In an attempt to ditch Collins's aural and visual image of doom and gloom, Dance Into The Light is his endeavour to move into lighter, more poppy territory, complete with colourful album cover. On a couple of the tracks, punchier musical styles are introduced, such as on the title track, with its African carnival-esque influences. There's even a pop cover of Bob Dylan's, "The Times They Are A-Changin", complete with synthesised bagpipes. However, expect no huge surprises as overall the album follows the musical approach of his previous solo albums, and more recent recordings with Genesis. If you enjoyed any of Collins's (or Genesis's) previous albums you'll want this one, but for anyone wanting an introduction to his music try his Hits collection or his solo debut Face Value. -John Galilee.

From one spin of The Dream of the Blue Turtles, Sting's first solo release, it's obvious that for him there would be life beyond the Police. Teamed with a band of top jazz players, he presents his musical visions that had gone unrealized while he was still constrained by his former ensemble. In style and subject matter, it is a decidedly diverse collection of songs and the playing is excellent throughout. The love songs are mostly focused on endings or escapes, and it's quite possible to interpret much of the imagery with reference to the bitter breakup of the Police. Sting's concern with history and politics is in evidence: he makes a father's plea for sanity and restraint in the nuclear age, takes up for the much-abused coal miners, and relates the savage stupidity of World War I to the destructive effects of adolescent heroin addiction. Songs that seem elaborately constructed and recorded contrast with others that are presented as one-take jams. Seen as a whole, The Dream of the Blue Turtles is eclectic, ambitious-sometimes pretentious-but altogether worth owning. -Al Massa.

For a man openly hostile to tie-dyed nostalgia, Bob Dylan's 1987 summer tour with the Grateful Dead was a confounding event indeed. The result on this concert recording is Dylan warbling across the usual Dead groove: neither rock nor roll. No new compositions emerged from the summit, so their repertoire is limited to an unsurprising list of chestnuts ("All Along the Watchtower," "Knocking on Heaven's Door," etc. ). Their meandering version of Dylan's "I Want You" would be a vicious parody of the original if it weren't so sadly true. And if these were the stadium tour's best performances, pity anyone who actually sat through one of these concerts with a clear head. -Steve Appleford.

Compiled by Morrison himself, this 1993 collection focuses mainly on his work from 1984-1991. Representing a period during which Morrison scored very few popular hits, the majority of the record's 15 tracks are probably fairly obscure to people other than diehard fans. Nevertheless, this is a vital introduction to Morrison's later, more idiosyncratic material. Many of the songs are marked by an intense, spiritual longing and deal on a very mature level with Morrison's quest for religious fulfilment. For instance, "Real Real Gone" (from 1990's Enlightenment) and "In the Garden" (from 1986's No Guru, No Method, No Teacher) play like an inspired hybrid of gospel and Irish folk music. Somewhat inexplicably, Morrison also includes two songs from his mid-1960s group Them, a cover of John Lee Hooker's "Don't Look Back" and a cover of Bob Dylan's "It's All Over Now Baby Blue". -Ian Landau.

When REM's Michael Stipe wrote "That's me in the spotlight / Losing my religion", he could have been singing about Van Morrison, the man who lost his three times within a decade. In the end though, Van returned to God and found himself rewarded with his first Top 20 hit. With its sparse piano hook and Cliff Richard vocals, "Whenever God Shines His Light" is a misleading advert for an album awash in the kind of sentimental orchestration that might hurt one's teeth were it not for their perpetrator's almost childlike wonder. Cynics, then, needn't concern themselves with love songs like "Have I Told You Lately" and "Orangefield"-both of which suggest that, despite the renewal of faith, this artist's muse isn't purely metaphysical. Even better is the spoken word reverie of "Coney Island" in which a grown man can be heard extolling the virtues of potted herrings. Naturally, it's the best thing on here. -Peter Paphides.

It's hard to bring any fanfare to a Paul Weller release these days, but Illumination speaks for itself, bringing together the past and future Weller like none of his solo work before. Producing the album himself (and playing most of the instruments), he's made Illumination sound like a celebration rather than an introspective vanity project. Songs such as the skyscraping "Leafy Trees" and "Standing Out in the Universe" are hard to imagine coming from his pen. Where the album fails is in the host of celebrity "friends" he's roped in on most of the tracks, which serve to dilute rather than enhance the songs; turning the album into a Jools Holland-esque novelty record rather than a collaboration. It works with garage and hip-hop, it fails with rock. Noel Gallagher, Kelly Jones, guitarist Aziz Ibrahim-the personalities are too big for the songs and their presence too overwhelming (particularly Jones, a man who used to write good records himself, who wrote the lyrics to and actually sings the pedestrian "Call Me No. 5"). The remarkable "It's Written in the Stars" is a revelation, however, sounding like it was actually written after a few glasses of good wine under the Mediterranean stars-and most of the rest of the album follows its lead. "Who brings joy?" he sings on the song of the same name, and for once, Weller is the answer to his own question. -Ben Johncock.

On the opening cut of Lenny Kravitz's Circus, the rock star falls just short of completely writing off his own existence. The song: "Rock and Roll Is Dead", a standard indictment of the fabled rock and roll lifestyle ("You're living for an image. you got five hundred women in your bed"). It's ironic, though, that Kravitz himself has always played rock star to the hilt-not in any gross display of decadence, but rather through his pronounced narcissism and pretentiousness. If rock and roll really is dead, surely the Lenny Kravitzes of the world would have slunk their way into extinction by now. Kravitz's continued adherence to his ridiculous, often-parodied rock star stance is what makes him-even more than his decidedly retrograde music- an anachronism. And while bands like Urge Overkill get away with Kravitz-like stud rock because they riff with their tongues firmly planted in their cheeks, Kravitz is all the more difficult to stomach because he's so lacking in irony. If it's possible to separate the music from the silly rock star that created it (or if you actually dig Kravitz's pose), Circus turns out to be a better-than-average classic rock record. [+]

Whenever Paul McCartney's storied life has hit personal or professional hard times, he's wisely returned-figuratively and literally-to his musical foundations. In the Beatles' final, troubled days, it was Get Back, the aborted return-to-roots project salvaged as Let It Be, and during his late-80s solo doldrums it was the 1950s rave-up CHOBA B CCCP (a. k. a. the "Russian Album"). In the wake of Linda's passing, McCartney "gets back" to a motley dozen 50s hits, B-sides and obscurities and pens three surprising originals that neatly fit their mould. Using a band of seasoned British vets (including Pink Floyd's Dave Gilmour and Mick Green from Johnny Kidd & the Pirates on guitars, and Deep Purple's Ian Paice on drums) whose own unbridled affection for this music radiates from every track, McCartney tackles the familiar (Gene Vincent's "Blue Jean Bop," Elvis Presley's "All Shook Up") and unfamiliar (the Vipers' skiffle hit "No Other Baby," Carl Perkins's "Movie Magg") alike with enthusiasm, if not slavish devotion (as witnessed by his nifty zydeco revamp of Chuck Berry's "Brown Eyed Handsome Man"). The Mac originals "Try Not to Cry" and "What It Is" (and the choice of Ricky Nelson's "Lonesome Town") seem to deal not-so-obliquely with his love and loss, yet are delivered with an upbeat confidence that seem to belie his mourning. In the end, Run Devil Run may be as much personal exorcism as it is loving musical recapitulation, and McCartney is in peak vocal form throughout. -Jerry McCulley.