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It's not for nothing that this is the second four-disc box set devoted to Aretha Franklin's career. 1992's Queen of Soul collected 86 tracks (5 of which were non-album), culled solely from her world-beating era on Atlantic (1967-1976). There have also been multi-disc sets dedicated to her Columbia era and even her unreleased Atlantic material, as well as several compilations of her '80s and '90s hits on Arista. Aretha Franklin is not an artist whose career is lacking for retrospection. So what can yet another four-disc box set—released in this era of streaming—offer that previous compilations haven't? Well, for one, it is notable that ARETHA is the first set to include work from all of the labels she recorded for (including her first single from JVB Records). Among its 81 tracks are 19 previously unreleased ones as well as nearly 10 more non-album tracks. The body of work the set is representing is exceptional, however it's also understandable that one may be hoping for a somewhat more innovative approach to the sequencing beyond just a chronological presentation. In this current age of streaming and playlists, such a sequence—especially one covering five decades of material—seems antiquated. Why not group iconic tracks here, unreleased tracks there, lost deep cuts over there, and maybe duets right here? One could make a case for jamming "Rock Steady" up against "Freeway of Love" or "A Rose is still a Rose" alongside "Ain't No Way" or even a vault track like the alternate mix of "Spanish Harlem," in a sort of "belters" and "ballads" organization that could give some of her lesser-known moments of greatness the spotlight they deserve. Instead, the only real narrative this set delivers is "she started here, went to this place next, and then ended up over there." Which is ... sufficient. With a talent as immense as Franklin's—and an artistic biography that's so well-known—retelling her story in that way is something of a disservice. Especially when, even at her various commercial low points, she was still producing work that was, at the very least, interesting. As harder funk and, later, disco began to dominate the R&B airwaves in the mid-to-late '70s, Franklin struggled to maintain a conversation with contemporary audiences and tried everything from adult contemporary balladry to horn-drenched dance tracks; cuts like "You," "Almighty Fire (Woman of the Future)," and the eternally underrated "Mr. D.J. (5 For The D.J.)" are fantastic ambassadors for this oddly effortful period in Franklin's career. All of it—more than a dozen songs—is tucked into the third disc of material. This real estate is typically the purgatory of a chronological box set, falling after the formative early years and the subsequent era of chart domination, but before the obligatory inclusion of new work the artist insists is their "best ever." In the case of ARETHA, this section is where the compilers are flexing their curatorial muscles, because they treat this material not as mandatory boxes to tick off, but as an essential part of the story. In fact, a good chunk of the vault material is from this period in time, from the two alternate takes and non-LP single track representing Franklin's 1973 Quincy Jones collaboration, Hey Now Hey (The Other Side of the Sky), to the demos and work tape versions that are here in lieu of album versions from Let Me In Your Life (1974). Released versions are here too, and hearing the Lamont Dozier-produced "Break it to Me Gently" (from 1977's Sweet Passion), the lush disco of "Ladies Only" (La Diva, 1979) and the richly textured melodrama of "Without Love" from With Everything I Feel in Me (1974) outside of their respective original less-than-successful albums context, it's abundantly clear that even though Franklin may have had trouble connecting with the charts, she never lost sight of what made for a good song or a superlative vocal performance. Even in the later years, post-1985's "Sisters Are Doin' It for Themselves," she may have been recording less frequently, but whether she was duetting with Lou Rawls on "At Last" in 2003, covering Adele in 2014, making an intensely emotional take on Donny Hathaway's "Someday We'll All Be Free" her own for the 1992 soundtrack to Spike Lee's Malcolm X, or burning down the 1998 Grammys when she filled in for a sick Luciano Pavarotti to sing "Nessun Dorma," she was still Aretha Franklin. Hell, this woman sang "You Light Up My Life" (the 1978 studio version here is previously unreleased), perhaps one of the treacliest songs ever written, and made it sound like the blues. So while ARETHA may not rewrite the narrative of her career, it does an excellent job of presenting a fuller perspective on it. After all, with a talent like Franklin's, the music speaks for itself. © Jason Ferguson/Qobuz

Coming as it did on the heels of Roberta Flack's groundbreaking First Take debut, and devoid of any iconic tracks like that set's "The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face," Chapter Two has long suffered from an undeserved lack of attention that's made it seem like something of a sophomore slump in this legendary singer's catalog. Nothing could be further from the truth. Chapter Two is one of the rawest and most effective demonstrations of Flack's incomparable voice and her equally impressive taste in material and presentation. Opening with the defiantly and intensely sensual "Reverend Lee"—in which Flack deftly threads the needle between sacred and profane—Chapter Two immediately seeks to stake a claim beyond the more genteel and cosmopolitan approach of its predecessor. If First Take was a soulful take on jazz vocals, Chapter Two sets out to explore the bluesier side of that style. Although it exists in a similarly lush milieu, with plenty of horn and string arrangements, Chapter Two is simultaneously more restrained and understated, with a sense of spacious atmospherics and liminal implications; both Flack's voice and the accompanying instrumentation seem as attuned to the sound between the notes as they are to the expertly crafted harmonies and melodies in the foreground. Perhaps this is due to the upgrade in collaborators; those arrangements were all handled by William S. Fischer on First Take, but on Chapter Two, a team of four arrangers is on hand, with Eumir Deodato handling strings and horns, while Donny Hathaway (who also contributes piano) and co-producers King Curtis and Joel Dorn oversee the whole affair. Even the most robustly constructed songs—a slow-galloping take on Jimmy Webb's "Do What You Gotta Do," an appropriately melodramatic version of "The Impossible Dream," a gut-wrenchingly climatic interpretation of the Impressions' "Gone Away"—have an almost ephemeral quality as the production manages to not so much "put you in the room with the performance" as it amplifies the ethereal collision of sophistication and soulfulness that gives these songs so much life. This warmly remastered 50th Anniversary Edition tacks on just one bonus track, but it's a doozy: an incredible version of Joni Mitchell's rejected theme for Midnight Cowboy, a song which is otherwise unreleased except for a version that Flack produced for soul singer Donal Leace's 1972 Atlantic album. © Jason Ferguson/Qobuz

Fascinating snapshots of musical evolution, live jazz albums capture improvisation as it happens. Famed as a "battle of the saxes," this set by the inimitable composer/bassist/bandleader Charles Mingus and his working sextet was originally released as a single disc, containing only the two long jams on the Duke Ellington standards, "Perdido" and "C Jam Blues" that closed the show. The reasons why the opening four tracks of that January 19, 1974 concert—"Peggy's Blue Skylight," "Celia" "Fables of Faubus" and "Big Alice"—were left unreleased until now remain unknown. Most likely it was the fear that a double LP would never sell. (But one with a pair of 20-minute tracks would?) The four songs (and spoken introduction) that were the first half of the concert have now been restored and are a welcome addition to the Mingus canon. Always a magnet for great talent because of his prolific composing and expansive artistic vision, the bassist here leads his spry working sextet of Don Pullen (piano), George Adams (tenor saxophone), Jon Faddis (trumpet), Hamiet Bluiett (baritone saxophone) and Dannie Richmond (drums). Those robust instrumental voices are reinforced in the two Ellington numbers by Charles McPherson (alto saxophone), John Handy (alto & tenor saxophone) and the ever-amazing Rahsaan Roland Kirk (on tenor saxophone and a straight alto sax he called stritch). Despite the age of the original tapes, the ringing, uncomplicated sound here makes Carnegie Hall's famous acoustics vividly audible. As live recordings go, the uncredited mix engineer did a fabulous job of balancing all the horns while never allowing Pullen's piano nor Mingus' bass to slide entirely into the background. The new remastering has brought out a brighter, more dynamic sonic image. The Mingus compositions heard in the first half are all classic examples of his swing and bebop-influenced devotion to melody counterbalanced by a rhythmic vitality that's unique in jazz. In opener "Peggy's Blue Skylight," each member glides through their solos with great elan. In "Celia" a tune named for the bassist's wife at the time, cacophony unravels into bravura passages with an expansive big band feel. Pianist Pullen is the star of "Fables of Faubus." Closing what was the original first set, Pullen's "Big Alice" is a funky, joyous, almost Second Line romp with Adams, Bluiett and Faddis all chipping in raucous solos. The much-ballyhooed sax fray on the pair of Ellington standards is a Fourth of July explosion of horn madness, playful and serious, squonking and legato, highlighted again by marvelous energetic solos by Kirk that at one point sound like an oncoming locomotive. Still not as essential as many of his studio albums, the story of this concert is now at least rightly told from the beginning instead of the end. © Robert Baird/Qobuz