For only the second time in her career, jazz pianist and vocalist Diana Krall deviates from her tried, true m.o. of covering easily identifiable jazz standards. On Glad Rag Doll she teams with producer T-Bone Burnett and his stable of studio aces. Here the two-time Grammy winner covers mostly vaudeville and jazz tunes written in the 1920s and '30s, some relatively obscure. Most of the music here is from her father's collection of 78-rpm records. Krall picked 35 tunes from that music library and gave sheet music to Burnett. He didn't reveal his final selections until they got into the studio. Given their origins, these songs remove the sheen of detached cool that is one of Krall's vocal trademarks. Check the speakeasy feel on opener "We Just Couldn't Say Goodbye," with Marc Ribot's airy chords, Jay Bellerose's loose shuffle, and Dennis Crouch's strolling upright bass. Krall's vocal actually seems to express delight in this loose and informal proceeding -- though her piano playing is, as usual, tight, top-notch. The shimmering sentimental nocturnal balladry there gives way to swing in "Just Like a Butterfly That's Caught in the Rain," which stands out because of the interplay between Ribot's ukulele, a pair of basses, and Bellerose's brushes. Krall's vocal hovers; she lets the melody guide her right through the middle. On the title cut, her only accompanist is Ribot on an acoustic guitar. Being the best-known tune in the bunch, it's easy to compare this reading with many others, but Krall's breathy vocal fully inhabits the lyric and melody and makes them her own. A few tracks stand apart from the album's theme. There's the modern take on Betty James' rockabilly single "I'm a Little Mixed Up," which allows Burnett to indulge himself a little and showcases a rarity: Krall playing rock & roll piano. The atmospheric reading of Doc Pomus' "Lonely Avenue" is somewhat radical, but is among the finest moments here. Burnett gets his obligatory reverb on here, but the weave of his and Ribot's guitars (and the latter's banjo) and the mandola by Howard Coward (Elvis Costello in one of several guest appearances) is arresting. The arrangement also contains an odd yet compelling reference to Miles Davis' "Right Off (Theme from Jack Johnson)"; Krall's piano solo is rife with elliptical, meandering lines and chord voicings. But vocally she gets inside the tune's blues and pulls them out with real authority. Glad Rag Doll is not the sound of Krall reinventing herself so much as it's the comfortable scratching of an old, persistent itch. The warmth, sophistication, humor, and immediacy present on this set make it a welcome addition to her catalog.© Thom Jurek /TiVo

Kae Tempest always creates music that sounds like some sort of sonic emergency. Fronting the English spoken word scene, the London native has delivered one of their best albums yet, The Line Is a Curve. It’s predominantly produced by Dan Carey, who Tempest worked with on Everybody Down in 2014 and Let Them Eat Chaos in 2016. Curved lines are, as you might expect, the main theme of this record. Kae Tempest explores their quest for meaning with such profound accuracy, bringing together perfectly combined words, clear enunciation and human concepts to forge a beautiful optimism that’s so rare in today’s music. Tempest never falls into the trap of purely offering critique and criticism either, they go further, offering solutions. Their way of thinking about the world really shines on this album. The Line Is a Curve is their first record since they came out as non-binary, and it definitely feels like a reflection on identity and societal expectations, and how they can sometimes prove to be malleable and porous. Just like the album cover, these notions can be undefined, blurred and bent. Kae Tempest invites Lianne La Havas to join them on No Prizes, a track that tackles the pitfalls of these new notions, and even Kevin Abstract from Brockhampton on the single More Pressure, which represents the crazy speed of the world we’re living in. But Kae Tempest never sounds like they’re giving up. Quite the opposite. The find beautiful inspiration in the chaos of the world around us. © Brice Miclet/Qobuz

By late 1965, most members of the folk community were feeling the pressure of a changing music world -- between the presence of folk-rock bands like the Byrds and newer outfits like the Beau Brummels and the Leaves coming up, not to mention Bob Dylan himself going electric, they were now competing against some high-wattage (in the most literal sense) rivals for the attention of audiences. Most wilted in that environment, but Baez rose to the occasion, partly because she was able to; her voice was one of the most hauntingly beautiful in the world, and she was no slouch when it came to finding (and later writing) good songs. To be sure, her sixth album is top-heavy with Bob Dylan songs, including the title track, which he never officially recorded -- on that basis alone, it attracted a lot of attention from his fans -- and her epic rendition of "A Hard Rain's a-Gonna Fall," which can stand up next to Dylan's own for sheer, sustained power, and her falsetto-driven performance of "It's All Over Now, Baby Blue" didn't hurt in that department. But rather than relying on the Dylan repertory to sell the album, she made Farewell, Angelina worthwhile all the way through. Of the two traditional songs here, "The River in the Pines" is a throwback to Baez's simple, unadorned early sound; but "Wild Mountain Thyme" is something new and special, her understated yet jaunty-tempo rendition almost minimalist in its scoring, yet it sticks with the listener as long (or longer) than, say, the Byrds' recording. Her version of Woody Guthrie's "Ranger's Command" should be heard for its sheer lyricism and loveliness, and her recording of Donovan's "Colours" might even have been a hit single if it had been handled right -- Bruce Langhorne's amplifier turned up one notch, from 3 to 4, might've done it. "A Satisfied Mind" was not only a stunning recording (especially on the final verse), but took her one step closer to the country music sound and repertory that would enrich Baez's music in the second half of the '60s. And she even managed to give a special nod to Pete Seeger's universal notions of pacifism by including a German version of "Where Have All the Flowers Gone." Beyond Baez's singing, the album is also worth hearing for Langhorne's guitar work and the performance of Richard Romoff on string bass on "Wild Mountain Thyme" and "A Hard Rain's a-Gonna Fall." This would be the last time that Baez would work with so small, spare, or deceptively simple an accompaniment -- the next time out, she'd have a full orchestra and then a complement of Nashville musicians backing her.© Bruce Eder /TiVo

For only the second time in her career, jazz pianist and vocalist Diana Krall deviates from her tried, true m.o. of covering easily identifiable jazz standards. On Glad Rag Doll she teams with producer T-Bone Burnett and his stable of studio aces. Here the two-time Grammy winner covers mostly vaudeville and jazz tunes written in the 1920s and '30s, some relatively obscure. Most of the music here is from her father's collection of 78-rpm records. Krall picked 35 tunes from that music library and gave sheet music to Burnett. He didn't reveal his final selections until they got into the studio. Given their origins, these songs remove the sheen of detached cool that is one of Krall's vocal trademarks. Check the speakeasy feel on opener "We Just Couldn't Say Goodbye," with Marc Ribot's airy chords, Jay Bellerose's loose shuffle, and Dennis Crouch's strolling upright bass. Krall's vocal actually seems to express delight in this loose and informal proceeding -- though her piano playing is, as usual, tight, top-notch. The shimmering sentimental nocturnal balladry there gives way to swing in "Just Like a Butterfly That's Caught in the Rain," which stands out because of the interplay between Ribot's ukulele, a pair of basses, and Bellerose's brushes. Krall's vocal hovers; she lets the melody guide her right through the middle. On the title cut, her only accompanist is Ribot on an acoustic guitar. Being the best-known tune in the bunch, it's easy to compare this reading with many others, but Krall's breathy vocal fully inhabits the lyric and melody and makes them her own. A few tracks stand apart from the album's theme. There's the modern take on Betty James' rockabilly single "I'm a Little Mixed Up," which allows Burnett to indulge himself a little and showcases a rarity: Krall playing rock & roll piano. The atmospheric reading of Doc Pomus' "Lonely Avenue" is somewhat radical, but is among the finest moments here. Burnett gets his obligatory reverb on here, but the weave of his and Ribot's guitars (and the latter's banjo) and the mandola by Howard Coward (Elvis Costello in one of several guest appearances) is arresting. The arrangement also contains an odd yet compelling reference to Miles Davis' "Right Off (Theme from Jack Johnson)"; Krall's piano solo is rife with elliptical, meandering lines and chord voicings. But vocally she gets inside the tune's blues and pulls them out with real authority. Glad Rag Doll is not the sound of Krall reinventing herself so much as it's the comfortable scratching of an old, persistent itch. The warmth, sophistication, humor, and immediacy present on this set make it a welcome addition to her catalog.© Thom Jurek /TiVo

Peggy Lee's I'm a Woman LP is a good example of a quickie album project put together on the fly to take advantage of a hit single rising up the chart, in this case, of course, the R&B-inflected title song written by Jerry Leiber and Mike Stoller. Benny Carter conducted that track, as well as the jazzy version of "I'll Get By" here, but the rest of the short (under half an hour) disc was handled by Dick Hazard, who brought in a small, versatile band to come up with blues, jazz, and Latin arrangements of some familiar material including Fats Domino's "I'm Walkin'," the Bobby Darin hit "Mack the Knife," and the Tony Bennett hit "I Left My Heart in San Francisco." No one involved, including Lee, seems to have taken the session too seriously -- they didn't have time to -- but that's precisely the record's charm. The musicians simply play what occurs to them, and Lee blissfully rolls over the top. She makes fun of "Mack the Knife," and why not? The range and speed demanded in Antonio Carlos Jobim's "One Note Samba" almost throw her, but there might not have been time for another take. The music is somewhat rushed all the way through, but that makes it all the more lively and fits in with the rollicking hit it is meant to accompany.© William Ruhlmann /TiVo

Much like his contemporary David Bowie, Ferry consolidated his glam-era success with a covers album, his first full solo effort even while Roxy Music was still going full steam. Whereas Bowie on Pin-Ups focused on British beat and psych treasures, Ferry for the most part looked to America, touching on everything from Motown to the early jazz standard that gave the collection its name. Just about everyone in Roxy Music at the time helped out on the album -- notable exceptions being Andy Mackay and Brian Eno. The outrageous take on Bob Dylan's "A Hard Rain's A-Gonna Fall," with Ferry vamping over brassy female vocals, sets the tone for things from the start. All this said, many of the covers aim for an elegant late-night feeling not far off from the well-sculpted Ferry persona of the '80s and beyond, though perhaps a touch less bloodless and moody in comparison. In terms of sheer selection alone, meanwhile, Ferry's taste is downright impeccable. There's Leiber & Stoller via Elvis' "Baby I Don't Care," Lesley Gore's "It's My Party" (with narrative gender unchanged!), Smokey Robinson and the Miracles' "The Tracks of My Tears," and more, all treated with affection without undue reverence, a great combination. Ferry's U.K. background isn't entirely ignored, though, thanks to two of the album's best efforts -- the Beatles' "You Won't See Me" and the Stones' "Sympathy for the Devil." Throughout Ferry's instantly recognizable croon carries everything to a tee, and the overall mood is playful and celebratory. Wrapping up with a grand take on "These Foolish Things" itself, this album is one of the best of its kind by any artist.© Ned Raggett /TiVo

"Taken together, 'Gravity' and 'Fade' demonstrate the range and the boundaries of SHOALS, a modernized but familiar variety of the heavy-lidded strains of R&B and vibey rock that serve as the working definition of 'indie' on most Spotify playlists."© TiVo

Opening Salt Rain is an invocation to the Hindu deity Lord Ganesh, remover of obstacles. In the Indian tradition, it's always a good idea to get Ganesh's blessings at the beginning of any new venture. Susheela Raman may toss in bass, drums, and other Western flourishes, but she also knows when to stick with the tried and true practices of her native culture. Raman also affords praise to other deities, namely the devis or goddesses Saraswati and Kamakshi, and lords Shiva and Rama. No doubt about it, Salt Rain is truly a mix of East and West, as Raman sought out producer Sam Mills after hearing his work with Bengali singer Paban Das Baul. Mills gathered musicians from around the world to create the backdrop for Raman, who sings in English and various Indian languages -- Sanskrit, Hindi, Tamil, Telugu -- as well as East African Luo. Most of the songs are traditional prayers or chants that Raman and Mills arranged in such ways as to fit their vision without losing the essence of the original. Overall, they did a pretty good job, as Raman shines more on those pieces than any others.© Kelly McCartney /TiVo

For only the second time in her career, jazz pianist and vocalist Diana Krall deviates from her tried, true m.o. of covering easily identifiable jazz standards. On Glad Rag Doll she teams with producer T-Bone Burnett and his stable of studio aces. Here the two-time Grammy winner covers mostly vaudeville and jazz tunes written in the 1920s and '30s, some relatively obscure. Most of the music here is from her father's collection of 78-rpm records. Krall picked 35 tunes from that music library and gave sheet music to Burnett. He didn't reveal his final selections until they got into the studio. Given their origins, these songs remove the sheen of detached cool that is one of Krall's vocal trademarks. Check the speakeasy feel on opener "We Just Couldn't Say Goodbye," with Marc Ribot's airy chords, Jay Bellerose's loose shuffle, and Dennis Crouch's strolling upright bass. Krall's vocal actually seems to express delight in this loose and informal proceeding -- though her piano playing is, as usual, tight, top-notch. The shimmering sentimental nocturnal balladry there gives way to swing in "Just Like a Butterfly That's Caught in the Rain," which stands out because of the interplay between Ribot's ukulele, a pair of basses, and Bellerose's brushes. Krall's vocal hovers; she lets the melody guide her right through the middle. On the title cut, her only accompanist is Ribot on an acoustic guitar. Being the best-known tune in the bunch, it's easy to compare this reading with many others, but Krall's breathy vocal fully inhabits the lyric and melody and makes them her own. A few tracks stand apart from the album's theme. There's the modern take on Betty James' rockabilly single "I'm a Little Mixed Up," which allows Burnett to indulge himself a little and showcases a rarity: Krall playing rock & roll piano. The atmospheric reading of Doc Pomus' "Lonely Avenue" is somewhat radical, but is among the finest moments here. Burnett gets his obligatory reverb on here, but the weave of his and Ribot's guitars (and the latter's banjo) and the mandola by Howard Coward (Elvis Costello in one of several guest appearances) is arresting. The arrangement also contains an odd yet compelling reference to Miles Davis' "Right Off (Theme from Jack Johnson)"; Krall's piano solo is rife with elliptical, meandering lines and chord voicings. But vocally she gets inside the tune's blues and pulls them out with real authority. Glad Rag Doll is not the sound of Krall reinventing herself so much as it's the comfortable scratching of an old, persistent itch. The warmth, sophistication, humor, and immediacy present on this set make it a welcome addition to her catalog.© Thom Jurek /TiVo

For only the second time in her career, jazz pianist and vocalist Diana Krall deviates from her tried, true m.o. of covering easily identifiable jazz standards. On Glad Rag Doll she teams with producer T-Bone Burnett and his stable of studio aces. Here the two-time Grammy winner covers mostly vaudeville and jazz tunes written in the 1920s and '30s, some relatively obscure. Most of the music here is from her father's collection of 78-rpm records. Krall picked 35 tunes from that music library and gave sheet music to Burnett. He didn't reveal his final selections until they got into the studio. Given their origins, these songs remove the sheen of detached cool that is one of Krall's vocal trademarks. Check the speakeasy feel on opener "We Just Couldn't Say Goodbye," with Marc Ribot's airy chords, Jay Bellerose's loose shuffle, and Dennis Crouch's strolling upright bass. Krall's vocal actually seems to express delight in this loose and informal proceeding -- though her piano playing is, as usual, tight, top-notch. The shimmering sentimental nocturnal balladry there gives way to swing in "Just Like a Butterfly That's Caught in the Rain," which stands out because of the interplay between Ribot's ukulele, a pair of basses, and Bellerose's brushes. Krall's vocal hovers; she lets the melody guide her right through the middle. On the title cut, her only accompanist is Ribot on an acoustic guitar. Being the best-known tune in the bunch, it's easy to compare this reading with many others, but Krall's breathy vocal fully inhabits the lyric and melody and makes them her own. A few tracks stand apart from the album's theme. There's the modern take on Betty James' rockabilly single "I'm a Little Mixed Up," which allows Burnett to indulge himself a little and showcases a rarity: Krall playing rock & roll piano. The atmospheric reading of Doc Pomus' "Lonely Avenue" is somewhat radical, but is among the finest moments here. Burnett gets his obligatory reverb on here, but the weave of his and Ribot's guitars (and the latter's banjo) and the mandola by Howard Coward (Elvis Costello in one of several guest appearances) is arresting. The arrangement also contains an odd yet compelling reference to Miles Davis' "Right Off (Theme from Jack Johnson)"; Krall's piano solo is rife with elliptical, meandering lines and chord voicings. But vocally she gets inside the tune's blues and pulls them out with real authority. Glad Rag Doll is not the sound of Krall reinventing herself so much as it's the comfortable scratching of an old, persistent itch. The warmth, sophistication, humor, and immediacy present on this set make it a welcome addition to her catalog.© Thom Jurek /TiVo

Kae Tempest always creates music that sounds like some sort of sonic emergency. Fronting the English spoken word scene, the London native has delivered one of their best albums yet, The Line Is a Curve. It’s predominantly produced by Dan Carey, who Tempest worked with on Everybody Down in 2014 and Let Them Eat Chaos in 2016. Curved lines are, as you might expect, the main theme of this record. Kae Tempest explores their quest for meaning with such profound accuracy, bringing together perfectly combined words, clear enunciation and human concepts to forge a beautiful optimism that’s so rare in today’s music. Tempest never falls into the trap of purely offering critique and criticism either, they go further, offering solutions. Their way of thinking about the world really shines on this album. The Line Is a Curve is their first record since they came out as non-binary, and it definitely feels like a reflection on identity and societal expectations, and how they can sometimes prove to be malleable and porous. Just like the album cover, these notions can be undefined, blurred and bent. Kae Tempest invites Lianne La Havas to join them on No Prizes, a track that tackles the pitfalls of these new notions, and even Kevin Abstract from Brockhampton on the single More Pressure, which represents the crazy speed of the world we’re living in. But Kae Tempest never sounds like they’re giving up. Quite the opposite. The find beautiful inspiration in the chaos of the world around us. © Brice Miclet/Qobuz

Peggy Lee's I'm a Woman LP is a good example of a quickie album project put together on the fly to take advantage of a hit single rising up the chart, in this case, of course, the R&B-inflected title song written by Jerry Leiber and Mike Stoller. Benny Carter conducted that track, as well as the jazzy version of "I'll Get By" here, but the rest of the short (under half an hour) disc was handled by Dick Hazard, who brought in a small, versatile band to come up with blues, jazz, and Latin arrangements of some familiar material including Fats Domino's "I'm Walkin'," the Bobby Darin hit "Mack the Knife," and the Tony Bennett hit "I Left My Heart in San Francisco." No one involved, including Lee, seems to have taken the session too seriously -- they didn't have time to -- but that's precisely the record's charm. The musicians simply play what occurs to them, and Lee blissfully rolls over the top. She makes fun of "Mack the Knife," and why not? The range and speed demanded in Antonio Carlos Jobim's "One Note Samba" almost throw her, but there might not have been time for another take. The music is somewhat rushed all the way through, but that makes it all the more lively and fits in with the rollicking hit it is meant to accompany.© William Ruhlmann /TiVo