Why not offer "Sound of Silver" here instead of "american dream"? This comeback record feels wary, restrained, earnest, even (omg) unironic. Karaoke with your boss instead of drunk with your friends. SoS was brilliant, snarky, fun and genuine. I hope/wish that it will show up on this list instead. But then you wonder if the energy and snark of SoS would be sustainable - if LCD should even bother making any other records and just quit and get jobs as accountants (pointing at you Emma Anderson). I can appreciate the joy of creation and artistic development, but there is also the stuffiness of playing one encore too many. My rating here is relative to SoS, not that ad was so bad, just that SoS was so great.

Indeed. Founder of Pink Floyd, musical genius, whimsical psychedelic, free spirit (as in unhinged), and certifiably psychotic. Syd Barrett was notorious for being too strung out and deranged to deal with professionally, as well as incalculable in his endeavors. With that in mind, I feel a kind of pity, where it's readily perceptible that he's traversing into psychosis; I should not be listening to this mental meltdown.

What an impact this made on me as an innocent teenager! REM came to me from another planet where I started to think about Jingoism and Realpolitik. Plus the prevalent dark southern funky groove. I was also mesmerized by the winding, braiding lyrical loops... "They've gathered up the cages, the cages and courageous, The followers of chaos out of control." "Throw the walls into the fireplace." "...point to point. Point observation, children carry reservations" .. and so on. Not sure what the scientific designation might be. But I'm sure Scott & Scott on “R U Talkin’ R.E.M. RE: ME?" ripped into that topic at some point in-between recursive episode bits.

I get that this is a monumental classic, but I just don't enjoy the vocals and the compositions are like keeping buzzing fluorescent lights on while I'm trying to sleep. Not that I don't enjoy droning harsh electronic tirades. Taken as elementary blues and jester poet rambling there's clear space to relax.

True to the mission of this project I am glad this record came up on my list. Although this may already belong to my own personal canon of soul-defining albums thankfully this might have been a backup contingency plan. This made an enormous impact on me decades ago. There was nothing else like it, the world was different after I first heard the Cocteau Twins, and still nothing else compares. This record felt like it was an opening and a big break into a wider audience. It also felt like further slipping from an ideal after Treasure that diluted down the drain awash with new age pathos and intelligible lyrics instead of a cosmic brain transplantation. I only wish I could find a giant poster again of the album cover to pin up on my wall as I improvise the lyrics to Pitch The Baby.

Great roots/blues. Fun with the instrumentals. Genuine analog. I don't enjoy John Fogerty's vocals though.

Smooth soul and baby making music. Not my bag though.

I get that this is a monumental classic, but I just don't enjoy the vocals and the compositions are like keeping buzzing fluorescent lights on while I'm trying to sleep. Not that I don't enjoy droning harsh electronic tirades. Taken as elementary blues and jester poet rambling there's clear space to relax.

This comes across as a less-inspired knock-off of Daft Punk. I get it, Daft Punk doesn't own or didn't pioneer the genre but this record sounds derivative of that style and falls flat. I see this was released in 2007, so they had 10+ years of evolution in the style to add some innovation but they had nothing to offer.

Good energy but dated, seems like a trend that was driven into the ground somewhere between Green Day, The Bravery and Interpol.

Admittedly I put off listening to the record when it came up on my list. There is a nauseating sensation of 70s-80s soft rock that wells up in my esophagus based on my memories. It turns out this (era of the) band, with its bombastic brass section, rocks kinda hard, more inclined to Jimi Hendrix than I could have imagined. The "Free Form Guitar" acid jam helped reverse my whole perception of them. I can just see them trashing then instruments and setting the stage on fire, figuratively.

Never heard or even heard of before, but I sure recognize De La Soul. Very positive, clever and fun.

Already had this on vinyl and ought to listen more often. Solid sentimental pop production. Despite a couple of awkward clunkers (kissed the teacher) it's amazing.

Extremely difficult for me to connect here. Another record I delayed a long time to try because I have a dire prejudice/aversion. To be fair, this seems somewhat comparable to Lana Del Rey in form, but I also abhor anything adjacent to Taylor Swift. TS is exponentially more impactful in this timeline than LDR. Anyway, from my limited perspective I torturously found this record to be shallow, bilious, and shallow.

I get it that this is a classic and that krautrock is an evolutionary step forward in modern music, but I wasn't in the mood for meandering jams at the time of listening. I'm grateful for what it inspired downstream.

I kept imagining Celtic hippies, like a mix of Jefferson Aeroplane and Clannad. Interesting, but not currently interested.

Yes? Not today. As ashamed as I ought to be my peak in interest was for 90125 and Trevor Horn.

I imagine bell bottoms and handle bars. I get it that this was a project for Stephen Stills, later of CSNY, to get out his solo material. That is all. He put out a great vibe with Manassas and then an amazing vibe down the road.

I get it that this is classic jazz hip hop but I didn't connect on first listen. Catch me on a different day and maybe I'll be ready.

Mix of fun and cool. The joy of tubas.

Yes, it's Deeply Purple.

I neglected to try out this record before. Shameful. I got the impression before her style was insufferably quirky. However, her duo with Peter Gabriel was achingly reassuring, "Don't Give Up." That carries over directly to the tone of this album, especially with "This Woman's Work" and the quality of production and Mick Karn on fretless bass. Just like I was late to the party (by decades) for Annie Lennox - Diva, I've got to take some sweet time to brew on this one.

Certainly not as dour and earnest as usual for The Smiths; I can imagine how weary Marr must have felt with Morrissey's toxic incel kvetching, yet his guitars are classy - maybe out of place with the ludicrous literary themes. Regardless, still fun to listen to, and a little sad to mourn the implosion of the band.

Why not offer "Sound of Silver" here instead of "american dream"? This comeback record feels wary, restrained, earnest, even (omg) unironic. Karaoke with your boss instead of drunk with your friends. SoS was brilliant, snarky, fun and genuine. I hope/wish that it will show up on this list instead. But then you wonder if the energy and snark of SoS would be sustainable - if LCD should even bother making any other records and just quit and get jobs as accountants (pointing at you Emma Anderson). I can appreciate the joy of creation and artistic development, but there is also the stuffiness of playing one encore too many. My rating here is relative to SoS, not that ad was so bad, just that SoS was so great.

My imagination wandered right into the recursive parody of the absurdly manly metal band Spinal Tap and the flashback to their 60’s sissy origins. I don’t know the background of Belle & Sebastian so I can’t tell if they’re taking the piss on milquetoast Irish folk or anything. Cheerful and bright, but subversive somehow. I would not be surprised if there’s a follow-up where they take a hard left turn with a miniature Stonehenge.

Naturally, of my era, I was aware of Mr. Springsteen, The Boss, on MTV. From the songs of the time it seemed like he was performing and contorting having his fingernails pulled out with pliers. I never went back and actually listened to this record. Thanks to this project I resolved to try it out, despite defiance. How could I have known his velvety crooning would melt my wretched heart?

Already a fan, especially of the heavier XTRMNTR. This is an easygoing hop on the House wagon. Try as hard as I might I find it difficult to link Primal Scream to JAMC, but I love them both. This album is a breakthrough and lots of fun. I love that the album cover art was inspired by a water stain on the ceiling during an LSD trip.

I get it, it's classic post-punk or pre-snark retro-rock. Just not highly enthused about it. I've started a lot of my reviews with, "I get it...," then offering that it's just not my bag. I think this makes me a poor music critic since my commentary tends to be related to my mood at the time rather than the broader space-time continuum of these records. This one just pales in comparison to the harder punk-rockabilly of The Raveonettes "Aly Walk With Me." That one never fails to get me to going.

When I was a kid I remember this band being among the full-on satanic abominations, especially this album cover looking like a horrific glance into perdition. Devil’s children and such. Later I was able to chill out and appreciate the catchy writing and solid rock and roll. I don’t know much of the history of the AC/DC discography, but my impression is this record is not their most remarkable. A stand out track for me though is ‘If You Want Blood’ which also has a phenomenal cover by GWAR. We salute you!

I get it, this is, uh, great rock and roll, music. Nevermind grunge. Edward Severson is an amazing performer and coincidentally was part of grunge mania. This record is great grunge and is unfortunately dated to the era. Mr. Severson is still great in spite of the era. Thanks so much for your gravitas in Twin Peaks!

Immediately recognizable as some prominent covers - of Otis Redding. 'Satisfaction' by Devo and 'Respect' by Aretha Franklin, both weird hearing the originals. Also I couldn't help but hear Stevie Ray Vaughan with the searing southern blues guitar. Just imagine if they had not both met an untimely aerial end OR and RSV would have made a GA and TX fusion that was off the charts.

My bias again, but this sounds like love songs suited for Sunday school. No edge, and honestly, no heart really. It's like powerfully proclaiming your eternal love for the most generic and vanilla concepts in the cosmos. This strikes just as much of a passionate connection as with a rejection form letter - "...but at this time we won’t be able to invite you to the next stage of the hiring process. We wish you the best in your future endeavors." That could easily be the lyrics from this record.

I get it, this is a classic from the front-on punk era, so it was nouveau to be loud, dumb and drunk... and angry about international politics. These guy were talented and prolific in a short span of years before dunking on the rock history and moving on to other things. I just found my sweet spot in their style with Combat Rock - much more genuinely clever and engaging, like they really found their voice.

I have always been confused by this musical project - band - paramilitary unit - ancient Greek chorus - dot dot dot. I only knew them from the staid and somber "Life Is Life" mantra. But I'm interested to see so much of this record is in German, and the title of said mantra was "Leben heisst Leben," which harkens to the extradimensional qualities of "Du.. Du hast.. Du hasst mich..." from Rammstein. You could interpret that as "living means to live." I'm not generally in the frame of mind to listen to this on a regular basis (that would be Beach House Depression Cherry on eternal continuous loop). For me 3 stars means I'm not angry at it. It's fine.

Solid rock and obviously 80's, one of the records that fundamentally defines the 80's. Not that it's "dated" and cringey to listen to at ~40 years old, it's a perfect encapsulation of the time along with the time of life - being a scruffy, rowdy teenager. I can't judge whether Van Halen was better with Sammy Hagar, but DLR nailed being a flashy front man for this band.

Nice. Same charming Bruce. However, it sounds like a trendy 00's producer was deployed to give the Boss a little modern kick. Every track is smooth and contemporary, yet bland and gentrified. Fine to play at Starbucks.

So glad to see John Grant on this list. It has been a few years since I was manic about this, but it's a joy to rediscover something I loved before. I remember I got the impression he was cool/silky/velvety, yet deeply ironic and sinister. I think of the deep toxic warmth of a radiating mass of plutonium. "Outer Space" is so infectious, both in the good way and the terrible way. On the surface it's reminiscent of getting caught in the gaze of a pleasant crush smile, but from the barely subtle subtext it's a searing acid bath of sarcasm. Still this record and Pale Green Ghosts are ample comfort in a sulfuric acid hot tub.

So I realize I have a lot of bias/prejudice. You're welcome to flog me mercilessly, but if you hear one reggae jam, you've heard them all. The genre is extremely stylistically/thematically monotonous. Heavy plodding bass, terse clacking drum/guitar, and relaxed vocals extolling the virtues of cannabis. However, that one mode of style and theme is great and works phenomenally just about every time. This record is a prime example of how well the form works and Peter Tosh makes an ardent, heart-felt crooning plea to legalize weed to relieve us from our worries. The tone is entirely positive and even comforting, listening to the record gives the vibe of sitting in a cozy bean bag chilling out with gentle and loving ganja brothers.

I went straight to thinking about early Prince where he was much more of a classic soul crooner. It turns out he was extending the spirit of Curtis Mayfield. This record is remarkably well written/arranged/produced/performed. Just like Prince, or Prince just like Curtis, I can feel the desperate yet suppressed yearning of some intense hormones like red hot steel. This also sounds like exactly what gets copied/sampled perpetually in a lot of follow on musical styles. It sounds like a fundamentally solid original.

I admit, there is a great deal of bias diverting me from having much fun with this record. If this was recorded live in West Germany in 1964 I imagine the embarrassment of the possibly stereotypical stoic and humorless Germans being confronted with a back-woods piano mashing maniac. It may be amusing to hear his antics on a studio record, but it must have been awkward seeing it in person and that audience would need to break a lot of ice. This also illustrates to me that this is on the other side of some boundary where modern rock begins and stuffy 'square' pop acts roamed the radio. To be honest, this is from my parents' teenage era, so it's inherently icky and I'm being generationally oppositional. Also to be fair, the Beatles played in the same club around that time and I would consider that era to be on the other side of 'modern.'

Only 3 songs, how tedious could it be to sit through 35 minutes of classic 70's meandering prog rock? Hitting fast forward quite a long while then realizing, "Mercy, I'm still in the middle of the first song." I get it, Yes exemplified breaking out of rigid rock conventions and setting free with dream-logic compositions. Still, this free expression is lost on me, is more aloof than adroit at lyrically/rhythmically/melodically connecting with anyone. Like I divulged in an earlier Yes review, "90125" is more my style, which probably shouldn't count as being the same band. That was the first record I ever heard from them. Imagine a fan of this "Close to the Edge" style of Yes hearing "90125" and thinking it was horribly self-antithetical.

The image of Sir Elton was distorted into parody long ago and I've had an aversion to his flamboyant whimsy and overblown fame since I was a kid, not to mention the ubiquitous radio/MTV presence that killed his context. I put off listening to this record extensively, expecting it would be unbearably trite, dated and worn out. Who's the asshole now? I had never given this record a fair chance and yet right away I was bewildered and intrigued; from the opening ELO-esque spacey opera and then sweeping into waves of undeniably hooky, uplifting and endearing ballads I understood where all the adoration came from.

Here I thought I knew reasonably everything about 80’s British white new wave ska. There’s already UB40 and Fine Young Cannibals, etc. covering that blursed niche. Taken on its own merit this record is inoffensive and wholesome, but if I focus and think about it at all it’s nauseating.

I get it Nirvana deeply impacted rock music and briefly lead the horde of flannel and boot wearing, distortion/overdrive guitar playing grunge bands. This sparsely produced live acoustic album sought to be an astounding awakening for the "I'm 14 and this is deep" audience by dialing down the heavy noise and highlighting Kurt Cobain's lyrical/melodic/vocal intimacy. Of course, it's deeply impacting, but this format always came across as a gimmicky shill. The genius of Nirvana is finding that intimacy as sweaty flannel boot guys are stage diving onto your face.

Who knew there were any exports from South Africa beyond Charlize Theron, Die Antwoord, and Paul Simon’s collaborations from ‘Graceland.’ Well coincidentally, Miriam Makeba was on that record (I need to go back and check it out). This was her debut from 1960 and sounds like she was already a dear matronly soul. Lots of fun, wholesome, amusing. Who can resist the charm of the ‘click’ song, fleas climbing up your knees, and the paradoxically slap-happy duet about her dying ‘old man’ - “Is he worse? Well I am no nurse.”

Coming into this one with no context I couldn't guess where or when this came from. Not sure if it's 5 or 50 years old, though it is a little clever and subversive, so it's definitely "post-something," just not sure what. It doesn't seem like they didn't take themselves seriously at all. Certainly not meandering prog-rock, but not rock anthemy either. Not so much random, but certainly spontaneous and whimsical. Still before looking up on wikipedia I could imagine this was a side project for otherwise successful professionals to mischievously mess around. Still, a positive tone, good fun.

I get it, this project is based on a progression of books highlighting how clever the neck-beard and basement-dwelling rock critics are with going deep-catalog and obtuse. From my perspective I'd hope to find stand-out records from intriguing artists as a way to lure me in to further crate diving. In this case "Channel Orange" comes across as lazy, dull and amateur compared to "Blonde" - I would probably be dissuaded from looking any further into Frank Ocean. I don't know if Blonde is on this list (I'd give it a 4 for being haunting - lyrically/thematically intriguing) but this one gets a flat 2. I resent it being included in the 1001.

Here I go, judging a band before ever actually listening to a record. Maybe just by the way Lemmy dressed/groomed and with his haggard swagger I assumed his style was funky (the stinky kind of funky) boomer rock, or whatever. Somewhere between Black Sabbath and Deep Purple. Guess how wrong I was. His image really threw me off. This record immediately struck me as road-rash, blistering buttocks punk. It reminds me more of The Cult, or maybe now I should say, The Cult reminds me of Motörhead. Great live show, and I can imagine the paradox or skin-heads wearing cowboy hats in the mosh pit.

I came in completely cold on this one, no context or memory of hearing of this record before. Imagine my perplexitude as I waded into the first few minutes wondering if the sparse, detached yet rambling narrative was just setting up a cacophonous contrast, like the dissonance of an orchestra tuning and getting the jitters out, before settling into a congruous framework. In advance I envisioned this would be kind of an edgy indie act, somewhere between Cake and Nirvana, and prepared my ears for a downtempo, awkward setup, then some solid verse-chorus-verses. Instead the awkwardness stretched on with no end, a loquacious stream-of-consciousness, and meandering moody jamming, more like the no man's land between Underworld and Tool. I was intrigued as to whether there would ever be a coherent lyrical or melodic structure, but to the end I was kept in suspense. After listening again a couple of times it makes for great meditation and letting my own imagination wander. Now I realize this record is from over 30 years ago and there was not much of a follow up. Even perplexinger.

No context except for triggering traumatic kid memories from hearing "Hello, It's Me" on the radio too much, the rest of the record came across as soothing yet cloying, like Pepto Bismol. I fast forwarded on many of the tracks to keep the aggravating nausea down. Vacuous yet soggy in a Margaritaville flow. This is what Ned Flanders would deem as heavy hardcore. I just didn't connect, except for getting pissed off. However, a little nudge upwards for the "Sounds of the Studio" game and the skits/banter, and "Slut" which would fit right in with the Rocky Horror soundtrack. Once I looked up the wiki I realized TR's list of lifetime highlights is a mile long; he's an influential musician, a progressive, tech-savvy innovator, and has lived a colorful life. Admire the artist, loathe the art.

I get it, Amy Winehouse was immensely admired as a hero for bad girls who stand up strong. The image her legacy projects now is a tragically damaged woman who was just on the verge of really breaking out to stardom but who, consistent with her character, joined The 27 Club. Listening to this record I don’t hear an empowering message or even any remarkable talent to warrant such acclaim. I just hear brash swagger and the embodiment of Marilyn Monroe’s “if you can't handle me at my worst” quote. No one should feel obligated to put up with bad behavior or meager artistry, much less hold it in such high esteem. Clearly I’m the wrong demographic for this record and I’m not in a situation in this world where I would look up to her. Somehow I’m a big fan of Esthero, a fundamentally “similar” artist, but there is some inflection point between the two. In any case, a chronic gripe I have with this list, “Frank” is not the best from Amy Winehouse to promote as essential in place of “Back to Black.” Deeper in the crate does not equate with more essential.

My timing may have been off since this queued up for me weeks after Christmas Day, so I was not in a festive frame of mind. But trying this out off-season I get it there's the corny Christmas songs, Phil Spector style, and a record that might be a big hit at a party next December.

I was around at the time in the 70s, though not yet very well aware of music beyond ABBA. I'm sure I heard about Willie Nelson not long later, but just as a scruffy outlaw country crooner and eventually as an enduring pothead legend. This record has caused me to question and adjust my concept of the cosmos a little. Released in 1978, his 22nd studio album, covers of his 10 most beloved pop standards, and rendered unexpectedly tender and sublime. It went hard against him image and made waves at the time; even now decades later I'm added to the list of those bewildered.

Not normally my bag. For certain I know this record from the inescapable radio and MTV rotation, and probably Beavis & Butthead. One is welcome to adore acid distressed vocals and bleach-blond jeans without apology.

What an impact this made on me as an innocent teenager! REM came to me from another planet where I started to think about Jingoism and Realpolitik. Plus the prevalent dark southern funky groove. I was also mesmerized by the winding, braiding lyrical loops... "They've gathered up the cages, the cages and courageous, The followers of chaos out of control." "Throw the walls into the fireplace." "...point to point. Point observation, children carry reservations" .. and so on. Not sure what the scientific designation might be. But I'm sure Scott & Scott on “R U Talkin’ R.E.M. RE: ME?" ripped into that topic at some point in-between recursive episode bits.

Wow. I already knew this record, along with the super catchy '80s'. This time listening again I could really appreciate the vocals. I have never heard such grandiose aesthetic rock histrionics before, opening sonic dimensions. Oh yeah, and the guitar and rhythms are kick ass, as well. Nevermind chicken little panic about asteroids, but Dave Grohl was on drums, so come as you are.

45 years late on this one; yet another revelation to me. I wish I knew more cool kids who could have made a mention. Listening to this for the first time, going in cold, literally, I didn't know if this was Cyndi Lauper's pre-Cyndi Lauper band, Kathleen Hanna's pre-Bikini Kill band, or even early Romeo Void. Who knew there was an early new-wave/punk, with saxophone, full throttle ironic siren that pre-dated all of that. Can anyone just give me a list of bands and records that I really should encounter before my end of days to catch me up on all I missed? You're saying there is a list of hundreds of such records right here? Very well then.

It's a good sign that the music is genuine when the singer can't sing very well. But the content comes with a wry smile and subtlely smooth studio engineering. I'm not sure if I heard these guys before, but it seemed familiar. I had fun and I'll probably circle back again.

I hadn't checked this out before but now it's clearly reminiscent of Public Enemy with a stern and somewhat cynical rebuke to the ills of society. I have to admit that the issues from the early 90's seem quaint, as in nothing has changed since then except for getting worse. The beats/samples and the figurative orator's podium pounding really draw in your attention. It differentiates from PE in that there is no jester like Flavor Flav for levity, so it does feel like an extended lecture by the school principal, or a 'scared straight' counselor.

I've always known about Elvis Costello but never listened to his records. I remember he was prominent on the scene in the 70's-80's as kind of a new wave MTV staple, but my rock music molecular receptors just didn't bond. Actually, in the wikipedia article I see one of the tags for his style is "pub rock," which does make sense to me. That reminds me of hooligan punk, like The Pogues. I did have some fun with the album and there was one track I was glad to hear - Pump It Up. The guitar whirled around in my brain but I had no idea where it came from. Pretenders, J. Guiles Band? Ignoramus, oh well.

First encounter with this record but I was already hooked on Seeds from a bit later. Already with Dear Science I get exactly the same energy and precise engineering. Reminiscent of the clinical rhythm of Radiohead In Rainbows and the open jubilation of Arcade Fire The Suburbs. I don't know what it is about TV that is so engaging - not that you can even try to sing along - but the composition and studio work are so tight you can't help but get wound up.

Indeed, it's actually a collection of grisly, horrific, profane serenades like a vindictive villain. I get it, Nick Cave has a deep catalog of starkly vile dirges to back him up. That's all.

I admit I have my own shameful, less-than-stellar background playing trumpet in high school band - jazz/wind/orchestra/cumbia. I simply set down my instrument and walked away from it one day in the middle of college and acknowledged I would never have the drive or talent to gain respectable skill, nor did the world need any more half-assed, schmalzy brass bands. Listening to this record triggered me to remember those days - to feel that same horrible embarrassment that one encounters lying awake, in the dark, in bed, late at night, recalling one’s foibles. On the other hand, hearing this helped me clearly sense, with retrospect, that it was a good move for me. Although the players are pretty good and, for the time, the arrangements must have been pretty exhilarating… I found it more nerve-grating than anything, especially with the soprano sax.

I get it, The Stones are considered one of the greatest rock bands in history. Listening to this record though I considered that if I was in the mood for blues rock I'd rather go for Led Zeppelin or White Stripes, or whatever. The one thing that puts me off is that I can't stand Mick Jagger's vocals, at least on this record.

True to the mission of this project I am glad this record came up on my list. Although this may already belong to my own personal canon of soul-defining albums thankfully this might have been a backup contingency plan. This made an enormous impact on me decades ago. There was nothing else like it, the world was different after I first heard the Cocteau Twins, and still nothing else compares. This record felt like it was an opening and a big break into a wider audience. It also felt like further slipping from an ideal after Treasure that diluted down the drain awash with new age pathos and intelligible lyrics instead of a cosmic brain transplantation. I only wish I could find a giant poster again of the album cover to pin up on my wall as I improvise the lyrics to Pitch The Baby.

Let's be honest. When I first heard of Human League... way, way back when, on Solid Gold with Dionne Warwick, I didn't know any better than to think it was DEVO. Reflect and consider. Am I wrong? Are we not men? We are De-Vo. I also never went back and listened to an actual Human League record since then, but they were undeniably part of 80's synth and beyond. I only really magnetized back to them thanks to George Michael kind of (really) ripping them off with Shoot The Dog. But he really gave respect (I hope that gets through) except for the political disrespect. Tony's lonely wife. Whatever errant directions they might have tried later this record is imaginative, regardless of whether 80's synth pop is now considered cringe. But this is Phil talking... I wanta tell you, what I've found to be truuue...!

Apart from Lovefool The Cardigans were just a one hit lounge wonder, right? Bubblegum 90's. Sweden!! (ABBA). Trainwreckords on YouTube suggested their image is misleading and that their extended repertoire is much more subversive. Black Letter Day? Rise and Shine? Black Sabbath - Iron Man? Calling ahead to Sing Sing - Feels Like Summer? "Hooks for days!" "Seductive codependence" (trademark Todd in the Shadows). Trying to keep this short. First half of the record meandering, cloying. Schmaltzy instrumentals. Distracting sprite vocals. I think of bands like Depeche Mode and Muse where the vocals get in the way... Juliana Hatfield chain smoking wishing she could rough up her voice. The "failed follow up" next record "My Favourite Game" sounds like garbage.. The band Garbage - "It kicks a lotta ass!" ... but onwards and darkards - the Anti-Lovefool. Did they deserve better? "Hell Yeah" - Todd(tm).

Imagine the faculty of a college music department congregating for a Summer BBQ party. After setting up the grills and cracking open a few cold ones a musician emeritus slides a fiddle case across their lap and quizzes the rest of the revelers, "Who wants to back me up with a little jam session?" This recording is quite an free thinking ensemble of instruments and styles that might rarely combine, like chamber orchestra, choral voice and classic rock rhythm section. The fusion ends up being specifically none of the above, but it works well. Harpsichord, ukulele and electric bass together? Why not. There really ought to be more than just orchestra, wind, jazz and acapella for imaginative students and faculty to play around with convention.

Really nice. Expressive and emotive with soulful feminine drive. Lots of baby-making musics. I recall some reference to Miss Armatrading from the 80's but not the context from before. This record is certainly not dated to the mid 70's and stands as a cool human connection to whenever.

Without digging into any background I just perceive that Little Simz is leaning hard on some combination of artistic/cultural appropriation and is dialing down her style and personality to a joyless and acrid persona. A female British/Jamaican Eminem. Rather than wanting to ease into the grooves I feel embarrassed like I’m listening to (a very talented) someone having a (groovy) public meltdown, or a friend whose welcome has worn out from being such a (lyrical) mood vampire. Regardless, this record can be really cool sometimes; it is produced a degree more elegantly than the nature of the vocal performer. Not just droning hip hop loops, but a soulful habitat. I wanted to like this better but the superfluously venomous ranting is distracting.

I first got to know and intrigued with David Bowie in the early 80s. "Let's Dance" and "Tonight" hooked me. It is not lost on me that this was far into his parade of paradigms and personas. In retrospect I can also appreciate that I got to know him slipping into a bit of indulgence and self-parody, especially with "Never Let Me Down." Later I became seriously committed with "Outside" and "Heathen" and of course I get it he's gone through countless reinvention ups and downs. Anyway, it wasn't until later that I started to wander backwards through his catalog and got to know and appreciate "Low." I acknowledged it was phenomenal but didn't connect so well. In essence it seems disjointed as if it were two separate EPs, one funky romp from Bowie and one cosmic ambient trip from Eno. The contrast is jarring and a bit of a bait and switch with the first half being so infectious and then being hijacked by Eno, overreaching beyond collaborative production. So I would give the first half a 4 and the rest somewhere under a 3.

Out of context, since I didn't know about this band before, "I Should Coco" is ok. It doesn't fall clearly into any categories such as punk, new wave, emo, or some kind of "post-" descriptive prefix. I couldn't even tell exactly what time frame it was from, just that it's energetic, frenetic, sneery, glamy, brash, and juvenile - dictionary definition of a rock band. It can be a good thing to evade a clear context, but in this case it's more like being inert and innocuous.

I get it, she's Swedish and was a power figure in the British urban scene. Somehow she was a major influencer in the industry and opened the doors for the Wild Bunch, which led to Massive Attack / Tricky / Goldfrapp. I remember this record from the 80's and I couldn't get into it, and decades later it hasn't aged well either. I can't discern anything innovative, compelling or talented, other than the deft DJ and studio engineering chops. However, though it may not count to the score of this record, I'm still wrecked by "Move With Me" which was featured in Wim Wenders' "Until the End of the World."

Gangsta rap rhapsody, a hip hop opera. This plays out life and death drama with compelling and earnest gravitas. Also this is in an era before mumbling lazy, inane lyrics and auto-tuned melodies. I don't know how to judge his short, harsh personal life, but this record captured some of the maelstrom of his demons.

For me it's a plus when I hear something new and I can't tell where or when it came from. Admittedly as I heard the first few minutes of this I buckled in for an hour of cold hard angry hip hop berating universal injustice. There was a rapid paradigm shift when I realized there was extensive riffing on Blade Runner and Buckaroo Banzai. Like wow, am I finally in a sector of a niche target demographic for something? I will need to circle back to listen closely for more nerd deep dives. "To the Moon's Contractor" is an extended cosmic trip that calls me back to the title screen theme for "Phantasy Star Online" on the Dreamcast. Avant-garde, liberated from all conventions, and ready to go to Planet 10.

14 songs in 32 minutes with a checklist of bad behaviors and a frantic drive to wreck the stage. I'm not sure how to gauge the context for the Dead Kennedys, but it's not scary, dour, or even serious. It's more cheeky and farcical than rebellious or preachy. 'Viva Las Vegas' impersonating Elvis sets a campy exclamation point to the list.

I'm sure I spend too much time wallowing in angsty and gloomy playlists but here's some straightforward unironically joyfully twangy country/rock. It's hard to pin down the sound since they are so meandering and guileless, happy and fun. It's like a G-rated Pavement produced by Daniel Lanois. Nine Inch Nails they are not, which would explain why this band is new to me. I resisted tapping my feet and cracking a smile, but the gleeful steel guitar and jangly banjo won me over.

I get the impression that The Specials and two-tone ska in general reflected a regretfully limited social movement to be easygoing, inclusive and optimistic about life in general and about race relations in Britain in the 80's in particular. This record portrays a possible world where you and I can get along alright and have a some fun along with a tinge of rock-reggae and horns.

I recall Happy Mondays on the radio, driving around town in a region far, far removed from the UK House scene. The trippy beats and sloppy (clearly under the influence) vocals were eminently catchy, but a nagging issue vexed me, drove me to search my soul to contemplate a conundrum: Is this band genius or garbage. Having had much more time to listen to and learn about the band (dramatized in 24 Hour Party People, for example) I think they're still catchy but rubbish. They vividly illustrate the experience or getting wasted and partying in the most unflattering ways. I'd give this record a 2 if it weren't for the one track that still intrigues me with the sing-song phrase morphing - "God's Cop" - made it easy on me / rains disease all on me / got soul 2 soul / got slowly stoned... I still can't be sure whether that's inspired or just inebriated.

Remember I mentioned here that I first got into David Bowie with the Let's Dance and Tonight records. I didn't know so much about Iggy Pop until much later. Hearing Lust For Life had me boggling as to why half the songs from Tonight were just covers from Iggy Pop. It may be they were close comrades with no clear boundaries for collaboration versus plagiarization. It's also clear Bowie was part of the production of this record and some of it draws from the funky first half of Low. I can't go back and hear this record before I heard Tonight, so it's difficult to sort out the association and to have an unbiased impression.

Practically anybody will be ready to launch into the lurching zombie dance when this record's title track erupts on the radio. It is so well-known, iconic, fun, funky, corny and dare I say wholesome. Not to wander into a rockumentary alleyway, but also recall that Michael Jackson and MTV set each other to go thermonuclear with the dazzling videos. Also recall that this gave great material for Weird Al to parody - it's biting irony how in Weird Al's biopic he ridiculed MJ for begging to emulate "Eat it". Now that I've read up a little on this album's history, it seems like MJ wanted some payback for "Off The Wall" being disregarded. He wanted to really blow the industry, so mission accomplished by being certified platinum time a zlllion.

This record could be considered on the list more on the merits of its innovation than being the best of their catalog. Still it's remarkable to consider that these guys were considered 'experimental' at the time but now in retrospect completely mainstream in comparison to electronic music of the past several decades. Synthesizers and drum machines are now pervasive, and with Kraftwerk's records they were essentially pioneering and even DIY fabricating the methods and mechanisms. They may sound a bit quaint, but then the first wheel ever invented didn't exactly move like a Porsche on the Autobahn.

Without context I found this on my list and expected from the album cover it was some kind of 70's schlockfest. Imagine my surprise with the first track suggesting one "beat your meat, go to sleep." Probably not 70's schlock. Then I continued with intrepid funky, yet jazzy fugues, unable to further label what genre to assign. Was this some kind of interpolation of Level 42 + Jamiroquai + De La Soul + ... ? At first I imagined hip hop, with such a groovy bass, but then after a little wikipedia I ascertained that the bass was the main character. Kenny Loggins, Michael McDonald, etc... What an amusing anomalation.

Iconic album, of course. I'm not a hater, just ambivalent about reggae in general.

No doubt this is another monumental classic from Elton John. This has been in my queue for weeks and I just can't force myself to listen. I know I've probably heard the whole thing through as singles on the radio or sappy movies. As happens with music sometimes it's just hard to find the right frame of mind to wallow in such indulgence. I'll leave this exercise for others who are in the mood to get cloying.

By whatever circumstances as a kid I wandered into New Wave and got Devo - New Traditionalists on cassette tape. As was fashionable at the time it was probably through Columbia House, 12 for 1 penny. You could say that record was a little edgy, quirky, spacey, but certainly not punk. It probably took me years/decades before I was ready to roam back into their earlier records, including this one from 1978. They were much more brash, punk (more inclined to They Might Be Giants punk than The Sex Pistols), irrepressible, and deviant before they became known as synth-dweebs. I think they were discounted as being a kitschy gimmick act, and did mellow out. Not sure how I would have reacted as a pre-teen to this record or if my mom would have been copacetic. In any case, after about 45 years it is fresh, aggressive and hilarious.

Historically, when I came across a band signed to 4AD, I would anticipate that they'll be somehow avant-garde, emotionally expressive, and psychologically unsettling. It seems like after the 90's sometime the label veered off of that persuasion to draw in "indie" bands absent the challenging "artiness" including The National. In this record they sound soothing and morosely bland, and of the time in ~2010, it seems like they could break out into a "stomp, clap, shout" at any time. The songwriting and musicianship are inane and vacuous like corporate telephone hold music, and the singer sounds like his sleeping pills are kicking in.

I get it, this is an iconic record from a band that blew the roof off of hard blues and bulging crotch blue jeans. The fact is it was so iconic that it soon became a caricature of a rock star band. Now I can't help but think of Wayne's World and Dread Zeppelin and Led IV is kind of ruined for me, except as a good corny laugh.

No, you don't need to redirect my attention to the rock history books that this record was massively successful and impactful on pop culture. I get it, 'Hotel California' and a couple of the other tracks are iconic, but to my ears the remainder of the record is bland, trite and corny. Let's go back in time and split this album into a couple of EPs instead so I can rate them as a '3' and a '1'.

This is from a little before my time and a light year away in my cosmos. Even though I had heard of The Mothers and Frank Zappa as eclectic musical freaks, I have to confess it was only in the context of Dweezil and Moon Zappa and of Terry Bozio as the drummer for Missing Persons. I imagined, or I got the impression, that The Mothers were more high brow jazz/prog, but listening to this record I don't know where to begin contextualizing them, other that being convoluted in a counter-counter-culture conundrum of absurdity. I would hardly call this high minded prog rock, rather a series of skits on satirical social commentary. It doesn't make me want to tap my toes and strum a guitar, rather I feel I need to go punch a hippie.

I try to imagine the context of this record with the brash and irreverent Iggy Pop brandishing his animal aura. The music itself is solidly a rock/punk romp with sneer and attitude. It's also kind of quaint considering how far the boundaries continued to push from that point in time and history. To be fair, Iggy did continue to progress gracefully, or in a punk sense, right haggardly.

Far be it from me to speak out on the development of trip-hop, so I ought not a lot. Just accept my demure suggestion that this record portrays adolescent and awkward early Massive Attack, a hip-hop collective with a glimmer of an as yet unrealized innovation. It sets itself apart aesthetically as urban soul with rap/reggae inclinations. I get it, this represents the inception of a powerfully stylistic impulse, but Protection, Mezzanine and 100th Window are so much more absorbing and transcendent, any of them would be a much better inclusion in this list. I sure hope any or all are on this list so I can give them each a 5.

I can only claim to have a rudimentary appreciation for Jazz in that I played trumpet in high school jazz band and I have this record on vinyl in my collection. My insight would be diminished in comparison to those with thousands of such records on their shelves, all immaculately dusted and logically arranged. In any case, I'm also pretty jazzed about Dave Brubeck, who was a contemporary with Miles Davis in time and in style. Please bear with me that George Michael Older lovingly channels the spirit here. I couldn't distinguish whether this record is so highly regarded since it is so broadly accessible and undeniably tasteful, whether there was some real transformative innovation, or whether it was a sort of supergroup for the era. I do enjoy it for being low-key, engaging and cool. I can say I didn't groove too well anymore once jazz got more 'jazzy' as in 'cacophonous racket' but to be fair that's how you could describe some of my other favorite genres.

I deeply admire David Bowie. Doesn't the whole coterie of self-referential culture condors converge on the same corpse? This record is just mid... in contrast to the rest of his other flourishing genius. Not to get contentious, but does this project want to acknowledge that Mr. Bowie is phenomenal and include 20 of his records? Shouldn't the impetus be to introduce us dullards to 1001 separate interesting and insightful artists instead of clogging the accolades with multitudinous redundant record rehashes? Like I said before, Mr. Bowie is incalculable in imagination, so leave some room on this list for creative derivation. If anyone could do anything with it. And leave some room for my actual favorites Let's Dance, Outside, Heathen. ★

New to me, but I had at least heard of Dinosaur Jr. and of J Mascis as a legendary indie guitarist. The legend goes on from there that Lou Barlow meandered away and founded Sebadoh due to artistic differences with Mascis. Or maybe one of them preferred Pepsi while the other opted for Coke. This record, perhaps just a different brand of cola, relays the lo-fi headspace of scruffy low-key aggro bedroom bands in the realm of Sonic Youth, Slint and Beck. Not meant as a jab, clearly this record rocks. I genuinely enjoy metaphorical envigorating bubbly beverages, so cheers to the boundless, though less differentiated, creative expression.

This should hit right in my sweet spot of eminently sentimental snappy electronic dance music that is new wave and goth-industrial-adjacent. Of course I remember the cool kids in my high school having DM records and being intrigued with the edgy image and bouncy, compelling dance mind control rays. However, I could never get over how disjointed the tenebrous synth sequences and jarring programmed percussion were alongside David Gahan's serene, placidly operatic voice. From the instrumental aspects I would feel inclined to dial into a more pop-industrial frame of mind, but old Davide Ganglyvoice just barges in and belts his yodelling goat sissy crooning. Cut David's vocals out of this record, an instrumental remix if you will, and I would give this record a 4. To be kind and fair to DM, 'Ultra' got it right - with David singing as if he had just stepped out of being trapped in a clothes tumble dryer on a 60-minute extra searing and bludgeoning cycle. KMFDM had the right idea about giving Depeche Mode some much-needed tough love.

What the heck is this? Stoner, prog, psychedelic, flower power, revival, roots, psychotic, blues, dissociative identity, delusion, diphenhydramine, proto-karmakoma, post-pop, pre-paramorphism? Without diving into wikipedia I'll bet this record is included for complicated reasons. I'll just take a break now and go back to reading Naked Lunch or something.

This is what a non-farcical Spinal Tap would sound like. A bass guitar that weighs a ton, drums that bash into the earth like a meteor, a singer with bombastic bell-bottom jeans, and guitar spitting volcanic magma. So I was also wondering what is meant with the purple euphemism... either a colorful acid trip or the dank exhaust from an obscenely jacked up muscle car lurching along a side street with the driver blazing on a fat blunt.

I intended to come in here and hate on this record hard. From my recollection, this 'pretty boy "punk" band' sucked... oh, so I'm supposed to express myself more... expressively? Alright. They somehow hitched onto an image that they were rude and brash and gave very few fucks, in true punk fashion. At the time, sitting on my porch directing wayward miscreants to get off of my lawn, I ascertained they were not punk. Rather they were snotty entitled show-offs whose singer seemed to have a perpetual stuffy nose. When this record was released I thought it was cheeky, annoying, and well I actually never listened to it, except for how I could not escape hearing the whole record continuously over the radio on PA systems in unavoidable commercial facilities, like restaurant bathrooms. Imagine how perplexed I was listening to this record all the way through now, feeling ... wait while I try to look up this phenomenon in the DSM-5... Joy?... also, exclaiming "WTF, what the fuck man@?!" as each life affirming banger rolls into the next. This illustrates a personal paradox of mine. Things in the past that I hated, later I evolve to love out of nostalgia and the fact that the world gets mercilessly shittier over time. American Idiot seemed bratty and shallow then, complaining so hard about W and sold-out corporate media. The way things have exponentially entshittified, the world depicted in this record seems like Utopia, and the musical style is impeccable - compared to mumbly-auto-tune-trap. This will be the new cassette tape I play on my boom box on my porch.

I get it. This is an iconic metal record with gravitas in contrast to other 80s hair metal ratt poisons. I am far from qualified to suggest anyone else who did the ka-chunk-chunk-brrrr motif better before... than... hmm... Black Sabbath... or Motörhead, or Judas Priest, or Scorpions... or later Pantera, or Ministry, or Rammstein. Far be it from me to comment on the quality of laying down sweltering drum kit catastrophes, but fucking Metallica sucks flaccid phallus. This was terminal, stage 4, boredom. If there might have been a more righteous Metallica record appropriate for this project, this entry is peak hubris. Consider a related later illustration where James Hetfield made a cameo appearance on 'Billions' and the two apex power predators pleasured each other orally about being vacuous leeches on the cosmos, bleeding out rock music with vapid, mind-numbing tedium. ka-chunk-chunk-brrrr.

Here's another record that has sat in my queue for weeks. I couldn't bring myself to slogging through the dilapidated recording of the homely, earnest, warbling bard Neil Young. I always thought 'horse with no name' was corny and that's as deep as I ever went with his style. Just today I haphazardly pressed play as I went out for a walk and winced for the sting of getting body hair ripped from my skin with wax for an hour. I was ready to endure the torment and then come back here and lament what a tired relic of the 70's this guy was. But then, as I do here a lot, I listened to it, was caught off guard at how much I enjoyed it, then I have to come back and state that yes, IATA. Not that I think Neil's voice is compellingly engaging, but the instrumentation of the acoustic and electric guitar and the prog-rock-meandering song structure led me to some mellow mind meandering of my own. Except for when Neil was singing, this felt more like a back rub than body waxing.

Groovy baby... Your groove, I do deeply dig... but not my bag. Caricature of 60's carnies. No walls, only the bridge.

I must have come across the name of this band at some point over the decades since this record was released. With the keywords "boards" and "Canada" I must have imagined it was sourced from the Royal Canadian Musicians' Program (RCMP) or some similar government agency. Just recently, via Ixi on youtube, I was bewildered to discover the genre was less 'yodelling mounted police' and more a downtempo electronic trip. Now who's the ass? I could immediately make a connection to other contemporary expeditionary sequencey collectives like M83, AIR, FSOL... though I'm inclined to describe this record as more on the sinister, robot jazz bent of Meat Beat Manifesto. Anyway, Boards of Canada... a sinister jazz robot, by any other name, would sound as menacingly chill.

Lodged... or wedged... somewhere between the butt cheeks of a dimmer-slower Ramones or a duller-cruder Cheap Trick, it figuratively smells like ass.

I'm sure it's nice, but could not bring myself to listen.

Groovy baby... actually, this IS my bag. Shamelessly, I only really found my way to The Who via Roger Daltery as the bon vivant sidekick of The Highlander. Now going back 30 years before that previous pinnacle, Roger was also in a band. I'm no 60's rock band scholar, but I imagine this band was somewhere on the Venn diagram explosion of British-blues-psych-rock-crew-cut-eschewing-pre-boomers. Of course this record was released years ahead of Led Zeppelin I, but it awakens the spirit while still also holding onto fun-angsty-adolescent on the circley diagram.

This must have caught me on a good day, going out for a long walk with warm, sunny weather even before official Spring. Irresistibly invigorating rhythms, exemplary complementary collaboration, and an electo-magnetic broadcast on a positive wavelength. All this to say this was not a lazy effort... and then I begin to acknowledge that I have a bias or prejudice against some forms of expression in the broad genre of hip-hop. You can tell when my bias is flaring up as I say something like "mumbly auto-tune," suggesting that the performers are less legitimate as artists or, well, performers. I can own up to my logical breakdown as this bias has no leg to stand on. That mumbly auto-tune style is just a different form of expression and does not make it less technically/aesthetically/artistically valid. It's only fair to subjectively judge it based on personal preference. With that disclaimer, I'm really energized with how Jurassic 5 were not lazy when they put this together!

Straight out of the late 90's, a personal pinnacle of mine for thriving esoteric electronic diversity, here's a specimen of the unsubtle gorilla-foot-big-beat-sample variety. It reminds me of how my high school jazz teacher would come down on the drummer for having a gorilla foot and the rest of us for sounding like a John Philip Sousa marching band. Hearing this Fatboy record a couple of decades on from the 90's now it's not so fresh anymore, like back then we must have been more easily amused. But I do feel the spirit from the lore of the album, being recorded with an Atari computer and floppy disks; vintage analog gorilla foot.

Mischievous, infectious and fun, as if a mythical Norse trickster hosted a cabaret. It sounds like Marc Bolan is grinning and winking throughout this glam-rock frolic. I could never nail down whether he had a devilish or just a whimsical bent, but a reissue of this record included a T. Rex interview setting it straight that Marc was jovial, joyful and thoughtful, not to mention teeming with swaggering talent and a passion for making music.

Oh boy, yet another Neil Young record. I hope it's the last one on this list because he's generally insufferable with his 'earnestly howling lonely hound' act with trite songs about teepees. As I mentioned before, it's the auditory sensation of a full body wax job. Allowing a '3' since there were a couple of actually fun rock songs.

Clear from the album cover I knew to expect something like the Monkees - turtleneck sweater, bowl haircut, earnest and endearing grand-dad rock. Yes, you get some psychedelic guitar pedals, a prominent tamborine, a tippy tap drum kit, an electric organ, and angsty anthems. Interesting, to me at least, is during "About a Quarter to Nine" I immediately identified the aloof anachronism from Love and Rockets "Seventh Dream..." with the same kind of knowing nod. Though the Prunes may have been prominent in the psych-rock era, they felt comfortable and confident in their own skin to pull off a style askew.

New to me. It's adventurous for a record to come up where I can't guess the era or genre, or it subverts my guesses. With a name like "Doves" I imagined it was 60's folk, but instead it was like an orchestrated y2k post-rock/krautrock drum circle meditating on simmering emotion and meandering musical vibes. Akin to getting a mental massage.

Cool.

Distinguished auditor of a dirty, filthy, grimey, dust-infested ungodly vinyl copy of this adamantation. Undeterminable whether tribal punk, culturally appropriated misappropriation, or cromulently mirthsome goth spectacle.

I'm sure it's nice, but did not listen. No more Marley mon.

A satisfactorap.

I get it, this is supposed to be a monumental landmark for the Seattle grunge scene but I can't even ironically try to tolerate this nauseating effigy of hard rock. More like a pile of grunt punk dog barf, and dogs do unironically love their own barf, so bon apetit.

I get it, Dion DiMucci is a legend for the depth and breadth of what he conveyed in his expressive musical styles. Also that this specific record, 1 of ~40 he released in his career, was prominently produced by Phil Spector, who should have added more dimension to the sound, but may have left it more flat. To my taste this feels so earnest and self-indulgent, not to mention conveying creepy 'romantic' tactless male manipulation, warbling "Make the woman love me, and I'll take care of the rest..." The vocal style (at least on this record) reminds me of Mick Hucknall of Simply Red, another unnervingly over-earnest crooner. Yes, this record is noteworthy, but not on my list.

Prog-folk. A meandering fairy frolicking across a Summer lawn overgrown with dandelions. But getting dizzy and tripping into a pond. Then feeling nauseous and needing to sit down for a while in the shade, give up, pack up and go home. That's kind of how I felt trying to get into this record.

My vague recollection of Fleet Foxes is that they were ascendant in the hipster era of the 2000's and unironically earnest with cloying folk/spirituals revival. I suppose that overlapped with insufferable indulgence of trite anthemic banjo warblers. So going into this record I was primed with my most savage vitriol; upon the first 'stomp, clap, shout' I would come back here and compose an excrement-themed '1 star' review. Now who's the asshole? Not even past the first track I was charmed, rendered docile, briefly a serene humanitarian. Goddammit.

Nerds! Peels out at 200 km/h in 3 seconds on the Autobahn honking an analog synth-horn at everybody in the passing lane. Take that you Musikante stuck in the 70's.

Far be it from me to indicate the inflection point when REM turned from indie to industry. I lost track of them right around the "Shiny Happy" phase, though oh god please do not disregard Fretless, the same duo performance on the Until the End of the World soundtrack. Where was I? Oh yeah, I can appreciate this record like lukewarm tapioca pudding. Inoffensive, mildly alluring, yet bland and FFS inoffensive to anyone. Hey Andy are you goofing on Elvis? Everybody hurts hearing this record.

Blues rock, yes, and Big Dick Energy, like a massive bulging blue jeans crotch. Exhaustive delineation of all imaginable euphemisms for fu**ing. I mean not love making or any such romantic notion. Fcuk**g non-metaphorically! Contemporary with Led Zeppelin blues and rich call out to old man river (Elderly Man River for my PC aware Stan Freburg nerds) and to the subsequent SRV Texas Flood version of Superstition. I rate this record 3 Massive Boners.

I get it, acclaimed as stand-out alt-punk pioneers of the 80's, these guys were name-checked continuously by all the rock critics even through the grunge epidemic. Maybe they would also say Bob Mould and Grant Hart informed the Minneapolis sound and the evolution of pop-punk towards grunge, through I would consider them as a less polished and produced Green Day or The Offspring or whatever. Even though I remember hearing that hype I never got into them (probably due to the fact I was a 4AD dweeb the whole time). To the credit of actual punk composition it's fierce, fast and short, which this record is not.

I anticipated this would be the "nice" kind of 69 love songs, or romantic ballads contemporary to the year 1969, or an album titled "love songs" by the band "69" or some alternate combination. Indeed this is non-figuratively a count of 69 musical tracks of earnest, wholesome serenades. I must disclose I probably gave up with the first third, or 23 songs, but that was my torture threshold.

I expect it would be unfair to dismiss this record as being a product of the already cliched Britpop movement, this being released at the peak of said phenomenon, as well being temperamentally buoyant and gregariously British. It sounds like Pulp as a band had been around quite a while already and had arrived at this creative identity fortuitously. The record still does feel very well rooted in the landscape of the era, like part of a maniacally invasive species of plant enveloping the ecology until its self-begot extinction. Even if this record was not one of the noxious weeds, it's hard to distinguish it from the rest. Coincidentally, and unfortunately for Pulp I hate Oasis!

Mutantatious. Prog-psychedelic-Brazilian. I felt liberating joy and latent political discord. 'Enter The Void' bounding sonic transcendent mobility. Tão legal.

To the album's credit a tidy categorization is formidably elusive. You could start with something like post-human sci-fi avant-electronic android-wave, or any combination of stylistic shots in the dark. One hears 'Cars' often on 'oldies' playlists and it does kind of throw back to some lower-tech sensibilities from the 70's, but it is by no means from a worn-out, cliched genre. Gary Numan is still singular, even after traversing for decades through goth/industrial/darkwave/etc... But specifically regarding this record there is a solid avant-garde composition of ominous tone, innovative tech and alienating text. Unfortunately for this rating, I am profoundly biased by Gary's follow-on reworking and reformation of his own back catalog on 'Hybrid'. Not just cover/remixes of the 'oldies' but an assertion that he is unbound by time and category.

I get it, this is a blazing promotion for folk-infused pallets of American tall-boy lagers. That is all. No 'but'. The last few tracks were nice.

I get it, The Blues is an essentially American musical genre. Muddy Waters is the Moses of American blues. I spent years of my life in school playing 12-bar blues chord progressions and I get it. Yay blues, not my jam.

No shade on Beck and his collaborators for this record when it is so brilliant, cool and understated. Not my favorite, but it's like comparing chocolate to other pleasures. Please, don't make me choose.

Socially conscious, rhythm&industrial, chunky-funk, Janet-Storm. I can't comprehend how deeply this album hits. Minneapolis!

Hail punk Satan!

Tremendous fun.

Punk... gentrified punk. I mean they were Athens punk, got produced by Nile Rogers, then headlined the state fair circuit for the next few decades. Please allow some tantrum space in your lash out hearts for this mess around-around-around, down-down. Hell's magnet pulls me.. dowwwwwnnnn!

For shame, I was about to disregard and skip this record since I felt I had already suffered enough from the croaking crooner. You hear one LC album where he must have swallowed a toad and a bucket of gravel - you've probably heard them all. Imagine my astonishment as I first heard the voice that was lost to time and cigarettes. The LC of 1967 had a delightfully light baritone voice and enchanting lyricism. He was a jester poet; if it were conceivable, Bob Dylan but without the absurd donkey warbling. Now I'm intrigued to find where Leonard's voice took a leap down into the Grand Canyon.

Harking back to the forgotten epoch of the Sugarcubes I became intrigued by Björk's manic pixie personality and her uncharacteristic vocal style. Björk's solo records captivated my imagination (also thanks to her video collaborations with Michel Gondry) and hooked me as a devoted fan, especially culminating for me in Vespertine. With Medúlla, released 20 years ago now, her artistic progression outpaced what I was ready to handle. It was only within the last few years that I got around to listening to Medúlla and many of her subsequent records, when I was ready to try catching up. Of course she has only continued to progress, and she is entirely unrecognizable, non-figuratively, since she's obsessed with flamboyantly embellished mask-art. The concept of a thoroughly a capella 'electronic' album is astonishing, with incessant "I can't believe my ears" epiphanies. Yes, this record is genius. No, I can't rate it highly (yet) because my capacity to enjoy it is underdeveloped.

Believe me, I am all in on shoegaze, or so this band is attributed as fundamental to the genre, even if the band itself disagrees. Enough about gazing, 'Nowhere' is somewhat psychedelic and fuzzy and noisy, but not that compelling. Any of their other albums would be more appropriate on this list.

I think I get it. This guy is the cool, sub-baritone, white Barry White noir film unreliable narrator type. I have to admit all of the writing and production are classy and alluring and there's nothing I can disparage, so I offer an average rating.

I get it, I am probably in no position to rate this record if I'm the target of Ben Folds "Y'all don't know what it's like, being male, middle-class and white." Still, thanks to another male, suburban white fellow, who conveyed to me, this pops. Continual satirical minstrel narration. Relentless earnestly cynical skits. Who am I to assess whether the affected communities would even grant any credence to this goat rope of a hip hop joint. I just know what to do when I get to Arizona.

Somehow I never listened to this, but it's right in line with what I would have liked. Consider that in 1985 you would have to strike it lucky by having a good indie radio station, by having classy friends, or by picking a record based on its cover. I don't think I ever saw the record anywhere. Lucky me, there is also the 1001 list. 'McQueen' has the 80's virtues of creative, life-affirming charm and great production. File under 'positive outlook on life for a little while.'

First few microseconds it hit me 'oh, it's Pulp Fiction' and then oh, 'Pulp Fiction is Al Green.' The whole brief record was joy. Thoroughly appropriate if it inspires other minds to get medieval on some artistic endeavors.

Let's hear it for sibling ensembles like Brothers Gibb and Sisters Sledge, coincidentally both into disco funk with violins. For me it's still just too soon to reminisce about disco and this record was released just as the genre was lapsing as an ignominious fad. However, Nile Rogers and Daft Punk have done a lot since to keep it cool.

Indeed. Founder of Pink Floyd, musical genius, whimsical psychedelic, free spirit (as in unhinged), and certifiably psychotic. Syd Barrett was notorious for being too strung out and deranged to deal with professionally, as well as incalculable in his endeavors. With that in mind, I feel a kind of pity, where it's readily perceptible that he's traversing into psychosis; I should not be listening to this mental meltdown.

I get it, Iggy Pop used to be an insufferable outrage, a contortion punk performer, purveyed projectile vomit, discharged blood and bodily fluid on the audience, and is still a legend. This record seems like it was just after he had bottomed out, retreated into an apartment in Berlin, and white knuckled his way out of substance abuses with David Bowie. It is generally droll, sedate and demure relative to his persona with the Stooges. I also notice that there is more overlap with Bowie from the era. It's weird to hear the hungover/glam China Girl versus the Bowie cover. It just sounds like he's not having fun again yet.

Very pleasant. I didn't know what to expect, but with the name 'Badly Drawn Boy' I imagined it was conflated with band names like 'Bad Brains' or 'Fallout Boy' or 'My Chemical Romance' or 'Bullet For My Valentine' or ... pretentious word salad. It turns out Damon Gough has a sense for intimate and earnestly sublime compositions, thankfully nothing to do with the band 'Sublime'.

Yes, I'm a hater of Jefferson Starship "We Built This City" in large part to how far they evolved/drifted away from their identity as 'Airplane'. Yes, on 'Surrealist Pillow', the songs with male vocals are of the fey flower child essence, and songs with Grace Slick's vocals remarkably intense, all guiding out on a trippy soul safari.

I get it, this is classic John Coltrane, supremely sophisticated syncopation, rampant rattling rhythms. It's subversive to the wholesome big bad era that preceded. The jazz aficionados are lined up, looking down their noses, obliging me to rate this a 5. To me this is just jazzy, in the pejorative sense. It's like having an annoying squeaking sound in the car you try to root out and can't find, then you try to ignore it, but it wears out your subconscious mind. It's like cacophonous, chaotic traffic in Kathmandu. I do love horror-infused music, like Skinny Puppy, so maybe I should listen again and reframe it as intentionally terrorizing droning.

Sure, I've heard of Fleetwood Mac from the 70's and apparently just about every song from this album by ubiquitous radio broadcast. For whatever reason I never actually listened to the record and abided the band as pleasant and inoffensive. Now, taking the time to actively regard it, I realize what a treasure of a time capsule it is. The songwriting and performances exude inspired expression and the studio engineering captures the comfort of the soothing rhythm section throughout. I just try not to think about the 'rumors' that the band mates were perpetrating heinous hanky panky.

I get it. This is M effing J. Retrospectively, eminently talented and prolific in the realm of joy affirming mainstream music. His whole life he was awash in intrinsic talent and fortuitous songwriting and production partnerships. However, this record seems like it took a detour down a slightly less brilliant alleyway. Yet another record I never actually listened to, although already familiar with most of it from MTV and such. Oh, and thanks to Weird Al. The songs aren't cohesive and lack some of the electrical charge. Just speculating that the ascent to King of Pop went to his head.

Too much insufferably pretentious meandering progginess for me today.

I get it, this is some rad thrash metal, and Anthrax propagates prolific kick ass t-shirts. I'm right there with Beavis & Butthead moshing on the couch while an ear-searing video comes on. But actively listening to an entire album is like a Drano enema of the head. Plus, it started to invoke an association with Metallica, with whom I'm sour since they did a cameo on Billions as congenial to the asshole main character on the show. 'Which asshole? Can you be more specific?' But, Anthrax gets a pass on that (perhaps) undeserved conflation since they colabed with Public Enemy on 'Bring the Noise', which was fun for one song to mix it up. I doubt I could listen to a whole album of that though either.

This is one of those records, going in cold, where it takes a while to discern what the vibe is supposed to be. It starts out kind of raunchy and absurd, then rolls into Velvet Underground, and so on to easygoing bell bottom Americana. Ultimately a sleeper cult classic and tremendous influence on some other bands whence I ought to have intrinsically perceived - they were all over REM and Lonely is an Eyesore (4AD). Anyway, very pleasant. By the end I felt like I was hanging around with them jangle-jamming on a lightly attended open-mic night.

Here we are again in full effect with the PE and the S1Ws. Again, I don't know whether the proper hip hop scene takes these guys seriously, but going back decades ago I sure got a kick (of amusement and in the butt) out of the samples and stomping beats, along with afro-centric indoctri... err... adamant admonition on social issues within black culture. Hence I'm still skeptical of 911, I ought to be ashamed of myself for going to their wantonly immoral shows, I didn't die right, all the people in the neighborhood get mad, it'll take a black to move me, red and blue lights are a common sight, Driving Miss Daisy no thanks, and you need to man wash your butt.

Really nice. Simple compositions, the most easygoing, graceful acoustic guitar arpeggios matching the docile, and surprisingly non-tone-deaf vocals from Lou Reed.

After taking up a residency as the musical mascot for Disney animated franchises he has been known as a crusty but affable buddy. Entirely wholesome and inoffensive. Going back to 1972 for this record it is indeed pleasant and inoffensive, like the soundtrack to puppies wrestling with kittens on a fluffy feather blanket. As for myself I would tend to slip into psychosis after encountering and failing to escape from such inert exhibition.

I get it, this is the coolest darkest synth band of the 80's after reinventing itself from being the coolest darkest guitar band from the 70's. I should love New Order since I was so keen on Joy Division, but it always bothered me that their essential sensibility inflected from punk to something corporate - not suggesting that they sold out with a big record deal, but they felt so contrived. To be honest, what really bugs me about NO is I can't stand Bernard Sumner as a vocalist with his faltering, tin-ear amateurism, which just doesn't match the compositions. As a matter of fact, I conversely get irritated by Depeche Mode since David Gahan's vocals are just too pristine and refined for their attempted dark and biting vibe. Here's a theory. Let's have the two bands switch vocals and we may finally get the balance right.

Before the great Satanic Panic of the early 80's the magnificent theatrical schlock artist Alice Cooper put on notoriously deviant live shows. I never actually listened to his records, so hearing School's Out is quite a refreshing revelation. The band were not just provocateurs (like Marilyn Manson), but talented and playfully subversive. In 1972 it seems like they could have veered off into glam punk, like New York Dolls, or into parodies along with Weird Al, or could have been a proto-Rob Zombie making campy slasher films.

Yes, I do actually have this on vinyl since I thought the cover looked intriguing and wanted to indicate that I have sophisticated tastes beyond ABBA, Blondie, and ONJ in my collection. No, I haven't actually listened through it before because it takes a rare state of mind to endure meandering bell bottom prog rock. I admit I did briefly wear bell bottom jeans until I got humiliated enough by the cool kids at school. Not saying bell bottom jeans are intrinsically objectionable, just that they serve as a metaphor as someone who lacks the self-awareness to realize they look dumb wearing them. But having actually listened to the record I'm sure I will really dig it once I maneuver into the right mood for it.

Sprawling rock opera indeed, a Betamax Guillotine Alabama odyssey. The scene traverses the realms of the region's turmoil with racist politics, eminent esteem for Lynyrd Skynyrd (and how elusive they were to see in concert), figuratively attending AA sessions with the Truckers, and then at its core exhorting to best stay out the way of a southern thing. Public Enemy would urge to abide that it's also a black thing.

I tend to go into hip hop reviews ready to rip on their lazy mumbles and their Auto-Tune crutch. Certainly not so with Supa Dupa. The production is top tier, the various vocal collabs are striking, and following the track list feels like traversing a little journey. There's just a positive, powerful, heart-felt tone to the whole package, which was uplifting. This is one of those records I went into expecting to hate, but it won me over instead.

Pleasant. Not that I listened to a lot of his records, I did listen a lot to 'Graceland' so my expectations were skewed. Now I've got an 'allergies' pop song in my head, establishing that we don't explore every day issues enough in art. Will I some day come across a catchy tune about my charley horse woes?

I get it. With Tom Waits if you get it you get it. I endeavor to get it, but I don't quite get it. How do you even categorize this? Voodoo Vaudeville? Rumpelstiltskin Cabaret? Occult Opera? Well, regardless of the howling, hungover crooning, the musical compositions are sublime.

Gish and Siamese Dream are the kind of great records that changed my world when I heard them. Later, right at the inflection point of Mellon Collie, Smashing Pumpkins morphed somehow. I never bear to listen to the whole record before now; the tracks seemed to be increasingly padded with indulgent, meandering vanities, and a lower proportion of blistering psychedelic barrages. Of course there are several proper classic bangers here, but many more dismal duds.

Imagine my curious bewilderment upon the opening track and having an odd recollection of something familiar. Where have I heard this before??? Well who else could have covered 'So You Want to Be...' and so on? Coincidentally I fanatically fixated on Patti Smith's 'Wave' this recently. She blasts out a blistering cover of a kind of scathing Byrds pop song along the way. Not that this is a Patti Smith review, but now I'm trying to recalibrate my assessment on The Byrds as a pleasant 60's folk/rock band. But this just makes me want to listen to 'Wave' again.

It may be fun to have Snoop Dogg along, but not enough to make up for the stale air of dissing Eazy-E and gangsta bragging for a whole record.

Ok, I get it. The Rolling Stones are held at the pinnacle of esteem as blues rock legends. Alongside The Beatles, who also cohabitate the towering summit of pop music, the rest of us can hardly make a value judgement on which band is more meaningful, but just on which side of the mountain we stand. Or comparable to one's identity as a dog or a cat person. At some point I found my identity with the Beatles, but never listened to any actual Rolling Stones records. I thought the Beatles were more musically imaginative, and that the Stones were just ribald rockers. Thanks to this list I have had the chance to encounter them directly and to search my own soul. I was really drawn in with their deft musical sense, cool blues jams, and relatable human presence. Although resolutely a cat person, some dogs are fine (not mine and quiet at night).

I had only limited exposure to the band from snarky indie videos on MTV. Apparently they slipped into a rut of infighting and litigation in the mid-90's and almost dropped out entirely. I wasn't aware of this record and I'm glad it's included on the list. The writing, composition, engineering, and tone are all top notch. It felt openly creative and liberating. I don't think he was involved, but it seemed like Thomas Dolby might have had a hand in the production. So now I'm intrigued to listen to volume 2 of this concept album.

I get it, House was a fun disco party thing (contingent on MDMA), and rave DJs across the western world were infected with the urge to set inane synth bass and drums to insipid piano jingles and soul vocals. KLF have got to be the most earnestly trite way to spend an overnighter in a warehouse losing your mind and your hearing.

Histrionic metal. Like a proper decent metal band where their psych meds are wearing out.

Just as this record was released, the news announced of Mr. Bowie's passing after prolonged confidential illness. Blackstar was a sudden secret swan song that all the David Bowie fans and I didn't know we needed or deserved. I remember on that day how I was stunned, dismayed, but intrigued with this truly characteristically progressive farewell revelation. The tone of jazzy crass slam poetry and a cool, austere atmosphere left me feeling that he had departed on his own terms with the opportunity and open channel of expression to bring closure. Instead of feeling that his artistic brilliance had been snatched from us too soon, it felt like his departure was taken perfectly on point. Don't get me wrong, I commiserate for his plight and wish we still had him with us. And this is not my favorite record of his, but it made an impression on me that makes him immortal.

Mercifully this was a very short record. I get it, this is part of the origin and development of rock & roll. But I'm not amused how inoffensive and repressively euphemistic the act was. Thanks Elvis for moving things along.

Wholesome likeable skiffle, like they're the Backstreet Beatles. These lads got all the slagging for being contrived, inoffensive, comically cute, and produced. Sometimes some relief from The Stones overstimulation is alright.

Such a smooth flow throughout, it brought me into a positive head space. It is an expression from a self-respecting woman, though the recurring theme was along the lines of 'men... ugh... men...'

I don't know if this record had any kind of legacy, whether it was influential forward from 1992. To me it sounded like proto-Brit Pop / -Trip Hop / -Electronica / -Lounge / -Post Rave. Archaeologically this will probably be conflated with the Beatles.

I tend to disregard The Doors as being boomer blues or spaced out organ rock and hardly ever listened directly to their albums. Now I'm informed that this some solid blues rock. I mean, I get it, everybody knows how tripped out and grand they were, but I can attest it's pretty good.

This is such a rhythmically intriguing hip hop odyssey, yet it is some of the most hysterically warped deviant daydreaming on record. Hearing this anywhere in public would raise some red flags for its unhinged depictions of moral decency. But it's such a trip and a guilty pleasure.

Although I am biased... Who among you supposed human beings can deny the affect of the pervasive New Romantic bassline? The production is supernatural and primordial. Simon Le Bon's Bonisms be damned. I'll not be lonely in my nightmare; I've got my own way; Ain't no game when playing with fire... If I may suggest, Rio has not aged.

Although most of the compositions are elegantly simple and the phrasing unrushed, Sinead's vocals are pervasively, searingly intense. Some of the performances are like a lightly reverberating lullaby that makes your ears burn from the young woman's scorn. I admit my rating is biased since I have loved her records a long time and admired how strong-willed and self-reliant (though rashly off-putting) she was. I imagine even Prince would abide that 'Nothing Compares 2 U'.

Stylish, inoffensive elevator music. It was a nice day for a long walk and to listen to some records. As this came up on the queue I let it run on while I wandered off in my thoughts. After not long the shallow soul and vapid charm got my full negative attention. It reminded me of how my high school jazz band must have sounded as we were much more dialed into John Philip Sousa football game marches than swinging into twelve-bar blues.

I get it... They say this record is so shoe-gaze-adjacent and 90's indie... it weighs heavy on my heart I got so bored within 2 tracks I bailed. Although I tried a repeated retry it was a bittersweet gutterball.

I get it... This is Herbie Hancock, my absolute hero from Simple Minds - Hunter and the Hunted. And then this record is meandering, jazzy (the bad kind), musical misdirection. To an exception I can also credit this record for a Beck swipe on 'Cellphones Dead' for 'Chameleon.' - One by one...

Oof... I mean... within the first few milliseconds I was more inclined to Ugh... Here we go, some kind of country cross-over. Banjo, horse, truck, warbley slide guitar, more banjo, cowboy, Tennessee, bard on the street, mandolin, John Wayne... And then so many pretty chord changes, Daft Punk vocoder, Tame Impala grooves, heart-dissolving Daniel Lanois washes. I mean WTF!? FFS I hate country and Taylor Swift. This record confounds a lot of hate. =]

There's something about earnestly wholesome light-rock that sets me off. I can't criticize the quality or creativity, I just tend to lose my patience and soon my goddamn mind. This reminds me of the essence of Todd Rundgren, evidently a massive treasure of a human being, but I can't stand his music. I get it, Mr. Adams has been a tireless, prolific and irrepressible troubadour his whole life. I don't think I've encountered any of his material other than 'Gold' and I don't expect I'll intentionally seek it out.