pop music trends of its time. Jepsen trades E-MO-TION's deep dive into '80s nostalgia for a more streamlined approach on "No Drug Like Me" and "Automatically in Love," where swelling synths and loping beats nod to tropical pop while adding sophistication to her swooning lyrics. However, some of the album's most exciting moments ignore what's fashionable. From its booming synth drums to its vocodered backing vocals and closing sax solo, "Want You in My Room" proves that Jepsen is still second to none at crafting pop songs that are infectious precisely because they're so quirky. That goes double for "Everything He Needs," which turns "He Needs Me" from Harry Nilsson's Popeye soundtrack into a winning -- if slightly unhinged -- confection of a song. Jepsen also takes the opportunity to reveal different sides of her persona, as well as her music, on Dedicated: "I'll Be Your Girl" uncovers her dark side, setting post-breakup jealousy and voyeurism to ricocheting, ska-tinged sounds that call to mind No Doubt and Santigold. Despite all of these changes, Dedicated never feels disjointed. This is partly because of Jepsen's abundant charisma -- years after "Call Me Maybe," she remains the pop star next door -- and partly because of her increasing skill as a songwriter. She still excels at crystallizing the complex ways happiness and heartache often masquerade as each other into deceptively simple pop gems, but this time she gives her relatable lyrics and irresistible hooks an even greater scope. The taut, disco-tinged opener "Julien" nails how the longing for an old flame can be just as powerful, if not more so, than the actual time with them was; on the flip side, "Happy Not Knowing" shuts down a potential lover as a means of avoiding any more heartbreak. She digs deeper into love's complicated nuances on clever, vulnerable songs like "The Sound" and "Right Words Wrong Time," both of which turn disappointing relationships into undeniable earworms. Later on, she saves some of her most indelible songwriting for "Real Love," a soaring tribute to all of love's possibilities. Fortunately, Jepsen is just as committed to her music as she is to the ideal of true love, and the way she's grown without sacrificing her uniqueness makes Dedicated a master class in what a 2010s pop album can be.© Heather Phares /TiVo

Elvis Costello had been writing songs and performing them in public long before he became the most gifted Angry Young Man of the New Wave Class of 1977 with his debut album My Aim Is True. While plenty of punk and new wave acts espoused a Year Zero attitude about rock & roll, Costello obviously had a strong working knowledge of pop songwriting past and present, though it wouldn't be until he made 1981's Trust and 1982's Imperial Bedroom that he was willing to reveal just how firmly rooted he was in pop classicism. Years later, Costello and Burt Bacharach teamed up to write "God Give Me Strength" for Allison Anders' 1996 film Grace of My Heart, a pairing that seemed like an amusing mismatch only to people who hadn't paid much attention to Costello's career since 1979's Armed Forces. The song was a brilliant evocation of Bacharach's sweetly melancholic tunes of the '60s, with lyrics from Costello that were thoughtful, mature, and fully worthy of the gravity and craft of Bacharach's melody. "God Give Me Strength" was good enough that Bacharach and Costello chose to write and record an album together, and 1998's Painted from Memory was a master class in pop songwriting for grown-ups, informed by Bacharach's salad days without betraying the least bit of nostalgia, and featuring some of the finest, most well-considered vocals Costello ever committed to tape. Bacharach and Costello extended the collaboration to pen a number of songs for a projected Broadway musical (conceived by, of all people, Chuck Lorre, the sitcom titan behind Two and a Half Men and The Big Bang Theory), and The Songs of Bacharach & Costello is a box set that combines a remastered version of Painted from Memory with 16 performances of songs either written for the uncompleted musical Taken from Life or adapted from tunes on the album. The Taken from Life material is splendid and should please any fans of the collaborators, though the performances by Cassandra Wilson, Jenni Muldaur, Audra Mae, and others point out how specifically these songs seem to fit Costello's voice, and that they were crafted to suit a narrative that was never fully resolved. Rounding out the set is a collection of live performances of the Bacharach/Costello numbers and a final disc of Costello singing Bacharach/Hal David classics on-stage. The sizable majority of this has been previously released, but the material here has been packaged and presented with consummate care, and Costello penned a fascinating 10,000-word essay on his work with Bacharach for this release. As fate would have it, The Songs of Bacharach & Costello arrived less than a month after Bacharach died on February 9, 2023 at the age of 94. This collection wasn't intended to be a memorial, yet the deep dive into one of his last major collaborations pays worthy homage to his skill and dedication to craft, and every moment testifies to Costello's towering respect for the great man.© Mark Deming /TiVo

Prince's star faded not long after he won emancipation from Warner Brothers in 1995, as he abandoned the mainstream so he could follow his whims however he liked. Which meant that he effectively started making records for nobody but himself, whether that meant triple-disc collections of new material or an all-instrumental smooth jazz album, and in short order, his fans started dwindling away to nothing but the hardcore, who themselves had their patience tried by such antics as Prince suing his own fanzine in the late '90s. It seemed that he was fated to permanently wander in the wilderness, making music for an ever more selective audience, until he suddenly decided in 2004 that he wanted to be back in the game, returning to the spotlight with acclaimed performances at the Grammys and the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame induction ceremony, announcing an all-hits tour, and releasing Musicology, his first major-label distributed album in five years. This flurry of activity suggests that Prince is treating this as an opportunity for a full-fledged comeback and, thankfully, he's seized this moment and delivered a vastly entertaining record. Unlike everything he's done since leaving Warner, Musicology doesn't alienate listeners; it's tight and lean, weighing in at 12 tracks and 47 minutes, yet that's still enough room for Prince to showcase his virtuoso versatility. He tries a little everything -- down and dirty funk jams, slow sensual grooves, and, happily, he revives the psychedelic pop of the mid-'80s with the deliriously catchy "Cinnamon Girl" -- but unlike on such overworked albums as Emancipation and Rave Un2 the Joy Fantastic, it never feels like an attempt to dazzle or a series of stylistic exercises. That's because there's a clarity to his production -- dense, but never busy, proving once again that he's about the only musician who can make a one-man band sound as vibrant as a live nine-piece group -- and a focus to his writing that hasn't been heard in a long, long time. At its core, Musicology is essentially classicist Prince, as he makes a deliberate decision to play to all of his greatest strengths, but because it's been so long that he's made a record this confident and concise, it doesn't sound like a retreat. It sounds as if he's rediscovered his muse, which is quite a bit different than simply following his whims. Make no mistake, this isn't the second coming of Purple Rain or Sign 'o' the Times or even Parade -- in other words, it's not a masterpiece, more like a more confident and consistent Diamonds and Pearls without the hip-hop fixation -- but it's a strong album, one that impresses on the first listen and gets better with repeated plays. In short, it's the comeback that it was meant to be.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

Pink's debut album was a promising collection of dance-pop, easily lumped into the teen pop boon of 2000 since she was young and sang over savvy, skittering club beats. Those comparisons irked -- hell, angered -- Pink, and she was determined to prove she was real with her second album. So she called up her idol, Linda Perry of 4 Non Blondes fame, to help her rock and write; bared her soul; fought for some artistic control; brought in Steven Tyler; and wound up with M!ssundaztood, a title bound to never show up on Internet search engines. This all sounds like the script for a VH1 movie, but the wild thing is that M!ssundaztood not only works, it works smashingly -- a bewildering amalgam of sounds and attitudes that shouldn't fit together, but defy all odds and do. This record bubbles over with imagination, as hooky pop songs like the title track rub shoulders with glitzy dancefloor anthems like "Get the Party Started" and sexy, swaggering arena rock redux like "18 Wheeler" before delving into weird confessionals like "Family Portrait," "Dear Diary," and "My Vietnam." Forget that this isn't what anybody would have expected Pink to do; it's hard to imagine anybody else that would have the idea and the inclination to blend late-'80s, metal-spiked album rock with modern hip-hop and dance, then dress it up with dazzling modern pop production, all the while not avoiding painful subjects (particularly her dysfunctional family) or melody. If that's not an artistic statement, then what is? And the damn thing is, there hasn't been a record in the mainstream this vibrant or this alive in a long, long time.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

In case you're wondering, despite what VH1's Behind the Music might have you believe, hair metal is still alive and kicking. Unfortunately, it's more lowbrow than ever, thanks to L.A.'s Steel Panther. Taking debauchery to the next level for their debut, Feel the Steel, Steel Panther gather inspiration from Warrant, Poison, and Mötley Crüe as they pretend to be a metal group with two primal desires: rocking faces and scoring chicks. Metal satire is a well-traveled road, with Bad News, Spinal Tap, and Tenacious D all taking their respective turns portraying lunkheaded metalheads. Likewise, onetime L.A. Guns frontman Ralph Saenz (playing the part of "Michael Starr") does his best impression of an egotistical David Lee Roth/Bret Michaels type who dedicates 50 percent of his time on the microphone to objectifying women ("Fat Girl [Thar She Blows]") and the other half to boasting about his appendage. It's a convincing act, as is the performance by the rest of the band (drummer Stix Zadinia, bassist Lexxi Foxxx, and lead guitarist Satchel), with their textbook Hit Parader shredding and spot-on attention to '80s production details. Metal references fly out of every corner, with nods to the Def Leppard ultra-processed "whoa oh" sound, Richie Sambora's "Bad Medicine" guitar talk box intro, and a slapping acoustic ode to Extreme's definitive power ballad, "More Than Words." Steel Panther's ability to create songs that sound like they came from 1987 is commendable. That's about as close to clever as it gets, though. As David St. Hubbins said, "It's such a fine line between stupid and clever," and Saenz's locker-room humor wears thin quickly. Even cameos from Slipknot's Corey Taylor, Anthrax's Scott Ian, Nelson's Matt Nelson, the Donnas' Allison Robertson and Brett Anderson, and the Darkness' frontman Justin Hawkins can't keep the same dick joke interesting for 40 minutes straight.© Jason Lymangrover /TiVo

This most unusual Duke Ellington record includes two selections featuring nine symphonic percussionists on timpani, vibes, marimbas, and xylophones. Dizzy Gillespie makes a historic appearance with Ellington's orchestra on "U.M.M.G." (a meeting that should have been repeated often but sadly never was), Jimmy Rushing (Count Basie's former vocalist) sings "Hello Little Girl," and both Johnny Hodges ("All of Me") and Paul Gonsalves ("Ready Go!") have chances to blow.© Scott Yanow /TiVo