After Reprise, which revisited its greatest hits in 2021 with the Budapest Art Orchestra string quartet, Moby is diving back into its archives for this new album with Deutsche Grammophon. It's not just any old music, however: “I made a point of only selecting music that was written or recorded in New York.” Once again, it is a question of taking pieces from his catalogue and transposing them into the orchestral world. It is here that we can see the importance of having a label like Deutsche Grammophon; they sent a chamber ensemble to the studio and managed to include a great cast of guests. In particular we find the American star Gregory Porter on In My Heart, as well as the Australian rocker Dougy Mandagi of The Temper Trap on a very classy version of Extreme Ways, which is taken from his 2002 ‘18’ album and also on the soundtrack to the famous film series Jason Bourne. The version of South Side with Ricky Wilson (Kaiser Chiefs) is noteworthy too; Gwen Stefani featured on the original. A Moby gala! © Smaël Bouaici/Qobuz

Orpheus Descending follows quickly on the heels of Strictly a One-Eyed Jack, the 2022 album that found John Mellencamp returning after a five-year silence. There, he invited Bruce Springsteen into the studio for a few songs, a nod to their shared past as heartland rockers. Here, the guest isn't as big a star, but the connection may run deeper. Much of Orpheus Descending features a returning Lisa Germano, the violinist who played with the rocker from 1987's The Lonesome Jubilee through 1998's John Mellencamp, tending to an adventurous solo career all the while. Germano's presence accentuates how Mellencamp is returning to the earthy, rangy roots rock of Big Daddy, a sound that seemed slightly out of time in the 1980s and now feels somewhat traditional; Mellencamp's blend of sinewy rhythms and burnished acoustics is recognizably his, yet it draws upon a sound that's now part of a shared past. It's a sound that's aged well, and Mellencamp has aged within it. His voice has been weathered to a nub; he now sounds eternal, even primal. His leathery croak helps give this lean, direct music a gravelly anchor that Germano offsets with her lithe, graceful support. Listening to their interplay gives Orpheus Descending an unexpected emotional kick that helps the record transcend the occasional overly literal lyric from Mellencamp, such as the lead single "The Eyes of Portland."© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

It's hard to overstate how much the songs of Jagged Little Pill — released on feminist pioneer Madonna's Maverick label at a moment when Hootie & the Blowfish and the theme from Friends were anesthetizing America — shook up pop radio in 1995. No one was prepared for first single "You Oughta Know," which stormed into ubiquity in a blaze of raw fury aimed at a "Mr. Duplicity" who rebounded too soon. Often mis-characterized as pure vengeance, the dynamics-propelled rocker (with bass and guitar from Flea and Dave Navarro, then of the Red Hot Chili Peppers) was really about being forthright and staking a claim to un-pretty feelings: "And every time you speak her name/ Does she know how you told me/ You'd hold me until you died." Of course, Morissette had no choice but to be divisive. From the album's opener "All I Really Want," you'll know if you love or hate her voice, with its affected tics and shrieks. Let it also be said that Jagged Little Pill is not an album for those who find harmonica grating, and that jaunty hit "Ironic" may drive literalists crazy with its litany of inconveniences ("It's like ten thousand spoons when all you need is a knife"). But it's that lack of self-consciousness from Morissette (19 years old at the time) that makes songs such as the grungy "Forgiven" — a defiance against patriarchal Catholic guilt — and self-empowerment bop "You Learn" a clarion call of independence for young women looking to ditch fear. It also let her create a completely new sound that didn't draw directly from typical female influences (save for the folksy "Hand In My Pocket", which comes on like the spiritual descendent of Edie Brickell's "What I Am") and left a mold for countless female artists after. © Qobuz

While Jethro Tull may have made his fans wait almost twenty years before unveiling a new studio album, The Zealot Gene, released in 2022, its successor has unexpectedly dropped less than a year and a half later. Interestingly, while the previous record showed Jethro Tull seemingly trying to cast aside his progressive rock angle in order to refocus on songs (even though it does retain this concept-album side so typical of many of this genre’s productions), RökFlöte revives a large part of what made up the original combo’s DNA. Here we have Ian Anderson who returns to the transverse flute for almost the entire length of this new chapter, centring around stories drawn from Norse paganism, especially heroes and deities. A look back in time which by no means aimed to displease, Jethro Tull’s music once again has resonating folk accents combined with amplified music and electric guitar contributions (Wolf Unchained), right from the outset. All of a sudden we want to sit by the fire while our minstrel shares his fables and legends. However, in-depth listening to this RökFlöte confirms that while the group has perfectly succeeded in bringing out the best of its music, an instrumental album would have been enough, like in the excellent Voluspo opening, with a few rare words rolled out in a simply spoken narrative. Anderson's voice, while it isn’t monotonous, hardly brings any relief to the ensemble in the same way that perhaps Jon Davison’s voice could on the last Yes. But time travel works; the long instrumental tracks in each song prove how much the group's know-how had simply been buried under a few layers of dust, only to be revealed now in a better light. © Chief Brody/Qobuz

War is Roger Waters' great muse, the impetus for so much of his work, including the semi-autobiographical 1979 opus The Wall. The Final Cut, his last album with Pink Floyd, functioned as an explicit sequel to The Wall, but 1992's Amused to Death acts as something of a coda, a work where Waters revisits his obsessions -- both musical and lyrical -- and ties them together with the masterful touch of a mature artist. Certainly, Waters' narrative of a society filtering all manners of ugliness through a television screen isn't as sci-fi silly as that of its immediate predecessor Radio K.A.O.S., but a greater point in its favor is that it's a richer affair than that stiff, synthesized relic of the late '80s. Working with Patrick Leonard -- a veteran collaborator of Madonna's who also dabbled with the latter-day David Gilmour-led Pink Floyd -- Waters gives Amused to Death forward momentum, an aspect conspicuously absent from the still, meditative The Final Cut and Pros and Cons of Hitchhiking, both of which seemed to be comprised of song poems. The tunes on Amused aren't quite hooky or melodic but they do have structure, as does the production by Waters, Leonard, and Nick Griffiths. The tapestry of found sounds, choirs, televisions, washes of organ, lonely acoustic guitars, and blues leads by Jeff Beck does recall Floyd at their '70s peak, but Amused to Death sounds grander and more expansive; it's a creature of the CD age, using up every one of its available 72 minutes. At this length, it's a mere ten minutes shorter than The Wall, and although it can sometimes feel indulgent, it never feels excessive. Unlike the other two Waters solo albums -- or The Final Cut, which is a Waters project masquerading as a Floyd album -- Amused to Death feels cohesive and complete as an anti-war rock opera. If it winds up being Waters' last original rock album, so be it: it is a masterpiece in the sense that it brings together all of his obsessions in one grand, but not unwieldy, package.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

The "difficult second album" is one of the perennial rock & roll clichés, but few second albums ever were as difficult as Use Your Illusion. Not really conceived as a double album but impossible to separate as individual works, Use Your Illusion is a shining example of a suddenly successful band getting it all wrong and letting its ambitions run wild. Taking nearly three years to complete, the recording of the album was clearly difficult, and tensions between Slash, Izzy Stradlin, and Axl Rose are evident from the start. The two guitarists, particularly Stradlin, are trying to keep the group closer to its hard rock roots, but Rose has pretensions of being Queen and Elton John, which is particularly odd for a notoriously homophobic Midwestern boy. Conceivably, the two aspirations could have been divided between the two records, but instead they are just thrown into the blender -- it's just a coincidence that Use Your Illusion I is a harder-rocking record than II. Stradlin has a stronger presence on I, contributing three of the best songs -- "Dust n' Bones," "You Ain't the First," and "Double Talkin' Jive" -- which help keep the album in Stonesy Aerosmith territory. On the whole, the album is stronger than II, even though there's a fair amount of filler, including a dippy psychedelic collaboration with Alice Cooper and a song that takes its title from the Osmonds' biggest hit. But it also has two ambitious set pieces, "November Rain" and "Coma," which find Rose fulfilling his ambitions, as well as the ferocious, metallic "Perfect Crime" and the original version of the power ballad "Don't Cry." Still, it can be a chore to find the highlights on the record amid the overblown production and endless amounts of filler.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

Leaving behind the garagey jangle pop of their first recordings, R.E.M. developed a strangely subdued variation of their trademark sound for their full-length debut album, Murmur. Heightening the enigmatic tendencies of Chronic Town by de-emphasizing the backbeat and accentuating the ambience of the ringing guitar, R.E.M. created a distinctive sound for the album -- one that sounds eerily timeless. Even though it is firmly in the tradition of American folk-rock, post-punk, and garage rock, Murmur sounds as if it appeared out of nowhere, without any ties to the past, present, or future. Part of the distinctiveness lies in the atmospheric production, which exudes a detached sense of mystery, but it also comes from the remarkably accomplished songwriting. The songs on Murmur sound as if they've existed forever, yet they subvert folk and pop conventions by taking unpredictable twists and turns into melodic, evocative territory, whether it's the measured riffs of "Pilgrimage," the melancholic "Talk About the Passion," or the winding guitars and pianos of "Perfect Circle." R.E.M. may have made albums as good as Murmur in the years following its release, but they never again made anything that sounded quite like it.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

Following on from Tranquility Base Hotel & Casino (2018), Arctic Monkeys return with an impeccably classy seventh chapter that further consolidates their status as a band with seamless longevity, capable of growing and evolving without losing an ounce of credibility. After the singles ‘There'd Better Be A Mirrorball’ and ‘Body Paint’, on which Alex Turner masterfully takes on the role of a deep crooner with dark poetry in the style of Richard Hawley, the eight other tracks set silky backdrops where strings and brass predominate.In the capable hands of James Ellis Ford, Arctic Monkeys’ producer since Favourite Worst Nightmare (2007) and also for The Last Shadow Puppets’ (Alex Turner and Miles Kane) The Age Of Understatement, The Car is meticulously produced with sublime guitars (‘The Car’) as well as soul (‘Big Ideas’) lining up alongside funk (‘Jet Skis On The Moat’ and its wah-wah). As for Matt Helder's drums, ever-present on the early albums, they are, unsurprisingly, far more discreet here, applied with the lightest of touches. Forget about the big riffs of the early days and make way for some lush orchestrations. Masterful. © Charlotte Saintoin/Qobuz

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

When the prevailing guitar jingle of "Mr. Jones" cascaded over radio in the early '90s, it was a sure sign that the Counting Crows were a musical force to be reckoned with. Their debut album, August and Everything After, burst at the seams with both dominant pop harmonies and rich, hearty ballads, all thanks to lead singer Adam Duritz. The lone guitar work of "Mr. Jones" coupled with the sweet, in-front pull of Duritz's voice kicked off the album in full force. The starkly beautiful and lonely sounding "Round Here" captured the band's honest yet subtle talent for singing ballads, while "Omaha" is lyrically reminiscent of a Springsteen tune. The fusion of hauntingly smooth vocals with such instruments as the Hammond B-3 organ and the accordion pumped new life into the music scene, and their brisk sound catapulted them into stardom. On "Rain King," the piano takes over as its aloof flair dances behind Duritz with elegant crispness. The slower-paced "Raining in Baltimore" paints a perfectly gray picture and illustrates the band's ease at conveying mood by eliminating the tempo. Most of the songs here engage in overly contagious hooks that won't go away, making for a solid bunch of tunes. Containing the perfect portions of instrumental and vocal conglomeration, the Counting Crows showed off their appealing sound to its full extent with their very first album.© Mike DeGagne /TiVo

On their third album, New Order effortlessly added elements of dance to the new wave synthesisers and samplers found on their previous album, completing their transition from post-punk to dance music. Nestled beneath the impressive use of musical technology, you’ll find the Manchester band’s increasingly divine songwriting. ‘Love Vigilantes’, ‘The Perfect Kiss’ and ‘Sunrise’ are all stunning pop tracks enhanced by Gillian Gilbert's hypnotic synths, Peter Hook's elastic bass and Bernard Sumner's sparkling guitar. With Low-Life, the 100th release from legendary Mancunian label Factory, austere post-punk is completely replaced by the sunniest new wave dance. This influential album, despite its 80’s synths, still sounds like a pioneering record. © Marc Zisman