In late 1968 jazz pianist Ramsey Lewis released Mother Nature's Son, 10 songs based on the Beatles' White Album, itself barely a month old. Bringing together forward-thinking blues producer Marshall Chess (scion of Chess Records founder Leonard Chess) and Cadet Records' in-house arranger extraordinaire Charles Stepney, Lewis and company mined the loose-jointed White Album and created a surprisingly affective mix of delicately textured ballads ("Mother Nature's Son") and funk-tinged groovers ("Cry, Baby, Cry").

At its best, Mother Nature's Son wonderfully reimagines The White Album in ways that pay homage to the original source but allow Lewis, Chess, and Stepney their own room to maneuver. For example, the album's finest moment comes on "Julia," when Stepney rearranges Lennon's plain, quiet ballad into an exquisite wave of sweeping sentiment punctuated by Lewis's elegant playing. A familiarity with the Beatles' version certainly doesn't detract from Lewis's cover, but it's not a prerequisite either – the mark of a good cover/remake is that it nods back to its progenitor but still stands on its own.

In this respect Mother Nature's Son shares an unlikely resonance with a mix CD 36 years its junior, DJ Danger Mouse's Grey Album. Danger Mouse works with a simple, brilliant premise: he remixes Jay-Z's recent Black Album by using samples solely from The White Album. It's a gimmick to be sure, but a high-concept gimmick, and one you've never heard before.

Some quick background: When Jay-Z released The Black Album three months ago, Roc-A-Fella/Def Jam made sure an entire a cappella version was also widely available. Nas and Columbia Records were the first to play with the material, and as of last fall four different mix CDs had appeared, including 9th Wonder's God's Stepson and Soul Supreme's Soulmatic, remixing Nas's God's Son and Stillmatic, respectively. With The Black Album, at least five mix CDs have already appeared, including D.M.'s Grey Album, Kev Brown's Brown Album, Kardinal Offishall and Solitair's Black Jays Album, and Prince's Purple Album (that last one is a joke, but you never know).

Danger Mouse's Grey Album sets itself apart far from the pack. This is no trucker-hat hipster mash-up jamming a Jay-Z a cappella over "Revolution 9." The only time D.M. uses a truly obvious sample is when he lifts the melody of "While My Guitar Gently Weeps" for his remix of "What More Can I Say?," but most of The Grey Album shreds The White Album.

For "Dirt off My Shoulders," D.M. cuts up Lennon from "Julia" and stutters him into a beat that would make Timbaland proud. His remix of "99 Problems" tears into "Helter Skelter" and lifts portions from at least three points to craft a track that rivals Rick Rubin's raucous original. One of the best remixes is "Justify My Thug," a song that originally suffered from DJ Quik's dull, plodding production. D.M. takes a guitar lick from "Rocky Raccoon" and overlays a chopped-up bit from "Cry, Baby, Cry," creating an incredible-sounding remake that increases appreciation for Jay-Z's lyrics.

D.M. also makes you hear the Beatles differently. My friend, Bay Guardian contributor Hua Hsu, and I agreed that when we listen to The White Album now, we subconsciously start checking for potential beats (for instance, why didn't D.M. sample "Don't Pass Me By," that fool!) or get thrown off when the Beatles' songs proceed differently from D.M.'s arrangements. In essence, The Grey Album doesn't just transform the original songs from both artists into new forms – it also transforms how we listen to Jay-Z and the Beatles. Yet it bespeaks D.M.'s achievement that you could be wholly ignorant of both pop icons (unlikely as that might be) and still find his CD to be a revelation. Like Lewis's Mother Nature's Son, The Grey Album is original in its own right, a bastard son whose style needs no father. (Oliver Wang)

Norah Jones
Feels like Home (Blue Note)

At the start Norah Jones felt like your homegrown sweetheart, the blues-jazz prodigy counterpart to Neko Case. She was the kind of girl you'd keep like a secret, until everyone in town started talking her up and you felt jilted or a little proud. You figured something was up when industry insiders raved unchecked and old school-jazz grouches hyped her like a musical version of Viagra. The collegiate, antistyle style, the warm vocals that spoke of hours cozying up to Billie Holiday and Bonnie Raitt – it summoned up simple pleasures from some pre-MTV era.

That's how Feels like Home goes too, though Jones doesn't find herself with the handful of hooks that made 2002's Come Away with Me a best-seller. Like the dutiful, good student you just know she was, the vocalist keeps her goals willfully modest.

At times she sounds like a dead ringer for Shelby Lynne (Townes Van Zandt's "Be Here to Love Me"), who once also carved out a middle-ground sweet spot between the blues, country, and pop. But it leaves you wondering just who Jones is these days – now that she's everyone's darling. Why add your own lyrics to Duke Ellington's "Melancholia" except to sing, "I wonder who I am"? At other points, brushing up against her material's mediocrity, she seems to go through the motions ("Above Ground").