"THE DEATH OF PEACE OF MIND is a record that redefines experimentation in modern metalcore."© TiVo

March 1985 was a golden age for Rogers Nelson… at just 27 years old, Prince already had six huge albums to his name: For You (1978), Prince (1979), Dirty Mind (1980), Controversy (1981), 1999 (1982) and, of course, the massive Purple Rain (1984) which catapulted him into superstardom. His seventh album, Around the World in a Day, was released just a month after he finished touring. This record set his music on a new trajectory, experimenting with rock, pop and even psychedelic sounds. This live album was recorded in Syracuse, New York, on the 30th of March 1985 during his Purple Rain tour, and Prince made sure to pepper it with genius. This genius was multiplied tenfold by the adrenaline he put into his stage performances. Everything he touched would fizzle and spark with energy. He was supported by his fantastic band, The Revolution, which was composed of Bobby Z. on drums, Brown Mark on bass, Dr. Fink on keyboard, Eric Leeds on saxophone and the amazing twosome Wendy & Lisa on guitar and keyboard, not to mention guests such as percussionist Sheila E. His compositions, each one more perfect than the last, contain raw rock, pop and rhythm & blues. They’re a far cry from the old Prince from the decade prior, who was more inclined to stretch his tracks into extra-long improvs that flirted with jazz-fusion. He still enjoys making the pleasure last on this album, as evidenced by Baby I’m a Star, however, he maintains a funky, rock n roll beat throughout. Remixed by the sound engineer Chris James, who he would continue to work with throughout his later career, this reissue is a momentous release that can only be described with superlatives. Its explosive tone is established right from the opening track, Let’s Go Crazy. Prince and The Revolution: Live is 1 hour and 54 minutes of pure brilliance. It’s a must-listen! © Marc Zisman/Qobuz

When MGMT were asked by their record label for a list of their dream producers, with low expectations they sarcastically replied: Prince, Nigel Godrich, Barack Obama, and "not Sheryl Crow." Columbia returned with Dave Fridmann, the producer extraordinaire best known for his work with Flaming Lips and Mercury Rev. In typical Fridmann fashion, Oracular Spectacular is a glamorous mega-production through and through. Drums are massively distorted and shimmering keyboards are articulately layered as he takes the reins, leading the duo through his daisy chain of onboard compressors, delay units, and whatever other mysterious studio gizmos and gadgets he uses to get his trademark sound. Expectedly, the 14-karat polish enhances MGMT's blend of psychedelic and indie-electro to a shiny sonic gleam, resulting in some of the catchiest pop songs to come from N.Y.C. since the turn of the millennium. The tunes sound classic and new all at once, paying homage to Bowie, the Kinks, and the Stones, while updating traditional progressions with flashes of Royal Trux, Ween, and LCD Soundsystem. It's a wonderful mess of musical ideas, ranging from the dancy disco thump and Bee Gees falsetto of "Electric Feel" to the gritty acoustic-based "Pieces of What," to the grimy synth groove on the anthemic "Time to Pretend." With tongues planted firmly in cheeks, sardonic wit is as abundant as Andrew Van Wyngarden and Ben Goldwasser spoof the stereotypical rock & roll lifestyle with lines like "Lets make some music, make some money, find some models for wives/I'll go to Paris take some heroin and fuck with the stars." Despite the ever-present irony, the songs never feel insincere and the record is inherently strong throughout, making it a solid start to their career.© Jason Lymangrover /TiVo

Shelby Lynne has followed her own sometimes reckless, always adventuresome muse throughout her career. Just a Little Lovin' is her personal homage to the late, legendary Dusty Springfield. Nine of its ten cuts are inextricably linked to the late British vocalist whose sway Lynne came under years ago, but a chance conversation with Barry Manilow -- of all people -- led to the making of this record. Lynne doesn't attempt to sound like Springfield. She uses her own phrasing and rhythmic sensibility. Four cuts here come from the Dusty in Memphis period, as well as the title track to The Look of Love and some of her mid-'60s British hits that were not released in America. All these songs, with the exception of the self-penned "Pretend," were recorded by Springfield. The album was recorded in the Capitol Records studio with Frank Sinatra's microphone and producer Phil Ramone. Lynne's aesthetic sense serves her well: most singers automatically shoot for "Son of a Preacher Man," but Lynne steers clear. She does, however, tackle some truly monolithic Springfield hits: "Just a Little Lovin'," "Breakfast in Bed," "Willie and Laura Mae Jones," and "I Don't Want to Hear It Anymore." Lynne's readings are close, intimate. They're understated but more direct. Ramone used a small quartet in guitarist Dean Parks, keyboardist Rob Mathes, drummer Gregg Field, and bassist Kevin Axt to give her that edge. Lynne's delivery takes these songs straight to the listener's belly. The taut but easy sensuality in her voice adds a very different dimension to them. When she gets to the in-the-pocket feel of "Breakfast in Bed," she comes at the tune's subject with an up-front sexual expression -- Springfield's trademark vulnerability is willfully absent. A Rhodes and Parks' guitar give her plenty of room to pour out the lyric. "Willie and Laura Mae Jones" has a rough, swampy earthiness; Lynne adds her guitar to its sparse, slow growl. Springfield recorded this tome about interracial love when the subject was taboo in America. She made it palatable with her innocent delivery. Lynne gets at Tony Joe White's lyric with a bluesy toughness expressing incredulity toward injustice. Randy Newman's "I Don't Want to Hear It Anymore" carries inside it the trace of both Lynne's Southern homeland and her adopted West Coast residency. She can tell this heartbreaking tale as if it were her own while uncannily recalling Springfield's empathy. Signature Springfield pieces such as "I Only Want to Be with You" are astonishing for their contrast. The bubbly, poppy original version is slowed here; it offers the impression of genuine surprise by an unsuspecting protagonist. The jazzy piano and Parks' lush guitar lines entwine perfectly. Springfield's version of "The Look of Love" has remained unchallenged for more than 40 years. Lynne doesn't even try. Instead she offers tribute. It's not as sultry as the original was, but feels honest and hungry in stripping off the lyric's mask with her voice. "How Can I Be Sure" by the Rascals -- cut as a British-only single by Springfield -- is startling: Lynne sings it accompanied only by Parks' guitar. It's a radical but fitting closer. Just a Little Lovin' is the finest tribute Springfield has ever received on tape. That such a fine singer and songwriter interpreted her in such an empathic and sophisticated manner is respect personified. Ramone's care with the project is, as usual, celebratory. The multidimensional persona Lynne usually displays on her records is still here in spades. Her diversity, confidence, and wide-ranging ability are the standard to aspire to.© Thom Jurek /TiVo

As far as major-label debuts by underground bands go, Green is fairly uncompromising. While it displays a more powerful guitar sound on "Get Up," "Turn You Inside Out," and "Orange Crush," it also takes more detours than Document, whether it's the bizarrely affecting contemporary folk of "The Wrong Child" and "You Are the Everything," the bubblegum of "Stand" and "Pop Song 89," or the introspection of the lovely "Hairshirt" and "World Leader Pretend." But instead of presenting a portrait of a band with a rich, eclectic vision, Green is incoherent. While its best moments are flat-out great, the band has bitten off more than it can chew; many of the songs sound like failed experiments, and its arena-ready production now sounds slightly dated. Nevertheless, half of the record is brilliant, and it certainly indicates that R.E.M. are continuing to diversify their sound.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

Shelby Lynne has followed her own sometimes reckless, always adventuresome muse throughout her career. Just a Little Lovin' is her personal homage to the late, legendary Dusty Springfield. Nine of its ten cuts are inextricably linked to the late British vocalist whose sway Lynne came under years ago, but a chance conversation with Barry Manilow -- of all people -- led to the making of this record. Lynne doesn't attempt to sound like Springfield. She uses her own phrasing and rhythmic sensibility. Four cuts here come from the Dusty in Memphis period, as well as the title track to The Look of Love and some of her mid-'60s British hits that were not released in America. All these songs, with the exception of the self-penned "Pretend," were recorded by Springfield. The album was recorded in the Capitol Records studio with Frank Sinatra's microphone and producer Phil Ramone. Lynne's aesthetic sense serves her well: most singers automatically shoot for "Son of a Preacher Man," but Lynne steers clear. She does, however, tackle some truly monolithic Springfield hits: "Just a Little Lovin'," "Breakfast in Bed," "Willie and Laura Mae Jones," and "I Don't Want to Hear It Anymore." Lynne's readings are close, intimate. They're understated but more direct. Ramone used a small quartet in guitarist Dean Parks, keyboardist Rob Mathes, drummer Gregg Field, and bassist Kevin Axt to give her that edge. Lynne's delivery takes these songs straight to the listener's belly. The taut but easy sensuality in her voice adds a very different dimension to them. When she gets to the in-the-pocket feel of "Breakfast in Bed," she comes at the tune's subject with an up-front sexual expression -- Springfield's trademark vulnerability is willfully absent. A Rhodes and Parks' guitar give her plenty of room to pour out the lyric. "Willie and Laura Mae Jones" has a rough, swampy earthiness; Lynne adds her guitar to its sparse, slow growl. Springfield recorded this tome about interracial love when the subject was taboo in America. She made it palatable with her innocent delivery. Lynne gets at Tony Joe White's lyric with a bluesy toughness expressing incredulity toward injustice. Randy Newman's "I Don't Want to Hear It Anymore" carries inside it the trace of both Lynne's Southern homeland and her adopted West Coast residency. She can tell this heartbreaking tale as if it were her own while uncannily recalling Springfield's empathy. Signature Springfield pieces such as "I Only Want to Be with You" are astonishing for their contrast. The bubbly, poppy original version is slowed here; it offers the impression of genuine surprise by an unsuspecting protagonist. The jazzy piano and Parks' lush guitar lines entwine perfectly. Springfield's version of "The Look of Love" has remained unchallenged for more than 40 years. Lynne doesn't even try. Instead she offers tribute. It's not as sultry as the original was, but feels honest and hungry in stripping off the lyric's mask with her voice. "How Can I Be Sure" by the Rascals -- cut as a British-only single by Springfield -- is startling: Lynne sings it accompanied only by Parks' guitar. It's a radical but fitting closer. Just a Little Lovin' is the finest tribute Springfield has ever received on tape. That such a fine singer and songwriter interpreted her in such an empathic and sophisticated manner is respect personified. Ramone's care with the project is, as usual, celebratory. The multidimensional persona Lynne usually displays on her records is still here in spades. Her diversity, confidence, and wide-ranging ability are the standard to aspire to.© Thom Jurek /TiVo

As far as major-label debuts by underground bands go, Green is fairly uncompromising. While it displays a more powerful guitar sound on "Get Up," "Turn You Inside Out," and "Orange Crush," it also takes more detours than Document, whether it's the bizarrely affecting contemporary folk of "The Wrong Child" and "You Are the Everything," the bubblegum of "Stand" and "Pop Song 89," or the introspection of the lovely "Hairshirt" and "World Leader Pretend." But instead of presenting a portrait of a band with a rich, eclectic vision, Green is incoherent. While its best moments are flat-out great, the band has bitten off more than it can chew; many of the songs sound like failed experiments, and its arena-ready production now sounds slightly dated. Nevertheless, half of the record is brilliant, and it certainly indicates that R.E.M. are continuing to diversify their sound.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

Though they hailed from sunny L.A., L7 became the poster girls for grunge in 1992, with the meteoric success of their third album, Bricks Are Heavy. While their previous efforts had sounded sloppy and uneven, Nevermind producer Butch Vig helped the girls obtain a tight, compact sound on Bricks, pushing them to focus on their songwriting to boot. After all, great albums need great songs, and that's exactly what you have here. Mosh-pit anthem "Everglade" (sung by bassist Jennifer Finch) will simply knock you on your ass, and big single "Pretend We're Dead" is so good that its tough swagger harks back to seminal bad girl anthems like Joan Jett's "I Love Rock'n'Roll," Pat Benatar's "Hit Me With Your Best Shot," and even the Go-Go's -- well, maybe not the Go-Go's. The sardonic "Diet Pill" tackles female compulsions with clever irony, and even when they let their mega-riffing take over on such full-throttle stomps as "Wargasm," "Mr. Integrity," and "Shitlist," L7 still manage to imbue their lyrics with humor and substance. Inevitably, a few songs (especially "Slide") tend to push the Nirvana envelope just a tad, but Vig's involvement aside, these four ladies had been doing this kind of thing for as long as the Seattle trio. L7's crowning achievement, Bricks Are Heavy sadly proved to be an impossible act to follow, and the band gradually faded into obscurity thereafter.© Eduardo Rivadavia /TiVo

File under "Yes." When this version of the band couldn't obtain rights to the name, they put their album out under their combined names, but it's still Yes by any other name. Jon Anderson's tenor wails through spacy lyrics, Rick Wakeman constructs cathedrals of synthesized sound, Steve Howe rips high-pitched guitar leads, and Bill Bruford makes his drums sound like timpani. For all that, it's a pedestrian effort for these veterans, not as bombastic as some of their stuff, not as inspired as others, but it definitely has the "Yes" sound. "She Gives Me Love" even refers to "Long Distance Runaround."© William Ruhlmann /TiVo

Essential is a beautifully remastered 16-track overview of singer and songwriter Kim Carnes' eight years with EMI. Though she recorded two fine albums for A&M before, and a number of solid if underappreciated offerings for a number of labels after, Ms. Carnes is best known for the seven records she made for EMI between 1979 and 1986. Of course, her biggest hits are here: the ubiquitous pop classic "Bette Davis Eyes," "Cry Like a Baby," and "Don't Fall in Love with a Dreamer" (in duet with Kenny Rogers). But deeper than this are lesser-known but nonetheless excellent songs such as "I'd Lie to You for Your Love," "Abadabadango," "I Pretend," "Chain Letter," and the Faces-esque "It Hurts So Bad," all of them done in an nearly astonishing range of subgenres of rock and pop. What makes them work, obviously, is the iconic and instantly recognizable grain in Carnes' voice. It is at once smoldering in its passion yet simultaneously reflects a noir-ish, femme fatale's sense of cool. Her ability to choose or write songs that highlighted the many smoky shades in that voice is uncanny. These cuts represent the very best of seven albums -- though hardcore fans will always argue with the producer's choices. The only shame is that EMI didn't cross license songs from her periods with A&M, MCA, or even other labels (all of which have real merit), to make it a double. We can always hope that some enterprising independent will do so in the future. Ultimately, Kim Carnes' Essential reveals that while her moment in the pop spotlight was relatively brief, her depth as an artist preceded and outlasted it exponentially.© Thom Jurek /TiVo

In the fourth song of her eighth album, Pink alludes to the “attic” in which she locks up everything she keeps secret. But if there is one thing that the Family Portrait vocalist wishes to get out in the open, it is indeed her love for music, regardless of the genre. Through the soul and retro infused Hustle and the electronic nature of Love me Anyway, Pink proves yet again that she is the queen of stylistic variety. For this last track, she pairs up with country singer Chris Stapleton, whilst for Can We Pretend, she is surrounded by electro trio Cash Cash, (who released the sensational Take Me Home in 2013). Among the (numerous) other features on this album are Wrabel on 90 Days, Khalid on Hurts 2B Human, as well as Beck on We Could Have it All. Pink not only adores music in the broad sense of the term, but also appreciates her fellow artists who help her to produce such eclectic musical pieces – much like the multicolored album cover. © Nicolas Magenham/Qobuz

Curtains finds Tindersticks exploring the same dark, string-drenched territory as their first two albums, and while it shares a surface similarity with its predecessors, there are subtle differences that make it a rewarding listen. The tone of Curtains is slightly brighter than that of the second album, with the songs unfolding into lush, affecting laments that recall Scott Walker at his finest. Though the sound is seductive, what is most impressive about Curtains is the songwriting. The Tindersticks have become more assured writers, letting the songs gradually develop into intimate epics. Stuart Staples' lyrics are similarly textured and subtle, with alternating layers of pathos and humor. Curtains, in many ways, functions as the culmination of what the Tindersticks set out to accomplish with their first two albums, and the results are appropriately stunning.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

"Everybody wants a favor, everybody needs me," Khalid exhaustedly grumbles on "Hundred," a dispirited soft pop ballad placed in the middle of Free Spirit. Going by the unrelenting campaign to keep him in the spotlight since he hit with "Location," the statement doesn't seem all that hyperbolic. During the two years that passed between American Teen and Free Spirit, he took part in a decade's worth of collaborations and stylistic crossovers, plus frequent touring amid nonstop promotional duties, all while earning five Grammy nominations and accumulating a stack of platinum certifications. As much as any other artist shot to fame on the brink of adulthood, Khalid could be forgiven for turning in a woeful post-fame album and checking out. "Hundred" isn't the only song on which he vents. The downcast "Bad Luck" lashes out at parasitic behavior, and in a number of other songs, Khalid seeks escape from stifling situations, consumed by internal conflict, this close to swearing off all communication via WiFi for at least five minutes. These feelings aren't unique to pop stars, and even though they make up a fair portion of Free Spirit, Khalid and his fellow songwriters never express them in such specific language that an everyday listener can't relate. More than anything else, the album works through emotional struggles of early adulthood -- from anguish over faltering relationships and insecurity about expressing grief, to yearning for a simple stolen moment beneath the bleachers. Consequently, Free Spirit is not illustrative as a title. In the song itself, the notion is merely aspirational and wistful, with Khalid vividly recalling, "We were drownin' down our memories/A cemetery full of broken bottles, man, that liquor bleed." Only the kind of thunderous "Heaven," involving Father John Misty and a couple of his associates, sounds too heavy in sentiment, with Khalid aching, "Lord, there's nothing for me left out here." It adds unnecessary weight to an hour-long LP with little joy or even relief, one that is nearly static in energy level despite a carousel of producers -- completely different than that of American Teen -- featuring Murda Beatz, StarGate, Disclosure, and D'Mile. An upside is that Khalid's voice is smoother, richer, and therefore more expressive here than it was on the debut. It'll probably sound even better after a long-deserved break.© Andy Kellman /TiVo