Tilt was Scott Walker's first album following over a decade of silence, and whatever else he may have done during his exile, brightening his musical horizon was not on the agenda. Indescribably barren and unutterably bleak, Tilt is the wind that buffets the gothic cathedrals of everyone's favorite nightmares. The opening "Farmer in the City" sets the pace, a cinematic sweep that somehow maintains a melody beneath the unrelenting melodrama of Walker's most grotesque vocal ever. Seemingly undecided whether he's recording an opera or simply haunting one, Walker doesn't so much perform as project his lyrics, hurling them into the alternating maelstroms and moods that careen behind him. The effect is unsettling, to put it mildly. At the time of its release, reviews were undecided whether to praise or pillory Walker for making an album so utterly divorced from even the outer limits of rock reality, an indecision only compounded by its occasional (and bloody-mindedly deceptive) lurches towards modern sensibilities. "The Cockfighter" is underpinned by an intensity that is almost industrial in its range and raucousness, while "Bouncer See Bouncer" would have quite a catchy chorus if anybody else had gotten their hands on it. Here, however, it is highlighted by an Eno-esque esotericism and the chatter of tiny locusts.

My Kind of Blues was originally released in late 1960 on the budget label Crown. On this session, B.B. King dropped the smooth big band sound of his previous release, B.B. King Wails, to an instrumentally stripped-down unit of bass, drums, piano, and, of course, his beloved guitar Lucille. This date took one day to record and is said to be one of King's personal favorites. Any of B.B. King's early Crown releases are essential, and considering that the 2003 Ace reissues feature previously unissued bonus tracks and midline pricing, these are the ones to grab. According to the liner notes, these bonus tracks are included for being "small combo tracks that continue the traditional blues theme, and allow plenty of space for B.B.'s guitar." Unfortunately, recording dates for these aren't given, but they do include five previously unissued tracks from his Modern sessions, as well as an undubbed version of "Looking the World Over"; an overdubbed version of "Walking Dr. Bill"; and a previously unissued take of "Hold That Train..

Like 1999's tribute to Gram Parsons, Return of the Grievous Angel, this successful collection revives the tired "tribute" concept and applies it in homage to a key figure in country music. Interpreting songs from across Hank Williams's short and troubled career, a range of high-profile artists use different approaches with equally gratifying results. Tom Petty, Sheryl Crow, and Hank Williams III play familiar songs with traditional arrangements (Ms. Crow's yodel is an eye opener); Beck, Mark Knopfler, and Keb' Mo' stay closer to their own idioms. Keith Richards's reedy vocal makes "You Win Again" all his own, and Bob Dylan, who has only rarely lent his services to these sorts of projects, leads his touring band through a blues shuffle on "I Can't Get You Off of My Mind." The estimable Lost Highway label has assembled an illustrious cast to sing the praises of the artist who inspired its name, and in doing so it has created a far better testament to its musical mindset than can ever be captured in the term Americana.

When Belgian-Portuguese duo Jess & James (Tony Lam and Wando Lam) released their third LP in 1969, they already had an impressive body of work under their belt. Playing a highly energized blend of pop and soul, they achieved great success in Europe with singles like "Move and "Something for nothing". Oddly enough, they were often presented as British musicians origin instead of Portuguese.
In 1969 Jess & James released their self titled third and final album which is widely regarded as their best. This time they are joined by top session musicians Scott Bradford (keyboards) and Stu Martin (drums) and the sound changes toward a more hard- psych- prog approach, featuring superb Hammond work and some long jams, at times reminiscent of early Caravan.

As the title suggests, Ultravox were in a gray mood as they launched into their seventh studio LP, their previous existential angst now pooling around personal anguish. The album's title track was a study in languorous melancholy, where the emotional pain lingered on and on. And why would it ever dissipate, when romance is forever doomed, as "When the Time Comes" exquisitely illustrated? Even "One Small Day," the most musically celebratory song on the set, battles depression but dismally loses the war. No wonder Ultravox were so keen to escape far into the past, with "Man of Two Worlds" taking them back to the gloriously romanticized days of the Celts. The modern world, in contrast, was filled with terrors, both emotional ("A Friend I Call Desire") and global. There was the omnipresent yellow peril to fear; but if "White China" warned of the dangers of creeping communism, the nation sworn to protect its citizens from a Stalinistic embrace proves just as nefarious on "Heart of the Country".