After a strong run between 2010 and 2016, Idaho-bred musician Trevor Powers temporarily ceased making music as Youth Lagoon, the nostalgic and psychedelically tinged bedroom pop project with which he'd created three critically acclaimed albums. Heaven Is a Junkyard marks Powers' return to the Youth Lagoon moniker, continuing the clearer production he left off with on 2015's Savage Hills Ballroom, and leaning into gentler, almost Americana-styled instrumentals that seem to take root in grounded emotional states. Throughout the album, soft piano intermingles with found sounds, samples, laid-back drum grooves, and occasional unobtrusive electronic elements as Powers spins opaque lyrics about troubled families, open skies, and images that evoke the feeling of life in the heartland. This formula becomes its own kind of flyover pop on the album's best songs, with "Idaho Alien" and "Prizefighter" coming one after another and feeling like continuations of each other's affable hooks and softly melancholic melodic sensibilities. The stripped-down ballad "The Sling" consists mainly of piano and lonely vocals before a haunted chorus and stirring strings come in to push the song's wounded feel to its conclusion. There are still hints of the washed-out nostalgia of earlier Youth Lagoon material in the cloudy glow of ambient interlude "Lux Radio Theater" or the distant drum loops and wobbly lo-fi processing of "Mercury" but by and large, Heaven Is a Junkyard finds Powers in pastoral mode. Even in its most orchestrated moments, the album feels primarily reflective and still, like Powers is gazing out on a silent field of wheat and offering us a look into his brain as the thoughts, memories, and scattered hopes all float by.© TiVo Staff /TiVo

On 2012's The Absence, Melody Gardot made her first shift away from the jazz-tinged ballads that drew such heavy comparisons to Norah Jones and Madeleine Peyroux. Lushly orchestrated, it was chock-full of songs inspired by Brazilian, Latin, and French forms. On Currency of Man, Gardot takes on a rootsier sound, embracing West Coast soul, funk, gospel, and pop from the early '70s as the backdrop for these songs. It is not only different musically, but lyrically. This is a less "personal" record; its songs were deeply influenced by the people she encountered in L.A., many of them street denizens. She tells their stories and reflects on themes of social justice. It's wide angle. Produced by Larry Klein, the cast includes members of her band, crack session players -- guitarist Dean Parks, drummer Vinnie Colaiuta, Larry Goldings, the Waters Sisters, et al. -- and strings and horns. The title track is a funky blues with a rumbling bassline, dramatic strings (à la Motown) and fat horns. Gardot uses the lens of Sam Cooke to testify to the inevitability of change: "We all hopin’ for the day that the powers see abdication and run/Said it gonna come…." First single "Preacherman" is similar, employing a wrangling, smoldering blues that indicts racism in the 20st century by referring to the violent death of Emmett Till, a catalyst in the then-emergent Civil Rights movement. A driving B-3, saxophone, and menacing lead guitar ratchet up the tension to explosive. A gospel chorus mournfully affirms Gardot's vocal as a harmonica moans in the background. "Morning Sun" and closer "Once I Was Loved" are tender ballads that emerge from simple, hymn-like themes and quietly resonant with conviction. "Same to You" evokes the spirit of Dusty Springfield atop the punchy horns from her Memphis period, albeit with a West Coast sheen. The nylon-string guitar in "Don't Misunderstand" recalls Bill Withers' earthy funkiness. The song's a groover, but it's also a warning to a possessive lover. "Don't Talk" uses spooky polyrhythms (à la Tom Waits) as brooding, spacy slide guitars, B-3, and backing singers slice through forbidding blues under Gardot's voice. "If Ever I Recall Your Face" is jazzier, a 21st century take on the film noir ballad with glorious strings arranged by Clément Ducol that rise above a ghostly piano. "Bad News" simultaneously looks back at L.A.'s Central Avenue and burlesque scenes. It's a jazz-blues with a sauntering horn section, snaky electric guitar, and squawking saxophone solo. Vocally, Gardot is stronger than ever here, her instrument is bigger and fuller yet it retains that spectral smokiness that is her trademark. Currency of Man is a further step away from the lithe, winsome pop-jazz that garnered her notice initially, and it's a welcome one.© Thom Jurek /TiVo

As well as having a mouthful of a title, the 1975's sophomore album, 2016's I Like It When You Sleep, for You Are So Beautiful Yet So Unaware of It, is the kind of ambitious, self-indulgent album that either marks a grand misstep by a fledgling band, or the start of something big. Produced by Mike Crossey, I Like It When You Sleep finds the 1975 picking up on many of the stylistic threads running through their Crossey-helmed, self-titled 2013 debut: synthy new wave, kinetic dance-rock, and atmospheric balladry. The difference this time around is Crossey, and the band's pristine studio execution, marked by a distinctive '80s adult contemporary aesthetic. While bands like MGMT and Vampire Weekend have long mined the VH-1 vaults for stylistic inspiration, there's nothing mannered about the 1975's retro-leanings. Despite their name and their ear for '80s synthesizers, the British outfit sound much more flamboyant than their contemporaries. This is primarily due to the contributions of lead singer Matthew Healy, whose overly wordy lyrics and weird, playfully dark persona -- sort of like a sexual Fraggle -- can sometimes put listeners off the pop scent. As he sings on "The Sound," "It's not about reciprocation, it's just all about me/A sycophantic, prophetic, Socratic, junkie wannabe." In that sense, the 1975 are more in line with the swagger of artists like INXS, U2, or even Madonna for that matter, whose early hits clearly had an impact on the group's approach here. Cuts like "UGH!," and the cheeky, plastic funk single "Love Me," sound delightfully like something Madonna might have made in collaboration with Chic guitarist Nile Rodgers and art-pop duo Yello. Similarly, "The Sound" and the sparkling anthem "She's American," feature brightly infectious hooks that wouldn't be out of place on a Prince album. In fact, there's a palpable R&B inclination running through much of I Like It When You Sleep. It's a vibe that reaches an apex on the yearning, mid-album slow-jam, "If I Believe You," which also happens to feature a gorgeously rendered flügelhorn solo from jazz star and longtime D'Angelo collaborator Roy Hargrove. Elsewhere, in keeping with the overall '80s adult contemporary sound, tracks like the shimmeringly moody "Somebody Else" and the sweetly romantic "Paris," bring to mind Tango in the Night-era Fleetwood Mac. Admittedly, at 17 tracks, I Like It When You Sleep is long. And given the poetic, atmospheric nature of many of the songs, it's somewhat unwieldy in one sitting. Ultimately, however, it's that uncompromising mix of POP (in capitalize letters) and inventive, exploratory musicianship that help make it such a rewarding listen. As the title implies, it may take the 1975 a while to get to the point on I Like It When You Sleep, for You Are So Beautiful Yet So Unaware of It, but when they do, the results are revelatory.© Matt Collar /TiVo

The two composers of the soundtrack for the first season of The Witcher are not (yet) stars of the film music genre, but they are certainly on their way there, given the phenomenal success of the series and its music. Giona Ostinelli is a Swiss-Italian composer, known for her work on a televised adaptation of a Stephen King novel (The Mist), whereas Sonya Belousova is a Russian pianist who was recognised in 2015 for the album Player Piano, produced by Stan Lee (Marvel). In 2019, they produced the soundtrack to The Witcher, an eight-episode-long series created by Lauren Schmidt Hissrich and broadcast on Netflix in the same year. The television adaptation is based on the literary saga of the same name, written by ‘Polish Tolkien’ Andrzej Sapkowski. The first season is based on The Last Wish and Sword of Destiny, a series of short stories which precede the main saga of The Witcher. Given the subject matter of The Witcher, it should not come as a surprise to find several pieces with Celtic and medieval connotations, whether they be dances with fiddle or tin whistle solos (They’re Alive, I’m Helping the Idiot), or ethereal voices accompanied by harps (Tomorrow I’ll Leave Blaviken For Good). Rodion Belousov’s expressive oboe solos deserve an honourable mention in Happy Childhoods Make For Dull Company and Rewriting History. As for the action music, even though the powerful rhythms are dominant, the traditional fibre remains running through the music (It’s An Ultimatum). Finally, if the music from The Witcher is so successful, it surely owes a lot of this fame to its songs, especially Toss A Coin To Your Witcher, the tune sung by the bard Jaskier (Joey Batey) and countlessly covered and parodied on social media. Both the songs and the instrumental music from The Witcher possess a poetic and melodic power, rare enough to be worthy of note. To this end, they equally have an intrinsic interest, and you can enjoy listening to it away from the visuals. © Nicolas Magenham/Qobuz

Taking their sweet time to bounce back from the indifferent reception to their 2003 reunion Strays, Jane's Addiction reemerges eight years later with The Great Escape Artist, an album that draws a direct connection to the group's murkier, dramatic moments. Part of this return to the mystic could be due to TV on the Radio's Dave Sitek manning bass for the majority of the album, but his artful spaciness is grounded by numerous songwriting collaborations with Guns N' Roses Duff McKagan, thereby offering a tidy encapsulation of Jane's Addiction's yin and yang: whenever they threaten to float too far off into space, they're pulled back to earth by a heavy dose of Sunset Strip sleaze. This tension had urgency in the '80s, now it’s delivered with finesse, enough so that the whole of The Great Escape Artist appears to favor spaciness even when guitars are grinding out metallic grease. Frankly, the shift toward the ethereal is a welcome relief after the clean lines and bright L.A. sun of Strays, an album that emphasized rock over art. Here, the preference is reversed and the group reaps some benefits, often touching upon the dark, boundless exotica of Nothing's Shocking yet managing to avoid desperation; instead of re-creating sounds, they've recaptured the vibe, which is enough to keep The Great Escape Artist absorbing even when it begins to drift.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

While Thrice's third effort bears the imprint of Sub City, the charitable arm of thriving L.A. indie Hopeless, the grandiose die-cut packaging of The Artist in the Ambulance also features the famous rainbow spine of Island, or, in the parlance of the 21st century business umbrella, Island Def Jam Music Group, a division of Universal. Following the same route as sonic compatriots the Used, A.F.I., and the 30 or so other bands thanked in the liner notes, Thrice makes the jump to major-label land with the aid of big-league production and mixing, sick cash flow, and the freedom to stretch both its sound and its vision (each song receives its own panel, upon which each bandmember ruminates). For Artist, helmsman Brian McTernan and mixing guru Andy Wallace have tightened the seams that hold together Thrice's patchwork print of post-hardcore bellow, emotional bluster, and unabashed metal wankery, ensuring an album that teems with the urgency of Thrice's peers' recent work. "The Abolition of Man," "Cold Cash and Colder Hearts," and especially "Paper Tigers" could have easily appeared on 2002's Illusion of Safety; however, none would have been as tightly wound as they appear here. Indeed, the latter cut sounds like a vintage hardcore rant bleeding through on a cassette dub of Accept's Restless & Wild. Wrapped in razor wire and glinting in the moonlight, "Paper Tiger" leads into the churning rhythms of "Hoods on Peregrine." Here, hardcore is switched out for emo, but the technical metal framework stays. Elsewhere, first single "All That's Left" drops a little too much homeroom poetry on listeners ("We tried to bleed the sickness/But we drained our hearts instead/We are the dead"), but still manages to move along at a brisk, teary-eyed clip. It's guaranteed to be the theme song to a tortured teen romance. The more traditional hook of "All That's Left" is welcome. Together with the album's relatively straightforward title track, it checks the unforgiving pace of The Artist in the Ambulance, which sometimes becomes so busy with complicated riffing, solar plexus percussion, and wordy lyricisms that it starts to implode. Certainly benefiting from the ears and editing of McTernan and Wallace, Artist is the strongest Thrice album yet, meaning that Island/Universal gets its money's worth in the best way possible: with good music.© Johnny Loftus /TiVo