Eight Bowie records is entirely too many for this list and this is one that could be easily cut. TIile cut is fine of course but the gloomy instrumentals on side 2 are extremely tedious and pointless -- even for Eno fans – and sound dated besides. This is replacement-level at best, with only the rarest bits of intrigue.
Four albums by Metallica in this list is just a joke. Even the editors make apologies for this one (“tinny sound,” “overprocessed,”). Clearly they’re the experts on this genre and this band. Other than a very few redeeming bits (the opening section of “One,” which sounds briefly like actual, you know, music), I just hear repetitive sound and structure, grunted vocals, sophomoric lyrics, thrashy breaks with quick flips back to speed (what editors call “riff salads”). For all the extremity, it’s quite paint by numbers.
Awfully good and easy-swinging. Highly polished in composition and tone and execution. There’s real elegance in the straightforwardness and simplicity of the playing and a richness and warmth from the large format. Just strong all the way around. Solid 4.
I was blown away by this record when I first heard it in college radio days in the mid-to-late ‘80s and I’m even more impressed at how well it’s stood up. Soul Mining avoids all the excess and cliche of the era. It’s dramatic and cinematic; new wave-y, but not self-consciously so; it’s politically committed and serious-minded, but not humorless; it’s emotionally rich and balanced and musically intriguing. “This Is the Day” is a first-rate pop song and “Uncertain Smile” a higher-order musical event, truly one for the ages with an all-time great piano solo (I ran right for the extended 9+ minute mix after hearing it here for the first time in ages). “The Twilight Hour” and “Giant” are also hugely engaging and very impressive tracks (but generally, little-known). So good, with bonus points for reconnecting me to my youth.
Dramatic, lavish (over-orchestrated at times), intense -- quite strong. Feels like a higher-end version fo the Las debut or a high-gloss Kinks record.
Meh. Songs I knew sounded about like I recalled. "Tales of Brave Ulysses" remains the best. Songs I didn't know were okay, a few piquing interest.
Pure power pop. Only a handful of songs are that memorable or engaging. The screaming crowd is half the story ... almost like an instrument ... Robin Z seems to address it slowly and loudly, like a bad, monolingual tourist. So tight and energetic, but oh so bubble-gummy.
Overall, pretty great, lovely and thoughtful and highly respectful (and thus somewhat predictable) interpretation. A little monotonous in tone as the album goes on. I don't recall if this was one of the records Willie had to pump out because of his tax issues or how different or surprising this would have seemed for Willie fans at the time.
Love the moodiness and under-statedness of this overall, particularly the guitars. Drum machine feels way dated. Not as dark as I remember it. Whole lotta Joy Division, more so than New Order. Not many cuts blow me away, it's more about the atmospherics. I will listen again.
Not generally my cup of tea, but there is a consistently energy level and tone that makes this a fine listen.
I don't necessarily love how this album influence dso many artists and records that came later, but it's strikingly original .
Really good, classic of the genre and if it's good enough for Michael Stipe, its' good enough for me. "America Snoring" is standout track to me, but love the overall feel and mood of the record. My total sweet spot -- both in style and timing -- early ;90s but I didn't give them enough time back in the day. I almost certainly would have seen them open for someone but can't recall. They deserved more recognition for sure.
Not nearly as dated-sounding or even caricature-ish as I feared it would sound. Perhaps an excess of some go-go-boots sounding hooks and the blues numbers are unconvincing, but the two big singles hold up great and lots of interesting sounds between them. Main reaction is one of disappointment that this group would turn into the perfectly awful Starship.
Really strong and hooky, template for the future, love the counterintuitive moodiness in the dance templates.
Sprawling, inventive, fun.
It's like weird time-travel karaoke -- or a satire of 1970s Europop. Impeccable harmonies on the ESL and smiley-face rhythms bouncing along. The instrumentation is the aural equivalent of a two-ply polyester leisure suit of mustard yellow. I’m hearing oompah bands and seeing feathered hair styles. Syrupy strings on top of syrupy synths for the ultimate ‘70s sugar high. Quaint enough, cute enough, and some happy moments (I'm now thinking of Barney) but I struggle to take this very seriously.
Don't remember this record being so good. Perhaps I never gave it a full chance back in the day, but seems really well balanced, not obnoxiously hard-edged or contrived in being hard-edged, but organically edgy and rage-y. Songs hold up as distinctive, too.
Pretty good, thoughtful, well executed. I think Graceland is the better record. Have always graded Paul Simon on anti-curve ... that is, I've been a bit of a hater for as long as I've known what an a-hole he is reputed to be (sourced by members of his band).
Lots of hot hooks and smoldering riffs and slow burns. Classic. A tale of two sides, with second half the much artier and avant-garder.
Dramatic, lavish (over-orchestrated at times), intense -- quite strong. Feels like a higher-end version fo the Las debut or a high-gloss Kinks record.
WIth no rave drugs on hand, this sounds like music for a bad video game. Or a dodgy party you realize, upon arrival, you should have skipped. Has not aged well so far and unlikely to improve -- sounds like random noise now that audio and synth tech has moved on and the referents are too long in the past. Don't get the critical hype but follow what Christgau said -- "cheap music" -- though maybe a tattoo you wish you'd never gotten is better analogy. We all have a right to be ashamed of our youthful indiscretions; one hopes fans of this act are appropriately so.
Don't feel too qualified to judge, but the tempo and overall feel seems a pivotal moment for hip-hop -- from showier and classic acts to grittier, more specifically urban (i.e., NYC-centric). Pretty ill, indeed. Beats seem very much of the moment. Clear, articulate flows in the rapping, too.
Great -- angry at times and haunting at others, moody and a bit rough around the edges, but powerful across the board.
Meh. Feels inconsistent -- the haunting folk of "Scarborough Fair" and "To Emily" bookending some pretty forgettable and dated-sounding (not to mention pretentious) stuff.
Unlistenable. Could be genre bias.
I confess to hating this album (or at least the singles from it that I heard) upon its release as it fit neither the classic rock mode I was growing out of (but still enjoying and respecting) and the new wave/alt direction I was heading into for college and beyond. Full appreciation for Steely Dan was still quite a few years off, though they were vaguely on the radar, from summer hits heard at the swimming pool. Their breaking up just as I was entering high school didn’t help, but obviously the music is more sophisticated than I could process at the time. I remember hearing about the high-tech recording approach and thinking “yeah, but the music is still lame and wimpy.” I would have guessed the release date of this was later. I can definitely remember hating the annoying, repetitive synths and his strainy-thin-voiced vocal, but now I get their mellowness and love the shapely, unhurried guitar solos over them (“New Frontier”) and the phrasing and dry-martini vocal tone seem one-of-a-kind. The overall mood of this record is just totally up my alley on a snowy Friday afternoon nearly 40 years on. Not only does it hold up well, it’s somehow got a lot better.
Love the band. So tart and peppy, ragged-edged and sarcastic. Not sure it's my favorite Pulp, but a pleasure to listen to. Takes itself with precisely the right level of seriousness, with the perfect dash (or seven) of irony. Plus, it holds up well musically.
Another of these records where the hit is misleading about overall texture, which is interesting throughout and occasionally weird, though it scans as much less weird today than 40+ years ago. It's a whole album, a unit of measurement that isn't much used anymore. I still think of it all as a peace with the other three early albums. Whole lotta Eno, too, works for me. Zimbra, Air, Heaven, Drugs are the personal faves.
The temptation is to not take this seriously, but that's habit, isn't it? Awfully fun and clean and good. There's just a hint of haunting to the wholesomeness, isn't there? The crispness and the simplicity of the playing are notable, as is the quality of Elvis' voice, which is worth being reminded of.
Authentically punk and believably angry (e.g., they sound like “Bored Teenagers") and even kind of substantive, but so narrow as to be one note.
Hard to believe only going 3 stars here but just too much as this was an all-time high school-era fave but it's too heavy and bombastic now, even grading on a rock opera curve. I wonder how the movie would look/feel after all these years.
Don't Believe the Hype, indeed! Just foundational, a true template for so much to come (for better or worse). Chuck D-Flavor Flav maybe the Lennon-McCartney (or Simon-Garfunkel) of hip-hop. The grit and energy and edge are true and strong after all these years, even if the beats and tech are dated. Fear of a Black Planet even better.
Feels more gritty than glam. Some solid hooks throughout but nothing real special here. Certainly no transcendence for me. My problem with Bowie has always been the incessant posturing/posing. That approach makes for some interesting (and even several memorable) moments or songs, but harder for the work to sustain itself or stay in the mind. “Jean Genie” is not a good song.
Some standout hooks and beats, and nice steady flow in the mid-tempo range, but like much else in this genre, it gets a little samey and stale, and the tech sounds dated.
I like the brooder/slow-burner tracks (e.g., "Dirt") more than the rippers (e.g., "Down on the Street") and those that devolve into Iggy howling. Interplay of fiercely played instruments (e.g., late in "Fun House") alternates between punishingly discordant and beautifully anarchic.
I love hearing this in more detail, though it sounds at time like it was recorded underwater. The template is here right from the start. Blazing and punky, and yet melodic. Mascis gets away with so much thanks to the weirdly-working mix of the searing solos and slacker vocals. I had no idea that the Cure cover went so far back. The strangeness of Poledo is a nice add. How Kracked sets up Green Mind songs. What rough and hot and sweet playing.
Classic that hides its time signature innovations in plain sight. "Take 5" still sounds as fresh as ever. Could be a Paul Desmond album.
Too intentionally heavy, and only intermittently (e.g., "Ball and Chain") do the blues feel authentic and cohesive. Otherwise I hear more screaming than singing on. Non-Janis cuts are muddy and ragged and kind of predictable. Some moments, but overall nothing special.
Hot and sleek like a state-of-the-art sports car, but a little samey in the end. "Take Me Out" is one of the great rocks songs of the last 20 years. Lack of perfect hooks across the rest of the record, however.
I find this stunning though obviously its power was enhanced by the proximity of release to death of the artist. It's honest and uncontrived (which can't be said of all Bowie records) but also typically odd and off-kilter (as most Bowie records are). The pluses are the consistency of range and style and melancholia of both lyric and vocal. I expect this will be my favorite Bowie record.
Sharp, stark and sinister, but lacking variety generally and dramatic high points specifically. This band would grow obviously, but this goth-y gloom fails to move much, without being outright bad or obnoxious.
Just perfect in its execution against its aims. "It was Christmas Eve in the drunk take" is an all-time opening line -- in song or literature. Who knew the Irish lads could do Turkish and Spanish and Aussie so well? (Well, we knew the Aussie a bit.) Just not a wrong foot placed here, in spite of the legendary sloppiness. Great fun besides. Only quibble would be the relative lack of singalong "smash hits" here vs other records which lacked the consistent ambience or pervasive depth of this one.
On the one hand, one of the great all-time opening tracks (“Tom Sawyer”), great side 2 opening tracks (“Limelight”), epic drumming and intense opera singing -- net-net: three all-time songs out of seven total. On the other, some all-time prog-rock excesses -- including epic drumming and intense opera singing and attempts at otherworldly composition -- all pretty easily caricatured Spinal Tappishly). Another way of putting this: this band’s (and record’s) greatest strengths and weaknesses are hopelessly intertwined. So, my mesmerized sixth-grade self was right in that the good stuff holds up extremely well. But the concept (if there was/is one) I missed then collapses by the end of the record now. I always feel like Rush wanted its audience to pay more attention to the stuff people were inclined to skip (and not just on this record). Still, three out of seven -- and because “Vital Signs” is much better than I recall (major Police influence) -- let’s make it 3.5 out of 7 and 4.5 out of potential five stars.
I can find no flaws or imperfections across decades of listening. 5/5. Serious candidate for best of album of all time in any genre.
The forward influence is clear, even for those who don’t where this falls in pantheon of classic R&B. Band is tight -- a Platonic ideal as much as a point in time. Green's vocal quality seems more distinctive and extremely versatile than all-timey, perhaps too effortfully here and there.
Gloriously weird in conception, totally hilarious (a component often lacking in the genre) and super detailed in execution. Love what got pulled off here.
This is my sweet-spot era and I first listened on cassette, for which I had to spring because "Love Plus One" was just too good then (despite dumb video I couldn't confess to like) and remains today an all-time pop delicacy -- light and pure and effervescent. Rest of record is more substantive than I remember, crisp playing and clean production. This disc is nowhere near Nick Heyward's "North of a Miracle" but holds up well.
Competently executed but sorta soulless and glossy and generic late 2010s global pop … music for an airport lounge when wait is hopefully not too long.
Substantive and coherent. Thoughtful and driving. No real huge hits but a certain timelessness -- professionally executed at a very high level. Holds up and will continue to. Thom Yorke's guest appearance tells you all you need to know about the overall quality and band's position at the time.
Not my genre so can’t speak to why this record merits attention -- maybe the technical proficiency or speed of the playing? The extreme and outlandish nature of this record doesn’t make it worth knowing (in my view). The best that can be said is that you can barely hear the lyrics, which are apparently shocking. I hope these people are okay. Or were they just posing?
It’s easy to forget how out there this record seemed in the very late ‘70s. Holds up better than most kitsch of that era. Though the latter work significantly degraded their legacy (approaching at the nadir novelty act status), this is tight and hooky and edgy, interesting and original. Somehow arty and vaguely punk at the same time. 3.5 stars but gets 4 because of the originality.
This is such a good record, haunting and lilting. I love the energy of and playing on the uptempo numbers and the poetry and quietude of the ballads and pausier tunes. It starts on such a high that there’s an inevitable dip on the backside but such a labor of love is a great listen.
Sounds cleaner than I remember and the playing slightly more competent (low bar) than I recall. A landmark, sure, but more for the hype or celebration of teen angst than anything musical. It’s a gimmick, a statement, and thus reads contrived and even soulless. New Wave would up it with much greater range – musically, emotionally and creatively. The tunelessness is more annoying than the anger is affecting. Plus, just feels so performative and insincere (blame John Lydon, who is at least somewhat distinctive as a vocalist). I find current DIY records more compelling, or least more worthy of being given a chance. Could/would this record inspire anyone today? It’s worth knowing its place in history, sure, but that doesn’t make it worth listening to anymore. Just because it was unprecedented at the time doesn't mean it's any better now. There's a reason there's only one Sex Pistols record.
Gotta say I’m a little unmoved or underwhelmed by this (given how I would have expected to react and my excitement at first hearing your music decades ago). I think these recordings with overly formal arrangements, mannerly phrasing and lush and syrupy strings are not aging well to my ears. Still, one of the most distinctive voices ever.
Solid and rich-feeling all the way around – a throwback-feeling rock record, made by a big talent with a feel for genre-mixing. Feels authentic, if a bit reachy-y at times. Maybe a touch all over the place. “Are You Gonna” is the better LK record. Solid 3.25
Consistently interesting, but a bit of a relic, and behind both Blue and Hissing of Summer Lawns in my book. As good as the writing is, the vocals get a little too talky at times, though she does a lot with a sorta average voice.
Great overall vibe and exploration – great balance of variety and consistency, and commitment to creating a certain vibe and mood. He sounds credible alternately as an old-school bluesman (way more than Stones or Zeppelin) and an uber-confident hipster/chancer/con man. The soloing – just wow! Near overwhelming at times, and there seems to be a reason some songs fade out on solos; even on a double album, the cuts must eventually end. “Burning the Midnight Lamp” – raw guitars + harpsichord + loose, swaggering vocal = hard psychedelia. “Rainy Day, Dream Away” is also cool and surprising, as is “Still Raining, Still Dreaming” and “House Burning Down.” “Watchtower” sounds a bit like it belongs on a different record, but is a classic nonetheless.
Narrow and a bit one-note-y as many cult classics are. When this came out, I remember thinking “what’s all the fuss?” though the endorsement of all the cool chicks made an impression. Yes, it’s substantive. And certainly the cleverness, raw emotion, pluck and attitude of the songs’ “characters” are all appealing. It also overreaches and/or seems to be trying too hard at times. “Fuck and Run” is a minor classic and “Never Said” and “Canary” are easy to like. Super resonant of the ‘90s, a borderline relic, actually; would sharper or more expansive production have made this more timeless? She’s more than a one-hit wonder, sure, but it’s only one record so maybe a “one-off” wonder? 3.5 is the score, rounding down.
Absolutely state of the art pop, but so over-engineered that the songwriting (quite strong) gets buried. Just too much going on. Bunch of truly great songs – “Welcome to New York,” “Shake It Off,” “Clean” – that would be better without all the window dressing or at least with a whole lot less. That Ryan Adams redid the whole record speaks to its strengths and shows the weakness of the production. 3.75 but rounding down.
Overly dramatic dreck, combining the worst instincts and excesses of the glam and prog rock traditions. Has a few moments of interest, but mostly goes – and stays – off the rails. Distinctive guitar sounds and over-the-top theatricality that would be tamed/harnessed to better effect in the future, but this is just too much, much too much. No more than 2.25 stars.
The funk is forever, but the keys sound a bit dated. Of the big hits, only "Little Red Corvette" really works for me. "DMSR" is a plus-plus track and side 2 – especially the moderated, non-hits "Free" and "Lady Cab Driver" and "All the Critics Love You" and "International Lover" – are strong adds, better than I remember. 3.8 but rounding up because of the body of work.
The opening hook is one-of-a-kind, but rest of the record is as forgettable as it is memorable – you hear the crunching guitars on one track, you've heard on all, with lyrics designed to spark #metoo complaints. One big meh serving of troglodytic rock.
Drug music for fashionable people and cute, arty girlfriends with better than average taste in music and taste for synthetic buzzes. That’s what comes to mind, anyway. A shade darker and moodier than I remember, with strong vocals and guitar. Some clever touches (the piano on “Villiers Terrace,” the closing “jam” [by new wave standards, anyway] on “Happy Death Man”) but sort of generic and simple-sounding at times, a prototypical new wave record, and in a way. 3.675 – not really a 4 because of being vaguely undistinguished and not really their best work, but better than a 3 and of my generation so … 4
Hard not to like this but the whole enterprise raises questions. Certainly it mostly avoids seeming a gimmick (of which there was a high likelihood). The sui generis voice with good cameos (Los Lobos and B. Raitt the best; Santana axe work just this side of obnoxious and just short of overwhelming the track). The whole thing works because JLH is front and center on every track. And last few tracks (JLH alone) may be the strongest overall. I want to give it a 5, but feel compromised. Is this really just JLH-lite? Why/how is this the only Hooker in the book? Would a 5 rating seem to degrade the earlier work? One feels certain there are superior records in the archives though blues scholars would be best positioned to say. Does it raise the issue of cultural appropriation (see also Graceland)? It feels pretty authentic (save for Santana opener). Is this an homage/honoring or could it be read as more established artists (including both white and people of color) feeling like he needed a rescuing or drafting off his lead (see also the entire history of rock/pop music)? Overall, I get an honoring vibe, but these are complex questions hovering around what really is an excellent listen. Plus, it’s inspiring me to go deeper into the back catalog … more of which should be “known” … let’s go 5.
An unholy and totally groovy mess. Sounds like late night sessions, alternately mellow and angry and despairing. 3.8
Awfully good and easy-swinging. Highly polished in composition and tone and execution. There’s real elegance in the straightforwardness and simplicity of the playing and a richness and warmth from the large format. Just strong all the way around. Solid 4.
As much as there is to like, New Order records never quite live up to the promise offered by the many, many great hooks. Relatedly, their completely distinct sound is a plus, but too many songs sound like nothing so much as – wait for it – other New Order songs. Self-referential or just same-y? There are other issues, too – e.g., the jarring shift in tone after the great opener. “Love Vigilantes” feels like it belongs to a different record. A few too many light and synthetic-sounding synths, quite a few that haven’t survived too well across the decades. Peter Hook’s epic bass-ing only redeems some the tracks and Sumner’s earnest-plaintive vocals fully hit on just more than half of the songs. When it all works, it works very well, but that’s not often enough to sustain the occasional and fleeing transcendence. 3.7.
Classic for a reason and a masterpiece of its kind. Everything fits, everything works. Can’t go 5 because of the era (feels olds even if it sounds fresh) and a few cliches (the organ solo on "Smokin'" and excessive shrieking by Delp), plus demerits for the association with Aerosmith, but otherwise good in almost every way a record can be good. 4.65 rounding down.
OverallUK version of Lambchop is what I think, but maybe not quite as good overall. Opener is lovely and thoughtful and “Bones of You,” very groovy and compelling. The record is interesting throughout – lots of moments. ”One Day Like This” is a later highlight. I admit not loving Garvey’s vocals or style. And I get a little lost in the inclining to melodrama and theatricality, which feels like trying too hard. The production is overdone at times, too. The uplift from the initial cuts is never re-achieved, though I suspect this is a record that rewards repeat listening (say on a long flight). 3.7 and rounding up (with bonus points more for Damon Runyon references than the Mercury Prize) but not a strong 4, a 4-minus, if you will.
Dance music is definitely not my thing, but this wasn't terrible; it starts fun, upbeat and tuneful, sort of predicting Daft Punk. But then it begins to illustrate several of the universal laws of dance music. 1. It doesn't work outside of a club (with possible exception of gym). 2. It doesn’t sound right at any time of day other than late night. 3. Listening sober is no good. 4. It began to grate the longer it went on. 5. The more vocals the worse the track. 6. Darker tracks read as failed attempts to be taken seriously. 6. The sound ages poorly (in this case the drum machine and synths), starting almost immediately, because of the overreliance on tech. 2.2 at best, even grading on the dance music curve.
Haunting, just haunting, with real depth, beauty and tunefulness within the darkness, which is enveloping. Powerful, too. You can hear the future of so much goth, gloom-pop, etc. to come.
State of the art pop from the late ‘80s, with a plethora of sugar-high hooks and packaged like a consumer product. It’s hard to argue with the number of hits and sales, but I find the oversinging (close to outright hollering at times, and way too breathless and syllable-adding at others at other) bothersome. But the tinny, canned beats (“Monkey” and “Look at Your Hands”) just don’t hold up very well and like a lot of high-end pop music, it’s overproduced and plays to the lowest common denominator of popular taste (which makes for forgettable and short lifespan). On the plus side, his voice is so good on “Kissing a Fool” (just a beautiful song – best thing he ever did in my view and makes me wish for more of such); “Hand to Mouth” is a cool tune, too, more compelling than all of the hits. Still the emphasis of sales over musical quality makes me downgrade the 3.6 to a 3.
Gritty, impassioned and powerful, but more straightforward than Stories and Let England Shake, and thus less sharp and dramatic. “Happy and Bleeding” and “Sheela-Na-Gig” and “Dress” are best moments (and very good indeed). One digs quite a few hooks (bassline on “Victory”) and like the rough edges (as at the end of “Dress.”) This is a solid 4, even without grading on the curve for the debut. Still, I feel compelled to question the presence of four PJH records in this list. (This one or Rid of Me would be the one to go, probably.) Artistic growth was going to come, but they never were going to be Radiohead.
Some intermittent drama, the occasional winning hook and very solid (even groovy textures with intricate instrumentation – cool keys here and there and strong, steady bassing), but there’s a one-note and droning quality that leaves me lukewarm – especially to the singing, which feels below average. The stiff vocals seem to befit the blocky structures. One hears the influence of “Peaches” and “Down in the Sewer” on The Fall. They were legendary live, weren’t they? This recordings may suffer in comparison. IMHO, they got better as they got poppier and more sophisticated, which represented a pretty big leap from the rougher early days heard here. The cheeky cover of “Walk on By” also rocks (in rather their original mode and maybe the best thing they ever did).
It’s like Bach programming a first-gen Atari set. Programmatic music with synths mimicking speeding cars … meh. The keys are kitschy as often as they’re catchy. Some weirdly wondrous moments (“Kometenmelodie 2” and closing track), plus obvious bonus points for originality, sure, but hasn’t aged that well. Has KW transcended previous under-ratedness and obscurity to become overhyped/overrated and, thus, underwhelming? Or is its reputation perfectly balanced with its aesthetic quality? 3.2 for 3.
Man is this ugly – just totally lurid and shocking – but also real funny and inventive. It meant to provoke, of course, trolling before trolling was cool, and succeeded spectacularly. Certainly the moralizing critics had a point about it being toxic, however much one wishes they would pipe down and/or make an effort to get in on the joke. The mushroom song is hilarious and horrifying at the same time. “Bonnie & Clyde” sounds cool but then the lyrics sink in – just ghastly especially in contrast to the “Two of Us” sample. That Maryilyn Manson thought it too shocking says everything. Beats are solid chill and there are nice-touch sound effects all over the place; the whole thing is set up to showcase the rhymes and storytelling, which is as it should be as Em raps spectacularly at times. Les Nessman and Marty Schottenheimer are two fave name-checks. Honestly, I hope my kids never listen to this, and for that I can’t decide whether that means Slim Shady deserves bonus points or demerits. I don't want to like it or admire it as much as I do; it too often goes too obviously for shock value. But hard to argue with the ambition, the narrative concept, and the vast majority of the execution. 3.8 for 4.
Definitely an artist to know, but how influential he has been I can’t say. I hear lots of subtly layered playing, two great songs I’m glad to know the provenance of (I’ve always loved Billy Bragg’s version of “Dolphins” and think I prefer Neil’s original “Everybody’s Talking at Me” to the bigger hit), a wonderful jammy raga to close, and distinctive (if heavy, blocky) voice. This feels like a period piece, though, again, a good one to know. 3.2 for 3.
Quite interesting and likable, but the contrast (or clash) of styles presented by “Hero” undercuts the overall effect. The influence sound of that song is clear – John Lydon would steal this vocal style. and Bowie pay respects – but it belongs on a different album and maybe to a different band. Sign me up for the chiller, subtler and more evocative tracks (“ISI,” “Seeland” “Leb Wohl” and “E-Musik”), all of which have wonderful meditative hooks (like spa or chill music before it was cool). I think I prefer Neu! to the much better known Kraftwerk. Glad to know it and will listen again. However, I am dubious about the “invented the remix” claim and can’t / don’t love unconditionally, at least not initially. 3.6 for 4 (but just barely).
Groovy right out of the gate, from literally the first note. Raw, ragged and rollicking, the Small Faces made a big sound and seem to be having a big time doing it. More garage-rocky than trippy or psychedelic, the all-out drum rolls and coruscating hooks and crunches, are nicely complemented by the keyboard flourishes and committed vocals. The music is great overall, but the spoken word story is silly and adds nothing, knocking this down to a 3.
All mud and no honey, and sheer monotony besides; guitars are fast and scratchy, vocals screechy and howly. If the songs weren’t so uniformly noisy, the snoring effect on the penultimate cut would be even more apt. 1.2 / 1.
Only goes so far. “Robots” is way too Sprockets-y right out of the gate, though subsequent tracks set a more artful mood and tone. Intermittently intriguing and even lovely (“Neon Lights”) but the synths make it very much non-timeless. One feels the pressure to like it as a signifier of good taste, but it’s just not aged all that well to these ears. For monotonous minimalism, give me Steve Reich or Terry Riley. If it’s high-concept and avant-garde (“sound poetry”), should we even consider it pop (much less rock) music?
Moby Grape: Can’t you just smell the lava lamps burning? Hipper and groovier than one expected and pretty tuneful, but true to the cliches of the ‘60s. One gets why there was some hype here, but it feels just about 55 years old, doesn’t it? More garage than psychedelic at times. Opening side is gritty and driving (save for “8:05” which is quite good) but starts feeling canned by the end. Side 2 is much the more effective. There’s something fun to “Ain’t No Use” and dreamy about “Sitting by the Window.” Overall, the playing seems just slightly above average and the singing maybe slightly below. One wants to say you’ll like this sort of thing if you like this sort of thing – this sort of thing being standard-issue ‘60s rock. Solid effort – but not much more – despite one of the dumbest band names in rock history.
Countrypolitan rules! If the record has a flaw, it’s the lack of rough edges – it’s almost too perfect. In fact, it’s as slick, shiny and all-in-place as the man's epic hair. Ingeniously conceived and perfectly executed. There are gorgeous keyboard and pedal steel flourishes all over the place. The unifying concept would be good loving gone bad or fear thereof. The even-toned, occasionally deadpanning crooning is steadily consistent – no matter how cheekily humorous, crushingly sad, shockingly earnest or blindingly self-delusional the line. One wonders how often he smiled (or winked) when performing these gems. About as good (and polished) as country can be. “Borrowed Angel” and “She Told Me So “are the highlights (for the irony, probably) but no real duds (save maybe for the closing cut). 4.4 for 4 (I wasn’t kidding about being too perfect and it also seems maybe more like a series of songs than an album.)
Lotsa flow and a few standout songs (“Back in the Day,” “Can You Hear Me”) – notably the more R&B-oriented ones – beyond “Work It.” One likes the empowered-woman vibe, but the boasting, self-referencing and name-dropping bore after a bit. The spoken-word stuff is tedious, too, even if it’s hard to disagree with the messaging. 3.4 > 3
Rich and varied, weird and wonderful, one can make a case that this is not just the best Beatles album, but the best two. Good records make it hard to pick the best 2 or 3 songs, great records the best 4-5; for this one, the top 8 or 10 are debatable. So many underappreciated gems – both from Lennon (“Happiness Is a Warm Gun,” “I’m So Tired” “Julia,” “Sexy Sadie,” “Me & My Monkey) and McCartney (“Mother Nature’s Son” and “Helter Skelter” [one wishes we’d heard from extreme Paul down the years.]) Plus solid contributions from Ringo and George. The contrasting cuts between tracks makes for compelling texture – from “Piggies” to “Rocky Raccoon” to “Don’t Pass Me By;” from “Bungalow Bill” to “While My Guitar;” from “Do It in the Road” to “I Will” are all attention-grabbing segues. Yes, “Revolution No 9” might have been a few minutes shorter and binning “Ob-La-Di” would be addition by subtraction, but it’s the excess that makes the overall record so excellent and endearing. I can’t get enough of this record, which is saying something, considering how much of it there is. So good that “Hey Jude” failed to make the cut. 4.8/5
Feels sort of bland and tired. “Sheriff,” “Please Be With Me,” and “Let It Grow’ are all good. Other tracks are mellow and inoffensive, generic and background-y. Clapton is not a very good singer. 3.3 for 3.
There’s an honesty and purity and directness to this singing and playing that is very rewarding. Burke had such a big voice, but it’s agile and fluid, too, moving smoothly through the different sub-styles (e.g., Calypso, blues, ballads). “You Can’t Love Them All” and “Beautiful Brown Eyes” are the highlights for me. 4/4. Easy.
Don’t get the hype. Self-serious and often silly, the lyrics are overcooked; he’s too clever by half and not as witty as he thinks he is (a dangerous mix). Musically, it’s undistinguished, with effects that mimic the overreaching jokes, if intermittently above average (“It’s Easier“). However you feel about Randy Newman, you’re likely to feel about this guy. I may explore another record or two, but this feels like a future unsubscribe. In the meantime, give me Craig Finn or Father John Misty over this snowflake any time. 3 (and only just)
Good solid Ska fun, definitely not all a load of bollocks. Won’t change your life, but will make you smile, which, come to think of it, can change your life, I suppose. “International Jet Set” is well remembered old fave. 3.3 for 3.
Moderately interesting and entertaining, but not much to get truly excited about. “Speedy Marie” and “Headache” and “Big Red” are solid+, but fall far short of Pixies at their best. Probably about even with the band’s replacement-level output. It all feels average (or above average if you like FB and the P’s) but not much stands out to any great degree (even accounting for high expectations). Also, the decent amount of dreck seems inevitable on a 22-track effort – with the net result being that we barely clear the forgettability threshold. I suspect inclusion of this record to be a personal project (pet peeve) of one of the editors. 2.8 for 3.
Sweet and dreamy and one can hear the the progress toward the high art of Pet Sounds. Still this is lighter and not fully cooked, especially side 1. Side 2 is demonstrably better and more interesting, reflecting that eternal dividing line of knowledge/appreciation re the Beach Boys (those who know only surfing/cars vs those who get, or are at least open to the idea of, Brian’s genius [it’s worth noting that endless reunion tours don’t help the latter’s cause]). Of the hits, I’ve always had a soft spot re “Help Me Ronda” but the dancing songs are too bubble-gummy. “Kiss Me,” “She Knows Me” and “I’m So Young” point forward. Good Beach-y fun, but relatively insubstantial in the shadow of what was to come. 3.5 for 3. [The author’s comments that this is better than Pet Sounds is mere trolling/provocation – it’s not close. The unspecified claim about “the worst track in the entire book” intrigues but doesn’t land – plus, just tell us the damn thing instead of more trolling.]
This is a nice – even very nice – record to know, largely because I suspect few people who read this book / take on this project would know it well, if at all. It’s just my speed, really, pleasantly understated overall, and extraordinarily smooth in its genre-fusing. But it never reaches desert island disc territory, never quite sweeps one fully away. “Somebody Who Loves You” sounds both terrifically intricate and powerfully intimate. “Help Yourself” and “Water with the Wine” are other highlights, plus the lap steel flourishes on the opener. “Polished and professional” is right, as is the idea that she deserved more than a pigeonhole and much better sales and acknowledgement. I loved the voice and style from first hearing (“Drop the Pilot” of course, which is a great song) and I'm sufficiently inspired to listen to this one more than once and to go deeper in the catalog, too. 3.8 for 4.
Cool and edgy, sharp and angular, jagged and argumentative – this sounds exactly like politically engaged music should sound. One can hear its influence (even if one wonders whether the influencees are fully aware of the actual influencers.) It gets to feeling a little one-note after a time, but this is a band/record to know for sure, and a clear marker of a cultural moment. 3.2 for 3.
Better than I remember. The opening chords echo across all time, even as the naughty lyrics have reached full taboo. It’s lurid and grimy – ”Can’t You Hear Me Knocking” might be the druggiest song ever. One is pleasantly surprised by the lesser-known and underrated “Sway” and “I Got the Blues” and “Moonlight Mile,” which maintain a very high standard between the hits. “Bitch” (all-time horn lick) and “Dead Flowers” (such countrified tongue-in-cheekiness) also stand out. One can make the case that "Brown Sugar" is actually one of the weaker cuts. “Wild Horses” is borderline mawkish, but Mick fully owns it. Some longeurs late, but awfully good overall, if not quite Beggars Banquet. 4.4 / 4
Not exactly Liege and Leaf, but sneakily and steadily good. The quieter cuts are best – ”Withered and Died,” “Has He Got a Friend,” The End of the Rainbow.” The cultural reclamation tunes (“The Cavalry Cross” “We Sing Hallelujah”) also work well in context. RT isn’t much of a singer, but the excellent and subtle playing, song selections and overall plan more than make up for it. 3.6 > 4
Maybe not quite his best (I prefer Illumination) but a very high level of quality is sustained from start to finish and oh was it good to get the Modfather back to recording. It’s a fully worthy installment in the Weller canon, the rest of which certainly should not be slept on. 3.6 > 4.
Generic '90s rock that aims to big, but not in ways that work for me. They still have too much competition in this genre and this era.
Just not that good. Likable and approachable, sure, but first half is awfully samey and formulaic (simple chords + mid-tempos + rolling beats + longing, semi-ironic vocals + rinse + repeat). Second half is slightly better. The steel guitar on “Hannah and Gabi” just reminds one how little variation there is. “Drug Buddy” and “Bit Part” are best of the lot. The S&G cover is merely annoying, partially because it was well-loved by knuckleheads. This is my sweet spot and era and these guys failed to impress then, a poor-man’s Replacements at best, strike me the same way now. They didn’t exactly overwhelm contemporary competition (Buffalo Tom, Soul Asylum and Grant Lee Buffalo and, adjacently, Yo La Tengo and Dinosaur, Jr. [both of which, along with the criminally-excluded-from-this-study ‘Mats, are much, MUCH better bands]). One smiles, one taps one’s toe, but remains underwhelmed, but "bubblegrunge" was on target and maybe flattering to the LH’s. 2.5 > 2
This was just to troll Greil Marcus, wasn’t it, because he included “Shake Some Action” (not pictured here) in his Rock History in 10 Songs (strong recommend). At their best, the FGs sound like the top Stones tribute band in suburban New Jersey, 1971 edition. Not exactly life-changing. Or, more to the point, had one died without hearing this, would anyone have noticed? 2.4 > 2.
I suppose this is the Platonic ideal of a certain class of fin de siecle funk/nu metal. But to this genre non-lover, I hear every song riding the same basic template – big, doofy metal hooks and banks, which drown out the interesting bits (e.g., the lighter, vaguely Indo groove on “Nowhere Fast” and the suggestion of slow burn on “Consequence”). The singer sounds like he’s competing in American Idol or some such, and seeking bonus points for range and emoting. And I’m sure some teenage fanboy (only boys of course) might tell me why this drummer (or bassist or guitarist) is the GOAT. And if I asked to know why and how this combo differs meaningfully from certain hair bands of earlier generations, I’d likely be told that I just don’t understand. Guilty as charged – this is not at all my thing and I just don’t see the case for hearing this urgently or ever.
Evidence of Stones expanding their palette in interesting ways – some credible, others less so. “LadyJane” Is most intriguing case in point. I took it seriously and probably found it beautiful upon first hearing it in late 70s, early 80s, but now it sounds contrived (probably because Stones abandoned such artiness in favor of … well, so many other alternatives.. Mick’s yelping, growling and whooping now sound more like a valid interpretation of the blues, and there are many cool guitar licks and accents. “Goin’ Home” is great and points the way forward to “Love in Vain” and the longer-form jams to come. Solid from top to bottom and one feels the gathering storm, even if this remains sub-masterpiece. Note the UK and US versions have different tracks -- the former opens with “Mother’s Little Helper” (latter with “Paint It Black”) and has more songs.
Edge and energized and I suppose distinctive (I've certainly heard little like it, especially with the thickly accented rapping), but I find it also pretty annoying and not very relatable. He sure rhymes fast. Must be something the kids like.
Every bit as cool as its reputation – and maybe even cooler. “Do Your Thing” is elevated and epic – just about as good as rock/soul/pop music can be. The title track completely unmistakable, truly one of a kind The instrumentals work every bit as well as those cuts where the nonpareil voice (casual, knowing) comes. Awesome in every way as it can be. 4.8 / 5
Pretty fucking epic. So many very-good-to-great songs (“Crucify,” “Girl,” “Silent,” “China” and “Little Earthquakes” and “Tear in a Hand”). There’s a likable consistency to the tone and arrangements (centered on vocals and piano), and yet enough variety to keep listeners consistently engaged. Her voice is classic (if occasionally overextended) and the playing and instrumentation offer lots of grace notes and nice touches. This is way better than I remember (heard a lot when it came out) and has aged extremely well (even improved), an easy 4.5, even accounting for the fact that it was one of my ex-wife’s favorite records, and rounding up for overall excellence.
The odd career arc to go from shy and fey and suffering synth types to the club music equivalent of arena rockers never made sense. This seems a reach to be taken more seriously by being less danceable, but the hooks get a little mechanistic and blocky. “Nothing” and “Agent Orange” are engaging, but “Route 66” and the “Moonlight Sonata” are utterly unconvincing, not even as filler.
Haunting and austere. The playing seems extra clean and there’s a tired, take-it-or-leave-it feel to the vocals. Classic, yet underrated. 4
An encyclopedia of rock and roll and cliches, circa 1972. Is it possible to enjoy “Smoke On the Water” in any non-ironic sense? (I doubt “Space Truckin’” can be enjoyed at all.) And three Deep Purple records on this list – seriously? Someone needs to time-travel a good bit forward.
This has held up extremely well. I remembered it seeming a bit forced and over involved back in the day, but it sounds great today, raw and driving and engaging. Opens strong – first 4-5 cuts are all very good. And ends strong, too – “Next Time Round,” which I don’t recall hearing before is a new BFF track for me.
More rocking than one expects – especially the opener and the sizzling solo on “Out of the Blue” (one can hear Ultravox and early 80s guitars that were on the way). And just great fun all the way around (“If It Takes All Night,” “Casanova”). A lot more than meets the eye beyond the cover (which was a favorite and first stop on visits to any record store in any mall for this teenage boy).
Much comes down to whether you like Berman’s relaxed-yet-tortured vocal style or not, and (his also relaxed-yet-tortured) imagistic lyrics. I’m good on both and thus consider this a quirky classic and minor masterpiece. Many good songs, with highlights throughout. “Slow Education,”” Time Will Break the World,” “Horseleg Swastikas, “Tennessee”
Pleasant enough, but not much more than moderately interesting. She sings too precisely and almost talks on a few cuts. The arty guitar ‘80s vintage (“Straight Lines,” Undertow”) is probably the highlight. To be appreciated more than excited by.
Can’t tell an album by the cover, I suppose. I was expecting some harmonies, maybe some sweetness, but these guys sound like a completely unskilled and totally overexcited cover band from some region not known for its music or art scenes … oh, wait, that’s what they were.
Just tinny sounding and awful. Not just ‘80s-cheesy-bad, but timelessly awful in being stupid and posturing and playing into the worst rock cliches (including taking themselves way too seriously). The worst part is that they seemed to make the world safe for even shittier and lamer hair bands and so many more bad power ballads. “Photograph” is a great song. Otherwise, this is gets awfully close to Spinal Tap territory (“Stagefright” especially).
Of moderate interest musically, but lyrically pretty silly. “Stephanie Knows” is overstuffed and not representative of what’s to come, most immediately, the dreamy “Orange Skies.” “She Comes in Colors” is a Stones rip-off, no? The most interesting song, the epic, slow-jam closer “Revelation” suggests the darkness of the ‘70s to come, with some guitaring that sounds like Neil Young was sitting in and a soprano sax (or clarinet) solo for the ages. Those bits are way better than the extended vocal improv bit in the middle of the 20 minutes, and the strange transition ending – drum solo into harpsichord nod-off.
Other than a few moments (“Last Goodbye,” “Lover,” of course, “Hallelujah”), this is overwrought and not all that great. Title cut is particularly excessive and the singing generally is extreme; is he showing off on the Britten piece (which feels lovely but also that it belongs on a different record, maybe, if only for the rap-rock opening to next cut)?. The mood is also undercut by too many hard-rock/even metal-y riffs. This record was ubiquitous for being overhyped (IMHO) back in the day – who doesn’t love the dying-young-romantic-rock-n-roll-hero story? Old as Byron and Keats at least.
Undoubtedly fun and funky, but may be too chicken-friend for my tastes. Personal highlights include “Whispering Pines” and “Rockin’ Chair” and “Look Out Cleveland.”I find the singing sort of labored at times, too, though mostly effective, even if vocal quality isn’t exactly first-rate. (Dylan would be the comp I suppose and vocals hold up well there.) I recognize that this may have been a very “of the moment” record in 1969, but it’s hard to hear that now or judge the music based in terms of social commentary or perceived impact. And anyway Big Pink is considerably better.
Four albums by Metallica in this list is just a joke. Even the editors make apologies for this one (“tinny sound,” “overprocessed,”). Clearly they’re the experts on this genre and this band. Other than a very few redeeming bits (the opening section of “One,” which sounds briefly like actual, you know, music), I just hear repetitive sound and structure, grunted vocals, sophomoric lyrics, thrashy breaks with quick flips back to speed (what editors call “riff salads”). For all the extremity, it’s quite paint by numbers.
Likably (if intentionally) ragged and discordant. Same with the strained vocals, which are obviously (and perhaps excessively) affected, as nearly everything is with Malkmus. “Cut Your Hair” is a stone-cold classic (and not just for stoners) and “Range Life” is excellent. I think this band has an understandably split personality based on being underrated by half of the listening public and overrated by the other half. I’ve never been entirely sure how seriously they want to be taken. The all-pervasive ironies, the constant smugness, the off-key singing, the lo-fi “whatever” vibe – they don’t want to make it easy for you to like them, though Malkmus wont’ fully commit to the tortured artist act, either. All of which tells us … what, exactly? Again, I’ve never been sure about this band. I might be overthinking it, the kind of thing I suspect Malkmus would both do and make fun of others for doing. The only thing that’s clear is that this is a very good record
I am so down with music that makes you sexier – not just feel sexier, but actually be sexier and enhance your performance, too. Just buttery smooth and awesome. Neo-soul forever.
Nice that Iggy got sober, and Bowie helped him out, but musically, this is pretty dull and droning. Iggy is neither blessed with a good voice nor a good singer – at least not on this record. He sounds rusty, like a poor man’s Lou Reed recorded while swimming underwater. Are we supposed to take “China Girl” seriously? The warbly voice that gives itself over to screaming suggests IP is taking the piss. The band has its moments of fine form (including on “China Girl” once Iggy stops wailing) and “Tiny Girls” is somewhat affecting. But one man’s musical therapy does not necessarily a great record make. 2.5 and only rounding up based on the “godfather of punk” rule.”
I was blown away by this record when I first heard it in college radio days in the mid-to-late ‘80s and I’m even more impressed at how well it’s stood up. Soul Mining avoids all the excess and cliche of the era. It’s dramatic and cinematic; new wave-y, but not self-consciously so; it’s politically committed and serious-minded, but not humorless; it’s emotionally rich and balanced and musically intriguing. “This Is the Day” is a first-rate pop song and “Uncertain Smile” a higher-order musical event, truly one for the ages with an all-time great piano solo (I ran right for the extended 9+ minute mix after hearing it here for the first time in ages). “The Twilight Hour” and “Giant” are also hugely engaging and very impressive tracks (but generally, little-known). So good, with bonus points for reconnecting me to my youth.
There’s a math problem or science experiment feel to this … a producer in his studio with all the toys, or a mad scientist in his lab. But when the groove gets right – as on “other voices” and "call the police” and – it’s very right indeed. Sounding very much how 2017 felt for an aging hipster, the druggy drones of club life are given a heavier weight and sharper edge. Equally suitable to headphones or the dance floor, this is music to simultaneously boogie to and ruminate on.
Yes, funky, and yes, complex rhythmically, but personally, I find too much going on here, especially percussion-wise. Title track, “Holiday” and “Blues la Machito” are tops for me but there is a large amount of sameness, inclusive of much impressive playing and soloing. Plus it all sounds good. But it’s almost too jazzy, too typically popular big band (as Machito aimed for the charts and broad acceptance, one supposes). One wishes for a bit more of a world music feel. Compare this to say Ethiopiques albums and you see what I mean. File under “not quite my thing.”
“On the point Tip – Yea, all the time.” A little leaner and straight-up funkier than first record, but not quite as chill, fun or boldly creative. Awfully strong all the way around, especially or a second outing so soon after the first, speaking to the Tribe’s high professionalism.
A forgotten and underrated genius. This is soulful, sprawling and serious. Godfather of hip-hop indeed. Was a pleasure to go deeper with an artist I knew only tangentially.
Maybe this was ahead of its time, but it feels tired and pointless today. The songs are too long and just not that interesting. If you said this pointed the way toward industrial music, would that be a feature or a bug? His later records would suggest that, born in another era, Lydon could’ve been a Borscht Belt comedian or vaudeville ventriloquist, such a poseur is he.
Strong beats and a steady stream of solid cuts. Shows some passion and thoughtfulness re soical issues without being preachy or presumptuous.
A case can be made that few, if any, ‘80s band are truer to the core essence – the raw soul – of rock and roll than the ‘Mats. That’s true both in spirit and execution. There’s skiffle and punk and early rave up in it. Buddy Holly, Chuck Berry, Hamburg Beatles, early Elvis, Jerry Lee Lewis – all of these would have endorsed what Westerburg & co. were up to. “Unsatisfied” is an all-time personal fave, “I Will Dare” a great opener, and “Androgynous,” “Seen Your Video” “Sixteen Blue” and “Answering Machine” very good, too. Westerburg could be RnR HoF for songwriting reasons alone, and the band in the antics division. There were more very strong (and more polished) records to come, a few of which could easily be in this list.
DM always seemed about making dance music that wanted to be taken seriously. It’s not a formula that has ever added up for me, save for the very occasional breakthrough exception (e.g. “People Are People”) that proves the rule. “Enjoy the Silence” and “Policy of Truth” are best songs. I’ve always found the unforgettable bounce and hook of “Personal Jesus” more annoying than anything, the lyrics just silly (and likely intentionally provocative). This might be as good a record as this genre can produce, and it’s interesting to me how big and popular DM got, but that just proves another rule: broad popular taste can’t be trusted. Thought I’d like this more after all these years, but, sadly, no.
Angular and hooky and melodic and oh so influential, this is music for intelligent folk. It’s also the Rosetta Stone for New Wave and indie rock, a source document that would be plundered in the decades that followed. The vocals are pretty mediocre (and not too pleasant to hear), but the vibes, mood and tempo are compelling, as is the lack of studio trickery. The title track is an epic of understatement, how you can go big in rock without being utterly bombastic – it’s a minor miracle that it was recorded in one track. “Elevation” and “Guiding Light” (oh, the lilting outro) are also fantastic, simultaneously entrancing and ear-wormy. It’s amazing how much they could mine from a pretty simple and straightforward approach. One for the ages and rounding up because they have been criminally overlooked and underrated.
Powerful and haunting. The straight-up blues of the opener is great, followed by the harrowing and novelistic. “Four Women.” “That’s All I Ask” and “Either Way I Lose” are both very strong. Much comes down to how one feels about her voice. This is a tour de force of singing, with believable and compelling performances ranging from deep vulnerability and tenderness to outright rage and despair and bitterness.
There’s a lot to like here, with quite a few enjoyable (if broad and middle-of-road-y) songs. There’s very much of a Britpop’s final days feel to this, meaning that some of it can feel tired and generic. Maybe rocks unnecessarily hard (to my taste) here and there but “Rolling People” is overall fine. “Sonnet” and “The Drugs Don’t Work” and “Velvet Morning” are also strong. To me, the charge of Oasis-lite is pretty on target, but I may be missing some subtle differences. This feels a little more considered (maybe too much so) and a good bit less showy (though still posturing). There is some annoying repetition in the lyrics and vocals across several songs (singing the same words again and again) which is meant for emotional impact but falls flat after a few reprises. There’s a reaching for seriousness that doesn’t always come off and though I enjoyed this but I’m left short of feeling elevated or even that much engaged.
Tight, rollicking and sharp-edged, this is classic EC. Every song works, the sound is well unified, with the organ bleeping and swirliing making strong links and all sorts of nifty, biting guitar licks ("Chelsea" especially). There are almost too many highlights to name – “No Action,” “This Year’s Girl” "The Beat" "Don't ... Chelsea," “Lipstick Vogue” "Radio Radio." This was an artist moving from strength to strength and staying at the top of the game.
The “til Tuesdayesque rocker that opens the record is a bit off-point in terms of what’s to come which is very polished and utterly winsome songwriter-powered pop. Just a treat to listen to, really, as was the whole career renaissance that followed.
The textures make the record, the mix of beats, samples and live playing – especially the live playing. A lot to dig. Fun to hear Q-tip in this context.
Likably DIY and attitudinal. “Hot Topic” is a highlight, one of the awesomer pop tunes of the late ‘90s – all politically/socially aware songs should be this danceable. “Eau d’Bedroom Dancing” is good fun, too and the last few tracks are engaging, too. Solid, fun and interesting – a rare trifecta for pop bands to pull off, especially second acts and side projects.
More varied and interesting than the early records and a strong contrast even to Stories. The anger takes on more compelling forms than rage and hollering. PJ actually sings most of the record, and in a sense it’s almost more haunting to hear her voice at lower decibel and more accessible pitch. So many grace notes – the bugle gate-call on “This Glorious Land” – add texture and dimension. “On Battleship Hill” and “Hanging on the Wire” are lovely. The lighter touch makes a bigger impact on this mature minor, masterpiece of a sort. 4.2 for 4.
I was born to entertain, so here I go.” That seems about right. One gets the feeling he’s doing this for himself, following his muse and exploring his ideas, more than worrying what the listener would expect. Some of the songs (“Promised Land”) emphasize concept/angle over payoff (or all premise-no punchline as comics say).“Pristeen” is strong opener, followed by a few pretty meh tracks. Then things elevate significantly – “Not Raving” and “Head” and “Beautiful Love” and “American Lite” are all good and “Las Vegas Basement” is a highlight to close. Maybe slightly excessive as a double album, but interesting and engaging all the way through from an artist that’s worth getting to know a bit better.
Will the real Love please stand up? This could not be more different than Da Capo, which is worthwhile in very different ways. This sounds like – and the chart history would seem to confirm – like a failed experiment, a band searching for an identity. The horns, strings and other flourishes provide several affecting (though perhaps excessively Donovan-esque) moments. Personally, I like the softer playing, but one never feels maximum impact. That Arthur Lee got a second life is satisfying (he deserved more recognition), but it’s possible this the recovery of Love’s reputation is a case of protesting too much against the initial obscurity. 3.5
Utterly lush and lavnish. So many great tracks within a nicely integrated feel overall. Beyond the obvious (“Wouldn’t It Be Nice,” “Sloop John B”), the very mature and uncanny cuts (“That’s Not Me” and “Caroline, No” and “I Just Wasn’t Made for These Times”) make the record. The brightness and harmonies hide the shadows and weirdness (aren’t we glad Brian had this creative outlet?). Beyond the contrapuntal hymnal feel, there’s vulnerability and authenticity in the storytelling – the songs are about confused kids trying to find love, stay positive and be grateful (to put it in contemporary, self-carey terms). Sure, it’s over-indulgent at times, but that’s where the opulence and ethereality come from, so too the fucking Bach-esque haunting of the liltiest bits and highest glee-club registers (the vocals on “You Still Believe in Me” are a chorale, for christ’s sake). No way BB Today! Is a better record (as editors claim). That’s blasphemy, not even a quality troll because it’s so wrong (plus being indicative of dodgy taste). 4.8
Bouncy and spicy and inventively sampled and layered, plus enlightened-sounding and fun to listen to. This monolingual globalist knows he’s missing a lot of meaning and subtlety and probably irony, too. Still, doesn’t quite get to life-changing or deathbed-worthy. 3.4
Eight Bowie records is entirely too many for this list and this is one that could be easily cut. TIile cut is fine of course but the gloomy instrumentals on side 2 are extremely tedious and pointless -- even for Eno fans – and sound dated besides. This is replacement-level at best, with only the rarest bits of intrigue.
This is fine and fun to listen to and yes of course one realizes just how seminal and influential this must have been (without LR, no … DNA, stem cells, etc, etc.) and it’s fun to imagine a previous generation hearing “A-wop-bop-a-loo-bop” for the first time. But it seems pretty basic to hear now and hard to get too excited about (one is so terribly jaded, one supposes). One also notes how the sax was once positioned to become the star of the show in rock and roll (instead of the guitar and behind the outlandish frontman of course).
A masterpiece and right up my hip-hop alley, with chill beats and fun samples, easy rhymes and flows and great production. Sounds just as fun today as did 30 years ago.
This starts off just okay but then gets very good on the back side, which feels much less frantic and forced. As much as I like Karen O’s voice, she deploys the same tricks on song after song (especialy the rockers). “Soft Shock” and “Runaway” and “Dragon Queen” and “Hysteric” and “Little Shadows” are best cuts. All of the best ones are quieter and dreamier (mostly later in record), which together make for a satisfying ending. YYYs were certainly au courant and very much “now” back in its time, but (sigh) not so much anymore. Still this had them almost living up to their ( unjustifiably huge) hype. 3.6 > 4
I love a synthtart band as much as the next (straight) guy, but this is hard to credit. I mean, “Shopping”? “What Have I Done” is an all-time earworm, but only in the annoying sense. The sound is hollow on some songs and the synths deeply cheesy on others (“It’s a Sin”). On the plus side, “I love you/You pay my rent” is pretty funny. I realize there might be finely honed irony too subtle for me to perceive, but to me the overall effects are of lightness and silliness. A poor man’s Blow Monkeys, and that’s a very charitable assessment.
Feels more trippy than punk, and DIY in the extreme. One appreciates the influence more than one enjoys the music. Not even Mark Smith of the Fall sounds as much like Mark Smith of the Fall as Iggy does here.
This no doubt sounded hopelessly futuristic then, which perfectly balances its sounding hopelessly dated now. Eno’s ambient is an order of magnitude better (his stuff only occasionally sounds like A Planet of the Apes soundtrack) and Kraftwerk the poppier side of prog better. Sure, there are a few moments, but they pass too quickly – e.g., Pt 5 sounds briefly like a Bach fugue but then morphs into a TV soundtrack theme, with chimes sounding not ominous or profound, but more contrived and self-consciously weighted. Maybe this was precisely when 80s started; if so, let’s run back the clock shall we and see if we can choose a more propitious course or at least wait a bit til the synths outgrew this beeping-and-blooping thinness.
False and artificial-sounding from the first note. Yes, there are some likable (even infectious) grooves (e.g., “Rhythm Nation,” “Alright”) and some sweetness here and there (“Love Will Never Do,” “Livin in a World,” “Someday is Tonight”). But the heavy-handed (to put it mildly) production and canned beats mostly overwhelm the musicality such that there’s a distinct lack of soul that makes this feel utterly disposable and mostly forgettable.
Non-troglodytic classic rock. Morrison’s got the archetypal rock star voice and mien and the band are so tight and polished behind, even when they are aiming to show rough edges. Opens with an all-time lick and, after a few weaker cuts, excels from “Peace Frog” right through to the end. It all feels fresh and even a bit fun, too. One always worries about the Doors taking themselves a bit too seriously, and one suspected this would have not aged well (one took it so seriously when one was younger, that how could one take it seriously now?) but there’s still a vitality and relevance to the mood and tone. They were in a groove about this time and it plays out to pretty powerful and enjoyable effect overall. And we’ve all had time enough away and one is comfortable enough of his own skin not to not feel embarrassed about liking it now.
Hooky and melodic punk, it’s easy to see how this points forward to new wave and why people get excited about it but really it’s no great shakes for me personally. 3.2/3
Rollicking, high-impact and true-sounding. Hard to resist the purity of the rhyming and the hooks and beats, which start big and keep getting bigger. One certainly wishes for less Aerosmith in the world generally and rap-rock is long since played-out, but the cover of “WTW” is pretty great fun, though borderline novelty and just barely makes the top 5 songs on the record. Considering all that’s happened in hip-hop in the 35 years (including the baleful emphasis on violence and the virulent sexism), this can seem quaint at times, but it holds up awfully well and remains a stone-cold classic for a reason, the definition of old-school hip-hop.
The offbeat samples (some syrupy – almost woozy – classical strings, old movie soundtracks, eerily repeating bells over simple drum tracks, classic soul) make the record, but maybe don’t make it quite the cinematic or novelistic experience its creators intended. Does this record reflect the height of gangsta’s baroque period? Still, it’s an interesting listen.
One likes the kaleidoscopic, even messianic, pop here; one senses TR’s urgency and immense commitment and that he wants to share. There is a nearly tangible joy and exuberance in the considerable sprawl; one pictures a boy with the run of a fully stocked toy store, a mad scientist in his expertly equipped lab (see silly Studio Sounds spoken word piece and the much better “Breathless - Instrumental” that follows). TR comes off as a solitary visionary than a tortured artist, and it’s quite good fun, if excessively accessorized, too densely layered and obviously show-offy at times. Sameyness is a fair criticism, especially the over-reliance of keyboard manias (some of it sounding quite harpsichordy). Also, it probably didn’t have to be a double album (“Money” doesn’t feel absolutely necessary, e.g., and the studio chatter adds nothing). But there’s a wealth of quality – if not quite an embarrassment of riches: “Couldn't’ I Just Tell You” and “Dust in the Wind” are excellent, while “I Saw the Light” and “Hello It’s Me” are hits for a reason. “It Wouldn’t Have …” “Cold Morning Light” “Marlene” “Carousel Burned Down” and “You Left Me Sore” are all very solid. “Slut” highlights how sexual perceptions and boundaries have changed. Definitely worth knowing, this one.
Hooky and thrashy, but super repetitive and not all that interesting. "Broken Hearts" isn't bad, a nice break from the overdone heaviness. "Funny Vibe" is neither. "Glamour Boys" would be good save for more heavy-handed axing. "What's Your Favorite Color" shows how they coulda/shoulda leaned into funk instead of sinking into the mire of metal-y sludge. Decent vocals but the little broadcast snippets add nothing and feel totally tacked-on. Nothing special here and if not imminently forgettable, then at least mostly so.
Certainly they transcend the novelty act trap (and memories) but don’t get to actual substance or any real merit beyond the occasional chuckle or non-negligible cleverness. “Satisfaction’ works pretty well and “Gut Feeling” is the closest to straight-up effectiveness in the New Wave/indie rock vein – but there’s a saminess has the satire wearing thin before too long. One likes the commitment to doing something different and pretty damn original without loving the output. In time, the funny hats would make it hard to take the music seriously; one wonders if they were taking the piss out of their fans or who took whom too seriously (or not seriously enough). One doesn’t think enough of the product to be inspired to consider the depth or poignancy of the social satire (consumer culture is a pretty fat target) or how this fares as performance art. (That it was on the radio makes pop music the main genre. Were they merely a less serious Talking Heads? Were they outdone by their spiritual heirs (e.g., They Might Be Giants, Dead Milkmen and Magnetic Fields)? 2.5 > 2
It’s the tuneful and dramatic passages (“I Know What I Like” “Firth of Fifth” “After the Ordeal” and “The Cinema Show” are standout examples ) that make prog rock albums for me, and there are certainly more than a few here. They create a kind of mosaic-y feel (artists probably want you to think Renaissance tapestries). “More Fool Me” and “Epping Forest” (at least the first part) sound pretty modern. And while I like quite a few bits, there is almost as much excessive noodling and Gabriel gets dangerously close to “Minister of Silly Voices” territory here and there. Still, pretty solid overall and holds up relatively well.
Best lines: “I rock pleats in my khakis” and “You look like A.C. Green / Don’t call here anymore.” It’s all in the beats and the eerie, almost sinister instrumentation (guitar twirls repeating, synth and keys chiming quietly). Too many references to Eminem maybe and the Vince Carter shout-out dates it, obvs. As hard to look past the misogyny as it is the milestone influence.
If Japan stole some from Roxy Music, then Duran Duran stole most [maybe all] from Japan. I don’t know whether this is more New Wave or New Romantic, but it feels ahead of its time for ‘79 and a big advance from glam which had got awfully tired. Certainly, this sounds like the '80s looked. Way underrated.
Lots of interesting sound, but more vibey than tuneful. "Two Weeks," the most tuneful, earworms in the worst way. Few of the songs advance far beyond the premise, which feels workably arty though also cold and hypothetical. Thought this record was overhyped upon release and still think so.
Shrill, sprawling and squalling – and excessively nu-metallic for one’s taste. The “everything at once and at high speed” vibe is grating and the breaks (e.g., the first part of “Eriatarka” [whatever TF that means]; the last part “Cicatriz Esp [whatever TF that means]) are far too few. One’s limited genre knowledge means one can’t judge all the virtuosity (which seems pretty extensive). Bonus points for crystalline production and the “let’s throw it all on the wall and see what sticks attitude,” though ultimately this feels like much ruckus with little merit. 2.7/3
So loose and lush, flamboyantly fun and futuristically funky, -- “a whole lot of rhythm goin’ round” indeed. This is original and classic, with a warm and welcoming let-it-all-hang-out vibe and great joyfulness. One loves the updating of old-time gospel (“Swing Low Sweet Chariot”) to the space age, which makes George Clinton the Sun Ra of his genre. There’s a reason so much of this is sampled. And bonus points for coining (one thinks) “the bomb."
Literate, clever ("Must you tell me all your secrets when it's hard enough to love you knowing nothing?") and excellent, this is a hallmark of early '80s indie rock or alt pop or post-new wave or something. One can make a case he was a kinder, gentler (or better read and educated) Elvis Costello, but this and next few records had a lot to offer, even if he never seemed quite cut out for music biz. An all-time personal favorite, though one can see the flaws (perhaps too many name-droppy preferences and pretty muddy production). The tone and tenor and surfeit of great songs – "Perfect Skin," "Forest Fire" and "Patience" "Are Your Ready to Be Heartbroken" and "Rattlesnakes" – more than compensate. Barely a foot wrong here.
Art music of the highest order, both powerfully beautiful and beautifully powerful, and perhaps the apotheosis of their yearslong shift from mere rock band to sonic artists, authentic cultural expression and rich commentary on time and the world. Ambient and affecting and ambitious Interesting and intense. On and on (and on...) one could go – haunting and harrowing, intense and intelligent, etc., etc.
Just-right reggae, with squeaky clean beats and perfectly balanced tempos, nary a note goes wrong.
ery much has that so-underrated-that-it’s-come-to-be-overrated energy. Moody and groovy. It sounds more classic than dated actually (though organ is a bit in its prominence, sounds hockey rinkish at times). But, overall, it’s all a bit too basic to be any sort of major musical milestone. Everyone loves an underdog (in this case studio musicians), wants to root for good guys (i.e, unsung heroes) to make it, and even more so to flatter their own taste and perception by discovering hidden gems and the non-obvious. But such overcompensations often distort the fundamental truths of thing; and for this album that truth is that it’s cool and groovy and an authentic artifact and should be better known, but is really only above average along each of these vectors. I bet there are in this class rather more underappreciated such artifacts out there waiting to be discovered. A 4 but just barely.
One's always dinged and (perhaps) underrated Elton for all the silliness and celebrity-ing. This is quality, with spirit and soulfulness in the playing and singing and no shortage of willingness to have some fun. One forgets how good songs like "Harmony" were/are. Perhaps the softening in one's cynicism toward certain stars is to be expected. 3.7 / 4
Grim, gorgeous and powerful. Stylewise, it’s art song in the mode of John Cale, with Leonard Cohen gravitas, and some vague echoes (for me) of The Final Cut. Hard to imagine what he would have been dealing with emotionally. 4.1 > 4
Four all-time tunes -- "Rolling Stone," "Queen Jane Approx," [maybe his greatest ever] "Tom's Thumbs" and "Desolation Row" -- somehow don't add up to a 5 because much of the middle bits are pretty samey and even get a little grating. "Blood on the Tracks" is his classic, and while this is extraordinary by anyone else's standards, it's just not quite peak Dylan to me, consistently superior outputs perhaps leading to unfair expectations.
Brilliant and beautiful -- is there a better or bolder track 1 of a debut album than "Suite Judy Blue Eyes"? The rest of the record holds true, too, and the strength of the lesser known songs is testament to the overall quality. Deja Vu might be even better. One wonders how modern production techniques would have lifted the sound, elevated the harmonies even higher.
One prefers the lyrical sweetness ("Sunday Morning," "Femme Fatale," "I'll Be Your Mirror") to the harsher tracks, but the power surely originates in the contrast. Bonus points to this record for the classic tracks of "There She Goes" and "All Tomorrow's Parties" – it's the melancholia, innit?
Undoubtedly cool and vibe-y and obviously influential though one's not qualified to say whether it's the greatest downtempo album ever. One certaintly doesn't agree with the notion that "Unfinished Sympahty" is the song of the decade. The vocals are pretty shaky at times and sound dated, but would have been ahead of their time, viewed slightly differently. The follow-up records are better – Protection for the chiller, fatter grooves and less-is-more vocals and Mezzanine for its sheer massiveness and fond memories of the day (the exclusion of the latter from this list makes no sense).
Neither terrible nor terribly interesting, this record’s inclusion smacks of rockism. Feels pretty indistinct in the post-grunge, high-alt category – in which there were many similar bands (say the non-included Foo Fighters) circa late-90s. Editors claim they’re more original than Britpoppers, who were surely cleverer by half and much less one-note, too. There are winning moments and effects, but they get a bit lost in the excessively rock-y din (see the fade-out of “Darkside Lightside”).. Best song: “Gone the Dream,” though the Jackie Chan and “Oh Yeah” and “Lost in You” are also strong. Grading up on the curve for they were only 19, and then down because of the (really shouldn’t have been mentioned) "unmentionable" hidden track, plus they don’t seem to have done much since this impressive-ish debut.
“Take On Me” has always sounded like it should have been a one-hit wonder. The rest of this record more than confirms that impression. What’s the most apt description of A-ha: a pale and unsophisticated imitation of Roxy Music? A poor man’s Depeche Mode? (Who’d a thunk one would ever find oneself defending Depeche Mode!?!?) While the video, for its originality and quality, might – might – be worth knowing before one passes, one could very peacefully and contentedly pass without knowing this record.
Well, what can one say about nuevo tango (or any tango) – you either dig it or you don't. This is intense, both in the driving passages and the melanchoic suspensions (where it sounds like the composer is questioning himself). GB adds a swing and ligthness to a form that can get somber and rigid. One hasn't the authority to say whether this should be included or excluded to other milestones of the genre (or sub-genre), but surely there must be room for more. The setting at Montreux would seem to add to both the intensity (of which neuvo tango had plenty) and the occassion. "Laura's Dream" is a highlight.
"Cute cute in a stupid-ass way" is the obvious (also fitting) snark. Great voice, if a little too theatrical in the phrasings -- a bit too rooted in Sinatra-era and vaguely Shatneresque, too. Arrangements are way overdone – a near blizzard of schmaltz, the aural equivalent of polyeste, velour and Sansabelt slacks. The oozing, melodramatic orchestrations also undercut the social commentary on "Next" and other songs, which seem as if they're meant to be taken more seriously than the music allows. Same with the stiff, neutral and occasionally smiley vocals. The vibe and aesthetic are very1960s television variety show and not sure who came first, SW or Neil Diamond, but one's decidely not hip to either.
The love child of punk and glam , fully impish and a touch zany this is quite good fun. Way better than Arctic Monkeys, todays closest comp. Trying to recall if better than Superchunk a band Of same era. “Sofa of my Lethargy” is best cut and a great song. “Alright” and “She’s So Loose” and “Time” and “Time to Go” are also strong.
So many good songs beyond the obvious “hits” – notably “Tears of Rage” and “Kingdom Come.” And the outre twaningness late in the record is also great – “Chest Free” and “The Wheel’s on Fire” have a lot going on and most of it is quite good. Vocals aren’t optimal (on “I Shall Be Released” in particular) but effective enough. I rate this higher than the 2nd record. Last Waltz should be on this list, if only for historical impact and resonance (Neil’s “Helpless,” Scorcese, etc.) and because many of the same songs play better live.
Who knew they were Finnish? The band is exceedingly poorly packaged and one wonders who the band is for. They look like glam-hair metalists (e.g., Motley Crue, Ratt), but then shift into much looser and more tuneful cuts, with indie, roots and roadhouse inflections. Not that it’s great – it’s frequently bashing and the lyrics are rudimentary – like childhood limerick rudimentary (maybe because ESL because Finnish). The rolling pianos and honking saxes are nice touches, but there’s a drum break that was surely lifted from the Bay City Rollers. And too often the band reverts to metal posturing (sometimes in the same songs with more promising alt-y hooks). “Tooting Bec Wreck” is almost indie rock in orientation, like the Replacements on a well organized day. “Sailing Down” is molten and plenty metal for one’s tastes. It’s also brief, which one likes, and surprisingly good doesn’t necessarily equate to great. Plus, serious points off for paving the way to hair metal.
The problems of prog rock are on full view in the segue from “Roundabout” a great rollicking rock tune, to “Cans and Brahms” which sounds like a soundtrack to an underfunded children’s television show. The dramatic contrast, wherein ambitious prog rockers likely thought the art came in, reads as pointless, silly and self-defeating. “Made from Heaven” and “South of the Sky” redeem matters with engaging moments and passages. “Long Distance Runaround,” with its rich and satisfying hooks and layering, is the best of prog rock, with enough counterpoint to build tension and noodling to present surprise, but not too much to lose the listener. Anderson is a strong and distinct (likely underrated) vocalist. “The Fish” is groovy. “Heart of the Sunrise” is very affecting at times but compromised by the Vincent Price-y organ explorations (another example of prog rock’s original sin [they would prefer one to say Achilles Heel] of trying to do too much with every song, of burdening them with too much compositional weight and structure). Still, one believes this to be a high-water mark for one's favorite prog band.
Wondering how to make the world’s most pompous and self-serious band even more so? Add a full orchestra. The crowd noise and singalongs are silly and grow increasingly annoying. Like so much metal this is strictly for fans; non-fans will find it super-samey, a monotony — nay, an eternity — of glug-glug-glug (with the extra ballast of strings) and might be given to wonder how this is anything more than a heavier Mannheim Steamroller. The opening instrumentals are vaguely interesting (likely because there is the least Metallica).
Tuneful and R&B-driven, with every track offering considerable merit. One digs the musical mood, as well as the candid talk about sex, bodies and money from the women’s perspective (e.g., "Honest honest .... I'ma take all I can get / that money keeps that pussy wet.") A work of authenticity, feeling and (one thinks) considerable social currency. Maybe coulda been longer.
Rough, discordant and assertively ugly. This can feel like musical nihilism, but then certain riffs seem to have a point (or want to reach one) – see “Brendan #1” and “Shut the Door.” One doesn’t mind the shadowy elements or overall toughness – see “Blueprint” and the guitar work on “Reprovisional,” though the latter is ruined by the vocals. In fact, across the record, the singing … well, it isn’t really singing, is it? “Song #1” sounds like a bad (and much older) Beastie Boys cover band. As with some abstract expressionism, one feels the artist is deliberately trying to offend (or at least startle). In that sense, it’s job done, but at the cost of ensuring one will not be inclined to seek this out ever again. Fans will feel themselves special for withstanding the assault. The band is basically choosing its fans by asking “who can stand to listen to this?” One feels the record deserves a severe rounding down as it might have been vastly more interesting (and not just prettier or more pleasant).
Some very strong songs here and excellent moments – starting with the very promising opener. But despite a decently high level of quality throughout, there’s a vintage quality to this, a feel that makes it seem more of its time than truly timeless. Debbie Harry has a very distinctive voice, without necessarily being a great singer (one finds her a bit all over the place, excessively talky one moment and then given to yelping the next). “Fade Away & Radiate” and “Pretty Baby” are both interesting without quite being fully affecting. “Picture This” has a great (if too short guitar solo) and “Sunday Girl” and “11:59” are engaging. “Heart of Glass” is pure pop-disco fun. Still this is mainly enjoyable rather than inspirational. One wonders if maybe they were better live and figures that this might be just about the replacement level for deathbed records.
Rock’s role as an outlet for personal rage is one’s first thought after hearing this. It’s a slippery slope: while adding passion and energy when well handled, rage (authentic or fabricated) can be off-putting to people who don’t share another’s anger, sympathize with its alleged/perceived causes, are allergic to posing or excessive self-seriousness, or might be looking for other musical qualities and evocations. It may also cause one to ask “hey rock star -- whatcha so mad about?” (Perhaps CL’s fury was from not having an iPhone or Instagram just yet.) Hole harness and balance the power pretty well here (“Doll Parts” is good and not overdone somehow) and there are some striking hooks and more tuneful textures. Unfortunately, they are too quickly buried into the default banging. And the shrill crescendos and scream-outs come in nearly every song, often on top of pretty cliched axe-crunching, the combo of which comes off now as both dull and dated. Did Courtney Love maybe want to be a rock star or – perish the thought – celebrity a bit too much than is seemly? One suspects that might be the case. (Ironically, [maybe I mean paradoxically] “Rock Star” is a simulacrum of this record’s strengths and weaknesses – a cool hook [“I went to school/In Olympia-uh-uh-uh’] sacrificed to the habitual banging and screaming.) At any rate, “Celebrity Skin” is a better record. Hole may have been one of the best bands of the ‘90’s but in going back over that era in this exercise one begins to think it’s a bit of a tall pygmy award. Plus, they’re an easy (and fully legitimate) target for the anti-rockist crowd.
One likes a hip-hop record that has a smile on its face even when exploring substantive issues (e.g., slavery, sexism). Indeed, there’s a mellow ebullience and (perhaps Southern) sweetness here – see the loose hopefulness of “Mr. Wendal” and “Washed Away,” with beats that are smooth and accessible and gently (not violently) infectious. The seriousness of intent and themes (“Mama always on stage” and “Give a man a fish…/Teach a man to fish”) bind the record coherently and make it considerably more than ear candy (without being excessively preachy or angry or programmatic). It’s deep and thoughtful as much as it’s fun and musical – consider how the danciest track might be “Vision for Religion” and the biggest hit was a debate with God about manumission. Still sounds fresh and relevant, which makes it even more mystifying that they did little else after this. (Rounding up because they really shouldn't have been a one-hit wonder.)
A few great hooks, but an excess of synthy cheese overall. AL has a rich, resonant voice and she's a dynamic vocalist. But there's a lot here that feels dated, even terminally time-boxed in the '80s ("Wrap It Up" being exhibit A). Synths like this have a very near expiry date or statute of limitations, meaning this plays today as neither nostalgic art song or particularly durable pop. 2.8 / 3
A hair greasy and honky for one's tastes, but the bluesy mood and tempos are well sustained and the cuts land coherently and, for the most part, effectively. One worried about the novelty act factor (partly because of the silly name), which never materializes so score one for low expectations. "Sad and Lonely Times" is terrific. There is overindexing on the organ on the latter half of the record, which overreaches generally. But, as a whole, the album works well as a jaunty melding of blues and psychedelia and just a touch of country (alas, the silly name works out to be inapt). Glad to have heard.
Any record that opens with “Sympathy” has a huge headstart, but it builds from there; just the transition to “No Expectations” points to the mostly mellow and sometimes lovely journey ahead. “Parachute Woman,” “Jigsaw Puzzle” and “Factory Girl” are all underappreciated gems. The playing feels loose, almost tossed-off at times, but it’s actually quite crisp and controlled – what the Stones did best, not exactly making it look easy but looking cool and insouciant while doing it well (and sometimes wild). All that plus “Street Fighting Man,” the awesomeness of which is easy to forget somehow and a truly great closer ("Salt of the Earth"), a fitting and graceful crescendo. The straightforward approach and seemingly narrower ambition paid out an incredible yield – the best-ever Stones record (no mean feat, that). 4.8 / 5
Has ever an album title better captured its contents? “Summer Girl” and “Zurich” are very good, "Here" about as earnest and tender as SM can do, and the discordant and spicy "Loretta’s Scars” nearly sublime (in right listening environment). The tossed-off vibe is here both a weakness and strength (as it would be for what followed). Far too much ("No Life," "Conduit," Chelsey's") seems no better than throwaway half-jokes, even by loose slacker standards. I suspect they never thought this would take off the way it did and were thus conflicted (mainly about how seriously to take themselves and their audience) for the rest of their career. Do they think they should have tried harder here? One wonders, as one does also about what might have been. Should they have leaned darker and become more like a US version of the Fall or a softer-edged Fugazi? Or, stuck to the silliness ala Camper Van Beethoven or the Dead Milkmen? Might Pavement best be viewed as the precise midpoint between such clusters? And who’s more effective in the end – Pavement or Silver Jews? (One prefers the latter.)
At once gritty and urbane, the record does pretty well in living up to considerable hype. One could make a case it's all an algorithm (plus, maybe, a hologram) of VU updated to early oughts. Three great songs on the back side, more than make up for the samey effect on first side. Remains solid and enjoyable which is more than can be said of many other a next big thing.
Supremely smart and sophisticated pop – no wonder it didn't sell. Perhaps it was insufficiently bold or ambitious relative to what else was happening on this chart durnig this seminal year. "Death of a Clown" and "Two Sisters" are terrific and every cut is tuneful with interesting flourishes (some brass here, some harpsichord tinkling there). They all land with impact, for being sharp and tight, as well as awfully clever and frequently fun, with the apotheosis of "Waterloo Sunset," a pure classic of wistful melancholy.
As good as this mostly loathsome genre can be. There are some great melodies and a few great tracks, but much that's meh, too and a lot of sameness (both in sound and content) in the harder-edge tracks. "Welcome to the Jungle" is a great opening track, setting the dark and gritty tone and "n. "Sweet Child" is a stone-cold classic, instantly recognizable and seriously addictive – to the extent that one wonders just how much the die-hard fans really hate it for being mirepresentative. The unit seems perhaps over-rehearsed and fused by an intense focus to get it right and be, you know, huge. Later records would show just how delicately balanced this was and probably revealed their true colors.
The glorification of DIY gets pretty close to jumping the shark here. Sure, it's raw and rootsy, and there is undeniable quality ("The Same Boy" and "We're Going to Be Friends" and "Offend In Every Way"). But much of the rest is mostly brash and trite, with the simplicity getting real simplistic real quickly. One senses a blatant reaching for hipsterdom, a reach that exceeds the grasp; the “hey look at how much noise we can make” energy doesn’t make up for the rudimentary playing. The production is worth noting, its clarity specifically, which enhances some cuts but rather unsparingly reveals flaws and defects in others. This is certainly not in one's sweet spot, but even if it were, one guesses one would still find it less than fully convincing. It was overhyped at the time and today that remains the right judgment.
Fully formed, well integrated and crisp and perfectly pitched to its moment, this as good a debut album as has ever been. Unique too. “Break on Thru” and “Light My Fire” are classics for a reason but every cut has a good bit to offer and there’s not a single throwaway in the whole lot. The playing — tight and polished with smooth and strong overlaps and transitions between the players — is a perfect foundation for Morisson’s vocals and attitude. Quite original-seeming as a whole despite the obvious influences of the parts. One tries to overlook the sexist bits.
A revelation! Did not know this record and not much about T. Rex (or T. Rexstasy!) but totally dig the beautiful, sprawling holy mess of this. All the strings, the bounding drumming, the out-of-control of guitar hooks and Bolan's dizzyingly good vocals.
Considerably better than 2 (just removing half the schmaltzy orchestration did the trick [classic addition by subtraction]). But it still feels a touch too dramatic and too earnestly artistic (see the vesper-y backing vocals). Lyrics are poetic tending to the maudlin. Singing seems better suited to the subject matter (including the song about Stalin, which features a brief bit of pretty effective scatting [more of that please]). “Get Behind Me” is almost a proper rock song – another suggestion of what might have been. Maybe it’s justifiably influential, but one’s not convinced and isn’t motivated enough by the music to explore and validate the hypothesis on one’s own.
More like raw noise. This has moments – but feels more like acting out or rage-y posturing than any important musical artifact. Iggy was all in and the guitars squall just about like you'd expect. Sure it's touch and gritty, but there isn't much beyond "Gimme Danger" to actually, you know, enjoy. The reissues are startlingly better engineered so one can at least hear a few instruments, but still ... one sincerely hopes there are better (and more elevating) things to hear as one approaches one's demise.
Simple and powerful but also somewhat pallid and simplistic. And the material seems awfully angry and protest-y to be sung so calmly. One wonders how it became such a big hit, and remembers just how it might have happened and also feeling somewhat hopeful about someone like TC becoming such a star out of the blue (the editors of the book help explain the big break). The voice is very distinctive and "Fast Car" reads almost like a nursery rhyme for working-class adults. There are a few other solid tracks that one had forgotten and the overall authenticity can't be denied, though it's accurately described as naive.
Deeply cool, thogh there would be better records later, especially Transcendental Blues, as I recall. The production is tinny and a case can be made that SE over-sings (overtwangs?) on some cuts. Still, lots of lovely moments and authenticity to spare, which more than overcomes the '80s effect. This is an obvous template of more than half (and definitely the better half) of the Americana to come.
Excess on a grand – and mostly annoying – scale. The album seems composed to bring together the worst impulses of all the many genres it touches -- from classical leider to music hall/vaudeville to hair metal and glam. It's mostly bouffant nonsense (perhaps its intentino) -- clear evidence of why less is more. \"Best Friend\" is a terrific pop song, but doesn't come close to redeeming the rest. \"'39\" sounds wonderful – probably because it's a realitvely straightfoward, you know, pop song, rather than an overwrought song cycle. It all comes together in \"Bohemian Rhapsody,\" which is briliiant but also enocouraged further excess in the future. Whle there's much to admire, it works out to be just too much – much too much, in fact.
One's 17-year-old self is delighted that this record still sounds as good as it does and one's current mid-50s self is surprised to have enjoyed it so much. The openers on each side are powerful starts. The range of guitar – the massive, jagged soloing to the slide whooshes to full-on folk pastoralism – are as impossibly broad. The singing is over the top when its not under the moon – Plant was the best of all the late '60s-to-early-'70s singer-screamers. Easily one of the highest-impact debuts of history.
Sweet, big-hearted and fun, this is impossible not to like. One considers Jeff Lynne both a high-quality entertainer and something of a pop music genius, as well as an underrated vocalist and songwriter. Sure, it's Beatles-Lite but the hooks don't stop. Lynne gets great mileage out of – and is clearly having a blast with – all the toys and tricks at his disposal. The synths, the strings, the backing vocals, the echo box. It all works even when one's convinced it shouldn't. "Sweet Talkin' Woman" (check the swinging articulation on "WOE-myn") is irresistible and "Turn to Stone" is just short of that, though a total toe-tapper. "Mr. Blue Sky" is light opera for people who don't like light opera. "Steppin Out" and "Big Wheel" are poignant and "Sweet is the Night" is moving. After considerable deliberation, one has decided that the fact that his 12-year-old-son loves ELO is a feature not a bug.
Dynamic and engaging, but one is worn out by the constant "n"-ing and subject matter (admittedly not just the album here, which gets repetitive, but also the 30 years since). Feels a litlte put-on and trite today, but there's no denying it's got more than a few teeth.
Just great. CK's voice is not great but what a singer – such poise and balance and credibiltiy in the delivery. The little-girl songs ("Will You Still Love Me Tomrrow") become true adult experiences, with rich ethical and timeless resoances . No cliche to call her the voice of a generation (and it might be two). A masterpiece that sounds like easy listening but is rich with bittersweetness. One has a little more faith – a little – in popular tastes given that this was such a major seller.
One's not actually qualified to assess the subtleties of this one or whether Mali was some secret fount of the blues. But one likes it a lot nonetheless, as one has almost everything one's heard from AFT (especialy In the Heart of the Moon).Plenty of haunting melodies and straight-up blues riffs. At once listenable and substantive, rootsy in the best sense (that is, having great depth). And certainly one wishes one knew what was being sung. One expects it would be soulful and wise.
Seminal in every way – from the basic song structure and central instrumentation to the nerd-cool vibe and lyrical tone and content. "Not Fade Away" is one of the most addictive (and powerfully so) melodies in all pop-rock. 4 straight-up all-time tunes is not bad at all for a debut. Perhaps not the first-first but awfully near and sounding suspiciously like the invention of a category in real time.
Sign one up for socially conscious hip-hop. But this feels at times rigid and preachy and also too talky, neither as upbeat nor as fun as Tribe Called Quest and De La Soul (both bands that are notably name-drooped and/or sampled). the "Chinese Restaurant" nonsense is a waste of time. There are excellent cuts – "Kililng Me Softly" and "No Woman, No Cry" chief among them ["Fugee-La also good and groovy in a consciously contemplative way] – but they feel a bit scattered. And what does it tell us that the F's use sample "Bonita Applebaum" that distinctively, poingy sitar sound and that the best cuts are those most associated with other artists (e.g., Roberta Flack, Bob Marley). It's not the most elevating of conscious hip-hop. Plus, the principles would go on to do better work in different contexts. For all that, this feels less than the first rank.
One finally found a record one likes by this guy and it’s very good indeed (though 4 [5 if you count the fully execrable Birthday Party] is way too many for Cave). Haunting and lovely, with organic-seeming and genuine drama and tension, much less contrived than on earlier records. The backing vocals are the difference-makers in this regard. The only thing that makes it a double album, one supposes, is that the two sides were released at the same time. And the only thing that keeps it from being full marks (5) is the handful of overlong clunkers on the first set. Lyre is much the stronger “side,” with a few first-rate tracks – “Breathless,” “Easy Money,” and “Babe, You Turn Me On” and “Oh Children.” Only “There Goes My Beautiful World” and “Let the Bells Ring” from Abattoir reach that level. One did not know this record, is glad to do so now, and will definitely queue it up again in the future, though one’s preference for Tom Waits over NC has not been overturned (if only for the crimes against culture committed by The Birthday Party).
Sounds like the exact midpoint between Echo & the Bunnymen and Oasis. Little twinges of New Wave drama remain, but one prefers the more distilled pop and faux-glam of the earlier records than the overreaching toward the art song (e.g., “The 2 of Us”) and full symphonic rhapsody ("Still Life") which comes off as much too much (though one half-admires the ambition). There's much like to here – “The Asphalt World” works intriguingly well and “Stay Together” is also quite good. One's glad to know it better.
Awfully good and strong throughout. Some haunting moments in the playing -- the solos on “Some Misunderstanding” and some richly dark overtones. Title cut, “Strength of Strings” and “The True One” are all winners. The synthy outro on the closer is another strong moment. One hears – and surmises – the future influence, though one will have take others’ word for the full extent of it. As for the argument that it’s some lost gem or classic, one remains less than fully persuaded, partially because GC is not a great singer.; it’s more like a nice find, which one is glad to have heard and likely to hear again (of one’s own volition). 3.7/4 (And yes rounding up because underratedness.)
Without a doubt, this was a personal 5; one forced oneself to listen after reading all the plaudits and awards, despite being ready to loathe it, was taken aback by a thoroughgoing (even deep) enjoyment, which has largely lasted on subsequent listening across multiple years. But it might fall just short in pure critical terms. “Slow Burn” is a great opener, and “Lonely Weekend” nearly matches it. “Happy and Sad” is terrific, real pathos hiding in the easy beats and the title track is as good a love song as one has heard in years – really it should close the record. Perhaps one has to be a writerly type (as one is) or exceedingly editorial-minded (ditto) to appreciate the full and profound significance of the comma in “Space, Cowboy.” There is a precision-engineered, high-end feel to these songs, as if this is the absolute best and most advanced pop-country-music industrial complex can produce. The songs are almost clinically good (winningly so in “Oh What a World” and “Wonder Woman,” less effectively with “Velvet Elvis” and “High Horse” both of which one can do without because they seem jokey toss-offs, what with the cutesy production flourishes.) And yet one was deeply moved by the title cut upon first listening and still love it, can be touched even, when one slows down to listen to it. [Weird that this record is not listed in one’s book, nor on the 1001.net site, even under the exes.] 4.5 / 5 (rounding up for personal meaning)
The title is dumb, the cover shot moronic and the music still not exactly genius in contrast. It's not hard to hear how the '80s made this bunch extinct. The vocals are good enough to wonder how effective he might have been in another context. The big bank-y, coruscating guitars sound cool but seem wasted in the service of utter rock cliches. There might not be a more quintessential '70s sound than these guys and I don't mean that in a good way. Also, way points off for overdubbing parts.
Lush and rich and shadowy, despite the countrypolitan sheen. VIntage in the best sense and Americana-ish (weird, old division) plus Lynchian and this is how cool country could/can be.
Speed metal meets Gilbert and Sullivan.
Lean, driving and understated, with beats intricately and subtly embedded. It’s likable enough and one supports the intellectual content and positive sentiments, but doesn’t engage on or elevate to the same level as Three Feet High and Rising, say. When the palette expands – see “Good Newz Comin’” – it’s more engaging. Still, a strong effort throughout.
Straight-up overrated, though the great opening line raised expectations perhaps unfairly. Being ironic about things like "Gloria" and "NIght of a Thousand Dances" really isn't that ironic, much less arch; and if it's a deconstruction exercise, is it worth the time? How this is an advancement on punk is just not clear. Would we feel differently about all this if Mapplethorpe hadn't shot the cover? Passion and commitment only get you so far.
Their passion and commitment are clear and convincing. The playing and arrangements are generally effective and intermittently compelling. The hooks are decent and there are some immersive atmospheres. Varied textures and tempos add to the ride as well. Certainly, the drama builds but one questions whether it builds to any crescendo worth reaching – that is, someplace one would find relatable or sufficiently resonant to merit the effort of the journey. Lyrics remain mostly pedestrian, though with quite a few less howlers than on Funeral, which had many of the same strengths (and weaknesses). Much preferring the National, one just can’t go all the way with AF. It feels like an objective 4, but in terms of personal engagement a 3.
Masterpiece -- lyrically, musically and evocatively. The playing is driven and relentless and there's never been a record with lyrics of greater literary quality; the sincerity and irony is balanced beautifally -- not easy to do, as Smiths' subsequent output confirmed, but massively satisfying when it's got right as it is here, fully. "Frankly Mr. Shankly" is Morrissey at his most Wildean and it's all so authentic and, therefore, affecting. There are few, if any, better indie rock records or any records than this one. Editors are wrong (again); worst song isn't "No One Ever" but "Vicar in a Tutu" and when that's the worst song on a record, you're in the toppermost of the poppermost, even while being in the blackest of depths ("I Know It's Over"). "Bigmouth" and "Light That Never" are all-timers.
Beatlesque in the best possible way. Lush and layered and sweet-natured, with the exception of the stunning and irreligious closer, "Dear God." Partridge is a skilled lyricist (with a slightly endency toward cuteness [e.g., "pushing the pedals on the season's cycle"]) and, as a chamber pop composer, knows how to make excellent use of the strings. It approaches a kaleidoscopy swirl at times, which was cutting-edge in the day but still works pretty effectively, thanks to very strong overall content and strong production.
Wild, sprawling and exuberant, this is relentlessly original music, that fuses funk, rock and hip-hop, with a smattering of soul. So many engaging and satisfying beats and tempos and textures. The extracrurricular snippets don't add much necessarily, but they fade out to longer/stronger songs and vibes later on in the record. The artier and genre-mixing it gets, the better it is, which is how music transcends its time – see "So Fresh, So Clean," "Mrs. Jackson" and the amazing closer, "Stanklove." Hip-hop's Radiohead seems about right to this indie rock fan.
Sneakily excellent and brilliantly structured, this is easily the best thing McCartney ever did. Title track, "Jet" and the very underrrated (almost forgotten) "1985" are all extremely strong, drivig pop, with terrific hooks, and the in-between cuts are diverse enough to provide spicy variety. One's always been more Lennon than Macca, but this still rates a 5.
High-level big-band jazz. Maybe a slightly thinner sound than the best of the Ellington band, but every bit as polished, and perhaps even a touch smoother. There’s plenty of swing to go around, and some lovely understated touches by Basie on the piano (which contrast nicely with the big and brassy tutti sections at the end of several tracks).. I love the sultry (or “slinky”) “After Supper” and generally prefer the mid-tempo and quieter cuts, including “Midnight Blue” and “Splanky” especially “Lil Darlin’” with its hook for the ages.
Tuneful and fun and relatable, with great beats and samples, and the raw ambition (and excessive length) of many a great hip-hop album. Fair amount of Puff Daddy, innit? “Slow Jamz” is outstanding (“I’m gonna play this Vandross/You gonna take your pants off”) “We Don’t Care” and “Graduation Day” and “Through the Wire” and “Last Call” also excellent. Skits don’t add much, though one liked the spoken word outro (though it’s self-serving).
Cool and groovy and sophisticated.
Spiky and tart. "Common People" and "Disco 2000" and "Something Changed" are sharply observed and delightful. Funny thing, for all Cocker's reputation for snark and irony, one believes every word he sings – and believes he believes them, too (which is perhaps more to the point). The playing and tones are ideally suited to his style as well.
Intense and dynamic. Dancers probably find it danceable. One's not qualified to say much more than it sounds cool and substantive and lord knows we've all heard much worse world music and if this made him a global star, it must be good, right?
One’s personal high-water mark for hip-hop. The joy and warmth and humor, plus the communal feel of the whole thing. Listening today, one senses there’s perhaps too much filler (or forgettable inserts). This many full-on classics makes this 5. Shame about the lawsuit. And don’t sleep on De La Soul is Dead.
Crisp and compelling throughout, with flashes of genius (“Norwegian Wood,” “In My Life). This was a major advancement from being a pop group to true artists; it worked both as designed and in execution. The new wrinkles were the addition of the sitar and more room for George, plus a Ringo-sung song, all of which would become hallmarks (plus markers of tension, too, the tension that added to the deepening and expanding artistic impact). “Nowhere Man” and “I’m Looking Through You” are quite sharp and every track is a cut above the average pop song. Greil Marcus was right about “Girl,” though that doesn’t make it a great pop song. Basically every Beatles record from this one on feels like a 5 (they succeed almost perfectly as what they are) but it’s worth noting this is notch below Revolver and Sgt Pepper.
Another landmark punk album that’s borderline unlistenable (surely just a coincidence). And only borderline because it’s brief (mercifully so).
Though performative, seems credibly and – perhaps more to the point – earnestly so. Some of the beats are tight and basic-sounding (as 30-year-old records invariably do), but it’s much richer, and not nearly as one-note as one recalls. The soulful song-on-the-radio-esque "Express Yourself" the fun Steve Miller sample-snippet on “Something Like That,” the singalong humor of "I Ain’t Tha 1” and the borderline novelty “Something 2 Dance 2” add more than a bit of texture and straight-up fun. And in the end ,there is as much about sexual politics as social protest (which seems not quite as flat and obvious, not as shocking, as in back in the day).
Everything you’d expect from a quintessential metal record of this vintage — growling vocals, driving riffs (several of which were outright lifted by Screaming Trees), themes straddling the sexy/sexist divide (“Jailbait”) beloved by Spinal Tap, total lack of irony, and high lyricism (“I’ve got no excuse/you like it fast and loose” “Wake up and let me in/for some original sin” “I love the life I lead/another beer is what I need” “come on baby, let me get you in the sack/you know the chase is better than the catch”). It all adds up to metal’s usual exercise in tedium.
Beyond the imagistic lyrics, what makes these records are the subtle touches – strings, backing vocals, the odd guitar riff or drumming. Listen to the end of Suzanne” you barely notice the ethereal strings and backing vocals coming back in in which elevates the haunting. The electric guitar flourishes on “Master Song” and is that a harpsichord on “Winter Lady” along with the plucked guitar. The accordion (I think) and piercing backing vocals on “So Long Marianne,” which is a real highlight, the drums and accordion (again) on “Sisters of Mercy,” and the whistling outro on “Both of Us Cannot Be Wrong,” a most fitting bookend to “Suzanne.” “No Way to Say Goodbye” is also classic. The quieter and more controlled singing here is more effective than the gruff and growling than “Love and Hate.” The knocks (fair) are that's it's a bit samey in tempo and style across songs and yes, a bit wallow-y, downgrading melancholy into something like entropy. Still, it's LC, so 4.
Stewart at his most soulful and before he become so calculated. From what we know now, the earnestness can seem like a put-on, but maybe that's just one beign jaded. Four very good songs – title cut, "County Comfort," "My Way of Giving," and "Lady Day" – the soulful ones basically. Much else feels disposable, replacement level rock of the era. His tone and phrasing are authentic, as the long-ago RS review had it, and well-judged, but few – if any – singers have had a voice better suited to rock. And to his credit, he works it well and versatilely and in many different styles. Perhaps that makes him a bit too chameleon-like but here the effect is coherent because of the marterial and mostly effective.
A record that has meant a lot down the years and the standout tracks (especially “Saturday Sun”) still do. That it’s seminal chamber pop (in vibe and effect) could be viewed as a plus or minus, depending on one’s tastes. But one is struck by the contrast between the modesty of the record and the power of the man’s myth. One’s glad it resurfaced and all ND’s records became better known, but context is necessary as the classic cycle of aggressive “discovery” of the obscure leading the underrated to become canonical, common, borderline mythical and, ultimately, overrated. Yes, the songs are gorgeous and sad, lilting and lovely, but also tend to the lethargic and yawny. One understands, in other words, why they didn’t light up the charts. Certainly original and understated – qualities one wants more of in music, generally – and extremely well suited (in the day-parting sense) to certain moods and hours and conditions. But one feels less moved by them than one once did, and maybe a bit bored besides. Once discovered, some undiscovered geniuses can suddenly seem so yesterday, no? 3.6
An inspired melange but a melange nonetheless, with more than a little overreaching. One wonders if Beck is motivated more by boredom (just to see what works and what he can get away with) or ambition (to be all things to all types of listeners or to provide some form of universalist Rosetta Stone of slacker fin de siecle music). The synthesizing creaks obviously in places — the inert mingling of a tepid Schubert passage (“Unfinished Symphony”) with some middling hip-hop beats. The bits of mid-‘70s Stones and funk sound fine, if toothless, landing as little more than noodling or homage-y nods. The faux-Beastie Boys riffs and cuts sound on-point but fall short of the actual, you know, Beastie Boys. “Jack-Ass” sounds tired, much more lethargic than one recalls – with the backing track outright stolen from Them. One can’t help but think “dilettante” as much as “genius” and also about the originality of such assemblage and whether Beck woulda been better served (and served his listeners better) by just playing it straight, or at least occasionally straighter.
They were better with surfer vocalist than with this showoffy shrieker. “Epic” is easily one of the most annoying songs of the ‘90s, but most of this whole thing is just lame and moronic, with “Falling to Pieces” and “Edge of the World” the least lame and moronic (though both are sullied by the overdone vocals). Is there some skilled playing? Sure, but mainly in the service of bombast and excess, such masturbatory bass-slapping, such RCHP-esque posturing, so many overplayed and overlong songs. Why does every band in this genre take itself so f-ing seriously, and think itself so bloody epic? One finds the confluence of rap-funk-rock and nu-metal to be the least salubrious musical trend since the birth of rock and roll. FNM were a lot more fun during the Bathe No More era (see “Anne’s Song,” e.g.). And serious points off for “inspiring” Korn, Limp Bizkit and the rest of that odious lot.
All-time classic, innit, for reasons of variety and ambition, mainly, but also the depth and breadth of quality. Everything just works, spanning hard and dark edges to the lightest brightest pop hooks. One doubts not the commitment or the authenticity of the lads – they are all in on every cut. And while one hesitates to take artists too seriously in their political proclamations, the Clash (okay, Strummer) seems considerably more credible and informed than others. Surely his heart's in the right place. There's not a bit filler across both sides of both discs, so many of the songs (experimental as they seem at the outset) seem like they could be toss-offs, but the band gives it a full go on each and every. The stars just align sometimes, one supposes, from the cover photo to lyrics to the teamwork and effort, and willingness to share the spotlight. A sub-genre stradding high-water mark of popular music.
At least one understands the bombast and sheer over-the-topness right out of the gate, from the first screeching notes of the eponymous opener. One always felt a bit sorry for Meat Loaf, his clownishness and obvious need for adoration (occupational hazard for actors, alas). Certainly he could sing, but was it necessary to oversing every f’ing note or for every song to be operatic? That the playing is overwrought may be stylistically consistent, but makes for an exhausting listening experience. There are Mahler symphonies that take a lighter touch than “For Crying Out Loud,” the mawkishenss-on-steroids closer. One blames Steinman, obviously, with TR as an accomplice. Neither were fluent in understatement or subtlety. There is broad appeal – “Two Out of Three” straight up works and “Paradise” is unforgettable (both in the positive and pejorative senses) with the Rizzuto clips approaching performance art –but, per usual, one finds broad appeal to be more bug than feature. Plus, the incessant and near-desperate overreaching for the audience is cringe-making – utterly undignified and approaching outright groveling at times. Meat Loaf seems to fall roughly between a roadside attraction and a novelty act, more than a one-hit wonder, but not much more, which feels about right, karmically speaking, in the grand scheme.
Full marks for being different and influential and pushing the DIY envelope in arty ways. However, on substance, this is moderately interesting at best and often primitive-sounding. Much of it barely qualifies as music or, for that matter, a record. "Found sound" (especially answering machine content) jumped the shark quite some time ago, no? One might be just intrigued enough to explore a touch more of the catalog (liking soundscapes, obscurities and irrelevant artistic endeavors as much as one tends to do), but it’s certainly not a no-brainer and one’s skeptical about finding much else worthwhile.
Editors get this one right: "a monument to musical possibility." The idea that the best jazz is built on spontaneous composition (aka improvisation) is the first among many reasons that more jazz records should be included on this list. Jazz is a fundamentally diffrent game than verse-chorus-verse-chorus pop songs (no matter how clever) or rock bands doing endless power chords (no matter how magisterially). Certainly there are ample KJ releases that are worthy, though this one is unique in its mostly uplifting vibe (again, kudos to editors for noting that). One feels more soul in this work than in other drier, more academic recordings. And one doesn't have to love every single note to appreciate – and be awed by – the magnitude of effort and brilliance on display. A magical night, under sub-optimal conditions, nearly 50 years ago, still translates into a transporting musical experience today – the mark of a classic or deathbed recording in any genre.
So now we have the answer to the question of just how many high-decibel sounds an axe can make. Speaking personally, one did not actually need such an answer. But if all you have are hammers (or guitars), everything looks like a nail (or an overwrought and masturbatory solo). On the plus (or at least the least minus) side, this seems slightly more tuneful and slightly cleaner/tighter than most of the other metal, which is almost uniformly wretched, on this esteemed list. That makes it a 0.8 day,as opposed to a 0.3, say. And, seriously, editors, this is “mature” songwriting: “Winds blow from the bowels of hell/Will we get warning? Only time will tell.” And this “sardonic commentary:” “The end is near, it's crystal clear/Part of the master plan/Don't look now to Israel/It might be your homelands.” It’s all just meant to scare the women and children, right? What else could possibly be the point?
In this case, dying young may not have been the savvy career move it so often is, but one has forgotten how great this posthumously related record was/is. One always thought Janis too much of a screamer but on this record, she stays just inside the line of control, while still unleashing ample passion. Plus, the band knows its role, keeping it tight and playing to set up and complement the vocals. A cohesive sound throughout adds to the experience, and every song holds up – all filler cuts should be as original and endearing (and silly) as "Oh Lord." "Bobby McGee" will live forever (and should). One's not sure he'd go as far as editors in ranking her with Billie Holiday and Bessie Smith, but those comps aren't way off and overall this is awfully good. Personal bonus points for being reminded of one's own long forgotten, college-era girlfriends who didn't necessarily turn one on to this record, but played it a lot (thinking that it equated to feminism). 4.5/5
"One’s initial reaction is: “Oh look another overrated Bowie record. Can't have enough of those in this list, now can we?” This is definitely not terrible, but also neither life-changing nor even all that interesting. On a second listen, that reaction is more or less confirmed. Sure, there’s some edgy textures, but the production is alternately muddy and tinny. Man, are those some cheesy synths on “Speed of Life.” There’s much that’s derivative (typical Bowie), always aiming to sound like something (or someone) else, in this case Kraftwerk. The slightly-ahead-of-its-time sonic factor and the substantial coolness of ""Sound and Vision,” “Be My Wife” and “A New Career in a New Town” (the last being the best thing on the record) can’t make up for the wholly contrived feel of this thing (again, typical Bowie). Then there’s the standard (speaking of tinny) Tin Machine penalty that must be retroactively assigned to every Bowie record. The last four wordless, ambient tracks are okay, semi-interesting experimentation and noodling, but a bit too synthetic. One wants to ask why they aren’t credited to Eno. And just because Joy Division were inspired to choose their original name from the lugubrious “Warszawa” doesn’t make it great or memorable (or any less turgid for that matter). They get pretty ponderous pretty quickly, sounding more like Muzak of slightly-above-average artiness, what the mid-70s thought the future would sound like (mid-’70s were mostly wrong, it would seem). This is a 3.4 (rounding down because of overexposure) – in no way imperative to hear or essential (more like tangential) to a life’s listening.
Pure energy, visceral and fearsome. However, one’s always hated most of these songs, which are basic and childish. JLL is a livewire and a screamer, no doubting the stage presence or commitment. Also the insanity (see wife, 13-year-old cousin as). Grudgingly rating up because it does sound like a landmark and production is surprisingly crisp for a nearly 60-year-old recording.
A rock record that shows the power of holding something back and staying in control, of embracing the mid-tempo, as opposed to playng every note as fast and loud as possible, and amping up every song to be the ultimate in epic-osity. "Sworn and Broken" is best cut on a clunker-free collection. The interesting touches of strings, bells, synths, acoustic instruments, etc. sparkle up the textures and add to the interest. The playing is solid all the way around, and frequently inspired (without being over the top [bears repeating]) and the vocals are state-of-the-art cool. Yes, it's got a distinctly mid-90s vvibe, but the highly effective execution makes it worth knowing today.
Elevating and beyond soulful, or rather definitively soulful. One thinks the back-up singers get perhaps less credit than they deserve. Gospel never sounded so sexy, or love songs quite so upstanding. The playing is solid +, letting the Queen do what she could do. The reinterpretations of Redding and Mayfileld shows how she can have her way with a song, and it's how she inhabits the song, not just singing it, that makes AF the Queen of Soul, right? And she is indeed Queen of Soul AF.
One likes how he lets it all hang out, but man does this feel like an ‘80s special, with the poppy bass-ing, the quite practiced representin’/testifyin’ vocal gestures (up and down and across the verses, the beat and melodies) the back-up singers, the tinny keys, etc. One might expect a bit more poetry given the title. The lyrics about apple pie and fried chicken don’t quite qualify. Still there’s loads of soul here, especially in “If You Think You’re Lonely Now” and “Where Do We Go From Here,” the two closing cuts; apparently BW likes saving the best two songs for last. One wishes one liked it a bit more.
Feels unnecessarily discordant and knotty in places, and never quite returns to the very high standard of the opening cut, "Schizophrenia." Relentlessly tough and dark art rock, this is far from their best (or biggest) work.
Substantial chops plus an understated vibe as the antidote to the chaos of disco and punk. There’s a modesty that underscores the quality, the restrained and refined licks a new brand of non-show-offy guitar heroics. The record has a vaguely cry-from-the-wilderness feel. One gets the feeling that this band kept its head down, avoiding all the noise around it, just doing its thing, and doing it at an extremely high level. "Wild West End" is a personal all-time favorite, and "Lions" and "In the Gallery" are seriously underrated, bookending "Down to the Waterline" and "Water of Love" in terms of intrigue and listenability. "Sultans" is fine, but barely a top five on this excellent sert. And much better was still to come – namely, Making Movies and Love Over Gold, egregious and utterly inexplicable exclusions to this list. Bonus points for the cool and arty cover photo, which the headbands-cum-wristbands-cum-wife-beater look (speaking of egregious) would rather unfortunately cancel out.
Lovely and elevating, almost purifying. One feels almost vegan by the end. But such earnest loveliness – not to mention understatment – is a welcome break from the bombast and posturing across so much of rock/pop music history. "White Winter Hymnal" is of generational quality, in terms of defining a moment and clarifying a sub-genre, or heralding a micro-era (these guys being head and shoulders above Avett Bros, Mumford & Sux, Old Crow and others mining the neo-traditional vein about this time). Fro the very strong start, the record just keeps getting better and better, with the last cuts – "Quiet Houses," "Your Protector," "Meadowlarks," "Blue Ridge Mountains" and "Oliver James" – achieving and maintaining a very high standard indeed.
One has always enjoyed the melodious sweetness herein, which contrast with dense, sonically fuzzy backdrop not nearly as dark and certainly not as heavy or screechy as Psychocandy. The sincere non-morbid yearning is well articulated in the singalong chorus (“Du-du-DUHdu-du”) of the opener. The tension between the tunefulness and drone-y walls balance provides the energy. There's a likable simplicity here, too, as if basic, relatively innocent ‘50s songs were updated with a more metallic sonic palette and near-industrial-strength production effects, pushing coolness from white t-shirts, leather jackets and cigarettes to the post-new wavey angst of torn, all-black clothes, thick boots and harder drugs. In the end, a highly evocative and richly satisfying pop record thanks to sweet, solid hooks within pleasantly dark shadings.
Rich and expansive and proving out that (South) African jazz is very much a thing. So why isn't there more of it in this esteemed list? Great playing throughout. "Minawa" is lovely, with impassioned soloing upping the emotional stakes, and "Maesha" beautifully contemplative, then engagingly energetic.
Very cleverly conceived and exceedingly well executed. A delight to hear. Somehow, it's hard to imagine how it can be so, but, after all these years, Kinks still feel underrated.
Hot Fuss indeed! There's a lot to like here, even if one is a little sheepish and abashed in admitting to like it. It feels a bit dated, it feels a little ripped off the Strokes and Franz F, it feels a little too glitzy-night-clubby rock for one's taste, but it's infectious and stylish so .... in fact, what it mostly is is "Glamorous Indie Rock & Roll," a title which shows these lads knew their own product.
Endlessly (and brashly) creative, but sometimes self-indulgently so, as if he might have been better served by having less studio gadgetry to hand or more rigid structure. (One likes sex jokes and references and sexiness as much as the next guy, but perhaps there is too much of it here – gets a little tedious. Certainly the synths and drum machines sound awfully dated (occupational hazard for musicians of this era). Opening title cut is pretty great, and other outright (and oddball) winners include “Dorothy Parker” and “Starfish and Coffee” and “If I Was Your Girlfriend” and “Never Take the Place of You” (which has an all-time ‘80s synth hook) and “Adore.” Given the richness of the quality here, one struggles to understand how there weren’t more hits; on the other hand, given public taste, it’s not so surprising.
Well, we didn’t really know what we were in for, did we? And it still sounds fresh 40 years on. The enthusiasm and commitment and near-perfect integration of the playing make the record. The inscrutable lyrics only add to the charm. There are many winners, but the whole sounds of a piece, consistent in tone and mood, and executed with an attractive balance of precision and swing. “Radio Free Europe” still sounds like a call to arms, a new way to view the world through music or to do music. “Laughing” is criminally underrated and “Perfect Circle” just gorgeous, as elegant a song as REM (or anyone) would ever do. “Shaking Through” is pure delight. “Sitting Still” is an absolute gem, a personal all-time fave the inspirational ending of which (“I can hear you/Can you hear me?” with the hopeful bell-like up-chiming last note) can still bring one near to tears. One can’t be objective about this record as it has meant so much, having (almost literally) grown up (in Georgia) with this band – with this and Chronic Town on cassette and having seen them a dozen or so times, across most of their tours, going back to Reckoning (which should be on this list, as one of the great all-time sophomore efforts, and a better record than this one, IMHO). And as seminal and influential as this record was (for which it gets a 5), it’s important to remember how much better they got and how much more great music was to come. That the record apparently still means so much speaks to its rarely-paralleled excellence.
Ragged and wan, as if everyone knew the end was nigh. Everything feels tossed off, but in a likable way. The iron-deficient “Femme Fatale” succeeds in seeming to approach a vanishing point. “Jesus Christ” is a bit more stable but with undercurrents of apathy and listlessness. The rockers are less effective, generally, not unlike Wilco (another of their esteemed progeny) in that sense. Did Big Star deserve better? It can be said, but they are perhaps flattered by their adherents.
Fierce and gritty, the energy is strong and sustained, with an unmistakable style. There’s just enough variety (“It Was a Good Day”) to keep it from being a bit too one-note. Cube may have got a bit cliched, but back in the day there’s no doubting his top-doggedness. While one’s race and background prevent one from judging the authenticity of these rhymes and flows, they certainly seem credible and reflect the musical moment of LA early ‘90s. Not sure I see the “The Black Bob Dylan” angle, though Perry Farrell would be well positioned to know. “Check Yo Self” and “Tear This MF Up” and “Who Got the Camera” are the other top cuts.
Opening cut track just slays, one of a funky decade's funkiest drops, and somehow restrained too (from whence its unique power perhaps emanates). It’s a groove so good they redo it on the closer (the height of forgivability, that choice is). Vocals don't seem 100% required on several tracks. There’s almost a baroque effect here (baroque in the best sense) with the world-historical steady and to-die-for basslines, the spicy, intercutting strings, the just slightly more-upbeat-than-languid tempos and the ample space for grooves to open, expand, ripen. And all so much chiller than one might expect, too. One finds this much more refined than in any way risque.
Tight and focused where Astral Weeks was sprawling and ethereal but every bit as effective and haunting, perhaps even slightly more so. The first side is a landmark – great opener "And It Stoned Me," followed by the title cut (rare among monstrously overplayed tunes in that it holds up and doesn't become annoying – probably because it's perfectly structured), "Crazy Love" a sweet and endearing ballad, the groovy "Caravan" and "Into the Mystic" – is there better set of five consecutive songs in this whole book? Side 2 is lighter and freer, and a bit more joyful, but only the slightest of comedowns.
This record cast a spell from the first listen and at once confounded and captivated so many different types of music fans, who were drawn to the sheer originality or the rich spiritual tones. The haunting yet comforting vocals, the balance of dreaminess and power, the playing for mysticism or contemplation – all of it was (and still is) massively affecting. Whether it's post-rock or something else matters not – the case for it being rock would have to do with SR being an artier version of Pink Floyd, one supposes; but whatever it is, it's just brilliant and much more powerful than so much power-cord-driven rock.
You can keep “Rainy Day Woman” and one only sorta likes “Leopard Skin Pillbox Hat” for reasons of snark, but so many classics. Even “Mobile-Memphis Blues” is way better now than it was in one's high-school/college/angry-anxious young man era. “Visions of Johanna” is top drawer, so too “Sooner or Later” (underestimated classic) and “I Want You” -- an embarrassment of riches. “Sad-Eyed Lady” is a prayer. And where has “Fourth Time Around” been hiding all these years; one has no recollection of this liltingly urgent track from all the years of listening (which were, admittedly, mostly three decades ago). Not quite "Blood on the Tracks" and perhaps just slightly overlong, but still damn close to as good as it gets.
Maximalist in the best sense. Makes one wish equally one were a dancer and a political revolutionary. There's a sense of humor, too, the little folk song quotes at end of title cut. When it comes to FK, one's definitely up to Follow Follow.
Slackerishly ragged and full-on stoner vibey, the best cuts come early and the willful and sloppy discordance of the rest wears itself out. Lacking the pathos (perhaps accidental) of Pavement or the elevating ennui of Dinosaur, Jr. or the depth and ambition of Sonic Youth. In other words, the overall effect is rather more of scrape than bubble. Some fun lines, (“Here I am, on my knees / With nothing to blame but my curiosity” and “I see something we should do / If you need one, then you need two / I won't hold back, so why should you?”) keep it just the right side of average but not quite all the way to excellence.
Moody, broody and a little boring. One is made much less breathless by this material than LdR is. One accepts that one may not know the oeuvre well enough to appreciate the intertextual subtleties, but she seems an obvious and oversharing sort of writer – and not nearly as good as one suspects her most devoted followers think she is. There are a few good lines. “It's hard to be lonely, but it's the right thing to do”) but an equal number of clunkers(“I don't wanna live with a life of regret / I don't wanna end up like Tammy Wynette”). It would be too obvious to say she’s Alanis or Fiona A lite or simply an extension thereof, but one finds it hard to avoid thinking it.
A vintage release from a top-class artist, this speaks to his considerable strengths, starting with his sheer originality. Throughout all the various reinvention attempts (both subtle and bold), one always knows it’s him. That can lead to a little sameness but the quality of tracks and professionalism of craft are uniformly high, here as on other records. "Party Girl" is a personal fave. "What's So Funny" a reminder of Nick Lowe's glaring and egregious omission from this esteemed index.
Much more interesting than Blue. Title cut, “Shadows and Light,” and “Edith and the Kingpin” all work well. It’s safe to say that one prefers the more observant and jazzier Joni to the outwardly emotional Joni.
Perfectly dreadful – these clowns clearly love their axes, but why then keep doing the same thing with them over and over again? No surprise they've been banished from the book.
Is it dumb to say that this sounds better than it is? For all the drama and competence (singing, playing, production), one senses a distinct lack of soul. After the big-hit opening duo, there’s a big lull until “I’ll Be Waiting” and “One and Only,” both of which are well north of solid. Of the Cure cover, the less said the better. One’s view is that it’s borderline blasphemous, besides being lazy and obvious. One’s general sense that this won’t age all that well seems borne out by the book’s banishing Adele – both 21 and 25, in fact – in the latest editions.
Pure and true and uplifting, like the artist herself. One felt the quality just kept creeping up, overcoming concerns about corniness or sentimentality. She's every bit as distinct a writer, as she is a singer. This is timeless, a masterpiece on its own terms, sounding not at all dated and fully relevant. "Mystery of the Mystery" is tops, but every cut has ample merits, particularly "Early Morning Breeze," and "She Never Met and Man" and title cut, too, of course. Refined and understated playing throughout.
Just fine and just what one would expect from him. Best songs are “Certain People” and “We Hate It When…” and “Tomorrow” (especially the cute little piano fadeout). One might prefer other of his solo releases (this one starts a bit unnecessarily rocking), but have pretty much enjoyed pretty much everything he’s ever put out, including this. 3.8 > 4
Lovely and thoughtful. Pretty tuneful, too. And early milestone in the singer-songwriter category and still well worth one's time today.
First two cuts (wait for it) rock, but the balance of the record is a grungy grimy, utterly uninspired muddle. Last cut is okay too but too quasi-Queen-esque to clear the bar of sheer mediocrity. 2.5 at best but rounding down for their many subsequent crimes against good taste and musical decency (very much including judging singing contest television shows) which far outweigh their (not-really-much-more-than modest-when-one-considers-their-rather-unfortunate-it-worked-out) longevity. In other words, all their awful later work more than canceled out the decent amount of solid-to-solid-plus material they released earlier.
A nice find here, stylish and interesting. One’s not entirely sure how one missed this group in real time. First cut features as elegant and upmarket a “booty call” as one is likely to get. There’s an arty ominousness to the proceedings and lyrics, which keeps one engaged and a bit on edge. Societal decay and personal deterioration seem also danceable, in a modulated, melancholic sort of way. The falsetto is the strongest, and most original effect, and nicely suits the polished-up and sleekly modernized new wave vibe of the playing. Will be looking to hear more.
One doesn’t think of Spiritualized as understated but in this case the record’s undeniable interest and, ultimately, power sort of sneaks up. “Shine and Light” (what a bass or baritone sax-ing) and “Angel Sigh” are the twin peaks late of a very strong finish that pays off handsomely for the fairly slow (or slow-building) start.
The sassiest and most satisfying sort of soul. An astonishing debut on multiple levels, the conifdent delivery and assuredness, her versatile singing style, from belting to vamping. The lyrics are great, too, with many funny bits ("Fuck Me Pumps," "I Heard Love Is Blind") and empowered feminist (and post-feminist) proclamations ("Stronger Than Me," "What Is It About Men"). A big-time talent strutting her stuff for the first time. One loves the overall vibe and feel of the record, too – the retro instrumentation and song selection, backed by modern beats and 'tudes – "Mr. Magic" is a great exemplar of how this respectfully and intelligently freshens up a classic genre. Excellent all the way around.
The genuine article, Zeppeine were the truest and most assured purveyors of the purest hard rock at the level of the hook, plus legitimate in delivering white British blues and lovely pastoral and folk-tinged psychedeia, even the odd proggy exploration (love the chrurch organ on "Thank You") of otherworldly role-playing. It all worked, often fantastically well, even when it seemed like it shouldn't. And the feel for melody is seriously underrated. LZ remain unsurpassable and every band that tried later (looking at you Deep Purple, and at you, Bad Company and Van Halen and won't even mention for fuck's sake the recent adherents who don't even merit the looking at, much less the calling out [okay, okay, rhymes with "Shreta pan Cleet]) all of whom are such pallid imitators that one feels mostly embarrassed for them. Zeppelin backed up the bombast, had the chops to execute on the Appolonian ambition, while also being resolutely credible in the Dionysian reaching. These other hacks could only pretend, on their best days. II may be the verty slightest notch down from the debut (perhaps only for the newness) but is anything but a sophomore slump. There is the all-time opening riff on "Whole Lotta Love," and a half-dozen other world-class, weapons-grade hooks – "What Is ...," "Good Times, Bad Times," "Heartbreaker," "Living Loving Maid," "Moby Dick" and "Bring It On Home" – any of which individually may seem almost a throwaway in the embarrassment-of-riches context of this record, but each of which is hall-of-fame quality in its own right. Clapton is wrong about Zeppelin (as with much else [as has recently been made abundantly clear]) and Jack White (who doesn't trust people who don't like Led Zeppelin) dead right.
Utterly dreadful, and they seem to have doubled down on dreadfulness as every song is completely unlistenable in almost the exact same way.
Wild, out-there fun. Not one's cup of tea, generally, but this takes off to otherworldly places and mostly stays there. Awfully listenable for being so densely layered.
Warm and soulful and a sweet overall listen. If it's good enough for Obama ...
With the caveat that "Birthday" is a great song, this was overrated them and remains so today. And it has provided a foundation for the steady overrating of Bjork down the years. If the band truly started out as a joke, one wonder whom it's been on.
Awfully good and the ear-candy effect has aged quite well indeed. Who doesn't love Bob Mould? The first half-dozen tracks amount to one sustained banger – and it's fun, too. One finds "Helpless" to be the favorite, but really likes them all. The second side drags just a touch, but overall this is impossible not to like – and a lot, too.
How DIY should be – hooky and tuneful, with some likably raffish edges. "Riddle of the Eighties" and "Liberty for Our Friends" and "Time with You" and "Understanding" are standouts within a very coherent and consistenly strong set of songs. The melodic folkie bits passages are the perfect leavening to the grittier and punkier bits.
Lush and lilting. Marv could be both the sexy songbird and the quite naughty grinder. There's a flow and a funk to the falsetto sweetness here – and the difference between moaning lovemaking sound effects on records from this era and today's hip-hop records is notably huge (see "You Sure to Love Ball"); the shame-free, honesty that accompanies even the most direct proclamations of desire, plus the sophisticated and elevating string arrangements give this an authenticity that's borderline pure and innocent.
"Modern chamber music" is right. Frequently lovely and often engrossing, this is her high watermark.Untroubled by genre expectations and free to do what she wants, Bjork explores the interior frontiers to powerful and moving effect. One finds it quite dramatic and emotionally intense, and admits to liking the record much more now than when it was released. It's perhaps a bit overdetermined (like much of her work), but she pulls it off and the instrumentation (clicky electro microbeats, harps, choirs) and studio soundscapes work better there than elsewhere in her catalogue. “Hidden Place” is good and the “Cocoon” makes one wonder what it would be like to be Matthew Barney for a day. “It’s Not Up to You” and “Pagan Poetry” are the highlights, and “Unison” a very strong end, after a bit of a lull on the previous few cuts. This is an artist creating her own genre so one finds it hard to figure a set of criteria to apply here.
A little downbeat, a little understated, and quite a bit gritty and lean. The mid-tempo vibes fade out or just break down in a way that feels both quiet and slightly ominous. The tinny shuffling drum beat links the track and one like the grace notes and chime-y bells that toll across cuts. No huge standouts, just a murky, sometimes menacing mood, like SI on a grey day, one supposes. And of course the Mussorgsky opening is a nifty touch. One feels inspired to log a bit more time in some Chambers with the WTC.
They amped up the energy and anger from the debut, but not necessarily to great effect. One prefers the sustained control and powder-keg effect of Dry to the raw emotional and (borderline hysterical) outpourings here (one would say that, being a dude). There’s a sameness to many of the songs, especially on the first side. The drumming is consistently ferocious (and some of the licks are hot), but much of the playing leans toward undistinguished grunge. Plus, there’s more screaming, yelling and groaning than actual singing. The diversity of the latter tracks improves the overall experience – “Dry” is quite good, for instance, and “Man-Size Sextet” and “Dry” and “Me-Jane.” The cool Dylan cover gets bonus points for creative interpretation, but somehow leaves one a touch cold. From a lesser band this would be something like a high-water mark; for PJH, not much better than average. 3.4 for 3.
One is largely sympathetic to the politics. But much less so to the music. Only intermittent bits of playing appeal — such as the last little groovy-near-jazzylicks on “Killing in the Name” and edgy, organ-y keyboard riff on “Know Your Enemy” (wouldn’t the more biblical “Know Thy Enemy” been nicer?) Otherwise, much sameyness, much that’s derived from Public Enemy and metal, say, which one considers much more worth one’s time.
Editors are right that there was reason to be skeptical about M's post-Smiths output but this was a winning effort all the way around. "Everyday Is Like Sunday" and "Suedehead" are all-time pop songs. "Bengali" is terrifc, too. Other than this being lighter and perhaps slightly less biting and driving, there's not a huge diff musically from late Smiths. But the overreaching guitar solo on "I Don't Mind" reminds one of this record's Marrlessness. Still overall this is quite a bit more than solid – and not only from having avoided being worse, which it very much could have been.
Tepid and tedious chill/club music. One may be missing some subtlety, though there's nothing to engage non-fans, nor any reason to listen to it before or after death.
Not as good as the eponymous debut (the criticism on the latter as being "too pure" is like criticizing Shakespeare plays for being too well structured). Still this is a great record. Driving, gritty and winningly downbeat. The last few cuts really take it from very good to the classic and timeless. "Barbarism Begins at Home" is terrific and the last few minutes of instrumental is a master class in how to give depth and gravity to pop music. Title cut does the same and makes it awfully hard to get off the mind. The lack of a hit was tempered by the fact that "How Soon Is Now" was on the original US release. Today, it reads just as an extraordinarily good record for people serious about serious music.
As a child of the '80s, one fears that beloved records – or indeed any record – of that era will come off today as unbearably cheesy or silly (like the fashion and haircuts of the time). This one, however, easily transcends such fear with its quality and substance. Duran Duran feel almost like a punch line, a band far too easy to hate for the stylishenss and glamour, primarily. But the songs hold up quite sturdily. Title cut's horn furious interplay and driving beat make it both danceable and a bit of a banger -- mix of Sex Pistols and Chic indeed!. "Hungry" may be the best song about sex ever written – oh, the suggestiveness. The playing is quite good throghout, the singing excellent and the belief/commitment fully credible. It's not too precious or pretty; the guitars have real teeth – a New Wave edginess – and the synths, while ubiquitous, never quite overwhelm. There are no dogs or throwaways – it's a real album, not just a random collection of tunes; each cut works on its own terms, and the consistent sounds and rhythms and instrumentation make for a consistent listening experience, just this side of samey. Perhaps most amazingly, there is nary a single cringe-making "ultimate '80s" moment. Much were we wrong about in our teen years. This record is not, apparently, one of them, though one confesses to feeling some slight embarrassment in admitting one likes it, which keeps it from being a 5, but only just.
Bombastic drum fills, great guitar playing and effective and evocative moods created, strong loud-quiet-loud dynamics, but one isn't fully motivated to explore all the myths and legends. or even mind the lyrics very much. One fears for Geddy Lee's vocal cords and for the destinties of all the adolescent fans who took it all too seriously. But Rush seem a bit more focused and stayed in their range more effectively than many of their prog rock contemporaries, who overused their synths and keys and suffered from an excess of ideas. One's boyhood affiliations and allegiances (i.e., the fact that one had a huge 3x5 or 4x6 Rush poster on his boyhood bedroom wall, bought for $4 at Six Flags Over Georgia in the summer of 1981) causes the rounding up, which is borderline dubious.
Typically barbed and sour, but rougher and harder-edged, too, adding some grunge to the glammy bits while staying within bounds of vintage Britpop. As with all their records, this is a decidedly mixed bag. Beatlesque opener is quite good and "Song 2" has that hook for the ages, but feels just the slightest bit gimmicky. The inevitable song about America is slightly above replacement level compared to their other Yank takedowns. "Strange New from Another Star" is a highlight. The general sense of experimentation feels jokey and very much in the spirit of taking the piss; a non-impressive percentage of the larks come off, however ("You're So Great" mostly does, while "Theme from Retro" does not, decidedly), causing one to wonder just how seriously to take any cut. Also, the surfeit of songs would have benefitted from a trimming – starting with "Chinese Bombs." One always feels close to liking Blur, but then feels the liking might be sort of beside the point from their perspective. Hence the rounding down from 3.5.
Not one’s favorite Miles; it seems almost anti-tuneful at times, though it’s also exceedingly thoughtful and interesting in its commitment to explorations (some of which sound borderline lazy) and resolute quietude. The communications and exchanges feel nearly tensile, the passing of the solos of such control and understatement. Side 2 just glows with vibes: Miles and McLaughlin flickering in and out early; Zawinul and Shorter pointing and dousing each other at the dozen-minute mark, and the beautiful, beautiful ending. Just exquisite, even its near emotionless neutrality – a listener's feelings may shade to mournful or joyous, but always in a restrained sort of way.
Listening to this for first time in a long time, one's reminded of the immortal words of Beavis and Butthead "why are English people such whining wussies?" But also that Coldplay would've done better to stay in precisely that sadder, whinier and more emo mode, rather than trying so naively to conquer the world with, you know, love and joy, or whatever other limpid motivations inspired their later (and very badly misguided) efforts. They were never going to convince with that quite callow effort, now were they? The happier and more earnest and ambitious they got, the more they sucked. And in their faux intensity ended up this generation's Styx (in the immortal words of J. Hoberman), try as they might have been to be U2 (whose own later efforts have fairly trilled with rather Coldplay-like insipidities). Still, one must cop to having been quite taken by this record upon its release, much as one is embarrassed admitting it now, given how bloody awful and insufferable Coldplay has been for so long now. The hidden track at the end is a clear harbinger of the pretension to come. One liked this record originally for reasons (perhaps misconceptions) having to do with being melancholic and jaded in a stylish and sophisticated and globally au courant sort of way (the life one was leading at the time, alas). And even now this is occasionally gorgeous and affecting, which is just cringe-making to confess, this being a tortured affection rather than a guilty pleasure. "Yellow," once annoyingly ubiquitous, and "Trouble" chime and sort of swing appealingly, if basically. "Sparks" and "We Never Change" have precisely that sort of languor and ennui for which one has always had a weak spot, perhaps mistaking it for depth or meaning, rather than seeing it for the cloying sentiment it surely is here, though well hidden here under the guise of world weariness. The bottom line is that one still sees the surface appeal as much as one wishes one's more refined critical sensibilities would allow one to eschew – indeed transcend – those blandishments that produce a certain sort of satisfaction, which is of course a lowly thing. Hoping we can keep it a secret.
Mostly hooky with a 90% chance of sweet and tuneful melodies. The groves are ebullient and some of the crescendos nearly orgiastic – these cats were having a blast it seems and were fearless in charting a new course for jazz or pop music. It's not just a kinder, gentler approach to fusion, but precise and excellent on its own terms, with at times otherworldly playing.
The genuine article – it doesn't get much simpler, direct or better than this. The voice is an instrument in itself – dark, deep and resonant – which he uses to great effect with the incantatory phrasings. One loves the big noise from the small combo, and the free bashing of the drummer. The hideously overused word icon certainly applies here, and to this landmark recording. The mojo was working and continues to work. Biggest issue is that it's not long enough but one is certainly not anxious to begrudge MW a relatively brief workday.
The exuberance, even ebullience, is intact from the first record but this has some darker hues and tones. It’s mutli-layered, nearly baroque. What makes this different from/better than plain ol’ dumb rock, which it again and again approaches, are the many nifty flourishes – blowsy horns, bleeping and whistling synths, striding pianos, the skipping or stately organs, the odd string section, well-timed wah-wah. Net-net — they are more than a little willing to get Beatlesesque-groovy, much to the listener’s benefit. “Going Out” is best of a very strong lot, a wonderfully maximalist banger with tender melodies within. And who doesn’t love a song about “Richard III”?
Not exactly groundbreaking, but groovy. And certainly not a masterclass in variety or consciousness-raising, but slightly more substantive and interesting than disco or other dance music. The beats are fat, accessible, eminently comfortable, though they flirt dangerously with dreaded sameyness (which may be a benefit in if one likes the general vibe [which one does]). Dude's voice is distinct and he does like to go on so about "reality." The use of backing vocals is both extensive and judicious. The whole thing suggests that it's easy to be casually hip, or was in the '90s anyway – hard to say whether that's a feature or a bug. (Is that sax solo on the closer a riff rom Carole King's "It's Too Late"?) Found a niche, didn't they, and a moment in time and this feels just strong enough a record to get them out of one-hit wonder territory (though they seemed a very strong candidate, as evidenced by their rapid disappearance). Rounding up because they exceeded expectations, which were awfully low, but it's a 3-4 toss up.
Quite interesting and evocative musically and very much worth one'e time, though perhaps not as powerful or as biting as it clearly wants to be as social commentary.
One misremembers this as a compilation so finds it excellence half-surprising. One should have known better (or remembered clearer) as this is the Smiths after all. It's outstanding throughout if not the apogee of their work. "Death of a Disco Dancer" is hugely underrated slow burn of pure Marrsian vintage. "Girlfriend in a Coma" classic Morrissey and "Paint a Vulgar Picture" their version of REM's "Voice of Harold." If this had to be the end, it was damn near to going out on top.
Billy C may have wanted to be the meanest, etc. but it's the sweeter songs that work best. He mainly fulfills his grand ambitions here, though the cleanliness of the production plus the catchiness of the hooks lends a vaguely bubble gum feel (presumably the opposite of the intended effect). It has deeper pleasures than one recalls from real time, and his preening self-importance's move into the rearview of time also makes it easier to enjoy.
Really just okay. Likable enough with a few winning moments ("Spunky" would be one's personal faves and "Novocaine" and "Lucky Day" are also solid, if not compelling) and made with an artisinal touch, but also vaguely gimmicky in feel and modest, low-energy to a fault, even by the ironic (and iron-deficient) standards of the mid-'90s. Lyrically, it's okay – "life is hard/and so am I" is meant to be what – edgy? funny? It's not credible either way. Yes, the line would've got a chuckle on "Jackass," but the delivery would have had to have been more raucous or agressive (like a "your Momma" joke). Hard to credit it as anything like profound or even remotely distinguished. The vocals are either talked or half-mumbled, and the voice sounds cough syrupy. The whole effort is neutral – and one's emotional reaction is commensurate – and thus the record never achieves exit velocity or liftoff. And what genres, exactly, does it span? It's unfathomable that Yo La Tengo is overlooked for an act as bland and feckless as this. Comparisons to Brian Wilson and the Beatles are laughable.
One is reminded of the fun and cleverness of these records, especially the rhymes and sampling and name drops, but also how they can be a bit much. At best, this feels like hip-hop's version of London Calling. At worst, like a bad B-boy comedy act (Adam Sandler would be the Beastie Boys of standup comedy, yes, which flatters the latter.) Still, a real milestone and an impressive achievement, that might have bee even more so had it dialed back on the ribald fun and willful cleverness and overly determined attempts to provoke. Has aged somewhat less than gracefully.
Groovy, gritty and legit bluesy psychedelia. The vocals aren't exactly soaring, but the axe explorations are steadily impressive and totally diggable. Dumb ending cut, though. Had to be there, one supposes, and wouldn't that have been fun, at either Fillmore.
Quite surprising how well this has held up. Having loved the record upon its release, which coincided with a time of emotional turublence in one's life, one was waiting for an oversentimental sort of cringefest. But the sad songs ("As You Are," "Luv") are lovely and balanced, neither cloying nor treacly, but rather show a quite affecting and authentic vulnerabilty. "She's So Strange" is compelling, too. The winsomely catchy "Rain on Me?" and "Driftwood" are not as quite as strong but show a band capable of producing in multiple registers (in this case the most basically tuneful pop). "Turn" is quality, too. Callouts to contemporaries (Beck, Oasis, et al) in "Slide Show" add to the fun of the return to one's musical late-early adulthood.
Ingenious and stylish, the perfect bridge between the '70s and '80s and an ideally balanced synthesis of classic rock and new wave. The first three cuts are an all-time trio, and side 2 kicks off with similar impact. Hooks are everywhere and every song is tight. Ocasek was always going to make his mark and this was the start, though they'd never quite achieve this density of quality on one disc again.
An excess of filler and hubristic ambition overweight proceedings here, as the title alone tips off. The quiet-loud dynamic reaches its breaking point here. There is overreaching on both ends of the spectrum – too much rage/fury too quickly contrasted with too much cloying/lullaby-ness leads to unevenness in extremis. When they are well balanced ("Tonight Tonight," "By Starlight") the sweeter/slower/more melodious cuts are vastly superior to the metallic posturings and faux Nine Inch Nonsense. A skilled melodist, Billy C is an overrated lyricist; "despite all my rage/I'm still just a rat in a cage" is high-school literary magazine territory, hooky and rage-y as it is. And the record is overlong, too. Yes, there's a lot to like, but also a lot to overlook -- so much on both sides of that ledger equates to much too much overall.
New turntable in older brother's basement bedroom is one's own personal creation myth for this record, which sounded just huge and powerful then. Seemed impressive that the four dudes on the cover could generate such undeniable energy and work so tightly and loudly. It still sounds big and breakthrough-ish today, even though that quality is both a feature and bug. On the one hand, Van Halen was always clear about who it was and showed real commitment to having a big time; they were not only in synch with, but the actual full manifestation of, a shameless sort of late '70s rock and roll ethos that wanted mainly to say fuck you to disco and Laurel Canyon and anything remotely soft, as well as to promote the virtues of rock's screaming and squalling over punk's sneering and slashing. On the other hand, the insistence on that very bigness (e.g., going big/HUGE on every single hook and lick) does prove a bit exhausting in the end (which is why "Ice Cream Man" at first makes for a welcome respite, before succumbing to yet more expansive and lurid shredding, and thus ultimately sounds better than it actually is). The band's mode and antics also forced one to choose, definitively bifurcating VH and new wave fans. Leaving the music aside, one always preferred the company of the latter group, for their understatement and aesthetic considerations, and considered the brashness and volume (not to mention bad haircuts and bad fashion) of the former to be a major strike against embracing VH musically, of declaring oneself a fan. They were never going to be more than a guilty and secret pleasure, a band one loved to profess hating more than one actually did (despite the 8th-grade reckoning of the debut). On the plus side, there's a likable crispness to the sound and of course no doubting Eddie's otherworldly chops (though one finds them unnecessarily showoffy). DLR was the perfect front man for this lot, unapologetically buffoonish though he was (and largely remains), and pretty effective (certainly not great) as a vocalist. Speaking of, one'd forgotten the many vocal harmonies, though they tend toward barbershop-quartet-y in a few places (rather off-brand those flourishes seem). "Jamie's Crying" is the ideal response to "Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow." They took an all-time hook, "You Really Got Me" and blew it out, taking a more-is-more approach that stopped just short of being too much and exceeds the original. The same could be said of "Eruption," fine, but, again masturbatory and showoffy, but thankfully brief. This type of restraint that would've served them well in the future (say by disbanding with some dignity intact rather than reforming with Sammy Hagar, for fuck's sake). "Running with the Devil" is an all-time opener, what with the thumping, booming bass. "Aint Talking About Love," "Feel Your Love" and "Little Dreamer" all have their merits. VH did what they did as well as anyone at the time, but one felt about them in 8th grade as one felt about Kiss in 6th grade and their musical development didn't much keep up with one's own. This list is right to include their debut and one has enjoyed reconsidering them but they were rightly a guilty pleasure then and remain roughly the middle-age equivalent now; one still loves to point out their gaudiness and silliness, and not entirely out of envy for the freedom (and perhaps even courage) they must have felt to be so insistently brash and loud and unapologetic. It's safe to say no one cares anymore which isn't hugely different than where this band ended up.
It remains unclear how ironic this was ever meant to be. In real time, one definitely found it the most direct, extreme and clinical expression of Smithsian disaffectedness. It was as if punk anger slid from posturing to pathology and was delivered acoustically. And it was dangerous in a sense; one wanted to ask one's fellow frat party dancers if they took these cuts (either to the recorded versions or those supplied by up-to-date cover bands) if anyone was taking this seriously or – perish the thought – literally. "Do we hear what they're saying? Do we agree?" is what one wanted to know. But not wanting to seem too dull or obvious to the dark, reticent, pre-goth non-cheerleaders who seemed to dig the record, one decided to keep one's mouth shut. Today, it seems far too cleanly presented, if still quite authentically delivered. The catchiness lapses to kitschiness eventually. And the proceedings even read cute today (see xylophone on "Gone Daddy Gone" which is effective and refreshing, though the solo is probably overkill). It scans nearly as parody, being quite light and bright musically in contrast to the doom and gloom emotionally. Indeed, the notion of VF as black-comedy novelty act (the alt music equivalent of Harold and Maude, say) is borne out by the fact that they came and went in a blink and don't seem to have milked matters on the afters market too gratuitously. Still, as a genuinely fun listen and a richly representative artifact of a time, of a place, this record retains distinct value.
He always tried too hard and here it's obvious from the Beatlesesque opneing notes that he wants to be taken oh so seriously. One's simply not persuaded. There is a synthetic and contrived quality – again, too effortful – on nearly every song. "Freedom! '90" (an oddly puncuated title) is Primal Scream Light Lite, the palest sort of distant imitation and not flattering to anyone. Even on cuts one is inclined to like (e.g., "Waiting for that Day," with it's classic '90s programmed drummy shuffle), there's a whiff of diffidence and derivativeness to the repositionining, which feels entirely inspired by commercial considerations. The whole thing's just sort of tepid, despite its core competence. Still, nobody had a better voice, which comes through strongest on the quieter cuts (the lush and jazzy [but oddly titled] "Cowboys and Angels," say). But he's no Marvin Gaye and doesn't feel committed to the material, and the hodge-podge of styles shows less his versatility than desperate hit-seeking, a pathetic reaching after relevance. And speaking of titles, one feels a little insulted by the imprecation to hear it unbiasedly; on the one hand, yes, of course, always, but on the other, WTF? Does GM lack such faith in his material that it merits such a defensive caveat? Does he think it's not fun or poppy or danceable enough? Too high-minded? And Volume 1? As if he'll remind us again? Wow, thanks for that. One can't take him as seriously as he's always seemed to want to be taken. To get that, he might've simply have lightened up and just, you know, sang. By trying to be more than, say, Hall and Oates, he fell far short for his troubles.
Magnificent in conception and delightful in execution. Totally inventive in renewing and contemporizing classic vibes and sounds and tonalities. Retrogressive (that is, nostalgic and forward-looking) in the best sense. And 25 years on, it sounds both dreamier and edgier than ever. A cultural import of great sophistication, like many other French luxury products. One might slightly prefer Dots and Loops, however.
Groovy, dark and druggy, right up one's alley. One was suspicious about Dr. John's later schtick, its authenticity, but this original article is that and fully vintage trippy. bayou psychedelia, real voodoo vibes and grooves here.
Highly accessible (almost to a fault) but so sharply and powerfully done, to the point of glittering perfection nearly. One found "With or Without You" to be both boring and ubiquitous in real time (a particularly toxic quality for pop music) but has held up well. Like REM's "The One I Love" and U2's later "One" the power is in its directness and simplicity, though "Bad" and "Elvis Presley and America" are better song for complicating matters to rather more aesthetically pleasing effects. Last few cuts dip off noticeably but first 9 tracks put contain nary a wrong note. It feels less politically engaged and the looser cuts ("God's Country," "Tripped Through Your Wires," "One Tree Hill") benefit. It's almost like U2 were having fun. And they were certainly making it look easy. The band would soon start jumping the shark but this was blessedly successful; for all the playing for hits, these are highly engaging songs nearly impossible not to like. One ranks this below War, Boy and Unforgettable Fire, which speaks volumes about U2's depth and breadth in their first decade. This was their last great record – Achtung Baby falls just – and everything else way – short.
Quite light and swingy and sexy-ish in a formalist, absurdist '60s way. More ambient than substantive on its own terms. But the bigger the arrangement and orchestration, the less the impact. "Parade" is just silly and there's too much schmaltz generally. "My Foolish Heart" is good – but there are many, many more compelling versions. This era seemed to think well – almost aim for – the novelty hit, which roughly half of this record sounds like.
That this showed up in one's queue on Xmas day was just a coincidence, right? The only reason for one to hear this before one dies is if one's on one's deathbed during the holidays.
The record drones and echoes and haunts in a gloomy mist that is next dark and squalling, getting to some of the terror of what might be called modern life (such as it was 40ish years ago), by which one means the fucking dread and anxiety of individual consciousness. And yet we know what they mean and should do our best not to think about how much better this could have been, knowing now that it was going to get exactly that. But this one drones edgily with drums sounding now far away distant, then submerged, and then ominous and relentless even at mid tempo. They were slowly advancing outward from the Joy Division template with swirls and filigrees and elaborate sorts of skewed echoings. "Hanging Garden" is best song overall and "The Figurehead" and "A Strange Day" are the most evocative/predictive of Disintegration, this band's far and away masterpiece.
Feisty and interesting and cool, much like the artist himself. And one's reminded of the double-edged sword that is ambition in popular music; in this case, it's a plus, drivingg toward compelling contrasts and nearly-titillating textures (see "Mombasstic"). There are moments of great beauty (e.g., "Light" and, to a lesser extent "Soni") and powerful atmospherics (multiple moments in "Traveler" and the hip and groovy "Butterfly"). But an excess of overly ambitious, globally-inspired noodling and overdetermined vibing – not terribly surprising given the time and place and dramatis personae, plus the well and truly maligned [and often justifiably so] genre] – leaves the record just short of being a full-on classic. It's the merging of modes that makes this cool but one thinks it's music that sounds best in a first-class seat on a very long international flight. TS would no doubt take the point, but disagree. The maximalism generally works but defeats timelessness, as there's simply too much that can date it or anchor it to the time/place of its creation (see "Decca" and "Eclpse"). That's especially true of the spoken-word bits. These moods remain relevant only as long as the Zeitgeist of their creation remains readable and in 21st century time signatures and cultural flux, that's not very long. Plus high-tech instrumentation only remains so for a season or two, given relentless progress, advancement, innovation, etc., etc. But no doubt a fun and interesting listen from a big (and undoubtedly global) mind and one's inspired to listen to more.
Goal achieved and argument won – this the most unlistenable album ever.
The beats are wonderful – lean and pure and thus distinctly powerful. One likes the understatement, too. But simplicity gets to sameyness after a time. There's a very high floor of quality on every track, but a relatively low ceiling in that no cut ever achieves full or sustained breakthrough or liftoff. There are no unforgettable hits, in other words. The directness and purity to keep it real, plus the many winning effects and moments, ultimately win out, however.
Culturally interesting in general but also ragged/rococo round the edges and overstuffed productionwise. Did we need tubas and glockenspiels and xylophones and .. and ... and?. "Without You" into "Coconut" must be one of the more significant segues in all of '70s pop-rock, manifesting two of that lurid decade's worst tendencies – outright mawkishness and excessive belief in its own cleverness, respectively (though the latter shows that HN coulda been a contender as a crooner). Today, "Coconut" is no better than a novelty track, and not a particularly good one. "Moonbeam Song" is just about the best cut – lovely that one (though likening it to Taoist poetry is a bit much, editors). "Let the Good Times Roll" is utterly forgettable. "Jump Into the Fire" is very cool and the only thing that sounds remotely edgy, and not just for the Goodfellas inclusion, but rather the rollicking drummy and hitching guitar close-out. One knows all the right people were present at the creation and no doubt it was a fun ride for many of them – larkiness may be the album's dominant effect. Certainly HN had all the right mates (starting with Lennon), but the sunny-funny quality reads today like an inside joke not all that worth knowing. Nor does one feel particularly compelled to go explore the rest of his catalog. The ultimate 3.5 but rounding down mainly to be contrarian.
Every generation's biggest hooks get wildly overrated and then re-calibrated by future generations. That's definitely the case here; the record's just not as good as it was.
One likes the double Joan of Arc tracks, slightly preferring the first, with its echoes of other tunes (one can't remember exactly what it reminds one of, though one's sure it's something) and anyway it seems always just on the edge of hotting up or even bursting out. "The New Stone Age" is compelling and "She's Leaving" is delightful, but comparisons to Beatles are more than a little reach. The mournful "Sealand" is strong, too. One agrees with editors that there is more warmth than reputation suggests (certainly more than the pioneering kraut rockers), though nothing here reaches the pure Platonic ideal of synth pop warmth and hookiness they reached with the megahit that came courtesy of John Hughes. On the downside, one's tempted to say OMD lacks the dark power of the Cure or the hard, glittery (and vaguely desperate) edge of New Order. One doesn't love the vocal style which seems to have birthed the worst sorts of imitators (the worst of which rhyme with Sick Ghastley [Nick Lowe joke alert] and Met Cop Toys). It largely comes down to how one feels about synth pop and one's just fan enough to elevate one's thumb here. The title is ace, too, in a coolly minimalist way.
What a talent. This is perhaps not JR in his purest form but probably his most powerful and punkiest. "Pablo Picasso" and "Girlfren" (sp?) contain all-time indie one-liners. The songwriting and nasal delivery and oddball content are all delightful and totally original. One recognizes this is not for everyone (just the voice or willful weirdness will put off many), but it's certainly singular and, speaking personally, very much one's thing.
What a voice and what a set of songs. The ultimate quiet storm for a divorce record. Brutal and beautiful in equal measure. One's fully down with belated reckoning of this one as MG's masterpiece.
There's a huge distance between being a one-hit wonder and being a worthy entry into 1,001 records. Deee-Lite deee-finitely does not getting anyway near to crossing it. This is fine dance-club music, a pleasing and inoffensive amalgam of club, funk, disco, etc. Was good fun at the time, and is barely that now. One thinks Deee-Lite should deee-finitely be happy to retain even one-hit wonder status in posterity.
Go listen to Tony Bennett and Bill Evans for what “wee small hours” desperation should sound like. This is seriously overrated and mostly a snoozefest – showing every fatal flaw and weakness of the era (and FS in particular). Unbearably schmaltzy at times and unconvincingly dramatic, the arrangements are overdone and strings syrupy and sentimental. Yes, his voice is strong, but vaguely nasal and highly controlled and structured; there’s zero fluidity to it on this record. Maybe he’s taking the titular concept literally, but on a few cuts (“Can’t We Be Friends” and “I’ll Be Around”), Frank sounds on the verge of nodding off. There's no humor or hipness to this at all, just Frank taking himself too seriously and pandering to the people.
What a performance. The best live album ever made – breathtaking solos, convincing blues, easy-groovin' boogies. And though the firepower is massive, the playing is deft and fluid, even as it chugs. There's even a sweetness to it. Listen on a long drive on an open road. Every cut appeals, but one's personal highlights are "You Don't Love Me," and "HotLanta" and "In Memory" and the closer – they just go on and on, getting more amazing along the way. The band's inner dramas became an embarrassment later on but what a testament to this. No Eat a Peach is a total WTF? Perhaps the most egregious exclusion from this list, Eat a Peach is better than easily half of the other listees and, one reckons, all nine – 9!?!?!?!? – Bowie records and all three Tim Buckley records. One can't imagine editors disqualified it because it included some live cuts from Fillmore East. Anti-Southern bias more likely.
Interesting – perhaps the mid-point between Broken Social Scene (which should really be included on this list) and Aphex Twin (which qualifies, too, one supposes, though only just). One prefers the former overall. This has its moments and its winning/engaging moods, but the net effect feels a little dry and laborotoreal. The title of a cut on a later record applies here (and perhaps to all their work): "Music Is Math." It can be more of course, though it mostly isn't here. No real traction is gained. One is simply not compelled, as inoffensive and mildly interesting as this is as furniture music.
Whoa, dudes, total heavyosity alert. One is a heavy metal hater but they create a more ambient vibe that doesn't seem meant to achieve black-hole darkness or outright scariness. The guitars while driving, are accessible and fuzzy to the point of softness or at least accessibility. The yrics are laughably un-profound -- see "Orgone Accumulator," which the vocalist has and which makes him feel greater and who will see you later; bookier prog-rock types would look seriously down on its intellectual merit. One recognizes and is vaguely intrigued by the subculture – maybe cult – suggested by such an extensive back catalog (the same people must be buying these records, sad and friendless people, one reckons) but not enough to go exploring.
Really good in some ways, troublesome in others. Somewhat downbeat and tempo and a bit softer and less sneering than their other works. Very well produced and polished, spiky – but ultimately sub-transcendent – pop. Kinksesque it very may well be, though not quite the real article, is it? Overall, there's a good bit to enjoy – "Blue Jeans" and "Vlila Rosie" are both strong and likable; "For Tomorrow" and "Turn It Up" bounce along nicely, the former aided by strings that are nice enough but feel slightly surplus to requirements; But there are also the barb-y bits (one is tempted to call them own goals) that are on brand to Blur but seem to denigrate the songs. To wit, the end of "Chemical World" seems purposefully annoying and not very clever, more like taking the piss. They are showing off – what exactly? Their music hall chops, one presumes. Even allowing for the social commentary aspect, one fails to see the point? They do much the same on "Resigned," almost ruining what's otherwise an engaging tune and leaving a bit of a bad taste as the record comes to a close. Boys (and maybe one means Damon), what's the point? The answer might be to ride the finest line between pleasure and provocation. This record – though like a lot of others of this era is longer than it absolutely needs to be – mostly succeeds but too often blur they are more annoyingly provocative than intriguingly so. **Interestingly, not a single cut off this record, crafty though it may be, not one of the cuts is in the Top Tracks on the streamers.
Arty, out there and intense. Definitely gets one's ears to ringing. One likes the all-in oddity and willingness to go both big and weird. Definitely set the stage for Spiritualized. Hard-edged music resonates more richly the more abstractly it's presented, one thinks.
Test-tube music – contrived, synthentic and experimental. It feels often like post-music in that it’s more like assemblages and beats and effects rather than you know playing. Still, one wonders what it would be like live. Not that it's terribly unpleasant. Indeed, it's somewhat dramatic and powerful here and there and intermittently sexy, too. The layering equates to a certain futuristic dreaminess on the best tracks, of which “Kicks” is the most engaging. Overall, however, it's not very memorable or substanive. The sacrifice of flow and melody (if such matter) seems too high a price to pay for these angly and overdetermined formulations. One takes the point that it's not really R&B (save for some vocal echoes on certain cuts) but it's certainly not punk in any menaingful sense and her claims to the contrary suggest she lacks knowledge of what she's after or what she's done, as does her taking umbrage at the accusation that it's trip-hoppy (which it most certainly is). One supposes it most aligned to alt-indie axes (in Bjork or Portishead vein, roughly), but interesting guitar bits that would make it more so get lost under the high drama of the vocals that are always (and sometimes oppressively) front and center. The question is begged: is it really genre-spanning or simprly accreitve and thus muddled as it certainly sounds? One would've thought AI and cyborgs could deliver a stronger product or output than this. In any event, one is not much compelled. More to the point, one struggles to hear what's timeless here, innovative though it may have seemed in its moment. The beats and sound effects seem destined to age poorly, as is ever the case with music manufactured to the standards of a certain time with state-of-the-art production techniques (which change every two weeks after all).
Some cuts are music for a Bond movie, mostly in a good way, while others evoke classic film noir, generally to advantage. Better than Portishead, certainly, and probably on par with Saint Etienne, though not quite as good as St. Germain, and not aiming to be so chill anyway, all of which underscores the originality of this issue. One would perhaps prefer a litte more room for grooves and beats or just instrumental passages, because most are interesting and quite a few are lovely or intriguing or both. The use of strings and harpsichord is well and smoothly integrated with synths and the moderner instrumentation. The vocals, sometimes a bit overwrought, could perhaps be slignhtly de-empahsized to create a bit more space. Don't remember GF being so art song-y – chanson or lieder or whatever – but rather recalled a groovier, clubbier (though still continental vibe), which the other records (especially the notably poppier/rockier and once-included-now-banished Seventh Tree, which also has more fluid and superior vocals) are likely responsible for those misaligned recollections. The other are quite likable, too, and perhaps arguably more so than this, though only marginally. This is definitively worth knowing and listening to.
One only understands so much about cultural appropriation but one knows this is a great record – and knew it from the first time one ever heard it. One's a bit of a Simon skeptic (if not quite a hater), but there is such enthusiasm and appreciation for the music he’s sharing and co-creating that it’s hard not to like. In a more just world, the South African artists would’ve had top billing and enjoyed more of the benefits, but there was at least some upside for them. “Diamonds on the Soles of Her Shoes” is an all-time pop song, easily one of the best of the ‘80s. Too good to be just a 4 though maybe not the highest 5.
Most interesting musically. One wishes perhaps there were fewer vocals because one finds the beats and orchestral/instrumental bits considerably more compelling. "The Conference" has too much cowbell, which in this case is Indian percussion. The spoken word passages (even the Gita) don't feel additive (this was a common issue fin-de-siecle and first years of the aughts). Definitely a more expansive dramatic take on the globalization of world music, and a good bit ahead of its time for 1999. One likes the flamenco touches, but confesses to preferring the chiller, earlier efforts, for their subtlety and easier beats.
A bit eclectic, a bit all over the place. A record that can’t seem to decide what to be or that has multiple-personality disorder. The overall effect is pretty cool and feels much more than artifact-y (though it’s certainly that) in blending the myriad trends (down-home rootsy picking, echoey reverbing psychedelia, anger plus peace, man, in the vocals) that fused the flowering of late ‘60s popular music. It’s also fun to track the tendencies and trends backward across the long, subsequent career arcs of the many (probably too many) protagonists – note how Neil Young’s contributions (the dull “Mr. Soul,” the ethereal “Expecting to Fly” and the intriguing “Broken Arrow”) offer predictive hints of later efforts, inclusive of “Tron”and “Harvest” and “On the Beach” respectively. “Everydays” is Stills at his contemplative best and “Hung Upside Down” has lovely proto-CSN(Y) harmonies, contrasted to gritty guitaring in similarly CSN(Y)-esque fashion. It should be acknowledged that, while this is solid (actually solid++) in its own right, it does pale more than a little in comparison to the many excellent works that would grow out of it (The incestual sitcoms of the 1970s present a similar critical conundrum, wherein it’s hard to assess the quality the sources vs. the progeny for the complexity of the relationships and influences.) The more one listens to these “deep-track” records, the more one realizes both the risk of accepting the cliches relative to this era, versus its depth and breadth of the quality. The question is begged: how ever did these bands do it – or the fans manage it – without streaming services? A four but maybe not the strongest one.
One never really got Tricky in real time, and still doesn't, largely. Massive Attack were better, and so too, the Saints (Etienne, Germain) from related sub-genres. It's relatively interesting, but trip-hop's pervasiveness and the industrialization of these beats and silly sound effects (poppy, staticky vinyl noise, anyone?) now seem the very last word in cliched. Martine elevates the few songs she's on. "Aftermath" just goes on too long. One prefers the stylish and more sophisticated end ("You Don't" and "Feed Me") of their (fairly limited) continuum to the bangier/more boisterous/rappier ("Brand New You're Retro"). It's worth asking just how important or innovative first-gen trip-hop has worked out to be. Seems destined for the dustbin, not because it's outright bad or unpleasant, but rather that it all seems so obvious now and it's been rather leapfrogged. This is best conceived as music to listen to while traversing a gritty urban setting or getting stoned therein, with a handful of cuts appropriate for gym or bedroom. What does that say about the identity of this slight, transitory genre?
Very strange indeed, but intermittently sublime, because it's the Beach Boys. "Disney Girls" and "Long Promised Road" and "Feels Flows" are all great and one can scarcely think of a better song about podiatry than "Take a Load Off." "Student Demonstration Time" sounds like a reaching after relevance in competition with angrier protest bands. Interesting the shift to grittier guitar sounds and instrumentation shifts, generally.
What a record, what a voice. A major broadening and deepening from the limiting girlieness and overengineered pop of just five years before, the singing is deeply soulful and ravishingly sexy (“Just A Little Loving”, “Breakfast in Bed”). The longing and anguish in her voice are completely credible – one not only feels her pain (“I Don’t Want to Hear it Anymore,” “Don’t Forget About Me”), but gets it in a near-visceral sense. The lush production is borderline overdone; one would’ve loved to hear an unplugged version of this. But the arrangements are terrific throughout, especially on “No Easy Way Down,” “So Much Love,” and “Can’t Make It Alone.” And check out “The Windmills of Your Mind”– which she pulls off impeccably and intriguingly (the understated, suggestive arrangement helps) when so much could have gone wrong. Indeed, these songs transcend the considerable limits of the late-’60s excess to achieve timelessness.
Soul music as it should be. The Bar-Kays nearly steal the show, right of the gate, with axe work so hot it’s sizzling. (That one doesn’t know the guitarist’s name is an embarrassment to be rectified – Harold Beane and Michael Toler seem to be the guys, but don’t sleep on Charles Pitts’ soloing on “Do Your Thing” on Shaft – these cats can play their asses off and seem all-time underrated.) But IH is so cool he knows he can hold off and do his thing and will still have maximum impact (less being more yet again [except when it comes to wah-wah, where one is very much in the more-is-more camp]). When he talks, when he sings, one listens. “Walk on By” is the very definition of soul singing, and so much besides. The song rocks, truly, and slow burns, too. The nearly unpronounceable second cut certainly is singable, besides being full-on groovy. “Hyperbolicsyllabicsesquedalymistic” indeed – easily one of the fattest grooves of this or any other decade (and in fact might have single-handedly pushed across the ‘60s-’70s threshold). “One Woman” drips with ‘70s sentimentalism (in a good way, too, the contrast with the baritone voice working well) and works as a slightly misogynistic morality play. “By the Time I Get to Phoenix” gets points for creativity but it does drag a bit. Still … wonderful record, great ride and experience overall.
Almost too good for its own good. One can make a case that I - III are better records for having a few rough edges, that make them seem the more authentic and relatable for being imperfect (though in quite slight ways). Here the pursuit of perfection is almost eerily effective. “Black Dog” and “Rock and Roll” are well-honed and well-targeted products – top-class offerings, mind, but with a market-tested feel, alas. Much depends on one’s ability to listen to “Stairway to Heaven” without irony. The song is perfectly structured – again, almost to a fault. But it builds so powerfully, one section at a time, and the playing, solos and vocals are all top-drawer. Every mega-hit suffers from ubiquity; many become outright unlistenable, others just give up their significance. “Stairway” is like Stonehenge, however, retaining a powerful aura, and a sense of mystery despite its familiarity. The most-played song in US radio history for a reason – for once the market got it absolutely right. All one has to do is listen to it as is, not as the world has come to see it (or one perceives the world has come to see it). There’s much other richness, of course. The transition from the solemn and almost-too-serious ending of “Stairway” to the loose bouncy “Misty Mountain Hop” is ideal – would it have been more pronounced in flipping over a record or is it stronger on streaming, where it’s immediately subsequent? – and reminds us how actually, you know, fun, Zeppelin could be. “Goin’ to California” is a gem, moving and gorgeous and heartfelt, and no more undersold than “Stairway;” Zeppelin of this era could seemingly do it all at the highest level. “Return to Evermore” and “Levee Breaks” are both extremely good songs that seem a little less so by all the excellence around them – they are a comfort for being easy to listen to. If this is filler, there’s never been better. One can call them dinosaurs or cliched or feel embarrassed for liking them – as one often has and does, still – but there are few better records than this (Zeppelin made a few of the candidates, too) and their I - IV remains unparalleled as a run of quality in rock annals. Period.
More interesting as a historical artifact than it is musically, which is above average psychedelia. Indeed, reads as a period piece. To some extent, it suffers from the common psychedelic pitfall of too much and all at once – the calliope and marching band stuff just test the nerves, inclining one to think, "no wonder only one record and maybe not entirely the fault of the label's lack of commitment." The "American Way of Love" succeeds in layering and reprising (vaguely reminds one of The La's efforts on their debut (much different time, much different band and album). Singer is good and has moments – the sharp "Garden of Earthly Delights" notably and "Love Song for the Dead Che" – but overall effort never quite transcends. The social satire not exactly piercing, some of it undoubtedly lost in the flood of maximalism. And the record sounds much less avant-garde, and more zany, than it probably wanted to be. A must-hear? Not really. More like vaguely interesting to know and experience. (Note: the supplements on streaming services – notably "Perry Pier" – excel the album proper, with evocations of later bands, even the sort of then-current-not-retro sound that Stereolab would recreate.)
A near-perfect confection, but tartier and spikier than the surface sweetness and light suggests. “Lovefool” is nearly the Platonic ideal of a pop song, but the “Ironman” cover puts this over the top. Great record, masquerading as a trifle.
The Chameleon Rod is pretty believable in this rootsy/folkie mode. Title cut is fab, has long been one's personal fave. "Maggie May" Is timeless – with nonpareil lyics in every other stanza, "really should be back at school" engendering a million relatable fantasies across generations in just a few syllables, as does "morning sun ...really shows your age" in the opposite direction. "Mandolin Wind" and "Reason to Believe" are high-caliber cuts as well. "Tomorrow is a Long Time" is most credible as Dylan interpretation, one unforgettable voice covering the work of another. That "I Know I'm Losing You" is just about the weakest cut speaks volumes. Solid and gracefully aging, much like the artist himself. Nobody's musical or creative genius, but whoa the lad could sing.
Right up one's alley. Not as good as Style Council, better than Haircut 100, way better than the Blow Monkeys and way, way better than A-ha and other weak-ass soundalike rip-off artists that would come later. This feels both fresh and highly evocative of a time and place. Dynamic and vibrant indeed and subtle, resepectul homages (absolutely the best kinds) to various other genres all over the place. Quite good and quite good to know.
Every bit as intriguing and introspective, lilting and lovely as one expects from B&S but, honestly, a notch below their best (Sinister and Arab Strap). The merits feel as literary or novelistic as they do musical, though light touches of excellent craftsmanship abound. Nobody does wistful young despair or hopelessness as well as Murdoch – see "State I'm In" and "Don't Love Anyone" and "Wandering Days" as exhibits A-C. One admires their hiding out from the media for so long and retaining their mystery, which was additive to the brand.
Impressivley loud and powerful, but mostly just loud. And Lemmy is a epically bad singer, er shouter. The callout the road crew is quaint and clearly the vocal highlights. There's no real reason to include this. Sure, it's loud and the audience noise softens the edges a bit, but it's mainly noise. And we're okay celebrating Nazi insignias? Shouldn't we know better by now?
Epic and awe-inspiring in its way, but errs on the side of speed for speed’s sake. The shifts often seem gratuitous but at least the playing is legible unlike most metal.
The title is somewhat annoying and the heavy-handed arrangements get in the way here and there, but otherwise this is a pleasure to listen to. The masterly interpretations of the standards are the highlights – ”When Your Lover Has Gone” and “Don’t Let the Sun Catch You Crying” are the highlights. No doubting this man's ability to sing a song up to (and often beyond its value) and satisfy an audience with his considerable talent, and bringing such soul and joy into the bargain. Hard to believe only 20 when delivering this.
Rollicking and fun but sorta one-note and way, way overhyped upon release, one recalls. But good for them for their bootstrapping from Sheffield – biggest cultural export since "The Full Monty" – doing it their way and for leveraging MySpace to take it big time. But one has far less frequent need to rock in this decade so ... one thinks of Arab Strap as AMs' polar opposite (and one's preference). Yes, this is good for laughs ("you sexy swine") and to mack it out at the gym. And one can admire the classic bent to the content ("Bet you look good on the dance floor") and some of the playing (groovy bass licks on "Still Take You Home" and the nifty solo on "Mardy Bum") and of course the silly-perfect name and stellar, squeaky clean production. Their endless hooking and banging reminds one of the ol' "if all you've got is a hammer;" a bit more variety beyond woulda gone a long way (as evidenced by the likable closer, "A Certain Romance"). To wit, one has enjoyed the much mellower recent album, least Arctic Monkeys record ever, of which "Riot Van is a pleasant, though too short, harbinger.
So good. And a great reminder of what the King was capable of, which is particularly useful for those raised on the TV ads for mail-order greatest-hits collections. Elvis is obviously relaxed and comfortable with the material and the arrangements and bands suit his big (but not too big or too forced) style of laying into the songs. There is considerable consistency here and one realizes that a few of one's faves ("Kentucky Rain" and "Suspicious Minds") were post-release add-ons, but "Gentle on My Mind" and "True Love Travels" and "Only the Strong Survive" are all outstanding as full-on Elvis-at-his-most-Elvisish manifestations. Despite the huge – and self-inflicted – risk of massive sentimentality and schmaltziness, it just works, which, one supposes what is meant by "it's good to be the King."
Well-crafted and carefully confected, with lovely, near-sublime harmonies, but it's light to the point of weightlessness – on the substance, it’s just slightly heftier than the Carpenters. It also seems quite contrived and opportunistic in capitalizing on the ethos of hippiedom/grooviness. The strings are the giveaway, cheesing things up quite a bit in ways designed for middle-market appeal. Indeed, the hits are hits for a reason – primarily, the inoffensive enjoyability. In another era, they would've been a barbershop quartet or a variety show act (perfectly at home on the Sonny and Cher show or the Osmonds, but not totally out of place on Lawrence Welk, even). "Do You Want to Dance" sounds so square that it's hip, "The In Crowd" reads less satirical than the group choosing ill-suited material (same is true of "Spanish Harlem"). Overall, too wholesome and milky to be remotely edgy or cool, the feeling is of tame, proto-chamber pop, and their version suffers considerably in comparison to that of the Beach Boys.
File under forgotten for a reason. There is a generic “‘60s pop-rock band” feel here – that makes it destined to be no better – and perhaps even slightly worse – than replacement level. And too many songs have too much going on – the horns and harpsichord are especially excessive. Also, dumb name. Not awful, just not very good or memorable or worth hearing before one dies.The previous covers record should've automatically disqualified them from this list.
One listened to this record so much in his sad, lonely, depressed and mostly intoxicated 20s, that one has taken it for granted, as if one'd worn it out, as if there was nothing left to hear. One was wrong – way wrong. It rings true and beautiful after all this time. "Out on the Weekend" is an excellent starter, gloamy and melancholic, followed by the waltzy-lullaby title cut, which remains massively easy to like. The less said about "A Man Needs a Maid" the better – one only hopes it was written in character or ironically. The orchestral pieces are overdone and belong on another record, though they show how his thin reedy voice can contrast in richly cinematc and lush settings. "Heart of Gold" is inch-perfect (that bell, chiming in the very background, right on cue); one understands why he quit playing it, but that was a silly decision. "Ready for the Country" and "There Is a World" have their moments. "Alabama" is a much stronger song than "Southern Man." And the album closes incredibly strong with "Needle + Damage" and "Words." If this is embarrassing, as an early RS critic said, it's an embarrassment of riches. The absolute worst you can say about is that it's uneven, and the unevenness, which sometimes strays into awkwardness, more often results in authenticity and relatability, and thus, NY's unique power as a most sloppily human sort of artist.
A lot to like here, with huge, huge grooves and real catchy hooks. And it's easy to see why the hits were hits. But the sound maybe gets a bit too big for its own good and the album overall is a cut or two longer than it needs to be.
Just too much, too many layers in the production, too much production and too many effects and collaborators, top much synthetic sound and way, way too much celebrity baggage. Yes, there are plenty of moments, but a real deficiency of soul to one's own ears, the whole thing being just massively artificial. These celebrity records seems to make a huge assumption that non-fans will actually care, or be interested in whatever they do, which leads to indulgence and tone-deafness. Here, there's just no sub-surface substance to engage one who isn't dazzled (and is in fact completely bored by) the surface glitz and glimmer. One vastly prefers Solange, though it may be a temperamental preference. One can't remember if this record invented the cliche of including little kids' voices or merely extended it. Either way, it's lame.
One knows one should like this more for reasons of being on right side of politics ... er, history, but musically it's a struggle, close to a dental appointment at times. Definitely has that '60s consciousness-raising-hootenanny feel, but it's just too droney-bangy to inspire much outrage or admiration, and the zany-wacky factor doesn't land nearly 60 years on. One finds it mostly tiresome, honestly, though recognizing it might be energizing to some.
Just very good all the way around. One disagrees with the editors that “Head Over Heels” is the standout here; it’s good enough but feels too obvious and cloying a singalong (which is to say too many girls liked it back in the day). “Everybody Wants to Rule” is tops among a very accomplished set of songs. “The Working Hour” is wonderful and “Shout” (like “EWTRTW”) somehow stood up to just massive overplaying. “I Believe” is lovely and the closer “Listen” suggests to me how the band wanted to be heard (i.e., serious and thoughtful). T4F have always had a vision and executed it effectively and with meaningful emotional impact across their oeuvre (though occasionally overindulged themselves). Re their other work: don’t sleep on the “The Hurting,” a very strong and under-appreciated record, darker with goth touches and without the maximalist (and psychedelia-adjacent) bent of later records. A case can be made that it’s at least as good as Big Chair and perhaps better (on certain days of week, in certain moods). Seeds of Love is underrated, too (though the charge of being overdone applies more persuasively there). Even the new record (2022) recommends itself. Lingering ‘80s cheese factor and too much success might hurt their reputation a bit, but T4F are a substantive and (one daresays) an important band. Substantively more than a 4 but not just a tick short of a 5.
Sounds about like a lost, unappreciated (but secretly influential) troubadour ought to sound. Some lovely quiet playing. It’s good to know lost gems like this, even if the listening experience is a little underwhelming, with a strong "eat your vegetables" feel. BJ looks a long shot to change one’s life. 2.9 > 3
Lively, engaging and cheeky, this is a fun ride overall. One finds the second record quite a bit better, actually, for being quite a bit richer and more mature and considerably more diverse, sonically and creatively. One also confesses to preferring the genuine article (that being reggae) to hybrids such as this. Still, it's not hard to imagine what a breath of fresh air this must have been in 1979 and it remains quite hard not to like today. "You're Wondering Now" is wonderful.
Charming and delightful throughout, and an easy pleasure to listen to. The NY cover is as good as covers get – odd treatment plays utterly refreshing and is interesting in its own right, especially the breakdowns in latter part of song.
Very strong tonally and in terms of mood, and rich and soulful, with dark shadings to add to the intrigue. A winner all the way around – and about right for a Mercury Prize winner. Will be inspired to check out the earlier work.
Just not all that, at least not anymore, and as far as one’s concerned, they never really were.. Any euphoria that’s felt feels too cheaply earned. One always found PS to be much tamer compared to the edgier, darker, druggier Happy Mondays, nor as expansive as Spiritualized and not as flat-out weird and cultish as, say, Polyphonic Spree. The slower, dreamier cuts (the best of which is “I’m Coming Down”) are not uninteresting, but they do feel a little insubstantial. The record is alternately too silly-happy and too noodly-contemplative. “Come Together” is pretty weak tea as a peace-and-love anthem, but “Loaded” and “Damaged” are decent. The whole thing – the faux gospel choir, the stupid “We wanna get loaded and have a good time” Peter Fonda clip, the arty pretensions, the thin and now hollow-sounding production (which, oddly, hasn’t held up so well, given it’s basically a producers’ record) – reads as unconvincing.Today, this sounds like mid-list commercial pop-rock from an era in transition, with much genre conflict, and anyway isn’t nearly as experimental and lysergic as it wants to be.
Bold and dark, rich and engaging. The odd bits of instrumentation add to the interest. I can’t speak to how original this is – vs. how Ellingtonian (which it seems quite a bit to be, most similar to “Such Sweet Thunder”) – but one has always loved Mingus’ willingness to take risks, follow his muse, and challenge listeners. There's a sweetness lacking here, that would play nicely against the considerable dissonance. Dear editors: why not include records by Kamasi Washington as contemporary bookends to this? 3.7 > 4.
The world needs Stevie’s sweetness more than ever as well as his commitments to love and tunefulness. So much tenderness and funkiness, and such extraordinary quality in such quantity. There’s almost a prog rock level of expertise and excess to it.
Can’t say what’s precisely Welsh about their uninhibited and totally out-there approach, but it’s a both a hoot and a blast. Lots of Bowie, with easily as much glam as psychedelia, which is mostly of the Pink Floydesque variety. One fully digs the ebullience and is inclined to make the case that their sound is every bit as big as Oasis (without the posturing and pomposity) and much cleverer than Blur (without the self-congratulatorily thinking themselves the cleverest). The zany sound effects are additive to the mostly melodious mayhem, rather than being thrown in just to show off. Nice mix of full-on bangers (“Bad Behaviour” being the best) and a plethora mid-tempo thinkers (“Something 4 the Weekend,” “Hometown Unicorn,” “Mario Man,” “Long Gone”). One finds it all quite satisfying, however Welch is it, precisely.
Outstanding, from top to bottom, groovy from the first note, and interesting throughout. One sort of wishes he’d let the underlying grooves play out a bit more instead of adding so many frills (e.g., frou-frou harmonicas and vocalizing as on “Too High”), but then we’d lose some of the fun comparisons to Bach-like complexity and layering. He’s at once fun to listen to and quite serious in intent. One doesn't necessarily love every track (Stevie can get pretty saccharine), but there’s no doubting the intent, commitment and brilliance of nearly all the execution. There's more fluidity and less preachiness than on some of the other albums, but every bit as much social commentary and commitment. Plus, soul ... just lots and lots of soul that comes shining right thru and it's hard to beat Stevie when it comes to soul.
Artier than mere glam, but much rockier than folks who know mainly Roxy’s/Ferry’s later work might expect. There’s lots of late glam chugging and the sax is strong. Nice, loose soloing all over the place (especially “If There Is Something”). "If There is Something" and "Virginia Plain" and “2HB” is a wonderful sequence of songs. “Would You Believe” manages to predict the ‘80s sound to come even as it harkens back to straightforward ‘50s rocking. This feels like a debut record, with a few rough edges and some filler, but its best bits are quite good indeed.
Taking care of the obvious: "Walk This Way" has an all-time rock-and-roll hook (besides being maybe the first contemporary song one ever loved – sixth grade-ish) and "Sweet Emotion" one of the all-time vibes, plus a first-rate hook. And Steven Tyler was something like a Platonic ideal of the second-tier rock-god vocalist (behind Plant and Mercury in terms of sheer pipes; and not as idiosyncratically original as Jagger or as cool/poised as Morrison). The rest of this record is just dripping with mediocrity (which is never more apparent than when they go for the big, syrupy finish with the strings on the closer, which simply does not work. And oh, look, a song about having a big d*ck – how clever, how witty. While this is fine on its own terms, their later high crimes against music – not just rock and roll – simply cannot be forgiven.
Solid and stylish, plus sophisticated-seeming – almost suave – for its time.
The genuine article, the full-on real deal and likely the best-ever farewell album – this is the way to go out on top and full credit to JA for staying out, too, and not sullying their legacy with numerous farewell tours and other indignities. The article is not be topped for energy and dynamism – has there ever been a more kinetic song than "Been Caught Stealing"? – for belief and credibility, and the simple cool factor. Its variety is underrated too. The slow burns of side 2 mixing Stones and Zeppelin vibes in a wholly original blend. PF is the archetypal post-punk singer, not shying away from the big, dramatic gestures of classic rock and fully embracing the "fuck it" attitude of punk. This was a landmark achievement not just for the '90s – perhaps the best record of the decade coming in the first year – but for all of rock history. Just fucking great. And they gave us Lollapalooza besides.
The first big step out of the alt.country or Americana ghetto was a major one indeed. Three stone-cold Wilco classics -- "Sunken Treasure," "Far Far Away" and "Misunderstood" which was epic live for years, and evidence of the sneakily innovative and even radical Tweedy. And "Outta Site..." is sufficiently nice to play twice (though one vastly prefers the more Brian Wilson-y of the two versions) The production trickery and fireworks are used to good and subtle effect, really good. The quieter songs all have their charms, and they're durable charms, too. One sees little reason why Summer Teeth, a.m., A Ghost Is Born and Sky Blue Sky shouldn't be on this list. This is easily one of the best bands of the last few decades.
What a career renaissance and the growling never sounded so good.There are a handful of first-rate songs – "Lovesick," "Doorway," "Get to Heaven," "Not Dark Yet," and (especially) "Cold Irons Bound;" "Highlands" points directly to Rough and Rowdy Ways. But the true genius of the record is in its sense of depth and balance and control and consistent tone – unhurried and rich, a touch sweet but also dark. Kudos to the excellence of the production. Everybody's 29th record (or whatever) should be this good.
The earth's not had many better voices but the heavy-handed arrangements bring her down, it must be said. It's hard not to like "People Get Ready" and "Groovin.'" And soul music's not had many more soulful cuts than "Ain't No Way" and, of course, the much better known "Natural Woman." Never Loved a Man is the better of the two records on this list.
Some good, ol' fashioned, country-fried feminism. One loves the sharp and hard-edged voice, the crisp, straightforward playing, the sad-funny lyrics and overall songrwriting chops – basically everything but the cover photo. Pure country and old-fashioned in the best way.
Pure class, innit. They know how to do well structured clever and satirical pop songs better than anyone. Almost every song features witty wordplay. The sound is vintage British invasion, with just a touch of moddishness ... lots of great flourishes, pianos and harpischord in particularly. "Rainy Day in June" and "Sunny Afternon" are the highlights, and the closer "I'll Remember" is excellent, too. One gets the charge of sameyness ... which is another way of saying they what they did well and the did it, you know, as well as anyone.
If you entered "metal" into a stock music service, you'd get something like this back, which one doesn't consider a compliment. "Hollow" and "This Love" have very brief passages of something that might be vaguely redeemable, but well you know where it ends up .... in "Fucking Hostile" territory. In other words, it's the very essence of awful.
Really cool and vibe-y, sweet and bitter. Lauryn Hill may have a bigger voice, but EB gets a lot out of hers. The arrangements and production and playing are all excellent throughout, lending a high gloss of shine and polish to the bittersweet content.
Irredeemably awful. Putrid and stupid, not to mention silly and sophomoric. Negative numbers should be an option for the likes of this.
Likably eclectic mix of songs. But the Hot Rod + JB feel combo feels a little less than the sum of their parts. One likes the artier-contoured and his more outre explorations of JB's soloing and finds later (but even less commercially successful) records more interesting and enjoyable. The vocals are optional, as far as one's concerned, since this all about the virtuosity. Thus, more noodling is what's wanted here, and less conventional song structures and less RS (of whom one's certainly a fan) distracting attention and clowning (as winsome as that can be occasionally). ere, he does work over the blues convincingly and blistering (though somewhat predictably). The classic (and classical-inflected) cuts are fun enough and one's All for Magritte covers, but it's only a slight boost here. Overall, not just quite as good as one might expect or hope for.
This is fine as it goes, and even quite good in sections ("Where Are We Now?" and "Valentine's Day" and "You Feel So Lonely" are right up one's alley) and sets the stage for of Blackstar, which has genuine power but was also overrated (perhaps somewhat understandably) in the sentimentalist backlash of his death and the overdetermined contrivance of its release. But as ever with Bowie, questions about the reaching for relevance and synthentic-performative and forced feel of things can't be overlooked. What's with the hard rock open on "Set the World on Fire"? Who thought that was a good idea for an artist who otherwise seems to be aiming to age gracefully. And again, 9 Bowie records – which is 4 or 5 too many, when one considers that is more than the Beatles, 50% more than the Stones, 3x more than Elvis, 9 more than Chuck Berry, 4 more than Springsteen, and Zeppelin, and more than Radiohead, U2 and the Replacements combined. It's just laughable. At least the editors had the good sense to drop (-ex) it, but really it should never have been here in the first place. Among 2013's much worthier choices were records from Jason Isbell, The National, Waxahatchee, Neko Case, Vampire Weekend, Janelle Monae, and Bill Callahan, plus probably some hip-hop records one doesn't feel quite qualified to identify. Whichever of the editors is the unabashed fanboy might consider a new title: Roughly 800 Albums That Are Worth Your Time, 192 That Are Definitively Not, and Nine Bowie Records, A Few of Which Are Worthy But Several That Are Not, Really? I mean, why not include Tin Machine? Shouldn't one hear the worst albums of all time before one dies? And, again, to be clear, this is a decent record. The issue is with the editors who do the overrating, not the artist whom they overrate.
Works perfectly on its own terms. Whether the opening note as wake-up call, call to arms or clarion call, it still resonates as a profound statement of the new. The songs are sharp and tight and polished – state-of-the-art and top-of-the-market pop music circa ‘64, a group working at the height of its power, just before significantly expanding its field of play and launch into a new artistic orbit. Fun to think about the film’s role in the intersection of commodity pop (and its commercial significance) and musical/aesthetic ambition. This seems the fulcrum of what was and the possibilities that would soon begin to be realized.
Not their best, and perhaps the least excellent of the late quintet (Amnesiac, In Rainbows King of Limbs and Moon-Shaped Pool, – only the first two of which was included here). This perhaps most similar to Amnesiac in that's uneven and slow starting (which is why they both probably ended up on editors -ex list, though there are way more obvious ex-ing candidates). Indeed, the last part of Hail (starting with "There There") is first rate and just what one wants from what was then the best, most important and artiest band in the world.
So authentic and rawly demo-like that it feels sort of rootsy, but its early genius throughout, with five or six classics in notably different veins. So strong and a harbinger of all the strength and excellence still to come.
All-time flow and funk and grooves, this is pop music at its most enjoyable. It just sounds sweet and good, made with joy and an extremely high degree of craft that makes it seem natual and easy. One gets the feeling that MJ is relaxed and smiling as he sings and oh to think what might have been had it remained thus. Pure good time music – for the players and hearers. One is thrust back to the fresh thrills of middle school (as if in the DH Lawrence poem). What craft in the making, a most impressive feat that still sounds great.
Winsome and charming, just like it was back in day, when one listened to this quite a bit and when it become personally meaningful. Still packs punch through the unique mix of its big, well layered sound and its gentleness of emotion and effect. (Editors are right about FLs' humanity.) While one found the live antics to be a bit much, the record is a delight and first-rate all around. Indeed, one forgot how much soul there is in it. One hopes they enjoyed the critical and commercial recognition they received and – more importantly – deserved.
One admits never having fully got Bjork, despite one being 100% dead in the sweet spot of the target market for this – pop-minded, globally-oriented, sympathetic to aesthetic ambition in general and art songs in particular. Somehow the record just doesn' quite fully land. Or one just can’t seem to like it quite as much as one feels one should, a feeling that started right from her ... well, this record, the title of which is silly. It seems she’s singing songs different from the ones her band is playing or that the track sounds like she should be singing. The records got better as they got artier – Vespertine is wonderful, having aged very well indeed. And while this is by no means an unpleasant or uninteresting listen (the walking out of the club sound effect on \"There's More to This\" is cool, and her interpretation of \"LIke Someone in Love\" works), the overall effect feels just slightly contrived or over-thought, which makes for some gorgeous moments, but also restricts the organic flow one likes in one's pop music (especially of this era).
A clear candidate for best prog rock album of all time, largely by curtailing its proggy tendencies. “In the Cage,” “Hairless Heart / Counting Out Time” and “Carpet Crawlers” (“gotta get in to get out“) are relative standouts in the rich melange of stately moods, outta-nowhere hooks, gratuitous counterpoint, sudden reversals dreamy vibes, and weird thrown-in, odd-lots sounds. The lyrics and storyline is lost on me, but don’t feel any the worse for that. Whatever else prog rock was (and it was a lot), it was often rich and interesting, as this very much was/is.
What a dumb title and the production has held up over time just about as well as sushi does, which is to say not very. The whole thing sounds thin and tinny and like they played the most basic beats on discount-store equipment, and like a lot of other reaching pop/R&B acts of the time (hello Bill Biv Devoe). There's some likable energy here, but this feels like a kids records – made by and made for – with not much heft and one guesses most of these protagonists long since would have outgrown and/or have fett a bit embarrassed by it.
One quite likes the smoky and knowing voice, the sultry delivery, soulfulness, and the respectful attitude toward her R&B forebears, less so the Spectorian densities and the girliness of some of the material (e.g., “Do Re Mi,” “Mockingbird”). Best songs: “My Coloring Book,” “Anyone Who Had a Heart,” and “Twenty-Four Hours to Tulsa.” No doubting the authenticity of the talent, but doesn’t she seem more American than British? The version of “Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow” is very good, though perhaps one’s never heard a bad version of the song, a testament to its quality.
Likable enough, with more texture and depth than one recalls, but not exactly on the cutting edge. Her voice is not great, though the playing and the songs themselves are all decent, with more than a few resolutely above average moments throughout. Because it received more than its due, one feels no need to overpraise for posterity, however easy the listening. Still, it's more than credible and certainly convincing and "No One Said it Would Be Easy" and "We Do What We Can" and "I Shall Believe" all add depth and something like an authentic pathos. The tinge of melancholia around the edges make it worthwhile all these years later. The consistent tone and high quality throughout are to be taken seriously too. The hits are fine – "Leaving Las Vegas" grates a bit vocally and "All I Wanna Do" would be loathsomely earworm-y if the set-up weren't so winning and the day-drinking conceit not so relatable (speaking personally). One might have been suspicious of her posturing back in the day, but one gets the feel now that she was playing and singing what she knew and doing it well, too. It's near perfect on its own terms, which are, admittedly, on the slight side.
"See a Chance" is just instantly likable, and perhaps the decade's most radio-worthy cut. Title cut has always been a semi-secret fave, not bad or well-known enough to be a full-on guilty pleasure – just cool. "Spanish Dancer" sounds vaguely Steely Dan-ish or Nightfly-esque – mildly groovy and decently pleasant. But then there are a few embarrassments of the avert-one's-eyes variety. "Night Train" could have been the theme to Miami Vice and "Second-Hand Woman" works not at all – the artist himself might even support the cancellation of that particular cut for PC reasons. This does feel like the original Dad rock, maybe, or a Boomer transition into the era of Members Only jackets. Still, it's better than it seems it should be or perhaps deserve to be. In transitioning from the '80s, this record has been clearly damaged, but not terminally so. Overall, the feel is that the former wunderkind was ready to sell out but was a little unsure about how to do or perhaps diffident by nature and so sold out in an inoffensive sweet (and not a little cheesy sort of way).
Fun and groovy and (of course) oh so influential (and mostly a positive influence on the right sorts of artists who would feel inspired and emboldened to go big – one's thinking of George Clinton, Miles Davis, Prince). One likes the vibe overall perhaps more than the music itself which can seem a bit muddied (perhaps production defects) and also sloppy in its sprawl. Still. "Everyday People" is easy to like (in spite of the incipient silliness), as is the title cut. "Sex Machine" is full-on epic (and way better than James Brown take on same [and an order of magnitude longer, it seems pertinent to add]). A lot to like here – not least all the positive thinking and "up with people" optimism [quite the contrary to Riot Going on, eh?] and that it did so well commercially and on the charts is something like a hopeful sign [if against the general run of play] about popular tastes (were they so much better in 1969?) – but aging perhaps somewhat less than gracefully.
Massively hooky, though getting dangerously close to bubble gum territory in the middle of record. Opener “Time to Pretend” rocks and hasn't dimmed a nidge in a decade and a half since its release; it's an anthemic banger of the feel-good song-of-the-summer variety. Last three songs – with the Jaggeresque vocals and likable down-trending vibes – make this more than a forgettable aughtie record, though who knows what to make of lyrics allegedly from Mayan prophecies (one certainly doesn’t). Fun to hear again. Glad to hear it's aging well. Seems a poor choice to have been cut.
Even better than the debut, with similar strengths but a bit more range and depth. "Carry On" is a terrific opener, "Helpless" an all-time great of yearning and uncertainty (and everything), "Country Girl" suite rich and compelling. Plus there are two nonpareil pop gyms – "Our House" and "Teach Your Children Well" – of deep melodious sweetness that stays just shy of stickiness or sickliness. "Woodstock" is the worst song of the lot to this one's ear. In toto, this record is a a pure, organic classic that's miles above so much of what it engendered.
A rich and serious record that's also a joy to listen to. One notices the toughness, even jadedness, of the vocals ("yo"), but also the vulnerability and sweetness of the singing which one prefers slightly to the rapping. It's the perfect balance of soul, R&B and hip-hop, with a real (and respectful) historical sense energizing the whole endeavor. Lovely beds of beats and instrumentation. Nice touches all over the place – the Santana guitar solo on "Zion," the Manzarek-y harpsichord on "Superstar" (wonderfully interpretive, too), the Ayers-y keys on "Nothing Even Matters." "Doo Wop (That Thing)" was a totally justifiable smash and there a so many other strong tracks -– "Lost Ones," Every Ghetto," "Nothing Even Matters," "Can't Take My Eyes Off of You"
Classic but worn in a way. The solos seem gratuitous, and the drumming (much as one likes i) a bit dated and the record is overlong (like so many prime CD-era landmarks). Still, "Black," "Alive" and "Jeremy" were monstrous hits for a reason and much of the rest was very well executed smoldering moodiness, the artier side of grunge, say. Vedder an all-time vocalist of course, but the songs still sound as if they were painful for him to sing. Though some of it sounds a bit doofy today and they obviously wanted to be the coolest band in the land, this one has real teeth and merit.
A high-impact, but slightly uneven, work by a singular artist. Moodier and less theatrical than some of his canon. One prefers the sweeter cuts ("Who Are You This Time," "A Little Rain" "Whistle Down the Wind" and "That Feel") to the grittier, more raffish and most discordant cuts, the most effective of which are "The Earth Died Screaming" and "I Don't Want to Grow Up." The husky rough vocals are near heartbreaking when TW goes tender. Though it's emotionally and psychologically stripped down it doesn't seem musically so. Holds up really well for being 30 (!) years old. And well worth a grammy.
One doesn't much get this one, which peaks out only as pretty good, with a distinctly tart sound that feels pretty original, even if it smacks a little of Bowie and a little of Queen. It lands with pretty modest effect, mainly due to the excessively theatrical frills and repetitive filligree (especially in the vocals), that gives off a novely vibe. "Worst Band in the World" is mostly silly, though maybe it was funny at the time. "Hotel" is just okay – not terrible, but overdone. "Old Wild Men" seems like it wants to be epic but doesn't get there. "Silly Love" is well named (and annoying besides). "Somewhere in Hollywood" is best cut (and not just due to the line "Norman Mailer/waits to nail her"). "Baron Samedi" feels overengineerd and overreaching in its confidence of its own cleverness, though the guitaring at the end of the song is decently intricate. The same is true of the vocals on "Sacro-Iliac" – interesting and pleasurable but seeming a little bit more than it needed to be.
Goes from beautiful ("she found now") to bruising ("nothing is") and back again. Abstract enough to avoid the hard-edging annoyance of pure industrial. To be clear: this never quite soars to Loveless-level heights or achieves that ultimate impact, but is awfully good on its own terms, unique as a sculpture of distortion and reverb and fully immersive sonic art and seemingly a minor miracle for ever having been released in the first place.
Fresh and energetic and approachable, upbeat and responsible rap. "Kick, Push" and "Daydreamin'" are both great, likable and fun and different. The "food-liquor" dichotomy isn't exactly metaphysically impactful, though the religious and anti-sexism references suggest LF's heart's in the right place (as does the long list of gratitude shout-outs on the last cut [or remix or whatever]). However, creative and elevating it lacks a certain edge and urgency and feels a bit light overall, leaving one to wonder what he's done since.
Lovely and thoughtful, but a coin flip whether this or Wrecking Ball is better. A bit heavy-handed on the production atmospherics -- the Lanois successor twiddling the knobs trying to out-Lanois Lanois apparently. Emmylou don't need all that. And while it's nice these are all her songs, the lyrics leave a good bit to be desired (e.g., "monkey/funky" rhyme in "One Big Love"). Dave Matthews add nothing. As befits the subject matter "Boy from Tupelo" is just about the best song – with a bonus from the shout out to Rickie Lee Jones, who easily merits inclusion in this book (for either the eponymous debut or Flying Cowboys [one's personal fave]), even if it cost Emmylou one of her three slots.
Quality through and through, this stands up well in their vast and impressive catalog. The synth and tech, while providing a touch more than the ideal (or necessary) amount of sheen and gloss, freshen up an inimitable sound, which retains its dark and edgy bite. One's been more of a casual fan/approver/passive admirer type and finds this an interesting and wholly distinguished updating of a sound; only "Past Gone Mad" goes too far. "I'm Going to Spain" is just splendid, and "It's a Curse" (or is it "It's a Curse-UNH"?) the perfect follow up, with the barby sharpness one expects from this lot. "Why Are People Grudgeful" walks like a lark and talks like a lark, but what a delightful lark it is. One wonders how this might rate straight up against inferior Britpoppers like Blur, who would seem to owe more than a little to MES. Given the rich canon, staying power and consistent vision, in combination with a willingness to invent authentically, one can make the case for the Fall being the best ever underrated band (not the just most underrated).
Well balanced and accessible (all the piano helps, no doubt), this feels considerably less contrived and thus more substantial than many other Bowie outings. It's almost as if he just wanted to make music and write songs. "Changes" is a great song and "Oh! You Pretty Things" is decent, too, but a bit too theatrical from one's personal tastes. The same is true of "Eight-Line Poem," though is noodles pleasantly (especially the guitar parts). "Quicksand" coheres credibly; its sophistication merits the lavishness (both vocally and in the strings). "Kooks" feels Kinksish, likably so, and illustrates just how more might have been less for Bowie, had it ever occurred to him to do less. (The same could be said of the intriguing closer "Bewlay Brothers"). The last few songs are interesting – if only because of their subject matter (Warhol, Dylan, Lou Reed) – but not much more than that; they might even be interpreted, given the writer, as a sort of trolling or market positioning. "Life on Mars?" largely deserves all the lauding it's received, but as a prequel to Zigggy (along with "Queen Bitch"), one starts to get a bit nervous (or feels an allergic reaction) to the many excesses of the later record and future developments. Indeed, one's always had the operating theory that ambition – which took the form of habitual reinventions – was not necessarily the friend of Ziggy/Aladdin Sane/Thin White Duke/Tin Machine head/etcetcetc. To be clear: this is a strong record and perhaps one's favorite Bowie record, though that affections doesn't preclude one from seeing in it the seeds of all that makes for one's love-hate relationship, which could be more accurately described as ranging from grudging admiration to a somewhat disdainful sense of his being-overrated (especially by the editors of this book).
GN might belong in a book called "1001 One-Hit Wonders You Can Definitely Avoid While You're Alive" but it certainly doesn't belong in one with this particular title.
Gritty and gutty, but far from great, as all the racket adds up to very little. The raucous repetition (near constant) is slightly mitigated by the use of horns here and there and the occasional deployment of something like vocal harmonines (see "Come See, Come Saw," "Misbeaten"). Otherwise, this one-note, tiresome, and mostly forgettable, though it's not hard to see (or hear) how they were probably great live.
Just great from top to bottom. Every song works musically, lyrically and performatively and it holds together exceedingly well in terms of consistency of mood and linked storytelling. Very well produced with solid play and terrific touches all over the place – the whistling, of course, the crisp guitar and light-touch high-hatting on "The Stranger," and the clarinet and accordion on "Vienna"). A few stone cold classics ("Only the Good Die Young" is an all-timer if only for upsetting so many Catholic moms; "Movin' Out") with a strong set of deep cuts are great (esp the title cut and "Scenes" and "Get It Right the First Time"). "Just the Way You Are" is a non-sappy ballad done right. Maybe the perfect pop album
Absolutely perfect. One's quibbles have to do with things like the length of "Breathe" and "Brain Damage" and "Eclipse" (all of which are too short). The sax and guitar solos on "Money" are perfectly complementary, making a song that could have been seriously stupid. "Us versus Them" is as pretty a song as any rock band ever devised. The production remains a wonder 50 years on (see "Any Colour You Like"). And what more can be said about the closing cut(s)? They've not lost an iota of their power and are a strong contender for greatest rock song ever (the actual title cut of the follow-up record is, too), with its/their gathering orchestral crescendo, gospel backing vocals and Biblical-philosophical lyrics. One knows more or less every note and still feels challenged and uplifted, n the way of great and timeless art.
Sounds like the Rosetta Stone in terms of the link between blues and psychedelia, with undeniably hot and groovy hooks to spare (very much including "Over Under Sideways Down"). Beck blisters throughout and there's much that's cool and catchy, with "I Can't Make Your Way" and "Farewell" and "Jeff's Boogie" adding pleasant variety and even a touch of unexpected fun and levity. One senses that the Yardbirds are under-appreciated as manifestation of deep '60s hipness.
The basic template is repeated throughout and thus grows quite a bit samey, though of course it all sounds softly and expansively pleasant. Mix of steel guitar and full string section on “Tiny Dancer” works well, if oddly. "Levon" is among his best songs. Title cut lacks the dramatic impact Elton seems to be going for, and while string section toward the end is the best part of the song, it manifests the general overreliance on the orchestral effect generally. The song about Native Americans is borderline embarrassing. And did we really need the chorale on “All the Nasties.” Lyrics seem sprawling, nonsensical, non-plausible character sketches. More than meh, but not by much.
One loathes their politics and avoids their fans whenever possible, but there's no denying the distinctiveness of their sound and the greatness of many of their songs. Strong vocals, awesome funky hooks and the authentic fuck-it attitude – they kinda had it all and made it look easy besides. "Tuesday's Gone" has a richly emotional and vaguely symphonic feel, a la Zeppelin power ballads (reminder this was before that term became ironic and tarnished thanks to hair metal bands). And note to editors: though slightly more redneck-y, LS is no more Southern than ABB, who are the better band, on balance.
Just beautiful. Yes, she uses her voice like a horn and like any good horn player she occasionally overstretches and bends notes too far. Her attitude is winning, too (as when she forgets the lyrics, though perhaps the second instance feels a bit contrived). "September in the Rain" might be the highlight right out of the gate, though "Embraceable You" is a strong second (full disclosure: these are songs one loves). "Write Myself a Letter" and "Dream" and "Just a Gigolo" and "Lucky in Love" are also strong. The trio’s playing is the star of the show, however, so elegant and understated. Speaking of under, jazz is just hugely underrepresented in this book. Oh, to have been in the room that night, to have been for that time a Mercury recording artist of one's own.
Scrappy and lively, raffish and fun and very likably, if insistently, cheeky. But it does all seem a bit put-on. One gets that they were pipped to be like the Clash, but they simply ain’t all that, or didn’t work out to be. And the “Stones to Franz Ferdinand’s Beatles” is even more of a reach. Best cut: “Music When the Lights Go Out” and “What Katy Did.” Still, it’s well-made modern rock, with quality throughout, and a clear leader in the aughties division.
Quite interesting and sounds a good bit ahead of its time, like 1985 instead of 1979, with its edgy, electronic-y, decidedly post-punk feel. Titular opener is biting and engaging. "Brain Drain" is pleasantly spiky. "Guilty" smolders with a touch of understated funk.The voice isn't exactly to one's tastes, but it's well-used throughout, especially in building drama and suspense. One finds this to be a worthy inclusion on this list, if mainly for "new" music discovery.
Not a record to hear before one dies or ever, but rather a record to make one yearn for the silence of the tomb. And so utterly dated – likely the reason the editors dropped it from latest editions.
Shows how Radiohead was just about the best rock band before coming the best band, period (and artiest and most ambitious, too). Three classics – "High and Dry," "Fake Plastic Trees" and "Black Star" – plus several other plus-plus tunes. The sound throughout is well-balanced and assertive, a band gaining full control of its ability and deploying it excellent effect.
A strong and proper rock record. There's a retro, '50s-ish vibe with the saxophone on opener. One recognizes that Ian Hunter can be a bit of an acquired taste (few vocalists sing with such an heavy accent, British or otherwise) but one hears real yearning and regret in it, effort and a certain hauntedness, and a cheekiness. "Ballad of Mott" is best, but "Hymn for the Dudes" and "Honaloochie" and "I Wish I Was Your Mother" are also top-shelf (yes one much prefers the sadder and more subdued side of Mott to the, say, silly provocation of "Violence").
Maybe slightly more tuneful than the later work, but not quite as interesting, more stripped down without the subtle and stylish flourishes as on the debut record or the later ones. One exception, “The Partisan,” is a highlight, as is the mournful organ on “Nancy So Long Ago."
Very stylish and sophisticated. Nobody used synths more tastefully, which mitigates against what otherwise would sound seriously dated. This is somewhat slight but bonus points for understated refinement and the pure class that is TT's voice.
Sure it's dark and grim but feels sort of quaintly so today, by which time we've seen scarier posers willing to push the schlock to much more extreme ends. Some bits (e.g., the Satanic-sounding vocals on "Wardance") sound like the band was undecided on whether to be metal or new wave. "Requiem" and "Tomorrow's World" sound like vintage new wave, the former with a hard, relentless undertone that points toward industrial. "Complications" is cool enough and "Primitive" also decent. Another situation where one thinks, they were probably great live. A little tired in effect overall with lots of '80s production cliches being applied (if slightly before their time) but fully representative of the early days of the darker, edgier end of new wave).
Even morons find this moronic.
One finds this mostly lovely and exquisitely played and much easier to take seriously than his more overdetermined works (which is basically all of the rest of them) largely down to the sincerity and understatedness. “People Ain’t No Good” is quite good and a mixed-emotion sort of ballad whose sentiment one can largely get behind, but "Lime Tree Arbor" and "Idiot Prayer" and "So Far From Me" are also very good, though tbh every song has its merits and the unified and consistent sense among them is what makes this record special. There are too many NC records in this book; this is easily the most deserving.
Doesn't get more authentically old-time than this, much of which is excellent and some of which is outright lovely, though the inter-track chatting doesn't add a lot, though no demerits for name-checking the legends of course. It's a long way from this to "Mr. Bojangles" but one's glad to to know the roots of this rootsiest of bands.
LIke so much of '70s era art, this is ragged and excessive and indulgent. Plus, Dennis Wilson is no better than an average singer with no better than an average voice. But the overstuffed approach yields quite a few interesting and worthwhile bits. "River Song" gets to certain level of ethereality – a choir's worth of backing vocals will do that, one supposes. There's a bit more swampy funk (not really convincing particularly when its about the Pacific Ocean) than feels necessary. Uplifting cuts ("Rainbow") seem more effective and on brand. Still one hears riffs and moments that might have been stolen by Eels and Dawes ("Farewell My Friend"). Editors, while overrating the book generally, are right the whole thing smacks of "rich white guy blues" (or even Rock Star Blues). Or if Paul Thomas Anderson had made movies in Southern California in the '70s, it would have looked much like this sounds. A number of cuts from the expanded edition sound better than the tracks on the original release.
One is glad that there are artists and musicians out in the world willing to try anything and everything, but this is no more than a curiosity, really. The most understandable thing about the record may be the fact that the band members chose to keep their identities secret. "Bach Is Dead" indeed.
Intermittently lovely and mostly interesting but certainly sub-sublime. There are moments of cringeworthy period stereotypicality (e.g., vocals on "Springtime Promises"), but for updating madrigals one thinks not much could be better. All that plus some glockenspiel and is that a sitar one hears, too? Male vocals leave something to be desired and there's a whiff of "eat your vegetables" to the overall proceedings (though one likes vegetables).
Does he have a cold? One likes the lower-key rapping style, the seeming subtlety and understatedness. The tighter, at times, minimalistic beats. There’s a drama and an eeriness, that befits a kung fu-esque, martial arts-themed record. Quieter, less boastful, with a lo-fi quasi-documentary feel at times and weird and woozy flourishes that are effective and engaging. One finds oneself a bit surprised at the burgeoning affinity for a broadening range of hip-hop.
Crisp, killer country. A strong, nearly suite-like set of songs. In the modern tradition, there's some knowing humor to the songs but also moments of real pathos. Editors are right: this man should be much better known.
One has liked some of the later work (especially the song with Robert Smith from a year or two ago) but this is entirely too teeny boppy and way too '80s-synthy for one's taste. Best song is last song, "You Caught the Light," which is more along the lines of what one was expecting/hoping for. As to their chart success, good for them and better this than, say, Ed Sheeran or Billie Eilish.
Listening for the first time in years, it's clear that one's memory has smeared this record by association with the execrable contributions that were coming next – Zooropa and Pop. The distance of years makes clear that one was both spot-on and slightly-off target. On one level, it's a great record, extraordinarily well executed with a multitude of winning cuts – "The Real Thing" and "One" and "Until the End of the World" especially. On the other hand, it's overlong and there's a real downgrade in the lyrical quality ("A woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle" was a tired line a full decade before this was released). But the biggest issue is the obviousness of the career move. Yes, it's an impressive and mostly successful refresh of the sound, but a blatant brand repositioning of such a magnitude equates to cynicism and contrivance and, worse yet, outright commercialism, none of which attracted first-gen fans (oneself included); indeed, to those who had Boy on cassette U2 was anything but a brand. They played songs of political commitment, songs they seemed uniquely compelled to play, and didn't worry about dance numbers or what was happening in clubs. And in the long run this redirection did damage; they lost their way to near disastrous effect and this is the context in which Achtung Baby is rightly judged. Specifically, they began trying to sound like the times, rather than defining what the times should sound like. With AB, they caught the Zeitgeist in ways that didn't utterly ruin their legacy at that moment, but AB pointed them in a direction that very well might have ruined it if not for the rapid (and nearly as cynical) course correction after they become objects of ridicule. Their entry into this wilderness of relevance seeking and trend chasing is manifested most obviously by the gimmicky club-centric efforts that folllowed immediatly, but also in the rather sterile and synthetic "rock" records that came later, relieving many fans, but which sound clearly engineered for legacy protection or mid-market acceptance. A bedgrudging respect is what one feels mostly toward this record now, which, upon reflection is what one felt upon release; it was hard to like unreservedly for those astonished by the development from War to Unforgettable Fire. Longtime fans were right to have a sense of foreboding. One is even inclined to make the case that after AB, U2 ceased being U2; they came to exist on a plane more suited to global corporate brands rather than simple rock n' roll bands. Indeed, if Coldplay didn't exist to make them look good by comparison, U2 might have become the most cliched and laughable band on the planet. They aren't far from it in any case. NOTE: Editors' claim that less sophisticated fans were put off by this record is ludicrous; one's presence at the creation doesn't automatically cause one's ears to lose their callibrations over time, but rather to gain sensitivity toward gratuitous slippages in authenticity, at least relative to original visions.
Fun and dynamic and even gets to edgy at times. "When Doves Cry" and "Purple Rain" are master classes in how you to make pop music sound serious – near Platonic ideals of such elevations and the title cut is how the end of a "serious" pop album should sound; one wishes one'd heard more of Prince operating in this elegaic, classically-inflected mode during his career. There's some dreck here, to be clear, "Computer Blue" is the dreckiest cut, though the guitar playing is decent. Much the same could be said of "Darling Nikki." One has always found "Let's Go Crazy" to be overrated, and a spot annoying besides, but one gets why less distinguished palettes might like it. "Baby I'm a Star" sounds very much like minor variations on nearby cuts, an outtake with different lyrics. "The Beautiful Ones" is seriously underrated – Prince's ability to do sexual yearning so convincingly might have been his superpower (or one fo them). And "Take Me with U" and "I Would Die 4 You" show Prince's versatility and are awfully good to be the 5th and 4th best songs on the record. One feels not all compromised in his assessment by the fact that a highly memorable high school date was had on the opening night of the movie; one sees and hears the record clearly for what it is, lo these many years hence.
Groovy and different, at once smooth and likably woozy. One digs deeply the interesting vibes and space-age feels of deconstructed R&B. "Crack Rock" and "Pyramids" and "Lost" are particularly good/dope. The vocals are terrific throughout – FO's got a great voice, straight up. One isn't exactly swept away by the narrative, likely because seems pretty far outside the target audience. Still, high quality is consistent, though one's not fully convinced that the synths and SFX will age all that well. A bit more conventional flow woulda added muchly in countering the willful obliqueness.
Jazz doesn't get much chiller or lovelier, now does it? Getz had as recognizable and pleasing a sound as anyone in jazz. It's suffered a bit from overexposure, perhaps, but it's legit, dry and cool and flowing. The earlier the bossa, the better.
Suits a mood, doesn't it? Mostly discordant, knotty and tough, but then grittily beautiful and nascently sweet. There are passages, once heard, that one struggles to get out of one's ahead, this being art rock at the highest level. "Teen Age Riot" and "Candle" are particular faves, but it's the sustained spikey attitude and mood that is most memorable. One much prefers Moore and Gordon as vocalists to Shelley. Not sure what's so different about the trilogy suite at the end, though "Hyperstation" is one of the record's highlights.
Exceedingly cool. Hendrix is a genius and as a power trio, this lot is so much more versatile and interesting than Cream. "Little Wing"and "Spanish Castle Magic" and "Castles Made of Sand" are all teriffic but the noodling in between and jamming on top of the powerful rhythm section – which is a serious power train. Shockingly good.
Has the feel of a lark ... and, however fun and clever, larks shouldn't go on this long. There are cool grooves and beats and hooks, but somehow nets out as slightly less than the sum of its parts. Doesn't improve on multiple listens and has the same problem as much of Blur, way too convinced of its own cleverness, despite being, in fact, quite clever indeed. The beats are cool, the spooky edge and shadowy atmospherics add a bit, too, and the versatility is both feature (fun) and bug (all over the bloody place, which adds to the not-to-be-taken-too-seriously effect).
As good a live record as one has ever heard. There is a beauty in the songs and a vulnerability in the singing that isn't nearly as present or detectable in the studio recordings. And the contrast and distance between the two sides (acoustic and electric) is stunning; one gets fully the power and force of the dichotomy Dylan must have been experiencing, even if one doesn't hear the crowd's outrage described by the editors (one very much wishes one could hear it). The acoustic cuts are powerfully gentle, haunting in the humility of their presentation. One wonders if Dylan ever felt unsure of himself singing with that voice and in that peculiar style – could such an inscrutable genius have felt that way as a young man? The electric side rocks – rawly and energetically and the direct line to the perfections of Blonde and Blonde couldn't be much bolder or clearer. Hearing this, one feels humbled anew by Dylan's genius and output, and profoundly grateful for the man's work (as well as the opportunity to have seen him several times). As long as one's been a fan, hearing this record – and a few of the songs in particular – was like hearing him for the first time.
One’s always preferred the later Dinosaur, though perhaps primarily because one knew it before this and other earlier efforts. And frankly this is sick good. It’s the template isn’t it: the sweet melodies within the blaze of destruction; the mix of ennui in the vocals and what can be taken for the rage of the guitar licks and lines.Considerable catchiness comes from the deft little stop-starts that are sprinkled throughout “They Always Come,” though the cathartic, melting release of the second half of the cut makes it considerably more than catchy – borderline moving and inspirational, in fact. “Yeah We Know” is driving and brooding in a typical sort of way … one hears simultaneously regret/melancholy and solace for same, on top of just guitar work that straight-up rips and bangs, while also showing delicate finesse. “Pond Song” and “Budge” are also great. One struggles to think of any vocalist who got more out of a worse voice (perhaps because there simply aren’t that many more with a worse voice though one’s always suspected JM of intentionally going off-key and breaking notes just because he could).”Don’t” is the only dog here, the only thing worse than metal maybe being metal mimicry; they might have taken the title’s advice or simply stopped sooner, even if the song-length solo is typical Mascisian excellence. “Keep the Glove” returns the sanity – if art noise can be said to be sane – and makes a fine close. This is close to their best record, it must be said, even after getting to know it quite late.
Really good and either didn't fully realize or have forgotten quite how the BRs were/are. On the whole, this is warm and wonderful, with ample sweet and poppy melodies mixed tightly with full-on hot and barbed hooks and riffs. Loud-quiet-loud works well with sweet-hot-sweet, and the songs have texture and flow. "Barney (and Me)" and "Best Lose the Fear" (with nice keys work and a clarinet [one thinks]!) are among the best cuts. They seem to want to have some fun while indulging their ambitions, which are more arty than Oasis but less arty than (though not terribly far from) Radiohead's (see "I've Lost the Reason"); there's a clear and likably willingness to try a lot of things, most of which work, and stays just under the bar of excessively self-important '90s bombast.
A rich and enjoyable effort, often lovely, here and there cheeky, and very well executed overall, but it feels just slightly overdone productionwise at times, as if everyone got a little carried away with their new toys (i.e., strings and steels). One wonders what’s homage and what’s ironic, but that could be expectations from the earlier, campier records. It reminds me vaguely like a rural version of Joe Jackson’s Night and Day. The strength as ever is k.d.’s voice – true and strong and fluid.
Raw and earnest, raucous and great fun. Maybe not quite as good "If I Should Fall from Grace" but awesomely likable and tuneful and rough around the edges. And a great name for a record, too.
Sort of makes one miss the days of doing drugs. And also sort of makes one want to go to the gym, like a high-energy spin class. "Halcyon and On and On" the best bit for being a bit chiller and less urgent than rest of cuts (says one who misses drugs and is feeling a bit too lazy to go to gym anyway) and "Input Out" is def narcotics-required.
Pure and gorgeous. The crystalline voice. The reverence for traditional material. Folk music how it oughta be. Hard to believe this is 60 years old for it still sounds fresh.
Hard to believe the cat was only in this teens when he made this. And one wishes so many of the artists to follow would have made such judicious and tasteful use of the drum machine. Bumper-car bass lines and dreamy-trippy vibes generally. One recalls the hype around this record's rediscovery or rerelease in early aughts ... and it seems to have got even a bit better since then. Still, one's not quite ready to go all Stevie Wonder on the comparisons though.
One of the albums of the '80s, isn't it? There is not just one but two ("Every Breath" and "King of Pain") strong candidates for pop song of the '80s. And even accounting for this being the essential soundtrack of one's most formative years (and for having seen the desk at and the notebook in which Sting wrote "Every Breath" [at Goldeneye in Jamaica], there's still a pile to like and a sense of high-standard urgency from the first notes, with Sting maxing out the sequencers. Every song, save one (and no points for guessing, it's too obvious). The hits are all near perfect pop confection; has there evern been a stronger, three-song sequence than the two above and "Wrapped Around Your Finger." Both title cuts work extremely well. "Miss Gradenko" is sneaky funky, in a skiffling sort of way. "Oh My God" and "Walking in My Footseps" are fine and offer direct links to the back catalog. And then there's the very fine (and Paul Bowlesque) "Tea in the Sahara" (which points forward to Sting's very underrated first set of solo records) and the very cool bonus cut ("Murder by Numbers") which was very much the thing to have in 1982 and one had to buy the cassette to have it (as one recalled trigerred by the slight if unusual delay on the streaming sequence). This was precision-engineered and state-of-the-art at the time and there's a tense polish in the playing that belies what sounds like legit tension in the studio. Worth it, one's time. Only the atrocious, obnoxious "Mother," a song with no discernible qualities, stops it from being a 5. (Congrats, Andy, if sabotaging Sting was one's intent, which this song very much makes it sounds like).
To say it's soul meets psychedelia or Motown goes to Woodstock feels reductive, even if true. Certainly the old-fashioned aspect is prominent, wtih the baritone vocal flourishes seeming almost sock-hoppy or barbershop quartet-y, or just plain square. Still, it's good to know the band exists. Obviously, they were major hitmakers and it's good to have a first-hand, deeper-dive relationship with parts of the culture that can be said to have gone stale for the contemporary hipster. The point being that for all that feels stale and show-bizzy, a pretty full dose of soul still gets across.
Can listen to this all day, and works in multiple setting. Tracey Thorn’s voice is a thing of beauty, fluid and strong, just ideal for ballads and mid-tempo cuts. A few near-classics of this genre. So many lovely organic touches – combo of guitar, organ and bongos on “Lonesome for a Place,” sax on “Tears All Over Town” – that suggest they didn’t have to all light-dancey-trancey in the future. Will return to this to more regular rotation in the future. If it’s not quite one for the ages, it’s perfect lazy summer afternoons, peaceful Sunday mornings, springtime cocktail hours, etc. etc. 3.65 > 4
So many wondrous little hooks and grooves (“Tuesday Heartbreak”) and big huge ones, too (“Superstition”). It’s all here -- sublime pop and moving balladry (which is occasionally too sweet/sentimental for one's tastes), top-class funk and R&B, with some pretty direct and strong social commentary (which mostly lands). It's like an encyclopedia or music, with a balance of beauty and craft, wisdom and joy. The genius is in the mix of sweetness and scalding.
Based on the available information, it’s hard to escape the conclusion that they were fortunate to be even a one-hit wonder or much more than a novelty act. “Seedy Films” is likably louche, with creepy-suggestive clarinet. But the rest sounds like they’re New Order’s more theatrical and pervier cousins. “Misery self-pity complaints and injustice” indeed. So convincingly bad – almost a caricature of itself – it’s almost good. While it can be said that the singer has a distinctive voice, that’s mainly true in the sense of getting on one’s nerves with its excess stageyness and (perhaps cheeky) melodrama.
One hopes everyone feels all better now and has go the jokey protest out of their systems. And one wonders if everyone would have been better off drinking and drugging after all.
The Louvre of pop music. Gem after gem, treasure upon treasure. Every cut offers substance and style, pleasure and meaning. So much is cinematic and sonically multi-dimensional, which yields all the power and makes a convincing case for the creative utility of LSD. By wearing the concept lightly, the band was able to create space for high art. The title cuts are perhaps underrated for pure and sheer hookiness. "With a Little Help" is the band at their best, Ringo a Trojan Horse sort of vocalist and the generally upbeat arc of the song given the ideal amount of rueful shading for depth and resonance. "She's Leaving Home" is a novella, "Lovely Rita" a winsome little short story, "Within You" a raga-tastic meditation on love and human connection. Paul's work and leadership yields several of his richest and most underrated cuts – "Getting Better" and "Fixing a Hole" and "When I'm Sixty-Four," which is Hallmark-card pithy and fully evocative of the music hall but also a lovely, optimistic take on aging. It's the album's pattern: what feels slight, on closer listen, yields substance. John brings some winning weirdness with "Lucy in the Sky" and "Mr. Kite" and "Good Morning," and provides the pathos to keep the whole thing from getting too deep into Yellow Submarine territory. One wishes only to prostrate oneself in praise of "A Day in the Life," for words won't do the job of proper honoring. It's the Godfather or Hamlet of pop songs – utterly epic, heartbreaking and uplifting at the same time. Never has an orchestra been put to better use in popular music. The final chord is one of a handful of signature moments in 20th-century music. To say Sgt. Pepper deserves all the critical accolades and commercial success is an understatement roughly the size of the universe. Very likely the best pop or rock album of all time.
History will not be kind to the likes of SA and their genre compatriots. One’s not the least surprised this got exed – filed under “on second thought, not worth hearing after all.” This is lame on as many levels as they think it deep, and so typical of overdone, ‘90s self-seriousness. “God licks your face” – really? We’ve all been there, dudes, so best to keep it to yourself. The intensity is skin deep (as fakily high as the vocals), the urgency utterly misplaced, the drama puerile and jejune. All of which sins pale against the deep affront of the least appropriate album name in this whole collection.
It’s all fine, the hits are about as good (which is not to say great) as they were back in the day, but this still feels massively over-engineered, as perhaps befits a mega-star for the masses. The stompy/chompy synths and breathless vocals on nearly every song really mark the long-gone-by moment, as do the squelchy-screechy guitars (and don’t forget the occasional laser beam, in case there wasn’t enough going on for you). The problem is that so many of the songs are either mediocre or lame. Steve Wonder can’t save “Just Good Friends.” And do “Liberian Girl” and “Dirty Diana” need trigger warnings for our day and age? Give me Off the Wall and Thriller (and in that order) if MJ is required listening.
Genuine article. Real feeling, even if a fair amount of winking accompanies several songs (see "Whatever Happened to Me" and "Drink Up and Be Somebody'" and "Mixed Up Mess of a Heart"). The playing is assured and smooth, almost to a fault. And one finds it odd and a bit funny to see how clean-cut some of the outlaws could look?
Unique and interesting, just not one's thing. This is much the better of the two ZZ Top records included in this list. The approach here feels borderline arty and just a touch gimmicky, even understated and sorta take-it-or-leave it. Later, on the ubiquitous Eliminator, which feels distinctly unworthy of this list, the approach – indeed the whole presentation – was almost entirely a gimmick, and got to be overreaching and borderline obnoxious. Several good deep cuts here, beyond the unforgettable "LaGrange;" "Hot, Blue & Righteous" and "Master of Sparks" are strong and pleasantly greasy surprises.
One now knows what to listen to next time he gets a tattoo or goes to the skate park. This is just as obnoxious and sophomoric as one remembers. It could scarcely be samier, cut to cut, save maybe for the ska pastiche (kids, maybe try listening to something more like the real thing) but even that has the same banks of fuzzy-crunching guitars (all of which sound synthetic). Plus it’s a convincing exhibit in the increasingly one-sided case that accuses the ‘90s of being the worst musical decade ever. Only needs knowing by adolescent boys and it would be better if they too skipped it. It really requires a warning label for that cohort, a warning that should specify how silly it will all sound in a few years, when presumably one will cultivate some taste, develop some perspective, broaden one’s horizons, etc.
This is best graded on the curve of performance art and if one's not seen she the live shows, one supposes one can't judge this in the fullest context. Still, it's not particularly good performance art (which almost never proves durable – the had-to-be-there factor being as strong as it is). Still, it rocks pretty effectively at times in a not-exactly-groundbreaking glammy, full-on '70s sorta way. Sinatra's claim that they were the worst band ever was an overstatement, but not a wild one.
Smooth, sophisticated, stylish and surprisingly substantive. Has held up really well, in other words. It's easy to see how CC was always going to be easy to misread and underestimate, given Boy George's controversial (and oxygen-hogging) celebrity. But what a voice he had. It's interesting that none of their tip-top tracks ("Time," [note to editors: this not a "slow dance tune for teens" but rather one of the best pure pop songs of the last several decades – timelessly lovely, rich and bittersweet] "Do You Really" and "Mistake #3") are on this record, which works in their absence, primarily thanks to having such an upbeat tempo and a smile on its face. A more-than-moderate delight to come back across this so many years hence.
Dull and raw and too loud. May have been influential then but it's well outlived any enjoyability or usefulness it may have once had.
Here's one's \"E\" warning: just fucking awful. A handful of whimsical sound effects can't save this from being a massive tedium of ugliness and stupidity. This doesn't belong on a list of 10,001 albums or even 100,001 albums, much less 1,001.
A great record from top to bottom from a band that was growing ever more confident and both toughening and loosening up their sound. In positioning as a more traditional rock band, R.E.M. also expanded and enhanced their sound, with consistently strong and interesting results. The songs are all substantive, whether oriented toward the fun and crowd-pleasing or darker notes. Trusting himself, Stipe is all in on every song. “Finest Worksong” was/is a great opener, both in recorded and live forms (suiting the bigger arenas where R.E.M. had landed and where they delivered awesome shows on this tour ). “Exhuming McCarthy” just bangs while “Occupation” and “Heron House” and “Oddfellows” are shadowy and edgy. “Lightnin’ Hopkins” rips and burns. “King of Birds” is lovely and haunting. The hits were/are hits for a reason and show the range of creativity here – "End of the World" is the aural equivalent of the cover of "Sgt. Pepper's" and awfully good fun in a mod-psychedelia sort of way. "One I Love" has never been a particular fave, but its classic simplicity packs contained power and demonstrates that they could deliver in the most straightforward ways, as well as in sprawling, outre, and even flat-out weird modes. Full disclosure: one's a total R.E.M. homer, having grown up in Georgia in the same generation, seen a bunch of shows across several tours, starting in bars and gyms with Reckoning tour. Their last several records leave one fully unmoved (so one's not totally unobjective), but one puts their first five (or even 10) records, very much including Document up against any other band’s on an all-time list. 4.5/5
Very strong, this feels like the record where it all came together for Kate Bush. The first five cuts set a very high bar and while the second side is a notch below, there are still plenty of grace notes, and "The Morning Fog" is a wonderful and lovely closer. One wonders if KB might have been better served working as a painter or filmmaker rather than a singer, especially in the restrictive and commercially-driven pop slum. Still, this is about as good as it gets for marrying art with melody, song structure, pop conventions.
One very slightly prefers The Hounds of Love, but this is good, too, and one admits to liking it more now than upon its original release. "Love and Anger" is excellent, a classic slice of vintage arty '80s in vibe, instrumentation and production technique, with the kids chorus adding both depth and lightness. One wishes one'd seen her live. One wants to joke that she's the pop music equivalent of Carol Kane, or the female version of Peter Gabriel, or a more accessible Laurie Anderson, which reflects that she's sort of hard to pin down and that she remains still underrated (and very likely undercompensated). "What would we do without you?" indeed.
The zingiest of the Blur records, despite the presence of their high-water mark of "Girls & Boys." There's too much that is impressed by its own cleverness, so clearly convinced it's the sharpest kid in the class. The blending of punk and dance hall (see title cut, "Bank Holiday," "Debt Collector" and "Lot 105") just doesn't hold up all that well (maybe one has to be British), if only for clunking up the transitions from song to song and for Albarn's consistently Lydonic vocal stylings. "Badhead" and "To the End" and "Clover Over Dover" each work well, suggesting what was possible if they'd leaned a bit more sincerely and straightforwardly into the sweet, rather than insisting on being so salty in taking the piss so bloody much of the time. What's better than decent ("This Is the Low"), doesn't necessarily take flight. And like other Blur records, a bit of judicious trimming would've boosted the overall effect. In the end, one prefers Oasis in one direction, Pulp in another, and the Kinks in the third. The equation is basically this: Blur's being too clever by half leads one to liking them half as much as one might.
Easily the hookiest and most varied of all the punk records on this list. "Viva Las Vegas" is good fun. "Holiday in Cambodia" and the political satire, certainly trenchant then, remains apt today. Totally Pistolsy from the outset, but "Kill the Poor" makes clear it will be different, cheekier, and better played, too. But there's an unmistakable Valley Girl vibe.
Gets off to quite the light-hearted start for being so Teutonic, no? But the larky, novelty-act effect is gone after a few songs -- "Persian Love" continues is deeper and more interesting fare in a slightly exotic vein and "Hollywood Symphony" sprawling and cool. Overall, this is weird and wonderful-ish particularly if one hears in the right mood/context.
Sure, it's "mature," but that wasn't a high bar for them to get over. Might even seen as reachingly soft. Still, pretty good and listenable, and nearly every song succeeds on its own terms. "Too long" and "too samey" would be the common – and mostly valid – criticisms. The more they try to recreate their past magic, the more tired it all sounds. Frusciante definitely the difference maker., with lots of cool flourishes, especially in the interstitials.
Cool and moody, think-y and baleful – in other words, a near perfect mirror of its creator temperament. Not especially tuneful, and certainly it’s not Kind of Blue (or even In a Silent Way), but shares with those classics a sort of heady melange that only Miles could muster. It's alchemy basically, with a studied, Rorhschacian neutrality that asks the listener to consider both emotional and intellectual reactions. One’s glad all the stoner kids bought in sufficiently to this landmark of edgy exploration to make Miles “relevant” again (whatever it takes).
Brighter from the first notes compared to earlier records, as if the ocean rain was a sunshower. The band is growing and expanding their palette, with hookier hooks, sweeter melodies and more layers. The strings are mostly additive and not too somber. The “hits" are all as good/smooth/hummable as one remembers. Love the driving, biting guitar and the twin (yet too brief) solos on “My Kingdom.” The mini-jam on “Thorn of Crowns” is also good but too short and controlled (genre hazard, one supposes) – how much did they let it rip live?, one wonders, never having got to see them. Right balance of arty edginess and warm approachability. Title cut is quasi-lovely and perfectly contextualized closer. 4.2
Lyrically interesting but musically overwrought, and thus underrated for a reason. Too precious and serious by half. There are moments, of course – “Phantasmagoria in Two” and “Morning Glory” are quite good and “Pleasant Street” is haunting. The prog-rock-esque overindulgence (strings and winds!?!?) fails to elevate the proceedings and muddies the production, which cancels whatever subtlety might exist within the excess. Among this era of troubadours, even saying TB is a poor man’s Nick Drake is being charitable. And he's certainly not worth mutliple records. 2.5 for 2.
One hears as much prog rock and loud British blues as one does metal – the category would only go down from here. The devil-worshipy vibe seems silly and not at all convincing now – editors are right about the "then-scary, now-laughable" feel to this overall, including, but not limited, to the lyrical content. The guitar riffs are big and jagged, and generally likable and, here and there, borderline interesing, but nowhere near virtuosic or godlike. The muddy and murky production is part of the authentic vibe, a humility, perhaps, that later metal bands would have done better to embrace, rather than moronic grandiosity that they chose. One liked this more than one expected, especially relative to other metal, for which one has less than no time.
Tough and cool and kinetic. Ragged and a little punky and a little surfy, too, but a bit more expansive, with a classic indie rock vibe. And it seems only a coin flip or luck that they are less known than Dinosaur. In a more just world, Aerosmith would have opened for them.
One's first reaction was to roll one's eyes a the bad-Muzak energy, only to soon recognize the virtuosity and commitment and the simple fact that these songs sound cool with sitar and other Indo instrumentation. Surprisingly cool, which is often the best kinda cool. Yes, the songs sound odd at first, but they are so good, that one adjusts quickly, especially if one has Indophiliac tendencies. Microgenre or not, sitar rock works. One wishes there were more of it in the world.
Is it really all that wild-sounding today? Certainly, it still feels wildly influential; one hears a formless sort of template that way too many less original and less out-there folks, from Fugazi to Thrill Kill Kult to Prodigy to NIN, would adopt. The scope of the weirdness occassional reaches Pink Floydian scope, and this feels more authentic, like it had to be done, that performative (where acts aim to simply be weird for weird's sake). It all comes down to how comfortable one is with massive abstraction and total unconventionality in terms of song structure, and/or how one feels about art rock or noise rock; and while one's younger self did not naturally gravitate to the BSs, one gets both the art and the impact now.
Yeah, one knows (as everyone does) that they were great live. But they’re not live anymore and while one has liked some cuts over the years, this feels more tired than energizing or even hard-edged today, for as fresh and authentic it may have seemed all those years ago. On the plus side, bass bounces in quality fashion. The excess of grit undercuts the tunefulness.
It's hard to make longevity's case for chill electronica of this sort, as it's designed to be background music and/or non-obtrusive (so one can, you know, chill). And while this is likable enough and was ubiquitous in its day, it feels very much of that day. "Eple" is, for the most part, epic and retains its major hookiness; indeed, this was heard everywhere and often for a time and is a signature tune of the time. "Poor Leno" is disposable and plastic, and annoying in a way that only club music can be. One wonders how editors feel compelled to continue including this one; their own review is unconvinced. On the other hand, there is some soul ("Sparks"), legit melancholia ("She's So") and a bit of loveliness ("In Space"). Second half gets into a generic sort of mode and the vocal tracks are easily the least effective. Still, a decent – and not unenjoyble – artifact of its time.
Arty, ambitious, and almost avant-garde, and quite interesting by 1996 standards. Nice balance of organic and electro and an engaging moody/contemplative tone. Certainly worth knowing, though perhaps not quite life-changing or deathbed-worthy.
"Skin on skin/Let the love begin." That line alone is enough to disqualify this record from any such list as this. The thin, tinny and synthetic sound (not to mention the neanthandrealically sexist lyrics would also do the trick). To choose one of many examples of defects, the faux hand-claps on "Animal" (for which they relied on a drum machine, as if they couldn't manage to organically perform such a basic musical maneuver on their own) are particularly egregious a sin, and that commission on a song that has a not unwinsome melody. Indeed, there's some suggestion of quality songs, but they're a struggle to spot, given the slathering of extreme cheesiness. Even the "good" songs are appalingly bad (lookin' at you "Pour Some Sugar on Me"). "The Gods of War" is just an eye-rolling attempt at seroiusness, one supposes. By combining the urge of giving the people what they want and not going broke by underestimating the taste of the listening public (especially the American variety), this record cemented DL's place as just about the the worst of the worst of the '80s – and that's quite an achievement.
The bleak desperation (or is it the poignant sadness?) of the lyrics is lost to either the driving upbeat feel of thses songs (especially the opener "Yes") and/or the metal-y posturing, the crunchy guitar riffs, rumbly-stumbly basslines, and screamy/overwrought vocals. That said, there's a buoyancy and crispness to some of the tracks (opener in particular), or with passages within individual cuts (opening of "Revol" say). It undeniably rocks, but in a restrictive mid-'90s kinda way, if one is into that sort of thing, which one generally isn't, and wasn't even then, in the mid-'90s. The audio snippets that open a few cuts add nothing beyond making the record feeling dated and unconvincingly pretentious. One wonders if muddier production and rougher edges would've benefitted bands like this; the crystal clarity is what makes mid-'90s alty-hard rock sound so falsely urgent, or is it that it now rings false after 9/11, the Iraq War, the global financial crisis, mass inequality, the pandemic, etc. All that woulda given this bunch (plus Green Day and all that lame-y, same-y lot) something to be despairing and self-hating about. And certainly time has made editors' comparison of this act to Radiohead, which might have been valid in 1995, utterly laughable now. Feels more like a Welsh version of Live.
First few cuts are much better than the balance, but this is gritty tough urban art rock at its finest, but certainly not at its noisiest or most discordant.
Very strong overall. The stylish voice, of course, is the strength, and beyond that everything is solid (or solid plus). The opener is compelling and a strong start, and easily the second-best cut on the record, perhaps even tied for first, though "Holding Back the Years" has a timeless quality. "Look At You Now" has an essential '80s feel, thin synths, skittering percussion and high believable energy, but it's a notch below the best of that lamented era. "Heaven" is white soul of a pretty high standard, "Jericho," too, though in a slightly more languid register. "Money Too Tight" is a credible addition to the canon of pop songs about filthy lucre, but it reflects this record's fatal flaw – trying too hard (see also "Sad Old Red," "No Direction" and "Red Box"). Title cut is already slightly overdone, though in an appealingly earnest way. And while there is a pleasing and assured polish to the playing, the jazz chops aren't really all that; indeed, it's easy to impress a certain type of pop fan with references about jazz chops (one might even have been such a fan at one point, though one's outgrown it by spending more time on the thing itself). One might be just intrigued enough to listen to more records, in the many, many SR have seem to made in the years hence, though one suspects MH, for the true distinctiveness voice (and one he didn't misuse or undersell) likely got mostly what he deserved, which was being slightly more than a one-hit wonder, perhaps a victim of his own good taste. Call this a flawed 4.
Help – one's been hit with the laser beams! Surprisingly more to this than expected (or remembered), with a title track setting an interesting and thoughtful tone (even if it’s a bit overwrought [as are “War” and several other tracks]). “Relax” still has its appeal (overcoming the pretty severe anachronism [not to mention hideous fashion flashbacks]). The covers are somewhat hard to credit (especially the Springsteen) but “Do You Know the Way to San Jose?” is good (and odd) fun. The production is fittingly over the top, but everyone sounds like they’re having a pretty good time of it (and not nearly such naughty fun as one suspected or remembered. [Those laser beams must be bad for the memory.]) Begins tending to the ponderous the longer it goes on, but one sees the ambition (which took strange forms, it must be said) to be more than one-off club stars of the Right Said Fred ilk. Ultimately, it’s hard to know how to rate them. Are they the ‘80s version of, say, Happy Mondays? Adam Ant and the Sex Pistols are also good comps, more like Zeitgeisty phenomena than actual musical acts. Fun record, both to hear and consider in the broader cultural context.
For 1978, this feels way ahead of its time, almost like a treasure chest of hooks and ideas that future generations of bands to plunder. Look at what happens when you add horns to punk riffs – works pretty well, no? “A Minor Version” sounds like an ‘80s anthem written a few years early (with some strong and understated guitar riffs to boot) . The melodious numbers (“Memories,” “Untitled”) hold up better than the full-on ragers which sound generic (if also authentic). One hears pre-echoes of The Jam, The Fall, The Smiths, The Smithereens, Pavement, and so many others on this.
The kind of thing you’ll like if you like this sort of thing. To others, this will feel an overcooked art project. There are a few moments – “Lovely Creature” and the new spin on “Stagger Lee” are interesting and“The Kindness of Strangers” and “Death Is Not the End” feel like authentic efforts. Everything else is contrived, though perhaps it can be said it's effective in what it sets out to achieve. The band is tight and Kylie adds some badly needed sparkle, but overall this thing dies slowly and the corpse is pretty bloated. Cant’ say we weren’t warned by the title.
CCR were essentially small manufacturers of consumer products, pounding out a series of totally predictable, perfectly competent and decently tuneful, but faux-swampy and utterly paint-by-the-numbers pop. “Lodi” is their most affecting song, which may have something to do with the fact that it’s about a town in California where they’re actually from, and not Louisiana, for and to the culture of which the group seemed to pine and aspire. Maybe they should have made just one or two albums in these few years, rather than six and then they would seem better (presuming they toss the dodgy choices [e.g., “Night Time is the Right Time”]). One suspects they just wanted to be liked and chose an inoffensive, if slightly countrified, middle-of-the-road-ism. That they sold more records than the Beatles of the time is only more evidence – as if such were needed – of the inescapable dodginess of the taste of the American musical consumer.
One rates oneself f a huge Bill Evans fan but this is not one's fave of his records. The playing seems a bit busy here, fussy and involved, even if it’s played at an extremely high level. I have a soft spot for the sweeter, more melodic playing (see At the VV). One realizes the ensemble playing is the point, but I would have preferred the soloists to have a bit more space. “Alice in Wonderland” is a marvel, however. Still, it's Bill Evans
Refreshingly good for being unknown – groovy and fun, charming and relatable. "Ride the Wind" is wonderful, and "On Sir Francis Drake" and "Quicksand" are only very slightly less so. In contrast to the subtle and refined playing her (the vibes on the close especially), their big hit seems much less interesting, even vaguely lame. One-hit wonders have no chance, do they?
Driving and dynamic, funky and swinging. While not exactly timeless – lotsa '90s vibe – this record still feels relatively fresh. The Parliament-sampling tune is best. "Stoned Is the Way" is a close second.
Sure it's witty and clever and different, but 43 or even 17.5 would have been more than enough.
One admires the effort and acute angle of originality – and the bringing the harp into the rock and role lexicon – far more than one enjoys the actual music, which is overly arty and strange, with annoying vocals in the Kate Bush- Laurie Anderson territory. One struggles, ultimately, to get into it, to like it as much one is inclined to. And so one concludes that this will be remembered mainly as an oddity, interesting but inaccessible and forbidding for some. Editors overpraise this – by patting themselves on the back for letting their preconceptions go – but the payoff just isn't here. Best bit might be Bill Callahan's appearance (speaking of unconventional oddities).
Energetic, efficient, and interesting. Fresh, if not quite fabulous. Though distinctive, the vocal style feels a little forced, a little flat, and makes one less engaged with the content of the rhymes. "Selfish" is best cut by a shout, but "101 FM" and "Sherbet Sunset" and "Flowers" are also worthy, thanks to their likable beats and samples and, in the latter two, soulful backing vocals.
These guys must be really tired after playing so frenetically and angrily and for so long. One thinks it would best for them (and for all past and future listeners) if they gave it a rest. Like permanently. 0/5
One has always found Psyche Furs and Richard Butler to be pretty underrated. He's got a great – perhaps the essential post-punk voice, capable of both murderous sneering and tender vulnerability. "Pretty in Pink" is a wonderful melding of punk-light and sweet pop melodies (a combination this band well and truly mastered) and "She Is Mine" is right up one's alley, sweet and melancholic. They got way quality mileage out of the sax playing – these post-punk bands knew how to bring the brass and integrate it non-obviously and non-obnoxiously. The other cuts are mostly solid, if not major, and a 4 slightly flatters this effort, which one likes slightly less than Forever Now. But the 4 is worthy in the sense that all of their records were above average, ++ and under-appreciated. So there we are.
The most chamber-y of her works, intense and dark and lovely. And it’s unlike every other break-up record, if that’s what it is, one has ever heard, having more in common with, say, Arvo Part, than, say, Gwen Stefani. It's sad and affecting and one might spend more time with the lyrics, but lacks motivation to do that. Bjork is fully sui generis but can also be fairly charged with being self-indulgent and excessively arty (e.g., over-engineering the originality to the exclusion of many other likable qualities). It might still be a toss-up with Sigur Ros if one were forced to choose only one Icelandic artist for the balance of all time.
There is definitely something underwhelming in the straightforward nature of this record which explains why it didn't take hold initially in the US. There's a professionally polished and hand-crafted feel to the music, even if some songs are simplistic (e.g., "Hometown Blues") and Petty's voice has always been an acquired taste and must've seemed even more so upon its market debut. One questions if this really sounded all that diferent from everything else on the radio in 1976 (it's the midpoint between Thin Lizzy, say, and Hotel California). "Mystery Man" is a nice find. It is weird that "American Girl," a little gem of a pop song closes, rather than opens, the record. And one can't quite fathom why this band had to first be recognized in the UK before achieving some chart success here. This is likable and competent, not a masterpiece but a few memorable cuts and solid playing throughout. Better was to come.
One wants to call this a seminal record, but it’s more like a rebirth. It’s interesting to hear the complete reissue from 1999, which gives one a fuller impression of what seems like a chaotic night on the bandstand in front of a wild-sounding crowd. But the original, much shorter version packs quite a punch. Highlights include the tender “Blues to Be There” and the easy swinging of “Jeep’s Blues.” And then there’s the famous “Diminuendo” with the mind-blowing Gonsalves solo; one can’t add anything that hasn’t been said before, other than to comment it’s a wonder to hear every time (not to mention amazing that the man didn’t just spontaneously combust). Talk about seizing the moment – one time! Money Jungle might've ultimately been a better choice for this list.
One of the great opening lines of any album ever, and a record that once held a great deal of personal meaning and the first Beck album that ever resonated much beyond a novelty, "oh-that's-sorta-cool" factor (everything else feeling too contrived and overcooked). It even became a best-friend sort of record during a difficult time (for reasons of mood-calming and empathy-feeling). The strings sound better than I recall, but there's little deying just how drowsy this gets toward the back, which keeps it from top ranks. But that “Put your hands on the wheel / And let the golden age begin” – man, is that good and redeems so much. "Guess I"m Doing Fine" and "Lost Cause" and "Sunday Sun" are next best. Much else is forgettable for being just too sleepy. The release date of Jan 1 also seems salient. " 3.6 > 4 (rounding up for nostalgic and emotional reasons and because one hopes Beck is feeling better about the breakup).
Generally terrific, even if it takes a few patient listens to get there, and if one has to overcome the slightest hint of annoyance, perhaps at a vague pedanticism (plus navel-gazing, plus confessionalism) in the vocals, and lack of flow (see "Was There Anything" and the quite overdetermined [and oversung] [if still heartfelt and pretty catchy] "Streets of Your Town"). But there's true and undeniable depth and earnest commitment, which just saves them being sunk by their pretty overt self-seriousness, and one will take such earnest commitments where one can find it. Plus, smoldering intensity and the whole thing being free-range and organic in orientation. Strings definitely additive on "Quiet Heart," which might be the best song. Listening, one feels proximate to REM and Wilco territory, but not quite all the way there.NB: "Bye Bye Pride" is GBs best song by a mile; consult another album for that.
Generally likable and of impeccable quality, of course, and always ready to hear EC and the Basher working together. However, this record can be said to lack a killer cut (though "Sulky Girl" and "This is Hell" and "13 Steps" and "Tripped" are all pretty close) and also to seeming just slightly less than essential.
Interesting and somewhat dramatic, but ultimately too overwrought to make an impact beyond being a minor footnote. It preens and posits, but never really flows, and never even comes close to rocking. The near soprano vocal style works only on a few cuts and the symphonic aspirations never really pay off (end of "Holes" is probalby as close as the band comes). Still there are winning moments, especially the closer "Delta Sun..." which is the best of the lot. "Opus 40" and "Goddess on the Highway." One remembers trying to get the hang of this band in real time – this was state-of-the art fin de siecle art rock – but couldn't quite, an impression that feels familiar this time round, too. The similarity to Neil Young is passing at best and the comparison to Pink Floyd a full-on reach. .
One has quite fond memories of this record, a bit unloved by Pixies purists, growing on me over time as one played it regularly, on cassette in the old beat-up cars one drove in college radio days, and wondering why others were so quick to denigrate it in comparison to eearlier releases. One kept quiet about it. One liked the mix of slow brooding and hot anger, likely because one felt much the same much of the time. Overall, baroque quality to this as they're indulging themselves a bit. Same happeened listening for first time in at least a decade, maybe two. One likes the quieter interludes, the breathing spaces, which give some of the sharper hooks more room to stand out and make an impression. First side is not that interesting, but it gets much better as it goes along, the stakes get raised hugely in terms of intensity and seriousness – "Ana" and "All Over the World" and "Dig for Fire" (which is superior to "Here Comes Your Man") and "The Happening" (the eerily sustained lonely vocal, scorching licks left to burn) and "Havalina," the excelent closer. Every song sounds like it could break into "Wave of Mutilation" at any time. Sounds like maybe it all happened too fast for the Pixies, like they seem to lose control of their records at times, and this is one of the instances to which it comes off quite effectively overall. Still lots to like and admire here and one believes this is every bit as good as Doolittle, though perhaps less appreciated for the sense of it having been rushed out. For both records, some culling would have amplified the power by condensing it.
This is like an SNL skit of a heavy metal band. The editors are joking with this inclusion, no? Not sure why the band bothered with separate titles for tracks 3-5, as they are all the same. Ditto tracks 6-8. Zero stars. Utter waste of time.
Gritty and driving and earnest to the point of undeniable authenticity. The counterpoint-y moments (which seem at times almost like anti-harmonies) are interesting. They get a lot of mileage out of a pretty limited bag of tricks – which adds to the punky vibe. "One More Hour" and "Heart Factory" and "Little Babies" (which maybe inspired Le Tigre's "Hot Topic" and might should be read as ironic) and the dark and intense closer "Jenny" are best cuts. Def prefer S-K (and Le Tigre for that matter) to YYYs, in the category of ultra-hipster and overrated (only slightly so in this case) around the turn of the millennia.
A rosetta stone of hip-hop and a few cuts – especially "It's Like That" and – remain masterpieces (and master classes). They get lots of mileage out of a pretty simple palette and narrow toolkit. Remains powerful and a strong foundation for so much that was to come. Bonus points for historical significance, being first breakthrough in a major new genre.
Kinetic and dynamic (especially the drumming). Somehow one missed this band (presumably from the distractions of first days of parenthood) but quite likes the heady, spicy brew here. Quite well balanced but a bit too jam-band-y at times, and one feels suspicious of some of the virtuosity here, as if they might be show-offy, and not especially motivated to hear more (as if one's initial impression migth be threatened). Still, surprisingly better than one expected from a band one'd never heard of and has barely seen register.
Extremely strong – crisp, committed, intense (but not, too) and extraordinarily well executed. With barely a bad note on display and nary a weak cut, it's a truly mature record that sounds like the best of the early Who transplanted to early '80s. Great hooks show how to enrich and elevate the powerful punk underpinnings and attitude with something like rich emotion and meaning. "Monday" and "Man in the Corner Shop" are both sneaky in their excellence. "That's Entertainment" confirms Weller's originality and great strength as a songwriter.
One wants to like this more than one actually does, but it just sounds tired today. The modest ambitions are likable, for instance, as is the organic and overall DIY vibe, and it's just about as cool can be, but really not much else, musically, just kinda pretty good and sub-memorable. Would one say it's watered down even, only quasi cool? Beastie Boys-lite? Yes, one would. Nor is the retroactive comparsion to White Stripes so favorable for this lot (granted WS were aiming higher and for bigger impact). The rapping/singing only sorta works and the playing stays in the same vein, throughout. The coolest thing might be the band's name, and the triumph might be primarily attitudinal; the triumph is legit as far it goes, as the presentation seems credible and authentic, the problem being that attitudinal triumphs go not very far; musically, this is ultimately pretty meh. And as for making it safe for white rappers (not to mention unleashing Jack Johnson onto the world and/or facilitating the likes of Sublime), is that really such a public service?
One loved this record in the day, or more the artist, for it still sounds a bit soundtrack-y random and slightly inscrutable, though it's frequently haunting and beautiful and thoughtful. It's oddly endearing and sweetly, wistfully melancholic. "Disillusion" is a great song. Downsides are that a few of the discordant bits (e.g., intentionally shaky sounding vocal on "Pissing in the Wind") feel overplayed and perhaps it's slightly overlong (and a touch self-indulgent). Still one does sort of expect that from a producer's record; thankfully, in this case, it's a very skilled and capable producer.
Tedious in the extreme, this is the musical equivalent of bad polyester clothing and holds up no better. “Nut Rocker” is just embarrassing. 2.2 > 2
The sheer blandness, which maybe sounded new in 1972, is hard to fathom 50 years on. This is watered down CSN at best, and even allowing for the soft-rock "revolution," it's worth remembering how many bands (including Americana acts) subsequently exceeded this by some fair distance. Sure, the playing is competent, which suggests maybe they shoulda never been any more than a studio band. Since it feels like a random collection of songs, assessing as such seems only fair: "Take It Easy" is okay., fine, inoffensively pleasant. "Witchy Woman" is silly and non-edgy (+ sexist in a classic '70s way). Speaking of '70s, "Chug All Night" is a strong contender for dumbest song of the decade (which was, as we all know, a golden age for dumb songs). "Most of Us Are Sad" feels genuinely heartfelt but suffers from a weak, diffident vocal. "Nightingale," "Train Leaves," "Devil," "Earlybird" share anodyne and indifferent playing and often somnolent, almost yawnful pacing, but each is otherwise forgettable and unspecial in its own unique way. "Peaceful Easy Feeling" is sweet and swinging, probably the best thing they ever did, which says something about just how overrated they were/are/hopefully won't continue to be. "Tryin" aims to rollick, but proves an unrousing (appropriately) end, and with shag-rug, long-hair and moustache vibes that should be amply embarrassing to all right-minded folks. One gets as moderately (fittingly so) disturbed/annoyed by the inherent middle-of-the-road-ness of this, its essential barely-above-average-ness (+ its altogether discouraging popularity), as by the ever-more-exorbitant prices they charged for however many farewell tours they ran. (Side-noting: what's up with articleless album title vs. "The Eagles"?). For all these reason, rounding down is the clear – and easy – thing to do.
Multiple listens confirm the strengths of this effort and the band itself – fully committed vocals in a relatable classic rock vein, slightly melancholic undertones to even the wildest songs ("Sex On Fire" sounds is sung like the singer is in fact frightened by the fiery-ness being described). It all works well, if there are only a few tracks that truly jump out to distinguish themselves. Still, seems like this was a real rock and roll band at a time when the market needed one. Indeed, one is pleased that they achieved considerable commercial success, and would even go so far as to say they deserved it.
A record of extraordinarily high quality from such a young artist. “Tell Me Why” sets an easy tone, hinting at the mix of delight and melancholia to come. Title cut is an all-time rock lyric and Neil’s eccentric vocal style has never been more effective (“Look on Mother Nature on the run in the nineteen-Seventies.” is just haunting.) “Only Love Can Break Your Heart” is another classic. Drop out the controversy and “Southern Man” is a pretty great rock song, dark and edgy. All of the cuts work on their own terms, and offer a bit of a hootenanny feel that smoothly mixes the sad with the, well, not-sad. Even the upbeat cuts have a touch of wistfulness, and/or blues. “Til the Morning Comes” is a nice bouncy little interlude which sets a context for “Oh Lonesome Me” which could be laughably mawkish but the high, oddball vocals and lovely playing (harmonica especially and that brief, understated solo on the outro [which woulda been nice to hear more of]) elevate matters such that it feels quite relatable (honest and, thus, affecting) in the end. “Old Man” is unimpeachable, if seeming a little downgraded a bit by overexposure, while the solemn and stately “Birds” shows just how pure and strong (that is not quavering and breaking) Neil could make his voice. “When You Dance” is underrated in the extreme. Lord knows that “Cripple Creek Ferry” is awfully good for being the arguably the weakest tracks here, besides being far better than the Byrds silliness of the same name. Looking back, few artists have ever gone off to such a great start in their career. The quality is all the remarkable for the steady and voluminous output of early years; his solo albums 2-5 are all rightfully represented here, and all released within.
It swings and grooves sufficiently, if a little monolithically song to song, to make the politics non-preachy and also without getting all synthetic and clubby. But of course one could ask whether the danceability is right tone for such an urgent environmental warning (not that he'w wrong, of course, and if only we'd listened 30 years ago, huh?)
Delightful throughout, a chamber pop gem, and perhaps the birth of that gloried sub-genre. "Changes" and "I Want Her She Wants Me" are both charming, calling to mind the Beach Boys and, thus laterally, Bach, transcending the strictures of simplistic psychedelic pop of the '60s.
This was certainly a return to form, after the serious wilderness of Zooropa and Pop and it's certainly well made (to risk understatement) and an adult sort of record (an early Dad rock record to be sure), in seeming considered. There are a few touches of pure class – starting with "Beautiful Day," a very strong opener, and "Kite," heartfelt and powerful, and "Wild Honey," which is swings easily and engagingly. But one can't help but hear some calculation and some sense of compromise in the clear bid for acclaim (both critical [see "Peace on Earth," typically Bononical overbearing earnestness and a pretty dumb song] and commercial [especially "Elevation," one assumes). "When I Look" and "New York" and "Grace" make for a strong ending, too, largely by being controlled, and not trying to do too much. For overall impact and engagement, this can't touch one's affection for (or personal connection to) the early records (thru War) and deep regard for (or personal connection to) the middle records (namely Unforgettable Fire, which is more deserving of this spot, and The Joshua Tree and certainly excluding Rattle and Hum) but this was likely the best one could expect from this band in early aughts, and it certainly made sense in the context of one's mid-30s (and pre-Dad) life in NYC, perhaps for seeming considered and calculated and compromised, as one inevitably gets in those years. It's perhaps just slightly too Coldplay-y. For all its heart being in the right place and it staying just this side of cynical and that side of cloying sentimentality, it's just not as unforgettable as their best work, including The Unforgettable Fire.
It's got everything one wants in an early '80s classics – synths that sound like a Pong game, naive politics, sprockets-esque vocals. One can just about smell the gelled-up hair and flipped-up collars down the decades. Musically, it's plenty bouncy but totally soulless and also quite annoying. One senses the ambition for polyphonically oriented innovation or complexity or avant-gardeyness later in the record, but its falling short is the dominant impression. Rating this anywhere near the best of the '80s demonstrates just how horrendous that decade could be.
One's reminded of the old joke about Oscars being awarded for the "best acting" not the "most acting." As much as there is to like, there's just too much to take in. For all that's fun and interesting, there's a lot that feels tossed-off or even thrown away. There are often dizzying and occasionally mesmerizing effects but a near overwhelming sense of excess. That’s TR, one supposes. It does come to grate after a time, one finds. Too many unworthy ideas are indulged and much noodling goes nowhere, leading to a circusy, nearly Fellini-esque feel. “Zen Archer” and “Sometimes I Don’t Know How I Feel” and “Just One Victory” are all strong, and the “Medley” is lovely – enough material to anchor a pretty great record and showing what TR can do when he plays it relatively straightforward; but then the jarring shift to “Cool Jerk” after the first three ballad-y parts of the “Medley” blowing the mood (and demonstrating in micro the record’s macro problems of excessive mood reversals. And isn't the whole record functionally a medley? One wonders whether TR fully trusts his material or pop music generally (a strange question to ask of a pop genius [especially one with a messiah complex) – why else keep throwing up more new stuff to try? That "you want the obvious/you'll get the obvious" seems insufficient justification. Even allowing for tortured artist effect, this is just show-offy and too much in the end.
One appears not to understand what teenage girls like today any more than when one was oneself a teenager, lo those many yesterdays ago. Theoretically, one believes in the cathartic nature of the break-up records, but this is way too self-involved, the production too high-gloss (rather than human) and just not that interesting -- more mediocre than melodramatic. To put it in the lyrics' own terms, "too much for me." Best thing about the record is the cover.
One's being asked to take seriously "In a Gadda da Vida" with bongos? Seriously? And is one surprised this started out as a b-movie soundtrack? Decidedly not. One can't quibble with the playing – it's certainly funky – but it's also forgettable and, by design, filler. Naming this a required or essential listening suggests a near-pathological pet peeve on the part of a single editor (maybe two), perhaps even a grievance with the world that merits treatment via therapy or pharmaceuticals.
Very interesting and, in the right mood and circumstances, beautifully haunting and pretty engaging overall. Highly original and frequently quite strange.
A testament to the dodgy tastes of mid-70s rock fans, most of them teenage boys. There's a handful of decent tunes (e.g., "Movin On" is okay) but far too much silliness ("The Seagull" -- what a bird to get so poetic about, the fake drama of the title cut's intro) to take this even a little seriously. Also, sounds bland.
This gets considerably better as it goes along. "California Sun" is a raw blast of fun and "Weekend" is loose and likable ragged rocker. The backing vocals on "Cars and Girls" are legit, tuneful and funny and surely at least half-ironic. "I Got You Babe" is sorta amusing, but not exactly the height of cleverness. "Back to Africa" also kinda cool. The sound is definitely proto-punk, and sure they might have deserved more than the Sex Pistols. The question is, how much credit do they really deserve for doing what they did? If not them, surely it would have been someone else doing something awful similar, inlcuding the many (hundreds? thousands?) of acts who didn't even gain as much notoriety bands as these cats. It's not like their innovations were that obscure or exceptional or even magical. It's rough and rowdy rock, slack at the edges, not melodiously distinct or all memorably hooky. Thus, it's ultimately not too difficult to see why they never achieved much more hype or prominence.
The hits are fine, but it's the ancillary tracks that make this much better than average Bowie. "Starman" is excellent and effective hooks all over the place. Oddly, given the title and concept-y-ness of the record, the emphasis seems to be on the music (would that every Bowie record had such focus). It seems thematically advanced for '72, but musically maybe just a touch ahead of its time.
One likes that SD seemed simultaneously always to be having a good time and trying to expand musically. Nearly all of their experiments pay off for the listener in some form or another. This might be the most jazz inflected record – with the Ellingtoninan justification for the extended wah-wah solo, the avian content, and the string-laden "Through With Buzz," which doesn't quite come off, much as one enjoys the effort. Ditto on the bluesy funk of "Monkey In Your Soul." First four cuts are extraordinarily strong, but back side meanders or droops a touch, though with many interesting flourishes and no bad songs.
Hooky and diverse. Well made, too. One'e ears keeping pricking up at all the tasty flavors and intriguing resonances (White Stripes, Las, some loose, Kinks-y swinging, too). Pretty great from a band one confesses to entirely missing in real time.
Not one's cup of tea typically, but these tracks get full-on mesmerizing now and again, to such an extent, one wishes they were longer. And credit must be given for the fact that this content (doesn't feel quite right to call it "songs" or "tunes" or even "music") repeatedly causes one to start moving like one likes dancing, which one does not. "Around the World" is totally earworm-y, but perhaps not in the most winning sense. Second half of record bangs less, one would say, as it gets a little drone-y and much less dynamic.
Much like an actual house, house music doesn't age well. "3AM Eternal" grates at any hour, truly. "No More Tears" has just a touch of humanity to it, as does the cut with the slide guitars. That's the only warmth on an otherwise clinical and wildly over-programmed effort, which, despite all its aggressive reaching for excitement, reads pretty damn dull.
A record with a surprising degree of pop touches and only moments (or, to be precise, 17:04) of total heavyosity. Otherwise, there's a fair amount of lightness and here and there a flowery tunefulness. More organ than really necessary, only some of it Manzarek-y, but the heavy application suits, one supposes, the reaching for the mystical, which seems to eludes IB's grasp, alas. It seems equally possible that they could have morphed into Pink Floyd or devolved to be a lounge act, for 21st-century ears can hear significant doses of both in this landmark-y, borderline-cliched effort. Rounding up for effort and earnestness and being considerably more tolerable than the reputation suggested.
How this band merits two selections is simply baffling. This is noisy and noisy and noxious and entirely imbecilic. If the intent is to drag listeners thru the mud, the record must be considered a success. A pale imitation of Dinosaur, Jr would be a charitable way of describing the sound but that dishonors Mascis.
Yes, psychedelic and yes Roky Erickson mighta been a crazy genius. But only a few songs – "Reverbation" and "Don't Fall Down" most notably – seem to have depth or impact beyond a raw and shaky sort of power. Seems authentically psyche-y in its shambolic and discordant darknesses. That jug instrument sounds wacky. Would this record have benefited form less cowbell and other garage-y vibes? Could it have benefitted from an increase of chamber pop attributes? Yes and yes, one thinks.
Digging the easy flow and funkiness. This is, as far as one can tell, the only smooth jazz work (and one of the few fusion works) in the 1,001 catalog, not surprising given the sub-genre's wholly disrespected and mostly overlooked status within the broader genre's totally ignored and typically forgotten context. Begs the question of where's Grover Washington and George Benson and Pat Metheny and Spyro Gyra. The cool, unhurried and easy-grooving (and non-exhibitionistic) nature of the record is the strength. The guitar solos are particularly strong for being so understated. The overall effect range from relaxation to contemplativeness. "The Hustler" is legit cool and funky, benefitting from the don't-try-too-hard and keep-it-easy aesthetic of the best smooth jazz. "Night Faces" also a standout but the whole thing works, and the title cut is almost boringly good at this point, given its familiarity and fully reliable chops.
The best he ever did solo-wise, but as with everything else he did, the final results are undercut by an excess of trying too hard. It's creative and interesting, sure and arty, but also more than a little pretentious and contrived and synthetic (especially the faux and feckless androgyny). 4 very good songs, several mediocre ones, and the just-awful, anti-earworm "NY Phone Conversation," of which one can only ask, why?
Perhaps the most credible of their articulations of white bluesiness and countrified weirdness—they seem on this record to have more convincingly believed anyway in what they were doing. The clarion call of Gimme Shelter (the background singer – Merry Clayout – should be credited, her name much better known). The simple and lovely stillness of “Love in Vain,” its desolation amplified by the clear production and engineering or remastering (2011). “Midnight Rambler” makes more sense now than when one was a kid, the chugging absurdity of the story, reminds that rock lyrics ain’t literature, as fancifully as one once might have wished they were (the disconnect between “I’ve got nasty habits / I take tea at 3” being Exhibit A). “Monkey Man” was scary when one was a kid worried about one’s ability to handle drugs and not wanting to look or feel as ragged and ugly as that song sounded. And the transition to “Can’t Always Get” … one supposes it’s most like going to church on Sunday morning after a particularly debauched and shameless (by which one means shameful) Saturday night – the best type of hymn and perhapst most traditional type, too. The simplicity of the lyric struck is probably is just about as good as rock can do, and relative to this particular message (dead true). A elegy for the end of a decade? If so, it's fitting for being both wizened and chastened, at once accepting and uplifting.
For all the precisely articulated drama, this gets pretty meh pretty quickly. And record that focuses on top-class vocals compromises itself with lines like "If sex were an Olympic sport/We'd have won the gold." She's got a strong voice (obvs), but this doesn't come off. The horns are too much here, the strings too syrupy there, not to mention several moments where the songs feel overpowered by unnecessary emoting. "Tango Ballad" is lurid lyrically, but musically excellent. Odd that most of the standout moments are about the sounds more so than the vocals (see end of "Passionate Flight" and the intro of "Die Dreigro" and the accordion solo flourishes on the Tom Waits tunes, which seem most suited, among the contributors, to her stylings. This is not exactly Kate Bush, but more for people who like a certain old style of talky cabaret singing and don't mind a bit of anachronistic udpating. Perhaps she should stick to lieder, chanson and Weimar schtick.
Had Wayne’s World sought another song (other than “Bohemian Rhapsody”), “Aqualung” would’ve been a good candidate, and largely for the same reasons (the combination of an easily mocked over-seriousness and a legitimately infectious hook). The prog rock categorization feels not wholly accurate – yes, it’s arty in conception and ambitious in instrumentation (does the flute alone make it prog?), but it feels folkier generally, and is far more understated and certainly more comprehensible than most of that long lamented genre. (Strong recommendation on Dave Weigel’s recent book). The lyrics may be novelistic, but they’re also dreary and disheartening. Anderson’s a decent singer with a memorable voice, but annoying habit of inserting a sneering and sinister little chuckle. And easily the best rock and roll flutist one can think of (okay, the only one). Overall, this feels slightly underrated and certainly better than one remembers – richer and more various textures, quite capable playing and points for originality and uniqueness – but there is some guilt-by-association with prog rock, one supposes, and with dreaded ‘70s vibesiness, too. 3.6 > 4 rounding up with not insignificant misgivings.
A milestone as well as a masterpiece, highly original and emotionally impactful. One remains somewhat mystified why one likes it so much and feels quite so affected by it – something about the dramatic way the melodic swirl forms within the distortion and fuzz, or how the rhythmic drive and energy contrast with the purely abstracted noise art. Every time one listens to it, one wonders why one doesn't listen to it more frequently.
The hidden and forgotten Who album, innit? One can only go so far with the satire, but the songs are evocative and tuneful and pretty damn fun. Maybe not quite as clever as it wants to be – hard to judge from the distance of this many years. Certainly, it’s lighter than, say, Quadrophenia, to which one has always been partial. “Our Love Was” and “Rael” and “I Can’t Reach You” are highlights.
Without arguing the editorial principle clearly at work here (any Bowie record that doesn't totally suck is automatically included), one hears a decent amount (though certainly not anything close to an excess) to like. Not sure all the Thin White Duke cosplay adds much (or, frankly, anything at all). And one doesn't hear neary as much Neu! or Kraftwerk or the other much bruited influences as perhaps one is supposed to. The opener takes about three minutes worth of rollicking and stretches it to nine, to not exactly to addictive or earwormy effect – it's an extremely long song of only moderate interest of quality. Indeed, nearly every song feels overlong (as if the group was looking to fill out a set). "Golden Years" is snappily and groovily louche and a touch arch, but hardly of world-historical heft. "Word on a Wing" is sneaky affecting and, grading on curve to his high degree of calculation, sounds almost authentic; upon hearing anything that sounds like vulnerabiity in Bowie, one automatically defaults to assume that he's having us on, perhaps even taking the piss. As with so much of Bowie, one hears contrivance and posturing in nearly every note, even the many that are likable and/or interesting. "Wild Is the Wind" is another case in point – the sincerity is almost convincing, almost, which seems to leave us with a simulacra of excellence, rather than excellence itself.
One shares Nick Hornby's sense of Hot Rod as a guilty (occasionally embarrassing) pleasure. Stones-Lite is the obvious knock against it, but the essential 1971ness feels perfectly executed. One quite likes the more organic and soulful bits ("Love Lives Here" and " "). Unfortunately, "Stay with Me" is a best-of-breed when it comes to ragged, raffish sexist rocker. "Memphis" is a pretty forgettable cover; were they playing in their sleep? Like the whole thing, it's so laddish that it comes off as mostly fun, with the odd touches (like the steel drums toward the end of the closer) playing pretty close to charming.
Maybe the least wretched of all the major metal acts, these cats are still pretty awful, but they have the cleanest, clearest sound and seem to want to play the fastest, too. The singer aims to be operatic, foolishly, one think. Here and there, if one's not mistaken, one detected something like a melody emerging from all the furious noise and speed. And it's not really alll that demonic, now is it? Still, most root canals would be preferable to ever hearing this, again or once, no matter when one is slated/fated to die.
Knotty, spiky and interesting at times. Bonus points for originality and willingness to experiment. Points off for lack of melody or anything remotely pleasurable.
There's something vaguely rootsy in listening to this, and it's not at all square, if also not outrageously hip.Yes, it's sounds old-fashioned but there's a likable crispness and directness of attack that comes off as authentic and substantial. Plus, it's easy to see how they were credible competitors for Elvis.
Legit 1960s pop, pleasurable and more substantial than one expected of course. There are a handful of very good, borderline excellent tunes ("You May Be the One," "For Pete's Sake" [which is slightly over-earnest, it must be said,] "Early Morning Blues and Greens," "Randy Scouse Git"). Still, they missed their window to be taken seriously and few, if any, self-respecting hipsters are going to take their side in arguments about underrated '60s bands.
Hip, elevating and totally DIY, with the bleeping Euro-Kraut-y action adding considerably to the pleasing vibes. Seems the genuine article and an authentic record of being present at the creation. The influence could not be more obvious; “Who You Funkin With?” makes Run DMC sound like an AB tribute act. They get plenty of mileage out of a pretty spare palette and toolset. See “Go Go Pop,” which grooves refreshingly and jazzily, and pleases fully, within a quite limited range, both sonically and lyrically. “They Made a Mistake” wins through some surprising hooks, bells and whistles.
Rocks credibly and somewhat freshly, but very much in the early-aught "rock renaissance" mode. Thus, it seems a little tired and predictable today. The melange-y-ness of this is both feature and bug, but overall a rollicking romp, with some nice vintage psych flourishes of the Swinging London, Carnaby Street sense.
“Overture” is a very strong start Story arc and structure work pretty well and there is cohesion across songs, though songs are sonically diverse – Townsend knew what he was doing, putting this thing together. Top cuts: "Christmas" "Overture" "It's a Boy" "Acid Queen" "Tommy Can You Hear Me?" Maybe the best of the rock operas. Ambition and execution are well aligned and balanced.
It's hard to rate what's hard to find, but having tracked it down that one can say, definitively, that it's both enjoyable and just exotic enough to suit what one wants from what we used to call world music. One can't say whether or not this is a meaningful updating of Rai, though one feels super The "Imagine" cover is, let's be honest, pretty unfortunate, but bonus points for having his heart in the right place, considering his audience and what was going on in the world at the time. The balance swings and sidles likably. Rounding up perhaps for reasons of lifetime achievement, but also for reasons of international relations (because one of course considers oneself a citizen of the world) and it is worth hearing more musics from more cultures and languages.
One vastly prefers the dreamier, loungier bits (e.g., "Chameleon") and Steve Reich-ier cuts (e.g., "Dannys Song"). Too many track over-rely on that skittering, ultra-fast drum track, which hasn't exactly proved itself to be timeless. One prefers a bit more bass in his drum&bass, one guesses. One can't help but remember fondly the compilations of this era (Buddha Bar, Ultra Chill, Cafe Del Mar) and wonder whether this is that much or even a little better. Given the decade of origin, it's no shock that the whole thing is overlong and overdone. Or that it's a compilation, which makes one question whether that's outside the rules for inclusion in this esteemed collection.
Really good – rich and layered, massively creative and highly dynamic. Moody and super personal. One doesn't follow the logic every cut, but it's a very cool ride.
Save for "Frankie" this record has truth-in-labeling issues. Joy Division feels darker (at least in a sophisticated, aesthetically-engaged way Sartre-esque way), though this is eerie-ominous, for sure. And not bad overall, and clearly ahead of its time; indeed, the psychedelic and prog-y flourishes (e.g., organs on "Girl") make it seem borderline pleasant at times. "Cheree" feels modern, certainly predictive of New Wave proper. And "Johny" seems like it wants to be '50s sort of rocker or perhaps an early '80s pop tune. The clicking background hiss (from the drum machine perhaps) feels like iffily-pressed old vinyl or like crickets-cicadas on a summer night in the the South. As for "Frankie," which is boring because plodding rather than suspense-building, one vastly prefers "The End," for its clearer narrative thrust and stronger character development and Morrison's presence On the other hand, one thinks NIN and all that more-enraging-than-artfully-enraged ilk might have taken a page from from these cats and kept it, you know, quieter, which is much more interesting, they should understand.
Part angel's prayer, part biting social commentary. The vocals contain so much – sincere despair, heartbreaking resignation and tempered hope for better days. The modulation and occasionally wavering in the singing are highly engaging. The delicate mood and achingly lovely tone are sustained across the entire record. The title cut and “Mercy Mercy Me” and “Inner City Blues” are the top cuts, but the quality is of a whole and never much falters. The lush arrangements somehow seem both elegantly understated and overwhelmingly powerful. Not sure how he pulled that off. Damn near perfect -- the beauty and excellence makes one want to holler in praise.
One admits to a soft spot for the DWs, thanks to the cheeky humor (“heroin is so passe” and “Hard-On for Jesus” and “Cool as Kim Deal”), droning melancholia, and slacker-stoner vibe. All of these elements still sound good here, translating into fairly rich layerings, intermittent just-dark-enough shadings, and the occasional passage that rocks properly. There are just enough arty flourishes – including but not limited to the feedback-y sonic haziness – to keep it interesting, such as the broody-moody closers – the instrumental “Pete International Airport” (another great title!) and “The Creep Out;” the boys knew how to get weird, or least druggily contemplative (though the abrupt cut between the two tracks is unnecessarily juddering). There is, one must note, a non-life-changing undertone to the whole affair, a not-quite-compelling essence, that may be cause and/or effect of their not taking themselves too seriously, a generally laudable attribute of rock records, particularly from the ‘90s. And speaking of, like every other list-making record from that overindulgent era, this one can be credibly called too long (though space for those closers does add depth). Highly rated though on the always important metric of enjoyability. And their anti-grunge stance looks smarter with each passing year.
Full disclosure: AB was a mainstay of one’s musical development and a soundtrack (though less so than various bootlegs) of some painful lost years (young man’s blues and sorrows basically). “Box of Rain” seems less powerful than in those days, when it had magical, near mystical import. The shaky and uncertain vocals are the main culprit. Conversely, “FOTD” seems richer than the bouncy singalong ditty a younger one mistook it for. And what was vaguely filler — “Candyman,” and even “Operator” — 30 to 30+ years ago sound better made and more enjoyable and more interesting today. “Sugar Mag” is every bit as great. “Brokedown Palace” mighta been a classic but suffers inordinately from its proximity to “Ripple,” a real high-water mark in terms of quietly inspirational folk-rock tunes and almost certainly the all-time leader in the “song-to-play-at-my-funeral” category. “Attics” and “Truckin, saccharine and stupid respectively, go off the cliff in terms of the excellence of other cuts. One's always hated the latter, which seems to have a disastrous quality-to-exposure ratio. The playing is subtle throughout, the singing rarely rises above the mediocre-but-fine level, all of it here of course paling in comparison to the full live expression, which is/was legendary for a reason, even if considerably overrated in the latter years. One might even prefer Workingmans as the stronger record, cut for cut, and it woulda been fun to see what editors might have made with the pretty damn fun and much (and at least somewhat justifiably) maligned Shakedown Street, one’s fave guilty pleasure in the Dead canon. Very good, if not quite cathartic, to revisit a record that once meant so much and find its treasures and virtues mostly intact, if singing in slightly different tones and vibes to older ears.
The cup of raw creativity runneth over – way f-ing over. There is enough for three or four great albums here, and this seemed to open up new possibilities for and epxand the horizons of hip-hop. Sprawling and sublime, the combination of ambition and anything-goes works fabulously well, almost too well as it's borderline too much multiple times. Some of the filigree may get close to filler but the quantity of quality and variety of originality make this a landmark and it holds up well. Beyond “The Way You Move” and “Hey Ya,” “Church,””Flip Flop Rock,” “Prototype” “Take Off Your Cool," “My Favorite Things” and "Vibrate" are among the many other highlights. The jokes mostly land or at least at a higher rate than most hip-hop records (not that this is one, only). The guest appearances are mostly additive but one wonders just how much would be lost if they weren't here. Fusing multiple styles beyond hip-hop, one hears elements of many of the best musical maximalists – Prince, George Clinton, Coltrane, Rick James, Stevie Wonder and Miles Davis – an alt history of black music, basically. OutKast possess as much raw fireeower as those acts, as well as a boldness and relentlessness in making it new.
What's mediocre by Bruce's standards is pretty close to excellent when graded against mere mortals. There's too much filligree and layering with synths and strings for one's taste (though this is the trend with the late period Bruce). The excessive repetition in a lot of the lyrics – e.g., the same basic line being repeated again and again within single cuts ("Into the Fire" most notably) – is also noisome. And we get perilously close to outright schmaltz at times. That's what's reuniting with one of the 1970s' best bands will do, one supposes. But, per usual, Bruce's heart is certainly in the right place (who else could get away with deploying Sufi musical tropes and be so effective with it?). Plus, he offers up a great deal of soul, aiming to elevate in response to a tragedy felt locally, nationally, globally. Plus, there's just an extremely high level of songcraft and musicianship and pride in the work – the quality is unimpeachable from the first to the last note. The net-net is ample pleasure for listeners and a handful of top-shelf songs ("Lonesome Day," title cut, "City in Ruins," "Empty Sky"). Even the worst song is strong if – again – not among his most transcendent outputs. At times, it seems Bruce is almost too good for his own benefit. Does he make it look too easy? Is it all too accessible, slightly too broad, over-emphatically crowd-pleasing (see "Waiting on a Sunny Day" and "Let's Be Friends" as Exhibits A and B)? Too polished and assured? Too shiny and too impeccably produced? Are there perhaps too many relatable characters and personae? Definitely maybe on all counts. Still, editors are right, it is "magisterial" and "moving," clearly deserving of bonus points for the degree of difficulty.
What's weird about the extranorindary brevity is how much shorter it really could – and probably should – have been. The rationale behind history's regard for punk – basically, that the worse it was, the better it was; the less talented the musician, the greater artistic integrity – seems harder to justify with each passing year. Certainly, it's significantly overrepresented in this esteemed list.
A lovable oddball of an album that one wants to love more than one actually does. "Chivalry" and "Darkness and Doubt" are best and most memorable cuts. "Psycho Cupid" also terrific and seemed to set up the spoken-word template followed by REM, Belle & Sebastian, the Clientele et al. To quote the band, "fear and whiskey will keep you going." Rounding up for being a unique and truly original little melange.
One appreciates the record as a departure from their usual heavy and lethargic mundanity, and it's pretty pleasurable overall. But it feels like another entry in their huge overrating, Was it so hard to go from their catchy but paleo-rock to pretty straighhtforward acoustic? And why didn't they play more of their hits? Was this a bid to be taken even more over-seriously than they already were? Did everyone think the cello would make this all seem that much artier? An honest accounting would suggest that one song catapulted this lot and a bunch of flanneled others in a delusional that may ultimately be remembered as a trend less important (and less enjoyable) than disco. Cobain was a decent vocalist, one supposes, but over-reliant on voice-cracking passion (real or simulated). How many (or few) have been inspired to explore their back catalog based on these renderings? And did the Bowie cut – the most interesting of the lot here – really have to be ID'd as such? What does that say about how Cobain rated his audience's intelligence? And is there anything interesting about the interpretation of the Robert Johnson closer? Though much sounds innocent and naive on the recording, his estimation seems so low as to impugn his brand as a populist. Perhaps some might even cool out regarding his supposed martyrdom to his art, too. As to all these questions and conventional wisdoms, a market correction is in order.
Though clubbers of a certain demographic and lifestyle will no doubt differ, one finds this to be music exclusively for vacuuming and other types of loud, high-intensity workouts — excellent in a few, limited context, irrelevant in all others. One doesn’t think “doesn’t matter” is intended as a subtitle or thesis statement but it certainly works as such. The thinkier cuts (e.g., “K-Hole”) are better than the EDMier ones (pick almost any other track). One is seriously ambivalent about “Where Do I Begin;” the first few minutes of the song are electric, fully engaging and (perhaps largely due to Beth O) borderline lovely – this is highly affecting music, the best of what this genre, whatever we want to call it, can offer; and then comes the grinding break-downs of the song’s second half, which feel distinctly incongruent and at odds with the spirit of the first half of the song – feels like a ruining, and a deliberate one at that. One simply doesn’t get the approach and struggles to see/hear any subtlety or counterintuitive creativity or anything remotely like genius or something/anything that might be lost on the non-connoisseur that could possibly explain the jarring shift-reversal. (PS: 25th Anniversary editions for acts such as this should come with a warning about their very likely overdoneness and unjustified self-importance.
These guys seem to want to rock edgily and be serious (even Pynchonesque, it might be surmised) but come off as mostly neither. For all its seeming urgency and relatively high degree of only-slightly-and-not-terribly-overdone kineticism, the end result is pretty meh and tame, besides being too alt-y for one's tastes. One must admit that this is slightly better (or not quite as terrible) than much of the dreaded '90s ALT tidal wave, probably because ravier and maybe because they at least know who Pynchon and Ballard are. In one of history's unsurprising ironies, though, they all do sound rather normie now, dont' they, all those ALT acts of the '90s and their dance-rock descendants of the '00s. Also, this mercifully shorter than some of those magna opuses. Still, not-being-too-tedious and for being lame for slightly less long feels like less than faint praise, just about what this deserves.
A major contribution to world culture. The obvious rejoinder is, for a collection like this, what about Giant Steps and My Favorite Things (or Blue Trane or Soultrane or Ballads), which are also extraordinary and delightful and more accessible (or maybe simply less forbidding) than this. Advanced, otherworldly playing, this is music to be challenged by rather than simply enjoyed, though there’s much pleasure in the deep listening. It’s super-’60s deep, obviously, and a landmark on multiple levels – the type of record about which are written (and have been). Again, what seems like indulgence yields richness. Nearly perfect in what it sets out to do. Why there aren't four or six additional Coltrane – John or Alice – records is, on the part of the editors, a failure of either imagination or taste.
One's of the mind that it's unnecessary to include more than one of these prison records. Same old cussing jokes and making a big deal about the recording and asking for a water; one wonders about the production choice of including or whether it might have been an attempt to build solidarity with the audience. Yes, the songs are generally good (if a bit flat and direct) and yes it was good to have back the Man in Black. There's a sameyness after a time, though one recognizes it's silly to criticize a one-of-a-kind artist for not being versatile. He's not the world's most subtle showman, is he, nor its most mellifluous singer? The chuckling tarnishes "Long Black Veil." For love songs, one prefers "Give My Love to Rose" to the one about the egg-sucking dog, which could be personal preference. "Greystone Chapel" and "Green Green Grass" also decent. This is the better of the two prison records, though, SQ one is the more raucous. The bad, obvious jokes and overall silliness makes it a bit hard to take seriously.
Not hard to hear the huge influence here, and that's impressive enough. There are legit hooks and grooves and some unique shadings (see vaguely Arabic flavor of "Pacific 202") that feels impressive (if not groundbreaking) for early house/techno, but overall it's far too frenetic-energetic, and thus very much not one's thing. The computerized vocals are a crime against humanity, a misdemeanor in this case, but it's risen to felonly level in the years hence (an influence for which they might be held accountable, critically speaking). As with all tech-defined and tech-dominated music, it doesn't ever seem to get anywhere or resolve its own (occasionally intriguing, intermittently intriguing, and momentarily melodically beautiful) complexities or add up to much. Also hard to envision anyone thinking, on his/her/their deathbed, "If only I'd got to hear more of 808 State." This music will only grow more forgetabble over time, and at a much faster rate than than the editors expect.
Still sounds fresh and fun (even if some jokes are overdone). "Creep" and "Waterfalls" and "Girlfriend" are best cuts, but the cool-chill vibe holds throughout. One appreciates this record much more now than one did at the time, when one lived in the ATL and found all the Left-Eye/Rison stuff to be tiresome. Plus, one's tastes have expanded and deepened. It's pop music (R&B division) but with just enough heft and depth to go with the fun and sweetness. There's plenty of relatable (if often easy) emotion. A worthy Grammy winner and one wishes all 11-million-records possessed such merit.
First few cuts feel a slow start, but then it’s 10 straight excellent tracks – mellow and thoughtful, introspective and infectious. The melancholia of “High Tide or Low Tide” and “No More Trouble” is as engaging as the happy-making “Baby We’ve Got a Date” and “Kinky Reggae.” The Tosh-sung cuts are – no surprise – totally great. 4.4 for 4.
One suspects one was too impatient for this record or found it boring back in the day. How stupid of one's199x self, for it’s rich and polished, well-conceived, lush lovely, and quite niftily executed overall. It’s retrogressive but adds some fresh energy to songs that seem torch-adjacent. Music for adults for sure. The opener is compelling and one's always liked artists confident enough to put the hits at the end. Best cuts "Save Me," "Mind Of Love," "Miss Chat," "Outside Myself," and (of course) "Constant Craving"
Truly vintage and fully classic – vocally, lyrically and instrumentally/playing wise. This is right down the middle in terms of outlaw country and that's a very good thing indeed. No doubt there could-should be several more Waylon outings on this list.
One likes quite a bit of this, though it never quite achieves full flight. Slightly overdone, slightly too dramatic. "Bury Me Deep" and "Bad News" are top cuts over a uniformly above average lot. Maybe not quite as good as Go-Betweens, to cite the most obvious comp.
Hasn't GS had a hard enough time already without being dropped from this esteemed list? Isn't their particular brand of weirdness – as well as related and adjacent styles of oddity – so underappreciated in the broader culture as to merit ongoing conclusion? It's easy to understand why GS is an acquired taste – lack of tunefulness, refusal to rock, the lyrical obliqueness ("You can get Leonard Nimoy to play ther part of Leonard Cohen"), persistent melancholia, intermittent eerieness, the found-sound feel and overall irresolution. But when it works, the vibe-y results feel just spot on, "Punishing Sun" and "Shiver" and "X-tra Wide" being most prominent examples. Much that floats and drifts is lovely and even compelling (see "Raw" and "Shrine" and many moments within other cuts), with backing-vocal flourishes adding depth and shade. Still, for all the likable off-beatness and evocative off-kilteredness, one's not convinced this is the most worthy record. Rounding up for the original and awesome atmospherics and influence (thinking of early Wilco, Luna, Bill Callahan and peers-in-underratedness Yo La Tengo), but mostly because they – or Howe – are deserving of every last bit they can get.
The black CNN for sure – all that plus the bad beats and the handful of stone-cold classics. It still lands with impact and bites with sharp teeth. For all the expansiveness and open creativity and often baroque weirdness of today's hip-hop, one would've liked to experience a future where the genre had maintained (or at least tracked closer to) this level of seriousness of intent, the integrity of vision, and muscular musicality. The praise of black women is a good thing. The legit criticisms are that it's maybe too long and there's a sameyness to the beats (which are admittedly high-quality and original and foundational to hip-hip history of course).
Is it a hip-hop record or a Marvel movie? Whichever, it sounds like one giant kitchen-sink fantasy. There’s a lot going on here – musically, production-wise, and in the protagonists’ ego – so one assumes there’s a reason the kids are into it. One’s not schooled enough to delineate the ironic posturing from the straight-up bluster but not sure how such insight would change one’s assessments anyway. It's too performative and over the top and obviously meant to make an impression, which seems to undercut quite of all the virtuosity and interesting bits (e.g., last half of "Hold My Liquor"). The beats too often play for a bad-horror-movie in effect and the auto-tune is reaching and more annoying than effective. The co-opting of civil rights themes and memes ("Strange Fruit," "free at last" in regards to unbound breasts) may be the most offensive (or offense-adjacent) bit – both aesthetically and morally (Ye certaintly thinks he's earned the right but ... well ... ). “Hurry up with my damn croissants” is the line that saves this from being a 2. And of course Rick Rubin was involved ... of course he was ... and this is definitely a rock star sort of record, but not in a good way.
Gothic? More like dinner theater. One listen and it's seems clear why it never found an audience, at least among music fans.
Some fundamentally sound hooks and crisply done tunes but basic-basic and knuckleheaded to the core (though they would surely prefer on to say “to the bone”). The fun bits are not nearly enough to make up for the truckload of sophomoric and jejune lyrics and double entendres too unsubtle for even half-witted teenage boys. The slut shaming, troglodytic male gaze, the chauvinism and misogyny— these guys make Van Halen look like third-wave feminists. And as for “R&R Ain’t Noise Pollution” — well, thanks for that thoughtful public service announcement.
One remembers finding this record boring outside the title track and "Vincent" on first listenings (circa high school, circa college). Now (circa late middle age), one finds it tunefully gentle and mellow and almost lovely. Funny, that. "Till Tomorrow" sounds like John Denver and the whole things feels honest and earnest and authentic and wholesomely mellow and all natural and free range and cruelty-free and sustainably raised and 100% organic. "Winterwood" is lovely, as is "Empty Chairs." As good as Simon and Garfunkel? Yes, perhaps. Plus, one has always liked the cover shot, too. "American Pie" remains what it has always been – a true slice of rollicking Americana, overexposed for a reason.
Simple, straightforward skiffle-pop-blues, that’s likable enough, but not a great deal more. Though substantially better than any record this lot have released in 40 years, it’s not an especially auspicious or impressive debut (and certainly not much of a harbinger of what was to come in the ensuing decade). Certainly the song choices are middle of the road. The mysterious cover is actually an accurate promise: accessible, on-trend music, that’s much less edgy than it wants to be, presented by clever, hip-dressing and well-marketed cultural appropriators.
One could listen to this all day ... and has, in fact, just done so. One would also like to see a documentary about Ginger Baker's time in Lagos. Pound for pound, note for note, this might be the coolest, hippest album in this whole lot of a thousand plus.
One applauds the political commitment and insights (now long outdated). But musically this isn't really worth the time, even by the standards of Eastern European absurdism or socially conscious performance art. Vocals are a joke – a scary movie joke, one supposes. "F.I.A.T." is vaguely interesting, but mostly sounds like a soundtrack for a low-budget thriller of political espionage (to which end all this creative energy might have more productively been channelled). "How the West" has a semi-engaging moment where the strings intersect with the thumping metal beat, but then the laughable, cartoon villain vocals kick back in. There is some variation in styles and a general sense of unpredictability, with a tendency toward the darker/heavier and more martial the longer the record goes on, with an overemphasis on repetition (and repetition). One doesn't feel one really gets anywhere, at least anywhere recognizable for one lacking a deep knowledge of Balkan politics circa late '80s or the various languages at play here. Might belong on a list of 1,001 Political Satire or Protest Albums, but certainly does not belong on this list. Potential bonus points for including "hugger-mugger" in the lyrics.
Groovy, sprawling, playful, it sounds at times like a soundtrack to a bizarro game show. One wishes a few songs (e.g., "Lava Lamp," "Walk On By," "Show You the Way") had gone on a bit longer and a few others had been satisfied to be conventional. The mood and vibe are resolutely contemporary, but with strong retro overtones. Whole lot of Brothers Johnson touches and vibes. Good cameos, the novelty of Michael McD and Kenny Loggins (is that really him?) matching the quality of Kendrick and Wiz Kh. Not sure the social/environmental commentary lands with much impact, other than adding some atmospheric worry. The woozy, oft-disorienting vibe feels a little awkward at times, too, like some uncomfortable drunks one has known. Does run a bit to samey by the end, as if we/he didn’t need the last drink, as if the buzz/bender were optimally concluded 10 or so minutes sooner.
Fresh, yearning, edgy, intermittently dreamy, authentically earnest, energized and energizing – this is how indie rock (US term) was supposed to sound circa '93, but sure, editors, it can also be viewed as a way-post-new-wave, just-pre-Britpop view of glam (no surprise editors are over-indexing on Bowie influence – any more so than the Beatles? one thinks not!) It rocks a bit more than one remembers, too, with notable dramatic flourishes. One can make a case that they paved the way for Oasis, though they were campier and sought to be artier (the two so often go hand-in-hand, don’t they?). After the crisp, engaging opening, there are lots of quality cuts throughout "Pantomime House," "Sleeping Pills," "Metal Mickey" and "Animal Lover." "When Pigs Fly” is great, too. Rounding up (but only slightly) because they are more in line with Pulp than the overrated Blur and tiresome Oasis and because one hears faint echoes of Hoodoo Gurus.
Anything but. A title like this begs the question: does the music sound dated? And the answer is: very much so. And from the very first notes, too, those skittering synthy-drum machiney beats which woulda been very au courant and an essential underground-y sound for at least 15 minutes in 1995, but not much longer and just serve to make listeners jittery, whether or no they are appropriately intoxicated. Maybe it was ahead of its time then; now it just sounds like then. Drum-and-bass vibes dominate, ultimately falling to a level that is just above background music – and annoying background music at that. Vocals add very little and also mire in sheer '90s-ness, this style of singing having gone the way of chokers, crop tops and bucket hats. Re "Sea of Tears" – one personally weeps at a much lower BPM. The record has ample ambition and aims for a wide scale/scope; and there are a few moments of interest (the quite pleasant "Adrift," as apt as a song title as the album title is inaccurate), but not enough to make up for its being utterly bereft of soul, which is what makes music reach across generations and eras to become, you know, timeless and which so much of club-oriented synth music so glaringly lacks.
A great flowering of talent here, it seems. Rich and lush and layered and interesting – "breathtaking, eccentric opulence" is about right. A criticism might be that it all runs together a bit, in tempo and mood and excess layering, but how enjoyable and engaging it all is along the way and the combo of ambition/vision and fearless execution/willingness to go for it on every cut seems borderline genius. It’s a steady flow from strength to strength, with every cut registering – “Oh What a World” is a strong opener and great mood-setter, “Vicious World” and “Movies of Myself” keep things moving in rich cinematic fashion, And then what a sequence from the power of intense “Go or Go Ahead” to the yearning “Vibrate” to the rollicking “14th Street” to the legit-lovely “Natasha” to the wry “Harvester of Hearts” – RW leaves nothing on the table (hard to believe another record is coming). “Want” is beautiful, too, with the strong “11:11” and the riveting (if maybe overwrought) “Dinner at 8” make for an extraordinary (and fitting) close. Maybe it’s a little weak vocally, with a one-note style that throws up the same modulations and tics at every song. And it’s not hard to see how the overall feel might be overly dramatic for some tastes (not to mention excessively multi-tracked and overly instrumented/orchestrated). But the payoff is there, song after song after song. One expects to build a long-term relationship with this record (and its twin, which is nearly – but not quite – as excellent) as they have already repaid multiple listenings and definitively give off the air of a masterpiece.
It’s tuneful enough and there are little smatterings of soul, but there's nothing to merit the hype or sales. Though she does seem older than her 25 years, much of this reads as forced drama and overwrought glorification of personal feelings – almost any cut will do to illustrate the point, but "A Million Years Ago" is perhaps the most obvious example. Clearly there is a market for such emoting, and that more consumers than one realized take seriously or, more likely, find relatable the emotional outpourings of this particular 25-year-old. (And perhaps that’s the appeal / hook of timing records to specific ages.) One suspects one is simply too old and male to fit in that segment. Her voice sounds derivative as if she’s imitating some generic R&B/soul diva of the past; she also doesn’t display a great deal of range, sounding similarly pained-strained across every track. The playing is nothing special and tracks are samey, with “River Lea” the best of a fairly middling lot.
Stylish and sophisticated and rhythmically interesting (bass playing is great). Plus pleasantly brooding, in a distinctly new wave way. But not exactly timeless, however The synths glitter a bit too much on “Glittering Prize,” say, and the drum machine (which it must be) a bit too prominent on “Hunter and Hunted,” even if the songs are otherwise solid and interesting. In other words, this is very much of late ‘80s, but clearly in a “best of” or “good as it got” sense of that era. There’s clear drive and consistent depth and quality on offer here, but they are in second tier of one's fave bands of this era, his musical awakening as it were.
The opening solo is a stunner, nearly religious in its intensity. And from there it only gets weirder and more disorienting, when one can't be sure if it's folk, psychedelic rock or funk one's listening to. Throw in some heavily barbershopp-y and gospelly harmonies. And all that's just in the first few minutes of "Can You Get to That"! What a record – easily one of the most rocking of 1971 (see "Super Stupid"), and also very likely the grooviest and most throwin-down (see "Wars of Armageddon"). All that plus fart and poop jokes in the context of a protest song. The whole melting pot of America, with the essential spice of diversity. Mesmerizing in effect, and not only because of the pleasurable satisfaction of revisiting – and totally getting – in late middle age a record whose cover one found half beffudling and half terrifying as a kid and yet somehow knowing better, and perhaps even cluing in to the joke. Plus, one got to interview GC many moons later, in college radio days, when one was still (un)blissfully ignorant of the glories of this record. Such outrageous joy in musicmaking.
Easy to see/hear why they were an exciting band at the time. Looking back their influence is apparent, and perhaps the most impressive aspect of the record. They would continue to do interesting, if sub-transcendent, non-life-changing things. "Plan 9" sounds like vintage, Ultravox-y new wave that was still a few years to come in the future. And did Bono steal "two hearts beat as one lyric" from these cats?
Sounds like the soundtrack to a Jim Jarmusch film. Wait, was Jim Jarmusch actually in this group?
Highly synthetic and of only passing interest. Even as background music, this feels replacement level.
Interesting with lots of fun and intriguing moments but the retro vibe gets it into historical artifact territory. In other words, it's sub-amazing. Maybe one just had to see the movie. As for the College Girl companion, it's not "faintly" ridiculous, but fully so.
This is very much the kind of thing you’ll like if you like this kind of thing. For the rest of us (including we many non-dancers) this is no better than just okay, of interest and to be appreciated only for what it is, precisely.
Shouldn’t a band with such a great name be just a little bit better? This was way, way overhyped and an abject lesson in what you get when you mix glam and punk, which is glunk. One gets it’s meant to be visceral and in one’s face, with guitars that alternately searing, piercing and crunching and the yelping vocal style. A few songs are winners but the vast majority of the rest sounds like noisy posturing of the art-school-project variety – "hey look at us; isnt it cool we started a loud, slightly discordant indie band?" The repetitive "Pin" is exhibit A. It all adds up to less than sum of its parts. Later records got a bit better, but my initial reactions to this when it came out (meh overall and totally overrated) still seems on track. The amount of time the editors spend talking about Karen O’s clothes and the cover art are a clue to the lack of substance here. In the end, this is a lot of noise that doesn’t amount to much (other than “Maps” which is great and “Y Control” which is considerably above average).
One prefers other albums and –– who knows? – maybe the instrumental record, the spirituals record, his farewell record or Completely Well would have been a better choice than the 8th or 9th Bowie record or the 3rd or 4th Metallica record (or any of them)? The only beef here being that BBK often makes the blues sound like too much fun.
One finds this enjoyable enough and just fine musically and, speaking as a Southerner, credibly Southern lyrically, vocally and instrumentally. The gritty country-fried guitars def need a side of biscuits and gravy. But it doesn't feel particularly distinguished in its Southernness. Uncle Tupelo, Son Volt are more worthy candidates and about several other ABB or Lucinda albums, plus Jason Isbell's [DBT bassist] solo work in the years hence. Hell, even Molly Hatchet is more seminally Southern. Charlie Daniels Band or the Dixie Dregs would have been a more creative or counterintuitive choices. One admires the ambition of the work here, and the combo of fan-fiction and freak-flag-flying, but doesn't get particularly moved by or even very much engaged with the storyline or heroic arc. And too many songs are just redneck-y rockers. And sure there is some fine guitar playing -- how could there not be given the sheer quantity of it? One is tempted to round up for feelings of homesickness, but feels obliged to keep it real.
Are they classic songs because they're excellent or because they're so cloying that they appeal to a lot of people likely to have questionable taste (including kids, religious people, one's parents)? The arrangements on the title track sure suggests the latter. One will admit an anti-Simon bias (mainly for his preening self-regard), but still finds a good bit to like ("Frank Lloyd Wright" and "Only Living Boy") but the rest of it seems on the cliched side. One doesn't much care about their breakup. Like much of this records, that too was overdone.
More premise than punchline, more tension than release, this is sort of interesting and somewhat haunting and vaguely intellectually engaging, but only sort of and somewhat and to a certain extent, plus too cold and clinical overall, with vibes and tempo and vocals so tonally consistent-to-samey that it turns into a droning slog by the end. Vocals float somewhere between unsettling and annoying. One kept thinking it would turn the corner into full-on NIN menace and unpleasantness or Depeche Mode/Pet Shop Boys frivolity and silliness, so one supposes it coulda been worse and perhaps should be grateful that isn't/wasn't. There’s a real lack of uplift and too little resolution to get this past the dreaded scientific experiment effect that attends so much of this ilk of chill electronica. Best song is “Keep the Streets Clear,” the only one to break out fully out of the drone to fully engage/achieve anything like full emotional impact.
M-f'ing great and so m-f'ing cool, maybe the coolest of all hip-hop records, which is quite the achievement. Rich and vibey, with fun hooks and surprising turns galore. Snoop has an unforgettable voice and style and the beats are fantastic, well chosen and consistently groovy and surprising. The problems and shortcomings are endemic to the genre; gross sexism and misogyny; glorification of violence; the performative gangsta-ism, though apparently in his case it was more legit than that of others.
Out there and a lot of fun, if pretty raggedy and uneven (which could be down to dodgy production) and a bit silly (glad to see Age of Aquarius in Brazil could be just as foolish as in US). One has always secretly wished to speak Portuguese and never more so than just after listening to this bouncy and singalong-y wackiness. "Le Premier" is charming/lovely.
Impressively muscular and pretty consistenly high-quality, but a bit obvious and perhaps slighly one-note, tonally, it seems now. Also, there's something baroque about the content and overall production. Like this was the last – and fully highfalutin – blast of a certain strain of the gangsta generation. It's mostly credible, one supposes, certainly by hip-hop standards. But no questioning the presence of a bunch of top-shelf cuts.
Good Krauty fun, with the influence quite clear right out of the gate. Lots of vibe-y weirdness mixed in with a few pure and vintage psyche-y lava lamp flourishes. There is perhaps too much that plays as novelty/oddity now, though the avant-garde bits (e.g., "Krautrock" and "Giggy Smile" and "Lauft Heiss") resonate best and most. Perhaps the listening experience would be aided by some vintage '70s European narcotics (preferably hash).
Rich – and one isn't referring to the tunes that sound like finance meetings. It's slow to get going but the middle to back stretch -– from "Hola Hovito" to "Heart of the City" through "Song Cry" to "The Blueprint"– is very stong. Jay-Z isn't the best on the mic, stiff and slow seeming at times, nor has he the best voice but it's all quite relatable, perhaps because of the open ambition.
Overstuffed, like a Marvel movie, with music that feels like CGI, and is clearly oriented to world domination through pop maximalism. There are moments of interest, (e.g., “let’s have a toast for the douche bags,” “Ima need to see your m-f-ing hands at the concert,” the edgy and extended guitar + cellos textures on “Runaway,” the combo callout of Black Sabbath and Bach on “Hell of a Life,” Chris Rock and Gil-Scott Heron) – but how could there not be given how much is thrown up here? The humor and irony (or intentional hypocrisy) get lost and a listener feels a little beat down (or over the head) by the ceaseless braggadocio, posturing and self-referentiality. A classic case of more being less. And in regard to the critical question, “Would you rather be underpaid or overrated?” this record more than clarifies KW’s choice.
There’s something likable in the direct line of attack and power of the simple combo structure. “Fire Woman” rocks pure and strong with a compelling hook right out of the gate. But this too quickly gets into repetitive and doofy rock territory. One thinks of a slightly kinder and gentler AC/DC but with lyrics only moderately less sophomoric. No one will go mistaking these lines for the work of Yeats or Dylan. The verging into Thin Lizzy territory (see opening of “Love Removal Machine.”) is no good for anyone and the Steppenwolf cover is ill-advised on several levels, putting a fork into the record as far as one’s interest goes. Recognizing that Monsieur Rubin might call one a pussy for saying so, but Love, is a far better record (and not only because it featured several tunes that made it onto one’s personal late ‘80s mixtapes); it has more range and texture and – crucially – no Steppenwolf covers. In other words, it offers much more by being considerably less Rubin-esque.
One hopes all the Goth (or whatever) kids who thought they needed this got therapy instead or outgrew this shitshow. Rocks more directly and here and there almost tunefully especailly in comparison to NIN. Still, it's nearly as execrable overall. MM certainly belongs in the second-tier of alleged devil worshipers in pop and rock – and in just a few decades seems every bit as pedestrian as Ozzy and Alice Cooper. Didn't he realize that the extreme positioning was going to make his farewell and reunion tours even more embarrassing? One suspects it wasn't a sufficient number of middle fingers that he lacked but rather sufficient talent. As for the opera concept or narrative, who cares?
A true artist, who puts it all out there and in nearly every song – aching and vulnerable heart, deep and yearning soul, sharp mind and a spirit roughly the size of the continent. Sometimes she overdoes it but this is extraordinary well balanced with the raw power channeled powerfully and beautifully. Plus it's extraordinarily well crafted and executed -- a fully worthy Grammy winner for sure. Several pure classics here and not a dog in the bunch. Great writing (alternatingly poetic, short storyesque and journalistic), mastery of the mid-tempo, and authenticity that puts most other artists (in this genre or adjacents) utterly to shame. That the music business (i.e., record cos) didn’t know what to do with her illustrates just how clueless and soulless it is. That only one of her records is in this esteemed list suggests the same of the editors. And someone pls explain why Greil Marcus so loathes the lady.
Yes, there are some cool bits ("The Nurse") and the craft is evident, but everything feels put-on and there's a trying-too-hard effect, a reaching to cover too much ground, as if a very studied and intentional posture of coolness or excessive cutesyness ("My Doorbell"). it's a fine line between admirable experimentation and annoying novelty – and these songs tread it warily. Yes, there's power but it's sort of repetitive and simplistic, banging and banging until it gets whispery, which it inevitably does.Those loud-quiet contrasts get tired and lose their power – and yes there's more piano here and the marimbas are nice, too – but these are the same things they'd been doing for four albums already. "Lonely Yet" is a semi-cool closer, but pales next to D. Yoakam version from a decade earlier, even if one buys into the ironic roadhouse deconstruction or whatever TF JW thinks he's doing with it."t's overdetermined if not quite fully contrived. Or perhaps it's just a matter of it going on too long, after a few affecting songs early. Honestly, the Stripes never were quite one's thing back in the day, and they remain very much not quite one's thing a couple decades on. Not all together it was dropped from most recent editions.
Really no better than just okay, though somewhat better (or less annoying) than one remembers, with utter lack of originality the main shortcoming. This is at best a decent simulacrum of vintage Stones, but without you know, the quality or authentic attitude to pull it off. Or maybe it's warmed-over Steppenwolf given that the forgettable "Struttin' Blues" so obviously rips off "Born to Be Wild." Or perhaps more like a diluted Aerosmith (slightly less embarrassing [but only slightly] in reaching for acclaim). Or second-rate (okay, 2.5-rate) Faces. And very little to do with the Allman Bros, who bring a much jazzier and jammier sensisbility, as well as country swing that's completely absent here, and much greater virtuosity (both musically and lyrically) in contrast to the BC's utterly unsurprising, nearly paint-by-numbers soloing. (Editors have little grasp of "Southern Rock" – just because it's from Georgia doesn't mean it's like Skynyrd or ABB or ....). Robinson has a credible R&R voice, but one hears the strain to live up to the rock legend status he clearly has in mind for himself. He tries too hard, basically. That they didn't last makes sense, as the world sometimes does. The question of whether Mr. Crowe's Garden was actually the better band was one of the biggest what-if debates in ATL indie rock/college radio at the turn of the decade, though everyone mostly agreed that BCs were complete poseurs and generally lame in a very obvious kinda way.
A delight. It's strange to consider a "debut" by Steely Dan because they seem to have emerged fully formed and capabie of delivering exquisitely polished and sophisticated pop. The record is fun, with some near-ASMR quality hooks ("Do It Again"), some tongue-in-cheek poignance ("Dirty Work" and "Turn Heartbeat"), easy-flowing grooviness ("Reelin' In the Year") and intellectual stimulation ("Brooklyn"). Though there are none of one's fave SD tunes here, there's a nary a misplaced note, ample charm and such satisfying rhythms and flows.
One likes the lean, gritty beats – clear and strong – and that he calls out his forebears (Kool Herk, Afrika Bambaata, Melle Mel, etc.) Who knew a tuna melt can be an aphrodisiac. Broad, likable, easily accessible beats, with about average level of embarrassing rhymes (eg, cereal song, "Mr. Goodbar," phallic rhyme of "salami" with "get hot like pastrami"). LL Cool J is easy to root for, if not exactly moving the needle on the leading edge. Legit skills but maybe the rapper most likely to be brought home to meet the parents. The more gangsta claims ("my 9 is easy to load") are difficult to credit. He really does look the part – and lived it, too, which somehow makes it seem not as powerful or artistic or as impactful.
Fun and cheeky, like the first record, only lighter-hearted and maybe slightly more diverse in feel. Though effective musically, "Under the Boardwalk" maybe feels like a piss-taking too far. Vocal harmonies are strong throughout, tones and moods make sense, and in the content and attitude, there's real authenticitiy, a genuine-article feel around this band, an early template of what first-gen, immeditately post-punk, indie pop/rock could and should be. "Wednesday Week" is a winner. "Chocolate & Girls" is just another way of saying sex and drugs and rock and roll, right?
Excellent, edgy cuts point the extremely creative way forward (starting with the steel drums on the opener). So fresh, still. The playing with disco and funk and what sounds like calypso (steel drums do have their impact), odd time signatures and sudden reversals or shifts in tempo – all of it in nerve-janglingly energetic like the city they were/are most associated with. A defining sound, if not exactly timeless, given how timebound all the best pop music seems to be. One has always admired Byrne’s willingness to be different (which feels quite authentic compared to, say, ultra-contrived Bowie) without necessarily enjoying every song he’s done. The originality of style, angly-jangly guitars and a leanness of vibe, is another major plus. Nearly 50 years on (how possible?) this feels maybe a touch underwhelming, just slightly on the slight side, but that's judging based on knowing all the stornger, richer outputs that were soon to come.
Winning, well-mannered and very effectively executed pop, if extremely normie and a full notch less than urgently compelling and certainly not transcendent. High-quailty songcraft made with authentic passion and some tenderness (if borderline sentimental).
At once novelistic and cinematic, street-level specific and universally relatable, with its humane descriptions of profound human longing and unjustified hope and youthful hustle and growth and compromise and disillusionment. What's not epic is just excellent, edifying and entertaining in equal measure. Every song is distinct and works on multiple levels. Yes, it's maximalist to the point of baroque at times, the only conceivable weakness. But that's a quibble, and can be considered a strength, too. And anyway there's no disputing its place as a landmark in the history of popular music. (Editors should be ashamed of themselves for the cheap, obvious and totally wrong Bon Jovi analogy.)
Vastly underrated. There's a drive and edginess that showed just how serious new wave bands could be. The textures are intriguing – keys and horns embroidering the tense and steady drumming and jangly-esque guitars. A high level of quality throughout can't hide the lack of a pure hit, until the last song (which goes on a bit too long to be an actual hit.) A bit of '80s synth work crosses the "dated vs. timeless" line. But one hears lots that later bands would steal – the dreaded curse of influence. Cope deserved more.
Just dynamite overall. What a talent. And such splendid "fuckery." How much one would have liked to see her career evolve, and if stability/sobriety might have had a salubrious effect. Janis Jopin is the obvious comp, though one might prefer AW. She sells every song convincingly, infusing every note with considerable soul and almost unbearable pathos in some places (because we know how it all ended). The opener is great, of course, as are "Me and Mr. Jones" and "Love Is a Losing Game." Hey editors: AW is not and never was a jazz singer and these aren't jazz songs (have at most a jazz aspect, and a pop-jazz one at that), though on some cuts her vocal style could accurately (if not precisely so) be described as jazzy. She's a soul / R&B / pop singer.
Vintage '60s commercial pop, with a heavy dollop of schmaltz, if here and there smooth and pleasant. And if this is their "psychedelic" record one can only imagine how lame and tame their non-psych efforts must have been. It veers dangerously close to beach music territory at times, and one struggles to hear anything distinctive or even interesting. The playing sounds pretty rudimentary. And the lead vocals are dangerously shaky at times (though some pleasant harmonizing comes through, too.) One suspects the record would sound better without the strings and horns – and that their impact mighta been more lasting as a skiffle group. No surprise they were exed from the most recent editions. The fact that they changed their names speaks to their aesthetic integrity. And what a lame and square cover – fitting, one supposes.
Editors are right that Off the Wall holds up better. The title track is especially dodgy-sound now, when it was just annoyingly gimmicky back in the day. "Billie Jean" and "Human Nature" and "Beat It" are the best cuts, the first a Platonic ideal of hook construction and well-placed filligree, the last a borderline classic which may prove itself to be timeless in the end. "Startin' Somethin'" and "PYT" seem like the same song, both/each fun and bouncy and infectious. "Lady in My Life" is beyond cheesy (and grows ever less convincing with every listen down the years.) And – oy – is that duet with Macca cringey. It does all feel pretty synthetic and manufactured and over-engineered, no surprise given its shine and polish, and its not inconsiderable merits. A 4 bestowed only reluctantly.
Crisp and muscular East Coast rap of the Renaissance era, with strong flows and rhymes and real cool beats (which do feel supremely old school now, if not quite fully dated). Was well and truly outshone by quite a few other proximate records, through no fault of its own. And it's certaintly not hard to hear why this should be better known, and/or why it might be regarded as a forgotten/cult classic. One likes the balance of conscious observation/uplifting sentiment and slightly ominous gangsta vibes. "Da Bichez" shows Jeru can misogynate with the best of them. Best cuts = "Devil Happy," Can't Stop the Prophet," "Mind Spray," and "Jungle Music"
It's brooding and pensive, with many interesting effects – e.g., the harmonies on "Poppy" – that build slowly and deliberately, with a resonant meaningfulness seeming to accrue or agglomerate. Thus, it rewards patient listening. It's not quite Radiohead or Sonic Youth or The National, but certainly it's authentically Brooklyn-y and distinct. Plus, it sounds quite durable, like it will hold up quite well. Dear Science is a better record, however, a bit more accessible (if not quite danceable) and also a bit warmer and varied in tone.
In one's own experience, this was a matter of right record at the right time in the right economy and glimpses of right music videos. Or right frontman striking right pose/attitude with the right edgy guitar riffs at right state of adolescence. The net effects was several essential songs – you'll know the ones – for the high school sophomore with some sense – dim, yes, but undeniably awakening – of political consciousness and (more to the point) that music could (and probably should) be more than, you know, Van Halen or Led Zeppelin or Jimmy Buffett (which some fellow dudes were getting into). No mistaking or forgetting the power of this band (Edge's edges, Mullen's martial pounding, Bono's high-minded exhortations [later to become way too much so]). "New Year's Day" and "40" remain all-time faves (the latter perhaps the greatest closing track of any record ever), righteous songs of solace in troubled times, while "Two Hearts" shows U2 could elevate in more secular (even danceable) ways. A landmark effort and strong contender for album of the decade and easily one of the best of the century. With them playing Vegas now for a month plus, one wonders just how such earnest and humble beginnings could lead to such excess and cynicism. Still, the music holds up excellently well.
The easy grooves, luscious and accentuating strings, the faux falsetto, beds of baritone sax, punctuating brass, the wandering and evocative guitars – many factors conspire to make this a retrogressive delight. Not sure any band ever did "quiet is the new loud" more efficaciously. And man were they strong live, especially in their large format; a 2002 or '03 show at the Prospect Park Bandshell is one of the best shows one ever saw. There's a rich and lovely archness here, the tension between the quotidian lyrics (e.g., drinking neighbors, drinking and salad dressing) and oft dramatic and seeming seriousness of style and tone. It's an approachable sort of irony. Only last few cuts leave one a bit cold. Kudos to editors for including this totally underrated classic. This isn't their best – Ohio would be one's choice – though it's excelelnt overall and adding another Lambchop record (much less the two or three other worthy choices) would've been too much to ask, clearly.
Likably loose and raffish. And it's quite warm and approachable, too, with neither too-manic energy nor overweening ambition. Danceable for those who like that sort of thing, but not insistent on the point. One likes the overall balance – ragged and crunching guitars that don’t dominate, the slurry and talky vocals, the chiming organ notes. Editors are right that it does seem a bridge from rave-y Madchester (without being too dazed or debauched) to Britpop (though less ironic and cynical). And there's more than a few classic rock moments, with licks that wouldn't sound out of place on a Faces record. The question one always wants to ask is how much of this did Oasis rip off from them and them from, say, Teenage Fanclub. But what a rich seam of Northern Soul it was, eh?
The full and genuine article, this is the grittier side of soul but very high marks for sincerity and authenticity and energy. He leans into songs to the point of falling over. And it's the delivery and effort as much as the voice itself that is distinct here. It's relatable with a common man-y feel that makes it both earnest and emotive. The Sings Soul Ballads record is better, really, if only because he avoids oversinging and also because of addition by subtraction (i.e., no lame Stones covers). One doesn't love "Respect" too much either. "Ole Man Trouble" is good open and "I MIss My Water" a very strong close, and "Loving You Too Long" might be best of what's between. MGs' playing delivers high impact. One wishes a few songs went on a bit longer.
Fun and thumping with some great hooks and licks, but pretty forgettable in the end – which is what happens when you reach for the middling mainstream. And didn’t need to be nearly this long as it’s awfully f-in’ samey. The schtick feels false given how their obvious desire for big-time fame (hence Rick Rubin), though maybe “sellout” is too strong given that they stuck largely to their well-honed style. (And kept on sticking to it for 70+ minutes). One found this decent and non-transcendent back in the day and that POV holds. Kiedis has a strong voice and mostly convincing delivery but the schtick is a bit much. The Robert Johnson cover is kinda cool. The Hendrix quite a bit less so.
Can music be jumpy and woozy at the same time? If so, this is it. On the whole finds this a little interesting but not at all engaging. Seems liike it should either trance out or be more like a regular song. One doesn't mind the distance of it, just the dullness. If one were forced to dance, one would prefer this to traditional house music. The singing feels secondary. "Mad Cat" might be best song. The genre is very well named. But one gets the feeling that drum and bass might be better off with a good bit less drum and bass. And just less overall; this is way too long, especlaly given how much runs together.
Extremely cool record one hadn't known -- good work, editors. Of course the Who will say it was no influence, but the Tommy influences are obvious (Townsend's "Christmas" takes much from the lovely "Trust"). And it aspects of both The Wall and the Final Cut could be traced back to elements here. But forgetting all that, there's consistent and ample high quality throughout. "Baron Saturday" would fit on the White Album and "Talking About the Good Times" could be an outtake from Sgt. Peppers. "I See You" soars thoughtfully and "Walking Through My Dreams" woulda/coulda/shoulda been a hit. "Private Sorrow" is a seminal piece of alt.folk, whether it knew it or not. "Balloon Burning" is alt-ingly appealing, too, with terrifically intense and sustained soloing – kids today would call it "fire." And by rock opera standards, they keep the ambition in check, moderating the application of oddball effects, offbeat instrumentations or sudden reverses of mood/tone. It's true to psychedelic principles – giving a generally kaleidoscopic feel, say – without overdoing them or making them seem silly or trendy. And thank God this was pre-prog or these cats might have gone dangerously around that bend. There's seriousness of intent but also a willingness to let it rip (see, "Defecting Grey"). One doesn't think much of the lyrics or feel motivated to figure them out; but Lester Bangs really ought to have known better. Lots of records that want to be undiscovered classics only get half of the formula right; this one nails both sides of the equation.
The more one listens to metal, the more one gets a vague sense of why others might like it – the structural power of the constant jug-jug-jug. But one still struggles to see why anyone would want to listen beyond a song or two, because it's just so loud and repetitive and monotonous to the the point of being monolithic. The title is meant to be funny or or clever, one supposes, but finds it to be neither. Perhaps all that can be said is that metal is the sort of thing one likes if one likes that sort of thing, which one definitely does not.
The t-shirts and logo are cool. The music utterly worthless. It's as if they wanted to create the most idiotic and ugliest music possible. One recommends the chapter in Michael Azerrad's excellent book to listening to this toxic noise.
Four absolute top-shelf tunes – "Debaser," "Monkey" "Wave of M" and "Here Comes Your Man" – but much of the rest can feel a bit larky and tossed-off, which keeps this from the first rank of albums. One loves the mock deconstructed love song (anti-ballad) "La La Love You" and doesn't the opening of "Mr. Grieves" ready one for Jim Morrison to come bouncing asking about the location of the nearest whiskey bar? A very fun ride, now as it was then, and a pure artifact of its time.
Madchester's finest moment and easily one of the finest debut albums of all time, a fully birthed masterpiece that was very much of its moment (though a very distinct reading of that moment) . This band came hyped to the heavens (at least in college radio circles) and more than delivered. They were to be taken much more seriously than Happy Mondays and Oasis (who took themselves – or at least their pursuit of stardowm – way too seriously to be taken seriously). Quality hooks abound, on both rockers and slower cuts. Speaking of, "Bye Bye Badman" and "Shoot You Down" are both excellent. "Resurrection" and "Sugar Spun Sister" and "Made of Stone" are best of upbeat tracks. But there are exactly zero duds or dips. That the very good "Elephant Stone" and the transcendent "Fool's Gold" were left off speaks to the quality. And "I Wanna Be Adored" is a near optimal opener, commanding attention and setting the stage. Vocals are a bit of a weak point, but ace drumming and idealized guitar playing (not the showiest or most skillful but perfectly suited to materials and original as hell). Leaving Easily a 5 if one includes "Fool's Gold" as was on the US release, but a 4.5 even without it, rounding up because it's just that good, even though one sorta feels they slipped into the "Where Are They Now" file and because one has always taken it personally that one never got to see the legendary live show. Brown's late-on politics not helping either.
30+-year-old first impressions hold true: seems more like raw material to me, a first step. It rocks and the sharp edges are undeniably ear-catching. But there's a monolithic feel across tracks -- a slab of marble they'd better hone on future releases. Only "Gigantic" really stands out. Maybe Albini shoulda spent more times on the vocals.
Likably strange and quietly eccentric, but a bit underpowered. Certainly, it achieves its goal of being so different that it tends toward irrelevant or at least unrelatable, if not unlistenable. Rather sweet discordance in the end, innit.
One has clearly neglected Husker Du the last three or 15 years, though not necessarily Monsieur Mould. This record and the other simply fell out of regular rotation, causing one to forget how sweet and vicious they were/are. Such fierce and furious pop, this seems like it should feel samier, but just doesn’t, song to song. Hear how “Friend You Got to Fall” soars so spikily. The mix of fast and jagged hooks and blazing percussion with recognizable melodies that somehow seem demure is what gives this such a distinct feel and provides engagement form start to finish – “These Important Years” and “Standing in the Rain” lay the trap and “Up in the Air” and “You Can Live at Home” close the deal wondrously, even as they leave one wanting more. Weird that one found himself liking as many GH as BM songs, given that he condcucted a semi-life-changing interview with the latter during college radio days. Mould is wrong to say this was just like the last three records; it's easily more polished and assured and tuneful. Overall, though, what a record and to think it was on a major label.
One has never quite sussed how Dexy's came to be such a critical fave. Now, having gone pretty deep on listening, one remains semi-perplexed. Not that's this is a bad record; it's quite enjoyable, in fact, but certainly sub-transcendent. One finds oneself trying to like it a bit more than one really wants to. It sounds good but feels maybe too overdone or overdetermined, a bit forced or contrived. It might be just too many strings and horns, say, which makes songs feel overweighted and puts one on edge waiting for cowbell). Also sounds like they were a bit fixated on image and presentation – a sure sign of trying too hard. The Van cover doesn't add to the impact overall, makes them seem like a less original and derivative band. The strengths are considerable soulfulness (see "Make This Precious" and "Old"), the overall vibe of organic, troubadoring minstrelsry and a mostly happy bent, like they're having a decent time making music. And Rowland's a strong vocalist, though a bit more restraint might be additive. There are times where he seems to have been listening to too much Freddie Mercury. Overall, though, one gets somewhat won over ... a high quantity of relatively high quality (even quality-plus) tunefulness. (But who releases a "What It Should've Sounded Like" reissue that sounds very close to original.)
One likes the more soul music-y cuts – "With a Strap," and "Back Like That" – and "Jellyfish" is great. But one feels a lack of knowledge re Wu Tangiana to get all the jokes. Just pretty good, really, and makes sense as an "ex."
Not sure if title refers to the purveyors of purchasers of this record, which isn’t terrible by the standards of late adolescent music and no doubt rates highest with low-information voters who fancy themselves politically informed and engaged, but are at least likely to have their hearts in the right place. Can’t tell if it's a poppy punk record or a punky pop record. Either way, it’s pretty bland, being awfully obvious and mainstream-y (if of above- average ambitiousness). Oh sure there is a story arc but – editors take note – one not even remotely in Quadrophenia’s league. Even if the plot line were worthy of a Booker Prize, that wouldn’t solve for the musical meh-ness any more than the decently cool art cover does. Hooks are so broad, if likable, as to suspect R. Rubin was at the controls (alas, no). The political commentary isn’t exactly piercing and not even additive or even remotely worth one’s time (for their being scads of better sources, obvs). The power ballads (“Are We the Waiting” and “When September Ends”) are kinda cute. “Boulevard of broken dreams” — hmmm, where has one heard that line before? That cut/paste – and certainly not mature – songwriting (eh, editors?). Last cut might be best of the lot but it will almost certainly be a coincidence or accident if one ever heard it again.
Delightful and lovely and pretty interesting, too. One likely heard (and got annoyed) by "Ah Minha" in real time that summer and, annoyed, chose to ignore the rest of this, which has aged terrifically well. So that's one loss – otherwise this is one's genre and era and remains up for eccentric/offbeat indie rock/pop with a kaleidoscopic, genre-hopping bent. It seems both spicier and less slight, not at all a novelty or a gimmick, which one could see less refined listeners mistaking this for. The overall, relaxed vibe is a clear throughline, which makes the variety that sits atop even more of a wonder. Each microgenre works well, and non-dilletantishly – that is, they add to it while remaining respectful. Every cut has its merits, but "No Trophy" and "Sweet Like a Champion" and "Lying in the Snow" and "Zia" and "Sky Holds the Sun" are personal raves. "A funky little curio," indeed (as the indexed review has it). And seems as good a time as any to recommend not sleeping on The Books, a similar (if not quite as good or fun) group from same era US.
Dark, moody and a little spiky, but not as strong as other E + B records, largely because there's less energy and clarity and no absolute killer singles. Rounding up because it ends on a high note with interesting and sprawling cuts.
One confesses a deep and abiding love for this record, and not just for reasons of time and place. The whole project is beautifully conceived and lovingly executed. It's the best sort of homage, to a fully deserving honoree, with appropriate but original seeming interpretations that amplify the results to major, and even occasionally touching, effect. The Bragg-Wilco combo is extraordinary and Natalie Merchant adds a lot. The loose and fun bits – "Walt Whitman's Niece" and "Hoodoo Voodoo" and "Christ for President" – work exceedingly well and the soulful bits – "Way Over Yonder" and "Another Man's Done Gone" and "The Unwelcome Guest" – are authentically affecting – oh, the melancholy of the elegaic tone for a lost era; oh the futile hoping for a better life for workers. There's a sincerity of intent and genuine earnestness born of love and admiration for WG that fuels the effort. Everything in between is worthwhile, too, with the extraordinary "California Stars" and "She Came Along to Me" and "Ingrid Bergman" each delivering major mid-tempo impact. Scarcely a note wrong on the entire record and the level of excellence is maintained throughout. It meant so much all those years ago, and still does today. What more sign of greatness does one need? (Side plug: Tweedy's memoir of a few years ago is a terrific read.)
Ry Cooder, thank you for your service. What a delight.
One has dug the PCO ever since one got wind of them in early '00s (one guesses) or maybe late '90s on (one suspects) Prairie Home Companion. Somehow not listened much in recent years. Love the floating neo-classical with a wink, and the noodling, light-hearted and light-headed vibe. A freshness, too, one still hears. Even rather timeless – certainly lacks that stale '70s aroma so common to innovative/experimental efforts of that era. It almost seems if it ought to belong to a new genre – Le Neue Musique Concrete, or something. Different, original (if not quite sui generis), unmistakable, contemplative, inventive, enjoyable – what more to say? And if it's good enough for Eno, it ought to be good for the rest of us.
Better and more substantive the one expected, and of course very well made, produced. A spiritual practice and motherhood seem to have added some depth. The better material is front loaded. "Substitute for Love" is sneaky-affecting. "Ray of Light" a banger, with a great false-front opening, from whence comes much of its power, specifically the leap from the quiet/mellow first bit to the driving/infectious hook that dominates the balance of the song. "Nothing Really Matters" shows the lady not trying too hard and working effectively in mid-tempo mode. The lullaby of club music at the end is a bit treacly (though not terrible). The raga, which is not terrible, is pretty weak chai, even accounting for direct cultural appropriation; might she have been angling for a role in a Bollywood pic?
Oh, when rock was young and country rock – much less Americana, much less jangle rock – not yet a thing. One knows better than to call this innocent, but it certainly sounds so. They would get better – deeper and more evocative and complex – but what a start this represents; it's earnest and elevating and well-made. "Feel A Whole Lot Better" and "Won't Have to Cry" and "All I Really Want to Do" and "Bells of Rhymney." All this innocence, plus utterly ace tambourine-playing all over the place! Truth in advertising, that.
One’s been more of an admirer than a fan, but this is quite the debut. Different from Dylan, seems obvious now, but perhaps it wasn’t then. Similar in that the songwriting far surpasses the vocals, but Dylan is a notch more serious, and owns that seriousness and the seeming silliness (not just lyrically, but often in melodic little flourishes) with which Prine approaches his serious subject matter, are markers of difference. “Hello In There” is lovely, affecting – a template Jason Isbell stole for “Traveling Alone” on his excellent Southeastern record which belongs on this list. The organ on “Sam Stone” sounds an awful lot like the opening cut Pink Floyd’s The Final Cut and the grim, post-war subject matter also rhymes – personal elegies, basically. “Paradise” is great. “Angel in Montgomery” is deservedly renowned. Playing is sound and workmanlike.
Anyone waiting on this was sure to have been disappointed, no? Certainly it has its moments and casts a spell at times but then yields it with odd choices; "Silence," the opener grows into an engaging groove which is then cut off with a rather jarring truncated close, an annoyance repeated on another song or two. The stop-start contrast of sounds on "Hunter" is also off-putting – works, then doesn't; works, then doesn't. Similarly, "The Rip" is exactly one-half (unnecessairly sloooow and tortuous and ultimately dull) build-up and one-half close-to-compelling hook which is given up too soon –– huh? why, exactly? – when it shoulda been the guts of the whole song. Beth G can do drama for sure but the constant shifts undo the tension (see "Plastic" with yet another cool effect wasted by being chopped and chopped, then chopped again). "We Carry On" seems as if it wants to rock PJ Harvey-ly and offers a soary/haunting hook a la Radiohead but they that too is dropped or minimized for a not altogether uninteresting little skiffle bit that could go poppy but nether angle holds, really and the song breaks down as a result. Then a warbly ukulele lullaby, making no sense at all, by some a industrial-y dental appointment of a song "Machine Gun." "Small" also tries to be too many songs at once and cuts off abruptly. On the whole, P'head seem determine to have listeners lose the plot or make themselves hard to follow, which they just don't merit. One doesn't mind the darkness and droning – in fact, one is naturally drawn to such and very much wants to like this record and hear them give in fully to droning in one direction or another – there's really power here, but the shifting and reversals compromise the drive and undo the engaging moments. The record falls far short of the high-impact, high-art effect it clearly seeks. Listen to the final tones – they seem to thiink they've just put you through a NIN-like spectacle or told a story like The Wall or some grand operatic statement, which ... well, they seem to have been watching a different movie. Rounding down because it coulda/shoulda been better.
A singularly impressive achievement by a singular artist. Consistiently high-quality songs delivered with and conviction and purpose and supported by intriguing arrangements, ace porduction and very good playing throughout (tense and teasing piano plus pulling bass on "Shabby Doll;" tasteful and undestated strings + horns on "Town Cryer" are among the top grace notes, with the latter being an exquisite way [plus master class in how] to end a great record). So many good cuts – beyond the aforementioned, “Man Out of Time” and “Almost Blue” and "Beyond Belief" and "Little Fool" are among one's faves – and not a dog to be found in the lot AKNF, as was once said. One considers the snark and cynicism to be a feature not a bug. This is peak Elvis and probably the top destination on EC’s long and interesting career journey. One's a resounding yes on this being his masterpiece.
Laid-back and lovely, but also mellow to the point of timidity and blandness, shading into easy listening territory. Some cheesy '80s keys, too, which don't quite ruin everything, and the three high-profile cuts compensate for a lot. The early records are much better. Rounding up as a form of lifetime achievement award and because she's very easy to root for.
Flows fabulously which is why it's fly. Strong statement though it feels overdone at time – starting with the boasts – which is of course the occupational hazard within hip-hop.
One recalls finding the premise a bit silly at the time and the live show was a bit too wacky for one's tastes generally, but they were hard not to like anyway, primarily because the songs were so good, especially on the record. Today this plays like prog rock for people with heart and soul, like a lighter-hearted, less self-serious Pink Floyd. It's rich and interesting throughout, with 4-5 top-shelf cuts ("Flight Test," "One More Robot," title cuts [one prefers the first], "Ego Tripping" [which has provided one considerable solace in needy moments down the years]). The last few cuts make for a very strong and emotionally satisfying end, wrapping up the retro-futuristic computer tale in rather warm and humane fashion. Indeed, for a record that emphasize mortality so overtly, it plays almost cozy. One thinks perhaps the production effects are a bit too washed out (or washed over) because they conceal some fine playing and one worries they won't age particularly well. Looking back it was all quite warm and fun and who doesn't appreciate even an echo or resonance of that today.
One's def not a jazz purist but is effectively trolled, so mission accomplished if that was the intent. The few moments of tunefulness just get buried in the almost unvarying cacophony, and all the fast and fierce playing is to no real effect (to one's ears anyway) other than an aggregation of extreme sounds. It's an interpretation meant to overwhelm. And the overall obnoxiousness is certainly not Ornette's fault. As much as one admires out-there artists ready to push the boundaries, just because it can be done doesn't mean it should.
Strong and steady, with an excellent last cut, and what a trip to recall all these records of '91. But, let's be honest: Songs from Northern Britain is a vastly superior record, because warmer, more soultful and more mature. Those resounding choruses and honest outreach (lyrically, one means, and presumably toward partners) are oh, so relatable. Bandwagonesque does sound just a touch dumb today, and "The Concept" vaguely annoying. Rounding up, largely, though not only, because of Hornby's love for this band (though maybe DCFC dude's love should balance that out). Last cut is a nice surprise and fine closer.
Top of line for 1995 and still sounds pretty sharp and tight today, though pretty canned and quite tame, reflecting the the then-mainstreaming of indie. Dark? A bit, more shadowy, one would say, and certainly not "darker than the deepest pits of hell" (come on, editors, what do you take us for?). The hits mostly deliver the goods and the whole thing is generally likable, but feels tired, defanged if it ever really had fangs. One of those records where one questions whether or not it needs a 20th Anniversary edition; in contrast, one's mind is fully made up (in the negative) as to the point of whether it also needed a 20th Anniversary Deluxe Edition and (AND!!!) a 20th Anniversary Super Deluxe Edition. The derived-from-MBV factor is quite high; see opening of “My Lover’s Box,” first few bars of which promise to be a cover of “soon” and get nowhere near to that level of quality, engagement, etc. One wonders if one of the editors had/has a crush on Shirley M.
Really good – the whole thing vibes excellently and consistently, and grooves mellowly. "Colorado" and "So the Task Beings" are both teriffic. "Jesus Gave Away Love for Free" might be the all-time hippie line. The trio of "Johny's Garden" and "How Far" and "Move Around" is another highlight sequence ... the last being a master class about how to incorporate synths (or cutting-edge musical tech) into songs.
Oh, the patented faux urgent edginess of the early aughts, of which era this is generic and no better than replacement level. Not that it's terrible but still ... One only likes the ballads, though "Sunshinin'" isn't terrible.
First-rate. Interesting and different. One forgets how funky they were/are/could be. “Born Under Punches” is just killer groovy. “Crosseyed and Painless” also great and "Once In a Lifetime" is a pop song for the ages. Last few cuts maybe shade slighttly us into longeurs territory, but this was a worthy successor to what came before and maybe one's personal fave among a strong catalog. The dynamic and layered complexity feels richer and more ambitious than the previous records, but also a touch more forbidding. Overall, though, aesthetically intriguing and fucking fun, too.
Indeed it is a disco record, merged with boogie-ing Texas blues and submerging some pretty ace axe work. One in no ways resents these guys their success; they seemed as surprised as anyone and also to be having a lot of fun (and money) -- so good on them. But this wasy overplayed (both on an absolute basis and relative to its merits). One believes it was also misunderstood by all camps – the rock purists fearing the onslaught of new wave video acts and the new wave fans who wondered why these beards were being allowed to crash the party. In the end, for all its crispy chuggin', this record just ain't all that. The latter cuts sound tired, as if they can't keep up the charade. The '70s records are more interesting stylistically and more authentic-seeming (as evidenced by the titles of the songs, such as "Jesus Just Left Chicago"), plus funkier and much, much downer-and-dirtier, and the licks aren't tarted up with chart-friendly effects. Here the hotter and grittier of the licks (e.g., "I Need You Tonight") are dressed up with what sounds suspiciously like a drum machine and/or dodgy-shaky synths. In weighing their legacy, the relevant question seems to have become: were they doing it their way (unapologetically unreconstructed) or just seeming to do so in making a big reach for the commercial mainstream? Having lived it in real time, one suspects the latter. How else to explains the tepid and wholly unfortunate "Legs" and "TV Dinners" – not just musically, but the whole packaging? This was a decided dumbing down for the dudes who gave us "LaGrange." Barely a 3, a very charitable one, mainly because of the obnoxious ubiquity.
Fun enough but fundamentally unserious, which must have suited its time. The derivative title – a joke which was old and stale full decades before the release – sets the tone. “Going Out of My Head” riffs on “Can’t Explain” in a finger-painting, “hey-look-how-clever” sort of way. Not much to it and anyway hadn’t Big Audio Dynamite already done this, like a week and a half previous? Really not worth one’s time, save for eliciting some fun, clubby memories (including memories of why one never much liked going to clubs in the first place, which had to do with music such as this).Goes on awfully long to be so generic and soulless. Same predictable structures – tension mounts with same cheesy studio techniques, and is then climaxed through the same sort of release point – time and again and song after song. Rounding down because it’s annoying and makes one miss the Housemartins which really should be in this book instead of this.
If Michael Jackson wasn't going to make Michael Jackson records anymore, then someone had to, one supposes. And this definitely a good Michael Jackson with a few shockingly sweet tunes and some certifiably groovy bits, too. "Take It From Here" and "Cry Me a River" are tops. Not really one's thing, but hard to deny oneself its easily digestible and extremely well produced charms.
A bit better than okay, but overdone, as per usual with this guy. It's more accessible and organic than much of his work. "Straight to You" and "When I First Came To Town" are best tunes. The voice is very much an acquired taste and one suspects he works at and is intentional about making it so. Let's be clear, there are too many NC records on this list, by a factor of at least 2.
Hard to think past a strict historical time frame when listening, but obviously a major stake in the ground. The traditionally structured singles don't really grab. "Interstellar Overdrive" has the desired effect, one supposes, but one never craves to hear it. Not exactly "In A Gadda Da Vida" in that sense, now is it? Yes, it's more artful than say Moby Grape, and cooler, but also more considered and even contrived. One finds it easy to envision the lads thinking, "How clever and out there and psychedelic are we!" Perhaps the more important question is whether it's any more historically significant than say, A Final Cut (a moment of time in the '80s that has held up better? This child of the '80s says indubitably no, even accounting for one's personal weak spot for AFC? Is Meddle a better record straight up? One thinks, yes. Is Animals? Again, indubitably. This is a curiosity only worth caring about because of what was to come.
A durable classic. As with other Byrds records, one hears so much of the future across these cuts, so many of which are excellently tuneful – ”Goin Back,” “Draft Morning,” “Wasn’t Born to Follow” “Get to You” “Old John Robertson.” "Natural Harmony" and "Draft Morning" are templates for the sound and outputs of most likable and wholly decent The Clientele.
If VH-1 had been around in the late ‘70s, IP would surely have starred in the first “Behind the Music.” The record is very good, gloriously ragged, and certainly better than The Idiot. And IP is all-in – there’s no doubting the commitment. There a handful of excellent songs – "Tonight" and "Success" the lesser known one. But I can’t escape the feeling it has a bit more cred than it deserves. LIkely that’s down to the “recovery” backstory, which doesn’t actually add anything musically.
Never quite rivets or takes flight like Exodus or Catch a Fire, but still good and pleasing (it's the Wailers after all) and particularly edifying in that we now know the origin of "do it with your bad self." "Lively Up Yourself" and "Talkin Blues" are highlights. The takes on familiar songs (most notably "No Woman No Cry") lag other, more canonical versions (including those on Greatest Hits and Best of collections). Rounding up before the soon-to-be-released biopic tempts to round down.
There are moments both dynamic and biting, but also some raggedness and some sense of being unformed that suggest that future success was in no way assured. This lot got so much better the more they diversified the sound. Conversely, how would we rate this record had they not worked out to be the Clash? Maybe one of the editors saw them live before this came out and was so blown away, etc. etc. Record gets considerably better as it moves along – "Cheat" and "Police & Thieves" and "Garageland" feel like the best cuts on a disc that would be better still with a hit. Proves the theory that first record isn't always the best or coolest. Kind a feel like it's need a clear "hit" or an outright classic track to be a truly world-class debut. Rounding up because, you know, The Clash.
This may be a tick down in raw power and overall quality from I and II but one has always regarded it more highly and felt a greater emotional attachment to it for reasons having to do with non-obviousness and personal circumstances; to wit, one listened to the “acoustic” side during a stoned afternoon nap in the first few weeks of college and, such were the wondrous dreams one had, awoke a different person — and an even more satisfied Zeppelin customer than one had been during high school (which was already an extremely satisfied customer). The experience also precipitated a classic Dead vs Zeppelin debate that would rage til spring term when one would drop out (a consequence, perhaps, of an excess of stoned naps). “Immigrant Song” is a great hook but it belongs on Physical Graffiti, as probably does the excellent and wildly underrated “Out on the Tiles.”"Friends” is the appropriate spiritual opener and sets the gloriously realized and mellow pastoral bliss of side 2. Never did they do a better blues than “Since I've Been Loving You” and what can one say about “Tangerine” other than one’s never loved a song (or frankly much else, artistic or otherwise, in this, our fallen world) more. It still sounds great and is one of not many things to not be embarrassed about from one’s long ago painful and pure youth, sad and hopeful and stoned as it was. “That’s the Way” seems objectively the better song now, it must be said.
At first glance, seems a PE tribute band, or maybe GS Heron, or KRS One's slightly hipper (but not especially more talented) bro or cousin. At any rate, this is decent, earnest, eat-your-vegetables hip-hop – mostly crisp and effective, but awfully pedantic (way too many soundbytes from the news) and derivative, with a distinctly word-drunk-undergrad vibe. Again, not terrible, because vegetables are good for you, after all, but not exactly wildly entertaining, mind-blowing, etc.
On the plus side, it's way ahead of its time – 1981 does seem very early for sounds like these. On the downside, it's dry, experimental and mostly uncharming, with some of it sounds like Max Headroom. The found sounds are mostly fine, and intermittently interesting, but then dull and grating after a time. Plus they remind one of bits that Moby, Fatboy Slim and others of that annoying ilk would use decades later. The best vibe is on “The Jezebel Spirit.” Too much else just feels like mood-setting and exploratory noodling, or as they say in comedy “all premise and no punch line.” There’s a lack of lyricism and loveliness, or formal resolution at the end of the explorations that his best ambient work has (see “Music for Airports,” “Discreet Music,” “French Catalogues”). Even allowing for its influence and foresight re sampling and world music, it reads a bit stale and tired today. Ultimatey, it's just-okay Eno (maybe blame Byrne).
What a voice, what a singer, what a record. And what a concept – break her out of full trip-hop constraints and watch the music soar in charming and humane directions. The light-touch production throughout is a major plus, allowing the mix of acoustic instruments and electronica/chill touches its full effect. The upbeat songs are playful, even frolicsome, and the ballads fully affecting and almost touching at times. "Sweetest Decline" is perfectly lovely, both title cuts are richly melancholic and "Pass In Time" utterly inspirational. The album lags late, it must be admitted but the peaks are too good for the overall effect to be much diminished. One admits a deep engagement with this and her other early records upon their release and during a particularly meaningful (certainly changeful) and mostly happy time of one's life – maybe even the best and most meaningful. That counts of course, but the music retains nearly all its warmth and many merits. Few artists had a better run than Beth O during those millennial-straddling years and her record of just a year or two ago suggest her ongoing power.
A pleasure to hear, inspiring the saudadesque hope that in a future life one's soul is reborn in Brazil, where can be a samba-listener and lover, futebol-watcher and full-time caipirinha drinker.
My how the commercially underappreciated can get so critically overrated in a short period of time. The opener “Strange Feeling” is easily the best cut. Vibes and bass are groovy enough, but close listening confirms that the playing is distinctly sub-virtuoso. The artier and more experimental moments mostly don't come off. Not sure it’s an homage to “All Blues” or a straight-up ripoff. "Buzzin Fly" is sorta cool, too, but things go downhil from there. "Room 109" is lugubrious and way too long. Same could be said for "Dream Letter" – way too much cowbelll .... er, cello. One gets the sense that TB wants to be Jim Morrison or Santana, without having the charisma or chops; to wit, “Gypsy Woman,” all dozen overreaching minutes of it, is simply not credible. The kind of song that makes one think one might have underestimated James Taylor, and that confessional songwriting done by songwriters who fancy themselves as world-weighted and/or take themselves too seriously can easily lead to great ponderousness. Maybe he should have got out more often.
Not terrible but too all over the place for one's taste, with alternately too much emo and too much metal ("Assassin"). And just too much generally. Not something one will be listening to again, deathbed notwithstanding. The exing of this record makes perfect sense as it's pretty forgettable, even by '90s standards.
Much more substance than one recalls, plus cute and fun. One supposes the only he punk part is that they didn't know how to play their instruments when they started. It's the pure pop crispness that makes it work. The '50s, girl-group vibe comes thru even clearer all these years later, thought one recalls noticing in real time. Is it slight? Yes, of course, almost by design. But, as with all the best-made pop, it's just hard not to like and almost perfectly infectious.
Eccentrically engaging and pretty charming, with somewhat deceptive shimmering. There's more depth and darkness, more shadows and shades than surface listening will reveal. Highly intricate, too, with a generally off-kilter feel that makes it quite likable, with the vocal's angelic sheen really elevating affairs, and often achieving outright ebullience.
Knotty and intense as usual. And as usual, the more one can get past the gratuitously and intentionally difficult stuff, the more one can actually, you know, enjoy the music. "Sugar Kane" is coolest cut, once again showing how the edgiest-artiest-most difficult bands often have a counterintuitive knack for groovy and melodious hooks. It helps to be in right mood and conditions – both psychologically and climatologically – to get fully engaged and thus the most out of this record.
Competent and even here and there interesting, yes, but also silly and sloppy and a touch boring, which one is pretty sure not what this band was going for. The finger snaps on "Gutter Cat vs. The Jets" are a brief highlight, as is the piano vamping on "My Stars" and the horns-synth combo play in "Grand Finale." "Blue Turk" might be the best cut overall, but much else is just overdramatic attention-seeking of no more than mediocre merit. The parts are more than the sum, basically, and as a whole this one's not worth one's (or anyone's) time.
This band was overhyped from day 1 and while they delivered the full goods on first record and offered a decent payoff on the third, quality dropped off quite a bit by this time. No wonder editors dropped them from later editions, as the hype faded, along with memories of their (allegedly legendary) live shows. It's sorta cool and certainly not bad, but there's more than a whiff of trying too hard, taking themselves too seriously.
Dynamic and at times kinetic, and more club-funky than full-on jam funky. Some cool-ish grooves and moods are set (e.g., "Don't Go Nowhere," "Bussing," "Belladonna") though, as with one's memories of this period, the more one thinks about them, the less sense they all make and the more one thinks "what was so great about that time anyway?" They bordeline overstuff the styles (one kept waiting for the trip-hop to take over entire, but then the skanky enought ska-ish bits were a nice surprise). The melange mostly works because of the strong rhythm and a willingness to let things play out and not to do it all at once. It's safe to say it's aged better than a lot of from the era of excessive breakbeats. Maybe one likes more than Massive Attack, but one doesn't feel too much inspired to spend too much time sussing those nuances.
Lovely, haunting and self-contained. Seems to set the stage for alt/psych-folk and emo, without replicating those genre's many and obvious sins. Opener and title cut are both particularly engaging. "Death to Everyone" is exhibit A of why quiet became the new loud and how to do it right, for max emotional impact. There's a tension in the vocals that nicely complements the edge on the playing, adding to the vibe of seriousness, of thoughtfulness. There's a sense of BPB doing it his way, if not quite full-on uncompromisingly.
Decent, and fairly engaging, and a bit fun – basically what you want from a well-made pop record. Personally, one finds his voice a tad annoying, but he uses it to most strong effect throughout. The album's incessant style jumping could also be off-putting, but given that it's all pretty enjoyable so feels silly to complain. It's encouraging when commercially successful and mass popularity offer at least this much sophistication and distinctiveness. "Even After All" and "Sweet and Loving Man" are easily the best cuts. One has the sense that one has heard much of this before, but can't quite place ... which may say something about its durability (or one's mental faculties) and which makes a 4 somewhat charitable, but it's less dated than other entries of this time and enjoyability does solve a lot of other problems, with pop music, as it should that pleasure is its basic job.
Barbed yet bouncy, based on tensnion between the edgy, dissonant and relentless guitars and the basic, carnivalesque keys. Dark and edgy. Perhaps monolithic and impenetrable-seeming (perhaps even amusical) to those listeners who prefer more conventionality, accessibility and obviousnes. Mark E's vocals are an acquired taste, too, alas. One likes the oddball timings; authentic, low-fi passion and commitment to DIY-their-way; intense and discordant hooks; distinctive and memorable vocals; fixating little glimpses of melody amidst all the abrasiveness and (it would seem willful) difficulty. "No Xmas" is memorable, an early classic for this keeper of a band.
Lilting and lovely, so perfectly pleasant. Almost ideal morning music, whether a sunny Spring or rainy Fall morning. More warmth and soul than many chill/electronica (or whatever we call this genre at this point) or comparable relesae of this era. A bit slight and samey, but so very charming nonetheless, and much better than their previous efforts – which were either too outwardly clubby or too unflowingly weird and willfully obscure/offbeat. This lovely songbird/angel can sing to me anytime
It's hard to say which is the more impressive feat – the conception of such a record or its unsparingly bleak and often gorgeous/heartbreaking execution. What a statement, especially at this point in his career. The Boss gained enduring – nay, eternal – credibility for doing this and standing by it and perhaps was freed to go similarly all in on other types of albums (and what range he would show next, with Born in the USA). One's never quite undestood why “Atlantic City” wasn't the single, though “Open All Night” is terrific, too. "Johnny 99" woulda made a great single, if not for the grim content. (One's always found it odd that the lyric "debts no honest main can pay" are featured on two songs). “Mansion on the Hill” and “Highway Patrolman” are sublime and "Nebraska" and "State Trooper" near-shocking -- these are Reagan-era murder ballads, serious Cormac McCarthy and Flannery O'Connor territory. This made a major impact on one's early teenage musical development and in quite late middle age one finds it's only got better, retaining its full power. Perhaps the most profound statement by an unsurpassed artist.
As cultural appropriations go, this one is convincing (these guys clearly believed in what they were doing) and musically pleasing (who doesn't like the blues?). The mixing in of '60s grooviness feels additive. Yes, Clapton blazes, but the tight and high-impact song structures generate much of the power. However, it does seem worth noting (especially to Clapton worshippers) that, if forced to choose, one would prefer to hear John Lee Hooker or Muddy Watters or B.B. King or Son House or Buddy Guy or Albert King or ...
Every time one listens to Stevie one wonders why one doesn't listen more often. Sweet and soulful. Honest and engaging. Lovely and layered with such interesting textures. Meditative ("You Haven't Done Nothing"), even mournful ("They Won't Go") tunes mix in with lightly swinging and uplifting ones ("Bird of Beauty," "Please Don't Go"). “It Ain’t No Use” is great., too and the sneaky-good, unhurried funk of "Reggae Woman" seems more infectious on every listen. Overall, this feels slightly slighter than Talking Book and Innvervisions and a full notch below Key of Life, which is prolly down to the lack of a full big-ticket blockbuster-y track – a "Superstition" or "Higher Ground." Still, there's a lot here that's close and it's a delight to listen to.
One's not qualified to judge whether this is truly one of the all-time live albums. Certainly it seems a very good-to-great one, with super-tight playing, crisp, assured and polished, and Van digging deep and delivering the goods on every cut. But what’s the fetish for live albums? Which always have a sorta "had-to-be-there" vibe. Multiple other of his studio records seem more deserving. St Dominic’s Preview, surely. And what about the late ‘90s and early-aught releases – The Healing Game, say, or Days Like This, or even the critically (criminally?) underrated Enlightenment, which may be somewhat uneven but certainly merit the “worth hearing” tag given Van’s full-on maturation as poet-philosopher-shaman-warrior king? One likes how he intros the band late on – he sounds almost like an American accent. One's a huge Van fan and is glad to have reason to spend more time on this, but seems like a bit of missed opportunity to include something a little more worthy, something where he did a bit more exploratory work, say.
After three opening cuts – which are silly and synthetic, completely disposable club music – there is much to like here. Her voice is/was still in good shape at this point but one woulda like more room for the beats/beds to live and breathe. Perhaps the production was a big deal. The stop-start effect on "Don't Tell Me" is silly. This song also sounds like she's channeling Sublime -- how the mighty have fallen. And poor Joe Henry; his version of this cut -- his own -- is about 1,000 times cooler, though hopefully the royalties from his sister-in-law have cheered him up. The more organic the songs – that is the least plastic and clubby – the better (see "I Deserve It, ' "Gone"). One assumes "Nobody's Perfect" was a relatively early adoption of Autotune (again, who cares?) which doesn't sound any better today and the weird effects (a theremin with sinus congestion?). Best moment of the whole record is the vibe/bed toward the beginning of "What It Feels" but rest of song doesn't remotely do it justice (so maybe h/t to producer on that one). Overall, it's hard to resist the conclusion that this is a trend-chasing exercise by a celebrity desperate to stay relevant. But at least's polished, well-made and often pleasurable.
Glammy, theatrical and way over the top, and certainly not one's thing. No doubt the cool kids (like, teens) woulda dug this decades ago but are likely embarrassed by it now, as it reads mostly cartoonish now. Like a caricature of what would scare parents about rock and roll. "Last of Teenage Idols" is funny, making explicit the links to doo-wop era that have been implicit throughout. "Faith Healer" may be top cut. “Nothing like a gang bang to blow away the blues” — can’t argue with that, now can we? Better than Alice Cooper. Not as good Mott the Hoople.
A cool and tough and quite assured debut. "Precioius" sets a clear and strong tone. "Kid" and "Stop Your Sobbing" (the latter produced by Nick Lowe, who deserves more representation in this list) are the gems here, and among the sweetest songs of that era, one's personal faves to be sure. At during one's teens, one struggled to determine to whom one was more attracted – Chrissie Hynde or Madonna. Glad to see the latter was influenced by the former.
Loads of fun and sweet and groovy hooks and melodies ("Lovely Linda," "Junk, "Every Night"), though most are feel than fully developed and/or outright unfinished. The playful vibe sounds like the product of personal happiness. One may prefer the pleasantly loose rag-bag effect to the often overly polished Paul. "Maybe I'm Amazed" has never been a particular fave but sounds great here in contrast to the (comparative) bits and bobs that surround it.
Intentionally ugly and performative silliness. Whatever statement is trying to made does not deserve being dignified by a response.
Love the Beatlesque “Ballad of El Goodo” – has one’s favorite feel of balanced/slightly bittersweet, inspiration-adjacent, vaguely salvific pop-rock. There is a bubble gum factor. “Thirteen” is terrific and lovely; all other covers suck in comparison. The exact midpoint from the Beatles to REM, from the Byrds to the Replacements. Their more accessible/achievable template, with a slightly darker/offbeat feel, inspired lots of great bands – including quite a few one’s tempted to rate more highly than BS (on a straight-up basis). Could they be a viewed as a poor man’s VU? Or is that yet another insult of underappreciation for a band that had far too many of those? Trigger warning: “India Song” is awful colonial.
Sweet '60s pop, ranging from all the way from sappy to sentimental to sacharine – all of it tending toward the overcooked and bombastic (e.g., the strings and drums on "Israel"). One can almost admire the schlock, the earnestness that is by definition campy and gets pretty close to predicting emo. "How Can You Mend" is achingly lovely, but such a sugar high is hard to sustain. The title cut is decent, too, maybe the highlight on of the non-ballads. "Don't Wanna Live Inside Myself" needs covering by today's enlighteneed artists – Phoebe Bridgers, say, or Wilco, maybe, or Bill Callahan? One Bee Gees record would serve the purpose of knowing what came before Saturday Night Fever and this is the better of the two, quite well made and sorta lovely if one can overlook the eye-rollingly cringey bits. The overdone-by-an-order-of-magnitude Odessa is the more interesting, for having an epically awful "symphony" and enough vibrato to last a lifetime. Not that we're short on wavering, overly dramatic vocals here – "Lion in Winter" is almost comic in effect. "Remembering," "When Do I" and "Dearest" are also embarrassing for everyone involved. And the closer can't help but recall Ridley Scott's recent biopic, which raises the same question: just how seriously to take this? That film and this record seem like a test of one's ability to balance sincerity vs irony in the enjoyment of an artistic or cultural product. Is it it cynical to like it even as one feels snarkily superior? The biggest question is for the editors, however: where the f are the disco records? That's what the people need to know. That was this band's – eternally reaching-for-relevance, acclaim-hunting lot that they were – long-sought after natural habitat and finest hour.
Pretty good and glad to know it. Seems more post-punk than punk or at least very much on the poppy side of punk. Best cuts are "Another Girl, Another Planet" and the mellow and jazzily expansive (with Doorsy keys) "Breaking Down." Hooks are good, feel is gritty and attitudinal, singing offbeat in sound but impassioned in spirit – everything you want from a culty, highly influential and romantically near-miss of a band. Rounding up because recovering heroin addicts/street poets need
Not gonna lie – one could listen to this all day, though risk is that one will get to feeling way too sexy. It's suave and sexy, swinging and sexy, groovy and sexy, gospel-y and sexy. "Retro-lutionary" is right.
The past and future coolest man in country music and damn near the top in any genre. Just classic – both in terms of authenticity and allegiance to the tried and true forms, and in freshening the sound a bit. Not a loser in this bunch of songs, and nobody seems to like his job more than Dwight Yoakam does his. Only possible criticism is that it's a tad too cool, and edges slightly toward being a museum piece (which may be a feature rather than a bug, depending on one's views).
Funky-groovy, sweet and swinging, these guys were professional-grade at everything they touched.
Not sure what to say about this music, or what one can offer in the way of context or critical insight or comparison relative to structures, the quality of playing or artfulness of composition), but one digs it, both music itself and the feels (a little more contemplative and a little spiritually elevated). And if you dig (seems the right verb here, no?), then check out “Dogri Folk Tune” which one's listened to 100s of times in one's travels around the cosmically chaotic sub-continent. One can also recommend “The Valley Recalls,” a sequel apparently.
Hard not to root for TT, but the awful Ultimate-'80s effects undercut the case for timelessness. "What's Love" and title cut are perfectly pleasant (one would like to have seen TT doing them at the Cafe Carlisle with just piano accompaniment), and "Better Be Good to Me" has its merits. But the production and "instrumentation" (if it can even be called that) on "Can't Stand the Rain" manifests nearly everything that was wrong with this musical era. "Let's Stay Together" has only sightly less cheesy synth effects and, while not unenjoyable, isn't exactly an interpretation for the ages. The same could be said for "Help!" and "Ball of Confusion." Frankly, TT's voice and vocal style – mostly guttural but filligree-ing here and there – isn't perfectly aligned to one's taste. One can feel happy for TT's success which, one supposes, might be deserved, and still find this musically iffy and mostly forgettable.
"""Harmonically complex,"" as the editors claim, it may be, but it's also kinda neutral and dull. Stanley Turrentine steals the show. Burrell also great. Hammond B3 functions as rhythm section mostly, occassional forays into church music soloing. Overall, solidly groovy.
Vaguely charming and certainly of interest and wholly original. But perhaps too insistently weird for its own good, one fears. And it was dangerous in inspiring too many lesser talented imitators. However, one digs it, the spirit behind it and the thoughtful (if super-different) execution, recognizing that what doesn't sound Caetano Veloso veers maybe a little uncomfortably close to Tiny Tim territory.
Consistently fun. Occasionally wild. Intermittently hilarious (one does like a "Yo momma joke"). Likably rough around the edges, too. The choral rapping and repetition add to the charm. The simplicity of style, plus silliness, keeps it from the first rank of hip-hop records. And one might slightly prefer Digital Underground (an obvious comp). But with albums such as this, best to just enjoy the ride, one finds.
A marginal soundtrack to a not-even-forgettable* movie isn't worth much, if any, of anyone's time and simply doesn't belong in this list. (*not even forgettable because non-existent, but surely would be forgettable if it did).
Reflective, melancholy Bruce is one's favorite Boss. This contains some of his best and bitterest songwriting and most aching/heartfelt vocals. So many haunting songs and such humanity. “Badlands” and “Promised Land” are classics, of course, but it’s the deep and powerful introspection of “Something in the Night,” “Candy’s Room,” “Racing in the Street” (masterclass in songwriting) and “Factory” that sets the record apart. Nary a misplaced note. In assessing the quality, consider that “Prove It All Night,” with one of the best lines in the Boss canon (“if dreams came true/ah, wouldn’t that be nice”) and great sax/guitar solos, may not even be a top 5 song on this record).
Musically solid and lyrically inventive – typically high quality Newmaniana. “Marie” and “Guilty” are very strong. But “Louisiana 1927” stands apart – engaging, affecting, lovely, glorious. And the story-songs work more often than not. Of course, a lot of this would’ve seemed wittier and much easier to enjoy pre-MAGA.
Somewhat bouncy but mostly tedious metal (and neither too heavy nor too hardcore). One gets the history and influence, just doesn't dig the music ... or the politics ... or the religion. The weed, maybe. "Secret 77" seems best (or least tedious) track .. has a litlte new wave edge to it. More reggae woulda been additive, too. One can attest to the quality or seriousness of the lyrics as they are difficult to hear in the all mucky funk, but one doubts one would learn much. After all these decades of metallic and punky permutations and blendings, it seems worth asking if it was actually a good idea to merge all these genres.
Fun enough and fresh-feeling, but very point-in-time seeming and also on the slight side, too. Slits were perhaps excelled by others working in the actual genres and sub-genres in which they noodled to admittedly enjoyable and melange-y effect. Jitterpunk would seem to work, without ever quite taking flight. All the cuts are decent, maybe "Typical Girls" is the best of a not overwhelmingly distinguished. The only real standout is the gimmicky (borderline novelty) but quite winsome "Grapevine," which suggests an alternative future where the Slits achieve commercial success comparable to that of the Go-Gos, Bangles or Bananarama. But maybe the album cover was too much.
Not the best Radiohead, in one's opinion, but still pretty great and certainly more thoughtful and risk-takingly creative than just about all other bands. They would get better still of course and Kid A points the way forward, even if it doesn't quite reach the heights of In Rainbows, say. Best songs here come early: "Everything In Its Right Place" is a big statement about where they were headed. "Optimistic" and "Idioteque" are quite good, too,. As a whole, the record is a bit short of fully integrated, even as there are many meaningful moments – some stately and mournful – and more than a few extended passages of engaging intensity.
Perhaps "uncelebrated" for a reason, which would be its unevenness across two sides. First is pretty average, if frolicsome and clever, new-edgy pop very much of its time (very Talking Headsy, obvs) and the second all-ambient, a harbinger of what was to come, fruitfully, in the next decade. Just doesn't work as a whole, largely because Eno's neither a singer nor a frontman of much merit, which that genre and era required. "Here He Comes" is excellent and the dreamy bits triangulate between languour (to the point of entropy), loveliness and melancholy.
The first side is interesting enough, but the second achieves a rare sort of transcendence. "Get Me Away I'm Dying" is an all-timer – a master class on using horns in a pop song, just as the title cut is on deploying ambient noise or SFX from real life. The playing is artful and adept, with grace notes and artisinal crafting embedded and affixed generously and charmingly, the lyrics evocative and literary in the best way. The songs swing easily (which keep them just this side of precious) reinforcing the modest-seeming sonic ambitions but belying the quality and substance of much of the highlly literate, even novelistic material. There's emotional depth and range – see the seamless shift from the quietly heartfelt dirge-ing of "Boy Done Gone Wrong" to the ebullient outburst-ing of "Judy & the Dream of Horses," a wonderfully satisfying closer– as well as moment to dance (as tweely as possible, one supposes). SM gets unprecedented mileage out of a limited range, adding to the Goldilocksian "just-right" outcome of just about every cut. Personal note (and justification for rounding up): this record single-handedly restored one's faith in pop music after having nearly fully reoriented on jazz and classical, such was its inventiveness and originality and subtle power. Though one slightly prefers Boy with the Arab Strap as the essential B&S dessert island disc, this still sounds great today. Easy to mock, this band, but hard not to like and admire, given their ability to do so well what they so clearly set out to do.
Mellow and unhurried, interesting/different but also highly listenable. Radiohead run through a heavy Brian Eno filter or Pink Floyd on valium. Very worth hearing, and inspirational in the sense of one will explore more Beta.
Muscular, cool. Beats are terrific and one's 100% down with any MC who name-checks Don Quixote.
Slightly overstuffed and a touch ragged, but a couple of stone-cold classics – the opener "Boddhisavta" (a foreshadowing of themes from Aja, where they'd be given more languid and Asaitic/opium den treatments) and "My Old School" (one of their top two or three bouncy rollickers [which is saying something]) plus some suprising, less-known winners, including "Razor Boy" and "King of the World" a most satisyfing closer. Seems the band were still trying to work out what to do with all their musical ideas. The guitar work is exquisite, what makes it special, great sounding and intricately interwoven with keys.
One's glad to expand one's musical knowledge, particularly in the global and historical sense (and this would be Exhibit A of that confluence). Certainly, there are moments here that are rich beyond the rawness; "Rhapsodia," for instance, is, well, rhapsodic. Many other grooves are deep and true and primal, and the enthusiasm and passion of the playing is undeniable. This can't be said to be exactly one's thing. Still, it must be praised.
Super deep-voice casual vocal style, approachable and conversational but just slightly formal in the phrasing. Kinda simple funky in playing and arrangements, it’s a decent steady rockin’. Decent sax blowin' and piano rifflin’ and tinklin’, whoever it is. Feels pretty controlled and practiced. You see why he was so popular and also why he was excelled and improved upon.
A bit too much cowbell for one’s tastes and the vocals could not be more mediocre. But several strong moments, the best of which is the excellent “Incident at Meshabar” with its Tyneresque piano vamping and the contemplative (if slightly mawkish) “Samba pa Ti.” Decent and worth knowing though decidedly non-life altering.
A little dancier than one recalls but nicely balanced with deeply contemplative tracts. "Xtal" gets us off to a dreamy start, leaning slightly more toward spa than club. "Pulsewidth" is coolly scientific, as is "Schottkey." "I" is lovely/dreamy (full-on spa) but then gives ways to the gizmodically bonkers "Green Calx," which is somewhat interesting, but way too reminsicent of videogame soundtrack. "Heliospan" is controlled grooviness. Would "Music Makers" have been better off without the spoken word silliness? One thinks so, as its restrained beats and drifitng, twinkling keys work well enough on their own. The latter cuts wane in engagement level, but blip and bounce along pleasantly enough. The whole thing remains a decent and thoughtful listen, dance music for thinking people (or non-committal dancers) and coders, too, obviously. As with all music that is synthesized, the "songs" (which are really more like aural backgrounds or canvases) sound precisely as dated as the tech. The influence is clear, of course.
Pretty advanced for 1982, and predictive of Sisters of Mercy, on the one hand, and Pet Shop Boys (though this is angrier/spikier and slightly depressive, too). A few hooks stick and “alive and kicking at the country club” sounds suspiciously like a theme song for one’s late middle age). There is ample silliness and this is overproduced by an order of magnitude. “Love Hangover” is camp upon camp, and certainly merited inclusion on the album.
Punk at its crispest, cleanest and bounciest. Way too polished, too. One's no punk acolyte, but will stand with the purists here and cal this awfully lame overall. Even for the low standards of slacker art, this is no great shakes and certainly not to be taken serioulsly.
Less dynamic and more didactic than the earlier solo records but solid all the way through, with no real dogs and uniformly high quality throughout. Really good, in other words. One doesn't get the covers, really, but will show up for any Morrissey record including those that sound like therapy sessions, as this one often does. It just works, however, and the playing on these records is sneaky good. Not the Smiths, obvs, but consistently strong. As for the lyrics, there are ample performative provocations (see "America" and "Jesus"), just as one would expect, with all the "is he on the level or not?" wonderment (which no one has done better), all leavened out with just enough emotional vulnerability ("Camden" the best song he'd done in years, tbh), which raises the same "ironic or not?" questions. Quality from a unique and masterful artist.
Thin and forgettable.
One has a unified critical theory of electronica/chill: the closer the sound and more proximate the vibe, the lower the rating. The beats and flows are generally fine, if not distinguished, the best of them of only passing interest. The overall effect is of incompleteness, which makes sense given its striving to be a soundtrack. The spoken word bits just don't make up for the lack of the content which the sound is supposed to track. And shouldn't a song called "Freaknik" sound more like, you know, hip hop, and the ATL variety in particular? The 007 version adds nothing but check a low standard for Hollywood work – again, perhaps that was the goal. At some point, amorphousness becomes pointlessness, and such petitoning for work downgrades artistic ambition; this record gets there.
Intermittently groovy and better than much dance music, but really not all that interesting in the end. Displays all the usual issues with dance music – excessive repetition, dullness and no sense of arrival, beyond cascading sort of denouments through which the music is just programmed. One can see (hear) the appeal without thinking it belongs in this list. The editorial entry in the book suggests there might have been an affirmative action policy in play, with some allotted slots for dance music. It must also be noted that dance music, along with grunge and nu-metal and much, much tedious hip-hop, is what made the '90s a failed decade for music.
Venn diagram of spa and club, of downtempo and AI-generated. “Water from a Vine Leaf” (early Beth Orton!) and “The Story of Light” are cool and vibe-y. Much of the rest feels forgettable, even if it’s better than Strange Cargo II. That it sounds less dated than much other electronica/EDM/chill strikes one as pretty faint praise. As with much electronica, there’s a sense of randomness and limited connectivity or consistency across cuts – a “Hazy Shade of Random” indeed, to put it in the terms of a great song title here. Because one can gain no purchase on the structure or essence, one can only say the whole thing’s just okay. Maybe will be remembered for being ahead of it's time it's not.
Because this is very much one's scene – the droning in a minor key, the chimings as slight beacons of hope, the melancholia tinged with intensity without any sign of overseriousness – one is somewhat baffled that Doves escaped one's full attention in turn-of-the-millennia real-time. The very strong openers sets the tone and the every cut contributes. The chaotic, rocky bits work, as do the folkier passages. It's dramatic, but not too, and feels organically/authentically so (that's what makes them similar to Radiohead and much better than later Coldplay). More assured and mature than the earlier records (which is also quite good), this is solid from top to bottom and very much worth a return listen (even on semi-regular rotation, one should think).
One's an Indophile and enjoys this music quite a bit, but it’s dead strange to include a tutorial record instead of, say, Mantrams or Ragas in Minor Scale (with Philip Glass).
Impossible to take even a little bit seriously.
Heavy, heavy blues. Ferocious in its way, plus deep and sludgy and genuine: one loves the patience in the playing and the let-it-all-hang-out fun the cats are clearly having. The soloing is strong but the group play provides the well-layered power. Talky vocals are great and man could Muddy holler. The background screams and shouts on "Mannish Boy" belong the RRHOF on their own. The harmonicanist steals the show on multiple cuts (esp “Crosseyed Cat”) with what equates to song-long solos. Track list has a typo; obvs, the correct title should be “I Wanst to Be Loved”). Give me muddy over JE Jones for the voice of god any day. Well worth the Grammy – a Kiwi would say "hard out" that Hard Again this got a Grammy.
Upon first hearing, this seems merely to be of historical interest, but the unique picking style and deadpan lyrics (boll weevils looking for a home?) and delivery make sense of all the influence of major folk music players.
One digs this more than much other pop/rock Eno, likely down to the sense of humor. Gets maybe a litlte too glam for one's taste at times, but the influence is clear, especialy when 1974 seemed light years from 1982 (say). "ON Some Faraway Beach" is very strong, among the best songs he ever did.
Music for those who find the Pet Shop Boys too edgy and hard-hitting. New Order-lite or Depeche Mode-lite. In fact, lightness to the point that it seems ready to drift off in to the ether and evaporate entirely. This is not to say that it's excellently evanescent or lusciously luminous, but rather that it's vanishingnly insubstantial. Rather it wants to bring back the '80s in non-salubrious ways, those bits that were surely left behind. One supposes it might be considered danceable, but one doesn't personally condone such activity or necessarily consider danceability a merit in evaluting albums for deathbead worthiness (as if one will be dancing then and there). The odd hook comes thru – the guitar (perhaps not synthesized) hookiness on "Don't Deny" – but the overall effect is of disposable and forgettable pop music. The last cut "Always Been Your Love" is best, a modestly tuneful pop bon-bon that features actual guitars and string (rather than a wall of sugary, synthy silliness) though it's possible one was just relieved at finally being able to move on to something else. And let's be honest, their later work hasn't much exceeded the promise suggested by one of the titles here – "Now There Is Nothing." They've not got any better and still somehow get airtime (adding annoyance to one's overall Hot Chip experience). The name is cool, too; one expects a surf punk band maybe, or something maybe Strokes-like and the unpleasant surprise must also be considered a knock against this exceedingly modest, humble-for-a-reason work.
One will take the hipster little sister over the Homecoming Queen any day. The spoken-word excerpts enhance the mood, and contrast intriguingly to the upper reaches of her voice. One digs the understatedness, sweetness and feeling throughout. Is it wrong to find the melancholy somewhat relaxing? Unique, artful and a pleasure to listen, too. Easy 4.
One finds it insufficiently grungy to qualify as actual, you know, grunge. After all, it checks nearly every box for ‘90s metal cliches: jagged hooks on top of endless base of cheg-cheg-cheg; vocals that range from strained to scream-y; and lots and lots of self-seriousness and false drama that only adolescent boys would find deep and or heavy or relatable or meaningful. The end result is tedium, extreme tedium.
Pure '70s musical valium. The breathiness in the first moments of "Only Just Begun" reads like a musical effect to make one have a laugh about the lame '70s, until one's irony radar dips and one realizes this was exactly what one's mother would have loved about this back then. On the plus side of the ledger, there is Karen's pure voice, the lounge-y Bacharach feel, and the near chamber-pop vibes of several cuts. There is an odd but undeniable earworm-y quality of "Close To You" and the groovy jam-band effect of the closer, which suggests where they might have gone. Indeed, the last 2:28 of the record actually sounds cool and very much in a far-out '70s kind of way; this is music one could get high to, if any Carpenters' fans did such. To be clear, this is hard to credit musically; the covers are particuarly embarrasing, even downgrading on a curve to the low standards of the reason. Rod Stewart's "Reason to Believe" is forever ruined after hearing this version and could have Lennon/McCartney got a restraining order for "Help"? Yikes. Still, one's glad this was included on tihs list and that the editors valued mass appeal. That is a factor to be assessed, but wonder where the line should be drawn – if the Carpenters merit hearing, why not similar broadly popular acts of that and adjacent eras, often hocked via ads run during the worst sort of reruns and mail-order fulfillment – Neil Diamond, say, or Zamfir (master of the pan flute), or Boxcar Willie or Slim Whitman? Their making the world safe for Air Supply is more bug than feature, it must be said. And one must decide if music one's parents love is a merit or a demerit.
Lovely and charming and exceedingly well produced – just sounds crisp all around and outright pristine at times. There are many interesting – and ambitious – instrumentation/arrangement choices, which give each song its own personality. The reggae-vibes on the opener, the penny whistle-y flute and sea shanty effects of “Duncan.” See oompah-band effects and whistling on “Papa Hobo,” Hot-Club-cum-Dixieland-ish strings on”Hobo’s Blues” and the bluesy stomp of “Paranoid Blues.” Besides the obvious cuts, “Run That Body Down” is a waltzy revelation (the vibes add much – another great touch – as is the easy-mellow wah-wah-ing solo). “Congratulations” is the loveliest sort of lilting, with cool, melancholic-whimsical organ to make a fittingly high-quality close to the whole record. As much as one thinks Simon is massively arrogant and credits the stories about him being difficult to work with, there’s no disputing the pure excellence.
Interesting and certainly cool but lacks killer hooks and clear hits and gets a bit muddly to the middle. There are plenty of cool moments, just enought to merit a 4, one thinks and one will keep listening to Traffic long after this counting exercise gets completed. But, LBH, there's a bit more flute than any rock record should have. Lord knows it could do with crisper, cleaner production. The English folk tradition was better done by Fairport. "Don't Be Sad" is best cut, but one also digs this original version of lower-key "Feeling Alright" and "Roamin' Thro' the Gloamin" (title alone is great). "Cryin' to be Heard" has a minor majestly, with its Procul Harum vibes and liturgical notes. Not sure if "Shanghai Noodle Factory," was a B-side, outtake or deluxe version add-on or what, but its groovy, mellow jam-bandy groove clearly should have been on the record, perhaps even the centerpiece. Winwood's voice has never been a personal fave, really. It must also be said that JBMD is undoubtedly better and Low Spark of High-Heeled Boys might be, too, certainly offers a better showcase for their alleged virtuosity.
Pretty good, the rockier side of BritPop. One gets the Oasis-lite charge, and maybe there are subtleties that make it inaccurate, but they do sound like lots of other bands, which speaks to their fidelity to genre (not to mention time and place). One's slightly put off by the lyrical/vocal structure -- with repeated words/phrases ending quite a few songs. Overuse of strings (signaling an overreaching for seriousness) is also bothersome. The only major difference between this and their post-breakup album is the massive mega global hit.
Hard not to like the man (the crowd certainly seems to), but the schtick does get a bit old. The title cut, written for the occasion, if one follows the meandering storytelling, is no great shakes and nearly as obvious as all the jokes.
Perfectly delightful if completely derivative. What's not to like here? The homage is well targeted – laid-back West Coast pop – and extremely well executed. There's nary a wrong or unplesant note. A new generation of fans can be forgiven for falling for this. Fleet Foxes did roughly the same with vegn-y earnestness and less cheekiness. There are a few standouts – "Santa Cruz," of course, "Deckchairs and Cigarettes" (half-silly, fully gorgeous, and rides the finest line between marvelous and maudlin, with the noodling exit being the difference maker), "Your Love is Like Las Vegas" indeed!). Even the least effective cuts ("Old Friends, New Lovers") offer charm. But with a perfectly sustained mood, it's the whole effective which is most impressive, a whole that is perhaps even more than the sum of its excellent parts, and it holds us wonderfully, way better than one would have suspected upon first hearing 20 years ago. One likes (and remembers) the hidden track, a fitting end to a record that sounds like good clean fun.
Very 1994 and a testament to what it meant to be cool then. But sounds falsely dramatic 30 years on. Many cool moods get set but then nothing else happens. Appropriate music for cocktail lounges and international flights (business class preferred) in the mid to late 90s, but generally not other places, times. One wonders if winning the Mercury Prize is actually a negative indicator of aging well. 3
Likable but a little lame, and more than a bit tame. The overall effect is of abiding average-ness. It's not innovative, not all that interesting and utterly unthreatening, even if it's not hard to see why the big hits became so (especially "Love Your Way" [and Lisa Bonet's version may be better than this one]). The "JJF" cover is unimaginative. The hook is great on "Do Like We Do" but the voicebox noodling was heavy-dumb 40+ years ago and remains just as much so today (and too long by a factor of approximately 3.5) (One didn't fully appreciate the similarity to "Who Are You" as much then as now, particularly relative to the opening lyrics.) "Lines On My Face" is a highlight, the cut most like a hidden gem in this collection. Frampton feels like a lottery winner – one wasn't sure what all the fuss was about in the mid-'70s and it's not any clearer now.
Not one's favorite Miles, as this is nowhere near Kind of Blue and even the four great quintet records, which are looser and more fun. Still this is awfully influential, not to mention tuneful, polished and highly sophisticated. More like classical music in its loveliness and (occasional) dryness.
Luscious and ravishing and outstanding effort by a unique and significant talent. The sequence from the haunting opener to pleasingly poppy "One You Love" is jarring in the best possible way. "Little Sister" is terrific. "Memphis Skyline" pure loveliness and "Old Whore's Diet" is brilliant. Hard to say which is better Want One or Want Two. One wants to say RW is "the gay Ryan Adams" in terms of sheer talent and output, but perhaps one means "RA is the straight Rufus Wainwright." The strings work exceedingly well and the prevalence of controlled mid-tempo cuts and the (very slight) sense of restraint is a nice contrast to the full-on edge of Want One. Whichever one prefers (and it might be a matter of whichever one one heard first or listened to last), both of these records hold up exceedingly well 20 years on and one expects to continue listening to them many years hence.
Pretty good but non-transcendent, really, cowpunk never really having developed into much more than an interesting but minor sidebar within the corpus of late 20th-century popular music. Best cuts: “Aurora Borealis” and “We’re Here” both of which are mellow-groovy. “What to Do” raises a wistful sort of smile, but is borderline novelty. The handful of punkier-thrashier cuts are much less interesting. One supposes the pronounced warble of the singing is intentional (something about the unevenness of modern life, perhaps, or maybe just keeping it real) and certainly it seems effortful, but the returns are mostly mixed and ultimately diminishing.
Of all the 20th century’s many failings, the inability to expunge from the culture such idiotic and baroque armadillos-in-our-trousers-cum-castrato-pyrotechnics acts such as this is an insufficiently acknowledged shortcoming. The showoffy, even trolling Farinelli-ing ( vocally and with the guitars too) is no doubt the point of the entire exercise, all of which grows presently tiresome (at least for those of us who outgrew the Kiss-is-the-best-band-ever phase on an age-appropriate timeline) and without which we really might have done. All that plus a treacly power ballad.
Some albums can be judged by their covers or, more precisely, the haircuts thereon. Broad '70s stompiness and sizzly licks meant to titillate the bell-bottomed adolescent masses, glam for the non-thinking man. The Joplin cover is not especially successful. One must take exception to editorial assessment: simple and stupid – yes; sublime – not so much. Endearingly imbecilic is more like it. Seems mostly innocent in intent and empty-headed in execution. Though "Gudbuy Gudbuy" approaches sounding something like edginess (silly spelling notwithstanding), it's hard to believe 17 big hits from this yobby lot. Probably a 5 for being a near-perfect manifestation of what it set out to do, but just too willfully stupid to rate it so.
Somewhat groovy and tuneful, bouncing along pleasantly enough, if to mostly anodyne effect. It's a bit overstuffed even as it seems mostly well controlled and thought-out. Perhaps they knew too well what they wanted to accomplish. The modest vocals fall flat after a time (because there's little to no modulation within or across songs) The melange effect does wear on the nerves after a time and suspects an intentional aiming for earworms, which leans to annoying. A bit too long, too. One has no real sense of why this record would or should command anyone's deathbed attention or even consume musical consumption time in the future. More meh than marvelous, this is ultimately forgettable.
A case can be made that Buck Owens was once the hippest man in rock n’ roll – and then he had to go all Hee-Haw. (See also, Campbell, Glen). Dwight Yoakam's proper homage has done a good bit to redeem the reputation. One loves the playing and all the fun being had here – both musically and lyrically – right alongside the serious high lonesome vibes. All he had to do was act naturally, no?
One recalls trying and failiing to get into this act in original days, but finds it pretty fun and relatable, with vaguely sincere-seeming '70s folk-rock vibes, (feels Fr. John Misty at times, with notes of Boz Skaggs and Elton John. One also hears more disco and bubble-gum pop than glam, but the overlaps feel mostly energizing. "Laura" and "Take Your Mama" are awfully strong openers. Then there's the disco version of "Comfortably Numb," which feels sacrelige, though one gets while listeners with less serious and refined tastes might like it. "You can't see tits on the radio" nearly makes up for that particlar blaspheming. "Mary" works on its own terms and so do "Better Luck" and "Can't Come Quickly Enough." The sillier cuts feel mostly, well, silly, so perhaps they work, but are less interesting. Clearly they were out to do their own thing and did it mostly well and pleasingly, though obviously it was never going to last too terribly long, embracing disco so unabashedly and leaning so hard into AutoTune [see "Filthy/Gorgeous"] made that inevitable. Still, there's enough musicality and bouncing good playing in between the more obvious "look at us/aren't we clever" moments. Not sure just how gay this is, but if that's what it takes to be fun and frolicsome then by all means so be it.
100% synthetic, utterly uninteresting, fully forgettable and borderline worthless, even allowing for one's complete apathy toward the genre.
Right up one's alley, this is quite thoughtfully conceived and brilliantly executed. As heady and stylish as the Argentinian people themselves. Speaking as neither a tango purist nor expert (though one has been a practitioner more than once and remains an unabashed enthusiast), it can be said that this seems the right way to modernize / recontextualize / make hipper and more relatable a genre that is misperceived as being old-fashioned, besides being criminally underrated.
Brevity is the strength of the record, but also a document of the slightness of the overall effect. It's not especially challenging or interesting, though perfectly competent and certifiably gritty. That said, it's also contrived (the whole fake-South thing) and reads to a degree like a museum piece. Reminds of Petty, also, in that it's so very right down the middle to get boring after a time. A cover of "Good Golly Miss Molly" is a cop-out – totally unimaginative, even allowing for their desire to put out a record every 15 minutes. Suffice it to say, such choices matter to longevity, which begs the question of why three CCR discs in this esteemed list. A single record, at most. The "great live" reputation makes sense, but one suspects that rep was built on a pretty non-discriminating crowd. One would say they are taste-poor man's version of the Band, but even that flatters Fogerty & Co. It should not be necessary to say that the Byrds and Dylan were an order of magnitude more original and important and that any poll in which CCR outranks the Beatles is primarily a testament to shockingly dodgy popular tastes.
Awfully good and young neo-soul, blindingly/painfully honest, somewhat disturbing in that sense, but one can feel it – and it's real. Fresh and insightful though sometimes in ways that make one want to avert one's eyes (and ears).
Mix of NYC and West Coast styles works to quite good effect. One likes the thickness of the voice, which seems to suit the posturing. There are places where one might've preferred a bit more tunefulness to the sound effects or the spoken word bits. And one confesses to being distracted (mostly in a good way) by the sexiest bits.
One will have to take historians' word for it that this accurately captures the good old days. Certainly this is better (darker, richer, deeper) than what one heard in the rather more ragged late '80s eras when one was seeing shows (too many as it would turn out). This doesn't reach Coltranean levels of exploration (and doesn't get close, really, if only because there's too much jug band in "Turn On Your Love Light") but still definitely worth hearing.
Lyrics and subject matter deep, dark and (therefore) fully on brand, characteristically distinctive vocals (nodding toward caricature at time), so great on the level of it being Leonard Cohen, but the production choices are quite questionable. One's not sure the synths and drum machines do much, though they are a stark contrast to the inimitable voice. “I’m Your Man” works well against the borderline cheesy synth line, and cooing backing vocals, louche and Gainsebourge-like. “I Can’t Forget” and “Tower of Song” also work well, thanks to the light touch. “Jazz Police” is very dicey (though the woozy piano solo is sorta cool, if brief) and “First Take Manhattan” only just transcends them. But the formula works surprisingly well elsewhere (most notably on “I’m Your Man” and “Everybody Knows”). This is a brave effort by a major artist to use the tools of the time to update his sound and (one presumes) reach a new audience in a decade that in retrospect seems to be just about the least Leonard Cohen-y ten years that could be imagined. And indeed the gravity ultimately transcends the thin and tinny synths and drum machines to achieve a characteristic sort of majesty.
Signals self-importance right from the start and gets to outright tedium by the fourth track, a harbinger of the epic and world-historical lameness that is the hallmark of their later work just beginning to manifest itself. “Clocks” feels like an algorithmically designed pop song, with that appealingly chime-y and driving opening figure, but it rings cold and synthetic and a bit false upon a deep listen. The over-reaching for drama and manufacturing of faux intensity is unconvincing and ultimately sappy – “The Scientist” and “A Warning Sign” being Exhibits A and B. Does anyone care what CM is singing about (which almost always seems to be himself)? “Daylight” is far from the worst song you’ll ever hear, but sounds like they are falling in love with their own hook. “Green Eyes” and, to a lesser degree, the title cut suggests what pleasure they might have wrought if they’d contented themselves to play it relatively straight, and not aim to be so bloody operatic on every track. If this was the record they decided to stop pretending to be Radiohead, that was a bold decision, since being Coldplay was clearly not going to be enough, even for this, the most self-regarding of bands. That one gives this a 3 speaks to one’s fair-mindedness in seeing what quality if one gets through the utter insufferability. Really, it's just the confessional navel-gazing you'd expect when you give what's essentially an emo band a huge production budget.
What came first the utter musical mediocrity or the face paint costumes/stage presentation to distract from it? “Shout It Out Loud” is the only cut with an even vaguely memorable hook. The vocals are consistently inept – the product of a bad voice and unskilled singing. The strings on (lame power ballad alert) “Beth” were surely imported from the soundtrack of a sappy made-for-tv movie. That It really only was about the costumes seems indisputable now (not that it ever was disputable in one’s eyes). Alive! maybe — maybe — mighta merited inclusion if only to be more evocative of the spectacle that was very much the point, rather than the dreck-y music.
This may be a case where the influencees outdo the influencers, where one's glad they opened up space for Bowie, New Order, LCD Soundsystem, etc. "Abzug" and "Franz Schubert" are by far best works. A lot of the other cuts are too mechanistic to offer much pleasure or interest.
Unique and ingenious and fully carnivalesque. Alternately raw ("Underground" and "Gin Soaked Boy") and haunting ("Solider's Things") and hilarious ("Frank's Wild Years"), and don't leave out lovely ("Johnsburg, Illinois" and "In the Neighborhood" and "Rainbirds") and totally memorable (the title cut). This is awfully close to masterpiece territory though one's always preferred Raindogs. More Brecht than Beefheart, thanks to the theatricality, which seems to come so naturally to TW.
Has a cooler record ever been made? This is just about note perfect, with very well textured funk and powerful, controlled grooves, with occasional touches of saudade adding dimensionality. It's fun and rollicking and happy-making throughout. The energy means it's scarcely aged a day and sounds way more recent than '70s.
Just great – the Strokes of the sticks. It blazes and edges and roars and one hears deep pathos and authentic yearning in the singing, too – hard to believe how wizened they sound for being so young, plus the crispness and directness of the delivery. One was late arrival to the KOL bandwagon but thoroughly digs the output the last few decades. Later records are every bit as good. One is moderately outraged that all three of their included records have been exed. That's decidedly unwise on the part of the editors.
Heavy mehtal so dull.
Just great, excellently lyrical in a range of tones – hauntingly sad, mellowly picking and eerie-weird. First several songs fully engage and then "Not Even Stevie Kicks" goes in a very different, but also most pleasing direction. Rest of the record feels moodier and not quite as finished-polished, but sill quality listening. Seems needles to say that it outdistances Giant Sand's best by some margin.
Might be clever or groundbreaking intellectually but it's dead dull and pretty conventional sounding musically (the mock doo-wop notwithstanding), which is not especially surprising given the pedantic preachifying on offer throughout here. Nothing about this inspires anything even remotely similar to a freak out, it must be said. Or maybe it's just that the jokes don't land anymore.
“Jim Cain” is first-rate, particularly the yearning-edgy-icy strings, which balance out the heavy (close to plodding) baritone. “Faith/Void” is also terrific, one’s personal song of the year whichever year one first heard it. One digs this and believes all sorts of listeners would benefit from more time with JC. “Too Many Birds” and “My Friend” are strongest of the middle cuts, some of which do sag. “All Thoughts” is not one of those, with poignant little riffs, in the middle of some menacing percussion, ominous strings and brass. The whole thing is lovely, with literary touches and a depth that one experiences as spiritual (or spiritually inclined), notwithstanding the atheistic leanings of the meditative (and unforgettable) closer. A highly interesting and impactful inclusion on this list that in no way deserved to be exed from the book.
Coolish and vibesy, and certainly Air made an impression upon their debut, but this is also light, slight and, like a lot of OSTs, lacks context (a particular problem ~ 20 years out), which makes it all seem too free-floating to have an impact.
Few, if any, other metal-industrial bands have even shown such an innate grasp of Old European waltz and oompah traditions. And if that isn't what the world needs now, one doesn't know what might be.
Surprisingly good, though perhaps it sounds fresher and cleaner than many outings from their Age of the Dinosaur brethren perhaps because one has never heard more than a cut or two. It's more nimble and agile and fluid that many big rock bands of the era, and even when they get big in that classic rock kinda way, it feels better balanced/less over the top ("When I Touch You") or jauntier ("Street Worm"), as well as some winsome earnestness ("Life Has Just Begun"). Does one remember Jay Ferguson being a better vocalist? One might. "Nature's Way" is terrific. There are winning touches of tricked-out weirdness ("Love Has Found a Way") and just out-there cuts ("Space Child"). "Morning Will Come" points toward the best side of glam, but layered over with pure pop harmonizing and some dance-band horns that make the song feel like a festival. The big hit may be the least interesting cut. The ambition is apparent, but well managed and, for the most part, quite effectively (and enjoyably) executed.
Mostly much ado about not terribly much, primarily because it's so performative and derivative — playacted Bowie, Stones, Mott, T Rex, bit of Velvets — and feels more like a something/anything than the thing itself. There is a high degree of tedium for all the sleaze, when one can be forgiven for expecting flash and glamor. “Frankenstein” is scary bad and “Trash” aptly named. Feels a bit too gritty to be glam and occasionally too poppy (soft and tame) to be punk. The outfits are stupid and this is a band one can safely forget about however long one has before death. “Lonely Planet Boy” “Subway Train,” “Jet Boy” are the only passable cuts. The fakery and posturing make the Strokes seem singer-songwriter-level earnest and authentic. That Malcolm McLaren learned from them sounds about right – and probably poetic justice for all concerned. Ultimately feels like Kiss – a concept packaged and marketed to a cohort that no doubt liked to think itself as much more sophisticated than Kiss fan.
Fun, brash and trashy. "The Connection" is great. "Indian Song" offers something likably different. Holds up better than Blur, surely, and Oasis ain't got much if anything over this lot.
Death sells, huh? Nearly liturgical in its orientation, and profound in its poetry. Lovely light-touch arrangements despite all the mournfulness. Haunting, too. “Treaty” is gripping. “On the Level” bittersweet and sung a bit tongue-in-cheek. Among the most overtly death-head records, one will take this over Zevon’s and Bowie’s. And the voice holds up way better than, say, Sinatra’s in his last efforts. Stark and powerful, a beautiful and most fitting exit for an artist of massive, massive stature.
Death sells, huh? Nearly liturgical in its orientation, and profound in its poetry. Lovely light-touch arrangements despite all the mournfulness. Haunting, too. “Treaty” is gripping. “On the Level” bittersweet and sung a bit tongue-in-cheek. Among the most overtly death-head records, one will take this over Zevon’s and Bowie’s. And the voice holds up way better than, say, Sinatra’s in his last efforts. Stark and powerful, a beautiful and most fitting exit for an artist of massive, massive stature.
He makes it look so easy, doesn’t he, save when he's doing totally tedious live show experiences (in his sober years, especially). One loves the record, its ease and laid-back feel, the authenticity of emotion and its connection and its consanguinity with a happy/growth-oriented time in one' s life (listening "New York, New York" not long after the record came out, while riding around subways [with one's CD Walkman] not long after moving to Gotham is an indelible musical memory. He floats smoothly between earnestness and a hipster distance, balancing them quite effectively to one's ears. It feels personal and is easy to listen to. What the Byrds would sound like at the turn of the millennia. Maybe you can take a point off for having too many songs (last few are not as strong as first 10 or so) -- and that's RA's distinct genius, the production of such quantity at such high levels of quality (leaving aside unfortunate #MeToo actions; "Gonna Make You Love Me" does a hit a bit different now, doesn't it?).
Easily one's favorite Bowie record, largely because the posturing/affectation factor is way down, as it would have to be to do soul music and/or hang with John Lennon. Title track is an all-timer and “Win” is very good, too, and the other cuts are pleasing and satisfying throughout. The subtle sax flourishes are a consistent highlight, especially on the surprisingly authentic and affecting “Can You Hear Me” – who knew Bowie could be so raw and relatable? “Fame” is not a favorite and doesn’t mesh very well with other tunes. “Across the Universe” is the only blemish, but even that is way less offensive than the god-awful “Let’s Spend the Night Together” from Aladdin Sane. (What was his motivation to cover Beatles and Stones songs? One wonders because it's rather unlike one so obsessed with fashionable originality -- who seems to equate the one (fashionability) with the other (originality) in fact. There’s a certain tiredness about the proceedings, which translates to him not trying too hard, and dialing back on the abstraction, role-playing and high aesthetic ambition. In this case, less is very much more.
So good, if slightly too lugubrious at times, and slightly inclined to longeurs. Who else wrote songs as good as “Come Pick Me Up” and “To Be Young"? The latter is just a stunning debut annoucnements, side 1, track 1 as Cusack character in High Fidelity would say. These were one's personal fave songs of the decade, to be sure. Often gorgeous, frequently heartbreaking. One hates that he was a baddie to Phoebe Bridgers, but the musical output has been at such a high standard for so long.
Mostly just okay, but topping out at okay-plus. This is very different than their earlier, hushed work – and good for them for trying to grow. But often it feels a little canned/synthetic like a lot of late 2010s pop, making it perhaps just not one's thing anymore, if ever. One doesn't simply hear as much of the much bruited influencers (primarily Smiths and Cure) as critics seem to. Still, there are moments (or perhaps "effects" is more accurate way to describe) worth acknowledging. "A Violent Noise" and "Replica" (the latter's bassline being a rather direct lift from Disintegration-era Cure, previous comment notwithstanding) are both dreamy and cool, but may require very controlled listening circumstances. All the frippery on "On Hold" demonstrates the problem; this is other artists' sound, not xx, in one's own HO. They were only ever going to moderately cool, no, and to get two chart-topping records seems a great deal more than their modest (by design, granted) capabilities could have led them to reasonably expect.
This lot are severely underrated. This and Hats are both first-rate, finely wrought, richly humane, and offering emotional depth. The lyrics are thoughtful and uniquely evocative of specific moods and frames of mind, of an individual life, basically. The vocals are great. "Tinseltown in the Rain" is hopeful and melancholic at the same time, seems a triumph over melancholy in a way, a conscious and carefully taken decision to carry on. "Stay" is joyous, the sound of love-happiness. "Automobile Noise" makes for an artful and elegant close. One gets that not everyone will get such a quietly observed slice-of-life sort of record; but for those with whom this resonates, it resonates profoundly and intensely, for all its restraint and quietude.
Lots to like here: Dre's beats are first-rate and Eminem is off-the-charts as a rapper, and there's real anger and humor and creativity in it, though also an excess of sophomoric humor and a smugness that's not nearly as clever as it thinks it is. The many interesting bits – the Dido sample, say – but just as many nasty, misogynistic, racist, etc. bits. Further on the downside, the skits are silly (as on so many other hip-hop records). What's great about the record is intrinsically caught up in what's truly awful/despicable about it; take "Kim" – one's put in the mind of the Doors' "The End" but clearly this isn't such a dramatic statement (or maybe it's intended to be?); it's debatably briliant but indisputably rephrensible/degenerate at the same time. Also, shouldn't the Snoop Dogg track be on, like, an actual Snoop Dogg record? More broadly, as concept, this is overdone by an order of magnitude. One has to care a lot to grok the character and track the sublteties and interconnections, and one just doesn't care that much, especially now (actuallly one might care more now than one did then, when furor was all distraction and made it all seem very much not worth effort). The question is, just how serious should this be taken today, two decades out. It's also safe to say that the both the prudish haters and the passionate backers (and Stans) were both exactly right about this record, which is why it's worth knowing, even if one isn't inclined to listen very often.
Even allowing for the fact that it's a personal fave, one believes one can maintain some level of critical objectivity relative to the obvious excellence of this record, which the editors damn with faint praise or are apologetic or maybe just wrong about its uneven qualities. Because it is objectively great throughout. Cut after cut is exploratory and compelling and fun. The contemporized R&B and funk. The lovely jazz bits in the middle. The pure, sweet love ballad, the unabashed dance track/club banger, the gospel inflections, the perfectly curated instrumentation, both synthesized and organic. Even the rap works. It's not "too eclectic for its own good" but rather great becausae of that very eclecticism, which is well integrated and balanced. More importantly: the whole thing drips warmth and humanity, authenticity and affirmation (which builds steadily throughout and culminates beautifully in the last few cuts, as if the band wants us to be happy, wants us to deeply enjoy music and life, in multiple modes, reflecting the artful genre merging and showing how what's great about the classic and traditional and why/where/how they might be upgrade/upcycled. A quibble: the piano solo version of "Ever Changing Moods" (one's own personal song of the century) is a cut below than the full single version, which is a "flawless pop tune" (editors have that right), a masterpiece, a full stop.Bottom line: Weller is serially underrated – an evolver like Bowie, but with better taste, one would argue, and less showoffy/peacocky tendencies. Bowie insists on showing us how cool he is; Weller just shows up cool, again and again. Exploring genres, not trying to remake them in some oddball image. But one will say it again – it wasn't just that one was young and beautiful and smart and hopeful when one first heard this – discovered for and shared with friends and felt both smart and cool for doing that but also learned what one would become as a listener, reflections about which this 1,001 exercise has inspired – but that the music, was/is/remains excellent.
Groovy and vibe-y and pretty interesting musically, even if one is justifiably skeptical of any record using the term “boogaloo” in apparent earnestness. The layering of organs, bongos, horns and strings – jam band meets string quartet cum brass (“Sweet Surrender”), as if channeled thru ‘70s a.m. radio – is interesting at first, then gradually begins to seem too much. Similarly, this is vocally overwrought, and from start to finish; TB seems to struggle to channel his inflaming passions and the profound torture love causes him to feel. Lyrically, one’s main takeaway is that hipsters aren’t necessarily enlightened relative as to sexual politics (Exhibits A, B, C being “Get on Top” [“Get on top of me woman/I just want to see what you learned/Well like a bitch dog in heat we had those bed springs a Squeakin' all day long”] and “Sweet Surrender” and “Devil Eyes” [“I'm down between the sheets, I do the monkey rub, mama”] ) which would have gotten TB into more than a little trouble in #MeToo era). For all the sex, it just doesn't seem that sexy. Besides not lasting, passions, not unlike musical vibes, do not typically age well, as this record more than convincingly evidences. Here again, it’s a cult for a reason – and a very small one at that.
Really good. One's always thought VU to have got overrated after years of being underrated. Their massive influence is legit of course, as is quite hearable here, easily their best record because the least pretentious and most earnest. Understatement worked well for them, particularly LR. "Pale Blue Eyes," "Some Kinda Love" and "After Hours" are all great, and other cuts are interesting, and the whole thing feels like a nicely integrated whole, and a product of them not trying too hard. Aside: It's weird to do an eponymous title on a third record, especially given the "w/ Nico"the debut.
Not as silly or grating as one remembers from back in the actual day, but only slightly more substantive-seeming, despite the presence of considerably more hits than one recalled. It’s inexplicable that this was such a hit in the first place, considering the shrill vocal quality and style, which is distnctive, sure, and which some may dig, but one decidedly does not. CL’s presence in pharma ads recently doesn't much help with the explicability. “Time After Time” is a lovely tune (if it's good enough for Miles) and one was surprised to learn from Pitchfork's recent (June 2024) Sunday review that she wrote it. "All Through the Night" is also good, another song capable of withstanding her vocals. The light-ska of “Witness” is a grace note, a surprisingly pleasant trifle. One gives her some credit for succeeding on her own terms and for overcoming poverty, abuse, etc. and for the obvious, all-in passion. However, on any sort of objective or aesthetic basis this isn’t lasting quality (just hear some of the sinfully cheesy synths) or even particularly enjoyable. Rather it’s best viewed as a snapshot of minor importance, a relic of a distinct musical time – a fun and changeful time indeed. And funny to think she and Madonna were once rivals.
From the very first notes it’s clear this is Richer (“Wonderwall”), more expansive (“Don’t Look Back”) and more fully realized than Def Maybe, with more force and drive and considerably sharper teeth (“Morning Glory”). Looser (“She’s Electric”) and more confident (“Some Might Say” among other tunes) and ambitious (“Champagne Supernova”) – a band truly hitting its stride. Looking back from three full decades, it’s perfectly clear how Oasis owned a certain moment, ushered in a distinct era and far excelled Blur (not saying much) in that rather silly argument of the day. But it’s just as obvious that there’s a flash-in-the-pan vibe here; they were great for one record (this one) or maybe 1.5. They were timely in the right time/right place and the audience/market were ready, a perfect updating of British rock star tropes at a time they needed updating. It would have been necessary, perhaps, for someone to invent Oasis if they hadn’t come along on their own.
Relentlessly pleasant and easy to listen to, but not exactly challenging and not jazz. The playing is thoughtful and genteel and wispily light-touch, almost impeccable. The breathy vocals seem just about right and suit the production, instrumentation and material just about perfectly – a bit anodyne, yes, but perfectly pleasant (that word again). Perhaps the Hank Williams cover is a little ill-conceived, being the opposite of dark or haunting. There’s a reason everyone liked this record, and it was played ubiquitous in the early aughts. That mass popularity and accolades – which seemed to surprise the artist as much as anyone, she who seemed to just want to play music – is exactly what gave the record a bad name with critics. That she seems to have been widely ignored ever since seems appropriate punishment for such success. To be clear: it holds up, however is reluctant to admit liking it in certain company. One wouldn’t mind hearing her do some Shankaresque ragas some day.
More largely forgettable '90s music that doesn't hold up very well (as well as overstaying its welcome by being 15-20% too long). This feels in the mode of aural wallpaper and it being fairly tasteful and somewhat stylish wallpaper only gets one so far. "Wilmot" might be best cut and "Tow Truck" is not terrible and "Chapel Street Market" is undoubtedly interesting, but one feels no impulsion to rush back for a verifying re-listen, which helps explain why this doesn't really belong on this or any other list of the ages.
Competently done, here and there intriguing, but never quite achieving full breakthrough status or exit velocity. What no doubt sounded fresh some time ago has gotten a bit stale.
One recognizes that they likely viewed this as their Sgt. Peppers. As such, their ambition might be called hubristic; yet one senses they themselves were unconvinced or less than fully committed, anyway. One will give them the benefit of the doubt and assume the symphony was foisted upon them. The excess of melodrama comes directly from an excess of vibrato and the onslaught — nay, the avalanche — of mawkish orchestration. (Compare these schmaltzily-slathered-with-sentimentality songs with the aggressive, all-in, vibratoless approach to “Nights on Broadway”.) The ominous backing vocals are like bad and obvious show tunes. What does it say that the outright rip-offs and parodies are the best cuts? A coincidence, perhaps? There are moments, sure; such an overdone four-sided exercise, nearly Mahlerian at times, could scarcely avoid the odd winning melody or serendipitous harmony. And the vocal quality is strong throughout (vibrato surfeit notwithstanding). Like variety shows, platform shoes and smoking, this is a late-’60s relic best left unturned over and un-revisited. Give me the disco records, which make a far more meaningful — and inordinately more enjoyable— legacy. The best that might be said of this is that it’s good to know what came before Saturday Night Fever, and that it edges into “so-bad-it’s-good” territory.
One associates this act (and it seemed very much an act) with the cool girls with whom one wanted to sleep who liked this band likely because they wanted to sleep with Adam (and/or Marco). Thinking this a novelty band at the time (and not taking it seriously for the pirate get-ups and Napoleonic War fashion and because girls liked them), now one hears a bit more substance and experimentation (especially rhythmically) going on, even if the novelty/gimmicky feel hasn't gone away entirely. Hard not to enjoy it, actually, though other songs and records might be better. Live cuts aren't very impressive.
Wildly original and straight-up wild – the sound of politically minded, club-addled global youth in the aughts. It's dynamic and energetic. Gritty and funky, even addictive-seeming, though one's convinced this might not be good for anyone, as it can seem too frenetic and tribal and idealistic politically. One likes the wild side of it, but questions just how much it adds up to, perhaps because one is very much not the target demographic. To wit, this level of energy and volume seems almost threatening to middle-age, affluent white dudes, but at the same time, one totally gets why the kids like (because it delivers a sugar high for the dance club). Coin flip as to whether two MIA records merit inclusion on this list.
Snappy, sharp and fun. Doesn't get much better than the Tina the hyena passage of lyrics. The mix of punk and dancehall (basically stand-up) is genius. Hit different in the pre-woke era, obvs; not to defend it exactly, but one hears some innocence in the outrageousness – ID's a clever Trevor, indeed.
Lovely and meditative, but feels pretty background-y. One's glad world music gives us such experiences as this one and I’ll listen again (after 3x today) but one has no real way of knowing just how powerful this is as art, though one feels relatively sure the world would be a better place if we all listened to this lot more frequently.
Really good, veddy British (obvs) and well worth knowing – indeed, most worthy of being far better known. The world needs more songs about "gooseberry tarts." Not sure how piercing or even relevant the satire is. But one thinks "Victoria," "Driving," the Churchill song, and the title cut are all excellent. "Shangri La" and "Australia" are epic (and pretty funny besides). One aims to spend more time with Davies.
It's somewhat clever, sure, but the mockery sounds too easy – if an artist mocks everything, is he actually mocking anything? And aren't hippies a pretty easy target? It all plays more zany/absurdist/incoherent than anything like profound social commentary or committed art. Maybe naming a song "Hot Poop" undercuts the seriousness with which a project is taken by listeners. No comment on whether FZ has standing to mock Sgt. Pepper's. Ironically, there are quite a few snatches of commercially viable pop ("Lonely Little Girl," eg) before the band intentionally distorts for, one assumes, whatever anarchic goals they thought they were pursuing. Just how many people really cared what Frank Zappa had to say back then? And wasn't he the one that cared most? That number, one suspects, has become vanishingly small today.
So good. What a kinetic and committed artist. What dynamic power as a vocalist, too, even if you feel she's holding something back at times, or at least not oversinging. The politics may be a be naive but her heart is everywhere in the right place, from the social protest to the more confessional bits. And while the register can feel a bit too consistent, almost constrained, it all works well and effective and it's tricky diverse. From sexual ecstasy in a cemetery (what would Keats think?) to "Black Boys on Mopeds" (Ross Gay would agree!) to the subtle-strong "Emperor's New Clothes." Substantive and terrific.
Effortlessly souflul and elegantly groovy. One digs also the positivity and the calling for love, equality, racial harmony, etc. etc. "Keep On Movin'" has lost absoultely not one iota of its utter and total hookiness and vibesiness. And several of the instrumental tracks are nearly as good. Like a lot of dance music albums, it falters here and there and can't really sustain its peaks (something that seems baked in to the genre). But actually S2S make this weakness into a strength, by modulating the mood and energy throughout. Back in the day, this record made one think one might actually be a dancer or could become a club kid – a testament to its unique attractions perhaps, though it couldn't do the impossible. Still, it remains great and a very enjoyable and satisfying listen straight through. Too bad they couldn't continue.
How many world music styles/sub-genres can be shoved into a single album? Whatever the precise answer to that question, this record has entirely too many.
This is how to be cool musically and to get chicks, especially hot young ones. Could not be groovier or more sure of itself (the same thing as cool, surely). The giggly song is devastatingly effective, as much for the sizzly guitars as the hiccuping mirthfulness. Simply could not be any cooler (or loucher). Could/should be longer, maybe.
There’s a great deal to like here, cool melodies in abundance, a few ferocious hooks, and less of the DIY fundamentalism of some WS records, though maybe it's slightly overdetermined (characteristically so). Maybe slightly too frolicsome (see “Go Back to Sleep”) for its own good, with the nods toward doo-wopy blues and ragtime and the too-many vaguely proggy mood shifts and overwrought structures. but there’s less of the trying-too-hard effect and look-how-retro-rootsy-we-can-be vibe of the WS records. “On and On and On” is great and “Hypocritical Kisses” and “Love Interruption” and the opener nearly as good. Funny that the title cut is just about the subtlest.
Extremely good overall, if not quite great. And some cuts are a bit dated sounding as tech-driven innovation and big dramatic statements in music often do. With an artist this original and so passionately committed to boundary-pushing, there will naturally be some unevenness. "Games without Frontiers" endures as unsurpassed and unique coolness. "Not One of Us" and Through the Wire," "Biko" and "No Self Control" are also strong. Best to think of PG as a one-man of Eno-Bowie skills.
Let’s not talk about this as disco (which one thinks history will be relatively kind to, or at least more so than many haters / demolitioners might expect) but rather as smooth and sophisticated R&B inflected pop. The beats and grooves lilt and then elevate, make one tap one’s toes and then toggle one’s head. And isn’t the tempo sort of refreshing to the much darker, closed-off and frenetic paces of house, EDM and more recent vintages of (mere) dance music. This is infectious pop, with more soul and melancholia than is commonly recognized. The bass groove into the bank of horns, into the hustling guitar riff, and the return of the bells (plus strings most elegant) on “I Want Your Love” is so good (understated, too) and rewards careful listening. “Savoir Fair” is awesomely hip, swingingly melancholic, a most memorable groove. This is not an extremely disco record; it's an extremely good record period.
TW's masterpiece, and an utter embarrassment of riches. The genius is in the blending and balancing all his various personae and tendencies (and many different modes of instrumentation) and creating songs that are a bit more accessible (which is how he transcends Beefheart) for having clear structures and being more self-contained than his more exploratory work. High literary quality to the snapshots of life on the edges. The growl and deadpan and edgy heartbreak of the vocals are best managed for overall effectiveness. First few cuts set the right tone that just keeps getting richer and richer. "Tango Till They're Sore" is the first full-on gem. Then the middle sequence of "Hang Down Your Head" and "Time" and "Rain Dogs" gets this into classic territory; the performances (which can be overly performative) deliver real pathos. "9th & Hennepin" is his most poetic cut – no small claim for this artist – and "Gun Street Girl" is among his most memorable. "Walking Spanish" is strong, too. And rounding out things are the authentically excellent "Blind Love" and "Downtown Train" and "Anywhere I Lay My Head" – they seem almost effortless in their perfection. This is a powerful summation of all his previous work and a compendium-foundation for all the innovations to come. A stunning achievement and easily one of the best records of the '80s.
Tendentious, obviously, but oh so tedious. Aggressively talkative and more noisy than musical, like a dinner party guest convinced that she's more interesting than she is. Title cut, with some nice brush drumming, is the least annoying track, likely because it's the quietest. "Ladies" has its moments. The chorus on "Under the Table" ("I won't shut up/I won't shut up") really should've been the name of the song and the entire record. One doesn't consider it a complement to say it's like she just made a midlde-aged version of her '90s records. The playing gets a bit more interesing but the vamping dominates the records, which wears one down, eventually. She wants to be – what, exactly? She's angrier than Joni Mitchell, though just as inclined to emotional sloppiness. She's less poetic than Rickie Lee Jones. Considerably less talented a vocalist than Tori Amos, less bitingly witty than Aimee Mann, who's also a better singer.
Massively cool overall and a good bit to do with jazz, every bit as much as it has to do with hip-hop. A lot of its tropes have been long since worn out by lesser DJs and artists who can’t see the full potential of their beats and beds or don’t trust them and thus junk them up with too much. Vibey contrasts set the mood, often chill, occasionally sinister. “Midnight in a Perfect World” and the second “What Does your Soul look like?” (Vol 1) are among top cuts, though first (Vol 4) is also chill and groovy – what powerful simplicity and what a range of interesting sounds.
Over the top, overproduced but not exactly overwhelming. It's all over the place stylistically, but the girl's got undeniable pipes – that's the only through-line – and shows them off continually. There are a handful of winning cuts, but the whole exercise seems more about hit-making than music making. Maybe she was ripping off Mariah or Janet, but one likes this better than what offerings one's heard from those artists. .
Rockier than one remembers and less synthy, too. Still pretty droney and insistently, grindingly dark, which makes it hard to love, save for specific moods and contexts (e.g., depressive, fugue states). But its depth and power is undeniable. Its influence, too, of course. What a voice Curtis had and how effectively he used it.
Astonishingly rich. Praise Jah for this being so “Ketchy Shuby” – and not just tonight but for 40+ years now. Not sure this is positive medical advice (def not good for asthma; for tuberculosis and thrombosis perhaps). Every cut works and offers charm or sharpness or depth or all three. A marvel and immensely enjoyable and happy-making besides.
Gestural and surfacey and Muzak-ian in the end, however intriguing and attractive upon first (or distant) hearing. Closer attention begs questions: Does he deserve credit for seeking to inject some soul into the sterility of club music? Was it inspired insipid to seek to instill gospel and blues into a clubby context? Is it a dilution, a corrupting by way of compromise, even an incompatible marriage? And shouldn’t there have been a merger with Fatboy Slim? Editors are right; ultimately this is a play for the pop mainstream, for broad acceptance. Clearly some thought went into the layerings and pairings, but it lacks flow and feels overcontrolled, as if it had to be just so. These rather anodyne assemblages may have marked a moment, but not very distinctively. And Stipe had every right to be annoyed for being mistaken for Moby.
Warm and uber-listenable and super Celtically soulful, there are maybe more horns than ideal, but they go all-in on it so hard to argue. In fact, one must resist the temptation to call this the "horniest" record in the whole book. Certainly it's among the hookiest. The name-dropping of Irish literary titans is very much to one's taste an the picking on Deep Purple and Johny Rotten on "Burn It Down" makes perfect sense. "Tell Me When" an "Seven Days" are infectious. "Geno" is a bit much for one's taste, but the appeal is clear. "Thankfully" is good fun and breaks up the flow a bit, mostly in a good way. Rowland's a compelling singer, even by the high standards of '80s popl in the UK. Traces of his tone and approach can be heard in . They seem to have threaded the needle of being commercially underrated and critically overrated, but their legacy seems relatively safe and one's glad to have finally gotten this band (via active listening) after years of wondering what all the fuss was about. Horns-driven here and thick with strings elsewhere, DMRs were going to do some shape-shifting across the records to come (not unlike the Bee Gees in some ways), seeking their foothold in the market and maybe they cared a bit too much about what they were wearing (as opposed to what they were playing), but this album, the first, seems the strongest.
The strength – its cinematic feel – is also a weakness, in that there’s no, you know, movie. Vibes and textures are effective enough, especially if one’s all into neo-lounge. "Business as Usual" is f-ing spooky. One’s not exactly sure how to feel about “Miles;” pleasant as it is, seems a tatty sort of knock-off. “Vermillion Kisses” is silly. Best cuts are early ones, but even they are no great shakes.
Is this a fashion shoot or an album? Some likable hooks and strong vocals, but the ultimate ‘80s synth-sax combos is just too much to look past. Not terrible – the ‘80s was a golden age of stylish pop, after all – but this is mostly valuable as an authentic (and overly coiffed) artifact of that era’s dance pop.
One enjoys the sweet and lilting vocals quite a bit and feels a touch guilty given the grim subject matter (see "Satan Lied to Me"). The playing is tight and crisp but seems quite by-the-book. The gospel-y tunes seem slightly more compelling than the murder ballads. And rarely have murder ballads been more listenable. One admits to not knowing enough about this genre or this act to understand the historical significance but it sounds pretty authentic and offers nice variety to much else on the list.
At best, a poor man's Cure. Yes, dark, but the sound is thin and tinny, as if it's being heard on a distressed cassette tape in an underpowered Japanese-made compact car with a weak stereo system in the early 1980s, which in one's case, indeed it was. "Of Lillies" is of some interest. One likes some of the shearing guitars (e.g., on "Dancing") but the overall feel of even the strongest moments ("Kick in the Eye") is of being quite dated.
One more admires this record than enjoys or closely relates to it, and definitely prefers the Hissing of Summer Lawns. The pure and raw vulnerability of the voice – almost shaky at times – is what comes through most clearly, with collateral damage of seeming ragged, sloppy or overly confessional (or tedious in the case of Richard buying his ballet dancer girlfriend a dishwasher). Indeed, she's probably to be held to account for allowing so much confessionality (confessionalism) into pop music, of which we 've had entirely too much down the years. The lack of musical adornment grates after a time. “River” and “A Case of You” are the top tracks, though overall this is pretty squarely in overrated territory – and way overrated in that Rolling Stones' Best 500 Albums of all time has this inside the top 10 and maybe even top 5.
Good, varied and a touch indulgent, but still worth knowing. The hit's fine – sort of the ultimate expression or a pithy, justifying maxim for the free love ethos – even if the "rose in a fisted glove/eagle flies with dove" runs quite counter to the practical amatory advice. "Do for Others" and "Church" are strong. "To a Flame" is dreamy, but requires a lot of strings to generate that effect. "Sit Yourself Down" is rock-and-roll self-care / therapy, realistically optimistic and motivationally choral. The rockier tunes are less interesting. The variety is a strength but not all of it is convincing; "Black Queen" and "Go Back Home" seem a reach into funky/bluesy/rootsiness that he can't quite pull off. The gently soaring "We Are Not Helpless" is what SS does best (the latter vaguely predicting of "Colorado" off Manassas and "Southern Cross" all those years hence). Much is made of the appearances of All-Stars but Clapton and Hendrix are one cut each, and the moments are fleeting, though the contributions are solid, if not truly outstanding. Everybody else is just backing vocals – not much to care about there. And why is Mama Cass so far back in the mix if her presence is material? Clearly, this is not as good as Manassas, which is even more indulgent but pays off in being more expansive, too (and has the charming "old fiddle music" side, that's almost believable, almost credible). Still, fine to know if only borderline worthy of being in the mix of this list. This is truly a 3.5 so requires a generous rounding up to get to 4, and it's clearly notch below Manassas, which is dead-on a 4, in one's humble (but reasonably well informed) opinion. He does seem the least rated member of CSNY and claims in lyrics not to care about fame (in at least one song here and at least one on Manassas) which seems like protesting too much and clearly this is best-effort, authentic and earnest music making, delivering at a high level of quality, but perhaps falling short of being truly essential. As to Stills' canonical rating, it is a plausible argument that he is underrated slightly as a solo artist (though rightfully relative to his bandmate Neil Young [to state the obvious]) but given that CSNY has always been slightly overrated, then maybe SS is appropriately rated after all.
A little more speculative and looser than later work (esp Savane), but still very likable. Several songs unfold beautifully, though they feel a little like (again) an exploration, and thus maybe a touch dryer and colder in the later works. The first few cuts are notably stronger and more engaging than the later. One can't speak to the deep questions about the possilbly Malian origins of the blues or validate the relative authenticity (wouldn't even know the standards to apply) but one knows the songs are mostly excellent and feel legit in the listening. One's eternally grateful to Ry Cooder to bringing this (and a good bit else) to our attention. Also, don't sleep on In the Heart of the Moon, one's personal fave by AFT.
Spiky and likable. The horns are a major additive. Definitely dated-sounding however, and the vocals can be a touch grating. Rounding up a bit for effort and an authentic edginess. And also the very strong range and creativity that's on display here – "Highly Inflammable" and "Warriors in Woolworth" make this more than a simplistic and direct, immediately post-punk record.
It's no wonder at all why it failed to do much commercially, but it has a ragged sort of DIY-post-abstract expressionism majesty that was (as we all know by now) huge influence on so many future rockers (some of whom were surely better suited to other lines of work). “The Gift” and “Lady Godiva’s Operation” are best cuts. “Sister Ray” fine too but pales in the shadow of an inflated reputation. Reed's vocals grate, especially his surely-meant-to-b-arty shouty ejaculations on "Lady Godiva" and the muddy, indifferent production was perhaps intentional but it adds nothing. As the few decades between VU and Sonic Youth are compressed by posterity, future critics will no doubt several of the latter’s albums to far excel this).
Other than “Supersonic” and “Live Forever,” true (if somewhat retreaded) rock anthems, it all seems rather underwhelming now, begging the question if too much of a fuss was made. And time hasn’t made it any smarter or wiser or less doofy/yobbish/laddish. Sure, mimicking the Beatles seemed clever and creative (especially to the music market then) but this feels a full notch below Morning Glory. itThe few winning early cuts all have a too-muchness to them, both in terms of sheer overlayering and the length of cuts (they had no sense of an ending or how to wrap things up – ”Columbia” could have been a full two minutes shorter and several other cuts at least a minute). Addition by subtraction was not the Gallaghers' jam, obvs. The alt lead vocals are decidedly sub-par and make “Sad Song” an utter snooze and “Take Me Away” very much surplus to requirements on the deluxe editions, further clutter the already overrated legacy here. Gallaghers were definitely nobody’s life coaches (or shouldn’t have been) but they weren’t exactly Lennon/McCartney as lyricists either (e.g., “Feelin’ supersonic / Give me gin and tonic;" "she done it with a doctor/in a helicopter”). These guys will seem less and less important as years go by and “cool Brittania” becomes a blip in time.
Near-Cockney rapping with occasionally awkward-sounding flows. Flat, repetitive beats. The initial impression is that there nothing’s special here, but one does warm a bit over the course of the record. “Ladies Hit Squad” and “Numbers” are best tracks, likely because of the guest spots. What does that tell us? Last track doesn't suck. 2.5 for 2.
Pretty full-on '80s, no? Especially for a '78 release date. It sounds more like bands one would come to like (Jazz Butcher, anyone?) than a band one actually likes. And let's be honest, they didn't exactly work out to be Talking Heads or, for that matter, Television. One likes the edgy, driving guitars – which even seem to chime on "Definitive Gaze;" but things a get a bit too synthy at time and they put a bit too much weight on the songs – too many tempo changes (see the otherwise interesting and likable "Beautician") and perhaps too long. The artier they go, the clunkier it gets (see synths and sax on closer), which is another way they predicted New Wave. "Burst" certainly engages and "Motorcade" (before it speeds up unpleasantly and then slows down a again) seems to foreshadow about 10 different bands that were just round the corner. But lots else are less impactful. Seems as if they were of two minds and neither the punkier thrashers nor the artier-synthier cuts fullly come off. A for effort (especialy in terms of trying to lighten up punk a bit) and or exerting a positive influence on so much good music to come. B-/C+ for effect. They knew what they were doing, but maybe they needed the '80s as much as the '80s needed them. Bottom line: Television is better than Magazine.
Ahead of its time in its full-on industrial attitude, and way better than NIN (more tuneful) but one struggles to take this seriously (the pedophiliac lyrics a little buried in the noise), but "Kerosene" is also pretty intense. Rounding up because Steve Albini's recent passing.
Yes, new and different at the time, and somewhat interesting, but the payoff mostly never arrives. The tasteful low-fi/DIY vibe is arty and self-contained but what seems approachable and thoughtful, then lands as non-ambitious to a fault and not as cool or avant garde as it wants to be. Guitar work is simple, though occasionally driving and engaging, also repetitive within and across tracks. The songs seem to build but then don’t arrive or resolve or get anywhere, the intersection of understatedness and anti-climax. One is very passingly intrigued but ultimately unmoved.
Guttural and grotesque. Also deadly dull. After painstakingly close listening one was able to discern some English language lyrics: it was something to do with wanting pancakes rather intensely. One will round up to a 1 because they were likely LA's most punctual band.
First few cuts offer substantial charm and interest, and seem pretty much coherent, if odball-y creative, cosmic and cool. But it gets steadily weirder, more uneven and less rewarding (the more it's unaccompanied Sid, basically) as if we're charting a breakdown of sorts. It starts to sound like Eric Idle after a time (perhaps manifesting the man's considerable influence). It's good to hear some of the content behind the legendary status (even if it's not convincing evidence of genius), it seems harder to romanticize this man's druggy madness as time goes by, even if one appreciates his paving the way for the likes of Robyn Hitchcock.
Hugely powerful and understated, this is a late masterpiece and refreshing new chapter from a legendary band that already had well and truly confirmed a first-rate legacy. The album is masterfully constructed with nary a misplaced note. The strings and winds are beautifully and judiciously used, complementing the yearning, often pleading vocals. This might be peak Stipe, too – a master class in fully realized rock vocalizing and mature art-making; he shows great range and versatility, from the jokey “Sidewinder,” which he delivers with abandon, to the sweet tenderness of “Night Swimming,” to the resigned acceptance (yet still hopeful) “Find the River.” The organ beds on early songs set the tone of wistful sadness and moderated joy. So many terrific cuts – and the best known in this case are the actual best, “Drive,” “Sidewinder,” and “Man on the Moon” – but there’s no filler at all and every track holds up well and distinctly within the a coherent and impressive whole. Given the richness and sheer beauty of Automatic and the precipitous fall in quality on the records that followed, one can be forgiven for wishing that this was the swansong.
Bach for teenyboppers. A most generous rounding up is necessary here, but BW has earned it, really. it's outlandishly musical and undoubtedly ingenious with more than a few winsome touches (the Hawaiian language bits in "Roll Plymouth Rock," e.g.,), But it's also absurdly excessive, borderline surreal and Aspergersically intense and ocassionally infantile (e.g., "Vega-tables) that puts one in the mind of finger painting. It functions like a hymnal for some pop music liturgy. This should not have been exed by the editors for its historical import alone (and certainly not if Dennis W's Pacific Ocean Blue remains in the list). But like a lot of long lost white whales (see Guns in Roses Chinese Democracy album) the anticipation seems to have overwhelmed the actual. That said, "Heroes and Villains" and "Good Vibrations" are all-time contributions to the pop music canon, and a delight to here, even if they aren't really enhanced here. (It's of course worth noting that neither are they reduced in any way, just reinterpreted or supplemented to a moderate extent.) That said, one finds one's patience a bit taxed with all the sudden shifts and constant additions, in that it's just straight up too much. Also, it's worth asking just how much better this is than Smiley Smile? Beyond the production polish, probably not as much as BW would have liked.
Interesting, arty, and here and there whimsically charming in an off-kilter sort of way. Though it lacks flow, some cuts have an ebullient, even orgiastic feel. The strength is its uniqueness and unpredictability – one's a bit on edge not knowing what to expect as individual cuts develop – "the arbitrary life" indeed! The song titles alone speak to what's different. Best cuts are "Stillness Is the Move" and "Two Doves" even though the songs cohere overall and don't necessarily differentiate themselves terribly much as individuals. One's reminded of other art-school bands (Talking Heads, Pylon). Still, this is decent-plus and well worth knowing.
Exquisite and haunting, lovely and refined, a work of great beauty and some profundity, clearly rooted in personal anguish/pain. The mix of modes is also impressive: some soul/R&B, some Winterreise/chanson vibes, some pure chamber pop, some heartbreak balladry. The guest spots somewhat unbalance proceedings, given that A’s voice is so distinct.. But they suggest the good taste and foresight of the participants. (Re the cameos: Boy George sounds a bit tired, perhaps uncertain, even shaky, but is effective overall, particularly given the fragility of the subject matter. Rufus is best, well suited to the lavish emotionality, and pushing it to the edge. Lou Reed makes much of an almost negligible contribution, characteristically calling attention to himself through a rather studied and wholly contrived casualness [no one seems so uptight about showing off how cool he is]). The transgender developments of more recent years are foreshadowed rather directly – to some extent, it seems the plot of the record. The occasionally excessive vibrato is easily forgiven. This made quite the impact all those years ago and has aged extraordinarily well, which makes the ex-ing by editors a baffling choice.
Brilliantly bizarre and cosmically chaotic. "Fried ice cream is a reality" indeed. And a record like this seems to similarly stretch the boundaries of what's possible. So fun and funky, so openly entertaining yet so oddly elevating and philosophical (to the point of being metaphysical), so utterly messy and yet ultimately magical. Eddie van Halen's got nothing on the riffs here. It aims to be The Leaves of Grass and George Clinton the Walt Whitman of pop music. The add-on track of "Maggot Brain" is mind-meltingly awesome, every cuts offers a plethora of layered pleasures and intrigues, such is the effect of such danceable maximalism.
Crisp and kinetic grunge-pop (editors are savvy with that phrase), with quality hooks and a bright hard edge, but also straightforward to the point of mundanity. Best cuts: "This Is a Call" and "Big Me" and "Floaty" and "Exhausted," which offer some sweetness or uncertainty or melancholy or something more than the much less interesing, blunt-instrument bangers (e.g., the very dumb "Weenie Beenie" and tedious "Watershed"). One rounds down because loud-quiet-loud could not be more passe by now, no? And anyway one has always found Grohl/FFs to be rather steadily and significantly overrated (though perhaps one's anti-Nirvana bent shades one's reaction somewhat unfairly). Again, this is fine, perfectly okay, but nowhere near transcendent .
A gem – brightly polished and glimmering. Even discounting for the faddishness of the bossa nova craze at the time (not an exact comp to the Macarena, but probably closer than jazz people would like to admit), it holds up beautifully today, thanks to the restrained and elegant and fluid playing that delivers a languor at once sweet and savory. "Desafinado" and "Samba Triste" and "Bahia" are all first-rate – with lovely suppleness approaching a haunting voluptuousness, with Getz's somewhat austere tone playing against Byrd's whimsically-reflective picking (particularly on the closer). One doesn’t need a mojito to enjoy though it may help. Not sure why the editors credit only to Getz, when Byrd’s name is on the masthead, too. And it’s sad that the artists who collaborated on such a sweet and swinging and fully copacetic piece of music would break up (presumably over its commercial success – what is it about the music business that causes such acrimony? Or is it really just human nature? Depressing to consider when really one should be inspired by this music to think only about idealized Brazilian lovers (or just a long beach holiday) we might be rewarded in another life.
Who knew rap rock could be so dynamic, buoyant and fun, while flashing with bits of intelligence? One digs this to such an extent that if one listened to this genre, one would definitely listen to more N.E.R.D.
One likes the energy and brevity, the lack of pretense (no guitar solos!), the hooky melodies and melodic hooks, but the novelty wears off quickly within a single listen. And the facade hasn't exactly got much deeper across the years. Groundbreaking? Sure. Fresh and cool and different for its time? Undoubtedly. Enduringly unique? Yes. But it's also quintessentially bubble-gum, more than a little naive, and simple to the point of being rudimentary. One can't decide if the world needs more bands like the Ramones or fewer.
The growly Morrison works as well as the sexy shaman/mad poet frontman, and in fact might be more convincing. Surely he seems a lot older and jaded than his late twenties. This is a masterpiece of vibe and tone – rock as languor, besides being a most apt sonic rendering of how LA feels (or must have felt in the early '70s. Morisson is looser, rougher and freer here – maybe less artily pretentious (editors are right on that point) and the slight tending toward bloat (as on "The Changeling") is well seasoned with seediness. The fine and subtle playing redeems even the slightly ridiculous songs (e.g., the sizzling guitar filigrees and organ riffs on “Crawling King Snake”). The title cut is an all-time classic and “The WASP” is the most poetic (“stoned immaculate” was a line for the ages and “No eternal reward will forgive us now for wasting the dawn” so, you know, profound). "Hyacinth House" feels like take-it-or-leave-it release, its majesty lightened by an undertone or slightly pyschedelic joy and contentment. "Cars Hiss by the WIndow" is pure Bukowskian glory, and though one's never much loved "Riders," it makes a great (and stately) closer. Manzarek has always seemed the epitome of the pretentous rock star (and just a putz besides) but he really is the key to the sound, adding depth and pomp and glitter, too. But the record works because the playing is so good, and perfectly supports the languid lyrics and bigger-than-life poetic/shamanic front man. Maybe a much hipper and artier Elvis is the right way to think of Morrison. One's enormously enjoyed listening now, decades since one's last hearing, that one no longer feel even the least embarrassed about over-liking them decades ago.
Very strong overall and the primal scream therapy stops just short of being obnoxious or too much. The straightforward, even sweet piano melodies leaven the pain, which is authentic sounding (and not purely performative) and adds depth. Indeed, the piano seems to be the dominant instrument here; a criticism would be that there could have been more variety in the instrumentation. The intensity and sharpness of “Mother,” “Hold On,” “Working Class Hero,” “Isolation” and “God” more than make up for the few mishits (e.g., “Love” which gets borderline mawkish[likely the cost of his finding personal happiness with Yoko] and very dodgy, bomb-going-off ending on “Remember”). Lennon let it all hang out, and would sometimes go too far in terms of sloppiness and sentimentality, but with it came all the classics, including a few of the gems here. This has been well worth revisiting.
One finds it difficult to be objective about this record, which has served as a best-friend / therapist / rabbi sort of record for a very long time indeed. One was 22 when it came out, and one thought it sounded like the seriousness of adult life ahead, of the oceanic sense of disappointment / disillusionment one had already had a taste of. And, though it took a few years for one to embrace it fully, to recognize it as one of the essential soundtracks of one’s life, 35 years later, one can't say one’s initial impressions were wrong in; one’s adulthood has often felt like this record sounds, simultaneously sad-deep-rich and beautifully evanescent, near-overwhelming and demanding to be processed, requiring deep reflection – all of it animated by deep yearning and an organic ache for resolution in the face of loss and other emotionally substantive experience. Disintegration has amplified/intensified connections with lovers (people who love this record would seem capable of feeling and processing emotion at levels both higher and deeper than average – which is both an asset and a liability in relationships, one has found); it’s also offered deep solace in the aftermath of relationship breakage and/or failure. What to say of the music and the record’s many overall strengths? The mood and evocation of pure vulnerability, the elevation of personal sentience and suffering through exquisite layering (what integration of strings and synths and other effects on guitar and bass!). The rhythmic foundation feels like classic architecture in its sturdy and lapidary presence, but then shifts and flows subtly across long songs to steadily build awe and elicit powerful effect at different points in songs. The way the songs blend to subtly modulate the mood of rich, contemplative gloom (see especially "Pictures Of You" > "Closedown" > "Love Song"). Note the similar wind-chimey effects in the very beginning of “Plainsong” and then in the lovely, stage-setting phase of “Pictures of You.” The grace notes are innumerable, as becomes clear on repeat listens. The barely audible, sub-lyrical whoop/howl quite late (roughly 6-minute mark) on “Pictures of You,” (amidst the couple the doo-doo-to-doo” vamping bits). A similar yelp comes at beginning of the title cut. Is there a record with a more perfect collection of beginnings and endings? The heavier/more funereal cuts (“Plainsong,” “Pictures,” “Untitled”) get expansive, unhurried, multi-minute preludes to raise the emotional stakes and land with resolutions that are elegant and note-appropriate in terms of pace (the echoing bass notes on “Pictures” making the 7+ minutes seem to end too soon), and gently wrapped in a mini-crescendo that seems to rise even as it falls away – so satisfying without being anything like sweet or cloying, which one would expect with lesser artists. More rich chimings and resonant washes conclude “Closedown” and the accordion wrapping up the closer ….what can one say? – it brings me near to weeping every time. Contrast these with the harder, tighter openings (vocals starting sooner, generally) and the prompt/punchy endings of the riffier cuts (“Lovesong,” “Lullaby,” “Fascination Street”). The relentlessness of the title cut, with the juddering/echoing effect on the guitars intensifying the finality of the repeated lyric (“how the end always is”). And for layerings, in “Lullaby,” note the play between the gentle, yet insistent guitar and bass prodding on the bed sumptuous bed of strings, with pizzicato figures upping the tension and infectiousness, phrases repeated and varied throughout the song – brilliant! And on the closer (of which more in a moment) hear the way the guitars and key pulsings, near metronomic throughout, break up, fractalizing apart as if blown by the wind or carried away on the tides (similar effect at end of “Disintegration” – that’s what ups the emotional state, makes the song last in memory. There are utterly unforgettable hooks all over the place (“Pictures,” “Lovesong,” “Lullaby,” “Fascination Street”– and in multiple tempos and hues, too, from the irresistibly ominous yet sexy as hell ("Lullaby"), to the abjectly driving ("Fascination Street") and purely poppy-bouncy ("Lovesong"), to the utterly beautiful and heartbreakingly melodic ("Pictures of You"). The untitled closer – as strong a final cut as one has ever heard – sets it all right (substantially better than right), with a fitting coda. Beautifully balanced, bitterly melancholic (again heartbreakingly so), but also suggestive of a brave carrying on (something about the insistently yet still gently rolling drums and the elegant chording/tolling of the guitar to prod us onward – on and hope for triumph, with the authentic melancholy accordion (intelligently reprised from the opening of the song) resolving the end with as something as close to satori as one has ever experienced, just a transcendent form of solace. The 30-year-old Robert Smith apparently felt pressure to create a masterpiece. Job fucking done. And then some.
Warm and authentic and thoughtful – one could listen to it all day (indeed, one has being doing so all weekend). Her voice is distinct and pleasant (to one's tastes, anyway) and uses it well. Her storytelling instincts are strong and the lyrics are fine, well above average, and the playing is most tasteful, perfectly suited to the material. What's not to like here? That said, one can't be sure which is her best album; there are several worthy candidates.
Not bad but the influence seems to greater than the sum of its merits and blandishments, which is to say one finds it to be slightly overrated particularly relative to its much ballyhooed influence (though one admits one didn't much know it and certainly didn't love it in real-time of release). The punchy raggedness makes for punk authenticity but does bludgeon-grate after a time. It gets steadily better as it goes. "Mannequin" is a great song, and the peak of the record, with "Strange" and "Fragile" the runners-up. Funny, how they ended up as synthy pop tunesmiths down the road ("Kidney Bingos," anyone?), following the Clash > Big Audio Dynamite trajectory to some extent. Despite the fact that REM (one of one's fave all-time bands) liked this record quite a bit, one can't quite convince oneself to round up.
Just slightly more interesting than most hard rock and metal-adjacent bands. The understated and stoneresque vocals speak to uncertainty and anxiety, rather than aiming to express godlike delusions or raw power. And there are interesting aural twists here and there. But, pretty meh overall and not nearly as “original” as advertised, with the middle cuts very same-y.
Quite haunting opener, “Avalanche”, but who knows what it means. “Last Year’s Man” works, largely based on trings and kids choir/backing vocals. “Diamonds in the Mine,” despite its mocking (then sneering, then growling) vocal, lifts the mood a bit, which speaks to the deep, dark shadows of the first few cuts. “Love Calls” and “Famous Blue Raincoat” are mostly great. Can we talk the Canadian Dylan point? Just how accurate a comp it is. And not faint praise at all. Inscrutable lyrics of boho life and religious symbolism. Awkward, borderline unpleasant voice. It’s all here and then some. But not sure how's the better singer actually.
Sturdy bass beats, fluid grooves, sweet strings adding depth – who knew this would remain so listenable and pleasurable? It's straightforwardly happy and elevating music inclined to make people move and non-dancers smile. This will lift a mood, so it has to be Nile Rodgers, right? Should obviously be labeled as Chic + (or featuring) Sister Sledge. It's easy to forget just how and musical – sweet, fluid, groovy, elevating – disco could be. And how well-made too. This level of organic musicmaking puts so much of "modern" dance music – say last 30 years – to shame, synthetic shame. "Thinking of You" and "Lost in Music" and "Easier to Love" are delightful, hidden treasures relative to the two big cuts, which are mighty and distinctly worthy. Deserves every last bit of platinum it got. A pinnacle of disco, indeed, and just about as good as that much maligned genre could do.
One-dimensionally synthy, despite the the singers all having strong voices. "Don't You Want Me" is uniquely hooky and relatable, a near-perfect artifact of its day and era, but lord knows one's heard that song more than enough time for life and there's no good reason to hear any more of this record. Thank god at least that the editors didn't try to convince us this was like Kraftwerk or Neu.
This is of mild interest at best, and certainly non-essential. Despite the most unfortunate moniker and title, the first few cuts are solid ‘60s pop, getting things off to a promising start with an irresistibly hooky opener and the credibly dreamy “Onie” and the next cut sounding for all the world like Sonic Youth’s biggest hit. Then it gets pretty cringey pretty quickly, and veering irreversibly away from the mildly hip to the irredeemably square (see horns on “Quarter to Nine” and strings + harpsichord on “Counting House”). The jazzy bits are a somewhat welcome respite but not all that convincing or well executed— they are out of place basically. “World On Time” isn’t terrible. The closing trolley song is just awful, one of the more ill-advised tracks on any record in this entire list, easily worth a full point deduction. One assumes that was foisted on the lads by the professional songwriters they were assigned. Still, hard as one tries, it's difficult to see past what’s just about the dumbest band name ever (a half-point penalty is merited). Couldn’t have these cats come up with something better? Almost anything — the Electric Kumquats, anyone? — would have done
Groovy and driving and one's glad to have made this record's acquaintance. Certainly one prefers the controlled (but still rough-on-the-edges) flow and the referencable song structures (e.g., "I'm Glad") here to the artier and more out there aspects of Trout Mask Replica. Though not exactly one's cup of tea, it's not hard to recognize the orginality and willingness to be different (even if it times it can seem a bit willful and forced). "Where There's Woman" sounds authentically swampy, as do other of the country-bluesy cuts. Again, the quality (including "Yellow Brick Road" and "Trust Us") suffers under the weight of the unnecessary quantity. Indeed the several effective instrumentals suggests they might have succeeded by staying deep in that particular groove. One knows their reputation for being "a huge influence on ..." but one is somewhat skeptical and wishes there was a reliable or more precise way to quantify other than editors' claims.
One distinctly remembers this being way oversold upon release in late '80s and boy does it sound rooted in that time now. What is it really innovative to use "Pump Up the Volume"? All these silly sound clips – it's the equivalent of pop art collage, which is perhaps aging somewaht more gratefully. Editors description suggests a major overweighting of having been in the know when this was underground or only available on "private London radio." Not even Mark E. Smith (or Lisa Stanfield or Queen Latifah) can save this from being oh so tiresome (and way too long). The "party and bullshit" reference is funny and good to know – that's the best that can be sai, for it's far too dumb to be dope.
Having never been a fan (and certainly wasn't one back in the day) and have not much patience or poseurs like Lydon in general, one didn't know this record which is more interestingly vibes-y than one expected and much more engaging than the earlier work (inclusive of Sex Pistols) and later work (the more lurid, dancier, less serious PiL to come). This is expansively dark and droning, with major Joy Division vibes and early Cure (which probably means rotten Johny might be due more credit as an influencer than one has been historically inclined to give him). It's a plus that the yodel-y vocals are de-emphasized and sublimated here to the industrial-tending-with-dub-overtones drum and bass foundation – that's the greatest contrast to the to the didactic and very talky first album, where Lydon's "singing" is almost as grating as his speechifying. It definitely goes on too long and descends into a not-great trough though the middle of the album ("Socialist" and "The Suit" are low points) and the sameyness will certainly wear on certain types of ears. Still, strong overall with a (dare one say it considering the frontman) sort of understated focused on a shadowy aesthetic. "Radio 4," the mournful, churchy closer seems just about the least-PiL-ish thing PiL ever recorded (no wonder one likes it). One is inclined to quibble with 2 PiL records on this esteemed list; this would certainly be the one to keep.
Lovely and classy from top to bottom.She sings with such grace and understatements, doesn’t go for many big gestures and seems to have a wink in her voice when singing some of the sillier material. One finds the Riddle arrangements lush to the point of schmaltzy, but it doesn't stop Ella one whit.
Wasn't anything but loud and aggro then and hasn't grown into any additional merits in the years since. Plus, one must object quite strenuously against the inclusion in this list of compilations, which should not qualify for obvious reasons. Rounding up because they are not altogether contrived and, as the review quoted in the now ex-ed recap suggests, maybe the marketing (including the obnoxious title) wasn't their fault entire.
Not many bands cooler than these cats. One hears the opening cut and thinks instantaneously, this is a great song – the sizzling and lengthy guitar solo specifically – and why didn’t one like it as a kid? Did one take such smooth funkiness for granted in the '70s? Or did one just not yet have the ear? The covers are awesome, especially “Summer Breeze.” Just fun and funky, plus great playing and singing throughout. Isleys = seriously underappreciated.
Awfully close to "as good as it gets" territory, a near-ideal for hip-hot. It keeps it real with its focus on real playing, warm and accessible flows and a bare minimum of tired hip-hop tropes and posturing. It grooves easily and jazzily and soulfully, the tracks coalesce smoothly and cohere meaningfully, fine complements each to each. "Better" might now be one's top NJ song. Though one barely knew this record, it seems destined to become one of one's hip-hop faves.
This guy is criminally underrated. The commitment to be what he is (and how old he is), and to explore old-fashioned musical styles (and risk sentimentality in doing so) is impressive enough. But the results are authentic and gorgeous, and cohere absolutelty. The opener tells you you’re in another time and place (with Orbison and David Lynch vibles) and “The Ocean” is rock/pop as its most emotionally powerful, and a deep personal fave. “Hotel Room” and “Born Under a Bad Sign” are also great and the closer is legitimately haunting – ghostly and evocative. I rate True Love’s Gutter, which is similarly melancholic, even more highly. 4.5, just short of a 5.
This is decent and generally good (if dilettante-ish) fun, but clearly not as interesting/compelling as Odelay, as seems nearly universally acknowledged in the reviews. But perhaps it's more a case of Beck actually not being that great in the first place. Taking the glass-half-full view, one can say this is awfully good for a pastiche, which it very much is, as Beck creates and sustains a decently interesting and groovy vibe across more or less the whole record. "Girl" and "Earthquake Weather" seem the strongest tracks.
A best-friend record, a rabbi/therapist record, a desert island disc, a fantastic break-up album – this is all of those and more. One of the few (precious few) that truly meet the by-now rather cliched “must-hear” label. There are seven absolute classic songs and three awfully good ones. To call it Dylan’s best is praise enough and yet … maybe the best ever. (And editors – WTF – 2 weak Dire Straits jokes in a brief capsule review of the best record ever by Bob Dylan and one of the best of all time, period!?!?!? Shame on you and your anti-Dylan bent, which is clearly getting to you.)
She's got a deep voice and stilted vocal style – distinctive, unconventional, memorable – and one could listen to a few of these songs ("These Days," of course, but also "I'll Keep It With Mine" and "The Finest of Seasons") many times over. It's the overall mood and persistently lovely string accompaniment. On the other hand, "It Was a Pleasure Then" is inaptly titled and maybe this gets a touch repetitious toward the end and there's a sameyness of tone, for sure. Still, originality matters a great deal so rounding up to a perhaps overgenerous 4.
Caveat: three BS records is at least two too many for this list but one can't be bothered to sort out which is best (or least worst), though this seems less tedious than so much of the genre as a whole. Starting in media res as they do on opener is cool (in a statement-of-intent sort of way). And overall, BS delivers the good on basically every cut – with the goods being indisputably heavy-sludgy-bombast throughout. Certainly one prefers Ozzy's work with BS to his silly and execrable solo outings. "Changes" breaks the drudgery early and is surprisingly affecting, if beyond simple musically (Nigel Tufnel's piano fugue "Lick My Love Pump" would be the Spinal Tap comp for those keeping score at home.) "Laguna Sunrise" does the same toward the end of the record and it's fine, but less credible, with strings beyond syrupy. They probably couldn't have done any more of this variety, if only because they weren't Led Zeppelin. And anyway their fans woulda soon got massively bored. One likes that BS stays within a middle register, not trying to play set land-speed records for soloing (which keeps thing somewhat coherent to people less than fully fluent in metal) and instead working out and extending their hooks to build heavy vibes, as on "Snowblind," probably the best cut here (and an obviously better album title), and on the more than decent closer. Indeed, the end of the record rather recommends it. But all the usual hazards of metal apply here (e.g., sameyness of sound, pomposity, utter tedium). Fans will love it. Non-fans will either loathe or be utterly indifferent to it. Put one in the latter category, apathy division.
Better than one recalls, but still not great. More poppy than proggy, ST pale in comparison to Genesis or Pink Floyd, though there is some quality (as well as plenty of prog's preening and overambitiousness). "School" has held up well –it's easily the best cut here. The hits also have meritorious moments, though one finds them net-net annoying. "Dreamer" in particular seems to have been totally remixed (not just remastered). Sounds livelier and more earwormy perhaps, compared to the real-time radio of one's youth, but it's pretty mediocre overall and definitely grating. "Rudy" is overwrought, as is the title cut. The overall vibe seems vaguely more '80s than '70s – does this mean ST were ahead of their time? And if so does that make them slightly less embarrassing to like? They aren't the least talented hitmakers, but roughly on par with, say, Styx and Huey Lewis. Thus, one must round down. The whiff of embarrassment remains to the end.
Surely one is missing something because this is dead dull, dance music, however digital. Is it supposed to be meaningful as proto Daft Punk or something? And like all tech-reliant and synth-driven music, this ages prematurely and ungracefully. Sounds neither relevant nor interesting as artifact.
A strong contender for the cheesiest record of all time. And it's not gotten any better or more musically meaningful over time. However, in some ways, it's aged perfectly – that is, it still sounds just like it did when it came out, as an absolute satire of every bad '80s trend in instrumentation, studio production, power balladry and popular culture. But there's no doubting this hair band's sincerity. JBJ clearly thought he should have been take as seriously as the more substantive rock stars (not mentioning the obvious comp out of respect). Richie thought he was Jimmy Page. The record also manages to revive awful '70s arena rock tropes, including squalling guitar solos, singalong choruses, hand clapping, whistles and crowd noise, etc. ("Raise Your Hands" is the poster child for these undead excesses). And let's not even talk about the fashion sense and hair styles – what an embarrassment this is (or should be) for all involved (thankfully, one was not in the least). "Love is a social disease" is the cleverest lyric (not that it's a high bar) but the massively cheesy (and unnecessary) horns (which sound CGI-generated) of this particular track more than undercut the wit, or what passes for it. Lines such "Remember when we lost the keys / you lost more than that in my back seat baby" speaks to an earlier, perhaps more innocent time in America (or at least in the Garden State) but also preclude one from giving this band any benefit of the doubt (the guitar solos in "Never Say Goodbye" close the case). It's not even worth a moment of consideration that one might be missing something. And one hesitates to call this heavy metal, a mostly loathsome genre in one's view, because that would be an insult to metalheads. Critics who were unkind to BJ must ask themselves what else they could have done to stop this juggnernaut of bad taste, why they weren't even crueller. What a waste of time (other than being good for a chuckle) and certainly a waste of a slot in the RRHOF and in this esteemed list. 1.5 > 1 ... rounding down because one fears too many people still like this lot.
Moody, gritty and intense. Small grace notes make this record – like the tone/tempo shift on the opener and the very good "Hate My Way." Similarly, "Soul Soldier" starts liltingly, almost tenderly, before toughening up briefly – each shift adds depth and import, even if the song woulda worked well keeping to the general direction of balladry. Vocals get a bit raw and screamy at times. The songs display a command of the various flavors of indie rock circa '86 (e.g., hook-laden post-punk spikiness; slow-burning brooders; quasi-country/rockabilly romps that in some ways predicted psych folk). One saw them and remember their live show very much delivering – and exceeding – the intensity and grit of the records. They did themselves no favors by titling their 2003 album the same as this one. The other early records are also quite strong (particularly the excellent but unfortunately titled Hunkpapa) and built on the template here, with a bit more subtlety and range (plus generally cleaner production) but one cant really argue with featuring the initial effort here.
Simpler and much more countrified than No Other. But equally rich and warm and substantive, and consistently good throughout, if a bit prosaic, patient and non-exciting. Certainly, this should be better known. “Tears of Rage” is excellent. This might just be a record one has to take one’s time in getting to know and building a relationship with – a record one would marry more than date. It might be simplistic to say that it lacks a hit, but that (plus the melancholic overtones) might be a big reason why it never connected at scale. It’s more about a mood and a vibe, which one likes, but understands that everybody else (i.e., masses, general public, hoi polloi) do not, necessarily. 3.7/4 (And yes rounding up because underratedness.)
One's no Afrobeat connossieur, but, as the saying goes, if it sounds good ... and this is fiery and formidable throughout. The opener, "Wonder Wonder" is, well ... it's accurately titled, no? "Young Man's Blues" sounds how that part of that part of life feels. "Live for Today" is sound advice (as is "leave for today," which is what the singing sounds like). Each cut builds, rocks and flows and grooves, and then rocks and flows and grooves some more. Just great. And one can tell from the emotion and commitment in the music itself that one agrees with the politics.
Lovely and gentle at its best moments, but there aren't too many. The title cut and "F&R" are well nigh irresistible. "Country Road" is a shade better than decent. And no one ever had a more pleasant voice, but lord is this light. And points off for including "Susannah" – were there no better songs available? The blues cuts are entirely unconvincing, to put it mildly. Indeed, "I'm a churnin' urn of brunin' funk" may be the least credible lyric any singer ever delivered, on any song ever. While the remaster amps up the clarity and precision of the overall sound, the addition of horns (which one doesn't remember from youthful listenings) make the already insufferable "Steamroller" even worse. (The song's incongruous vibe disrupted more high school make-out sessions than one cares to remember.) "Suite for 20G" is just variety show schlock, a pretty dreadful ending that positions JT as little more than a slightly hipper Wayne Newton or Pat Boone. And to think how he might have maintained his integrity playing coffee shops across New England instead of fame finding him out.
Tight and compact, but mired in mediocrity. Perhaps slightly more ambitious in terms of having a few longer songs (though duration is not a fully relevant metric), and while there’s thankfully slightly less of the faux-swampiness, there’s limited experimentation and very little reaching. There are distinct, if faint, echoes of jumping the shark – how much more could be wrung from the tired formula of okay hooks and inoffensive grooves? “Travelin’ Band” and “Ooby Dooby” and “Lookin’ Out My Back Door” (should rightfully be entitled “Doo, doo, doo”) are all just annoying. Is the world a better place for their rendition of “Grapevine”, with a six-minute instrumental close-out with nary a surprising turn? "Long As I Can See the Light" gets over the not-terrible bar, but most of the rest is just stock, commoditized musical product. That they released albums at the pace of Minutemen songs seems more interesting than the songs themselves, which tells you why and how this record is imminently skippable and utterly forgettable, if a fully traceable artifact of one era’s mainstream tastes. In younger days, friends with iffy tastes overvalued the Chronicle compilation because they recognized all the tunes and thought there were no bad songs (like so many annoying albums of the time); efficiency of Greatest Hits over quality, they seemed to prefer, liking the comfort of the known more than the potentially dizzier pleasures of the new; they knew what they liked and wanted nothing more. Today, we call CCR content producers.
Vanishingly insubstantial, but, sure, glimmering with sweetness and freshness. And quite expertly packaged, too, in the way of the most cynical American pop culture products. Net-net, it's about as good as a precision-engineered 21st-century reboot of teen pop could be, which is to say pretty bad.
A near perfect record, with a delightful texture, strong tonal coherence (without any sense of sameyness across the songs) and just about ideal production choices, with nary a misplaced note and nothing anywhere close to a filler song. An extraordinarily high standard is maintained on every cut – it's the quantity as much as the quality, or the balancing of same. So many classics it’s hard to believe that they’re all from one album. "Second Hand News" is a wispy little gem of an opener. "Dreams" may have seemed boring as a kid but has deep and powerful resonance today. "Go Your Own Way" retains its heat, being about as fiery as California soft rock could get, an almost perfect balance to "You Make Loving Fun." "Songbird" is lovely and the the trio that close the record – "Oh Daddy," "Gold Dust Woman" and (very worthy and wholly fitting additiion) "Siliver Spring" both raise the stakes and close the deal with great effectiveness. One's only quibble might be the "Don't Stop" is a little broad. Anyone who experienced this during formative musical years was sort of ruined for life, to think albums could be so consistently excellent. Still, today, one might have a slight preference for the weirder, wilder Tusk, which offers a broader range of emotions and styles, even accounting for the fact that it’s three solo albums in one. Among the grace notes: blazing little solo to outro the opener; the exquisitely well timed cymbal splashes on "Dreams," the bassline on "Oh Daddy." And if it took so much relationship strife and drugs to produce such excellence, so be it.
One loves the cool, mature and uncompromising nature of this record – it’s distinctly non-pop sensibility. But it's also just dreamy and delightful, subtle and sweet, with each cut a shade different but producing similar almost Lanois-ian effects (more than a decade in advance). Yes, the songs are long, but patience with them pays off profusely. First two cuts set a very high bar. And Jaco just rules, doesn’t he? One loves how "A Strange Boy" takes its time in playing out so reflectively. So does "Song for Sharon." Title cut works well – the suggestive insertions of bass make the cut. "Black Crow" is at once the jazziest and the most rock-and-roll track, totally cool in its restraint. “Blue Motel Room” is wan, languorous and lovely. "Refuge of the Road" is a fitting end to this near perfect soundtrack for quiet afternoons.
Man does she sound young. It's good, well produced with strong musical choices and beats. Best cut is "Mama Gave Birth" the one with De La Soul (which says something, one supposes).
Lots of drama and emotional vulnerabilty, which one never found quite fully credible or compelling in the real time of its release. The song cycle and concept seem a bitter oversold; honestly they don't feel essential to one's enjoyment. There are plenty of powerful hooks and compelling moments whether or not they are meant to be part of some multi-layered, cinematic narrative. \"Une Annee\" and \"Wake Up\" (the way they build to the singalong feels refreshingly bold and sorta old-school) are very good. It's hard not to admire the effort and commitment and passion, which too much pop music (and indie rock especially) trades too cheaply for ironic detachment. For all its intensity, one somehow fails to connect fully, as the whole is just a tick less than the sum of its parts. One supposes emo on a grand scale is still emo, with all that genre's limitations and vulnerabilities. Still, this holds up well, sounding both relevant and durable. The considerable (and obvious) ambition is largely fulfilled, and one feels they achieved the level of recognition the music merited.
Utterly impeccable. And no wonder given the 40+ players – Wayne Shorter's sax on the title cut being the top contributor. But Becker's guitar work is a subtle standout on nearly every cut. The sweet, sophisticated langour of the opener sets a delicious tone. At once bemused and melancholy, jaded and wry. The ennui vibes delivered in jazz idioms with just gliterringly perfect production, is what makes the record. "Aja" is a monument to excellence in music making, and a high water mark not just in jazz-rock but any genre; it meanders and sprawls but every note makes sense. "Peg" is among the happiest and hookiest of any pop song, ever. "Home At Last" is severely underrated. "Deacon Blues" and "Josie" were among the sharpest and richest tracks they ever recorded (a high bar indeed). Music this good can feel like an opiate. It's a wonder that it sold so well.
One finds it pretty easy to admire (and even enjoy in doses) the fury and thrashing and passion without taking it seriously in any way. And not in the least is one surprised that it didn't last, despite the authenticity of the rawness (which seems awfully close to talentlessness at time, though "Human Being Lawnmower" suggests how they might have grown had they got past the commitment to chaos). Today, it seems almost quaint, the massive overrating of this lot; their contemporary appeal would have to be nostalgia-aided. The best bits would be the insistently spiky guitars on, among other tracks, "Looking at You." But any record with "Shakin' Street" would be compromised in terms of putting forth anything like political subversion or meaningfully directed rage. One's also confident it must have been quite cool to see in person all those years ago; in other words, they shoulda named their live album what Jimmy Buffett named his.
Another very strong entry in the Byrds canon. Warm, approachable and elevating, “5D” and “Wild Mountain Thyme” seem spot-on as stage-setters. “John Riley” and “I See You” and “What’s Happening” are also strong, But the tracks where the band wants to expand (“Mr. Spaceman,” “Hey Joe,” Captain Soul”) are a tick less effective, though certainly decent and more than listenable. "Eight Miles High” is also fun to hear and reveals new layers upon careful listening.
Groundbreaking it may have been at the time, but it reads a bit schmaltzy now, when the strings and horns get heavy-handed (as on the otherwiste great "You Don't Know Me." But RC's delivery and phrasing – the sheer soulfulness of them – are excellent throughough and transcend the shortcomings (including iffy backing vocals on a few cuts). The formula works best with "Careless Love" and "Born to Lose" and "Someday," with their understated instrumentation and controlled tempos. "You Are My Sunshine" swings soulfully and has integrated, rather than ornamental, backing vocals) (noting that it might be a bonus cut). And as with other RC records, the singer seems a full notch better than some of the songs ("Hey Good Lookin'"); sure, these were hits and so, one supposes, what the peolpe wanted, but serving those fickle tastes isn't exactly a surefire path to the artistic pantheon. Bonus points in that one realizes now where one's father got one of the standard songs ("I Love You So Much") that he used to sing to us at bedtime, in the bath, etc.
Smooth, suave and sophisticated pop from an unfairly forgotten band. One never loved this lot quite as much as a few friends did back in the day – perhaps they had more refined tastes at that point, but one's come to love this record over the intervening years. Still, it's been a minute since the last full listen and certainly this holds up exceedingly well and feels like a breath of fresh, synthy mid-80s air. Pro tip: don't sleep on China Crisis.
Really good, with a few first-class pop tunes ("America" and "Mrs. Robinson"), several lovely melodies (the lilting "Old Friends") and a few fresh, lesser-known bits. Only the spoken word bits or recordings feel like blemishes (though it's interesting to compare "Voices of Old People" to recent hip-hop records. "Punky's" and "At the Zoo" are fun.
Thoroughly inelegant and extremely raffish and rough-hewn overall – an informal jam, indeed – but ultimately this is effective. The blues are not too terribly cringey on the cultural appropriation front. There is some risk of boredom for a non-careful listener because fineness of soloing risks being lost to muddied sound and rudimentary-ish production. "Bell Bottom Blues" and "Why Does Love Have to Be So Sad?" are very good, tough the "Little Wing" version is non-transcendent (largely for raggedness). But the record mostly lives/dies by the title cut, with its all-time signature hook (plus Duane Allman) and an ending movmenet that sounds like a final lament for the '60s (and not just because of its use in Goodfellas), a coda, a requiem, a veritable threnody, even if it was just about his yearning for Mrs. George Harrison. "Thorn Tree" makes for a soft and pleasant landing after all the endless squealing and reaching and endless soloing. One has always found this just about the best thing Clapton ever did.
Of all the prog rock landmarks, this is among the best balanced between originality and listenability. Yes, there are indulgent bits and big shifts in tone/mood, but they seem easier to follow and more of a piece overall. Still, it’s pretty dull and feels dated, cutting a rather direct (and rapid) path between initial intrigue to ultimate tedium, which (again) seems quite proggy indeed. One's not sure how to feel about the music tutorial section – was Oldfield channeling Bernstein's Young Peoples Concert series or something. The grunting/scary monster vocal effects don't add a ton. Ultimately just okay, no matter how essential '70s artifact-y it remains.
Dreamy and decent, but also bordering on lethargy here and there. Following on the quietly and steadily engaging "Desire Lines," "Basement Scene" is downright woozy. "Helicopter," maybe the best cut, is fuzzily ethereal, with a melody not far removed from a lullaby. "Fountain Stars" also strong, if not mind-blowing, which applies to the record as a whole. 3.6 for a very soft 4.
One didn’t realize how much one liked this band so much.Some great pscyh-blues ‘60s power and vibes, plus real depth and feeling (especially on last few songs). "These Days" is very much a saved-best-for-last kinda closer.
The acoustic side shows NY at his best – vulnerable, sensitive and evocative, both lyrically and vocally. "Thrasher" and "Pocahontas: are terrific. The electric side is not quite as compelling, though "Powderfinger" and "Hey Hey" are quite strong. Indeed, "Hey Hey" works equally well in both contexts, which is surely down to the quality of the of the unforgettable hook.
A minor masterpiece, rich and substantive and no doubt high in fiber. Grooving mellowly, and here and there exquisitely (e.g., organ solo in middle of closing track, underlaid with subtle piano), this represents just about the best of the '60s legacy (of which albums released in 1970 very much count). Just expansive enough to be interesting but not so much so as to lose effectiveness through overindulgence or excessive indolence. "Freedom Rider" and "Empty Pages" are very strong, though the whole thing works as a well balanced, smoothly integrated and generally impressive whole. And is "Stranger to Himself" a template for ABB's "Midnight Rider," with its earwormy hook. TItle cut treads maybe a little perilously toward proggy caricature (beware too arty flutes!) but is pleasant enough that everyone should be fine as long as they refrain from taking it too, too seriously. And it's a decent in terms of updating English folk madrigals (or whatever) for Age-of-Aquarias context and vibes. One would rank this as far and away the best work Winwood ever did (the one where he best and most transcended what one hears as an awkward [and borderline annoyingly nasal] singing voice), a legacy nearly irredeemably besmirched by the later solo work (Arc of a Diver was good, but everything after lame and tame). In the Traffic canon, this seems better than the eponymous record (though "Shanghai Noodle Factory" might be the best cut they ever did). A case could be made that Low Spark of High-Heeled Boys seems perhaps unfairly overlooked.
Synthetic + generic = disposable. Here voice is good, even excellent at time, but the songs never get anywhere, for being drenched in effects that were no doubt sold as cutting edge and sound dated within a decade.
Certainly Walkerian in manifesting Scott's strengths and weaknesses, the latter being schmaltz and schlock (primarily manifested in instrumentation and arrangements). As for the strengths ... wait, did Scott Walker have any strengths? However, ironic this was meant to be, one senses it was lost on many who bought the record. For instance, the jokes on "If..." are too covered in cheesiness to land. Shame to waste such a good band name. But, on the plus side, kudos for truth in advertising and keeping this brief.
Silly and funny, like Beavis and Butthead, but in the most jejeune sort of way, no? The big, fat Zeppelin hooks are big, fat and mostly fun, and the cleverness is clever but it hasn't exactly held up, now has it? What teenage boy humor ever does? Plus points for the best name drops (Ali Baba and the 40 Thieves, Abe Vigoda) and for not taking themselves too seriously. Minus points off for being awfully derivative and for the broad-as-possible, utterly unsubtle Rubinesque production.
An almost perfect album. Cuts 2-5 are canonical – "Let Down" is an all-time great and one's personal fave (for emotional and perhaps sentimental [which the song quite rightly warns against] reasons), but the last three cuts are equally rich and intense. Yorke sings with abandon, desperation even. Moments of shimmering beauty intermixed with gritty and tough post-modernism, haunting delicacy right up against quite hard edges. The whole thing is substantive and interesting throughout, an absolute masterpiece. Is it better than The Bends? Difficult to say, but probably slightly.
Opening track makes clear that PG didn't exactly leave prog behind. One finds a bit more theatricality (e.g., “Excuse Me”) and forced diversity than one needs, though one admires the trying on of diverse musical styles (“Waiting for the Big One”). The more direct music-making (the sublime “Solsbury Hill,” “Modern Love” “Down the Dolce Vita” “Here Comes the Flood”) is both distinctive and effective, while still possessing ample flair and originality.
Fine and vibesy and credibly kitschy-retro, but space age nostalgia only goes so far (even if you're French). So this gets sorta dull in the end. The nice/interesting, groovy or relaxing bits (e.g., "Ce'matin la") are rather quickly canceled out by tedious ones (e.g., most of the vocals, "New Star in the Sky"). Its innovations were oversold at the time and the passing decades haven't much improved it.
So good. The floor is extraordinarily high in that every song is quality, but the ceiling is off the charts. "Eleanor Rigby" pointed toward Sgt. Peppers and is just in a different category than most pop songs. "Only Sleeping" and "She Said" and "Your Bird" are criminally overrated -- just lost in the quantity of quality here even as the provide a jangly template for generations of future bands to follow. As a John-preferer, one especially likes that his tracks are demosnstrably stronger than Paul's. This is a stronger mix of songs than on Rubber Soul and more ambitious – the great artistic advancement continued. "Yellow Submarine" is the great Ringo song that would become a standard feature of these records. One never liked "Got to Get You Into My Life" as a kid, but sounds good and substantive now and is a forward-looking closer besides.
Groovily strong and crisp, if also angularly languid and quite a bit offbeat – and thus highly distinctive. Sonny Rollins is a star, here and elsewhere of course. Don't sleep on Monk's Dream (which swings differently, perhaps not in such a full-on Monkian way) or the reocrds with Coltrane. "Pannonica" and title cut are inimitable in style and structure.
Stellar, even scintillating and 100% delightful. The playing is skilled and subtle, traditionally infused and quite well measured but often with a tongue in cheek. Fundamentally, this is good-time music that seemed to both jump genres and define a new one. Not a great many country, rock or country-rock acts have put out more spirited, better played or more fun-to-hear records than this one. The pleasure and joy of it in inverse proportion, apparently, to the messy situation of the band's operations, relationships and business dealings.
Epic, sure, and an obvious uptick in quality from the first record, but also simplistic, and a bit tedious and patience-testing. One gets the appeal, without much feeling it oneself. "Paranoid" is a great cut and "Iron Man" has that most memorable hook, and "Planet Caravan" is interesting. However, a fair-minded non-metal/hard rock (or whatever) fan will be given to think that one Sabbath record seems right and may prompt considered listening. Two might suggest one has seriously underestimated the band's quality and impact and thus prompt even closer listening and inceased enthusiasm for the debate about Sabbath's merit. Three leads to the obvious conclusion that one of the book's editors is a seriously misguided and incurable fan boy who badly needs broader musical horizons and more richly informed perspectives and perhaps also to get out more often. This is the best of the lot, but that's not saying much. Rounding down for all the grevious sins against decency and culture that were to come.
A very strong debut, mature and assured, even if the band thought it was rushed and editors think they were finding their way genre-wise and being led astray by evil record co execs. The whole thing rocks, a touch raggedly, somewhat aggressively, and the diversity of styles is a strength. They brought a liveliness to the blues where their peers just copied them. A number of first-rate cuts – "KIds Are All Right," "Anywhere, etc.," "Legal Matter," and the title cut, of course. The James Brown and Bo Diddley impersonation are much less effective, though one hears how Daltrey coulda been a valid crooner. And what a basher Keith Moon was – this is truly a drummer's record. One finds "hardest mod pop" to be a quite apt description – it fits, though clearly they were exploring the spaces between genres (liminally, we'd say now).
Just too much – both the strength and weakness of this. The first three minutes of opener are lovely, but then it turns into a heavy metal song / noise rock exploration, which also seems to have opened the door to and encouraged all manner of excess from bands in years to follow (looking at Rush, mainly). Much more out there and experimental than earlier records. “Book of Saturday” and “Exiles” are best songs – the slow-burn rock + chamber-music is their winning equation. “Easy Money” is a jam-band template (with interesting flourishes of instrumentation) and one will like (or not) the track depending on one’s feelings about that particular (now largely played out, in my view, but still better than heavy metal) genre. There is a great overemphasis on the confounding of expectations. To wit, one can scarcely figure the point of the screeching ending just when the groove gets fully going (I guess this would jam bands’ jumping-off point). Title cut Part II is much the preferred option. Really interesting overall, but not exactly a smooth ride. One wonders why editors think cover art is so revolutionary.
Chamber pop of a higher order, incredibly unique and borderline sui generis. It sounds like it should be hard to enjoy but there are just so many pleasing melodies, exquisite and elevating moments. One may not be sufficiently motivated to do deep enough to judge the literary quality / cohesion of the narrative arc or the accuracy / insightfulness of the historical anecdotes but it's quite affecting overall and often beautiful. And one wonders just how serious he is about the 50-state thing -- he's having us on, no? A strange mix, too, with classic indie pop hookiness (e.g., "Jacksonville") joined to contemporary classical motifs and riffs (e.g., closing cut, which seems an homage to John Adams and/or AJ Kernis). The downside complaint is that it's simply all too much and less mighta been more (one says this without having explored the double album's worth of outtakes). Still this is an artist whose canon is definitely worth exploring; because he'll challenge his audience, he seems likely to be underappreciated commercially, which might seem a fair trade to all involved.
Pure and raw and powerful. "Jersey Girl" is 100% classic. The rest balances gutbucket blues with some strings-laden sweetness that never gets too sugary or sickly, though it gets pretty close. Full marks for full-on originality and sticking to one's gun.
Cool and chill and groovy and highly intriguing. Stereolabesque would be the readiest comp. This isn artist who has a clear idea of what she wants to do and then goes on and does it, effectively, vibesily and in most interesting fashion. One can cite any individual standout cuts, but the whole thing works. Harkens back to Fairport and Pentagle and has vaguely proggy vibes at times, but JW's approach seems more controlled and direct. She's on part with Feist, one would say, and much more to one's tastes than St. Vincent of Weyes Blood. It seems that she's continued to produce interesting music and should be better known.
A masterpiece, perfectly blending his calssical/art song/lieder instincts with crisp, mature and sophisticated pop songs – sophisticated in both sense of conception and execution, in lyric material (literary, avant-garde) and structure. Tone is mostly melancholic with some winsome whimsy here and there. One's personal faves are "Hanky Panky Nohow" and "The Endless Plain" and "Antartica" and the stately-joyous title cut, but the others also offer rich and singular pleasures. This may be Cale at his most mainstream, but it's also chamber pop for people who like actual chamber music.
So bad it's ... bad.
A notch below their best, including the of the records on this list, as evidenced by mediocre sales and tepid critical reception. It's not quite as fresh as Mr. Tam Man or as balanced as 5th Dimension or as accomplished as Sweethearts or Notorious Bros. The sour chippiness on "Rock and Roll" star doesnt' really suit them. The studio trickery on "CTA" isnt that impressive or interesting and disrupts an otherwise decent groove. And the psychedelic experimentation doesn't land very forcefully. "Thoughts and Words" is okay+ but with some generic '60s sound effects (a tricked out zither? a backward sitar?). "Mind Gardens" sounds like a '60s cliche – outdated as much of the hippie garb, man! "My Back Pages" is solid, further proof that these guys were best striaght-up interpreters of Dylan, but it does feel slightly tired compared to their other more energetic efforts in the Zim catalog. "Girl with No Name" and "Why" (though one prefers the previous B-side version) are solid ending and go a way to redeem things. Rounding up because it's the Byrds.
What’s not to like? Ebullient, orgiastic hooks and melodies. Great cascading waves of lavishly fuzzy feedback. All of it sounding as if it’s being played down the hall or across some vast and vacant industrial space (or the Tate Modern, one supposes [albeit anachronistically]). No band did musical chiaroscuro better (metal darkness with pop lightness) or dynamic valences (heavy banks of sound with melody floating free) – it’s enough to make a listener both light-headed and depressed. “Just Like Honey” is an all-out keeper, and a soft opening for the raw, distorted, echoey, grind to come. There’s a light-headedness within all the heaviness and darkness, as well as a mix between more melodious cuts and dirging soundscapes. This record is a true original, with an extraordinarily apt title, too – Psychocandy indeed. Out there.
Gloriously crude and trashy – by design, obvs, and near-perfectly executed along those lines. But this is not at all one's thing, rap-rock being utter cultural detritus, a low point not just of pop music history but all of Western Civilization.
The musical Larry David, with the handful of moderately amusing insights served with way too large a side of smugness and self-satisfaction, from an artist who clearly thinks he's the smartest guy in the room and thinks he should be a much bigger star. These are samey, both in the smart alecky and sonic senses. The songs don't add up to much, but to sour jokes / tired-seeing plaints only he's amused by, none of which merit the brass and strings. And for such a supposedly accomplished lyricist, there's a lot here that's prosaic and flat, with mostly predictable rhymes; for instance, what does the song "Dayton, Ohio, 1903" actually tell us about either Dayton, Ohio or 1903? Mightn't it have been just as accurately entitled "Afternoon Tea with the Missus and Me"? (One understands this might be a reference to the Wright Bros or a local serial killers, but, again RN seems the only one in on the joke, which is perhaps how he likes it. [So better to spend time with the related GBV song.] Writers get no credit for writing in character if the characters are inscrutable.) Best things about the record are the "You Can Leave Your Hat On" (which has best line on whole record "Take off your dress / yes, yes, yes, yes") and the cover image. One is not surprised that his offerings sunk like a lead commercially, but finds it odd that his critical reputation seems to have been sustained. One thinks he is properly rated – the market got him right, for the most part. Even one album by this guy in this book/list seems one too many.
The genius of THs is that they are at once the stiffest/most nervous/whitest of funk bands and the smartest of disco bands, and how that orientation (plus the quality of the playing) led to so many cool moods and unique textures (e.g., the subline "The Good Thing" and "Stay Hungry"). One hears about half of new wave and the artier half of indie rock in their inventions, a big chunk of anythign that sounded cool and interesting in the '80s. This is groovy even it only now and then takes full flight. "Found a Job" is rich, layered and fun. As with the debut, the whole coheres to a stronger extent than any one cut stands out (and certainly not the tired-even-then, but not-out-and-out-terrible, yet-still-somewhat-unrepresentative "Take Me to the River"). Again, more and better was yet to come (and not just the excellent track, "The Big Country"), but More Songs is/was another substantive and intriguing appetizer.
Sweet and swinging. Original, though obviously a blend of things, and entertaining, especially for Indophiles and most particularly for Anglo-Indophiles. Four or five first-rate cuts and the all-time line "everybody needs a bosom for a pillow."
Pretty interesting and fun to listen to besides. One appreciates the creative urge to fuse and merge and layer, but a case can be that there's much too much going on here. After all dub and the Gypsy Kings aren't natural bedfellows. "Visions of You" sets a high bar from the outset and one's not prepared to say that remainder of the record lives up to it. "Erzulie" also cooly eclectic. Still, not bad, though, like much of '90s multi-culti vibe-y art, it hasn't aged all that gracefully, reflected in the fact that one does get rather bored before completing a full listen.
The kind of thing one would like if one liked this kind of thing. Certainly this would belong on some lists of 1,001 albums; but does not belong on this one. N/A would be the appropriate rating here. And who TF decided to classify this as jazz?
The straightforwardness of approach here, which may have seemed refreshing at the time, now seems dull and unimaginative. One feels the band is having fun and enjoying the direct approach – the singalongs are telling, and there's a easy-going yet anthemic quality that is generally likable – but one isn't exactly challenged or asked to do much more than bounce along and so the overall effect is bordering on the anodyne. The vocals – never a Neil stroingpoint (except when they were perfect) – are especially trying. Fine, but not great and there are plenty of other better candidates in the Neil canon. Like a garage band removed to a big spread in the country ... which is what it is. Songwriting ranges from pedestrian (see the car lyric on "Days That Used to Be") to slightly better than (see line about walking as escape on "Country Home"). "Mansion On the Hill" seems a rather poorly chosen metaphor for '60s nostalgia. Some kind of proud Boomer affirmation of Boomer rock and it sounds just about that tired and banal today. It's down the middle, resolutely so and quite clearly by design so no wonder it's jsut about replacement level for this list. And in the sense that it's a conscious effort to do something specific, it's actually more similar to Trans and the Shocking Pinks than it seems. One admires artists for exploring and/or returning home which seems to be the consensus of what this record is all about ... but sometimes the results are not exacly breakthrough or mind-blow which is very much the case here. "Natural Anthem" is by far the most interesting cut (if a bit pedantic), but comes as too little, too late to redeem the overall record to much more than average. If editors were looking for late Neil Renaissance records, they had many better options, starting with Harvest Moon, the most obvious, which perhaps they wanted to avoid, which led to a major self-double-crossing down to overthinking.
Delightful, like a ray of sunshine or a blast of fresh air. Varied and interesting, mellow and melancholic, with a likable sheen and polish atop the distinguished playing throughout. \"Club Esquina No 2\" was/is a highlight.
Feels plastic, contrived and hollow. (That would’ve suited as a PSB album title, no?) Plus, too much, though one can admire their commitment to same. The sweet bits are made too cloying, the ironic bits too obvious, and the vocals consistently annoying. They wanted to be the Smiths, right, but they weren’t that clever or aristic lyrically, lacked Morrissey’s vocal chops and lacked any musical talent beyond picking producers to soup up the latest studio synthetics. One senses many people connect to this emotionally, without feeling anything like engagement oneself or even much sympathy (again down to an excess of gloss and froth in the packaging). But then this is really is quite narrowl targeted, isn't it?
Awfully good, measured and polished, for all the sublimated angst, anger and cynicism. The first four cuts are as good as any rock history. Title cut is a masterpiece for all the usual reasons and "New Kid in Town" might be the all-time soft-rock tune. One doesn't have to think that "Wasted Time" and "The Last Resort" are epic codas/fond farewells/curtain-droppers on a lifestyle to think they're great songs – richly sad and resonant. One can't help but think that the Byrds deserved this level of success. And there might be an issue that maybe they didn't have the best fans. Punk had no chance against anything executed this masterfully, this thoughtfully layered; even if it was the last breath of a dying civilization, the weather in Southern California might be the best revenge.
Outside a few scattered moments, this fails to engage, and more often threatens to overwhelm. The gratuitous virtuosity is more downside (tedium, vanity, show-offiness) than upside (a sense of awe at the playing). One can vaguely sense the appeal to a certain class of '70s sorta cool-nerd (who would get cooler over time) but doesn't really translate across the decades and now that we have a clearer sense of what prog was all about. The cover art alone requires downgrading by a full point. 2.5 > 2
Unique and highly bouncy in a highly disposable, fast-fashion sort of way, even if this meant to be the last word in DIY grittiness. One digs the artiness and free-flowing spirit here better than say the pretentious St. Vincent or silly Lady Gaga. Still, not exactly one's cup of chai, musically, but hard not to admire the energy and orginality, and one is just sympathetic go get why kids would like, especially a song like "Jimmy" which woulda been a hit in any era. But "20 Dolllar" is not only not twice as good as "10 Dollar" from Arular (the better record, reallly), it may not be half as good. Still, as fully globalized pop, it's hard to see this as much more than ephemera or as fully worthy of a spot on this list.
Dumb and dull (especially the vocals) like so many other '90s ALT-rock bands – a genre and decade that have not aged well at all. So forgettable – waste of a spot on this list.
One tries one's best to open to this, but comes away mostly cold. It's lush and lavish and occasionally lovely, and there are some moments ("October Symphony" and "This Must Be the Place"), that put one in the mind of Paul Hardcastle at his best. Ultimately, however, the extra cheesy synths (see "So Hard"), the vocals sounding like too much Liberace and the sheer overdone schlockery/schmaltzery (some would say "camp" one realizes) of it all are more than can one bear or credit.
Green is very good indeed, typical quality for REM. But this belongs to the second tier of their records (along with, say, Monster [this is better] and Life’s Rich Pageant [which is better than this]). It's a good bit below their best (Murmur, Document, Automatic, Reckoning). Even with several excellent songs (“You Are the Everything,” “World Leader Pretend,” “Orange Crush,” “Hairshirt”) overall it feels less varied, groundbreaking and magic than other outings. Thus, it could be easily replaced in this list by Reckoning, Out of Time or Hi-Fi. But even replacement-level R.E.M.is a worthwhile and substanitve listen and quite a high bar. One gets the title's symbolism/milestone for the first major-label release (which editors don't seem to, emphasizing the environmental concerns, which they're certainly not wrong about). One also remembers well the Rolling Stone cover that suggested they were the best rock band in the world and as a Georgia person who grew up with their music, quite enjoyed lording that endorsement over friends skeptical of REM or newer to the bandwagon.
What a fine balance is struck here as Neil rejects his prosperity. There would be no going gentle in the JT mode, trying to recreate "Heart of Gold," inch-perfect as that song is. Probably his vocally warbliest effort (who would sing/enunciate "Albuqueque" in just that way?) – and by design, too, one suspects, in an obvious seeking after authenticity (mostly drunken authenticity, it seems). It's lyrically ragged, too. But, somehow, and rather in spite of itself, the whole thing comes off somehow. Like Joni Mitchell, Mr. Young was not afraid to be utterly sloppy in presentation, often putting his emotional needs front and center in these records. Such an approach can register as lovely human vulnerability ("Speaking Out," "Borrowed Tune," "Tired Eyes") but can play as self-indugence or exhibitionism (and does, frequently, in the hands of lesser imitators). "Albuqueque" is seriously underrated in his canon. One thinks Bowie and NY make a most interesting comparison in terms of their career shifts and stylistic diversions. This is a strong and substantive effort that shows what an artist in transition can deliver, extending great early work and creating space for many further evolutions to come, and showing why he was such a justifiable influence on so many acts.
Townsend's "failure" did us all a favor. Hard to find much – or anything, really – wrong with any of these songs. Maybe the vocals on "My Wife" fall a good bit short of first rate? But don't the piercing, Quardrophenicy horns more than make up for it? There's just so much to like – from the unforgettable and truly iconic opening keyboard riff to the bitter triumphalism of the closer. Few other records have one or two of the top all-time rock anthems; this one has 3, plus several other first-rate cuts ("Going Mobile," "Getting in Tune") alongside a very strong supporting cast ("Bargain," "Love Ain't for Keeping"). Big and symphonic, layered and hooky, this may be the ultimate arena rock record, unapologetically so, because Townsend's compositional chops saved the Who from the bloat and bombast that were fatal to so many other bands of this era (just track the endings of the two monster cuts – they end intelligently, appropriately and satisfyingly. The playing is great, too – Moon just rampages on several cuts; Townsend's playing is well-measured and then lets loose, now slashingly, not flourishingly, at exactly the right time; Daltrey is in fine form, and contirbutes one of the all-time great rock and roll screams on "WGFA." One's pleased to report that one of the first albums one ever owned has held up so well 50+ years on. And now that they have (thankfully) ended the long series or farewell tours, it seems possible again to think the Who are actually underrated.
Great and groovy, fun and chill more than angry or pedantic. Could listen all – or most of the – day. "Cisco Kid" is tops but the record works as a whole and individual songs, too.
Likably loose and tossed-off-seeming, but with a distinct sameyness; several songs sound like outtakes or variations on “Bang a Gong.” This is music for super chill cool kids or slackers (a generation before that term came into vogue). “Life’s a Gas” is best cut. Lyrics (particularly the women-to-autos similes) won’t make anyone forget Lennon and McCartney (though it must be said that the women-to-celestial-bodies metaphors are notably more effective). Cool use of strings, horns, the wah-wah pedal and guitars run backward. Still, for all the cool, it does read a little tired, a touch dull. However it does succeed in at least one sense: it makes one want to get the bong out.
Wild, weird and pretty rootsy, one digs this quite a bit (and not just for the backstory) but wonders if this is best KoL for this list, though all of them seem to have been exed by editors (putting KOL in the excellent company or Radiohead, The National, War on Drugs). Speaking of those bands, that's the comparison set for this group, not ABB and Lynyrd Skynyrd. Vocals are truly distinct and the bass playing first rate. The wave of melancholy that washes over so many songs is right up one's alley. It's strong throughout but maybe lacks a hit that would make it stand out against some of the later records. And better than the Strokes for not being pre-packaged.
A mega dose of '80s vibes (via old-school synths) from an artist who's aiming for high-art timelessness and here and there achieves it, with much strangeness besides. It doesn't fully come off, mainly for feeling disjointed and excessively theatrical. "Silver Bullet" and "All the Love" are the best songs. While there is much that is interesting and some dramatic and moving bits, it's missing tunefulness and flow. It's a classic "admire more than enjoy" sort of record.
Feels more pedestrianly plodding, than darkly brooding today. "Mother Russia" gets us off to a (not unpleasantly) droning start – oh, those drum machines, that Cure-lite guitar figure, and oh those backing vocals and soulful sax – all appropriately (by which one means vaguely) (sac)religious-y. So far, so Goth (though perhaps this is actually pre-Goth). "Flood I" feels about as forced and synthetic as a pop/rock song cut can feel, even grading on the Goth curve; plus, it may have been on the Terminator soundtrack. "Lucretia" is not terrible, and sounds somewhat urgent, if canned. The piano playing on "1959" is borderline incompetent, though it's clearly meant to be as lovely and porcelain as the skin of this band's sun-fearing and overly femme fans. The chorus ("hey now/hey hey now") on the big hit, "This Corrosion," seems to undercut the whole seriousness of the Goth project, despite the ethereal opening of the choir at vespers. Otherwise it's a dance floor singlaong with a bad synth passage that was on the Beverly Hills Copy OST, one's quite sure, though maybe it was Beverly Hills Cop 2. It all plays much poppier today than one remembers and more or less makes one want to listen to Peter Murphy. And the humor the editors hear -- where is that, exactly? Unless the whole thing is a joke, which one had always sort of assumed, especially since the cover photo has always reminded one of Michael Jackson and maybe this cat lightened up later and started doing vocals for Crash Test Dummies. Rounding down because pretension has its price.
More sex was had to this record upon its release than any record since Roxy Music's Avalon. It's also great musically – smoothly and exquisitely played, beautifully sung – with a sustained mood of most sophisticated languor and stylish ennui. One fully dug then, continues to dig now (though rarely listens), and believes it to have held up very well indeed.
This is easily the best hip-hop album about gynecology one has ever heard. Fun and somewhat interesting, but ultimately silly and jejeune and pretty harmless (like so many skits from the Baroque era of hip-hop). Pains one to say it, but it's really De La Soul's fault – having game show-skitted out 3 Feet High and Rising, we get the likes of this. Again, not terrible, but skits very much get in the way. One likes some of the sepia-toned touches (e.g., strings on "Blue Flowers"). Flows are fine, samples/beats/beds are fine (likably minimalist) but anyone who can't commit to (or even get) the concept, this reaches dullness and irrelevance pretty quickly. Same problem with Wu Tang's Kung Fu-inflected efforts. "Destructive" and "WIld and Crazy" are among the quality cuts.
One remembers these cats as drug-addled knuckleheads, however awesome-timely-appropos their tunes were for a narrow set of circumstances (dark and late, clubs and drugs). But this record holds up well and substantively enough to cause one to rethink that real-time thesis. There's more proper rock (some roaring and snaggletoothed guitars; some most infectious drumming [or drum programming]) to this than one recals, with the club music tropes, effects and sub-structures adding compelling flourishes and intensifying glorious hooks. See how "God's Cup" ends with ripping/shearing guitars, staccato, stringy synth pulses, and controlled but driving drums – what a poweful mix to serve both club and arena (or headphones). "Kinky Afro" is a great opener, from the vaguely ominous acoustic strumming that starts thing to the "yipee-yippee-ya-ya-yay" call at end. "Bob's Yer Uncle" is not just a masterpiece of sexy sleaze, but offers a touch of haunt to make it most memorable. "Step On" is just as excellent, but in an orgiastic, ebullient mode ("twistin' my melon, man!") – these were happy drugs taking effect. "God's Cop" and "Loose Fit" are also highly effective. Just great and so fun to be reminded of just how much so.
Better than Blur for being quieter, moodier, less reaching after cleverness, and considerably less impressed with itself. And for DA's obvious decision to make a Radiohead record. Musically it's interesting, vocally pretty flat, and not especially dynamic, with a vaguely ominous feel throughout (hello Danger Mouse). Feels decidedly non-AfroBeat-y given the drummer. Glad to have heard. Not especially likely to hear again though wouldn't rule it out completely.
Whichever editor thinks this is punk and as good as the Byrds or the Beach Boys is joking, right?
Rich, traditionally-inflected folk-rock that is at once absorbing and authentic. It engages from the first note and retains interest throughout. Too bad they couldn't last. Sandy Denny – what a voice!
One confesses to not liking this quite as much as one feels one should, not least because one saw their final show (Dec '85, Charlotte, opening for REM in quite modest venue – old municipal gym, if memory serves). One loves the gritty riffing and hot, speed-dating aspect of the songs. The singing, often more like talking, leaves a bit to be desired. It's likeably gritty and clever and the politics are a-okay, but not all the jokes land anymore and 45 cuts is obviously too many. The covers are fun but the VH one is barely recognizable.
Such excellence and so unknown – hard to fathom how this isn't better known. The terrific "Don't Trust the Stars" coulda/shoulda/woulda been a hit. It sounds fully modern – like it coulda been released last week, given the feels and vibes so many current bands seem to be seeking. Catchy, stylish and distinguished proto-Britpop or 2nd wave New Wave, with real depth and breadth. The communication between the keys and guitars are a strength on several songs. There's so much to like and nary a dog on the whole disc. They do seem more rooted in the world of New Order and Tears for Fears (say), and '90s alt and the more obvious/broader strains of Britpop left them behind. In a more just world they would be bigger than Blur, almost as big as Oasis (but really couldn't be because of the obvious/broad point) but certainly one prefers the Auteurs to either.
Excellent all the way through but one of the best bands of the last decade. "Under the Pressure" absolutely slays live and there are four or five other excellent cuts here. One rates A Deeper Understanding a slightly better record overall, but this is a strong and thoughtful and engaging listen. No reason for it to have been exed.
What a debut, pure power and ferocity. Weird to say, but the drumming sort of makes the record and one realizes Hendrix is a distinct and pretty underrated vocalist. All the hits are fine, if a bit overexposed at this late date, but the secondary songs (e.g., "Remember," "Third Stone from the Sun") move this into the top class and the coolness factor puts Clapton to shame. The ancillary/additional cuts on the reissues, which include several gems (e.g., "Highway Chile"), make it all the more impressive.
One of the best records of the ‘90s came just at the dawning of the decade. This is a too-brief but letter-perfect collection of songs. I remember the advance buzz and the record delivered the goods (and then some).That’s a pretty rare feat — one thinks of the Stone Roses as one of the era’s few other examples. The reprising closer is a mark of a confident (and perhaps a bit prideful) band, a rich stew, artfully pulling together all of the best elements of the record just heard. One gets skiffle-y notes of early Beatles and Stones and Kinks.
Vintage new wave, with gothy undertones (and overtones) adding both dark shadings and a likable spikiness. “Arabian Knights” is a song for stylish, fashionable people whose good taste extends somewhat into the musical sphere (but might overindex on fashion generally, or drugs [both of which are fine, of course]). "Halloween" and Monitor are also good. Does get a little droney toward the back. Is Karen O the closest contemporary analog to Siouxsie? One is inclined to think so.
Near perfect, it would seem, with reggae paradox – sociopolitical awareness and rage combined with just about pleasingest and easiest-to-hear beats ever recorded – in full effect. E.g., "Slavery Days" is compelling and enjoyable, even if considerably haunting. The flute on "Live Good" is most effective. And "River Jordan" is strong. Every reggae record on this list makes one wonder why one ever listens to anything else and if next listening project needs to be best 1000+ reggae discs ever. And of course one will need a quite good history of reggae, too.
An endlessly and wildly inventive and (authentically) eccentric band. Clearly, under-rappreciated, too. These songs are consistently interesting and ambitiously arty. “Rings Around the World” is a delight, one of the decade’s hidden gems. “Shoot Doris Day” is excellent. “Juxtapozed with U” is an impressive melange – autotune in the verses, an Elvis Costello-soundalike in the chorus, with a disco beat and a Love Unlimited Orchestra to round out the anthem of personal toleration and world peace – just fucking great! “Presidential Suite” is an ideal follow-on. “Run Christian Run” is equally lazy and lovely. The only downside in reconnecting with this group is being reminded that one never got to see them live. There is something in the sprawl and kitchen-sink creativity that suggests this was one possible future for arena rock, which of course arena rock squandered, but this holds up so much stronger than much else of this ilk and vintage.
Tuneful and well-crafted – right up one's alley, though one finds it's somewhat hard to believe never knew this band in real time. The strings add depth and attractive flourishes (if pushing toward too-much at times). The restrained little '70s trumpet on the opening of "Re-Instated" is delightful, as is the nifty skittering synth effect (plus the understated strings). One's sorry to hear what hard drug addicts were the Shacksters, but at least they retained a high degree of soul and feeling – they weren't zombies, in other words. One is astonished to come across a band from one's sweet-spot genre and era that one has never heard of. One digs fully, picking up the notes of Elbow and Crowded House.
Leaving aside the question of cultural appropriation (at least they were honest in the album titling), this was a high-performing band, perhaps even overachieving. They seemed to have a plan and executed with very few missteps. "Message" and "Walking on the Moon" and "Bed's Too Big" are all excellent and the rest is solid-plus. In retrospect, it seems utterly unsurprising that they would seen be the best band in the world for a brief shining moment in time.
Expansive, out there and pretty engaging. The extensive soloing is the strength; even the limited vocals are borderline too much. This can be read as indulgent but one finds it mostly interesting. Weird and a touch ironic that this would be his commercial height. Good to know this one, which bears further listening.
Marginally more interesting than their other works, but one jsut doesn't get the appeal of the endlessly repeating and bludgeoning riffs. And one doesn't hear near the level of melody and certainly no "delicacy" at all. The singing is nearly as repetitive/samey as all the guitars. Every cut is entirely too long, too. (These lads really should've listened to more Ramones and taken some lessons on brevity.) One simply can't get into music that directly correlates to migraines.
Solid, but non-transcendent indie/alt-y rock blending math rock, chillwave and slowcore, and the odd shoegazing bit. Stereolab is the obvious comp, in terms of kids having fun with synthesizers and sequencers, but making the comp would flatter MS. It's all a touch too synth-y, as well as being occassionally over-reaching. What gets catchy doesn't stay catchy, which is why one is a bit surprised not to like it more. "Shortcomings," last track, is quite good, easily best song, with some New Order and DCFC overtones. Editors damn with faint praise, which feels about right.
Dull, doofy and oh so ponderous. Vintage '90s grunge seems to get worse with each passing year – who knew it had such a short half-life?
The best of the ex-Beatles' solo projects. Richly layered – Spectorian, yes, but never quite reaching the downsides of maximalism. Consistently high-minded and vaguely (though not insistently) transcedental one feels loved and perhaps just a touch spiritually uplifted when listening. Plus, it's deeply warm and humane in tone. There's a bit of fun, too, with the wild-ish "Wah Wah" and the ebullient "What is Life." This is music that mostly defies dayparting, suits most any setting and enhances most any mood. Fully digable, the sound of George enjoying life to the fullest. Given the list of guests, is calling it a solo work misnomer-y?