Daft Punk, Random Access Memories

In the aftermath of the electronica duo's breakup, let's look at their last, probably greatest work. There's something inexcusably pretentious about liner notes that prominently state "Starring (in alphabetical order)" and not all of those guests are the album's high points (Paul Williams' "Touch" disappointingly in particular), and the obvious pop single moments are fatally obvious pop singles ("Lose Yourself to Dance" and the Pharrell Williams hit "Get Lucky" are cute but ultimately disposable). But the shift to richer orchestration and a more expansive style really delivers, with real meaningfulness here in a genre generally fixated on throwaway beats. I have never heard a more heartfelt, human vocal out of a vocoder than "Within," I enjoyed the U2 feel of "Instant Crush," "Fragments of Time" adds wistful nostalgia without being cloying, and while "Beyond"'s orchestral lead-in is a trifle overwrought it's still thrilling. However, while there are many such quality instrumental interludes, the album's three official instrumentals are its finest moments and indisputably the best tracks they've ever done: "Motherboard" and the tingly wonderous glow of first "Contact" deliver a solid punch, though it's their interview with disco deity Giorgio Moroder that hits it out of the park, rendering his insightful, introspective self-summation of his career and life over a wonderfully realized throwback beat in "Giorgio by Moroder." This album may be almost eight years old now but it is so suffused with atmosphere it will forever be timeless. Perhaps they took Fatboy Slim's advice: if this is the greatest, why try harder? The deluxe edition adds "Horizon," a fourth prog-styled instrumental as strong as the three on the main album and well worth picking up. (Content: mild adult themes on "Get Lucky.")

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David Gilmour

A not-bad first-solo effort by Pink Floyd's guitarist during the interregnum between Animals and The Wall, which would be a good description of the style as well. The album photograph comes off particularly low-effort for Hipgnosis, however, and the gatefold spread of personal snaps feels like a party you weren't invited to. For that matter Gilmour was never much of a lyricist either; the tedious "So Far Away" in particular sprawls thematically for the better part of six minutes. But even "So Far Away" has good musicship going for it and not just guitar — he also appears on piano and organ, with a couple session mercenaries in for drum and bass, and as befit the prog rock fashion of the day there are also several instrumentals, all strong (though "Mihalis" and "Deafinitely" are the standouts). Of the vocal tracks, "There's No Way Out Of Here" (which he didn't write) and "I Can't Breathe Anymore" (which he did) are good, solid, pensive rock and the others at least please melodically. If he wanted just to see if he could do it, I've heard worse. The 2008 remaster lengthens most of the tracks, a blessed improvement over the usual practise of including alternate takes, but the differences will be too subtle for most to appreciate. (Content: no concerns.)

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The Best of Walter Murphy

If Mason Williams was too staid for you, then I guess there's this. Like most 1970s novelty acts — see also Meco — he's strongest doing disco retreads of the music you know ("A Fifth of Beethoven," "Flight '76" with Rimsky-Korsakov, and especially his gloriously gauche arrangement of Gershwin's "Rhapsody in Blue," which could rehabilitate United Airlines' soiled reputation all by itself if they ever put it in an ad). His original material, however, never quite matches up: none of it is incompetent (and "California Strut" is even fun), but none of it is special or genre-busting, and the vocals at times ("Keep Dancing" as the worst example) get incongruous. The problem is that's most of this disc. The moral of the story is always give the customer what they want, especially if you're United Airlines. (Content: no concerns.)

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The Manhattan Transfer, Vocalese

I have fond memories of this album as a kid because my local library had it on cassette. (You know, those places with books that people visit now for the free Wi-Fi.) It's not aged wholly without tarnish — the synths and drum machines are definitely products of its time — but the hook of vocalists singing those florid stratospheric jazz solos, squeals and squeaks intact (sometimes together with the very instruments they're mimicking), never gets old. And not just vocables and scatting, though there are some, but the witty, wacky Jon Hendricks lyrics sung to their usual high quality by the members and an ensemble cast of guests including Hendricks himself. While you'll get the joke better if you know the originals, as a fascinated young listener who didn't know a Grammy from my granny I did know the sounds in my headphones were gold. The songs are less compelling when they're less formed (particularly "Another Night in Tunisia," with guest Bobby McFerrin beneath his talent), and it loses its fifth star for being a cover album at its core, but good golly, man, what covers. It would have almost been worth the fine to keep the tape. (Content: no concerns.)

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Brass Construction IV

The last of this funk band's Roman numerals (though not their last numeric album: that would be Brass Construction 6), it's not as nakedly idealistic nor high quality as their first two, but the shift in conventionality is hardly fatal. While the aspirational messaging remains a thing here and there ("Perception (What's The Right Direction)" and "Help Yourself" in particular), there's also more typical funk ("Get Up") and a bit of disco ("Night Chaser"), and although the latter bunch of tracks might not be as sophisticated they're still a lot of fun. My favourite track, however, is the wistful procastination of self-improvement in "Starting Tomorrow," sung to smooth '70s style R-and-B with an almost Zappaesque doo-wop bridge, and one of the band's best tracks yet to appear on any of their collections. The weakest part of this album, besides the pedestrian mating ritual of "One To One," is that it's just too short. EMI tried to get you covered here by pairing the reissue with the inferior Brass Construction III, more of the vulgar and less of the clever, but my CD-R (made to order) has a screwed up first track and weird artifacts on IV's "Sweet As Sugar." Heaven forbid they should do their back catalogue any favours. (Content: mild adult themes on "One To One.")

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Mumford and Sons, Sigh No More

Is the title true? This album's strict folk aesthetic, broken up occasionally by ornamental piano and the odd organ and brass, could be one big sigh, really. It's very well executed ("After The Storm" the artistic peak) and the guitar and string instrument work in particular is really super ("Roll Away Your Stone" and "Timshel" especially). But its indefatigable minimalism is its greatest conceit and its gravest flaw: largely bereft of percussion, and barely a rhythm section to speak of, it never gets going much and it mostly ends up sounding the same. The lyrics are also a mixed bag, running hot and cold over romance and religion, as determinedly unresolvable as the style. Their Celtic bluegrass fetish is relentless, but I like their technical skill and I like the flourishes, and I salute their truculence in defence of their ambiguity. For me it ends up an album for the quiet evenings when I need something murmuring on that I don't have to pay attention to. So, sigh, but only a little bit. (Content: F-bombs on "Little Lion Man.")

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The Edgar Winter Group, They Only Come Out At Night

Let's skip the so-glam-it's-creepy cover in which a shirtless Edgar Winter mugs in lipstick, sideburns and a rhinestone necklace and turn to the music, shall we? Despite that and the androgynous band photo, we have some pretty solid blues rock like the classics "Hangin' Around" and "Free Ride," plus the Latin-flavoured "Alta Mira" and the album's lightest track "Autumn," whose turn is still sweet even if the lyrics ring saccharine. The harder tracks like "When It Comes," "Undercover Man" and "Rock 'N' Roll Boogie Woogie Blues" have an unwelcome samey feel to them, and "Round & Round"'s changeling love story is hackneyed, but even if they're nothing special you'll still leave them playing. That said, the best track on the album is the closing instrumental "Frankenstein," a classic prog rock monster whose structured formalism feels almost out of place with the more freeform remainder, but nevertheless stands as this lineup's strongest work ever. In fact, it's probably the single greatest reason to have this disc in your collection. It's just that good. (Content: no concerns.)

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Enigma, The Platinum Collection

This really isn't well thought-out: it's an instant Enigma collection for the mythical someone who really likes Enigma enough to listen to three discs of it, but doesn't already own any of their albums. Now, it's not all bad, because you get all the big hits on the first disc like "Sadeness (Part 1)," "Return to Innocence" and "Gravity of Love," though you also get a fair bit of the droney crap as well. But then again it's mostly bad, because the second disc of remixes all suck, every one. What rescues this overstuffed wannabe boxset is surprisingly the third disc, the cast-off and largely untitled "Lost Ones." While the liner notes downplay them as the equivalent of musical sketches, and some do truly seem to lack sufficient exposition, they're all well-produced and eminently listenable even if they run a little short. So let's look at the set this way: if you can find it cheaply you're getting a great bunch of unreleased ambient tracks, with some reminiscent of their hits, plus you get those hits besides and you can sharpen your garbage disposal's blades on the disc left over. There's some value there, right? (Content: no concerns.)

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The Beach Boys Love You

The chief problem with this album is the immature lyrics from a band (and a writer) then in their mid-30s; see also Adult/Child. The songs bop along ("Mona," "Honkin' Down the Highway," "Airplane") as if Brian Wilson hadn't a care since 1960, the synthesizers kind of work with the whole childlike feel (especially the purring growls in "I'll Bet He's Nice"), and some of the more whimsical pieces ("Johnny Carson," "Solar System") even evince a rudimentary sort of wit. But the intermittent fixation on young lust ruins the whole thing: when they talk about what they're gonna do "when her momma ain't around" ("Roller Skating Child"), even their attempts at something more mature ("The Night Was So Young") just feel gross, and even worse when the singing's bad ("Let's Put Our Hearts Together," "Love Is A Woman"). Even considering love as an abstract concept, with that context you wonder if the whole thing in "I Wanna Pick You Up" — apparently sung to a young kid — isn't actually one big pedophilic double entendre. This album is inappropriately entertaining in the way a lecherous old man shouldn't be, and musically it's definitely better than anything else they put out around this time, but that wouldn't be a very high bar. (Content: mild adult themes.)

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Nick Lowe, Jesus of Cool

What is it with snarky rockers and G-d complexes, anyway? (Maybe that's why Columbia chickened out Stateside and called it Pure Pop for Now People, like that really explained the album better.) But no matter what it's called, it's a gas: right on the terminal gasp of glam and the cusp of new wave, with just a dash of doo-wop and soul, the style defies categorization while it simultaneously delights. It's well programmed with a lot of zip (dig the wacked-out Motown riff in "Nutted by Reality" and the rollicking chaos of "I Love The Sound of Breaking Glass") and a little slowness ("Tonight"), and, wow, a heavy helping of humour, like a knowing indictment of the recording industry in "Shake and Pop," the ghoulish "Marie Provost" and of course the Führeriffic "Little Hitler." A precious few songs don't fire on all cylinders (the live pub rocker "Heart of the City" feels an afterthought and "36 Inches High" meanders a bit too much), but there sure aren't many. But wait, there's more! the 2008 UK reissue makes a great album even better by not only reverting to the superior European tracklist, but also adding almost double the music with the different American tracks, surprisingly worthy alternate takes, some B-sides (including the hilarious "I Love My Label") and even the Brinsley Schwartz version of "Cruel To Be Kind." Another overwhelming victory for the Poms! American reissuers should be ashamed. (Content: A couple S- and F-bombs, adult themes and drug references.)

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The White Stripes, Elephant

A power trio with two members, this alleged sibling duo continues the inexorable evolution of their lo-fi aesthetic. Unapologetically quirky, the stripped-down feel is as raw as ever yet even tenser and more tantalizing. I dig the super riffs in "Black Math," "The Hardest Button to Button," the satisfyingly heavy "Little Acorns" and the instant classic ersatz bassline of "Seven Nation Army," though the lyrics meander from noodly to creepy ("You've Got Her In Your Pocket") to incomprehensible ("Girl, You Have No Faith in Medicine"), and when it gets slower it gets sloppier: "Well It's True That We Love One Another" is bizarre, "I Just Don't Know What To Do With Myself" is aptly named, and "Balls and Biscuit" has some tasty blues but runs on way too long. But Jack White's tight-pant Robert Plant vocals suck you in and the jams makes you groove, and the formula would probably ring much less authentic if it were much more polished. (Content: mild adult themes.)

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Stevie Wonder, Songs in the Key of Life

It's a rare double album that doesn't overstay its welcome. It's a rarer double album that sets itself high goals for musicship and message, and actually hits them. There's real sophistication here, real harmonies you can feel, thick layered instrumentation you could get lost in. Songs like "Black Man" point out much we've all given to society, "Saturn" (from the original companion EP and now a well-deserved part of current CD issues) gives us the wisdom of learning from our mistakes and "Love's In Need Of Love Today" reminds us that conquering prejudice isn't a single point in time. (And don't we all, atheists and preachers alike, need to "Have A Talk With God"?) Combined with zippy songs like "Sir Duke" and "I Wish" (and the best title on the album, "All Day Sucker"), and sweet ones like "As" and "Isn't She Lovely," it deftly avoids that other curse of double albums, collapsing under the weight of their sheer pretentiousness. A product of its time yet ineffably timeless, this album is Stevie's finest. Current CD releases include everything from the companion EP, which, unlike many such tack-ons, has songs fully coherent with and just as sublime as those on the main album. (Content: mild adult themes in "I Wish.")

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Taylor Swift, evermore

The companion album to this year's quarantine surprise Folklore, it improves, though not nearly enough, on the unsympathetic pontifications and the tortoise pace that made its precedessor tedious. But, to be sure, there are nevertheless improvements: leadoff "willow" is pop without being overly sweet, and while the production remains flawless, the throwback semi-country style is better developed this time (especially "champagne problems" and "cowboy like me"). I also appreciate her more mature consideration of the human existence (e.g., the nuanced "happiness" and the small-town slice "'tis the damn season") that does a better job lyrically in getting you to see the world through her eyes, though I gently argue some of us do need a little "closure." On the other hand, what didn't improve from its precedessor is the molasses feel like a tape on half speed, leaving you to wonder when the fun bits start, and too much of the track list is just too slow. Overall the album is still overly navel-gazey and there remain many irritating moments where her emotional state fails to translate musically, but while it may be a companion album in name, for my money it manages to eclipse the previous one even though that wasn't much of a bar to exceed. Despite not being enough for a third star, the iterative changes in this one do make it the relatively superior release, and you don't need to buy the prior album to appreciate the finer moments this one has. By the way, please invest in a SHIFT key. Thank you. (Content: some harsh language and adult themes. A separate clean version is available; I reviewed the original.)

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John Farnham, Whispering Jack

This album is a novelty in America (except for occasional runs of "You're The Voice" on knowing 80s stations), which doesn't make sense, because it's an absolute beauty. It's so beloved in Australia as an icon of contemporary pop that my Aussie wife bought it for me a second time forgetting I'd already bought it before. It could be that Farnham's distinctive vocals sounded too much like his time in the Little River Band when they flopped in the States, or it could be that his career had just slid that far since his teen idol days, which to be sure never took off Stateside either. So call it a comeback album if you like, but the sheer exuberance of songs like "Going, Going, Gone," "Love To Shine" or the album's best track "Pressure Down" could make one think he hadn't ever had a care in the world. While the slow moments ("No One Comes Close," "Touch of Paradise") are no lyrical titans, the emotional heft bursts through his every note and you can't help but exult in an album that just feels so wonderful to listen to. Cursed to remain a staple of record stores down under for as long as they exist, I have no doubts I'll get another copy in a few years, and it'll still be that good; in these polarized times we could all stand to take the pressure down as well. The CD reissue adds the extended version of "Pressure Down" which is merely longer rather than better. (Content: no concerns.)

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Alan Parsons, A Valid Path

I have misgivings about even writing this review because I actually attended the tour for this album when they were in Los Angeles (at the Canyon Club in Agoura Hills, if you must know), and Alan Parsons himself signed the Eye In The Sky CD in my office. Frankly, it's because this album's not that great. Parsons never seemed to get over his time with Pink Floyd and this solo effort feels like his level best to ape the post-Waters sound right down to the Storm Thorgerson cover and David Gilmour on the lead track; it's probably no coincidence that it's the best one, too ("Return To Tunguska"). There's no problem with the production and there's no issue with the technology as those have always been his strength. Instead, the original songs are generally dull and derivative (especially the P.J. Olsson-fronted songs, "More Lost Without You" in particular, but also "You Can Run"), the revolving door of featured artists don't seem to translate into any variety, and the unoriginal songs ("Mammagamma '04" and a retread of the two lead tracks from "Tales of Mystery and Imagination") would be better served as bonus tracks on a reissue than on this separate album. And then there's the stunt casting: as John Cleese! murmurs irritatedly at the end of "Chomolungma" (probably the only other notable song on the album), "How much longer is this going on?" At least it was better in person! (Content: no concerns.)

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Muse, Black Holes and Revelations

Radiohead were the most obvious spearheads of the late 2000s push towards electronica-flavoured art rock, but this album has a noteworthy genre exposition all its own. The ethereal arpeggios (and political venom) of "Take A Bow" give way to meaty crashing guitars and percussion, I hear shades of Depeche Mode's "Enjoy the Silence" in "Map of the Problematique" and I dig the headbang in "Assassin." Unfortunately the originality is intermittent: "Starlight" got its share of airplay, and deservedly so, but it's a pop single and nowhere near the artistic level of the album's best (ditto for "Supermassive Black Hole"); similarly, "Invincible" is pretty but forgettable, though "Soldier's Poem" mostly escapes the ordinary with thoughtfully tart lyrics and some ironically rich harmony. Likewise, the western flavour of the closer tracks ("Hoodoo" and "Knights of Cydonia") comes more across as a stunt than stylistic innovation. But the menacing vibe is compelling and they get points for trying something different when they do, because when it works it really does. (Content: no concerns.)

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The Very Best of The Stone Roses

Their hype may have exceeded the actual Second Coming (never mind that their second, weaker album was actually called the Second Coming), but at least briefly this inventive alternative act put Manchester on the map, and at least briefly they sparkled like no one else in the process. This disc is a far better survey of their work than their other collections as it features all the songs that mattered from their first self-titled album (most of them), their second (not many of them) and their early singles. For me, the finest moments of the band were the glistening "Waterfall," "Made of Stone," their elevated, ethereal single "Elephant Stone" and honourable mention to the jangle-pop mumbler "Sally Cinnamon;" while I am less enamoured of the dopey pop religious namedrops in "Love Spreads" and others, and "This Is The One" has a great feel but its lyrical content couldn't fill a thimble, my quibbles with this entrancing collection are slight. I am, and remain, a huge fan of their first effort, but this gives you almost all of it and some bonuses besides, and spares you the dreck this influential group shoveled out beneath their talent afterwards. (Content: no concerns.)

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Lakeside, Fantastic Voyage

They weren't exactly a one-hit funk wonder but this was their one funk hit, and it was a big one. Naturally it has the party pleaser title track, an exceptional single by itself, but there's a lot of other great beats on this album like "Your Love Is On The One" and the slow jam delights "Say Yes" and "I Love Everything You Do." The lyrics are a bit transparent ("I Need You" especially), the last track is a throwaway and the otherwise entertaining "Eveready Man" owes as much to James Brown's "Sex Machine" as it does to the battery manufacturer, but you'll have a good time all the time just the same. But wait, there's more! The Cherry Red Robinsongs UK reissue combines this, several 7" mixes and their preceding two albums into an inexpensive two-disc set which is just perfect for any devotee of the genre. Shot Of Love, their second release, is almost as strong as this one with the standout "Given In To Love" [sic], and their third album Rough Riders may overdo the cowboy motif but still has its moments. How is it that the Poms know how to do funk reissues right and we have to import them in the States? Who screwed that up so badly? (Content: no concerns.)

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Jeff Lynne's ELO, Alone In The Universe

It's a solo album in all but name and thus nowhere near as expansive (to its detriment) nor sprawling (to its credit) as ELO's traditional output. But Lynne was always the group's prime mover, and if anyone could construct a reasonable facsimile in their sumptuously appointed home studio (even depicted in the liner notes) it'd be him. The songs are too short and get a little samey ("When I Was A Boy"), the obvious drum machine is obvious, and the throwback songs ("One Step At A Time" but "Dirty To The Bone" particularly) come across as atavistic and retrograde rather than nostalgic. But it's well-produced and engineered with the same trademark harmonies the fans expect ("Ain't It A Drag"), and regardless of the hokum in the lyrics, at its best it still manages the same level of musical sophistication of the glory days ("The Sun Will Shine On You" and the best track, "Alone In The Universe"). It's not really an ELO album no matter what it says on the cover, but you'd be hard-pressed to tell the difference, and that's certainly more than many bands past their prime will achieve. The deluxe version adds three supplemental tracks of similar quality but similarly wanting length; like the main album, it should delight the fans but offers little added value to the casual interest. (Content: mild adult themes in "Dirty To The Bone," S-bomb in "Ain't It A Drag.")

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U2, Achtung Baby

If the cultural zeitgeist of the early 1990s could be etched into a disc, it would end up sounding a lot like this one. No coincidence, then, that it was recorded in Berlin and Dublin where their worldly tumults just ooze into the album's every moment by osmosis. No more the chastened Irish youth of Rattle and Hum, they now bring to their listeners the novelty and the weight of new frontiers for a generation that chafed just as much from constriction. There is introspection, self-examination, romance, regret and loss, and a just a touch of humour, but through it all the unavoidable impression that change has come with infinite possibilities that loom and bloom all at once, and the world through our eyes would never be the same. The music captures the same lyric feel as the words, the chiming guitars of "Who's Gonna Ride Your Wild Horses," the wistful musing beat of "One," the biting saunter of "Mysterious Ways" and the mournful dirge of "Love Is Blindness." Few musical time capsules are more complete: as Bono's distorted vocals correctly call out in "Zoo Station," in those heady days every single one of us was ready for what was next. (Content: mild language in "Acrobat.")

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