I Love. Bad Brains. Any hardcore kid worth his camo shorts (and I'd like to think I am) knows that what The Ramones were to punk, Bad Brains were to hardcore, a reignition (like their song, heh) of a genre that had grown bloated and moribund with mainstream exposure. Before they were getting banned in DC (also a song title, check it out) for their unrelenting, thrashy brand hardcore punk, Bad Brains were honing their musical craft as a band that played metal, funk and rhythm & blues. This is displayed in songs like House Of Suffering with its blistering drum flourishes and succinct guitar solo, something that was unheard of in punk, but that the Bad Brains harnessed with attitude and vitriol befitting the grittiest gutter punks. Individual virtuosity aside, what made the Bad Brains, and this work in particular, so iconic to this writer was their ability to be go from hard-driving, to groovy, to downright menacing all within a single album. This is a feat that would be commendable for any rock band, let alone one in a scene where bands are hardly known for musical range or diversity. Straight up classic. 5 stars, my guy.

If you are a millennial like me, you either 1.) know that Marvin Gaye's music is synonymous with sexy times, or 2.) know someone who was conceived to said music. This album, 'Here, My Dear', does little to break the stereotype. From start to finish, the album features gentle soul/funk to make love to. Not fuck. Not chains-and-whips and edible undies type sex. No. We're talking sweet, sweet slow missionary style boom chikka wow wows. The instrumentations, from the gentle snare-and-high-hat drums to the gentle percussive guitars, lays the groundwork for Mr Gaye's reproduction-encouraging vocal stylings. Punctuated by the occasional sax lines, the music tends to be a bit one-note (says the guy who would listen to a Ramones album end to end). Overall, this album was not one I enjoyed. Not to say that it is bad. Maybe one day, I will meet a nice lady at my retirement home on Mars, and we will make out to the timeless sexy sounds of Marvin Gaye. But for now, I will just leave the record here, my dear.

Before they were a ubiquitous band tee, The Cramps were a punkabilly band, combining the manic energy of punk with bluesy basslines and twangy rockabilly guitar. Top it off with the goth aesthetic of Misfits, and you have a recipe for a thrashy, lo-fi punk hoedown. Songs The Lord Taught Us was close to an hour long, and even with the remastering, the production was just passable enough for one to make out the walking blues bass lines and jangly guitar solos on tracks like Rock On The Moon. The band also covered Fever, a typically jazz (?) number that sounded more Bauhaus and less Billie Holiday. The Cramps succeeded in carving a little niche for themselves as a goth psychobilly group, paving the way for future acts like the Nekromantiks, Tiger Army and the Horrorpops. While that in itself is a noteworthy feat, what impresses this writer is the ability for a forebear of what is a pretty niche subgenre to have such dynamic range within a single record. Apart from the aforementioned Fever reinterpretation and straight up rockabilly anthem, songs like I Was A Teenage Werewolf sees the band exercise a bluesy swagger that ZZ Top would approve of. Overall, we really see the band push the boundaries of their rockabilly influences by ripping off boogie-woogie, blues and country, all while keeping true to the punk spirit of simplicity.

"Jazz Odyssey." That was the answer offered by Spinal Tap bassist when the band found themselves short of a guitar player. The result was a hilarious mix of well-intentioned attempts at virtuosity and well-pissed fans. This time though, a Spinal Tap fan was not giving a disapproving thumbs-down to a vision quest of jazz and psychedelia. Weather Report featured Jaco Pastorius, the man who was oft deemed the Hendrix of bass, and Heavy Weather is chock full of reasons why and how he earned that title. Melodic one moment, and tastefully dissonant the next, with a good amount of percussivity, Pastorius managed to display his range while still playing well with others. Tracks like Harlequin gave free reign to the sax, piano and keyboards (?) all laying atop snaking basslines that were melodic in their own right. If the first listen was a monolithic odyssey, the second run on this record allowed for this writer to be introduced to each track as individual works, whether it was the frenetic, tambourine-driven Birdland or the contemplative Rumba on side-B, this record proves to be one that keeps on giving. There will be something new to take away from each listen, from each instrument. I can't wait to do this a third time.

Full disclosure: I'm a punk and indie kid. My exposure to jazz has been limited to the little bursts of jazz guitar lines and polyrhythmic changes in mathcore bands (Dillinger Escape Plan!), what little insipid piano-and-sax tinkles is played in hotel lobbies and, in recent years, BadBadNotGood and Jeff Goldblum (because Jeff Goldblum). So when I began my foray into this recommended work of Mr John Coltrane, whose name I've only read in passing in guitar magazines, I went in with a skeptical mind; one not completely familiar with jazz, but at the same time not without the pockets of exposure to be considered a clean slate. That being said, I am not wholly unimpressed by A Love Supreme. The musicianship is top notch. Exciting, dynamic, technical but emotive. Without any structure or riff to latch on to, I find myself flitting from instrument to instrument, taking in turns the melodically dissonant piano chords, the seemingly chaotic cymbals and syncopated tippy-taps of the snare and of course, the sax work of Mr Coltrane itself. Little wonder of course, that the sum of these far exceed its parts. I am writing this as I give this album my second listen, and while I don't think I will have this in my regular rotation (I am listening to this on YouTube via an incognito Google window, so as not to tamper with my algorithm), I do find that I am the better for having given this album a try. Minor aside : I really didn't like the vocal interjection of "A Love Supreme". It seemed so out of place in what would've otherwise been seamless instrumental interplay.

I've always had a complicated relationship with hip-hop. Like most middle-class suburban kids, my introduction to hip-hop was in the form of Eminem (I am currently sitting down as I am not the real Slim Shady), and soon after, Outkast. This was would later be followed by the proliferation of the clubby, flashy gangsta rap that put me off hip-hop for a long while. Without delving too much into my on-again-off-again thing (thang?) with the genre, I am just going to come right out and say that Stankonia was Outkast's best work. Unlike Speakerboxx/The Love Below, Stankonia saw the duo at their peak, greater than the sum of their parts. In retrospect, Speakerboxx/The Love Below was a foreshadowing of the pair's eventual break up, primarily due to creative differences. If anything, this double album would be prime evidence of their contrasting ways. Speakerboxx, the half by Big Boi (the guy on the left) started strong, but the vibrant, cacophonous funk, broken by excessive interludes, made this feel tiresome quickly. While it did still feature a fair amount of rap, with appearances by Killer Mike and Ceelo Green amongst others, I could not help but feel that Speakerboxx lacked the urgency and mania that made Outkast so damn catchy. The Love Below, the second hour(?!) by Andre "3000" Benjamin, did little to cut through the bloatedness of the first half. While there were some really cool tracks and unlikely features, and a conceptual narrative to boot, The Love Below felt less like an album and a little more like a soundtrack to a love affair that starts, blooms, flounders and dies. As a standalone work, one could wonder if The Love Below might actually be worth a listen (this writer says "yes"), but after the first hour that was Speakerboxx, ones' aural tummy cannot help but feel numb and force-fed.  Overall, I did enjoy Speakerboxxx/The Love Below, but not without having to drag myself through it at some points, and wondering aloud if the album would have worked better as an hour outing, sans the some of the interludes. I'm sorry Ms Jackson. I am for real.

Oh man, here we go. One of the sacred cows of pop music. I love Michael Jackson. He was my first concert, my first music video ("All I Wanna Say Is That They Don't Really Care About Us!"). Scandals and allegations aside, MJ was iconic, a cross genre visionary who could do RnB, funk and rock, all while sounding like himself. Bad, however, lives up to its name of being just that. While it has its strong tracks like Smooth Criminal, Man In The Mirror and the title track, the album lacks the sonic palette that one would be able to find in an album like Thriller. While Thriller flitted from tasty RnB basslines to a ripping guitar solo by Eddie Van Halen to a dance-y disco groove, Bad was the stylistic equivalent of a salad bar; sure you might find something you like, but it's really all the same thing, with little to no variance. While I want to write this review without making allusions to any specific time period, the album is chock full of the electric drum beats and synths that belie the 80s. Not that that is necessarily a bad thing, but one would be hard pressed to find bands that try to emulate that sound unironically. In conclusion, this writer posits that while Michael Jackson's place on this list is irrefutable, the album choice made for this list was, quite literally, bad.

This is my first impression of Arrested Development, and if Spotify is to be trusted, it would also be the most reliable one. After this 1992 release, the group would only release another record in the 00s, but the quality of that work is, at the time of writing, unknown to this writer. This same writer who, up until this assignment, only knew Arrested Development to be the title of the acclaimed comedy show starring Jason Bateman. In summary, the slate for this group was a fresh one. "Fresh" would probably have been the vernacular used to describe this album during its release in 1992; the rhymes and cadences are very much in the line of Run-DMC, which would make sense given that they were probably contemporaries. Equally comfortable with the old school boom bap beats and funky guitar and piano lines, Arrested Development were a fun listen. Rounded off with female gang vocals and sung lines, this would be a fun weekend vibe kind of record. That's not to say that it's all snow cones and good times. Songs like Fishin' 4 Religion, Mr Wendal and Give A Man A Fish engage social topics that are still relevant to this day, like the questionable credibility of organized religion and homelessness. One would go so far as to give credit to Arrested Development for their delivery without dilution of their elucidations on the above. Definitely would revisit when the mood strikes.

The Verve have always occupied an odd place in the pantheon of 90s Brit-pop/Brit-rock. While the lines were being drawn between the hard-driving, albeit at times simplistic, rawness of Oasis and the sonic adventures of Blur, the Verve seemed more than happy to tread the lines of the two; acoustic guitar anthems like The Drugs Don't Work sound like they could have been written by Noel Gallagher himself, while still being able to pull off 6 minute psychedelic-lite adventures like Catching The Butterfly. Although The Verve never did reach the heights attained by either Blur or Oasis, the band succeeded in emulating both bands without sounding like a complete rip-off of either. Much credit for this, in my opinion, goes to Nick McCabe. From slide guitar twangs to catchy, to sonorous horn-like feedback, the guitarist approaches the instrument as one who uses a hand ax like a boomerang; it might not be the conventional way to do it, but it gets the job done. He lends a sort of post rock credibility to the band, best exemplified in Neon Wilderness, with its atmospheric guitars, creeping bass lines and steady beat, evokes a mood that makes one think of Mogwai. This writer did not care much for the tracks that were more straightforward, favoring rather songs that veer a little off-center, like the aforementioned Neon Wilderness, and Weeping Wilderness, where the band explores with wah-pedaled guitar as a textural layer. Urban Hymns also sees the band tastefully use orchestral strings, in a way that adds tasteful layers that do not drown out the rest of the band. All in all, a record that warrants a revisit, at the very least to figure out the guitar work.

If you are a millennial like me, you either 1.) know that Marvin Gaye's music is synonymous with sexy times, or 2.) know someone who was conceived to said music. This album, 'Here, My Dear', does little to break the stereotype. From start to finish, the album features gentle soul/funk to make love to. Not fuck. Not chains-and-whips and edible undies type sex. No. We're talking sweet, sweet slow missionary style boom chikka wow wows. The instrumentations, from the gentle snare-and-high-hat drums to the gentle percussive guitars, lays the groundwork for Mr Gaye's reproduction-encouraging vocal stylings. Punctuated by the occasional sax lines, the music tends to be a bit one-note (says the guy who would listen to a Ramones album end to end). Overall, this album was not one I enjoyed. Not to say that it is bad. Maybe one day, I will meet a nice lady at my retirement home on Mars, and we will make out to the timeless sexy sounds of Marvin Gaye. But for now, I will just leave the record here, my dear.

This has actually been on my to-listen list for a while. Carrie Brownstein, guitarist and singer of Sleater-Kinney (and a hero of mine) cites this album as the gateway to her punk and alternative music fandom. Needless to say, my curiosity was piqued; if Portlandia girl states that something was influential to her, you best believe I'd be checking it out faster than you can say "Put a bird on it". Recommendation aside, it does feel ingratiating to know that you share the same tastes as your musical idols (I knew we'd totally be friends!). The songs are simple, upbeat, punchy and sung with attitude. Much like the Ramones...BUT! They are more dynamic than those Stalwarts of '77. 'English Rose' features soft guitar plucks and gentle ambient wave sounds, while a usually vitriolic singer has a rare moment of tenderness. Meanwhile, the more typical Jams songs feature jangly, distorted guitars that are equal parts The Who and The Sex Pistols. Considering that fact that the members share instrument duties, one can't help but be impressed with the level of proficiency on display; one that isn't self serving, but only aids in the art of songcraft. Tracks like In The Crowd are not afraid to feature guitar solos, but not in a way that compromises the straightforwardness that is synonymous with the punk credo. I definitely enjoyed this, enough to have this on semi-regular rotation. Thank you, Ms Brownstein<3

Before they were a ubiquitous band tee, The Cramps were a punkabilly band, combining the manic energy of punk with bluesy basslines and twangy rockabilly guitar. Top it off with the goth aesthetic of Misfits, and you have a recipe for a thrashy, lo-fi punk hoedown. Songs The Lord Taught Us was close to an hour long, and even with the remastering, the production was just passable enough for one to make out the walking blues bass lines and jangly guitar solos on tracks like Rock On The Moon. The band also covered Fever, a typically jazz (?) number that sounded more Bauhaus and less Billie Holiday. The Cramps succeeded in carving a little niche for themselves as a goth psychobilly group, paving the way for future acts like the Nekromantiks, Tiger Army and the Horrorpops. While that in itself is a noteworthy feat, what impresses this writer is the ability for a forebear of what is a pretty niche subgenre to have such dynamic range within a single record. Apart from the aforementioned Fever reinterpretation and straight up rockabilly anthem, songs like I Was A Teenage Werewolf sees the band exercise a bluesy swagger that ZZ Top would approve of. Overall, we really see the band push the boundaries of their rockabilly influences by ripping off boogie-woogie, blues and country, all while keeping true to the punk spirit of simplicity.

Sigh....Elvis. The King of Rock & Roll. Master entertainer and appropriator of culture. This isn't going to be fun, but I am going to do my best to be objective. This album is an offering of Mr Presley performing a velvety mix of blues, country and soul. The instrumentation is on point. From the string sections in Only The Strong Survive to the honky-tonk piano in It Keeps Right On A-Hurtin', the King may not have earned his crown, but he sure knew how to keep good company. For this writer, however, the musicianship was the only thing putting me through this album. I've never cared much for Elvis to begin with, and the range of styles explored here, extensive as they may be, did little to hold my attention. Give me Chuck Berry any day. I'd rather Johnny B. Goode, because Elvis be bad.

There are two types of musicians; the entertainer, who pleases the crowds and gives the people what they want, and the technician, the guy (or girl) who skews appeal for mastery and technique, adored in their own right by other musicians, but isolating the general public. Few have been able to sit comfortably at the intersection of both realms like Paul McCartney, and this album exemplifies this. A head pop rock journey that could be a concept album in a loose sense, Band On The Run sees Paul McCartney and Wings dole out tight, catchy pop songcraft with just enough musical turns to keep the more erudite fans interested. The opening track itself flits from horns to Bonham-esque drums to the anthem title tune. And that's just one song. Tracks like Let Me Roll It lets fly with dirty, bluesy riff, offset by tender Hammond Organs and reverb-y vocals. Strings features substantially too, on tracks like Nineteen Hundred and Eighty Five and No Words, with tasteful stabs to punctuate the piano of the former, and texture for the latter. Overall, this album was educational and a quintessential display of Paul McCartney, the songwriter's songwriter, the musician's musician, and all round good time.

If you told me a mere year ago that we would all be stuck at home because of a virus that was catalyzed by one man's eating habits, I'dve asked you what you were smoking, and if you still had any left. Yet, here we are, Year 2 PA (Pandemic Age), and crazier things have happened. Like the fact that I am about to review a country-rock album that I actually did not hate. To be fair, Creedence Clearwater Revival are a swamp rock band, mixing blues and rock with the finer points of country like honky-tonk. CCR might've been from California, but they Cosmo's Factory played like a soundtrack right out of the South; songs like Ooby-Dooby played right into the boogie-woogie textbook, and Travelin' Band is a classic blues study case. My favorite song though, was the opening track Ramble Tamble, a bluesy hard rock number that delved a little bit into drone-y psyche territory (it was the 70s after all) before finding its way back to kick you in the butt. Overall, this writer was pleasantly surprised with this album. A rough and rowdy rock outing full of swagger, roots and Southern Charm to make this a captivating listen from start to finish. Would revisit when the mood strikes, which will be soon.

I Love. Bad Brains. Any hardcore kid worth his camo shorts (and I'd like to think I am) knows that what The Ramones were to punk, Bad Brains were to hardcore, a reignition (like their song, heh) of a genre that had grown bloated and moribund with mainstream exposure. Before they were getting banned in DC (also a song title, check it out) for their unrelenting, thrashy brand hardcore punk, Bad Brains were honing their musical craft as a band that played metal, funk and rhythm & blues. This is displayed in songs like House Of Suffering with its blistering drum flourishes and succinct guitar solo, something that was unheard of in punk, but that the Bad Brains harnessed with attitude and vitriol befitting the grittiest gutter punks. Individual virtuosity aside, what made the Bad Brains, and this work in particular, so iconic to this writer was their ability to be go from hard-driving, to groovy, to downright menacing all within a single album. This is a feat that would be commendable for any rock band, let alone one in a scene where bands are hardly known for musical range or diversity. Straight up classic. 5 stars, my guy.

I have never heard of this band prior to this, as such, this album was my first impression of this band's tuneful, piano-tinged pop rock, with opening track Wall Street Shuffle sounding redolent of Cream's Layla. That being said, the keys, organs, vocal effects and groovy drums that go from danceable to quietly menacing, made for a captivating listen. While 10cc had all the sonic trappings of a rock band, the liberal uses of keyboards, sonic effects and varying vocal styles made it hard to pin them down to a specific sound or even era. (70s psych/art rock.....of course.) The track 'Hotel' features ahead-of-its-time sound effects, all at once hypnotic and bewildering, only to suddenly morph into some weird Rumba-lite track with bongos and maracas. Batshit crazy stuff, and I can't stop. To this uneducated writer, the 70s was about Jimi Hendrix and Bob Dylan, and one cannot help but wonder why a band like 10cc did not receive more hype and respect for Sheet Music.

My previous and only exposure to Neil Young was his 2016 album with Promise Of The Real, a fun, if generic, rock outing with Willie Nelson's sons. As such, I delved into Harvest hoping for something similar, and yet I found a folksy country album which was more John Denver than John Mayell. Not that there was anything wrong with it, mind. It was tuneful in places, sombre and emotive as country albums are to be. Each track saw a variation in musical arrangement, with the acoustic guitar twangs of Harvest being followed by the sombre pianos of A Man Needs A Maid. Other songs like There's a World sees the use of an orchestra to full effect, this could easily have passed of for an introduction to a musical about, well, a new world. Overall, this album was a fine display of Neil Young's musical sensibilities and songwriting range. Would I revisit his works, maybe, but probably not this one.

Fuck yes The Stooges!!! Before the Sex Pistols were out selling bondage gear, or Johnny Ramone was melting faces off with his wall-of-sound guitars, there was fronted by the incomparable Iggy Pop, who was the personified form of a bottle rocket. The Stooges played a style of fast, hard-hitting garage rock that we would now know as proto-punk; punk music before punk was a thing. Fun House only contained 7 songs, but each one was played with a rawness and urgency of a band whose studio was on fire. Tracks like TV Eye and Dirt were my personal favorites, with the band providing a sonic trampoline on which Iggy Pop could launch into his rabid vocal tirade. There are days where I practice guitar with the intention of becoming better at my instrument. And then there are other days where I just want to fuck shit up. Few bands come to mind when that's the case, but you best believe that the Stooges are one of them.

The year 2003 was a great year for post hardcore. It saw the rise of emo and its nerdier sibling, prog-emo. Spearheaded by bands like Circa Survive and Coheed & Cambria, prog-emo was almost antithetical to its punk rock roots, epically long tracks, experimental musical soundscapes and grandiose concepts, all filtered through power chords, acrobatic vocals and a one-two gut punch. Glorious. The Mars Volta were another band that were a fixture to this subgenre, and Deloused in the Comatorium cemented their place in the pantheon of unsung heroes of this oft overlooked subgenre of 2000s punk/emo. From the way opening track Son et Lumiere begins, with the hypnotically frantic guitar tapping and urgent vocals, leading into Inertiatic Esp, you know you're in for a dynamic ride, with heavy hitters interspersed with post-rockesque interludes like Tira Me a Las Aranas and Televators. The rest of the album is an hour long journey of spazzy-yet-precise drums, textural keyboards, and guitar styles that run the gamut of angular stabs, echo-y strums, to melodically dissonant lines. What allows this album to stay rooted in its punk roots is the fact that each of the instruments, virtuosic as they are, serves the song, and that, to this writer, is what warrants multiple listens of this album. Truly a masterclass in the balance of technique, experimentation and all out emotion.

My only exposure to Brian Eno, up until this point, was via his involvement in the iconic Talking Heads record Remain In Light, which only came out a year before this album did. Naturally, I was curious. I have never seen a producer-centric album outside of hip-hop, and I was intrigued to see if there would be any overlaps in influences between Eno and his work with the art-punk band. My Life In The Bush Of Ghosts was truly an aural journey; a sprawling soundscape from start to finishing comprising of krautrock-esque beats, hypnotic keys, and oddly expressive looping vocals. The result is a captivating album that would not be out of place as part of an installation art piece. The liberal featuring of afro-funk guitars and drums on tracks like The Jezebel Spirit confirmed the aforementioned confluence of inspiration with Talking Heads, invoking a spirit and drive like that on I, Zimbra. Little wonder too, then, that lead Talking Head and fellow creative iconoclast David Byrne features heavily on the album. Overall, this was a great album to work to, but also one that I would definitely revisit to devote my attention to. The mix of live and programmed instrumentation and spoken word parts of David Byrne result in an album that still sounds layered, intriguing and hypnotic, one would have to be forgiven for forgetting that it was made over 40 years ago.

What. The. Fuck. This was so weird, but also fun. Having never heard of this band before, I did not know what to expect, and having listened to the album, I'm still not entirely sure. The United States Of America, much like its namesake, ran the gamut of sounds and influences, with lots of simple but groovy drums, era appropriate B3 Hammond organ, womp-y bass lines, and vocals that are equal parts spacey and fuzzy, with the sporadic instrumental breaks that deny structure or genre; what sounds like a Theremin features heavily, but subtly in the album, alongside accordion, sitars and other instruments that sound would sound more fitting a 70s animated feature (Yellow Submarine comes to mind). As a matter of fact, Stranded In Time sounds almost like Eleanor Rigby, with its playful strings and poppy vocals, right before it breaks into full organ flourishes. While it might not be something this writer would enjoy, exposure to this album sounds like a glimpse into the nascence of experimental music, with all the limitations and innovations of its era. Not something I would revisit to enjoy, but rather to break the aural monotony.

This album was an interesting listen; I'd never heard of Lloyd Cole and The Commotions prior to this, but the music sounded familiar in that it was redolent of the jangly guitars, tuneful melodies and simple song structures peppered with the occasional strings or organ sounds. It made me think of indie rock bands like Real Estate and The War On Drugs, amongst others. Rattlesnake was an enjoyable journey, with songs like Patience that garnered repeated listens with its 80s-pop-esque drum sounds and catchy melody. Tracks like Perfect Skin featured the jangly guitars and exuberance that has since become a mainstay of many an indie pop band while others like Down On Mission Street explore a darker sound that sounds like a Robyn feature on a War On Drugs song. For its seeming simplicity, this album is chock-full of tasty bits of musicianship, like the tiny time signature changes, textural keys and what sounds like a banjo in the opening track. Lloyd Cole could very well sneak into any indie playlist undetected, and is a testament to the fact that its all been done before; one need but dig back a little further.

I'm at a strange position with The Doors. I know they exist, but that's about as far as my knowledge of them goes. I don't know what their music sounds like, I don't know the context of their origins and I sure as hell don't know who their influences were. So really I am going into this album blind. Morrison Hotel sounds like another 70s blues rock album; a sound that's sonically rooted in rhythm and blues, with inflections of psychedelia and soul. It took a while for me to warm up to this album. Opening track Roadhouse Blues was a pretty standard blues (duh) number, while it was in no way technically bad, this writer found little to latch onto. Only when Peace Frog came on, with its jumpy organ and wah-soaked rhythm guitar, did I find myself wanting to continue with this endeavour. Blue Sunday, the track that follows, was a slower number, with the organs taking more of the sonic space here. The album would continue with diverse tempos and moods, rooted deeply in the sound that I have now deemed "my dad's rock and roll". Overall, Morrison Hotel was a slow starter, but patience rewarded this writer, if but modestly. Each band member had a level of competency that was greater than the sum of its part, whether it was the adventurous drums or the steady but tuneful bass, or the guitars and keys playing off each other without drowning the other out. An enjoyable listen over all.

I wasn't entirely sure how to feel when I was assigned this album; I don't like country music, but I like Dolly Parton. I don't know anything about her from a musical standpoint, but she is a saint of a human being, and I she gets royalties from this expedition I took on Spotify for this review. So apparently this album shares the name with a TV drama based on Dolly Parton's life, which lead me to believe that the album would play like a soundtrack of sorts; plotting the highs and lows of the story with slide guitar and banjo and Dolly Parton's gently husky voice. While I perhaps wished for too much, I enjoyed the tracks for a once through listen; the title track was a moving narrative about a mother's love and DIY ethic before it was cool. Waltz-y tracks like She Never Met A Man and is contrasted with more upbeat tracks like Traveling Man (A lot of Men in this album!). It runs the albeit limited gamut of country music's range of dynamics and instrumentation, and while it isn't something I'd listen to ever, it is this writer's opinion that Dolly Parton is as good a place to start as any for anyone delving into country music for the first time. Enjoy my Spotify cents, Ms Parton!

"Jazz Odyssey." That was the answer offered by Spinal Tap bassist when the band found themselves short of a guitar player. The result was a hilarious mix of well-intentioned attempts at virtuosity and well-pissed fans. This time though, a Spinal Tap fan was not giving a disapproving thumbs-down to a vision quest of jazz and psychedelia. Weather Report featured Jaco Pastorius, the man who was oft deemed the Hendrix of bass, and Heavy Weather is chock full of reasons why and how he earned that title. Melodic one moment, and tastefully dissonant the next, with a good amount of percussivity, Pastorius managed to display his range while still playing well with others. Tracks like Harlequin gave free reign to the sax, piano and keyboards (?) all laying atop snaking basslines that were melodic in their own right. If the first listen was a monolithic odyssey, the second run on this record allowed for this writer to be introduced to each track as individual works, whether it was the frenetic, tambourine-driven Birdland or the contemplative Rumba on side-B, this record proves to be one that keeps on giving. There will be something new to take away from each listen, from each instrument. I can't wait to do this a third time.

Having been born in the late 80s is a weird thing; I am a 90s kid, but there are residuals of the 80s, like electronic drums, pagers and He-Man, that still resonate with me. Having discovered ABC gave this sentiment more real estate in my head. Lexicon of Love sounds like the filler music I would've unknowingly heard on the radio as I sat at the kitchen table colouring while my mom made dinner. It's nostalgic in its genericity, with its era-appropriate popping bass and synths, and 4/4 drum beat. Songs like Valentine's Day sound like game show introduction sequences, and not in a bad way. With its handclaps and xylophone, leading up to the spacey synths and dance beat, this would be my favorite track on the album. As far as listens go, this was easy....as ABC.

There is beauty in simplicity. It is what first drew me to punk and hardcore. Stripped off any bells and whistles, one is allowed to fully appreciate what is truly trying to be displayed, whether its unhinged rage or vitriolic thoughts. Other times, a simplicity in musical arrangements allow for each player to take up more space in the room, and not only display their prowess, but their ability to function as a unit. That ability is what first drew me to bands like Bad Religion and Radio Birdman, and today it is what I enjoy about this album. The album title really lives up to its name of being a Sunday; light, breezy and carefree, but not devoid of thought or emotion. The piano work of Billy Evans that I am entirely unfamiliar with, and while this writer would be hard-pressed to distinguish him from any other jazz pianist, it was the Trio's ability to have to play a part while playing apart. The walking basslines (of one Scott La Faro) and lively snare and hi hat work made for a fun listen on its own, and was only augmented by the melodically atonal piano of Mr Evans. The fact that this was recorded live makes it the more intriguing.

IRON MAIDEN!!!! Finally something I know something about! Iron Maiden's place on this list is undisputed, and really there would hardly be a wrong choice to pick from their extensive repertoire of guitar-centric, catchy-yet-elaborate power metal. The Number Of The Beast is a good introduction to the band's brand of hard rock, with galloping riffs, heavy drums and Bruce Dickinson's (who is also a trained pilot and entrepreneur) soaring, operatic vocals. Tracks like Prisoner and the classic Hallow Be Thy Name are prime examples of this, with (slightly) softer tracks like Children Of The Damn serving as the shortest of respites. While the band hardly ever deviate from this formula, both on the album and throughout their collective career, it can be said that when one has such a winning formula that would go on to inspire bands like DragonForce, Hammerfall and Nightwish, it can't hurt to stick to what you know. P.S If you like this band, do also check out Blind Guardian, a contemporary of Iron Maiden.

In a previous review of the band The Jams, I cited how polymath Carrie Brownstein (unf) mentioned the band being the gateway to her punk and alternative journey. So imagine my excitement when I get the chance to review yet another Carrie Brownstein gem. The B-52s played dance-y keyboard tinged rock known as New Wave, which was a related to, if not a sub-set, of Post Punk. In keeping with its punk roots, post punk was iconoclastic and defiant of boundaries, but in doing so, it favored keyboards and angular, single notes on guitar (as opposed to the power chorded rage of hardcore contemporaries like Black Flag). The B-52s self-titled album was a fun ride clocking in at just under 40 minutes. From the hypnotic synths and guitars of Planet Claire to the ridiculous but oddly-catchy Rock Lobster, to the punky guitar crunch of the irreverent Lava, the album was emotive and experimental without taking itself too seriously. The band sees both male and female vocals, both being utilized in whole songs , or as a call-and-response. As such, the influence on Sleater-Kinney is thus clear and apparent, as is their rightful place in the unsung line-up of post-punk greats.

I only know Bob Dylan from the introduction sequence from Watchmen movie released in 2009. Said sequence was a succinct summary of the major events of the 1970s, with Dylan's The Times They Are A-Changin' playing in the background. It was the highlight of the movie, and sadly, the only time I will ever really care for the works of Bob Dylan. This live album was, to this writer, a chore. Listening to Bob Dylan wheeze his way through songs that are a mix of folksy country, blues and other old-world genres. I'm sure it appeals to some people, given Mr Dylan's regard in both the musical and literary world (he did win a Nobel Peace Prize in Literature after all), but this was just not my cup of tea.