If you’d told David Gahan and Martin Gore a year before the release of this latest album (which was still in the making at that time) that its title would be somewhat foreboding, the pair would likely have agreed, but for a rather different reason. Memento Mori roughly translates to ‘remember you’re going to die’—that’s what was on Gahan’s mind having just entered his sixties, whilst also remembering his stepfather, the man who raised and cared for him, who had died at just 61. But fate would prove both twisted and cruel when, without warning, it would take the life of Andy Fletcher on 26th May 2022. Depeche Mode’s third man was just 60 years old.However, this sudden death was not what primarily guided the somber, melancholic content of the record. Most of it was composed during the pandemic, which must have forced the band to ask themselves countless questions about their existence, their future and how these doubts would be manifested within their music (though Fletcher’s death would inevitably alter their approach to these same compositions). This all gives rise to a record which, whilst rejecting any semblance of ‘joie-de-vivre’, is a real return to more gothic, vintage and organic sounds. The album’s quasi-industrial opener, ‘My Cosmos is Mine’, sets the tone for the darker journey to come. The album takes a more stripped-back approach to the melodies, where Gahan’s sobering voice steers clear of all excess.In the midst of this darkness, the emphasis on synthesized sounds from a seemingly bygone era strikes a nostalgic chord without losing its edge (‘Wagging Tongue’, ‘Never Let Me Go’). These textures are accompanied by more saturated tones, taking us right back to their flirtations with rock in the 90s (‘My Favourite Stranger’). Memento Mori sounds like a kind of condensed version of the band’s more delicate songs without becoming a simple reconstruction of them. It has a subtle beauty which surely highlights the expertise of the musicians behind it, despite being somewhat overshadowed by the erratic nature of their discography over the last twenty years. Light filters through the cracks here and there on this album however, like the song ‘People are Good’, reminiscent of the classic ‘People are People’ released almost forty years ago. Remember that you’re meant to enjoy it… © Chief Brody/Qobuz

For all the slings and arrows retrospectively cast at the titans of '70s rock, the notion that these bands were somehow callow opportunists who'd sacrifice their authenticity and musical spirit to climb a few more slots on the chart is one  that never applied to Fleetwood Mac. Although the band was one of the dominant rock-adjacent musical forces in the late '70s, Fleetwood Mac was also always one of the quirkiest "big" bands around, due both to their long and varied history and the intensely weird interpersonal dynamics. Today, they only seem like a mainstream band because their unique approach became so popular that it defined the mainstream sound of the era. And while that sound found its purest representation on this lineup's three '70s studio albums, Fleetwood Mac was also a singular and powerful live presence, delivering generous and rewarding sets during their imperial period. While they certainly weren't the Grateful Dead, and they largely stuck to the same set list throughout their tours, there were a few shows in the band's history that have become somewhat legendary, among them their August 1977 three-show run at the Forum in Los Angeles.Rumours Live documents the first of the sold-out shows, which finds the band returning to their hometown during the height of their powers, in the middle of the tour. To be fair, the material doesn't diverge too much from the set list that the band relied on during the tour but the energy of this performance is electric. Of course, Stevie Nicks is the focal point throughout, and the nonchalant way she introduces "Rhiannon"—"This is a song about a witch"—is absolute peak Stevie, but this recording also demonstrates how strong of a performer she was during this era, whether it's the vocals that waver between clear harmonies and full-throated belting, or more discrete highlights like the gut-punching "oooooh" she delivers halfway through "Dreams." This show also demonstrates the often-ignored strengths of Fleetwood Mac as a band. When they find their groove—which is often on Rumours Live—it's a sight to behold, with a loose, rollicking confidence that can only come from a group of players absolutely locked into one another. Although many of the songs are delivered in relatively faithful versions, when the band does get playful with arrangements (bouncy, twangy "Over My Head," twitchy, proto-New Wave "Blue Letter," jammy, guitar-forward "I'm So Afraid") or stretch out (extended jams on "Rhiannon," "World Turning" and "Gold Dust Woman"), the deep symbiosis that these players had is abundantly clear. That's further emphasized in the encore, which is introduced with "We don't have any more songs so we're gonna jam around." They proceed to play a-now iconic number ("The Chain"), the song that opened—and thematically defined—Rumours ("Second Hand News"), and one of the best songs ever written by anyone in the band (Christine McVie's "Songbird") to close out the show in a fashion that is loose, loving, warm, and absolutely without peer. © Jason Ferguson/Qobuz

A misconception has sometimes been associate with Norah Jones: that the Texan is little more than a pleasant light-jazz singer whose albums serve as harmless background music for high-brow and proper evening dinners. Though her writing, playing and eclectic collaborations, she has clearly proved that she is far more interesting than this cliché. And this 2020 offering is a new illustration of her complexity. As is often the case with Norah Jones, Pick Me Up Off the Floor is not quite jazz, not quite blues, not quite country, etc… Her genre-defying music works primarily to suit the song being played. Here we find what has been left behind after sessions with Wilco’s Jeff Tweedy, Thomas Bartlett, Mavis Staples, Rodrigo Amarante and several others.But for all that the result is not simply a contrived mishmash of collaborations but a collection of songs that hold the same silky groove (present on six out of 11 tracks on the record in which Brian Blade’s drums work delicate miracles) and calm sound which increasingly suits the artist, somewhere between pure poetry and realism. “Every session I’ve done, there’ve been extra songs I didn’t release, and they’ve sort of been collecting for the last two years. I became really enamoured with them, having the rough mixes on my phone, listening while I walk the dog. The songs stayed stuck in my head and I realised that they had this surreal thread running through them. It feels like a fever dream taking place somewhere between God, the Devil, the heart, the Country, the planet, and me.” Rarely has Norah Jones sang with such strength, like on I’m Alive where she sings of women’s resilience, or on How I Weep in which she tackles love and exasperation with unequalled grace. © Marc Zisman/Qobuz

Teddy Swims amassed a big enough following through his YouTube covers of Michael Jackson, Shania Twain, and Amy Winehouse to earn himself a major label deal. After signing with Warner Bros. in early 2020, the Georgia-based singer kicked off a prolific string of one-off singles and EPs that tested the range of his powerhouse voice. After three years, he finally landed a charting hit with 2023's torchy "Lose Control," the lead single from his debut album, I've Tried Everything But Therapy, Pt. 1. Swims' music lives somewhere between vintage soul, classic rock, and contemporary pop balladry with a bit of a country kick. Surrounding his breakout single are nine more tastefully arranged songs aided by a committee of producers and hitmakers like Ammo, Julian Bunetta, and John Ryan. Emotional opener "Some Things I'll Never Know" is a dusky piano ballad that feels like a custom-built showpiece, but deeper cuts like "The Door" and "Flame" are a little more interesting, each with its own moody, late-night vibe and pleasingly organic feel. Swims' voice sounds comfortable and lived in and the songs generally serve this effect without going too far over the top into abject showiness. He's come a long way since fronting local Atlanta rock and soul bands and his experience shows on this debut.© Timothy Monger /TiVo

One of the reasons that Jackson Browne's first album is among the most auspicious debuts in pop music history is that it doesn't sound like a debut. Although only 23, Browne had kicked around the music business for several years, writing and performing as a member of the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band and as Nico's backup guitarist, among other gigs, while many artists recorded his material. So, if this doesn't sound like someone's first batch of songs, it's not. Browne had developed an unusual use of language, studiedly casual yet full of striking imagery, and a post-apocalyptic viewpoint to go with it. He sang with a calm certainty over spare, discretely placed backup -- piano, acoustic guitar, bass, drums, congas, violin, harmony vocals -- that highlighted the songs and always seemed about to disappear. In song after song, Browne described the world as a desert in need of moisture, and this wet/dry dichotomy carried over into much of the imagery. In "Doctor My Eyes," the album's most propulsive song and a Top Ten hit, he sang, "Doctor, my eyes/Cannot see the sky/Is this the prize/For having learned how not to cry?" If Browne's outlook was cautious, its expression was original. His conditional optimism seemed to reflect hard experience, and in the early '70s, the aftermath of the '60s, a lot of his listeners shared that perspective. Like any great artist, Browne articulated the tenor of his times. But the album has long since come to seem a timeless collection of reflective ballads touching on still-difficult subjects -- suicide (explicitly), depression and drug use (probably), spiritual uncertainty and desperate hope -- all in calm, reasoned tones, and all with an amazingly eloquent sense of language. Jackson Browne's greater triumph is that, having perfectly expressed its times, it transcended those times as well. (The album features a cover depicting Browne's face on a water bag -- an appropriate reference to its desert/water imagery -- containing the words "saturate before using." Inevitably, many people began to refer to the self-titled album by that phrase, and when it was released on CD, it nearly became official -- both the disc and the spine of the jewel box read Saturate Before Using.)© William Ruhlmann /TiVo

A half-century into their career, synth-pop provocateurs Ron and Russell Mael—now 77 and 74 years old—are as funny, arch and deservingly influential as they've always been. "The Girl Is Crying in Her Latte," the title track of their twenty-fifth album is lush and robust; as Cate Blanchett, who stars in the accompanying video, has said: "You know, 'the girl is crying in her latte'—it's so deep and shallow, simultaneously." "Is it due to the rain/ Or is she in some pain ... The girl is crying in her latte, yeah," Russell sings. "Now she's leaving the place/ Someone's taking her place/ Orders, then takes a seat/ Looks like it's a repeat ... So many people are crying in their latte." And that's the sort of complementary push-pull the brothers have always trafficked in: highbrow-lowbrow, humorous-sad, pop-niche. They're also genius observers of the world and fantastic imagineers of some world that maybe excited decades ago (or maybe just in their heads). "It's Sunny Today" catalogs all the things you could do on a gorgeous day—to the tune of Christmastime luxury-car commercial strings. Gleeful in the way of  "I Predict" off 1982's Angst in my Pants, "Nothing Is As Good As They Say It Is" applies New Wave pop to the narrative of an already world-weary newborn ready to return to the womb ("Were I born in the south of France/ I would feel less resistant to/ Somewhere that just deserves adieu," go the lyrics, like the caption to a New Yorker cartoon). Set to percolating synth, "Veronica Lake"—the latest in a long line of Sparks' cinematic references—is a garishly funny tale of women on WWII assembly lines whose Hollywood dreams get in the way of Rosie the Riveter reality: "And they all want to be Veronica Lake/ But that peek-a-boo hair, it's a big mistake/ As the foreman has to yell, 'put on the brake'/ Yet another girl caught/ Veronica Lake." "Not That Well-Defined" swirls with the rich darkness of balalaika, "We Go Dancing" is manic ballet theater, and "Take Me for a Ride" is Hitchcockian unhinged. Chanty "The Mona Lisa's Packing, Leaving Late Tonight" churns and sways as if on the high seas. And "When You Leave" is deliciously, wormishly defiant. "They'll be breaking out the good music when you leave/ The Stylistics ... the Delfonics ... There'll be red wine on all the carpets when you leave ... They can't wait," Russell sings, before adopting a lighter voice in response:  "I'm going to stay/ Just to annoy them." It all ends with the troubadour surprise of "It Doesn't Have to Be That Way" and melodramatic "Gee, That Was Fun"—mashing up "My Way" and "Bohemian Rhapsody"-style pomp for what could be read as a grateful career retrospective. © Shelly Ridenour/Qobuz

In 2010, ECM released Jasmine, an informal archival recording of standards between old friends who hadn't worked together in over three decades. The recordings were made at Keith Jarrett's Cavelight home studio in 2007. The nine tunes on Last Dance are taken from those same sessions. There are two alternate takes of tracks from the earlier album. "Where Can I Go Without You" is played at a similar tempo, yet offers more lyricism from Charlie Haden. Gordon Jenkins' "Goodbye," a well-known Benny Goodman theme, closes the set, but it's slower here, more emotionally resonant; almost poignant in the way it reveals something deeper than its articulation on the earlier volume. Thelonious Monk's "'Round Midnight" has been done by Jarrett before, but here it is offered with a curious, almost strange intro. As it unfolds, it reveals an affection for its melody that he's not previously displayed. Haden's confident ability to assert the correct note for each phrase has long been a trademark in his playing, but the warmth he offers to it here is remarkable. He remains open and inquisitive about its lyric rather than engaging in a nostalgic presentation. He knows there are still possibilities inside its framework. "Everything Happens to Me" is more uptempo, but far from quick. Haden's woody tone and impeccable swing add dimension to Jarrett's songlike pianism in the melody and solo. Bud Powell's "Dance of the Infidels" is not played with breakneck athleticism, but is sprightly and fluid. Jarrett digs with delight into the intricate melody, offering a punchy sense of reflexiveness in his solo, while Haden strides along. In his own solo, the bassist once more peels back the skin in the harmony and finds hints of several other melodies all placed within different sections of the tune's body. The elegance in the presentation of Cole Porter's "Everytime We Say Goodbye" reveals the pair's confidence in their interplay. They don't overstate anything; the music provides meaning all on its own. They relax into its beauty playing toward one another as hints, suggestions, and references to popular music history bridge the space between. Last Dance is a necessary addendum to Jasmine; it fleshes out the confident, mature, amiable, and eloquent speech in the canonical language these two jazz masters share.© Thom Jurek /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

Both artistically and commercially, Boz Scaggs had his greatest success with Silk Degrees. The laid-back singer hit the R&B charts in a big way with the addictive, sly "Lowdown" (which has been sampled by more than a few rappers and remains a favorite among baby-boomer soul fans) and expressed his love of smooth soul music almost as well on the appealing "What Can I Say." But Scaggs was essentially a pop/rocker, and in that area he has a considerable amount of fun on "Lido Shuffle" (another major hit single), "What Do You Want the Girl to Do," and "Jump Street." Meanwhile, "We're All Alone" and "Harbor Lights" became staples on adult contemporary radio. Though not remarkable, the ballads have more heart than most of the bland material dominating that format.© Alex Henderson /TiVo

Released in conjunction with Billy Joel's grand experiment with classical music, The Essential Billy Joel was a welcome reminder of Billy Joel's way with a pop song, improving on the previous Greatest Hits, Vol. 1 & 2 by extending into the '90s and delving deeper into his catalog. There were some casualties along the way -- it's easy for a fan to carp about the absence of personal favorites like "She's Right on Time" or "Travelin' Prayer," and it may even make some sense that "You're Only Human (Second Wind)" or "Shameless" didn't make the cut, but it's mind-boggling that "Scenes From an Italian Restaurant" isn't here (we won't mention that the classical pieces that end the record, no matter how surprisingly good they are, are as out of place as Attila would have been) -- but for the most part, this has every one of Joel's heavy-hitters, and his craftsmanship, both as a songsmith and record maker, has never shone brighter. The biggest fault is that there is a notable drop-off in quality after 1986's The Bridge (which ends midway through disc two), but even so, this is as good a distillation of Joel's talents imaginable. In fact, as the first disc unfurls, even cynics may wonder why he's been dogged by the critics, since singer/songwriter pop doesn't come better than "Say Goodbye to Hollywood," "New York State of Mind," "Only the Good Die Young," "My Life," "It's Still Rock and Roll to Me," "Don't Ask Me Why," "Allentown," and their seven companions.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

Slippery When Wet wasn't just a breakthrough album for Bon Jovi; it was a breakthrough for hair metal in general, marking the point where the genre officially entered the mainstream. Released in 1986, it presented a streamlined combination of pop, hard rock, and metal that appealed to everyone -- especially girls, whom traditional heavy metal often ignored. Slippery When Wet was more indebted to pop than metal, though, and the band made no attempt to hide its commercial ambition, even hiring an outside songwriter to co-write two of the album's biggest singles. The trick paid off as Slippery When Wet became the best-selling album of 1987, beating out contenders like Appetite for Destruction, The Joshua Tree, and Michael Jackson's Bad. Part of the album's success could be attributed to Desmond Child, a behind-the-scenes songwriter who went on to write hits for Aerosmith, Michael Bolton, and Ricky Martin. With Child's help, Bon Jovi penned a pair of songs that would eventually define their career -- “Living on a Prayer” and “You Give Love a Bad Name” -- two teenage anthems that mixed Springsteen's blue-collar narratives with straightforward, guitar-driven hooks. The band's characters may have been down on their luck -- they worked dead-end jobs, pined for dangerous women, and occasionally rode steel horses -- but Bon Jovi never presented a problem that couldn’t be cured by a good chorus, every one of which seemed to celebrate a glass-half-full mentality. Elsewhere, the group turned to nostalgia, using songs like “Never Say Goodbye” and “Wild in the Streets” to re-create (or fabricate) an untamed, sex-filled youth that undoubtedly appealed to the band’s teen audience. Bon Jovi wasn't nearly as hard-edged as Mötley Crüe or technically proficient as Van Halen, but the guys smartly played to their strengths, shunning the extremes for an accessible, middle-of-the-road approach that wound up appealing to more fans than most of their peers. “It’s alright if you have a good time,” Jon Bon Jovi sang on Slippery When Wet’s first track, “Let It Rock,” and those words essentially served as a mantra for the entire hair metal genre, whose carefree, party-heavy attitude became the soundtrack for the rest of the ‘80s.© Andrew Leahey /TiVo

His third album is entitled Kiwanuka… does that mean that Michael Kiwanuka has finally come to peace with himself? Since starting out in 2012, the Londoner has not stopped questioning his place in the arts, his relationship to his musical influences, his own identity and his role in a society still plagued by racism… Following the release of his brilliant debut album Home Again, Kiwanuka was inaugurated as the next big thing for contemporary soul. His thought-provoking soul was blended with Terry Callier-style folk and scents of the seventies. Some even compared him to Bill Withers, Otis Redding and Marvin Gaye! On his second album, Love & Hate, released in 2016, the songwriter explored his rock side without forgetting his gospel and soul roots, and was joined by Danger Mouse in the production studio.Kiwanuka walks in the footsteps of the artist’s previous records: the lyrics are still politically engaged and the instrumentals just as rich, though he seems more relaxed on this album. Danger Mouse is once again behind the production console, this time adding a new dimension and strength to the sound: we find cinematic soul, larger-than-life gospel, funky wah-wah guitars, sensual strings, big bass, long instrumentals… we could go on! It’s all there right from the opening track You Ain’t The Problem, a real masterpiece of soul. Michael Kiwanuka has never tried to hide his love for Marvin Gaye and What’s Going On (his favourite album of all time) and Trouble Man often come to mind, even if the two men’s voices are fundamentally different. This third work from the 32-year-old Brit reveals an unprecedented density. And each time you listen you notice something new, be it a subtle arrangement, a thoughtful lyric or a thinly disguised instrument. A magnificent album. © Marc Zisman/Qobuz

Since their 2009 self-titled debut album, Real Estate have distinguished themselves as modern-day jangle-pop torchbearers. The New Jersey group retains that crown on the superlative Daniel, which overflows with crisp, economical pop-rock that often calls to mind the salad days of Fountains of Wayne. Chalk up this sound partly due to their influences—R.E.M.'s lush, moody Automatic for the People and the softer side of '90s rock—and the band's recording process. The members of Real Estate moved in together in Nashville and recorded Daniel in just nine days at the famed RCA Studio A with producer-songwriter Daniel Tashian (Kacey Musgraves' Golden Hour). Understandably, there's a hint of dusky Americana melancholy on the pedal steel-tinted "Haunted World" and the Scottish-pop-influenced "Flowers." However, Martin Courtney's keening vocals are particularly yearning on Daniel, lending buoyancy to the wiry "Say No More" and urgent "Airdrop," and underscoring the restlessness and uncertainty coursing through the lyrics. Jangle-pop has never sounded so fresh—and so irresistible. © Annie Zaleski/Qobuz

Four years after the pinnacle of Stevie Wonder's mid-'70s typhoon of classic albums, Hotter Than July was the proper follow-up to Songs in the Key of Life (his Journey Through the Secret Life of Plants concept record was actually a soundtrack to an obscure movie that fared miserably in theaters). It also found Wonder in a different musical climate than the one that savored his every move from 1972 to 1977. Disco and new wave had slowly crept their way into the mainstream record-buying public, and hindered the once-ample room for socially and politically charged lyrics. However, Wonder naysayed the trends and continues to do what he did best. Solid songwriting, musicianship, and production are evident in the majority of Hotter Than July. Wonder also carries on his tradition of penning songs normally not associated with his trademark sound, from the disco-tinged "All I Do" (originally planned to be released by Tammi Terrell almost ten years previously) to the reggae-influenced smash "Master Blaster (Jammin)," which went straight to the top of the R&B charts. While admittedly there are a few less-than-standard tracks, he closes the album on an amazing high note with one of the most aching ballads in his canon ("Lately") and a touching anthem to civil rights pioneer Martin Luther King, Jr. ("Happy Birthday"). While most definitely not on the same tier as Innervisions or Songs in the Key of Life, Hotter Than July is the portrait of an artist who still had the Midas touch, but stood at the crossroads of an illustrious career.© Rob Theakston /TiVo

Partway through the recording of Little Rope, Sleater-Kinney's second album in the wake of the 2019 departure of drummer Janet Weiss, Carrie Brownstein received word that her mother and stepfather had died in a car accident in Italy. Little Rope is shaped by that tragedy not in content -- much of the record had already been composed -- but in execution. Aided by longtime friend and bandmate Corin Tucker, Brownstein finds solace within the creation of music, fusing the group's recent post-punk explorations with the urgency of their punk beginnings. The focus of Little Rope is bracing, particularly as it arrives after a pair of exploratory albums where Brownstein and Tucker searched on how to usher Sleater-Kinney into middle age. Those lessons are absorbed, not discarded; compared to the flinty records Sleater-Kinney made in the 1990s, there's an expanded aural palette, one that sounds vibrant on both the fringes and at its pulsating heart. Guitars remain central to Brownstein and Tucker's vision, yet they don't necessarily provide the focus. Instead, Little Rope coheres around songs and expression, the two halves of Sleater-Kinney finding sustenance in the creation of music. Sadness lurks upon the edges of the record, as does rage, but Little Rope ultimately feels cathartic: by processing Brownstein's loss and dwelling upon their shared bonds, Sleater-Kinney once again feels united and purposeful.© Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo