Twenty-six tracks from a singer who releases an album roughly once a decade and has never made a bad one.

OneLove
Maxwell
Maxwell arrived in 1996 with Urban Hang Suite, a concept album about a single relationship, recorded with musicians from the seventies soul world including Leon Ware — who wrote much of Marvin Gaye's I Want You — and Stuart Matthewman of Sade's band.
That combination is the whole story. His records sound like nothing else because they are made by people who understand seventies soul as a craft rather than as a reference, and because he sings in a falsetto that he uses architecturally rather than for display.
He is also, famously, slow. There are long gaps between albums, and he has said plainly that he releases records when he has something to release. The catalogue is small and there is almost nothing weak in it.
What to listen for
"Ascension (Don't Ever Wonder)" is the record that introduced him and still the best summary — a groove that barely moves, and a vocal that circles above it.
"Sumthin' Sumthin'" is the funkiest thing here, and "...Til The Cops Come Knockin'" is the strangest — six minutes of near-stasis and one of the boldest things on a debut album.
"This Woman's Work" live from the MTV Unplugged session is the performance that made his reputation: a Kate Bush song, taken into falsetto, and it is one of the great vocal recordings of the nineties.
"Pretty Wings" is the comeback single after an eight-year silence, and it is as good as anything he has done.
"Fortunate" is the R. Kelly composition and his biggest chart record, and "Lonely's the Only Company" is the deep cut the devoted listeners name.
The tracks with the long compound titles — "Eachhoureachsecondeachminuteeachday", "Drowndeep: Hula", "Submerge: Til We Become the Sun" — are from Embrya, the difficult second album that has been substantially rehabilitated.
"Fire We Make" with Alicia Keys is the best duet.
Go deeper
Urban Hang Suite (1996) is the essential album and works best heard whole, in order.
Then go to Leon Ware's Musical Massage and Marvin Gaye's I Want You — the two records this entire catalogue descends from.
Why the small catalogue matters: long gaps between albums are usually a career problem, and here they are the method — he releases records when there is something to release, and the result is a body of work with almost nothing weak in it. Listened to end to end, the twenty-five-year arc barely dips.
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