Sixty years after the release of Miles Davis' masterpiece, explanations for its everlasting allure and mysterious beauty remain elusive. Over the years—in books, magazines and documentary films—a parade of Miles' contemporaries have struggled to explain this 1959 album, often cited as the best-selling jazz album in history. Recorded in long, whole takes over only two sessions 51 days apart, at Columbia Records' famed 30th Street Studios, Kind of Blue is a landmark in the evolution of jazz as the first modal classic—where the improvising is based on scales rather than the dense clusters of chord changes that powered bebop. This stylish, beloved cornerstone of any jazz collection, with its relaxed tempi, rich colors and sleek silences, also possesses a timeless simplicity that continues to sound familiar and inviting. Captured in great depth and detail by engineer Fred Plaut, brooding opener "So What," upbeat, merry "Freddie Freeloader," Bill Evans' dreamy "Blue In Green," the 6/8 double waltz "All Blues," (an aural sketch of weaving through city traffic), and the album's most purely modal number and closer "Flamenco Sketches," have all endured to become the most atmospheric, resonant and ultimately sexiest single set of recorded tunes in jazz history. Much of its undiminished magnetism comes from Miles' innate genius in building potent chemistry between musicians of contrasting styles. From the leader's icy tone to John Coltrane's muscular cascade of tenor saxophone notes, through Cannonball Adderley's soulful alto sax exuberance and pianist Bill Evans' spacious, incisive contributions, this collision of musical opposites, all driven by the underrated bassist Paul Chambers and steady drummer Jimmy Cobb, creates a mood and defines the jazz ethos of "cool" from the first dark notes of the famous opening bass line. According to Evans' original liner notes, Davis came up with these five explorations the night before the first recording session. It’s proof yet again that spontaneity and serendipity are the soul of jazz, or what Evans accurately summed up here as "collective coherent thinking" where the "direct deed is the most meaningful reflection." © Robert Baird/Qobuz

Neil Tennant and Chris Lowe aren't often discussed as one of pop music's great songwriting teams, but the wonderfully eclectic body of work they've created as Pet Shop Boys speaks for itself. Since crashing into the mainstream with 1985's chart-topper, "West End Girls," the London duo have delivered a remarkably consistent barrage of tightly crafted synth pop singles that fuse dance culture with trenchant cultural commentary and an undeniable sense of melodic grace. Each of their 14 albums has reached the U.K. Top Ten, and they've sent an astonishing 42 singles into the Top 30, including number ones like "It's a Sin" and "Heart." A bevy of compilations have celebrated Pet Shop Boys' highlights over the years, and 1991's Discography: The Complete Singles Collection was a significant number three hit itself. 2023's Smash: The Singles 1985-2020 is essentially an update of the aforementioned collection and contains, in chronological order, each of their singles from this 35-year period. In unpacking its 55-song sequence, the first thing one notices is the uniform quality of their songs: elegantly constructed, dense with pop nutrients, undeniably catchy, yet ever so smart. Tennant is an underrated vocalist who has continually pushed his range over the years, balancing wry asides and spoken word sections with his reedy and surprisingly nimble tenor. Lowe's ear for a catchy hook is another defining element and ranges from subtle (1990's droll standout "Being Boring") to grandiose (2013's marvelous banger "Love Is a Bourgeois Construct"). What's more, the pair has assembled this durable catalog almost without interruption, reliably delivering singles, albums, remixes, and EPs almost annually since their debut. Work ethic and quality don't always go hand in hand, but Pet Shop Boys have both in spades.© Timothy Monger /TiVo

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The Irish art-pop queen gets extra freaky on her latest, produced by DJ Koze. Hit Parade is fearless, willing to go places most minds would never imagine. "The Universe" is a gorgeously absurd yacht rock breeze that finds Róisín Murphy trying on a sunny accent and goofing on "Row Row Row Your Boat," of all things. "The House"—a party fueled by a funky guitar riff—was reportedly inspired by a dystopian J.G. Ballard story, and it shimmers and shines with a sinister brightness. "'Cause this house is holding it/ All that loneliness/ This place is going insane," Murphy sings, before revealing in a voice that's more disbelieving than panicked: "It's locked me in … I can't get out of the house." Her powerhouse voice—a descendent of Dusty Springfield, Alison Moyet, Annie Lennox—is a marvel here, especially on tracks like the liquid R&B "What Not to Do." Sensual like Christine and the Queens (aka Redcar), it's a sexy meditation on control with Murphy playing both sides: "Tell me what not to do/ You better stay, never leave, you better listen to me." She and Koze effortlessly play with genres and show excellent taste in who they borrow from. Love song "CooCool" samples R&B legend Mike James Kirkland's "Together" and layers on eccentric funk, jazz trills and chilly-crisp drum breaks. "Fader" is weird and wonderful, solid-gold '70s soul that just feels good and samples Sharon Jones and the Dap-Kings. "Hurtz So Bad" is positively lush and echoes Murphy's trip-hop days in the duo Moloko, "Two Ways" delves into trap beats, "Free Will" drips with disco-diva glitter, and "Can't Replicate" is seven-and-a-half minutes of hypnotic deep house. Even the goofy interlude "Spacetime," with Murphy's young son chanting "time and space" in a child's pretend ogre growl, somehow fits right in. And closer "Eureka" is absolutely unnerving, like some soundtrack to the dystopian movie Brazil, only you don't know what is metaphorical fantasy and what is mortally real. "What the doctor said/ He took one look at me/ Told me he could see/ There was something there," Murphy sings. "And I can't even say/ What the surgeon/ Gonna take away/ And I don't really care anyway … Just cut away/ Like I'm made of clay." © Shelly Ridenour/Qobuz

Since the advent of acid jazz in the mid-'80s, the many electronic-jazz hybrids to come down the pipe have steadily grown more mature, closer to a balanced fusion that borrows the spontaneity and emphasis on group interaction of classic jazz while still emphasizing the groove and elastic sound of electronic music. For his second album, French producer Ludovic Navarre expanded the possibilities of his template for jazzy house by recruiting a sextet of musicians to solo over his earthy productions. The opener "Rose Rouge" is an immediate highlight, as an understated Marlena Shaw vocal sample ("I want you to get together/put your hands together one time"), trance-state piano lines, and a ride-on-the-rhythm drum program frames solos by trumpeter Pascal Ohse and baritone Claudio de Qeiroz. For "Montego Bay Spleen," Navarre pairs an angular guitar solo by Ernest Ranglin with a deep-groove dub track, complete with phased effects and echoey percussion. "Land Of..." moves from a Hammond- and horn-led soul-jazz stomp into Caribbean territory, marked by more hints of dub and the expressive Latin percussion of Carneiro. Occasionally, Navarre's programming (sampled or otherwise) grows a bit repetitious -- even for dance fans, to say nothing of the jazzbo crowd attracted by the album's Blue Note tag. Though it is just another step on the way to a perfect blend of jazz and electronic, Tourist is an excellent one.© John Bush /TiVo

On 19 June 2006, someone called Taylor Swift released her first single, Tim McGraw, a straightforward homage to the country singer of the same name. She was only 17 and stood out as a potential future queen of country pop... A good decade later, queen she is: but of pop tout court! The Disney cowgirl getup is gone, replaced by the pop R&B icon who has conquered the heights of the charts, but who, above all, has been able to impose her style and her writing as a canonical part of the modern genre. With Reputation, her royal crown never threatens to fall from her head. On the contrary. With this sixth album, Taylor Swift certainly has not equalled 1989, her most accomplished record released in 2014, though she confirms that she is to her times what Madonna was to the 80s and 90s. Really, it should be enjoyed for what it is: great pop, with catchy choruses, pumped–up production (the Swedish pairing of Max Martin/Shellback as well as the American Jack Antonoff are in charge here) and her autobiographical lyrics which juggle with looove, liiife, fruuustration, saaadness, haaappiness, etc. Here, Taylor Swift unburdens her soul, in particular about how the limelight can burn, especially on Call It What You Want where she explains that she isn't what she's said to be… this saccharine orgy concludes with an even more melancholy piano ballad, New Year’s Day. We leave Reputation realising that the star has pulled clearly away ahead of Katy Perry, Lady Gaga and Miley Cyrus. © CM/Qobuz

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I Do Not Want What I Haven't Got became Sinéad O'Connor's popular breakthrough on the strength of the stunning Prince cover "Nothing Compares 2 U," which topped the pop charts for a month. But even its remarkable intimacy wasn't adequate preparation for the harrowing confessionals that composed the majority of the album. Informed by her stormy relationship with drummer John Reynolds, who fathered O'Connor's first child before the couple broke up, I Do Not Want What I Haven't Got lays the singer's psyche startlingly and sometimes uncomfortably bare. The songs mostly address relationships with parents, children, and (especially) lovers, through which O'Connor weaves a stubborn refusal to be defined by anyone but herself. In fact, the album is almost too personal and cathartic to draw the listener in close, since O'Connor projects such turmoil and offers such specific detail. Her confrontational openness makes it easy to overlook O'Connor's musical versatility. Granted, not all of the music is as brilliantly audacious as "I Am Stretched on Your Grave," which marries a Frank O'Connor poem to eerie Celtic melodies and a James Brown "Funky Drummer" sample. But the album plays like a tour de force in its demonstration of everything O'Connor can do: dramatic orchestral ballads, intimate confessionals, catchy pop/rock, driving guitar rock, and protest folk, not to mention the nearly six-minute a cappella title track. What's consistent throughout is the frighteningly strong emotion O'Connor brings to bear on the material, while remaining sensitive to each piece's individual demands. Aside from being a brilliant album in its own right, I Do Not Want What I Haven't Got foreshadowed the rise of deeply introspective female singer/songwriters like Tori Amos and Sarah McLachlan, who were more traditionally feminine and connected with a wider audience. Which takes nothing away from anyone; if anything, it's evidence that, when on top of her game, O'Connor was a singular talent.© Steve Huey /TiVo

The soul music of the 21st century has sometimes had the unfortunate tendency to prioritise analog production techniques in order to bring about a revival, losing sight of making beautiful music. Jalen Ngonda, on the other hand, isn’t faking it. His first album, released on Daptone Records and entitled Come Around and Love Me, presents itself as a magnificent time machine. A contemporary dive into authentic Motown sound, we hear the formulae that brought in the golden age of the genre in the 70s, the bright congas that gave rhythm to Marvin Gaye’s “What’s Going On,” the guitar riffs that Isaac Hayes refines terrifically, and that high voice singing about love and its torments, crooning about pleas of the heart, the album’s main theme. Come Around and Love Me is a superb record, where the musicians seem to fade into the background in order to completely lend themselves to the lead performer, who takes up the space and shines. © Brice Miclet/Qobuz

I Do Not Want What I Haven't Got became Sinéad O'Connor's popular breakthrough on the strength of the stunning Prince cover "Nothing Compares 2 U," which topped the pop charts for a month. But even its remarkable intimacy wasn't adequate preparation for the harrowing confessionals that composed the majority of the album. Informed by her stormy relationship with drummer John Reynolds, who fathered O'Connor's first child before the couple broke up, I Do Not Want What I Haven't Got lays the singer's psyche startlingly and sometimes uncomfortably bare. The songs mostly address relationships with parents, children, and (especially) lovers, through which O'Connor weaves a stubborn refusal to be defined by anyone but herself. In fact, the album is almost too personal and cathartic to draw the listener in close, since O'Connor projects such turmoil and offers such specific detail. Her confrontational openness makes it easy to overlook O'Connor's musical versatility. Granted, not all of the music is as brilliantly audacious as "I Am Stretched on Your Grave," which marries a Frank O'Connor poem to eerie Celtic melodies and a James Brown "Funky Drummer" sample. But the album plays like a tour de force in its demonstration of everything O'Connor can do: dramatic orchestral ballads, intimate confessionals, catchy pop/rock, driving guitar rock, and protest folk, not to mention the nearly six-minute a cappella title track. What's consistent throughout is the frighteningly strong emotion O'Connor brings to bear on the material, while remaining sensitive to each piece's individual demands. Aside from being a brilliant album in its own right, I Do Not Want What I Haven't Got foreshadowed the rise of deeply introspective female singer/songwriters like Tori Amos and Sarah McLachlan, who were more traditionally feminine and connected with a wider audience. Which takes nothing away from anyone; if anything, it's evidence that, when on top of her game, O'Connor was a singular talent.© Steve Huey /TiVo

The kids aren't all right, but they've never sounded better. On the fifth album from Asheville, North Carolina, band Wednesday, the song everybody will be talking about—for a long time—is "Bull Believer'': eight and a half bloody-raw minutes of frontwoman Karly Hartzman drawing parallels between a bull being gored for sport and herself being ignored by someone who is too busy playing Mortal Kombat to notice she's bleeding. Set to a broken, noisy Sonic Youth-esque melody, it fades into haunted shoegaze until, just before the five-minute mark, Hartzman begins a punch-drunk chant of "Finish him," over and over before it becomes pure desperation, the two words dragged out interminably. It's wild and messy and glorious, a musical car crash as if directed by David Cronenberg. (It's also said to be based on an episode of the country music history podcast Cocaine & Rhinestones that spans from bullfighting to the confounding life of George Jones.) Stomping as hard as contemporaries Cherry Glazerr and Bully, Wednesday also doesn't shy away from the country, mountain and Americana musical influences that are inescapable where they come from. "Formula One" is a woozy, Benadryl-drunk country ballad, cracked and beautiful, and the excellent "Chosen to Deserve" borrows the deep-fried Southern rock of Drive-By Truckers, lap steel (courtesy of Xandy Chelmis) and all. "I used to drink 'til I threw up on weeknights at my parents' house .../ I was out late, sneakin' into the neighborhood pool/ Then I woke up early and taught at the Sunday school … I went to school about three days out of the week/ Watered down all the liquor/ And then pissed outside in the street," Hartzman sings, unspooling a casual tragedy. "A lot of the stories I'm telling are about when I was doing more drugs and partying," she's said of these songs. "That was a response to some stressful financial situations my parents were in, some other life stuff like grief and loss—it was everything at once, and I felt completely unequipped to handle it." "Every daughter of God/ Has a little bad luck sometimes," she reminds on "Bath County," which applies a thick anti-gloss of '90s slacker wooziness for grand effect. "Quarry," meanwhile, is like The Kinks' "Waterloo Sunset" run through a grunge-pop filter, wave after wave of Jake Lenderman's crashing guitar setting up a feral last verse about watching cops raid the neighbors' home and finding guns and cocaine in the drywall. © Shelly Ridenour/Qobuz

Remarkably, at 89 years young, pianist Ahmad Jamal is still making fine records. Imbued with sage experience and erudite taste, Jamal has an unerring sense of what still moves him and what he still wants to express. Though nowhere near the late career masterpiece of his 2016 release Marseille these mostly solo outtakes—recorded during that album's sessions—are very personal snapshots of the moment rather than any artistic statement. Ballades is Jamal noodling; his still fantastic touch on the keys and elastic blending of melody and rhythm make it worth a listen. The pianist, who first gained fame in 1958 with the release of At the Pershing, opens this set with a spacious solo take of Marseille's title track. A wry, relaxed version of "Poinciana" unfolds from his long connection to this signature tune. He's joined by longtime bassist James Cammack on three tracks, including an effective mashup between Rodgers & Hart's "Spring is Here" and Bill Evans' "Your Story." For those seeking undeniable evidence of Jamal's still vital genius there's the spontaneously composed and recorded "Because I Love You." The shimmering version of the Johnny Mercer/Johnny Mandel song, "Emily" which closes the album is a classic example of the unbridled imagination and formidable instrumental chops that Jamal can bring when playing by, and one suspects, for himself. © Robert Baird / Qobuz

Ella Fitzgerald had the ability to personalize some of the most recognizable material from the foremost songwriters in American popular music history. In this instance, the combination of Cole Porter's words and Fitzgerald's interpretation of them created one of the most sought after sessions in vocal history -- embraced by jazz and pop fans alike, transcending boundaries often associated with those genres. Originally released in 1956 on the Verve label, such standards as "Night and Day," "I Love Paris," "What Is This Thing Called Love," "I've Got You Under My Skin," "You're the Top," and "Love for Sale" secured one of Ella Fitzgerald's crowning moments. The success of these early Porter (and previous Gershwin) sessions brought about numerous interpretations of other songbooks throughout the next several years including those of Rodgers and Hart, Duke Ellington, Johnny Mercer, Harold Arlen, and Irving Berlin.© Al Campbell /TiVo

Following 2016's ode to love The Divine Feminine, Pittsburgh rapper Mac Miller avoids treading water and continues his artistic maturation on his fifth full-length, Swimming. As flowing as the title suggests, Swimming undulates with laid-back slacker soul and hypnotic production, like a lava lamp bobbing along calm waves. Inspired by events preceding the album's release, Miller's moody and introspective lyrics hint at the post-breakup black cloud hovering above his head, while also addressing his struggles with maintaining sobriety. Coupled with his soulful sing-rapping and input from producer Jon Brion, Swimming is one of Miller's more enjoyable and cohesive visions. Throughout, there's an emo-R&B vibe that strongly recalls Frank Ocean, just with less eloquent or evocative lyrics. Highlights include the popping, Pharrell-assisted "Hurt Feelings," the synth-funk bounce of the Snoop Dogg and Thundercat collaboration "What's the Use?," and "Self Care," a narcotic cloud rap gem that benefits from co-writers Dev Hynes and J.I.D. The woozy production and marble-mouthed delivery can sometimes be a slog (similar to one of Drake's or Post Malone's overly long albums), but every now and then there's something -- be it the surprise jazz piano on "Small Worlds" or the orchestral sweep of "2009" -- that pulls everything back into focus. Licking his wounds after a rough first half of 2018, Miller realizes "You could have the world in the palm of your hands/You still might drop it" on closer "So It Goes." With an eye on the future, Swimming is ample evidence that Miller can pick up the pieces and continue evolving, his grasp on thoughtful, introspective hip-hop getting stronger by the album.© Neil Z. Yeung /TiVo