Robert Heller

Rappers Jay-Z and Kanye West have notoriously big egos. Now they have a stage show to match.

Drake may be the first rapper you’d take to tea with your mom.

After conquering the U.K. pop charts, Florence Welch is heading Stateside.

Lana Del Rey is so passe.

The Black Keys are back in North America for a tour that should put them into the big time.

“There’s granddad up there, rockin' away,” jokes Paul McCartney, addressing the crowd at London’s O2.

The Red Hot Chili Peppers, wearing pants and tattoos, strut the stage like chickens on steroids.

“I don’t know how to write a song that isn’t personal,” says Robyn. “You know, why do it then?”

Not since Michael J. Fox stepped out of a DeLorean has time travel been so exciting.

It’s like being pelted with pornographic candy. Rihanna tumbles out of a giant hamster ball onto a stage hyperactive with cavorting day-glo dancers and thrusting hydraulic platforms. Her skimpy blue dress is soon off, revealing a bikini as immodest as it is lurid.

“I never expected to have a career as a musician,” says Moby.

Adele Adkins offers an evening of heartbreak and sadness. Rarely does such personal pain translate into pop joy.