Despite the seemingly instant attention surrounding them -- glowing write-ups in glossy magazines like Rolling Stone and Mojo, guest lists boasting names like Kate Hudson and Chris Robinson, and appearances on national TV -- the White Stripes have stayed true to the approach that brought them this success in the first place. White Blood Cells, Jack and Meg White's third effort for Sympathy for the Record Industry, wraps their powerful, deceptively simple style around meditations on fame, love, and betrayal. As produced by Doug Easley, it sounds exactly how an underground sensation's breakthrough album should: bigger and tighter than their earlier material, but not so polished that it will scare away longtime fans. Admittedly, White Blood Cells lacks some of the White Stripes' blues influence and urgency, but it perfects the pop skills the duo honed on De Stijl and expands on them. The country-tinged "Hotel Yorba" and immediate, crazed garage pop of "Fell in Love With a Girl" define the album's immediacy, along with the folky, McCartney-esque "We're Going to Be Friends," a charming, school-days love song that's among Jack White's finest work. However, White's growth as a songwriter shines through on virtually every track, from the cocky opener "Dead Leaves and the Dirty Ground" to vicious indictments like "The Union Forever" and "I Think I Smell a Rat." "Same Boy You've Always Known" and "Offend in Every Way" are two more quintessential tracks, offering up more of the group's stomping riffs and rhythms and us-against-the-world attitude. Few garage rock groups would name one of their most driving numbers "I'm Finding It Harder to Be a Gentleman," and fewer still would pen lyrics like "I'm so tired of acting tough/I'm gonna do what I please/Let's get married," but it's precisely this mix of strength and sweetness, among other contrasts, that makes the White Stripes so intriguing. Likewise, White Blood Cells' ability to surprise old fans and win over new ones makes it the Stripes' finest work to date.© Heather Phares /TiVo

At some point every band makes a move towards commercial success. Accolades for purity of motivation and peerless references are great, but selling a few albums carries its own kind of rush. Oh sure, by 2011, The Black Keys had already hit paydirt licensing music for Victoria's Secret ads, among other brands, but the duo wanted their music rather than their opportunism to be respected. Routinely crediting The Cramps and The Clash while still sounding like the rough 'n' ready garage band from Akron, Ohio, that they'd been since the beginning made the journey to larger musical success problematic. Enter Brian "Danger Mouse" Burton, who produced guitarist Dan Auerbach and drummer Patrick Carney's preceding album, 2010's Brothers; recorded at Muscle Shoals Sound Studio in Sheffield, Alabama, it continued the Black Keys' move away from a lo-fi sound. Advised by Burton to record more upbeat material that would play well in the arena-sized venues they were aiming for, the pair convened at Auerbach's new Easy Eye Sound Studio in Nashville and began to work up fresh material. Like all Black Keys records, riff rock and Auerbach and Carney's back-and-forth interplay are the foundation, but now their usual dirty blues vibe gave way to a more straight ahead early rock and roll tone. Danger Mouse also became an active part of the songwriting process for the first time. Fast tempos and more pronounced pop hooks were the immediate focus. The opener "Lonely Boy," is impossible to resist. In "Dead and Gone" handclaps and the album's three female background singers Leisa Hans, Heather Rigdon and Ashley Wilcoxson beef up the poppy choruses. Recorded by Kennie Takahashi and Collin Dupuis, and mixed by Tchad Blake, the sound here is enhanced with plenty of reverb making everything that much larger in the process. Tunes like the working girl paean, "Money Maker," where Auerbach sings, "I wanna buy some time but don't have a dime," sound oversized and very much arena-ready. "Sister" is the Keys' elemental riff rock at its best, this time fleshed out by Danger Mouse on keyboard. Touches like the squiggly guitar line in "Run Right Back" confirm musical evolutions in their usual jam-it-up method. This reissue contains 20 tracks from a previously unreleased concert from Portland, Maine, an 11-track BBC Radio 1 session from 2012, and a 9-track 2011 Electro-Vox rehearsal session recorded prior to the 2012 El Camino tour. While both live sets are stacked with tracks from Brothers ("Howlin for You," "Tighten Up") and El Camino, the BBC set has a closer, densely packed sound, while the live sound of the Portland show in front of a rabid audience is huge and reverberant. The rehearsal session is predictably loose with slower tempos, though the arrangements are similar to what was eventually released. This reissue does bring up questions: is ten years long enough to create the demand and perspective necessary for a successful reissue? Have Keys fans even stopped listening to their original copies yet or is this more rampant commercialism from a band famous for it? Of course, it may also be that Auerbach and Carney are closing a chapter. Stay tuned for the next decade. © Robert Baird/Qobuz

Opening with a minor chord strummed on an acoustic guitar somewhere off in the distance, Noel Gallagher's second solo album, Chasing Yesterday, echoes Oasis' second album, (What's the Story) Morning Glory? -- a conscious move from a rocker who's never minded trading in memories of the past. He may be evoking his Brit-pop heyday -- "Lock All the Doors" surges with the cadences of "Morning Glory" even as it interpolates David Essex's "Rock On" -- but it amounts to no more than a wink because Gallagher knows he's two decades older and perhaps a little wiser as well. Certainly, Chasing Yesterday is the work of a musician very comfortable with his craft. Like the first album from High Flying Birds -- a largely anonymous group of pros who make no attempt to steal the spotlight from their leader -- it moves deliberately, never rushing and rarely rocking, preferring to find pleasure in majesty instead of hedonism. Where 2011's HFB kept things a shade too calm -- its reserve almost seemed like a rebuke to the messy id of Gallagher's brother -- Chasing Yesterday occasionally threatens to actually rock, delivering that signature wall of guitars on the aforementioned "Lock All the Doors," mustering up a bit of old-fashioned, cowbell-driven glam boogie on "The Mexican," and quickening the tempo on "You Know We Can't Go Back," a piece of incandescent pop that plays as a resigned companion to "Step Out." Better still, the self-styled epics -- which include the first single "In the Heat of the Moment" and closing "Ballad of the Mighty I," which features grace notes from a guesting Johnny Marr -- pulsate with quiet color, as does "Riverman," a signature piece of stately late-period Beatles pop that would've been drained to grey on HFB. Here, "Riverman" breathes and sighs, taking a moment to slide into a saxophone-accentuated guitar solo straight out of a pre-punk 1976, and this masterful flair is a testament to the control and focus Gallagher displays on Chasing Yesterday. He's not racing after the past, nor is he afraid to seem floridly fussy: he's reveling in his ascendency to the position of one of rock's wise old men.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

If one were to listen only to "My Favorite Things," the Richard Rodgers-Oscar Hammerstein Great American Songbook standard that opens Same Girl, one might deduce that Korea's Youn Sun Nah is just another cabaret singer with a pretty voice. The kalimba with which she is accompanying herself as she sings -- the sole instrument heard -- lends a sense of purity to the tune, and although the vocalist avoids the usual routes taken with the song, there's no real reason to get excited. Yet. Then things get interesting, fast. As she works her way through material from sources as diverse as Randy Newman, Sergio Mendes, and Metallica -- yes, Metallica; she does a mean "Enter Sandman" -- in addition to two original compositions and a Korean standard, Nah establishes that, in fact, she is incontestably an original, a jazz singer of great range, complexity, emotion, and ideas. Precision timing and sharp diction mark Nah's approach as she traverses the lyrics, but it's not only her technical prowess that makes Same Girl (her second release as a leader on the ACT label, after having spent a decade with a French band) such a delight. For one thing, she is constantly full of surprises. On the Mendes tune, "Song of No Regrets," Nah could have followed the rule book and sung the number as a samba. Instead, she turns it into a near a cappella minimalist dirge, Lars Danielsson's cello bringing to the rendition an unexpected eeriness and majesty. Terry Cox's "Moondog" is something else altogether, all jutting angles and piercing barbs, Ulf Wakenius' guitar and Xavier Desandre-Navarre's drums seemingly flailing willy-nilly behind Nah's warbles, yet somehow making perfect sense in the context of the arrangement, even when Nah breaks the solemnity with a jarring kazoo solo, of all things. For a real taste of her ability to knock a listener out cold, though, Wakenius' "Breakfast in Baghdad" is the place to go: to call Nah a scat singer is like calling John Coltrane a guy who fooled around a bit with the sax. Nah is a wildwoman let loose, treating each syllable as a new adventure in acrobatics, the musicians flying free and fancifully behind her captivating, seriously stunning ravings. Youn Sun Nah doesn't simply interpret; any good jazz signer can do that. She gets to the root of a melody and a lyric, deconstructs it wholly, and then presents it in a way it's never before been heard. Not many around who can do that anymore.© Jeff Tamarkin /TiVo

Much of the press surrounding the release of Sleep Through the Static recounted Jack Johnson's claim that he gave all his peppy pop tunes over to the Curious George soundtrack and how that, combined with personal losses -- including the death of his cousin Danny Riley, to whom the album is dedicated -- led the surfing singer/songwriter into darker territory for his fifth album. To a certain extent, all of that is true, as the album does open with an atypically stark, moody number in "All at Once" and there are some darker sentiments lurking within the 14 songs here, but it takes some close listening to find the sorrow flowing through some of the words. Some very close listening, really, as Johnson's sand-brushed, gentle voice doesn't command attention. His voice lulls and soothes, so it takes concentrated effort to hear beyond his tone and hear what he's actually saying. Then again, the meaning of Johnson's music doesn't matter as much as the mellow mood, a feeling that he's sustained throughout his albums and doesn't change here. Johnson may use more electric guitars than acoustics on Sleep Through the Static, but he's strumming them like acoustics and his overall aesthetic has not changed at all: he's still a laid-back guy singing songs that roll so easy they glide into the background. No matter what instrument he's playing or what he's singing about, his music still feels the same, which is enough to satisfy his fans but not to win him many new ones. © Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

Back in 2002, it seemed easy to discern which of the Midwestern minimalist blues-rock duos was which: the White Stripes were the art-punks, naming albums after Dutch art movements, while the Black Keys were the nasty primitives, bashing out thrilling, raw records like their 2002 debut The Big Come Up and its 2003 follow-up Thickfreakness. Six years later, the duos appear to have switched camps, as Jack White leads the Stripes down a path of obstinate traditionalism while the Black Keys get out, way out, on their fifth album, Attack & Release. Evidently, their 2004 mini-masterpiece Rubber Factory represented the crest of their brutal blues wave, as ever since singer/guitarist Dan Auerbach and drummer Patrick Carney have receded from the gnarled precision of their writing and the big, brutal blues thump, they started to float into the atmosphere with their 2006 EP-length tribute to Junior Kimbrough, Chulahoma. Ever since then, the Black Keys have emphasized waves of sound over either ballast or song, something that should be evident from the choice of Danger Mouse as the producer of Attack & Release, a seemingly unlikely pair that found common ground in the form of Ike Turner. Danger Mouse worked with the rock & roll renegade when he produced the Gorillaz's Demon Days and the plan was to have the Black Keys cut an album with Ike but Turner's death turned the project into a full-fledged Keys album. That's the official story, anyway, but the timeline doesn't quite seem to fit -- Ike died December 12, 2007 and a finished copy of Attack & Release was out in February, which is an awfully short turnaround to complete an album -- nor does the sound of the album seem to fit that timeline, either, as it's elliptical, open-ended, and reliant on the spacy sonics the Black Keys have sketched out since Rubber Factory, so it's hard to imagine where Turner would have fit into this. But it's not hard at all to see how avant guitarist Marc Ribot fits into this elastic mix, as this is the kind of restless, textural roots-aware rock reminiscent of the spirit, if not quite the sound, of Elvis Costello and Tom Waits, two mavericks Ribot has played with in years past. This shift to sound over song has been so gradual for the Black Keys that Ribot's cameo doesn't seem intrusive, nor does Danger Mouse's hazy production feel forced upon the band, it's filled with details so sly they're almost imperceptible. As always, Danger Mouse encourages the band to intensify what's already there, and so Attack & Release willfully drifts, as dreamy, artfully sonic sculptures are punctured by Auerbach's rumbling guitars and Carney's clattering drums. But where the interplay of the Auerbach and Carney always felt immediate in their earliest work, there's a bit of a remove here, with the riffs used as paint brushes instead of blunt objects. The same can be said of the songs, where even the most immediate tunes -- "Psychotic Girl," the B-side "Remember When" -- don't grab and hold like those on the group's earliest records, and they're not really growers either, as the point here is not the individual tunes but rather the greater picture, as everything here weaves together to create a mood: one that shifts but doesn't stray, one that's nebulous but not formless, one that's evocative but not haunting. To be sure, it's an accomplishment and one that showcases the Black Keys' deepening skills but at times it's hard not to miss how the duo used to grab a listener by the neck and not let go.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

An honest title for this disc would be Several #1's, a Bunch of Top Tens, and a Couple New Songs, but #1's obviously has a greater -- if false -- ring to it. #1's isn't formatted any differently than scores of other anthologies packaged in time for the holiday shopping season, but it's also timely in that it comes after four Destiny's Child albums, all of which produced a handful of hits and roughly twice as much filler. Few problems could be had with the track selection. Containing each of Destiny's Child's charting singles, with the exception of "Brown Eyes" and the inconsequential "8 Days of Christmas," the disc reaffirms that Destiny's Child released some of the biggest R&B singles of the late '90s and early 2000s. For instance, you didn't have to be a fan of R&B, or even music, to cross paths with the likes of "Survivor" -- an overblown song with a form of success that had more to do with its mega-anthem quality and opportunistic title (the show of the same title was extremely popular at the time). As strategic as Destiny's Child were, they still have enough substance in their discography to place them as one of the best R&B groups of the '90s and early 2000s. Though they didn't follow the previous top female R&B group, TLC, with nearly as much brilliance or finesse, they've left behind several singles that will be remembered for something other than their mainstream success.© Andy Kellman /TiVo

Download not available

If one were to listen only to "My Favorite Things," the Richard Rodgers-Oscar Hammerstein Great American Songbook standard that opens Same Girl, one might deduce that Korea's Youn Sun Nah is just another cabaret singer with a pretty voice. The kalimba with which she is accompanying herself as she sings -- the sole instrument heard -- lends a sense of purity to the tune, and although the vocalist avoids the usual routes taken with the song, there's no real reason to get excited. Yet. Then things get interesting, fast. As she works her way through material from sources as diverse as Randy Newman, Sergio Mendes, and Metallica -- yes, Metallica; she does a mean "Enter Sandman" -- in addition to two original compositions and a Korean standard, Nah establishes that, in fact, she is incontestably an original, a jazz singer of great range, complexity, emotion, and ideas. Precision timing and sharp diction mark Nah's approach as she traverses the lyrics, but it's not only her technical prowess that makes Same Girl (her second release as a leader on the ACT label, after having spent a decade with a French band) such a delight. For one thing, she is constantly full of surprises. On the Mendes tune, "Song of No Regrets," Nah could have followed the rule book and sung the number as a samba. Instead, she turns it into a near a cappella minimalist dirge, Lars Danielsson's cello bringing to the rendition an unexpected eeriness and majesty. Terry Cox's "Moondog" is something else altogether, all jutting angles and piercing barbs, Ulf Wakenius' guitar and Xavier Desandre-Navarre's drums seemingly flailing willy-nilly behind Nah's warbles, yet somehow making perfect sense in the context of the arrangement, even when Nah breaks the solemnity with a jarring kazoo solo, of all things. For a real taste of her ability to knock a listener out cold, though, Wakenius' "Breakfast in Baghdad" is the place to go: to call Nah a scat singer is like calling John Coltrane a guy who fooled around a bit with the sax. Nah is a wildwoman let loose, treating each syllable as a new adventure in acrobatics, the musicians flying free and fancifully behind her captivating, seriously stunning ravings. Youn Sun Nah doesn't simply interpret; any good jazz signer can do that. She gets to the root of a melody and a lyric, deconstructs it wholly, and then presents it in a way it's never before been heard. Not many around who can do that anymore.© Jeff Tamarkin /TiVo

Over the years, the Twilight Sad have mastered many flavors of brooding and bittersweet, from their debut album Fourteen Autumns & Fifteen Winters' folky atmospheres to No One Can Ever Know's hard-edged electronics. They've been around long enough to look back, and that's what they do on Nobody Wants to Be Here and Nobody Wants to Leave. Inspired by their late-2013 and early-2014 live performances of Fourteen Autumns & Fifteen Winters and with their songwriting honed by No One's stark experiments, the Twilight Sad transform everything that came before into some of their most compelling music. By blending the extremes of their previous albums, they give intimate moments an epic scope in ways that sound truly revitalized. As the title implies, Nobody Wants to Be Here and Nobody Wants to Leave captures the point in a relationship when staying together and breaking up sound equally appealing and terrible. It's an emotional state detailed by bleakly beautiful songs ranging from the dramatic post-punk of "There's a Girl in the Corner," "Last January," and "I Could Give You All That You Don't Want" to the lusher but just as haunted sounds of the swooning "Pills I Swallow" and the title track's brilliant shoegaze, which sounds like My Bloody Valentine's "Soon" with all of its hushed romance turned into pleading. Lyrically, the group also uses all the tools at its disposal to convey the album's conflicting moods: singer James Graham is alternately callous and wounded throughout, whether delivering wry barbs like "I put you through hell/But you carry it oh so well" on "Drown So I Can Watch" or simply baring it all on "Sometimes I Wished I Could Fall Asleep," where the ghostly echo on his voice when he sings "There's nothing left for us" is painfully vulnerable. Equally desolate and majestic, Nobody Wants to Be Here and Nobody Wants to Leave's naked emotions and sophisticated music mark a new high point for the Twilight Sad. © Heather Phares /TiVo

Private View is an aural celebration of Swing Out Sister's 25th anniversary, and features completely rearranged versions of some of the best known tunes in its catalog. Lots of acts try this; more often than not the result is a mixed bag at best and an utter failure at worst. Not this time. Vocalist and composer Corrine Drewery and keyboardist/arranger/composer Andy Connell (the two remaining members of the original group) appear here with a backing quintet that includes Tim Cansfield on guitar, Gina Foster on backing and duet vocals, Jody Linscott on percussion, Dan Swana on upright bass, and Noel Langley on flügelhorn, to completely revision these tracks in what amounts to a brand new next step worthy of being called the band's first new studio offering since 2008's brilliant Beautiful Mess. While it's obvious that Private View will appeal largely to SOS' devoted fan base, it shouldn't be limited to it. Some of these versions, in particular "Notgonnachange," "Incomplete Without You," and "Mama Didn't Raise No Fool," are all jazz-based pop gems with elegant, breezy arrangements; Drewery's voice is so singular and original in its phrasing, and classy and soulful in its delivery, it remains undiminished by time. The gorgeous late-night club cover of Thom Bell's and Bobby Hart's soul classic "La La Means I Love You"-- intro'ed and outro'ed by languid, sexy groove-based themes -- is worth the album's purchase price by itself. The new version of SOS' first smash "Breakout" is subtitled "(Fabulous Party Mix)," and is a deliberate attempt at humor. Rather than the celebratory dancefloor pop of the original, this one is a midtempo ballad full of lilting strings, shimmering keyboards, and shuffling percussion that is more tempered, sure, but also more emotionally resonant. While Private View may be an atypical introduction to Swing Out Sister, it's still a fine one for beginners. For fans, it's an absolutely essential addition to the catalog.© Thom Jurek /TiVo

Echoes is a repackaging of Gene Clark's debut album, Gene Clark With the Gosdin Brothers. The Byrds comparison is really unavoidable: it's both Clark's best solo work and, not coincidentally, the one which resembles the Byrds most strongly. Indeed, this could easily pass for a somewhat less-than-average vintage Byrds album, with actual Byrds Chris Hillman and Michael Clarke forming the rhythm section and Vern and Rex Gosdin on guitar (hence the title). To be brutal, it doesn't measure up to Clark's best songs from his Byrds days, but it's fairly strong, melodic '60s folk-rock nonetheless, perhaps with a bit of a more countrified, laid-back, generic feel. "So You Say You Lost Your Baby," "Echoes," and especially "Tried So Hard" are standouts. The Echoes CD adds three interesting previously unreleased outtakes from the era, as well as six of the best early Byrds songs graced by Clark's songwriting and vocals.© Richie Unterberger /TiVo

Randy Newman began the slow process of transforming himself into a polished L.A. song-crafter on the album Little Criminals, and with Trouble in Paradise the metamorphosis was complete; by this time, Newman could make a record just as ear-pleasing as anything Paul Simon, Don Henley, or Lindsey Buckingham could come up with, and proved it by persuading all three to appear on the sessions. But no matter how polished the arrangements and smooth the production, Newman's songs don't sound like they're ready for radio, and he's too bright not to understand that songs about apartheid, self-pitying white bluesmen, and arrogant yuppies are poor prospects for the pop charts. Trouble in Paradise marked the high point of Newman's struggle between pop sheen and his satiric impulses, and the album is a significant improvement over Little Criminals and Born Again. The targets of Newman's satirical gaze are easy to skewer, and his pen is hardly subtle, but the overall tone is more respectful than on Born Again and the results are stronger. The bitter Afrikaner in "Christmas in Capetown" and the egocentric blowhard in "My Life Is Good" have at least earned Newman's disgust, and while many of the character studies ("Mikey," "I'm Different") and vignettes ("Miami," "Take Me Back") take a less than charitable view of their protagonists, like the losers and half-wits that populate Good Old Boys, they're human beings whose flaws reveal a hint of tragedy. And the closing number, "Song for the Dead," is a stunner in which a soldier explains to the bodies he's burying the purpose behind the war that took their lives. While too slick for Newman's core audience, Trouble in Paradise was his most intelligent and best realized work since Good Old Boys, and his finest album of the 1980s.© Mark Deming /TiVo