One of the reasons that Jackson Browne's first album is among the most auspicious debuts in pop music history is that it doesn't sound like a debut. Although only 23, Browne had kicked around the music business for several years, writing and performing as a member of the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band and as Nico's backup guitarist, among other gigs, while many artists recorded his material. So, if this doesn't sound like someone's first batch of songs, it's not. Browne had developed an unusual use of language, studiedly casual yet full of striking imagery, and a post-apocalyptic viewpoint to go with it. He sang with a calm certainty over spare, discretely placed backup -- piano, acoustic guitar, bass, drums, congas, violin, harmony vocals -- that highlighted the songs and always seemed about to disappear. In song after song, Browne described the world as a desert in need of moisture, and this wet/dry dichotomy carried over into much of the imagery. In "Doctor My Eyes," the album's most propulsive song and a Top Ten hit, he sang, "Doctor, my eyes/Cannot see the sky/Is this the prize/For having learned how not to cry?" If Browne's outlook was cautious, its expression was original. His conditional optimism seemed to reflect hard experience, and in the early '70s, the aftermath of the '60s, a lot of his listeners shared that perspective. Like any great artist, Browne articulated the tenor of his times. But the album has long since come to seem a timeless collection of reflective ballads touching on still-difficult subjects -- suicide (explicitly), depression and drug use (probably), spiritual uncertainty and desperate hope -- all in calm, reasoned tones, and all with an amazingly eloquent sense of language. Jackson Browne's greater triumph is that, having perfectly expressed its times, it transcended those times as well. (The album features a cover depicting Browne's face on a water bag -- an appropriate reference to its desert/water imagery -- containing the words "saturate before using." Inevitably, many people began to refer to the self-titled album by that phrase, and when it was released on CD, it nearly became official -- both the disc and the spine of the jewel box read Saturate Before Using.)© William Ruhlmann /TiVo

On her ninth album, P!nk proves to be something her tough-edged younger self might never have imagined: graceful. At 43, she's long abandoned the sometimes seductive, sometimes challenging snarl of her early work, as well as the party-girl persona of albums like Funhouse. The scene is set with "When I Get There," a piano-and-strings ballad for her father, who died in 2021. ("Is there a bar up there/ Where you've got a favorite chair … Is there a place you go/ To watch the sunset, oh.") P!nk has said that the album was partly inspired, as so many records of this era are, by the pandemic and, in her case, seeing her young son so ill with Covid-19. "The panic is temporary/ But I'll be permanent ... As scary as it gets/ It's just turbulent," she sings on "Turbulence," offering pragmatism and the wisdom, born from experience, that shocks will pass. She's also a gracious collaborator, letting her duet partners sound like themselves rather than bending them completely to her polished pop sound. The Lumineers bring along familiar marching drum rolls and Wesley Schultz's warm vocals for "Long Way to Go." Likewise, "Kids In Love," with the Swedish siblings of First Aid Kit, is as airy and folky as anything by that duo. And you can tell P!nk is a true fan of Chris Stapleton. "Just Say I'm Sorry," their closing collaboration, sounds like a Stapleton song: romantic, nostalgic, with a Roy Orbison-esque melody and the country singer's evocative guitar tone. His voice is as powerful as P!nk's—it's not so much leather and lace as leather and brightly colored leather—yet neither of them overpowers the other. But look, P!nk is still here to have a good time. The title track, co-written with Snow Patrol's Johnny McDaid, glitters with EDM beats. And she called up old collaborators Max Martin and Shellback, who produced her 2010 hit "Raise Your Glass," to help concoct "Never Gonna Not Dance Again"—a sunny, shimmering disco number with tropical-breeze horns and rhythmic "d-d-d-dance" stuttering that sounds a whole lot like Justin Timberlake's "Can't Stop the Feeling." Writer/producer Greg Kurstin, a favorite of female artists including Kelly Clarkson, Sia and P!nk herself (he worked on 2012's The Truth About Love album), layers on post-punk guitars and a pop-punk chant ("Oh no! Here we go!") to help the singer tap into the spitfire of her early work with "Hate Me": "She's loud and drunk/ Let's take her down to size … I'm the villain you made me," P!nk sings. "Last Call" has a light country flavor, "Feel Something" offers R&B vibes and tender acoustics from experimental guitarist Nate Mercereau, and "Lost Cause" could be a Disney ballad with its soaring chorus. And, lest you forget the amazing vocal leaps and tricks P!nk is capable of, "Our Song" slathers on expansive range and Broadway-worthy drama to remind the world: it's all about that voice. © Shelly Ridenour/Qobuz

Be Opened by the Wonderful is the 17th album from British rock outfit James and follows 2021's All the Colours of You. The 20-track release sees the band reworking their back catalog with the help of the Andra Vornici lead orchestra Orca 22 and the Manchester Inspirational Voices gospel choir. The album also includes the new track "Love Make a Fool," which was recorded specially for the album.© Rich Wilson /TiVo

Time has been good to Bonnie Raitt. At 72, she sounds great—and as strong as ever. The California roots-rock queen has said she wanted to try new styles on her 21st album, but there are no wild U-turns here. When she adopts a little Lyle Lovett jazziness on "Something's Got a Hold of My Heart"—accented by Glenn Patscha's seesaw piano and her own slow-hand guitar—she sounds like Nick of Time era Bonnie Raitt. Ditto the sexy, funky blues rock number "Waitin' for You to Blow," with its cocksure rhythm and a killer Hammond solo by Patscha. The whole thing sashays, and Raitt delivers the title line in a whispered growl that really belies her years. She plays around with R&B—heavy on the blues guitar—on the terrific "Made Up Mind," and tries on a little New Orleans street jazz sass for "Love So Strong." Her voice is so perfectly suited for the Dylan-esque ballad "Just Like That," about a man who died too young but donated his heart to save someone else's life. Told from the stricken perspective of his parents as they meet the man with their son's heart, she brings incredibly rich empathy to the story: "They say Jesus brings you peace and grace/ but he ain't found me yet," Raitt sings at first. Then, "I spent so long in darkness/ I thought the night would never end/ But somehow grace has found me/ and I had to let him in." There's a similar feel to "Down the Hall," a John Prine-like story song with the narrator finding redemption and hoping for good karma by caring for hospice patients—taking care of a dying stranger who has no one, washing his feet, shaving his bony head. Raitt, who has been making records for more than 50 years, is unafraid to face mortality on Just LIke That; it's a running theme, but matter-of-fact and in no way depressing. In fact, "Livin' for the Ones"—"Keep livin' for the ones who didn't make it/ Cut down through no fault of their own"—is absolutely alive with spitfire energy, a juke-joint blues rocker led by Raitt's ferocious guitar. "Just remember the ones who won't ever feel the sun on their faces again," she sings, and it feels like a jubilant rallying cry. She even makes amends on the Sunday-morning gospel blues of "Blame it On Me," drawing it out like taffy before she finally hits a high note of salvation and shifts the blame: "Ooooh, gonna blame it on you!" (After all, the clock's not stopped yet.) Raitt also sounds completely relaxed and like she's having a ball on "Here Comes Love"— a little bit of funk, a little jazz piano, a little street percussion. "Chicken 'n' dumplings that's all it's gonna take/ Just to make you stay for the ice cream cake" are the words of a woman who hasn't lost a beat. ©Shelly Ridenour/Qobuz

Bouncing back after the relative stumbles of her late-2010s efforts, P!nk recaptures her spirit and voice on the cathartic Trustfall. Her ninth studio effort overall, the set is a motivational therapy session that hinges on themes of change, self-acceptance, loss, and love, reminding listeners (and herself) that everything will be OK if there's faith in the face of fear and the unknown. Buoyed by this spiritually liberated energy, P!nk pushes her vocals to higher highs with shiver-inducing results, backed by some of the most thoughtful messages in her catalog. As with past releases, she blends sentimental moments of introspection with grand pop highs, tugging the heartstrings one minute and inspiring physical release the next. Dancing and singing through tough times, P!nk delivers the album's gospel message on the pulsing title track, a synth-washed, Robyn-esque pop sparkler where she implores, "Picture a place where it all doesn't hurt/Where everything's safe and it doesn't get worse." The equally uplifting Max Martin/Shellback entry "Never Gonna Not Dance Again" is one of those euphoric singalong crowd-pleasers that is custom-built for an eternity at school dances and weddings, while the fast-paced, '80s synth blast "Runaway" pushes the urgency to the fore and the rollicking "Hate Me" jolts the album to life with a punk-rocking gang chorus, sinister riffs, and abrasive percussion. These more immediate earworms are scattered throughout to appease anyone looking for a radio-ready hit, but they cede the bulk of the album to more reflective fare that provides a different kind of spiritual nourishment. On the wistful "When I Get There," she mourns her late father with tender vulnerability atop contemplative piano and string backing, while the pensive "Lost Cause" boosts the same piano/strings approach with dramatic choral harmonies. The Lumineers, First Aid Kit, and Chris Stapleton make appearances across a trio of folk- and country-tinged tracks, but the spotlight shines brightest whenever P!nk is at the fore. Additional midtempo standouts include the stunning "Last Call," which laughs the pain away atop bittersweet twang and a swelling chorus, and the stirring piano ballad "Our Song," which packs a powerful gut-punch with a show-stopping vocal performance destined to bring the house down. In the end, Trustfall leans firmly on these powerful moments of personal growth, sidestepping P!nk's sometimes headstrong brattiness in favor of a confident defiance that speaks to triumph and maturity in a way that she hasn't done before.© Neil Z. Yeung /TiVo

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

Even if you were expecting something different, this still comes as a surprise. With Let’s Start Here, Lil Yachty, a rapper too easily lumped into the SoundCloud mumble rap crowd, ventures into psychedelic and synthetic pop. His cleverly autotuned voice is the only thing that reminds us it really is him. This fifth album is divisive—so much the better. By drawing upon the likes of Tame Impala, Pink Floyd, Tyler, The Creator and Frank Ocean, Lil Yachty seeks to establish himself as a recognised and recognisable artist. He relies on a team of producers, including Justin Raisen (Billie Eilish, Angel Olsen), Sad Pony (Nicki Minaj, Kelela), and Patrick Wimberly, one-half of the pop duo Chairlift. Lil Yachty frequently and skilfully pushes the boundaries of rap, not by simply stretching its limits, but by taking an altogether new direction and constantly positioning himself against them, anchoring himself in a completely distinct aesthetic. There’s no doubt that he’s mixing his favourite genres together here, but Let's Start Here is a new artistic path. Perhaps it’s nothing more than a fleeting digression, but it still features some fascinating tracks, such as the convoluted ‘REACH THE SUNSHINE.’ and the loosely rhythmic ‘paint THE sky’. Lil Yachty successfully achieves his goals with this album. He makes himself stand out and encourages people to consider his musical talents in a way that’s relevant, all whilst expressing a visceral need to explore musical realms other than those that the public would like to impose on him. © Brice Miclet/Qobuz

Fully committing to the mainstream-leaning direction of 2015's That's the Spirit, English quintet Bring Me the Horizon takes that ethos ten steps further with their daring sixth album, Amo. While its predecessor was already considered divisive for fans of the formerly deathcore/metalcore outfit, this is the one that could really split the fan base. Amo is the sound of a completely rebooted band. The results are refreshing and exciting, but shouldn't be entirely unexpected given Spirit's poppiest moments and frontman Oli Sykes' ever-changing vocal delivery. Here, Bring Me the Horizon have perfected a post-hardcore/pop blend (popcore?) that is daring and experimental, absorbing elements from the realms of electronic, synth pop, and trap while weaving them effortlessly with their existing base of pummeling drums, crushing riffs, the occasional throat-shredding screaming, and even orchestral embellishments inspired by their 2016 stint at the Royal Albert Hall. The second effort to be produced by Sykes and bandmate Jordan Fish, Amo centers on its titular theme of love, covering the spectrum from pure romance to toxic passion and the shades between that were mainly inspired by Sykes' 2016 infidelity-inspired divorce and his 2017 second marriage. Surprisingly, much of the pain is reserved for the more subdued moments like the atmospheric "I Apologise If You Feel Something"; the patient "In the Dark," which sounds like an angsty Ed Sheeran number; the electro-washed "Ouch"; and the dreamy future house "Fresh Bruises." The pure pop single "Medicine" shocks simply with its accessibility and mainstream-ready hook, while "Mother Tongue" is soaring and sugary, showcasing Sykes' tender and earnest vocal delivery. While this may seem worrisome for listeners expecting a taste of something heavy, Bring Me the Horizon are sure not to completely alienate their loyal fans, reserving the vitriol for Amo's heaviest moments. Lead single "Mantra" is the big singalong anthem, heavy enough to stand alongside the highlights on That's the Spirit, while the apocalyptic "Wonderful Life" with Cradle of Filth's Dani Filth and the cheekily titled "Sugar Honey Ice & Tea" crash and boom with aplomb. One of the album's biggest risks -- and its exhilarating standout -- is "Nihilist Blues," a collaboration with art-popster Grimes that resurrects the throbbing Eurodance of the '90s in a dark rave that recalls the AFI industrial-techno side project Blaqk Audio. While a little old-fashioned bloodletting might be welcome for familiarity's sake, Bring Me the Horizon's early albums are available for those purging needs. Amo is a genre-bending thrill ride that marks a brave new era for the band. Placing a significant amount of trust in their fan base, Bring Me the Horizon deliver an utterly refreshing and forward-thinking statement that finds them in complete control of their vision.© Neil Z. Yeung /TiVo

In April 1957, John Coltrane signed a two-year contract with Prestige Records. The saxophone player recorded many sessions in the studio, both formal and informal, and often stood in as a sideman. Coltrane then released his first records as a band leader under Prestige and the label gave him a green light to record the mythical Blue Train with Blue Note. Coltrane ’58 – The Prestige Recordings box set gathers together, in chronological order, thirty-seven recordings made by Coltrane in 1958 with Kenny Burrell on guitar; Donald Byrd, Freddie Hubbard and Wilbur Harden on trumpet; Tommy Flanagan and Red Garland on piano; Paul Chambers on double bass; and Jimmy Cobb, Louis Hayes and Art Taylor on drums. At that time, Coltrane was hardly a novice. He was already past 30 and was fighting a drug addiction (the new contract encouraging him to double down on his efforts to quit his bad habits). Coltrane’s style was also going through heavy changes. While not quite reaching the formal revolution of the Atlantic or Impulse! recordings, Trane is nevertheless already deploying his distinct sound, recognizable from miles away, with a controlled and accessible virtuosity. Trane played with a frenetic energy and the music sounds like no other.In this 1958 session recorded in Rudy Van Gelder’s legendary studio in Hackensack, New Jersey, Trane fought his legendary shyness. He created new harmonic progressions while improving his solos. The boxed set features definite versions of Lush Life, Lover Come Back to Me, Stardust, Good Bait and Little Melonae, as well as the first recordings of Nakatani Serenade, The Believer, Black Pearls and Theme for Ernie. Russian Lullaby, Sweet Sapphire Blues and I Want to Talk About You are tenor sax masterpieces. An absolute essential, the recordings have been remastered from their original analogical tapes. John Coltrane’s love story with Prestige ended in April 1959, whereupon he was then ready to embark on a new revolution, the one that would lead him to Atlantic Records. © Marc Zisman/Qobuz

The cover of Kylie Minogue's 15th album lets you know that, after a foray into country pop with 2018's Golden, the dance-floor queen is back—shellacked with turquoise eyeshadow and fire engine red lipstick, decked out in Studio 54 curls and chandelier earrings, and lit by disco-ball sparkle. Largely recorded at her London home during 2020's pandemic lockdown restrictions, DISCO is escapist fantasy. Feel-good music. Audio oxytocin. Opener "Magic" is a joyous 24-karat breeze of shimmering Phoenix-style synths, thumping percussion, shameless horns and infectious handclaps. The bright tropical brass and sweeping keyboards —not to mention that "whoo-whoo" backing chorus—of "I Love It" is like a shot of Vitamin C. And that's the thing with Minogue: For all that synth, these songs are warm and intimate. Even with talk-box effects, the Daft Punk-esque "Real Groove" ("Got that perfect body/ But she ain't got the moves," coos the eternally youthful 52-year-old) feels superbly human; you can easily imagine crowds happily twirling to the music. Merengue-flavored "Monday Blues" conjures up a street party dance scene and the "Xanadu"-meets-electropop "Say Something" should be the anthem of the pandemic's roller-skating revival. But there's also something appealingly melancholy in the longing of slinky "Miss A Thing"—a FOMO for the world's former "normal": "Come dance with me...I don't want to miss a thing." Yes, please. There are shades of Chic in the funk guitars of "Last Chance," and early Wham! vibes exude from "Where Does The DJ Go?" Meanwhile, "Celebrate You" improbably borrows from Saint Etienne, '60s girl groups, late '90s R&B and playground chants, to delightful effect. At once nostalgic and totally fresh, DISCO taps exactly into the zeitgeist by offering a shot of comfort and aspiration instead of complaints. And when quarantines finally lift and concerts return, we can count on one thing. Minogue’s shows will be dance parties. © Shelly Ridenour/Qobuz

From the start, Panic! At the Disco was an oddball in the emo-pop court. The band had the mid-aughts haircuts and eyeliner but less in common with peers Fall Out Boy and Good Charlotte than Queen and Meat Loaf. And let that be a warning: It's impossible to describe P!ATD's seventh record without a ton of name-dropping. The title track combines Beach Boys harmonies with Attractions-era Elvis Costello giddiness; "Middle Of A Breakup" offers upBrian May-like guitar and lines like "Keep your disco/ Give me T. Rex." "Sugar Soaker" references Sweet's shameless glam metal, Nazareth's cowbell and The Archies on espresso and whiskey, with frontman Brendon Urie showing off horndog wordplay: "Lil' sugar soaker/ Breaking my bed/ Red tail lights in the back of her head/ Such a cherry leather looker." Although started as a band of teenage friends from Las Vegas, P!ATD has evolved over the past 17 years into a solo project for frontman Urie, who is apparently feeling musically and personally nostalgic. "Star Spangled Banger"—which liberally borrows Phil Lynott's vocal delivery of Thin Lizzy's "The Boys Are Back in Town" for the verses—finds him summoning up high-school memories: "We are the kids from the underground," going to the mall for a lip ring and photo-booth makeout. Ditto "God Killed Rock and Roll," which spotlights "A little dreamer in the glow of the receiver … Blew out the speakers dancing in his sneakers." It credits Argent's Russ Ballard because the chorus interpolates "God Gave Rock and Roll to You" (made famous by KISS) but, structurally, the song copies the segments of "Bohemian Rhapsody" to a T. A lot of credit for this joyousness goes to co-writer Butch Walker, who had his own foray into glam-pop with 2006's The Rise and Fall of Butch Walker and the Let's-Go-Out-Tonites; and producer Mike Viola, whose recent work in folksy tunes (Mandy Moore, Johnathan Rice, Watkins Family Hour) belies his exuberant pop-rock background—with his underrated band Candy Butchers and singing the theme to the 1996 movie That Thing You Do!. But back to P!ATD: Excellent "Don't Let the Light Go Out" gives melodic credit to Janis Ian's "At Seventeen," and Urie is in the mood to offer hope to outcast teens biding their time in small-town claustrophobia, both on "Say It Louder" and "All by Yourself." That power ballad is his version of Christina Aguilera's "Beautiful" or Pink's "Raise Your Glass"—"You always hated sports/ You buzzed your hair short/ Dyed it pink to piss them off ...They made a monster outta you/ But you're beautiful, you're tough ...You can change everything all by yourself." Even if you're decades past that period, it taps into a nostalgic insecurity and longing that never fully goes away. © Shelly Ridenour/Qobuz

Reteaming with the Band, Bob Dylan winds up with an album that recalls New Morning more than The Basement Tapes, since Planet Waves is given to a relaxed intimate tone -- all the more appropriate for a collection of modest songs about domestic life. As such, it may seem a little anticlimactic since it has none of the wildness of the best Dylan and Band music of the '60s -- just an approximation of the homespun rusticness. Considering that the record was knocked out in the course of three days, its unassuming nature shouldn't be a surprise, and sometimes it's as much a flaw as a virtue, since there are several cuts that float into the ether. Still, it is a virtue in places, as there are moments -- "On a Night Like This," "Something There Is About You," the lovely "Forever Young" -- where it just gels, almost making the diffuse nature of the rest of the record acceptable.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

Steve Miller was always catchy and tuneful, but he never turned out an unabashed pop album until 1982's Abracadabra. This isn't just pop in construction, it's pop in attitude, filled with effervescent melodies and deeply silly lyrics, perhaps none more noteworthy than the immortal couplet "Abra-Abracadabra/I wanna reach out and grab ya." Those words graced the title track, which turned out to be one of his biggest hits, and if nothing else is quite as irresistibly goofy as that song, there still is a surplus of engagingly tuneful material, all dressed up in the psuedo-new wave production so favored by AOR veterans in the early '80s. All of that may not make this one of Miller's definitive albums, especially in the view of hardcore space blues heads, but it's pretty damn irresistible for listeners who find "Abracadabra" one of the highlights of faux-new wave AOR. © Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

Roberta Flack's debut album, titled First Take in true underachiever fashion, introduced a singer who'd assimilated the powerful interpretive talents of Nina Simone and Sarah Vaughan, the earthy power of Aretha Franklin, and the crystal purity and emotional resonance of folksingers like Judy Collins. Indeed, the album often sounded more like vocal jazz or folk than soul, beginning with the credits: a core quartet of Flack on piano, John Pizzarelli on guitar, Ron Carter on bass, and Ray Lucas on drums, as fine a lineup as any pop singer could hope to recruit. With only one exception -- the bluesy, grooving opener "Compared to What," during which Flack proves her chops as a soul belter -- she concentrates on readings of soft, meditative material. A pair of folk covers, "The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face" and "Hey, That's No Way to Say Goodbye," are heart-wrenching standouts; the first even became a surprise hit two years later, when its appearance in the Clint Eastwood film Play Misty for Me pushed it to the top of the pop charts and earned Flack her first Grammy award for Record of the Year. Her arrangement of the traditional "I Told Jesus" has a simmering power, while "Ballad of the Sad Young Men" summons a stately sense of melancholy. Flack also included two songs from her college friend and future duet partner, Donny Hathaway, including a tender examination of the classic May-December romance titled "Our Ages or Our Hearts." The string arrangements of William Fischer wisely keep to the background, lending an added emotional weight to all of Flack's pronouncements. No soul artist had ever recorded an album like this, making First Take one of the most fascinating soul debuts of the era.© John Bush /TiVo

Jackson Browne has always been a seeker. Not that he's opposed to writing a catchy melody or having a hit single (both of which he's done repeatedly), but Browne's always wanted his music to make a difference, to say something important, to express through his eyes the human condition. On Downhill From Everywhere, his 15th album, and first in six years, Browne is who he has always been: the earnest, bittersweet, careful songcrafter who needs to find truth and meaning. It's a reality he acknowledges in the very SoCal opening track, "Still Looking for Something" where he admits he's "way out over my due date," and yet still searching for "something he can hold up to the light," concluding that if all he finds is "freedom" it's alright. Not quite strong enough to be the hooky hit he was probably hoping for, the first single "Cleveland Heart" is another typical Browne construct, about an organ he clearly thinks is at the center of human folly and triumph. While Browne visits Spain in the lively and Latin-flavored "A Song for Barcelona" and Haiti in "Love is Love," he returns to American shores and rocks hard in the title track where the fruited plain, K street, and acronyms including the NRA, GOP, and ICE, reflect "man's ambition and vanity." From there come more fundamental questions in "Until Justice is Real;" Browne, very aware that time is passing "like a fuse burning shorter every day," is still urging his listeners to live a thinking life, to ask self-evident questions: "What is well-being, what is health?/ What is illusion and what is true?/ What is my purpose—what can I do?" One area where he's seemingly found satisfaction is in his choice of collaborators. His core band, led by guitarist Val McCallum and multi-talented Greg Leisz, who adds the lap steel parts once played by David Lindley, has remained steady. Bassists Bob Glaub, Jennifer Condos and Davey Faragher join drummers Jay Bellerose, Mauricio Lewak and Pete Thomas in various rhythm section combinations. Recorded and mixed in Santa Monica, CA, by a quartet of engineers and four assistants, the sound here is live but exacting. As wide-ranging and socially aware as Browne's vision can be, Downhill from Everywhere's most tuneful moments come in the very personal, "Minutes To Downtown" where he ponders why he still lives in Los Angeles. His response in the album's press notes sums up what still powers an album like this, which despite its downbeat title and only a modicum of memorable melodies, still suggests an artist on a rewarding journey: "You can love and appreciate and depend on a life as you know it but deep down, you may also long for something else, even if you don't know what it is." © Robert Baird/Qobuz

Once Adam Yauch discovered he had cancer in 2009, the Beastie Boys shelved their forthcoming The Hot Sauce Committee, Pt. 1 and its companion volume, gradually reviving and revising the project once Yauch went into remission. At this point, they scrapped their convoluted plans to release concurrent complementary volumes of THSC and simply went forth with The Hot Sauce Committee, Pt. 2, which retained the bulk of the track list from Pt 1. All this hurly-burly camouflages the essential truth of The Hot Sauce Committee: that the Beasties could sit on an album for two years to no ill effect to their reputation or the record’s quality. This doesn’t suggest they’re out of step so much as they’re out of time, existing in a world of their own making, beholden to no other standard but their own. Certainly, the Beasties stitch together sounds and rhymes from their past throughout The Hot Sauce Committee, Pt. 2, laying down grooves à la Check Your Head but weaving samples through these rhythms, thickly layering the album with analog synths out of Hello Nasty, all the while pledging allegiance to old-school rap in their rhymes. Nothing here is exactly unexpected -- even the presence of Santogold on “Don’t Play No Game That I Can’t Win” isn’t new, it’s new wave -- yet The Hot Sauce Committee, Pt. 2 feels fresh because there is such kinetic joy propelling this music. Last time around, the Beasties weighed themselves down by creating retro-tribute to N.Y.C., taking everything just a little bit too seriously, but here they’re free of any expectations and are back to doing what they do best: cracking wise and acting so stupid they camouflage how kinetic, inventive, and rich their music is. And, make no mistake, The Hot Sauce Committee, Pt. 2 does find the Beastie Boys at their best. Perhaps they’re no longer setting the style, but it takes master musicians to continually find new wrinkles within a signature sound, which is precisely what the Beasties do here.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo