Music

David Buchbinder, "Odessa/Havana" (Tzadik)
Pianist-composer Hilario Durán's Cuban rhythms ignite trumpeter-composer David Buchbinder's Jewish jazz in this project echoing Miles Davis's "Sketches of Spain," Dizzie Gillespie and Machito's "Afro-Cuban Jazz Moods," and "Fiddler on the Roof." Minor-key klezmer freylechs evolve into blazing mambos in the hands of Buchbinder's top-notch Canadian tentet.

Bob Dylan, "The Other Side of the Mirror: Live at the Newport Folk Festival 1963-1965" (CMV/Legacy DVD)
Context is everything. Although Bob Dylan played only two electric songs ("Maggie's Farm" and "Like a Rolling Stone") at the 1965 Newport Folk Festival, the event's subsequent mythologizing would suggest a substantially more radical assault on the folkies' delicate sensibilities. More than forty years after the fact, we can finally see what all the fuss was actually about. Murray Lerner filmed three Newport festivals' worth of Dylan performances, which, viewed together, depict an artist on such a rapid ascent, from shy folkie to brash rock star, that even his folk tunes, protest music, and surreal love songs (never mind the brief electric interlude) resonate with larger-than-life confidence and authority. Captured in no-frills black-and-white, Dylan was busy being born indeed.

Marvin Gaye, "Here, My Dear" (Hip-O Select)
"Somebody tell me please, tell me please," croons one of the twentieth century's most talented and tragic voices, "Why do I have to pay attorney fees?" We'll never know exactly how many albums have been released solely to fulfill divorce settlements, but this one was. Released in 1978, Marvin Gaye's autobiographical double-vinyl album remains a deeply personal and ambivalent musical account of his marriage to, and divorce from, Anna Gordy Gaye, to whom all its profits were rendered. A commercial failure at the time, "Here, My Dear" now stands as something of a masterpiece. Gaye's rich, detailed, and deeply personal epic encompasses everything from the sultry confusion of its thrice-repeated centerpiece, "When Did You Stop Loving Me, When Did I Stop Loving You," to the psychedelic soul of "Anger" and "A Funky Space Reincarnation." A bonus disc includes demos and alternate versions of what could well turn out to be the best album of 2008.

The University of Indiana's men's a cappella group, Straight No Chaser sings the best version of "The Twelve Days of Christmas" you'll hear all year.

In "Rock 'n' Roll," a play that has already been praised to the heavens from its 2006 London debut to its current Broadway run, Tom Stoppard unleashes a fusillade of intellectual arguments with the beat, swagger, and authority of the world's most galvanizing groups. Stoppard, who now ranks among England's greatest playwrights, was born Tomas Straussler, in Zlin, Czechoslovakia; and "Rock 'n' Roll," which pits communism's materialist focus against rock's revolution of consciousness, is both an especially personal work as well as something of a relief, after the rigors of "The Coast of Utopia" trilogy.

Stoppard focuses his ambivalences about East and West through Jan (Rufus Sewell), a Marxist scholar who returns to Prague from swinging Cambridge in 1968 in order to support communist leader Alexander Dubcek's liberal initiatives. Jan's experience there over the next couple of decades is contrasted to the less politically oppressive, but no less personally fraught, life of Jan's former teacher, Max Morrow (Brian Cox), and his family. When Jan returns in 1990, Czechoslovakia is better while England feels in decline. So Jan whisks Max's daughter back to Prague for a Rolling Stones concert.

Stoppard uses rock music (including Bob Dylan, the Beach Boys, U2, and the Cure) as increasingly less potent touchstones for the times. The tragic figure of Syd Barrett, the Pink Floyd co-founder who died last year in Cambridge after nearly four decades' mental illness, even stands in for the fall of communism. Meanwhile, the Plastic People of the Universe have been suffering in Prague, along with Jan, until reemerging to enjoy the Velvet Revolution of 1989. This group's music is far less heard than discussed in the play, which tosses around bucketfuls of ideas about politics and society with the laugh-line pace of a TV sitcom. This fine play deserves a better production, but don't let that stop you from czeching it out.

DownBeat magazine has assembled into a 350-odd-page book nearly all of its Miles Davis coverage in three sections devoted to news, features, and reviews. No artist was covered so thoroughly in the magazine; Miles's intelligence, talent, charisma, and charming pugnacity always made him a fascinating subject.

And who could blame him for his defensiveness? The earliest news items in "The Miles Davis Reader" recount a 1959 altercation involving Miles and a police officer. The episode escalated into a threatened wrongful arrest suit against the City of New York. Fearing future harassment should the suit be pursuit, Miles let the matter drop when he was cleared of all charges.

Miles was an irrespressible critic in the several "Blindfold Tests" he submitted to over the years. In a particularly spiky 1964 encounter, he brutalizes Les McCann and the Jazz Crusaders ("What's that supposed to be? That ain't nothin'"), Clark Terry ("I've always liked Clark. But this is a sad record"), and a trio consisting of Duke Ellington, Charles Mingus, and Max Roach ("Duke can't play with them, and they can't play with Duke") in the course of a single session.

One writer visited Miles at the Johnny Coulton Physical Training Club, where he boxed, and the interview got physical. Another saw Miles at home and described a bedroom he'd never want to leave. A third wondered what Davis had been listening to lately. "Nobody—I listen to Stockhausen," Miles replied, referring to avant-garde composer Karlheinz Stockhausen, who died on Dec. 5, 2007. Reviews range from enthusiasm to adulation, except for an early-'70s valley of disdain for Miles's electric experiments. However, this was rectified when the performances were reissued during the '80s via some inciteful reconsiderations.

Davis's evolving sartorial panache can be appreciated in DownBeat's cover designs, which likewise devolved from cool to groovy to gaudy.

"A New Day..." is done. After 717 performances since March 25, 2003, Celine Dion concluded her Las Vegas residency at Caesar's Palace with a Saturday-night farewell. Caesar's invested $95 million in a 4,100-seat theater for the melodramatic French-Canadian singer, who overcame poor early reviews to eventually gross more than $400 million from the sales of some 3 million tickets. She easily earned out her initial $100 million, three-year contract, the largest sum of any Vegas act to date. "A New Day...," the DVD, was released last week, Bette Midler moves into the room in February, and Dion will soon tour the world to promote her recent album, "Taking Chances."

To non-fans, Celine is probably most memorable for this highly emotional September 23, 2005, interview with Larry King, when she seemed to encourage New Orleans looters following the levee failure in New Orleans. "Let them touch these things!," she urged regarding the jeans and TV sets being stolen.

As an artist, Dion is a polarizing figure for fans and critics alike. Worshipped by millions for her emotional generosity, she is considered bland and corporate by just as many detractors. Canadian music writer Carl Wilson uses Dion's most popular album as lightning rod for his fascinating meditation on aesthetics, fandom, and loathing in "Let's Talk About Love: A Journey to the End of Taste." Wilson's title is the latest in Continuum's terrific 33 1/3 series of books, each devoted to an entire album, and he covers more ground than most. He talks to fans and critics. He studies demographic research on Dion's audience. He submits an extensive "Let's Talk About Love" review. He thinks long and hard and well about why we love and hate the divas we do, in whatever forms they may take. He even visits Vegas to attend "A New Day...," about which he writes:

"The songs of devotion—'If You Asked Me To' or 'Because You Loved Me'—began to probe the open sore of my own recent marital separation, and even coaxed a few tears. For a few moments, I got it. Of course, then Celine would do something unforgivable, like a duet with an enormous projection of the head of the late Frank Sinatra. Still, I could see the point of her in Vegas, land of ejaculating slot machines and flows of global capital through artificial rivers. Let them touch these things!"

Nilson Matta/Zé Luis/Paulo Braga, "Green Heart" (Orbita)
Three highly regarded Brazilian instrumtalists—bassist Nilson Matta, flutist-saxophonist Zé Luis, and drummer Paulo Braga—are featured on a few different tracks each on this environmentally themed album of sophisticated Brazilian jazz. Guitarist Romero Lubambo joins Matta for a pair of rumbling sambas, while Luis concentrates on material by bossa nova godfather Antonio Carlos Jobim with his trio, tRio Zona Sul. Braga, however, steals the show by jazzing up traditional rhythms with a small, craftily arranged ensemble. (Watch him perform "Balakundê," one of his four tracks, here.)

Ravi Shankar, "The Concert for World Peace" (A&E)
The closest you'll ever get to being onstage with Pandit Ravi Shankar, this unusually intimate and highly recommended DVD focuses on the fingers and faces of the sitar legend and his accompanists during a 1993 Royal Albert Hall benefit performance. Smiles abound as Shankar, 73 at the time, leads young pups Zakir Hussain (tabla) and Partho Sarathy (sarod) through the labyrinthine passages of ragas Kirvani and Misra Khammaj.

"Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street—The Motion Picture Soundtrack" (Nonesuch)
A far cry from John Doyle's 2006 Broadway revival of Stephen Sondheim's dark tour de force, wherein Patty LuPone and ensemble sang, acted, danced, and provided their own musical accompaniment, Tim Burton's film adaptation casts non-singing movie stars Johnny Depp and Helena Bonham Carter in the lead roles of the bloodthirsty barber and his pie-baking accomplice, Mrs. Lovett. Burton's risk seems to have paid off. Not only is the film getting great reviews, but Depp and Carter hardly embarrass themselves by tilting the score toward its dramatic extremes.

Veteran country-music journalist and CMT.com editor Chet Flippo's annual list of country keepers also serves as an excellent guide for the family line-dance fanatic.

1. "Heaven, Heartache and the Power of Love," Trisha Yearwood
2. "Dirt Farmer," Levon Helm
3. "A Place to Land," Little Big Town
4. "Wagonmaster," Porter Wagoner
5. "Raising Sand," Alison Krauss and Robert Plant
6. "Dwight Sings Buck," Dwight Yoakam
7. "Unglamorous," Lori McKenna
8. "Rhinestoned," Pam Tillis
9. "Crazy Ex-Girlfriend," Miranda Lambert
10. (Tie) "Diamonds in the Sun," Walt Wilkins & the Mystiqueros; "The Wolf," Shooter Jennings

I particularly like what he writes about Levon Helm:

I know this is not catalogued as a country album, but 'Dirt Farmer' is by far the most country-sounding record of the year. It's truly as country as dirt. Helm sounds like the very mountains and the prairies singing. Like the voice of the land itself. There are some voices that carry the world of human experience in them, like those belonging to Ralph Stanley and Willie Nelson. And Helm. There is a very good reason why Helm was the voice of The Band.

Ike Turner died Wednesday at age 76, possibly of emphysema. Besides being credited with arguably the first rock record, "Rocket 88," Turner wrote and performed many of R&B's finest tracks. "Proud Mary" and "River Deep Mountain High" were only a couple of numerous great singles he cut during the '60s with then-wife Tina Turner—who apparently never forgave his domestic abuse.

You can hear some of their best—including "It's Gonna Work Out Fine," "You Wasn't Born With," and "Dust My Broom"—at Boogie Woogie Flu, where you can also check out "You Keep On Worry Me" and other examples of his pre-Tina badness backed by the Kings of Rhythm.

And read Rolling Stone writer Ben Fong-Torres's visit to Ike and Tina's Inglewood, Calif., home here.

The New York Fire Department delayed the first of Neil Young's six shows at the United Palace Theatre, in Washington Heights, by about 90 minutes. But it ended up being a scorcher anyway. Built in 1929 as one of movie baron Marcus Loews five "Wonder" theaters, the United Palace's elaborate detail work reflects "ancient pagan glories," according to a contemporary advertisement.

The 3,300-seat theater is best known as the home of Rev. Ike, to whom Young dedicated "The Believer," a song from his latest album, "Chrome Dreams II." Just like these church bells ringing," he sang, "I'm keeping my faith in you." The reverend, formally known as Dr. Frederick Eikernenkoetter, bought the theater in 1969 during a showing of "2001: A Space Odyssey," as Young noted after performing "Sad Movies," an unreleased song.

The night was like that. Even though Young has performed virtually the same set each night of his tour, which concludes with these shows, he made it seem tailored to the room and audience. Canceling wife Pegi Young's solo set in the interest of time, Neil settled among a circle of fine acoustic instruments for an 11-song solo acoustic set. It began with "From Hank to Hendrix" and included such relative obscurities as "Ambulance Blues" and "A Man Needs a Maid" as well as perennials like "Old Man" and "Heart of Gold."

Young brought the heat during an electric second set focusing on material from "Chrome Dreams II." He has a genius for musically illuminating the warm, safe places that shelter us from cold, dark nights. And his hearth blazed hottest during his electric set's closing song, "No Hidden Path," which he rendered in more than 10 minutes of electric thunder and lightning. Combining that number with the equally turbulent "Like a Hurricane" (the evening's final encore), Young again proved himself a guitar-punishing force of nature. Young had earlier suggested putting the evening's inconveniences behind us, and then paused before adding, "unless I happen to burst into flame." I'd say he came thisclose.

"Conquer the World: The Lost Soul of Philadelphia International Records" (Philadelphia International/Legacy)
Compiled as a vinyl-only supplement to Legacy's recent "Essential" Lou Rawls and Teddy Pendergrass compilations, and recorded originally for producers-songwriters Kenny Gamble and Leon Huff's influential record label, "Conquer the World" boasts thoroughly funky and fun tracks. The tunes sound all the fresher today for having languished in the archives since their original releases failed to ignite the world. Highlights include Bunny Sigler's cinematically arranged "Theme for Five Fingers of Death," David Sigler and Dee Dee Sharp's triumphant "Conquer the World Together," and Ruth McFadden's gritty "Ghetto Woman (Parts 1 & 2)," but the entire record's a treasure.

"The Great Debaters—Music from & Recorded for the Motion Picture" (Atlantic)
Sharon Jones is the star of this album devoted to great old and new blues, jazz, and gospel from Denzel Washington's upcoming movie about the debate team of a small African-American college. Jones ignites the Saturday-night roadhouse blues of "Wild About That Thing" and the Sunday-morning gospel incantation "My Soul Is a Witness." Jones also nicely uplifts a pair of tracks with the Billy Rivers & the Angelic Voices of Faith. Alvin "Youngblood" Hart and The Carolina Chocolate Drops string band team up for the excellent rural revivalism of "Busy Bootin'" and "City of Refuge."

"The Holy Modal Rounders . . . Bound to Lose" (Badbird Productions DVD)
This fascinating, downbeat, and sometimes cringe-inducing documentary focuses less on psychedelic folk-rockers the Holy Modal Rounders in their entirety than on the complicated relationship of the group's two founders, Peter Stampfel and Steve Weber. Tension mounts as the band plans its fortieth-anniversary show. Will Weber, the band's brilliant yet deeply troubled star, make it to the gig? Longtime Rounders drummer Sam Shepard, former Monkee Peter Tork, and Dennis Hopper, who featured the group's "Bird Song" in "Easy Rider," all weigh in on the band's tragic genius.

Modest stars of rock's flourishing, independent backwater, Yo La Tengo delivered another religious experience Sunday night. For five of the past seven years, the New Jersey trio has performed each of the eight nights of Hanukkah at Maxwell's, an illustrious indie-rock club in Hoboken, N.J.

YLT's Hanukkah shows are always completely different, yet ritualistically formulaic. Night six, for example, began with an appearance by reunited Los Angeles punk rockers Red Kross (all this year's openers were reunited YLT favorites), continued with comedian Heather Lawless (every YLT Hanukkah show includes a comedian—an excellent programming concept that more bands should embrace), and was highlighted by some hundred minutes of pure Yo La Tengo magic: romantic soft rock; smart economic hard rock; a couple of extended guitar freakouts; and cognoscenti-pleasing covers. Each night benefits a different not-for-profit endeavor, with Clean Ocean Action of New Jersey being Sunday's recipient.

Yo La Tengo is a family affair. Guitarist Ira Kaplan (whose mother concluded the evening with the frequent YLT cover, "My Little Corner of the World") and drumming spouse Georgia Hubley formed their band in 1984. It now embodies all the mostly unspoken connection and occasional (musical) flare-ups of any long and essentially harmonious relationship. Ira and Georgia both sing soft, unassuming, and beautifully nuanced songs, such as "Autumn Sweater" and "Sometimes I Don't Get You," whose simmering uncertainties make extended one-chord raveups such as "Pass the Hatchet, I Think I'm Goodkind" sound all the more gloriously abrasive. YLT began their set with the Beatles' "Eight Days a Week" (get it?), and encores included Red Kross-assisted covers of the Hollies' "Bus Stop" and previous guest Alex Chilton's "September Gurls." It was a party and a history lesson at once.

You can watch Chilton and YLT play the Velvet Underground's "Femme Fatale" on Saturday night right here.

The long, sad road to soprano Anne-Sophie von Otter's latest album began with a chance meeting in the corridor of a railroad sleeper traveling from Warsaw to Berlin in 1942. On that train, the singer's father, Baron Goran von Otter, a Swedish diplomat, was approached by a young SS officer. As von Otter related to Norman Lebrecht in La Scene Musicale:

'With beads of sweat on his forehead and tears in his eyes' (as von Otter reported to his superiors), Gerstein explained that he was head of a Waffen-SS Technical Disinfection unit, responsible for supplying poisons and gas equipment. 'Yesterday,' he told von Otter, weeping uncontrollably, 'I saw something appalling.' 'Is it about the Jews?' said the diplomat.

Six decades later, Anne-Sophie von Otter has released "Terezin-Theresienstadt," a eulogy to Gerstein, the father whose troubled and guilt-ridden life she recounted to Lebrecht, and the doomed prisoners of the Terezin concentration camp located north of Prague. Anne-Sophie's sad yet fascinating album opens with the ballad "Ich Wandre Durch Theresienstadt" (I Wander Through Theresienstadt), which Ilse Weber wrote for the son she shipped out of Prague prior to the Nazis' arrival. Weber, a nurse, was eventually sent to Auschwitz along with the children she sang to sleep in Terezin. In addition to other songs by Weber, von Otter's album contains a selection of classical songs by Viktor Ullmann, Pavel Haas, Ervin Schulhoff, and others, which were performed by camp musicians in order to mislead official visitors. "Terezin-Theresienstadt" is as somber and haunted an album as its origins portend.

Terry Teachout recently threw down an old gauntlet again. Writing in The Wall Street Journal early last month, Teachout opined that the convenience, 40,000-song capacity, and ubiquity of the iPod and other MP3 players trumped the limitations of an MP3's imperfect compressed sound, even when listening to classical music or jazz. So why isn't compressed sound a big deal? He relates:

Like a third of my fellow baby boomers, I'm experiencing one of the more predictable consequences of growing older, which is that I now suffer from a mild but noticeable case of presbycusis, the medical term for age-related hearing loss. Not only are the sensory cell receptors in my inner ear gradually degenerating as a result of advancing age, but when young I spent countless happy hours playing loud music, which fried more than a few of those same receptors. I can still enjoy music of all kinds, but I don't hear it quite as well as I did 20 years ago, because I now find it harder to perceive the high-frequency sounds that are such an important part of recorded music.

He's not wild about his hearing disappearing. But on the other hand, Teachout admits he "really doesn't care. . . much." Now he can spend less money on equipment and more on downloads.

A couple of weeks later, The New York Times's classical-music critic, Anthony Tommasini, implicitly seconded Teachout's declaration, adding that even classical musicians are more apt to use MP3 players than high-end gear, if only for convenience's sake. He also observed that the real action in audiophilia was occurring in home-entertainment systems. Tommasini listened to a new recording by baritone Dmitri Hvorostovsky on a "modestly priced system ($1,295)," then admitted, "I enjoyed this recording every bit as much during a recent flight, when I listened on my new noise-filtering headphones and inexpensive portable CD player."

Fred Kaplan, however, preaches the audiophile gospel, arguing in Slate that while age may indeed hinder your capacity to enjoy music's high end,

[T]here's more to music—and more to hi-fi—than extreme treble. Compared with good CDs and LPs played on good hi-fi gear, MP3s also flatten dynamic range (the difference between the loudest and softest sounds), obliterate dynamic contrasts (the slight variations between loud and soft), smother low frequencies (the bass), and smear transients (the front edge of, say, a drum smack or a string pluck). These shortcomings wreak havoc with drama and rhythm—the life and essence of much music.

I suspect that Teachout and Tommasini's advocacy of expedience over (high) quality is less a product of a diminished desire for great sound than simply a response to the realities of the over-compressed demands of contemporary journalism. To those who can eke out the time, erase the distractions, and afford the tab enough to enjoy the pleasures of an expensive high-quality sound system, I salute you. For the rest of us, chained to our computers (I prefer a nice pair of monitor speakers and a subwoofer) or iPods, good enough remains, well, good enough. But we can dream.
[via Sound and Fury]

"Amazing Journey: The Story of The Who" has a familiar, if unfortunate, story arc: A great band arises from humble beginnings, loses a couple of members to "misadventure" along the way, yet returns with older and wiser surviving members who are newly able to fill arenas by delivering the hits of their heyday. But something great occurs during the end credits of this rockumentary, following the obligatory freeze-frame of surviving members Roger Daltrey and Pete Townshend alone onstage (John Entwistle and Keith Moon having died in the saddle, as it were): The group grows progressively younger over the stuttering course of a thrilling collage consisting of many different Who performances of "My Generation." It's the coolest thing in a sometimes brutally honest documentary loaded with rare archival footage.

Something equally cool can be found on the package's second disc, subtitled "Six Quick Ones." The Who originated as film subjects: In search of a group to feature in a movie about England's "mod" scene, future Who managers, Kit Lambert and Christ Stamp, discovered the quartet, then known as the High Numbers, performing R&B covers at a North London pub called the Railway Hotel. Lambert and Stamp filmed the teenagers bashing away, more than creditably, at "Ooh Poo Pah Doo" and "I Gotta Dance to Keep from Crying" in April, 1964. Lost for four decades, this beautiful snapshot of youth culture at a certain stylish apex was rediscovered in the attic of a Dutch television producer and can be enjoyed in its entirety here. "Six Quick Ones" also includes four informative short films exploring the artistry behind each member of the volcanic, and somewhat tragic, pop-art project known as The Who.

"Black Mirror: Reflections in Global Music (1918-1955)" (Dust to Digital)
In the spirit of musician-archivist Pat Conte's groundbreaking Secret Museum of Mankind series, Ian Nagoski's "Black Mirror" reintroduces 78-rpm releases from around the world, mostly recorded in order to introduce foreign audiences to the potential joys of phonograph ownership. The 24 tracks on this album, from nearly as many different nations, are warm and scratchy and often-beautiful mementos of a time when villages were anything but global.

Betty Harris, "Intuition" (Evidence)
Sixty-eight-year-old soul singer Betty Harris, of 1963's "Cry to Me" fame, returns from a 40-year recording hiatus with an impassioned, and refreshingly nostalgia-free, new album. Having sung exclusively in church during the interim, it's no surprise that a fiery gospel spirit informs Harris, the Alabama-raised daughter of two preachers. Jon and Sally Tivens wrote her solid new material.

Keali'I Reichel, "Kukahi—Live in Concert" (Punahele DVD)
Kukahi may mean "to stand alone," but this popular Hawaiian performer gets a lot of help from his own hula troupe on this prettily shot survey of traditional and contemporary music and dance from the islands. After changing his loincloth for shirt and pants, Reichel picks up his guitar and sings a mellifluous assortment of tunes from throughout his career. Bonus features include a nice segment featuring Reichel's hula guru, Uncle George Holokai, who died last year.

Rufus Wainwright, "Rufus Does Judy at Carnegie Hall" (Geffen CD), "Rufus! Rufus! Rufus! Does Judy! Judy! Judy! Live at the London Palladium" (Geffen DVD)
Not Judy Garland but an incredible simulation, Rufus Wainwright elevates the concept of camp to an only slightly ironic new level with his recreation of Garland's legendary April 23, 1961, Carnegie Hall performance. Wainwright's evocation of Garland's pained and passionate spirit also functions as a knowing celebration of contemporary gay culture, complete with 40-piece orchestra.

Could we ever know too much about the Beatles? New connections seem to emerge every time someone reorganizes the myriad pieces of their four intertwined jigsaw puzzles into a new book or movie. Jonathan Gould's many-years-in-the-making "Can't Buy Me Love: The Beatles, Britain, and America" is the best overall biography to emerge since "The Beatles" (2005), Bob Spitz's stab at painting the big group picture. In his own information-packed 600-plus pages, Gould relates the Beatles' myth in the context of twentieth-century history and culture. Why the Beatles should have existed precisely when they did is backed up by relatively long stretches devoted to the concept of charisma, the British government sex scandals of the sixties, recording technology, and so on. As a musician himself, Gould is particularly excellent at unpacking the technical qualities that make the Beatles sound so appealing, and he does so in an extremely accessible, readable, and detailed manner. For example: "The long fade of 'You Never Give Me Your Money' ends in a hush of tape-looped night sounds, peepers, and wind chimes that set the stage for the burbling guitar, muffled cymbals, and thumping rhythm of 'Sun King,' which rises like mist on a lake."

When it comes to track-by-accounts of the Beatles, however, Gould doesn't quite match the obsession of the third and final edition of Ian MacDonald's "Revolution in the Head: The Beatles' Records and the Sixties." In a long introduction, MacDonald writes, "The Sixties seem like a golden age to us because, relative to now, they were." And whether you agree with his assessment or not, you have to give it up for his detailed accounts of the nearly 200 Beatles studio tracks that follow in the order in which they were recorded. The refreshingly opinionated writer's assessments run from the highly laudatory ("With its parallel movement three-part chorus, interlocking drum part, and fiercely angular slide guitar solo...'Drive My Car' is among the group's most closely arranged records and remains one of the most effective starting tracks to any of their albums") to cattily dismissive (he characterizes "The Continuing Story of Bungalow Bill" as a "lapse into tub-thumping banality"). Together, these Beatles books should provide as much data as you'll ever need—at least until the next one.