Yikes...Billy Joel. The natural reaction to being asked to listen to Billy Joel is to recoil. This is the man that brought the world Uptown Girl, after all. The video from the Westlife cover version of that song still occasionally frequents my nightmares. Those four (or is it five?) cherubic Irish scamps, running amok in some kind of 50s cafeteria, dancing with mops and buckets in their blue rockabilly shirts. How can I forgive Billy Joel for being the nexus event that led to that?! The problem is, you can't help but enjoy The Stranger. It's the sort of album you might expect The Special Forces to pump through a tannoy into a Guantanamo cell, on repeat - along with the Barney theme tune - assuming it will grind a terrorist suspect into confession, only to find it has indoctrinated them into being Kool-Aid-drinking, American Dream-obsessing aficionados. It's just so American. But it's the America of a not-too-distant but completely bygone era. Some pre-Internet other-world where people lived like the lead characters from Friends. Close your eyes and imagine Chandler Bing listening to 'Just the Way You Are', before running out into the hustle of Fifth Avenue in his navy cashmere overcoat and chasing after the girl of his dreams, barging people out of the way so that he can catch up with her and then have a panic attack and not tell her how he feels. Like Hootie and the Blowfish's 'Cracked Rear View', Billy Joel's 'The Stanger' is music for the Chandler Bings. Either that or it's music for the Patrick Batemans. But before you've worked out which one it is, you're hooked by the fun jingle-jangle of the opening track, Movin' Out, and it doesn't really matter either way. Then the piano from the title track kicks in and you recognise it as the sample from Xzibit's amazing 'At the Speed of Life' track 'The Foundation', and before you know it you've worked your way through the entire album to 'Everybody Has a Dream' and you've walked into a New York fashion outlet and bought an expensive navy cashmere overcoat of your very own. And when you leave that shop you're gunna have no choice but listen to The Stranger on your Walkman again as you hit the high street. Some people will look at you and see a Chandler Bing. Others will look at you and see a Patrick Bateman. But by this point you don't really care. You're living in some weird alternate early 90s white collar central park office block coffee shop wall street burst fire hydrant subway train American dream. Thanks a lot Billy Joel.

The issue with 'The Modern Lovers' is that it leaves you wanting to listen to The Velvet Underground and Lou Reed. I read that lead singer Jonathan Richman was obsessed with the Velvet Underground, and you're left in no doubt after listening to this album. But you are left wondering why he decided to opt for an all together different narrative in his lyrics. Supposedly he's just lived an entirely clean and positive existence to date. Hard to criticism him for that. But part of the grand appeal of the Velvet Underground and Lou Reed's solo work is the dark, edgy nature to the lyrics. In the Jonathan Richman world, 'Perfect Day' is just a song about having a really great day. Smoke a doobie, Jonathan! Lyrics aside, you can't not love a bit of New York 70s art rock. It's stuffy, it's pretentious but it's absolutely iconic. You can see the direct lineage from The Modern Lovers to all of the indie music I dabbled with at university in the mid-noughties. From Belle & Sebastian to The Moldy Peaches, it's all there at various points through the course of this album. I just wish the band had strapped on some shiny shiny boots of leather before penning it.

Jeez, what an album. And the timing is perfect. The Fugees are on everyone's radar once again after announcing their return, touring 'The Score' to mark its 25th anniversary. I just watched some clips of them playing Global Citizen Live. They tore the place up! What a performance. Lauryn Hill remains a force of nature. I get goosebumps every time I hear her rap on 'Ready or Not'. Check out her live version of the song at Atlantic City Limits if you want goosebumps of your own. A five star review, right? The only thing that brings 'The Score' down is the skits. Do any hip hop skits really stand the test of time? Maybe a few of Eminem's; Wu-Tang Clan had some funny stuff on their albums. Busta Rhymes' 'Only One Year Left' was prescient and remains as disturbing as when it was released via 'Extinction Level Event' in '98. But across a whole album? Lauryn Hill's 'Mis-education...' is probably the only record where all the skits remain timeless; but that's due to the unwavering sentiment and the connection to the narrative as a whole. You can't say the same for 'The Score' and the skits definitely knock it down a tad from being one of the all-time great albums. Still, what an album. Maybe it's the nostalgia of seeming them playing it together again after 2 and a half decades, but each track has just improved and aged like well-rhymed moonshine. The hits remain classic: 'Fu-gee-La' to 'Ready or Not' and 'Killing Me Softly', of course. ONE TIME. But even the fringe songs bring new life to them. 'The Beast' has manifested from feeling like a slightly sinister and unnerving skit to something hugely topical and ahead of its time. I now appreciate the mastery of using 'Dove' by Cymande for the sample in the song 'The Score' whereas I wouldn't have known the reference back in the day. Even the cover of 'No Woman, No Cry' I can now appreciate, despite all the slightly hammy interjections and lyric changes from Wyclef Jean. Above all, I just love Lauryn Hill. So much talent. I hope 'Mis-education...' made it onto the 1001 list, but if not I can at least get my fix and settle for her brilliance on 'The Score'. TWO TIME. Hey. You can't listen to 'The Score' too many times, let's be honest.

Kanye's music largely passed me by in a blur over the last decade, so I'm pleased this was the first 1001 album recommended to me. It challenged me to dip into the Kanye archive post-College Drop Out/ Late Registration. Aside from 'All of the Lights' which I'd have had to have been living under a rock to avoid, there's essentially nothing on this album I recognise. Of course there's the unmistakable scattering of auto-tune vocals from Justin Vernon, the Bon Iver electronica, the customary hip hop sampling of Sabbath's Iron Man and cameos in a volume akin to an Adam McKay movie. But in terms of hit singles, radio airplays and stuff that might've seeped into my subconscious...nothing. Says more about me than the album, of course. But I've so often been put off Kanye's music by the hyperbole and absurdity that goes along with its release. In a way, this album reinforces my preconceptions. Everything about it screams 'Kanye', from the production to the occasional but desperately dumb lyrics. "Let's have a toast for the douchebags..." being a prime example. "I sent this bitch a picture of my d**k..." being another. In fact, ultimately what I realised is that I mostly like everything on this album that's not Kanye. Jay-Z brings some calm and class to two back to back tracks in the middle; RZA brings some proper hip hop flow. Vernon brings some quality and production innovation, whilst Sabbath bring a nod to heavy metal and even Nicky Minage brings...something. But Kanye just feels like the awkward and unnecessary spare wheel; which is quite the feat given it's his album. He's like the rich kid who's paid all his classmates to come on holiday with him. They'll all have a good time dining out at his expense whilst he spends the entire week whinging. Kanye's self-awareness has become beyond parody, and you can definitely hear and feel where the genesis for all that started in this album. I hope College Drop Out is in the 1001 list because I'd sooner be listening to and writing about that album.

Yikes...Billy Joel. The natural reaction to being asked to listen to Billy Joel is to recoil. This is the man that brought the world Uptown Girl, after all. The video from the Westlife cover version of that song still occasionally frequents my nightmares. Those four (or is it five?) cherubic Irish scamps, running amok in some kind of 50s cafeteria, dancing with mops and buckets in their blue rockabilly shirts. How can I forgive Billy Joel for being the nexus event that led to that?! The problem is, you can't help but enjoy The Stranger. It's the sort of album you might expect The Special Forces to pump through a tannoy into a Guantanamo cell, on repeat - along with the Barney theme tune - assuming it will grind a terrorist suspect into confession, only to find it has indoctrinated them into being Kool-Aid-drinking, American Dream-obsessing aficionados. It's just so American. But it's the America of a not-too-distant but completely bygone era. Some pre-Internet other-world where people lived like the lead characters from Friends. Close your eyes and imagine Chandler Bing listening to 'Just the Way You Are', before running out into the hustle of Fifth Avenue in his navy cashmere overcoat and chasing after the girl of his dreams, barging people out of the way so that he can catch up with her and then have a panic attack and not tell her how he feels. Like Hootie and the Blowfish's 'Cracked Rear View', Billy Joel's 'The Stanger' is music for the Chandler Bings. Either that or it's music for the Patrick Batemans. But before you've worked out which one it is, you're hooked by the fun jingle-jangle of the opening track, Movin' Out, and it doesn't really matter either way. Then the piano from the title track kicks in and you recognise it as the sample from Xzibit's amazing 'At the Speed of Life' track 'The Foundation', and before you know it you've worked your way through the entire album to 'Everybody Has a Dream' and you've walked into a New York fashion outlet and bought an expensive navy cashmere overcoat of your very own. And when you leave that shop you're gunna have no choice but listen to The Stranger on your Walkman again as you hit the high street. Some people will look at you and see a Chandler Bing. Others will look at you and see a Patrick Bateman. But by this point you don't really care. You're living in some weird alternate early 90s white collar central park office block coffee shop wall street burst fire hydrant subway train American dream. Thanks a lot Billy Joel.

Listen to 'Dance Mania' via a huge PA system on a smoldering hot summer's night, harvest moon rising and the street party in full swing. Don't listen to Dance Mania via a cheap pair of headphones, cramped into your home office (box room) staring out of the window at a drab urban Bristol scene on a cold, damp, Autumnal work day. Even then, you can't help but have your soul stirred by Tito Puente. There's something about his music that can transport you from any place to a traditional - if not a tad cliché - Latin location, band playing 'Agua Limpia Todo', the whole village convening to salsa dance, drink cold beer and flail sevillanas on a cobbled plaza. The only disappointment of Dance Mania is that it doesn't include 'Oye Como Va', which is one of my (and no doubt many others') main frames of reference for Tito Puente, via the guitar of Carlos Santana. But you can easily forget that, the moment the orchestra chimes the opening bars of El Cayuco. All the way through to the upbeat Mambo piano runs of Saca Tu Mujer, you'll be daydreaming about being teleported to an exotic location, wondering what could've been if you'd spent your formative years learning the Cuban flamenco and listening to Mambo rather than sitting on a park bench, passing round a bong whilst listening to Limp Bizkit.

The issue with 'The Modern Lovers' is that it leaves you wanting to listen to The Velvet Underground and Lou Reed. I read that lead singer Jonathan Richman was obsessed with the Velvet Underground, and you're left in no doubt after listening to this album. But you are left wondering why he decided to opt for an all together different narrative in his lyrics. Supposedly he's just lived an entirely clean and positive existence to date. Hard to criticism him for that. But part of the grand appeal of the Velvet Underground and Lou Reed's solo work is the dark, edgy nature to the lyrics. In the Jonathan Richman world, 'Perfect Day' is just a song about having a really great day. Smoke a doobie, Jonathan! Lyrics aside, you can't not love a bit of New York 70s art rock. It's stuffy, it's pretentious but it's absolutely iconic. You can see the direct lineage from The Modern Lovers to all of the indie music I dabbled with at university in the mid-noughties. From Belle & Sebastian to The Moldy Peaches, it's all there at various points through the course of this album. I just wish the band had strapped on some shiny shiny boots of leather before penning it.

It's of great disservice to Mr. Basie that upon receiving the 1001 album link to 'The Atomic...', I immediately Googled it rather than diving straight in and listening. What followed was a rabbit hole of monumental proportions. According to Wikipedia, 'The Atomic...' won 2 Grammys at the inaugural Grammy ceremony. Well, that piqued my interest. I looked at the illustrious list of winners at those 1959 awards - Ella Fitzgerald, Henry Mancini, and....Alvin and the Chipmunks. What!? Two Grammys for the Chipmunks? How was that possible? For what?! Before I knew it I was trapped in a YouTube spiral that started with the Chipmunks singing on the Ed Sullivan show in the 1950s and ended with a compilation of Skeletor's finest insults in Masters of the Universe. That's YouTube, sadly. Nincompoops. I feel like there's something symbolic in that chain of events, though. As someone of relative music history ignorance, it was easy for me to dismiss 'The Atomic...' and the fact that I didn't know who Count Basie was, and find something else to distract me. It starts with the cover artwork - a grainy orange picture of a bomb exploding with some very basic typeface on top. To me, it screamed homemade wannabe post-punk band's first album; or a lame DIY attempt by some obscure unknowns at imitating Captain Beefheart or something. And neither of those options were really what I wanted to listen to at that moment in time, if truth be told. Then when you do delve into it, you realise it's a big band album by a man who, by this point in his career, was considered washed up. Tough sell at first. But when I finally sat down and listened I was quick to ascertain this was a jazz record of a notoriety I should've respected. Basie was 53 when 'The Atomic...' album was released. He had success in decades previous, but 'The Atomic...' is his swansong. It's a renaissance album, and you can feel it. Jazz piano is at its core but it's a celebration of everything good that big band has to offer. There's a dynamic and, as becomes clear by the artwork, an explosive quality to it, throughout. A swing that just keeps building and building until you're dancing off the beat and clicking your fingers whilst jiggling in your seat. Then there's Lil' Darlin' as the final track. Slow and maudlin and almost the antithesis to the rest of the album, yet the perfect way for Basie to sign-off from an unexpected delight and an album that definitely trumps Alvin and the Chipmunks in its quality.

Jeez, what an album. And the timing is perfect. The Fugees are on everyone's radar once again after announcing their return, touring 'The Score' to mark its 25th anniversary. I just watched some clips of them playing Global Citizen Live. They tore the place up! What a performance. Lauryn Hill remains a force of nature. I get goosebumps every time I hear her rap on 'Ready or Not'. Check out her live version of the song at Atlantic City Limits if you want goosebumps of your own. A five star review, right? The only thing that brings 'The Score' down is the skits. Do any hip hop skits really stand the test of time? Maybe a few of Eminem's; Wu-Tang Clan had some funny stuff on their albums. Busta Rhymes' 'Only One Year Left' was prescient and remains as disturbing as when it was released via 'Extinction Level Event' in '98. But across a whole album? Lauryn Hill's 'Mis-education...' is probably the only record where all the skits remain timeless; but that's due to the unwavering sentiment and the connection to the narrative as a whole. You can't say the same for 'The Score' and the skits definitely knock it down a tad from being one of the all-time great albums. Still, what an album. Maybe it's the nostalgia of seeming them playing it together again after 2 and a half decades, but each track has just improved and aged like well-rhymed moonshine. The hits remain classic: 'Fu-gee-La' to 'Ready or Not' and 'Killing Me Softly', of course. ONE TIME. But even the fringe songs bring new life to them. 'The Beast' has manifested from feeling like a slightly sinister and unnerving skit to something hugely topical and ahead of its time. I now appreciate the mastery of using 'Dove' by Cymande for the sample in the song 'The Score' whereas I wouldn't have known the reference back in the day. Even the cover of 'No Woman, No Cry' I can now appreciate, despite all the slightly hammy interjections and lyric changes from Wyclef Jean. Above all, I just love Lauryn Hill. So much talent. I hope 'Mis-education...' made it onto the 1001 list, but if not I can at least get my fix and settle for her brilliance on 'The Score'. TWO TIME. Hey. You can't listen to 'The Score' too many times, let's be honest.

Congas. Lots of congas

Well now.... What to say. Before getting into Creedence, a quick appreciation of the two albums that preceded it in my 1001 album list - 'Led Zeppelin II' and the Beastie Boys’ 'Ill Communication' – which, for some reason, I was unable to write reviews for on this platform. Both brilliant albums that have been formative to me at certain points in my life, so maybe it's better I don't review them and simply wax lyrical about their genius. I was able to give them both star ratings though, in any case - 4 for each. Mainly because Led Zep have one album I prefer beyond 'Led Zeppelin II' and Beastie Boys...well, I don't know?! Why not 5 stars?! I think I probably would revise that rating now, in hindsight. But maybe it’s because deep down I think ‘Hello Nasty’ is a better album. I’m still not sure if that’s true. Subconsciously it must be. But anyway, Creedence Clearwater. A band whose music it’s impossible not to associate with iconic films. In the case of ‘Cosmo’s Factory’, it’s ‘Lookin’ Out My Backdoor’, which instantly conjures up images of The Dude setting fire to his crouch in ‘The Big Lebowski’. Simply put, this is a loveable album. What makes ‘Cosmo’s Factory’ so enduring is the fact that it’s essentially an album of rock and roll standards, blues riffs and rockabilly covers, and yet there’s a pop signature to it that makes every song a joy to listen to. Even their ‘Heard it Through the Grapevine’ cover, which at 11 minutes long should be insufferable, somehow passes by in a sort of ephemeral doobie-smoke haze. Understandably, it wasn’t Creedence’s intentions to make an endless string of songs that were so goddam catchy. They pushed back against this image regularly. But perhaps a quote in the Wikipedia entry for ‘Cosmo’s Factory’ summarises this one best: "While San Francisco longhairs across the bridge scoffed at their commercialism, Creedence henceforth made a point of releasing double A-sides. And invariably both songs would have an uncanny knack of cutting through to all sections of the population." Perhaps it’s the combination of catchy riffs with John Fogerty’s unmistakable voice that cuts through songs with a sort of Manson family menace, but ‘Cosmo’s Factory’ remains an album you can turn to, randomly select a song from and always have your spirits lifted by. How many of their longhair contemporaries from ‘across the bridge’ can say that?!