Pineapple Thief's Bruce Soord never stops trying to make sense of the world around him. With a title that implies answers have been found, Pineapple Thief's latest album expands upon the band's particular brand of hooky, precisely played prog rock. A master builder of loud-soft dynamics, Soord's alchemy can gel into creations like the beautifully crafted, "The Frost" where brawny, stomping guitar breaks alternate with quiet stretches in which he pleads in a calm tone, "So hold me down/ Just hold me down/ Before I do my worst." After another wave of guitar roar, he concludes, "You're falling with me/ We're together in this hopeless hold/ Together only we can know." It's just one of many moments, all played with a perfectionist's ear for detail, and a commitment to clean, dramatic recording, that make this another success in the ongoing journey of a band that began in 1999. While comparisons to Radiohead and Porcupine Tree have always been appropriate, Soord's mission has been sharpened since 2016 by the addition of drummer Gavin Harrison who was a part of both Porcupine Tree and one of the 21st century reincarnations of Robert Fripp's King Crimson. Harrison is both dramatic and fierce in all the right ways. In "Rubicon" he plays a number of different tempos and rhythms all leading to the song's characteristic turn to driving melodic choruses. The mix here features Harrison's often intricate drumming in a prominent spot near the front at all times, often an equal with Soord's voice. Keyboardist Steve Kitch and bassist Jon Sykes, both long time contributors to Soord's vision, are nimble, assertive instrumental voices. What's most impressive are the endless atmospherics leavened with melodic bursts that the prolific Soord continues to churn out. Mostly free from specifics, his lyrics find him looking both forward and back—fearing for his children's future in "To Forget" while several lines later remaining deeply susceptible to the power of the past: "Remembering's not easy yeah I know/ It's buried deep inside you yeah I know/ And to forget is impossible." Satisfying the neverending demands of the prog rock audience for constant innovation, Pineapple Thief continues to perfect its confident mix of muscle and fragility. © Robert Baird/Qobuz

Long known as the steady diplomat who kept together the oft on-the-brink alliances of Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young—until he couldn't—Graham Nash sounds, at 81, feisty on his seventh solo album. There's an edgy urgency to the music and his famous high tenor on the vibrant "Right Now." "Now that I realize just how I am/ When all is said and done/ What a life I've lived ... Here I am/ Still living my life/ Right now/ Right now!" he declares. And his life is not one of easy chairs. "Golden Idol" takes on the politicians who turned the other cheek in the Capitol insurrection of January 6, 2021. "I know they're lying/ 'Cause their lips are moving," Nash sings. "They're trying to rewrite recent history/ When the MAGA tourists took the hill/ They will not stand up/ 'Cause they're bought and paid for." "Stars and Stripes" is jangling folk with excellent harmonies that finds Nash poking at the root of American divisiveness: "Sometimes I wonder why the world is like it is/ Frozen by the fear of change/ If we keep believing all the lies meant to divide us/ There's no one else that we can blame." And while he aims to keep moving forward, he's not exactly looking to reinvent himself. "A Better Life" is imbued with that easy Laurel Canyon familiarity on which he made his bones in America. It almost feels like a follow-up to "Teach Your Children" told from the other side, with Nash singing, "We're going to make it a better life/ Leave it for the kids ... one we can be proud of/ So at the end of the day, we can laugh and say that we left them a better life." Sweet and simple, "It Feels Like Home" is like an echo of "Our House." It's one of several songs written for his new wife of only a few years, along with "Love of Mine," a bit of a heartbreaker with high and lonesome harmonica accompanying an apology for hurt feelings. Sharply bowed strings lead the way for "I Watched It All Come Down," as the singer recalls, "I watched it all come down/ To a rock and roll parade … I watched it all come down/ To a paperweight at the business end of town/ Loaded up and loaded down/ It's a mess." Nash has said that the song is about the thrill of making music with David Crosby, Stephen Still, and Neil Young, but also sadness that they let emotions (and, let's be honest, substances) get in the way of them making more. And looking fondly back on another part of his history is "Buddy's Back," a sweet tribute both to Buddy Holly—complete with a "Peggy Sue"-inspired riff—and his old pal in the Hollies, Allan Clarke. © Shelly Ridenour/Qobuz

A guitarist worshipped by Jimi Hendrix, an insanely good falsetto singer that even Prince looked up to, an author heavily involved in the American civil rights movement and a top-tier songwriter: Curtis Mayfield was a man of many talents. His groovy symphonies helped form solid links between funk, jazz, blues, soul and traditional gospel. After making his name with The Impressions in the 60s, he embarked on a solo career in 1970. This box set named Keep On Keeping On contains the singer’s first four studio albums, each remastered in Hi-Res 24-Bit quality: Curtis (1970), Roots (1971), Back to the World (1973) and Sweet Exorcist (1974). Here, the rhythm'n'blues enjoy a second life, supported by a wah-wah guitar, careful percussion and an always airy string section. Every topic concerned is a mini-tragedy, socially engaged, anchored in traditional gospel music. The masterful arranging of these albums (especially his masterpiece Curtis, and Roots) can be considered rivals to Marvin Gaye’s What’s Going On. It is worth mentioning that this 1970-1974 box set does not include the soundtrack to Superfly, Gordon Parks Jr.’s 1972 film which contains the singles Pusherman and Freddie’s Dead. © Marc Zisman/Qobuz

The problem with compiling an essential best-of compilation covering the phenomenon that was (and is) Elvis Presley is the very man himself, who has passed from this mortal coil into the iconic pop culture stratosphere where even his own death is questioned and Elvis sightings are as frequent as fleas. Then there are the thousands of performers who daily dress up as Presley himself and sally forth into the world like perfectly gyrating replicas of either the early or later Elvis (body physics dictate that you can't be both). Elvis may have left the building, but not really. His image is everywhere, and his fans are legion and devout. So how does one pick his essential sides when "Do the Clam" is a classic in the Kingdom of Presley simply because Elvis did it? He recorded Tony Joe White's "Polk Salad Annie" in 1970. It was hardly the best version ever of "Polk Salad Annie" but it was Elvis' version of "Polk Salad Annie," which puts it in rarefied class of its own, and making it, like "Do the Clam," absolutely essential in some quarters. When you're larger than life, words like essential have to expand or be left wanting. The Essential Elvis Presley boils this imposing legacy down to two discs of 20 tracks each, and approaches the problem of what is truly essential by choosing to compile all of Elvis' significant charting hits, beginning with his 1954 cover of Arthur Crudup's "That's All Right" from Sam Phillips' Sun Records and continuing chronologically through Presley's long association with RCA Records through the year 1976. That means, while there's no version of "Do the Clam" ("Polk Salad Annie" is here, though), there are classic sides like 1956's "Heartbreak Hotel," "Don't Be Cruel," "Hound Dog," and "Love Me Tender," 1957's "Jailhouse Rock," 1961's "Little Sister," and 1969's "In the Ghetto," "Suspicious Minds," and "Kentucky Rain." There are 17 number one hits and a whole lot more. Elvis fanatics are going to complain about what isn't here, of course. Elvis is the King, after all, and therefore by definition everything he recorded ought to be essential. And everything he recorded is indeed essential on some level. But these are the sides that broke through to the deepest level of the world pop culture that Elvis helped create. These are the songs that broke him and then sustained him on radio and television and at the movie theaters. Die-hard Elvis fans will undoubtedly already have everything collected here. This is a set instead for folks who want to have at least one Elvis anthology in their collections, and want the hits they remember and don't much care if those hits are from the early Elvis or the later Elvis or the dear departed Elvis. Just the hits, bartender, shaken not stirred. That means no version of "Do the Clam," singular as it is.© Steve Leggett /TiVo

Keeping the same line-up from Henry's Dream, Nick Cave and company turn in yet another winner with Let Love In. Compared to Henry's Dream, Let Love In is something of a more produced effort -- longtime Cave boardsman Tony Cohen oversees things, and from the first track, one can hear the subtle arrangements and carefully constructed performances. Love, unsurprisingly, takes center stage of the album. Besides concluding with a second part to "Do You Love Me?," two of its stronger cuts are the (almost) title track "I Let Love In," and "Loverman," an even creepier depiction of lust's throttling power so gripping that Metallica ended up covering it. On the full-on explosive front, "Jangling Jack" sounds like it wants to do nothing but destroy sound systems, strange noises and overmodulations ripping throughout the song. The Seeds can always turn in almost deceptively peaceful performances as well, of course -- standouts here are "Nobody's Baby Now," with a particularly lovely guitar/piano line, and the brooding drama of "Ain't Gonna Rain Anymore." The highlight of the album, though, has little to do with love and everything to do with the group's abilities at music noir. "Red Right Hand" depicts a nightmarish figure emerging on "the edge of town," maybe a criminal and maybe something more demonic. Cave's vicious lyric combines fear and black humor perfectly, while the Seeds' performance redefines "cinematic," a disturbing organ figure leading the subtle but crisp arrangement and Harvey's addition of a sharp bell ratcheting up the feeling of doom and judgment.© Ned Raggett /TiVo

Best known as the leader of Dinosaur Jr., a trio addicted to monstrous levels of volume, J Mascis has another side to his musical character. Inside this apostle of ear-shredding noise lurks a sensitive indie rock balladeer, whose creaky, minor key voice—often compared to Neil Young—is the perfect accent to his opaque songs of loss and doubt.  Strip out the guitars of many Dino Jr. songs and it's clear that Mascis has always written multi-layered songs. Like What Do We Do Now's "It's True," where he's in a state—"I'm just lying here, lost in fear, it's rising/ It's not the worst, but how bad could it get?"—and reluctantly implores, "Let me find the way to go/ Let the cracks begin to show." The opener "Can't Believe We're Here" is nearly a pop single, or what his Byron Coley-penned bio calls a "full blown post core power ballad." Further along, "Right Behind You" is one of the most tuneful originals of his career. The worry ballad, "I Can't Find You," where Mascis broods, "Feeling so obscure/ Drifting through my head/ It's made me insecure/ I'm begging you instead," is the kind of sensitive indie rock wondering that his Dinosaur Jr. persona would have hidden under sonic intensity. Mascis's arranging has reached a new level of mastery; the mix of acoustic guitars, nearly-too-busy drumming, extended guitar solo and pleading voice on "Right Behind You" is nearly perfect. He ramps up his singing to a stronger and more confident height in the anthemic, pop-leaning title track. Mascis recorded this fifth solo album at his Western Massachusetts home studio; the detailed sound excels at sharply defined borders between instruments. He handles almost all the instruments except for piano, played by frequent collaborator Ken Mauri, and the pedal steel guitar, played by Matthew "Doc" Dunn. Willing to tone down the clamor as a solo act, J Mascis shows what was behind the volume all along. © Robert Baird/Qobuz

Just in time for the coronation of King Charles III comes this release, featuring music written for the coronations of George II in 1727 and of George I before him. The Handel works, written for the 1727 event, are the pure public Handel, with imposing choral-orchestral chords interspersed with straightforward but not simple episodes of counterpoint. They are meant to be crowd-pleasers, and indeed, they are; they're hard to ruin. What is on offer here from the RIAS-Kammerchor Berlin and the Akademie für alte Musik Berlin under conductor Justin Doyle are elegant but undersized performances characteristic of the Continental historical performance movement. Reports from Handel's time indicated an orchestra of 160; here are but 20 players. The choir, at 36 singers, is closer to Handel's 40, and this veteran group delivers a rich, satisfying sound with a rounded tone from the smaller solo group (not indicated in the score but often performed as it is here). The anthem The Lord Is a Sun and Shield is not by Handel but by William Croft, and one will be struck by how close it is to Handel stylistically. The overture to Handel's Occasional Oratorio, HWV 62, serves as an overture to the whole program, and there is a typically odd Chaconne by John Blow as an interlude. These are less-splendid but highly enjoyable performances for reliving the coronation atmosphere.© James Manheim /TiVo

Recorded at the Gibson Amphitheatre in California on June 28, 2006, Real Live Roadrunning features live renditions of all of the cuts from Mark Knopfler and Emmylou Harris' collaboration of the same name, as well as solo cuts from each and Dire Straits classics like "So Far Away" and "Romeo & Juliet." The musicianship is as flawless as expected, but there's not a whole lot to separate the tunes here from their studio sisters. The accompanying DVD is a much better example of the pair's quiet dynamic, allowing both the duo and its talented band a broader spectrum on which to emit their wry tales of love, loss, and life.© James Christopher Monger /TiVo

With their eighth studio album, 2023's ebullient So Much (For) Stardust, Fall Out Boy fully re-embrace the emo and punk-pop dynamism of their classic work. It's a soaring style they've been threatening to unleash ever since returning to regular activity following their hiatus after 2008's Folie a Deux. Although their subsequent follow-ups like Save Rock and Roll, American Beauty/American Psycho, and Mania all topped the Billboard 200, the albums often felt like the band were working hard to stay current, throwing their songs into a production blender of contemporary pop, hip-hop, and EDM sounds with varying degrees of success. Without ever sounding too much like a throwback, So Much (For) Stardust has a homecoming feeling, as if Fall Out Boy are getting back to their rock roots. It's a vibe that's underlined by the presence of producer Neal Avron, with whom they recorded the core of their most beloved albums, including 2005's From Under the Cork Tree. From the start, there's a balance of measured craftsmanship (they purportedly took their time in the studio) and big melodic hooks, all effusively delivered by singer Patrick Stump. It's an infectious combination the band perfect on the opening "Love from the Other Side," a song ostensibly about dealing with (and perhaps being the cause of) a bad breakup. That said, it could just as easily work as a metaphor for the group's attempts at transforming their sound coming off the emo highs of the early 2000s. Early in the song, Stump admits, "We were a hammer to the statue of David." There's a bittersweet nostalgia implied by the song, as if the band are looking back on their career and taking stock of where they (and by proxy their fans) find themselves in a post-emo, post-pandemic world. They return to that sentiment on "I Am My Own Muse," where Stump, bellowing against a symphonic string bombast and guitarist Joe Trohman's fiery riffs, sings, "Smash all the guitars 'til we see all the stars/Oh, we've got to throw this year away like a bad luck charm." This kind of bold rock affection drives much of the album, as on the '80s AOR of "Heartbreak Feels So Good," the Queen-meets-Michael Jackson post-punk stomp of "Hold Me Like a Grudge," and the dreamy new wave romanticism of "Fake Out." Adding to the emotional push of the record are several unabashed musical and pop-cultural references, including the Earth, Wind & Fire intimations of "What a Time to Be Alive," the Don Henley "Boys of Summer" flourishes at the center of "The Kintsugi Kid (Ten Years)," and even a snippet of Ethan Hawke's soliloquy about the meaning of life from Reality Bites in which his character offers up the adage "It's all just a random lottery of meaningless tragedy in a series of near escapes." Whether that's how Fall Out Boy feel about their career or not, So Much (For) Stardust is a gloriously welcome return to form.© Matt Collar /TiVo

When he moseyed onto the scene in 2019, conquering the charts and mainstream conversation with his country-rap novelty "Old Town Road," Lil Nas X could have been relegated to a pop culture footnote or trivia night as a one-hit wonder. Two years, a very public coming-out, and another number one hit later, he not only remained part of the conversation, but became a driver of the discussion, evolving his sound, pushing cultural boundaries, and expanding his fan base as an irrepressible queer icon. That undeniable charm, defiance, and open heart is on full display on his official debut, the triumphant Montero. A breath of fresh air, the album is one of those instant classics, packed with as many catchy jams as introspective musings, bound together by the character Montero's own relatable perspective as both a hero and a villain, navigating newfound fame while processing his identity as a young, gay Black man in a traditionally intolerant genre. His overflow of emotions is set to a delightful blend of genres, veering from booming rap anthems such as "Industry Baby" with Jack Harlow, "Scoop" with Doja Cat, and "Dolla Sign Slime" with Megan Thee Stallion to surprisingly emotive gems like the touching "One of Me" with guest pianist Elton John, and the biographical, guitar-strummed "Tales of Dominica." These moments of vulnerability are the most welcome shock from an artist who is an expert at pushing buttons, flexing an unexpected artistry and honesty rarely heard in mainstream pop or hip-hop. Indeed, for listeners in search of the club bangers, those occupy less space than the heartfelt fare, but it's all for the better. On the confessional "Sun Goes Down," Lil Nas X reaches out to his younger self, detailing his struggles with sexuality, self-confidence, and suicidal thoughts, a bittersweet motivator that will no doubt connect with fans with similar struggles. The tender "Void," the explosive alt-rock "Life After Salem," and the dour duet with Miley Cyrus, "Am I Dreaming," tug at the same heartstrings, but it's the upbeat Outkast-goes-pop-punk blast "That's What I Want" that delivers on both emotion and energy. As Lil Nas X urgently cries, "I want someone to love me/I need someone who needs me/That's what I f*cking want!" over a bouncy beat and handclaps, his frustration and yearning are palpable. This mix of toughness and sensitivity makes for a compelling listening experience, one that inspires chest-puffing braggadocio as well as quiet sobbing in a dark corner. Montero delivers in droves, a powerful realization of self that boldly places sexuality, honesty, and vulnerability at the fore.© Neil Z. Yeung /TiVo

Israeli-born trumpeter Itamar Borochov plays a cross-pollinated style of jazz that brings together his love of Sephardic Jewish music, Arabic maquam, and richly textured modal post-bop. It's a sound that informed 2014's Outset and 2016's Boomerang, and one he further develops on 2019's atmospherically engaging Blue Nights. As a trumpeter, Borochov has a soft, warm sound that brings to mind the sultry, late-night style of artists like Miles Davis and Chet Baker. In fact, the opening track "Right Now" is just the kind of slow-burn anthem Baker might have recorded in the 1980s. It's a style that grounds much of Blue Nights, as Borochov builds upon this lyricism with songs that grow increasingly kinetic as he weaves in yet more of his Middle-Eastern and African influences. Part of what makes Borochov's multi-dimensional sound so appealing is that he is as much in command of the jazz tradition as he is any of the other ethnic traditions he explores here. The cinematic title track starts with Borochov playing a lilting, sensual theme that builds to a heart-wrenching pitch of skyward trumpet moans. Equally compelling, "Motherlands" has a sparkling piano groove that Borochov accents with the addition of vocals by the Moroccan collective Innov Gnawa. He also evokes the dramatic, minor-key tension of Love Supreme-era John Coltrane on the driving "Daasa!," whose title is a reference to the song's wavelike 7/4 Yemenite dance rhythm. Similarly, "Broken Vessels" combines Coltrane's spiritual jazz with a fusion-rock dynamism, as Borochov's trumpet brushes warmly against sweeping drums and far-eyed piano chords. Elsewhere, as on the buoyant "Garden Dog Sleeps," his fluid lines bring to mind Wynton Marsalis' early-'80s albums. Ultimately, with Blue Nights, Borochov has crafted a perfect balance between dusky jazz you want to cocoon yourself in, and polyrhythmic percussion grooves that pull you toward the horizon.© Matt Collar /TiVo

At 73 years old, nothing seems to stop Ozzy Osbourne. Following his last studio album in 2019, Ordinary Man, he’s back again with Patient Number 9. It’s destined to be a huge hit, if only because of the mesmerising ensemble which surrounds the prince of darkness. Robert Trujillo (Metallica) is in charge of bass, while Chad Smith (Red Hot Chili Peppers) and the late Taylor Hawkins (Foo Fighters) alternate on drums. As for the guitars, they’re entrusted to Jeff Beck, Eric Clapton, Mike McCready (Pearl Jam), Tony Iommi and, of course, Zakk Wylde.So, let’s cut to the chase: what have this group of elite musicians produced? At its core, this is a great Ozzy album: well written, well interpreted and well-conceived. Naturally, the four guest stars stamp their unique mark throughout the whole release - just listen to Clapton’s weeping guitar on ’One of Those Days’ or Iommi’s Sabbath-style riff on ’No Escape from Now’. Each mark made feels perfectly logical thanks to the solid composition of all the tracks on the album. Despite the substantial length of this 13-tracker, there’s not one second of wasted time on Patient Number 9. Are you someone who likes heavy metal and screaming guitar solos? Then you’ll find what you’re looking for with Zakk Wylde and Tony Iommi. Do you like refined arrangements and the more intimate, nostalgic side of Ozzy Osbourne? Then ’A Thousand Shades’ (featuring Jeff Beck) will be the song for you, reminiscent of ‘So Tired’ from the album Bark at the Moon. Even the more radio-friendly side of the late 80s is represented here with the incredible ’Dead and Gone’… So, step right up–there’s something for everyone! Andrew Watt, who was responsible for the production of the previous album, has considerably scaled down his sonic eccentricities for this release. As you might imagine, Patient Number 9 sounds like a blockbuster. It’s got a huge sound and feels very contemporary, but there’s no doubt that this is 100% a metal album. © Charlélie Arnaud/Qobuz

Reported to be her final album for Atlantic at the time of its release, Charli XCX embraces the idea of being a major-label pop artist to the fullest on Crash. For her, going mainstream is something of a daring move. Her previous album, 2020's Mercury Prize-longlisted how i'm feeling now, was one of her most experimental releases, its heartbroken hyperpop capturing the feeling of bouncing off the walls during the COVID-19 quarantine. That album (and her mixtapes) made a strong case for her more spontaneous releases being among her best, but the craft she applies to Crash isn't overdone. This is truly poptimist pop that consciously reframes the genre's past heyday as worthy of celebrating and updating. XCX grounds the album in the styles of the late '80s and early '90s and the late '90s and early 2000s -- eras when pop was highly produced but also highly creative. It's an aesthetic that suits Charli XCX well, especially on the bright, New Jack-jacking moves of "New Shapes," which features Caroline Polachek and Christine and the Queens, two other experts at giving a fresh context to vintage pop. On "Yuck," a charmingly disgusted rejection of lovey-dovey infatuation, XCX creates the perfect pastiche of late-'80s sounds, but she gets more literal on "Used to Know Me," which samples Robin S.'s 1993 earworm "Show Me Love"; on "Beg for You," a collaboration with Rina Sawayama, she folds in the massive hits "Cry for You" by September and "Don't Cry" by Milk Inc. Putting a boundary-pushing artist like Sawayama on one of Crash's most overtly retro songs feels like a missed opportunity, but "Beg for You"'s pulsing desperation is still a highlight that shows just how baked into pop's collective memory these decades-old songs still are. As she pays homage to pop music's past, XCX also borrows from her own. The way Crash takes inspiration from David Cronenberg's film of the same name echoes how she alluded to Quentin Tarantino's True Romance on her debut album, and the percolating death wish of the title track continues the car motif winding through her work since Icona Pop's "I Love It." The tweaked vocals on the slow-motion ballad "Move Me" recall the Charli highlight "Cross You Out," while "Good Ones" combines the self-defeating heartache that's been a key theme since her early days with the hooky songwriting that she's transformed into hits for others. Among all these revisitations of the past, Crash's concision feels new. On her other albums, XCX occasionally included so many songs that the great songs had to compete with the good ones for attention. At a sleek 33-minutes long, Crash lets songs like "Lightning" -- an unlikely but winning collision of freestyle beats, giddy orchestral synth stabs, and processed vocals -- claim the spotlight they deserve. It may not be quite as striking as how i'm feeling now, but on Crash, Charli XCX once again finds endless freedom in pop's constraints.© Heather Phares /TiVo

Several momentous music careers were blooming in New York's Greenwich Village in 1962.  A young Minnesotan on the folk circuit changed his surname to Dylan and signed on Albert Grossman to manage him. In a tiny W. 8th Street basement speakeasy called the Bon Soir, a new singer of showtunes and standards was generating an equally impressive buzz moving critic Dorothy Kilgallen to burble, "She's never had a singing lesson in her life, doesn't know how to walk, dress or take a bow, but she projects well enough to close her act with a straight rendition of 'Who's Afraid of the Big Bad Wolf' and bring down the house …" Barbra Streisand had recently signed to Columbia Records (which also had Bob Dylan on its roster), and returned to the club for three nights of recording in November, 1962, to capture what was to be her debut album. Shelved for unknown reasons, its 24 tracks, captured in very respectable sound given the state of live recording at that time, have now been issued with new mixes supervised by Streisand and Grammy Award-winning engineer Jochem van der Saag. Accompanied only by a small band led by British pianist Peter Daniels, this is a Streisand few have seen or can remember. What's most forgotten today is how adept a performer she could be in such an intimate environment: cracking jokes, acting the coquette, even letting out rapid fire giggles in "Value." She's audibly nervous yet also clearly at home as the tough Brooklyn girl with the soft center who could raise the roof if she so chose. The singing, some of which was part of the career-spanning 1991 collection Just For The Record, is a rare delicacy. Stripped of the studio gloss that would mark most of her career after these sessions, Streisand never recorded anything this real again. In a startlingly raw version of Leonard Bernstein's children's song, "I Hate Music," she practically shrieks out the title, getting a few laughs in the process. But she follows that burst of immaturity with a gentle, utterly masterful version of Harold Arlen's "Right As The Rain" and a gutsy, breathless, showstopping version of "Cry Me A River" that hint at the career to come. Forget the gauzy outfits, the lacquered nails, those grand modulations, and perfect enunciation, this is a very young Streisand unchained. © Robert Baird/Qobuz

During the late '50s, Ella Fitzgerald continued her Song Book records with Sings the George and Ira Gershwin Song Book, releasing a series of albums featuring 59 songs written by George and Ira Gershwin. Those songs, plus alternate takes, were combined on a four-disc box set, Sings the George and Ira Gershwin Song Book, in 1998. These performances are easily among Fitzgerald's very best, and for any serious fan, this is the ideal place to acquire the recordings, since the sound and presentation are equally classy and impressive.© Leo Stanley /TiVo

Singers need contexts for their voices. For Kurt Elling, that search led to 2021's SuperBlue. On this second collaboration with the same players—guitarist/funkateer Charlie Hunter and a rhythm section of drummer Corey Fonville and keyboardist DJ Harrison—Elling has widened and deepened the sweet spot he found on SuperBlue. Recorded live in the studio by engineer Adrian Olson in Montrose Recording in Richmond, Virginia, The Iridescent Spree's loose synth funk imparts plenty of room for Elling to exercise his hipster urges proves to be a perfect vehicle for his talky chatter. Part of why this works so well is that Elling has learned the art of adding lyrics to music that was previously instrumental-only. That skill comes to an amazing pinnacle in the sad tale of prostitution he spins out in a version of Ornette Coleman's "Only the Lonely Woman" ("Once she was beloved/ No pauper/ She was somebody's daughter/ Ruin caught her unaware/ Now she cries heartache/ She's just a lonely woman/ Hollowed out despair." A related and very creative addition is his version of "Naughty Number Nine" from Schoolhouse Rock! (written by Bob Dorough, who was one of the few singers to ever appear on a Miles Davis album). Charlie Hunter's original "A Song for Karen Carpenter" appears as "Little Fairy Carpenter" with lyrics by Elling. Set to a slow beat, his deliberately sedated delivery, drawing out every word as his voice rises, gives the choruses a dreamy edge: "The hourglass sands / Have run through your hands/ Your deadline calls you to fold or expand." "Bounce," by innovative composer, drummer and Elling labelmate Nate Smith, here becomes the straight up math funk number "Bounce It," thanks to another set of the singer's lyrics that expertly conform to the angular rhythms of the tune: "Rim shot slap/ Spit and spank/ We dance 'n' dap/ And stank-a-lank/ And rank-a-tank." How Kurt got a groove on. © Robert Baird/Qobuz