Robert Glasper’s reworking of some of these classic songs makes much of Miles Davis’s songs almost completely unrecognizable. Usually, that would demean the original artist’s intent, but in this case, it’s easy to let it slide. After all, Glasper (known for his work with Kendrick Lamar) isn’t trying to make another jazz record, but more trying to bring jazz music into mainstream light.

And in that end, Everything’s Beautiful is a monstrous success. Tracks like Ghetto Walkin’ and Violets feel like extremely modern takes on the jazz legend, allowing rappers to come in and break beats the way they’d break bread. It’s some of the best hip hop you’ll hear this year; at once familiar, but also meditative and willing to wander.

Tracks like I’m Leaving You and Right on Brotha (which features Stevie Wonder) are more likely to remind you of some of Miles Davis’s work, but they add a good deal of soul to the song. Occasionally, some of Davis’s trademark trumpet sneaks through, but the songs really use his music as a backbone more than they do recreate it.

That Davis’s music is so fundamental to modern jazz as to be the foundation for a record like this is astounding. The album is paying homage, yes, but it’s doing it by suggesting that without Davis jazz, hip hop, soul, and so much more wouldn’t exist. Robert Glasper is insidiously burying Davis’s work within this record to suggest its foundational requirements. I love that. To me, this is the purest way to honour the legend. It’s graceful, bold, and courageous.

Like everything Robert Glasper touches (and like everything Miles Davis ever touched), Everything’s Beautiful feels like it’s heralding a new era of jazz without leaving behind the groundwork. I wouldn’t describe Everything’s Beautiful as essential listening, but I don’t hesitate for a second in saying it should be celebrated by music lovers from all walks of life. Everything’s Beautiful is a triumph.

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While their first album (States) was folk in a stricter sense, twelvefour feels like something slightly different — largely thanks to the addition of electric guitars and synths, but also because of an extremely glossy production.

But despite all that production, the album really breathes. That could be owed to the time of day it was written and recorded: in between the hours of midnight and four a.m., an experience that singer Sam Bentley said he would never repeat.

The point was to try and capture creativity at its (supposedly) most primal time. Largely, the experience pays off. These are all songs that you’d play in the car after a long day, driving home after midnight when nothing feels right, but nothing feels wrong either. I think you can hear the somber exhaustion throughout.

Much like those magical hours, the album has an air of mystery to it. That’s why it breathes. I also suspect it’s why it still sounds distinctly like The Paper Kites. It’s an authentic and raw album, despite its shiny production values.

The Paper Kites have succeeded in a way that few bands can: they’ve made a record that’s larger in scope and sound than what came before — with bigger and bolder production values — but it doesn’t sound like they’ve sold out. In itself, that’s an amazing triumph, but it’s their willingness to experiment that has me excited about their future.

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Every single review I read of this record is awful. It’s all “John Mayer throws women away and half the songs are about ex-girlfriends” and all that kind of stuff other less-popular musicians don’t have to put up with. But isn’t that what blues is about? It’s a relief to hear Mayer stick to what he knows.

I’m of the belief that John Mayer’s always been a good songwriter, despite some of his lesser records. While Paradise Valley is no Continuum, it’s his best since. It’s got a little blues, a little country, a lot of Americana, and a little more of an optimistic outlook than songs like Dreaming With a Broken Heart.

Want some great tracks from the album? Check out Wildfire, a nice intro to Mayer’s newest stylistic country. Waitin’ On the Day and Paper Doll are the most old-school like Mayer cuts. My personal favourite, I Will Be Found (Lost at Sea), is beautiful, and Badge and Gun is as breezy Americana as you could ever expect.

The real talk of the record is Who You Love, which features Katy Perry. We’re all talking about it because Perry’s on it. But the song sucks, naturally, despite Katy’s less in-your-face vocal mannerisms. It’s not a good fit for her sexually grandiose style — Perry singing softly doesn’t feel natural. It’s the stuck-up thumb on an otherwise great record.

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