The Complete Budokan 1978 captures some of Dylan's very first concert appearances in Japan and is an essential release for diehards, while an intriguing curio for the casual listener. Complete Budokan encompasses all of the material originally issued as a double LP in 1978, plus three dozen additional tracks. This lovingly remastered album, sourced from the original 24-channel multi-track analog tapes, sounds far crisper than the original release (especially the vocals). Released to coincide with the 45th anniversary of the original eight-show run at the infamous Budokan auditorium, we hear the entirety of two shows from February 28 and March 1, 1978. Bob Dylan is at a fascinating crossroads in his career here, and in fine voice. The album finds our hero in between the traveling circus that was the mid 1970s Rolling Thunder tour, and one year before his conversion to Christianity. Dylan shows us what a traditional American great he is, with a near-orchestral band and dramatically reworked takes on classic songs. Some of these arrangements are wonky, especially to modern ears. But they're always intriguingly put together, and intricately executed takes—the highlight being a knockdown, muscular "The Man in Me." It's clear from the start that this is not your grandpa's Dylan. Stirring leads on saxophone, mandolin, and fiddle deliver the vocal melodies to "A Hard Rain's A-Gonna Fall." "Shelter from the Storm" is given a halting, reggae-ish tempo, a positively E Street-worthy sax solo, and the delightful touches one would expect from the Dead. Other tunes stray closer to a Vegas revue. "I Threw It All Away" is transformed into a full-blown showtune, as the backing vocals take center stage. One wonders if a line of chorus dancers were onstage for this or the lilting, tango-esque take on "Love Minus Zero." There is occasional flute, notably on "Mr. Tambourine Man," which we weren't sure about at first, but by the third listen we were absolutely digging it, even as it takes the tune straight to Margaritaville. © Mike McGonigal/Qobuz

My Neighbour Totoro, Princess Mononoke, Spirited Away - people wonder at the magic of Studio Ghibli films far beyond their native Japan, within which the director Hayao Miyazaki recounts his stories in anime guise. But what would these films be without their soundtracks? Just like with Steven Spielberg and John Williams, Miyazaki has forged a unique artistic bond with the Japanese composer Joe Hisaishi that has lasted almost 40 years, with the latter’s compositions being instrumental in the films’ successes. Now we can discover his greatest Studio Ghibli hits re-recorded with the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra - a first-class Deutsche Grammophon debut.In 1983, the two artists made their first collaboration for the anime film Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind, for which Hisaishi would create “image music” (i.e. music that reflects the character and characters of the film or series). Miyazaki was so convinced by the music that, since the founding of Studio Ghibli in 1985, he was to underscore each of his films with Hisaishi’s compositions - to our eternal good fortune, because the pieces such as the waltz "Merry-Go-Round of Life" (from Howl’s Moving Castle), "A Town with an Ocean View" (from Kiki’s Delivery Service) or the touching "One Summer’s Day (The Name of Life)" (from Spirited Away) enchant the images as they appear on the big screen with very special magic. With a total of 29 tracks from 10 films, Hisaishi presents A Symphonic Celebration, with the crème de la crème of his Studio Ghibli works in all their diversity - as composer, conductor and pianist - newly arranged for the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra. In fact, this is the first time that the film music of Princess Mononoke and Porco Rosso has been recorded with a professional world orchestra. During an interview, Hisashi tells us himself:“We recorded the project last year in a church with a huge choir and orchestra, and that was really great. The orchestras in Europe somehow have a longer, fuller sound. Of course, the musicians in Japan are also highly professional, but in Vienna or London the feeling for the music is a bit different again.”Whether it’s in Japan, Europe or America - with A Symphonic Celebration we can now enjoy Hisaishi’s wonderful and unique film music all over the world, and immerse ourselves fully in the fabulous stories of Miyazaki’s anime characters. © Lena Germann/Qobuz

Over the past 24 years, Tracey Thorn has released four solo albums and published four books. Ben Watt founded a label, Buzzin' Fly, and made his own solo records. But it's been nearly a quarter century since the married duo produced a record together as Everything but the Girl. Fuse is worth the wait. During that time, and before, the band's influence has remained strong—there's no shortage of singers cooing beautiful misery over drum-and-bass beats. But, as Romy Madley Croft of The xx has said of Thorn: "One of my goals always is to say a lot while saying very little … and I definitely think that Tracey does that." On lush "Nothing Left To Lose," Thorn sounds as smoky and soulful as ever against Watt's sonic reverberations, even as she gives in to submissive desperation. "I'm here at your door/ And I've been here before/ Tell me what to do/ Cause nothing works without you/ I know the hour is late/ And I know you'll make me wait." At one point, the glitch beat drops down, then out, and you hear Thorn take a breath in—and it's as intimately meaningful as any words. She sounds comfortable wearing Dusty Springfield's mantle on stark and spare, deep and dark "Run A Red Light" and "When You Mess Up." The latter doesn't have a traditional ending; instead, it's just Thorn singing "Christ, we all mess up" as the music lingers, unsure if she'll return, then fades—content not to put a bow on it. Watt puts a sort-of AI effect on Thorn's voice for that song and adds an electronic tremor to it for "Caution To The Wind." "We have to fuck up my voice," Thorn has said of the record. "We were desperate to fuck up my voice. It's one of the key signatures of the band, so it was the most fun thing," Thorn has said of the experiment. The duo said they wrote the lyrics for shimmering "Lost" by typing "I lost..." into Google for auto-fill results. "I lost my place/ I lost my bags … I lost my perfect job/ I lost the plot," Thorn sings, before delivering the gut punch: "I lost my faith and my best friend/ I lost my mother." She gets lyrically playful on dreamy "No One Knows We're Dancing" ("First up, this is Fabio/ He drives here from Torino/ Parking tickets litter/ His Fiat Cinquecento") and sunny "Karaoke" (A guy then goofed through Elvis/ Why not, I thought, why not?/ If you want it you can own it/ Just aim, then take a shot"), one setting the scene at a dance club and the other at a karaoke bar. "After so much time apart professionally, there was both a friction and a natural spark in the studio when we began," Thorn has said of musically reuniting with her husband. "And it ended in a kind of coalescence, an emotional fusion. It felt very real and alive." © Shelly Ridenour/Qobuz

**Disc 2, tracks 12 & 13 are not available in Hi-Res 24-bit and must be downloaded individually in CD quality**In 2023, soul music tends to fall into two categories. On the one hand, there are the taxidermied revivalists, firmly rooted in the traditions of the sixties and seventies. These include bands from the fascinating Daptone label, such as Thee Sacred Souls and The Budos Band, as well as St. Paul & The Broken Bones, Mayer Hawthorne and Durand Jones & The Indications... On the other are artists who are much more firmly rooted in R&B, coiling sensually around more contemporary beats and productions, often influenced by hip hop. As we progress from nu-soul pioneers such as Erykah Badu and D'Angelo to the modern Jazmine Sullivan, not much retro flavour survives... yet Gabriels chooses neither camp! There’s no doubt that this has something to do with the atypical casting of the impressive trio. It is fronted by the charismatic Californian singer Jacob Lusk, who at the age of 35 has been putting in the work, singing backing vocals for Beck, Diana Ross, Gladys Knight and Nate Dogg, and appearing on American Idol. He is joined by the Brit Ryan Hope, a multi-instrumentalist and music video director, and the American Ari Balouzian, a classically trained musician. It's a combination that creates a fascinating mix of soul tradition and 100% contemporary sounds evident throughout their debut album Angels & Queens. Of course, the secret weapon of this exhilarating and invigorating Qobuzissime is its singer. Lusk can do anything! He can unleash incendiary falsettos in the style of Curtis Mayfield, which carry the gospel tradition loud and clear, or whisper like a heartbroken lover - the vocal storm is total! Behind these stunning pyrotechnics, he also delivers touching personal lyrics; he’s never overly maudlin when he goes into introspection, nor does he pontificate when tackling important themes. However, If his voice is such a magnet, it's also because Ryan Hope and Ari Balouzian have created the perfect setting for it to shine through. Tempered brass, the right amount of strings, well-balanced percussion, lively backing vocals, and meticulous arrangements; the enchantment is inescapable, both in the ballads and in the up-tempo compositions. A divine Qobuzissime! © Marc Zisman/Qobuz

It was designed to be a blockbuster and it was. Prior to Goodbye Yellow Brick Road, Elton John had hits -- his second album, Elton John, went Top 10 in the U.S. and U.K., and he had smash singles in "Crocodile Rock" and "Daniel" -- but this 1973 album was a statement of purpose spilling over two LPs, which was all the better to showcase every element of John's spangled personality. Opening with the 11-minute melodramatic exercise "Funeral for a Friend/Love Lies Bleeding" -- as prog as Elton ever got -- Goodbye Yellow Brick Road immediately embraces excess but also tunefulness, as John immediately switches over to "Candle in the Wind" and "Bennie & the Jets," two songs that form the core of his canon and go a long way toward explaining the over-stuffed appeal of Goodbye Yellow Brick Road. This was truly the debut of Elton John the entertainer, the pro who knows how to satisfy every segment of his audience, and this eagerness to please means the record is giddy but also overwhelming, a rush of too much muchness. Still, taken a side at a time, or even a song a time, it is a thing of wonder, serving up such perfectly sculpted pop songs as "Grey Seal," full-bore rockers as "Saturday Night's Alright for Fighting" and "Your Sister Can't Twist (But She Can Rock & Roll)," cinematic ballads like "I've Seen That Movie Too," throwbacks to the dusty conceptual sweep of Tumbleweed Connection in the form of "The Ballad of Danny Bailey (1909-34)," and preposterous glam novelties, like "Jamaica Jerk-Off." This touched on everything John did before, and suggested ways he'd move in the near-future, and that sprawl is always messy but usually delightful, a testament to Elton's '70s power as a star and a musician.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

With Iechyd Da - “good health” in Welsh as he comes from West Kirby, a small town nestled in the Wirral peninsula between Wales and Liverpool - Bill Ryder-Jones begins 2024 with grace. This fifth record follows the hazy shoegaze of Yawn, released 5 years earlier, and Yawny Yawn, his stripped-back piano version. The ex-guitarist of The Coral embarked on his solo journey in 2008 with a definitive departure from the rock quintet, whose glory had become as overwhelming as its stresses. These difficulties and his own melancholy have formed the basis, throughout his career, of the Englishman’s intimate music of languid, chamber-like folk ballads.They roll out here with an immensity that is more organic and luminous, releasing the pain of thwarted love with soaring strings. Opting for orchestral pop, sometimes reminiscent of the 60s, the gritty songwriter always writes of his struggles but is now fuelled by hope. Mirroring contortions of the heart and mind, the rhythms speed up and fade out, and the orchestration builds and diminishes, illustrating his emotions with melodic precision and luxury. In this optimistic production, the mixing once again entrusted to James Ellis Ford, we hear for the first time a village children’s choir (“We Don’t Need Them”, “It’s Today Again”), which brings an innocent warmth. The whole thing gently closes with the delicate notes of the instrumental song “Nos Da” (“good night” in Welsh). Astounding. © Charlotte Saintoin/Qobuz

Perhaps Tom Waits' most cohesive album, Bone Machine is a morbid, sinister nightmare, one that applied the quirks of his experimental '80s classics to stunningly evocative -- and often harrowing -- effect. In keeping with the title's grotesque image of the human body, Bone Machine is obsessed with decay and mortality, the ease with which earthly existence can be destroyed. The arrangements are accordingly stripped of all excess flesh; the very few, often non-traditional instruments float in distinct separation over the clanking junkyard percussion that dominates the record. It's a chilling, primal sound made all the more otherworldly (or, perhaps, underworldly) by Waits' raspy falsetto and often-distorted roars and growls. Matching that evocative power is Waits' songwriting, which is arguably the most consistently focused it's ever been. Rich in strange and extraordinarily vivid imagery, many of Waits' tales and musings are spun against an imposing backdrop of apocalyptic natural fury, underlining the insignificance of his subjects and their universally impending doom. Death is seen as freedom for the spirit, an escape from the dread and suffering of life in this world -- which he paints as hellishly bleak, full of murder, suicide, and corruption. The chugging, oddly bouncy beats of the more uptempo numbers make them even more disturbing -- there's a detached nonchalance beneath the horrific visions. Even the narrator of the catchy, playful "I Don't Wanna Grow Up" seems hopeless in this context, but that song paves the way for the closer "That Feel," an ode to the endurance of the human soul (with ultimate survivor Keith Richards on harmony vocals). The more upbeat ending hardly dispels the cloud of doom hanging over the rest of Bone Machine, but it does give the listener a gentler escape from that terrifying sonic world. All of it adds up to Waits' most affecting and powerful recording, even if it isn't his most accessible.© Steve Huey /TiVo

Tom Waits wrote a song called "Frank's Wild Years" for his 1983 Swordfishtrombones album, then used the title (minus its apostrophe) for a musical play he wrote with his wife, Kathleen Brennan, and toured with in 1986. The Franks Wild Years album, drawn from the show, is subtitled, "un operachi romantico in two acts," though the songs themselves do not carry the plot. Rather, this is just the third installment in Waits' eccentric series of Island Records albums in which he seems most inspired by German art song and carnival music, presenting songs in spare, stripped-down arrangements consisting of instruments like marimba, baritone horn, and pump organ and singing in a strained voice that has been artificially compressed and distorted. The songs themselves often are conventional romantic vignettes, or would be minus the oddities of instrumentation, arrangement, and performance. For example, "Innocent When You Dream," a song of disappointment in love and friendship, has a winning melody, but it is played in a seesaw arrangement of pump organ, bass, violin, and piano, and Waits sings it like an enraged drunk. (He points out the arbitrary nature of the arrangements by repeating "Straight to the Top," done as a demented rhumba in act one, as a Vegas-style Frank Sinatra swing tune in act two.) The result on record may not be theatrical, exactly, but it certainly is affected. It also has the quality of an inside joke that listeners are not being let in on.© William Ruhlmann /TiVo

Following on the heels of an album where he repudiated his past with his greatest backing band, Blood on the Tracks finds Bob Dylan, in a way, retreating to the past, recording a largely quiet, acoustic-based album. But this is hardly nostalgia -- this is the sound of an artist returning to his strengths, what feels most familiar, as he accepts a traumatic situation, namely the breakdown of his marriage. This is an album alternately bitter, sorrowful, regretful, and peaceful, easily the closest he ever came to wearing his emotions on his sleeve. That's not to say that it's an explicitly confessional record, since many songs are riddles or allegories, yet the warmth of the music makes it feel that way. The original version of the album was even quieter -- first takes of "Idiot Wind" and "Tangled Up in Blue," available on The Bootleg Series, Vols. 1-3, are hushed and quiet (excised verses are quoted in the liner notes, but not heard on the record) -- but Blood on the Tracks remains an intimate, revealing affair since these harsher takes let his anger surface the way his sadness does elsewhere. As such, it's an affecting, unbearably poignant record, not because it's a glimpse into his soul, but because the songs are remarkably clear-eyed and sentimental, lovely and melancholy at once. And, in a way, it's best that he was backed with studio musicians here, since the professional, understated backing lets the songs and emotion stand at the forefront. Dylan made albums more influential than this, but he never made one better.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

It's hard to overestimate the importance of The Freewheelin' Bob Dylan, the record that firmly established Dylan as an unparalleled songwriter, one of considerable skill, imagination, and vision. At the time, folk had been quite popular on college campuses and bohemian circles, making headway onto the pop charts in diluted form, and while there certainly were a number of gifted songwriters, nobody had transcended the scene as Dylan did with this record. There are a couple (very good) covers, with "Corrina Corrina" and "Honey Just Allow Me One More Chance," but they pale with the originals here. At the time, the social protests received the most attention, and deservedly so, since "Blowin' in the Wind," "Masters of War," and "A Hard Rain's A-Gonna Fall" weren't just specific in their targets; they were gracefully executed and even melodic. Although they've proven resilient throughout the years, if that's all Freewheelin' had to offer, it wouldn't have had its seismic impact, but this also revealed a songwriter who could turn out whimsy ("Don't Think Twice, It's All Right"), gorgeous love songs ("Girl From the North Country"), and cheerfully absurdist humor ("Bob Dylan's Blues," "Bob Dylan's Dream") with equal skill. This is rich, imaginative music, capturing the sound and spirit of America as much as that of Louis Armstrong, Hank Williams, or Elvis Presley. Dylan, in many ways, recorded music that equaled this, but he never topped it.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

Greta Van Fleet hail from Frankenmuth, Michigan, home of Bronner's CHRISTmas Wonderland, the store that keeps the holiday spirit alive nearly every day of the year. Living with the specter of Santa is bound to keep a young man residing in a fantasy land, and so it is with Greta Van Fleet: They inhabit a world they never experienced, namely the '70s. Every member of Greta Van Fleet -- which consists of a heap of brothers called Kiszka and a drummer named Danny Wagner, all born too late to witness either Kingdom Come or Jimmy Page & Robert Plant's Unledded reunion -- act as if the earth stopped turning in 1974, the year when Led Zeppelin still traded in myths learned from J.R.R. Tolkien and strode the earth like golden gods. Try as they may -- and, lordy, do they try -- Greta Van Fleet never seem immortal on Anthem of the Peaceful Army, the 2018 album billed as their debut (From the Fires, a record that is only 12 minutes shorter than Anthem, is apparently a double-EP). Blame it on GVF's desperate desire to hit their marks precisely. The group is so intent on recapturing the majestic lumber of Zeppelin at their peak, they dare not miss a step, letting the riffs pile up so they suggest epics. Sometimes, guitarist Jake Kiszka, bassist Sam Kiszka, and drummer Danny Wagner do work up a head of drama -- no swing, of course, because it's harder to replicate John Bonham's beat than approximate Jimmy Page's guitar army -- but they're undone by Josh Kiszka, a singer who is intent on singing with velocity that he can't muster. Josh may be the weak link, but he merely reveals how the whole band seem to have learned their moves from watching late-night concerts on Palladium while buying pre-worn vintage-styled T's at Urban Outfitters. For the band and audience alike, Greta Van Fleet is nothing more than cosplay of the highest order.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

By now, Chan Marshall (aka Cat Power) is an old hand at choosing songs to interpret. On this, her third album of catholic covers, she makes that clear right out of the gate. Her interpretation of Frank Ocean's "Bad Religion"—a spare heartbreaker and one of the most painfully intimate songs of the past decade—is a marvel in that it takes an already perfect song and makes it even more haunting by tapping into a different dimension. There's a lived-in depth, a beautiful reminder of how Marshall has grown into her voice, which used to be a tentative instrument and now is arrestingly yet comfortably assured. Adding more musical layers, including multiple vocal tracks, she underscores how the song is not just about the swelling ache of unrequited love but also the acceptance of what that means about you. Marshall makes Lana Del Rey's sleepy-eyed ballad "White Mustang" into more of a sexy slow roll that quickens its pace at the chorus—becoming a noir prowl, like from some spy thriller. "You're revvin' and revvin' and revvin' it up/ And the sound, it was frightening," Marshall sings like she means it, all the gauze of the original torn aside. Her own song "Hate," a bleak blues lament from 2006's The Greatest, evolves as "Unhate": bigger, bolder and with ghostly vocal effects. The pounding, relentless nightmare of Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds' "I Had a Dream, Joe" is transformed into a Lynchian fever dream. The effect sounds, truly, like an early Cat Power song—nervous, threatening, skittish, ready to bolt at any moment. Marshall lets slide the cynicism of the Replacements' bittersweet beauty "Here Comes a Regular," leaving the tender ache of hopelessness on full display. The Pogues' trad-folk chanty "A Pair of Brown Eyes" is stripped back to a holy-sounding hymn, organ humming and Marshall's voice a mesmerizing round-robin of harmony. "It Wasn't God Who Made Honky Tonk Angels" becomes mischievous and winking, slowed down to a lazy summer drawl with back-alley bass. Bob Seger's "Against the Wind," here almost witchy in its femininity, is completely unrecognizable. Marshall puts a swoony, smoky cabaret sheen on the jazz standard "I'll Be Seeing You." And a faithful cover of "These Days"—originally written by a 16-year-old Jackson Browne and made famous by Nico—is exactly what you want to hear from Marshall: husky and shadowy, excruciatingly beautiful, endlessly satisfying. © Shelly Ridenour/Qobuz

With a regular American deal in place for the first time ever, thanks to 4AD's linkup with the WEA conglomerate, Dead Can Dance made a splash on commercial alternative radio with "The Ubiquitous Mr. Lovegrove," the first single from Into the Labyrinth. Raga drones, a strange clattering beat, a haunting wind instrument, orchestral shading, and Perry's ever-grand voice make it one of the more unlikely things to be heard on the airwaves in a while. It all begins with yet another jaw-dropper from Gerrard, "Yulunga (Spirit Dance)," with keyboards and her octave-defying voice at such a deep, rich level that it sweeps all before it. Wordless as always but never without emotional heft, the song slowly slides into a slow but heavy percussion piece that sounds a bit like "Bird" from A Passage in Time, but with greater impact and memorability. As the album slowly unwinds over an hour's length, the two again create a series of often astounding numbers that sound like they should be millennia old, mixing and matching styles to create new fusions. Perhaps even more impressive is that everything was performed solely by Perry and Gerrard -- no outside guests here, and yet everything is as detailed, lush, and multifaceted as many of their past albums. New classics from the band appear almost track for track: Gerrard's a cappella work on "The Wind That Shakes the Barley," the gentle beauty of "Ariadne," the rhythmic drive and chants of the title song. The conclusion is a slightly surprising but quite successful cover -- "How Fortunate the Man With None," an adaptation of a classic Bertolt Brecht tune about the turn of fortune's wheel. Given a restrained arrangement and Perry's singing, it brings Labyrinth to a satisfying end.© Ned Raggett /TiVo