Signed to a major label at an early age, she was groomed in the darkness of studios, the label knowing the potential they had in their singer/songwriter. She wrote on her own, then she was paired with a sympathetic producer/songwriter, live performances taking a back seat to woodshedding. If this story in the early years of the 2010s brings to mind Lana Del Rey, it's no coincidence that it also applies to New Zealand singer/songwriter Lorde, whose 2013 debut, Pure Heroine, contains all of the stylized goth foreboding of LDR's Born to Die and almost none of the louche, languid glamour. This is not a small thing. Lana Del Rey is a self-created starlet willing herself into stardom but Lorde fancies herself a poet, churning away at the darker recesses of her soul. Some of this may be due to age. Lorde, as any pre-release review or portrait helpfully illustrated, was only 16 when she wrote and recorded Pure Heroine with producer Joel Little, and an adolescent aggrievance and angst certainly underpin the songs here. Lorde favors a tragic romanticism, an all-or-nothing melodrama that Little accentuates with his alternately moody and insistent productions. Where Lana Del Rey favors a studiously detached irony, Lorde pours it all out which, in itself, may be an act: her bedsit poetry is superficially more authentic but the music is certainly more pop, both in its construction -- there are big hooks in the choruses and verses -- and in the production, which accentuates a sad shimmer where everything is beautiful and broken. There is a topical appeal here, particularly because Lorde and Little do spend so much time on the surface, turning it into something seductive, but it is no more real than the studied detachment of Lana Del Rey, who Lorde so strongly (and intentionally) resembles. Born to Die is meant to be appreciated as slippery, elusive pop; Pure Heroine seems to hint at the truth...but the truth is, Lorde is a pop invention as much as LDR and is not nearly as honest about her intentions.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

With Dan Auerbach now a studio owner and label chief, it's natural to wonder how he is finding the time to write quality songs and record with his original band. Or focus enough to make another masterpiece like 2004's Rubber Factory or 2011's El Camino. That situation may have influenced the title of this collection, but any fears about consistency or the way forward are dispelled by the opening riff rocker, "Wild Child." The vintage Black Keys three chord tromper "Your Team is Looking Good" also rocks convincingly, and they get back to one of their core strengths—Mississippi hill country blues stomp, which they celebrated on their last album, Delta Kream—in "For the Love of Money." In a strange turn, the biggest guest here, ZZ Top's Billy Gibbons isn't asked to do much in the mid-tempo "Good Love," which he co-wrote.  Recorded at Auerbach's Easy Eye Sound studio in Nashville over a five-month period in summer and fall of 2021, Dropout Boogie was engineered by M. Allen Parker and Caleb VanBuskirk and mixed by the A-list talents of Tchad Blake and Tom Elmhirst. Percussionist Sam Bacco adds variety to Patrick Carney's drumming. A deceptively capable vocalist, Auerbach takes a very credible stab at writing and singing a ballad in "How Long" which is fleshed out by a harpsichord and backup vocals by Cincinnati's Andy Gabbard (Thee Shams, Buffalo Killers) who also tours as The Black Keys' second guitarist. Auerbach sings incendiary lyrics, "If we make it to your town/ We're gonna burn the damn thing down" in odd, leisurely fashion in the decidedly non-menacing, "Burn the Damn Thing Down." And near its end, "Baby I'm Coming Home" breaks into the signature riff from the Allman Brothers, "Midnight Rider."  As the album's second half winds down, so does the strength of the tunes, but you'll still find the same fuzzy guitars, big beats and layered vocals that have made their sound special.  If not essential Black Keys, the lower key Dropout Boogie is at least more of what's made them one of the last major rock bands left alive.  © Robert Baird/Qobuz

Signed to a major label at an early age, she was groomed in the darkness of studios, the label knowing the potential they had in their singer/songwriter. She wrote on her own, then she was paired with a sympathetic producer/songwriter, live performances taking a back seat to woodshedding. If this story in the early years of the 2010s brings to mind Lana Del Rey, it's no coincidence that it also applies to New Zealand singer/songwriter Lorde, whose 2013 debut, Pure Heroine, contains all of the stylized goth foreboding of LDR's Born to Die and almost none of the louche, languid glamour. This is not a small thing. Lana Del Rey is a self-created starlet willing herself into stardom but Lorde fancies herself a poet, churning away at the darker recesses of her soul. Some of this may be due to age. Lorde, as any pre-release review or portrait helpfully illustrated, was only 16 when she wrote and recorded Pure Heroine with producer Joel Little, and an adolescent aggrievance and angst certainly underpin the songs here. Lorde favors a tragic romanticism, an all-or-nothing melodrama that Little accentuates with his alternately moody and insistent productions. Where Lana Del Rey favors a studiously detached irony, Lorde pours it all out which, in itself, may be an act: her bedsit poetry is superficially more authentic but the music is certainly more pop, both in its construction -- there are big hooks in the choruses and verses -- and in the production, which accentuates a sad shimmer where everything is beautiful and broken. There is a topical appeal here, particularly because Lorde and Little do spend so much time on the surface, turning it into something seductive, but it is no more real than the studied detachment of Lana Del Rey, who Lorde so strongly (and intentionally) resembles. Born to Die is meant to be appreciated as slippery, elusive pop; Pure Heroine seems to hint at the truth...but the truth is, Lorde is a pop invention as much as LDR and is not nearly as honest about her intentions.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

On his fourth studio album, ascending rapper Yeat fully plunges into a dystopian sci-fi theme, offering his interpretation of the music reflecting the state of the world at the end of the 21st century. The ambitious and experimental 2093 is filled with lyrics about a corporate police state, sometimes delivered first-person in the guise of an evil CEO. There are moments of subtle humor, like when he buys the entire planet, then sells it seemingly without a second thought. Still, he sounds rather joyless as he's taking over the world, appearing to lament his wealth and power instead of flaunting it. The dour, Auto-Tuned vocals fit with the album's concept and mood, but they get tiring pretty quickly. However, the futuristic production stands out, particularly on cinematic cuts like "Keep Pushin," which contain abrasive beats and adventurous beat switches. Yeat's creative drive is admirable, but unfortunately 2093 just doesn't live up to its lofty concept.© Paul Simpson /TiVo

As anyone who witnessed their legendary shorts on HBO will attest, Tenacious D is indeed the greatest band on earth. Bad D is still better than the Beatles and good D is transcendent. Even so, Tenacious D's debut album will likely kick fans on their asses because the D is no longer just about JB and KG. They're even ready to be more than a power trio -- they're ready to be backed by a full band, complete with Dave Grohl on drums and the Dust Brothers behind the boards. After years of hearing them as an acoustic heavy metal duo, that's a real shock, but they've also overhauled their repertoire, reworking and retitling several songs and leaving many tunes behind. Most regrettably, there is no "History of Tenacious D," even if it is quoted in the liner notes, but there's also no "Rocketsauce," no "Kyle Took a Bullet for Me," no "Sasquatch," no "Cosmic Shame," no "Special Things," and no "Jesus Ranch." "You Broke the Rules" becomes "Karate," "Song of Exultant Joy" is "Kyle Quit the Band," "Sex Supreme" becomes "Double Team," "The Best Song in the World" becomes "Tribute," lacking many of the "Stairway to Heaven" allusions in this version, and so on and so forth (elements of their opening theme are incorporated into "Kielbasa," thankfully). Furthermore, the dynamic has shifted drastically because the group no longer sounds like maniacal misfits who've conquered the worlds in their own minds playing to an audience who just hasn't caught up yet. Here, they sound like victors who've had their delusions of grandeur come real (which is true when you think about it -- those shorts might not have done much on HBO, but videotapes passed through a lot of hands on the underground video railroad). This is a bigger change than you might think, and while the acoustic D sounds better, weirder, and purer, this still is a hell of a record, particularly because it rocks so damn hard. The worst thing about it are the sketches, which may be funny, but not nearly as funny as the plots that tied the shows together (nothing as funny as asides from the show, like "circle church," either) or the live routines; they tend to distract from the music. And the music is indeed what matters, since no matter how silly and gleefully profane this can be, Tenacious D rules because the music is terrific. The tunes have hooks, Kage and Jables harmonize well, and the cheerfully demented worldview is intoxicating, since their self-belief and self-referential world is delightfully absurd and warm (think about it -- the sex songs may be vulgar and may be about their prowess, but their prowess is about making those backstage Betties feel good). Sure, some listeners may chuckle because this all comes from two large, cute, 30-something slackers, but they're missing the inspirado behind this record -- Tenacious D certainly know they're funny, but that doesn't erase the fact that they rock so hard. They came to kick your ass and rock your socks off, and that is a very special thing.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

Raised in the slums of Rio, Brazil, singer/songwriter Seu Jorge used his formidable talent and undeniable charm to great effect in director Wes Anderson's seafaring comedy the Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou as a guitar strumming deckhand. The catch was that Pelé dos Santos only knew how to play Portuguese versions of David Bowie tunes, all 13 of which are featured on Hollywood's Life Aquatic Studio Sessions. Jorge possesses a voice that exudes the same regional comfort as fellow countrymen Milton Nascimento and Caetano Veloso, and his warm and loose guitar playing matches his timbre, resulting in a batch of covers that retain the original framing of the Bowie classics, while injecting a sunny island sweetness into their very core. While the very idea reeks of kitsch, the end product is surprisingly poignant and agreeable. Even the Thin White Duke himself seems taken with the idea, as he states in Aquatic's liner notes that "Had Seu Jorge not recorded my songs acoustically in Portuguese I would never had heard this new level of beauty which he has imbued them with."© James Christopher Monger /TiVo

When Bloc Party went on a lengthy hiatus after the release of their third album Intimacy, it didn't seem like they needed to get back together. The band's members had moved on, with Kele Okereke releasing his solo album The Boxer and bassist Gordon Moakes forming the group Young Legionnaire. More importantly, it seemed like Bloc Party had said its piece, but Four -- an album title that reflects the years between the band's albums, the number of its members, and its place in Bloc Party's discography -- shows there's more life in their music than most would have predicted. The bands from the post-punk/angular movement of the early 2000s that thrived were the ones who evolved; Bloc Party knew this as early as A Weekend in the City, when they began adding more electronic elements to their sound. This led to some strong moments on that album and Intimacy, but it also felt somewhat obligatory, following the Radiohead-blueprint way for a forward-thinking rock band to push itself. Yet Bloc Party push harder on these songs than they have in years, and there's barely a synthesizer or sequencer to be found. Four is far harder-edged than any of their music since Silent Alarm or their early EPs, and they spend equal time in familiar territory and breaking new ground. "So He Begins to Lie," with its lumbering, angular riffs and political overtones, could have easily appeared on their debut, while "V.A.L.I.S." and the excellent single "Octopus" distill everything great about their pop side -- precise melodies, spring-loaded guitars, expertly deployed tension and release -- into songs that seem poised for flight. Meanwhile, ballads such as "Day Four" and "Truth" are pretty but a touch predictable, serving more as breathers between the album's onslaughts than as attractions in their own right. Four's real star is guitarist Russell Lissack, who unleashes hesher-friendly riffs and solos with the pent-up fury of a four-year break behind him. He gives "Team A"'s menacing dance-punk extra heft and fuels "3 x 3"'s anguished tug-of-war with churning riffs that make it one of the album's most thrilling moments. Things get even gnarlier on "Kettling," which boasts surging riffs that recall P.O.D. and other X Games favorites, and on "Coliseum," which begins as a bluesy shuffle and ends as a metallic grind that would do Helmet proud. It's awkward, but it's also interesting and completely unlike anything they've done before. Songs like this and the album's closing rant "We're Not Good People" show just how much fight there is in this album, and in Bloc Party; they sought new life in their music and their collaboration, and they found it. Four may not be as cohesive as Silent Alarm, but it just might be more vital. © Heather Phares /TiVo

There was no way that Wyatt's follow-up to Rock Bottom could be as personal and searching, but this album that came barely a year later instead collects some earlier material to be revamped for this release. "Soup Song," for instance, is a rewrite of "Slow Walkin' Talk," written before the forming of Soft Machine. "Team Spirit," written with Phil Manzanera and Bill MacCormick of Quiet Sun, would turn up the same year as "Frontera" on Manzanera's Diamond Head. While some of the songs tend to plod along, the dirge-like "Five Black Notes and One White Notes," a lethargic cover of Offenbach's "Baccarole," Charlie Haden's "Song for Che," and Fred Frith's piano team-up with Wyatt on "Muddy Mouth" are magical. As usual, the assembled band, including the underrated Gary Windo on sax and Mongezi Feza on trumpet, never dissapoint. © Ted Mills /TiVo

Coming on with a playful, druggy, off-kilter, and fresh sound in 2016, Lil Uzi Vert is a charismatic ball of youth, stumbling around the world of rap a couple months after Future busted the genre open, and doing it with enough talent that they seem enormously important. Holding onto that last bit with kid gloves, Lil Uzi Vert vs. The World eases the MC onto the scene as a feature-free, EP-sized mixtape. Hit single "Money Longer" rules the track list with "Grab the Wheel" and "Canadian Goose" acting as a worthy support team. Metro Boomin, Don Cannon, and WondaGurl handle the production.© David Jeffries /TiVo