It’s rock refigured as a Damien Hirst spot painting--a series of isolated, colorful pops that, together, mesmerize.

The full version does have a “you are there” advantage, letting the listener play a fly on the wall, taking in all the musicians’ experiments and gaffes. But the pruned version does a perfectly good job for most fans.

Often she sounds like she’s having a conversation with herself. If that sounds distancing, the honesty and intelligence behind it draws us close.

Though Hill shares the honoree’s alto pitch and stern vibrato, she’s transformed the arrangements of these classic songs to nearly the same degree that Simone did on her own versions.

Only in a few songs does he draw on soul’s common language of strain and overstatement and it’s exciting when he does. At his most forceful he can sound like Simply Red’s Mick Hucknall. Far more often he’s in the erudite territory of Smokey Robinson, letting his falsetto waft ever higher.

The 3rdEyeGirl album has a much cleaner sound, and a sharper focus, than Prince’s solo album.

Atkins’ songs have enough range to recall a Kurt Weill art-song in “It’s Only Chemistry.” But it’s her voice that ties it all together, with a sound sure enough to let the vulnerability of her words proudly show.

Contrary to its title, the new album may be Carey's least elusive work. Rarely has she made her talent more clear.

The first half doesn’t downshift for a second, plowing through muscular rockers with the spit of his prime.

The band that has most closely followed his lead--the Black Keys--sticks to conventional takes on American genres, but White treats them with something fresher: a sense of menace.

It’s great that Clark’s new songs separate themselves from genre restrictions. But, in the end, it’s the way he feels his strings that ends up touching us so deeply.

Kooper did a good job of balancing the guitarist’s seminal material with worthy rarities.

The tension between the singers’ voices does the tradition of classic R&B harmony proud.

The result creates a perfect arc--one O’Connor has, here, fully realized.

Jon Fratelli proves a cleverly withering lyricist. Nearly all the songs treat lovers as thieves, imposters or liars.

Heard in what would have been Cash’s 82nd year, the songs find this icon embracing Music Row conventions without losing his soul.

It’s the balance of the production that makes it all click.

It’s a striking mix of sensuality and abrasion, giving a long-missing star a fresh claim on what’s current.

As always, Cash’s vocals aren’t brimming with character, but their tidiness suits her observational lyrics and considered personality. Together, they lead her home by a route laid out clearly enough to show just how far she strayed.

It has just eight short songs, and the material isn’t about to eclipse “Thriller.” But it does a service by adding worthy songs to Jackson’s canon. Even better, it makes him sound, once again, alive.

Regardless of the musical style, Kelis’ vocals manage a rare balance--between maternal nurture and a lover’s caress.

It’s his catchiest, most sharply focused album in years.

Turn Blue may not rock as resoundingly as past works, but the added soul in Auerbach’s vocals, and the extra beauty of the tunes, give the album a slow-burn warmth.

This time Cohen tackles some big subjects more abstractly. It’s also one of his most musically rich and varied works.

In the end, most of the songs feel like demos--but that stripped result honors the joy of raw feeling.

The match between Bennett and Gaga winds up quite differently from the one between the master and k.d. lang in 2002. Those two created a more sober and mature affair. By contrast, the duets with Gaga give Bennett a whole new hold on youth.

It lacks the philosophical breadth of previous Wilson songs like “Free Life” or the wit of his masturbation ode, “Get a Grip.” But there’s more than enough here for pop stars to plunder, aided by its rich points of view.

The relationship between the music and Albarn’s voice deepens the album’s theme.