Among the major tenor saxophonists of the last 75 years, Charles Lloyd has always stood apart. Most of his peers were based in New York but Lloyd, a Memphis native, often worked out of the West Coast.  He frequently collaborated with rock musicians in the 1960s and 1970s, including the Beach Boys, the Doors, Roger McGuinn, and others; at the time, it was uncommon for an important jazz figure to have such close ties to the rock scene.  Those associations reveal an artist open to new sounds as he follows his own path.Decades later, the octogenarian continues to be a singular force, and on the excellent 2024 release, The Sky Will Still Be There Tomorrow, he leads a stellar new band: pianist Jason Moran, bassist Larry Grenadier, and drummer Brian Blade. Lloyd revisits older material with fresh ears, and the double album also includes six new compositions along with versions of the spiritual, "Balm in Gilead," and J. Rosamond Johnson and James Weldon Johnson's hymn, "Lift Every Voice and Sing."On the opener, "Defiant, Tender Warrior," which features an arrangement by Lloyd and Moran, Blade deftly deploys rumble, clatter, and hiss to create a foundation and an enveloping atmosphere. Lloyd's fluttering high notes, just-so breathiness, and speedy note-flurries sensitively play off Moran's take on the piece's tender melody.  Lloyd's sole alto sax performance occurs on the title cut, one of the album's new pieces. At first, the track sounds like a loosened-up version of bebop, but soon Moran's dissonant piano changes the vibe. A groove that recalls Keith Jarrett (a former Lloyd sideman), emerges, and a spare, bluesy section follows. Wherever the music goes, the engaged quartet brings it to full flower. On "Beyond Darkness," Lloyd displays a warm, nicely shaded tone on alto flute. Blade's rolls and cymbal hits, Grenadier's groove, and Moran's impressionistic lines create a gentle pelagic ambience for Lloyd's lyrical explorations. Beyond darkness, indeed, this is wonderfully blissed-out music."Defiant, Reprise; Homeward Dove" looks back to the opener. The two tracks perfectly bracket an album that gracefully takes the listener on a journey with Lloyd and his sensitively attuned band. As the last notes sound, there is a sense of a cycle completed.  © Fred Cisterna/Qobuz

Nearly a quarter decade after they shook up radio with their Southern-fried Faces revival, Shake Your Moneymaker, the Black Crowes—that is, let's be honest, brothers Chris and Rich Robinson—are back with a ninth album that embraces their crushed velvet and cracked leather roots. Happiness Bastards could've come out in 1990 or, more aptly, 1970 or '71, filed next to the Stones and the Faces and James Gang. "Dirty Cold Sun" nods to the latter: blistering funk with deep-fried Southern rock guitar and piston rhythm, leaving nothing on the table. The guitar riffs, of course, come from the great Rich Robinson, king of open tuning, who had fallen into a rut during the late aughts (the less said about those albums, the better) but sounds rejuvenated on tracks like the urgent "Rats and Clowns." His brother, meanwhile, seems like no decades have passed, that signature rasp honed to a fine point. "Bedside Manners" tears it up with greasy guitar and boogie piano frills, then slows its roll, as Chris does his usual motormouth riffing—spray-painting every corner with "huh" and "oh!" The brothers did well by choosing Jay Joyce to produce; he's excellent at pushing artists with a dark outlaw edge (Eric Church, Miranda Lambert, Cage the Elephant) toward a multi-hued palette. "Cross Your Fingers" starts out as a ballad, then kicks into a confident, liquid-bass strut accented by Merry Clayton-style backing vocals. "Well, I stand accused on the shore of a stormy sea … And I survived the bullet you shot right through my heart/ And in this crime, I have surely taken part," Chris sings in what could be an omission of the vainglory and rivalry that drove a wedge between the brothers for years. There are other nods to their shared history. Stomping "Follow the Moon" could be an outtake from their Amorica album, and the vocal melody of "Wanting and Waiting"'s verses sound a lot like "Jealous Again" from 1990. But there are also a couple of left turns. "Flesh Wound" is a shit-kicker, its pop-punk beat and revved-up rockabilly guitar offering levity amidst the Stonesy shadows; you wouldn't want a whole album of it, and it's probably going to piss off some fans, but it's a fun novelty. And "Kindred Friend" is a beautiful break from the regular programming; there is no juke-joint bite to this Lennon-esque ballad. There is one wasted moment on Happiness Bastards. Country star Lainey Wilson signs up for harmony on swampy, gospel-tinged "Wilted Rose," but her powerhouse is too low in the mix to matter. Wilson is a master at duets (see: Jelly Roll, Hardy, Cole Swindell); too bad the Crowes couldn't make room for her.  © Shelly Ridenour/Qobuz

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After a period of introspection, personal as well as artistic, Korean musician Youn Sun Nah returns to her first loves as a “jazz singer” by coming out with a new album, soberly titled Elles. During this period, she travelled to the US for the duration of a collaboration with Jamie Saft, focused on a repertoire of pop-rock songs in English (She Moves On), and then definitively affirmed her talents as a songwriter with the release of a record composed entirely of her own pieces for the first time in her career (Waking World). This new album takes the intimate duo format which suits her so well, as she is accompanied on the piano - as well as on the Wurlitzer keyboard and Fender Rhodes - by American Jon Cowherd (member of the Brian Blade Fellowship since 1998 and sought-after partner of singers like Cassanfra Wilson and Lizz Wright). With the vocal expertise we know to expect from her, Youn Sun Nah interprets the abounding seductiveness of an eclectic repertoire consisting of great jazz, pop, and chanson classics made famous by iconic female artists. Passing masterfully from Björk (“Cocoon”) to Édith Piaf (“La Foule”), from Grace Jones (“Libertango”) to Nina Simone (“Feeling Good”), from Grace Slick of Jefferson Airplane (“White Rabbit”) to Roberta Flack (“Killing Me Softly”), the singer yet again her imbues very personal interpretations, magnificently orchestrated by Cowherd’s various keyboards, with an emotional intensity that is so unique. It is paradoxically supported by a sort of expressive modesty founded on a greatly precise sense of phrasing, and uses the subtle art of vibrato to allow the unfathomable depths of these songs that we thought we knew by heart to surface. © Stéphane Ollivier/Qobuz

Soundgarden's finest hour, Superunknown is a sprawling, 70-minute magnum opus that pushes beyond any previous boundaries. Soundgarden had always loved replicating Led Zeppelin and Black Sabbath riffs, but Superunknown's debt is more to mid-period Zep's layered arrangements and sweeping epics. Their earlier punk influences are rarely detectable, replaced by surprisingly effective appropriations of pop and psychedelia. Badmotorfinger boasted more than its fair share of indelible riffs, but here the main hooks reside mostly in Chris Cornell's vocals; accordingly, he's mixed right up front, floating over the band instead of cutting through it. The rest of the production is just as crisp, with the band achieving a huge, robust sound that makes even the heaviest songs sound deceptively bright. But the most important reason Superunknown is such a rich listen is twofold: the band's embrace of psychedelia, and their rapidly progressing mastery of songcraft. Soundgarden had always been a little mind-bending, but the full-on experiments with psychedelia give them a much wider sonic palette, paving the way for less metallic sounds and instruments, more detailed arrangements, and a bridge into pop (which made the eerie ballad "Black Hole Sun" an inescapable hit). That blossoming melodic skill is apparent on most of the record, not just the poppier songs and Cornell-penned hits; though a couple of drummer Matt Cameron's contributions are pretty undistinguished, they're easy to overlook, given the overall consistency. The focused songwriting allows the band to stretch material out for grander effect, without sinking into the pointlessly drawn-out muck that cluttered their early records. The dissonance and odd time signatures are still in force, though not as jarring or immediately obvious, which means that the album reveals more subtleties with each listen. It's obvious that Superunknown was consciously styled as a masterwork, and it fulfills every ambition.© Steve Huey /TiVo

In four albums, Worrisome Heart (2008), My One And Only Thrill (2009), The Absence (2012) and Currency Of Man (2015), Melody Gardot has managed to sneak in between Diana Krall and Norah Jones to also find her place in the selective club of the female singers that are “a bit jazzy but not too much”, this oneiric cast that was so popular during the 50s, and in which she soon made the singularity of her very sensual voice resonate. A voice that she ceaselessly took touring to locations all over the world, and multiple times over at that. And so, there are enough recordings in the cellar to release a live album. However, live discs are rarely a must. There is often something missing, this small impalpable thing, that only those present that night will have kept inside of them… This Live In Europe from Melody Gardot is lucky to have kept, precisely, this “small thing”… The American has probably meticulously built it (apparently, she has listened to more than 300 recordings before making her decision!) by avoiding the true-false best of. “Someday, someone told me, ‘never look back, because there’s no way you’re going back’, she says. It’s nicely said, but if you don’t look back sometimes, it’s hard to see that time is on the verge of catching up to you. We all need to quickly look back into the rear-view mirror from time to time in order to adjust our trajectory. This disc is precisely that, the rear-view mirror of a 1963 Corvette, a postcard of our touring all over Europe. We spent most of our time on the road these last few years, and we’ve taken advantage of this trip to not only get around and get some fresh air but also to try, as much as possible, to get rid of the rules and create something exciting. I’ve been dreaming for years of releasing a live album like this one.” This desire can be felt in every moment of this disc comprised of titles recorded in Paris, Vienna, Bergen, Amsterdam, Frankfurt, Barcelona, Lisbon, Zurich and London. Whether she performs her hits Baby I'm A Fool and My One And Only Thrill or covers the classic Over The Rainbow, Melody Gardot offers up a different point of view, but it’s always an open performance. To help her in her introspective trip that is constantly shifting, she is surrounded by her impeccable musicians, discreet but decisive. Drummer Charles Staab, saxophonist Irwin Hall and bass player Sami Minaie are completely in tune with her singing, like some kind of thin hand that you take and only let go of after the last note. Finally, there is this album cover which will lead to extensive press coverage… or not. © MD/Qobuz

While he's widely considered one of the best rappers of all time, this distinction often overshadows André 3000's tendencies for the absurd. In OutKast, his partner Big Boi's strong and steady presence often grounded the group when André's wordplay veered toward the psychedelic or his musical ideas wandered. When they ventured down individual paths on 2003's groundbreaking Speakerboxxx/The Love Below, Big Boi stuck mostly to party funk and rap bangers, while André went off the rails completely, bending pop, swing, jazz, electro, and anything else that suited him around songs whose flagrant ridiculousness was an integral part of what made them so incredible. New Blue Sun is André 3000's first official solo album, and though it's made by one of the world's most gifted rappers, it contains no rapping, no singing, no beats (though some percussion happens), not even the genre-hopping he's previously indulged in. Instead of the rap masterpiece he's no doubt capable of, 3000 instead turns in an entirely instrumental album of meditative soundscapes centered around woodwinds. When you take into account his proclivity for the surreal and the ridiculous, releasing a nearly 90-minute-long collection of ambient flute jams is one of the most André 3000 things André 3000 could do.If you can get past the premise (and overlook the goofy song titles, most of which are too long and silly to dignify here) and tune in to New Blue Sun as an album of contemplative healing sounds, it's pleasant and sometimes even sublime. Carlos Niño co-produces, bringing the same soft warmth he's cultivated on his own transcendental pop albums for the International Anthem label. The songs wash by in waves of airy synth pads, gentle wind chimes, electric piano, or absent-minded guitar lines. 3000 is joined by a host of players including Nate Mercereau, Diego Gaeta, Surya Botofasina, Mia Doi Todd, and others, all of whom fold new textures effortlessly into the stream of sounds. Opening track "I Swear, I Really Wanted to Make a 'Rap' Album But This Is Literally the Way the Wind Blew Me This Time" is among the most structured pieces, moving in patient ripples similar to Pharoah Sanders and Floating Points' majestic Promises. Most of the eight tracks meander past ten-minute run times, wobbling in and out of focus as André burbles along on various woodwinds. "Dreams Once Buried Beneath the Dungeon Floor Slowly Sprout into Undying Gardens" is one of the album's blurriest excursions, but also one of its best. Niño's metered gong swells and swishes of arrhythmic percussion dance with synths, flutes, and other opaque ambiance for just over 17 minutes. It's hovering and aimless like Emerald Web's or Alice Coltrane's most new age material, vibrating constantly but never bubbling over. New Blue Sun is probably not the André 3000 solo debut most OutKast fans had expected or hoped for, but it does continue the integrity and spirit of his creative journey, in a way that's fittingly bizarre and beautiful.© Fred Thomas /TiVo

After releasing two "head" records during 1970 and 1971, Stevie Wonder expanded his compositional palette with 1972's Talking Book to include societal ills as well as tender love songs, and so recorded the first smash album of his career. What had been hinted at on the intriguing project Music of My Mind was here focused into a laser beam of tight songwriting, warm electronic arrangements, and ebullient performances -- altogether the most realistic vision of a musical personality ever put to wax, beginning with a disarmingly simple love song, "You Are the Sunshine of My Life" (but of course, it's only the composition that's simple). Wonder's not always singing a tender ballad here -- in fact, he flits from contentment to mistrust to promise to heartbreak within the course of the first four tracks -- but he never fails to render each song in the most vivid colors. In stark contrast to his early songs, which were clever but often relied on the Motown template of romantic metaphor, with Talking Book it became clear Wonder was beginning to speak his mind and use his personal history for material (just as Marvin Gaye had with the social protest of 1971's What's Going On). The lyrics became less convoluted, while the emotional power gained in intensity. "You and I" and the glorious closer "I Believe (When I Fall in Love It Will Be Forever)" subtly illustrate that the conception of love can be stronger than the reality, while "Tuesday Heartbreak" speaks simply but powerfully: "I wanna be with you when the nighttime comes/I wanna be with you till the daytime comes." Ironically, the biggest hit from Talking Book wasn't a love song at all; the funk landmark "Superstition" urges empowerment instead of hopelessness, set to a grooving beat that made it one of the biggest hits of his career. It's followed by "Big Brother," the first of his directly critical songs, excoriating politicians who posture to the underclass in order to gain the only thing they really need: votes. With Talking Book, Wonder also found a proper balance between making an album entirely by himself and benefiting from the talents of others. His wife Syreeta contributed two great lyrics, and Ray Parker, Jr. came by to record a guitar solo that brings together the lengthy jam "Maybe Your Baby." Two more guitar heroes, Jeff Beck and Buzzy Feton, appeared on "Lookin' for Another Pure Love," Beck's solo especially giving voice to the excruciating process of moving on from a broken relationship. Like no other Stevie Wonder LP before it, Talking Book is all of a piece, the first unified statement of his career. It's certainly an exercise in indulgence but, imitating life, it veers breathtakingly from love to heartbreak and back with barely a pause.© John Bush /TiVo

Proving that she's both fearless and capable of almost anything musically, Dolly Parton has taken her induction in the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame seriously and made a rock album built from a slew of favorite mainstream covers and several originals she wrote for the occasion. The respect she commands as a worldwide celebrity is reflected by the massive guest list whose vocal tracks were recorded elsewhere and mixed together in Nashville by producer Kent Wells and a veritable horde of engineers. Vocalists who make an appearance on the songs that they originally made famous include Sting ("Every Breath You Take"), Steve Perry ("Open Arms"), Elton John ("Don't Let the Sun Go Down"), Debbie Harry ("Heart of Glass"), and Paul McCartney and Ringo Starr ("Let It Be"). The voice of Lynyrd Skynyrd lead vocalist Ronnie Van Zant returns from the grave to sing a verse and duet on the choruses in the epic and appropriate closer, "Free Bird."  While Parton could have allowed a smile to peak out here or there on this massive undertaking, she plays it straight throughout.  Not surprisingly, women receive commendable attention as songwriters and guest players with performances by Ann Wilson, Parton's goddaughter Miley Cyrus, Stevie Nicks, Joan Jett, Lizzo and others. There are also flashes where Parton stops playing rock star. Her original "World on Fire" is a plea for unity and common sense to will out: "Now tell me what is truth/ Have we all lost sight/ Of common decency/ Of the wrong and right/ How do we heal this great divide/ Do we care enough to try?" What makes these 30 tracks work is that no one can sell it quite like Parton. While her voice strains on some  numbers—she's always been more of a careful interpreter than a furious belter—she's full of old pro wiles and is the soul of authenticity throughout; she gives her all to every number. In the rousing "(I Can't Get No) "Satisfaction" with P!nk and Brandy Carlile, Parton's between-line exhortations are heartfelt and spot on. Rather than arty re-interpretations or an empty marketing concept, this is an abundance of what Parton does best: feel the songs she's singing.  © Robert Baird/Qobuz

It's little wonder why Drake felt frustrated at the lack of commercial success his music initially gathered, considering the help he had on his debut record. Besides fine production from Joe Boyd and assistance from folks like Fairport Convention's Richard Thompson and his unrelated bass counterpart from Pentangle, Danny Thompson, Drake also recruited school friend Robert Kirby to create most of the just-right string and wind arrangements. His own performance itself steered a careful balance between too-easy accessibility and maudlin self-reflection, combining the best of both worlds while avoiding the pitfalls on either side. The result was a fantastic debut appearance, and if the cult of Drake consistently reads more into his work than is perhaps deserved, Five Leaves Left is still a most successful effort. Having grown out of the amiable but derivative styles captured on the long-circulating series of bootleg home recordings, Drake imbues his tunes with just enough drama -- world-weariness in the vocals, carefully paced playing, and more -- to make it all work. His lyrics capture a subtle poetry of emotion, as on the pastoral semi-fantasia of "The Thoughts of Mary Jane," which his soft, articulate singing brings even more to the full. Sometimes he projects a little more clearly, as on the astonishing voice-and-strings combination "Way to Blue," while elsewhere he's not so clear, suggesting rather than outlining the mood. Understatement is the key to his songs and performances' general success, which makes the combination of his vocals and Rocky Dzidzornu's congas on "Three Hours" and the lovely "'Cello Song," to name two instances, so effective. Danny Thompson is the most regular side performer on the album, his bass work providing subtle heft while never standing in the way of the song -- kudos well deserved for Boyd's production as well.© Ned Raggett /TiVo

On her twelfth album with the Pretenders—truly her band, as not even drummer Martin Chambers returns for this one—Chrissie Hynde is aware of her age but not necessarily feeling it. There are no idle hands or thoughts of retirement on "Let the Sun Come," with its Peter Buck-sounding guitar. "We don't have to get fat, we don't have to get old/ We don't have information that we have to withhold … we don't have to fade to black/ Let the sun come in," the 71-year-old legend sings. But that's not to say she's stayed in the same place. The production is crunchier, darker than the Windex-clear sounds on the band's early now-classics like "Don't Get Me Wrong" and "Brass in Pocket," and Hynde is, as she has been for the past decade or so, in a balladeer mood. She sounds like a chanteuse on the torch-song burn of "The Promise of Love," occasionally breaking through the smoke to soar light and aloft. On "The Copa," her voice tracks an ancient-sounding Renaissance melody against lovely guitar noodling. She's not afraid to look back, but it's rarely with nostalgia. "I Think About You Daily"—featuring a lovely string arrangement by Radiohead's Jonny Greenwood—finds Hynde slightly trembling with emotion as she offers an apology to someone she hurt in the past. There are no such regrets on "Just Let It Go," seemingly about refusing to get comfortable or meet expectations. "What kind of career means a life in a cage?/ One day I could hear a distant bell toll ... I let it go/ maybe it's best to just let it go/ The changes were fast but the torment was slow," she sings, low and hazy on the verses as wailing guitar sounds like a cry for mercy, then flying on the chorus and supported by drums rumbling like release. "A Love" slightly echoes the energy of oldie "Kid" as Hynde plays it cautious in romance: "I'm not scared of your dark eyes/ They mesmerize and soothe/ But I don't mess with burning coal/ Or anything I can't control … I'm not scared of you/ I'm scared of what could be/ Like certain drugs/ One taste and then you're never free." Meanwhile, on "Merry Widow," she rides a gnarled melody to gleefully claim independence, declaring, "He thought love was competitive like sport ... so I left him at the port / I'm a divorcee, but I feel like a widow, a merry, merry widow." The music is a little bit mystery, a little doom-rock shadow and takes a snaking tarantella turn at the end. There are two real rockers here—"Losing My Sense of Taste" and garage banger "Vainglorious"—and Hynde sounds fantastic on both, especially as she delights in repeating the latter's title over and over, trying on different inflections and emotions like personalities. © Shelly Ridenour/Qobuz

As on their 2006 covers album Yeah!, British hard rock giants Def Leppard make a surprisingly enjoyable meal out of what is usually a predictable exercise. Drastic Symphonies is not an album of new material, nor even entirely new recordings. A collaboration with London's Royal Philharmonic Orchestra, it's a symphonic reimagining of 16 career-spanning songs, including well-known hits and a smattering of deep cuts. Blending their original multi-track recordings with new overdubs to fit the theme, Drastic Symphonies is a pastiche of new and old ideas that, more often than not, reflects the sturdy pop construction on which their career was built. There was always a bit of romantic grandeur to Def Leppard's strain of lush glam metal, especially on early classics like "Too Late for Love" and "Bringin' On the Heartbreak," both of which get full orchestral treatment here. Joe Elliott, still in fine voice, can often be heard singing new leads atop the giant stacks of Mutt Lange-produced harmonies that became their '80s hallmark. Some songs are significantly altered, with only the occasional guitar solo poking out, while others sound very close to their original mixes, albeit with a bit of melodic sweetening from one of the world's great orchestras. The dense and swirling "Paper Sun," from 1999's Euphoria, is a highlight, punching up Def Leppard's original into something more thrilling and cinematic, and their 1987 smash "Animal" is practically built for the kind of pomp it receives here. Of course, any project like this is a mixed bag, and ironically, their biggest hit is Drastic Symphonies' biggest misfire. Naturally, they had to include "Pour Some Sugar on Me," but its stripped-down romantic duet arrangement falls flat without its glammy fizz. Overall, though, the band comes off much better than expected.© Timothy Monger /TiVo

From the opening rumble of John Lennon's "Come Together" leading into George Harrison's seductive "Something," Paul McCartney's tuneful doowop ballad "Oh Darling," and Ringo Starr's charmingly goofy "Octopus Garden," (all progressing to the nearly side-long medley that appropriately closes with "And in the end/the love you take/is equal to the love you make") Abbey Road—renowned as the final golden moment in The Beatles’ otherwise unpleasant demise—is arguably the band's masterpiece. The latest in a systematic remixing and reissuing of the Beatles catalog directed by original producer George Martin's son Giles, Abbey Road has been remixed and reissued in various configurations including 5.1 surround and Dolby Atmos to celebrate the fiftieth anniversary of the album's release. The 96 kHz/24-bit high resolution stereo remix adds space and dynamics to deepen and brighten the original. The allure for those already familiar with the original album are 23 alternate takes and demos meant to shed light on the band's famed creative process. The revelations are subtle but telling. Lennon's wit shows through on a bit of studio patter left into an alternate take of "I Want You" (he responds to a noise complaint from Soho neighbors of Trident Studio with "What are they doing here at this time of night?" and his impassioned vocals on "Come Together (Take 5)," where at the end he can be heard saying "I'm losing my cool," speaks to the enthusiasm that the band had for these sessions. The nearly-there 36th take of "You Never Give Me Your Money," and the 20th takes of "Sun King" and "Mean Mr. Mustard," are examples of how the material evolved and was sharpened in the studio. Conversely, McCartney's piano and plaintive singing on "Golden Slumbers/Carry That Weight" (Takes 1-3), a tune whose line, "Once there was a way to get back homeward," often cited as an expression of regret over the band's crumbling—shows how the band sometimes had a concept firmly in mind before the tape began to roll. Although the previously recorded Let It Be would be released six months later (and just a few weeks after the Beatles' break-up), Abbey Road is the sound of the most unique creative force in the history of popular music bidding farewell; those incredibly talented parts become a fabulous whole for the last time. © Robert Baird / Qobuz

If Dream of the Blue Turtles was an unabashedly pretentious affair, it looks positively lighthearted in comparison to Sting's sophomore effort, Nothing Like the Sun, one of the most doggedly serious pop albums ever recorded. This is an album where the only up-tempo track, the only trifle -- the cheerfully stiff white-funk "We'll Be Together" -- was added at the insistence of the label because they believed there wasn't a cut on the record that could be pulled as a single, one that would break down the doors to mainstream radio. And they were right, since everything else here is too measured, calm, and deliberately subtle to be immediate (including the intentional throwaway, "Rock Steady"). So, why is it a better album than its predecessor? Because Sting doesn't seem to be trying so hard. It flows naturally, largely because this isn't trying to explicitly be a jazz-rock record (thank the presence of a new rhythm section of Sting and drummer Manu Katche for that) and because the melodies are insinuating, slowly working their way into memory, while the entire record plays like a mood piece -- playing equally well as background music or as intensive, serious listening. Sting's words can still grate -- the stifling pompousness of "History Will Teach Us Nothing" the clearest example, yet calls of "Hey Mr. Pinochet" also strike an uneasy chord -- but his lyricism shines on "The Lazarus Heart," "Be Still My Beating Heart," "They Dance Alone," and "Fragile," a quartet of his very finest songs. If Nothing Like the Sun runs a little too long, with only his Gil Evans-assisted cover of "Little Wing" standing out in the final quarter, it still maintains its tone until the end and, since it's buoyed by those previously mentioned stunners, it's one of his better albums.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

In re-writing the first line of “Something” by George Harrison, Julia Holter found the title for her sixth album. The American devoured the documentary Get Back, which follows the Beatles in the preparation of their final concert, fascinated by their collective rivalry. Although she may dream of collaborations, the songwriter remains a lone ranger. Since becoming a mother after Aviary (2018), she paints more fluid landscapes where the body predominates. It also appears on the album cover, illustrated by Cristina Quarles. “There’s a corporeal focus, inspired by the complexity and transformability of our bodies,” she explains. It’s undoubtedly for this reason that her voice, unburdened by affect or melancholy, is so very present.In order to inform her approach of fluidity, the multi-instrumentalist claims to have been inspired by Miyaki’s animated film Ponyo, in which a little fish girl wants to become human. Less partial to overly-complex sonoric layering this time around, she has created more pared-down textures which lie somewhere between minimalism, avant-gardism, and chamber pop, where clutter quickly makes way for silence. From melodic exploration (“Something in the Room She Moves”) to the search for refinement with “Meyou,” a vocal piece made up of glissandos which calls upon her love for Renaissance polyphony, from the muted, dreamlike brass instruments on “These Morning,” to the ambient layers of “Ocean,” from the luxuriant instrumentation of “Sun Girl” or “Spinning,” to the jazz dissonances and delays of “Talking to the Whisper,” all is in perpetual movement. "Something in the Room She Moves” adds yet another gem to the impeccable discography of the elusive genius that is Julia Holter. © Charlotte Saintoin/Qobuz

Arriving with the force of a hurricane, Oasis' third album, Be Here Now, is a bright, bold, colorful tour de force that simply steamrolls over any criticism. The key to Oasis' sound is its inevitability -- they are unwavering in their confidence, which means that even the hardest rockers are slow, steady, and heavy, not fast. And that self-possessed confidence, that belief in their greatness, makes Be Here Now intensely enjoyable, even though it offers no real songwriting breakthroughs. Noel Gallagher remains a remarkably talented synthesist, bringing together disparate strands -- "D'You Know What I Mean" has an N.W.A drum loop, a Zeppelin-esque wall of guitars, electronica gurgles, and lyrical allusions to the Beatles and Dylan -- to create impossibly catchy songs that sound fresh, no matter how many older songs he references. He may be working familiar territory throughout Be Here Now, but it doesn't matter because the craftsmanship is good. "The Girl in the Dirty Shirt" is irresistible pop, and epics like "Magic Pie" and "All Around the World" simply soar, while the rockers "My Big Mouth," "It's Getting Better (Man!!)," and "Be Here Now" attack with a bone-crunching force. Noel is smart enough to balance his classicist tendencies with spacious, open production, filling the album with found sounds, layers of guitars, keyboards, and strings, giving the record its humongous, immediate feel. The sprawling sound and huge melodic hooks would be enough to make Be Here Now a winner, but Liam Gallagher's vocals give the album emotional resonance. Singing better than ever, Liam injects venom into the rockers, but he also delivers the nakedly emotional lyrics of "Don't Go Away" with affecting vulnerability. That combination of violence and sensitivity gives Oasis an emotional core and makes Be Here Now a triumphant album.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

The only true Purcell opera – the others considered to be semi-operas, a format closer to musical theatre – Dido & Aeneas is a masterpiece that offers such musical density that the piece was destined to radically influence the tastes of English society, which quickly embraced the arrival of entirely sung operas. The work was created in London in 1896, in a version that was surely more complete than the one that we possess today, according to the libretto by Nahum Tate which mentions a prologue of music that has since been lost. Taking on the myth of The Aeneid, the opera is a loose adaptation of Book IV of the work by Virgil. The British ensemble La Nuova Musica – whose recording of Couperin’s “Tenebrae Readings for Holy Wednesday” on harmonia mundi we so admired in 2016 – offers us a luminous and balanced version of the work, accompanied by a cast of top-notch soloists, Fleur Barron and Matthew Brook being first in line. A record released by PentaTone, this sneak preview is presented exclusively by Qobuz for download until September 21, 2023. © Pierre Lamy/Qobuz