Surprisingly, very few artists can float a digital-age collection of number one singles without resorting to trickery involving foreign countries or obscure charts. The Beatles had little trouble (The Beatles 1) and Elvis Presley managed both a disc of number ones (Elvis: 30 #1 Hits) and one of number twos (2nd to None), but Michael Jackson bent the rules so far that calling his disc Number Ones is tantamount to consumer fraud. Additionally, a collection of number one singles may not be the best representation of an artist's career; the Elvis volume included nothing from his Sun years, and the Beatles' set skipped "Strawberry Fields Forever." The #1's, Motown's collection of chart-toppers by Diana Ross & the Supremes, fares much better. It benefits from two Supremes characteristics: as a pop group through and through, their biggest hits were often their best songs, and, with the help of the solo Diana Ross, they spent a long time on the charts (nearly 20 years separates the Supremes' debut at the top from Ross' last number one single). While Motown's separate volumes on Diana Ross and the Supremes (in the Ultimate Collection series) remain the best source for a single-disc picture of either act, The #1's works remarkably well. It includes 19 number one pop singles (13 from the group, six from the solo Ross), plus various number ones on the R&B and dance charts, and there aren't any glaring omissions. Granted, fans of early Motown can't live without the girl-group chestnuts "Buttered Popcorn" and "Your Heart Belongs to Me," while those who enjoy latter-day Ross won't find "One More Chance" or "Why Do Fools Fall in Love?" -- but of course, this collection wasn't created with them in mind. For the group who recorded more hit singles during the '60s than any other act except the Beatles, and for one of the reigning solo artists of the '70s, The #1's is a worthy tribute.© John Bush /TiVo

Even if B.B. King is the King of the Blues, some might find it strange that he chose to record Let the Good Times Roll, a tribute album to Louis Jordan, the King of Jump Blues. King's work was never as boisterous or enthusiastic as Jordan's, but his debt is apparent from the first cut of the album. King may have never done straight jump blues, but his sophisticated urban blues -- complete with horn sections and an emphasis on vocals -- shows as much jump influence as it does Delta. Let the Good Times Roll brings that home with a quiet, seductive insistence. Backed by a stellar band -- featuring Dr. John on piano, drummer Earl Palmer, alto saxophonist Hank Crawford, and tenor saxophonist Dave "Fathead" Newman, among others -- B.B. King sounds loose and natural. There are stars in the band, but this is hardly a bloated all-star effort, since the focus in on delivering no-nonsense performances. Strangely enough, King doesn't play that much guitar on the album, concentrating on his vocals and letting the band interact. When he does solo, it's as elegant and tasteful as always, but the focal point is always the songs. Since he's such a fine guitarist, B.B.'s singing often goes underappreciated, but here it's at the forefront, and he shines. His phrasing is impeccable, and he always captures the spirit of the songs, either through humor or heart. Of course, that's a skill that Jordan had, as well, and realizing that sheds new light on B.B.'s music. Much of his celebrated skills as a showman and a performer indirectly came from Jordan, as did elements of his musical style. Never has that been as clear as it is on Let the Good Times Roll. © Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

Love it or hate it, Over-Nite Sensation was a watershed album for Frank Zappa, the point where his post-'60s aesthetic was truly established; it became his second gold album, and most of these songs became staples of his live shows for years to come. Whereas the Flo and Eddie years were dominated by rambling, off-color comedy routines, Over-Nite Sensation tightened up the song structures and tucked sexual and social humor into melodic, technically accomplished heavy guitar rock with jazzy chord changes and funky rhythms; meanwhile, Zappa's growling new post-accident voice takes over the storytelling. While the music is some of Zappa's most accessible, the apparent callousness and/or stunning sexual explicitness of "Camarillo Brillo," "Dirty Love," and especially "Dinah-Moe Humm" leave him on shaky aesthetic ground. Zappa often protested that the charges of misogyny leveled at such material missed out on the implicit satire of male stupidity, and also confirmed intellectuals' self-conscious reticence about indulging in dumb fun; however, the glee in his voice as he spins his adolescent fantasies can undermine his point. Indeed, that enjoyment, also evident in the silly wordplay, suggests that Zappa is throwing his juvenile crassness in the face of critical expectation, asserting his right to follow his muse even if it leads him into blatant stupidity (ironic or otherwise). One can read this motif into the absurd shaggy-dog story of a dental floss rancher in "Montana," the album's indisputable highlight, which features amazing, uncredited vocal backing from Tina Turner and the Ikettes. As with much of Zappa's best '70s and '80s material, Over-Nite Sensation could be perceived as ideologically problematic (if you haven't got the constitution for FZ's humor), but musically, it's terrific.© Steve Huey /TiVo

GRRR Live! captures the December 15, 2012 concert the Rolling Stones held at Newark's Prudential Center as part of their 50 & Counting Tour. GRRR!, the multi-format 50th Anniversary compilation, was barely a month old at the time, hence the title of this belated 2023 release: the Stones were out hawking their hits, so why not name it after a comp few remember a decade later? As the concert was originally designed as a pay-per-view extravaganza, the show is packed with guest stars, ranging from the Stones' old mate Mick Taylor playing on "Midnight Rambler" and New Jersey's own home state hero Bruce Springsteen jamming on "Tumbling Dice" to young guns Black Keys, Lady Gaga, and Gary Clark, Jr. & John Mayer. The set list offers few surprises -- if you don't recognize a song, that's because it's a new tune added to GRRR! -- but the Stones are in fine form, never seeming tired of playing the hits in a fashion that guarantees a splendid time for one and all. © Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

Despite the seemingly instant attention surrounding them -- glowing write-ups in glossy magazines like Rolling Stone and Mojo, guest lists boasting names like Kate Hudson and Chris Robinson, and appearances on national TV -- the White Stripes have stayed true to the approach that brought them this success in the first place. White Blood Cells, Jack and Meg White's third effort for Sympathy for the Record Industry, wraps their powerful, deceptively simple style around meditations on fame, love, and betrayal. As produced by Doug Easley, it sounds exactly how an underground sensation's breakthrough album should: bigger and tighter than their earlier material, but not so polished that it will scare away longtime fans. Admittedly, White Blood Cells lacks some of the White Stripes' blues influence and urgency, but it perfects the pop skills the duo honed on De Stijl and expands on them. The country-tinged "Hotel Yorba" and immediate, crazed garage pop of "Fell in Love With a Girl" define the album's immediacy, along with the folky, McCartney-esque "We're Going to Be Friends," a charming, school-days love song that's among Jack White's finest work. However, White's growth as a songwriter shines through on virtually every track, from the cocky opener "Dead Leaves and the Dirty Ground" to vicious indictments like "The Union Forever" and "I Think I Smell a Rat." "Same Boy You've Always Known" and "Offend in Every Way" are two more quintessential tracks, offering up more of the group's stomping riffs and rhythms and us-against-the-world attitude. Few garage rock groups would name one of their most driving numbers "I'm Finding It Harder to Be a Gentleman," and fewer still would pen lyrics like "I'm so tired of acting tough/I'm gonna do what I please/Let's get married," but it's precisely this mix of strength and sweetness, among other contrasts, that makes the White Stripes so intriguing. Likewise, White Blood Cells' ability to surprise old fans and win over new ones makes it the Stripes' finest work to date.© Heather Phares /TiVo

It would be impossible to try and discover all the possibilities the harp has to offer within the Jazz genre (or Afro-American music in general) without coming across Dorothy Ashby (1932-1986). Ashby was the first musician to implant the harp into the collective imagination, typifying it as Western “salon music” with her bop album The Jazz Harpist (released in 1957). Brandee Younger, a budding harpist herself, is now following in her footsteps. With Brand New Life, she’s released an album that’s as ambitious as it is masterful. Using Dorothy Ashby’s greatest works as inspiration, the harpist creates a programme that skilfully blends a handful of original compositions and selected covers (Michel Legrand's The Windmills of your Mind and Stevie Wonder's It's Magic), achieving symbiosis between her art and her inspirations. Within an organic quartet composed of herself, Rashaan Carter (double bass), Joel Ross (vibraphone) and Makaya McCraven (drums and session producer), Younger updates Ashby’s take on the instrument with great refinement and skill. She adapts it to her own resolutely modernist language with the same ability with which she sews the threads between classical, jazz, soul and hip-hop. Joined by soul and hip-hop singers Mumu Fresh (Brand New Life) and Meshell Ndegeocello (Dust) and rap composers/producers Peter Rock and 9th Wonder, the harpist develops sophisticated and seductive melodic music. She’s careful to strike a balance between staying faithful to a song’s format whilst allowing room for improvisation and demonstrating the expressive fluidity and rhythmic richness of an instrument that’s finally been freed from the bourgeois shackles of the past. © Stéphane Ollivier/Qobuz

Simultaneously hailed as an underground classic and cast aside as poorly produced backpack rap, Operation: Doomsday inaugurated the reign of MF Doom in underground rap from the early to mid-2000s. The pretext for the album is very similar to that of Marvel Comics supervillain Dr. Doom; after MF Doom, then known as Zevlove X, had been devastated by the death of his brother and K.M.D. accomplice, DJ Sub-Roc, in the early '90s, Elektra dropped his group and stopped the release of its second album, Black Bastards, due to its political message and, more specifically, its cover art. Doom was left scarred with a lingering pain that didn't manifest until the late '90s as hip-hop's only masked supervillain on Bobbito Garcia's Fondle 'Em Records. Carrying the weight of the past on his shoulders, Doom opens and closes Operation: Doomsday with frank and sincere lyrics. In between, however, many of the villain's rhymes are rather hard and piercing. On his subsequent material, he developed a more steady and refined delivery, but on this debut, Doom was at his rawest and, lyrically, most dexterous. The out-of-left-field edge of Doom's production -- which features '80s soul and smooth jazz mixed with classic drum breaks -- is indeed abstract at times, but his off-kilter rhymes are palatable and absent any pretentiousness. In fact, the album arguably contains some of the freshest rhymes one might have heard around the time of its release. There are more than enough obscure but fun references (i.e. "quick to whip up a script like Rod Serling" on "Go with the Flow" or "MCs, ya style needs Velamints" on "Dead Bent") and quotable jewels from the "on-the-mike Rain Man" to feed on. Nevertheless, one would be hard-pressed to overlook the low-budget mixing that mars some of the LP's presentation. For the hardcore Doom fans, the recorded-in-the-basement quality is appealing and representative of his persona as the underdog who "came to destroy rap." In contrast, given his contributions to hip-hop during the 2000s, the masked villain offers this explanation on "Doomsday": "Definition: supervillain/A killer who loves children/One who is well-skilled in destruction as well as buildin'." Even though this album is certainly not for everyone, you can easily respect from where the man is coming. © Cyril Cordor /TiVo

B.B. King is not only a timeless singer and guitarist, he's also a natural-born entertainer, and on Live at the Regal the listener is treated to an exhibition of all three of his talents. Over percolating horn hits and rolling shuffles, King treats an enthusiastic audience (at some points, they shriek after he delivers each line) to a collection of some of his greatest hits. The backing band is razor-sharp, picking up the leader's cues with almost telepathic accuracy. King's voice is rarely in this fine of form, shifting effortlessly between his falsetto and his regular range, hitting the microphone hard for gritty emphasis and backing off in moments of almost intimate tenderness. Nowhere is this more evident than at the climax of "How Blue Can You Get," where the Chicago venue threatens to explode at King's prompting. Of course, the master's guitar is all over this record, and his playing here is among the best in his long career. Displaying a jazz sensibility, King's lines are sophisticated without losing their grit. More than anything else, Live at the Regal is a textbook example of how to set up a live performance. Talking to the crowd, setting up the tunes with a vignette, King is the consummate entertainer. Live at the Regal is an absolutely necessary acquisition for fans of B.B. King or blues music in general. A high point, perhaps even the high point, for uptown blues. © Daniel Gioffre /TiVo

After debuting in 2011 with the evocative If..., a largely orchestral, all-instrumental set inspired by author Italo Calvino's 1979 post-modernist novel If on a Winter's Night a Traveler, former Coral guitarist Bill Ryder-Jones seemed poised to go the film score route, which he had shown interest in shortly after leaving his flagship band. Instead, he released the lovely A Bad Wind Blows in My Heart, an equally evocative, yet more traditional collection of songs that suggest what Nick Drake might have sounded like had he emerged in the early aughts instead of the late '60s. Measured, melancholy, and mysterious, Jones' debut as a singer/songwriter is as subtle as it is striking, skillfully marrying the sedate melancholy of Elliott Smith with the sly, darkly comic lyricism of the National. Recorded in his old childhood bedroom in his mother's house in Liverpool, A Bad Wind Blows in My Heart can feel a bit like an exorcism, and there's an extra shade of intimacy to stand-out cuts like the sad and sensual "Hanging Song," the wry, Luke Haines-inspired "You're Getting Like Your Sister," and the impossibly lonesome "There's a World Between Us," the latter of which is one of a few songs that threatens to break into Chris Isaak's "Wicked Game" at any moment, but it never feels like a self-absorbed, autobiographical bore, as Jones' is an enigmatic enough narrator and a gifted enough arranger that what initially seems like ephemera turns out to be surprisingly affecting. © James Christopher Monger /TiVo

Prefab Sprout was always too good for the radio. Hearing the band's immaculate, gorgeously crafted pop songs alongside disposable, unimaginative records seemed like blasphemy. Perhaps many American radio programmers felt the same way, as most of this best-of compilation is obscure to U.S. listeners. While Two Wheels Good and From Langley Park to Memphis are superior purchases, A Life of Surprises is an engaging introduction to a group that is nowhere near as bizarre as its name. Much has been said about Paddy McAloon's warm, comforting voice, but like Paul Heaton of the Housemartins and the Beautiful South, his soothing croon can sometimes hide some pretty depressing lyrics. "When Love Breaks Down" is classic '80s new wave heartache: teary-eyed synthesizers, downtrodden basslines, and McAloon's whispery talk create a film noir atmosphere of deep sadness. The lyrics are sharpened by his adult observations. "When love breaks down/You join the wrecks/Who leave their hearts for easy sex," McAloon sings. The brutal honesty of those lines easily elevate "When Love Breaks Down" to the top class of breakup songs. Even more powerful is "Goodbye Lucille No. 1 (Johnny Johnny)," sung from the perspective of a man trying to make a close friend get over a girl who has rejected him. The words are frank and painfully realistic as McAloon doesn't sugarcoat the dialogue. McAloon rips into his buddy's futile romantic fantasies and lets the hard light of reality shine upon him: "Ooh Johnny Johnny Johnny you won't make it any better/Ooh Johnny Johnny Johnny you might well make it worse." If this sounds dreary it should be noted that Prefab Sprout isn't one of those grim British raincoat bands. The group has a number of wonderfully upbeat moments, such as on the exhilarating "Hey Manhattan!" and "Cars and Girls," a clever commentary on Bruce Springsteen's preoccupation with automobiles and women.© Michael Sutton /TiVo