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Elvis' 1957 original Christmas album is one of his most inspired early outings and the first time he tackled anything resembling a thematic concept. Split evenly between rockers and bluesy numbers like "Santa Claus Is Back in Town," "Blue Christmas," and "Santa Bring My Baby Back to Me," perennials like "White Christmas," "I'll Be Home for Christmas," and "Silent Night," and straight-ahead gospel favorites like "I Believe," "Peace in the Valley" and "Take My Hand, Precious Lord," the disc revealed a different side of the rocker for the first time on a public instead conditioned to expect something outrageous. One of the King's shining moments, this is quite simply still one of the best holiday albums available.© Cub Koda /TiVo

Perhaps it was inevitable that Bob Dylan would change direction at the end of the '70s, since he had dabbled in everything from full-on repudiation of his legacy to a quiet embrace of it, to dipping his toe into pure showmanship. Nobody really could have expected that he would turn to Christianity on Slow Train Coming, embracing a born-again philosophy with enthusiasm. He has no problem in believing in a vengeful god -- you gotta serve somebody, after all -- and this is pure brimstone and fire throughout the record, even on such lovely testimonials as "I Believe in You." The unexpected side effect of his conversion is that it gave Dylan a focus he hadn't had since Blood on the Tracks, and his concentration carries over to the music, which is lean and direct in a way that he hadn't been since, well, Blood on the Tracks. Focus isn't necessarily the same thing as consistency, and this does suffer from being a bit too dogmatic, not just in its religion, but in its musical approach. Still, it's hard to deny Dylan's revitalized sound here, and the result is a modest success that at least works on its own terms.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

Mastodon set the bar high with Emperor of Sand. It was written in difficult circumstances emotionally and creatively. Like their first three albums (and unlike their last two), this is a concept album. Its dominant theme is of time running out, and its 11 tracks offer an allegorical story of a man handed a death sentence by a desert sultan. To escape, he flees into the expanse of the geography's emptiness, but the further he goes, the more lost he becomes in the sand as an unrelenting sun begins to claim his energy and ultimately his body -- think radiation poisoning. Desperate, he attempts to communicate telepathically with tribes of various races and historical periods to make rain fall and stop that progression. The concept is poignant: guitarist Bill Kelliher's mother passed away from brain cancer in 2016. The music grew out of long jams intended to address his grief and help him heal. The notion of time's eternal passage haunts every song here. The return to concept is accompanied by the re-enlistment of producer Brendan O'Brien (he helmed Crack the Skye). In an interview, bassist/vocalist Troy Sanders added weight to the expectations for the album: "...17 years in the making…it ties into our entire discography." Unlike their other conceptual endeavors (i.e. Leviathan) Emperor of Sand's narrative is relatively simple. While the conceptual framework harkens back to the early trilogy, the songwriting on this date is more reflective of the integrative styles on The Hunter and Once More ‘Round the Sun. "Sultan's Curse," "Roots Remain," and the anthemic "Clandestiny" all roar with the bone-quaking riffery and roiling drum grooves, offering dynamic harmonic breakdowns, great solo spots, and plenty of fire. Elsewhere, such as on "Show Yourself," "Ancient Kingdom" (both suggesting the influence of late-era Hüsker Dü), and "Andromeda," the focus shifts to hooks and melody first; the punishing riffs and monstrous drum fills are there, but are subservient. The guitar interplay between Brett Hinds and Kelliher is, as usual, flawless, and the spastic drum and basswork of the rhythm section remains some of the most expansive in metal. It's almost predictable, but it's not boring, and Mastodon's body of work has led listeners to expect it. The eight-minute closer "Jaguar God" develops slowly and methodically from a lament to a dirge to a raging prog metal storm, offering a panoramic example of everything that makes Mastodon special. Emperor of Sand is not perfect; it doesn't attain the glories of the first trilogy. That said, it's easily on par with The Hunter and stronger than Once More 'Round the Sun, while being more diverse than any record they've cut. Arguments about quality should go beyond the aesthetics to embody process and honesty, which are what ultimately matters. In order to be true to themselves, Mastodon had to make Emperor of Sand at this time. There was no other option. As such, its urgency, sophistication, and emotional heft make it a necessary entry in their catalog.© Thom Jurek /TiVo

Gospel music has been a key influence on jazz throughout much of its storied history; on For Mahalia, With Love, the connection is explicit. Inspired by the life and work of gospel legend Mahalia Jackson, tenor saxophonist and composer James Brandon Lewis has created a fine tribute, and one that is personal: the singer's impact on his grandmother in turn made an impression on her musical grandson.The album features the Red Lily Quintet: Lewis, cornetist Kirk Knuffke, cellist Chris Hoffman, bassist William Parker, and drummer Chad Taylor. Most of the tracks are newly arranged instrumental covers of traditional pieces that were part of Jackson's repertoire. This top-notch band draws on the expressivity of the old songs, but ushers them into a new realm with its own spiritual and emotive power. There's a great sense of focus and collective unity as the players dig into and expand on these classics.A typical track finds the horn players riffing on the theme with feeling; an intimate connection to the material is clear. Knuffke and Lewis attentively shade each other—responding to shards of melody, extending each other's lines, laying out long notes as support. Hoffman's often spiky cello adds an intriguing texture to the mix, and Taylor's drums and Parker's bass provide an inventive and assured undertow, whether they're leaning free or nailing a beat.Taylor plays tambourine at points, adding an unassuming echo of the church services where these spirituals were often sung. Throughout, Lewis's and Knuffke's fervor brings a sense of exaltation out of the compositions. There are moments when the combination of free-jazz fire and a simple melody evokes Albert Ayler, and the group can recall Ornette Coleman's bands. But For Mahalia, With Love has its own sound: intimate, subtle, and quite moving. © Fred Cisterna/Qobuz

Those expecting Annie Lennox to come out full-guns-blazing for her solo debut, Diva, with the high energy electro-Europop-meets-American- R&B of her Eurythmics work may be mildly disappointed. The enigmatic vocalist who made a career toying with different notions of gender plays on the concept of fame here -- Lennox dresses up in the persona of a solitary Diva trapped by counterfeit glory. Although the music is strangely muted and understated, the framework offers an effective stage for Lennox's husky voice, showcasing her as much more of a chanteuse than in the past. In fact, the album almost works best as one integrated mood piece rather than a collection of individual songs. Lennox succeeds in carving out a personality distinct from her Eurythmics days with Diva.© Roch Parisien /TiVo

After a lifetime of running—away from their Bronx home as a teenager, for freight trains to travel the country, from New Orleans to Nashville and back to NYC—Alynda Segarra (aka, the force behind Hurray for the Riff Raff) was forced to sit still and look around when the pandemic all but stopped the world for a while. "Not being able to travel and get out whenever, I felt nervous energy inside me ... it taught me a lot about trauma and memories being stored in the body," they said. So Segarra began running, as in jogging, to get out the energy—but also sorting through the past and figuring out how to live with it, and thrive. Nowhere is that clearer than on "SAGA," a bittersweet, Velvet Underground-like jangle inspired by Christine Blasey Ford's sexual-assault accusations against then-Supreme Court Justice nominee Brett Kavanaugh, and how that led to a resurfacing of Segarra's own painful memories. "I don't want this to be the saga of my life … push it out of my mind," they rebel against a hopeful wall of horns, kittycat-cute backing vocals contrasting the chant of "Nobody believed me." (Their voice often recalls the power and silk of Annie Lennox.) You can feel Segarra's racing pulse in "PIERCED ARROWS" and a more measured pace in "WOLVES," with its mix of chilled synth, tribal drums and '80-style gospel backing vocals. It feels like a lost Yeah Yeah Yeahs song, and that's a good thing. "ROSEMARY TEARS" sounds sacred and holy, and "nightqueen" is atmospheric, the drums slowly floating in as if to pierce its bubble of keening synth. "RHODODENDRON" is great, as Segarra coos pretty plant names and makes them sound like a roll call of danger—"Rhododendron/ Night blooming jasmine/ Deadly nightshade/ Fox glove … " It bounces along like a joy-riding car without shocks, then settles into a groove just as the singer switches gears to wail their plea of a chorus: "Don't turn your back on the mainland!" It's a reference to their Puerto Rican heritage, and Segarra has said it's about admitting to the "colonizer inside us all." Finally, "PRECIOUS CARGO" is a stunner, Segarra's sing-song spoken word like documentary journalism as they speak in the voice of real-life ICE detainees. "Me swimming just to get across/ With the babies on my shoulders ... Made it through the jungle/ No water there for two weeks," the story goes, detailing the hardships of being captured while seeking asylum: split from their families, sleeping on the cold floor "like a dog." Segarra helped the men work with lawyers to win their freedom but stresses that just being free in the US does not guarantee a functioning, human system. © Shelly Ridenour/Qobuz

With her haunting solo debut Little Earthquakes, Tori Amos carved the template for the female singer/songwriter movement of the '90s. Amos' delicate, prog rock piano work and confessional, poetically quirky lyrics invited close emotional connection, giving her a fanatical cult following and setting the stage for the Lilith Fair legions. But Little Earthquakes is no mere style-setter or feminine stereotype -- its intimacy is uncompromising, intense, and often far from comforting. Amos' musings on major personal issues -- religion, relationships, gender, childhood -- were just as likely to encompass rage, sarcasm, and defiant independence as pain or tenderness; sometimes, it all happened in the same song. The apex of that intimacy is the harrowing "Me and a Gun," where Amos strips away all the music, save for her own voice, and confronts the listener with the story of her own real-life rape; the free-associative lyrics come off as a heart-wrenching attempt to block out the ordeal. Little Earthquakes isn't always so stomach-churning, but it never seems less than deeply cathartic; it's the sound of a young woman (like the protagonist of "Silent All These Years") finally learning to use her own voice -- sort of the musical equivalent of Mary Pipher's Reviving Ophelia. That's why Amos draws strength from her relentless vulnerability, and that's why the constantly shifting emotions of the material never seem illogical -- Amos simply delights in the frankness of her own responses, whatever they might be. Though her subsequent albums were often very strong, Amos would never bare her soul quite so directly (or comprehensibly) as she did here, nor with such consistently focused results. Little Earthquakes is the most accessible work in Amos' catalog, and it's also the most influential and rewarding.© Steve Huey /TiVo

Cale moves toward country and gospel on some songs here, but since those are two of his primary influences, the movement is slight. And longtime producer Audie Ashworth attempts to place more emphasis on Cale's vocals on some songs by double-tracking them and pushing them up in the mix. But much of this is still low-key and bluesy in what was becoming Cale's patented style.© William Ruhlmann /TiVo