Ozzy Osbourne's 1981 solo debut Blizzard of Ozz was a masterpiece of neo-classical metal that, along with Van Halen's first album, became a cornerstone of '80s metal guitar. Upon its release, there was considerable doubt that Ozzy could become a viable solo attraction. Blizzard of Ozz demonstrated not only his ear for melody, but also an unfailing instinct for assembling top-notch backing bands. Onetime Quiet Riot guitarist Randy Rhoads was a startling discovery, arriving here as a unique, fully formed talent. Rhoads was just as responsible as Osbourne -- perhaps even more so -- for the album's musical direction, and his application of classical guitar techniques and scales rewrote the rulebook just as radically as Eddie Van Halen had. Rhoads could hold his own as a flashy soloist, but his detailed, ambitious compositions and arrangements revealed his true depth, as well as creating a sense of doomy, sinister elegance built on Ritchie Blackmore's minor-key innovations. All of this may seem to downplay the importance of Ozzy himself, which shouldn't be the case at all. The music is a thoroughly convincing match for his lyrical obsession with the dark side (which was never an embrace, as many conservative watchdogs assumed); so, despite its collaborative nature, it's unequivocally stamped with Ozzy's personality. What's more, the band is far more versatile and subtle than Sabbath, freeing Ozzy from his habit of singing in unison with the guitar (and proving that he had an excellent grasp of how to frame his limited voice). Nothing short of revelatory, Blizzard of Ozz deservedly made Ozzy a star, and it set new standards for musical virtuosity in the realm of heavy metal.© Steve Huey /TiVo

Although they are still the U.K.'s most vital punk band, Idles are on fire, not just in terms of their productivity -- four albums in four years -- or their renewed vigor, but also off the back of their first lukewarm record, Ultra Mono. However, it's terribly on-brand for Idles to not go gentle, and Crawler is nothing if not rage against the dying of the light. After sensing that their sound was becoming stale, Idles' fourth album sees the band exploring several new avenues at once. The need to evolve is true of any artist, but many don't take the leap for fear of the risks. Crawler, then, defaults to their most daring album to date, as it incorporates elements of electronic music, noise rock, soul, and 2000s indie. It's also their densest record, with generally more obscured themes and more nuance than ever before -- clearly made in response to the broadness of previous material. Despite some missteps, Ultra Mono only furthered their assent and stature, allowing the band to feel untethered from genre conventions and free to explore. They drive this home immediately, with the opening track "MTT 420 RR" bucking the trend of explosive openers in favor of subtle swirling electronics, which build upon themselves in interesting ways. Of course, they're attempting to straddle both old and new, so it leads into "The Wheel," which is more in line with their explosive reputation, even if the instrumentation is meatier. Yet another side of the album reveals itself in "When the Lights Come On," which features a spectral guitar line reminiscent of Kings of Leon's "Knocked Up." With half their hand on the table they settle into familiar and often uninspiring territory, that is until lead track "Beachland Ballroom." Although not their first foray into soulful territory -- after covering Solomon Burke's "Cry to Me" -- the track is a clear highlight, demonstrating how compatible this approach is; Talbot's personal struggle to keep moving forward makes for a bittersweet listen, deftly proving his melodic range and underlining how good Idles can be when they show relative restraint. The back half of the record is very scattershot, but consistently surprising, featuring an ambient interlude ("Kelechi"), a beautifully ethereal soundscape that erupts into synth and bass stabs ("Progress"), and a burst of hardcore punk ("Wizz"). The anthemic closer "The End" reaffirms that this is still Idles, acting as a not-so-gentle reminder that when the big guns are necessary, they can still raise the roof. It's great to see so many new ideas from a band who flirted with stagnation, a point only exemplified by the weakest songs being the ones that stick closest to their old formula. It makes Crawler more than just a course correction; it has the potential to open the door to the Idles multiverse, where multiple versions of the band co-exist. Whilst it doesn't always stick the landing, the new spaces it does explore are well worth the journey. © Liam Martin /TiVo

3.5 stars out of 5 -- "The players -- with Vallon's more methodical, chordal approach, Moret's subtle, insistent bottom and Rohrer's alternately snappy and subdued percussion -- blend particularly well together."© TiVo

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Despite her Latin heritage, Joan Baez probably wouldn't have been encouraged by her 1960s record label, the New York-based independent Vanguard, to sing an entire album in Spanish. At A&M Records, the Los Angeles firm co-founded by Herb Alpert that she joined in the early '70s, however, it would have been a different story, and it was A&M that released Gracias a la Vida ("Here's to Life") in 1974. Baez demonstrates an affinity for Mexican folk music on such obvious choices as "Cucurrucucu Paloma," but it's no surprise that, a year after the assassination of leading nueva canción folksinger Victor Jara in a military coup in Chile, an atrocity that shocked the American folk community, she has not backed away from her political commitments. There is "Guantanamera," a song that may have been a Top Ten U.S. hit for the Sandpipers in 1966, but that has political implications, as Pete Seeger has been reminding listeners for more than a decade. There is a Spanish version of "We Shall Not Be Moved" ("No Nos Moveran") with a lengthy spoken introduction. There are songs like "El Preso Numero Nueve" ("Prisoner Number Nine"; repeated from 1960's Joan Baez) and "Esquinazo del Guerrillero" ("The Guerillas Serenade"). And, inevitably, there is a song of Jara's, "Te Recuerdo Amanda" ("I Remember You Amanda"), which the slain singer wrote for his mother. But then there is also "Dida," a wordless duet with Joni Mitchell. Throughout, Baez demonstrates her mastery of Spanish singing over authentic arrangements while attempting to stir up her Spanish-speaking listeners just as she does their English-speaking compatriots. © William Ruhlmann /TiVo

Marion Brown capped his '70s return to Impulse! by diverting with the serene and colorful Vista. One of the altoist's least avant dates, its lineup features nine additional musicians such as drummer Ed Blackwell and bassist Reggie Workman, plus Stanley Cowell on acoustic piano and Fender Rhodes. While Brown wrote only the blissful coaster "Vista" itself, the five other compositions are well-chosen, starting with an inviting version of Cowell's "Maimoun" and an impressionistic and deeply meditative take on Stevie Wonder's "Visions" fronted by Allen Murphy. The second side is notable most for Harold Budd's placid "Bismillahi 'Rrahmani 'Rrahim," with Brown wafting softly over three discreet keyboardists including the composer on celeste. (Budd, joined by Brown, revisited "Bismillahi 'Rrahmani 'Rrahim" on The Pavilion of Dreams.)© Andy Kellman /TiVo