Cover looks sharp and – more importantly – music sounds sharp. Tight, vintage new wave before JJ became relegated to poor man's Elvis Costello territory. "Is She Really Going Out with Him?" is a classic. "Sunday Papers" also strong, but every cut is polished, tight and – yes! – sharp. Definitely would be a good fit on official list.

Rumblingly, forebodingly dark – mostly  in a good and contemplative way – holds up well.

Just what one wants from dub – deep, steady chill, with just enough darkness to freak one out if one gets too stoned.

Not bad, and better than much of this ilk, because of some arty-ish resonances, but too bassy-bouncy in that alt-rock/nu-metal kinda way. Ultimately, meh, and one gets put off by the over-seriousness and intensity this lot is into.

Was a nice little record in the '90s – easily digestible and amiable indie rock – and remains so today. One always liked the title and the more Eliot refererences in pop music the better, but nothing really to get too excited about.

Cover looks sharp and – more importantly – music sounds sharp. Tight, vintage new wave before JJ became relegated to poor man's Elvis Costello territory. "Is She Really Going Out with Him?" is a classic. "Sunday Papers" also strong, but every cut is polished, tight and – yes! – sharp. Definitely would be a good fit on official list.

Some decent tunes here – "Spaceman" is interesting and "Lonely Sky" emotionally engaging and "Going Home" moderately sweet – but the weird and theatrical cuts (opener, "Stripper" and "The Tower") that are way oversung – like Meat Loaf-lite – overwhelm with a typically '70s sense of excess. Def does not belong in the real list.

One realizes VW is polarizing, and one gets why the haters hate, but one's a fan – full-on. This is smart, interesting, original (enhancing what's templatized or used as foundation), fun. This sparkles and shines and is hooky as hell. Definitely merits a spot on the official list.

All the usual jam band features and bugs – some intermittent moments (how could there not be, given how much they throw up against the wall?) and the sax playing (though there's not enough of It) are in the former category; the indifferent vocals, silly lyrics and quotations ("Pink Panther" theme, really? and a "Ghostbusters" cover is likewise a hard no) and cul-de-sacking of so many musical ideas would be in the latter. Also, dumbest name possible – were these cats named by the same people who overreach in naming minor league baseball teams and craft beers? Does not belong on the list proper. The rating of 3 is generous, in respect of the feelings of jam bandy friends.

Achieves a comical sort of grandeur, which maybe is the end game for symphonic metal. "Finland's most expensive band" has a nicely Spinal Tap feel to it, no? Definitely does not belong on the list proper.

ST being one's ex-wife's favorite artist isn't the only reason this record sucks, but it's hard to overlook. It's baffling to think someone with sufficiently expansive musical interest to complete this list would choose this bit of synthetic country-pop as a meaningful addition. There's not accounting for taste, obvs, and one doesn't wish to be snarky, but it's safe to say history won't look kindly on ST or Mutt Lange.

At first glance, this sounds like a straightup Queen cover band, which is offputting enough, but then the polish and quality comes through and one gets to liking it, rather in spite of the heavy production hand, but then one gets to not liking it again for its insistent maximalism. Excess and great craft aren't necessarily mutually exclusive, but they make the latter hard to achieve and sustain. Being kaleidoscopic is hard enough, and the goal of trying to appeal to all tastes works about as well as trying to be everything to everyone. This is simply too much – borderline showoffy – to be truly one's thing, alas. There's sweetness in the melodies – one woulda like more or "Russan Hill" and "He's My Best Friend" [near Queen ttile] and much less of the stupid alt-rockiness– and an overall richness. A case could be made that this probably belongs on list proper but only just. Rounding up because one supposes this has been underappreciated enough.

Spiky and thrashy, with a plethora of tough, hot licks – very much the kind of thing people who are into this sort of thing will be into. A slightly artier-modernized (with some temps and shifts pauses that were probably intended to calm the audience and make them stop moshing for a second and think [or perhaps not] ) take on the basic punk formula of shouty vocals + shearing guitars + bashing percussion, which in this case mostly equals tunelessness, pointlessly angry posturing and unconvincingly (if gravely) self-seriousness. Not one's thing – hello, melody, hello structure – though the record is better (more precise, cleaner sound – probably thanks to Albini) than one remembers their early '90s live sets (which one had to endure as a nightclub deejay at the old Masquerade haunted house in the ATL – maybe one once had a viable OSHA claim). One senses a clear plan – in other words, the chaos is surely contrived because this feels too willfully difficult, to specifically unpleasant and voluntarily abrasive. And it goes on too long, for sure. Age may have tempered the shock value a touch, but this definitely does not belong on the list proper.

On first reaction, this just can't touch the first few records – for emotional depth and authenticity, spare and ghostly impact, and originality. One's all for artistic evolution and experimentation but this more than once or twice feels a little too much like a lab project – and one can't abide much autotune, especially for those artists that need it. Multiple listens reveal a quiet and haunting power in all the fragmentation, and a most human reaching under the science-meets-art-song facade. Several other of his records merit inclusion on the list proper, but this one does not quite get there.