Featured

Los Amigos Invisibles have never shied away from a shtick. Or an experiment. Or a party. Repeat is all that: The hyper-color cartoon party band tries out more English than ever and coats everything in a sleeker, chicer style than we're used to. The disco grooves are still stacked as high as a platform heel, but we also get "Lust for Life" chugga-chugga under bouncy Latin pop ("La Que Me Gusta") and George Michael via Jamiroquai ("Hopeless Romance"). When the English cuts start to feel a little more lackluster, check out "Mostro," a reminder of what great, silly fun this band is live.

With a band as deep in the classic rock pocket as ZZ Top, you'd think you'd want a live album from 1975 or 1976, but in 1980 ZZ Top were touring in support of Degüello, which is easily one of their 10 best records and a major landmark in guitar-tastic rock music. This set finds the ferocious trio burning the joint down with almost all the songs you need from that album (no "I'm Bad, I'm Nationwide") and a positively gut-punching churn through "Precious and Grace." "Manic Mechanic" sounds incredible and, of course, the "La Grange/Sloppy Drunk/Bar-B-Q" medley is a showstopper.

An intro that quotes Phil Collins' "In The Air Tonight," a cover of Peter Gabriel's "In Your Eyes," and rickety EDM that floats strangely off-beat: Goldenheart is not a typical R&B record. It's fascinating to watch Dawn Richard evolve from the urban pop of Danity Kane to an artist that evades comparison. (Perhaps Ellie Goulding?) Produced by Druski, her album has a too-long hour-plus length and twisty melodies that often don't settle into coherent songs. Amid the minor flaws are moments like "Ode to You" and "Frequency" that mark Richard as a woman living in the future.

On Neutral Milk Hotel's second album, Jeff Mangum crosses the line between abstract folk singer and something more akin to cryptic genius. The song arrangements and musical backdrops are perfectly fuzzy and off-kilter, but it's Mangum -- obviously enraptured by some intangible muse -- who delivers most on this album.

"Funny" is usually anathema to dance music. Fortunately, DJ Koze's definition of "funny" is less "ha-ha" than "WTF?" Koze doesn't stop at crafting sumptuous deep-house jams; full of odd details and sonic margin-scribbling, they feel like cryptic short stories more than static mood pieces. Apparat and Caribou lend their respective styles to two songs, while Matthew Dear playacts his way through the oddball "Magical Boy," but the real wild cards are the errant bleeps and burbles that tear through Koze's nominally subdued productions, lulling and thrilling in equal measure.

Willie Nelson's strong suit may not be vocal standards, but as an 80-year-old man he's entitled to do whatever the heck he wants. Let's Face the Music and Dance is a hand-picked clutch of country, jazz and pop classics --essentially the music he and his sister Bobbie grew up with in the '30s and '40s -- plus a reworked original or two. Willie's trademark warble stands in contrast to the crisp, shuffling backdrop the Family (Bobbie plays piano!) lays down; highlights include "You'll Never Know," "Twilight Time" and the title track.

Avalon found Roxy Music smoothing out their arty, angular edges with lush orchestrations and graceful production backing a superior set of Bryan Ferry originals. This 1982 album would prove to be the band's last studio effort, and, as fate would have it, their most popular release thanks to the singles "More Than This," "Avalon" and "Take A Chance With Me."

Drummer Art Blakey was Blue Note's finest band leader -- he discovered and nurtured talent his entire career. How good was Blakey's ear? This set includes such future stars as Lee Morgan, Benny Golsen (who wrote most of the LPs numbers), and Bobby Timmons. Moanin' is one of Blakey's most successful albums thanks to Timmons' title track and Golsen's "Along Came Betty," both of which instantly became jazz standards. A definitive hard bop album. Perhaps, "the" definitive one.

With the meters topped and feedback shimmering off of everything like it was recorded in a tin can set on fire, Raw Power is simply one of the most influential records of all time. This is the hurtling, incredibly flawed death wish that forecasted punk's failure to do anything but destruct its own stars.

The young Disney starlet shows off her considerable diva cred with a sophomore album (keep in mind she's barely past sophomore year) that's packed to the brim with solid (and often sultry) dance pop. A Year without Rain picks up where the smash hit "Naturally" left off: compelling club beats, sweet themes dusted with a bit of sass and dulcet (if light) vocals that display some dexterity (see: "Rock God," the album's most Disney-ish song, but a track that finds Gomez alternating between throaty belting and feathery head voice). Only the dear-diary ballads tucked in here and there betray her age.

With distinctly slower tempos, a heavier Sabbath influence than before, and the usual political, satanic and (for the sickos among us) hilarious lyrics, 1988's South of Heaven further ensconced Slayer at the top of the metal pantheon. Like pretty much everything they have recorded, this underrated masterpiece is truly essential gasket-blowing, ear-melting music.

"How can I love somebody else/ If I can't love myself," sings Mary J. Blige on "Be Happy," the penultimate track on My Life. The legend is that she recorded this seminal album while struggling with substance abuse and a tumultuous romance with Jodeci's K-Ci Hailey. She sang of pain as well as pleasure, and the incredible six-minute slow jam "I Never Wanna Live Without You" inspired plenty of baby-making. Executive produced by Sean "Puffy" Combs, this is a portrait of a young woman trying to find faith in God and the promise of eternal love, and it is one of the best albums of the '90s.

Arguably the best single of 1989, Neneh Cherry's "Buffalo Stance" is layered like lasagna. The British-bred daughter of legendary jazz performer Don Cherry is a former punk rocker and she's definitely has that genre's sneer. The airy synth lines that introduce "Buffalo's" chorus point to mid-'80s synth pop, while the cuts and breaks are products of American hip-hop. Lean even closer and you can hear a sense of spiky entitlement as she introduces the track's individual instruments and proceeds to do her best Run impression, all of which makes this a groundbreaking single from a classic album.

The fourth album from the Queens rap veteran, Mama became his best-selling record ever. Produced by beat maestro Marley Marl (Biz, Kool G Rap, Masta Ace, etc.), it reestablished LL to a skeptical audience that was beginning to doubt his longevity and relevance. Includes the blistering title track, as well as "Boomin' System" and "Around The Way Girl."

Besides sharing a city (Philadelphia) with her, Jill Scott's colleagues Jazzyfatnastees cover much of the same aesthetic ground: brainy poetry set to warm, subtly seductive neo-soul. But where Scott gravitates towards the more experimental and self-absorbed sides of the genre, Jazzyfatnastees are traditionalists preoccupied with the emotional wellbeing of their fellow humans. The tracks on their debut deal with being friends with women and building egalitarian relationships with men based on respect and romance -- and plenty of 'em have a timeless, slow-dance-with-me vibe.

Following Can's 1971 opus Tago Mago is no easy task, and maybe that's why Ege Bamyasi is often treated like a middle child by the casual fan. But compared to its darling predecessor, Ege Bamyasi is definitely more song-oriented. Damo Suzuki is still unpredictable and maybe even possessed by intergalactic demonoids, especially on the 10-and-a-half-minute "Soup," where his eruptions of tempertantric vocals sound as punctuated by deliberate rhythmic choices as any other of the band's instruments. By the end of "Spoon"'s hypnotic groove, you may have a new favorite album.

The British electronic metalcore band's highly anticipated RCA debut opens with an enormous hook befitting the hype: "Can You Feel My Heart" is so infectious you can practically dance to it. While this fourth release is more radio-friendly than their earlier material, their signature left turns, punctuated by bleeps and bloops, walls of guitar distortion and genre cross-pollination, haven't been buried by major label money -- they're just a little less obvious. This is what Radiohead would have sounded like if they'd all been into Gothenburg metal instead of Pink Floyd.

"Loving him was red." The way Swift's voice loops upon finishing the line? That's pure pop. Here, the girl who we first met as a high schooler singing about Tim McGraw finally completes her long crossover into Top 40 hitmaker. Red includes the understated country songs that the singer once played for skeptical execs ("Begin Again," for one), but its heart is in the other stuff. "Back Together" and "22" are as exuberant as anything to hit the charts in years, and yet neither prepare you for when, in "I Knew You Were Trouble," the sampler catches Swift's voice and loops it into, yes, dubstep.

Even before its release, Paramore's first album from their post-Farro brothers incarnation was hailed as a radical departure (i.e. the band's bold play at maturation via post-everything artiness). In all honesty, the record ain't that radical, though it does find them embracing wiry dance grooves, proggy composition and electronica while in pursuit of perfect pop that's smart and deftly crafted. There's definitely a lot to absorb, but the most ear-grabbing stuff are up-tempo club rockers such as "Fast in My Car" (fantastic drum sound) and "Proof"; it's on these that Paramore sound most alive.

Pearl Jam's Vitalogy casts a long, dark shadow upon first listening, as many of the songs included here are brooding, uncompromising offerings that demand attention. Songs such as "Corduroy" and "Better Man" are some of Pearl Jam's very best work, but, ultimately, Vitalogy is a hard nut to crack. Casual listeners would be better off with Ten.