Van Morrison does exactly what he wants, when he wants, and continually mines the past no matter the cost. It's been four years since the Celtic soulman issued a collection of new, original studio material (Born to Sing: No Plan B), but given the music, it could have been yesterday. Morrison has no interest in innovation, he's already done that. The pace here is (mostly) laid-back, the music drenched in jazz, R&B, blues, and classy pop. He revels throughout in an elegant slow burn; his lyric themes are bittersweet, melancholic, filled with emotional and symbolic memory; his longing for the previous prevalent.

A confident and consistent album, The Blue Cafe combines Rea's atmospheric songwriting with larger doses of his slide guitar playing than usual. An overlooked talent of his, it underlies this collection of contemporary sounding songs rooted in dance beats and blues (a strange combination, but it works). Two songs from different sides of the spectrum illustrate the album well: "Sweet Summer Day" is one of the best from a master of summer anthems ("On the Beach," "All Summer Long," etc.), while "Where Do We Go From Here?" is a bitingly perceptive indictment of the emptiness of consumer culture laid against a cool, smooth backing track. All in all, this is one of Rea's most introspective albums and a strong addition to his catalog.

Despite being renowned in certain parts of the world (especially in Italy and their hometown of Paris), the space-age outfit Rockets remains largely obscure – even though they arrived on the scene at almost he same exact time as Kraftwerk and prefaced Devo by several years. The multi-membered outfit originally formed in 1972, under the name Crystal, performing on-stage in their regular street clothes. But by 1974, Crystal had evolved into Rocket Men, issuing a debut self-titled single, while its members began to assume the identities of aliens; complete with silver makeup covering their skin, grey contact lenses, space suits, and bald heads.

The unrivalled Bayreuth Centenary Ring by Boulez/Chéreau sent ripples through art and society even before the curtain was lifted. Leaflets were distributed, signatures were collected and musicians left the orchestra pit in disgust, all because of disagreements over the bold new interpretation of Wagner's Ring Cycle by conductor Pierre Boulez. The festival hired 31-year-old film and theatre director Patrice Chéreau, a relative unknown. Chéreau's submitted concept for the multi-part, many hours long Ring Cycle had fitted on a single typewritten page. Once hired, he had just four months to prepare the monumental dramatic work.

A separate entity from the Ian Gillan Band and distinct from Ian Gillan the solo artist, Gillan was a band bearing the ex-Deep Purple frontman's name which provided an outlet for his straight-ahead hard rock inclinations (as opposed to the prog rock tendencies of the Ian Gillan Band or Ian Gillan's more polished solo material of the 1990s). Gillan the singer put the band together in 1978, initially recruiting Steve Byrd (guitar), John McCoy (bass), Colin Towns (keyboards, ex-Ian Gillan Band), and Pete Barnacle (drums); this lineup proved short-lived, recording a self-titled Japanese-only album before disintegrating. Bernie Torme replaced Byrd, and Mick Underwood took over for Barnacle; this shift resulted in 1979's Mr. Universe, a surprise U.K. hit album.