Say this for David Bowie: he has a flair for drama. This abiding love of the theatrical may not be as evident in the production of The Next Day as it is in its presentation, how Bowie sprung it upon the world early in 2013 following a decade of undeclared retirement. Reasons for Bowie's absence were many and few, perhaps related to a health scare in 2004, perhaps due to a creative dry spell, perhaps he simply didn't have songs to sing, or perhaps he had a lingering suspicion that by the time the new millennium was getting into full swing he was starting to be taken for granted. He had settled into a productive purple patch in the late '90s, a development that was roundly ignored by all except the devoted and the press, who didn't just give Hours, Heathen, and Reality a pass, they recognized them as a strong third act in a storied career. That same sentiment applies to The Next Day, an album recorded with largely the same team as Reality -- the same musicians and the same producer, his longtime lieutenant Tony Visconti -- and, appropriately, shares much of the same moody, meditative sound as its predecessor Heathen. What's different is the reception, which is appropriately breathless because Bowie has been gone so long we all know what we've missed. And The Next Day is designed to remind us all of why we've missed him, containing hints of the Thin White Duke and Ziggy Stardust within what is largely an elegant, considered evocation of the Berlin Bowie so calculating it opens with a reworking of "Beauty & The Beast," and is housed in an artful desecration of the Heroes LP cover. Unlike his Berlin trilogy of the late '70s, The Next Day is rarely unsettling. Apart from the crawling closer "Heat" -- a quiet, shimmering, hallucination-channeling late-'70s Scott Walker -- the album has been systematically stripped of eeriness, trading discomfort for pleasure at every turn. And pleasure it does deliver, as nobody knows how to do classic Bowie like Bowie and Visconti, the two life-long collaborators sifting through their past, picking elements that relate to what Bowie is now: an elder statesman who made a conscious decision to leave innovation behind long ago. This persistent, well-manicured nostalgia could account for the startling warmth that exudes from The Next Day; even when a melody sighs with an air of resigned melancholia, as it does on "Where Are We Now?," it never delves into sadness, it stays afloat in a warm, soothing bath. That overwhelming familiarity is naturally quite appealing for anyone well-versed in Bowie lore, but The Next Day isn't a career capper; it lacks the ambition to be anything so grand. The Next Day neither enhances nor diminishes anything that came before, it's merely a sweet coda to a towering career.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

For the most part, 1979's Eve is somewhat overlooked as being one of the Alan Parsons Project's finest work, when in fact it involves some of this group's most intricate songs. The album's concept deals with the female's overpowering effect on man. Each song touches on her ability to dissect the male ego, especially through sexual means, originating with Eve's tempting Adam in the beginning of time. Not only does this idea gain strength as the album progresses, but a musical battle of the sexes begins to arise through each song. The gorgeous "You Won't Be There" spotlights man's insecurity. Sung by Dave Townsend, its melodramatic feel sets a perfect tone. The classically enhanced "Winding Me Up" follows suit, based on a woman's ability to dominate her mate and opening up with sound of a wind-up doll being cranked. Other gems include the bitter but forceful "Damned If I Do" sung by Lenny Zakatek, and the dominating fury of "Lucifer," a powerful instrumental. Even the loutish "You Lie Down with Dogs" bears wit with its gender inclined mud-slinging. The female vocalists, Lesley Duncan and Clare Torry do a splendid job of representing the females point of view throughout the album. Not only does Eve solidify its main idea, but the songs are highly entertaining with catchy rhythms and intelligent lyrics. Musically, the tempo appealingly switches back and forth from slow to quick, as does the temperament of the album. Somehow, Eve is dismissed as one of this band's greatest efforts, when in fact it's one of their finest marriages of both concept and music. [The 2007 Sony BMG reissue included bonus tracks.]© Mike DeGagne /TiVo

Like the artist himself, the music on this brilliant album defies all categories, embracing Terry Callier's wide range of influences and experiences. Callier's musical kaleidoscope is filled with funk, rock, folk, jazz, and even classical influences. "Dancing Girl" opens the album with Charles Stepney's majestic orchestration. This opus is the album's pinnacle, moving with soft intensity toward soul-stirring crescendos. Songs like "What Color Is Love" and "Ho Tsing Mee (A Song of the Sun)," an elegant antiwar prayer of confusion, somehow avoid clichés or take them to another level. "You Goin' to Miss Your Candyman" was made popular by Urban Species when they sampled it on "Listen" in the early '90s, and not surprisingly, it sounds better in its original form. No matter where you turn, Callier's passionate voice captures the sweeping drama of the human condition. A lost romantic amid "concrete front yards," this album is a must-have for any music connoisseur.© Ryan Randall Goble /TiVo

IIII is the fourth album from German DJ and producer Robin Schultz and follows 2017 Uncovered. The album, which includes the single "All We Got," sees the producer delivering a blast of anthemic house-tinged pop.© Rich Wilson /TiVo

Though it remains the only Rolling Stones outtakes collection album ever to be officially released, Metamorphosis is one of those albums that has been slighted by almost everyone who has touched it, a problem that lies in its genesis. While both the Stones and former manager Allen Klein agreed that some form of archive release was necessary, if only to stem the then-ongoing flow of bootlegs, they could not agree how to present it. Of the two, the band's own version of the album, compiled by Bill Wyman, probably came closest to the fan's ideal, cherrypicking the vaults for some of the more legendary outtakes and oddities for a bird's-eye view of the entire band's creative brilliance. Klein, on the other hand, chose to approach the issue from the songwriting point-of-view, focusing on the wealth of demos for songs that Jagger/Richards gave away (usually to artists being produced by Andrew Oldham) and which, therefore, frequently featured more session men than Rolling Stones. Both approaches had their virtues, but when Klein's version of the album became the one that got the green light, of course fans and collectors bemoaned the non-availability of the other. The fact is, if Wyman's selection had been released, then everyone would have been crying out for Klein's. Sometimes, you just can't win. So, rather than wring your hands over what you don't receive, you should celebrate what you do. A heavily orchestrated version of "Out of Time," with Jagger accompanying the backing track that would later give Chris Farlowe a U.K. number one hit, opens the show; a loose-limbed "Memo From Turner," recorded with Al Kooper, closes it. No complaints there, then. The real meat, however, lies in between times. During 1964-1965, Mick Jagger and Andrew Oldham headed a session team that also included the likes of arrangers Art Greenslade and Mike Leander, guitarist Jimmy Page, pianist Nicky Hopkins, bassist John Paul Jones, and many more, convened to cut demos for the plethora of songs then being churned out by Jagger and Keith Richards. Some would subsequently be redone by the Stones themselves; others, however, would be used as backing tracks for other artist's versions of the songs. Metamorphosis pulls a number of tracks from this latter grouping, and while "Each and Every Day of the Year" (covered by Bobby Jameson), "I'd Much Rather Be With the Boys" (the Toggery Five), "Some Things Just Stick in Your Mind" (Vashti), "Sleepy City" (the Mighty Avengers), and "We're Wasting Time" (Jimmy Tarbuck) may not be Stones performances per se, they are certainly Stones songs and, for the most part, as strong as any of the band originals included on the group's first four or five LPs. Elsewhere, the 1964 Chess studio outtake "Don't Lie to Me" is as fine a Chuck Berry cover as the Stones ever mustered, while "Family," the rocking "Jiving Sister Fanny," Bill Wyman's "Downtown Suzie," and a delightfully lackadaisical version of Stevie Wonder's "I Don't Know Why" are outtakes from two of the Stones' finest-ever albums, Beggars Banquet and Let It Bleed. All of which adds up to an impressive pedigree, whatever the circumstances behind the album, and whatever else could have been included on it. Indeed, if there are any criticisms to be made, it is that the album sleeve itself is singularly uninformative, and the contents are seriously jumbled. But those are its only sins. Everything else you've heard about it is simply wishful (or otherwise) thinking. © Dave Thompson /TiVo

Issued by the RCA label in 2007, this two-disc John Denver retrospective features a well-selected collection of the late folk-pop performer's finest songs. Like the excellent though not-as-comprehensive Definitive All-Time Greatest Hits, the set presents many of the amiable Colorado-based singer/songwriter's most recognizable tunes, including the shimmering "Leaving on a Jet Plane" and the vibrant "Rocky Mountain High." However, Essential digs further into Denver's catalog, offering up lesser-known numbers such as the delicate "I Guess He'd Rather Be in Colorado" and the surprisingly energetic "I'd Rather Be a Cowboy (Lady's Chains)." Ideal for those wanting more than the Definitive compilation, but less than the weighty four-disc Country Roads Collection, Essential easily stands as one of the best Denver anthologies available.© Eric Schneider /TiVo

Merciful omission of the Chris Brown-assisted "Focus" remix aside, this contains the entirety of Gabi Wilson's first three anonymously presented EPs -- H.E.R., Vol. 1, H.E.R., Vol. 2, and the oddly titled H.E.R., Vol 2: The B Sides -- originally issued during a 13-month period. Roughly similar in quality and makeup, each one of the short-form releases strongly emphasizes Wilson's specialization in vulnerable yet assured ballads and slow jams. On the surface, they verge on low-lit mood music, but deep listening reveals a little more sonic, melodic, and lyrical substance than the average set from Wilson's commercial R&B peers. As a listening experience, these 21 songs therefore are effective more in their original configurations than in this resequenced 72-minute clump. No matter how it's packaged or consumed, there's zero doubt that Wilson and her fellow writers and producers -- most prominently DJ Camper and Swagg R'celious, who take on over half of the co-production credits -- made a large quantity of subtly stimulating contemporary R&B within a short timeframe. Wilson, consistently understated, gracefully wraps her voice around each beat, whether it snakes with trap-style percussion or surges and stammers like a late-'90s Timbaland track stuck in honey. With only slight variations in her voice, she evokes states ranging from vexation to desire, and there's never any uncertainty in what is being put across. It all sounds like the work of a savvy veteran.© Andy Kellman /TiVo

Solid Air is one of the defining moments in British folk, in the same league as Fairport Convention's Liege & Lief, Richard & Linda Thompson's Shoot Out the Lights, and Michael Chapman's Rainmaker. Martyn stepped out of his comfort zone to record and produce it, including not only jazz and blues but rock and plenty of sound effects, and featuring Rhodes piano on some of its tracks, dismaying some fans while winning a ton more for its genre-blurring presentation. A number of its cuts -- such as the title track (written for Martyn's friend, Nick Drake), "Over the Hill," "I'd Rather Be the Devil," and "May You Never" -- remained staples in his live sets until the end of his life.© Thom Jurek /TiVo

Releasing an all-covers record usually signals the need for a placeholder in a musical career running short on inspiration or songwriting or both. But in this case, taking the old "necessity is the mother of invention" adage to heart, rising star Molly Tuttle taught herself Pro Tools while sheltering at home in Nashville because of the pandemic and began recording a selection of her favorite songs. She sent these voice and guitar demos to Los Angeles producer Tony Berg who enlisted a crew of SoCal musicians to add their parts to the digital file. The greatest danger when albums are built from virtual contributions is that the sonics can be iffy at best. Happily, Berg has taken care to make sure the finished album is well-balanced and retains the appealing atmosphere and rough-hewn intimacy of Tuttle's demos. Equally adept at playing, singing and writing songs, Tuttle's rare musical gifts inoculate this project against the indulgence that often wrecks hermetic "in my room" projects. A prodigy on stringed instruments from the bluegrass universe—she's the first woman and a two-time winner of the International Bluegrass Music Association Guitar Player of the Year Award—she tackles the Rolling Stones early on, turning a version of "She's a Rainbow," into a fast flatpicking showcase. Capable of the tight vibrato necessary for bluegrass, her voice is also versatile enough to sing both the lead and harmony parts in a version of FKA Twigs' "Mirrored Heart." Another vocal highlight is her impossibly high-pitched Karen O impression on the Yeah Yeah Yeah's, "Zero" While she didn't write the songs, Tuttle shows incredibly good taste in her choices. Not surprisingly, the tunes Tuttle grew up with come off best. A hard-charging, though still acoustic cover of Rancid's "Olympia, WA"—perhaps the album's most successful reimagining—is a fun surprise. On the other hand, it makes cosmic sense that a Grateful Dead tune, "Standing on the Moon,"—covered by a girl from Northern California—should come off as the album's least persuasive take-off. Saving her best for last, Tuttle's heartfelt vocal on Cat Stevens' magnificent, "How Can I Tell You," a song that reminds her of a beloved pet, is a passionate creation. Another axiom also applies here: use your time wisely. © Robert Baird/Qobuz

Jazz singer/songwriter Michael Franks is an artist most jazz fans feel strongly about one way or another. His unique, romantic poet-cum-laid-back hipster approach to jazz signing is breezy, light, and languid. It's also uniquely his own, though deeply influenced by Brazilian jazz, bossa, and samba. Time Together, his first recording of new material in five years -- and his debut for Shanachie -- is unlikely to change anyone's opinion of him, but that doesn't mean this is a rote recording. Time Together is an airy, groove-ridden summer travelog that ranges from St. Tropez and New York to Paris, France, and Egypt; it journeys through the nostalgic past and finds space in the present moment, with cleverly notated, languorous, ironic observations about life. Franks split the production and arranging duties between Charles Blenzig, Gil Goldstein, Chuck Loeb, Scott Petito, and Mark Egan. The rest of the international cast on this polished 11-song set includes old friends and new faces David Spinozza, Mike Mainieri, David Mann, Eric Marienthal, Till Brönner, Alex Spiagin, Jerry Marotta, Billy Kilson, Romero Lubambo, and backing vocalist Veronica Nunn. Time Together is wonderfully polished without being overly slick. The set opens with "Now That the Summer's Here," a samba-inspired paean to laziness with excellent solos by Bronner's trumpet and Marienthal's alto. The arrangement by Loeb includes a perfectly balanced meld of acoustic and electric guitars, with the harmony chorus between Franks and Carmen Cuesta adding an essentially restrained yet celebratory tone. "One Day in St. Tropez" is one Franks' finest reminiscence songs. Goldstein's acoustic piano, Greg Cohen's bass, and Lubambo's acoustic guitar evoke classic bossa while the singer details in exotically rich, nostalgically romantic lyrics a 1963 hitchhiking excursion through Southern France. "Mice" is a humorous, metaphorically hip irony, illustrated beautifully by Manieri's vibes, Petito's bass, and Spinozza's guitar with a backing vocal from Beth Neilsen-Chapman. "Samba Blue," another of thew album's finer tracks, offers the tale of a long-ago love affair in Paris, without a hint of cloying or regret, thanks to Franks fine lyric and melody, and a jaunty Loeb arrangement featuring a beautiful alto solo by Marienthal. "My Heart Said Wow" is a straight-ahead duet with Nunn, boasting a fine trumpet solo by Spiagin's trumpet. "Feathers from an Angel's Wing," the longest and perhaps most beautiful track here is, fittingly, also the closer. Arranged by Egan, whose fretless bass introduces it, Loeb's guitars, Clifford Carter's keys, and Joe Bonadio's drums illustrate it elegantly. The singer's use of Zen wisdom in the modern jazz lyric and melody, underscores everything fine and right in Franks' art from The Art of Tea to the present day. While his framework may be contemporary, his execution is timeless, making Time Together Franks' most consistent, graceful collection of songs in the 21st century. © Thom Jurek /TiVo

The first Genesis Archive made sense. It covered the Peter Gabriel years, an era that was not only supremely creative for the band, but filled with rarities, forgotten tracks, outtakes, B-sides, BBC sessions, and live performances begging for a collection. It was a box set for fans and it filled its purpose splendidly. Its sequel, Genesis Archive 2: 1976-1992, attempts to fill the role for the Genesis Mach II, otherwise known as the Phil Collins years, but the problem is, the Collins era was completely different from Gabriel's. It wasn't just that the band became progressively more pop oriented during these 16 years -- besides, they never totally abandoned their prog roots -- but the late '70s and '80s simply were not conducive to the kind of rarities that made the first Archive valuable. They didn't need to do BBC sessions, they didn't do non-LP rarities live, and their B-sides were often devoted to extended mixes for the dance club or live cuts. If there were outtakes, they were often left in the can because they simply didn't meet quality-control standards. All of this is borne out by the three-disc Archive 2. Although there are some nice moments scattered throughout the record, it all winds up feeling rather unnecessary. None of the remixes are particularly interesting and the live tracks, while listenable, are never revelatory -- and those wind up forming the bulk of the set. There's some value in the outtakes, but most of them are historical curiosities; only a handful, such as the Abacab leftover "You Might Recall" and an early version of "Paperlate," are truly worthwhile. For anyone other than hardcore fans, this can easily be overlooked.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo