Few female singers matched the hard-swinging Anita O'Day for sheer exuberance and skill in all areas of jazz vocals: her splendid improvising, wide range, dynamic tone, and innate sense of rhythm made her one of the most enjoyable singer of the age. O'Day's first appearances in a big band shattered the traditional image of a demure female vocalist by swinging just as hard as the other musicians on the bandstand, best heard on her vocal trading with Roy Eldridge on the Gene Krupa recording "Let Me Off Uptown." After making her solo debut in the mid-'40s, she incorporated bop modernism into her vocals and recorded over a dozen of the best vocal LPs of the era for Verve during the 1950s and '60s. Though hampered during her peak period by heavy drinking and, later, drug addiction, she made a comeback and continued singing into the new millennium.

The singularity of Dionne Warwick is defined by what the singer isn't as much as what she is. Although Warwick grew up singing in church, she is not a gospel singer. Ella Fitzgerald and Sarah Vaughan are clear influences, but she is not a jazz singer. R&B is also part of her background, yet she is not really a soul singer, either, at least not in the sense that Aretha Franklin was. Sophisticated is a word often used to describe Warwick's musical approach and the music she sings, but she is not a singer of standards such as Lena Horne or Nancy Wilson. A pop singer of a sort with an aching yet detached alto voice, In all likelihood, Warwick could only have emerged out of the Brill Building environment of post-Elvis Presley, pre-Beatles pop in the early '60s. That's when she hooked up with Burt Bacharach and Hal David, songwriters and producers who tailored their unusually complicated songs for her distinctive instrument.

Flower Travelling Band was Japan's answer to Led Zeppelin meeting Blue Cheer and Black Sabbath at the Ash Ra Temple. Simply put, they played grand, spacey, tripped-out hard rock with a riffy base that was only two steps removed from the blues, but their manner of interpreting those steps came from an acid trip. Flower Travelling Band was an entity unto itself. There are five tracks on this set, originally released in 1971 as the band's second album proper. It has been reissued on CD by WEA International in Japan, with the cover depicting a silhouette drawing of the Buddha in meditative equipoise filled in with sketches of an inner universe mandala of the sacred Mount Meru, stupas, and the hash smoking caterpillar from Alice in Wonderland, Japanese sci-fi robot cartoons, and more…

In the late 1970s, Jean-Michel Jarre's albums Oxygène and Équinoxe sold in their zillions, demonstrating that electronic music could be embraced by mainstream tastes. Almost 40 years later, the list of Jarre’s collaborators on Electronica 1: The Time Machine reads like a who’s who of electronic music, including Massive Attack, Moby, Air, Vince Clarke, Laurie Anderson and John Carpenter. True, by assembling such a stellar lineup, Jarre is reminding us of his status as a pioneer. But this does not feel like a cynical exercise - perhaps because Jarre was shrewd enough to work in person with his collaborators rather than remotely by sharing digital files. Jarre’s soaring washes of chords are present on tracks such as Conquistador (with French techno artist Gesaffelstein) and Zero Gravity (one of the last recordings of the late Edgar Froese of Tangerine Dream)…

On his second solo album, "Gamle Mester" (Old Master), Lars Fredrik Frøislie pays homage to the greats of the past. Drawing inspiration not only from the pioneers of progressive rock but also from art, literature, and mythology, the album reflects on timeless acts of creativity that still resonate today. The title is derived from the ancient oak tree "Den Gamle Mester," found at Krødsherad Prestegård, which also inspired a poem of the same name by Jørgen Moe. This symbolic tree serves as a unifying theme throughout the album, representing wisdom, endurance, and the passage of time.

A brief, 12-track trip through the Orb's singles archive, U.F. Off includes mixes of just about every single from "A Huge Evergrowing Pulsating Brain" through "Toxygene" (though not in strictly chronological order). Singles compilations for electronic artists hardly ever fit the bill for longtime listeners or neophytes, yet this one is put together well and remains a solid addition to any collection. The double-disc version includes additional remixes plus a few unreleased tracks ("Mickey Mars," "Pi").

It's a little surprising that a cult band like Kaleidoscope would get honored with an all-out three-CD set, considering the limited market. But here it is, and it certainly leaves no stone unturned, including the entire recorded output of the band while they were on Epic. That essentially covers the entire period of interest to most fans, spanning the band's formation to their breakup in the early '70s (though they subsequently reunited for some albums that aren't represented here). In addition to everything from their albums Side Trips, A Beacon from Mars, Incredible, and Bernice, it has quite a few tracks that only showed up on non-LP singles or as outtakes on posthumous compilations. And some of those extras aren't even easily found on Kaleidoscope compilations, namely the old-timey psychedelia of the early B-side "Little Orphan Nannie" and the less impressive, heavily bluesy 1968 B-side "Just a Taste"…

While Herreweghe’s choir employs women for the treble parts, the ensemble is so expertly trained that their sound comes very close to the characteristic English choir of men and boys. Only a small number of instruments and voices is used, and this, in conjunction with a sensitive approach to style, produces performances of superior beauty and taste. Extensive care has been lavished on both clarity and precision of English diction, and outstanding choral intonation makes the clash of Purcell’s cross-relations and his dissonant chromaticism singularly effective. The singing by the soloists is consistently beautiful.

Mit seinen Vier und zwanzig theils ernsthaften, theils scherzenden Oden reagierte Telemann 1741 auf die ein Jahr zuvor erschienene Sammlung des Bach-Schülers Lorenz Christoph Mizler, die einige Satzfehler aufwiesen und auch sonst nicht alle Kriterien, an denen man Odenvertonungen messen sollte, erfüllen konnten. Wie schwierig es ist, einfach, aber gehaltvoll zu komponieren, musste allerdings auch Telemann erfahren, der in seiner Vorrede bekennt, dass er die Arbeit nur „mit sehr viel Schweisse“ zuwege gebracht habe. Erhöht wurde die Schwierigkeit durch die Aufgabe, daß die Melodie zu allen Strophen passen soll.