The first album on this user-generated list already surpasses almost anything that was classed World Music in the original 1001 list. Organic, deeply rooted sound that isn’t filtered through Western pop sensibilities. Superb start.

Even without speaking Portuguese, I could feel the weight of what Emicida was trying to say. With a little help from Google Translate, it became clear how important that message is. AmarElo is about identity, resilience, and hope, especially for Black Brazilians, but also the poor, lgbtq and more and it doesn’t shy away from hard truths. Musically, it didn’t do much for me. The beats and production are serviceable but uninspired. Just not really that good. Yet in this case, and how hiphop and reap actually should be, it really doesn’t matter. Hip-hop is a storytelling vehicle, and AmarElo delivers a story worth hearing. Sometimes the message is more vital than the music. This is one of those times.

The Lonesome Crowded West feels like something else entirely — a sprawling, messy, emotionally raw record that grips you somewhere deeper. And every time I return to it, I find more to admire. More to feel. It's long, intense, and often abrasive, but its urgency and honesty make it unforgettable. The sound is unpolished and tense, the guitars jittery and unpredictable, constantly shifting between jittery punk, shambling indie, and sprawling jams. Isaac Brock’s vocals aren’t traditionally beautiful. His voice is cracked and imperfect, not always in tune, but the perfect vehicle for these songs' themes: the loneliness of American sprawl, the death of authenticity, the slow decay of hope. Take “Teeth Like God’s Shoeshine.” It’s a violent opener, lashing out at the emptiness of consumerism and the flattening of individuality under strip malls and highway culture. It’s chaos, but it’s thrilling. But there’s more here than just fury. On “Bankrupt on Selling,” Brock turns inward, dropping the sarcasm and letting the heartbreak through. It’s a quiet, devastating song about selling out, giving up, and watching something beautiful slip away. The lyrics are gut-punches: “I come clean out of love with my lover / I still love her / Loved her more when she was sober and I was kinder.” Then there’s “Cowboy Dan,” maybe the album’s emotional and thematic centerpiece. It tells the story of a disillusioned anti-hero, lost in a world that’s left him behind. He drives into the desert, firing a rifle at the sky, demanding that God die with him. It’s absurd, tragic, and strangely beautiful. Brock uses this surreal imagery to express something very real: the rage and despair of someone crushed by a system that never cared. The band matches the intensity perfectly, building the track into a swirling, chaotic climax. Even in its quieter moments — like the heartbreaking “Trailer Trash” — the album never feels safe. There’s always tension, always the sense that things might fall apart at any second. And yet, they don’t. The band walks that tightrope brilliantly, keeping everything just barely together in a way that feels thrillingly alive. The Lonesome Crowded West is an album about disillusionment, alienation, the loneliness of suburban parking lots and late-night truck stops. It’s also about personal failures, moments of honesty that cut deeper than the loudest outburst. There’s anger, yes, but also vulnerability, tenderness, confusion. Few albums manage to be this thematically cohesive without feeling preachy, or this musically adventurous without falling into indulgence. Modest Mouse strikes that balance perfectly. This isn’t just a great indie rock record — it’s a masterpiece.

What an album. In retrospect, this might be the best rock record of 2017. At first, it feels like a confident blend of Springsteen’s open-hearted rock and The National’s poetic introspection. But as the album progresses, the Springsteen-esque energy gives way to slower, string-laden ballads, and that journey—from swaggering to reflective—is what helps justify its nearly 80-minute runtime. David Le’aupepe’s voice carries it all: deep, rich, emotional, and not afraid to belt it out when needed. He’s clearly been through a lot (seriously, look him up), and this album feels like a cathartic purge—ending with titles like “Our Time Is Short” and “Say Yes to Life,” it's got soul and affirmation in equal measure. Sure, Gang of Youths cranks the grandeur knobs, and occasionally goes overboard with strings or cinematic flourishes—but the melodies, hooks, and feel-good energy are so strong, it’s hard not to get swept up. And above all, it’s performed with passion and heart. No idea how this album passed me by for so long.

The kind of band where deep fandom hinges on live context, inside jokes, and patience for extended improvisation. The crowd’s enthusiastic clapping at the start of Stash is pure “you had to be there,” and if you weren’t, it’s more alienating than inviting. Like listening to a cult. And the fretwanking goes from “interesting detour” to “where are we even going with this?” real quick.

The first album on this user-generated list already surpasses almost anything that was classed World Music in the original 1001 list. Organic, deeply rooted sound that isn’t filtered through Western pop sensibilities. Superb start.

A highlight in the electronic Krautrock. It seems to have all the basic ingredients that would make electronic music big about 15 years later

It's a chaotic, horror-obsessed blast of psych-rock and garage energy, full of songs about zombies, vampires, the devil, and aliens. there's definitely some psychosis at work.

It's not bad, but John Martyn for me is always a story of never rising above mediocrity

Didn’t seem like my thing at first—too sweet, too much autotune—but a few tracks in the second half like “Unfold” pulled me back in. Not sure yet, but there’s something here. I'll give it another go and maybe it'll grow on me.

The kind of band where deep fandom hinges on live context, inside jokes, and patience for extended improvisation. The crowd’s enthusiastic clapping at the start of Stash is pure “you had to be there,” and if you weren’t, it’s more alienating than inviting. Like listening to a cult. And the fretwanking goes from “interesting detour” to “where are we even going with this?” real quick.

I was deep into Tori Amos 30 years ago, and Under the Pink was a key part of my musical experiences. If Little Earthquakes was raw emotion, Under the Pink is its more polished, possibly more powerful sibling—helped enormously by the stunning production. Back then, “Pretty Good Year” was the standout for me. Now, after a relisten, it’s “God” and “Past the Mission” that really hit. “God” especially—what a wild, unpredictable piece. No two notes land where you expect, yet it’s all held together by her voice and conviction. Slower tracks like “Icicle” and “Bells for Her” still shimmer too. This one holds up—smart, emotional, strange in all the right ways. A reminder of how far-reaching and fearless she was (and still sounds). 4,5*

I was going to write a whole thing down but thought better of it. Marillion will just never be for me.

Listened 4–5 times over 24 hours and… still conflicted. The musicianship? Undeniable. The first two tracks—What About Me? and Shofukan—landed hard with their tight grooves and rich, layered production (at times giving off Mars Volta vibes, which I dig). But as the album went on, the endless solos started to blur together. Technically dazzling, sure, but emotionally? I'm not sure it's talking to me. Maybe they're expressing something deeply felt—or maybe I'm just not wired to receive it. Still, I get why people love it. I just don’t know if I ever will quite love it myself.

I'll admit Fontaines D.C. never really made it onto my regular rotation, though I’ve always liked the singles. I've listened to all albums since Dogrel, but hadn't heard this one yet. So I went into Romance curious—would it bring that same post-punk punch? Yes and no. The spiky post-punk sound is mostly gone (only “Here’s the Thing” and “Death Kink” echo that older style), replaced by a broader sonic palette: Britpop, shoegaze, '90s alt-rock, indie, even hints of orchestral pop. And yet, it still sounds like Fontaines D.C., largely thanks to Grian Chatten’s unmistakable vocals. Honestly, I think this shift works in their favour—great bands grow beyond the genres they started in. There are real highlights here: “Starbuster,” “In the Modern World,” and the jangly, Smiths-like “Favourite” are standouts—each one distinct and memorable. But I don’t hear the masterpiece that some others seem to. Tracks like “Desire,” “Horseness Is the Whatness,” and “Motorcycle Boy” just don’t stick, and others like “Sundowner” or “Bug” are decent but not revelatory. Still, Romance feels stronger than their last two albums, and maybe even on par with Dogrel. It’s a confident reinvention that might explain why Fontaines D.C. have become the post-punk flag-bearers of their era.

What an album. In retrospect, this might be the best rock record of 2017. At first, it feels like a confident blend of Springsteen’s open-hearted rock and The National’s poetic introspection. But as the album progresses, the Springsteen-esque energy gives way to slower, string-laden ballads, and that journey—from swaggering to reflective—is what helps justify its nearly 80-minute runtime. David Le’aupepe’s voice carries it all: deep, rich, emotional, and not afraid to belt it out when needed. He’s clearly been through a lot (seriously, look him up), and this album feels like a cathartic purge—ending with titles like “Our Time Is Short” and “Say Yes to Life,” it's got soul and affirmation in equal measure. Sure, Gang of Youths cranks the grandeur knobs, and occasionally goes overboard with strings or cinematic flourishes—but the melodies, hooks, and feel-good energy are so strong, it’s hard not to get swept up. And above all, it’s performed with passion and heart. No idea how this album passed me by for so long.

FREAKS TO THE FRONT! An album I know inside-out and one that hits like a punk rock bolt from the blue. Comfort to Me is loud, raw, and totally unpretentious — a hurricane of fresh punk energy paired with direct, no-nonsense lyrics that don't care about literary polish. And that’s exactly the point. Beyond the sound, this one’s personal. After 262 days of lockdown in Melbourne, they were one of the local bands to hit the stage at the Play On Victoria gig in 2021 — and the crowd needed that chaos. Amyl & the Sniffers made sure we got it. The Sidney Myer Bowl crowd of 4000 got as rowdy as possible with masked faces and aching feet — and when the band kicked off, something shifted. It wasn’t just a show; it was a city exhaling. Every track here is tight, forceful, and urgent, and Amy Taylor is an absolute star — unfiltered, charismatic, and commanding. Comfort to Me doesn’t try to be clever; it tries to be real. And it nails it. It's just punk as fuck.

This is a confident, genre-hopping debut that shows Valerie June’s range and charm, but also struggles a bit with coherence. There’s no denying the talent here: the songwriting is strong, the voice is distinct (if not for everyone), and there’s a heartfelt musical curiosity in every track. Produced by Dan Auerbach (the Black Keys guy), the album has that retro, lo-fi 60s sound. But now, more than a decade on, it also dates the album a little. It’s the kind of nostalgic production that can slide into kitsch, and I found myself wondering on several occasions how these songs might’ve sounded with a more modern or timeless sound. Valerie June clearly has a deep love for blues, folk, soul, country, and gospel, and she pours it all into this album. The downside is that it sometimes feels more like a tour of her influences than a fully formed style of her own.

I’ve tried. Again. And I think it’s safe to say now: jam bands just aren’t for me. Whether it’s Phish, the Grateful Dead, or Pigeons Playing Ping Pong, I hear the same directionless improvisation, fret-wanking, and fan-driven mystique… but I don’t feel anything. I get why these bands have such a devoted following: by relentless touring, high-energy live shows, and a communal vibe, but none of that translates to my listening experience. As for The Great Outdoors Jam, it brings me absolutely nothing. No standout melodies, no emotional pull, not even the novelty of weirdness to hold on to. Just a long, flat blur of jamming. I endured it more than I listened to it.

Pleasant surprise, this one. A tightly produced pop-rock record that punches above its weight. It blends energetic high school rock with sugary ballads and the album is surprisingly varied and self-assured. Lyrically, I'm not that interested in it, because it’s not aiming at the life experience of a 40-something year old man. But my inner teenage girl? She had a good time. "Vampire" stood out as the clear single for good reason: it’s sharp, dramatic, and catchy as hell. And while not every song reaches that same level, there’s more than enough on here to keep it interesting Olivia wears her Alanis influence proudly, and honestly, every generation needs its own cathartic, angst-filled, high school rock heroine.

One of those cult-favorite, internet-loved oddities. It feels like a quirky student band, in the best and worst sense. colour-coded ties, barbershop harmonies, theatrical arrangements, and a kind of nerdy songwriting. Focusing on cleverness rather than emotion. It's fine for what it is.

This album feels like it was tailor-made for me. Gorgeous, emotionally honest lyrics about long-distance love? Been there, lived that, and married her, too. That bittersweet pull of closeness stretched by geography runs deep in these songs, and it’s written with that intimate melancholy that Death Cab does so well. Transatlanticism finds a beautiful balance: the louder moments are never too much, and the quieter ones, especially the stunning title track, cut to the bone. That song might just be the best thing they've ever recorded. And yet… it’s a strong 4 stars, not quite 5. Not because of anything wrong, exactly. The production, the sound, the style, I enjoy it all. Maybe it's just that ineffable something that keeps it just shy of greatness for me. But what’s here is more than enough to return to.

This is lo-fi storytelling at its most raw and charming. The whole album plays like a series of intimate confessions sung directly into a boombox, which, of course, it literally is. John Darnielle’s trademark Panasonic RX-FT500 gives the record its unique texture... and its limitations. You can actually hear the wheel grind of the tape recorder at the start of songs, and while that adds some character, it can also be a bit too lo-fi for my taste. Still, the songwriting shines through. The Mess Inside is easily the highlight of the album. Emotionally powerful, painfully honest, and beautifully simple.

I approached Misplaced Childhood with a mix of curiosity and hesitation. Reading the reviews here, Marillion’s reputation sits somewhere between art rock royalty nostalgia and over-the-top theatrical indulgence, and as someone who both loves and loathes different corners of the prog-rock universe, I wasn’t sure where this would land. First track? Rough start. The vocals come off very theatrical, almost in a forced Peter Gabriel impersonation kind of way. Combine that with thick layers of 80s synth gloss and it immediately felt like I’d landed in the soundtrack to a forgotten fantasy VHS tape. "Kayleigh" was next — a song I already knew from every best-of list under the sun. I still don’t rate it all that highly, but the bassline does some nice work. It wasn’t until Lavender that things briefly clicked. That track had more heart, a touch of sincerity, and even if Fish still seemed to be channeling Gabriel, it worked better. I’ll give them credit for the continuous flow of the album, songs blending into each other in classic concept record fashion. But aside from the occasional sonic curveball like Waterhole (which made me perk up), the rest felt like derivative mid-80s prog that’s too in love with its own gloss. The production is just too 80s for me — not in a nostalgic way, but in that over-sheened, emotion-flattening way that sucks the energy out of the songwriting. Ultimately, this didn’t offend me, but it also didn’t excite me. There are flashes of potential and moments where it reaches for something deeper, but it doesn’t have the emotional weight of Genesis or the bite of Floyd. Just a bit of a pleasant, overacted meander.

This is a fun one. Fast, loud, unapologetically punk from start to finish. It’s high-speed, high-energy Ramones/Misfits-style punk, delivered live and surprisingly well-recorded. The songs blur into each other in a way that works for a while — you’ll be nodding your head, maybe even grinning — but after an hour of relentless tempo and samey structure, fatigue sets in. Fittingly, the second song chants “tout le temps pareil,” which pretty much sums it up. My French is shaky, but I caught enough to get the vibe, and it seems fine. Honestly, this is a solid live punk record — nothing life-changing, but it scratches the itch and I would've 100% checked these guys out on a festival in the early 90's

Apparently this is one of the ultimate country classics and her breakthrough record — which is surprising, because it opens with painfully by-the-numbers pop-country. For a while I thought I’d be stuck in radio-friendly line-dance hell. But when Carpenter slows it down, something interesting happens. Rhythm of the Blues is a real standout, a ballad with genuine emotion and depth. Only A Dream is another one — melancholic, textured, and easily the best thing on here. Unfortunately, those moments are islands in a sea of safe, stock-standard country-pop that blends together. Not Too Much To Ask might be one of the worst offenders — cloying, saccharine, the kind of ballad that makes your teeth hurt. I’m glad I gave the whole thing a fair listen, but this one’s just not for me. Her ballads show real talent, but the rest? Skippable.

I’ve now listened to this four times, and like a few other reviews, I really wanted to like it more than I do. On paper, it’s got a lot going for it: a Civil War-inspired concept album wrapped in scrappy punk energy and Springsteenian ambition. There are moments that catch my ear, and I admire the scope and intent, but somehow it all washes over me without landing. It’s loud, it’s clever, it’s ambitious… but it doesn’t grab me emotionally or stick in my memory. In one ear, out the other. Maybe I’ll come back to it someday and it’ll click, but for now, it’s a respectful shrug.

Listened to this twice and… I genuinely have nothing to say. It’s 70+ minutes of dreamy, lo-fi indie pop that’s all vibe and no spine. It’s pleasant enough, and I know that's the vibe they're going for, but the whole thing feels like sonic wallpaper. I get the aesthetic, but I need something to hold on to. Even the better tracks ("Tailwhip", "Show Me How") barely ripple the surface.

Three tracks into Once and I already couldn't believe this is considered one of the flagbearers of symphonic metal, a genre pioneered so beautifully by bands like The Gathering. This feels like a caricature: all the bombast, none of the nuance. Nemo, the lead single, is basically hollow symphonic Top 40, bringing nothing special. Planet Hell was the first track I actually enjoyed, mostly thanks to the keyboard player: there's some real atmosphere and restraint there, which is completely absent elsewhere. And then... Ghost Love Score happens. What a song. It’s like the band finally decided to write with purpose. The buildup is powerful, the choir and orchestra are used tastefully, and even the rhythm section feels inspired. There's tension, there's variety, transitions. It’s almost like a different band entirely. Okay, the guitar solo in the middle is kind of dreadful, but I'll forgive it. In the end, Once feels like an entire album built around one song: Ghost Love Score, with Planet Hell as the only other real standout. The rest? Bloated and unmemorable. But those two songs just about save it.

The Lonesome Crowded West feels like something else entirely — a sprawling, messy, emotionally raw record that grips you somewhere deeper. And every time I return to it, I find more to admire. More to feel. It's long, intense, and often abrasive, but its urgency and honesty make it unforgettable. The sound is unpolished and tense, the guitars jittery and unpredictable, constantly shifting between jittery punk, shambling indie, and sprawling jams. Isaac Brock’s vocals aren’t traditionally beautiful. His voice is cracked and imperfect, not always in tune, but the perfect vehicle for these songs' themes: the loneliness of American sprawl, the death of authenticity, the slow decay of hope. Take “Teeth Like God’s Shoeshine.” It’s a violent opener, lashing out at the emptiness of consumerism and the flattening of individuality under strip malls and highway culture. It’s chaos, but it’s thrilling. But there’s more here than just fury. On “Bankrupt on Selling,” Brock turns inward, dropping the sarcasm and letting the heartbreak through. It’s a quiet, devastating song about selling out, giving up, and watching something beautiful slip away. The lyrics are gut-punches: “I come clean out of love with my lover / I still love her / Loved her more when she was sober and I was kinder.” Then there’s “Cowboy Dan,” maybe the album’s emotional and thematic centerpiece. It tells the story of a disillusioned anti-hero, lost in a world that’s left him behind. He drives into the desert, firing a rifle at the sky, demanding that God die with him. It’s absurd, tragic, and strangely beautiful. Brock uses this surreal imagery to express something very real: the rage and despair of someone crushed by a system that never cared. The band matches the intensity perfectly, building the track into a swirling, chaotic climax. Even in its quieter moments — like the heartbreaking “Trailer Trash” — the album never feels safe. There’s always tension, always the sense that things might fall apart at any second. And yet, they don’t. The band walks that tightrope brilliantly, keeping everything just barely together in a way that feels thrillingly alive. The Lonesome Crowded West is an album about disillusionment, alienation, the loneliness of suburban parking lots and late-night truck stops. It’s also about personal failures, moments of honesty that cut deeper than the loudest outburst. There’s anger, yes, but also vulnerability, tenderness, confusion. Few albums manage to be this thematically cohesive without feeling preachy, or this musically adventurous without falling into indulgence. Modest Mouse strikes that balance perfectly. This isn’t just a great indie rock record — it’s a masterpiece.

This album mostly just made me tired. Green’s flat delivery, underwhelming melodies, and lyrics that seem to aim for clever but land somewhere between smug and pointless didn’t do much for me. Apparently, this is part of the New York anti-folk scene, where irony, lo-fi kitsch, and deadpan absurdity are the whole point. But it just comes off as flimsy if you’re not in on the joke.

This is brash, fuzzy pop-rock with glammy guitars and punky attitude—but underneath all that sneer, it’s actually a lot of fun. Nick Christian Sayer’s rockabilly-tinged guitar work gives the songs some swagger, even if the songwriting isn’t always memorable. It sits somewhere between Sigue Sigue Sputnik and Fuzzbox, with a splash of synthpop gloss and a whole lot of 80s attitude. You won’t find hidden depth here, but for loud, energetic house-cleaning music? It more than earns its keep.

I grew up with a couple of Tool megafans in high school in the mid-90s, which gave me a bit of an aversion to them for a while. Something about the intensity of the fandom made it hard to approach the music on its own terms. But I got over that eventually, and I’m glad I did. Listening for myself, Lateralus quickly revealed itself as one of the most exciting, complete albums I know. It’s heavy without being numbingly aggressive, cerebral without being cold. The drumming alone is worth the price of admission. It's complex, unpredictable, yet never self-indulgent. Guitars and bass lock in perfectly, not just to show off, but to serve the structure and mood of each track. The whole album breathes, shifts, and surges with purpose. This is where everything Tool had been building toward came together: the raw power of Ænima, the refined intricacy of their later work, balanced perfectly. It’s loud, meditative, explosive, restrained and sometimes all at once. The lyrics dig deep into personal and philosophical territory without slipping into pretension. And it all just works. I could say so much more, but honestly, it’s all been said. Lateralus is a masterpiece of modern progressive metal, and one that never loses its emotional core. An essential listen, and one of the most glaring omissions from the original 1001 Albums list.

Fun once, but in one ear and out the other. Clever and cleanly produced, sure — but it never grabs me emotionally, musically, or even lyrically. Just a quirky little blip of a record. I might put it on while cleaning, but I’d never seek it out.

This is exactly the kind of album the original list was missing. Instead of just picking the most Westernised release from a major Latin American artist, the user-generated list actually brings something bold and representative to the table. Even if Re isn’t perfect — a bit uneven in places — it’s vibrant, creative, and rooted deeply in Mexican and broader Hispanic influences. It's not just a curiosity; it’s essential listening if you care about what the rest of the world has been doing outside the anglo bubble. I'm glad I heard it.

One of the modern classics from the early 2000s, and it still holds up. High-energy, danceable rock with sharp edges — you can feel the urgency in every track. It's part of that last wave where albums still mattered, and you can hear the influence of bands like Gang of Four all over it. “Banquet” especially could’ve walked straight off 1979's Entertainment! with those stabbing guitars. This might not be wildly original, but it’s tight, exciting, and very well executed. Really enjoyed it.

Cool start with the opening song with that bass swinging left to right, and “Sense Of It” held my attention later on, but the rest just didn’t live up to the promise. I like noisy, off-kilter rock, but this wandered into noodly territory without the payoff. Admirable idea, forgettable execution.

Look, I won't knock anyone for loving catchy bubblegum pop. This starts off decently enough — bright, uptempo, and a notch above some of the soggy pop that made the original list. But submitting this as a must-hear-before-you-die pick? Bold move. After the first few songs, the quality drops like a stone. “I Said Never Again” and “Some Girls” are fun, but most of it fades into a blur of copy-paste pop. “Dumb Dumb” offers a bit of flavor, but overall? Not dying to hear it again.

If I ever want to let someone hear how to NOT play a note and let silence between the notes do heavy emotional lifting, then this is the album I'd put on. It's music that warrants your attention.

Even without speaking Portuguese, I could feel the weight of what Emicida was trying to say. With a little help from Google Translate, it became clear how important that message is. AmarElo is about identity, resilience, and hope, especially for Black Brazilians, but also the poor, lgbtq and more and it doesn’t shy away from hard truths. Musically, it didn’t do much for me. The beats and production are serviceable but uninspired. Just not really that good. Yet in this case, and how hiphop and reap actually should be, it really doesn’t matter. Hip-hop is a storytelling vehicle, and AmarElo delivers a story worth hearing. Sometimes the message is more vital than the music. This is one of those times.

The fact that Look Sharp! didn’t make the original 1001 Albums list is baffling. No Joe Jackson at all? But six Elvis Costello albums? That’s just criminal. This album has been on repeat for me for the past two days. It’s deceptively smooth and accessible, but the more you listen, the more you hear how sharp the songwriting and arrangements really are. Graham Maby’s bass work is phenomenal—propulsive, melodic, and playful—and Joe Jackson’s lyrics are clever without being smug. There’s real charm here, and I often catch myself grinning while listening. What really sets this record apart is how versatile it feels. It's great when you're in a good mood thanks to its punchy energy, but you can just as easily sink into the lyrics when you need a bit of catharsis. ‘Sunday Papers,’ ‘Is She Really Going Out with Him?,’ ‘(Do the) Instant Mash’ and 'Got The Time' are clear standouts, but honestly, there isn’t a weak track here. It works as a cohesive whole and holds up to repeat listens without losing any of its freshness. I don’t hand out 5-star ratings lightly, but if this one doesn’t deserve it, I don’t know what does.

Storms outside, swirling guitars inside. Revisiting Bloody Kisses today, I wasn’t sure what I’d feel. This was an album I played to death in my youth — a goth metal classic soaked in atmosphere, sardonic humour, and Peter Steele’s baritone. I half expected it to feel cringe in hindsight. It doesn’t. In fact, it holds up better than I imagined. After the bruising Slow, Deep and Hard, Bloody Kisses was a drastic pivot. The hardcore roots aren’t gone, but they’re pushed to the back as romantic, doom-laden goth takes centre stage. Christian Woman and Black No. 1 kick things off with a theatrical flourish — slow, massive riffs given space to breathe by Josh Silver’s moody, melodic keyboards. The lyrics in both tracks are tongue-in-cheek, playing with tropes of religious guilt and goth vanity. The call-and-response vocals only add to the campy fun. And yet, Bloody Kisses (A Death in the Family) changes everything. Here the irony vanishes for 10 minutes, and you’re left with a stunningly slow, mournful, sincere doom piece. The drums drag like grief itself. The solos ache. The keys wrap the whole thing in a gothic cathedral's worth of atmosphere. It’s the emotional core of the album, and perhaps the best thing Type O ever recorded. That emotional punch only makes the return to playful weirdness more effective. The Seals & Crofts cover Summer Breeze shows again how much 60's influence there is on this album. We Hate Everyone and Kill All the White People are lightning rods of controversy, but also tongue-in-cheek middle fingers to the people who misunderstood (or deliberately misrepresented) Steele’s politics. If Untermensch from the previous album provoked outrage, this album gleefully toys with that fallout. Steele never backed down from confrontation — I still remember Carnivore handing out communist propaganda at gigs — and he used shock just as much as sincerity to make a point (and sell records). Even the strange interludes ("Fay Wray Come Out and Play", "Dark Side of the Womb") add to the sense of chaos. And yet through it all, the album flows, never outstaying its welcome despite the hour-plus runtime. Listening again today, what stands out is how Bloody Kisses walks the tightrope between camp and genuine feeling. It’s dramatic, erotic, heavy, completely ridiculous, sorrowful, romantic, and tons of fun — sometimes all in the same song. That contrast is what makes the album so compelling. Steele knew when to wink, and when to cut deep. For all its theatrics, Bloody Kisses is sincere where it counts. It’s a towering slab of goth metal that still stands tall. And damn, it’s good to have it back in rotation.

Without knowing the backstory, this just sounds like a scattered collection of unfinished electronic tracks, some promising ideas, but nothing that fully lands. But once you do know the history (that this was a leaked, unpolished work that derailed Jai Paul’s career for years) it’s easier to see the intrigue. There’s a raw talent buried in here, like glimpses of what could’ve been a groundbreaking debut. As it stands, it's more myth than masterpiece. Interesting, but not essential.

Wait... Kick wasn’t on the original 1001 list? That’s wild. INXS were absolutely everywhere at the time. This album shows them at their peak, blending Aussie pub rock with late-'80s new wave in a way that still holds up today. Most of the spotlight tends to fall on Hutchence, and sure, he’s a great frontman. But Andrew Farriss is the one who really holds this album together. As the main songwriter and multi-instrumentalist, he shapes the sound—from slick synthpop to rock guitar swagger—and gives the album its drive and style. Not every song hits quite as hard, but the overall quality is high. The best tracks are undeniable, the grooves are tight, and even the weaker moments are still fun. Solid 4 stars from me.

This one left me cold. First time listening to this band and I'd heard Biffy Clyro described it as complex, emotionally intense, and even a bit mathy. But Puzzle delivers none of that. Instead, it’s polished, straightforward arena rock with big choruses and surprisingly shallow lyrics. Most of the songs blur together without much bite or depth. Apparently, after reading some of the reviews here I’ll be needing to check out their earlier, rougher work. Which I will be doing. This one isn't for me.

At first, this felt like well-crafted but overly polished indie pop—but as the album unfolded, it revealed more depth than expected. Lush arrangements, bittersweet lyrics, and some surprising emotional resonance crept in track by track. It’s not flashy, but it lingers. Quietly ambitious and worth a few extra listens.

It’s hard to wrap your head around the fact that this music is nearly 100 years old. Recorded between 1925 and 1929 in Chicago, these tracks don’t just mark a pivotal moment in jazz history, it's the birth of modern popular music as we know it, from rock, pop, soul, and basically any genre that values personal expression and musical conversation.

A very 90s breakbeat album through and through. The two tracks with Navigator, Ruffneck and Warning, I already knew. But after a couple of full listens, the rest of the album doesn’t quite deliver. Even within the genre (which I have a soft spot for for some reason) it feels more like a decent time capsule than a standout release. Fun, but not essential.

There’s not much left to say about Boxer that hasn’t been said already. More than 15 years on, it remains a modern classic. Moody, beautiful, restrained yet emotionally loaded. The songwriting is sharp, the atmosphere perfectly measured, and Matt Berninger’s baritone carries a weary elegance that makes the smallest moments feel monumental.

After Lateralus, 10,000 Days feels like a more meditative, personal, and ultimately less focused album. But that doesn’t mean it’s not worth your time. It’s still Tool, and that means enormous sound, precision drumming, weird time signatures, and Maynard’s cryptic, layered vocals weaving between it all. The emotional core is clearly the title suite with Wings for Marie and 10,000 Days (Wings Pt. 2) being a tribute to Maynard’s mother, who spent 27 years (or 10000 days) in a coma. As a whole, though, the album can feel bloated. It doesn’t have the tight, aggressive focus of Ænima or the precision of Lateralus. Some tracks sprawl without clear direction (Rosetta Stoned), and there’s a sense of the band stretching things out just because they can. Still, the highs are really high. “Vicarious” is classic Tool. “The Pot” grooves hard. You just have to wade through a little more to get to the gold. 10,000 Days isn’t their best, but it’s a worthy chapter: emotional, strange, and occasionally brilliant.

This one hits a strange, nostalgic nerve. I grew up hearing Gotcha! in the background, one of those Dutch bands from the early '90s that never quite broke through, even at home. And it wasn’t because they lacked talent. While Belgium had Studio Brussels supporting alternative and underground acts, the Netherlands had 3FM, a station that mostly ignored the more interesting local scenes and focused instead on international chart material. As a result, bands like Gotcha! were pushed to the margins. Revisiting this self-titled album now, I’m struck by how tight it sounds. It’s not as loose or funky as their debut, but the production is more refined. The album blends funk, rock, and rap in a way that still feels fun and energetic, though a bit dated in places. It’s probably not the best record from that era, and arguably not even Gotcha!’s best, but there’s plenty of charm, confidence, and groove here.

First listen I thought it was terrible, second listen I was possibly in a better mental space for this, it seems an acquired taste. I'll revisit and will edit review and stars

There's no denying Discovery is a landmark electronic album. Released in 2001, it's packed with hooks, French house textures, vocoder-heavy vocals, and a nostalgic love letter to 70s/80s pop, funk, and disco. It's melodic, accessible, and loaded with style. “Digital Love” and “Something About Us” show just how emotionally rich electronica can get, and the production is as precise as ever. It's playful, textured, and clearly crafted with care. And yet... I’ve never really clicked with Daft Punk. I admire what they do more than I feel it. Discovery is widely viewed as their masterpiece. It's fun, polished, and iconic. But to me, it always felt just slightly overrated. I’ve seen them twice live and Alive 2007 was fantastic, so it's not a lack of appreciation for the performance or genre. It just doesn’t resonate emotionally like other electronic artists do for me. Still, I can acknowledge its status as a defining post-millennial party album as someone else on here said before me. Maybe it’s one of those records I respect more than I love.

I can’t believe I missed this one growing up. I was a grunge kid in the 90s, and this would’ve been right up my alley. It’s exactly the kind of guitar-driven, overdrive-soaked sound I have a weak spot for. Think Siamese Dream-era Smashing Pumpkins, but heavier on the atmosphere and less caught up in angst. Five listens in, I’m still discovering new layers. The guitars are massive, spacey, shoegaze-adjacent, and overdriven to the point of becoming textured soundscapes rather than just riffs. But it’s not all muscle. There’s a surprising amount of beauty and subtlety hiding in the noise. Tracks like “Why I Like the Robins” and “Stars” are my standouts, but honestly, the whole album holds up as a cohesive, moody ride. What really sticks with me is the emotional pull beneath the distortion. This one’s not just going into rotation, it’s making me want to dive into the rest of their discography.

Don’t Say No might not be a groundbreaking album, but it’s widely considered the high point of Billy Squier’s career. After listening, I can see why. I went in cold, having never really heard of Squier before. Judging by the comments here, this album was formative for a lot of people growing up in the U.S., but I’m not sure it ever made much of a splash in Europe. That said, I definitely recognised a few riffs. This thing has been sampled and borrowed from a lot more than I realised. Musically, it’s idiosyncratic stadium rock, if that makes sense: big and bombastic, but with some quirky bits too. You can really hear Queen producer Reinhold Mack’s fingerprints all over it, especially in the theatrical production. It feels a bit glam-rock strut with a bit of Zeppelin swagger. The album veers between solid rock craftsmanship and slightly sugary or cliché moments. But the variety keeps it interesting, and for fans of REO Speedwagon, Foreigner, or Heart, this album’s a must-listen.

There’s a lot to admire here: the clarity of production, the atmospheric layering, and Sampha’s undeniably strong voice. On paper, it’s easy to see why this album received rave reviews and why it deserves a spot on a list like this. But for me, it just doesn’t connect. The rhythms and arrangements are intricate, but I find myself drifting off. It builds an atmosphere, but not one I want to stay in for long. A technically accomplished and emotionally sincere album—I just didn’t enjoy it much.

There are really three different albums hiding in this one: some upbeat Irish-inspired folk that’s decent, a few sea shanties that lean a bit too hard into silliness, and several ballads that are overly sentimental and musically flat. Chemical Worker’s Song (Process Man) stands out a little more: solid rhythm, a working-class anthem edge, but even that feels more performative than truthful.

This is one of those albums for me where brilliance flickers in and out between deeply personal noise. In both cases, it can feel like you're eavesdropping on a private transmission not quite meant for you. That can be fascinating, or alienating, depending on your headspace.

This is just catchy power pop/rock with some emo influences and really early 2000s vibes. It’s catchy, melodic, and confident in its sound, but also safe. The album hooks you quickly, but loses its grip just as fast.

Strange album. Sometimes I put it on and think it’s boring or aimless, other times it clicks and feels smooth and atmospheric. It's firmly downtempo (not lounge), and while it doesn’t always hit for me, I’ve heard much worse in the genre. Tracks like “Suzuki,” “Orozco,” and “Honey” stand out, with some genuinely nice piano and string samples. Not essential, but when it works, it works.

The Best Cover Band Ever.

I went into this with an open mind. I was disappointed by Angelo de Augustine's first album Swim Inside the Moon, but suspected the lo-fi, bathroom-recording might’ve been part or if not most of the problem there. So Tomb is giving Angelo a second chance. And yes, the production is noticeably better. clean, crisp, with much more clarity. You could argue that's logical; it didn't take much. The opening track “Tomb” drew me in, and “All to the Wind” feels like a real step forward in both sound and structure. But ultimately, no matter how well-produced it is, this kind of whisper-folk just doesn’t land for me. I don’t enjoy the style, and I don’t connect with his voice. There’s nothing objectively wrong with the album, and I can hear why it would resonate with others. I won't be revisiting this and I don't think this one is an essential.

Strangely enough, a band that I've apparently left sitting on my to-listen pile for way too long. It’s eclectic in the best way. The music roughly straddles the line between noise rock and dream pop, with influences from Velvet Underground and Sonic Youth evident, but there are also hints of shoegaze and mellow sixties pop. The first few tracks carry a subtle weight, with darker undertones both musically and emotionally. But around “Shadows,” the album shifts: it loosens up a bit. Songs like “Damage” and “Autumn Sweater” immediately stood out, and then there were songs like “Green Arrow” with a mood like sitting on a wide Queenslander porch with friends and beers as the sun goes down. “The Lie and How We Told It” carries that same quiet resonance. “Little Honda” reimagined through a Velvet Underground lens is more fun than it has any right to be, and the feedback solo in “We’re an American Band” is gloriously chaotic. It’s a generous album, balancing fuzzy distortion with delicate stillness. And that balance might be the real genius of it. Apparently it captures both Yo La Tengo’s noisier early edge and the mellow, atmospheric direction they’d lean into later. This one's going into rotation. And I'm really keen to explore the rest of their catalogue.

The phonecall at the start sets the tone perfectly: this album is the soundtrack to cruising empty city streets after dark, bathed in neon and solitude. The title track kicks things off with purpose; moody, minimal, and cinematic. “I Want Your Love” and the Kate Bush cover “Running Up That Hill” take the intensity down a notch, and for me, they break the spell a bit. But from “Killing Spree” onward, it regains its footing. “Healer” is excellent, and “Tomorrow Is So Far Away” might be my favourite track on the album—icy, melancholic, and beautifully restrained. It all winds down with the slow 15-minute build of “Tick of the Clock,” which stretches time and lets the whole thing dissolve into atmosphere. It’s a fitting end. It's some nice dark electro with a moody, gothy atmosphere that reminds me a bit of Kirlian Camera and while it’s not flawless, Night Drive is definitely something I’ll come back to.

So, someone’s already deep-dived into 1001 Albums You Must Hear Before You Die - heard Pink Floyd's The Wall, heard several Queen albums, heard punk-rock, heard Franz Ferdinand, heard Muse - and then nominates The Black Parade as a missing entry on that list? I know this album means the world to a certain generation, but musically, The Black Parade just brings nothing new. This is Queen cosplay with Offspring power chords, Boston-style layering, a Franz Ferdinand strut, and some Muse-lite drama. Just a (black) parade of overused tricks and predictable songwriting. For all the volume and ambition, I didn’t hear much originality. I get the nostalgia, but on musical merit alone, I can’t say this belongs on the same shelf as the albums it imitates. It’s not offensive or unlistenable, it’s just not necessary. At least not outside its original moment.

Either I’m not the target demographic, or this album just isn’t that good. After Hours is sleek, shiny, and completely overproduced. All glossy surfaces and little weight underneath. I knew going in to expect autotune and melodrama, but even by the standards of modern pop-R&B, this feels superficial. Lyrically, it tries to hint at something darker, but rarely gets beyond vague clichés about loneliness and regret. Reviews seem desperate to mine depth out of thin air — one New York Times review even praised its “failed-state romantic dyspepsia.” I mean, come on. This isn’t terrible. It’s catchy in places, and it’s got just enough retro synth and moody atmosphere to fill a coffee shop without offending anyone. But that’s kind of the problem. It’s the Coldplay of 2020: safe, omnipresent, and polished to the point of emptiness. Not inventive. Not awful. Just… not for me.

This is glitchy chaos from 2012 and thus predating Arca’s collaborations with Kanye West (Yeezus), FKA twigs (LP1), and Björk (Vulnicura). This EP shows the early DNA of that fractured, futuristic, highly textured sound that would soon shape leftfield pop and hip-hop production. On first contact, this can feel abrasive and alienating. And I think that's actually her goal with this. I'm adoring the last two songs

Some of these tracks had already won me over as singles, so hearing them together on Deep Down Happy, their debut, just confirms that Sports Team are an exciting band. I like some of the work after this as well. They’ve got clever, funny lyrics full of observational references to everyday English life, delivered by a charismatic frontman with just the right amount of swagger. Musically, they’re not breaking new ground, this is rock that unapologetically harks back to the 2000s, but it feels fresh because it’s done with such energy, joy, and authenticity. It’s rock & roll that’s unpretentious and clearly made by people who love what they do.

Oof, talk about dated. Human Racing is absolutely steeped in early 80s synth-pop aesthetics, and not always in a good way. That said, credit where it’s due: Kershaw at least wrote his own material, unlike many of the chart-topping ‘products’ that followed later in the decade. Back in 1984, Nik Kershaw was everywhere; I even remember seeing him at Live Aid. But like many pop figures of that era, the fame was short-lived, and listening back now, it’s easy to see why. There’s not enough depth here to make the album timeless, and while some hooks are catchy, the production and songwriting feel very much of their time. It’s not the worst thing to come out of the 80s by any means, but it hasn’t aged well. And ultimately, it’s just not good enough to warrant rediscovery.

Theatrical? Absolutely. At times, it veers into full Broadway territory. But there’s also undeniably strong songwriting here, the kind that demands attention even when the style might not be your thing. “Is There Anybody Here?” channels Pink Floyd and Steven Wilson with eerie accuracy. “King of Swords (Reversed)” is almost a direct Talking Heads track: tight, danceable, strange in just the right way. And “Bitter Suite IV & V” could easily be mistaken for a Decemberists song, right down to the dramatic vocal phrasing and lyrical storytelling. At points, it’s hard to tell whether these moments are homage or borderline mimicry. But it’s all so recognisable that it becomes oddly fascinating. Like musical cosplay done with reverence and skill. This is not a casual listen. It's a sprawling, intricate rock opera filled with genre nods and theatrical bombast. But if you enjoy connecting the dots between influences, and don't mind a bit of drama, there’s a lot to appreciate here.

It's amazing how many different songs from different artists I was humming after this one. From Dire Straits to The Police. This is an album by teen idols who played to their crowd. With pretty juvenile lyrics and riffs taken from everywhere else.

This one's loud, heavy, and simple, which isn't inherently a bad thing, but sound-wise, it is closer to Mudvayne than Pantera. Unfortunately, the band isn't nearly as good as Mudvayne. Or as Pantera. There’s groove and aggression, sure, but the songs just don’t have anything in terms of originality or staying power. Lyrically? Blunt, sometimes dumb, and definitely lacking subtlety. The kind of album that tries to pump you up but leaves you with a shrug instead of a fist in the air. And the cover art is terrible as well. Acceptable if you need something loud and don’t care too much about nuance. But honestly, Mudvayne, Nothingface and Pantera did this kind of thing better and with more purpose. I was going to give this 2 stars, but as a user-submitted album for a list of must-hear records, this doesn’t just miss the mark—it actively weakens the argument for including more metal on the list. A missed opportunity and a wasted slot.

This hit me like a train. I didn’t know the band, and given the 2008 indie/folk/rock label, I braced for mediocrity. Instead, I got one of the most honest, beautiful, devastating albums I’ve heard in a long time. From the first listen, it stood out. Raw and direct but musically rich, full of conviction. And then, each repeat listen pulled me deeper. The heart of the album is Scott Hutchison's voice. Both literal and emotional. His lyrics are blunt, confessional, and occasionally profane, but never gratuitous. Lines like “It takes more than fucking someone you don’t know to keep warm” or “I think I’ll save suicide for another year” aren’t just provocative, they reach through the song and grab you by the throat. The run of Keep Yourself Warm, Extrasupervery, and Poke is jaw-droppingly good. This album will stay in my life for a long time. I’ve already introduced it to my wife, and she was just as floored as I was. It’s that kind of record: once you hear it, you want someone else to hear it too.

It feels more "western" than "country," if such a distinction even exists. Old No. 1 feels like saloon stories told with quiet grit and a well-worn acoustic. Guy Clark has a knack for simple, well-crafted songwriting that doesn’t ask for attention. It’s not a favourite, but it’s far more listenable than most of the country that made the original list. Respectable, even if it won’t be on repeat.

Enema of the State is pop-punk 101: catchy hooks, juvenile lyrics, fast tempos, and a sense of bratty fun. It’s emblematic of a specific moment in late-'90s/early-2000s music culture, but it's not particularly groundbreaking or deep. Two massive singles gave it rocket fuel, but musically, there were much better bands doing this kind of thing with more bite and substance. It's fine. Just not essential. 3* for cultural impact, not musical innovation.

Well, isn't this just the eye-opening listen, and a rare modern example of an album that truly feels like an album. Not just a collection of songs, but a carefully structured journey; cohesive, narrative, and full of intention. At first, it unfolds like an acoustic folk record: intimate, fragile, and quietly beautiful. But Susanne Sundfør doesn't stay in one lane. By the title track, a strange, dystopian undercurrent emerges - subtle electronica, ambient noise, radio crackle - and suddenly the ground starts to shift. From there, the album gracefully drifts between genres, pulling in jazz touches, ambient textures, and eerie sci-fi detours. The effect is unsettling and powerful, like something ancient being swallowed by the future. The album feels tender, yet haunted. And what's truly impressive is how it balances these sonic turns without ever losing emotional coherence. It’s thoughtful and well-crafted, a slow burn that rewards patience and close listening. In a post-album era, this feels like a rare and deliberate work of art. 4,5*

I get why this album was huge. It’s slick, radio-ready, and full of hooks that practically beg for a singalong. Or a line-dance. And there’s something to be said for how confidently it embraces pop sensibilities while still nodding to its country roots. But for me, that glossy, overproduced sound just doesn’t land. I know it was part of that intentionally wide appeal;, accessible in music, lyrics, message and production. It's more about charisma and craft than deep lyrical insight. Shania knew this and has always said her albums were supposed to be just fun. She never considered herself a strong songwriter. I can respect the impact and the craftsmanship, but it's not something I ever feel the need to hear again.

"If you’ve heard one Status Quo song, you’ve sort of heard them all." And Piledriver doesn’t do much to challenge that reputation. Even with a little bit of a bluesy Unspoken Words ballad and a Doors cover. This is heads-down, no-nonsense British boogie rock. To me, this is the soundtrack of rural beer barns back home in the East of the Netherlands. The farmer’s son turns the barn into a bar, the locals pile in on Friday night, down twenty beugeltjes of Grolsch, and nod along to Quo, AC/DC, and Motörhead. It’s not bad. It’s just very… there. Nothing here upsets. Nothing here surprises. You already know what this album sounds like before the first track ends.

This is one of the best soundtracks I’ve ever heard. A moody, atmospheric masterpiece that somehow avoids all the dated traps of early-'80s synth. Sure, there’s some of that horny sax and glossy synth you’d expect, but here it works. It evokes noir, tension, and longing, exactly what the film needs, and becomes something entirely its own. The original album (Disc 1) is stunning, with Tears in Rain and the End Titles standing out. Maybe skip One More Kiss, Dear. That 1930s crooner moment feels like someone wandered in from another record entirely. Disc 2 on the 3-CD version is a brilliant expansion of the Blade Runner universe: deeper cuts, ambient textures, and lost fragments that could’ve been used in the film or a cyberpunk dream. Disc 3? Not for me. The orchestral reworkings strip away the grit and replace it with polite sheen. I’ll pass. This isn’t just a soundtrack. It’s the moodboard for sci-fi ambience. I’m hearing echoes of this in every space sim I’ve ever played (Stellaris, Endless Space, Master of Orion etc.) they seem to all owe a debt. This is Vangelis at his absolute peak, leagues above Chariots of Fire and certainly above his other works. Essential listening, even if you’ve never seen the film. This one should've been included on the original list, and I can think of dozens that could've made space for this one.

I didn’t expect much, especially given that vocal style that's been haunting indie folk and rock for years now (constricted, airy, and a bit too polished). But damn, this one swept me away. From the first note to the last, it holds you in its grip. Yes, it’s not wildly original. Yes, every song builds toward some sort of cathartic climax. But who cares when it’s executed this well? The songwriting is tight, the production expansive, and the emotional heft undeniable. It might not crack my personal top ten, but it’s still world-class. I only wish it had a little more rawness, something their earlier albums did better. Still, I’ve played this six times in a row and counting over the last 24 hours. That says enough.

Joyful, vibrant, and bursting with life, WE ARE blends soul, R&B, gospel, and pop into a celebration of Black culture and resilience. It’s not perfect, but it’s impossible not to feel good while listening

This is my kind of mental

A gloriously bizarre sci-fi hip-hop concept album where the year 3030 doesn’t feel too far from our own. Del’s sharp, funny, and imaginative rhymes meet Dan the Automator’s inventive production: layering violins, trumpets, and cinematic sweeps over robot bleeps and beats, while Kid Koala’s turntablism adds wild bursts of personality. The interludes slow the pacing a bit as they do with many albums, but the creativity, worldbuilding, and sheer fun make this a must-hear for fans of hip-hop, sci-fi, or bands like Gorillaz.

It’s a bit of a shock this wasn’t on the original 1001 list… until you remember R.E.M. already had four albums represented. With Green, Murmur, Document and Automatic For The People I think Robert Dimery ,for once, made the right choice in picking 4 albums that show R.E.M.'s growth over the years and are arguablyy better albums than this one. While Losing My Religion is a song of such brilliance it almost drags the whole record up by itself, the rest isn’t quite in the same league. Belong and Near Wild Heaven are strong, but too many tracks lean toward filler. I realised that I rarely grab this album if I want to listen to some R.E.M. And now, having gone through it a few times over the last days, I'm almost afraid to say that for me, this album would barely crack my personal R.E.M. Top 10. Still, even an uneven R.E.M. record is better than most bands’ best.

At first I wasn’t sure if Silence Yourself was a great post-punk statement, just a homage, or even kitsch. It sounds like it could have been pulled straight from 1986, with Siouxsie & the Banshees as the obvious touchstone. A second, third, and consecutive listens revealed much more. The live-room production makes it feel like you’re standing right there in their rehearsal space, and that energy is infectious. You start hearing more PJ Harvey grit in there too. Most of all, I realised this band is far more than a post-punk rebrand. The intensity of the playing and the bite of the lyrics turn this into a genuine powerhouse. It’s easy to see why the album earned such acclaim and landed high on so many end-of-year lists. Great inclusion.

I played the debut a lot back in the day, it was gritty and uptempo with some excellent lyrics. Version 2.0 never hooked me in the same way. Listening now, I get why: the production is slicker, the edges smoothed out, and some moments (like the “daddy-daddy-daddy” chorus on You Look So Fine) make my toes curl a bit. That said, this is still perfectly listenable, and in places really strong. The increased electronic touches don’t bother me at all, in fact, they fit. Special is a classic, and The Trick Is to Keep Breathing stands as one of their best songs. A solid record, but for me, it doesn’t capture the raw spark of their debut.

I went in expecting a hip-hop record. What I got was a psychedelic funk odyssey. From the first moments it’s clear that Donald Glover is digging into Parliament, Funkadelic, Sly, Rick James, Prince - the whole 70s funk and soul canon - and then filtering it through a 2016 lens. Even the cover nods straight to Maggot Brain. At first, it feels like a lot. There’s swampy guitars that sound like Hendrix, woozy Parliament grooves, smooth Marvin Gaye-style soul, and flashes of neo-soul à la D’Angelo. But on headphones, it all clicks: like someone else said in the reviews here: this is a journey record. The production is dense and layered, sometimes overwhelming, but always feels deliberate. The paranoia, love, and vulnerability running through the lyrics tie it all together, making it far more cohesive than it first appears. It's eclectic but it works. It’s confident, clever, and full of little surprises. Redbone became the big hit, but the whole record rewards close listening.

Even after 3 listens I can say that I expected more of an album studded with star musicians

The Cure’s most exciting period ran from Three Imaginary Boys (1979) through Wish (1992) — thirteen incredibly productive years. After 4:13 Dream (2008), which I’d put among their weaker albums, the band went silent in the studio for sixteen years. In that time, they toured endlessly while Robert Smith kept promising a new album. Finally, in 2024, Songs of a Lost World arrived. The Cure have never shied away from long, slow-building intros, and they’re all over this record. At nearly fifty minutes across just eight tracks, it’s patient and heavy. But the moment Smith’s voice breaks through, you know instantly: The Cure still sound like The Cure. The tempos are slower, the raw bursts mostly gone, but what’s here is genuinely beautiful. The album is subdued, steeped in grief and reflection. Smith’s unmistakable voice sits against thick, weighty arrangements, creating an atmosphere that feels both oppressive and strangely luminous. Mortality, loss, and fading time run through the lyrics, and the music mirrors it — layers of melancholy that manage to be haunting and gorgeous at once. It might be their final album, and if it is, they’ve gone out on a high. Dark, reflective, and unhurried, Songs of a Lost World feels like a closing statement from one of the greatest bands of all time.

This album has a huge gap between perceived ambition and actual songwriting depth. There are touches that hint at experimentation, but the bones of the songs are pretty standard. And if you don’t buy into the bells, trumpets, tape loops, odd samples, and swelling orchestrations Loss is basically just early-2000s indie with some extra decoration.

Don't get me wrong, he's a nice guy, I like him just fine... But he is a mouth breather

This album has always split people, and I get why. For me it feels more like a sketchbook of creative outbursts than a fully developed whole. There are moments of beauty (33 “GOD” or 715 – CREEKS) but most of the tracks sound like half-finished experiments. I respect Vernon for taking risks with electronics and fractured production, but much of it leaves me cold. His falsetto fits the glitchy, anxious atmosphere he’s going for, but it’s not a voice I enjoy over a full album. In the end, 22, A Million is bold, but it feels undercooked. I know some critics call it a masterpiece, in the same breath as Radiohead’s Kid A. But just like that album, it doesn’t work for me.

It works well as background music, and I'll rate it, but I'll be honest and say that I possibly don't do the album justice enough with it. I'll give this another go listening and see where it'll take me. Might update rating later