While it feels like John Scofield should have recorded either dozens of albums for ECM or none at all, Uncle John's Band is, in fact, his third set as a leader for the label. Appropriately, Scofield is in trio mode (along with drummer Bill Stewart and Vicente Archer), bringing a crystalline and improvisationally-minded approach to this unique collection. Although, as the title indicates, there are a number of classic rock tunes being worked on here—Neil Young's "Old Man," the Byrds' version of Bob Dylan's "Mr. Tambourine Man"—there are also a handful of standards as well as Scofield originals in the lineup. The compositions are wildly varied but the trio's take on them is remarkably consistent, delivered with a cool, improvisational confidence that's right at home in the ECM stable. Notably, the title track doesn't come until the end of this double-disc set, as its loose and joyful vibe stands out from the gentility of much of the rest of the album, which moves at a relatively sedate pace. (Few cuts are as sleepy as the trio's take on "Somewhere, however.) Still, Scofield being Scofield, that slow burn doesn't correlate to a lack of funk. Tracks like "Mo Green" and "Back in Time" are thoroughly chilled and defined by his clear and precise guitar tone, but they're also remarkably greasy, thanks to the rhythm section. Bill Stewart's impressive drum work is both complex and refreshingly direct, especially on a cut like "TV Band" where he seamlessly switches from a funky backbeat to dense, improvisational percussion without ever letting go of the groove. Likewise, bassist Vicente Archer provides as much funky foundation as he does freeform filigree, serving as both a foil for the other players as well as the guy who seems to always get them back on track. Archer performs this task admirably throughout the record, most notably on "Old Man," during which the bulk of the song's duration finds Young's original melody sublimated and riffed on by the group until it appears they've completely lost sight of their starting point; a simple three-note figure dropped by Archer near the end easily snaps Scofield and Stewart back to Young's indelible melody. That guileless switching between memorable songs and adventurous improvisation persists throughout this strong album, making it a strong addition to both Scofield and ECM's catalog. © Jason Ferguson/Qobuz

When Meteora landed in 2003, Linkin Park were on top of the rock world with a debut that would go on to become one of the best-selling albums of the 21st century and a mountain of pressure for a follow-up. So when critics got hold of what they considered Hybrid Theory 2.0, it might have seemed like the group couldn't live up to the early hype. However, Meteora was another globe-dominating smash that expanded their sonic boundaries and added a slew of hits to their repertoire, offering a matured, fully realized vision of the Linkin Park sound. That winning collision of alternative metal, electronic production, and old school hip-hop was expanded to epic scope, taking everything that worked on the first pass, amplifying it, and setting the stage for their various forays in the decade to come. In the eye of the storm whipped up by drummer Rob Bourdon, guitarist Brad Delson, bassist Dave Farrell, and producer/artistic mastermind Joe Hahn, the band's heart -- vocalist Chester Bennington and rapper Mike Shinoda -- delivers what are arguably the finest examples of their trademark vocal back-and-forth. On lead single "Somewhere I Belong," Bennington pivots between pensive whispers and anguished cries as Shinoda tries to cleanse himself of the relatable self-doubt and fear that connected the band to a legion of listeners. That inner turmoil was key to making them such a generational voice, and those emotions were pushed to further extremes across tracks like the towering "Lying from You" (home to one of Bennington's bloodiest throat-shredders); the menacing, riff-packed assault "Hit the Floor"; and the soaring "From the Inside," a stadium-sized combo of "Crawling" and "My December." Beyond these familiar moments, the band also made fearless jumps into new territory, dropping an East Asian shakuhachi flute into the Shinoda rap showcase "Nobody's Listening," joining strings and programmed loops on the skittering, near-electronica "Breaking the Habit," and hinting at future soundtrack work with the atmospheric turntable extravaganza "Session." Two tracks in particular have made this a classic in the Linkin Park catalog. From the first notes of the sampled string loop, it was clear that "Faint" was unlike anything they'd done before. Atop galloping riffs and that repeated melody, it energized Meteora with a bright freshness that was smashed by a lurching drop and another one of Bennington's toe-curling death roars. On the other end of the spectrum, "Numb" built upon the desperation and frustration of "In the End," amplified by a melodic keyboard riff, pensive production, a chest-caving guitar-and-drum attack, and one of Bennington's most impassioned deliveries. As every element gels together at the close, he wails, "And I know I may end up failing too/But I know you were just like me with someone disappointed in you," releasing a pain so palpable that the catharsis almost feels good. Selling that pain with a side of hope generated another international hit that cemented the group as one of the top acts of their generation. Although they'd soon switch things up with far different results, Meteora stands tall as the most refined representation of the "classic" Linkin Park sound, an enduring statement that helped the young band capture lightning in a bottle for a second time.© Neil Z. Yeung /TiVo

Simon & Garfunkel's second album, Sounds of Silence, was recorded 18 months after their debut long-player, Wednesday Morning, 3 AM -- but even though the two albums shared one song (actually, one-and-a-half songs) in common, the sound here seemed a million miles away from the gentle harmonizing and unassuming acoustic accompaniment on the first record. In between, there had been a minor earthquake in the pop/rock world called "folk-rock," which resulted in the transformation of their acoustic rendition of "The Sound of Silence" into a classic of the new genre, complete with jangling electric guitars and an amplified beat that helped carry it to the top of the charts. The duo hastily re-formed, Paul Simon returning from an extended stay in England with a large song bag (part of which he had already committed to vinyl, on his U.K. album The Paul Simon Songbook). Simon & Garfunkel rushed into the studio in the fall of 1965 to come up with a folk-rock album in a hurry: fortunately, they'd already recorded two sides, "Somewhere They Can't Find Me" (actually, Simon's rewrite of their first album‘s title track) and "We've Got a Groovey Thing Goin'," both featuring a band accompaniment. Davy Graham's bluesy "Anji," a rare instrumental outing by Simon, filled another slot, and "Richard Cory" filled another. The latter, Simon's adaptation of poet Edwin Arlington Robinson‘s work, was a sincere effort at relevance -- Richard Cory has every material thing a man could want but still takes his own life, a hint at one aspect of middle-class teenaged angst of the mid-'60s; high school English teachers were still using it to motivate students in the '70s. Though a rushed effort, this was a far stronger album than their debut, mostly thanks to Simon's compositions; indeed, in one fell swoop, the world learned not only of the existence of a superb song-poet in Paul Simon, but, in Simon's harmonizing with Art Garfunkel, the finest singing duo since the Everly Brothers. But it also had flaws, some of which only became fully apparent as their audience matured: the snide, youthful sensibilities of "I Am a Rock" and "Blessed" haven't aged well. And the musical concessions, on those tracks and "Richard Cory," to folk-rock amplification have also worn poorly; even in 1966, the electric guitars, piano, organ, and drums, sounded awkward in context with the duo's singing, like something grafted on, though in fairness, those sounds did sell the album. The parts that work best, "Kathy's Song" and "April Come She Will," two of the most personal songs in Simon's output, were similar to the stripped-down originals Simon had cut solo in England, and among the most affecting (as opposed to affected) folk-style records of their era; similarly, Simon's rendition of the folk-blues instrumental "Anji" is close to composer Davy Graham's original, just recorded hotter, while "Leaves That Are Green" is pleasantly if unobtrusively ornamented with electric harpsichord, rhythm guitar, and bass.© Bruce Eder /TiVo

34 years separate keyboard legend and icon of European avant-garde jazz Joachim Kühn, who was born in Leipzig in 1944, and Michael Wollny, an equally virtuosic pianist and forerunner in the new German scene, born in 1978. Wollny has never feigned his admiration, or rather his deference, for his celebrated elder, to the point that he made Kühn not only one of his main stylistic influences, but also the very subject of his graduate thesis. The two musicians, invited by their shared label ACT to record a concert together in 2009 (Live at Schloss Elmau), began to meet regularly in this minimalistic configuration in order to explore their elective affinities. Recorded at the Alte Oper Frankfurt, this new record, simply entitled Duo, comes fifteen years after their first meeting, providing a sort of overview of their journey together.Having overcome any inhibitions that may have arisen at the beginning of their collaboration due the generation gap, the two pianists present a repertoire of great esthetic unity. Intertwining Kühn and Wollny’s own compositions with a cover of the fantastic Ornette Coleman piece “Somewhere”, the album constitutes undeniable proof of their complicity and almost osmotic mutual understanding. With a deep, intuitive, conversational intelligence, Kühn and Wollny carefully develop a melancholic and moonlit universe, interspersed with lyrical outbursts of an impressive intensity, as each musician summons his immense cultural knowledge of both jazz and classical music (from Schumann to Webern, as well as French impressionism and the mystic post-romanticism of Scriabin…) in order to melt down all of these influences into a present moment improvised in the same shared dialect. Consistently avoiding the egotistical temptation of ostentatious virtuosity, and rather investing all of their sensitivity and mastery of their instrument (as well as its sonoric palette, intimate dynamic, and orchestral dimension) into carving out a space within the sonoric material for the music to unfold, breathe, and thrive, these masters of improvisation have created one of the most beautiful piano jazz albums in recent years. © Stéphane Ollivier/Qobuz   

Following the 40th anniversary of Simple Minds' New Gold Dream in 2022, the group headed to the 12th century Paisley Abbey to pay tribute to the record. The one-off recording captures the band performing the album in full.© Rich Wilson /TiVo

Fierce Kate Bush fans who are expecting revelation in Aerial, her first new work since The Red Shoes in 1993, will no doubt scour lyrics, instrumental trills, and interludes until they find them. For everyone else, those who purchased much of Bush's earlier catalog because of its depth, quality, and vision, Aerial will sound exactly like what it is, a new Kate Bush record: full of her obsessions, lushly romantic paeans to things mundane and cosmic, and her ability to add dimension and transfer emotion though song. The set is spread over two discs. The first, A Sea of Honey, is a collection of songs, arranged for everything from full-on rock band to solo piano. The second, A Sky of Honey, is a conceptual suite. It was produced by Bush with engineering and mixing by longtime collaborator Del Palmer.A Sea of Honey is a deeply interior look at domesticity, with the exception of its opening track, "King of the Mountain," the first single and video. Bush does an acceptable impersonation of Elvis Presley in which she examines his past life on earth and present incarnation as spectral enigma. Juxtaposing the Elvis myth, Wagnerian mystery, and the image of Rosebud, the sled from Orson Welles' Citizen Kane, Bush's synthesizer, sequencer, and voice weigh in ethereally from the margins before a full-on rock band playing edgy and funky reggae enters on the second verse. Wind whispers and then howls across the cut's backdrop as she searches for the rainbow body of the disappeared one through his clothes and the tabloid tales of his apocryphal sightings, looking for a certain resurrection of his physical body. The rest of the disc focuses on more interior and domestic matters, but it's no less startling. A tune called "Pi" looks at a mathematician's poetic and romantic love of numbers. "Bertie" is a hymn to her son orchestrated by piano, Renaissance guitar, percussion, and viols. But disc one's strangest and most lovely moment is in "Mrs. Bartolozzi," scored for piano and voice. It revives Bush's obsessive eroticism through an ordinary woman's ecstatic experience of cleaning after a rainstorm, and placing the clothing of her beloved and her own into the washing machine and observing in rapt sexual attention. She sings "My blouse wrapping itself around your trousers/Oh the waves are going out/My skirt floating up around your waist...Washing machine/Washing machine." Then there's "How to Be Invisible," and the mysticism of domestic life as the interior reaches out into the universe and touches its magic: "Hem of anorak/Stem of a wall flower/Hair of doormat?/Is that autumn leaf falling?/Or is that you walking home?/Is that a storm in the swimming pool?"A Sky of Honey is 42 minutes in length. It's lushly romantic as it meditates on the passing of 24 hours. Its prelude is a short deeply atmospheric piece with the sounds of birds singing, and her son (who is "the Sun" according to the credits) intones, "Mummy...Daddy/The day is full of birds/Sounds like they're saying words." And "Prologue" begins with her piano, a chanted viol, and Bush crooning to romantic love, the joy of marriage and nature communing, and the deep romance of everyday life. There's drama, stillness, joy, and quiet as its goes on, but it's all held within, as in "An Architect's Dream," where the protagonist encounters a working street painter going about his work in changing light: "The flick of a wrist/Twisting down to the hips/So the lovers begin with a kiss...." Loops, Eberhard Weber's fretless bass, drifting keyboards, and a relaxed delivery create an erotic tension, in beauty and in casual voyeurism. "Sunset" has Bush approaching jazz, but it doesn't swing so much as it engages the form. Her voice digging into her piano alternates between lower-register enunciation and a near falsetto in the choruses. There is a sense of utter fascination with the world as it moves toward darkness, and the singer is enthralled as the sun climbs into bed, before it streams into "Sunset," a gorgeous flamenco guitar and percussion-driven call-and-response choral piece -- it's literally enthralling. It is followed by a piece of evening called "Somewhere Between," in which lovers take in the beginning of night. As "Nocturne" commences, shadows, stars, the beach, and the ocean accompany two lovers who dive down deep into one another and the surf. Rhythms assert themselves as the divers go deeper and the band kicks up: funky electric guitars pulse along with the layers of keyboards, journeying until just before sunup. But it is on the title track that Bush gives listeners her greatest surprise. Dawn is breaking and she greets the day with a vengeance. Manic, crunchy guitars play power chords as sequencers and synths make the dynamics shift and swirl. In her higher register, Bush shouts, croons, and trills against and above the band's force. Nothing much happens on Aerial except the passing of a day, as noted by the one who engages it in the process of being witnessed, yet it reveals much about the interior and natural worlds and expresses spiritual gratitude for everyday life. Musically, this is what listeners have come to expect from Bush at her best -- a finely constructed set of songs that engage without regard for anything else happening in the world of pop music. There's no pushing of the envelope because there doesn't need to be. Aerial is rooted in Kate Bush's oeuvre, with grace, flair, elegance, and an obsessive, stubborn attention to detail. What gets created for the listener is an ordinary world, full of magic; it lies inside one's dwelling in overlooked and inhabited spaces, and outside, from the backyard and out through the gate into wonder.© Thom Jurek /TiVo

Porcupine Tree have always been pigeonholed with the modern prog movement, but the reality is that they're both a riff-addicted metal band and a troupe obsessed with rich harmonies and memorable refrains. Take the grinding guitar work of "Shallow" which dukes it out with frontman Steve Wilson's undeniably melodic chorus before easing into the delicate, beautifully crafted "Lazarus." Few bands exhibit this kind of depth, be it the dreamy, Pink Floyd-inspired hallucination "Halo" or the Queensrÿche echoes of "Open Car." If the 12-minute sonic meander known as "Arriving Somewhere but Not Here" is as head-trippy as rock music gets anymore, it is reassuring to know that this Tree is still growing. Ideal for headphones, Deadwing -- despite its title -- takes flight nonetheless. © John D. Luerssen /TiVo

Two welcome changes in style made Blue Valentine a fresh listening experience for Tom Waits fans. First, Waits alters the instrumentation, bringing in electric guitar and keyboards and largely dispensing with the strings for a more blues-oriented, hard-edged sound. Second, though his world view remains fixed on the lowlifes of the late night, he expands beyond the musings of the barstool philosopher who previously had acted as the first-person character of most of his songs. When Waits does use the first-person, it's to write a "Christmas Card From a Hooker in Minneapolis," not the figure most listeners had associated with the singer himself. The result is a broadening of subject matter, a narrative discipline that makes most of the tunes story songs, and a coherent framing for Waits' typically colorful and intriguing imagery. These are not radical reinventions, but Waits had followed such a rigidly stylized approach on his previous albums that for anyone who had followed him so far, the course correction was big news.© William Ruhlmann /TiVo

The legendary Royal Albert Hall is the London counterpart of Paris’ Palais Garnier or Olympia. The venue is an ideal setting for the raw diamond that is Steven Wilson’s music. Wilson has harmoniously integrated a high-flying pop component into his ever unique and genuine approach. This new album is a bit different, something that Wilson wholeheartedly accepts (unlike numerous other artists). For To the Bone he is backed up by his devoted band. It’s a band that deserves special attention, even if Steven has decided not to hide behind a heavy and somewhat misleading shield anymore, like he did with the Porcupine Tree. In this regard, there could hardly be someone more subtle and respectable than Adam Holzman on keyboards. Holzman has worked with his Majesty Miles Davis − most notably on Tutu in 1986, and the subsequent tours for the next three years – as well as Michel Petrucciani, Marcus Miller, Robben Ford, and tens of others. Steven isn’t even the first Wilson he’s worked with, as he’s accompanied by Ray, former singer of Stiltskin (known for their hit Inside) and Genesis. Another member of the team is guitarist Alex Hutchings. Hutchings is less known than the others but performed in Thriller Live, the enormous spectacle in tribute to Michael Jackson, and despite the daunting task of following in the footsteps of Dave Kilminster and Guthrie Govan he passes with flying colours. Drummer Craig Blundell (Pendragon, Porcupine Tree…) also successfully replaces the amazing Marco Minnemann and Chad Wackerman…Another seems to have risen in prominence and been an influence on Steven Wilson’s recent musical orientation: the impressively talented bassist Nick Beggs (Ellis, Beggs & Howard, The Mute Gods, Steve Hackett, and… Kajagoogoo). And of course let’s not forget the amazing Ninet Tayeb on Pariah, People Who Eat Darkness and Blank Tapes. With such support throughout the 2 hours and 26 minutes of this live performance Wilson can only spread his wings and even be a little audacious by introducing the most pop track of TTB: Permanating. This track is more than just lyrics; he proclaims his love for the Beatles and ABBA, even if it means offending “music snobs”, and invites his audience to “dance on a little disco and pop”… Wilson takes six Porcupine Tree tracks and two titles from his dark and depressive side (as he admits) − The Sound of Muzak and the eminently gloomy The Raven That Refused to Sing – to close this live album and remarkable display of power. © Jean-Pierre Sabouret/Qobuz

Swedish DJ Avicii is a strange case. In 2011, he broke through with "Levels," a bleepy and bright bit of EDM that could have been his signature hit, but then his 2013 album, True, was a country-pop and folk-inspired affair that thrilled his fans with its inventiveness, but left others as cold as a meandering Mumford & Sons remix effort. Two years later, his LP Stories is another genre-busting affair that fits in better with mainstream radio than it does the club, but everything iffy about True has been perfected here, as the producer revisits the song-oriented album and lets the outside genres freely come and go. Country-pop is back in EDM remix form when "Broken Arrows" offers a spirited Zac Brown song with Avicii pumping it higher during the whirlwind bridge, but "Pure Grinding" is a highlight that would have never fit on True, and it lives up to its claim to be "funktronica" with double-dutch lyrics and '70s electro in support. "Touch Me" is a bell-bottomed delight that owes a debt to the disco movement, specifically Chic, and if the strange "City Lights" is the album's most arguable track, fans of Meco and Giorgio Moroder could argue it's spot-on with its robot vocals and tiny melody. "Talk to Myself," with Sterling Fox, steps into the '80s with a modern version of Matthew Wilder's "Break My Stride," and the rest of the prime moments come from the mainstream pop side of the spectrum, with the Martin Garrix and Simon Aldred (Cherry Ghost) feature "Waiting for Love" leading the pack. "Can't Catch Me," with Matisyahu and Wyclef Jean, is reggae, but the kind that Michael Franti and Radio Margaritaville can agree on, while "For a Better Day" is the same kind of electro and soul that Moby took to the top of the charts. Complaints that this isn't a dance album and doesn't sound like "Levels" may still be filed, but they're better applied to True. The pleasing, alive, and diverse Stories is a fine reason to think of Avicii as a producer of attractive music, with EDM, pop, and all other genres on a sliding scale.© David Jeffries /TiVo

After bursting onto the scene in 2013 with the brilliant WomanChild, Cécile McLorin Salvant raised the bar two years later with For One To Love, an even more impressive and complete album on which her voice worked wonders, and the more traditional Dreams & Daggers, recorded live at the Village Vanguard and the DiMenna Center with her faithful trio, the Quatuor Catalyst and the pianist Sullivan Fortner. She chose only to work with the latter of the two for her 2018 vintage album titled The Window. Born on August 28th, 1989 in Miami, Florida, she studied French law, baroque and vocal jazz in Aix-en-Provence in France before winning the Thelonious Monk International Jazz Competition in 2010 (at only 20 years old, in front of a panel of judges made up of Al Jarreau, Dee Dee Bridgewater, Patti Austin, Dianne Reeves and Kurt Elling!). For this album she decided on a vocal-piano duet. A baptism of fire which further demonstrates her astounding vocal ability. It is an album that also focuses on the complex nature of love through covers of songs by Richard Rodgers, Cole Porter, Leonard Bernstein and even Stevie Wonder. This is further proof that Cécile McLorin Salvant is anything but the cliché of a jazz singer, as trumpeter Wynton Marsalis puts it: “ You get a singer like this once in a generation or two…” © Marc Zisman/Qobuz

Porcupine Tree have always been pigeonholed with the modern prog movement, but the reality is that they're both a riff-addicted metal band and a troupe obsessed with rich harmonies and memorable refrains. Take the grinding guitar work of "Shallow" which dukes it out with frontman Steve Wilson's undeniably melodic chorus before easing into the delicate, beautifully crafted "Lazarus." Few bands exhibit this kind of depth, be it the dreamy, Pink Floyd-inspired hallucination "Halo" or the Queensrÿche echoes of "Open Car." If the 12-minute sonic meander known as "Arriving Somewhere but Not Here" is as head-trippy as rock music gets anymore, it is reassuring to know that this Tree is still growing. Ideal for headphones, Deadwing -- despite its title -- takes flight nonetheless. © John D. Luerssen /TiVo