Though it's not obvious from the cover, this 22-track CD compilation is basically a reissue of the New Colony Six's third and fourth LPs (1968's Revelations and 1969's Attacking a Straw Man), presenting the albums one after the other with their original track sequences. This was the era in which the Chicago band, which started off with a rawer garage pop sound, softened its approach considerably and found some modest national commercial success. Those who swear by the group's earlier work (particularly the excellent 1966 debut, Breakthrough) are likely to be disappointed by the far more mainstream harmony pop/rock of these records, though on the other hand, fans of groups like the Association might favor this era more than the previous one…

1995 anthology, originally released to coincide with the release of the four disc box set Thrill Of It All. Roxy Music began life as a British Art Rock band in the early '70s but by the time they split a decade later, they had matured into a smooth Rock outfit capable of creating some of the most lush, romantic and beautiful music on the Pop charts. Lead vocalist Bryan Ferry carried on the Roxy tradition on his solo albums recorded during and after the band's original 10 year career.

Some 13 years into his recording career, jazz pianist extraordinaire Bill Charlap's first live album is, perhaps, his most exquisite release to date. While virtually all of his studio albums more than adequately showcase Charlap's virtuosity, good taste, and ceaseless imagination at the keys, it took the spontaneity of the live performance - at New York's fabled Village Vanguard - to give the first true indication of just what Charlap is capable of creating on the fly. The pinpoint accuracy and sophistication of his solos, whether at breakneck speed or in a ballad setting, are a marvel. Charlap's concentration never strays, and although he feels no compunction to strut, he lets it be known with each passage that he's among the most gifted pianists in jazz today…

Former Styx frontman Dennis DeYoung is back with the second volume of his fond farewell to recorded music, "26 East, Vol. 2.” As with the preceding volume, "26 East, Vol. 2" once again hints strongly at DeYoung's rock roots with Styx. The production and musicianship are EPIC, and those timeless vocal arrangements get delivered in spades. A fitting goodbye and a final signature on an outstanding body of work which will stand the test of time! DeYoung has previously stated that "26 East” will mark his retirement from the world of recorded music. It was thanks to Frontiers CEO, Serafino Perugino, that given the abundance of material, Dennis agreed to split the album in two parts. This second half starts where the previous one left off and sees DeYoung collaborate again with the awesome Jim Peterik, a fellow Chicagoan and nearby neighbor, for the songwriting on select tracks.

Grand Stand from Sweden made two albums and then gone into oblivion. Sad, because, those two albums are really excellent, special the second offer from 2002 named "Tricks of Time". Complicated symphonic prog, with nods towards Genesis, Camel, The Flower Kings and alike.
The album opens with "Jurassic Spark" a song about paranoia. Things get off on the right foot with a 1 minute intro of soaring guitar before the drums and keys come in. Next are the vocals that are well done in this uptempo tune. Some scorching guitar after 4 minutes, and the full sound is beautiful…

The work that became Inner Landscapes was taken from a live and wholly improvised set performed in 1985. With Inner Landscapes being released in 1999, there was a bit of a nostalgic feeling that allowed listeners to look back to where Rich came from and put in perspective his 14 years of work since this 1985 concert. This recording is full and diverse with its synth drones, flute sounds, and Rich's lap steel. It is a fine recording of recycled music, and one that is both complimentary and insightful. This is a must-have recording for fans of Robert Rich and any fan of early new age/space music circa the mid-'80s.

Sublime musical expression does not necessarily proceed from serene spirits whose philosophical loftiness leaves them unmoved by the push and shove of the marketplace. Prefaces to printed editions of music in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries seldom reveal much of the personality behind the writer's effusive urge to prostrate himself before the dedicatee and his invocations to the muses to make worthy his humble efforts. Robert Jones, Tobias Hume and John Dowland were exceptions in this regard and often used their printed prefaces as a platform for polemics, self-defence and bile. In so doing they illumine the contemporary pressures of public opinion and changing fashions, as well as highly individual — not to say curmudgeonly — natures.

You Don't Know My Mind brings back the familiar, friendly growl of modern-day traditionalist Guy Davis, with a pipin' hot baker's dozen of his compositions. Again, on this disc Davis has some extremely able players to help augment his songs and support his vision of them, never overplaying or getting in the way, but providing that constant base of support from which the performer can extend his inspiration. His voice wraps around the lyric and infiltrates it, giving it that heartfelt feeling that makes it his song. This is a consummate performer who loves his music and knows its roots and origins.

Can it get any better? If aliens came down needing to know what funk was all about, in all its talented, embrace-anything-and-everything, screw with your head and get your butt down glory, then this is a prime candidate for what to give them. The man, his voice, his bass, the backing of a prime core band including his guitarist brother Catfish, Fred Wesley, and Maceo Parker leading the brass – beautiful, hilarious, and just plain great. This one-disc collection could easily be a two-disc or more if one wanted to include every last highlight from Collins' up-down-all-around career – his work with James Brown alone is beyond the bomb – but when it comes to solo work, this is as perfect a place to start as any. Drawing mostly on the albums done with the active help of George Clinton in the late '70s, Back in the Day is a model for what a good compilation should be. Sound is excellent throughout, while full details on who plays what and where, along with where everything came from in the first place, all appear in exhaustive detail. The liner notes, meanwhile, come from longtime funk road manager (Brown, Prince, plenty of others) Alan Leeds, explaining every step of Collins' wonderful story.

Emma Kirkby, doyenne of the Early Music scene, here shows that she's just as comfortable in music of a more recent vintage. Amy Beach was a woman ahead of her time, performing as solo pianist with the Boston Symphony Orchestra by the age of 18. The same year (1885), she married Henry Beach and, no longer able to perform publicly (it would have gone against her social status), she instead settled down to composing. And delightful stuff it is, too, as Kirkby and friends demonstrate in this charming recital. A number of the songs add violin, cello, or both to the piano and voice combination. "Ecstasy," for instance, has a most effective violin part that is an ideal foil to the purity of Kirkby's voice. Other highlights include the Schumannesque Browning Songs and the amiable Shakespeare Songs (the last of which, "Fairy Lullaby," is irresistible). The final item here, "Elle et moi," is an upbeat little number that suits Kirkby's lithe soprano to perfection. Occasionally, in some of the more lushly textured songs, such as "A Mirage" and "Stella Viatoris," perhaps a fuller voice would have been preferable, but then sample "Chanson d'amour" (written when Beach was only 21 and with a wonderful cello part in addition to the piano) and try to imagine it being better sung. The purely instrumental items are played with unfailing sensitivity and elegance. The Romance is straight out of the salon, while the much later Piano Trio (though actually based on early material) packs plenty of emotion and variety into its 14 minutes. The recording is exemplary, as are the concise notes and texts and translations.

Conventional wisdom holds that the Beatles intended Abbey Road as a grand farewell, a suspicion seemingly confirmed by the elegiac note Paul McCartney strikes at the conclusion of its closing suite. It’s hard not to interpret “And in the end / the love you take / is equal to the love you make” as a summation not only of Abbey Road but perhaps of the group’s entire career, a lovely final sentiment. The truth is perhaps a bit messier than this. The Beatles had tentative plans to move forward after the September 1969 release of Abbey Road, plans that quickly fell apart at the dawn of the new decade, and while the existence of that goal calls into question the intentionality of the album as a finale, it changes not a thing about what a remarkable goodbye the record is.