I know they're twee and often cloying (and beloved of the cardigan brigade) but this was a revelation to me: truly bumming lyrics clothed most often in upbeat, layered music. Real kitchen sink stuff with occasional moments of pure elation across a remarkable debut album. 'Expectations' and 'She's Losing It' are stars amongst several all-timers on here. And it's all the result of a Scottish welfare scheme. This was the first album I bought when I moved to the UK in the late '90s, probably because it had been rereleased on Jeepster. Proof that those listening posts in HMV Oxford St really worked.

This sounds like something that could've come out last week: hooks and annoyance. That sax! Angry and fun, this was a real surprise. Given that they only released a few singles and one album, seems they didn't fuck about. (I wonder how much of the difficulty in finding this album (it's not complete or available on Spotify or Apple Music locally) is because of Polly Styrene's 2009 beef with Google over royalties?)

An endearingly dorky amalgam of styles. Doo-wop, country honkin' vocals and that jangly Strat. More spacious and immediate than I'd remembered, I dig that cardboard box beat. Way better than Bill fuckin' Haley.

The first "weird-period" Waits album I listened to. Still mostly unskippable, it's like being read Chandler in translation by a gypsy leprechaun. Remarkable work. (Man, I wish I could play guitar like Marc Ribot. What an absolute GUN.)

An intensely personal album about being in and out of love. More direct than other Dylan albums, this has a strength that I didn't appreciate when I was a callow youth. Now, I get it.

Look out, you rock and rollers. More melancholy than a lot of his other work, but still tempered with silliness. (Still fucking hate 'Kooks', though.)

We get it, Rog. Your dad's dead and it sucks. Fuck up, champ. (Teenage me thinks this is HERESY.)

Debuting two songs in front of a bunch of prisoners? Of course he does, because he's Johnny fuckin' Cash. Not quite as good as At Folsom, but still pretty great.

I know they're twee and often cloying (and beloved of the cardigan brigade) but this was a revelation to me: truly bumming lyrics clothed most often in upbeat, layered music. Real kitchen sink stuff with occasional moments of pure elation across a remarkable debut album. 'Expectations' and 'She's Losing It' are stars amongst several all-timers on here. And it's all the result of a Scottish welfare scheme. This was the first album I bought when I moved to the UK in the late '90s, probably because it had been rereleased on Jeepster. Proof that those listening posts in HMV Oxford St really worked.

A paranoid and soupy stew. Difficult to decipher, this isn't a favourite, though there are a couple of moments which stand out. Production is *very* strange.

This sounds like something that could've come out last week: hooks and annoyance. That sax! Angry and fun, this was a real surprise. Given that they only released a few singles and one album, seems they didn't fuck about. (I wonder how much of the difficulty in finding this album (it's not complete or available on Spotify or Apple Music locally) is because of Polly Styrene's 2009 beef with Google over royalties?)

Surprising. Not enthralled by the beginning but as the album deepened I was pulled in. Some almost Fourth World sounds on some of the instrumentals.

Not their best (though they all thought so) this was a bit different to the usual Smiths sound and production- and arrangement-wise showed where Morrissey solo would end up.

An endearingly dorky amalgam of styles. Doo-wop, country honkin' vocals and that jangly Strat. More spacious and immediate than I'd remembered, I dig that cardboard box beat. Way better than Bill fuckin' Haley.

What happens when you have to top one of the biggest albums ever made: you just get better. Musically it's more Gilmour than Waters, and the better for it. Excellent tone and a tide of both grandeur and ennui. (Also, that 'Have a Cigar' intro is one of the most porno-sounding things ever recorded. Class.) Definitely higher in the pile than Dark Side, deservedly so.

Hayride Springsteen. The precursor-to-Stadium-Big-Hat-Country production occludes the songs a bit.

The mix is terrible but IT DOESN'T MATTER because this is pure amphetamine rock 'n' roll. Jerry Lee Lewis is an absolute madman, and a 12-bar blues never sounded so fuckin' wild. Completely unhinged, and I'd've been disappointed if it was any other way.

Sounds very of-its-time, but there's some interesting songs on here. Not as legendary as I'd expected, but still a diverting listen, especially given what Bjork would go on to do.

Excessive, stupid and fucking great. Songs about fucking, fucking teachers, and, uh, Benny "The Jet" Urquidez. A perfect encapsulation of big-hair metal that's still caned at pubs at 2AM everywhere.

The first "weird-period" Waits album I listened to. Still mostly unskippable, it's like being read Chandler in translation by a gypsy leprechaun. Remarkable work. (Man, I wish I could play guitar like Marc Ribot. What an absolute GUN.)

ON WHICH a hippy sings folky songs about living in a teepee, SHREDS GUITAR LIKE A GENRE-PRESAGING MOTHERFUCKER, and pens the final line of Kurt Cobain's suicide note.

A sprawling thing of joy. Not entirely my thing – I think I prefer Talking Book – but incredibly influential and surprisingly consistent given a) its length and b) the fact it's his EIGHTEENTH ALBUM.

An intensely personal album about being in and out of love. More direct than other Dylan albums, this has a strength that I didn't appreciate when I was a callow youth. Now, I get it.

Post-Army Elvis returns with increased range and improved phrasing AND in stereo! This is a neat portrait of growth from a guy who thought the Army had killed his career. I wouldn't have thought the King was subtle enough to nail 'Fever' but bugger me, he is. A real surprise.

First: dude's 31 on the cover but still looks like a teenager. What the hell? I know people give him stick for cultural tourism (probably moreso thanks to Graceland than this) but instead this sounds like a dude who loves world music and gets to, y'know, RECORD WITH JIMMY CLIFF'S BACKING BAND. You would, wouldn't you? The songwriting here sounds so natural it should be a crime.

Them nerds done good.

So, Irish soul slaps harder than you’d think. I just begrudge them the Mumford-spawn.

Sounds a bit like Soul Coughing making a Babybird album, but without being quite as good as either.

That certainly is A LOT of synth for so little enjoyment.

I'm pretty amazed that this was produced only six weeks after getting a new modular Moog setup. I'd still be trying to get a fucking sine tone out, let alone have mastered the sequencer. Classic precursor to Berlin School electronica, capturing an incredible sense of cloudy space. (With phasing!)

I was only familiar with the Australian band of the same name. This one rocks nuts much harder though.

Who knew that something that begins with a Ulysses-inspired tune would turn out to be so lush? Layered, dense, and beautiful.

Honestly, all these stars are for the phased organ madness. Everything else is either much-aped now, or a bit cack: but for brainless driving it's a jam.

In which outsider folk makes a terrifying anti-drug PSA.

Somehow both poppier and more boring than I was expecting.

I sympathise with the guy on the horse. Trees and feet, hey?

This is some soupy stuff, which sounds almost parodic. I've missed the boat. I left my flares at home. (Also they're probably responsible for RHCP.)

Infectious. Top flight stuff from a killer ensemble, even though Afro-Cuban jazz isn't my thing.

Smooooooth. Prototypical lounge music now, it's pretty remarkable that this was knocked out in a Unitarian church and became the go-to definition of samba for people not actually from Brazil. Amazing tones, still. Getz is a monster player, here accompanied by more than able foils.

Take the piss but this is a great white-guy-does-Stevie jam if you let it play.

I'm certainly not the target audience for this, and I'm uncertain why this would be chosen over some of her other albums – albums I have liked, but feel blend into one.

For intensely hippy stuff that was radio-played to death in its heyday, this still stands up pretty well.

An arse-slapping, Smiths-succeeding, coke-huffing ball-tearer of a debut. Still stands up.

I don't know what I was expecting, but this was much better than that. Fewer harpsichords, more attitude!

In which an Atari ST soundtracks adverts.

This is a lot folksier than I remembered! Less robotic than you'd expect for krautrock, it's an unexpected delight.

Poor cover album.

Some cracker songs that sound like they were recorded from inside a drawer.

Far less hey-nonny-no than I had imagined.

Ur-goth spaciousness.

A sparse delight. That VOICE.

ATTITUDE. The album that got fratboys into hip-hop.

Attitude and chops. This bridges a couple of styles, and I'm amazed there hasn't been a follow-up as big.

Wonderfully bummed pop.

CHUGGA CHUGGA CHUGGA

Proper tear-in-my-beer stuff. Everything on here just works, from the instrumentation to that keening voice. Wonderful, and a hint of the controversy to come over 'The Pill', later on.

Supposedly a concept album, but I can't discern the story because the shadow cast by the singles is too long. Yeah, it's about "age", I guess, but that's some broad brush strokes. Still, some excellent songwriting on display. Unsurprisingly, really.

Following up the biggest album of your career with a bunch of inscrutable tunes (the best of which features a marching band, which will always rule) takes ENORMOUS BALLS. (Also, it's named after Mick Fleetwood's pet name for his wang, so there's that going for it as well.)

For the children.

It's amazing how bummed an album created on a fuckload of doped honey can sound. Rough as guts, but it works.

Half an album of grim impressionistic instrumentals, half an album of of-the-cuff vocals, unplanned until record was pressed. It shouldn't work but fuck me, it does.

Smooth and smart. Definitely the way in for people unused to hip-hop.

A sprawling, messy album that highlights a pop sensibility backed with vaudeville and experimentalism, as well as some kick-ass guitar. Holds up a lot better than I'd remembered, especially on headphones.

This is just a more inscrutable version of Muse.

Cosmo’s Hit Factory more like, wot wot.

This snotty Junior Kinks album is pretty great, you know.

Cocaine and Adultery: the album.

This is a more solid eight hours' work than I've ever done in my life.

Reverbed wig-outs are rad.

When this was released I thought it was deep and emotional but upon relistening it appears fucking insufferable. Nice music, but those vocals? Drunken elves.

A fist to your fucking face.

I honestly have no idea what the fuck is going on.

Drugs are bad, but they get a pass for resulting in an album as depressively great as this.

This is very appealing goblin music.

Terrible yet great.

If you want your drive to feel like a PSX game, then this is your album.

A lot less appealing than a proper Wu album.

This Pearly King writes some bummer narratives, doesn’t he?

Half Bad-Seeds-Do-Vegas, half heartfelt. Better than I remembered.

At least the cover art is mildly diverting.

Fucking great. Despite variable production, this holds up well 30 years later, some skits aside.

Supremely enjoyable, this.

Good production can’t cover the fact that this is still a collection of fucking Christmas songs. Also, fuck Phil Spector.

By the numbers, somewhat appropriately.

Overblown and underwhelming. Sounds like Hunters and Collectors with tickets on themselves.

An absolute monolith. Gnomic on first hearing, enlightening after multiple.

Ain’t nothin’ like a me thing.

I'm not on enough cocaine for this. Enough with your summery bullshit, Stephen.

The talent in the Finn family is just ridiculous. Some misfires here, but when they work, HOLY FUCK.

As much as I find Paul Weller fucking insufferable, when he's good he's great.

This feels like a millennial-soundtracked ayahuasca trip.

Dated in terms of arrangement and production but still some powerful, affecting songs.

The kinetic energy on this thing is fucking incredible. Dazzling shit.

Look, no.

Listening to this makes me think old mate from Joy Division was on to something.

Some shit-hot playing on here. Wouldn't normally listen to stuff like this, but this one stays.

Angry and danceable. Brilliant stuff.

Widescreen? Widescreen. Still sparkles.

A party I'm not supposed to be at, but it sounds GREAT.

Considered a flop at time of release, this is basically a more upbeat Belle & Sebastian album. It's great.

Never got them at the time. Retrospectively, this reads as a less-stoned Dinosaur Jr or a less-wanky Sonic Youth.

Was there anything he couldn't do? I mean, really.

Hobbits and lemons and stolen tunes but it all just WORKS.

This could be any one of a million mediocre white dudes with an acoustic.

Fuck the folkies, this thing swings.

Ah, Brian.

This album sounds like the lead-up to a BIG hangover.

Band has big "Jamiroquai but different be-hatted cunt in charge" vibes.

Close listening is worth it. Mind you, so is being off your face on acid.

King's a songwriting titan. It's surprising how much of her stuff you know without knowing.

NERRRRDS!

The wonderfully dumb alpha and omega.

Darker than I remembered. That production! That voice!

Not as good as the debut but darker in a very appealing way.

Honestly a lot better than I had expected given his later aural wallpaper.