If grandiloquence could take the form of an album, it would undoubtedly arrive in the form of Bat Out Of Hell. It's a real sorcery that comes out of the hat of composer Jim Steinman and is served as an offering to us by a possessed Meat Loaf. An improbable anthology of "over the top" moments that have gone down in history. With forty three million units sold, Bat Out Of Hell is a unique experience, so much so that I'm sure many people remember where they were when they first heard it. From the pure orchestral moments on For Crying Out Loud (featuring the New York Philharmonic Orchestra), to the title track and its ten minutes of intensity that will make you shy away from any karaoke night (or not), it is a true moment in history that is offered to your ears. Paradise By The Dashboard Light, which sees Meat sharing the mic with Ellen Folley, is a lesson in execution and composition, never equalled in the vocalist's career and reason enough to listen to Bat Out Of Hell alone. Nor will we forget the apocalyptic last minutes of All Revved Up With No Place To Go, a rock manifesto that paves the way for the magnificent Heaven Can Wait or Two Out Of Three Ain't Bad: "You can't imagine how hard I had to work to sing this album in the studio, you can't imagine how much we had to give of ourselves to make this album authentic, in its humour and in all that it embodies. A lot of people realise that when they actually try it, and still they don't." Unique, funny, often misunderstood and always inspired, just like its singer, Bat Out Of Hell is reaching out to you. We already miss you Meat Loaf. Maxime Archambaud / Qobuz

With its more ambitious compositions, Help! had made it clear that the Beatles did not intend to stay remain that nice little group from Liverpool much longer. Four months later, Rubber Soul was released in December of 1965, and the Fab Four show that they have indeed grown up artistically. There are more mature texts (written by Bob Dylan, a real influence on the Beatles as confessed by McCartney himself) and more daring harmonies. They even bring their instrumentation to unknown territory as demonstrated by Norwegian Wood or the bass on Think for Yourself. As for ballads like Girl or Michelle, they are beautiful and will remain timeless. Above all, this sixth studio album mixes more musical styles - be it pop (of course) but also R&B, folk, soul and psychedelic. Rubber Soul also marks the point where we see each member of the group affirm their unique personalities, and with the support of producer George Martin, John, Paul, George and Ringo were encouraged to move away from their "youthful" habits. ©MZ/Qobuz, Translation/BM

Divinely Uninspired to a Hellish Extent is the debut studio LP from Scottish singer/songwriter Lewis Capaldi. Composed of heartwarming lyrics, huge singalong choruses, and crystalline pop production, the effort features the singles "Grace" and "Hold Me While You Wait."© Rob Wacey /TiVo

If grandiloquence could take the form of an album, it would undoubtedly arrive in the form of Bat Out Of Hell. It's a real sorcery that comes out of the hat of composer Jim Steinman and is served as an offering to us by a possessed Meat Loaf. An improbable anthology of "over the top" moments that have gone down in history. With forty three million units sold, Bat Out Of Hell is a unique experience, so much so that I'm sure many people remember where they were when they first heard it. From the pure orchestral moments on For Crying Out Loud (featuring the New York Philharmonic Orchestra), to the title track and its ten minutes of intensity that will make you shy away from any karaoke night (or not), it is a true moment in history that is offered to your ears. Paradise By The Dashboard Light, which sees Meat sharing the mic with Ellen Folley, is a lesson in execution and composition, never equalled in the vocalist's career and reason enough to listen to Bat Out Of Hell alone. Nor will we forget the apocalyptic last minutes of All Revved Up With No Place To Go, a rock manifesto that paves the way for the magnificent Heaven Can Wait or Two Out Of Three Ain't Bad: "You can't imagine how hard I had to work to sing this album in the studio, you can't imagine how much we had to give of ourselves to make this album authentic, in its humour and in all that it embodies. A lot of people realise that when they actually try it, and still they don't." Unique, funny, often misunderstood and always inspired, just like its singer, Bat Out Of Hell is reaching out to you. We already miss you Meat Loaf. Maxime Archambaud / Qobuz

Comebacks are Bob Dylan's thing. Call him irrelevant and he'll summon his demons and write another masterpiece. In the 1990s, one of America's greatest creative engines was drifting. The Don Was-produced Under The Red Sky, Dylan's only collection of new songs in the decade, was met with a collective shrug.  In 1995, there was the death of Grateful Dead's Jerry Garcia—a "big brother" Dylan would call him in a eulogy he wrote for Rolling Stone.  But starting in late 1996, Dylan began writing  a record's worth of tunes in his home state of Minnesota that, after an extended recording process in California and Florida, would become Time Out of Mind. Critics and fans who'd consigned him to the scrap heap once again were effusive in their astonishment: Maybe Bobby wasn't done after all! Although the lyrics are often bitter and tinged with mortality, the love song melodies on Time Out of Mind are tender and his delivery often more pleading than angry or accusatory. The album also marked a return to writing and performing original materia, producing some of the best songs of his later career including "Make You Feel My Love," "Love Sick" and "Tryin' to Get To Heaven."As with most Dylan albums—even the masterworks—controversies immediately set in. The recording sessions were disorganized, cacophonous events, with conflicts between the artist and producer Daniel Lanois. Dylan disliked the sound of the final product, ending the partnership with Lanois after two albums. Deeper insight into the making of the album is now possible thanks to the five-disc Fragments volume of the always excellent Bootleg Series. More than just a collection of outtakes and live performances from that era, this set crucially includes a new 2022 mix by Michael H. Brauer that strips out much of Lanois' trademark shimmering production and sonic luster, stripping them back to the kind of mix Dylan supposedly preferred. The most obvious result of the remix is that it becomes even clearer that these melodies, mainstays in his live shows ever since, are truly among his best ever. The often-erratic swirl of instrumentation on the original album—three drummers and two pedal steel guitars playing at once—reorders itself and makes more sense. "Make You Feel My Love," for example, becomes a very clean mix of vocals and the powerhouse keyboard duo of Augie Meyers and Jim Dickinson. Throughout the new mixes, Dylan's vocals (always a matter of taste) become more prominent. For fans of the original album, the three discs of outtakes (one previously released) provide depth and insight and include the near classic "Red River Shore," an unrequited love story unreleased until 2008, and early takes of "Mississippi" which appeared on his next album, Love and Theft. The disc of live performances of the Time Out of Mind material with a five-piece band is especially good, featuring remarkably clear sound and several knockout performances including a near-acoustic "Tryin' To Get To Heaven" from Birmingham, England, an ardent, previously-released "Make You Feel My Love" from Los Angeles. and a roaring take from Buenos Aries of " 'Til I Fell in Love With You." A deeper dive than most of the Bootleg series, Fragments embodies the idea of essential. © Robert Baird/Qobuz

**Audio for this release has been delivered to us in the highest available resolutions. Discs 1, 2, and 7 are not available in 24-bit Hi-Res but can be be downloaded in CD quality.**

Few artists in the 2020s are as deserving of carte blanche as Kali Uchis. Before delivering Red Moon in Venus, the singer and songwriter had earned a Latin Grammy nomination, a Grammy win for Best Dance Recording, and other nominations in the R&B and Música Urbana fields, plus platinum certifications as headliner or co-star of five rather different singles. Isolation and Sin Miedo (Del Amor y Otros Demonios) ∞ behind her, Uchis seemed primed for the difficult third album with every right to unload a carnivalesque triple LP presented as a fuzzy concept with enough stylistic whimsicality to offer something for everyone. Red Moon in Venus instead is highly concentrated in every respect. Flush with supple slow jams and celestial ballads, it's mostly about love, from possessiveness and blissful escape to vexation and bittersweet farewell. While it doesn't have the swagger or humor of Isolation, it's engaging from start to finish, consistently palatable. Uchis somehow displays as much charisma and vocal elasticity as ever, and her verses are often as instantly memorable as her hooks. Assorted production allies -- longtime associate Josh Crocker, the equally compatible Sir Dylan, and resurgent master Rodney "Darkchild" Jerkins among them -- help Uchis make each sound her own. "Hasta Cuando," frosted electro with a bumping beat that recalls Whodini, deals out teeth-kissing bilingual retribution: "Dices que yo la vida te la jodí/It's sad that you're still obsessed, keep lyin' on me." "Blue," lithe sophisti-pop replete with saxophone, makes dejection sound as glamorous as anything by Everything But the Girl or Sade. Philly soul older than half a century is evoked in "Love Between...," a dazed ballad rendered with enchanting finesse. Part of what makes the album remarkable is that these ideas sound fresh beside songs like "I Wish You Roses," "Endlessly," and the Don Toliver duet "Fantasy," additional highlights that emit kaleidoscopic swirls of pop-R&B, warm rays of post-disco boogie, and romantic dancefloor heat. The low-spirited moments are typically as alluring as the bliss-outs, and though there's a breakup in the mix, Red Moon finishes as Uchis pushes the reset button on a relationship with a strong sense of optimism.© Andy Kellman /TiVo

With their meticulously crafted and infinitely layered 2017 album A Deeper Understanding, the War on Drugs added new levels of atmosphere and detail to their '80s blue collar rock-inspired sound. Centered around the songwriting and vision of bandleader Adam Granduciel, the War on Drugs had looked to roots rock heroes like Dylan, Springsteen, Petty, and the like from the time they started, but A Deeper Understanding married the band's ever-present echoes of Reagan-era FM radio hits with an almost overwhelmingly dense approach to arrangement, with Granduciel stacking the songs with tightly organized sounds that gave the entire album a sense of magnitude and precision. Fifth album I Don't Live Here Anymore takes a different path, sounding looser and less-toiled over without losing any of the detail that keeps Granduciel's songs from being mere re-creations of '80s best-sellers from the rock section of the Columbia House records club. The album opens with one of its best songs, and also one of its gentlest, "Living Proof." Distant acoustic guitar strums, soft piano chords, and Granduciel's plainly delivered Dylan-esque vocals slowly open up into an arrangement that adds organ, steady bass, and atmospheric percussion. The song never builds but instead offers a restrained overture for an album that blasts off from that point forward. Rockers like "Harmonia's Dream," "Change," and "Wasted" bounce along excitedly, pairing bright synth lines with upbeat tempos, almost Krautrock-like rhythm section pulses, and occasional dashes of piano reminiscent of Don Henley, adding touches of cinematic melancholy to balance out the songs' uplifting melodic qualities. The title track is anthemic in the same way, upping the ante on all of the band's usual reference points by leaning into huge drum fills saturated with gated reverb (the classic '80s sound) and several blatant lyrical references to Bob Dylan. The choruses soar with guest backup vocals from Lucius, perfecting the song's lonely, searching vibe while it replicates the same wistful feel of a Springsteen video set at a county fair in 1986. Only occasionally does the album retreat into the moodiness that was prevalent throughout A Deeper Understanding, but there are some thoughtful, slower songs like "Old Skin," and the plodding, mysterious "I Don't Wanna Wait" begins with Talk Talk-style atmospheres and an ominous drum machine borrowed directly from Phil Collins' ubiquitous "In the Air Tonight." I Don't Live Here Anymore is a warmer, friendlier reading of the sound that could feel impenetrable on the War on Drugs' last album. On top of the more accessible production, this record also boasts some of Granduciel's most immediate songs, making it some of the best work from a band with a near-spotless track record.© Fred Thomas /TiVo

Does the cliché of the artist improving with time, just like good wine, apply to Van Morrison? For several years now, the old bard from Belfast has been unstoppable, publishing up to two albums a year. With Three Chords and the Truth (his sixth in four years!), he proves it is possible to have both quantity and quality. Composed of 14 previously unpublished songs (not covers, as was often the case on his previous records from the 2010’s), this 2019 vintage encapsulates all of Van The Man’s art. His unique style of jazz and blues tinged with gospel soul is supported by a refined, warm instrumentation. With his slick double bass, groovy vintage organ, raspy brass and inimitable voice, Van Morrison carries on carving his own path and the result often touches the sublime. His old guitarist Jay Berliner (found on Astral Weeks, his 1968 masterpiece) even brings a delicate touch to the record. And Bill Medley from The Righteous Brothers sings with him on Fame Will Eat the Soul. Ultimately, Van Morrison is never a parody of himself, and the pleasure that making music brings him at 74 years old is more than obvious. © Max Dembo/Qobuz

Ty Segall is one of the most prolific and cracked savants working in pop music.  Hyped in his official bio as a "singer/guitarist/puzzled panther" who goes on "trips," his multi-hued, perpetual-motion journey is rarely less than charismatic.  On his latest missive, Three Bells, Segall has composed a 15 song cycle, creating along the way, "a claustrophobic/paranoia vibe."  Pink Floyd is an obvious influence in "Void," which abruptly turns midsong into a Beatles meets Sabbath number as he sings, "While I can feel air/ I know the stones are there/ To reach the other side I look behind the wall." A picked guitar figure, a funk bass line and a recurring wail make "I Hear" another cryptic success.  The strummed acoustic guitars, sunny midsection, and "just keep singing" break of "To You" have the thrown-together-at-a-moments-notice feel that Segall often works to his advantage. As a modern inheritor of Marc Bolan's sense of glam and whimsy, Segall indulges himself in "Hi Dee Dee" where siren-like guitars ask unanswerable questions in an insistent chime. "My Best Friend" is the garage rock that has always been a part of Segall's bag, only with a more diverse arrangement that gives it bounce.  There's a slow metal guitar grind in "Move," which features vocals of Segall’s wife Denée and drumming reminiscent of Keith Moon.  Although Segall plays most of the instruments and co-produced and co-engineered the record with Cooper Crain, frequent collaborators Emmett Kelly (guitar, bass), Ben Boye (keys), Mikal Cronin (bass) and Charles Moonhart (drums) contribute their particular voices throughout. Finally, "My Room" is as close to an overarching artistic manifesto for Segall: "I've heard nothing/ I'll just keep waiting by my door/ In case I hear you knocking/ Out there I am nothing/ I am something inside my room." © Robert Baird/Qobuz

Her self-titled debut LP (later retitled Ain't No Mountain High Enough after the single became a hit) was arguably her finest solo work at Motown and perhaps her best ever; it was certainly among her most stunning. Everyone who doubted whether Diana Ross could sustain a career outside the Supremes found out immediately that she would be a star. The single "Reach Out and Touch (Somebody's Hand)" remains a staple in her shows, and is still her finest message track.© Ron Wynn /TiVo

Recorded at the Nokia Theater in Los Angeles, California, Where the Light Is: John Mayer Live in Los Angeles finds singer/songwriter and guitarist John Mayer performing in three different band settings: acoustic trio, electric trio, and large ensemble. As such, the evening works as a nice representation of Mayer's work beginning with the 2003 album Heavier Things and continuing through his creative reinvention as a modern electric blues artist with 2005's Try! John Mayer Trio Live in Concert and finally his smash Grammy-winning 2006 effort, Continuum. Essentially, the concert is designed to showcase Mayer's ability to move from melodic soft rock and pop to folky solo numbers and rockin' blues. Generally, the conceit works and the concert does shine a light, so to speak, on Mayer's virtuosic musical chops. However, segmenting this concert into such specific aesthetic sounds loses some of the diverse flow a Mayer concert usually has. It should be noted that the concert is also available on DVD and Blu-ray, where you get see each band and appreciate the diversity among the ensembles. That said, for fans of Mayer the songwriter, you really can't lose, as the guy is hard-pressed to come up with a bad song, and tracks like the fan favorite "Daughters" and the bittersweet "Stop This Train" really benefit from the acoustic reading Mayer gives them here. Similarly, by putting "'Who Do You Think I Was," "Vultures," and his inspired take on Jimi Hendrix's "Bold as Love" in the middle electric trio section, Mayer builds the energy of the concert, perfectly setting up the pop/blues cornucopia of the final large ensemble set. Beginning with the hit "'Waiting on the World to Change," Mayer's last set (on disc two) is really the set most fans will gravitate toward, as it finds Mayer and his backing group of stellar sideman diving headlong into such soulful numbers as "Why Georgia" and "I Don't Trust Myself (With Loving You)," while also making room for such bluesy nuggets as his Stevie Ray Vaughan-inspired reworking of the Ray Charles hit "I Don't Need No Doctor" (a number heard on John Scofield's That's What I Say with Mayer as guest). Admittedly sprawling and ambitious, Where the Light Is is nonetheless a dynamic showcase for Mayer, who never fails to shine.© Matt Collar /TiVo

After two decades, seven previous studio albums, multi-platinum sales, and sold-out concerts across the globe, Denmark's roots Volbeat have remained stubbornly consistent in wielding massive, power and thrash metal riffs, passionate rockabilly swagger, and punk rock attitude. Eighth album Servant of the Mind continues their M.O. while glossing up their sonic approach (a tad) and re-emphasizing the theatrical potential in guitarist/vocalist Michael Poulsen's songs. Again produced and mixed by longtime collaborator Jacob Hansen, Servant of the Mind is arguably the darkest, loudest, and heaviest album in their catalog --as well as their most accessible. Written in three months, it was recorded in three weeks. With its roiling drumkit and bass intro, opener "Temple of Ekur" is as epic and excessive as its title. The chugging guitar riff, driving tempo, and Poulsen's crystal clean, hooky vocals combine to make it a stadium anthem. "The Sacred Stones" commences with a massive Black Sabbath-like dual guitar riff from Poulsen and Rob Caggiano, underscored by Jon Larsen's thudding tom-toms and kick drums and Kaspar Boye Larsen's filthy bassline. Poulsen deliberately channels Ronnie James Dio in his singing. What emerges is a dynamic update of Heaven and Hell's approach transformed through Volbeat's musicality. "Shotgun Blues" is darker, edgier, and more ferocious. The guitars charge at one another with 1980s thrash metal abandon, forcing Poulsen to climb above them. The charging drum kit and distorted bassline add ballast and textural dimension. In typical Volbeat fashion, however, the chorus delivers an infectious lyric hook without sacrificing the heaviness. Contrast this tune with the brutal chug and burn of "Say No More," with its proggy stop-and-start bridge, double-timed drumming, and assaultive guitars. The band know how to throw curve balls, too. "Dagen Før" features a guest vocal from Stine Bramsen of Danish pop heroes Alphabeat. Volbeat render it an unapologetic AOR anthem with slick, sheeny '80s production, a cruising tempo, and an irrepressible pop melody perfectly melding Bramsen's and Poulsen's voices. While the proceeding "The Passenger" answers with a punky '80s thrash vamp through the verse, its refrain offers the kind of pop-metal grandeur only Volbeat and Ghost -- and vintage Blue Öyster Cult, of course -- are capable of summoning. "Becoming" nods at death metal as drums and bass swing under the punishing guitars but again, Poulsen sends it over the top with a fist-pumping refrain. "Step Into Light" is horrific metallic surfabilly with a soulfully resonant vocal. Closer "Lasse's Birgitta" enters with edgy, reverbed blues and rockabilly guitar vamps before a thrashing "Paranoid"-esque riff asserts the tune's body. Poulsen's vocal keeps the band centered even as he sings of witch burning in 15th century Sweden. Servant of the Mind doesn't offer much in terms of change for Volbeat. But these 13 songs, penned during a time of great global uncertainty, are wonderfully crafted, beautifully recorded, and performed with an incendiary energy. In other words, they all affirm life, fun, and better days ahead. Rock & roll can ask no more. © Thom Jurek /TiVo

Solange Knowles started writing her third album in New Iberia, Louisiana, a town where her maternal grandparents lived until a Molotov cocktail was thrown into their home. That setting helps explain how A Seat at the Table turned out drastically different from Knowles' previous output. There's no revisitation of beachy retro soul-pop and new wave akin to "Sandcastle Disco" or "Losing You." Nothing has the humor of "Some Things Never Seem to Fucking Work" or the bluntness of "Fuck the Industry." There certainly aren't any love songs in the traditional sense. Instead, surrounded by a collaborative throng that includes Raphael Saadiq, Dave Longstreth, and Adam Bainbridge, Knowles composed and produced alleviating pro-black reflections of frustration and anger. They regard persistent dehumanizing burdens dealt to her and other persons of color in a country where many are hostile to the phrase "Black Lives Matter" and the equality-seeking organization of the same name. Remarkably, tender elegance is the mode for much of the album's duration, as heard in the exquisitely unguarded "Cranes in the Sky" and dimly lit left-of-center pop-R&B hybrids "Don't You Wait" and "Don't Wish Me Well." Those songs crave release and reject character assassination and stasis while hinting at inevitable fallout. Their restrained ornamentation and moderate tempos are perfectly suited for Knowles, an undervalued vocalist who never aims to bring the house down yet fills each note with purposeful emotion. When the rhythms bounce and the melodies brighten, as they do during a short second-half stretch, the material remains rooted in profound grief and mystified irritation. In "Borderline," a chugging machine beat and a lilting piano line form the backdrop of a scene where Knowles and her partner tune out the world for the sake of their sanity. Then, after Nia Andrews and Kelly Rowland's half minute of proud harmonic affirmation, along comes "Junie," a squiggling jam on which André 3000 makes like the track's namesake (Ohio Players and Parliament legend Junie Morrison), where Knowles delivers a sharp metaphorical smackdown of a cultural interloper like it's merely an improvised postscript. All of the guests, from Lil Wayne to Kelela, make necessary appearances. The same goes for Knowles' parents and Master P, who are present in the form of short interludes in which they discuss segregation, self-reliance, cultural theft, and black pride. These segues shrewdly fasten a cathartic yet poised album, one that weighs a ton and levitates.© Andy Kellman /TiVo

The songs Emeli Sandé released as previews of her fourth studio album -- her first for the relaunched Chrysalis label -- were connected by little more than the singer/songwriter's voice and words. "Family" exuded rejuvenation and invincibility with Sandé's vocals, so modulated at points that they conflicted with the song's humanity, bursting through a mechanized rhythm and a blur of strings. More promising was "Look What You've Done," a lovestruck garage-flavored track Sandé produced herself. Add to those a clap-and-stomp optimist anthem ("Brighter Days") and a hopeless ballad resembling a refurbished mid-'80s torch song ("There Isn't Much"), plus an undaunted belter evoking the same era ("Ready to Love") and a woozy ballad in which Sandé is unfulfilled but reassuring ("Oxygen"). What to make of all that? Thematically and sonically, Let's Say for Instance does have some cohesion, if only in its final quarter, where it shifts from heartbreak to soul ache. There's palpable grief and anger regarding racist killings, theatrical consolation and affirmation for a loved one in a dark place, followed by "Brighter Days" and two closing songs overflowing with praise and encouraging platitudes. The first three quarters bounce around in style and emotion. They're most enjoyable when Sandé radiates uninhibited joy about her new love. Brightest of all is "My Pleasure," a delectable tropical bliss-out that tickles, flutters, and bobs like Sandé and producers Prince Galalie and Aquarelle aimed to make an undefeatable homage to Mariah Carey and Timbaland. The beaming "Look in Your Eyes" retrofits deep and funky post-disco (Prime Time's "I Owe It to Myself). "Summer," its tone set with gentle whirls from Oli Morris' saxophone, is Sandé's airiest love song yet, pure expression rather than a performance. A whole album of moments like those wouldn't have worn out its welcome. © Andy Kellman /TiVo

This recording has been highly anticipated. For years, Lithuanian soprano Asmik Grigorian has been renowned within the international scene, and now she’s finally released her first album: Dissonance, recorded with the Lithuanian-Russian pianist Lukas Geniušas. Dissonance—the name of one of Rachmaninov’s Romances, op. 34—consists of a total of 19 pieces, all of which are filled with intimate conflicts (at least in relation to their lyrics or the circumstances in which they were written). “On the contrary,” says the soprano, "our duo is in perfect harmony."In his Romances, which appeared roughly between 1890 and 1906, Rachmaninov immortalised, in music, poets and writers such as Alexander Pushkin, Afanassi Fet, Heinrich Heine, Anton Tchekov and Fiodor Tiuttchev, to name but a few. The same theme runs through all these texts: the intimate conflicts and sufferings that arise when two lovers are unable to overcome obstacles in order to fully embrace their true feelings for one other.From drama to poetry, from love to death, from beauty to suffering: all these themes are put to music in titles like Child, you are beautiful as a flower, op. 8 No 2, I wait for thee, op. 14 No. 1, How much it hurts, op. 21 no. 12, and the closing title: We shall rest, op. 26 no. 3. “In life,” explains Grigorian, “dissonance serves as a way to make consonance—that is, beauty and harmony—heard again. It helps us recognise and truly feel life’s brightness, something we can’t appreciate when there’s no suffering. "With their masterful technique and unique form of musical expression, Grigorian and Geniušas don’t sound like two musicians who’ve never recorded together before. Their artistic symbiosis creates a balance that’s perhaps further strengthened by the cultural affinity between the two performers and the composer himself. With this release, listeners are treated to a real musical romance. © Lena Germann/Qobuz