Formed in Alaska but currently residing in Portland, OR, this quintet, led by guitarist/vocalist John Gourley, espouses brainiac indie rock eclecticism that's focused on bending pop grooves, electronica and hip-hop to their will. It's a state of mind that makes their music wildly diverse and everywhere and anywhere at once. Despite their smarter-than-thou attitude—which demands much from listeners—this is also a band that knows how to write insanely catchy hooks. The minute-long opening track, "Heavy Games II (feat. Jeff Bhasker)" opens with simple acoustic piano backed with voices. The brief lyrics come to a quick conclusion: "Heavy games can't take this back/ Cause the present has a past/ Now I'm fucked up forever." In anthemic second track, "Grim Generation," brass accents highlight the choir vocals, an impressive groove and a vocal processor that makes Gourley's falsetto flutter.  The digital magic crests in big beat "Thunderdome [W.T.A.]" as more high voices sing, "You know you want it/ If you leave somebody you love" before guest rapper Black Thought rhymes.  They take a shot at creating another anthem like their 2017 hit, "Feel It Still," with the big "Summer of Luv," a slow groove collaboration with New Zealand's Unknown Mortal Orchestra that by its end becomes a sticky sweet pop single. Recorded at a number of different studios and produced by Jeff Bhasker, the sound of Chris Black Changed My Life (named for a friend of the band who died in 2019), is processed and groomed to a fine edge. While the hooks slow and then disappear in later tracks with guests Edgar Winter and Paul Williams, Gourley and his mates are astute aggregators of different musical styles—all of which focus on vocals and have interest in filling a dance floor. After a halo of voices raised in mock praise winnows down to silence, Paul Williams ends the album by saying, "And before you see that whole forest fire you see this massive cloud of smoke/ And it's cinematic, it's just biblical/ In the end does it just become entertainment/ Wow that's a fantastic looking fire that's about to sweep through me." Uh … heavy. Clever at blending diverse influences and very self-aware, this is a quintet with ideas and ambition to burn. © Robert Baird/Qobuz

It's a dreadfully unfashionable thing to say, but the day producer Mickie Most moved in on the Yardbirds was the day the Yardbirds' own values moved out. The union was a lousy idea from the start. By 1966-1967, the Yardbirds had developed into quite an excellent experimental rock combo, marred only by an appalling lack of self-belief. Most, on the other hand, was pure pop personified -- marred only by a monumental lack of taste. And when those two attributes collided, listeners got Little Games, the final Yardbirds album. Surprisingly, it really wasn't a bad record. Plentiful outtakes from the sessions have surfaced, both officially and otherwise, theoretically rendering this particular package redundant. Yet if one was to be dreaming of the ultimate alternate version of Little Games, this could be it. Highlights on disc one include a playful "Little Games," a smoldering, acoustic "White Summer," and the masterful reverse tape take of "Tinker Tailor," which so heavily predicts Hawkwind's acid-drone "Paranoia" that it's amazing that no one noticed before. It also blends nicely with "De Lane Lea Lee," which itself employed backward drums (oddly reversed on EMI's Little Games Sessions & More package) and piano. Contrary to the sleeve, incidentally, the two versions of this song are not indexed separately. If disc one is simply a satisfactory roundup of the best of the Little Games outtakes, however, disc two is the trivia-hound's paradise. It opens with 13 attempts at "You Stole My Love," each one proof that the band would never come to grips with one of songwriter Graham Gouldman's least-appreciated masterpieces (Keith Relf's absence from the studio that day ensured they never got around to adding vocals to it either). When EMI came to add this track to the Little Games Sessions album, two separate takes -- eight and 13 -- were combined for the finished product. On this evidence, that was a very smart idea. From the same 1966 session, the piano/drum duet "LSD" is present in all three of the takes attempted. None of them, sadly, live up to the title's promise, suggesting either that the band had some very mundane experiences with drugs, or that the song really was about money; in earlier, more naïve times, LSD was the standard abbreviation for pounds, shillings, and pence. And so on to an extended look at the creation of "Ten Little Indians," a grueling marathon which replays 13 of the 14 generally complete takes which the band attempted, plus a 15th created with overdubs and the like. And is it surprising to learn that the development of what was otherwise a preposterous addition to the Yardbirds' repertoire is, in fact, the most fascinating track on the entire album? Several guitar-heavy versions show Jimmy Page in a considerably more favorable light than his Yardbirds recordings normally allow, while other highlights include take ten, where the echo machine is switched on to devastating effect; take 11, which became the base for the finished version; and takes two and seven, which EMI combined for the Sessions album, but which actually sound better like this. Painfully protracted though it is, it's this final track which makes disc two even worth looking at. But that is to damn it with faint praise. The truth is, combined with the best of disc one, Ten Little Indians, in all its multitudinous guises, offers a healthier picture of the latter-day Yardbirds than any other release on the market. Whoever would have thought it?© Dave Thompson /TiVo

If Wild Nothing's debut album, Gemini, consisted of nothing more that the song “Summer Holiday” and 25 minutes of a dial tone, it would still be one of the best records to come out of the lo-fi, reverb pop scene of 2010. The song's four minutes of achingly pretty guitar chime, soaring vocal melodies, and rhythmic charge that’s easy to get swept up in result in what can only be called perfect pop. The vocal-bass-drum breakdown halfway through is the kind of heart-stopping moment that bands dream of capturing in their songs. Incredibly, Gemini is filled with songs that rate just below "Summer Holiday" -- some, like “My Angel Lonely” and “O, Lilac,” are arguably just as good. Wild Nothing's main (and only) man Jack Tatum may have been a recent high-school graduate when the album was recorded, but he proves himself to be a scholar of music that was for the most part dead and buried long before his birth. There are sounds traceable to OMD, the Cocteau Twins, New Order, Echo & the Bunnymen, and scores of post-punk dreamers and synth pop romantics. The cheesy synths, heavily treated guitars, tons of cheapo drum machines and heavily layered production are totally '80s, but unlike most bands of the era he so loves, Tatum’s vocals don’t dominate the sound. Instead, he blends them into the arrangements, using them as just another element of the overall texture and feel. It’s a choice that could have led to the songs losing some impact, but the melodies are so strong and Tatum’s ability to create a mood of quiet desperation is so perfectly calibrated that you wouldn’t want to change a thing sound-wise. It’s a mood with many variations, too -- from the echoing, distant-sounding “The Witching Hour” to the quietly pulsating, almost bleak “Pessimist,“ Tatum makes sure to alter the sound and rhythmic approach enough to keep the listener engaged. His melodic gifts are powerful enough that even if he had no production skills at all, the album would still be great. In fact, he easily could have made 11 variations on "Summer Holiday" and had a hit record. That he explores different avenues and does so successfully bodes well for future releases. © Tim Sendra /TiVo

Carried by the juggernauts “God’s Plan” and “Nice For What”, Drake is releasing his fifth album, Scorpion. Coming off of his uneven Views and his eclectic playlist More Life, the Toronto artist offers a complete panel of 25 tracks spread over two sides like an old vinyl or a dusty tape. Drake is trying to explore all the angles of his musical personality, with a first ensemble focused on rap, and the other edging towards pop. In “Scorpion”, Drake is also trying to encompass his entire dynasty, and invited his two long-time role models to the party: Jay-Z for a red-hot verse and Michael Jackson on a ghostly melody. Darker and sharper in the first part, Drake reaches later on a few radiant moments like “Blue Tint” and “Ratchet Happy Birthday”. But for the first time in many years, the worldwide musical emperor appears to falter on his throne and offers a glimpse into a few fragile moments. Following Pusha T’s repeated attacks, Drake recognises his paternity maybe sooner than he initially intended. And while he often claims to be “Emotionless”, Aubrey Graham here proves he can’t always be in control. He appears urgent on the “Nonstop” borrowed from Blocboy JB, nostalgic on the soulful “8 out of 10” and annoyed on the catchy “Sandra’s Rose”, produced by DJ Premier. Bit by bit, he’s always trying to prove his legitimacy, justifying his success, his accomplishments. Scorpion marks a turning point in his discography, a transition with a few flashes and short-winded moments that scratch the surface of the artist’s personality. Throughout the album, Drake doesn’t directly address his critics, but provides a lot of information about his position and state of mind. Slick but tormented. The best Canadian mix. © Aurélien Chapuis/Qobuz

Is there anything more tiresome than being at a party, or at work, or anywhere really, and finding yourself cornered by someone who tells the same story over and over and there's no chance to escape? On his last two albums, and the many singles and songs that surrounded them, Drake skated dangerously close to being exactly that kind of joy-killing, endlessly tiresome boor. On 2018's Scorpion, the ice finally cracks and Drake plunges headfirst into the icy depths of boredom and despair as the 25 songs go back and forth over the same lyrical territory and the monochromatic trap beats drag along slowly behind. Drake runs through his greatest hits yet again -- he's the best rapper yet no one will admit it, he's been treated wrong by every woman he's ever been with, he's rich as hell, and life is tough when you're on top -- to decidedly diminished returns. This time around, there is the matter of Pusha T's diss track to be dealt with and the existence of his freshly uncovered paternity to talk about, but even those tracks are filtered through Drake's tired lens that only seems to come into focus when it's directed inward. As the tracks slog past, one wishes for a feature to break the monotony or a song with a different tempo to break the trap spell, but it's not until the 11th track that Jay-Z shows up to give Drake a run for his money in the boredom stakes, and not until the 16th track that "Nice for What" -- the one song that gives any sense of the old Drake who wrote the occasional fun pop song -- comes along to inject some bounce into the mopey proceedings. Of course, that song is followed by the slowest, bleakest track on the record, and nothing else -- not even "Don't Matter to Me," which features a ghostly Michael Jackson sample -- manages to raise blood pressures or get feet moving or keep eyelids from drooping. At this point in his career, maybe it's not fair to expect Drake to be writing pop songs or having fun, but it was the balance between downcast, introspective soul raps and less cloudy, almost happy-sounding pop songs that made his best albums work so well. Scorpion doesn't even come close to being one of his best; instead, it's a one-trick record stretched out into 25 endless tracks by an artist who's so deep into the self-obsessed, self-pitying rut he created for himself that he can't see daylight anymore. Anyone who follows him there should be prepared to spend the next hour-plus buried deep in the inner self-loving/loathing depths of Drake's mind, where nothing else, not politics or humankind or the people around him who have yet to diss him, exists. It's a bleak and tiring place to spend time, and one can only hope that Drake himself gets weary of it soon, too.© Tim Sendra /TiVo

Last Day of Summer, Summer Walker's debut mixtape, charmed with its immediacy, spontaneity, and unguarded approach to songwriting. The follow-up, classified as a true album, is more thought-through and sounds more honed -- all ballads and slow jams, driven production-wise by London on Da Track instead of the still-on-board Arsenio Archer -- but there's no confusing it with the work of anyone but the same artist who broke through with "Girls Need Love." Walker remains more than adept enough as a lyricist and vocalist to distinguish herself over bleary trap-styled productions -- not a minor feat in 2019. She does it to best effect on "Me," seductive and threatening at once, just above a whisper: "I would never shoot you, baby/Maybe just wave it around, all in your face." This also features another one of Walker's bare self-recordings, with her anguished voice accompanied only by a guitar with strings struck just enough to serve as a kind of punctuation. Like earlier reputation-making cuts "Session 32," "Just Like Me," and "Riot," "Fun Girl" contains some of her frankest lyrics and rawest emotion: "Love who I want and fuck who I choose to/Don't take no shit and won't be used." The only negative development here is the featured appearances. Smartly chosen but too common, they tend to get in the way.© Andy Kellman /TiVo

Last Day of Summer, Summer Walker's debut mixtape, charmed with its immediacy, spontaneity, and unguarded approach to songwriting. The follow-up, classified as a true album, is more thought-through and sounds more honed -- all ballads and slow jams, driven production-wise by London on Da Track instead of the still-on-board Arsenio Archer -- but there's no confusing it with the work of anyone but the same artist who broke through with "Girls Need Love." Walker remains more than adept enough as a lyricist and vocalist to distinguish herself over bleary trap-styled productions -- not a minor feat in 2019. She does it to best effect on "Me," seductive and threatening at once, just above a whisper: "I would never shoot you, baby/Maybe just wave it around, all in your face." This also features another one of Walker's bare self-recordings, with her anguished voice accompanied only by a guitar with strings struck just enough to serve as a kind of punctuation. Like earlier reputation-making cuts "Session 32," "Just Like Me," and "Riot," "Fun Girl" contains some of her frankest lyrics and rawest emotion: "Love who I want and fuck who I choose to/Don't take no shit and won't be used." The only negative development here is the featured appearances. Smartly chosen but too common, they tend to get in the way.© Andy Kellman /TiVo

Another fine outing from the City of Prague Philharmonic Orchestra (under the baton of Paul Bateman), this time in bold support of the Crouch End Festival Chorus (conducted once again by David Temple). Much of the running time is given over to classical pieces, along with the work of Patrick Doyle, but there is room for entries from Danny Elfman (whose main title for Mars Attacks gets a thorough going-over), Basil Poledouris, and others, with even the odd surprise (such as the inclusion of Poledouris' theme composition for the 1996 Atlanta Olympic Games). There really is little to say, overall, given that the driving impulse is to give oneself over to the music and be swept away (and occasionally pounded -- "How the West Was Won" is hardly subtle!). The disc has been encoded for Dolby Surround and mastered to HDCD specifications, and overall sounds great.© Steven McDonald /TiVo