Killer Mike would rather be contradictory than one-dimensional: he's advocated for both socialist causes and self-sufficient Black capitalism, campaigned for progressive icon Bernie Sanders and broken bread with conservative Georgia governor Brian Kemp, and seems constantly torn—on and off the mic—between opening haters' minds and putting their brains to sleep. But with Michael, the Atlanta rapper's most personal and autonomously definitive album since his solo debut Monster 20 years earlier, the son of a policeman father and a mother who trafficked cocaine navigates the more personal and formative influences in his life that led him to his status as an outspoken one-man multitude. Mike reveals himself as someone whose upfront lyrical frankness and high-displacement-muscle-car-V8-engine of a voice belies deeper complications in his perspective—an ongoing process that reckons with the burden of what he owes people. For his mother and grandmother, both deceased and paid moving tribute to in "Motherless," what he owes is everything—his empathy, his insight, his ability to be a strong parent. For his detractors, "Talkin Dat SHIT!" owes them a verbal beating, not just invoking but channeling Three 6 Mafia and UGK as he personifies the G-as-activist ("you a leech, I'm a leader"). He gives his musical collaborators—Andre 3000 and Future elevating the next-phase utopianism of "Scientists & Engineers," Young Thug wringing both impassioned intensity and reflective quiet to his triplet flow on "RUN," El-P holding forth like a welcome guest in his Run the Jewels partner's home on "Don't Let the Devil"—the kind of free reign that only comes with the confidence of a vet who doesn't fear or even care about the possibility of being shown up. The production by No I.D. plays to the church pews, scoring straight-up sermons before driving souls to the polls, and the Chicago beatmaker's gospel/R&B inflections are just Atlanta enough to complete what few locally rooted details Mike leaves out. And what does Mike owe himself? Going by the impassioned soul-searching of "Shed Tears," the answer is a reckoning, a catharsis, an acknowledgement of the pain that made him even when it hurts to recall. Mike has stayed angry enough to challenge power and idealistic enough to believe those in power can be moved by his presence—but with a presence like his, it's not easy to doubt him. © Nate Patrin/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

Michael is Killer Mike's first solo album in over a decade, after the politically charged R.A.P. Music led to the formation of Run the Jewels with producer/rapper El-P, altering the trajectory of Mike's music career and eventually returning him to the Top Ten of the Billboard 200 with 2020's RTJ4. The 2023 effort is both an autobiographical reflection on his life's journey to this point as well as a musical homecoming, largely drawing from gospel, funk, soul, and '90s Dirty South rap. Haunting choral vocals and church organs call out beneath the booming beats and nimble bass guitars on songs like the confessional "Shed Tears" and empowering, Last Poets-sampling "Nrich." Much of the album finds Mike navigating through his numerous identities (hip-hop lifer, loyal churchgoer, family figure, social justice activist, property owner, businessman, wealthy celebrity), acknowledging his contradictions with the album's cover, a childhood portrait bearing both a halo and devil horns. "Talk'N That Shit!," co-produced by Three 6 Mafia's DJ Paul, addresses those who accuse Mike of having "gone to sleep" and turning his back on his previous positions. While he brags about being a landlord on "Spaceship Views," he expresses empathy for the less advantaged on several other songs, most notably "Something for Junkies," in which he acknowledges the humanity of substance abusers. In particular, he refers to conversations with an aunt addicted to crack, who says that she knows he loves her because he treats her like a human being. Mike mourns the loss of his mother and grandmother on the vulnerable, apologetic "Motherless." "Don't Let the Devil," the record's only song featuring co-production and a guest verse by El-P, finds the two in boast-heavy Run the Jewels mode as they criticize the church system. One of the album's most attention-grabbing tracks, "Scientists & Engineers," boasts a weightless yet robotic intro guest verse by André 3000, followed by second-generation Dungeon Family recruit Future, then finally a lush choir backing Mike's breathless triple-time rapping. Though Michael can get overbearing at times, the production is generally stellar, and it's easily the rapper's most honest and emotional work.© Paul Simpson /TiVo

Building on the hype of 2018's Donny Womack and his work under the JACKBOYS moniker, Heaven or Hell is the debut album from Texan musician Don Toliver. Including full versions of long-anticipated snippets "Cardigan" and "After Party," as well as 2019 hit "No Idea," the project was released in March of 2020.© David Crone /TiVo

Writer is the most underrated of all of Carole King's original albums, in that it was completely ignored when it came out in 1971 and didn't really start to sell until Tapestry whetted everyone's appetite for her work. It's an album of its time, in both King's life and career, and the music of its era -- singer/songwriters were still something new, and in 1970, it was assumed that anyone in rock had to tend toward the extrovert and flashy to attract attention. Thus, Writer has a somewhat louder sound than the relatively lean, introspective strains of Tapestry which followed. "Spaceship Races," which opens the record, features Danny Kootch Kortchmar playing full-out electric guitar, chopping and crunching away with his amp turned way up, and King belting out a number behind his bluesy licks that makes her sound like Grace Slick and the song come off like a pounding (and good) Jefferson Airplane number of the same era, with a great vocal hook at the end of the verses. "No Easy Way Down," with its soulful instrumental and backing arrangement, calls to mind not only her own "Natural Woman" as done by Aretha Franklin, but also (in terms of New York white women belting out soul) Laura Nyro at her best, and it's also a great tune with a killer performance by King, whose wailing voice is extraordinarily powerful here. "Child of Mine" is the closest that the album gets to the voice that she found on Tapestry, while "Goin' Back" gives a more personal and elegant take to a song that is otherwise thoroughly identified with the Byrds; and "To Love" has King diving into country music, which she pulls off with exceptional grace, the song's title referring to a beguilingly innocent and free-spirited chorus that, once heard, stays with you. Even the least interesting of the songs here, "What Have You Got to Lose," is unusual in the context of King's overall work, with its heavy acoustic rhythm guitar, soaring backing vocals, and King's bold near-falsetto on the choruses. And that's just Side One of the original LP -- Side Two opens a little more slackly with the beautiful, reflective, but slightly too languid "Eventually," and the delightful "Raspberry Jam," which offers a soaring guitar showcase for Kortchmar (whose playing intersects the sounds of Roger McGuinn and David Crosby off of the Byrds' "Eight Miles High"), and a head-spinning, swirling organ from Ralph Schuckett weaving below and around King's piano, plus one of King's most playful vocals on record. The album ends on a special high note, King's singer/songwriter-styled reinterpretation of "Up on the Roof," which anticipates the sound she would perfect for Tapestry, emphasizing words and their feeling and meaning as much as music, and expressing herself principally through her voice and piano, moving the band out of the way. Ironically enough, if Writer had been released by almost any other artist, it would command a near-top rating and probably be a fondly remembered period cult item today; instead, for all of its merits, it must stand in the shadow of King's more accomplished and distinctive work that followed -- but even slightly "off-brand," under-developed Carole King music from 1970 is still worth hearing today.© Bruce Eder /TiVo

The immense output of Sun Ra and his many backing bands, coupled with the limited production of many of his releases has long defied dedicated collectors. Parallel to a vast list of LP releases, Sun Ra released numerous 45 RPM singles; one-off meteorites from his prolific cosmic journey. Working closely with Sun Ra LLC and Art Yard Records, it is with great pride that Strut presents a definitive collection of the rare singles released by Sun Ra across his illustrious career, spanning 1952 to 1991. Released prolifically during the 1950s and more sporadically thereafter, primarily on the Saturn label, the 45s trace the development of Sun Ra’s forward-thinking “Space-Bop” and his unique take on jazz and blues traditions which remains unlike anything else from the period. As with his LPs, most 45s were only pressed in small runs and have since become extremely rare and sought after. Some have only been discovered in physical form in recent years; some were planned and penciled but allegedly never made it to vinyl and some appeared as one-off magazine singles and posthumous releases.

The group's first album is also their most successful rock effort, an ebullient country-rock collection that sounds a lot like the Flying Burrito Brothers of around the same period, with richer production and more of a sense of humor than the Burritos had, and highlighted by some excellent songs ("Country Girl," "Road to Glory," "If You Wanna Get to Heaven"). Randle Chowning's "Country Girl," in particular, is amazing as a harmonica-driven near-twin of the Eagles' "Take It Easy" that you sort of wish ran for ten minutes instead of just three. Steve Cash's jew's harp/harmonica showcase "Chicken Train" brings the band back to its roots. © Bruce Eder /TiVo

Tim McGraw calls his 15th solo album Here on Earth but he's pictured floating in the cosmos on its cover. The music contained within doesn't quite settle the contradiction between the heavens and terra firma yet the starry-eyed artwork does capture an essential element of the album, particularly in how it feels as slick and stylish as an airbrushed van. McGraw isn't rocking in the slightest here, though. Here on Earth rolls smooth and easy, filled with breezy ballads, country trifles, and sweetened R&B, songs that keep the focus on McGraw's sentimental side. Often, this doubles as his seductive side, sometimes in slightly unpredictable ways, as when he compliments a woman for reminding him about how awestruck he was when he heard Sheryl Crow on the radio for the first time (he would've already been a Top Ten hitmaker by that point). A lot of Here on Earth focuses on familial love and long-term relationships, the kind of attachments that deepen when middle age advances. McGraw has long been in this kind of comfortable groove, at least thematically, so it's to his credit that he allows this record to be so lush it almost seems opulent. The opening cut "L.A." is so ornate it evokes memories of prime Glen Campbell, and if the rest of the album doesn't quite reach these heights there's enough mellow melodrama to hold the listener's attention even as the album veers toward cozy comfort.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo