Unable to perform his 2021 spring tour at the Royal Albert Hall due to COVID-19 restrictions, Eric Clapton, a staunch defender of free access to his concerts, is playing an intimate show at Cowdray House, a plush mansion in England’s Sussex countryside. Spectators? Only one. In the balcony, his wife Melia McEnery, for whom the work is titled, in the form of a declaration of love: The Lady In The Balcony: Lockdown Sessions. But anyone else can watch too, since the whole thing was captured by Russ Titelman and even screened in the cinema. This is how the maestro responds to the harshness of the current situation: by offering moments of grace. With his musicians Chris Stainton (keyboards), Nathan East (bass) and Steve Gadd (drums), Clapton plays a whole range of classic blues songs from his discography: Key To Highway by Big Bill Bonzy, his cover of JJ Cale's After Midnight, Man of the World and Black Magic Woman written in the early days of Fleetwood Mac by Peter Green, whom Clapton salutes in passing, or the vintages Layla or Tears In Heaven. The old friends end on electric with Muddy Waters' brilliant Long Distance Call and Got My Mojo interspersed with Bad Boy from Clapton's first album. With the unlikely acoustics offered by the venue and a particular attention to the impeccable sound recording, Slowhand goes on a journey, in a peaceful mood, among friends. A Dantean era calls for an exceptional concert. © Charlotte Saintoin/Qobuz

On Can't Slow Down, his second solo album, Lionel Richie ran with the sound and success of his eponymous debut, creating an album that was designed to be bigger and better. It's entirely possible that he took a cue from Michael Jackson's Thriller, which set out to win over listeners of every corner of the mainstream pop audience, because Richie does a similar thing with Can't Slow Down -- he plays to the MOR adult contemporary audience, to be sure, but he ups the ante on his dance numbers, creating grooves that are funkier, and he even adds a bit of rock with the sleek nocturnal menace of "Running With the Night," one of the best songs here. He doesn't swing for the fences like Michael did in 1982; he makes safe bets, which is more in his character. But safe bets do pay off, and with Can't Slow Down Richie reaped enormous dividends, earning not just his biggest hit, but his best album. He has less compunction about appearing as a pop singer this time around, which gives the preponderance of smooth ballads -- particularly "Penny Lover," "Hello," and the country-ish "Stuck on You" -- conviction, and the dance songs roll smooth and easy, never pushing the beats too hard and relying more on Richie's melodic hooks than the grooves, which is what helped make "All Night Long (All Night)" a massive hit. Indeed, five of these songs (all the aforementioned tunes) were huge hits, and since the record ran only eight songs, that's an astonishing ration. The short running time does suggest the record's main weakness, one that it shares with many early-'80s LPs -- the songs themselves run on a bit too long, padding out the running length of the entire album. This is only a problem on album tracks like "Love Will Find a Way," which are pleasant but a little tedious at their length, but since there are only three songs that aren't hits, it's a minor problem. All the hits showcase Lionel Richie at his best, as does Can't Slow Down as a whole.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

For what we are told is his 74th solo studio longplayer (well, who's counting?), the absolute force of nature that is Willie Nelson has chosen to revisit some of the best songs from his own catalog—including "On the Road Again," "Yesterday's Wine," "A Good Hearted Woman," and "Bloody Mary Morning"—and record them in a bluegrass vein. This infectious, high keening sound, bluegrass, coined and minted in the 1950s by Bill Monroe and friends in the hills of Kentucky, has always been more of a subtle influence on Nelson's own sound; his obvious earliest influence was the Western swing perfected by Bob Willis and his Texas Playboys. Monroe did perform at Live Aid in 1990 and once recorded a duet with Nelson, but this entire project seemed a bit out of left field upon its announcement. Thankfully, Bluegrass is nothing aside from a delightful surprise.With crisp production duties overseen by longtime producer Buddy Cannon, the band assembled here is a who's who of modern bluegrass: Ron Block (banjo), Josh Martin (acoustic guitar), Rob Ickes (dobro), Barry Bales (upright bass), Aubrey Haynie (fiddle), Dan Tyminski (mandolin), Seth Taylor (mandolin) and Bobby Terry (acoustic guitar, gut string guitar). Curiously, Nelson made the album without one of his nearest and dearest companions. The record could be seen in part as a tribute to Nelson's longtime sideman, guitarist Jody Payne, who played with Nelson from 1973 until his death in 2013. He told AARP that it's the first album where he "didn't play 'Trigger' since I've had him," referring to the busted-up Martin N-20 acoustic guitar Nelson first got in 1969—as much a part of Willie Nelson's entire vibe as his long hair and wide smile. Because Nelson was reared on Western swing, one assumes that it would take more practice to shoehorn his jazzy, laconic style into these reworkings.What might be the sappy equivalent of those truckstop knockoff bluegrass tributes to individual artist records turns out to be a wonderful addition to Nelson's catalog. Bluegrass interpretations by well-known country stars continue to be successful, for as diverse an array as Dwight Yoakam, Dolly Parton, and Sturgill Simpson. And the music's resurgence sees no signs of slowing, thanks to such stalwarts as Molly Tuttle, Billy Strings, and Railroad Earth. Nelson's entry, recorded just before his 90th birthday, will age well. As with Tony Bennett or Miles Davis at the end of their own careers, Nelson is clearly kept alive, and buoyantly so, by the power of his music, and his fans' devotion for it. © Mike McGonigal/Qobuz

These two never let up. Nas and Hit-Boy have been building an absolutely thrill-packed dual rap oeuvre since 2020 and the King's Disease album. This is their fifth joint album in three years, a sign of unbridled productivity, of course, but above all of an immediately tangible pleasure in creating together, nourished by an inspiration that never seems to leave them. There's nothing autopilot about Magic 2. Nas continues to try new things, as on Office Hour, where he juggles with a rhythm composed by his partner, and onto which he invites 50 Cent, who brings lots of soul despite finally starting to show his age a little. This magical album is proof that golden hands of rap legacy can still produce nuggets, as the track Abracadabra makes clear, with its mix of fun and exposition. But it also shows a martial spirit; a desire to hit hard at every point, without sparing any energy. It's what made them the legends they are, and will be the last thing to leave them. Intense, but never tiring. © Brice Miclet/Qobuz 

Eight years separate 2005's A Bigger Bang, the Rolling Stones' 24th album of original material, from its 1997 predecessor, Bridges to Babylon, the longest stretch of time between Stones albums in history, but unlike the three-year gap between 1986's Dirty Work and 1989's Steel Wheels, the band never really went away. They toured steadily, not just behind Bridges but behind the career-spanning 2002 compilation Forty Licks, and the steady activity paid off nicely, as the 2004 concert souvenir album Live Licks proved. The tight, sleek, muscular band showcased there was a surprise -- they played with a strength and swagger they hadn't had in years -- but a bigger surprise is that A Bigger Bang finds that reinvigorated band carrying its latter-day renaissance into the studio, turning in a sinewy, confident, satisfying album that's the band's best in years. Of course, every Stones album since their highly touted, self-conscious 1989 comeback, Steel Wheels, has been designed to get this kind of positive press, to get reviewers to haul out the cliché that this is their "best record since Exile on Main St." (Mick Jagger is so conscious of this, he deliberately compared Bigger Bang to Exile in all pre-release publicity and press, even if the scope and feel of Bang is very different from that 1972 classic), so it's hard not to take any praise with a grain of salt, but there is a big difference between this album and 1994's Voodoo Lounge. That album was deliberately classicist, touching on all of the signatures of classic mid-period, late-'60s/early-'70s Stones -- reviving the folk, country, and straight blues that balanced their trademark rockers -- and while it was often successful, it very much sounded like the Stones trying to be the Stones. What distinguishes A Bigger Bang is that it captures the Stones simply being the Stones, playing without guest stars, not trying to have a hit, not trying to adopt the production style of the day, not doing anything but lying back and playing. Far from sounding like a lazy affair, the album rocks really hard, tearing out of the gate with "Rough Justice," the toughest, sleaziest, and flat-out best song Jagger and Richards have come up with in years. It's not a red herring, either -- "She Saw Me Coming," "Look What the Cat Dragged In," and the terrific "Oh No Not You Again," which finds Mick spitting out lyrics with venom and zeal, are equally as hard and exciting, but the album isn't simply a collection of rockers. The band delves into straight blues with "Back of My Hand," turns toward pop with "Let Me Down Slow," rides a disco groove reminiscent of "Emotional Rescue" on "Rain Fall Down," and has a number of ballads, highlighted by "Streets of Love" and Keith's late-night barroom anthem "This Place Is Empty," that benefit greatly from the stripped-down, uncluttered production by Don Was and the Glimmer Twins. Throughout the album, the interplay of the band is at the forefront, which is one of the reasons the record is so consistent: even the songs that drift toward the generic are redeemed by the sound of the greatest rock & roll band ever playing at a latter-day peak. And, make no mistake about it, the Stones sound better as a band than they have in years: there's an ease and assurance to their performances that are a joy to hear, whether they're settling into a soulful groove or rocking harder than any group of 60-year-olds should. But A Bigger Bang doesn't succeed simply because the Stones are great musicians, it also works because this is a strong set of Jagger-Richards originals -- naturally, the songs don't rival their standards from the '60s and '70s, but the best songs here more than hold their own with the best of their post-Exile work, and there are more good songs here than on any Stones album since Some Girls. This may not be a startling comeback along the lines of Bob Dylan's Love and Theft, but that's fine, because over the last three decades the Stones haven't been about surprises: they've been about reliability. The problem is, they haven't always lived up to their promises, or when they did deliver the goods, it was sporadic and unpredictable. And that's what's unexpected about A Bigger Bang: they finally hold up their end of the bargain, delivering a strong, engaging, cohesive Rolling Stones album that finds everybody in prime form. Keith is loose and limber, Charlie is tight and controlled, Ronnie lays down some thrilling, greasy slide guitar, and Mick is having a grand time, making dirty jokes, baiting neo-cons, and sounding more committed to the Stones than he has in years. Best of all, this is a record where the band acknowledges its age and doesn't make a big deal about it: they're not in denial, trying to act like a younger band, they've simply accepted what they do best and go about doing it as if it's no big deal. But that's what makes A Bigger Bang a big deal: it's the Stones back in fighting form for the first time in years, and they have both the strength and the stamina to make the excellent latter-day effort everybody's been waiting for all these years.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

“I only took Viagra once. I was stressed out about a date and I’d had a few problems that year, but she wasn’t even up for it… She just wanted to have a drink, nothing else. The only thing that happened was that my ears were purple all day. I was sitting there… they were on fire – I have big ears – it was annoying but I don’t think she noticed. It changed my life, and I started my band after that.” Here’s Sebastian Murphy talking about the genesis of Viagra Boys. Let’s take a closer look at the group.After the seven minute long Research Chemicals in 2015, its terrible music video, dying saxophone, and their obscure EPs, the Swedish band are at it again with Street Worms. A fat bass, an eruptive rhythm and easy riffs are all part of this simple and direct, made-in-Sweden punk style. With his broken and arrhythmic voice, Murphy – exiled from San Francisco and covered in ugly tattoos, keeps yapping on about limp errections, stupid sports and other empty subjects.  Whilst Sleaford Mods or Idles are often very moralising, the seven Viagra Boys offer quite the opposite: a soundtrack devoid of any seriousness, no complexity whatsoever, explosive but apolitical and almost laughable. This dirty blend of psychedelic rock, punk and smashed acid is profoundly enjoyable! © Charlotte Saintoin/Qobuz

Producer Kanye West's highlight reels were stacking up exponentially when his solo debut for Roc-a-Fella was released, after numerous delays and a handful of suspense-building underground mixes. The week The College Dropout came out, three singles featuring his handiwork were in the Top 20, including his own "Through the Wire." A daring way to introduce himself to the masses as an MC, the enterprising West recorded the song during his recovery from a car wreck that nearly took his life -- while his jaw was wired shut. Heartbreaking and hysterical ("There's been an accident like Geico/They thought I was burnt up like Pepsi did Michael"), and wrapped around the helium chirp of the pitched-up chorus from Chaka Khan's "Through the Fire," the song and accompanying video couldn't have forged his dual status as underdog and champion any better. All of this momentum keeps rolling through The College Dropout, an album that's nearly as phenomenal as the boastful West has led everyone to believe. From a production standpoint, nothing here tops recent conquests like Alicia Keys' "You Don't Know My Name" or Talib Kweli's "Get By," but he's consistently potent and tempers his familiar characteristics -- high-pitched soul samples, gospel elements -- by tweaking them and not using them as a crutch. Even though those with their ears to the street knew West could excel as an MC, he has used this album as an opportunity to prove his less-known skills to a wider audience. One of the most poignant moments is on "All Falls Down," where the self-effacing West examines self-consciousness in the context of his community: "Rollies and Pashas done drive me crazy/I can't even pronounce nothing, yo pass the Versacey/Then I spent 400 bucks on this just to be like 'N*gga you ain't up on this'." If the notion that the album runs much deeper than the singles isn't enough, there's something of a surprising bonus: rather puzzlingly, a slightly adjusted mix of "Slow Jamz" -- a side-splitting ode to legends of baby-making soul that originally appeared on Twista's Kamikaze, just before that MC received his own Roc-a-Fella chain -- also appears. Prior to this album, we were more than aware that West's stature as a producer was undeniable; now we know that he's also a remarkably versatile lyricist and a valuable MC.© Andy Kellman /TiVo

“It’s like finding a new room in the Great Pyramid.” Saxophonist Sonny Rollins didn’t weigh his words to describe this previously unreleased session recorded by John Coltrane in March 1963 and released for the first time in June 2018. When it comes to original content, so-called gems and other rarities, labels are masters at scraping the bottom of the barrel and pumping up the cash register with anecdotal, at times completely useless content. In this case however, it’s a completely different story. Although the posthumous discography of John Coltrane, who passed away in July 1967, is already massive, this Both Directions At Once: The Lost Album is turning out to be a prime addition! The most tender of all tenderloins! The ultimate treat! The only negative would be this Lost Album appellation, as no document proves that Trane, or even his producer Bob Thiele, had in any way considered to turn this impeccable session into a proper album… The scene takes place in March 1963. Four days before the saxophonist, surrounded by his legendary Praetorian guard – pianist McCoy Tyner, drummer Elvin Jones, bass player Jimmy Garrison – recorded an essential album with singer Johnny Hartman. In the afternoon of Wednesday 6th, the quartet dropped by Rudy Van Gelder’s famous studio in Englewood Cliffs, New Jersey. Just a few hours before going back to Manhattan to perform on stage at the Birdland. The tapes of this session have been retrieved by the family of Naima, Coltrane’s first wife. Fourteen tracks are playable. Fourteen, including two original songs, Untitled Original 11386 and Untitled Original 11383, on which Garrison performs a double bass solo! This marvel is available in a simple edition (seven tracks selected by John’s son, Ravi Coltrane) or Deluxe (all fourteen tracks!). The bond between the four men jumps out like rarely before. Coltrane alternates between deep sequences that foreshadow incoming wild swerves (Untitled Original 11386 and his legendary Impressions), and lyrical moments (the classic Nature Boy). Notes flood down, combining perfectly with McCoy Tyner’s percussive style… Although Both Directions At Once: The Lost Album doesn’t provide any new information on Coltrane’s quartet, it is still a completely indispensable archive, both for its musical and sound quality. © Marc Zisman/Qobuz

Here we are, still incorrectly writing 2023 on our checks, and we already have one of the year's best albums. Ideal for fans of Built to Spill, Dinosaur Jr., Fleetwood Mac, and boygenius, Rosali's Bite Down is truly wonderful rock-and-folk-based music that can unite all but the most baby-faced of current demographics.Rosali Middleman is a singer, songwriter, and guitarist originally out of Philadelphia who recently relocated to North Carolina, also the home of her new label, Merge Records. She's already released a handful of solo records and has collaborated on more free-flowing, ecstatic projects like Monocot and with her old band Long Hots. Middleman contains multitudes, but is smart enough to know just how to create an album which subtly updates the best of Americana from the last 60 years of rock 'n' roll and folk music.A fair number of guests play on Bite Down, but the secret weapon lies with her band. This is the second album Rosali has recorded with the David Nance-led Mowed Sound, who have also backed her up on tour in the last few years. Nance plays guitar and bass, James Schroeder is on guitar, and drummer Kevin Donahue is stunning throughout. Mowed Sound specialize in controlled chaos and subtle explosions of guitar-based joy. There's a simpatico complimentary vibe that will bring to mind early 1970s Laurel Canyon. Rosali's playing and songwriting approaches the heartworn, deceptively simple, eminently tuneful realms that Neil Young crafted with Crazy Horse. They traffic in gentle, slowly simmering anthems that let fly into solid rippers at a moment's notice.You'll be starring in a movie inside your head the first time you hear the Bettie Serveert-ish "Rewind," the haunted jam sections in "Change is in the Form," the delicate and sweet "May it Be on Offer," or the cracked, desert-baked churn of "Hills on Fire."All we want is more.  © Mike McGonigal/Qobuz

All Blues represents a return to roots of sorts for Peter Frampton. At the outset of his career, he was a hotshot six-string slinger, earning his stripes playing sheets of loud, gnarled guitar in Humble Pie, the band Steve Marriott formed after leaving the Small Faces. Frampton never lost his rep as a great guitarist and the blues was never far from his fingertips, but he also didn't devote a record to the blues the way he does on this 2019 album. It's possible Frampton intended the album to be part of a full-circle farewell: when he announced the album's release and its accompanying tour, he also announced that he has inclusion-body myositis, a degenerative autoimmune disease that weakens the muscles. Knowledge of Frampton's disease does lend All Blues a degree of poignancy; it's not intended as his final album -- at the time of its release, he had a collection of original material in the works -- yet it's hard not to think that it may not exist if Frampton didn't believe he should seize the day. That's precisely what he does on All Blues, an album that takes its name from the Miles Davis composition that kicks off the trumpeter's seminal 1959 album Kind of Blue. Frampton's choice to cover Davis suggests how he's willing to play within the margins of this album, adding hints of jazz and swing. Primarily, though, he's interested in delivering revved-up covers of blues standards, occasionally with the assistance of a friend: Sonny Landreth pops up on "The Thrill Is Gone," Steve Morse shows up on "Going Down Slow," while Kim Wilson plays on "I Just Want to Make Love to You." If Frampton doesn't take many chances with either the songs or arrangements -- this is straight-up classic British blues that leans heavily on the Chicago school -- there's still a palpable sense of passion and joy on All Blues, and that evident big, beating heart makes it worth a spin. © Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

And then, in a flash, Kanye was everywhere, transformed from respected producer to big-name producer/MC, throwing a fit at the American Music Awards, performing "Jesus Walks" at the Grammys, wearing his diamond-studded Jesus piece, appearing on the cover of Time, running his mouth 24/7. One thing that remains unchanged is Kanye's hunger, even though his head has swollen to the point where it could be separated from his body, shot into space, and considered a planet. Raised middle class, Kanye didn't have to hustle his way out of poverty, the number one key to credibility for many hip-hop fans, whether it comes to rapper turned rapping label presidents or suburban teens. And now that he has proved himself in another way, through his stratospheric success -- which also won him a gaggle of haters as passionate as his followers -- he doesn't want to be seen as a novelty whose ambitions have been fulfilled. On Late Registration, he finds himself backed into a corner, albeit as king of the mountain. It's a paradox, which is exactly what he thrives on. His follow-up to The College Dropout isn't likely to change the minds of the resistant. As an MC, Kanye remains limited, with all-too-familiar flows that weren't exceptional to begin with (you could place a number of these rhymes over College Dropout beats). He uses the same lyrical strategies as well. Take lead single "Diamonds from Sierra Leone," in which he switches from boastful to rueful; more importantly, the conflict felt in owning blood diamonds will be lost on those who couldn't afford one with years of combined income. Even so, he can be tremendous as a pure writer, whether digging up uncovered topics (as on "Diamonds") or spinning a clever line ("Before anybody wanted K. West's beats, me and my girl split the buffet at KFC"). The production approach, however, is rather different from the debut. Crude beats and drastically tempo-shifted samples are replaced with a more traditionally musical touch from Jon Brion (Fiona Apple, Aimee Mann), who co-produces with West on most of the tracks. (Ironically, the Just Blaze-helmed "Touch the Sky" tops everything laid down by the pair, despite its heavy reliance on Curtis Mayfield's "Move on Up.") West and Brion are a good, if unlikely, match. Brion's string arrangements and brass flecks add a new dimension to West's beats without overshadowing them, and the results are neither too adventurous nor too conservative. While KRS-One was the first to proclaim, "I am hip-hop," Kanye West might as well be the first MC to boldly state, "I am pop." © Andy Kellman /TiVo

An essential compilation published in two volumes back in 1988 is rolled into one here, the Past Masters reunite songs that were mainly released as singles (sides A and B), and many of which are missing from the thirteen official studio albums (so, essential!), as well as some rarities (the Fab Four in German!). An avalanche of masterpieces recorded between September 1962 and January 1970, where just reading the title speaks for itself: Love Me Do, She Loves You, I Want to Hold Your Hand, Day Tripper, We Can Work It out, Paperback Writer, Rain, Hey Jude, Revolution, The Ballad of John and Yoko, Across the Universe, Let It Be... ©MZ/Qobuz, Translation/BM

Ozzy Osbourne finds a permanent replacement for Randy Rhoads in Jake E. Lee, a more standard metal guitarist without Rhoads' neo-classical compositional ability or stylistic flair. Still, Osbourne and his band turn in a competent, workmanlike set of heavy metal featuring the crunching title track, whose video (featuring Osbourne dressed as a werewolf) became popular on MTV. Unfortunately, substance abuse problems would prevent Osbourne from releasing another record up to the standards of Bark at the Moon for nearly the rest of the decade.© Steve Huey /TiVo