There are, in my estimation, only a couple of sins in music that are entirely unforgivable, and chief amongst them is to be boring. And that's my problem with this, an album that seems to have garnered plaudits and critical acclaim off the back of very little. For all the sonic bells and whistles, this is such a monotone-sounding collection; unvarying in tempo, tone or ambition. The melodies are boring; Jeff Tweedy has a boring voice; the bing-bong-whizz sound effects (or should that be affects?) are boring. I hate this album with a rare passion.

Awful in ways difficult to describe. A performance hammier than a telenovela set on a pig farm, wrapped in spun-sugar arrangements so saccharine they made my teeth melt. This has been, easily, my least favourite offering on this app so far. Punishing Kiss is ridiculous, but not in any kind of fun way - it feels like a horribly calculated misstep. I imagine this is in 1001 albums one must listen to, so that every now and again were are consoled that the sweet embrace of the tomb is not so far away.

I'm one of those tiresome people who would probably give TW five stars for 45 minutes of farting in a bathtub. Nonetheless, this is a hell of a listening experience. Insanely good!

This whips ass. They've got a dude who's probably a worse vocalist than me, the thinnest, shittiest production imaginable and they've swathed the whole thing in reverb. It's simply majestic as to the degree that this sucks, therefore it gets a maximum score from yours truly.

This is almost aggressively bad. I can't stand either Simon's twee songwriting nor his powder-puff non-event of a voice. But the biggest crime is just how absolutely terrible this sounds, production wise. Crappy synth sounds clash with noise-gated drums and that weird farty bass sound that plagued the era. I can't believe this plastic, milquetoast grab bag of cheap pop and world music borrowings is considered a classic. Dogshit.

Played the crap out of this during my first year of college. Some interesting songwriting undermined by flat production values. Title track, 'Mother Goose' and 'Locomotive Breath' the standouts.

Better than I had expected, albeit a little plodding in places. I do like a singing drummer.

A weird melange of Simple Minds stadium rock and Celtic folk sensibilities. Unfortunately, there are many better stadium rock acts, and many better folkies, and this falls between the cracks.

Superior disco, really. Some tracks do transcend the genre, quite a few don't. Great if you like disco, otherwise it's merely okay. Starts brilliantly, ends on a high, it's the bit inbetween that's the issue.

Really cool, full of tones and sounds that sound odd even today. Marked down for being a little meandering in places, but very strong overall

Inspired in places, boring in others. The satirical stuff mostly lands, but the bits that don't have aged like milk. However, some of the music is great - 'Deceptacon' is nothing short of brilliant, whilst 'What's Yr Take On Cassavetes' is a real hoot.

I don't want to give the excuse that this didn't land because I'm British; but this bland country-rock simply didn't connect with me at all. Boring music, boring lyrics, happy to see the back of this - my Steve Earle comments, but the app glitched. Duck Rock - this was an unexpected joy. Who knows how much of that old charlatan McLaren's input actually made it to the record? Should I care? This is a kaleidoscopic blending of all kinds of influences, yet sounds surprisingly coherent. Love it!

Disappointed that 'She' was nothing to do with either KISS or H Rider Haggard. All in all, somewhat monochrome, a few memorable tracks, a fair bit that was unremarkable but nothing unpleasant or irksome.

After the first couple of tracks I worried this would feel samey. Wrong. Deep grooves in the samples, Cube's in-your-face delivery and a dollop of humour and self-awareness made for a very enjoyable listen.

On the face of it, the music is quite rudimentary. The atmosphere, though, is absolutely electric, and Cash sounds like he's having the time of his life. Incredible, we won't hear anything like this again

One of those guys who, no matter how hard I try, I can never get into. Even having given this a considered listen, I still haven't experienced a eureka moment. Still, 'Pump It Up' is a banger

Not my cup of mud, brother

10cc have about fifty ideas per track, some of which work. A lot of them are irritating, however, and their kitchen sink approach gets in the way of creating fun, memorable songs people might actually enjoy. The guitar tones are aggressively shitty, and something about these guys always feels slightly racist?

I like a reasonable amount of reggae, so this was a pleasant excursion, albeit a little one-paced. Not anything I'd rush back to, but I'd happily have this choogling along in the background to a leisurely drive. And Tosh is right, just legalise it already!

Set guitars to 'chooglin'' and plot a course for the bayou, Mr Fogerty

Prog gets dumped on all the time, and Yes is one of the bands held up as its worst criminals. However, this album shows that Yes' songwriting could be really tight, melodic and dare I say it, catchy. One of the most unfairly maligned bands. Great album, this. Now, if we're talking ELP albums or any of the Yes-men's solo efforts, yeah, those are rancid by and large.

Played half of this album in my high school band and I'm heartily sick of it. Metallica are a band that just never got my blood pumping.

Now we're cooking with gas. This feels like Bob firing on all cylinders - the music is great, the lyrics are wonderfully elliptical, there's a pulse and electricity that runs through this collection - magic stuff. I can see why boomers get so heated under their wigs about Dylan. Highlight for me is 'Ballad of a Thin Man', but stick the needle down anywhere at random and you strike gold.

There are, in my estimation, only a couple of sins in music that are entirely unforgivable, and chief amongst them is to be boring. And that's my problem with this, an album that seems to have garnered plaudits and critical acclaim off the back of very little. For all the sonic bells and whistles, this is such a monotone-sounding collection; unvarying in tempo, tone or ambition. The melodies are boring; Jeff Tweedy has a boring voice; the bing-bong-whizz sound effects (or should that be affects?) are boring. I hate this album with a rare passion.

I already own a copy of Violator, it's an album I have great regard for. There are a couple of longeurs in the pacing I had forgotten about, but overall this crackles with a dark energy and sharp song craft. The production is pretty dated, but I can overlook that. Not a single person at either school or college liked Depeche Mode.

When I was at school, the Manics were the most impossibly edgy indie band, probably because they were a little more angular than the Britpoppers and sometimes slagged off politicians. Listening now, it's pretty good, fine, okay music with some decent hooks and more than a dollop of pop - and even soft rock - elements in the mix. 'A Design For Life' remains the best cut, probably because it sounds like Jellyfish, albeit not quite as good.

I am no fan of trip-hop, and I wouldn't shed too many tears if the entire city of Bristol was to fall into the sea. This sounds...atrocious. Boring, dated - and how many times are they going to say the phrase 'massive attack'? I'm trying to imagine a scenario where I'd put this on out of choice, and am failing. Perhaps interrogating someone at Abu Ghraib?

I don't really know what to say. Decent songwriting, half-decent voice, music that is as anonymous as the interior decor of a dentist's waiting room

I may be committing a spot of heresy here but this is...a bit shit? The songs tend to drag, the production and orchestration feel creaky and I really struggle with the drippy, lugubrious vocals. I am to understand that this is an enduring work of genius, but one or two tracks aside I'm not getting any juice out of this lemon. The soupy sounds of a bunch of wet lads, criminally overrated all told.

What can I say? It's Number of the goddamn Beast by Iron fucking Maiden. Five stars, and I'd give it another five if I could!

I have a weird relationship with Zappa - a lot of his music is deeply unpleasant, absolutely devoid of charity, warmth or human spirit, and not half as funny as his aficionados would lead you to believe. Yet, now and again, he would rise to the occasion and deliver something utterly sublime. Hot Rats is one of those moments - I love the grinding violin riff to 'Willie The Pimp' whilst 'Peaches En Regalia' might be his most focused and accomplished instrumental in the rock idiom. I don't chuck the word 'genius' around much, and I don't think it applies to Zappa ultimately, but when firing on all eight he came damn close.

What a strange duck this is. I feel as if this is an album more important for what it represents than what it sounds like. Automation, alienation, robotics - we're on the cusp of the first era of popular computing here and thus Numan's otherworldly marriage of man and machine must've seemed a quiet thrill. However, in 2021, its repetitive grooves and relatively small sound palette just don't cut it no mo'. I realise that repetition in and of itself can be a canny tool in the hands of an artist, but it doesn't mean I have to enjoy the results. I've listened to this twice, to see if I missed anything the first time around. I don't think so. I've got a friend who looks like Gary Numan though.

Elvis is one of those guys I blow hot and cold about. As a youngster I thought he was impossibly tacky; an Elvis-obsessed housemate at college then opened a door to me; a subsequent visit to Graceland saw the pendulum swing back again to Elvis being crap; until at long last I got a box set of his early recordings, which are luminous. So to this album; there's craft, variety and some good material, but in comparison to his early output, a little stale and workmanlike.

Simply, the apogee of British folk rock. Possibly the genre's greatest ever album. Opener aside, everything else comes from the archives of Cecil House but Fairport Convention play the material as if it was their own. Sandy Denny is at her peak here - variously gentle, imperious, confiding and raucous. Listen to the way she inhabits each character as if an actor on both 'Matty Groves' and the most remarkable of all, 'Tam Lin'. I grew up on this stuff.

Here we go! Back on the good stuff! I say this is a Nick Cave fan, that sometimes his music can feel faintly gimmicky; peer past his almost aggressive coolness and there's a great writer, still, but his scope is quite limited. Nonetheless, this one's right in his sweet spot, and in mine too if I'm honest.

I didn't know what to expect from this, but it's a bit disappointing, isn't it? Nothing quite has the prowl and strut of the title tracks, and whilst some of the soul covers are decent - especially the Ray Charles cut - too much is half a step away from elevator music. Often, older music benefits from a more sparse, 'live' sounding production, but not in this instance - it's a tinny and undeveloped sounding album.

I know I'm late to the party here but I've got a lot of regard for Mike Oldfield - a weird guy but someone who determinedly made music his way. 'Tubular Bells' is still a very interesting record; for me, its ubiquity hasn't dulled its impact.

This is almost aggressively bad. I can't stand either Simon's twee songwriting nor his powder-puff non-event of a voice. But the biggest crime is just how absolutely terrible this sounds, production wise. Crappy synth sounds clash with noise-gated drums and that weird farty bass sound that plagued the era. I can't believe this plastic, milquetoast grab bag of cheap pop and world music borrowings is considered a classic. Dogshit.

Tries a little bit of everything and isn't great at any of it. Pretentious lyrics, drab songs and one of the most irritating voices around. If these are the selections for the week, I dread what the weekend's pick is gonna be like.

In my younger days I used to go to a pub called the Winchester, which was in Bournemouth, for what was an 'anything goes' night. Any band or artist could book a slot, irrespective of talent, which made it a great opportunity to see some oddballs. You mostly got youthful hipsters or anti-music noise bands (one act once cranked out guitar feedback for half an hour), but one time a middle-aged guy with a beer gut and receding hairline showed up with a Casio keyboard and played a set that sounded almost exactly like I'm Your Man (if played solely on a cheap keyboard). All the songs were about his divorce and how much he missed his kids. Four stars.

Growing up, this is what loads of my friends listened to. It wasn't really my bag, but I suppose I could be described as 'pop-punk adjacent' - not a fan, but more familiar than the average punter by dint of exposure. I remember thinking Smash was fine at the time, no more, no less. And I think I was right. All quite samey, not exactly a breadth of tone or instrumentation to marvel at, but okay nonetheless.

Really good, still holds up despite some of the production sounding a little rudimentary by today's post-Rockwilder standards. The lyrics still pack a wallop, and Chuck D's voice simply one of those things I like to listen to. Cool!

I'm torn, because the highlights are simply great, but there's a fair bit of material that just churns away. When it works well, Sharkey's odd, bleating voice and the frequent use of repetition is electrifying - 'Here Comes The Summer' being the prime example - but songs fall flat when it misses. Also - I'm not a teenager in the late 1970s, to whom this no doubt sounded fresh and exciting, a marriage of punk spikiness and pop sweetness, but here in 2021 it doesn't quite pack the wallop. Still, there's considerable craft and some nimble songwriting on display here, so a solid four stars from me.

Quite simply, one the best things ever committed to tape. I don't care that the production supposedly fucked how this sounded, I think it's cool and adds to the grime and aggro. This is one of the most evil sounding albums, and makes much of everything that preceded - and followed - it sound limp and fey. How chunky do those guitars sound! And the drums sound like a pile of bricks falling down a staircase. Incredible.

Despite Mr Smith's liberal use of profanity, this is an indistinct and wimpy record. I don't like it. The only bits I liked were when he was doing a passable Big Star impersonation. Otherwise, all a bit too wet and gooey for me.

This is preferable to Graceland solely due to the absence of flatulent production values, but I'm still not on board with Mr Simon. His songwriting feels tweet and cloying to me, and his voice sounds like it emanates from something akin to a gnome or goblin. Just the thought of this creepy homunculus cooing into my ear makes me nauseous. A buncha guys tried reggae on for size around this time, too

How odd - I found myself listening to this at the weekend quite by chance after a friend's recommendation. I am quite taken with Buckley's rather fruity, wavery delivery but the album doesn't quite hang together successfully for me. It's the usual grab-bag of ideas that seemed to be common in the era, and some of those ideas are better executed than others. The production dates this somewhat, especially those tracks that possess a widescreen ambition.

One of my favourite albums of all time. Martin Fry's melodramatic crooning, the unabashedly cinematic romanticism and a clutch of finely honed songs make this an essential collection. I consider this one to be the Citizen Kane of New Wave. Big talk? Big album!

Am I alone in saying that I don't think there's a single Beatles album that is strong all the way through? There always seems to be some filler lurking in the margins. But, of course, when they're on form the Beatles do no less than re-write the face of rock and roll. Some of the tracks here are untouchable. Aside from the fluff, the only things working against them are ubiquity and personal taste - I prefer the Beatles' most early incarnation, but here, as they transition to a more psych sound, they're still near the peak of their powers.

Guys, it's the first Van Halen album.

Love this. There's ambition, a kind of cinematic aspect to much of the music, and despite all the electronic bells and whistles there's a lot of humanity and heart. It seems to be quite faddish in this era to incorporate elements of 'World Music' into your sound, but this is probably one of the more successful attempts to do so. Great album.

What a weird experience. I love Muddy Waters, but the version I like is the one who recorded with the brawling, hardass 'Headcutter' band on all those wonderful Chess Record sides. This is actually a very good blues record, but it just misses that dusting of magic that you got with Little Walter, Jimmy Rogers et al on sideman duty. Still, you get Pinetop Perkins on piano!

Dogshit.

I think this one comes down to whether you personally like Talking Heads or not. I happen to be a fan, but amidst the limpid guitars, rinky-dink chord voicings and Byrne's near-hysterical yelp, there's something missing. Where's the snap and urgency, I wonder? Still, not without its highlights, especially the murky churn of 'Memories Can't Wait'.

Quite enjoyed the one-two punch of Tim Buckley this app has delivered up. I think I might prefer this one to Starsailor. Okay, nobody is confusing him for George Clinton, but as a blue-eyed soul cut this ain't half bad

A generous three stars. It's fine. I like the odd AFT track in isolation, but this album was a little numbing. The guitars twang, the rhythms lollop along pleasantly, but nothing really stuck. A nice diversion into Malian music, which I genuinely have some fondness for, but there's better stuff out there. There's better AFT music, for starters

The strolling bass, the weepy lap steel, the high 'n' lonesome harmony vocals - it all feels like something that had to be dusted off, no? Also, Haggard is fine at the 'cryin' into your beer' tracks, but flatness of affect is evident elsewhere. He sings 'I'm an outlaw' with the same gusto that you might sing 'I'm a chartered accountant'. Still, I did like 'If You Want To Be My Woman', it reminded me of the Sesame Street theme

This whips ass.

I like the Minutemen, a cool band who did something different with punk and hardcore. Holy hell though, is is far too long to be enjoyable. Maybe the fact that I cannot stick around for almost 90 minutes is just the spirit of the age coming through.

An album I bought yonks ago without knowing much about the VU, and it hasn't disappointed. Some of these tracks are timeless - 'Venus In Furs' would be somewhere on the list of my favourite songs of all time. Nothing else quite sounds like it. The only fly in the ointment is Nico, I'm afraid. I don't buy the 'ice maiden' thing, and too often her contributions, whilst possessing a certain guileless charm, are simply clumsy

So much of the music of this ilk sounds dated and tired, and I'm afraid that this is no exception. Jeff Beck is a fine guitarist but we don't get to hear him to his fullest advantage here, and Keith Relf is an awful singer. Still, 'Over, Under...' is good, but in 2021 I'd much rather be listening to the psych stylings of, say, Shocking Blue.

Difficult to look at the biggies on this platter with any sense of objectivity. 'Vincent' sounds sweet, yes, but there's a dorkiness to McLean that forbids me from taking him too seriously. He just sounds a bit...wet. Pleasant stuff, nothing more

Unlistenable in the way a lot of modern albums are. I'm speaking purely in terms of production here, but everything seems to be aimed at being parped through a laptop. Such a harsh sound. Also, I'm aghast at the critical response this album has had; perhaps it's age, but I'm simply not getting the same juice as the critics out of this dud. At least I can now say I've given FKA twigs a go.

Quite an exhausting listen, and I'm still someone who struggles with all the interstitial skits that pepper hip hop albums, but the music itself? Quality. A fairly murky and morose album, but Raekwon's lyrical facility is superb; both he and Ghostface Killa are all over those dusty Wu-style beats.

In the past I've struggled to article why this mob have not quite done the business for me, but now I think I have an answer. For all their invention - hell, some of Juju really points to new ways that rock can be played - there's an absence of humanity or soul. It's fun when Kraftwerk pretend to be robots, but it's just a touch dismal here. Nonetheless, Juju is bursting with ideas and Siouxsie is an arresting vocalist. Maybe I'll come round.

I have this one on quite frequently whilst I work - on that basis, it's absolutely the perfect accompaniment to some gentle cogitating. The title gives it away, even if Eno was being semi-ironic - it's functional music. And on that basis, a triumph

Motorik beats, squelchy sounds, a kind of Francophone cool pervades - it's studied, chic and quite fun in small doses, but after a while washes over you somewhat. Not bad, not brilliant.

This guy sounds like he's having a ripe old time of it, but the music got quite boring, quite quickly. I bet it's great to dance to, but I'm listening to this whilst I work. Any road, I can't dance. A quick look at this guy's Wikipedia page and, wow, he seems like a real piece of shit.

The first five tracks are some of the most misogynistic around (Lady Jane aside), but at least one of them - Under My Thumb - is a stone cold classic. Bit of a funny album, it feels quite transitional, with a fair bit of filler. However, the edge that Jagger brings means it's superior filler!

I quite like this. Nothing spectacular, undeserving of the hype it gets for sure, but a pleasant, breezy way to kill time with a glass of something cold and a good book

This whips ass. They've got a dude who's probably a worse vocalist than me, the thinnest, shittiest production imaginable and they've swathed the whole thing in reverb. It's simply majestic as to the degree that this sucks, therefore it gets a maximum score from yours truly.

Another album that, for me, has suffered thanks to the passage of time. Some of these tracks, like Scarborough Fair and For Emily... still sound great. Others are freighted with the dragging earnestness of S&G's execution. We get a lot of Paul Simon on this app, and I think I've realised how little of his material I actually enjoy. Well, there's a cheery ending to the review...

Side one is simultaneously rocking to the max, and geeky to the max. I love how this album opens, and the way the track 2112 begins by sketching out a blueprint of all the cool riffs you're going to encounter in this stupid dystopian space opera. Glorious. Side two has a song that makes doing drugs sound about as hip as voting Republican, a surprisingly touching ballad in Tears and a slamming track to wrap everything up. Full marks for prog rock's most notable Ayn Rand adherents!

Second album in a row that absolutely rips. The first few beats of the drum track that kicks off 'Gimme All Your Lovin'' is a free shot of dopamine every time. I think the songwriting is one point, the guitar playing is chewy, and Gibbons' rough voice contrasts wonderfully with the buzz and whoosh of the synths. They never really cracked it again properly, in my estimation - not totally - but as a synthesis of Texas boogie and new wave instrumentation, this was unique and never bettered.

Tip top stuff! Much better than the other Talking Heads album so far encountered. Their best album? I should say so!

Linen suits, eyes crouched behind smoked glass, a cappuccino on the terrazzo. The evening wears on, out comes the cognac, the fine Bolivian, lithe Polish escorts with cat eyes and cruel mouths. A dance that happens every weekend, every night in this corner of the Old World. All played out to the deadly, sclerotic beat of a music that never knew it was ever alive.

I can appreciate this for what it is, but it's simply not my cup of java. It's a big sounding record, a kitchen sink approach to the arrangements (preferable to electro minimalism in my opinion) but doesn't float my boat

Loved this. It does sag a little in the middle, but I adore the sonics of the album, the wonderful singing, the incorporation of funk into some of the tracks. Post-punk in general is hitting the sweet spot for me as it strikes me that so many of its participants were striving to make a pop sound that didn't patronise its listeners. You can be experimental, sophisticated and still catchy as hell. File this alongside bands like Monochrome Set.

I like or love everything that Nick Drake has done, but this album falls at the 'like' end of the scale. The songwriting is there, but watch out for some of those soupy string arrangements

Every rap album on here seems to be by a member of the Wu Tang Clan and takes about a day to listen to. This one, though, is the best. Great use of smoky soul samples, skits that actually add to the proceedings, and a genuinely brilliant couple of tracks in The Champ and Back Like That. Gonna use The Champ to get myself psyched into a killer mentality before playing badminton with my work colleagues

Yeah, not bad. Suffers a fair bit from the rather quaint production job, which was seemingly "reverb up to 11", the musicianship doesn't quite match ambition. However, there's definitely some craft and charm to this quirky little curio. I really liked the female vocals, almost offhand and diffident in delivery. A couple of songs stick, most faded almost as soon as the album stopped, but a pleasant trip whilst it lasted.

For every bit of magic on this album, there's something a little powderpuff about much of the rest of the material. I know we are all supposed to consider Stevie Wonder a genius, but Innervisions aside I'm not sure he's ever hit that kind of consistency. The funk-soul equivalent to Iron Maiden, then; stellar moments and a hogshead of filler

That was boring, wasn't it? Such a thin sound, uninspired songwriting, strange attempts at a cod-funk sound that never works - and Weller really sounds tired on this, doesn't he? A couple of tracks aside, this feels like a dull man doing dull things

I can hack this in small doses, but after a while the fuzzy, abstruse nature of the music all just blends into a monotonous melange. Perhaps I'm simply not in the right mood? What would be the right mood? And how crap would this sound without any feedback?

I admire the scope and ambition of this work. I like the diverse range of musicianship and the attempts to integrate jazz into the hip hop lexicon. Some of the word play is impressive. However, it all adds up to something akin to a complex plumbing system; a technically adroit feat that I couldn't begin to try to replicate myself, but ultimately quite boring to behold.

Brilliant, despite it being a series of fairly straight blues performances this sounds fantastic. Blues being so formulaic at times, often it's a case of not what one plays, but how one does it; and Waters oozes charisma. Big boy music, played with authority and panache. Makes a lot of what we listen to sound quite juvenile, don't it?

Worse than being incompetent is being boring. Ten times out of ten I'd prefer to listen to a car crash failure that had some ambition over coolly, competently delivered music that neither stirs the imagination nor gets the blood pumping.

Underneath the hood this is a quietly insane record - the kitchen sink production, Joe Elliot's nonsensical stream-of-consciousness lyrics, the mere fact that the drum patterns had to be configured for three limbs - wild. Its subsequent success is the cherry on top. If you don't like melodic hair metal, it's an automatic one or two star, right? I do, though - and all the Mutt Lange bells and whistles are still a pleasure to behold.

This really sucks. The Police represent a lot of stuff I hate in popular music, and this, their final album, feels like a culmination of all that - the pretentious songwriting, muso navel gazing, shiny songs that glide past each other with a minimum of friction and even less to get excited about.

Such a peculiar experience - this is obviously an important and influential record, you can hear its fingerprints all over indie and alt rock that would follow in its wake - but as a listening experience, not really much fun. A strange mix of alienation and slowed-down krautrock for the most part, with some horribly dated production. I'm sure Ian Curtis was a compelling live performer, because the version of him on here isn't pulling up any trees. I'd prefer to listen to some Billy Idol, y'know?

One of the best one-two opening punches in rock music, and in truth, the quality doesn't dip much from the onwards. The only weak link is Bottum's keys work, which sounds a bit rudimentary - especially so as I think his nagging, insistent riff throughout 'From Out of Nowhere' propels the song. A small quibble though, overall such a strong, meaty and fun album!

Pretty remarkable, even if Joni Mitchell has a voice that I seriously cannot get along with. The craft and talent are apparent but, man, that voice...

I liked this well enough for the duration I listened to it - light, funky and lyrically quirky, but it lacks the snap and bite that I tend to enjoy in rap music. Nothing quite lodges in the mind for long enough to leave a lasting impact. Don't I sound grouchy? I've had a long day.

Iconic as this album is, I don't think it's really something that resonates with my tastes. It's too slushy and gauzy, all cooing string arrangements and twinkling vibes. However, even if it does fall, just about, on the wrong side of the line where schmaltz is concerned, Gaye's singing is impeccable. For that alone, Let's Get It On is worthy of respect, after a fashion

So this is alternative rock, eh? More like alternative to rock, right guys? But seriously, this is okay

Yeah, great! The first track sounds like REM were they to ever find an overdrive pedal, and the second sounds like Dogs D'Amour being plagued by a mosquito. But overall, this sounds like really punchy, melodic, beefy power pop. Not a million miles from the Wildhearts. Too young to have caught this the first time around, glad to be acquainted now.

At times I love Jeff Beck's playing, and there's a couple of things he's done that scrape the firmament of what's possible in the popular idiom of guitar rock. And there's this, which has been said to have been a big influence on Led Zeppelin, amongst others. I still think it has a certain aura to it, despite fundamentally being a heavy blooz rock album without too many frills.

Hypnotic, jazzy and understated...or boring, longwinded and energy-sapping? I honestly couldn't tell you, and it might be all these things and more. Sometimes the music sounds a little flimsy, but the rhymes are, on occasion, fabulous. So why are they often delivered in a monotone? A frustrating experience.

Three-quarters of a brilliant album here - unfortunately the rest is either filler or ideas that slightly overstay their welcome. However, when it hits - 'Kashmir', 'Sick Again', 'The Rover' - it's pretty much the archetype of what classic rock could aspire towards.

Quite good.

A game of two halves, Clive. Really enjoyed the spiky, sexy first half - but felt it ran out of steam in the latter portion of the album. Never liked 'Brass In Pocket', but it's fairly atypical of this collection. I really enjoyed the instrumental, more bands should do this.

They don't do brevity, do they? Not sure I really get on board with combining Kraftwerk and Moroder with post-millennial irony. There's a kind of lassitude that squats at the heart of this project that turns me off. The music isn't good enough to pull me back. Repetition has its place as a tool for creating an ambience, but alas, that place is not on an LCD Soundsystem album.

Pleasant and rambling country rock. A little like a more churchy Townes Van Zandt, albeit the songwriting isn't up to that quality (then again, who's is?). I didn't mind this, an amiable companion to a wet weekend but hardly setting the world alight.

This was a sensation back in the day, I recall the stir it caused whilst I were nought but a mere schoolboy. Utterly strange, given just how dull it is. Richard Ashcroft must be one of the most boring people in the music biz, and he's up against Moby and half of Blur for that accolade.

So good. On the surface the music is fairly meat 'n' potatoes, but there's a real groove and intensity to much of what CCR does that it's infectious. John Fogerty has an amazing voice, of course. And the song 'Green River' is the quintessential swamp rock track. Takes this particular Limey back to the bayou, mentally, at least!

Used to listen to this loads as a yute; round my mate Simon's, Virtua Fighter 2 on the PS1 and sound off so we could listen to The Pixies, Mark Lanegan and Smashing Pumpkins. Even with that healthy shot of nostalgia in the plus column for this album, Billy Corgan's voice is such that it's still hard going in places. Not bad, though.

Wow - this feels like the shittiest excesses of the 1960s psychedelic era wrapped in the shittiest excesses of early 1990s production techniques. A horrible assault on the ears.

At least we're not getting the shit albums at the weekend at the moment.

The first album I ever bought was ELO. This one remains a favourite of mine, despite the decades they spent languishing in the mire of critical scorn. I'm glad they've undergone a minor re-evaluation, because Jeff Lynne owned the purest pop ears since Paul McCartney. The songs here feel liked they're beamed in from a softer, sunnier dimension; and it's a small marvel at just how meticulous some of the arrangements are. Lynne has the sensibility of a jeweller where creating pop is concerned - one of my favourite albums, of any genre, ever

This app is so weird - it throws up repetitive Afrobeat by some serial sex pest or completely anonymous Mitteleuropean electro-swing one moment and then - bam! - hits you with one of the most brilliant songwriters at the peak of his powers. Still, no complaints - any excuse to listen to this, albeit (whisper it) I actually prefer Dylan's post-millennium death rattle voice.

This is...really good? Even if, pervert that I am, I prefer the version of 'Mr Soul' that appears on Neil Young's lamented electro-rock album Trans. How did they get away with that 'Satisfaction' riff though? And were Sam & Dave's legal team sniffing about when they heard 'Goodtime Boy'? No matter though, there's great variety here and all of it sounds fantastic. Good playing, interesting arrangement choices, some superb vocal performances. I went into this thinking it would be all quite fey and folksy, and I've been roundly disabused of that notion. Might buy this in a physical format.

I'm not sure why I don't like this, because it's got bits of things I tend to really dig. Maybe it's that? That I tend to like my country and garage rock undiluted, but this feels like it's borrowing elements of those forms but denuding them of context. I liked a few songs, especially 'Monday' and 'Red-Eyed and Blue'. Fuck double albums.

Simply, one of my favourite albums of any genre. Crackles with energy and possesses a spring and a bounce that is all too rare. Poly Styrene was an electric frontwoman. The saxophone should have featured more in punk. I'd give this six stars if I could

The whole album isn't available on Spotify in the UK. However, what is there is quite lovely. Mellow, understated instrumentation coupled to beautiful, breathy vocals; bar one or two odd production choices (the trip hop percussion on the opening track belies its turn of the millennium provenance) this proved to be a nice surprise.

Yeah, pretty cool - this is Joni's Steely Dan album. Even the cocktail jazz track at the end is hip, for the most part. I still can't quite get along with her voice, but some really inventive music and decent songwriting throughout.

That first track, 'Dominion/Mother Russia' is an absolute banger, and there are a couple of tracks who almost reach those heights. The rest tends to slip back into fairly nondescript goth played on tinny synths and drum machines. At least the warbled singing keeps things interesting

Five stars. Why? Because it's Peace Sells...But Who's Buying by Megadeth, that's why

It costs to three stars on nostalgia alone. Dave Grohl may be the nicest guy in rock, but bless me, I've never found the Foos to be anything more than the most generic of modern stadium rock acts. Wouldn't turn 'em off if they came on the radio, but nor would I ever make a single positive move towards listening to their music. Except, I guess, thanks to this app.

As paleolithic and raw as rock and roll gets. So much to enjoy here, but the fact the final track sounds more like a Tibetan funerary drone than pop music is the icing on the cake.

This contains some of the most remarkable hip hop I've ever heard. It's uneven for sure, and it's yet another rap album that seems to have a duration of two weeks, but these quibbles pale when held up against the sheer weirdness herein. Full of eccentric sci-fi and kooky non sequiturs, I found myself straining to hear what the next oddball lyric would be. Finally, 'Earth People' is a hell of a bop, that synth is fucking sick!

Not entirely sure what to make of this. One lengthy track can be a soothing balm; one whole album can slide into the soporific. There are both cosmic and subterranean aspects to the soundscapes conjured up here, though at times I feel like it's all a little too safe and mannerly, like something composed to be played in a planetarium exhibition. I've been to Iceland, one of the more magic places in the world

Pleasant, grooving low-key funk with some really high-class musicianship on display. It's not the most spectacular record I'll ever hear, but it creates an effective late-night ambience for the most part, bar the odd touch of seasick keyboard playing (I'm thinking here of 'XL-30'). Did anyone else think Otis' singing is not too dissimilar to that of Christopher Cross?

What a strange beast this is - lots of chicken scratch white boy New Wave funk like 'Favourite Shirts' and 'Calling Captain Autumn', the latter of which almost tips over into Oingo Boingo territory. Liberal use of congas and daytime TV saxophone, which I don't mind - and smack bang in the middle is 'Fantastic Day', one of the most wonderfully uplifting examples of indie pop to emerge from the era. I do like it, quite a lot in fact, but a mildly puzzling experience.

I'm one of those tiresome people who would probably give TW five stars for 45 minutes of farting in a bathtub. Nonetheless, this is a hell of a listening experience. Insanely good!

This really sucks. It has none of the menace or intensity of, say, LA Woman; nor, I would aver, much of the poetry. The rinky-dink music exposes the Doors' failings as a blooz band, and unfortunately when they step away from that template it's to play tiresome Korla Pandit organ. Screw this.

A towering blancmange of an album that seems to teeter under it's own weight but manages to hold everything going. It's big, like a Rogers and Hammerstein production, the aural equivalent to a Busby Berkeley number; but underneath it all, deeply conservative, looking backwards both in terms of instrumentation and lyrical themes. The band thus come across more like an overheated Mott the Hoople than anything else; and atop this rock 'n' roll purist maelstrom is the inimitable Meat Loaf, bellowing and wheezing his way through the material like his life depends on it. A triumph, then, albeit a very strange and singular one.

I feel like I've been misled, I thought Laura Nyro was going to be some Laurel Canyon folkie; this was quite something else! Absolutely eccentric in both writing and execution, but exhilirating for all that. I found Nyro's policy of teeing off wildly and playing where it lay to be endearing, but can fully understand that it could be disorienting or frustrating for others. Quite what is this anyway? Mutant show tunes? Soul-jazz-kitchen sink pop?

I only really knew the two biggies from this platter (which are right next to each other); and I'd still be comfortable with that fact had I swerved this album, because I found it boring. Cornell was a great vocalist, true, but so much relies on that preternatural holler; otherwise, the paint box is a bit monochrome. Songs slide into each other without any change in mood or intent - only the subtly shifting tempi offer a clue to the listener. Dull

Nonsense.

Loved every second of this. Like something off the Nuggets compilation but somehow even more guileless than those offerings. The product of an utterly eccentric mind, and all the better for it.

What can you say? High quality mod 'n' roll with a couple of truly iconic moments thrown in. One thinks you can get bored of 'My Generation' but slap that bad boy on, pump up the volume and experience the thrill anew. 'I'm A Man' is quality too, right?

A lovely thing, this. By turns relaxing, touching, gentle and mysterious, it also happens to contain one of my very favourite guitar solos - that's Robert Fripp of King Crimson fame providing the singular contribution in the field to 'St Elmo's Fire'.

When I first searched for this on Spotify the first thing that came up was some jive from The Sims. A damning indictment of modern society. Anyway, this is really good - rhymes are sharp, the beats are accomplished and for once, guest spots are done with taste and intention. Absolutely of its era but no bad thing!

I could go the rest of my life without hearing Bo Rhap again and die a happy man. Yet, in terms of being the cherry on top of this overblown, bombastic confection, it's hard to argue with its aptness. Anyway, this also has 'Death on Two Legs', 'Love of My Life' and an eccentric love letter from Roger Taylor to his favourite motor. Oh, plus 'You're My Best Friend', the best thing Queen ever did. Eclectic, stuffed to the gills and, ultimately, glorious. Where's this ambition these days?

Catchy pop-rock pitched somewhere inbetween Badfinger and Orange Juice, which should be right up my alley. And it is, sort of - but the breathy, cooing singing wears on me after a while. I can take a track or two, but a whole album is just a hit of saccharine too much for moi.

Having never heard of this band in my thirty-something years on this planet, this is the second time in a month I've been compelled to listen to this. Once was from reading a history of the Sex Pistols, where this band were decried as too competent for punk tastes (and sported too prosaic a look); and now this app. It's weathered the years rather well, I think - like some kind of unholy alliance between the Stooges and the Rumour. I reckon you can draw a straight line between this and modern acts like the Hives and Barrence Whitfield & the Savages. I like all the bands I've mentioned so far, and I like this too - energetic, spiky but with enough guile to keep one interested once the adrenaline has settled.

Unpopular opinion - but I think Cohen is whack. His poetry is guff, his music is unlistenable (all eras) and I genuinely believe people pretend to like him for cultural cache. Emperor's new clothes made incarnate. Nonetheless, I gave this another spin to make sure my opinions haven't been coloured by youthful bile, but here we are again, bored out of my skull by Cohen.

Reinforces my long-held belief that the Beastie Boys were - are - capable of moments of brilliance, but overall are just quite good. The highs are very fun - Sabotage being the obvious standout - and I appreciated the Lee Dorsey name check in the first track. Yeah, it's fine, but my mind remains un-blown.

Fine. Not really what I listen to where Brazilian music is concerned - more into their fusion and samba (will we have any Jorge Ben Jor, I wonder?) scenes than tropicalia. Tasteful, smooth and jazzy in equal parts, but disappeared from memory almost the moment it finished. Something something seduced by a teacher something.

Believe it or not but this represented the first time I've listened to an REM album. It's good! Rocks harder than previously imagined, more saxophone too. Might try to 'get into' this band in my mid 30s, which feels a little tragic. Not half as tragic as hepping oneself to ie 100 Gecs though

This is better than the other Joy Division album, but the passage of time hasn't been entirely kind to it. In parts, this just sounds like a miserable Devo, but not as accomplished or creative. Ian Curtis sounds like a cross between Jim Morrison and Fred Schneider of the B-52s. Sorry folks, simply don't get the hullabaloo with this band.

Three albums ago I wondered whether we'd get any Jorge Ben Jor...and here we are! Not his best work in my estimation, but still five stars because it's Jorge Ben in his pomp. A lovely mix of tropicalia and funk, plus he has one of my favourite voices in popular music. Nothing here quite touches the greatness of 'Mas Que Nada', 'Take It Easy My Brother Charles' or 'Pais Tropical', but this is a remarkably cohesive collection with some spiky guitar work and insistent, rolling rhythms. So, so good. Oh, and Rod Stewart ripped off 'Taj Mahal' but made it far worse.

Really fun - Croz is a hell of a singer. Cowboy Movie wouldn't seem out of place as a gritty, choppy cut on a Neil Young platter, whilst Traction In the Rain almost has an iridescent quality to its beauty. I also liked the final tracks, eschewing words for voice and mood. Amongst the best albums this app has so far offered unto us.

On the one hand, it's pretty much variations upon a theme. On the other hand, it's a damn fine theme. The singing, the rolling piano, the overall feel of everything - I suppose it's the limitations of the era's production that I'm enjoying, but there's such a warmth and lushness to it - that I found this album quite irresistible.

Notice that the artwork looks so exceedingly modern? Smashing album by the way, ambitious in scope and, despite the majority of sounds being generated by electronic means, it has a warmth to the sound - and even a touch of humour. German is the perfect language for this kind of electro-futurism. I miss cold mornings in Berlin.

For all its turgid music, tiresome soloing, semi-coherent lyrics and overall self-satisfied idiocy, it's amazing I don't hate this dogshit even more than I do. I thought events reached a nadir with the drum spot on 'The Mule', but Gillan's dipshit shrieking on 'Strange Kind of Woman' takes the fucking cake. Candidate for worst album shat forth from this app thus far.

Not even a heart dose of nostalgia can help this one from running out of puff too early and out staying its welcome. I don't think many albums are so rooted in their particular era as this, but now I wonder what we were all thinking? Norman Cook has a coffee takeout place down by the lagoon in Hove, and he personally served me at the kiosk a few months back. I didn't recognise him.

Dog Man Star? More like, uh [brain shuts down for a good forty minutes, only vital signs a rapid flickering of the eyes] Dog Man Blah

Fun, cheesy, schmaltzy, boring - and altogether quite accomplished, this album is all of these things at different moments. Some of the material here isn't bad at all - that's a hot version of 'Apache', a very decent accounting of 'In A Gadda Da Vida', and 'Bongo Rock' has rolls along nicely. The kind of music that late night radio hosts use in their intro beds. The kind of music you can picture the Gold Digger Dancers high-kicking their way through on a Paul Lynde TV special. It's no 'Night On Disco Mountain', but what is?

Tricksy, whimsical, luminous - manages to be sophisticated but there are pop hooks all over the place. There's a dizzying array of influences on display here, from Harold Arlen to Squeeze; and I would wager that a couple of guys in Jellyfish had this album. Lovely stuff!

I just don't get this kind of plodding, lowest common denominator stuff. No ambition, no real craft, just a few wonky instruments, fey warbling as a stand in for an emotional core and quite a few tracks that veer into stomp-clap-hey territory. I didn't buy it then, and I don't buy it now.

Tiny Dancer remains infectious even if I don't particularly like it. Some dodgy stuff about Native Americans which shows its age. I hadn't heard this album before yesterday, but it contained virtually zero surprises. It sounds like I imagine Madman Across the Water by Elton John would sound. Not a huge fan of John's singing, which often sounds like he's trying to suppress a belch.

Somehow, I've never heard a single Willie Nelson track, knowingly, up until this point. I love this! Understated playing, great storytelling and a voice that holds lots of appeal for me. He deserves to be known better on these shores than as the old boy who likes smoking big doinks. Superb!

In contrast to other 90s dance albums we've had, this is very listenable probably because it follows traditional rock formats pretty closely. Not a million miles from a clattery, electro heavy metal at times. There's a huge dose of nostalgia at play here, but Breathe, Firestarter, Smack My Bitch Up and, especially, Diesel Power (adding another Kool Keith appearance to recent listening on this app) absolutely rule.

The list of personnel involved with this album is studded with legends. A fine album if disco is your bag. What about the rest of us though?

Not for me, friends. I found this exhausting. 'Oh Father' tipped me over the edge. I'm one of those people who have failed to be charmed by Madonna, and Like A Prayer hasn't done anything to shift my opinion one iota.

There were a couple of occasions where I laughed due to surprise, so audacious could Nilsson be with some of his vocal melodies. An extraordinary voice. The same cannot be said for the music, which is quirky in the conservative way a lot of albums of this era are. Still, Nilsson draws on rock, jazz, blues and balladry with aplomb, making this a varied listen - and one that doesn't outstay its welcome.

I'm sure it's good for what it is - who knows, perhaps not? - but this was borderline unlistenable. If only it were background music - alas, the brass is overpowering and obtrusive, with a hysterical quality that pierces through to your innermost core. One of my least favourite offerings from this app.

Hmm...crap, but not quite as crap as I recall. That's growth, boys

Hell yeah

Great - hard to pick any true highlights as every track seems to have a nagging, insistent hookiness to it. Enjoyable word play, tasty samples and some decent guest spots - tip top all-round, really

The old rogue does it again. I've long suspected that Cohen left the heavy lifting of creating decent, listenable music to others, adding gloss by way of his basso profundo doggerel. But he is the most charming of frauds on this album, and he possessed a voice that, pitched between old man Tom Waits and old man Kris Kristofferson, is quite irresistible

Baby's first Steely Dan album, maybe the least satisfying from their initial run, save perhaps their debut. And yet, guess what? It's five stars from me, because it's Steely fucking Dan

What's the deal with this? I hate the production job and for the most part the songs are mid-paced borefests. Plenty here to dislike but the main bugbear is the complete lack of ambition. Still, that 'Electric Eel' song sounded catchy on one of the old FIFA games.

Gruff and bearish is my favourite incarnation of Mr Mojo Risin', and overall this is the best Doors album by a long chalk. There are moments of magic sprinkled throughout, but even the more workaday moments sound of a piece. Has an electric piano sounded sexier?

As the one Brit in the group, faced up with something so aggressively British, I feel I should defend this. It's ambitious - a spoken word concept album, essentially (I would hesitate to call it rap or hip hop) that comes from a very singular perspective. Now, whether you enjoy Skinner's delivery is one thing (I don't), but his use of slang and storytelling, and ability to evoke a mood and atmosphere, are great. This was huge during my first year of university, and probably captured something of the slacker ambience of that time. Speaking of the zeitgeist, however, this album feels dated, a relic before its time - perhaps it was too honed in on the spirit of the age to endure?

This is one of those behemoth albums that seemed to be in every record store, and most people's music collections. Insane that it's taken me this long to listen - especially given its quality. But it ain't perfect, not by a long chalk - the music can be quite beautiful, and REM do a fine line in melancholy, but the tempos can feel a little samey. Minor misgivings though!

At first, I thought this was going to be a bust, given the soupy backing vocals on the opening track. However, these soon charmed me and despite the largely nondescript material, Presley's voice seduced me. The more up-tempo numbers are the best - 'Thril of Your Love', 'Such a Night', 'It Feels So Right' and especially 'Like a Baby' - but the standout is 'Fever'. One of the slinkiest, sexiest joints ever captured on wax, just sublime!

[Gordon Ramsay voice] "'Slide Show'? More like shit show." Seriously, after a night listening to the Dictators and Lightnin' Hopkins, this sounds like baby food music. At least that drab fucking album cover is fair warning of all the beige music one can expect to encounter on this platter. Avoid.

I think I like the idea of RATM more than I enjoy how that idea is executed. Another one that isn't ancient but sounds more dated than albums twice as old. Still fun, though, and righteous.

Hard to know what to make of this, as it frustrates as often as it delights, frequently within the same track. Yet its influence is beyond question - the fingerprints of 'Isi' are found on a slew of contemporary synth acts. It also happens to be a gorgeous piece of music in it's own right.

This used to be my favourite Acca Dacca album but has slipped in recent years. Why? For all its craft, it sounds like the band with the handbrake on. If it's possible to say so, this is a polite AC/DC record, and I don't want a polite AC/DC record.

Sprawling and expansive, with musicians at the peak of their game. I think this still sounds startlingly modern, and it birthed whole subgenres whose best exponents haven't ever quite reached these heights. Whether you like this or not boils down to your tolerance of jazz fusion, I suppose - I reckon this would alienate the casual listener.

Not sure I could take too much of this. Not sure I prefer the lush, delicate Holiday to the earlier, swinging incarnation. But she couldn't sing like that any more, instead pouring every ounce of emotion into her broken voice and creating this heartbreaking collection. Best experienced with lights down low, right?

Not sure anyone hits those harmony sweet spots like these boys. A lovely little collection, marred only by the plinky-plonky fart in a bathtub that's 'Marrakech Express'. The guitar sound on 'Pre-Road Downs' is fucking sick. I don't care if they're a bunch of dickhead hippies, this rules.

Not my cup of tea. Nothing really lands, does it? A bit of a cotton candy album - looks great but take a bit and there's little of substance there.

A real game of two halves - the first side is fairly anonymous synthpop, whilst the second veers off into more interesting and experimental realms. The title track and 'Jennifer' are the standouts, but there's a lot to admire here, not least of all Lennox's voice

Simply can't get excited about this

Ah, an album I've listened to endlessly. It's crass, it's dumb, wilfully offensive every now and again but it possesses so much attitude, cheek and zap-rock power that I find it irresistible. Part of the CBGB scene, and they have a good claim to have been there or thereabouts at the birth of the NYC punk scene. This, and their third album Blood Brothers, kick ass. I live for cars and girls.

The guy who invented the bossa nova beat was called Milton Banana.

This is almost a stereotype of dour, shouty British post-punk. Scratchy, wiry, discordant guitars coupled with anti-materialist sloganeering - I'll say this, the album title is a wonderfully dry bit of business. 'I Love a Man in Uniform' is my favourite Gang of Four track and it ain't here, but this is good stuff nonetheless.

Angular, clattery, post-punk performed on mostly acoustic instrumentation is a good concept, and this is well-executed. 'Blister In the Sun' and 'Gone Daddy Gone' are the obvious earworms here, but there's a lot to enjoy in this weird slacker soundscape.

I've never knowingly listened to a Taylor Swift track, though I recognised a few from this. I found the whole experience utterly depressing. I will always champion something that's incompetent but ambitious versus competent mediocrity, and this falls squarely into the latter camp. I realise I'm not the target audience for this pabulum but someone thinks it's one of a thousand-odd albums I need to hear before croaking. I'm almost glad I did, because it'll make all the other colours brighter. Lyrics and production are terrible, but overall it's the fact that this just sounds so dead that makes me recoil. This feels like music that could be written, and performed, by AI. You could tell me that there wasn't a single trace of human endeavour to be found in 1989 and I would believe you.

Never thought I'd be entering my feedback on a 1950s live Sarah Vaughan album into a mobile phone app, but here we go. What to say? Good if you like this stuff, a headache it not. 'Honeysuckle Rose' is great. I really quite enjoyed this tasteful little set.

Damn

So help me God, but this sucks. Aged like a haddock down the back of a radiator. Aged like fine milk.

Not all the music here is tip top, but I'm giving points for sheer ambition, and for spinning a rather peculiar yarn in the process. Incidentally, when the music clicks, it's fantastic. Stuff like 'Sensation', 'Pinball Wizard', and the Overture/Underture passages are top tier Who

This is different gravy! Top tier roots reggae - cool arrangements and a conceptual consistency that lends the album a rare potency. Burning Spear has a helluva voice. Love it.

Wow, even the best tune on this album is ruined by a slew of homophobic insults. Nice. It's a shame, Knopfler is a guitarist with a sweet style I genuinely like, but too often he goes missing. In place of the fretboard kinetics of 'Sultans of Swing' or 'Lady Writer', we have sub-'Gaucho' era Steely Danisms of 'Your Latest Trick' and the utterly wretched 'Walk Of Life'. 'The Man's Too Strong' starts off promisingly with some nimble folk playing but, alas, it's swamped by the 'tasteful' production of the era. What a mess.

Too hip. Possibly in my top five all time jazz albums. Responsible for a whole subgenre full of bad imitators but, both as the wellspring of an aesthetic and as a standalone collection of music, this is crazy good

This is such an inconsistent listen - topped and tailed by moments of true brilliance ('She's Fresh' - lovely Jimmy Castor Bunch sample, 'The Message') but the meat of the sandwich is hard yakka. 'Scorpio' is almost top tier, a great electro number, but it reaches its nadir when the Furious Five fall over each other to suck up to Stevie Wonder.

Listenable, with a couple of proper standouts - 'Rock Box' absolutely rips - but I'm too distracted by that nursery rhyme delivery particular to so much 1980s hip hop.

This is kinda...crap, no?

Ha, yes, definitely edges out Fred Schneider as the best talking singer. I own this album, it's too hip. Not everything works, but that's often the case with a mind as original as Reed's. I'll always pick a curious failure over mediocre competence

Two-tone was a cool movement, genuinely integrated and responsible for great bands like the Specials, The Selecter and Madness. Previously on this app I stated that I didn't care for polite AC/DC, and to a degree I think the same applies to Madness. Nothing here hits the zany heights of 'One Step Beyond', 'House Of Fun' or 'Night Boat to Cairo'...but as a collection, this is really solid. I don't think a band should be penalised for spreading their wings, and here they try on a few different hats, including cocktail jazz and music hall. There are some quality tracks here too! 'Our House' is a deserved commercial behemoth, but less heralded tunes like 'Tiptoes' and 'Mr Speaker' are ace too. I feel like on this album, Madness were edging into the same territory as Squeeze - and doing it fairly successfully. Bonus points also awarded due to the fact that Suggs' speaking and singing voices are exactly the same.

Yeah, I dig this. The very definition of a three and a half star album for me. It's got a couple of points that are superior - and, in the case of the title track, one of my favourite soul numbers, period - but too much filler creeps in to give it that replay factor. But it's better than average, for sure.

Strange stuff here. I don't actually like the 'classic' Beach Boys harmony sound; comes across as a mess of whooping and hooting. That material sounds tired on this album; and elsewhere, the 'lighter' stuff about feet and trees and whatnot is embarrassing. But there are hints of more interesting horizons here 'n' there, and 'Disney Girls' is a great tune whichever way you fold it.

The background music to a tastefully-lit European sex party. Pretty good.

A brawling, churning album with capital 'p' politics - and it's a great listen. Everything explodes out of the speakers - but highlights include the buzzsaw grind of 'By the Time I Get to Arizona' and the bludgeoning 'Bring The Noise' (possibly the best thing Anthrax ever did, incidentally).

Awful in ways difficult to describe. A performance hammier than a telenovela set on a pig farm, wrapped in spun-sugar arrangements so saccharine they made my teeth melt. This has been, easily, my least favourite offering on this app so far. Punishing Kiss is ridiculous, but not in any kind of fun way - it feels like a horribly calculated misstep. I imagine this is in 1001 albums one must listen to, so that every now and again were are consoled that the sweet embrace of the tomb is not so far away.

I liked this without loving it. It feels like a darker, more forbidding counterpart to Autobahn. I think I would need to be in the mood for something this downbeat, whilst the serene, gliding rhythms of Autobahn went down far easier.

Can't dance to this, can you? Disturbing soundscape that pressages a fair amount of dark ambient. I bet this was cool back in the 1970s with a good set of headphones and a certain degree of, ah, refreshment

Pretty ripe the first time around. Time has, alas, not been kind

Cool - the instrumental cuts are sleek and classy, hitting similar beats to Gaucho era Steely Dan. The title track, featuring Randy Crawford's impeccable vocals, is solid gold. No grit in this oyster, but a muso's dream nonetheless.

There are some really great songs on this - 'Moral Kiosk', 'Catapult' and '9-9' would be my favourites - and a fair amount I don't care for. As for the latter, I think I dislike those songs in thrall of, and built around, Michael Stipe's voice, which I find to be a rather grey and pallid thing. The penultimate track almost sounds like Gerry and the Pacemakers. Uneven but interesting.

Fell asleep briefly in the middle of the day listening to this. When I awoke it was to a cacophony of babbling. Then Mo Tucker sang a song. Most unsatisfying.

Who let Eric Clapton sing? Who let Ginger Baker sing?? There's some proper ballast filling this out, but the best stuff - 'Strange Brew', 'SWLABR', 'Sunshine...' - is simply immense. Anyway, happy new year and fuck that racist dickhead Clapton.

Love her voice. Quite a bit here that I really enjoyed on this rather downbeat offering, but a little too much filler to nudge it into 'repeat' territory. And those interludes - man, why spell things out like that? Show, don't tell!

Entirely pleasant, and a few moments that stood out. But ultimately washed over me in a miasma of pedal steel and cornpone. Quite lovely if it catches you in the right mood, and you can hear its reverberations down through time in almost every subsequent country rock album. Good stuff.

Superb, sounds like a real anachronism coming out at the time it did. King Crimson often sounded more expansive, grown-up and frankly more sinister than their peers - probably because they were. Nice to see a band that was (kind of) from my hometown represented on here!

Fuck yes, five stars is the least I could give this masterpiece. This absolutely rips. Don't make 'em like this any more, do they?

Putting aside what a blooter he is, I simply don't like Morrissey's voice. Some of the music here is pretty fun, but struggling to hear quite what all the fuss is about. Never really given The Smiths a chance before because I've always considered them for soft lads. And, eh, not bad, but not mindblowing

Incubus are a band beloved by my peers but I've always kept at arm's length. With 'Make Yourself', I can see both why people like them, but also feel fully justified in giving 'em the swerve. Funky, hip-hop influenced, vaguely nu-metal - they certainly have their own niche. I like some of their chewy riffs, and for 1999 - the land that good guitar tones forgot - they get some lovely noises out of their instruments. But for all their slippery rhythms and undoubted skill, they're missing the x factor, the thing that allows them to kick free from terra firma and fly. They play it all a little safe, no? Lack of competence can be forgiven (can be a bonus sometimes); lack of ambition cannot.

Cookie cutter indie with absolutely no distinguishing features. Just choke the air with reverb laden guitars and chiming pianos. Make every song sound like an uphill slog with a cheap emotional payoff as your reward. Fuck this, I actively hate this kind of lazy, faux-sincere hogwash

Hey, these guys are onto something here! In all sincerity, I was actually a little surprised at how poorly some of this has aged. The highs are incredible, but there's some right old tripe on this too. Still rather good for all that.

Don't think this could be more 1960s if it tried. Mild psychedelia? Three-chord garage rock? Trippy flute solo? Blue-eyed soul? Check, check, check and check. It all holds together really nicely though! Side two is the strongest, kicking off with the immortal summertime stroller 'Groovin'' and finishing on the wonderful 'It's Love'. My favourite cut, though, is the driving, aggressive 'You Better Run' - it kicks ass on a reasonably wimpy album. Very good all told.

How to fairly review this? Everything is perfectly listenable, so begin at three stars. Some of the arrangements are really soupy - minus one. Plus one for Dusty's voice - she could sing my car insurance policy to me. And add one for the combined effort of 'Son of a Preacher Man' and 'Windmills of Your Mind'? Four stars seems about right. Not huge on torch songs, but this is about as good as they get.

I love this album. Richard Hawley is a weird one - a Big Name in British music, who will always garner critical praise and find top-notch collaborators. But as a popular act, he'll never cut through. That's probably because he's ploughing quite a lonely furrow as Britpop's own Roy Orbison / Johnny Cash revanchist. I'm glad somebody's doing it, as this is gorgeous, lovingly crafted and thick with atmosphere. Hawley shepherds the ghosts of the past with grace and charm, yet there's enough of the man himself here to prevent this being a glorified tribute act.

This baby food was dog awful the first go around when it seemed to be the only music for sale at Borders - on what basis is it considered one of the top 1001 albums to listen to before you die? Just how close to death does one have to be to enjoy David Gray?

Yet another hip hop marathon of under-baked or half-realised ideas. Why can't the producers or artists see fit to trim the fat off these exhausting exercises in immoderation?

This was revelatory in the sense that I've finally been able to pin down the sound I encountered at numerous university open mic nights. Sleepy, hazy, slightly smokey, an aversion to consonants - this is Orton's singing style, and subsequently that of many lesser campus imitators. Anyway, this is a bit disappointing, because much of the promising material gets lost in Orton's rather monochrome delivery. It's an arresting voice at first, but the ersatz keening melancholia wears thin after a while. 'So Much More' is easily the highlight, and the one time where I think we hear a range of colours in Orton's voice. She should've leaned into the light goth-folk a little more; unfortunately, much of the filigree on Central Reservation comes from bland electronica instrumentation. The start of 'Stars All Seem to Weep' sounds like something from the soundtrack to Streets of Rage II.

Morrissey is a shit but he does have a way with words and a mordant wit that I do enjoy despite this. The music itself isn't exactly the stuff that floats my boat - pleasant enough but unambitious - though fundamentally listenable. Separate art from artist and this is pretty good! Pretty good! I'm fine with this, really! Not bad!

Cat Steven's was supposed to be the patron saint of the patchouli-infused bedsit dweller, and as such I thought it would all be a little more fey than this. I like it when there's a bit of bite in Stevens' voice! 'Wild World', despite its rather patronising chorus hook, and 'Father and Son' are rightly lauded as standouts. The other thing that struck me is the production - every instrument feels very live and present. I'd happily listen to this again.

Wow - this feels like it had a bit of everything; hard funk, psych soul, yacht rock, even something resembling a Zappa instrumental. Unlike other lengthy albums, not one moment felt like a chore. So many chewy, fun musical ideas here. 'I Wish' was my favourite song on this collection, but as someone not particularly familiar with Stevie Wonder, it was a kick to hear the track that Coolio's biggest hit was built around too.

These guys were huge, but on closer inspection sound a lot like the Quireboys. Smatterings of Foghat, Blackfoot and the less interesting aspects of Zep too. I could dig it, but if I bought the album it would probably be lost in the shuffle. Three and a generous half stars?

Really enjoyed this, even if the musical hooks aren't quite there to push it into the stratosphere. Great MCing, especially on the more humorous tracks. In terms of texture it doesn't feel a million miles from Souls of Mischief.

Doesn't this feel very distant from the modern renderings of country music, be it pop, outlaw or whatever stripe you care to name. Yet despite the lush arrangements and lack of shorthand country signifiers, this is a bold and interesting take on the genre. 'I Can't Stop Loving You' and 'Careless Love' are stupendous. Country music in a big band format? Works for me - especially when interpreted by Charles. Just a guy I love to hear sing!

A listenable album that has a bit of an identity crisis. It starts out sounding like the Cars, there's some Police in there, and finishes up sounding like latter-day Oingo Boingo. Still, Lauper has a distinctive voice and the first half especially is full of hooks. Fun without being essential.

Curious how this one snuck into the top 1,001 as I reckon it's unremarkable, verging on dull. Opener 'Darkness, Darkness' is by far the best cut on this joint but even that is ruined by the 'trippy' production - see Robert Plant for a superior version. A couple of nice modal, folksy riffs can't make up for a whole bunch of blah.

My goodness, so many good songs here. And so many that I didn't realise I knew. Pick of the bunch is 'Baby Driver', but I'm wondering - did these guys pioneer noise gated drums? Otherwise, what is that snare sound on the title track and 'The Boxer'? What an achievement. Going to go buy a physical copy of this bad boy post haste.

Sprawling, ambitious and yet I feel like the songwriting never tapers off. Essentially a meditation upon southern identity viewed through the lens of the Lynyrd Skynyrd plane crash - feels like the hardscrabble obverse to Randy Newman's more arch and mannered 'Good Ol' Boys'. 'Ronnie and Neil' is one of the best rock songs I've heard in a good while. There's another track that kicks off by talking about seeing Blue Oyster Cult on acid, aged 14 - excellent.

Eh, I like the way these guys play in the studio. Let loose in a live environment, however, and they become self-indulgent. There's simply not enough present in their undoubted facility with blues rock to keep me hooked on these lengthy jams. And the longeurs are a shame, because in more concise forms 'Statesboro Blues' and 'Whipping Post' are damn fine songs

Not sure how to rate this. Parts of this album truly irked me, but there were other aspects that felt truly affirming. I have to applaud the ambition on display, too. I am, however, in no particular rush to listen again

Unabashedly love this. At Reading Festival one year I had given up watching Blur because they were dogshit and Damon Albarn was a stumbling mess. Instead I dodged into a tent just in time to see Billy Bragg get going. What a performance! Great, impassioned performances and anecdotes that roamed from overtly political to romantic. And that's what I hear in this album, too. Yeah, 'Power in the Union' (comrades! Does this not warm the blood?) is the big one but there's so much here that is honest, big hearted and not without craft. I love Bragg's voice, too. None of this mid-lantic bobbins, despite Bragg's Amerophiliac tendencies (at least, where music is concerned).

Much of this washed over me, but in a very pleasant way. There are some wonderful standouts such as 'I Know What I Like' and 'Firth of Fifth', the latter especially containing some wonderful textures. Listen closely and there's often something interesting happening - problem is, I wasn't compelled to zoom in enough

It's long been fashionable to dump on the Eagles. Charges include their insipid songwriting, privilege of facility over feeling and just downright dullness. I think those are fair critiques, to an extent. Side two of 'Hotel California' ticks those boxes; 'Last Resort' being the prime culprit. But side one - it's pretty good, no? The title track is overplayed but, when rationed out, still has a kick to it. 'Life in the Fast Lane' is a genuinely good cautionary tale of excess. The Eagles are a strange duck, as they can be great or terrible, sometimes in the span of the same song. At least this platter didn't contain 'James Dean', in my top five hated rock songs of all time.

Really tuneful jangly indie that leans almost into power pop territory. None of the songs outstay their welcome, so each is like a technicolour splash in the ol' auditory canal. Nothing stood out, which is perhaps a strength - ie, everything here is of a consistent high quality

Perhaps this isn't particularly ambitious - we ain't talking Captain Beefheart here - but there's a lot of quality on display here. It sounds like the instrumentation actually relies on decent performances rather than a cut 'n' shut ProTools job, and the production is sympathetic. But let's not beat around the bush, the main attraction is Adele's remarkable voice. Like, say, a Dusty Springfield, she is able to elevate the material. Some of the choruses here absolutely soar. Amused that the percussion intro to 'I'll Be Waiting' resembles that of Isaac Hayes' 'Good Love 69-9-69'.

Not for me, boyos!

One of the first jazz albums to come into my possession. This could be seen as 'baby's first jazz' in some respects, as it's a light, clean listen with enough toe-tappers for popular appeal. However, even repeated exposure to 'Take Five' hasn't dimmed its lustre. There's a high degree of sophistication at play here - Brubeck was influenced by the rhythms of Balkan and Bulgarian folk music, so 'Take Five', 'Blue Rondo...' step outside of 4/4 time and take the cool paradigm into slippery places. Five stars all the way, I spin this one frequently.

This, to the younger version of me, was the entrepot to a world of music I couldn't even conceive of existing. Simply, I'd never heard guitar like this. 'Foxy Lady' has probably enjoyed the longest afterlife - and it is a priapic blooter of gigantic proportions - but as I've got older, it's the more subtle tracks that have revealed their charms to me. That outro solo to 'May This Be Love' is one of the most lyrical guitar parts I've ever heard. Magic stuff.

These guys certainly knew how to filch from the best, I'll give them that!

I love this, unabashedly. I can tell why my grandpa had his first heart attack! Hotcha! Seriously though, this album overflows with a joy and brio that more than compensates for its vintage. The opening medley was hip enough for David Lee Roth to cover, but it's not even the highlight. I love the spritzing of the ol' italiano in 'Oh, Marie'; I love the clever silliness of 'The Lip'; I love the spot of Grieg dropped in to 'Body and Soul'. It's rare that an album combines fun with chops so adroitly. Also, isn't Prima's huffy foghorn voice wonderful? Yes, through the lens of the present day he would be charged with cultural appropriation - ever since Mezz Mezzrow, white guys in jazz had tried to mesh by sounding like they'd swallowed Cab Calloway's 'Hepster Dictionary' wholesale. Still, this is wonderful - and didn't Prima do a fine job in the Jungle Book also?

I like it - raw and rudimentary in execution but this really blows the cobwebs away. I can understand the influence this supposedly had on punk, but what I hear most strongly coming through is the first couple of J Geils Band albums. 'Boss Hoss' especially so, but the cover of 'Money' also seems to have its reflection in the J Geils' version of 'First I Look at the Purse'. Tidied up a little and 'Have Love Will Travel' would've been a monster hit in the 00s for one of the big garage band revival acts.

I actively dislike 'Sympathy for the Devil' - those background hoots really grate. The sexual politics of 'Stray Cat Blues' are grim. 'Prodigal Son' is the closest Jagger got to outright minstrelsy. Yet, I love the album - and those latter two tracks are superb, in their own way. Hell, I don't think I'd have ever tried open tuning were it not for 'Prodigal Son'. Elsewhere, 'Street Fighting Man' swaggers around, whilst my favourite track is the iridescent slow blues of 'No Expectations'. Not quite my favourite Stones album, but close.

Decent, could possibly creep into a four star album on another day. At times these guys sounded like a more rough-and-tumble version of Television; or perhaps a more polite Stooges. The genuinely emotive vocals add welcome grit to the rather polished production. This is only a few primal howls short of true brilliance - but this record never quite overcomes its own innate good manners to reach this point.

Big, brassy Afro-Cuban jazz with the subtlety of a sledgehammer. Not particularly unpleasant to listen to, though some of the horn stabs could feel a bit pugnacious. Still, I doubt I will ever listen to this again - it simply failed to land with me.

A tad rudimental, no? But for all that, effective rock 'n' roll. My views on Oasis have mellowed with age, and I've come to appreciate the idiosyncratic vocal delivery pitched halfway between John Lennon and Johnny Rotten. A nice, stompy collection of of big rock numbers that delivers subtlety like a smack around the chops - and all the better for it.

In retrospect, this was a load of old pump, wasn't it? The most half-finished, half-baked sounding album encountered on this app so far, despite it dragging on for an hour.

Da Crapo. (But seriously, what's going on here? Because I absolutely adore the follow up album. This one feels so unfocused and messy. Even the biggie, 7 and 7 Is, sounds half-realised. The biggest bum note, though, is Revelation. They're simply not a good enough or interesting enough group of musicians to pull off an eighteen minute-and-change track. Hell, even the best struggle at times. Do yourselves a favour and head directly to Forever Changes where Love is concerned.)

Am I the only person who finds the whole Prince deal to be faintly ridiculous? And I say that as someone who went to see him in concert. A man as naturally charismatic and sexy as Prince didnt need to try so hard, but nonetheless he does. Everything feels so sweaty and unnecessary. The production is incredible, there are so many tricks and juicy bits to enjoy but ultimately I'm left feeling hollow.

This one properly comes out swinging, but then sinks into a kind of jangle pop torpor, only to pick up again near the end. The longeurs of the mid-set sag are enough to drag this down a star or two. Still, there's a nice variety in the sonic palette here, and the lyrics are as arch and knowing as one might expect. Good, without being great - 'A Rush and a Push and the Land Is Ours' being the standout.

This is, and I don't mean this in any pejorative sense, the most 1990s album I've encountered thus far on this app. Still, I really enjoy the slinky vocals, and for the most part the songs hang together nicely without really popping. You don't tend to hear guitar or hi-hat tones like that in modern productions any more, do you? Highlight is the enigmatic 'Queer', though most of this is very listenable.

The template for this album will unfold is established early on, but that doesn't prevent this from being half an hour of fun. Plus, Little Richard was a charismatic, expressive singer who could carry even the more pedestrian material through character alone. 'Tutti Frutti' is a classic that deserves its place in the annals of rock 'n' roll, a wild, swinging number - but 'Jenny Jenny' and 'She's Got It' come close to capturing the kind of abandon that made LR such a draw. A honking sax and some proper piano pumping - good fun, even if there's not much to sit with once the music stops.

Having read the band described as punk-funk-reggae-metal I was filled with dread. Am I just a snob? Nonetheless, this is a four star album that I'll most likely never listen to again. Kicking off an album with a funk metal cover from Curtis Mayfield's best album is a ballsy move - but, as is shown again and again, Fishbone have the chops to pull it off. I found this to be a lot of fun whilst pottering about my kitchen - a mini-riot of genres and styles painted in bold technicolour. Evidently they're great musicians. However, it doesn't stick - this is fun in the vein of a fairground waltzer ride; good craic whilst it lasts.

The strange thing here is that Janis Joplin's reputation is often staked on her R&B prowess, but I think her best performances here are on 'Me and Bobby McGee' (country) and 'Trust Me' (soul ballad). When the band gets hot she pushes herself to match the energy and I'm not sure I like the results quite as much. Still, this is a great collection - production is crisp, the execution is on point and I even like the instrumental track. Sad that this was Joplin's final testament, as there are hints as to what could have been.

This was fun! A little repetitive at times, but that's inherent to the form, I guess. A huge undertaking to make a catchy, danceable album using sound collages. Very cool, very impressive.

Is it terrible that I found this really dull? Repetitive soundscapes, fairly boring and unvarying delivery by Ice Cube and a production that grates rather than pops. As a chronicle of anger at racism and institutional discrimination it is eloquent. As an apologist for some of Cube's prior stated positions, it's iffy. As entertainment, it doesn't cut it for this listener.

I wanted to do this properly - give the album a good listen, dissect the good and bad, try to dig out why this merits being on this app. However, and with all due respect, this is absolute dog. The one thing I will say is that I can hear echoes of Carey in a slew of artists who trailed in her wake, so its influence is not to be doubted. The music itself is crap - without the vocals, it's what you get when on hold to your car insurer. Surprisingly, the vocals are rank, too. Carey is no doubt a supreme technical singer, but her primacy of technique over feeling leaves this a real mess of melisma. With some more judicious choices the ballad 'Butterfly' could be a lovely song. And by 'judicious', I mean 'restrained'. Even that husky, breathy ersatz sotto voce (her greatest legacy) fails to sound sexy when it's pumping and heaving against a wall of similar vocals, trilling and gushing to fill every last corner of the soundscape. It has the potential to harrow. Hell, there's even a bit in my favourite track where Carey sounds like she's struggling to breathe properly. I'm sure someone can correct me on her breath control, but much of the time it's as if she's about to sneeze.

As a rock dude I feel like I should be much more reverent towards Machine Head than I am. It has a couple of legitimately fantastic tracks like 'Highway Star' and 'Space Truckin'' - and even 'Smoke On the Water', a right old plodder, cruises by on the basis of *that* riff. But the rest of Machine Head veers between mediocre and annoying. The Purps take themselves and their lumpen proto-metal far too seriously. And in Gillan, they have the perfect frontman for this guff - hammy, self-important and as subtle as a brick sandwich. Still, Paice and Blackmore made 'em listenable.

I like this stuff! A whole album does somewhat soak into the walls a little, but there's a three-song run in the middle of the album beginning with 'A Pair of Brown Eyes' and finishing with a rendition of Ewan MacColl's 'Dirty Old Town' that is quite magical. Now, what do we all think of the Irish accents? Is this any different from European rock and popacts doing an American twang when singing? Or does it seem like a calculated attempt at injecting an extra dose of authenticity into the mix?

Wow, this is a disappointment. I'd been looking forward to this given its revered status, but I'm left with a feeling of emperor's new clothes about the whole experience. I will say this - I appreciate the animating spirit, and I think the instruments themselves really pop out of the speakers. It crackles with vitality, but the execution is wanting. Really simple song structures that pretty much go quiet-loud-quiet-loud. I've read a fair bit about Surfer Rosa and will seek out some more reviews as I want to be clued into what I'm missing.

Impressive, inasmuch as this seems almost precision-engineered to annoy the living fuck out of me

I own this album already - not my favourite, definitely a bit of a curio, but the Cramps managed to extract the gothic potential from rockabilly. A novel, creative and quite original enterprise, even though I'm not wholly in love with the results

Slick, haughty and perhaps even a touch forbidding - Duran Duran in their pomp sound like a band that simply didn't produce music for the lumpenproletariat. But before you dismiss this as the soundtrack to boardroom cocaine binges, think again; the boys knew how to write a brilliant pop song, even when mucking around with the rule book. All the big songs on here - 'Rio', 'Hungry...' shimmer and shine; perhaps even better are 'Save a Prayer' with its wonky synth riff, and 'The Chauffeur', a startling slice of pop modernism. 'Rio' still sounds a bit like the future.

Hard to pick this one apart. Sufficient perhaps to just say that this is one of the greatest jazz albums in the history of the genre - and maybe on of the greatest albums, full stop?

Very interesting - a sound that is of the blues, but not blues; of country, but not country; yet these two elements are blended in too thickly to to allow this to be simply called post-punk. This is wiry, haunted music sometimes played with the lope of Bob Wills or the prowl of a Howlin' Wolf. The main characteristic, though, is how organic and alive the band sounds, shifting and shuffling tempos and dynamics with none of the lockstep niceties of a metronome. Peculiar, singular, rootsy, a little gothic even. Hard to recall hearing too much like this before now.

I really like the timbre of Khaled's voice but two things really let this down - cheap-sounding production and a lack of memorable songs. A more sympathetic backing would elevate this more than exponentially. Perfectly listenable, but not my cup of mud, brutha.

Runs out of puff a little on the final furlong, but for fans of classic rawk-oriented grunge, this is top notch. Bangers sprinkled all over the place on this platter. I will say this - as impressive as Vedder's voice is, I do find it a little bit of a battering ram at times. A little more colour in the singing and instrumentation might have pushed this into five star territory. Still - all very listenable!

An album I already own, and for good reason - rock hard fusion played by some of the best in the biz. Not sure anyone who isn't already on the jazz train will be converted, although this bad boy does a decent job of reaching across the aisle to the funksters

Sheer class. What's more remarkable is that this disco-funk-soul crossover seems to have been a fully human endeavour. If you think you're hearing a trumpet, it's because you're hearing a trumpet. And that's no drum machine - that's the metronomic ministrations of the late great Tony Thompson. 'Le Freak' is an obvious highlight, and still sounds ultra fresh. I also really enjoyed the cool instrumental 'Savoir Faire', 'I Want Your Love' and '(Funny) Bone'. Hell, the much lamented Bernard Edwards gives a nice vocal on 'Happy Man'. Truth be told, everything hits on 'C'est Chic', whether it's the party bangers or the slow burners. Nile Rodgers and Bernard Edwards at their peak.

A musty, dark and rather crabbit little album - if you forget that it's also casually helping to invent heavy metal in the first place. The interplay between Ward's impressionistic drumming and Butler's bass playing is beautiful. Yes, Iommi provided the huge riffs ('Iron Man' pretty much kick-starting the entire doom metal genre) but it was the boys in the rhythm section who ensured Sabbath's sound remained so idiosyncratic. Lovely stuff!

Gives hope to all of us bums with out-of-tune acoustic guitars! Listenable, if not quite as remarkable as legend has it. Both 'The Man Who Sold the World' and especially 'Where Did You Sleep Last Night' crackle with menace and verve, but there are a few moments here that fade into the background. Still, a cool record of an undoubtedly landmark moment. Acoustic and semi-acoustic shows by full bands are quite the norm now, in big part due to the Unplugged series.

I like space rock, or at least I thought I did. Turns out I like a specific strain - namely that howling, swooping variety based on motorik rhythms as pioneered by the likes of Hawkwind. Perhaps I just like Hawkwind. With Hawkwind, you felt like you were on a truly cozmik psychonautic rough ride; Spacemen 3, at least on this album, prefer to float in the stratosphere. It's deep in atmosphere and no doubt scratches a certain itch. 'Lord Can You Hear Me' is a pretty, haunting tune. 'Revolution' is the closest they come to achieving blast off. Perhaps a little too spaced out for my liking overall.

This one feels especially inessential. I suppose the one thing in its favour is, were you to ask me to simply imagine a rock album from 1997, the resulting mental composite would sound a lot like 'Tellin' Stories' by the Charlatans. 'One To Another' has a bit of a sting in the tail; 'How High' ain't too bad; and I quite enjoyed the quirky instrumental 'Area 51'. Everything else just sounds safe, conservative, uninspired and boring.

Like a less artful Rolling Stones in places. I like the production and the overall vibe, though goodness only knows what the singer is doing on the first track - it sounds like he's gargling his own tongue.

This is very good, on the basis that you like music that shuffles about and murmurs to itself without particularly going anywhere. But why should it? It's a cozy, finely wrought soundscape that Beck has pieced together here, and the result is an album that is a quiet joy. Why not a five? Perhaps it's just a little too comfortable with itself. A minor criticism though...

Well. The music is utterly forgettable indie rock with all the trimmings. Lyrically, there are a couple of zingy moments. But my goodness, that's a voice one could get bored of very, very quickly. So wearing and wearisome, in fact, that these hangdog vocals overshadow everything else. In an already muted soundscape, such a lugubrious performance merely serves to poison the well. Good name for a band, though.

Tell your sons about the Wu.

Waits has carved out quite the niche, playing rackety, gothic shaggy dog tales from the demimonde on a bunch of instruments that feel like they're on the verge of falling apart. And I love it!

Only a lack of focus stops this from being a great album. The opening salvo of 'Band on the Run', 'Jet' and 'Bluebird' is as good as anything in pop. Sounds fantastic on a decent set of speakers. What more should I add? Does anyone need to observe that Paul McCartney knows his way around a tune? I assume this has been noted in the past.

Well, 'Starstruck' and the weird, slightly unsettling 'Monica' are two of my favourite Kinks tracks; whilst 'Picture Book' is one of my favourite pop songs, full stop. Just those three songs alone warrant five stars. But you know what? The rest is a joy too - charming, ambitious and seemingly unfettered by received notions of what rock music should treat as its subject matter. Very British, wry, observant and rather lovely.

I always say to myself that I prefer reggae at the rootsier end of the spectrum...and then this polished, pop-oriented album comes along and makes a mockery of my supposed convictions. Anchored by probably the finest rhythm section in reggae, this is full of bangers - I'm not even a huge fan of 'Three Little Birds' not 'One Love / People Get Ready', and it doesn't matter because everything preceding these is solid gold. And these two tunes, whilst a bit saccharine for my tastes, are perfectly listenable. 'Jamming' is playful, with a great vocal hook in the verse; 'Natural Mystic' lopes along with a kicky, underrated bassline; and 'Waiting In Vain' is a lovely song brimming with yearning. Oh well - back to The Congos for me!

Big fun, a record that swings mightily, almost in defiance of the experiments in jazz going on around them. With musicians playing free and post bop just around the corner, it almost feels audacious that Basie would pick this particular moment to detonate a powerhouse big band record of this magnitude.

I don't think the one-two punch of openers 'Alone Again Or' and 'A House Is Not a Motel' has ever been bettered. What a strange, illusory collection of songs. Everything kinda falls between the cracks of folk, rock and psychedelia. Just when you think you have a handle on a lyric, some discordant image jumps out to unnerve or surprise. A dark and disquieting moment in the midst of the Summer of Love.

Having never knowingly listened to kd lang, I didn't quite know what to expect - but it wasn't this. From what I'd read, I was expecting something more countrified, but in the main this is quite syrupy pop rock. A couple of numbers land, and it must be said that lang has a remarkable voice - but it can't carry a collection of unimaginative, safe arrangements. A little more grit in the oyster would've benefited this album. Still, if you're after a smooth, well-executed song cycle with a splash of the prairie and a a few neat chord progressions, you could do a lot worse than Ingenue.

This could quite easily be a Wu Tang Clan album - RZA helming production, Method Man's personality shining through, similar dusty-sounding beats and samples. And it's fine, not great, not bad, but fine. It doesn't pop as much as the first Wu Tang release, and it can be a little samey; proceedings are enlivened when guest performers appear. Still, MM is an inventive craftsman - even when playing it safe, the results are satisfying.

Good singing, good playing - and, truly, a couple of moments of transcendence. Of course, the entirety of 'Layla' - but also the gliding 'Why Does Love Got To Be So Sad', and let's throw 'Bell Bottom Blues' into the mix - it's like a superior David Gates number. The rest can be hard work - do we really need over nine minutes of blues workout 'Key to the Highway', especially this rather pedestrian version? 'It's Too Late' is a real fucking snoozer, so I guess it's good that 'Layla' wakes you up directly afterwards. No, too much of this album reeks of the smug satisfaction of a bunch of musos 'getting in together', yet, with a few notable exceptions, failing to do anything fun, original or affecting. Where's the passion, the madness, the lifeforce that powers the very best music? It's barely hinted at here. The pipe and slippers, however, were surely not too far away...

The doomiest of the classic era Sabbath albums - you can almost hear a whole new genre being birthed - but probably the least sticky in terms of riffs. I love the 1970s inasmuch as you could put some rammell like 'Laguna Sunrise' on an album like this, and you can even get away with 'FX', which sounds like some aimless noodling. You know what though? Slightly clunky piano aside, 'Changes' ain't half bad, even though the late Charles Bradley made it his own. Pioneering in terms of head-crushing doom; emblematic in the 'anything goes' way a lot of rock from this era was. Which I find charming.

What's the big deal here? It's alright, reasonably listenable rock music. A singer who is by turns affecting and irritating, and some really crap production choices, are the standouts here. Decent drummer, too

So I have to slog through all these clunky keyboard tones without even a "VALERIIIIEEE - CALL MEEEE" as compensation? Fair play though, Winwood played every note on this album. Suits a certain mood, a fairly classy but anonymous collection overall. An absolute Rolls Royce of a voice.

Simply Red (and Mick Hucknall) have long been the butt of jokes and the sneers of critics on these shores, and as such I was primed to join in with the ludification. But...this is really good. Hucknall is a good singer, the album is full of grooves, and in 'Holding Back the Years' they have a ballad for the ages. I really dig the light funk groove that pervades - 'Come to My Aid', 'Jericho', 'Money's Too Tight' all sparkle. 'Sad Old Red' is a very decent cabaret jazz number. One that I'll stick on the stereo again in the near future.

Even at its hokiest and most derivative, there is a strain of 1970s rock that is still very listenable because it has a certain groove and feeling behind it. 'A Nod's...' falls squarely in this category, although I'm doing it a little disservice as some of the material is strong - 'Miss Judy's Farm' heaves and sweats, 'Stay With Me' is rollicking good fun, and the ballads are generally done well. Also in its favour are two distinctive vocalists, which add a little variety to the mix. Overall, the tumbledown charm mitigates against hearing yet another uninspiring minor pentatonic blooz rock riff being squeezed out for the umpteenth time. This album is like an arm thrown boozily around the shoulder by some reprobate mate as he leads you to another bar - even though you had originally planned for a quiet pint or two. Good fun!

It's fine, whatever. Faded into the background. I know people who rave about this album but it barely left a mark. A couple of tracks sounded like 1980s era Stranglers. Oh well.

Joan Armatrading has produced some great, albeit inconsistent, albums down the years and can turn out memorable songs. 'Love and Affection', found here, is probably her most famous - deservedly so, it's gorgeous. There's a pleasing restlessness to the rest of the album, as Armatrading explores a range of moods and approaches. It may not always stick first time around but the songwriting is top notch and the proceedings are held together nicely by Armatrading's ringing guitar attack. One to sit with, but patience has its rewards.

To quote the late Norm Macdonald, "critics called it everything, from shit to fucking shit."

How peculiar. Technique starts off with some pungent electro in the form of 'First Time', and later on 'Vanishing Point' picks up the baton...but in between it's a whole load of anaemic indie-ish synthrock. Sung, I should add, in the most characterless voice imaginable. A band whose appeal I've never truly understood, and this album hasn't really helped me. The filler-to-killer ratio is worse than Iron Maiden's - and this is one of their better albums? Give me a break.

Already own this album, and I have to admit - after The Kick Inside, this one took a while to grow on me. But grow it did! Kate Bush's lush soundscapes are augmented with prominent use of synthesised sounds, including what I take to be a Fairlight - and it works. Yes, it's a sleeker proposition than many of the preceding albums. That works for me! Hell, there's even a Mick Karn bass line on 'Heads We're Dancing'. Bush's singing is every bit as characterful as it ever was, and on this release seems to find new depths of feeling. Am I off-base by suggesting that this is Bush's most overtly feminist collection to date? Regardless, it's indebtedness to New Wave aside, The Sensual World is a peculiar, original, lovely creation.

Springsteen has long posed something of a conundrum to me, and 'Darkness...' does little to contradict this notion. But first, let me say that this album is damn good. As a Brit, I see Springsteen, for better or worse, as the rocker who most embodies a version of America that is hardscrabble and tough, but nonetheless finds time to dream. My issue is that the music scoring this widescreen movie can either feel extraordinary or utterly prosaic - often on the same album. So 'Badlands' is enjoyable but sounds like a Meat Loaf album track; the next joint, 'Adam Raised a Cain', is superlative. The E Street Band always sound best when they're revving their engines, a coiled knot of potency just ready to explode. The best example here - and my favourite song - is 'Candy's Room'. Still, despite my carping the ebb and flow of 'Darkness...' works and the sound is as distinctive as it is big. Highly recommended, flaws 'n' all.

After two tracks I was ready to write this off as Teenage Fanclub on percocets, but I was wrong. This morphed into a weird, ugly and intriguing beast, spackled with moments of rage and white noise. Awkward, angular and unsettling, it's not a comfortable listen, but it is rewarding.

I had a lot of fun listening to this joint! Costello wears a number of different hats, and does it well. At times he alternately sounds like Graham Parker, the Ronettes, Randy Newman and even the Atlanta Rhythm Section - or do they sound like him? Anyway, short, sharp songs redolent of the pub rock scene, without a whole lot of frippery but plenty of flash. A fantastic record.

It's a sound I like and could listen to a lot of - which, oddly, is why it doesn't rate very highly. The real potent stuff I tend to leave on the shelf for special occasions. This is something I could have choogling along in the background most days. The rhythms are fun, the brass arrangements are punchy and Kuti has an expressive voice with just a touch of sandpaper. All to the good. What this otherwise fun set lacks is grabbability - and nor do I feel the need to accost a man by the lapels to implore that he listen to Femi Kuti. Pleasant without being essential.

Uncomplicated - perhaps undemanding music? - that floats by in that rather weightless way peculiar to 1980s production. Aside from Vega's acoustic guitar, every other noise in the mix has a shiny, frictionless quality to it. Neither good nor bad, just an observation. However, the songwriting is strong; Vega does the observational and confessional well, albeit the latter is tempered by the coolness of her delivery. She sounds utterly in control of her music, and thus of her emotions. If you're looking for renting of garments and gnashing of teeth, it's not here. Still, Vega is listenable here, I find her precise vocals very appealing, and nothing offends the ear. I kinda wish it would...

What am I meant to say? I am a man of metal, and Motorhead (despite Lemmy's frequent protestations that they were just a good ol' rock 'n' roll band) were a lodestone for so much that fucking ruled about heavy music - a cool look, intense volume, badass logo, killer albums. This is raw, raucous and delivered at 100mph. The best Motorhead albums are Overkill, Bomber and Ace of Spades; the vast majority of choons on No Sleep... come from Overkill, Bomber and Ace of Spades. Perfect. If you don't like music that sounds like it could kick your head in, you won't like this; if you're a metal fan, surely it's an automatic five stars? I was born in Hammersmith, you know...

One of a clutch of artists, amongst whom number Vanilla Fudge, Cream and Iron Butterfly, who were all groping towards the sound that Black Sabbath would perfect - heavy metal. File this one under proto-metal. To modern ears, this sounds like a mess, quite frankly, and in indulgent one at that. It's as if the thundering ramalama of it all would compensate for a lack of craft or technique. And , hey, perhaps it did. Maybe back in 1968 if you were suitably, ah, 'chemically refreshed', Blue Cheer would've sounded great. I'm afraid that the average white-sock kombucha-sipping asshole won't ever be able to tune into the frequencies required to fully appreciate this heavy-psych mindquest. Well, call me an asshole too, because whilst I'm appreciative of the role in music history this played (doesn't 'Summertime Blues' sound like Acid Bath?), Vincebus Eruptum sounds like what it is; a very 'eavy, very 'umble museum piece.

Am I being unfair to assert that Straight Outta Compton comes in like a lion but out like a lamb? I certainly feel like it's front loaded - the title track, 'Fuck the Police' and 'Gangsta Gangsta' are the hottest three joints on the platter. Still, even if the craft isn't quite there on the rest of the material, it coasts by on aggression and charisma - mostly. There are a couple of missteps - 'Compton's N The House' is an embarrassment - but for the most part the only deficiencies are a fairly unwavering rhythmic approach and, alas, Eazy-E's verses. It's also hard to deny how unpleasant some of the sexist and homophobic takes sound in 2022, but if I'm honest, Ice Cube's excoriating 'I Ain't Tha 1' can still raise a grin.

I can't believe that I found myself enjoying a Billy Joel album so much. I felt the same creeping shame as someone entering their credit card details onto a German fetish website. Shame, mingled with pleasure. You can't deny that this man knows his way around a tune, even if his miniature dramas don't quite pulse with the same vitality as that of a Springsteen. I'm yet to hear a song that mentions 'Hackensack' that I don't like.

I really like this album - good energy, great musical performances and astute song selection. But - and this may be heresy to some - I'm likely in a minority of one when I say that I don't particularly like Aretha Franklin's voice. Maybe because it played John the Baptist to a slew of wailers and caterwaulers, but it grates on me a little. Still - a fine record.

New to Elliott Smith and now I wish I wasn't. This is great pop-oriented indie strongly reminiscent of the first Big Star album. I love that, so it's natural I like this too! A smidge more concision wouldn't go amiss, but there is some really strong, interesting songwriting here and some really cool textures in the sound.

Well well well Let's hear it For the boys

Really hard for me to come at this album objectively as I've owned a copy for years, and I play it frequently. Very frequently. An astounding collection of music, originals combining with a deft choice of covers. Even when it's not their own material, the Isley's put their stamp on it - would anyone disagree with me that this is the definitive version of 'Summer Breeze'? What really gives 3+3 wallop is Ernie Isley's guitar, beamed in from outer space. It's truly a sound I could enjoy all day. When he's absolutely wailing in the latter part of 'That Lady Pts 1 and 2' I am in my happy place. What a life-affirming album!

Rhythm Nation 1814 manages, somehow, to be a satisfying and frustrating listen at the same time. I swear it's all down to the sequencing. The top of the album is loaded with squelchy bass-heavy stompers; the tail consists of twinkly dream-pop, its influence palpable in acts like We Are King. Somehow, the two dullest songs - 'Love Will Never Do' and 'Livin' in a World' - find themselves sandwiched back-to-back. Somewhere amidst all this is 'Black Cat', one of my favourite songs by any of the Jackson clan. Despite some individual clunkers, RN1814 is not boring as a listening experience. It's lopsided for sure but this gives it a mildly eccentric character. And hey, it contains some excellent pop.

I dunno, it just feels like these guys are spoofers. I read so much about their music, and I get heated about giving it a listen, but when I get around to it, invariably I feel let down. Hail to the Thief is no exception. Anaemic for sure, and for all its ambition it also manages to be incredibly boring, the worst sin where music is concerned. Shit production too.

An album I already own - and it's a corker. Shame that this list also includes the San Quentin set - really, amidst the 1,001 albums to listen to before you die, how many Johnny Cash jailhouse performances does a body need? Nonetheless, taken in isolation, this one crackles with a rare electricity. A lovely setlist, and Cash sounds like a man fully in command of everything he surveys, even when he cracks up during 'Dark as the Dungeon'. What a voice, an Old Testament voice.

Ayoooo who up listening to Sex Packets in 2022?

Not what I habitually listen to, but there's something quite appealing about the rolling, shimmying sound of Siembra. It had a tendency to swag along in the background a little, but when I tuned in properly, I was digging it. My only real criticism is that a few tracks were wrapped in the plush gauze of period TV theme music. I'd rate this higher if there was a little more bite or grit, I think - but am I not missing the point somewhat?

What a big album, what a distinct sound. It's an absolute soft rock behemoth, hugely influential. In parts it also feels - well - a little superficial. The sound is immaculate but I never feel like I can get lost in the music. The surface level is beautiful, but I'm not sure there's a whole lot underneath. Good, very good in places, with moments of genius. Yet I don't feel massively compelled to give Rumours another spin anytime soon.

Pleasant, with a couple of standouts - 'Mandolin Wind', 'Maggie May', ah go on, add 'I'm Losing You' into the mix too - but little to grab the listener by the throat. Amiable, comfortable and definitely worth another spin on a slow, sunny afternoon - but that's as far as I'll go. Stewart is a distinctive and characterful vocalist for sure, but nowhere near my favourite.

Hell yes. Toes that very fine line between shambolic and inspired, a sleazy, poppy, dirty little diamond that draws equally on punk and glam heritage. 'Mental Beat' is a brilliant track. You know why? Because it's basically 'Next Big Thing' by the Dictators, which also ruled. They wrote 'Lick Summer Love' themselves though, which also smokes. Great record!

Pretty much one of my favourite listening experiences ever. I've owned the album for about twenty years and it simply never gets dull. Title track is, of course, a scorcher but there's fuck all filler on this platter. A locomotive, an absolute juggernaut of an album.

As a rule I dislike the whole trip-hop deal, but honestly? I didn't mind this. Perhaps it's the fact that it leans into jazz somewhat, perhaps it's the surprising variety on display - and certainly, production-wise, it sounds great. Superior mood music, then, but don't necessarily use my rating as any kind of barometer; I still don't like trip-hop.

An odd duck, this. The production is so bright and sugary that my teeth itch. The singing can, at times, harrow. The lowlights - tepid instrumental 'Arrival', 'Dum Dum Diddle' and the terrible 'Happy Hawaii' are some of the worst things I've ever heard. People have wound up at the Hague for less. Yet when they hit their marks - and it tends to be on the biggies like 'Money Money Money', 'Dancing Queen' and the peculiarly Hibernian 'Fernando', they really are excellent songsmiths. The saccharine gives way to the dreamy, and they soar. A pity that those moments are so thinly rationed.

I don't get this. A couple of slightly tickly songs - 'Shadowboxer', 'Criminal' - cant compensate for what is a mostly dull excursion. I don't like Apple's voice very much, the songs are overly (as in, unnecessarily) long, and an underheated production job certainly doesn't help. This review is boring I realise, but I don't think I'm doing the album any disservice as a consequence.

Simply, the greatest funk album ever conjured into existence. Pure magic! It feels like a loose kind of concept runs through the songs, an elemental Afro-futurism perhaps. 'Mothership Connection' is funny, political, off-the-wall, surprising - but above all else, it's scintillating funk music. 'Night of the Thumpasorus People' contains the single most audacious groove committed to tape.

This app has been dogged at trying to make the Pogues a thing. For me, they are the archetypal 'best of' band - and I'm not ashamed to say that in the real world, that's the only album of theirs I physically own. Here, I don't think I've heard anything to change my mind. A couple of bangers, a fair bit of filler and a conservatism born from the limitations of both form and ability. It's not bad, if you like this kind of overheated blarney, but it's not great either.

A sprawling, fantastical compendium of piano-driven soft rock that - somehow - manages to hit the mark, most of the time. Side one, which kicks off with 'Funeral for a Friend' and wraps with the helium-powered oddity 'Bennie and the Jets', is fantastic. Elsewhere, all the big songs - the title track, 'Saturday Night' - deserve their laurels. Brilliant pop music. I wasn't familiar with the rest, so was pleased to find some gooey, chewy stuff like 'I've Seen that Movie Too', 'Social Disease', 'The Ballad of Danny Bailey' and 'All the Girls Love Alice'; even the rather eccentric 'Grey Seal' possesses a kicky charm. Taupin's lyrics are ambitious throughout, but inevitably on a double album there's a bit of variance in quality. Some of the more pedestrian material has the whiff of clunky pub back room sing-alongs, but even this is elevated by John's charismatic performances. Yeah, really good.

I listened to the original 38 minute version of the album. I was expecting some fey flower power bullshit from Surrealistic Pillow, and...that's pretty much what I got. I think there was even a lyric about getting one's mind blown. Outta sight, man! But it's not without its appeal. SP's clumsy groping towards some kind of heavy trip mystic profundity often catapults the music into 'Nuggets' territory, which isn't a bad thing. And nestled inbetween big beasts 'Somebody To Love' (a real ripsnorter!) and 'White Rabbit' (peculiar and cool) is the odd gem such as 'Embryonic Journey', which sounds like a serviceable attempt at Davey Graham. Fun for what it is, but undoubtedly occupying 'relic of its age' status.

This sounds like, by turns, Uriah Heep, Be Bop Deluxe and Wishbone Ash. But also, like Queen; the stacked, hysterical vocals and archness in Mercury's delivery belong to no-one else. Embryonic, quite proggy, but interesting and listenable for all that. 'March of the Black Queen' rocks pretty hard. Oh, and 'Seven Seas of Rhye' is one of my all-time favourite Queen songs, so there's that, too.

Mostly pretty boring, lots of mid-tempo slurry, for half of the album Lennon's voice sounds like dogshit, and 'Imagine' (the song) should've seen everyone involved in its creation on trial at the Hague.

What a feast for the ears. This runs the gamut from heavy psych through to Philly soul, and pulls it off - mostly. Points need to be awarded on the basis of sheer, widescreen ambition. Side one of the album almost feels avant garde in places, with the brief one-minute tracks such as 'Flamingo' coming over like cuts from the Residents' Commercial Album. Elsewhere, 'Zen Archer' has a coda that is close to beautiful. 'Is It My Name?' sounds like a long-lost Tubes track. Closer 'Just One Victory' also demonstrates that Rundgren can play it straight-ish, boasting backing vocals that trip and dance around the music. Very few individuals have quite as much vision as Rundgren does; even fewer have the moxy and the chops to execute.

Didn't get much juice out of this lemon

It's tough trying to be objective when you've owned, and loved, an album for over twenty years. I gave Black Sabbath another spin and it took me back to my teens, and reminded me of the excitement of being young and discovering music for oneself. Couple that with the fact that, despite chat about Blue Cheer, Cream and Vanilla Fudge, that I firmly believe Sabbath invent metal on this album (and have made the case elsewhere online) and I know I won't be giving this less than five stars. Still, strip away all else, and any platter containing 'The Wizard', 'Black Sabbath' (the seed of doom metal) and 'NIB' (all-time great riff-a-thon) is gonna generate heat.

Great! I listened to the 1995 expanded edition. The familiar numbers like 'Substitute', 'I Can't Explain' and the Bo Diddley beat of 'Magic Bus' ruled, but I was equally taken by their interpretations of tracks written by Mose Allison and Allen Toussaint. Really muscular takes of those songs. Overall it's a beefy, brawling kinda sound, but not without finesse, especially where the longer tracks are concerned. Sometimes live records can sound a little tepid, or they show up the limitations of the artist(s) in question. Not this one.

I can be brief - I bought this album on the basis of what others told me. This subsequently served to reinforce the notion that I should trust my own instincts. A yawn-a-thon, lingering in the speakers like a drab, wet Sunday afternoon.

A couple of minor quibbles; sometimes the volume of ideas overwhelms the songcraft, but only occasionally. Secondly, Prince has a tendency towards a kind of sweaty, cramped version of funk that can feel claustrophobic and a little unsatisfying. However, Purple Rain is a kaleidoscope of talent. When everything comes together 'just so', the results are mighty. I would rate 'When Doves Cry' the crowning success - the audacity to create a funk song with no bass! - but there's almost too much to enjoy here. I had the privilege of seeing Prince live on the final night of his London O2 residency. Outstanding, and astounding.

What a strange, curious and immensely enjoyable experience this turned out to be. Roxy Music treads a line between wry and weird that very few manage successfully - Sparks, perhaps? But more than that, Roxy Music is the questing sound of a bunch of outsiders pulling apart and examining tropes of rock and roll in real time. And, of course, the hand of Bryan Ferry means that there are moments of warped romanticism to be found, too. Heady stuff.

The source material here is a bit variable in quality, but no matter - Nina Simone is such a compelling presence that she can spin gold from yarn. As an aside, has there been a more arresting vocalist who worked within the popular genres? Perhaps Billie Holiday, maybe Scott Walker, and there's a case to be made for early Elvis. Simone is top of the tree. Highlights here are 'Lilac Wine' and the brutal, stark 'Four Women'.

The production of this album is lovely, feeling like a warm hug. And it's certainly got some memorable tracks - the incredible blue-eyed soul of 'Crazy Love', the choogling 'Glad Tidings' and of course the jazzy, yearning title track (one of the first pieces I ever learned to play on piano). It's hardly an original observation to make, but Morrison has a helluva voice. All the material fits around it very snugly. At times, perhaps, it's too 'just so' and oozes into the background, but overall Moondance is a very pleasant, folksy, soulful listening experience.

It almost feels unfair that I should be rating this album, because I honestly don't get Radiohead. Kid A was the big one kicking about when I was at university, and so I know it almost through osmosis. Didn't get the appeal then, don't get the appeal now. I fundamentally think I'm hardwired to dislike this band.

The Fall go pop. It's alright.

One man, a guitar and a harmonica - yet despite this austere palette, it's never dull. This album crackles with ideas and is a superb prequel as to what will come later. It's not all mature, but some of the material here - 'Blowin' in the Wind', 'Don't Think Twice...' and especially 'A Hard Rain's A-Gonna Fall' - outstrips anything ninety-eight percent of songwriters will ever achieve.

Fun but a little undemanding. Ultimately didn't hold my attention for the duration, but what does these days? Liked the 'Duke of Earl' sample. Uh, haven't got a huge amount more to say. It's fine - sawed-off shotgun, hand on the pump, etc. These guys sound sincere, at least

An interesting listening experience, but one I'm not in a rush to repeat. That said, stuff like 'Go Go Pop' - featuring Trouble Funk - adds some nice shading to the proceedings. The guitar break in 'Who You Funkin' With?' is superb. I still get a kick out of the afrofuturist 'Planet Rock' too, which grafts the icy synths of Kraftwerk onto a hip-hop track to good effect.

Cute contrivance to have the songs linked as if part of a radio show, especially the jingles betwixt and between. But what of the songs? They're pretty good - 'Armenia City in the Sky' is a psych oddball, and 'Rael 1 and 2' leaves me scratching my head. But 'Sunrise' is delicate, and there's one cast-iron banger here in the form of 'I Can See For Miles', an all-time great Who song.

My first real exposure to Harris, and not one I wish to repeat. She has a voice that is sweet and pure - and yet to my ears, rather grating. There's a decent variety of material here, all blandly competent in terms of execution. Nobody involved in this record is doing anything outside of themselves - it's played too safe by half.

I found this to be a lot of fun! Atop a bedrock of itchy, manic anti-funk we have a load of ideas and textures that all come together nicely. 'Found A Job' is a delight. This album also happens to contain one of my favourite ever covers - I don't think there's a better version of 'Take Me to the River' out there.

The guitar in 'Siberian Khatru' is sick as fuck

As a dyed-in-the-wool heavy metal maniac I'm not giving this any less than five well-deserved stars. This album absolutely smokes. Lots of bands tried to sound like Slayer. Few bands actually sound like Slayer. 'Angel of Death' and 'Raining Blood' are all-timers in the metal pantheon.

This starts out like 'Kate Bush does Oingo Boingo', spotlights some nice folky instrumentation (but not before an ill-advised Mockney accent) and moves into a synth cut featuring the Windows 95 error sound. A mess, but an intriguing one, where uilliean pipes butt up against some quasi-Mick Karn fretless bass. One has to admire the questing artistry and willingness to experiment with such a broad sonic palette, even if the results can be a tad obtuse.

One of the greatest hard rock albums ever, but some of what commends it also serve as the seeds of creative decline for AC/DC. The ponderous, crawling tempos sound powerful and muscular here, but drag on later releases. Pared-back riffs no doubt sound great in stadia but too much minimalism becomes boring. Brian Johnson sounds insane, like a man struggling to breathe, but doesn't really vary this attack down the line. It's brilliant, my favourite AC/DC album, absolutely stacked with hooky riffs and memorable songs. The bell rolling at the start of 'Hell's Bells' raises goosebumps even today. Even the sleazy bits sound classy. Great stuff, but it would be the blueprint for lesser releases down the line.

I know this was a landmark album - and a bit like MTV's Unplugged series, would prove influential - but I don't really dig it. I've always been a little lukewarm on Metallica despite being a metal fan. A big part of that is James Hetfield's voice - it's the archetype of what a certain type of person thinks is 'badass'. In fact, beyond the first few albums, I've come to regard Metallica as a bit 'try-hard'. And there is no more try-hard album than S&M, which takes some pretty lean songs and makes them sound cluttered, soupy or downright comical. There's a bit of 'Hero of the Day' that sounds like Alfred Hitchcock going up to collect his honorary Oscar. Metal can be faintly ridiculous, which is part of the appeal. S&M takes itself far too seriously, and ends up seeming even more risible as a consequence. Not for me.

Very much of its time, but charming for all that. Really thought the chirpy Cockney hokum on the big single would bug me more than it did. Decent variety of styles on display here too. Yeah, I can dig it.

It's pretty de rigueur to dump on U2 for their tiresome and self-aggrandising frontman, so I thought I'd dump on them on the basis of their tepid, insipid music. Even the familiarity of the two openers doesn't offer any more than a faint buzz, more akin to 'ah, I know this' rather than 'ah, a nice warm shot of nostalgia'. On Joshua Tree, U2 have a sound and stick with it, Edge's guitar spinning and jangling away atop relatively competent stadium rock. It's an identity, sure. However, if I had to describe the sound as anything, it would be 'vaporous'. Given the absolute sincerity of the lyrics, it's a minor blessing that this stuff evaporates into the aether soon after listening.

Ah, another one I already own! I recall being impressed with this whilst a university student. Gave it another spin on the stereo in service of this app and it's...fine. I've moved to a position where I feel Cave in general is a touch overrated, and this album doesn't quite shift the dial in any appreciable way.

I swear that I had been listening to this for an hour, but it turns out I was barely halfway through. There are some cool guitar tones and one or two catchy numbers, but overall White Blood Cells is a chore. Shit lyrics, draggy tempos, cartoon character voice - it's all here, folks. Wild to recall the White Stripes were once the future of rock. Anyway, right before this I listened to that Dennis Brown song, you know the one, it goes "Some like it hot / Some like it co-o-old" and that's ten times better than anything on White Blood Cells. Flashbacks to sitting on the bed of a university friend as he repeatedly tried to hack his way through the riff to 'I Think I Smell a Rat' and wanting to die.

My initial impression when listening to the opening track is that Blackstar sounds a bit like Marc and the Mambas. That notion doesn't really hold. What it does sound like is the effort of an elder statesman keeping tabs on the times whilst trying to retain a sense of individuality - but you could very well imagine, say, someone like Bryan Ferry putting out almost the exact same album. None of which is to say it's bad, although personally I think the electronic percussion (where used) sounds tinny. Blackstar is fine, bold in places and occasionally you get a glimpse of Bowie's facility to do something interesting with a melody. However, I think the circumstances under which Blackstar was recorded and released have perhaps led to a slightly over-generous assessment of the album's merits.

Incredible how this was such a big album back in the day. Take the worst aspects of Oasis, mash with the uninteresting bits of World of Twist, lard it all with draggy tempos and voila, you have Urban Hymns. Imagine, if you will, a damp late autumn day in the UK. Outside the sky is slate grey, and greasy rivulets of rainwater slide down the windowpane. In front of you is a half-burned, half-pink sausage swimming in beans and soggy mushrooms. This is a tolerable life you have found for yourself. Urban Hymns by the Verve is playing on the stereo.

Oh ho ho, what's all this then? Genuinely, this sounds like a reasonably advanced AI that doesn't quite 'get' how popular music appeals to humans, but has nonetheless been fed a bunch of Beach Boys songs and told to get on with it. Some really abrupt handbrake turns in the music, which are most unpleasant; and those goofy harmonies are so sweet my teeth itch. Just a completely foul vibe - yet strangely compelling for all that.

Absolutely no way I can be objective about this as the songs filled my childhood. Not that I was around then! Rather, my dad filled our lounge and front room with the sounds of Queen, Alice Cooper, the Rolling Stones, Frank Zappa - and David Bowie. So, each and every song on this album waltzes with fuzzy, fond memories of childhood. Consequently, Hunky Dory is more than simply music; it's the soundtrack to my formative years, my own movie score if you will. I had a very happy childhood. I have grown to appreciate, in different ways, almost everything my parents played (sorry dad - I draw the line at Peter Skellern) and as such I feel this in the very marrow of my bones. Five stars.

Sugary pop meets some punky spikiness. The arrangements seem a little sparse even for the time - it's neither a big nor rounded sound - but the sweet vocals work well atop the wiry guitar work. 'We Got the Beat' rules.

Mostly pleasant, the chiming Rickenbacker compensating for the dustiness that comes with some a dated artefact as Younger Than Yesterday. But halfway through something odd occurs - Everybody's Been Burned sounds startlingly modern, Thoughts and Words could be one of the tributaries to 1980s jangle-pop and Mind Gardens is only two steps away from the twisted, psychedelic modal folk of 'wyrd Albion'. None of this quite elevates it, but Younger Than Yesterday is a welcome, listenable time machine to days of future passed.

Love this album - grimy, sleazy and above all, the harbinger of a bunch of stuff to come that I love. Unqualified love. 'Jet Boy' whips ass.

Bleh. What a yomp that was. Another one of those 2000s albums that goes on forever and a day. That would be semi-okay if the material was decent, but it's not. In fact, this might be one of the most generic album I've heard yet. A couple of songs feature some quirky sounds, sometimes the rapping caught my attention for a nanosecond, and one track sounds like a slowed-down Steely Dan number. Aside from that, any impression Soul Machine left evaporated almost the moment it touched my cerebral cortex. Over an hour of fuck-all, sung in a voice that is grating as it is unwavering.

Led Zep were a band who could amaze, confound and frustrate in equal measure. They were plaigiarists, not once but many times over, as the internet age has shown. LZIV stands proud of all this as their most fully realised collection of songs. We get the gamut - the Tolkien stuff, tight-trousered priapism, blues, proto-metal and folk. It sounds great, John Bonham is less plays the drums than attempts to knock seven shades out of them, and Robert Plant sounds so slinky and committed that you forget he's singing utter nonsense half the time. This is the big one, fellas.

A bit of a crawl at times - though it does point the way towards greater albums such as Love and Theft. There are definitely some cool tracks, like the brooding 'Love Sick' and the excellent 'Cold Irons Bound', but there are some bummers here too. Did 'Highlands' need to be sixteen and a half minutes long? It could've coped if the lyrics were more compelling. In fact, for a Dylan album there's a surprising number of lyric sheets that veer towards the prosaic, at least by his standards. An interesting listen, even if it can be a little taking.

I am no tango fan, so had no idea it could sound this progressive. I am, however, a fan of Gary Burton, and could listen to his wonderfully expressive vibes playing all day. Didn't have a scooby that Burton turned his hand to tango. These compositions, which I'm guessing are by Astor Piazzolla, bring the whole 'newgrass' movement to mind, whereby bluegrass was cut with jazz and rock to make an exciting, virtuosic variant of a traditional genre. Stimulating stuff, then, although the first half of 'Vibraphonissimo' sounds like the section before the guitar solo in Frank Zappa's 'Zomby Woof' - and I'll never not find the title 'Operation Tango' to be funny.

Honestly, I realise the historic significance behind this album, but bugger me it's a rough old ride - and that's coming from a metal fan. Borderline incompetent and inadvertently funny. Still, it has heart and I've a soft spot for bands that rise beyond their own limitations. I think 'Black Metal' does this - just about.

The loveliness of some of the sounds on this album (especially those that dip into the grab-bag of lush 1970s soul) can't quite balance out the rather characterless rapping. Perhaps Common is brilliant, but every time I properly tune in I'm left a smidge underwhelmed.

About fifteen years ago, a friend and I were walking home, quite drunk, after a night of youthful revels. Our conversation that evening was about The Perfect Album, and whether it existed. Our conclusion was that the closest thing in existence was the debut Boston album. As a classic rock album, it ticks every box - 'More Than a Feeling', 'Smokin'', 'Rock And Roll Band', 'Something About You' - all masterpieces of the genre. On top of that you've got the distinctive, skyscraper vocals of the late Brad Delp and the equally identifiable guitar tone of mastermind Tom Scholz. That's where the real mustard is - the appeal of this album is universal enough to sell oodles, but has so much fun and interesting noise that only Boston could conjure up. They flamed out pretty quickly, but their first album? A stone cold masterpiece.

I own this album already, I think it's the bee's knees. You can hear this as the transition from the looser, Stonesier rock of formative Aerosmith to a harder, sleazier sound. There's an unmistakable swagger to some of these tracks - 'Sick As a Dog', 'Back in the Saddle' and 'Nobody's Fault' standout here. Meanwhile, 'Rats in the Cellar' is a hard-driving rocker and 'Home Tonight' points towards a mastery of power-balladry to come. Neat neat neat.

Not much to say, aside from the fact that I like wobbly, nervy synth pop from this period very much. I only knew 'Temptation' prior to giving this a listen, fool that I am. There's a strain of peculiarly English glumness that runs through this otherwise twinkly offering that I find most appealing. Aside from the music, that's an all-timer of an album cover. Answering phones! Making deals! Getting paid! Truly, the most Thatcherite of new wave sleeve art imaginable, and I love it.

A wonderful surprise. I knew a couple of the tracks but the overall package is sensational - a spitting, snarling record dripping with attitude and menace. It all sounds of a piece, the spiky instrumentation and sweaty post-punk compositions matching the lyric sheet. And what lyrics! Dipping into street vernacular, the whole thing sounds so desperate and sleazy that you imagine the record leaving a stain on your stereo. A triumph. Gonna buy a copy tomorrow.

When I was at university I met a girl towards whom I felt an instant attraction. Funny, cool, beautiful and whip-smart, perhaps her only ostensible failing was that she seemed to take a shine to me. That, and she loved Manu Chao. Imagine, my friends, how exhilarated I felt to have managed to make it to her bedroom. Imagine how deflating it was to learn that she couldn't wait to turn me onto 'Clandestino'. Listening again to this brings back pungent memories of nodding along, muttering crap like "yeah, this is some dope shit" and feeling like I was slowly going insane through a combination of young lust, desperation and in-the-moment loathing of Manu Chao. Anyway, I mellowed and she went on to work for the Conservative Party. I don't hate 'Clandestino' as much as I did back then, but it still sucks. I think 'Bongo Bong' was used in an old Fifa game.

You snowflakes! Here's a news flash - AIN'T NOBODY GUNNA TELL ME HOW TO LI-I-IVE!!

Baby food music. As wet as it gets.

Goodness me, this was different sauce back in the day. I can smell the felt tip pen ink now just listening to it; anyone else have a bunch of kids at their school with the NIN logo doodled next to that of Korn, Slipknot etc on their back packs? Pretty damn good even today. Might bust out the black nail polish a bit later.

The second in a trifecta of incredible Alice Cooper albums (topped and tailed by 'Killer' and 'Billion Dollar Babies'), 'School's Out' is testament to what a strange, idiosyncratic band they were. Before Coop went off on his own wobbly but varied solo career, he and his compares made some of the most interesting music of the era. It doesn't quite fit into any box - too complex and twisty for straight-up garage rock, too dirty to be prog and far too dark to fit in with glam. It's not heavy metal, either, despite its aggression. So what is it? Alice Cooper music, I guess. All the musical performances are great but the standout for me is bassist Dennis Dunaway, who anchors everything with his looping, rubbery, kinetic playing. The double-stop riffing he does on 'Gutter Cats vs The Jets' is insane, and insanely good. I feel like every time I spin 'School's Out' I find something else to geek out about. Very cool!

Fine, okay, whatever. It's pretty boring, no? The singer sounds like a slightly less sad Michael Head. The best track is the slightly kooky lounge-indie track with Richard Hawley. Perhaps Elbow should ask Hawley to join full time as he makes their tunes better. Otherwise, this sounds like music for people who don't particularly care about music all that much.

Supa Dupa Fly comes fast out of the traps, but it doesn't take long before this old nag has run out of puff and is ready for the glue factory. That Busta Rhymes is an early highlight should be a warning, as his name is not on the top of the album. Individual tracks, plucked here and there, might prove fun. I'm a big advocate of albums but this one strengthens the case for shuffle play. So whilst 'Rain' is great, by the time I'm about 'Don't Be Comin' (In My Face)' I'm crying out for variety. And then we do get something different, I guess - 'Izzy Izzy Ahh', one of the worst things I've heard in the last fortnight. And I've been compelled to review Kid Rock in that time. An hour of this...blimey.

Fun, playful electro that contains just about enough grit and scuzz to keep things interesting. Almost as if Kraftwerk and Daft Punk had a delinquent child. I have to say, given the year this came out, the disco-pop of D.A.N.C.E. feels like a harbinger of a type of music that would soon become quite modish again. Probably a little too samey to hold me rapt for an entire 48 mins, but I liked this, blats of static 'n' all

I feel a little out of my depth with this one. As with jazz, I don't think I've got the right vocabulary or understanding of this type of music to say much beyond whether I like it or not. It's an impressive undertaking, a kind of collage of sound fixed to a hip-hop frame. It must've taken a long time to make this sound so cohesive and disciplined. But did I enjoy it? At times. Did it challenge me? At times. How to score such endeavour?

If anyone asks me my favourite Steely Dan album, depending on the day and the direction the wind blows I might say Katy Lied, Gaucho or even Can't Buy a Thrill. But I always follow it up with "...though really, it should be Aja." Why? Because it's immaculate. And perhaps that's why it's not quite top of the tree for me. It's like gorging on chocolate, and washing it all down with yet more chocolate. There comes a point where you a bit of grit or nastiness is welcome. However, for all that, and for all the carping that the Dan sacrifice emotional truths on the altar of technical ecstasy, it's wonderful. Oblique lyrics about disaffected demimonde America, compositions that successfully combine pazz 'n' jop, crystalline production, some outstanding individual musical performances - they're all here. Gimme more chocolate...

In the plus column: raw, vital, wild, Nick Cave sounds positively demented, a good reminder of the gonzo potential of rock 'n' roll. Negatives: eh, you can't really dance to it, can you? And isn't it just that little bit too wilfully ugly? Good clean fun, all told. I'm glad there's space for this kind of unpasteurised music to exist.

Feels like the zanier end of power pop crossed with the tamer edge of alt rock - Jellyfish meets Bush, perhaps? It's quirky in its own way, idiosyncratic for sure, but a little studied. Perfectly listenable, no more, no less.

Forgot that 'Voodoo People' was on this album, and the moment I heard it I was instantly taken back to a classic old skool YouTube video featuring the Pendulum remix. If 'see you tonight geez' and 'oh-five V6 Clio Twin Turbo' ring any bells, you know what I'm referring to. That video seems today to be a relic of an era when a sizeable proportion of UK youth culture could be summed up as "'avin' it large", and there's the same frantic, sweaty urgency around having a phreaky good time on MFTGJ. The Prodigy always were the most rock oriented of the dance acts, which helped me to enjoy it. I listened to MFTJG whilst driving, and I recommend you do too. This is the perfect, pulsing, insistent beat for a spot of dromoscopy. Luvverly!

Wow, despite the fact that this tore through my university like norovirus on a cruise ship, I forgot just how absolutely fucking boring this trope is. The diametric opposite of what I consider to be good music.

Not only is this the greatest soundtrack - ever - for a film, it also works by critiquing the film itself through its lyrical themes. How often do you encounter something quite so meta that's also a funky, soulful and positive commentary on the art its ostensibly meant to complement? A masterpiece.

Loved the voice, and the music certainly filled the room with atmospheric sounds that I'm not entirely accustomed to. I nonetheless found it a bit of a trudge from time to time. Chalk it up to ignorant listener as opposed to bad musician - I think a little longer with Baaba Maal and I'd begin to enjoy it more. But this app demands swiftness, and so on we plunge...

Interesting one, this. Good, weighty riffs that feel adjacent to nu-metal, but agree with the observation that the sound cleaves closer to an act like Helmet. I really appreciate the attempt to meld sounds from indigenous cultures with heavy metal. It can become a little obtuse, as on 'Canyon Jam' (though I did appreciate its atmosphere) but most of the time it put me in mind of Dr John's debut, which featured all manner of voodoo-inspired whoops and whistles. Who made the better syncretic shamanic album? Dr John, for sure. Can you headbang to 'Gris Gris'? A tough ask. Can you blast the dandruff to Roots? Absolutely

This would be a good, if not a little clattery, rock record were it not for Perry Farrell, quite one of the more irritating presences in popular entertainment. So - four stars for the music, minus one due to the Farrell Factor.

Insane how unfairly maligned Yes are in some quarters. Sure they can, and do, indulge in lengthy virtuoso workouts but it's always with a focus and discipline. It's also crazy just how much of this album I know without owning it. There are some really, really strong melodies at play here, and the kinds of hooks that wouldn't be out of place on a more straightforward pop record. Time for Yes to enjoy critical reappraisal. As for Fragile, what a triumph.

This is it? After all the encomiums and hype I've heard about Dinosaur Jr, I was greatly looking forward to this particular album. What a pity. Some wild guitar sounds aside, what exactly is so hip about this crap? Badly sung garage rock with noise and college FM pretensions, but nary a hint of craft or guile to be found. I don't doubt that YLAOM - and Dinosaur Jr - are an influential proposition. Sure, why not. I probably don't like the crap they've influenced either.

Superb

I can't help but applaud the scope and vision Stevens demonstrates on Illinois; it bespeaks of a winning restlessness. The big problem here is that Illinois could do with some pruning. Over the course of seventy-something minutes I could be charmed, but also bored. I think of other concept albums I like, and how they are often unfairly maligned as sprawling or lacking in discipline. Often that's not the case - but the charges stick here, to a degree. I wish the whole 'one album per state' bobbins wasn't a joke - would've loved to have heard Stevens taking on Kansas.

America's favourite alt country band (maybe!) join forces with the UK's favourite singing socialist (possibly!) to record a bunch of Woody Guthrie songs. Well, blow me down, it works an absolute treat! They could've approached Guthrie with hushed reverence, but instead there's a rainbow of moods here, from pensive through to knockabout. The musical soundscape is pretty lovely too, reminiscent of early 1970s Dylan. My only gripe is that Jeff Tweedy still fails to move me as a vocalist, but there's enough Bragg (and a slither of Natalie Merchant) to offset this. A thoroughly charming album.

Over an hour in length on this offering. Some of it is near enough competent. When BDB tries to sound like Dr Strangely Strange this is decent. When he sounds like Toploader, not so much. What a peculiar album.

This whips. Almost twelve minutes of 'Papa Was a Rolling Stone' is badass, and there's a great version of one of Ewan Maccoll's loveliest tunes. I love it when O.G. soul and blues guys got funky - Lee Dorsey, Johnny 'Guitar' Watson, even 'the Parliaments' took a turn. More, more, more!

What a mess. But before I dig into how horribly misogynistic this is, I want to also mention just how cheap the entire package sounds. It's absolute dogshit! Anyway, 'Stan' is overrated, most of the beats are boring and although I chuckled a couple of times, there were many more times where I had negative reactions that verged on the physical. What was his beef with Christopher Reeve anyway?

Not entirely convinced by the generic, albeit hard-hitting, alt rock sound. Personally I think British bands tended to wear the alt rock t-shirt a little awkwardly, for the most part. However, although the music may be a little beige, the vocal performance compensates. Skin is a compelling and charismatic frontwoman, and she is good enough to drag the music to a higher level. Decent, no more, no less.

Here's the deal - this album get five stars on the basis of Shangri-La alone. It is one of my favourite songs, ever. As a songwriting commentator on a specific type of small, suburban British life I don't think Ray Davies has a peer. Take Shangri-La - is it a celebration of those creature comforts that welcome us after our day's toil? Is it a critique of this lifestyle? Or is it, as I suspect, both? It walks the line beautifully in terms of both tone and execution, from its gentle fingerpicked intro to the brass-driven midsection. There's more juice in this one track than some artists manage over the course of a whole album. And then there's Victoria, and the breezy pastoral of Drivin'...and everything else. So, so good.

I'm happy that this kind of astringent, smash-mouth music exists in the world. Which isn't to say I like it much - whilst I can admire the animating spirit and willingness to play with song structure, I can't say Yank Crime ever reached me at an emotional level. That said, 'Luau' is a might piece of music, and I like a bit of spit and agitation now and then. In no hurry to listen again, however.

This isn't going to get a high rating - there simply isn't enough memorable music on Live Through This for it to scrape the firmament. What saves this from being too beige is Courtney Love. She's a limited singer, but an excellent frontwoman - she can be vampish, disaffected or anguished as the song demands. And that, when coupled with some crunchy guitars, was hardly likely to fail, right?

DUNNNHH! DA-DUNNNHH!! I don't own a copy of Who's Next but I know three-quarters of the tracks. It's one of the classic rock big beasts, and it's not hard to see why. This represents what is probably The Who's most focused collection of songs - no loopy concepts or attempts to replicate a commercial radio station here. It's a damn fine collection too, full of light and shadow, brooding and catharsis. As an outfit nobody quite sounds like The Who - Moon's questing, hyperactive drumming meshing with the whirling, kinetic bass playing courtesy of the Ox and Townshend's slashing, wiry guitar. Above it all Daltrey plays the lost boy or the rock god as the song demands. There's nary a step wrong here. No dated production techniques, no misguided attempts at genre tunes, no awkward integration of modish instrumentation. Just high quality, thoughtful and - at times - exhilarating rock.

No doubt this app is responsible for more than a few Maggots among us. Not me though.

Already own this album in physical format, which indicates it once held enough appeal for me to shell out some bunce. It's pretty great, no? A lovely selection of songs, some of the best cuts from NIN, Depeche Mode, Simon and Garfunkel, Ewan MacColl (his best ever?) and more. 'The Man Comes Around' (the track) remains a late career triumph. Given that it's a Rick Rubin production it was never going to be a bells 'n' whistles sound universe; sometimes I think the minimal orchestration is super-effective, other times I feel it's ever so slightly lacking. Do we need another 'Danny Boy'? Still, Cash's voice is akin to an old jumper - a bit ragged but warm and familiar.

I love Randy Newman, probably one of the sharpest, cynical, funny songwriters in American popular music. That he can combine drollery with poignancy, often in the same song, is impressive; married to lovely, jazzy piano arrangements, it's stellar. Sure, he's got a funny voice. It fits the music. Would a song about the slave trade like 'Sail Away' fly today? It's probably too glib to suit today's climate, despite its brilliance. A great collection of characterful songs by one of the best to ever do it.

Late career Bowie, all quite second- or third-rate stuff. The lyrics are crap and the Thin Grey Duke is blowing on the uptempo numbers. Never been a big fan of Earl Slick's guitar scrawl neither. Ho hum. It's just interesting and arty enough to scrap and grapple its way to three stars.

Well at least we know where Cinderella got the blueprint for 'Night Songs' from. This is like eating a greasy old burger from a van outside a sports event - it's bad for you, bits of it even look poorly executed but it's got enough in terms of its elements to keep you masticating away merrily. A fair bit of 'el rocko generico' here, but when the Lep boys hit the mark - 'Photograph', 'Rock of Ages', 'Die Hard the Hunter' - it's pretty damn fun. The rather plasticky production and sappy harmony vocals date this, but also grant the listener the gift of instant time travel. You can almost smell the Aquanet. Mildly addictive, despite its excesses.

The best. By which I mean, I consider SF Sorrow the pinnacle of British psychedelia and comfortably in my top ten albums of all time. Sure, parts of it are in thrall to the Beatles, but the range, invention, ambition and imagination on display mitigates against the odd bit of borrowing. Highlights? The entire thing. It operates as an undivided whole. Sadness, madness, poignancy, absurdity - it's all here.

Relatively enjoyable - I'm a particular fan of the elliptical, paranoid lyrics and creepy atmosphere. As with many Wu Tang affiliated projects, it has the dusty, slightly uncanny feel of old found footage. What elevates this from three to four stars is '4th Chamber', one of my favourite rap tracks full stop. The sample from 'Shogun Assassin' that kicks it off is supreme, and it just gets better from there on in. Was 'Why is the sky blue?' the Wu equivalent to 'Fuckin' magnets, how do they work?'

Quite lovely. A nice blend of soft psychedelia, baroque pop and some of the rhythms one associates with Brazil. A fairly lengthy listen but a gentle journey, and one I fully enjoyed throughout.

This is dream pop, I guess? It's fine as things go. I found the wonkiness of 'Norway' appealing, but much of the rest falls into that bracket of music that seems like critical catnip but which I am yet to be utterly charmed by. There's a soporific quality to much of the sound, indistinct and pillowy, buoyed by coos and sighs that lull and beguile. The problem is that it all comes out as a big powder-puff yawn, and if you're not mentally drifting away in a Limehouse opium den then it doesn't quite resonate. Still, you can hear the Big Star influences and all those looping, chiming noises are pleasant. It don't get the ol' krovvy pumping though, yeah?

To paraphrase the late, great Brian Clough, "it may not be the best album of all time, but it's in the top one".

Starts off with a co-write by Gary Glitter and goes downhill from there. An absolutely turgid exercise, leaching off 1970s glam and 1960s mod rock but draining away the fun of the former and obliterating the skip and bounce of the latter. Instead, what we're left with is an oafish, charmless, pretentious period piece that is utterly emblematic of 'Cool Britannia' - ie painfully embarrassing.

Dub bass, world music and vocals from your uncle who thinks Area 51 is a 'psyop'. This is pretty grim stuff all told, absolutely reeks of patchouli and cider in two-litre plastic bottles. Does anyone truly enjoy this bobbins?

Can't quite recall when my expectations before going in have been so comprehensively met. Before going in I thought it'll be tasteful, well executed country-tinged soft rock...and that's exactly what's here. A less generous appraisal is that this is a wetter Pacific Ocean Blue, a notch up from Bread or a notch down from Gordon Lightfoot. What I'm trying to say is it's fine. A little po-faced and worthy, but good laidback Americana for all that.

This is what all the hype was about ten years ago?! A bunch of my pals were going cock-a-hoop over this wank? What a mushy, churchy load of old pony.

An eeeeever so slightly overrated Kate Bush, in terms of critical acclaim, but what does that mean in particular? Still better than ninety percent of what's out there. I prefer the warmer production of Bush's earlier work; and I think I respect the artsier, more avant garde Sensual World. Some fans may consider this the best of all possible worlds. I think it's pretty dam fine.

What are the politics of taking a Black folk song ('John Henry') and turning it into a paean to Elvis (despite the nuanced lyric, especially in the third verse where the legend of John Henry is brought front and centre). Much to ponder! I've never heard any Gillian Welch before now, and I'd like to hear more. The first couple of tunes are wonderful, spiky minor-key numbers and forbidding lyric sheets. As a whole this album lulls (anaesthetizes?) the lyric a little too much for this listener; and the music, whilst wrought in lovely shapes, is derivative. But Welch is a great, haunted singer and an even better songwriter, so these are minor quibbles.

In terms of being able to produce a kind of agonised mechanical pop with avant flourishes, Depeche Mode pretty much hit the bull. An icy, almost industrial collection of songs fit for wintry contemplation, even if 'I Want You Now' sounds like the Flying Pickets were to they be assimilated by the Borg collective.

'Come Together' begins a sample of Jesse Jackson's speech from the WattStax concert of 1972. On this album is sounds like a simple exhortation of unity. In reality, it was a call specifically around Black unity and Black consciousness. But of course, all that tricky political stuff is entirely denuded by Primal Scream. I feel that this example sums up this unsatisfying melange of meandering soundscapes and signifiers so divorced from their sources that they float away into nothingness. Highly satisfactory, utterly boring and shorn of any context, revolutionary or otherwise. Fuck this noise.

How peculiar - Cale goes from antagonistic noisenik to auditioning for the Zombies. This rather lovely baroque pop, with the same kind of laser focus on parochial life as the Kinks' ...Are the Village Green Preservation Society. Wry, mournful and wistful all at once - even if the first track does sound a bit like 'Walk Away Renee'.

It's amazing that Daft Punk got so big considering that this offering seems so rudimentary in parts, little more than repetitive bass and percussion. Maybe we were more easily pleased back in 1997? I certainly was, but then again, I was twelve.

I like this without loving it. If the music matched the lyrics, this would be five stars. Prine is a wonderfully creative songwriter, eschewing cliche and spotlighting some fairly peculiar subject matter for pop music. Unfortunately the music is as generic 1970s country-folk as it gets; all quite tasteful but a bit beige. The other stumble I face is that Prine's voice just started to grate by the end of the album. Enough, indeed, to drop this to three stars.

I like hair metal. A lot. I never really dug Bon Jovi. I would suggest there were better songwriters (Jani Lane of Warrant), better musicians (Extreme spring ti mind), and guys like Skid Row whose peaks were higher than Bon Jovi's. But what this collection demonstrates is that the Jovi boys had enough of all these elements to hit the sweet spot - rocking, yes, but with broad everyman appeal and hooky tunes precision-tooled for stasis. I can't hate it. Even the songs I've heard a thousand times still do a job. Heck, 'Wanted Dead or Alive' absolutely rules. "I've seen a million faces - and I've rocked them all" is one for the ages.

At its worst this sounds like a pretty good Merseybeat record - and material like 'Things We Said Today' sounds like decent Hollies or Herman's Hermits but beats them to the punch. Of course, the biggies like 'Can't Buy Me Love' and 'Hard Day's Night' stand out, but dig deep and there's some really cool, hard-edged (for the time) rock 'n' roll here too. 'Any Time at All' and, especially, 'When I Get Home' crackle and fizz with a rare electricity. John Lennon never sounded better.

This rules. Spiky, concise razor-slash tunes that by turns sneak, slither and strut into the ol' lugholes. Alienation has rarely sounded so cool, so together.

Fine. A couple of elements that caught my attention, but otherwise Common's lyrical facility was overwhelmed by the bland musical backdrops.

I met Bill Steer once; a very pleasant man. There's no use trying to intellectualise this - either you're on board for these short, sharp punches to the nose or the effect is something akin to anti-music. The animating spirit behind these Vorticist sound sculptures resonates with me. You can't hum a tune from Scum, but Napalm Death's existence was, and remains, a necessary counterpoint to some of metal's more conservative tendencies.

Great album with some all-timers like 'Tangled Up in Blue' and 'Shelter from the Storm'. Gonna have to take a whole star off for 'Lily, Rosemary and the Jack of Hearts', which properly sets my teeth on edge.

It speaks volumes that the best track here, 'Police and Thieves', is a cover - and one that doesn't touch the original. There are other good tracks here - 'White Riot', 'London's Burning' - and the songwriting is a cut above the norm, but this isn't the finished article. Energy aside, the Clash had some evolving to do. Here they take their musical cues from the Stooges and the New York Dolls, but they're don't possess the danger or sleaze. There's a peculiar restraint at play here. Strummer tries to sound like he means it, man, but his mush-mouthed delivery verges on the ridiculous at times. I don't like him as a singer. Pretty good for all that, though.

Virtually perfect. No notes.

I really really like Liz Phair. But with this album, I think I like the lofi vibe much more than I like the actual songs. All of the stories are pretty great, but the actual melodies tend to lull me into a hypnotic state that sends my brain elsewhere. Never Said and Divorce Song are stand outs for me. But Whip-Smart and Whitechocolatespaceegg are better all the way through, I think.

A real mixed bag, but a fun slalom through mid-1960s R&B for all that. The lesser material is mawkish dreck - the album originally finished on 'Melody for an Unknown Girl' which is nauseating slush of the ripest variety. But the best - by which I mean 'Kicks', with its ringing Rickenbacker riff, and the frantic 'I'm Not Your Stepping Stone', is five-star stuff. The latter features an especially impassioned vocal from Revere; at one point he's almost choking on his words. Ups and downs, then, so a high three stars seems about right.

Aggressively Noo Yawk, in the same way Ohio transplants on social media get when talking about a chopped cheese from their local bodega. But the FLC was the first gig I went to without my parents, and as such I have a soft spot a mile wide for these guys. A friend and I wore leather jackets and essentially slow-cooked ourselves. And the music on 'Come Find Yourself'? Surprisingly good! A genuine relic of the 1990s, it manages the quite unique feat of sounding dumb and classy at the same time. At one point the boys even anchor a track with an ersatz 'Smoke on the Water' riff. Mainly it sounds like lounge-lizard soul played by petty hoodlums. I can get with that.

Feels symptomatic of an indulgent age that songs on this album get intro'd with, variously, dulcimers, "exotic" percussion and a didgeridoo - and then are never heard of again. It's back to meat 'n' potatoes rock, sometimes accentuated with brass. It's fine! The highlights - 'Young Lust', 'Love in an Elevator', 'The Other Side' - are top tier. But there's a fair bit of filler here, and perhaps my ears are faulty but 'Janie's Got a Gun' has never charmed me. Why does plodder 'What It Takes' have such a high play count on Spotify?

One of my favourite albums, full stop. Grew up with this being played in the house and know every word. Although Coop himself is (rightfully) seen as a godfather of shock rock, the original Alice Cooper band were so much more. For a start, their songwriting eschewed the usual themes and consequently the albums always had a peculiar, left-field feel to them. This impression is only heightened by the music. How to describe it? A kind of progressive garage rock I suppose. The ACB took rock 'n' roll to some odd places, untroubled as they were with traditional song structures. It's all here on Billion Dollar Babies, either their best or second-best album depending on my mood. Great instrumentalists, too. Dennis Dunaway might be my favourite bassist.

One of their more bombastic collections - and maybe I'm getting old, but I do like a little light and shade these days. A whole lotta plagiarism going on (allegedly). I used to love 'Moby Dick', now it bores me. Still, this is pretty good for some crotch-grabbin' rawk action.

Pleasant, lilting, hypnotic guitar and percussion rubs up against impassioned and characterful singing. The tunes here don't particularly grab this listener - rather, they lope along lazily and work their charms in subtle ways. On the sparser arrangements it's cool to hear what sounds a lot like the blues. It's especially apparent on 'Djam Leelii', its rhythm guitar slinking around like a cat at night.

Really hip, and it goes down like a vintage merlot. I suppose when one thinks of sophisticated, small-combo jazz music, this represents the archetype. SatVV is accessible, cool and features some feats of quiet virtuosity. As someone learning to play piano, listening to Evans' playing is like an audio picnic. The highlight for me is 'Solar', but I adore the tenderness of 'Jade Visions'. Mad that such a landmark live performance was captured in front of what seems to be about eight people, who clap politely at the end of each song.

Toes the line between being superb and ridiculous. I've seen the man live, he was amazing - but the longeurs of his recorded output can sometimes be a bit wearing. Still, side one of the original album - '1999', 'Little Red Corvette' and 'Delirious' - is a bit special

It's a soundtrack, so it's literally designed to be background music... ...but, this is Isaac Hayes, so I'm totally unsurprised that 'Shaft' rules. Putting aside the iconic theme song, the other pieces are the audio equivalent of an indulgent dessert - there's a delicious voluptuary about the arrangements. Plus, this is pungent music, invoking particular times, moods and atmospheres with ease. Of course, it wouldn't be Hayes if there wasn't a track jammed out to last almost one side of vinyl. Here, it's 'Do Your Thing', a kickass hunk of soul-funk with one of the sickest guitar solos around. It's the Blaxploitation 'Freebird'!

John Martyn was ever one of the most questing of the folkies, and on this album there's nary a hint of music associated with the real ale brigade. True, the spinning, swirling Echoplex guitar and slurred vocals heard on Solid Air are still in place; but if this isn't quite as accomplished as his best album, it's more expansive. Alongside some slightly New Wave touches we have a kind or soul-folk on 'Certain Surprise' and, perhaps most gorgeous of all, whalesong guitar on the meditative 'Small Hours', underpinned by a subtle heartbeat percussion. Lovely stuff. I hope Solid Air is on this app.

About as good as it gets. First track 'Sure 'Nuff 'n Yes I Do' has one of the greatest opening lines in rock music. The run of 'Electricity', 'Yellow Brick Road', Abba Zabba' and 'Plastic Factory' is remarkable, packing in more than many bands do in their careers. 'Abba Zabba' is one of my favourite songs of all time - there's one point where Ry Cooder's guitar simply glides. Beefheart sounds utterly demented, utterly in control. There was no need for any blues rock after 'Plastic Factory', it's all there, right there.

Sorry folks, I just plain don't get the fuss around this mob. Not awful, but where's the juice?

What is this pabulum doing on the list? I'm no U2 fan but I know just enough to be dangerous, and this barely scrapes their own top five. Still, 'Beautiful Day' gives me massive nostalgia vibes from ITV's shoddy soccer highlights show 'The Premiership', so there's that.

When this album slows up, there's a sense of spaciousness to the music that lends it an air of stateliness or grandeur. Numbers at a faster clop have an agreeable jaggedness about them. 'Pride' is my highlight. The track 'Crocodiles' sounds like the Stranglers before their fixation on Vikings and aliens. 'Pictures on the Wall' is the Hollies or Herman's Hermits from the nightmare dimension. All to the good. So why does the package as a whole fail to land entirely with me?

Promising start, with shades of Zappa mingled in with the jazzy melodic sensibility of Donald Fagen. At first I liked Thundercat's voice, nice and light, but after a while it the multitracked vocals start to wear. It's weird - there's a bunch of stuff like glitch and dream pop that I should dig here - but it never quite coalesced. The lyrics to 'Tokyo' and 'Friend Zone' irritate. He had two titans of yacht rock in Loggins and Macdonald on deck and gave them the most underpowered cameos imaginable. Feels like one big wasted opportunity.

One of my favourite albums, ever. The apogee of the British folk revival. Here, Martyn doses the waters with West Coast jazz influences resulting in a heady combination. Solid Air's smoky, blurry atmosphere proves perfect for listening after dark. Sensual, hypnotic, tender, magical. Music doesn't get much better than this.

I love Chuck D's delivery, and I find the aggressive, squally mesh of sound backing the vocals appealing. The messages are urgent and are presented with no little wit - sadly, much still resonates today. My big beef? Man, this sounds dated. I own the album, but possibly because I thought it an important record rather than a particularly listenable record. This is a 3.5 but I'm in a mean mood, so rounding it down to a 3.

[Vince McMahon getting excited, falling out of his chair meme] "1969 release date?" "Live album?" "Recorded at the Fillmore West?" "A jammed out Bo Diddley cover takes up an entire side of the album?" But seriously folks, this is mostly a sea of tedium. The odd tasty lick or interesting improvisation cannot redeem the meandering ebb und flud of this overcooked turkey.

The bridge between the likes of Lead Belly and Woody Guthrie, and the Sixties folkies like Dylan. Elliott does a fine impersonation of Guthrie on 'New York Town', but is also responsible for some rotten yodelling on 'Mule Skinner Blues'. Strange sounding album for a fella from Brooklyn. I like it well enough, but Elliott isn't as charismatic as Lead Belly, nor as wry as Guthrie, so this evens out around three stars. 'Grey Goose' is fun.

One imagines that Blur saw themselves as chroniclers of the everyday on Parklife, the Kinks of the bold 1990s. However, they fail to rise above their own prurience, resulting in an album that comes across as a sneer of condescension at the lower orders. Add in Damon Albarn's unappealing foghorn voice and you've got a stinker on your hands. Worst live band I've ever witnessed, too.

Strange, beautiful music. 'In a Silent Way', which takes up the entirety of side two, is by turns tender and hypnotic. Listen with the lights turned down low.

Billy Zoom is a cool name, and he plays some cool guitar. A very successful fusion of rockabilly and New Wave, resulting in very listenable greaser punk. Highlight: 'Universal Corner'

Full marks. No notes. Every track an absolute banger.

Shite.

I'll start with the positives - there are some good individual performances here, for sure. The dynamics on this album are cool. There's a three-song stretch in the middle of the album that is top notch. The case against - this album is far too long and flabby. Kiedis' voice is sub-optimal and characterless. And the worst bit - this tries so hard, with much sweat and effort, to give you the impression that the Chilis are Good Sex Men. I've said before now that genuine sex elf Prince sometimes sounded ridiculous when asserting his bedroom credentials, but these guys never had the mystique in the first place.

A fair bit of Mark Knopfler's output is a little saccharine for my tastes, but here the balance between sweet and spicy is just about right. There's a hint of grit in many of these tracks that runs nicely against the guitar playing, which is, expectedly, the star of the show. It bears stating the obvious, but Knopfler's playing is exquisite, borrowing from jazz and country yet managing to sound both more expressive and lyrical than contemporaries doing the same thing. And it all seems so effortless! Hey, the man's got a good, characterful voice. Plus this album contains zero homophobic slurs! Four stars!

Perfectly serviceable rock of a homespun variety that flourished in this era. Although the electric instrumentation features, acoustic guitars, mandolins and fiddles are to the fore. Stewart's voice is the ideal match for this kind of country-ish, folk-ish music; it has a rough-hewn, woody quality that blends in nicely. The highlight for me is one of the more upbeat numbers, 'Cut Across Shorty', though the title track is done sensitively, as is 'Lady Day'. It all lands very comfortably but there's an aspect of weightlessness that hamstrings Gasoline Alley; pretty enough, but fails to leave a lasting impression.

I saw a version of Iron Butterfly at a Dutch rock festival in 2004. It had 50% of the 'classic' lineup on the boards - by which is meant the dudes that recorded this album. They were good! Anyway, I own a copy of this because anyone who has ever picked up an electric guitar or tried to murder a blind woman loves the riff from the title track. The rest is pretty turgid, bog-standard heavy psych. I really don't listen to it much, and revisiting for this app kinda confirmed why.

Good songwriting (if a little worthy), plasticky sub-Gabriel production, a voice I don't particularly care for, a few brave choices with arrangements...that's a three star album, baby!

It feels wild giving this five stars on the basis that, essentially, Low has a wonderful audio 'mouthfeel' - but there we go. As a soundscape, it's absolutely stunning. Plus, this is a prime example of Bowie's true strength as an artist, which is to take popular music to interesting places whilst remaining accessible. 'Warszawa' reminds me of nothing more than a video I once saw of a Georgian Orthodox choir singing the Paternoster in Aramaic. 'Sound and Vision' might be my favourite Bowie track of all time.

Go on - four stars. Not usually my cup of tea, this. But Karen Carpenter has such a bloody wonderful voice that it elevates virtually everything where she is front and centre. There's some good material here, too - I really like the multi-part arrangement of 'Another Song' for example, but the real standout is 'Crescent Noon', a gorgeous, witchy showcase for Karen's singing. Richard? Good songwriting, but his vocals are a tad off - on one track he sounds hangdog, and on another it's as if he's chewing a pork chop. Just let your sister sing mate!

Bottled insanity. Not sure whether I like it, but I'm damn sure that it exists in the world. That someone said "how about Ornette Coleman...but hardcore?" and then executed this notion has helped me to love the human race just a little more.

What an unholy racket - guaranteed to annoy your parents, neighbours - or nephews. Of course, I'm entirely pro anything this wilfully antisocial. There's only two of these guys yet they conjure up a maelstrom of noise that feels almost physical. Alright!

Whatever. On an album as lengthy as this, by such accomplished musicians, you'd expect some good stuff. The top tier material comes courtesy of the late Christine McVie, by way of 'Brown Eyes' and 'Never Forget'. I also found the song 'Tusk' to be a pleasant oddity. Of the remainder, too much felt half-baked, half-realised or half-arsed. There's plenty to like, if plodding mid-tempo soft rock is your bag. 'Not That Funny' is a bit like a Sparks song, if Sparks were crap. I was in a band called Tusk once upon a time, and on one occasion we were booked due to the assumption that we were a Fleetwood Mac tribute act. That we were assuredly not.

This slaps on the basis of the sick guitar tones and 'Rooster' alone. 'Rooster' is utterly brilliant, a thick with atmosphere, and a song that's neither ostensibly anti- or glorifying of war - it's just a war song. A few draggy moments but just crank the volume and enjoy the electric maelstrom.

Pretty much the blueprint of how to evolve one's ambitions, step outside of a given genre to incorporate fresh ideas, yet still be identifiably in touch with one's roots. And the results? Banger after banger.

I didn't exactly dislike this - in fact, there are some elements that appeal. Arrangements are light but quietly elegant. Tracey Thorn has an expressive voice. And when you tune in, the songwriting is sharp; pat subjects are eschewed for miniature soap operas. The problem overall is that I didn't tune in enough. Idlewild proved to be the definition of background noise. Entirely pleasant, quite hip in places and coolly understated - but it hardly grabs the listener by the lapels, and the songs are not sticky enough for anything to stand out.

Boring as fuck. Is this 'slacker' music, aye? Explains a lot.

Too hip. The reference to Kentucky Fried Chicken in 'Secrets' (a straight banger) made me hoot. "Let's go to Mars, where children play..."

Started strongly but ran out of puff - by which I mean that I grew a little wearied by the puritan production and arrangements. Still, this is my favourite version of the Dead - the limitations of vinyl meaning they cannot jam out endlessly. So you've got a fairly focused, well-delivered collection of roots and country rock that is pleasant, rather than spectacular.

Too cool. This bad boy slipped down like the first espresso martini on a Thursday night. Classy, slinky and just tasty enough for the jazz heads, but accessible enough for the general listener. Sometimes I think the Hammond B3 organ has a tendency to overpower other instruments but Smith lends it wonderful light and shade. Kenny Burrell plays some fine guitar too - silky, clean, hip. The bees' knees!

A supreme vibe, some timeless bangers, and redolent of a genre that was stacked with cool bands. Only downside is that there isn't a scene half as cool as this anymore. Cheers for reminding me, lads!

Extraordinary. It feels like the spirit of Modernism remains alive and well in this collection, which by turns rages, celebrates, swings and broods. Notwithstanding the incredible musicianship, in some moments the sound conjured up puts one in mind of the immensity of an angry ocean. I think Becker and Fagen took cues from some of the horn work here for 'Royal Scam'. Love the Spanish guitar. Mingus was the Man.

I have this album. Got it for £2 at a car boot sale. Picked up some Tupac, White Stripes and Billy Idol at the same time. Less than £10 for the haul. Anyway, it is what it is - a fun, colourful oddity, which seemed to emerge at the time from nowhere, glowing neon amidst a slurry of Creed and Nickelback. Time has been relatively kind, and the big songs still have a kick to them. A charitable four; guitars crunch, vocals soar and there's an infectious energy throughout.

Extraordinary. A concept album that sounds utterly of it's time, but also has smudges of ELO, Joe Jackson and 1960s pop in there. It all comes together brilliantly. This is squarely in pop rock territory, but occupies the more questing, ambitious end of the spectrum. Why am I not surprised that Todd Rundgren had a hand in it? Regardless, for music of this ilk, this is about as good as things get.

I feel that this got better as it progressed, culminating in the lovely 'I Surrender, Dear', and the rollicking 'Bemsha Swing'. The drumming in the latter is, by bop standards, thunderous. Don't think that I'll ever tire of having Monk thrust in my direction.

Not a dance music fan particularly, but I don't mind this one bit. It certainly fills the space with sound, features some very satisfying beats and drops, and the electronica of 'Melt' was pleasingly redolent of Kraftwerk. Aye, alright.

Okay. Country laid on this thick is a bit hard for me to digest, and I don't like Griffith's voice at times - lots of elision alongside that weird Stevie Nicks bleat. But - the songwriting is strong and topics are well observed. There's an overall feeling of bittersweet that pervades, which fits the country idiom perfectly. You can cry into your beer over a few of these numbers - but do you want to?

There is an appealing strangeness and quirkiness to Harvey's lyrics and vocal delivery that would've kept me hooked; were it not for the alt rock backing, which seemed to become less daring the deeper I got into the album. Not bad, all told.

Everything about this album connects with me to the marrow of my being. The songs are superlative but as a collection taken as a whole they come alive with a tight, greasy vibe unmatched in the ZZ Top catalogue - and much elsewhere. Nobody did this kind of twisted, rolling Tejano rhythm and blues better. Have mercy!

In contention for the greatest debut album of all time. Bought it on a whim in a German airport, as one does. Ausgezeichnet!

Feels unfair to say it, but this didn't land with me at all. Almost certain that I listened in the wrong mindset and wrong environment, but it left me cold. Dull, unremitting, and not quite as smart as I hoped it would be.

An important album in the context of the British blues boom, but by the same token the midwife for all kinds of abominations done in service to the blooz. The music is fine, and nice selection of upbeat and ruminative numbers. Pre-racism Clapton's guitar playing is hip and aggressive; my favourite elements, though, are the harmonicas and brass instruments used liberally throughout. A shame so many successors to the Bluesbreakers opted to privilege guitars ahead of horns. Points taken off for Mayall's singing; punchy songs are hamstrung by his thin, mannered vocals. Still, pretty good fun nonetheless.

Maybe I caught this at the wrong time, but what a load of tosh. Rock music was never meant to be this boring! Even the prog dinosaurs of the 1970s don't sound as lumpen as this. It's pure zombie rock, lurching from one track to another, the half-life of rebellion and revelation flickering only fleetingly behind dead eyes. What's with this cack production job too, eh? Sounds like they recorded this in a toilet. Perhaps they did.

Pretty wonderful! The title track is a full ten minutes long and races by, crammed as it is with so many textures and ideas. Interesting to hear, amongst the artsier flourishes, some unexpected influences coming to bear. Both 'Station To Station' and the rollicking 'TVC15' feature boogie piano that owes as much to Mrs Mills as anything, whilst the harmonies of 'Word on the Wind' bring the Wailers to mind. Ambitious, playful and restless, this is hip. And, as with virtually every Bowie project, there's often something twisty and interesting going on with the vocal melodies.

I own this album. Pleasant enough, but 'Chan Chan' aside, the music never progresses beyond the realm of being comfortable. Why should we expect otherwise? It's a group of Cuban seniors playing old music with Ry Cooder noodling over the top. It's hardly Metal Machine Music.

Exquisite. I'm a sucker for any of this 1980s post-punk stuff in any case, but this is right in the sweet spot. Smart lyrics, cool synth noises (especially the pillowy synth-bass sound) and a cracking Jools Holland piano solo on 'Uncertain Smile'. Could've been five stars on another day.

Everyone's favourite avant-garde Slovenian art rock band, right? Honestly, this fucking rules. Taking the dumbest dogshit song by Austrian no-hopers Opus and covering it - twice? Turning Queen's 'One Vision' into a mock blood-and-soil military march? Finishing up with a quote from Churchill? Superb. Wish more bands had the guts to do something quite as cerebral and satirical as this. Maybe Devo, maybe the Residents. Points the way towards what popular music could be.

The Stones were at their best stretching themselves out over sleazy, scuzzy tracks with a basis in blues and country music, perfectly exemplified on Let It Bleed. Midnight Rambler pulses with menace. Country Honk is a great reworking of an already cool tune. Live With Me is choppy and loose. Gimme Shelter is one of the best rock songs of its era. An all-timer? It needs to be considered in the conversation. A stunning collection of songs by a band firing on all cylinders in terms of vigour, delivery and creativity.

The true genius behind this album is Jansch's ability to convey so much of the emotional spectrum with such spartan tools - acoustic guitar and voice, but mostly just guitar. Yet with his fingers he coaxes out joy, melancholy, sadness and mystery. It sounds fresh now; upon release this must've gone off like a depth charge. Highlights include 'I Have No Time', 'Casbah', the ostensibly sweet ode to addiction 'Needle of Death' and superlative closing instrumental 'Angie'.

Cheap Trick at the height of their powers. I like how 'Need Your Love' acts as the gravitational centre of the collection, a sprawling, prowling epic around which the zippier material orbits. And what material! It's banger after banger. The likes of 'Surrender' and 'I Want You to Want Me' are established classics, but 'Big Eyes', 'Clock Strikes Ten' and 'Come On, Come On' are comfortable bedfellows. Robin Zander is a superb singer but it's guitarist Rick Neilson who stands out. His playing is all broken shards and wiry little tangles of noise. The epitome of power pop, then - yet no-one quite sounds like Cheap Trick, now or then.

An album I've owned for almost twenty years. It's quintessential Stranglers - distorted, trebly bass, kaleidoscopic keyboards and yobbish vocals. They had yet to fully develop their obsessions with Vikings and aliens, but this is pretty fun nonetheless.

Devo arrive at their first album fully formed - a bunch of geeky clowns dismantling rock 'n' roll on record, all in service of a sinister, shadowy credo that humanity is going backwards. You're never too sure whether they're joking or not, and that ambivalence lurking in the heart of Q: Are We Not Men? forms a huge part of their appeal. The other is their weird, stiff, hysterical motorik music. There's not a bad track here, and many real highlights. Strange sounds, played with intent and determination.

Pros: some of these choruses are sublime, some neat sound collage stuff going on, lesser-spotted theme of motherhood ('The Next Generation') present which is interesting. Cherry's lively, exuberant personality shines through. Cons: Almost any time the hip-hop influences step to the fore. Cherry is an atrocious rapper. Songs like 'Buffalo Stance' and 'Heart' are cracking pop almost ruined by this ineptitude. It's also a big contributing factor to Raw Like Sushi sounding a bit dated. I think this just about shakes out as a three star offering.

It's a bit of a slog, ain't it? Ghostbusters!

Prime Jagger here, and some quality tunes. It all feels of a piece with itself, which makes for a pleasant listening experience. However, Exile... does tend to meander, and leans too heavily on gospel backing. Lowlight - 'Sweet Black Angel' is plain embarrassing. Still, the guitars weave and bob, there's a cool loose feel throughout and Mick slithers about like a sexy lizard. Could be four stars on another day.

Bland, sterile baby food music for soft lads.

As expected the vocals are good, impressive at times. However, this is very much a relic of its time, where CD albums were bloated to hour plus monstrosities and quality control suffered. Another sign o' the times - albums frontloaded with the hits, making this a very uneven listening experience. Dissatisfying, ultimately.

The astringent guitars mesh wonderfully with vocals that bring their own healthy dose of vinegar into the mix. The real MVP though is the drumming; this whole album pulses with a brooding intensity that is provided largely by its motor. Dead good, this.

What the fuck is this? It's borderline unlistenable. I had an ear infection earlier this week that rendered me somewhat deaf. I was miserable and anxious to regain my hearing. Now, having regained my faculties, I'm wondering why one of the first things I did once recovering my faculties was to subject myself to this dogshit Lana Del Ray album. Think I'll treat my ears to something preferable, like audio of children screaming on a long haul flight, or the 1812 Overture played entirely on car alarms. You know, as a treat.

Exhibits A and B: "You're built like a car / You got a hubcap diamond star halo" ...and... "Just like a car you're pleasing to behold / I'll call you Jaguar if I may be so bold" ...pretty much sum this album up. Those lyrics are at once wonderful, stupid and nonsensical. It's pure blarney, but of the most addictive kind. And the music? Glam rock, yes, but glancing over its shoulder to the bongo'd-out sounds of Donovan and his ilk. There's a lazy, strolling feel to these songs - the biggies have it, but so does album fodder like 'Planet Queen' and 'Life's a Gas'. Do you like Marc Bolan's elfin bleat? I've lived with this music for a while and find it just another weird facet in this idiosyncratic collection of wigged-out star-bops. Just the ticket.

Absolute dog-rot.

The Eagles are a funny one - both enjoying wild, widespread popularity but also critical disdain for what is seen as a privileging of bland ultra-competence over grit, spunk or soul. I think there's a kernel of truth to the latter position. But surely even the haters have to acknowledge that 'Take It Easy' and 'Peaceful Easy Feeling' are perfect AM radio rock? And there are a couple of other cool cuts on this album - 'Earlybird' is a charming curio, plus the scenesters would jizz their keks if 'Witchy Woman' was by Redbone. There is, however, a dollop of filler here - and if 'Chug All Night' is not the Eagles' worst track - that's 'James Dean' - then, by god, it might be their worst song title; it's utter porridge! At least 'Tryin'' rocks.

The compositions and arrangements can be pretty nice, albeit it's all a rather arch act of graverobbing. 'You Know I'm No Good' and 'Back To Black' are fine songs, despite their ubiquity in the 2000s. However, Al Jolson himself would blush (one would guess) at those fucking vocals. What was going on?! 'Rehab' is a terrible piece of music.

I don't think I'll ever dislike this sound. Strange, the buoyant, often playful music contrasts with a sensation of lassitude permeating the lyrical mood. I like the willingness to play with a broader soundscape too. Interesting record.

How to score this? Rock music shorn of any real human emotion; absolutely nothing in terms of groove either, it lurches around like some sick merry-go-round music. Yet - Siouxsie is an arresting presence, I love the fragments of sound thrown out by the guitarist (and the percussion that serves to accent this weird approach to rock); plus in 'Helter Skelter', 'Switch' and 'Metal Postcard' you have a clutch of truly powerful, astonishing songs. I'll give it four stars, but I'll walk away a little bamboozled all the same.

I have everything Nick Drake recorded. I love his strange, claustrophobic and unsettling little world. The spartan arrangements only add to the weirdness - sometimes it sounds like Drake is right next to you, whispering into your ear. Intimate, thrilling and a bit unnerving. Funny how this is called 'folk' music - you could never imagine any of the music being performed as a roundel or any other kind of communal enterprise. When did folk cross the threshold from a collective to an individual experience? Insane that the title track was used on a car commercial.

There is some really cool funk-soul here, like the title track, 'You Can Make it if You Try', 'Sing a Simple Song' and 'I Want to Take You Higher'. All the different voices fluttering in and out is fun, and clearly influenced the likes of Parliament. Larry Graham is a beast of a bass player. However, 'Sex Machine' absolutely sucks the whole album into a black hole of self-indulgence. It's horrible! And lasts for almost fourteen minutes! Get rid of this and replace with two or three more focused songs and you'd be looking at an easy four stars. The older I get, the less patient I have become with endless jams.

This album showcases some truly brilliant production; some rather mediocre rapping; and lyrics so stupid that I felt my IQ ticking down a few points every time I fully tuned in.

Did these guys ever consider writing a tune? That people can whistle, maybe tap their foot along to? I'm being facetious, but I simply don't get the appeal of this. White noise, but not in any kind of calming sense.

The template is very much set on the first track. It's an appealing sound; lean arrangements overlaid with tight harmony singing. The high, keening singing wraps everything in a veil of melancholy. The problem? There's virtually no variation in this approach. It became hard to differentiate tracks. Being generous you could say that the album sustains a particular atmosphere for its duration. The only songs that left an impression were 'Kentucky' and 'Alabama'. Everything else evaporated into the air.

Sprawling double album - and one that wrongfooted me. My prior familiarity with the material skewed exclusively to the Andre 3000 side of the coin, but it was the Big Boi half of the equation that I found myself enjoying more. Mad that an album this sprawling was able to sustain my interest throughout. It lagged in places - especially where Andre tries to play 1970s sophisticate loverman - but overall, what a curious collection of music, sounds, moods and ideas.

Wow - another lengthy album but one that throws loads of ideas against the wall. Many of them stick! The whole work could be summed up as dream pop, but it takes excursions into territories such as torch songs, hip hop and even freak folk. Now, Monae doesn't always convince, but seems to have fun wearing each mask; and there's a winning freedom to proceedings. It doesn't hurt that she possesses a fantastic, versatile voice. Highlights for me are the Ron Isley-esque zap guitar workout 'Mushrooms and Roses', the twisted candy of 'Wondaland' and the Roaring Twenties-on-steroids thump of 'War of the Roses'. Altogether quite extraordinary.

This isn't music I'd ever choose to listen to. The reason that it has scrambled to three stars - and is holding on to that status by a fingernail - is that it takes me back to a very definite time and place. Sneaking into clubs underage, to be greeted by sticky floors, a blue-black half-light that heightened the sense of transgression; and dance music just like this booming away. Hell, 'Bingo Bango' was likely being spun on a few occasions. If the nostalgia this provokes wasn't so deeply etched, I'd be trying hard to justify two stars. Competent dance that probably sounds great in a packed warehouse but cack in your kitchen.

I applaud the intent and the willingness to create awkward music like this. Still, this is all rather unpalatable over toast and cereal of a morning. When should I listen to this? Never?

Pregnant with atmosphere and a kind of roiling doom, this album was an absolute treat after a fairly bleak run of picks. Even stuff I didn't really know, like 'Crystal Ship' and 'End of the Night' hit the mark, a woozy, druggy hypnotic heavy psych. There are a couple of moments that made me laugh - 'Alabama Song', with its jaunty dulcimer, made me think of the Sensational Alex Harvey Band; and whilst 'The End' is a mighty piece, 'Father I want to kill you / Mother I want to RAWWRAWWRARRR' gets me every time. I haven't even mentioned 'Break On Through' nor 'Light My Fire'. Ah, but isn't this sprinkled with just a dusting of magic?

I'm torn. On another review I said the worst musical crime is bland competence, when it's at the expense of creativity or artistic risk. I think Nick of Time just about scrapes by on account of its songcraft and Raitt's lovely, smokey vocals that hum with toughness and vulnerability as the occasion calls for. However - how have you got Herbie Hancock, Kim Wilson, half of CSNY and half of Was (Not Was) on this platter, but sounding so anonymous? Feels like a missed opportunity. I dislike the wet keyboard sounds that crop up here and there. Someone needs to retire that 'Sweet Home Alabama' / 'Werewolves of London' chord progression. Saying all that, 'I Will Not Be Denied' rules, as does 'Thing Called Love'. In summary, the rockier material worked - the soft Americana just slid by.

I dug this - there's some fun musicianship throughout, and it walks a hard-rock / pop tightrope (with the odd fleck of funk) neatly. Does anyone else think that Corey Glover sounds like Extreme's Gary Cherone? The standout track is the provocative, bulldozing 'Cult of Personality' but there are gems throughout. The home stretch of 'Glamour Boys', 'What's Your Favourite Color?' and 'Which Way to America?' frankly rules - guitarist Vernon Reid going overboard demonstrating metal riffage, funky chicken scratch and nimble soloing. I was well disposed towards Living Color from the moment I saw Doug Wimbish in the Ibanez catalogue (yes, I know Muzz Skillings is the bassist on this one). Despite not hearing a note of their music, I thought Living Color had to be good for Ibanez endorsements - no thumb-over-the-fretboard noodlers in the Ibanez stable!

A dopey song about a swimming pool followed by three largely shapeless, tuneless longform tracks that veer between sublime, boring and eccentric? Honestly, quite the chad move.

Uncomplicated knockabout fun from Noddy, Superyob et al. Through the lens of nostalgia Slade are often viewed as fairly cartoonish figures, but this is harder and meatier than I expected. Not much to say - switch you brain off and get your toe-tapping to this brawling, slightly lumpen clutch of rockers.

I have some familiarity with the SAHB so knew what to expect, to a degree. In summary, and as I've always thought, the SAHB are a much more interesting proposition when they steer away from the blooz rock template which plagued the early 1970s. So it proves on 'Next'. The best tracks here, therefore, are the Jacques Brel cover 'Next' (taking into account modern sensibilities), the tough, peculiar 'Vambo Marble Eye' and the lascivious 'Faith Healer'. My only issue with the latter is that I have a live version of this track that absolutely smokes, and makes its studio equivalent quite tame in comparison. Alex Harvey was an interesting old cove. Zal Cleminson had a helluva look going on.

A band that was coming into its own during my youth, yet one that utterly passed me by. On this evidence, I'm not too bothered. By a long chalk the best songs are those that lean into the heavier end of the nu-metal spectrum. That said, the blast beats sometimes sound like a rather proficient typist, and tell me - what are Slipknot doing with clean vocalist / gruff vocalist that wasn't already perfected by Aqua? The slower or more quiet songs are an absolute slurry of post-grunge mediocrity. The production is hideous, like it was all filtered through a cardboard tube. Sorry, but this reviewer is far from becoming a maggot on the strength of All Hope Is Gone.

I can see why this was a big album - pop-rock with a bratty edge that is hummable in a very breezy way. By the same token, I cannot see why it's on this particular list. Cultural impact? Because on the basis of the music, it's as anodyne as could be. It's not bad, by any stretch - but it is bland. 'Celebrity Skin' is a good track though.

I've moaned a bit about how some of the albums thrown up by this app are little characterless - can't complain about this one, right? Sadly, despite surviving the British educational system I don't speak a lick of French (Latin though, anyone?) so the lyrics pass me by. Gainsbourg snuffles and moans over the top of far-out psych rock to a story, if Wikipedia is to be believed, about an ageing pervert's lust for a teenage girl he's knocked down in a car accident. All feels terribly European. I can't tell if this is a work of genius or the most chronic thing ever committed to tape, but it held my (sometimes bemused) attention throughout, so let's shake hands on four stars.

Three half-decent songs, a lot of bog standard 70s rawk filler and an embarrassment in 'Big Ten Inch Record'. Why is it that there's a bunch of guys who consider themselves Good Sex Men who feel they need to whack a hokey jazz number on their albums? David Lee Roth, I'm looking at you here... Underwhelming, but listenable. Just about scrapes to three stars.

This rips. Don't need to say too much more!

A pleasant but strangely inconsequential journey into McCartneydom. There are at least two albums in his catalogue that are nearing five star status - this isn't one of them. Nonetheless, nothing objectionable here. I like it well enough.

Lately I've been listening to a lot of music that's greasy, sweaty, a bit raggedy but all the more human for it. Inevitable, then, that despite some nice, dreamy touches this would leave me cold. It all sounds a bit disengaged, no? There was a real buzz in the UK around The xx when this dropped but on this evidence it's hard to discern exactly why. I don't think 2009 was a vintage year. Anyways, time to return to the wanton harlots and steaming bayous of my swamp rock playlist. Ho hum.

Yeah, okay - it ain't the Stooges, but what is? Heck, why should I expect more of the same? Why would I even want that? Nonetheless, there's Detroit garage rock in the DNA of this bad boy, and whilst a little uneven as a whole I like it. The sound is stripped-down and lean, a perfect vehicle for music that is simple, even repetitive, in parts - it packs a punch. The drums on the title track are the apogee of rock percussion in my opinion. Rama lama!

Leaves me utterly cold. I don't know in what circumstance one would wish to engage with this, thus I can't even slap the 'music as function' label on it. This is seriously something I needed to listen to before the sweet embrace of the crypt? Really?

What a pleasant and dreamy lope through some old skool honky tonk. Nothing really stood out, but Price's voice is spot on and the whole album is thick with atmosphere. I could certainly imagine a few cuts making it into some uncanny David Lynch nightclub scene. Did anyone else check out the band on this record? It's absolutely stacked. I'm a fairweather country fan but recognised every single musician, all of whom are Hall of Famers in their own right. Nice.

I've seen Jane Weaver live and, frankly, that's the right medium for music of this ilk. Expecting to go on some kind of psychonaut mindquest whilst sat on the sofa, or in one's bedroom, is a bit rum.

I have this album and I have enjoyed some of it, some of the time. I will always retain a fondness for 'The Idiot Bastard Son' and a couple of other tracks, but there lurks at the heart of this album a suspicion that poisons the well somewhat. The suspicion? That Frank Zappa, despite many documented protestations to the contrary, was not a music lover. Only rarely did he apply his talent with sincerity to the creation of art. Even when he gets close, a fatal imperative to scrawl a moustache over the Mona Lisa takes hold. Zappa was never much of a satirist or surrealist - the overriding impression is that of a bitter, unpleasant misanthrope. Still, Jimmy Carl Black is on this album so that's worth a star on its own.

I thoroughly expected to hate this album. Guess what? I didn't. That said, I think the act of listening to Chocolate Starfish... reduced my IQ by a few points; and certainly the replay value is limited. Fred Durst has, for better or worse, a distinctive voice, but his whelping is of the register of a man having his sunburnt shoulders being slapped (a distinctive possibility, as one imagines Mr Durst lives a largely sleeveless life). In terms of lyrics, it's an absolute shambles, although I have been enlightened as to many ways 'fuck' can be deployed as noun, verb and adjective. And yet? Well, it's hard to deny the animating spirit behind this endeavour - a celebration of boneheaded machismo and exxxxtreme attitude. For all the posturing, there's a good-natured vibe throughout, and moreover, it's often very fun. I'm also never going to complain about huge riffs and huge beats. The cherry on top? 'Rollin'' is a true five star song. It's a monster - a riff as big as a house wedded to a chorus that is beautiful in its Neanderthal simplicity. Of course you've also got the celebrate three genders "hey ladies / hey fellas / and the people that don't give a fuck", which is frankly ahead of it's time in its inclusivity. Listening to 'Rollin'', I feel like I can run through a brick wall. I feel like I can successfully invade a micronation. Few songs hold such potency.

A couple of cool moments - opener, track I recognised from Lost Highway, track with Nick Cave - but much of this album faded into the background. A little quirky in places, but the gauzy nightclub jazz pieces don't quite land. Feels like this laid the groundwork for bands such as Public Service Broadcasting and Duckworth Lewis Method; artists I'd rather be listening to, even if the latter make albums about cricket, a truly shit sport.

I'm seemingly immune to the charms of this band. I scored Limp Bizkit one star higher than this album the other day. You know what? I'm not wrong.

Never listened to Hűsker Dű before, and in no huge hurry to do so again. There's a good pop band in there somewhere, right? I feel like they need to properly embrace their inner Cheap Trick to properly soar. Absolutely nothing wrong with this chiming, slightly fuzzed-up college rock sound, but there are some belting songs here stifled by their peculiarly monochrome execution.

Here's the problem - 'I Had Too Much to Dream' is a mighty, mighty track and, if I'm not mistaken, kicks off the revered Nuggets compilation. In common with many of their Nugget confederates, one can't escape the feeling that the Electric Prunes were one-and-done. There's a trio of mid-album songs that pique the interest - the psych-mazurka of 'Sold to the Highest Bidder', 'Get Me to the World on Time' which morphs from murky nod-out into a schizoid Bo Diddley beat for the final third, and the fragrant charm of 'About a Quarter to Nine' all have their moments - but the rest is slurry. Very dated slurry. The final furlong of this mercifully short album is some of the most cringe-inducing music this app has subjected me to. Not quite a bad trip, all told, but not much better.

Be warned! The Spotify version is the sprawling double CD release, which perhaps has the effect of diluting the album's experience. Yet when I listened to the original 43min version, I'm still left a little underwhelmed. Is producing decent indie rock passporting criteria enough to appear on this list? There are a few signs of stylistic invention here and there, and the songwriting is solid. 'Hollow Little Reign' is legitimately great. One of the tracks features a nice brass arrangement, kinda aiming for what the Stones were doing on Sticky Fingers. Sticky Fingers this ain't, though. Average.

Hearing the first chords of 'Blue Suede Shoes' crash into existence when this came out must have been terribly exciting. Even now, many decades later, this crackles with energy. Forget what naysayers and revisionists will say, Elvis (especially the young Elvis) was a superb singer. He manages to capture the mood for each occasion here - from the buoyant thrum of 'I Got a Woman' through to my favourite cut, the spooky, smokey version of 'Blue Moon'. Tip top stuff.

I own this album, and if there's a way to corrode a CD through over-playing I must be close with this one. As expected, it's as smooth and jazzy as Steely Dan; perhaps even schmoover. The production is light, crisp and, although very much of it's time, sounds like brushed silk on a good set of speakers. What sets this aside as truly remarkable is that Fagen has conjured up something like a quasi-concept album centred around the themes and events of his youth - the techno-utopianism of the 1950s, the Cuban Revolution, anxieties around the A-bomb - and it's all done with wit and panache. Less elliptical than the Dan, as a consequence this feels like it is more human and has more heart than anything else Fagen had heretofore. A triumph.

Great! One expects Peter Gabriel to come up with something a bit left field - and he doesn't disappoint here. Is this the album where there isn't a single use of the cymbals? Despite his somewhat oblique take on pop and rock, there's nothing really difficult about anything on 'Melt'. Indeed, 'I Don't Remember' and 'Games Without Frontiers' (a hymnal to the knockabout game show fronted by a convicted sex offender?) are wonderfully catchy numbers. The album ends on the slightly downbeat, ruminative 'Biko', which, in a sense, acts as the heartbeat for everything else. Superb stuff. Jeux sans frontières indeed!

What the hell is this? Something for when Enya gets a bit too intense? Whatever, three stars.

A part of me understands this album's ramshackle, shambolic charm - and every now and again it threatens to work its magic on me - but far too much of the material sounds underpowered and under-baked. On purpose? It has all the punch of a demo recorded through a mobile phone. Still, some of these lads are QPR fans, so I can't be too harsh. They've suffered enough already. Believe me, I know!

On the plus side, when this album clicks the results are memorable - especially the two big singles, 'Start!' and 'That's Entertainment'. There's a nice balance between punky angularity and a way with melody that brings the Kinks to mind at times. Weller is a waspish, acute songwriter. Still, three stars it is because outside of those songs you've got 'Pretty Green' and the eerily modern-sounding 'Scrape Away' - and a whole bunch of filler. Plus, I've got beef with the singing; to me, Weller's voice has always felt like a damp drizzle, and too often fails to animate the songs.

Yeah - if you dig Neil Young, as I do, you'd struggle to find fault here. Young was at the height of his considerable powers here. Another artist might sound trapped by the rather ramshackle arrangements here - not Young. If anything, they only serve to embellish his artistry. Superb.

The unadorned human voice can be a beautiful thing, ably demonstrated on Shaka Zulu. However, I would probably enjoy a nibble here and there as opposed to the whole cake. A full album of this rather hushed, worthy music is a little too much. There's simply not enough in terms of variety to keep me rapt. I need a mote of grit in the oyster, if you can dig it. An interesting sideline that differs from much of what I listen to, but nothing more.

There's always room for two-fisted, brutish, antisocial noise rawk of this flavour. I generally approve, even if I'd not wish to subject my delicate ears to its tender ministrations too often. Wot a racket.

I'm a fan of the Strands and the Red Elastic Band already, so no surprise that I'm very taken with this sweeping, shimmering indie pop, suffused with the merest hint of Pentangle-esque Brit folk. The rather dreich Michael Head himself remains one of the most lugubrious sounding men in rock, but there's a warmth to his downbeat, yearning songs that rescues them from outright misery. Lovely stuff.

Too hip

One of my favourite albums. Quite wonderful how these lads made electronics sound so warm. 'Neon Lights' is positively cozy! Very few, more traditional, albums have as much heart as this lovely slice of Teutonic robotica.

Man, I could listen to this over and over again. In terms of the British blues boom, this feels like it's near the top of tree. Great song selection and variety, the band sounds tight, but best of all is Mick Jagger. It may be their first album but already he sounds slithery, fey and dangerous. 'Tell Me' is probably the weakest joint here but it's fine, if slightly generic 60s beat pop. There are great versions of 'Carol', 'Route 66' and personal highlight, 'I'm a King Bee' - so yeah, four, verging on five stars.

I own this album but hardly listen to it. Today's spin served as a reminder as to why. There is some accomplished pop here, and I'm a fan of all the bloops and squelches that pepper the soundscape. However, there's any so much tweeness I can take, and some of this jive is so saccharine it made my teeth melt. The vocals aren't up to much either, eh?

Like bleach for the ears

Beyonce is a global phenomenon; something both entirely understandable and yet, to me, utterly incomprehensible. All the elements contributing to her success are there to see - and yet those are the exact same elements that leave me cold. The music is competent and catchy - and as safe, unambitious, and 'on rails' as can be imagined. Beyonce herself is an incredible singer, yet the technical ecstasy of the execution leaves me unmoved. This sounds like the creation of a precision-engineered pop cyborg, with minimal human intervention. I gave Scissor Sisters one star because the music was like taking a pumice stone to my cochlear, but looking back I was being unfair. At least their Elton John-cum-disco era Bee Gees approach contained some interesting ideas. This is smooth-brain music.

Bits of Teenage Fanclub, World of Twist and even a daub of Edgar Broughton Band here and there. I tend to think the rockier numbers are the best - 'Bad Behaviour' rips, and 'Hangin' with Howard Marks' shines - plus the rather grizzled vocals are a nice feature in the mix. Not bad at all. Didn't entirely hold my attention, and the arrangements sometimes verged on the twee side of things, but altogether quite listenable.

Kanye is an unlikeable mess when he's outside of a studio, and sometimes within one too. But this? It's pretty great, highly entertaining and made me laugh more than once. Can't deny talent, even if the person who wields it is deeply unpleasant.

Fully expected to dislike this, but man, I was wrong. From the initial Ronettes-by-way-of-Hell drumbeat that intros 'Just Like Honey' (a trick repeated on 'Sowing Seeds') through to the dark pulse of 'It's So Hard', this was a thoroughly enjoyable listen. Not a genre I have much familiarity with, but this sounds like a kissing cousin to a wing of the goth family. There are some decent tunes buried beneath the fuzz, but actually the noise is the star of the show - vast, towering waves of sound washing over proceedings. It's a 'big' sounding album too, right? Cavernous and gloomy, music of the night. A pleasant surprise.

For the most part I'm a sucker for Waits' downtrodden balladeering, but I'm rather taken by the rather straightforward (by his standards) rhythm 'n' blooz on this album. I own a lot of Waits albums and I can't recall a slinkier cut than 'Downtown' from his catalogue. Not my favourite joint but it's still a solid four star album, because Tom Waits doesn't release bad music.

Lots of sonic hijinks here and a bona fide disco classic in 'Genius of Love'. 'Wordy Rappinghood' suffers from the disadvantage of sucking hard, but there's enough to redeem elsewhere. 'L Elephant' is a hoot. The musicianship throughout is stellar. Adrian Belew is one of the most fun guitar players around.

Not my usual bag at all. However, as much as it can sometimes fade into musical wallpaper, there's something insistent, verging on the hypnotic, about this album. Quite a minimalist sound palette, but each element is layered up to create interesting textures. Probably won't listen again, but happy to have taken the trip.

Nothing bad on here, though modern ears might find the rudimentary production quite raw and a little grating. I'm all in favour personally - even though Buddy Holly fell on the sweeter side of the rock 'n' roll divide, there's a little grit here. In addition - you've got 'Oh Boy', 'Not Fade Away', 'Maybe Baby' and the superlative 'That'll Be the Day' all present and correct on a 25min album. It's practically an EP, albeit one that contains four gold standard, all-timer R&R classics. Not a bad day's work.

Oh, here's one of those albums that is 'tasteful' with a capital 't'. A bunch of Brit musos, including the ageless Steve Winwood, playing a heady combo of soulful rock and pastoral folk. Organs provide heft, pianos twinkle and there's even a spot of jazz flute to keep us enthralled. And you know what? I fucking love it. Didn't have to play this bad boy off a streaming service because, of course, I own a physical copy. Of course. Do I like to slap this on the stereo, sit back in a recliner (single malt to hand), and stroke my beard in reverential contemplation? I couldn't possibly say! The only wrinkle is that there's an alternate take of 'John Barleycorn' that is woodsier, looser and far superior to the cut that ended up on this album. No worries; 'Stranger to Himself' and 'Every Mother's Son' are superlative classic rock. I once caught Winwood live, supporting Steely Dan. He looked great, sang like his 1960s records, played keyboards and guitar with great adroitness, and then joined 'the Dan' to sing 'Pretzel Logic'. Disgusting, really.

Good grief, does anyone sing like this nowadays? Can anyone sing like this?

Everyone is wearing denim and buckskin. Someone has rolled a joint and it's being passed around. Desultory conversation. Maybe Harry Nilsson drops by with a bottle of wine, maybe Linda Ronstadt. In the corner a guy plays a song that features a walkdown from a Dsus4 chord and someone else says "right on." The sun is setting and the folk of Laurel Canyon are getting loose. A totally fucked scene. Anyway, this is alright. I like Taylor's fingerpicking and some of the songwriting is ace. 'Country Road' is great but sounds a little limp when compared to the harmony-heavy cover by obscure Brit-folk combo Unicorn - check it out. This is a nice, mellow time and given the right setting could even be a five star experience. By the same token, the hushed, earnest sincerity of Sweet Baby James has the capacity to harrow. Three stars.

As a current learner on the piano, I am in awe of Jarrett's touch and feel. This isn't sturm und drang playing for the most part, but a quiet virtuosity, the odd tasty flourish showing through the cracks in the paving. Funny, it's also quite hard to categorise this. The Köln Concert straddles classical, jazz and easy listening in equal measures. Perhaps it's a little too easy on the ear as it can fade into background music at points. Still, a pleasant experience.

This sounds like a cross between Hawkwind and Television, albeit some rather twisted, scary versions of both bands. Does that sound like the perfect blend to you? It does to me

Perfectly serviceable, perfectly dull synth pop with a retro edge to it. Perhaps I'm getting a little too long in tooth and jaw, but the wide-eyed sweetness of the vocals and the video game crispness of the music fail to charm. Where's the human, beating heart to this whole endeavour?

Stylish, elegant, restrained and sounding immaculate, the only two criticisms I have is that Diamond Life is not the most immediate album, and at times it rings a little hollow. Still, tracks like 'Sally', 'Frankie's First Affair' and 'Smooth Operator' simply ooze class and quality. Sade Adu's cool, smokey vocals are so, so good that it could elevate the most humdrum material. As an aside, she's possibly the most beautiful woman alive.

Great fun! Cool framing device, unexpected lyrical turns, quirky and surprising samples - and an overall sensibility that seems to be somewhat left field where rap of the era is concerned. Props for a Steely Dan sample. Some of the narrative based tracks remind me of Slick Rick, in the best way. Top entertainment.

Vaguely catchy, hum-drum indie dance with the odd wobbly keyboard chucked in to make it "interesting". Was the author of 1001 Albums... a FIFA fan? This is the second time - at least - that I've encountered music from the game soundtrack.

Eno's voice will always grate a little on me but overall this is a very enjoyable rock album with all kinds of strange and delightful sounds strewn about the mix. Perhaps not quite as outre as I had anticipated, though there's nothing too wrong with a bit of accessible weirdness.

Not even the presence of Iggy Pop can elevate this above the level of sheer abject misery.

I still can't quite get over the notion that there's something of the spoofer about Cohen. A poet not quite as good as he might think, and no great shakes as either a songwriter or performer. It can't be denied that there's an irreducible core of Cohen-ness to proceedings, however. It possesses a peculiar charm of its own, a wonky, unconvincing charm but present nonetheless. It's almost fun to try to anticipate what kinda corn-pone line he comes out with next. Almost.

Sounds like Big Star if they had slightly fuzzier guitars and perhaps 10% less inspiration. But guess what? I love Big Star, so I was always going to love this hazy, baggy power-pop melange.

Firstly, I really like the way DMR blend elements of soul music into their sound. It's nothing new - the Graham Parker Band did it a few years prior, but here Parker's pub rock sneer is replaced with a lachrymose New Wave yelp. The music is uniformly good without ever staggering, although the highlights - '...Yorkshire...' and 'Geno' are superlative, the latter featuring some lovely, strolling, brass-propelled instrumental breaks. At one point Kevin Rowlands does a passable impersonation of Russel Mael of Sparks fame. I liked this a lot.

I like a good old heavy metal racket, and this delivers on that front. Knowingly self aware too, which only serves to up the appeal. 'Hero' and 'Jesus Built My Hot Rod' (great song title) are the standouts for me.

Anybody else picturing Daley Thompson exploding out of the blocks as 'Phantom of the Opera' kicks in? That Lucozade advert was top tier. Fascinating to hear the birth pangs of both Iron Maiden and the New Wave of British Heavy Metal. Although they became more sophisticated, I think this version of Maiden - lean, mean and streetwise - beats the more ponderous later iterations. DiAnno is not a great singer compared to Dickinson, but he has more edge and attitude. You can also hear some hangovers from Maiden's influences. 'Strange World' is a bit of an oddity, sounding like those moments when heavy rockers like UFO or the Scorpions would go all spacey. You can also hear the seeds of musical tendencies that would be amplified in later albums; multi-part songs are mercifully rare here, but the joins are obvious - they pretty much stop and start again - an aspect of their sound I've found increasingly irksome as years roll on. Basically, Maiden have been in one of the most prolonged creative tailspins in metal history, but this? Great stuff. 'Running Free' is one of their best songs, and 'Prowler' might just be their very best (in the conversation with 'Wrathchild', says I).

Rancid. Has to be one of the worst 'supergroup' experiments that ever came to light. Damon Albarn has the most grey, most boring, most featureless singing voice imaginable.

Lovely voice. Strong start to the album, some intelligent songwriting and a couple of musical twists I appreciated, but it just started to fade into the background a little in the second half. Glad I've had the experience though - songsterism with heart.

Embarrassing, tiresome, amateurish music. Circus music played by clowns for the benefit of clowns.

Clever in places, quite inventive but sounding a little dusty these days. Ultimately too repetitive over an hour's stretch to keep me fully engaged but I dug what slipped under the radar.

Not sure I can add anything that hasn't been said before. Even my personal reflections feel a bit moot. There's a great biography out there called something like His Divided Self, a window into the sad, strange life of Marvin Gaye.

I feel as if, were procedurally generated music to ever take hold, it would sound an awful lot like Guero by Beck. For a start, it's repetitive. I say this very neutrally, as repetition can go either way, but there's not a huge amount going on rhythmically. The formula seems to go - establish a groove, swathe it in Beck's weirdly soporific vocals and throw in the odd 'interesting' sound like a wonky guitar or a whimsical, eccentric harmonica, rinse and repeat. All this is done altogether competently and the overall effect is just very, very dull. However, the main reason I see this as a prime candidate for machine-generated music is a real lack of heart. Where's the emotional centre to all thus? Bloodless, glassy-eyed music that spoofs the true genius of creative endeavour. Those slide guitar breaks sure sound pretty though!

A hard one to assess as I really don't think this is the stuff for me. Musically, it's unexciting. Swift is obviously a decent singer, and can weave a story. The songwriting is, by turns, kicky and cringeworthy. Perhaps it's a zeitgeist thing, but this rather claustrophobic, personal, confessional style leaves me cold; a kind of artfully delineated stream of consciousness. Production for a modern album is competent enough in the sense that it doesn't make my ears bleed. Really, though, this is the biggest performing artist of the day? I said at the top that this ain't for me, but guess what? I still get to rate it. Two stara.

These days KISS are a shambling parody of who they used to be, and Paul Stanley sounds like Elaine Stritch, but that's okay because they always sucked. I own this album. Down the years I've tried and tried but have failed to see it other than a clumsy, overwrought clunker. KISS have no bounce, soul or groove. Their lyrics are childish. The musicianship barely touches competency. However, they did look like kabuki aliens, so yay I guess. There are two good songs on Destroyer - 'Detroit Rock City' and 'Shout It Out Loud'. The rest range from okay to dreadful. Gene Simmons sounds like he's burping up a hot dog on 'God of Thunder'. 'Beth' is wetter than an otter's pocket and makes the Carpenters sound like Napalm Death. 'Flaming Youth' is what happens when Paul Lynde sings a Sweet b-side. Peter Criss can't play the drums. At least it's over quite quickly. Small mercies 'n' all that.

Pretty funny how they got it right first time of asking. Rock and roll ain't hard - some low-slung, pulverizing riffs, vocals thick with attitude and drums that sound ready for take-off. Another thing - this sounds so good on a decent set of speakers. Really full but also full of space. The fuzzed up bass is a really nice touch, seems to make everything else appear a mite bigger. Great!

Very interesting. This is ostensibly music for the head, as opposed to the heart, yet in its unhurried deconstruction of rock music, it can be quite beautiful. First track 'Djed' sets the scene, dissonance morphing into some pretty cool Krautrock before twisting into yet another sound pretzel - a recurrent theme throughout. Sometimes these shapes are ugly, but always stimulating. And that's not to say that this is a difficult listen; far from it. 'Glass Museum' has a dreamlike quality to it, whilst closer 'Along the Banks of Rivers' could be the dust-spattered soundtrack to a spaghetti western showdown. So - an album that privileges texture and tonality above all the usual business of rock music. It could have been a mess. Instead, it's a triumph.

I want to dislike this. Everything I've read about Led Zep portrays them as some of the more unpalatable people in rock (they stand out in a crowded field) and of course, they were liberal in their, ahem, "borrowing" from other artists. Without necessarily crediting them. And sometimes crediting themselves. Naughty! However, this is great. The pounding Immigrant Song, the elastic Celebration Day (John-Paul Jones' bass has a really rubbery quality to it) and the majestic Since I've Been Loving You are wonderful. That's the definitive version of Gallows Pole, for me. And even slightly lesser tunes have something going for them - Tangerine features a kind of zap guitar sound I associate more with the Isley Brothers' excellent 3+3 album. A grudging four stars.

The production is impeccable, if very much of its time. Superior, intelligent pop with a couple of kicky cameos from Kate Bush and Laurie Anderson. What really sets this apart though are three absolutely bulletproof tracks - 'Sledgehammer', 'Big Time' and the mighty 'Red Rain'. A lovely listening experience - even when the energy dips, pleasure can be found in the aural textures Gabriel conjures. Features one of the Marotta brothers on drums - have a set of siblings ever played on so many capital T 'tasteful' recordings as these jabronis?

We've had some earlier Elvis Costello on this app and I've enjoyed it. This? Nah. This has flickers of inspiration but fails to catch fire. What's the point of adding a sclerotic mid-period album on this list? Perhaps Costello became 'better' and more 'tasteful' in his songwriting at this point, but it's also tamer. And, frankly, much more boring. Pipe and slippers rock.

Parsons' lyrics are well-observed. Emmylou Harris sings sweetly. The musicianship is unimpeachable. So why doesn't this cut through?

I confess a soft spot for Bad Company thanks to a youthful dalliance with the 'Straight Shooter' album. And this ain't all bad either. Then again, it ain't all good. 'Can't Get Enough' is either a rollicking good time or turgid yomp through all the stock classic rawk poses; delete as appropriate. 'Rock Steady' has a swaggering insistence to it; and 'Bad Company' is a brooding tale of desperadoes. However, the rest is pretty blah. Yeah, 'Ready For Love' is alright but Mick Ralphs did a better job first time around with Mott the Hoople. Paul Rodgers, on the other hand, single handedly drags the material to a place of mild interest, but after a while even his tight-trousered 'emoting' is a drag. 'Moving On' is terrible. The lyrics to this entire album could've conceivably been written in crayon. There's a song about a seagull on here.

I've long enjoyed this album - a shade under thirty minutes of Scandi-garage ramalama bristling with hooks and attitude. I've heard 'Hate To Say I Told You So' often down the years but I still ain't bored with it.

Damn this absolutely smokes - California Uber Alles, Chemical Warfare and Holiday in Cambodia are sensational, absolutely top tier punk songs. They just feel a cut above, right? Smart lyrics, a great sound and attitude to burn. East Bay Ray is such a cool name.

I often enter into these old country records with a hint of trepidation - yet more regularly than not, I end up having a good time. This is great - gutsy, colourful singing (with no little skill) and a pungent honky-tonk feel to the arrangements combined to make this a winner. There's a punchiness in the lyrics that's very appealing too - direct, but oozing with feeling. Pretty fantastic. Loretta Lynn, eh?

I like the music well enough, a kind of low-key folk rock with some pleasing baroque flourishes. The songs are pretty great. 'These Days', 'It Was a Pleasure Then' and 'Eulogy to Lenny Bruce' stand out in particular as moving, eery numbers. Let's face facts, it's Nico's voice that will divide audiences. I found it winningly and affectedly unmusical about a quarter of the time, utterly bemusing for the rest. It's got character, it is instantly recognisable and occasionally it meets the music at such an angle that it becomes a thing of oblique beauty. Not very often, though.

I own this album. I have no memory as to how I came by it. I love John Lee Hooker. I never listen to The Healer. I think these are consistent statements. Pressaging the likes of Santana's (who appear here) 'Supernatural' album, this was a guest-laden comeback...that works best when Hooker is left to his own devices. In terms of the cameos, I actually don't mind the gentle Latin roll of the title track; and Bonnie Raitt's duet on 'I'm in the Mood' is suitably steamy. However, the rest of the album tends to sink into a whorl of perfunctory blues workouts. It only comes alive near the end where Hooker gets a couple of solo spots. They demonstrate that Hooker was a master of spare, hypnotic blues music that doesn't need too many bells and whistles. Still, that voice, eh? Special. I just wish we were listening to 'Boogie Chillin'' or 'One Bourbon, One Scotch, One Beer'.

Scrappy, zeitgeisty garage rock fronted by a guy who sounds like Tom Petty on quaaludes. Fine, but hardly essential. One the most unvarying albums encountered on this app thus far. At least it's got a bit of vinegar to it, far better than the insipid mess that they would become.

Shite thru a lens

I'm not going to say anything intelligent about the Beatles that hasn't been said before - but there are more ideas on a single album, here on Revolver, than some of their peers experienced in their careers. It doesn't all work. Some of it sounds a bit dated. That's the price you pay for being innovative. Still, for every moment of silliness, there's something beautiful. Revolver didn't blow my socks off, but it was a very pleasant experience in all.

You can't have a cool name like The Triffids and produce powder-puff music this boring and get away with it. 'Holy Water' and 'Blinder by the Hour' were pretty nice. I quite like the guy's voice. This scrapes to three stars by its fingernails.

I know it shouldn't get to me, but there's a quality to Bjőrk's music that in the past has often left me cold. I went in with an open mind to Vulnicura, and it happened again. Why it bugs me is that so many people who say clever and observant things about music rate Bjőrk, and so I wind up feeling I'm at fault. That somehow I'm deficient as a listener. What am I missing? I've given this a couple of spins and if I can sum up the experience in one word, it's this - 'grating'. I could've gone with 'listless' too, but hell, I'd just be acting all gratuitous at that point.

Two Bjőrk albums in a row on this app strongly suggest to me that I don't like Bjőrk.

This is the stuff! Alien Lanes whips ass. Bored of this song? Don't worry, another one will be along in just a minute. Much of this material sounds like it's on nodding terms with some of the dreamier, twang-pop acts from the Sixties. That's cool! It also sounds like this whole album was recorded in shoeboxes of various sizes. The production is, frankly, dogshit. That's cool too! Four stars, because I'll probably never listen to this splendid mess again.

Should I be surprised that this didn't rock as hard as I had expected? I'd never really given PJ Harvey a fair shake before now, but this was fine. Upper end of fine. I'm going to be generous and award it four stars, even. There's a kind of wonky idiosyncrasy at play throughout, punctuated by moments of sublimity. I don't think the songs themselves are stellar, and though Harvey goes to some interesting places with her vocals, I'm not sure I particularly like her voice in and of itself. Then again, she absolutely hammers away at that Eddie Cochrane reference, plus I'm always game for some autoharp. What a mean spirited four star review!

Music for people who call their girlfriend "mine alabaster lady midnight." Very cool stuff. 'Three' had an unexpected dusting of Kraftwerk to it, I thought.

'Another Girl, Another Planet', 'Creatures of Doom' and 'Lovers of Today' are all straight up bangers. I don't mind Peter Perrett's voice at all, it fits the music and the mood it evokes. The Only Ones come across as a punkier Monochrome Set, pairing pop hooks with smart turns of phrase. Somehow manages to sound punchy and delicate at the same time. A lovely listen.

This feels like an entirely new frontier for rock music, kicked loose of blues root and classical pretension alike. In composition it probably falls somewhere on the jazz spectrum, but sounds nothing like it. One of the most mysterious, questing albums I've had the pleasure to experience. It sounds baffling and fantastic. Bear this bad boy in mind next time we're subject to four-chord crotch-rawk churn.

What on earth is this? Beats the one star review trap purely because I like some of the synth sounds.

Peculiar. The production is lush; some of the instruments almost seem to glow in the mix. The songs and their arrangements aren't bad, with a few rising to superlative status. It's Buckley's voice that is a source of frustration. He was a great singer - and yet he persists with a weird, overbaked affect that sounds like Demis Roussos squeezing out a turd. Peculiar.

First impressions - stately, melancholy, arty New Wave-influenced pop with a tremulous vocal - got me revved up. This is catnip to me, almost laser-tooled to hit my sweet spots. 'Happiness Is Easy' had the dopamine flowing, but then - children! A personal bugbear, but I've never dug the kids. Was The Colour of Spring losing its lustre already? Happily, no - because 'I Don't Believe in You' is as close to a five star track as I'm ever likely to hear. Come the end of the album and I'm deep in the sauce - and a few things stand out. Firstly, the relative dearth of synth, which surprised me as I'd thought of Talk Talk as a synth-pop ensemble. Next, that the late Mark Hollis really does push it where that rather mannered, melancholic style of singing particular to the era is concerned - it sounds like there's a sob permanently lodged in his larynx. But the biggest thing, for me, was what a stellar noise was coming out of my speakers. Rich, layered, complex yet also spacious. The piano on this album positively glows. An absolute joy, and one I'll be purchasing for myself the moment I close this wretched app.

Yeah, I don't mind this. I don't particularly rate it either, but it choogles along inoffensively in the background. The occasional track breaks through, but otherwise this feels almost like functional music. Albeit this is a notch above most of its peers, this roundly falls into that category of slightly fey guttar indie that relies on hummable melodies underscored by the most crushingly basic rhythmic patterns. That's my biggest beef here really - the rhythms are barely more sophisticated than a toddler banging on a saucepan. Without any particular knowledge of the genre, if you were to ask me when this came out I would've said around 2010. It absolutely reeks of 2010.

Pneumatic 1990s soul with a couple of decent tracks and a whole mess of filler. I can't even tell you if TLC are good singers are not, so freighted in studio flummery are their vocals. Things that did stand out - the rather steamy 'Let's Do It Again' and the searing yacht rock lead guitar in 'Red Light Special'. 'Waterfalls' is a genuinely lovely track, but it's not enough to elevate this album as a whole.

Proper old boomer bait, this. Reeks of patchouli, fringed jackets and "getting it together, man". Looking past its perfectly competent execution, I can't help but think this kind of earnest, sincere Americana was one of the cul-de-sacs where rock and roll found itself, its initial spark and romance curdling into this comfy, churchy mess. 'Old Times Good Times' is the highlight, inasmuch as it has the pumping bass and organ flourishes of a primo Spencer Davis Group cut. It's also one of about two tracks (the other being the risible 'Cherokee') that have a bit of life about them.

A right old pig's ear of an album, this, featuring some truly ridiculous moments. And yet it contained a certain intangible quality that charmed me. I wish I can say exactly what it was. Maybe the frequencies vibrated with a ley line running 'neath my dwelling? Maybe I was put in an expansive mood due to a successful pasta dish? Perhaps, deep down, I just like this jive?

No wonder everyone was ingesting heroic amounts of narcotics back then.

Yeah, we're cooking with gas here. Never heard a lick of this before now. Glad it's fallen into my lap. Downbeat, intricate, tough and clever - right in my rap sweet spot.

I cannot overstate just how much this rips. The music on here is so primitive that I felt my IQ points dropping. One gets the impression that the band couldn't spell the word 'subtle' as a group effort, let alone understand it any kind of conceptual sense. There is a magic zone, however, between ambition and execution that this album occupies. Just to take one example - the drumming is so rudimentary that it morphs into something quite hypnotic and almost martial in its simple insistence. Limitations become an asset and something weird and wonderful is brought into the world. As a consequence, this feels like the headwaters for a lot of punk, garage rock and even krautrock. Superb.

Here's how to make a good album: Write some fun songs about unusual subjects. Don't make 'em too long. Achieve a deft balance between pop sensibility and rockin' out. Have a rad guitar tone. Get the bassist from Captain Beefheart's excellent 'Bat Chain Puller (Shiny Beast)' to produce and play on the album. See? Not so hard, right?

The sound playing on the jukebox at the honky tonk on the edge of town. Flickering neon, cigarette smoke, heartache.

Nothing here dips below "pleasant" and the highlights are legion. As a new wave / disco track, 'Heart of Glass' is absolutely bulletproof. Elsewhere, Parallel Lines is that rare album where the 'big' songs are by and large the best of the bunch, or at least the most memorable. 'Sunday Girl', 'One Way or Another', the aforementioned 'Heart of Glass' are all wonderful pop songs with a little bit of punky grit to them. Harry is a great vocalist, by the way, almost actorly in the way she inhabits the songs. I still maintain that the Nerves did the best version of 'Hanging on the Telephone'.

Devendra Banhart has often been a frustrating listen to me, but hitherto I haven't been able to articulate why. I think I've got it now. For all his adroitness with pretty, sometimes beautiful, song craft, there's little stickability afterwards. I can mentally coo over the dainty curlicues of his sound, but nothing haunts me later on. The hushed, reverential tone of this album perfectly suits Banhart's voice (again, quite lovely) but it evaporates from the brainpan almost immediately after a good listen. Interesting to hear the influence of American Primitive guitar players on his sound though.

An album that grew on me over the course of a single listen. Totally not what I'd listen to by choice, and I'm not sure I would do so again despite finding much to appreciate. Miriam Makeba has a lovely voice - perhaps a little warbling for modern tastes, but it oozes with warmth and a kind of coquettish quality. It's also versatile, able to pull off nightclub chanteuse and South African folkster with equal aplomb. Whilst I enjoyed the strangeness (to my European ears) of 'The Click Song', I found myself really digging torch song 'Where Does it Lead?' and perhaps even more surprising, a novelty song - 'The Naught Little Flea' - on which Makeba sounds positively impish. Elsewhere, 'Mbube' is a treat and 'Saduva' transported me quite somewhere else. About the only dud is 'One More Dance'; cringeworthy stuff. Still, this gets four stars for being interesting, varied and at times rather enjoyable.

A huge amount of energy, some really fun samples thrown into the mix, and the beats are chunky. Yet despite the 'feelgood' vibe that prevails, it's yet another rap album that slips from 'great' to 'fine' through a lack of variety. The Beastie Boys remain iconic but a whole album of their sing-song, see-saw delivery can be a little wearying.

Impeccable. The greatest, most effortless singer with a clutch of superb songs backed by lush arrangements. Hard to find fault.

Lovely stuff - highlights include 'Rock Song', 'Blown Away' and 'Hang Wire', plus the decision to begin proceedings with an instrumental surf rock cover was inspired. Only a little sag in the middle; otherwise, this was a fresh-sounding, immediate and well-crafted collection of alt rock songs. Every track seemed to have its own personality, and the range of moods and feelings the band cover in the span of forty minutes is impressive. Hell, the whole endeavour is impressive.

Praying For Time is swaddled in the cavernous production of Ocean Rain-era Echo and the Bunnymen. Freedom 90 has the bright, kicky piano of the Happy Mondays. Neither possess the heft or wallop of their templates, because Michael is too smooth an operator to fully lean in. Under the different masks he wears on this album Michael remains a master of sleek pop. Indeed, the best stuff here comes in that guise - Cowboys and Angels and Soul Free the standouts (alongside Freedom 90 - lightweight perhaps, but a great little track all the same). It's a shame that some of this sounds so dated thanks to production choices - the synth flute on Soul Free was questionable, but the synth pan pipes on Mother's Pride sent me into the demon realm. Still, credit to Michael for trying to create an album weightier than many would have expected, even if it is fighting for a true identity. The more I learn of George Michael, the more I sense he was a man of intelligence and conscience. Let's not forget, he was a damn fine singer and created a clutch of pop hits that are absolutely ironclad.

An album so potent that it provoked the Nigerian authorities to attack Kuti's commune, an assault that led to the fatal defenestration of Kuti's mother. Putting the white hot politics aside, this is a cracking album of itchy, hypnotic afro-funk. Essentially two tracks long (in its original format), the length of each cut enables solid grooves to be established and provides a platform for some romping improvisations. Not my usual food and drink musically; maybe this might prompt me to delve further into this sound?

I've got Dummy by this band; despite what friends tell me, it's a right old snoozer. This is a different, much more interesting proposition. Some really abrasive sounds meld with the dregs of a trip hop sensibility. Hell, there's even some music concrète here, and a hint of Neue Deutsche Welle influences like Fehlfarben lurking near the surface. I'm still not entirely convinced, especially by all the warbling, but a gloomy, ominous and interesting listen nonetheless.

Probably the most valid criticism one could level at this kind of music, alongside self-indulgence, is that it speaks to the head rather than the heart or the body. I don't think that's inaccurate here. There are other aspects that irk - the length, a knotty narrative, a sometimes grating strain of English whimsy - but overall, I was impressed. Impressed, distinct from being seized with joy or moved to tears. I really do appreciate the sprawling ambition, the occasional facility with a good tune and the constant, overwhelming virtuosity. Despite its faults, where this album wins Mr over is that there's always something interesting going on in the music - a strange chord progression, a dazzling keyboard run, unusual bass lines. Enough to push me to an appreciative four stars, despite all the flannel.

Peculiar one, this. Underwhelming rock music married with uninspired jazz. I suppose in its own time this was quite forward thinking stuff, but here in 2023 it sounds a bit frayed, a bit moth-eaten and altogether pedestrian.

One of the greatest singer-songwriter albums of all time. Maybe in my top five albums full stop. Funny, about the only track that isn't of five star quality itself is 'Tapestry'. Everything else is as close to perfection as possible.

As a listening experience this is more challenging or interesting than it is enjoyable. Much of it is wreathed in murk or occluded by sonic fog. Atmospheric, even a little chilling, but also a little stultifying. When the blood gets pumping a bit, such as on 'Black Steel' or 'Brand New You're Retro' I perk up. Another highlight are Martina Topley-Bird's spectral, barely-there vocal performances. She's eerie! A strange sound universe. I don't like it much, but I appreciate it.

Does very, very little for me. The best, most immersive moment was the lengthy instrumental break on 'To the Moon's Contractor'. Otherwise, this barely left an impression. I don't aggressively dislike it though, so two stars.

Pretty great. Atmospheric, ambitious, warm, and skilfully executed. The album relies more on mood than anything else - but in doing so, plays to its strengths. A minor criticism - although I am fine with the production, some of the choices and instrumentation feels a little like grave robbing. I'm sure Michael Kiwanuka would say his sound is paying homage to his forebears - or perhaps his music is even 'in conversation' with the past? - but as comfortable and redolent as it can be, this choice slightly feels like an artist not entirely at ease with the tools of their own time and place. Those guitars sounded like the future when the Isley Brothers used them, once upon a time.

I've met a few of the Turbojugend at rock festivals in Europe, and I say this with love - they were some of the biggest scumbags I ever met. Great music though! A mash-up of the Stooges, the Hives and the so-dumb-it's-fun brawling punk of the Dictators. The song titles are some of the best encountered yet.

Huh - Happy Mondays have always floated in the peripheral of my musical understanding; a band that had its moment a while ago, didn't seem to hold any appeal for me and whose members are mostly known nowadays for being clownish fuck-ups. What a surprise, this is great - a rolling, bouncing melange of rock, indie and dance music. There's an agreeably twisty quality to the guitar work, as if it's created with more adherence to the rules of geometry than those of music. Underpinning everything is a mildly lysergic sensibility and sense of slightly lunatic fun. Good! Great!

Not exactly sure what to make of this - badass, Velvet Underground-meets-the-Stooges rock coexists with some proper dreck. In general, I like it when the tempo and the volume are turned up. 'Trigger Cut' and 'Perfume V' are good examples of tracks that fit the bill. 'Two States' is great, if only because it sounds like the glam rock stomp of the Sweet in their pomp. For all its faults, it's an admirably wonky, alive sounding record, so I'm happy to give this a hearty three stars.

A short, sharp smack around the face - loud, antisocial, obnoxious and not without humour. Love the track about getting a vasectomy, an uncommon subject for a song. But an important one - right guys?

You know a word I rarely ever use? Winsome. Feels like it's apt here. This is a winsome album. Perhaps also a dab saccharine and a mite twee, but pleasant enough. They know how to harmonise, for sure. Unconvinced that this is an essential listen though.

David Bowie's conversation with Black American music - and typically for Bowie, it's conducted on his terms. On this album Bowie tries on a few different voices, a few different poses and mostly gets away with it. Young Americans is a bit of a detour album. The songs are not as immediate as much of his previous material, nor as wrought in weirdness and mystery as those that would follow. Production is quite thin and flat - I believe this is the album Bowie described as 'plastic soul' - but again, it works. Pretty much everything here works, in fact. The whole shebang is bookended by two wonderful songs - the title track and 'Fame' - but 'Fascination' deserves reappraisal within the Bowie canon too. He always kept his listeners on their toes.

This sounds great when played loud - and volume is a legitimate weapon in the arsenal of a musician. However, zoomed in, this suffers as a rather pedestrian, chugging, power-chord fest. There's a commendable energy and it sounds raw, but the MC5 are simply not a good bunch of musicians. Or rather, good enough to conjure up the kind of sonic maelstrom that is both loud and, crucially, interesting. They take themselves rather seriously too, right? I guess that was the spirit of the age. The White Panther Party, eh?

Accomplished in terms of nu metal. The Helmet influences are now quite obvious. 'Sugar' gave me quite the rush of nostalgia. That said, how much juice are you gonna get out of 'quiet bit - funny vocal tic - loud bit'? I'm over-simplifying, but tell me I'm entirely wrong.

In the UK, despite huge commercial success UB40 enjoy an absolute dog-ass reputation amongst 'serious' music fans. And it's easy to see why - stuff like 'Red Red Wine' is lowest common denominator drivel. And this...sounds like a completely different band. Okay, not so different; we're still in the realm of reggae here - but this sounds like a proper dub album, with some highly conscious lyrics and no little craft. Tracks like 'Tyler', 'King' and 'Madam Medusa' are great - the latter day incarnation of UB40 is night and day when compared to material of this quality. I also liked '25%' because it sounds like a slowed down version of the Men Behaving Badly theme. With trepidation, hesitation and a good degree of havering, I'm giving this four stars.

A soundtrack to a film I've never seen, but this kicky collection of music stands proud of its source material with aplomb. The synthesis of Western and Indian styles of music is by turns fun, bemusing, annoying and joyous, but never boring. If I may deploy a cliche, I went on a journey with this one. Almost unrateable, though.

An overwhelming sensation of "will this do?" consequent to listening to this album. If Lennon weren't a Beatle, would this receive the kind of attention and critical scrutiny it has enjoyed if it were taken solely on its own merits? A couple of good tracks, but overall a minor disappointment.

I really like this quirky, eccentric album that simultaneously looks back to the paisley-flecked psych of the 1960s and keeps track with the new wave. I can definitely see how this might be an acquired taste - but give me a fey English lad singing about fish any day of the week!

I love the first Big Star album, probably in my all time top twenty. I respect the second Big Star album but it doesn't get much of an airing. This? It's like the first album but much sadder. It's the sad bits, basically. It's as if Alex Chilton decided to turn the melancholia up to eleven. And that's fine, because they're pretty damn adept at this kind of music. Some interesting covers here too, not just in terms of choices but also in terms of arrangements. This is a solid four stars on this app. Their first record is five, but really, it exists on another planet altogether.

Tough to be objective here as Supertramp - and some of these songs - formed part of the backdrop of my childhood, as my dad is a fan. So let's just say that 'Dreamer', 'Rudy' and 'Crime of the Century' were, and remain, top tier jazz-flecked prog rock songs. Could listen to this album again and again.

Turgid.

Like liquid caramel being poured into one's ears. Tail end of the nineteen-fifties, and this still sounds sensational through a good set of speakers. Charles' voice - a beautiful mix of smoke and silk - is just about the standout here, but everything on this album is sheer class. The quality of the arrangements, song choices and performances doesn't dip even once. Damn, in some ways this feels like a relic of its age - but in others, startlingly forward-looking.

Whomsoever decreed that I need to listen to two (at least) Kings of Leon albums before I die, let alone one? I would've been quite happy - ecstatic, even - with zero Kings of Leon albums.

This album is great because you can merely look at the artwork and know exactly how it's going to sound. Incredible to learn that this dreck won the Mercury Prize. Without any exaggeration, I genuinely feel one must be on some kind of powerful, reality-bending stimulant to find this kind of music engrossing. To the rest of us, it's sonic wallpaper found in the kind of cafe that charges the thick end of a tenner for a chai latte.

The second album that I ever bought was 'Legend', a Bob Marley 'best of'. Still have it, still gets a listen. Speaking of, spinning this whilst barrelling around the Sussex countryside was a pleasure. 'Lively Up Yourself is a triumph. There's a strong social and political core to this album - 'Them Belly Full', 'Rebel Music' and 'So Jah Seh' are all top songs with a message that sounds strong without ever being preachy. I guess some of Natty Dread's appeal is dependent upon whether the listener likes reggae. I like reggae, so yeah - four stars easy, pushing five.

At its best this is pleasant. There are Beatles and James Taylor influences, for sure, but also strains of someone like...who? Peter Skellern? Because when this dips, it goes into some soupy, maudlin territory. It's barely a shade or two from the easy listening mush of Englebert Humperdinck. Still, 'Lion in Winter' is faintly demented and 'It's Just the Way' contains gentle echoes of 'Hey Joe' and Status Quo's psychedelic blooter 'Pictures of Matchstick Men'. Overall - it's okay. Born to be mild.

A neat little bit of musical grave robbing.

I can't fault the size, scope or ambition on display here. And, to his immense credit, Ackles never takes the easy path as a songwriter. As a singer, yeah, he has an interesting voice. I just don't like vast swathes of American Gothic. Sometimes it threatens to descend to subpar Randy Newman, without the yuks. Sometimes it sounds like subpar Gershwin. I truly don't know what to make of this - admirable, but less rewarding than I had hoped.

There are two things this reminds me of. First, the initial flowering of internet radio stations in the UK in the late 2000s. Ninety percent of them sounded like Logical Progression, occasionally punctuated by some callow Home Counties youth mumbling some knackers about proper tunes. The other thing Logical Progression sounds like - every damn track of it - is the menu music of a PS2 game with a name like Cyb3rBitch or somesuch. Either way, this isn't a great listening experience.

Crazy that this ain't even Japan's best album. Right in my sweet spot - wonky, eerie New Wave played by a bunch of fey English lads. One of whom who has a voice that sounds like it's from Duran Duran by way of Jupiter. The title track is one of that era's greatest pop songs. No exaggeration, it's near perfect.

Wow - this sounds like a mutant ABC; if you turned the dials up on their arrangements and vocal affectations you'd get something approximating Sulk. The production sounds busy and Billy McKenzie's yelping tenor might be an acquired taste, but for me it's effective, exciting and idiosyncratic stuff. Full marks to 'Party Fears Two' and the stomping 'Club Country'.

Horrible singing. Idiotic lyrics. I felt my IQ crank down a few points in real time listening to this jive. Bin it off.

Disclaimer one: I've grown up with Space Ritual, as my dad has this on vinyl. Definitely stood out in the collection. If the album art looks trippy on Spotify, you need to check out the gatefold sleeve, maaaan. Disclaimer two: I am a confirmed Hawkwind fan. How much of a fan? Well, I did once attend a two-day festival called HawkFest, where the headliners for both nights were Hawkwind. I can't even pretend to be objective when confronted with the mighty Space Ritual. Thr music - space rock of a chugging, doomstoner variety with the metronomic insistence of Krautrock - isn't uniformly brilliant. That said, 'Lord of Light', 'Orgone Accumulator', 'Down Through the Night', 'Master of the Universe' - they're all here and spectacular. More to the point, Space Ritual is a moment in time and space that feels strange, peculiar and exciting. Nothing in rock is sui generis, but nothing really sounded like Hawkwind before, a marriage of pounding simplicity, gusty, questing synths and Age of Aquarius pscyhobabble. And didn't Hawkwind invent space rock as we know it? Albeit of a very particular flavour. The spaceships in this universe are not sleek, ergonomic wonders of science - no, what we have is a kind of spacepunk, clanky, ratchety handmades piloted by lysergically-charged psychonauts, with controls set for Sirius, the sun, the Crab Nebula or sweet oblivion. Glorious, magical, magnificent stuff. Tell your children.

Superb - would you call this transitional or the first flowering of their classic sound? 'A Sailor's Life' could happily sit on Liege and Lief - the greatest folk rock album of all time - so go figure.

I'm going to be charitable and say that at the time that this list was devised, Kings of Leon were breaking out and were considered a rising force in rock music. That's why so many of their albums are on this app. That said - this is pure dog ass, an embarrassing album.

Kinda fun, kinda sloppy, kinda bluesy bit ultimately not my kinda thing..

Oar has enjoyed a degree of notoriety through the years, but until 'Grey/Afro' it isn't half as unhinged as history would suggest. In fact in retrospect much of this works nicely as a precursor to the freak folk movement. There's some lovely guitar playing and interesting vocals approaches - I especially like Spence's deep, mumbled voice on a few of these cuts. Sure, the music is quite stark and takes some odd turns - 'War in Peace' and 'Lawrence of Euphoria' are peculiar - but there's some quality here too, such as the bluesy 'Books of Moses', 'Diana' and 'Cripple Creek'. Nobody said John Martyn was mad when he made music not a million miles from this.

Even with 'United' in the mix, this is still a five star experience. 'Rapid Fire', 'Metal Gods', 'Grinder', 'The Rage' and of course, the mighty 'Breaking the Law' are all solid gold, absolutely essential listening for any heavy metal maniac. If you've ever owned an Ibanez you've riffed along to at least eighty percent of this album.

The overriding impression left by Bitte Orca was 'irritating'. The vocals - all of them - grate. What's worse? The quavery male singing or the twee faux Space Age 'ahh ahh' female vox? At least the music...eh, no, that's a load of bloodless studio wank 'art rock' donkey shit too. By the sixth or seventh track, I just couldn't wait for the funny tempo change or unexpectedly 'quirky' modulation! I feel that I could take this band in a fight without any help.

As a time capsule it's interesting - a confluence of rock, acid house and techno that drew from Kraftwerk, New Wave and hip-hop; alongside acts like Pop Will Eat Itself, the KLF and even perhaps World of Twist, the Shamen illuminated many roads. Would the Prodigy or Pendulum be the acts we know them to be in the present without this movement? Worth considering. As a listening experience it falls short. Endlessly repetitive and lacking any real melodic appeal or harmonic invention, this gets by on texture, tone and intensity. Perhaps in a certain setting it works - and even then in nibbles. A whole album? Man, I was ready to tap out halfway through. Also, Mr C is criminally underused. He brought a sense of anarchic, geezerish irreverence to proceedings. He's great on 'Move Any Mountain' - a song that acts as a harbinger for their biggest track a couple of years down the line...

Two songs - 'Metal Guru' and 'Telegram Sam' - are quintessential glam rock. Rather than the yob stomp of Slade or the teddy boy revivalism of Mud, T.Rex's particular flavour was more rooted in the faerie folk and lilting, lyrical impressionism of their acoustic past, buoyed by the ethereal backing vocals of Flo and Eddie. Genuinely, the two chart smashes aside, the rest is filler. The half-decent filler tends to be the more raucous stuff - 'Rock On' and 'Buick Mackane' existing at the more palatable end of the spectrum. I'm afraid when the acoustic guitars come out - 'Ballrooms of Mars', anyone? - it all gets a bit embarrassing. Is Bolan's voice a bit of an acquired taste? It's certainly idiosyncratic. Also, there are more strings in the arrangements than I had expected. Three stars. 'Chariot Choogle' is an awful song title, and better in execution than the name suggests. 'Main Man', by the same token, is worse.

Lots of clanky percussion - that's the takeaway from this, it's all itchy sounds and tempos that sound like a disintegrating robot walking down stairs. That, and Apple's less than appealing voice. Still, she keeps it interesting lyrically and there's often some element in the junkyard mix that commands the attention. Did I enjoy it though? Jury's out.

Boring. This band seem to think swaddling entirely mid indie rock in swatches of reverb and synth washes equals an interesting listening experience. About the only thing I liked was hearing the singer, in real time, calibrating how much Tom Petty, Bruce Springsteen or Bob Seger he wants in the mix. Just a tasteful soupçon here and there, sweet listener!

If you ordered up some 1985 music and you said that you didn't want anything that totally broke through but that absolutely, positively was fully infused with nothing but 85 vibes? This would fit that bill. I don't want more of this, but I didn't want less, either.

One of the songs ('Confusion') sounds like a bad Dr John pastiche. Some of them sound like bad John Sebastian take-offs. At its best, one could say that it sounds like the first Captain Beefheart album, were it to be shorn of all its interesting bits. The saxophone is really farty throughout. Not great.

Exquisite. Really lovely jazz that winds its way around your bones. For once, saying "this is superior background music" wouldn't be a backhanded compliment; I'd play this to demonstrate to house guests just what a big brain man of taste and sentiment I truly am.

Tainted Love is an all timer and gets three stars but nothing else here gets to the level. Even a song called 'Sex Dwarf' can't break through. I am a brick wall. Sometimes I'd hear a line in the other songs and think 'What are we doing here?' and I wouldn't have an answer.

To be honest, I liked the vibe here but I could not keep my ears on it. It seems a lot like something I'd like and I'm down with that album cover, but it never got it's hooks into me.

This may have been the last album I downloaded from LimeWire. I listened to this thing constantly. Funny thing is, having downloaded it illegal-like, I didn't know the names of any of these songs except for Paper Planes. I think it holds up!

No big bangers for me here, but it delivers on the darkness and the storytelling. A good listen and not necessarily for the music?

An album that pairs well with its cover. Piece of My Heart is the stand out, of course, but this is all pretty listenable.

Come on, Dexys. The second track is 12:21? You know how good that'll have to be for me not to skip it? You sure you wanna do that? Later that day: Eh, this was fine. Even the long song. I didn't fall in love but I wouldn't judge anyone too harshly you did.

Yeah, bust out those denim shirts, those oh-so-tasteful blooz licks and a Nepalese temple ball - them Canyon boys are headed upstate, they're gettin' it together, and it's gonna be a double because we're making a statement, maaaan. Some pretty good stuff, some run of the mill workouts and plenty of songs that are fine, well played, but lacking anything particularly livewire about them. Reeks of patchouli.

Adele's talent feels like such a wasted opportunity. Her vocal prowess is legion, but the music all sounds like it's put together on a laptop. Stick Adele in front of an orchestra and let her rip. This? It doesn't move me, it doesn't impress me and it sounds all a tad cynical.

This is potentially four star material, were it not for Neil Tennant's voice, which manages to be both annoying and willow-the-whisp at the same time. It sounds badly dated, but surely the quality shines through? Where 'It's A Sin' is concerned, sure. 'Shopping' or 'Rent'? Not so much. A tad overrated.

When I began high school in the mid-late 90s one thing that struck me was all the Jamiroquia graffiti everywhere. That mascot was ubiquitous. As, unfortunately, was their music. I guess it was different to a lot of the slurry around at the time. It was just different slurry, though.

What a peculiar and unpleasant album. Music is nondescript, production is crap (Morrissey himself sounds quite over-miked) and overall I'm left with the impression I've spent 45 minutes in the head of a weird, vaguely misanthropic person. The latter point wouldn't be so bad if it was done with any degree of elan or finesse. Sadly this is a documentary of a waning power, so the album just sounds like a man, bitter and out of time, shouting at clouds.

The misogyny posturing is off-putting - but this is a good rap album, no? I am automatically well-disposed to anyone who leads off with a Curtis Mayfield sample, and there's a whole bunch of Parliament peppered about the rest of the album. Snoop isn't the greatest rapper but he's a good ringleader. Dr Dre has done a sterling production job. 'Who Am I?' and 'Gz and Hustlas' are top drawer.

Five stars. 'Rikki Don't Lose That Number' and 'Any Major Dude Will Tell You' are great pop songs without sacrificing subtlety. 'Parker's Band' is probably the most joyful track Steely Dan ever did, culminating in a blast of Bird-like horn lines spinning into the air. 'Night By Night' contains one of the Dan's coldest lyrics - "If the dawn patrol gotta tell you twice, they're gonna do it with a shotgun." I often feel that Pretzel Logic is one of Steely Dan's flintier and more unyielding albums. Perhaps so. Still a remarkable blend of rock, jazz and pop sensibilities.

Lots of fun! A harder-edged and fuller sound than I had anticipated - though I knew somewhere down the line these boys go full goth in their 'Eloise' / 'Street of Dreams' phase. I've seen the Damned live, as support act to Motorhead. They were great. Dave Vanian is one of rock's coolest frontmen. Might see them again this year. Smash it up!

After the weekend, I can't say I remember much from this except for Gary Gilmore's Eyes and One Chord Wonders but that's enough I'll come back for this.

Unsure what to make of this. Although the production is pure 1990s, the music itself hearkens back to artists like Marvin Gaye, early Michael Jackson and Bobby Womack (though I thought one of the songs was going to evolve into 'More Than Words'). No individual tracks landed for me, so I guess this is one of those albums that relies on creating an overarching atmosphere or impression. Sexy, smooth, late night, perhaps even a touch of quiet storm; it does this admirably, but play me one of these songs five days from now and I'll swear up and down that I've never heard it before.

When you peer past some of the bells and whistles, at its core this is a good rock album. Ah, but all the dissonance and feedback are the seasonings in the soup though, right? Yeah, I guess they do elevate Dirty somewhat. Count me as a fan - big, scuzzy guitars, a meaty rhythm section and an interesting range of voices are often the bedrock to a winning formula, especially married to astute songwriting. I always thought Sonic Youth were for the kids who were simply too cool, and that's probably still true. Nonetheless, I do detect a hint of the 1990s 'XXXtreme' attitude that seemed to permeate everything going on at the time. Radical!

Saw Mudhoney live not so long ago. A great gig! And whilst much of this material is pretty good, it doesn't leap at you in the way the in-person experience does. So, it's a good rock record with some solid tunes. Little more to be said, except that it's cool these guys were in at the ground floor of the grunge scene. Go catch them if they're playing nearby.

The enigmatic KLF fall into that strange category of being more interesting to read about than listen to. The music never quite matches the strangeness or provocation of their peckish, artsy pranksterism. That said, I own this album and do like it, without loving it. The KLF's penchant for remixing tracks means that you're rarely left with what you may consider to be their best material in one format. For example, from my perspective the best version of 'What Time Is Love?' is the one with Glenn Hughes hollering all over the place. It's an exhilarating mix of dance, rock and a few more bits 'n' pieces for good measure. That said, with their Muu-Muu mythos and constant rearranging of musical puzzle pieces, perhaps we shouldn't be interpreting KLF's music as fixed points; rather, it's an ongoing conversation, and sometimes subversion, of pop. And, occasionally, the results are a lot of fun. All aboard the last train to Transcentral!

Considering I've owned this album for over twenty years, it's hard to be objective. It gets frequent spins, and I am confident I'm not alone in saying it's been a bit of a touchstone for southern rock where my listening habits are concerned. Here's an uncontroversial opinion, though (at least, to my mind); it ain't as good as their next album, Second Helping. That said - the harder numbers, like Poison Whiskey, I Ain't The One and Gimme Three Steps all shine. They possess a swagger and a greasiness that is utterly infectious. The balladeering is top notch, too. To have one song of the calibre of Tuesday's Gone is a triumph; but to follow with the arguably superior Simple Man represents an embarrassment of riches. I suppose we also have to talk Free Bird, a song meme'd to death, its title a dull thud in the mouths of concert hecklers much in the same vein as the 'mashed potato' imbeciles at golf tournaments. However, it's impressive, and despite its grand scale never slips into the smug aren't-we-great noodling the Allman Brothers were prey to. A couple of other tracks are middling, and I hate the caricature the current iteration of the band embody. Skynyrd may have been southern boys, but they wrote sensitive and enquiring songs that touched on race, gun ownership and substance abuse. The pandering mob of today have little in common with the original band.

Starts alright as a kind of hyperreal postmodern cabaret act, but runs out of puff a little. Alison Goldfrapp's sensual, breathy vocals are great, admittedly, although aren't enough to carry all the material. Not a bad listening experience. Not one I'm in a hurry to repeat either.

Back when I was a callow youth an English teacher I really fancied loaned me her CD of this album. I pretended I liked it but really I couldn't wait to get back to Blue Oyster Cult and Alice Cooper. Now? With the maturity and wisdom that age grants you, I have a much greater appreciation of the niceties and shading of Infected. All the jazzy touches and cod-funk put me off as a youngling, but now I think they add a splash of colour. A record that sounds good - and in its songwriting, it excels. 'Heartland' is a standout, but this stuff really skewers the delusions baked into modern living. I bet Miss D is still well fit.

Not for me. Some fun sounds, some decent beats. Made a mediocre hook out of the gorgeous song 'Sunshower'. So much of MIA's delivery sounds like a nursery rhyme. If you like that jive, fine. I don't. There's an annoying whoop sound she does a few times, which I'd prefer I never heard in the first place. Lukewarm crap.

I braced myself for something that would be worthy, earnest and a bit dull - and though I wasn't entirely wrong, I've been pleasantly surprised at how fresh this still sounds. I've been listening to the excellent Let It Roll podcast about the history of rock 'n' roll lately, and just finished the episode on 1960, the year this was released. The music scene wasn't as moribund as history would have it - amidst dross like Larry Verne and Connie Francis, October's singles chart featured great stuff like Sam Cooke ('Chain Gang'), the Drifters, Chubby Checker, the Everly Brothers, Brook Benton and Ray Charles. Yet this...sounds nothing like those songs. It could have been recorded yesterday. I know Baez's voice can be an acquired taste, and the trilling can set one on edge, but mostly it's lovely, a pure, crystalline instrument. I imagine her technique influenced Sandy Denny. Highlight? 'Donna Donna', its modal chorus sounding like it derives from Eastern European folk traditions. Yeah, this just about scrapes four stars.

I remember these guys were hip when I was at university. The songs with a bit of pep are quirky and fun, the more doleful offerings are quirky and no fun.

Wow, this was even worse than I had imagined it to be. Boring music, terrible vocals, songwriting that ain't half as clever as it thinks it is - 1993 in the mud!

There's more to admire than like here, to my mind. There are fleeting moments of beauty, and you cannot accuse Björk of ever making safe musical decisions. So Vespertine is interesting, dreamlike, peculiar, uncanny even - but any good? Hard to say. Some decisions, like the hiss 'n' pop electronic rhythms, grate. Others, such as the meshing of disparate-sounding instruments, are inspired. It's a shame Björk sings so much, as her voice is one I've never warmed to. Again, like so much of her artistry, it's a challenge. In the right mood I can see me dishing out a high score - yet in the wrong frame of mind, this can harrow.

I'm not quite scraping the firmament in terms of my excitement over this album - but it's good! My only major criticism is the unvarying tempos, especially down the home stretch - the effect is mildly, pleasantly soporific. Still, big fuzzy guitars rarely sounded so majestic. Quality stuff!

Ms Dynamite is one of the stranger cases in UK music history - came out of the traps at a gallop, showered with awards, yet effectively out of the game as a productive musician within three years. A pity, on this evidence. This is emphatically not the kind of music I enjoy but this album has some genuine highlights - 'Krazy Krush' and female empowerment banger 'Push Him Out' amongst them. There's also a smattering of social conscience on display too - the line about how many Africans died for the diamonds studding a wristwatch cut through. Awarding it three stars feels unfair, because so much that is good in this genre fails to land because of my personal taste. A potential five, if you like this kind of thing.

Really, my only criticism is that some of this material is a little creaky to modern ears. That said, for what it is, the song selections are more or less impeccable. And that voice! I feel like Springfield is served best on minor key numbers - her smoky white soul voice sounds especially yearning and plaintive on 'Summer Is Over' - but she can properly belt it out on some of the more exuberant songs too. 'I Only Want to Be With You', despite being famous, caught me out a little on this collection, for some reason. It still sounds ace. Classy from top to bottom.

Not what I was expecting; I've been listening to a lot of Sam Cooke of late, but he's definitely at the more polished, pop end of soul. But this? Here's the raw, rough-edged, testifying Cooke, the performance belying his gospel background. So radio faves like 'Cupid', 'Twisting the Night Away' and the excellent 'Chain Gang' are maybe a little less ragged but pulse with a rare energy. Oh, and King Curtis is skronking away on the sax! This is tip top, a side of Cooke I wasn't familiar with; glad I've now become acquainted.

Every now and then an interesting idea pushes through the cracks, but this mostly sounds like PlayStation 1 loading screen music. That's not an original observation, I've made it before on this app. That said, I don't think this album warrants too much brainpower.

Not a fan of this kind of music, but enjoyed this to a reasonable extent. A kind of studio edifice of dream pop, it has all the hallmarks of modern production and associated trickery. Some of the effects are impressive but leave me a little cold. The programmed beats, voice manipulation and the amorphous clouds of noise that power this record are the aural equivalent of green screen tech; the products are superficially adroit, pushing sound and visual palettes beyond what can be done through elbow grease alone. And yet too often the output is uncanny, disconnected from any real world analogue and thus the bond with human endeavour and craft. I'm still gonna give this three stars.

Woozy, narcotised music that combines hushed vocals with repeated motifs to lull the listener into a kind of pleasant somnolence. Even the occasional blasts of noise can't shrug off the notion that, anachronistic as it would be, this album would make for an ideal soundtrack for a fin de siecle Limehouse shooting gallery.

I go to a festival called Love Supreme most years - jazz and soul, with a smattering of that patronising term 'world music'. This album is the sound of a sparsely attended mid afternoon DJ set in a tent you've stumbled into to get some respite from the sun. Or possibly the post-headliner DJ set where you're narcotised by pricey beer and fatigue. One of the friends I go with is earnest in his love of this stuff.

I can only surmise that Paul Weller hit his head and, upon awakening, was exposed solely to the music of Joe Pass and Wes Montgomery. A diverting, even charming (in places) little oddity of an album. Wasn't quite my cup of tea, though.

Not my favourite George Clinton album - may not even make the top five - but look, it's still four stars. This whips ass.

At first I thought I was going to struggle a little with this - a competent but dated soul churner with loverman lyrics. However, the second half really grabbed my attention, especially the imaginative use of acoustic (12 string?) guitar. On one of the tracks, the entire edifice was kept afloat solely by a guitar playing scales. Not quite good enough to boost to four stars, but a high three.

To give it some credit, there's a degree of playfulness on these tracks that are appealing. However, to be probably enjoyed, these thrusting dance anthems need to be experienced in a packed warehouse rave, as opposed to the rather more pedestrian confines of my living room.

Really good pop rock, little more to say. Perhaps a slight paradox; it manages to feel both middle-of-the-road and substantial at the same time. You can hear traces of Paul McCartney, Squeeze and, in rockier tracks like 'Tall Trees' and 'Fame Is', the Knack. But all those guys put out five star albums, and this doesn't quite scale the heights. Neil Finn has a wan voice that works in the context the music, and the band chop it up admirably. Songwriting is neat too - some cute observations studded here there in the lyrics.

To my mind, some of the best albums are those with an overarching concept. Not necessarily a story or anything quite as overt; more a uniformity of mood, feeling, emotion, moment or perspective. The opposite of this is Christina Aguilera's 2006 album 'Back to Basics', a dog's breakfast of a collection, its desperation signalled by its inauspicious title. Aguilera has a mighty instrument in her voice; over-mighty, at times, because it is apt to bulldoze everything in its wake. Only once does she shift down the gears; the rest of the time it's full-bore. Half the album is boring, half the album is bizarre; the circus stuff and cabaret muzak turns are baffling and bad. There's a track where Aguilera attempts a sexy 'come on', and sounds as alluring as congealed leftovers. Amazing that it's the same person behind 'Dirty'.

Nah Nah Nahs. Ah, I'm being a little uncharitable. There are precisely two good songs here - 'Dull Life' and 'Dragon Queen'. Everything else is a bit stultifying. It's easy to be lulled by the pretty sounds, especially the singing, and to overlook that squatting at the heart of this album is a fairly mediocre, ambition-lite collection of music.

Madonna goes electronica, with predictably underwhelming results. What's the fascination with her anyway? A few good songs and a mediocre voice have sustained a remarkably successful career. Imagine burning a copy of this on CD-ROM back in 1998 - a very special and powerful feeling, doubtless. 'Shanti / Ashtangi' is cringeworthy, I have a strong feeling of secondhand embarrassment for all involved. I feel tainted for merely listening.

The passage of time has probably dulled the sting of its impact, but this is a very decent hip hop record. If it sounds a little creaky today, the animating spirit cannot be faulted, and LL Cool J's flow is great - big and technicolour. In the car, windows down on a warm evening, this would be perfect. Unfortunately, it's a cold damp morning in southern England. A high three, could've been a four.

That's a whole lotta Lou Reed doing Lou Reed things. I like his music, I have a few of his albums, a couple from the Velvet Underground, but tellingly I don't own this. I'm no stranger to a concept album or rock opera, but a whole narrative arc buoyed by Reed's halting sotto voce is a little exhausting. Despite that, some of the songs make an impression, whether poignant or harrowing. I'm sure Alice Cooper was taking notes for Welcome To My Nightmare, perhaps having heard 'How Do You Think It Feels' in particular.

What surprised me was how close to goth some of this sounds - 'New Gold Dream' itself isn't a million miles away from the Sisters of Mercy. Another little jolt - 'Somebody Up There Likes You' sounds somewhat out of time, a presage to the Goan trance wave of the 1990s. Still, this is mostly serviceable synth pop; listenable, but not on the level of some other bands of this genre encountered on the app.

Puzzling, literary, disturbing and inspiring all at once; I wouldn't describe this as an easy listen but it's certainly a vital and bracing one. In terms of how it sounds, well, the lurching, queasy rhythms are pinpricked with wiry guitar and almost comically cheap sounding keyboards. And then you've got Smith's high-low poetry to contend with. Sui generis, but points towards all kinds of possibilities including post-punk and the Neue Deutsche Welle sound. Can you listen to Fontaines DC without hearing The Fall? If you've heard The Fall beforehand, probably not, I'd wager. In a category of its own - this peculiar music winds itself around your bones.

Ah, I already own this album. Sublime. I ration listening to this, because it's such a powerful testimony to human creativity. I don't want to grow bored of it.

Not great - I thought the music was pretty generic and the ruminations about sex were meandering and, excuse the pun, lacked penetration (in terms of insight, natch).

Pretty good late 1980s hip hop with some fun guest spots. A couple of samples that made my lip curl - and was that a little reference to Patra on 'Queen of the Posse'?

I've always found ABBA a little creepy. If the mannequins in an abandoned department store came to life, I imagine their music would be the soundtrack. It's the case here, too. At their best (title track) they're great pop melodists and slightly offbeat. At their worst, ABBA are either too sickly or unpleasantly weird ('Soldiers'). When they don't rely upon a soft disco throb, ABBA tend to fall back on fairly martial rhythms. I can hear their skill, that pure lambent beam of vocal harmony they specialise in - but sometimes they just sound like a female-fronted Pilot teetering on the brink of mania.

Perhaps this is coloured by being a Brit, but if you said to me "imagine some honky tonk music", this is what it would sound like. Pretty fantastic. The Bakersfield Sound, right?

Unremarkable. Had a bit of zip here and there, but really, what's it doing on this list?

Ah, great. In 'Brighton Rock', 'Now I'm Here' and 'Killer Queen' you have three all-timers. What strikes you when listening to Queen is the care given to the sound - the variety of textures and tones in the mix - and, of course, the layered vocal harmonies. Queen sometimes employ these in punchy little stabs, like they're horns. It works splendidly - give 'Bring Back Leroy Brown' for evidence. It's very hard to be objective about Sheer Heart Attack as Queen were the first band I was ever conscious of as a child. I saw Freddie Mercury in the 'Kind of Magic' video on Greatest Flix II and thought he looked like a superhero. Brian May's guitar sounds almost baroque at times. It's mad that they had one of rock's greatest vocalists and allowed the other guys to sing every now and then. (In fairness, everyone in Queen could sing.) What a fantastic, occasionally bewildering, grab bag of hard rock with the odd proggy flourish.

I like the songwriting. I love the playing. It pains me to say it, but the big bugbear with this album is Parton's quavery, goblin voice. It wouldn't sound out of place on a second-tier Muppet. Still, I'd be tempted to grant four stars based on all the other qualities that Coat of Many Colors possesses. Country rock bouncer 'Traveling Man' is ace, whilst the modal 'Early Morning Breeze' is affecting and the best track here. I'd like to give a four - but hot dog, that voice, man. Bleh!

I'm feeling a little 'hey nineteen' about this album; it speaks to a time and place so alien to my own experiences that it's difficult to pull any emotional connection through the static. A supercut, you say? Sure. As with a lot of modern(ish) records, very little in its sound universe seems well defined. Swampy synth washes and murky beats rear out of the sonic fug, and the hushed vocals contribute to the impression that Melodrama is an unlit, smoggy, creepy thing. Not for me. And ain't it all a bit boring? Nothing to stir a soul nor shake a limb.

I suppose your liking for this can be broken down to your tolerance for: a) The sweeping, orchestral Big Pop sounds of the 1960s, and; b) Neil Hannon's oaken, stentorian baritone, an eccentric and seemingly anachronistic voice for the time of the Divine Comedy's pomp. If you like both - and I do - there's much to enjoy here. It's graverobbing, undoubtedly, but the larceny is done with immense brio and elegance. A dialled-down Hannon evens sounds tender on 'Timewatching', and would you believe it? It's beautiful. Any road, I'm always going to look favourably on the composer of 'My Lovely Horse'.

Wimp rocker Christopher Cross released one song trying to convince us he was a true bad-arse. Here, MJ sweats for about three or four tracks with the same aim - and, alas, with much the same outcome. What a peculiar album Bad is. Two stunners, a couple of good songs and a chunk of filler that seems to occupy much of the middle of the run time. The production is horribly dated - it sounds very plastic but also very soft, so the overall sonic mouthfeel is something akin to packaging peanuts. The great songs are 'Smooth Criminal' (elite stuff here, from the overlapping whispers in the bridge to the vocal surges as the chorus approaches) and 'The Way You Make Me Feel', which trips along with a lovely light swing to proceedings. Good - the slightly overheated 'Bad', its killer chorus giving the track buoyancy, and 'Dirty Diana'. I was once in a band that did a metal version (an original concept, eh?!) of 'Dirty Diana' and playing the chorus half-time with the drummer going nuts on the double bass pedal was a lot of fun. I guess all the Jacko vocal tics are present, and you can moonwalk in your bedroom to half these songs, so it's no disaster. It's just a little disappointing.

A little samey in places, but the highs are high. 'Clay' and 'Porcupine' sit next to each other as the soundtrack to a nightmare acid-trip Western. It's really fun listening to a band using the tools of their day to twist sound into new and unusual shapes. All without sacrificing song craft - there are some big choruses here.

Altogether a pleasant time, though the lilting guitar has a soporific effect after a while. Perhaps that's a slightly negative way of highlighting this music's hypnotic insistence. It's not a million miles away from hill country blues. Spotify really wants you to know that Ry Cooder played on this, huh?

One I already own, but thought I'd give another spin to blow away the cobwebs. I'm glad I did. My big beef with Zappa is that he seemed to harbour a lot of disgust in his heart, not only for people but even for the music he professed to like. Everything seemed beneath him, and thus pop could only be handled at arms length, as a lampoon - at best. Therefore, I was pleasantly surprised that my reacquaintance with Freak Out revealed it to be more surreal than splenetic. Yes, it is absolutely irreverent and quite barbed in places, but there's some great stuff here. Even as Zappa et al send up pop, rock and doo-wop, they do it with flair and wit. 'Motherly Love' had me laughing! Funny, then, that the most straightforward, state-of-the-nation track 'Trouble Every Day', a bluesy rock number, is the best thing here. A rapid fire dissection of race riots, the forces behind them and the prurient way crime is covered in the media, it's smarter than almost anything else being released in 1966. Two of these tracks would also appear on the cracking 'Cruising with Ruben and the Jets'. 'Return of the Son of Monster Magnet' is a gloriously chaotic slice of experimentation. The whole thing is fantastic - shame Zappa became prey to his own, substantial, prejudices, and spent the next fifteen years workin' 'em out on magnetic tape (betwixt and between creating some incredible music). I once met Jimmy Carl Black, who was wonderful. I met Roy Estrada too (different event), who posed for a photo with me and a friend but let's not tall about that.

Maybe the first overtly didactic album on the list. If nothing else, I've learned something. Nonetheless, my ears aren't sufficiently attuned to the art of the raga to truly appreciate the nuances nor, probably, the skill of the musicians. Shankar was doubtless an expert sitar player - I have little to compare him to as a yardstick. I was, however, quite taken by the rhythms of the tabla - there's some kind of roll played on it occasionally that makes it sound like it's collapsing in on itself. Perhaps more interesting, and worthy, than thrilling - but I'm glad I've listened.

Lovely stuff - itchy, hard edged funk-soul offset by Mayfield's gentle, almost hushed righteousness. Not quite in the same league as Super Fly - but what is? Curtis Mayfield was a rare talent.

This absolutely whips ass.

I have an instinct to like Ice-T the mam, purely through his utter lack of filter and sense of fun on social media. I also like Body Count enough to own a couple of albums. This? It's pretty good. Woefully dated in places, but admirable insofar as so much of the production, writing and performing was helmed by the man himself. It needs more variety to sustain interest over an hour plus, but in short bursts, O.G. Original Gangster is bracing. Highlight is the track from the New Jack City movie!

Sexy, slinky, nocturnal soul from Gaye - but soul that's also strange and quite eccentric, being a double album mostly devoted to the breakdown of a relationship. In scope and breadth it resembles some of Isaac Hayes' works - but where Hayes rumbled his wandering meditations on love over glacial gospel organs, Gaye trips lightly over thin-air disco funk. Which isn't to say the music is insubstantial - on the contrary, there's much to enjoy in the arrangements. What's curious is how much I like this, despite no one tune that jumps out of the speakers. Of course, Gaye's singing is great - impeccable even - but truly, this is an example of an album that is greater than the sum of its parts.

I am not a huge country rock fan, but as far as the genre goes this feels like almost the exemplar. A very pleasant listen.

'Me and a Gun' - that's a strong cup of meat. And the title track at the end - also quite wild. The inevitable comparison is Kate Bush, but there's also a dose of Laura Nyro and a tablespoon of Judee Sill, plus maybe a smattering of Peter Gabriel. The lyrical content was a cut above, but the music itself didn't quite reach me. I expect if you like this kind of bombastic-yet-intimate high concept singer-songwriter stuff it's five stars. I am indifferent normally, but it's a high three, edging towards a four.

I like New Wave and post punk music, and recognise that this is an album that really bends pop and rock into unusual, oblique shapes. The infusion of reggae is cool. The guitars are twitchy and wiry, stabbing away as a needling counterpoint to the bass. And that bass - it anchors everything, throbbing away with a rare potency, making this weird music - dare I say it - danceable. Perhaps it's Ari Up's Teutonic caterwauling - influential in itself - that puts the brakes on? I can't imagine another vocalist making such a splash - she sounds unhinged - but I'm not sure I love it. Strong meat, perhaps best enjoyed sparingly.

Damn, this has aged like fine milk.

Utterly pleasant, but a bit like cotton candy - a momentary sweet treat without any real bulk or substance. The thirty five minutes spent with this, its loping rhythms and skittering percussion, were fine. The music has a bright quality to it, a kind of audio warm smile. Ten minutes later and I can barely recall a riff or melody. I probably won't listen again, but by the same token I wouldn't object if this was on my car stereo. I'd drive to the beach or a bowling alley with this on, sure!

Extraordinary - Rundgren plays almost all the instruments on this bad boy. He covers so much ground, and does it well (largely). And sometimes, he is through the stratosphere - "I Saw The Light" is the apogee of power pop, "Breathless" is superior Yellow Magic Orchestra, "I Went to the Mirror" is delightfully brooding - and just when you might think one power-pop classic isn't enough, "Couldn't I Just Tell You" repeats the trick. I wish I had an ounce of Rundgren's drive, restlessness and creativity.

Rick Rubin works his magic on the Cult by cutting out all the gothic fripperies and allowing them to be the arena rock act they always secretly wished to be. You can't listen to Billy Duffy's gleeful soloing and tell me otherwise. They were built for it, too - Electric is basically a bunch of recycled Zep, AC/DC and Stones riffs tightened up and freeze dried for a new era. It's good! I always found Ian Astbury's whole Native American shaman schtick goofy, but he has a voice made for hollering to the back of a concert hall. Electric is no more, but also no less, than a very decent hard rock album. Love, Electric, Sonic Temple - there are some top tracks sprinkled across this trilogy.

It's got my favourite REM song on here - Orange Crush - and another one or two that I like. It's fine otherwise. Was never a big fan, will probably never be a big fan. The teenage version of me who thought Joe Satriani was the pinnacle would cringe at the notion I'd quite enjoy an REM platter.

Have you ever read any of Julian Cope's books? Fascinating. I sometimes wonder if he is better writing about music than actually creating it. But then you come across something like Peggy Suicide, where Cope comes over as a mutant, scuzzy Todd Rundgren - restless creativity and musical flexibility blasted through the respective prisms of their own individual eccentricities. There's lilting pop, neo-psychedelia, grebo, a splash of Bowie, a rather disturbing piece called 'Western Front 1992 CE' and a whole bunch of other idiosyncratic stuff. Godspeed, Julian. Carry on writing books about stone circles whilst swaddled in those unwashed leathers. I'm glad that the world has space for such a singular visionary as Cope to prosper.

This rules. Scott Walker is evidently doing just what he fancies here. Baroque pop, Big Pop, call it what you will - I like it, especially when served with a twist. I wish I could sing like this. Lush orchestration. I prefer the Sensational Alex Harvey Band's version of 'Next'.

A shitty little bit of graverobbing that ultimately sounds like the soundtrack to a sad, haunted funfair.

Not really my deal, but this edges to a four on account of a few factors: First, there are some genuinely great songs - some cool arrangements, and better than decent lyrics. Second, you've got the harmonies - pitched somewhere between folk and Motown, they are impeccable and huge. It's like they hit a resonance and just glide, sounding more than just four people. Lastly, Cass Elliot's voice alone is a thing of beauty. When she's pushed to the fore in the mix, it's a real treat. Quite surprised that 'In Crowd' is the same track I've heard Bryan Ferry crooning, sounding like a dissolute iguana.

A noisy, rackety, catchy, antisocial album with a big rawk production number done on it. Any why not? It sounds absolutely superb, especially Steve Jones' steroid-bulked guitar. Johnny Rotten is brilliant too - his characterful, bilious delivery is exactly what the moment called for. Too much ink has been spilled over whether the Pistols were 'authentic' punk. All I can say is that the music coming out of my stereo does the trick, and their influence can't be disputed. A stonking record.

A whole bunch of beep boop buzz buzz music underpinned by motorik drumming that should be a gas, yet it fails to stir the soul. It's like these guys heard Talking Heads, Devo and the Units but didn't absorb the bits that were smart, edgy or fun. "I used to dance alone / Of my own volition" - gimme a break, pal. Admittedly, "how do you sleep?" and "tonite" are good. What's with the lack of capitalisation here? Some kind of post-millennial tweeness? They should just follow those Japanese bands that list English titles in all caps. Speaking of, where are the Japanese artists on this app, eh?

A special two disc edition on Spotify, clocking in at two hours and six minutes? Oh have a look. Buddy, if you've ever wanted to dance like a pilled-up primate to the strains of the Fall, do I have the album for you!

Sub-Pantera, without the characterful guitar soloing and, presumably, the racism. Appreciate the Motorhead cover. I actually saw Sepultura support Motorhead and they were pretty good.

Dark, prowling beats and a very London sensibility to the lyrics, both in terms of wordplay and delivery. Not really my thing but pretty good. 'Shutdown' is a banger.

There's something authoritative and reassuring about Callahan's voice that elevates proceedings. A lovely little amble through the mystical backwaters of alt-Americana.

There's a recording of me playing Outlaw Blues floating around online somewhere. I recommend that you don't seek it out.

A mushy, boring and almost unlistenable mess. What is this turkey doing on the list? Dion made some timeless music in his day. This ain't it, chief.

The most underrated album by my favourite band.

One I already own, so it's likely I'll be biased in its favour...and so it proves. I feel as if you were to look up the definition of 'classic rock - British' in an encyclopedia, you've got half a chance that Mott the Hoople would be the accompanying photo. They've got everything that a band of that era strove to do - upbeat at times, tender at others, and able to rouse the punters with the odd grandiose ballad now and again. And they did it well! Largely eschewing histrionics and hard rock bluster, I view MtH as a bridging point between glam and the stripped-down pub rock sound that was to follow. Ian Hunter could declaim, he could coo, and he sounded convincing doing both. Good songwriting, too - a cut above the usual hairy-chest brigade. Fine work.

Unmatched vibes. When these guys are hitting the note, it sounds incredible. War deal in a slow, dark, shuffling funk - but don't let that mislead you into thinking it's lumbering. Each song has so many little moving parts, it's like perceiving the inner working of a pocket watch. And when they don't funk it up, War remain interesting. There are instances of prog-soul, doom and even something approaching a rock version of Ennio Morricone's spaghetti western soundtracks. The third song had a harmonica riff that reminded me of the very pleasurable music I once heard in Tokyo's Metro Rail Museum. Intoxicating.

Blah. Copy and paste electro psychedelia with all the heart of a refrigerator. Masking the fundamentally dull songs with bleeps and swirls maybe distracts for a song or two. 'Static Resistance' sounds like that muh-muh-muh-my moustache song by Sparks - were it devoid of any wit, charm or energy.

Not my thing at all - but four stars nonetheless. Mann's songwriting is sly and intelligent, the music trips along pleasantly, and there are some kicky little additions to the arrangements that made my ears prick up. Funny that I'll probably not swing by Whatever again in a hurry despite the high rating. It's not my bag, but I can recognise its quality.

If you were a teen or young adult twenty or so years ago - as I was - you likely had occasion to stay over at a friend's place, staying up all night getting intoxicated. When you awoke, blurry-eyed and fuzzy-tongued, on your mate's sofa the next morning your re-entry into the world was often heralded by the looping music of the DVD menu screen from the film you watched the night before. This is that music.

Gorgeous voice. I don't think lang sings any of her own stuff here, but as a work of interpretation it's masterful. Just well arranged music, with a lovely, slightly spooky production, a nice amount of variety whilst remaining cohesive... ...and did I mention lang's voice? Mightily impressive.

Fela Kuti's music is something I've arrived to fairly late in life, but in general I like it. Not love, like. I like this record, too. Four lengthy tracks, which all concern themselves with hitting a groove and riding it into the ground. Highlife meets James Brown. It ain't bad. Perplexing why these cats thought Ginger Baker should be in the mix - they already had Tony Allen, one of the best to ever do it on the traps.

Well, for some reason the version of the album on Spotify in the UK omits the two best tracks. Harrumph! We spent a fair bit of time at uni chewing over signs, signifiers, simulacra and the ilk. All that chat seems to coalesce here, a dream pop album that features ghostly hints of many different shapes and forms but ultimately floats untethered in its own soupy little bubble of ephemera. Some silly words to describe what is ultimately an inoffensive, okayish listen. The club culture aspects sound horribly dated. The Neil Young cover sucks. You know who did a good electronic cover of a Neil Young song? Neil Young, on his masterful (you read it first here, folks!) Trans album.

Neil Young at the height of his pomp and majesty. Though, strange enough, the first two tracks didn't grab me, and I'm an avowed fan. The good news is that everything else did. 'Revolution Blues', 'For the Turnstiles' and 'Vampire Blues' is an incredible trifecta, bang bang bang, one after another. Nobody could pull off this kind of ragged, bleary-eyed folk rock like Young. Plenty have since tried, and perhaps gotten close; but when the big dog's in town there are no true competitors.

An album I've owned for quite some time. I love it. Roxy Music sound like art rock beamed down from another planet - hipper, slicker, weirder and frankly more sexy than the plodders around them. The music takes unexpected turns, oboes absolutely belong in rock music, and Eno's squalls of electronic dissonance rule. And then you've got Bryan Ferry. Oddly, whenever he's mentioned to me, the abiding memory of Ferry I have is his sweaty face in a newspaper, caught on camera during some hullabaloo on a flight over Africa. But here, he's the king of the demimonde, a louche adventurer of dark lounge bars and discrete side doors. And on For Your Pleasure, he sounds like a particularly dissolute iguana. Lovely stuff!

By no means the worst album I've encountered here - but probably the biggest gap between expectation and delivery. 'This is Love' is a mighty, elemental rocker. So much else, however, feele like it's trying a bit too hard to be hip or smart and not quite getting there. And much of the music commits the cardinal sin of simply being dull. Disappointing.

These guys did a song I like called 'At Night In Dreams', so I was eager to hear a full album. Verdict? Yeah, fine. You could consider them a superior indie band, given their evident talent. I even encountered a proggy moment or two, with one section sounding like it had been pasted over from Caravan's In the Land of Grey and Pink. However, nothing quite landed - certainly, there wasn't a track with the immediacy and stickiness of 'At Night In Dreams'. Wouldn't come back to this, wouldn't object if it came on at a party.

Glorious stuff. Worked very well burbling away in the background whilst I slaved over a hot laptop. If you were ingesting heroic amounts of hallucinogens back in the day (or maybe even now!) this probably sounded incredible. As things stand, even without mental enhancements, this is a warm, questing, floaty slice of psych that I will absolutely want to listen to again.

There are some solid songs here - as in, some quality melodies and interesting harmonic touches. Generally, it's well written, well crafted rock music with prominent pop flavours. However... I'm not a huge fan of Harrison's rather weak, lugubrious voice. His slide guitar style isn't quite to my tastes. Phil Spector's soupy, gloopy production is something I don't think I'll ever buy. Personal proclivities aside, what an absolute spoofer Spector was. Nonetheless, this was a low four star or high three star effort - until I got to the Apple Jam section. And suddenly, everything that was wrong headed, misguided, self-satisfied and self-important about this era of album rock comes into focus. Who thought that this was a good idea? I can think of another fruit flavoured jam - Grape Jam, by Moby Grape, that was an utter disaster, a mess from start to finish, and this isn't miles off being that bad either. On the basis that it exists and is part of the album, the final third almost drags this into one star territory. Almost. I'm feeling generous.

This collection of repetitive trip hop isn't 'good' by my arbitrary standards - frankly, it is dull as ditchwater, whichever way you hold the prism up to the light. Yet I feel that we're back on 'music as function' territory - and on that basis, as a background to other activity, this isn't bad. One can speculate, given the Smokers Delight title and signifiers on the album artwork, what activity is suggested; but as the aural zest to a working day, this is fine. Some sounds even broke through - a breezy guitar line, the bubbling retro synth on 'What I'm Feelin (Good)' - it's quite pleasant. A gentlemanly three stars.

Was never a Muse fan, and this hasn't turned me into one - but I really don't mind this one bit. Sci-fi rock with a bit of a techno twist - but the electronics are done quite subtly all told. You get hints of industrial, EDM, even disco, but you're never in doubt that this is, at heart, big stadium rawk. Perhaps lacking a little in soul, but fine. He production is, surprisingly, a tiny bit flat. 'Knights of Cydonia' still whips ass though.

Cotton wool in music form - superficially pretty but lacking in ballast or substance. Musgraves's singing is the vocal equivalent of Switzerland - maddeningly neutral. "Texas is hot, I can be cold Grandma cried when I pierced my nose" Now there's a couplet for the fucking time capsule.

Zero chance that I'm able to offer any kind of objective view on an album that is a milestone of sorts from my teen years. It was one of my first hard rock purchases, and acted as the gateway drug to a universe of rock and metal that thrills me to this very day. The best song on here is 'Rocket Queen', by the way, but the feds don't want you to know that. 'It's So Easy' is also better than 'Welcome To The Jungle' - shall I go on with my Appetite hot takes...?

Wasn't really in the mood for this sub-Cormac McCarthy hokum. Maybe in another state of mind its charms will reveal themselves to me - but not today. 'Green Eyes' was a very long three and a half minutes.

Every time I hear an album by Sonic Youth, I find it contains at least two or three aspects to it that are really cool. And, amidst the sturm und drang, there's a band that really rocks. They've got some sick guitar tones! Sonic Youth have been one of my favourite 'finds' on this app, and EVOL burnishes their credentials further.

Strip away the lyrics, strip away the wounded machismo of Springsteen's voice and 'Thunder Road' could be a Ronette's track. 'Tenth Avenue Freeze Out' could easily have Solomon Burke crooning and moaning over the top of it. 'Night' brings Meat Loaf to mind, with its sweeping, piano-led arrangement. And so forth. Which is to say, that there is a old school, almost conservative bent to the music on 'Born To Run' - it mostly looks backwards, but when it does serve as a harbinger of music to come, it points towards that most theatrical and archly classic performer, Marvin Lee Aday. But of course, you shouldn't strip away the lyrics - but there again, the subject matter is an elevated take on 'Teen Angel' and its ilk. Very good stuff, but nothing new under the sun. I never realised how twinkly the E Street Band were at this point. I kept waiting for 'Jungleland' to burst into an Elton John track, or perhaps the theme music from Cheers.

A big album during my university days. It's no exaggeration when I say that at one point a housemate of mine would wake up and hit play on this CD, every day, for about two months. I wasn't particularly taken by it then, nor am I finding a lot of juice now. The big tracks 'Take Me Out', 'The Dark of the Matinee' became such a part of the fabric of being young in the UK at the time as to be virtually inescapable. Twenty years on, they're okay. And that's what is so remarkable - that such a modest album had such a stranglehold on the zeitgeist. This thin-sounding indie, with hints here and there of dance and post-punk, is slightly exhausting listen, not due to its difficulty but its lack of any distinguishing feature. One of the tougher drives I ever made was a west-east bisection of Kansas - tough, because for hours I barely had to nudge the wheel, and the scenery was unending fields of industrially farmed crops. Don't underestimate the wearying potential of overwhelming blah. Did the guitarist try to do some East Bay Ray thing? Because he failed.

Huh - so this is what Everything But The Girl sound like? I'd expected something lighter and more indie. Nonetheless, chalk this up as a welcome surprise. I'm not doing backflips over this - I'm never going to be a fan of this flavour of electronica or trip hop - but nor do I dislike it. Tracey Thorn is really great - low-key, yearning, a tinge of sadness running through her voice like a seam of ore in a rock face. Plus, she sounds almost conversational and consoling - Thorn sounds like a friend singing advice to you. Not to my tastes so three stars, but I'm sure this scores higher for the connoisseurs.

Pretty much everything you want a garage rock album to sound like. Ragged, passionate, pregnant with youthful angst - and choc-ful of melody. To these ears 'Androgynous', whilst a welcome change of pace, is the weakest cut here. It's got the most individual plays on Spotify. Curious!

There is precisely one track here that holds up to the present day - 'Rock Your Body'. Even that sexy little funkster sounds pretty thin. Speaking of which, Timberlake has an absolute powder puff of a voice. It is almost funny when he reaches for his falsetto. Production is peak 2002, with some utterly grim synth strings and irritatingly trebly acoustic guitars. There are children's toys available today with better sound profiles. Lightweight, plastic and utterly disposable. There is no way on God's green earth that this ranks amongst the top 1,001 albums you need to listen to before carking it. No way.

Really don't get the hype, but three stars due to some of the ambition shown here. The skits in-between tracks made me impatient for more music.

Fine, but a slightly underwhelming experience. I was expecting a little more punch and vim to the proceedings. It choogles along nicely, but fails to connect with a knockout. Nonetheless, the songwriting is great fun, there's a strong melodic sensibility throughout, and it is probably the only album on this app to contain a mention of University Challenge. Feargal Sharkey has a voice that can take some getting used to. A high three.

Powerful, extraordinary, cerebral, experimental, disturbing - but not fun. That said, I'm not a very fun person at all so I loved this knotty collection of twisted metal. Alright, the bit in 'Easy Money' that goes a little funk rock was kinda fun.

If you're going to go grave-robbing, at least make it exciting. The music here is unimaginative, and only the attempt at approximating Billie Holiday moves this a notch or two up the Pat Boone larceny scale. People often comment on Winehouse's voice, which I'm not even convinced about. It sounds sickly, a curdling of all the great jazz voices she both cites and imitates.

This feels more like an assault than a listening experience to be enjoyed and picked over. And you know what? As a piece of art to disturb and disrupt, to undermine the very foundations of rock music, it is absolutely vital. I've never heard anything like it. To be honest I don't think I want to hear anything like it ever again. However, as a bracing series of aural confrontations I can't fault it. There's even a splash of deadpan humour here, with a laughably wonky cover ('Jet'M') stuck right in the middle of the album. How to rate this? It's ambitious, different, provocative and sui generis. Five stars on that basis, minus one for being borderline unlistenable.

This feels fairly run-of-the-mill hip hop. I listened with the expectation that I'd at least register a faint ringing of recognition at hit single 'Come Clean' - but nothing. I didn't dislike this particularly, but I'd struggle to differentiate this from the glut of second-tier early to mid nineties rap releases out there. At least the line about blowing up the World Trade Center aged well.

I didn't mind this. A rather twinkly, frictionless pop-electronica that rather floated out of the speakers. Neil Tennant's voice is one I've often considered on the 'small' side, but it fits the sound perfectly here. Quite atmospheric despite the fact I've made it sound a little powder puff. Just about scrapes four stars for me.

The blast furnace of all modern punk rock. Is it the best album? No. (That'd be 'Destroyed' by Sloppy Seconds). Is it the most important? Possibly - a few Stooges fans might argue otherwise (including me on a different day), but this is the template for so much that follows. Eschewing the artsy sensibilities of British punk, this is all about delinquency, stoopidity and rockin' out. It's realised via an admirable amount of energy and an equally admirable dearth of chords. Two minutes, some buzzsaw guitar and a bunch of antisocial words. The purists may say that's all that rock 'n' roll ever needed.

On the plus side, the music sounds huge, especially Dave Grohl's thunderous drumming. Guitars sound crisp, the bass throbs and there's an appealing sense of space. That said - whilst some of the songs are good, even great, a number do amble past. Nirvana aren't as inventive as Sonic Youth, and they don't do the quiet-loud thing as well as the Pixies. Kurt Cobain's old man voice seesawing its way through the album grates after a while. After seven or eight years of hair farmer dominance in rock, this must've felt fresh and vital. It still rocks manfully, but time and tide have dulled the cutting edge somewhat. In any case, I was born in the eighties. 'Eighties'? Wasn't that a cracking little tune by Killing Joke? I wonder how that would sound like, slowed down and with some different lyrics...

Impressive. Demonstrates so many different influences, sounds, production techniques - yet doesn't come across as a mess, nor particularly dated. I don't love the lyrics, and the songs that have more overt British music hall influences are the ones I like the least. Best track - the Ravi Shankar / pop mashup of 'Within You Without You'.

Some great music, some almost throwaway, but all of a piece, which is pleasing. Interesting to hear really disparate elements being pulled together, often in the same song. It makes the music on fROMOHIO difficult to pin down, a curious hybrid of punk, folk, FM rock and funk. Mike Watt is a cool guy.

I sometimes use the term 'graverobbing' here, perhaps a little too liberally - but what the La's achieve here is nothing short of necromancy. Legend has it that Lee Mavers wanted the songs to be recorded on equipment that still had 'dust from the 1960s' on it - perhaps an urban myth, but this has emerged sounding like a clutch of lost recordings from the Byrds, the Who et al. What is totally surprising is that it's brilliant - an album that has the aural mouthfeel (earfeel?) of a warm hug, spiky Rickenbackers and some really punchy jangle pop. 'There She Goes', 'Feelin'', 'Doledrum' and the epic 'Looking Glass' are for the ages. Proper class, that.

A downhome reinterptetation of Great American Songbook standards? By Willie Nelson? I feel that the battle was halfway won before I even hit the play button. And now, basking in the afterglow? An extremely pleasant listen. Nelson's voice isn't the biggest, but it does contain a soulful yearning. The arrangements are nicely balanced, allowing just enough country influence in to play nice for the Nashville crowd. Song choice is impeccable - 'Blue Skies' is the standout for me. Gorgeous stuff, then - though why is the acoustic guitar mixed so high? I feel like it's about to batter me over the head!

The kind of whimsical psychedelia that sets my teeth on edge. A couple of songs cut through. However, this stripe of toffee-nosed Englishness, sheep-dipped in the poetry of Edward Lear, has aged like fine milk. It is ripe for parody, and indeed, Barrett's speaking voice even resembles Christopher Guest's character from This Is Spinal Tap. Ultimately this all sounds like second rate Incredible String Band - who do have the capacity to annoy, admittedly. But where their lysergic meanderings could charm, these annoy.

UK acid jazz - need I say more?

Maybe this brand of pone caught me just right, because behind Robbins' lugubrious voice and the sometimes too-pretty arrangements is a cracking western album. I mean, the narrative songwriting of 'Big Iron' (be sure to check out Colter Wall's cover) is streets ahead of most modern pop in terms of sophistication, atmosphere and the ability to paint a vivid picture. Other highlights - 'El Paso', 'The Hanging Tree' and my favourite, 'The Master's Call'. Surely Elvis took a cue or two from Robbins when it came to singing ballads?

Not good. This is a bit like if Ween recorded in someone's garage and had no money. How on earth did this make it onto the list? Feels like one of those that was released shortly before the book came out. Might have seemed cool at the time, but it stinks now.

Right in the sweet spot whilst I was happily tapping away at my laptop. Music that was challenging enough when zooming in, but could melt into the background. Impressive chops demonstrated throughout. I got a kick out of some fretless bass and synth licks in particular (is that Joe Zawinul on the keyzzzz?). 'Birdland' is a great opener. My girlfriend also liked this.

Forged in the crucible of Britpop, this knockabout collection was as totemic then as it feels redundant now. What might have seemed a bit laddish - but open-hearted! - rings rather hollow. For all its apparent energy, there is something of the 'lost soul' about this album and its creators. Not as good as it was considered back in the day, but nowhere near as bad as I'd anticipated. A couple of tracks even stood out, though not the biggies ('Alright' and 'Caught By the Fuzz'). About as average as average gets.

The background music one hears in particularly musty shops and cafés.

Forced to listen on YouTube, and I couldn't abide constantly needing to skip adverts. I ain't paying for no stinkin' Premium. Anyway, I only got halfway through. What I did hear, however, really intrigued. Sensitive balladry, spooky southern gothic folk, and music so ramshackle that it seemingly threatened to fall apart at the seams. Might go buy a physical copy of this - until then, a tentative (but well-earned, on the basis of what I heard) four stars.

Are we able to put aside Phil Anselmo's politics (if we may call them such) to appreciate this album in its fulness? After all, if we demanded our entertainers be saints, this would be more a case of '10 Albums Before You Die'. So - on the basis of the music alone, this is some great metal. Uncompromising, elemental - Pantera at their best managed to keep the ying and yang of 'heavy' and 'metal' in balance, but also infuse it with groove. The net result is a real prowler of an album, something that swaggers and prowls through the wastelands. 'Vulgar Display...' is damn heavy, because guitars are down-tuned without sounding sludgy and rhythms are crisp, instead of clattery. It is the sound of nations marching to war.

A slightly hunched, crabbit Madonna stares us down from the album cover. There is something uncanny about her visage, which is just as well; for half this album she sounds like a glitching android. The other half, well, it's Madonna - she sings with the same expression as most hostages give in proof-of-life videos. That's not to say that there isn't any interest in 'Music'. In fact, as a studio confection there's plenty to enjoy, Madonna and her producers throwing the entire box of tricks at almost every tune going. Just as well, because beneath the bells and whistles are some rather cookie cutter melodies and uninspired song craft. However, I'm almost missing the point here - 'Music' very much is a collection of gaudy sounds and aural gewgaws - it's tinsel all the way down, boys.

'Once In A Lifetime' and 'Houses In Motion' feel like cresting the peak of a mountain - sure, the climb was a gas, but take a look at the view! Superior music. And the rest? Good music, for sure! Itchy afro-funk filtered through the peculiar sensibilities of the Talking Heads. For half the time I thought to myself "gee, some of this sure sounds like Adrian Belew" and whaddya know? Wikipedia informs me that guitar rascal Belew is on a clutch of tracks here. My ears still work.