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Corinne Bailey Rae's new single, "I'd Do It All Again," has been up on Rhapsody for a few weeks now, and it's a real keeper.

The song starts out quiet and acoustic but slowly builds in intensity, with flashes of swirling psychedelic soul.  The lyrics seem to address her confusion and mixed emotions surrounding her late husband's very avoidable demise.

Rae's 2006 debut was a critical and commercial success, and shifted a couple million units in America (which is rare for an artist who sings with a noticeable English accent). Such elders as Al Green -- whose laid-back, slowly building style is an obvious influence -- and Herbie Hancock were impressed and immediately recorded with her.

Her new CD, The Sea, is more sonically varied than her debut was, but it still shines with her patented mix of neo-soul and traditional singer-songwriter pop (which can position her closer to acoustic-guitar-toting males like Bill Withers, Amos Lee and Ben Harper than to flashier talents such as Alicia Keys or Leona Lewis). It was Led Zep that originally inspired CBR to pick up the guitar, and she's covered them, John Lennon, Joni Mitchell and Marvin Gaye.

Before digging into The Sea, take this Rhapsody tour of Rae's earlier recordings. She's done a number of interesting collaborations, cover versions and guest appearances in a very short period of time.
 

Though it's hard (well, hard for grown-ups, anyway) to think of them as separate entities, the Jonas Brothers were once just the siblings of Nick Jonas, whose burgeoning solo career turned into the family trio we all know and love. Thus, the "talented one" taking off on his own with new side project Nick Jonas and the Administration seems inevitable, if somewhat heartbreaking to tweens the world over. His rock-band move on the new Who I Am is also part of a longstanding tradition of seemingly frivolous pop stars suddenly presenting themselves in a more serious light. Herewith, a history of some who've trod this oft-dangerous path before -- both successfully, and not so much.

The Monkees, Pisces, Aquarius, Capricorn & Jones Ltd. (1967) and Head (1968): The Prefab Four take control of their destiny and explore your psychedelic mind. Hey hey they're the Monkees, and people say they're Moogin' around.

The Osmonds, "Crazy Horses" and "Hold Her Tight" (1972): Donny and his brothers invent Mormon metal, inspiring bands from Aerosmith to KMFDM for years to come. You want Big Love? Well, this is as big as it got.

Bob Geldof, "This Is the World Calling" (1986): From singing about Hitler's girlfriend in partially pajama-clad New Wave goof-punk band the Boomtown Rats to a Nobel Peace Prize nomination in three easy steps. You think it's easy? Try it sometime.

George Michael, Listen Without Prejudice Vol. 1 (1990): Okay, so he'd already put waking-you-up-before-you-go-go Wham!dom long behind him, and 1987's Faith earned him some well-deserved respect. But here's where he started to get really pretentious.

Poison and Cinderella and Warrant, various vaguely grungey albums (early '90s): Those mascara days were different times, and now hair-metal bands were ready to dress like real men, play the blues and move far fewer units than back when they actually used to have fun. Then they lost their hair. And went country.

Alanis Morrissette, Jagged Little Pill (1995): Ha ha, you keep forgetting she made those two teenage Canadian dance-pop albums before she started wailing about performing questionable acts in theaters, right? Well, we remember. Even though we're still pretty sure Canadians can't dance.

Vanilla Ice, Hard to Swallow (1998): Yup yup -- stupid people never appreciated the awesome artistry of "Ice Ice Baby," so what do you do, Robbie Van Winkle? Turn into the next Fred Durst, that's what! People will take you seriously for sure now!

Justin Timberlake, Justified (2002): 'NSYNC had Justin like the Jackson 5 had Michael, so it only made sense when the curly-headed cutie went solo. More than just a means of capitalizing on his boy-band fame, J.T. used his solo career (and Timbaland's help) to take off in bolder, more mature directions, and inch ever closer to M.J.'s brand of pop royalty.

Gwen Stefani, Love. Angel. Music. Baby. (2004): To many, Gwen's breakaway from No Doubt simply completed the picture of the band sketched in "Don't Speak": hot female lead singer hogs spotlight. But her solo career has also served to justify that attention, which she gets because she's captivating performing anything from mall-punk ska to show-tune hip-hop.

Jonas, Timberlake and Stefani writeups by Rachel Devitt.

David Bowie and every other artist listed here are yours to rock out to whenever and however you want with your Rhapsody subscription. Take a free trial and see what we’re all about.

For a long time, the Classic Rock Crate Digger totally loathed David Bowie, particularly his golden period, 1970 to ’77. On so many of his so-called classic albums (Ziggy, Diamond Dogs, Heroes, et al.), he sounds like a glam-rock/New Wave charlatan constantly nicking tricks from far superior artists, including a few personal heroes: Scott Walker, Brian Eno and the perennially overlooked Peter Hammill. If that wasn’t enough, too many of his fans seem to possess a blind devotion that is more than a little annoying. I swear, at least 75% of the fanatics that I’ve met regard the guy as some kind of post-modern genius, the be-all and end-all of everything that's avant garde. Meanwhile, so few of these same people have ever even heard, say, Hammill’s Chameleon in the Shadow of Night or Walker’s Scott 4.

Then something happened. I watched the incredible documentary Scott Walker: 30 Century Man, and it changed my mind. Sort of.

Bowie, in addition to serving as executive producer, is one of the primary interviewees, and the guy really shines. First off, he doesn’t take himself seriously at all (no post-modern baloney dripping from his trap). What we've learned from Velvet Goldmine notwithstanding, he’s a rock 'n' roll fan boy, just like you and me and the little snot down the street snorting crushed Ritalin and cranking the White Stripes. That’s cool. More importantly, Bowie acknowledges the debt he owes the artists who have inspired him through the years. He wants his fans to track down all the cool underground stuff he digs.

Now, I still find his music dull as river rock, and I’ll explain why: in order to sell his art-rock vision to the mainstream, he had to cleanse his influences of their most volatile, and interesting, idiosyncrasies -- not pop enough for the masses, apparently. Yet those are the things I’m most into -- the weird stuff. Oh well. The important thing is that I no longer hate David Bowie. In fact, having a cocktail with him and talking jams sounds like it would be a total blast. Maybe Geraldo can come, too.

A lot of the artists Bowie has championed over the years (Lou Reed, Iggy Pop, T. Rex) are very nearly as famous as he is, nowadays. Nevertheless, I thought it would be cool to give a brief rundown of some of the musicians and records that inspired the, uh, Thin White Duke (always hated that phrase).