Reinventions rarely come as thorough and effective as Achtung Baby, an album that completely changed U2's sound and style. The crashing, unrecognizable distorted guitars that open "Zoo Station" are a clear signal that U2 have traded their Americana pretensions for postmodern, contemporary European music. Drawing equally from Bowie's electronic, avant-garde explorations of the late '70s and the neo-psychedelic sounds of the thriving rave and Madchester club scenes of early-'90s England, Achtung Baby sounds vibrant and endlessly inventive. Unlike their inspirations, U2 rarely experiment with song structures over the course of the album. Instead, they use the thick dance beats, swirling guitars, layers of effects, and found sounds to break traditional songs out of their constraints, revealing the tortured emotional core of their songs with the hyper-loaded arrangements. In such a dense musical setting, it isn't surprising that U2 have abandoned the political for the personal on Achtung Baby, since the music, even with its inviting rhythms, is more introspective than anthemic. Bono has never been as emotionally naked as he is on Achtung Baby, creating a feverish nightmare of broken hearts and desperate loneliness; unlike other U2 albums, it's filled with sexual imagery, much of it quite disturbing, and it ends on a disquieting note. Few bands as far into their career as U2 have recorded an album as adventurous or fulfilled their ambitions quite as successfully as they do on Achtung Baby, and the result is arguably their best album.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

This is U2 following in the footsteps of David Bowie. Like the Heroes singer, who moved to Berlin in 1976 to find fresh inspiration, Bono, The Edge, Adam Clayton and Larry Mullen went to the German capital in 1990 to write their seventh album. With the wall having fallen a year earlier, there was an atmosphere of freedom, and indeed of chaos. Produced by Brian Eno and Daniel Lanois, Achtung Baby blends these two moods, both in content and form. Musically, it is more experimental, industrial and electronic than in the band's previous albums, although it retains a certain lyricism. As for the lyrics, they meet the Irish group’s usual standard, transcending their sentimental themes to evoke human relationships more generally (So Cruel, Even Better Than the Real Thing, Who's Gonna Ride Your Wild Horses). Unification is at the heart of some tracks, starting with the famous One. But here again, Bono brings a universal outlook.This Berlin exile was not ideal from an artistic point of view and they finished Achtung Baby at home, in Irish studios. However, traces of Germany can be felt in some of the songs, starting with Zoo Station, a reference to the Zoologischer Garten underground station. The rocking Until the End of The World was written for the film of the same name by German director Wim Wenders. It is a fictional conversation between Jesus and Judas, carried by a powerful guitar solo by The Edge. Eno summed up U2's European album as follows: “Buzzwords on this record were trashy, throwaway, dark, sexy and industrial (all good) and earnest, polite, sweet, righteous, rockiest and linear (all bad).” In addition to the remastered version of Achtung Baby, this 30th Anniversary Edition includes 22 previously unreleased songs and many remixes. © Nicolas Magenham/Qobuz

Recoils from fame usually aren't as subdued as Norah Jones' third album, Not Too Late, but such understatement is customary for this gentlest of singer/songwriters. Not Too Late may not be as barbed or alienating as either In Utero or Kid A -- it's not an ornery intensification of her sound nor a chilly exploration of its furthest limits -- but make no mistake, it is indeed a conscious abdication of her position as a comfortable coffeehouse crooner and a move toward art for art's sake. And, frankly, who can blame Jones for wanting to shake off the Starbucks stigmata? Although a large part of her appeal has always been that she sounds familiar, like a forgotten favorite from the early '70s, Jones is too young and too much of a New York bohemian to settle into a role as a nostalgia peddler, so it made sense that she started to stretch a little after her 2004 sophomore set, Feels Like Home, proved that her surprise blockbuster 2002 debut, Come Away with Me, was no fluke. First, there was the cabaret country of her Little Willies side band, then there was her appearance on gonzo art rocker Mike Patton's Peeping Tom project, and finally there's this hushed record, her first containing nothing but original compositions. It's also her first album recorded without legendary producer Arif Mardin, who helmed her first two albums, giving them a warm, burnished feel that was nearly as pivotal to Jones' success has her sweet, languid voice. Mardin died in the summer of 2006, and in his absence, Jones recorded Not Too Late at the home studio she shares with her collaborator, bassist and boyfriend Lee Alexander. Although it shares many of the same sonic characteristics as Jones' first two albums, Not Too Late boasts many subtle differences that add up to a distinctly different aesthetic. Jones and Alexander have stripped Norah's music to its core. Gone are any covers of pop standards, gone are the studio pros, gone is the enveloping lushness that made Come Away with Me so easy to embrace, something that Not Too Late is most decidedly not. While this might not have the rough edges of a four-track demo, Not Too Late is most certainly music that was made at home with little or no consideration of an audience much larger than Jones and Alexander. It's spare, sometimes skeletal, often sleepy and lackadaisical, wandering from tunes plucked out on acoustic guitars and pianos to those with richer full-band arrangements. Norah Jones has never exactly been lively -- part of her charm was her sultry slowness, ideal for both Sunday afternoons and late nights -- but the atmosphere here is stultifying even if it's not exactly unpleasant. After all, unpleasantness seems to run contrary to Jones' nature, and even if she dabbles in Tom Waits-ian carnivalesque stomps ("Sinkin' Soon") or tentatively stabs at politics ("My Dear Country"), it never feels out of place; often, the shift is so subtle that it's hard to notice. That subtlety is the biggest Achilles' heel on Not Too Late, as it manifests itself in songs that aren't particularly distinctive or performances that are particularly varied. There are exceptions to the rule and they all arrive with full-band arrangements, whether it's the lazy jazz shuffle of "Until the End," the country-tinged "Be My Somebody," or the wonderful laid-back soul of "Thinking About You." These are songs that not only sound full but they sound complete, songs that have a purposeful flow and are memorable for both their melody and sentiment. They would have been standouts on Feels Like Home, but here they are even more distinctive because the rest of the record plays like a sketchbook, capturing Jones and Alexander figuring out how to move forward after such great success. Instead of being the end result of those experiments, the completed painting after the sketch, Not Too Late captures their process, which is interesting if not quite compelling. But its very release is a clear statement of artistic purpose for Jones: its ragged, unfinished nature illustrates that she's more interested in pursuing her art than recycling Come Away with Me, and if this third album isn't as satisfying as that debut, it nevertheless is a welcome transitional effort that proves her artistic heart is in the right place.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

Breaking Benjamin are nothing if not consistent. Phobia finds them picking up exactly where they left off with 2004's We Are Not Alone, mixing heavy hard rock dynamics with a moody demeanor that never slips into full-on dejection, thanks in part to their proficient grasp of the accessible melody and ever-rousing chorus. Darkness permeates Phobia's tracks (bookended by a useless intro and outro), but the quartet always remembers the silver lining hanging in its oft-cloudy skies. Songs like "Until the End" exhibit this resilient attitude, affirming that while life can be tough, "Why give up? Why give in?…So I will go on until the end." Breaking Benjamin mix urgent up-front vocals with dense underside riffing ("The Diary of Jane," "Topless"), while still being able to effortlessly pull off songs with vulnerable edges ("Here We Are," "Breath"). This is heard even more in the gentle acoustic version of "The Diary of Jane" not listed on the back cover; it sounds natural and not just like a strained bonus novelty -- featuring Dropping Daylight's Sebastian Davin, the version may even be better than the original. As is often the case, certain tracks work out much better than others, as in the tough angst of "Dance with the Devil" versus the forced warbling of "Unknown Soldier." The main problem with the guys has always been that while everything is pulled off capably, there isn't always much to distinguish them from the rest of the post-grunge/alt-metal pack or really, each of their songs from one another. But what Breaking Benjamin lack in distinctiveness, they make up in a certain charm that makes them 100 times more appealing than most of their testosterone-clogged peers. Phobia will not win over any skeptics still holding out on the band, but for those already happily settled in the Benjamin camp, it makes for another satisfying listen.© Corey Apar /TiVo

Reinventions rarely come as thorough and effective as Achtung Baby, an album that completely changed U2's sound and style. The crashing, unrecognizable distorted guitars that open "Zoo Station" are a clear signal that U2 have traded their Americana pretensions for postmodern, contemporary European music. Drawing equally from Bowie's electronic, avant-garde explorations of the late '70s and the neo-psychedelic sounds of the thriving rave and Madchester club scenes of early-'90s England, Achtung Baby sounds vibrant and endlessly inventive. Unlike their inspirations, U2 rarely experiment with song structures over the course of the album. Instead, they use the thick dance beats, swirling guitars, layers of effects, and found sounds to break traditional songs out of their constraints, revealing the tortured emotional core of their songs with the hyper-loaded arrangements. In such a dense musical setting, it isn't surprising that U2 have abandoned the political for the personal on Achtung Baby, since the music, even with its inviting rhythms, is more introspective than anthemic. Bono has never been as emotionally naked as he is on Achtung Baby, creating a feverish nightmare of broken hearts and desperate loneliness; unlike other U2 albums, it's filled with sexual imagery, much of it quite disturbing, and it ends on a disquieting note. Few bands as far into their career as U2 have recorded an album as adventurous or fulfilled their ambitions quite as successfully as they do on Achtung Baby, and the result is arguably their best album.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

Both more and less than what a partnership of Sumner and Marr would promise, Electronic's debut has weathered time much better than might have been thought upon its release, but ultimately only half works. When it does, though, it's fantastic, sometimes shifting from okay to fantastic within the same song. Opening number "Idiot Country" is a bit like that -- the beginning sounds a little too rushed, Marr's heavy wah-wah riff OK enough but Sumner's semi-rap/semi-sung vocals a bit ham-handed. By the time the full combination of gentle keyboards, crisp rhythms, and the gentle, reflective chorus comes to bear, though, everything feels just great. Perhaps understandably Electronic leans much more toward New Order than the Smiths -- Marr had already proven his desire to work in dance-crossover since his previous band's breakup, while Sumner's immediately recognizable, melancholic vocals call to mind New Order's rich history. With synth bass and Rolands standing in for Peter Hook's own unique way around the low end, though, Electronic stands out more on its own. Marr's guitar work throughout tends towards the subtle via soft, brisk strums or the occasional repeated key riff; as he's credited for keyboards as well, it's likely much of his work ended up creating the pleasant synth melodies. There's nothing bad per se on Electronic, merely mediocre or a touch forced time to time -- "Gangster," for instance, has a great, cinematic tension undercut by Sumner's attempt at social relevance. The three singles from the album remain the highlights: the delicate, acoustic guitar-led slow groove of "Get the Message," "Feel Every Beat" and its appropriately slamming rhythms, and, in America, the group's brilliant debut effort "Getting Away with It." Neil Tennant of the Pet Shop Boys, who memorably guested on that last number, brings bandmate Chris Lowe along to help on his excellent, sly duet with Sumner -- "Patience of a Saint," another standout.© Ned Raggett /TiVo

On her follow-up, Julee Cruise once again worked with David Lynch as lyricist (and percussionist!) and Angelo Badalamenti as musical creator, with results that on the one hand continue Floating into the Night with little variation, and on the other introduce just enough difference into the brew. Ultimately Voice of Love is a continuation more than anything else -- though who loved Floating will adore this; those who hated it could easily avoid this, and so forth. As a sequel, though, it's still good enough stuff. Like Floating, Voice is, to an extent, a semi-soundtrack for Lynch's work: the queasy jazz-noir drones of "Up in Flames" appeared on his Industrial Symphony #1 project, while the soft shimmer "Questions in a World of Blue" cropped up on the Twin Peaks movie score. Interestingly, her Elvis cover for Until the End of the World, "Summer Kisses, Winter Tears," isn't here, but an interesting combination of drone and steady, semi-industrial beats titled after the movie is. Voice of Love stands alone just fine, though, another mysterious, dreamy float through a hazy post-'50s/post-punk mood zone. Nothing on the album is as instantly strong and memorable as "Falling," making it more a collection to be appreciated as a whole instead of in parts. Certainly a lot of the music sounds like "Falling" or other first-album highlights; given that Badalamenti shows variety in his other work, likely enough it's a decision on his part to maintain a certain mood with Cruise. If anything, the change would be in the drumming, which is often a little more upfront and pulsing (if still gentle enough) than on Floating. "Movin' in on You" is a lovely example of Cruise's work on both lead and overdubbed harmony vocals, hitting the light shoo-be-doo-wop feel of songs like "The Nightingale" well, while the neat strut and swing of "Kool Kat Walk" is just plain fun.© Ned Raggett /TiVo

Give Justin Timberlake credit for this: he has ambition. He may not have good instincts and may bungle his execution, but he sure has ambition and has ever since he was the leading heartthrob in *NSYNC. He drove the teen pop quintet to the top of the charts, far exceeding their peers the Backstreet Boys, and when the group could achieve no more, he eased into a solo career that earned him great sales and a fair amount of praise, largely centered on how he reworked the dynamic sound of early Michael Jackson at a time when Jacko was so hapless he turned away songs that later became JT hits, as in the Neptunes-propelled "Rock Your Body." That song and "Cry Me a River" turned his 2002 solo debut, Justified, into a blockbuster, which in turn meant that he started to be taken seriously -- not just by teens-turned-adult, but also by some rock critics and Hollywood, who gave him no less than three starring roles in the wake of Justified. Those films all fell victim to endless delays -- Alpha Dog aired at Sundance 2006 but didn't see release that year, nor did Black Snake Moan, which got pushed back until 2007, leaving Edison Force, a roundly panned Shattered Glass-styled thriller that sneaked out onto video, as the first Timberlake film to see the light of day -- but even if silver screen stardom proved elusive, Justin didn't seem phased at all, and his fall 2006 album FutureSex/LoveSounds proves why: he'd been pouring all his energy into his second album to ensure that he didn't have a sophomore slump. If Michael Jackson was the touchstone for Justified, Prince provides the cornerstone of FutureSex/LoveSounds, at least to a certain extent -- Timbaland, Timberlake's chief collaborator here (a move that invites endless endlessly funny "Timbaland/Timberlake" jokes), does indeed spend plenty of time on FutureSex refurbishing the electro-funk of Prince's early-'80s recordings, just like he did with Nelly Furtado's Loose, and Timberlake's obsession with sex does indeed recall Prince's carnivorous carnality of the early '80s. But execution is everything, particularly with Timberlake, and if the clumsy title of FutureSex/LoveSounds wasn't a big enough tip-off that something is amiss here -- the clear allusion to Speakerboxxx/The Love Below would seem like an homage if there weren't the nagging suspicion that Timberlake didn't realize that the OutKast album bore that title because it was two records in one -- a quick listen to the album's opening triptych proves that Justin doesn't quite bring the robotic retro-future funk he's designed to life. Hell, a quick look at the titles of those first three songs shows some cracks in the album's architecture, as they reveal how desperate and literal Timberlake's sex moves are. Each of the three opening songs has "sex" sandwiched somewhere within its title, as if mere repetition of the word will magically conjure a sex vibe, when in truth it has the opposite effect: it makes it seem that Justin is singing about it because he's not getting it. Surely, his innuendos are bluntly obvious, packing lots of swagger but no machismo or grace. They merely recycle familiar scenarios -- making out on the beach, dancing under hot lights, acting like a pimp -- in familiar fashions, marrying them to grinding, squealing synths that never sound sweaty or sexy; if they're anything, they're the sound of bad anonymous sex in a club, not an epic freaky night with a sex machine like, say, Prince. But Prince isn't the only idol Justin Timberlake wants to emulate here. Like any young man with a complex about his maturity, he wants to prove that he's an adult now by singing not just about sex but also serious stuff, too -- meaning, of course, that drugs are bad and can ruin lives. Like the Arctic Monkeys deploring the scummy men who pick up cheap hookers in Sheffield, Justin has read about the pipe and the damage done -- he may not have seen it, but he sure knows that it happens somewhere, and he's put together an absurd Stevie Wonder-esque slice of protest pop in "Losing My Way," where he writes in character of a man who had it all and threw it all away...or, to use Justin's words, "Hi, my name is Bob/And I work at my job," which only goes to show that Timberlake lacks a sense of grace no matter what he chooses to write about. Graceless he may be, but Timberlake is nevertheless kind of fascinating on FutureSex/LoveSounds since his fuses a clear musical vision -- misguided, yes, but clear all the same -- with a hammyness that only a child entertainer turned omnipresent 21st century celebrity can be. Timberlake yearns to be taken seriously, to be a soulful loverman like Marvin Gaye coupled with the musical audaciousness of Prince, yet still sell more records than Michael Jackson -- and he not only yearns for that recognition, he feels entitled to it, so he's cut and pasted pieces from all their careers, cobbling together his own blueprint, following it in a fashion where every wrong move is simultaneously obvious and surprising. There is no subtlety to his music, nor is there much style -- he's charmless in his affectations, and there's nothing but affectations in his music. At least this accumulation of affectations does amount to a semblance of personality this time around -- he's still a slick cipher as a singer, yet he is undeniably an auteur of some sort, one who has created an album that's stilted and robotic, but one who doggedly carries it through to its logical conclusion, so the club jams and slow jams both feel equally distant and calculated. There is, however, a flair within the production, particularly in how foreign yet familiar its retro-future vibe sounds.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

The fourth album released in the wake of 2Pac's 1996 death, Until the End of Time certainly offers plenty of music, two discs' worth to be precise, yet doesn't offer too many highlights besides the chilling title track. As with many of 2Pac's posthumous recordings, the songs here seem overdone, too often dressed up with layers upon layers of production, choruses of background vocals, and a seemingly endless parade of guests. All of this over-production obscures 2Pac's performances, which somehow remain remarkable no matter how deep into the vault Afeni Shakur and Suge Knight have dug. Songs like "Letter 2 My Unborn," "When Thugz Cry," and the title track are just as heartfelt as "Keep Ya Head Up," "Dear Mama," and "I Ain't Mad at Cha" had been, but unfortunately they're marred by radio-oriented production that's too glossy for such stark, literate lyrics. The title track is somewhat of an exception, though. It's one of 2Pac's most desperate, spirited performances ever -- the voice of a man face to face with his own fate -- and it's accompanied by an anxious yet lulling interpolation of Mr. Mister's 1985 pop hit "Broken Wings" that is far more affective than you'd imagine. Note, however, that there are two versions here of the title track (the best one being the original one, which features RL on the hook), as there are also two versions of a few other songs. These nearly interchangeable remixes function as little more than filler, particularly since the production throughout Until the End of Time is rarely noteworthy. What at first seems like an epic recording, offering 19 tracks in total, consequently seems as overdone as the production. Had this album been pared down to the length of a single disc, it could be an exhilarating listen; as it stands, though, Until the End of Time is a mishmash -- too short on standouts like the title track and too loaded with dressed-up, guest-laden over-production -- that you'll find yourself fast-forwarding through far more often than you'd prefer.© Jason Birchmeier /TiVo

This is the first of Irish guitar virtuoso Gary Moore's true heavy metal albums. Boasting a crisp, aggressive sound, Corridors of Power kicks off with the foot-stomping "Don't Take Me for a Loser," delivers the token power ballad in "Always Gonna Love You," and floors the gas pedal on "Rockin' Every Night." However, the album's climax has to be the epic "End of the World," with it's two-minute long guitar solo intro and vocals courtesy of Cream's Jack Bruce.© Eduardo Rivadavia /TiVo