Band on the Run was a commercial success, but even if it was billed as a Wings effort, it was primarily recorded by Paul, Linda, and Denny Laine. So, it was time to once again turn Wings into a genuine band, adding Joe English and Jimmy McCulloch to the lineup and even letting the latter contribute a song. This faux-democracy isn't what signals that this is a band effort -- it's the attitude, construction, and pacing, which McCartney acknowledges as much, opening with an acoustic title track that's a salute to arena rock, leading to a genuine arena rock anthem, "Rock Show." From that, it's pretty much rocking pop tunes, paced with a couple of ballads and a little whimsy, all graced with a little of the production flair that distinguished Band on the Run. But where that record was clearly a studio creation and consciously elaborate, this is a straightforward affair where the sonic details are simply window dressing. McCartney doesn't really try anything new, but the songs are a little more varied than the uniform, glossy production would suggest; he dips into soft-shoe music hall shuffle on "You Gave Me the Answer," gets a little psychedelic with "Spirits of Ancient Egypt," kicks out a '50s rock & roll groove with "Magento and Titanium Man," and unveils a typically sweet and lovely melody on "Listen to What the Man Said." These are a slight shifts on an album that certainly feels like the overture for the arena rock tour that it was, which makes it one of McCartney's more consistent listens, even though it's possible to scan the song listing after several listens and not recognize any song outside of "Listen to What the Man Said" and the opening medley by title.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

Among electronic artists (as well as virtually the entire record industry), only Kraftwerk could construct a viable album by making only minimal adjustments to a sound they made definitive more than 30 years earlier. Tour de France Soundtracks, the group's first record in more than 15 years, is quintessentially Kraftwerk but still fits in well with contemporary dance trends like the experimental microhouse scene (highly influenced by the group's ultra-minimalism). The story of Tour de France Soundtracks actually begins 20 years earlier, in 1983, when Kraftwerk released the "Tour de France" single. Recorded in tribute to one of the sporting world's most grueling events, the track was a hi-res piece of dance-pop that made lyrical reference to various biking landmarks (like the infamous mountaintop finish at Tourmalet) and an assortment of sonic references as well (including a bike chain in free spin and the belabored breathing of a bicyclist -- in rhythm, of course). Techno-Pop, the album Kraftwerk scheduled to accompany "Tour de France," was postponed and later canceled (ironically, after a serious biking accident by Ralf Hütter, one of the group's resident biking maniacs). The track resurfaced two decades later, just in time for the centenary anniversary of the race, though Kraftwerk still missed the deadline -- only the rejuvenated single was available during the race. It has little in common with the original, but the new "Tour de France" is impressive nonetheless, boasting the kinetic power of a 100-strong peloton, a guttural Teutonic vocoder of the type beloved by fans, and a recurring tag so sublime Jan Ullrich could hum it through each of the Tour's 20 stages without fear of annoyance. Except for a closing reprise of the original "Tour de France," the rest of the album isn't as focused on biking; Hütter and Schneider construct sublime beatpieces with conceptual lines close to biking topics ("Aéro Dynamik," "Titanium," "Chrono," "Vitamin"), but never confront the listener with yet another track dropping bike terms like peloton or a l'enfer du nord. "Chrono" is the track closest to the Kraftwerk ideal, with its future-shock synth and percussion precision, while "Vitamin" is the farthest away (a downbeat track that still could only have escaped from the Kling Klang studio). Tour de France Soundtracks is a successful record on anyone's terms; it's one that fans won't need to cringe from, and one that newcomers will be able to enjoy for what it is.© John Bush /TiVo

Sonic Youth entered the 1990s with their place in music history assured. By applying standards of cacophony cribbed from their original No Wave peers and concepts of alternate tuning pioneered by avant-garde classical composers Rhys Chatham and Glenn Branca to ferociously rocking songs, the NYC-based quartet had already renewed the potential of guitar-based rock music. But on Goo, their second major label release, they determined to seize the brass ring of pop stardom without giving up their abrasive sound and owned by no one stance. The hooks of "Dirty Boots" and "Kool Thing" may have been bigger and bolder, but the rackets they churned up on "Mote" and "Scooter and Jinx" (which is composed of the sound of Thurston Moore's guitar amp blowing up) were as dense as ever. All three of the band's singers brought indelible melodies, but a pair of tunes voiced by bassist Kim Gordon most effectively managed to both embrace pop culture and subject it to skeptical analysis. The subject matter of "Tunic (Song For Karen)"—Karen Carpenter's death from anorexia nervosa—was bound to grab attention. But instead of a punk trashing of an MOR figure, it delivers an astute and compassionate view of the family dynamics that contributed to Carpenter's illness. The song's image of Carpenter jamming in a heavenly band with Jimi Hendrix pushed back against sexist diminutions of her talents. And "Kool Thing" simultaneously celebrated the rapper LL Cool J, took him to task for his sexism, and poked a little fun at Gordon's own politics. Grand Funk Railroad may have proclaimed, "We're an American Band," but Goo may be the most American record album ever. For what could be more American than wanting to have it all? © Bill Meyer/Qobuz

The Piano Guys have produced musical and video gems that mash up classical themes with pop songs, making their YouTube channel one of the most visited on the planet and bringing the group a recording deal with Sony Masterworks. This self-titled set, their major-label debut, features their amazing ten-handed take on One Direction's "What Makes You Beautiful," the recording and video that first vaulted the Piano Guys to international fame.© TiVo

Sonic Youth entered the 1990s with their place in music history assured. By applying standards of cacophony cribbed from their original No Wave peers and concepts of alternate tuning pioneered by avant-garde classical composers Rhys Chatham and Glenn Branca to ferociously rocking songs, the NYC-based quartet had already renewed the potential of guitar-based rock music. But on Goo, their second major label release, they determined to seize the brass ring of pop stardom without giving up their abrasive sound and owned by no one stance. The hooks of "Dirty Boots" and "Kool Thing" may have been bigger and bolder, but the rackets they churned up on "Mote" and "Scooter and Jinx" (which is composed of the sound of Thurston Moore's guitar amp blowing up) were as dense as ever. All three of the band's singers brought indelible melodies, but a pair of tunes voiced by bassist Kim Gordon most effectively managed to both embrace pop culture and subject it to skeptical analysis. The subject matter of "Tunic (Song For Karen)"—Karen Carpenter's death from anorexia nervosa—was bound to grab attention. But instead of a punk trashing of an MOR figure, it delivers an astute and compassionate view of the family dynamics that contributed to Carpenter's illness. The song's image of Carpenter jamming in a heavenly band with Jimi Hendrix pushed back against sexist diminutions of her talents. And "Kool Thing" simultaneously celebrated the rapper LL Cool J, took him to task for his sexism, and poked a little fun at Gordon's own politics. Grand Funk Railroad may have proclaimed, "We're an American Band," but Goo may be the most American record album ever. For what could be more American than wanting to have it all? © Bill Meyer/Qobuz

Sonic Youth entered the 1990s with their place in music history assured. By applying standards of cacophony cribbed from their original No Wave peers and concepts of alternate tuning pioneered by avant-garde classical composers Rhys Chatham and Glenn Branca to ferociously rocking songs, the NYC-based quartet had already renewed the potential of guitar-based rock music. But on Goo, their second major label release, they determined to seize the brass ring of pop stardom without giving up their abrasive sound and owned by no one stance. The hooks of "Dirty Boots" and "Kool Thing" may have been bigger and bolder, but the rackets they churned up on "Mote" and "Scooter and Jinx" (which is composed of the sound of Thurston Moore's guitar amp blowing up) were as dense as ever. All three of the band's singers brought indelible melodies, but a pair of tunes voiced by bassist Kim Gordon most effectively managed to both embrace pop culture and subject it to skeptical analysis. The subject matter of "Tunic (Song For Karen)"—Karen Carpenter's death from anorexia nervosa—was bound to grab attention. But instead of a punk trashing of an MOR figure, it delivers an astute and compassionate view of the family dynamics that contributed to Carpenter's illness. The song's image of Carpenter jamming in a heavenly band with Jimi Hendrix pushed back against sexist diminutions of her talents. And "Kool Thing" simultaneously celebrated the rapper LL Cool J, took him to task for his sexism, and poked a little fun at Gordon's own politics. Grand Funk Railroad may have proclaimed, "We're an American Band," but Goo may be the most American record album ever. For what could be more American than wanting to have it all? © Bill Meyer/Qobuz

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