“This is my life in Songs. Some of them reconstructed, some of them refitted, some of them reframed, and all of them with a contemporary focus.” That is the description of Sting’s latest record, making this more than just a collection of his biggest hits (either solo or with The Police). It was a particular kind of rhythm that he wanted to work in, so as to eliminate the ‘dated’ feel to some of his songs (according to Sting himself). More striking than the original, the drums of Demolition Man, If You Love Someone Set Them Free, Desert Rose and even Englishman in New York will take listeners by surprise. Regarding this famous tribute to gay icon Quentin Crisp, the song released in 1988 is seasoned by pizzicatos and a soprano sax solo.As for the other ballads, it’s more in the singer’s texture and vocal prowess that the reinvention is most noticeable. Less pure but more structured than before, Sting’s voice carries a new dimension in Fields of Gold and Fragile, two songs that also prove that the Englishman’s talent as a melodist has not aged a bit. The same goes for tracks taken from his Police years too, in particular Message in a Bottle and Walking on the Moon, as well as the ubiquitous Roxanne (presented here as a live version). © Nicolas Magenham/Qobuz

By most metrics, Röyksopp's Profound Mysteries project is everything longtime fans could want: sleek Nordic synth pop, a grand return to the album format, and collaborations with left-field mavericks like Alison Goldfrapp, Jamie Irrepressible, Susanne Sundfør, and Astrid S, among others. Launched in April 2022, the Norwegian electronic duo's first proper album in eight years arrived as a highly conceptualized world of off-putting visual "artifacts" (each song is paired with its own digital music-visualizer), short films, cinematic instrumentals, and lush downtempo pop songs fronted by a highly curated cast of vocalists. A second volume followed in August, revealing a similar, though slightly altered, guest list, and the project now concludes with November's Profound Mysteries III. For those counting, that's 30 new tracks, 30 artifacts, and 30 films. Since their debut around the turn of the millennium, Svein Berge and Torbjørn Brundtland have consistently produced at the top of their game, but even by their own standards, 2022 saw an absolute deluge of new content. Like its two predecessors, this third set dances between light and darkness, exploring the parameters of Röyksopp's hallmark sound on highlights like the glacial, string-laden "So Ambiguous," with its very understated vocal from Irrepressible, and the menacing, nearly 10-minute instrumental centerpiece "Speed King." At its peak, the latter track feels like an Antarctic rave or the soundtrack to a high-speed snowmobile chase, proving that Berge and Brundtland can still bring the thunder to the dancefloor. Both Sundfør and Goldfrapp are back, though their unique talents feel a bit wasted on their respective cuts, "Stay Awhile" and "The Night," two underwhelming tracks that feel like paler sequels to their earlier contributions. Detroit's Maurissa Rose adds a rare bit of American flair to Röyksopp's overwhelmingly European palette on "Feel It," and Londoner Pixx helps end the project on a high note with the dynamic "Like an Old Dog." Standouts aside, Profound Mysteries III feels like the weakest link in this ambitious, year-long project which, while exciting to behold, probably could have been condensed into a one exceptional album. © Timothy Monger /TiVo

Say this for David Bowie: he has a flair for drama. This abiding love of the theatrical may not be as evident in the production of The Next Day as it is in its presentation, how Bowie sprung it upon the world early in 2013 following a decade of undeclared retirement. Reasons for Bowie's absence were many and few, perhaps related to a health scare in 2004, perhaps due to a creative dry spell, perhaps he simply didn't have songs to sing, or perhaps he had a lingering suspicion that by the time the new millennium was getting into full swing he was starting to be taken for granted. He had settled into a productive purple patch in the late '90s, a development that was roundly ignored by all except the devoted and the press, who didn't just give Hours, Heathen, and Reality a pass, they recognized them as a strong third act in a storied career. That same sentiment applies to The Next Day, an album recorded with largely the same team as Reality -- the same musicians and the same producer, his longtime lieutenant Tony Visconti -- and, appropriately, shares much of the same moody, meditative sound as its predecessor Heathen. What's different is the reception, which is appropriately breathless because Bowie has been gone so long we all know what we've missed. And The Next Day is designed to remind us all of why we've missed him, containing hints of the Thin White Duke and Ziggy Stardust within what is largely an elegant, considered evocation of the Berlin Bowie so calculating it opens with a reworking of "Beauty & The Beast," and is housed in an artful desecration of the Heroes LP cover. Unlike his Berlin trilogy of the late '70s, The Next Day is rarely unsettling. Apart from the crawling closer "Heat" -- a quiet, shimmering, hallucination-channeling late-'70s Scott Walker -- the album has been systematically stripped of eeriness, trading discomfort for pleasure at every turn. And pleasure it does deliver, as nobody knows how to do classic Bowie like Bowie and Visconti, the two life-long collaborators sifting through their past, picking elements that relate to what Bowie is now: an elder statesman who made a conscious decision to leave innovation behind long ago. This persistent, well-manicured nostalgia could account for the startling warmth that exudes from The Next Day; even when a melody sighs with an air of resigned melancholia, as it does on "Where Are We Now?," it never delves into sadness, it stays afloat in a warm, soothing bath. That overwhelming familiarity is naturally quite appealing for anyone well-versed in Bowie lore, but The Next Day isn't a career capper; it lacks the ambition to be anything so grand. The Next Day neither enhances nor diminishes anything that came before, it's merely a sweet coda to a towering career.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

Sting seemed to tire of pop songs sometime early in the 21st century, wandering away from the format after 2003's well-mannered Sacred Love. Over the next 13 years, he entertained his esoteric interests -- he collaborated on a classical album, he rearranged his old tunes for an orchestra, he reunited the Police, he wrote a musical -- before he returned to pop/rock with 2016's 57th & 9th. The fact that he named this comeback album after the intersection he crossed on his way to the studio speaks to the workmanlike aspect of 57th & 9th: there is no grand concept, no unifying aesthetic -- it's merely a collection of pop songs. This is hardly a bad thing. Sting has often undervalued his skills as a craftsman, so hearing him deliver ten sharply crafted songs is appealing. Playing with a studio band featuring drummer Josh Freese and guitarist Lyle Workman, Sting manages to work up a head of steam on occasion -- "I Can't Stop Thinking About You" opens the album with an insistent pulse, "Petrol Head" evokes memories of "Synchronicity II" -- but he spends as much time delivering tunes with a delicate touch. Much of the last half of the record is devoted to introspection, but unlike the fussy Sacred Love, the ballads here benefit from a brighter, open production and a singer/songwriter who feels invested in sculpting his melodies with the same care that he gives his lyrics. Sting sifts through familiar territory with songs of protest sitting alongside songs of yearning and love, and it all adds up to record that's simultaneously unassuming and revealing: through its modest nature, 57th & 9th stands as a testament to Sting's inherent gifts as a songwriter and record-maker. © Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

Songs for Young Lovers was the first album Frank Sinatra recorded for Capitol, as well as his first collaboration with Nelson Riddle. It was also one of the first -- arguably the very first -- concept album. Sinatra, Riddle, and producer Voyle Gilmore decided that the new album format should be a special event, featuring a number of songs arranged around a specific theme; in addition, the new format was capable of producing a more detailed sound, which gave Riddle more freedom in his arrangements and orchestrations. Songs for Young Lovers is a perfect example of this. Supported by a small orchestra, Sinatra and Riddle create an intimate, romantic atmosphere on the record, breathing new life into standards like "My Funny Valentine," "They Can't Take That Away from Me," "I Get a Kick Out of You," and "A Foggy Day." There is a breezy confidence to Sinatra's singing, and Riddle's arrangements are more complex than they initially appear.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

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Carly Pearce named her 2021 project -- an album teased as a mini-LP in February, then delivered in full as 29: Written in Stone in September -- after a tumultuous year in her life, 12 months that saw her get married and divorced and lose her close collaborator busbee to cancer. Pearce found empathetic collaborators in Shane McAnally and Josh Osborne, a pair of Nashville heavyweights who help the singer/songwriter process these significant life changes by co-writing a collection of seven songs where she grapples with loss and growth, often in a quiet, introspective fashion. There are exceptions to this rule, of course. With help from Patty Loveless, Pearce sings an effectively gritty tribute to Loretta Lynn, "You're Drinkin', My Problem" is much more effervescent than the title suggests, while the project's lead single, "Next Girl," is a sprightly kiss-off. "Next Girl" is poppy but in a retro sense -- it has none of the bright modern sheen busbee brought to his productions -- and it helps set the stage for six keening, searching autobiographical tunes. While Pearce's lyrics can occasionally be a bit too on-the-nose -- it's not that she delves into personal details, it's that she ties up her messy emotions with a tidy bow -- her vulnerability is endearing, and the craftsmanship, aided by producers Shane McAnally and Josh Osborne, is sturdy, so the music retains its appeal even after the stories become familiar. © Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

Nickelback are not known for their insight, but Chad Kroeger's caterwauling claim that "we got no class, no taste" on "Burn It to the Ground," the second song on their sixth album, Dark Horse, is a slice of perceptive, precise self-examination. Nickelback are a gnarled, vulgar band reveling in their ignorance of the very notion of taste, lacking either the smarts or savvy to wallow in bad taste so they just get ugly, knocking out knuckle-dragging riffs that seem rarefied in comparison to their thick, boneheaded words. Of the two, the music is far less offensive, particularly on Dark Horse, where they work with the legendary producer Robert "Mutt" Lange, the sonic architect behind Back in Black and Pyromania, two of hard rock's towering monuments. Mutt Lange decides to give Nickelback a production caught somewhere between the two extremes of AC/DC and Def Leppard, pumping up some muscle on Nickelback's heaviest rockers and adding some color to their power ballads, suggesting some heretofore verboten suggestions of modernity in the form of electronic rhythms, even taking it to the extreme of adding drum loops to the surefire crossover hit "Gotta Be Somebody." Nickelback do manage to shed their leathery rock skin a couple of times, first with an arena-rocking "Burn It to the Ground" and then echoing Toby Keith's "Let's Talk About Us" on the white-boy rap pre-chorus for "Something in Your Mouth," but these are mere glimpses of something unpredictable; Dark Horse was constructed entirely from the group's standard templates of bleating power ballads and dulled hard rock. These two sounds have been the group's trademark for a while now, ever since Kroeger started plumbing the depths of his shallow soul to spit out invective toward lovers and fathers on 2001's Silver Side Up, but stardom has stripped away all lingering angst, leaving behind slow songs about love and fast songs about partying, all designed to woo women he'll later hate. Underneath the housewife-hooking power ballads -- "I'd Come for You," "If Today Was Your Last Day" -- plus "Just to Get High," an ode to a fallen junkie friend that's part of the proud tradition that stretches back to at least Body Count's "The Winner Loses," Dark Horse seethes with ugly misogyny, as Kroeger trots out a parade of dirty little ladies in pretty pink thongs, porn stars, strippers, and sluts, all of whom are desired and despised for showing too much skin. Kroeger may claim that "S is for the simple need/E is for the ecstasy" in his middle-school chant "S.E.X.," but there is no joy in his carnality, just bleak veiled violence, and that nasty undercurrent undercuts his pleading lovesick ballads; he's either had his heart broken by those loose women, or he's singing to the good girl left at home while he's out on the town. This all turns Dark Horse into a murky, wearying listen, with the mood only lightening at the end of the record, when Kroeger and company take a break from carousing to kick back with bros and a bong for "This Afternoon" -- its strum-along choruses are a relief but so is its mellowness, as Kroeger seems calmer, relaxed, even friendly. Maybe it's because there were no women in the picture.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

The release of 2009's Endgame brings with it a startling realization: if first-generation thrash metal fans had been polled about which of the genre's "Big Four" -- Metallica, Slayer, Anthrax, and Megadeth -- would prove to be the most resilient and consistently prolific over the next quarter century, the only sure-fire consensus would probably have been "well, anyone but Megadeth!" And yet, 12 studio albums and 150-plus songs later -- more than any of the other three have managed -- that's exactly what's come to pass. It hasn't been easy, and it's rarely been pretty along the way, but despite a few weak efforts, mostly self-inflicted controversy, and no end to verbal diarrhea, none of those other platinum-busting thrash titans have been as productive as Dave Mustaine's bunch -- all of which stands as a testament to the man's stubborn drive to prolong Megadeth's career against all odds, including drug abuse, his unfulfilled vengeance against Metallica, and even a religious reawakening! Of course, one shouldn't overlook the fact that Megadeth have always been a band in name only, thus allowing their leader to cope with voices of dissent by simply showing them the door. The "group" was also broken up for a short spell in the early 2000s while Mustaine recovered from nerve damage to his hands, after which he struggled with inspiration, creative direction, and a never-ending parade of henchmen before finally recovering much of that old Megadeth "mojo" (sonically, lyrically, and even where the cover art was concerned) on 2007's effective return to form, United Abominations. Best of all, this momentum carries on into Mustaine and company's second release for Roadrunner, Endgame, whose title apparently refers to "coming full circle" rather than any sort of goodbye, and finds the latest iteration of Megadeth -- debuting new guitarist Chris Broderick(ex-Nevermore, Jag Panzer) -- working primarily within their technical thrash comfort zone (think Peace Sells through Rust in Peace), with only a few latter-day elements and rare experimental diversions. As such, deceptively simple guitar-shredding master classes like "This Day We Fight!," "1,320" (surprisingly, written about "funny car" racing), and first single "Headcrusher" are cut from the same bloody cloth as "Wake Up Dead" and "Set the World Afire," while politicized rants such as "44 Minutes," "Bite the Hand That Feeds," and the title cut recall old stalwarts like "Peace Sells" and "Holy Wars." And for those who enjoyed Megadeth's early-'90s shift away from incessant thrashing toward the more "civilized" (but pre-sellout) Countdown to Extinction and Youthanasia albums, there are more methodical and melodically sweetened cuts like "Bodies Left Behind," "How the Story Ends," and "The Right to Go Insane." Indeed, the only song here that breaks entirely from vintage Megadeth templates is the elaborately named "The Hardest Part of Letting Go...Sealed with a Kiss," which surely owes its orchestrated string backdrops to the European metal perspective afforded by producer Andy Sneap, and tells a "love story" about entombing one's beloved behind a brick wall à la Edgar Allan Poe's The Cask of Amontillado. This one anomaly notwithstanding, however, Endgame is arguably the least commercially concerned Megadeth album since Rust in Peace some 20 years earlier, and by touching on so many of the favored songwriting styles of those early years, it should not only give their typically opinionated fan base very little to kvetch and moan about, but also throw new fuel upon the flames of Megadeth's unlikely longevity.© Eduardo Rivadavia /TiVo

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Already a sensation in his native England, 22-year-old piano man Jamie Cullum comes off like a hip amalgamation of Harry Connick, Jr. and Randy Newman on his sophomore effort, Twentysomething. As with Blue Note's crossover wunderkind Norah Jones, Cullum works best when he's not trying too hard to please hardcore jazz aficionados, but it's not too difficult to imagine his bonus-track version of Pharrell Williams' "Frontin'" turning some jazz fans onto the Neptunes. Showcasing Cullum's sardonic wit and lounge-savvy attitude, the album deftly flows from singer/songwriter love songs to jazzy barroom romps and reappropriated modern rock tunes. Cullum has a warm voice with a slight rasp that retains a bit of his Brit accent even though his influences -- Nat King Cole, Frank Sinatra, Tom Waits -- are resolutely American. Truthfully, Cullum isn't the most accomplished vocalist and his piano chops are pleasant at best -- Oscar Peterson he ain't. That said, he's still a kick. What he lacks in technique he makes up for in swagger and smarts as many of his original compositions reveal. On the swinging and wickedly humorous title track -- a take on postgraduate slackerdom -- Cullum sardonically laments, "After years of expensive education, a car full of books and anticipation, I'm an expert on Shakespeare and that's a hell of a lot but the world don't need scholars as much as I thought." It's a timely statement in our overeducated, underemployed "dot-bomb" economy and deftly posits Cullum as a jazz singer as much of as for his generation. Also compelling are his choices of cover tunes, as he is able to imprint his own persona on the songs while magnifying what made them brilliant to begin with. To these ends, Jeff Buckley's "Lover, You Should've Come Over" gets a gut-wrenchingly minimalist treatment and Radiohead's "High and Dry" comes off as the best Bruce Hornsby song you've never heard. Conversely, Cullum treats jazz standards as modern pop tunes, reworking them into contemporary styles that are neither cynical nor awkward. In fact, his atmospheric, '70s AM pop take on "Singin' in the Rain," replete with string backgrounds and Cullum's percolating Rhodes keyboard, is one of the most appealing cuts on the album, lending the Great American Songbook warhorse an air of virginity.© Matt Collar /TiVo

In the middle of the punk tsunami, late-70s England was experiencing a healthy ska revival led by in part Madness and above all by the Specials. This multiracial gang from Coventry, led by Jerry Dammers, brought the syncopated rhythms of Jamaican rocksteady and its offshoot, ska, back to life. Pork pie hats, fitted black suits, checkered patterns: in the grey depths of Thatcherism, you needed the right outfit, the better to appreciate singles like A Message to You Rudy (a cover of the Dandy Livingstone number), Too Much Too Young and Gangster, and their two albums, Specials (1979) and More Specials (1980). Under the name Special Aka, they released the equally essential In the Studio With in 1984, which was topped off by the hit single (Free) Nelson Mandela... In 2019, the Specials got back together. Some were a little sceptical, as Dammers, who wrote their greatest hits, and Neville Staple were missing from the new line-up. But Terry Hall, Lynval Golding and Horace Panter all pulled it off in the end, with a ska sound that flirted with soul and even vintage disco on the album Yet. And above all, these new Specials for the new millennium are still making commentary on their social and political environment, just like in the old days. And there is plenty of both the political and the social in their well-named Protest Songs 1924–2012, a fine collection of covers ranging from blues to rock, folk, soul and reggae. These are political songs, mostly from the States, by the likes of Leonard Cohen, Talking Heads, the Staple Singers, Big Bill Broonzy, Bob Marley, Chip Taylor, Malvina Reynolds and even Frank Zappa. The trio opts here for an essentially acoustic sound, leaning on a folk'n'soul tradition that highlights lyrics and vocals. And while a touch more madness might have given the whole thing a bit more musical punch, these protest songs nevertheless retain all their historical force. © Marc Zisman/Qobuz

The Essential Etta James comprises 44 tracks summarizing the long and brilliant Chess tenure of "Miss Peaches," Etta James, opening with her 1960 smash "All I Could Do Was Cry," and encompassing her torchy, fully orchestrated ballads "At Last," "My Dearest Darling," and "Trust in Me," and continuing on through her 1962 gospel-rocker "Something's Got a Hold on Me," the Chicago soul standouts "I Prefer You" and "842-3089," and her 1967 Muscle Shoals-cut smash "Tell Mama." A few of the '70s sides that conclude the two-disc set seem like filler when compared to what preceded them, but most of the essentials are aboard.© Bill Dahl /TiVo