This double-disc retrospective includes an illustrated, 82-page hardcover book that tells her story, all six of her singles and an expanded version of her sole LP, a live album that captures her ferocious charisma and impassioned, gravelly voice on familiar R&B hits like "Money," "High Heel Sneakers" and "Shotgun." [No. 149, p.61]

What we're witnessing is a woman bowing down to nothing but her own muse. [No. 149, p.61]

What Phases lacks in structural coherence it makes up for in the stirring depth of the individual performances. These are worthy outliers. [No. 149, p.61]

It's a mesmerizing and haunting labyrinth filled with morbid storytelling, hurdling tempos and rhythms that would perfectly soundtrack a meaningful coastal or cross-country road trip. [No. 149, p.61]

While the album justifies the lavish bonuses, if you get caught up in the myth, you might miss what a weird, wild work it is. Beyond all the beautiful sadness, there's joyful nonsense, a noisy screed against the GOP and the most unabashedly erotic song R.E.M. had released up to that point. [No. 149, p.60]

The results are nothing short of stunning. [No. 149, p.59]

While it's hard not to hear Soul Of A Woman and mourn Jones' death, the joyful vibrancy and old-school expertise coursing through these tracks quickly supersede any hint of sadness. [No. 149, p.58]

It's every bit as special as it sounds. [No. 149, p.57]

While another updating of Bloodrock/Blue Cheer/proto-metal is exactly what the world doesn't need, it's a different story when Electric Wizard puts such source material in the crosshairs to show the saturated margins how it's done. [No. 149, p.55]

The treat here, as with all of his Bootleg releases, is the rarities. [No. 149, p.54]

Utopia is the perfect whooshing winter record, just in time for the bitter chill. [No. 149, p.53]

Even when you can't quite tell whether you want to laugh with or at Morrissey's heavy-handed proclamations, they're provocative, and that's worth a lot. [No. 149, p.51]

Tune in, turn on, and keep it fresh. [No. 149, p.53]

The Wasted Years finds Fish polishing his legacy with work resembling what Syd Barrett might've sounded like if his voice was closer to cross-tops than sugar cubes. Revisiting these years is the sound of some of our undergraduate degrees. [No. 148, p.57]

File with the rest of your King Khan records under "readily accessible." [No. 148, p.59]

The album's defiantly pop-punky first half touches on distance-challenged romance, self-care fails, siblinghood and her love/hate for the city of Perth--all with the characteristic witty, everygal charm. [No. 148, p.59]

Hitchhiker is a perfectly wonderful solo-acoustic session recorded one day in 1976. .... This is a most welcome collection. [No. 148, p.61]

[A] more muted follow-up [to 2014's The Way I'm Livin']. [No. 148, p.61]

There's no doubt who you're listening to when the calamitous chords and broken-phone vocals of "Factory" open the band's eighth full-length. [No. 148, p.61]

Anyone who appreciated that combo's [OOIOO] giddy exuberance and arcane tunefulness will find plenty to like on this record's seven intricately arranged tracks. [No. 148, p.60]

Williams is competing with listeners' ingrained memories of these songs and thta can be a challenge. But the rock songs rock harder, the swampy blues groove more deeply, and the "He Never Got Enough Love" rewrite tells a better story. [No. 148, p.60]

Her soprano voice has held up pretty well, and her love for the natural and spirit world has only grown. But the production on I'm A Harmony by Wilco's Pat Sansone and composter Julia Holter combines '70s soft rock and '80s adult contemporary into a mix so vaporous it'll evaporate if you open the window. [No. 148, p.59]

The Foo sextet has made its hardest, yet most curvaceous and warm-blooded record to date. [No. 148, p.54]

This is they type of sublime, maximalist treasure that should kick positive inspiration downstairs into the emperor-in-his-birthday-suit, for-the-sake-of-it, substance-free charlatan safe room that the experimental/abstract realm of contemporary underground music can sometime seem like. [No. 148, p.55]

Save for the grooving, frizzy "Dreams," the ambient alterna-pop/R&B of Colors is sleek, clean and clear. [No. 148, p.53]

While not on par with the best from those two bands [The Clash and Stiff Little Fingers], American Fail is still potent. [No. 148, p.53]

It's still heavy as fuck, but it's also textural, emotional, diverse and defiant as fuck, too. [No. 148, p.52]

The lyrics are often stupid as hell. ... What's novel about Pacific Daydream is that its giant, overcompressed choruses really do burrow their way into your skull. [No. 148, p.51]