I just can't enjoy the monotonous sludge of distorted guitars and Corgan's petulant whine.

I admire Peter Gabriel's artistic vision and achievements very much, but his debut solo album is a huge scrambling mess saved only by the excellent 'Solsbury Hill' and the mysterious 'Here Comes the Flood' (one of my favorite songs).

The titular track ‘Future Days’ serves as an optimistic opener. The song sails to shore amid slurpy water and warbling wind for two minutes; an ocean-liner organ honks and all the sounds shift into a breezy beat upon reaching the beach. Busily building tension, the band doesn’t drop the volleyball; each instrument skillfully serves the sound and keeps aloft the ambience. Sandpaper percussion scrapes away endlessly; guitar goes again-n-again high and harmonic; onion-y organ peals colorful chords, layered; bass only occasionally underlines a downbeat. Birds chirp and a man mumbles atop this noisy bop. Few words can be discerned; but the one for-sure phrase, for the sake of future days, attached as it is to its hummable lilt, makes for an auspicious and very memorable message. The song jives in its stratified structure, so delicate in its development. Every man jams and no one leads; but everything flows together consistently like a moving amoeba for the entire ten-minutes of tune. The big finish final minute turns into a total trance, the listener likely under the influence of fantasy for the future days. ‘Spray’ starts off burbling and bursting with watery horrid chords. The song swims away as if stalked by prey, the pace quick and panicked. The mad mood persists throughout the piece, repetitive but relentless. Despite the drone, every sudden sound startles. Crash, bump, boo! As principle propeller of the piece, the cymbals are sharp and assertive here. Bongos bonk. Dark guitars reach out of their trench, threateningly. Organ tones blow bubbles and pop. As before, the band spreads out their idiosyncratic organic jam all over the song. Indeed, the Can just can’t contain the jam. Every instrument manages to maintain interesting textural intricacy in an utterly minimalistic manner. The track eventually calms down long enough to settle into a subdued groove for the final few minutes. Words are heard with no chance to be understood. Muttered and mixed low, the lyrics are as mysterious as the deepest sea. In its mere three minutes, fast-blast ‘Moonshake’ proves that Can could be both an always-open “Can of Jam” as well as an effervescing “Pop Can”. The track shudders under a taut beat. Right from the get-go, grossly low ghost tones quaver as if plucked on a rubber band while a groovy guitar cuts a couple chords and the keys keep to a quiet variety. Supplemental percussion reverberates with the brisk beat. The muddled melody bobs along using more choice words of obscurity. Cue keyboard “solo”: the song proceeds through a passage of electronic fiddle-diddle, a sequence of bizarre beeps and squeaks, sweeps and scratches. Although out of touch with the epic and impressionistic pieces found on the rest of the album, ‘Moonshake’ is a dandy danceable tune in its own right. Big ‘Bel Air’ begins with floaty tones, guitar predominating with some sunny chords as flutes and synths move melodically and squeaky bass plays all over the place. Busy drums begin to boogie. If ‘Future Days’ stays on the earthen beach and ‘Spray’ takes a plunge into deep waters, then ‘Bel Air’ ascends into the skies. Welcome to a new world: more mumbly words likely describe the cosmic majesty of this mysterious world from on high, but who can tell? On and up the music moves at will with no impediments to its progress. Chords descend again and again in mesmerizing patterns. The elevation changes. The song passes through clouds and comes into open airs, next sections, a touch of turbulence. The tune travels around different sides of the sky. Everything changes, but still, nothing changes. In this static way, the music is more like visual art; the song experience may be compared to the way a viewer’s eye gazes freely around the contents of a canvas to discern details. It’s all there at once, but the subtle shades of color make the masterpiece. A song is a song, and ‘Bel Air’ is a guided tour of course; but unlike other songs, this one has no definite direction—it chooses to cruise uncompromisingly through its own noble domain. In its middle, the song settles down back to the ground (hear the birds, hear the bugs) only to start the lift-off all over again with a few new mellower melodies included in the mix, all as bewitching as before. If “bel air” is to be translated from French and understood as “beautiful air”, then this track’s title couldn’t be more truthful. As a product of 1973, Future Days predates ambient music. But in keeping with its forward-looking title, the album managed to defy time with its own utterly unique brand of texture-jam. The attention is on the atmosphere alone. The climate is very cool. Don’t wait for a future day to hear this album.

It's a shame Morten Harket didn't utilize the wide range of his voice more often because it too often sounds like any other eighties synth-pop ensemble's singer. But the band's dramatic debut album makes for very melodic and intriguing music.

The Band chose the best name ever for any band. They truly deserved it. Here was a group of musicians who could effortlessly construct the tightest yet loosest tunes I've ever heard. Everyone in the group can shine without overshadowing the other. There's tremendous talent and no showing-off. It's incredibly tasteful and always very musical. The wide styles and three singers make for a diverse set of songs on this self-titled second album released in 1969. Fantastic record! Favorite track: 'Whispering Pines' and 'King Harvest' (or really anything on Side 2).

Musicianship is excellent, but there isn't quite enough variety to make this so memorable for me.

Interesting listen with diverse sonics unfolding every which way.

Misogynistic and violent, but such is the way of the streets. The death obsession is appropriate. Good record.

As everyone says, this record is like a swamp which isn't really a place I'd like two dwell in. The hits are the hits and the rest goes on, overlong.

Beautiful album that only really lags towards the end; overall, a strong swansong for a good group. Favorites: 'So Long, Frank Lloyd Wright' and 'The Boxer'

Surprisingly dynamic record for a new wave group; songs are diverse and arrangements are interesting with prominent conga and sax action all throughout.

Sleek soul from the 80s - didn't really dig it, 'tho it all sounds good.

I listened to this one twice, entranced by its odd allure. Stand-out/favorite track: 'Jerdacuttup Man'

To my ears, this album is nothing much but a noisy clatter of aggression and repetition. Fortunately, Iggy's later stuff really rocks.

While Dylan's use of a dusty open-E tuning on the acoustic numbers tends to make those songs sound very similar, this album serves as a strong and surprisingly diverse comeback album for Mr. Dylan in the middle of a decade in which he hadn't released new music for awhile. It's not a perfect record; the back-to-back tracks 6 and 7 don't really fit in with the rest of the bunch. If those were removed, the album would better cohere and never feel overlong. For the most part on this record, Dylan's lyrics turn inward to discuss his difficult dealings with his lady. His tumbledown voice quite effectively evokes the appropriate emotions. Favorite tracks: 'You're A Big Girl Now' and 'Idiot Wind' 4/5

Bursting with an abundance of ideas, Queen delivers a diverse and overloaded twelve-track album that hits on hard-rock, soft-pop, music hall, suite-style composition, and some dazzling delay-like effects. While the band's off-the-wall oddities are most closely akin to the music of Sparks, this record is really, really good on its own terms. It's also refreshing to hear Roger Taylor and Brian May sing lead on a few tracks. Favorites: "Death On Two Legs (Dedicated To...)" and "'39"

Thoroughly decent album, although the oft-employed bad-boy voice can start to grate on the ears after awhile. Favorites: 'Dirty Diana' and 'Smooth Criminal'

sad girl stuff, eh

The titular track ‘Future Days’ serves as an optimistic opener. The song sails to shore amid slurpy water and warbling wind for two minutes; an ocean-liner organ honks and all the sounds shift into a breezy beat upon reaching the beach. Busily building tension, the band doesn’t drop the volleyball; each instrument skillfully serves the sound and keeps aloft the ambience. Sandpaper percussion scrapes away endlessly; guitar goes again-n-again high and harmonic; onion-y organ peals colorful chords, layered; bass only occasionally underlines a downbeat. Birds chirp and a man mumbles atop this noisy bop. Few words can be discerned; but the one for-sure phrase, for the sake of future days, attached as it is to its hummable lilt, makes for an auspicious and very memorable message. The song jives in its stratified structure, so delicate in its development. Every man jams and no one leads; but everything flows together consistently like a moving amoeba for the entire ten-minutes of tune. The big finish final minute turns into a total trance, the listener likely under the influence of fantasy for the future days. ‘Spray’ starts off burbling and bursting with watery horrid chords. The song swims away as if stalked by prey, the pace quick and panicked. The mad mood persists throughout the piece, repetitive but relentless. Despite the drone, every sudden sound startles. Crash, bump, boo! As principle propeller of the piece, the cymbals are sharp and assertive here. Bongos bonk. Dark guitars reach out of their trench, threateningly. Organ tones blow bubbles and pop. As before, the band spreads out their idiosyncratic organic jam all over the song. Indeed, the Can just can’t contain the jam. Every instrument manages to maintain interesting textural intricacy in an utterly minimalistic manner. The track eventually calms down long enough to settle into a subdued groove for the final few minutes. Words are heard with no chance to be understood. Muttered and mixed low, the lyrics are as mysterious as the deepest sea. In its mere three minutes, fast-blast ‘Moonshake’ proves that Can could be both an always-open “Can of Jam” as well as an effervescing “Pop Can”. The track shudders under a taut beat. Right from the get-go, grossly low ghost tones quaver as if plucked on a rubber band while a groovy guitar cuts a couple chords and the keys keep to a quiet variety. Supplemental percussion reverberates with the brisk beat. The muddled melody bobs along using more choice words of obscurity. Cue keyboard “solo”: the song proceeds through a passage of electronic fiddle-diddle, a sequence of bizarre beeps and squeaks, sweeps and scratches. Although out of touch with the epic and impressionistic pieces found on the rest of the album, ‘Moonshake’ is a dandy danceable tune in its own right. Big ‘Bel Air’ begins with floaty tones, guitar predominating with some sunny chords as flutes and synths move melodically and squeaky bass plays all over the place. Busy drums begin to boogie. If ‘Future Days’ stays on the earthen beach and ‘Spray’ takes a plunge into deep waters, then ‘Bel Air’ ascends into the skies. Welcome to a new world: more mumbly words likely describe the cosmic majesty of this mysterious world from on high, but who can tell? On and up the music moves at will with no impediments to its progress. Chords descend again and again in mesmerizing patterns. The elevation changes. The song passes through clouds and comes into open airs, next sections, a touch of turbulence. The tune travels around different sides of the sky. Everything changes, but still, nothing changes. In this static way, the music is more like visual art; the song experience may be compared to the way a viewer’s eye gazes freely around the contents of a canvas to discern details. It’s all there at once, but the subtle shades of color make the masterpiece. A song is a song, and ‘Bel Air’ is a guided tour of course; but unlike other songs, this one has no definite direction—it chooses to cruise uncompromisingly through its own noble domain. In its middle, the song settles down back to the ground (hear the birds, hear the bugs) only to start the lift-off all over again with a few new mellower melodies included in the mix, all as bewitching as before. If “bel air” is to be translated from French and understood as “beautiful air”, then this track’s title couldn’t be more truthful. As a product of 1973, Future Days predates ambient music. But in keeping with its forward-looking title, the album managed to defy time with its own utterly unique brand of texture-jam. The attention is on the atmosphere alone. The climate is very cool. Don’t wait for a future day to hear this album.

Nice arrangements and tasteful playing, but it all blends together.

Dennis was the most soulful and moodiest of the Beach Boys. His compositions and voice are hard and feely, sensitive things. The songs on this album are dramatic and expressive and bound to stir your emotions up at least once. To my ears, 'Farewell My Friend' is the most moving.

Slow, spacey, sleep-inducing. I listened to this on a late night drive and I don't remember anything about it except that I took a little interest in track 8, 'Round the Bend'. However, that's just because of its atmospheric similarity to Nick Drake's 'River Man'. I'll have to revisit this, but for now I can only award it a two.

Punky Patti has a pretty keen poetic vision that translates loudly and proudly on her debut produced by the great John Cale. I prefer the more structured bits over the long two-chord rambles.

Noisy and eclectic.

The Band chose the best name ever for any band. They truly deserved it. Here was a group of musicians who could effortlessly construct the tightest yet loosest tunes I've ever heard. Everyone in the group can shine without overshadowing the other. There's tremendous talent and no showing-off. It's incredibly tasteful and always very musical. The wide styles and three singers make for a diverse set of songs on this self-titled second album released in 1969. Fantastic record! Favorite track: 'Whispering Pines' and 'King Harvest' (or really anything on Side 2).

Hot and nasty and thoroughly enjoyable!

It's a shame Morten Harket didn't utilize the wide range of his voice more often because it too often sounds like any other eighties synth-pop ensemble's singer. But the band's dramatic debut album makes for very melodic and intriguing music.

Stanky

It all sounds like a set of poorly-recorded random Indian pop music, but I liked it!

While the music is more or less inoffensive, the intruding spoken-word poems are unbearably annoying: “Black is God…you are God”. Cringe!

I'm a sure fan of Richard Thompson's guitar and songwriting.

I've visited this album many times over the years, but I tend to stick with the first two tracks (which are wonderfully executed examples of tasteful minimalist rock). The rest of the record doesn't cut it for me: I could do without the weird, silly hippy whispering in 'Leb'Wohl'. The rocker tracks on side two are a bit bland (even though they inspired David Bowie to write his \"Heroes\" album).

We all know the very moody Morrissey and the very musical Marr make such a fine family. But I'd like to applaud the wonderful work of the other two Smiths (whoever they are).

Great musicianship all around. Some of the tunes seem to be variations on the title track.

This is most apocalyptic new wave offering I've yet heard. I enjoyed the dramatic touches and Cabaret influence.

I heard this a few years back and never thought much of it. Upon revisiting the album, my opinion has happily been transformed.

I laughed aloud during '30,000 Monkies' when realizing that its wild title so squarely fits its wild sound. My ears enjoyed these noisy creations.

The bittersweet stand-out 'Where Are We Now' and the bold album cover itself promote an imprecise nostalgia that's more slippery and certainly more thoughtful than most other sixty-six-year-old former-glory rockstars are capable of creating. Bowie moves on and I'm a big fan. Favorite songs: 'Love Is Lost', 'Where Are We Now?', 'Valentine's Day' (three great tracks back to back)

This album's a blast, very funny, a lyrical treasure. The drum machine + rock song doesn't always sound great, tho.

It feels like a shame to rate this a 2, but I don't remember much about the record. I'll have to revisit it.

This is a colorful bunch of songs and my favorite thing the band has to offer.

Dark and dirty with a weird Dylan cover in the mix and a grim album cover. I liked it well enough.

Raw talent tarnished by too much horny production. But listening to this, I can see where Richard Manuel from The Band learned to sing. I'm glad Mr. Charles inspired my favorites.

This was my first taste of the Yeezer, and I can't say I'm impressed. The King Crimson sample made me laugh out loud.

I ACTUALLY enjoyed this, and my infant son was enthralled too.

Didn't know what to expect with this one — I grooved along all the while, but I won't remember any of it.

there's no spice

It's all a blur, man.

I've been meaning to listen to this since its release, but it's a shambling mess of music redeemed only by its humor and occasional virtuosic production. Favorite track: 'Tokyo'

I'd enjoyed this more than I expected to.

Crusty drunken romance by the dark master of street storytelling. It's either a live recording pretending to be a studio album or maybe the other way around, but it's all an act. A little overlong, but really riveting most of the time.

Half good.

Time after time!

Jimi's one tone voice and half-baked "heys" really don't inspire me. His guitar work is good enough; and the band occasionally breaks out of its locked basement of blues riffery, but not nearly often enough! Favorite track: 'The Wind Cries Mary'

It's actually not awful! My prejudice against ultra-popular common-joe bands has steered me clear of Skynyrd beyond the inevitable exposure to the insidious hits (many of which belong to this album). The band really can rock unison riffs à la King Crimson. I think the album looses steam half way through, but it's a strong offering.

Not my favorite collection of Kinks songs, but it's a catchy record.

Overloaded and ambitious and seemingly behind its time in history, but I appreciate its artsy reach.

Paranoid but pretty - Talking Heads started something special with this prescient record.

Still a distance from the sleek studio sound Steely Dan would develop in a short time by the end of the decade, this diverse debut album features strong little songs, mostly rather tuneful ditties with vocals shared across three singers. The multi-layered last track takes things to another level with its tasteful yet ambitious arrangement and mysterious no-good lyric; it is this type of song that sets Steely Dan above 'em all. Favorite track: 'Fire In The Hole' or 'Turn That Heartbeat Over Again' Least favorite track: Do It Again

Half good.

Didn't expect much—I'm pleasantly surprised. The crazy 'Chemical Warfare' and also the odd-timed 'Ill In The Head' push the band into prog-punk territory. I'm all for it.

bore

Tom's got the magic marimba blues and it's beautiful.

Some of the textures are intriguing and maybe beautiful ('Serpents', 'The Conference'), but I definitely didn't enjoy the entire hour of content in this rather eclectic collection. What's Nitin Sawhney's role here? The album unfolds like a curated playlist of miscellaneous electronic, world, and neo-soul music.

The multiple songs lack much dynamics or variation. Wire would get a lot more interesting with the release of their next record "Chairs Missing".

Rush becomes Rush.

I think Bowie's use of diminished chords distinguishes him with a dramatic theatricality that's absolutely essential to his career. Favorite track: 'Oh! You Pretty Things' or 'Quicksand' Least favorite: 'Andy Warhol' or 'Song for Bob Dylan'

I'm a sucker for ambient and jazz. This is it.

I'll have to revisit this, but all the sonics surprised me.

While sporting some of my favorite Led Zeppelin songs, "Physical Graffiti" also boasts an unfair share of boring blues.

Paranoid pop with the wild likes of Bowie, Eno, and Fripp.

I certainly admire the modern krautrock stylizations of this record, but nothing really struck me.

This synth-pop is punctured with punchy, punky guitar, loosely strewn. I like it well enough, but the songs don't really stick.

Waits' first "weird" record (and my first introduction to his work) remains my favorite for all of its diverse voices and wide ideas. Favorite track: 'Soldier's Things'

A great big synthesized sexscape. 'International Lover' is hilarious and haunting—I think that's an impressive combination.

Promentalshitbackwashpsychosis Enema Squad (The Doo Doo Chasers)...

Wow, what a waste of... No, OutKast is ambitious, and this album is obnoxiously long, but there's plenty to enjoy during the journey.

Catchy melodies and minimalist arrangements make for concise songcraft. 'Is This It' and 'When It Started' are both bass-heavy favorites.

Not a lot of variety, and the lyrics are really dumb; but the big hits are sure catchy!

Ruby's Arms and Jersey Girl are gorgeous.

Lovely Icelandic ambient rock.

Much of this is especially enjoyable downtempo samba; however, I don't really like listening to eleven tracks of especially enjoyable downtempo samba in a row.

Great late career record with beautiful production I would have sworn to be the work of Daniel Lanois. Favorites: 'Michelangelo' and 'Bang the Drum Slowly'

Rough-edged garage rock covers of Chuck Berry isn't my jam, although I understand how many might like it.

The album's true to its title, but it's that one-note focus that makes this record a tiresome listen. I'm especially not fond of the guest singers who seem to spring up on every other track. All that being said, Nick Cave's a captivating performer and poet, a talented visionary. I'm a big fan. (And 'Stagger Lee' is really fun).

I'd rather slit my wrists, or at least listen to The Slits. Still, it''s better than Nirvana.

It's an interminable, unmemorable, big ol' bore. At least 'I Just Want To See His Face' breaks the flow of boring blues with some swampy gospel. As if a testament to fans' preferences for blue-color music, this adventurous song has the second fewest streams on Spotify, and that's a goddamned shame.

Hilarious and hits hard even if I don't get all the Britishism.

Great bass!

I admire Peter Gabriel's artistic vision and achievements very much, but his debut solo album is a huge scrambling mess saved only by the excellent 'Solsbury Hill' and the mysterious 'Here Comes the Flood' (one of my favorite songs).

It's all rather same-y, but I enjoyed the music.

Enjoyable, but this is not my jam.

Peak

Out in early 1977, David Bowie’s Low blasts off with all sorts of synthetic sounds and marks yet another slab of new ground for the especially eclectic singer. But ‘Speed Of Life’ is all instruments, and these instruments emit some gnarly noises in an otherwise danceable ditty with a few funky themes. Amid all the synths, even the drums brandish a robotic badge. Every element seem to screech out of some alien apparatus, and that’s the general gist of this record: pop music from space (perhaps at one time the ol’ Spiders really did live on Mars?). ‘Breaking Glass’ begins with a strange break between bass-n-drums, funky in feel and hard to follow as a raw guitar offsets everything with tense bends. All suddenly segue to different-key disco with David on the mic muttering nothing much but funny stuff like: “don’t look at the carpet / I drew something awful on it”. Synths only occasionally touch up the tune with a simple three note ear-panning passage passing from right-to-left. The tricky intro returns with layered Davids fearfully singing. It all fades away instrumentally doing another dash of disco. ‘What In The World’ proceeds at a paranoid pace with too many busy instruments tripping around each other. Something similar to the sound of Pac-Man appears prominently above every other instrument. Bowie hardly bothers to sing the verses and opts instead for casual low-toned mumblings about the “little girl with grey eyes”; nevertheless, the song starts to steam each chorus with its swift dynamic shifts of chord and wonderings of “what in the world can you do?”. A true query when you’re only “talking through the gloom”. ‘Sound And Vision’ is a sprightly song with its immediately bright tones: a bubbly bass, a spunky six-string, and something like eggs sizzling on a pan every other beat. Soon: synths join in with huge sustained joys-to-the-world. “Ooh ahh” from a bunch of Bowies. Nasty saxophone just for a few seconds to cue the singer for his favorite subjects: “don’t you wonder sometimes / about sound and vision?” He’s all over in the octaves, high-n-low (but mostly low). His lyrics are few and the singing itself is subdued and distorted, but somehow, it still sounds stunningly lovely all the while. ‘Always Crashing In The Same Car’ winds down a slow and lonely road, but the sound is anything but sparse. Expansive synths bubble and burst in the background as extra-gritty guitars shakily strum vast downbeats. Something like ‘Lady Marmalade’ repeats on a miserable mellotron and Bowie wheezes his inevitable fate with the intriguing idea of “always crashing in the same car”. The music matches the morose mood; on “car”, everything collapses into a cycle of deceptive cadences. Here we hear the music perfectly portray the rise-n-fall of one’s dreams. ‘Be My Wife’ rollicks with its pub piano and guitar rocking a repeating rhythmic gesture at the end of each phrase, but the lyrics regard the aimless singer’s sad solitude as a star. Disco chorus features a dancing bass and Bowie’s adorable or perhaps desperate declaration: “please be mine / share my life / stay with me / be my wife”. Is it happiness or hopelessness that compels him to inquire after a companion? ‘A New Career In A New Town’ treads its territory tenderly. Gentle strains of synthscape softly paint this picture of a man seeking a fresh start on his life. Nevertheless, it doesn’t take too long until he breaks through and finds his footing; the main theme of this music carries an immensely optimistic momentum. Featured most prominently are the wistful winds of a harmonica. No words are sung, but the music resonates with its own hefty emotional impact. ‘Warszawa’ starts off the second side of songs with its rows of low synths all rumbling out repetitions on one holy note. This slow and sacred procession makes for an imposing entrance. A minute in, the song finally arrives and activates with all the lovely layered true-gloom synths forming full unison melancholy melodies over-n-over. Later, Bowie chants in unintelligible tribal-like tongues as if the spokesperson at some sublimely sad ceremony for the deceased. Perhaps the piece must best be perceived as a musical memorial, something like the sonic snapshot of an ashen bomb-scarred Warsaw in World War II; or for any incident where innocents suffered dispossession and death. ‘Art Decade’ advances the ambient style of the last track; it’s just as melodic but it’s busier. Melodies spiral down around sounds of vibraphone and synths and a cello or two. Various unaccountable noises distantly rip through the air in quick occasional flurries. Swampy synths burble. Even with lots of layers, a single static sound is sustained throughout; and that’s the hallmark of A+ ambient music. ‘Weeping Wall’ happens with hypnotic mallet instruments playing murder music at an anxious pace. Big synths go for ‘Greensleeves’ (or some similar modal melody) as the chords continually chart an unpredictable pattern. Distorted guitars shear through simple solos featuring minimal pitches and long sustained bends. Tribal choir gets rather reverberant at the end and sounds something like a train. Everything has a place in the manic mood. There’s no development at all, but that’s not the point. ‘Subterraneans’ concludes the collection with more real-deal ambient music. Lonely, hopeless, spacious, the track floats on a cloud of misty synths throbbing in reverse. A treacherous bass builds up approaching with only a few notes heard at any time. Wordless voices join the joyless assembly. Out of the big blue, a saxophone comes a-crawling with forlorn lines to share. Bowie’s tone of voice tightens on a nice rhythmic bit of nonsense: “care-line, care-line, care-line / care-line driving me / Shirley, Shirley, Shirley own / share bride failing star”. It fades away wearily and the album’s over. Despite the title, David Bowie’s Low is actually “high” as far as artistic achievements are concerned. Vastly influential, the album and its wacky sound make for essential listening if you’re interesting in charting the natural course that pop music would pave into the eighties. And what about world music? This album covers lots of ground.

This collection of so-called "club classics" proved to be perfect ambience for a long session of graphic design work. The repetitive structure of the songs served as a fine frame for my focus. Nevertheless, I didn't love any bit of it.

Messy but memorable.

Cute album cover...

The hits are huge, but what else can be said?

Although I'm not familiar with the film (I plan to watch it soon), I found the moody mellotron-heavy ambience of this album to be very pleasing in its own right. The music reminds me of Tangerine Dream, Popol Vuh, or early post-Syd Barrett era Pink Floyd (all of these artists notable for some soundtrack work).

I prefer '20 Jazz Funk Greats' for its humor and diversity, but a Throbbing Gristle record is always a dark cacophony. Favorite track: 'E-Coli'

Cat’s voice is a passionate warble (occasionally grating). He’s keen on expressing a certain dynamic percussive element in his music, a certain weightlessness punctuated with hard rhythms. While not always memorable, his songs are attractively adventurous and ambitious. I’m a fan.

I just can't enjoy the monotonous sludge of distorted guitars and Corgan's petulant whine.

I enjoyed these rhythmic grooves more than I expected to.

I understand the spirit of punk, but I hate its sound.

Leonard Cohen + late-80s music production techniques is such a crazy and incongruous combination, but it somehow works so well. The album cover's sunglasses and banana sums it all up. Gravitas and humor go head-to-head here with some absolute classic tracks like the ominous 'Everybody Knows' and the sly 'Tower of Song'. I'm your fan.

Despite the annoying voice of Robert Plant and the slipshod guitar of Jimmy Page, this album boasts a few of the band's most notable moments.

I hadn't listened to this for five years or so, but I'm impressed as ever upon revisiting the record. Yes possessed a ridiculous level of talent within its membership. In one band, you've got Jon Anderson's unique elvish voice, Bill Bruford's jazzy \"off-beat\" drumming, Steve Howe's insanely tasty guitar, Rick Wakeman's crazy classical keyboards, and of course, Chris Squire's peerless bass-playing. Forget the senseless lyrics. What really rocks here are the long full-band jams in 'Roundabout', 'South Side of the Sky', and 'Heart of the Sunrise', all of which are complex yet catchy enough to receive mainstream radio play. The brief and bright 'Long Distance Runaround' provides a bit of a break from the \"epics\", but it's just as good. In a curious display of democracy, each band member also gets a chance to display his own skill or interests with a unique \"personality\" song. Unfortunately, most of these little sketches feel out of place in the sequencing of the record. Fortunately, they're all very short! I'm awarding the record a 4/5 for the sake of the great collaborative compositions. Imagine if the band had scrapped the solo song concept and replaced those bits with another full-composed classic like 'Roundabout'? In the alternate earth depicted on the album's cover, \"Fragile\" is the prog album to end all prog albums.

It's very synth-pop.

This album merges Kraftwerkian robo-repetition with elements of more traditional songwriting; and it's often like a less-wacky Talking Heads turning out longer songs. I like it.

Far too long, but at least it's fun

As much as I dislike the braggadocio inherent in gangsta rap, this record is a blast. As "First Impression" plainly states, I find Ice T to be the dopest, flyest, O.G. pimp hustler, gangsta player, hardcore motherfucker living today...

Just a little too tough for my tastes.

I can't imagine introducing anyone to Leonard Cohen with the last album of his long lifetime. I think a proper appreciation of the man and his music requires a chronological approach, from first album to last. In exploring the work in this way, the listener eases into the more shocking aspects of Leonard Cohen (namely, his sagacious old-croak of a voice and his late-career synth-pop and midi-music). The listener also arrives at the conclusion that YOU WANT IT DARKER is a very satisfying swan-song for such an alluring artist. Favorite track: 'Steer Your Way'

The dirge-like jam 'Spiders and Vinegaroons' reminded me of Amon Düül II. Apart from that (and other experimental stuff towards the end), nothing really stuck out to me. The actual songs are all choked in dust.

What in the world is this? The first track shook me with its sheer intensity. Absolute madness.

Tuneful and witty. I'll revisit this.

Talented musicianship marred by the bothersome "ooh baby yeah" type of vocal approach. The extended instrumentals are all ace.

nevermind the Sex Pistols...

I absolutely hated this until the last couple tracks stripped away the slick production and revealed some pure folksy blues made by Mr Hooker's hands and heart alone. All the special guests and features bring the record down! Thus, I must award this album a low rating despite its deep-cut value.

This satisfies all over the map, although it's not the most memorable.

Solid influential debut by overrated ratty-haired wannabe bluesmen.

There seem to be a lot of albums like this on this long list. At least "The Fat of the Land" tickled my interest more powerfully than the other Prodigy selection, "Music for the Jilted Generation".

Bristling with energy, this quirky jerky music is a real classic.

This is very different from any other rap album I've heard. I enjoyed the global menagerie of sounds — definitely want to revisit this.

Although there are a couple lesser effort songs in the mix, the album is packed with classics. I love the off-the-wall lyrics.

The last song was nice by virtue of its variety.

The Boss' best.

I was eager to hear this, but ultimately disappointed by the redundancy—every song is essentially the same. At least the Bee Gees cover spiced up the set.

70 minutes is much too much of this glittery, schizophrenic music.

Knot for me.

I wish there was bass.

Disregarding the unnecessary breather of 'After the Ordeal', this is all peak Peter Gabriel bright-mind creativity backed by a remarkable ensemble. Early Genesis is much more provocative and interesting than the later more successful era of the band, and 'SEBTP' is an epic testament to that. Favorite Track: 'The Battle of Epping Forest'

Did Syd lose all interest in the album in the midst of his mental health crisis? Seems like it, and that's understandable. As it stands, the appropriately titled "Madcap Laughs" features some really stellar songs interspersed with seemingly-unfinished shit.

One song seems to borrow a little bit from The Beatles' 'No Reply', and the last track is a lovely bunch of layered mellotron. I don't remember much else except a lot of yellin' about heaven.

This dramatic and literary type of songwriting and singing sounds like a cross between Scott Walker and Gordon Lightfoot — while I don't remember much of it, definitely enjoyed it, so I'm definitely going to need to revisit this album and artist.

Sounds like the Cocteau Twins went a-smashing pumpkins.

This record’s evocative title compares two heavily-lit locales, both quite desirable to many men-n-wem. One’s the perfect palace of the high-n-holy. The other is the celebrated Sin City. The songs serve such a dichotomy with their divinity and danceability. Whether you seek spiritual treasure or just want some quick thrills, this record’s right for you. I've written descriptions for each song below: Cocteau Twins’ 1990 masterpiece Heaven Or Las Vegas kicks off sounding like a spacey Sgt-Pepper-turned-Saint. ‘Cherry-Coloured Funk’ bops with blue notes, the tune technically up-tempo but not really too fast. Icicle guitars twang sharply. Some phase-y sound twitches like the slowed-down “wow” of Owen Wilson. Come chorus: sole angel sings with rhythmic tenderness, her voice frail and falsetto. It’s a touching contrast to the low-n-slow earthly verses. More angels abound in choral rounds of choruses. Divine! ‘Pitch The Baby’ opens ominously. Some choppy rhythmic alarm-like sound, copied by guitar, cuts through the mix with a fat bass funking it up. Two-note vocal route rips through a fast-paced passage each verse. Things change here-n-there, but the main mood holds true all tune. “Wah-wah-wah” wails the baby, pitched up-n-down in the end. Time to dance to an irresistible tune about ‘Iceblink Luck’, a popping song with a wickedly simple synth riff and some rollercoaster vocals. Layered guitars build the tension into a blissful chorus, double-tracked harmony heaving around your head in a dizzy day-dream of summer. The moody ‘Fifty-Fifty Clown’ must have had a bad day, hence the unhappiness of this track. Its pulse pumps on as pinging vibraphone-like guitars ring out around delayed drum-machine beats. The vocals stream freely, a harmony weepy and worried like a stressed-out housewife. The song could quite well be the soundtrack to some synthetic 1950s-New-York-City-in-rainy-night gangster videogame. That’s the vibe in my mind. ‘Heaven Or Las Vegas’ gracefully goes on with two sweet major-seventh sonorities presiding over a shaky beat. The singing is calm yet declarative, strong and self-assured. Majestic melodies soar during the chorus, layered beyond belief. Guitars bloom full out with fuzz and thrumming feelers extending every whichway. It’s like sunshine exploding and coating everything. The bridge brings new gnarly liquid lines of incisive slide guitar. More chorus. Bridge again. Heaven or Las Vegas? Whatever it may mean, it’s all light and it’s all right. It feels good, friends. ‘I Wear Your Ring’ returns to mournful means with breathy synth sadly oozing over latin percussion. Frantic bass blasts in with the entrance of the vox. The singing sticks with a few notes, back-n-forth and back-n-forth, the fast mesmerizing lines of a fortune teller. Multiple melodies occupy a crazy chorus and make for a tough sing-a-long. Final minute music of outro follows a new chart. The singing gallops up in a “hey hey hey hey hey” line that hits the heart with its tight last-minute motion. Fine and fine and fine, the layers entwine, fading. Fade in ‘Fotzepolitic’, distant guitars griming 6/8-style strums under another busy vocal delivery. The beat bounces lazily. It’s a paradise of pleasure or curiosity. It all gets a bit more grim and serious though at the end when the descending chords come out and the words warn again and again the same sentiment, something like: “See and saw / Bounce me back to you, will you?”. Seems like a dream. ‘Wolf In The Breast’ comes the closest to country the Cocteau’s ever composed. Rollicking guitars roll and sometimes slide in this drowsy ditty. Naked vocals sing clearly yet cryptically. Only the back-up unchanging “my baby” can be clarified from within the wash of words. As usual, lots of layers move through the mellow mood of this music. ‘Road, River And Rail’, another gloomy tune, features an unflinchingly doleful guitarpeggio the entire time. Various atmospheric sounds zoom and swoop and droop around the sadsong. For the first time on the album, vocal layers are relegated as slaves to the main master melody. They solely serve as special effects during the chorus, gasping ghostlike in the background indistinctly. Last track ‘Frou-Frou Foxes In Midsummer Fires’ dawns all dramatic. An abandoned piano plays in the opening accompanied by clattering cymbal-clicks and quietly-screaming guitar. Eerie singing reminds me of a regretful little girl confessing to her crimes. A hiccuping interlude shimmers and throbs beautifully over ascending chordal comeuppance. After another pass on this sad stuff, snare drums snap and the music erupts into ecstatic rapture! In this anthemic arrangement, a sturdy guitar strums swiftly as bass-n-drums keep the beat balanced and two vocal lines race around a choral carousel: a low-toned rapping passage pummels on and on as higher-pitched spectral singing hems in each sublime measure. This has to be heard to be understood. The entire structure resets and resumes, the music notably noisier on round two. It puts on great weight and eventually comes to its cathartic close on that absolutely mad abundantly lovely chorus.

Yuck.

This is an influential yet awful album. I hadn't listened to it in ten years — while I never really loved the album, I definitely don't like it now.

This is all-over awesome; but what's with the awfully flat rendition of 'The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face'? Give me Roberta Flack's any day.

While Tommy himself can't talk, his album speaks for itself. Favorite tracks: 'Christmas' and 'Cousin Kevin'

Every song was too same-y for my liking, but I'll give it credit for being brief.

Ahead of its time? A timeless classic? "Time Out" is the record that initiated my appreciation for jazz. It's a bona fide 5/5.

whatever

Filthy/Gorgeous gives me memories of Tony Hawk's Pro Skater games.

The Yes Album is anchored around four long-form songs with two shorter tunes sandwiched within. It's an inconsistent record, but there are good moments to be found. 'Yours is No Disgrace' might be the best of the bunch; nevertheless, the intentionally out-of-time organ grinds my ears in the intro. I think a band like Gentle Giant could pull off such polyrhythm in a much prettier way. Nevertheless, kick-ass guitar solos, and several nice dynamic variations on the chorus make for a magical track. Following this epic intro, we hear the live solo recording 'The Clap' which must have been included to showcase new guitarist Steve Howe—while it's nice enough, it's awfully out-of-place! 'Starship Trooper' rocks really hard, and somehow features a bluegrassy break in the middle of an otherwise epic prog-song. My only complaint lies with the four-minute outro. Following its faux folksy intro, 'I've Seen All Good People' goes on way too long with the same rollicking refrain. 'A Venture' is moody and punctured with punchy rhythms. It's short and fails to offend. And while I quite like the catchy choruses and Steve Howe's versatile guitar work on 'Perpetual Change', I think the song is ultimately ruined by the weird two-band stereo experiment in time signatures that only kind-of align. Again, Gentle Giant would come up with much more compelling (and gelling) types of polyrhythm! There's a lot to be bothered by: Jon Anderson's lyrics are weird and wacky—Bill Bruford likes to hit strange syncopated snare beats that don't really fit the rhythm—Chris Squire treats his bass like a melodic instrument on top of everything else already going on—Tony Kaye evidently didn't like synthesizers, but the whole band urged the use of a few which explains the random appearance of a few really loud synth bits here-n-there. Ultimately, I have no problem with Steve Howe's ever-tasteful guitar; still, 'The Clap' really didn't need to be here! Yet, here's five guys putting together songs that sound like nothing else. The songs operate on an ambitious scale, and they are all packed with catchy, memorable little licks and melodies. There are rewards to be had within the record for those willing to patiently wait to hear them.

This album and its predecessor 'The Dreaming' were such a wave of crazy creativity for Kate Bush. I will never forget the first time I heard 'Hello Earth' which incorporates the absolutely chilling folk song 'Zinzkaro'. This alone justifies a high rating for me.

It's very nice. Does anybody else think 'Empty Chairs' is a re-write of the very-good 'Vincent'? All over this album, the melodies start to sound somewhat familiar. Also: his voice sounds very much like Loudon Wainwright III

In the gheetoooooo

I'm glad these guys broke up and went on to bigger and better things (Renaissance, Led Zeppelin, solo careers, etc)

This was difficult to find. What the hell does legendary guitarist Steve Hillage have to do with this? Bizarre.

Restaurant music at its best.

Ear-splitting and mischievous.

Not as daring as his earlier efforts, but 'So' finds Gabriel reaching his largest audience ever with songs that are smooth yet still idiosyncratically his.

I didn't like (or remember anything about) this the first time I heard it, but my most recent listening revealed the greatness of 'Pass In Time', and that's a great song.

I've spent many a road-trip relaxed while listening to this twenty-minute repetitive proto-robo-music classic. What a wonderful work! It's a damn shame the rest of the album sucks so much.

These guys go hard and deep, but the twenty-five minute drum solos are probably much better in person.

Courtney Love can really snarl.

Jarrett really jams despite the awful circumstances of this concert. It's pretty impressive. I didn't at all mind the long length of this live album.

While side one rocks, side two slacks.

Ballbreakers

Gary Burton was the name of my Hoosier bus driver.

Yuck.

Both Moss Side and West Side are very important to me.

Don't leave me now!

Enjoyed this - need to revisit

Miserable.

This must be where Bill Wurtz found inspiration.

wild

It's fucking banger after banger. Sure, the lyrics are a little silly; but this doom-driven morose metal music makes me so damn dancey and happy. How about that?

These kids didn't deserve any A's because methinks they be cheating. All of these sonics have been mastered in the past by other bands. 'Treefingers' was my favorite thing here, but it's just like a Brian Eno B-side.

I hadn't yet given k.d. lang any listens - not disappointed!

This record is hilarious and totally-overblown, but a few classics can be culled from the track list: 'I Don't Believe In The Sun', 'The Book of Love', and 'Papa Was A Rodeo' amongst others.

Rhapsody in Black!

Dry straw-like stalks of dulcimer strings drone almost all alone save for a low folksy drum in ‘All I Want’, the straightforward opener to Joni Mitchell’s 1971 classic Blue. Angular acoustic comes in too to syncopate with the stream of some unimpeded singing. With a voice that runs a very wide range, Miss Mitchell indeed sings her confessions freely in this song that serves as a self-reflective letter to her lover. The final verses flows: “I want to have fun / I want to shine like the sun / I want to be the one that you want to see / I want to knit you a sweater / want to write you a love letter / I want to make you feel better / I want to make you feel free”. There’s specific emphasis on the final word, and perhaps that might imply that the combination code of love-n-liberty serves as secret key to happiness in any relationship. But to surely summarize the song, see the second verse: “all I really really want our love to do / is to bring out the best in me and in you too”. Warm chords wash over ‘My Old Man’, Mitchell’s ode not for a father but rather for her dandy boyfriend-lover. It’s a brilliant piano ballad featuring Mitchell’s preferred modal musical styles. Unexpectedly melancholy tonalities arise in little portions like on the “dancer in the dark” lyric and also more remarkably in the middle bits where the chords take a tragic turn into foreign territory. These sad passages are paired to words that work well to justify such gloomy music. For example, each abrupt bridge describes the Old Man’s absence: “but when he’s gone / me and them lonesome blues collide / the bed’s too big / the frying pan’s too wide”. O, but blessedly, he returns! And each happy detail concludes with the ever-catchy chromatic honky-tonky sassy passage: “we don’t need no piece of paper from the city hall / keeping us tied and true.” Defying the times, these two can be as good as married with their love alone. ‘Little Green’ gently lulls with its acoustic arpeggiations and its esoteric story-like lyrics. Although it never really reveals its audience, the song is secretly addressed to an anonymous daughter; and until the 1990s, no one knew that the song regarded Mitchell’s own mysterious child, a daughter placed for adoption just before the singer’s breakout success. Reading the lyrics from this lens, one can piece together a painfully personal reflection on an unfortunate situation. Upon the adoption: “…you sign all the papers in the family name / you’re sad and you’re sorry but you’re not ashamed / little green, have a happy ending”. That’s a tough one. Scratchy dulcimer returns to accompany ‘Carey’, one of the more produced pieces on this minimalist record. There’s a bass and some heavy hand-drums dancing along for the whole song. All the lyrics paint a picture of the end of a jaunty party of hippies headed up by the mystifying main man Carey, an ever-alluring island-dwelling playboy described as a “bright red devil” and a “mean old daddy”. Each chorus, Mitchell copies her words and harmonizes herself with silky sirens who sing so smoothly and movingly that it almost makes you want to pack up and move to Malata and join the company of ol’ crazy Carey. True to its name, ‘Blue’ brings the gloom. It’s a stark stripped-back ballad oozing with curious emotionally-expressive modal chords and nautical imagery. Like a blues musician, Mitchell utilizes the common theme of depression and emptiness; but the lyrical content and highly evocative music of her song combine to create a sonic product much more significant than any generic blues song. With a personal tone, Mitchell tackles serious social troubles; at its core, the song represents depression and the subjugation of women to male dominance. But there’s also drugs and damnation to discuss. Mitchell whines these striking lines “acid, booze, and ass / needles, guns, and grass” in such a sneering way to indicate her dismay and denunciation of her entire generation. ‘California’ promises sunshine. The singer dreams of retreating to the far edge of America. She’s had enough of her Careys in Crete, her cold Parisian streets, her Spanish party retreats. None of these nice delights can compare to the old home. She’s resigned and ready to return. And through a series of bright ever-catchy melodies, she hits the high-pitch right on the name of her favorite state California. There’s dulcimers and real drums, bass and lots of guitar (including a sharp steel solo every now-n-then to offer a touch of country, appropriately enough). She must be going home because the next song, ‘This Flight Tonight’, takes place from within an airplane. The sound is sinister: low-tuned strings flop ominously and at a very fast pace. There’s a destination and there’s nothing to be done otherwise, but still the singer longs for the land and her lover. Chorus is an order to “turn this crazy bird around” and a claim that she “shouldn’t have got on this flight tonight”. The third verse includes a particularly compelling production nugget: in an attempt to pass the tedious time, Mitchell listens to music over headphones and the specific song playing, all tinny and distant, briefly fuses with ‘This Flight Tonight’ itself. ‘River’ sounds like a sad rendition of ‘Jingle Bells’, the usual peppy melody paired to a piano’s disconsolate chords. And then the words of the first and fifth verse use the Christmas season to comment on coldness, but it’s not just about snow. Mitchell shares with us shades of her fame (verse 2). She laments a fractured love (verses three and four). Never mind the weather, these personal problems are the culprits causing the coldness. At the end of each verse, Mitchell wishes for an endless river, forever frozen and lonely and free for fleeing. She’d skate away from her cold woes if she could. Her voice soars, sincerely sorry for all she has harmed. She just needs to be alone for a while, as we all do from time to time. Here’s a highlight: ‘A Case of You’ comes packed with many little lyrical allusions and wells of meaning. Addressed to a former boyfriend, one complicated companion, the song overall suggests that Mitchell could never get enough of him. Indeed, she admits that “part of you pours out of me / in these lines from time to time”. Furthermore, if you consider the alcohol implications of the “case” in the chorus and title, she claims she could always be clear-headed when imbibing his intoxicating bittersweet vibes. In other words, she could see right through his illusions and ruses and just hold his soul. Charged by a delicate dulcimer, the song’s soft sound makes way for Mitchell’s masterfully expressive voice throughout. Last track regards a Richard, or more specifically, ‘The Last Time I Saw Richard’, an unsmiling title for an appropriately dark song about a depressed dude drinking away his dreams. And despite conversation, friend Mitchell can’t really encourage or convince Mr. Richard to get back to his stride. The music, played on a piano alone, vacillates between bitter chords and some brighter-sounding sonorities as the verses progress; and indeed the words, of which there are many, reflect some brief glimmer of hope as they go along. But it seems that Richard’s cynicism seeps into Mitchell’s mind. The last verse provides an update on both Richard and Mitchell years later: “Richard got married to a figure skater / and he bought her a dishwasher and a coffee percolator / and he drinks at home now most nights with the TV on / and all the house lights left up bright”; and as for Mitchell: “I’m gonna blow this damn candle out / I don’t want nobody comin’ over to my table / I got nothing to talk to anybody about / all good dreamers pass this way some day / hidin’ behind bottles in dark cafés / dark cafés / only a dark cocoon before I get my gorgeous wings and fly away / only a phase, these dark café days”. And so it goes out, all glum and done. Minimal and personal, Blue consists of ten intimate musical moments with Mitchell. Often hailed as a “relatable record”, the deep Blue isn’t too difficult to dig. I suggest you get to digging and enjoy the treasure.

By 1971, the Beach Boys were so far matured beyond their earlier sun in the fun aesthetic that their tragically-titled Surf’s Up LP could open up with a track called ‘Don’t Go Near the Water’. Such a song starts off with scary paranoid piano and some bubbly bursts of wah-wah guitar. Lines like “don’t you think it’s sad … our water’s going bad” imply problems of pollution; such socio-conscious stuff shows that the Beach Boys had suddenly become Beach Men concerned for their world. Nevertheless, the whole tune is couched in a classic Beach Boys vocal arrangement, a simple and stately melody clothed in the well-sewn easy-breathing garments of harmony. After a few very fun verses (complete with squirly synth bass and underwater banjo), the song turns into a heavenly jam session: harmonica wistfully whistling and church-boy choir crooning over mandolin-style madness enrapturing. Slow soulful song ‘Long Promised Road’ comes cruising at a peaceful pace, delicate electro-piano playing over cymbal shimmers and soft-n-wet whip-n-snap percussion. Hippy trippy self-reflection leads to utter triumph in rousing chorus. The beat doubles down and a ghastly choir comes from nothing to sing along: “throw off all the shackles that are binding me down!” Victory. When comes the time to cross the bridge, everything softens in tender trepidation: vocals sing a little unsurely and an unfathomable church-organ unleashes flowing rhapsodic flourishes. O, but another uncertain verse, another convinced chorus. A solo for brassy synth and badass guitar offers a break for breath. Still, the sense of success and ascendancy over oneself returns in catchy catchy catchy chorus. ‘Take a Load Off Your Feet’ is a tune about two feet. Bumble-bee synth accompanies acoustic sharp guitar and childlike voice. Clatter in the background. Glitchy ghost-vox cut in and out (almost accidentally it seems). Earnest electrified voices chime in come chorus to tell you to “take good care of your feet, Pete.” Kettle-pot percussion. Pizzicato pluck-o-strings. Mellow bridge ends with a loud exclamation of “ouch!” All in all, this song strolls by in light and merry mood. Then ‘Disney Girls (1957)’ moves right along with mandolins and gospely progress of piano. A tuneful and gracious peace envelops the piece. With the warm way it’s played and the sugary choice of words, the track is nothing but nostalgia, the singer’s dream for “fantasy worlds and Disney girls”. It’s easy to understand and to get lost in its ear-pleasing loveliness. Perhaps it’s equally easy to consider it all a little too cloying! No matter, the music encounters a change of key via a challenging chain of sudden jazzy dissonant spacious vocal chamber theatrics that’s quite exciting. There’s also whistling! Chuck Berry must have snuck into the studio for ‘Student Demonstration Time’. From the crunchy chug-a-lug intro to the form of chords and standard structure of the song, it sounds exactly like any old blues-based tune. There’s the essential stomping pace and the trademark tickle of tack-piano. What’s new to the tried-n-true are some sirens screaming out from police vehicles and a megaphone used as microphone. Gritty be the distorted delivery of lines about civil unrest and really-bad riots. Overall, it’s an odd anthem that doesn’t fit in with the others on the album. ‘Feel Flows’ swims in psychedelia. With its splish-splash beat and phantom whispers, the song’s a little ominous despite the cheery melody. The unusual sound well serves the general uncertainty of human feelings. In short, the production suits the variable teeter-totter of emotions implied by the title line “feel flows”. Mystical words like “unbending never ending tablets of time / record all the yearning” preach spiritual self-help or some such nugget of New Age language. A cultish council of volunteer vocalists contributes background lines: “white hot glistening shadowy flows / black hot glistening shadowy flows”. Are you enlightened yet? Meditate awhile as an untamed oscillating flute freaks out and a grimy guitar cuts through the chug. Acoustic guitars come back for ‘Lookin’ At Tomorrow (A Welfare Song)’, a disturbed ditty about a poor worker living day-to-day. The chords continue descending despairingly. Singer be-bops as if it’s the only thing he can do anymore besides slave away “sweeping up some floors”. He knows he “…could be doing so much more”; but considering the way his words warp and cut in-n-out of phase, he doesn’t seem so sure to me. Heartbreaking ballad ‘A Day in the Life of a Tree’ describes exactly that. An elegy for the environment, this tune takes the perspective of an old dying oak-tree. Scored for solemn church-organ, the slow song features a cycle of giant chords revolving around a single musical root (furthering the tree theme). Birds chirp as the tree pines on the past: “one day I was full of life / my sap was rich and I was strong / from seed to tree I grew so tall / through wind and rain I could not fall”. But its tired vocals also reflect “but now my branches suffer / and my leaves don’t bear the glow / they did so long ago”. It all culminates in big catharsis. ‘’Til I Die’ carries the mournful mood of the previous piece. Blinding organ flashes out a plucky pattern accompanied by beat-o-drums and bristling bass. Huge cosmic harmonies express sorrowful otherworldly worries with words comparing oneself to “a cork on an ocean”, “a rock in a landslide”, “a leaf on a windy day”; in other words, insignificant matter surrounded by impossible space! It’s accepted with conviction, words of confirmation repeating over-n-over again in mantra: “these things I’ll be until I die”. Gloomy tune! Last track ‘Surf’s Up’ makes for a most mysterious epic. The baroque ball-room-style song of part one features an impatient bass, chittering trumpet, skittering xylo, spooky whispers, and all such unsettling stuff plus obscure oddball lyrics about “columnated ruins domino”-ing (matched to the highest of high-notes). Suddenly: “are you sleeping, Brother John?”. Part two’s for piano. Couple of sunny chords accompany solo singing. There’s almost too many words tumbling out of the mouth; they rise quickly, emotionally, all in a desolate, desperate delivery. The structure resets and the words “surf’s up” are sung. Nevertheless, this ain’t no surf song! Those days are long dead-n-done. This is frightful enlightenment. Part three explodes with energy, vast harmonies enriching the scene with tragic expressions of “child is the father of man” maybe meaning that innocence is ended and that the surf is up and over forever. Surf’s Up teems with mellow and mournful music about reality and existence. Despite its little quirks and ostensibly lightweight look, Surf’s Up sinks deep in your soul if you allow it. I sure did.

It's pretty darn melodic for a punk album, and that's precisely what makes it so good.

Not my cup of tea. But while I like it a lot less than I did two decades ago, I appreciate its anthemic and arcebic bite.

Intriguing!

Intriguing!

Need to revisit.

Everybody digs Bill Evans...Normally I'd object to such harsh panning (bass left, piano right); but this division brings both instruments into their own orbit with the drums occupying the space all around. I can focus on both throughout their wild flights of fancy. In spite of their distance, their worlds work well together. Really, I could listen to Bill Evans all damn day.

Nyro’s got her own unique crop of fruity tunes, but they’re just a bit too hard to bite into. Nevertheless, the style is unparalleled (and perhaps served as an inspiration for the later greater works of Kate Bush).

Too much sloppy nonsense, but 'Wild Horses' and 'Can't You Hear Me Knocking' are absolutely classics.

Daring and hilarious, Trout Mask Replica rewards repeated listens, but it's obviously so long and awful that few will be brave enough to reach such rewards. It's way too wacky for a five, but I find it's deserving of a four for its sheer commitment to chaos. It's definitely my favorite absurdist blues record of all time...

Mysterious, for sure.

More than once while listening, I thought Spotify had switched over to some other artist whenever some of the instrumentals started. They impressed me far more than any of the lyrics or rap. Too bad the entire thing wasn't some soundtrack album!

I liked this a lot more than I thought I would. 'Kick, Push' is awesome.

Relaxed, soulful, messy, and unmemorable. But I liked it well enough, so a 3 it shall be.

I like it but I don’t remember a lick of it.

This made a dance-adverse man dance. Generic as the songs are, the furious performance makes it great.

While I can tolerate some off-the-wall vocals (my favorite singer might be Peter Hammill from Van der Graaf Generator), Dave Mustaine's vocals are absolutely atrocious. However, all the music is excellently performed and recorded.

My poor opinion of Jimi Hendrix remains unchanged after having sat through this lengthy LP. At least some of the more atmospheric moments make the frantically-panned guitar solos a little bit interesting.

Mitchell's imagination is huge and the music is emotive and moving, if not extremely memorable.

This sounds a-lot like fuzz-bass Radiohead, but I liked it.

Three stars for the Bleh Bleh Blehs. Not a note, not a single word or wail from the frontwoman really arrested my attention, but I suspect this is a treasurable record in its own right that requires repeated listens to really get into.

A melancholy masterpiece.

Early Leonard Cohen lyrics are cryptic and sometimes inexplicable ("an ape with angel glands"), but this shambling debut has a magic charm. Despite its easy pace and gentle existence, there is an arresting, almost dangerous and indoctrinating quality all over this album that will hook and hypnotize the right type of listener into the cult of Cohen. Best tracks: 'Suzanne' and 'One of Us Cannot Be Wrong'

I didn't dig this, and I don't understand the intention of using a well-known track like 'Ain't No Mountain High Enough' as the musical basis for her own song, a song that seems to have no melody or structure at all. At least the record was short!

The band sounds great, and the main talent is truly displayed. However, Lady Soul seems to have set the precedent for over-emotive zero-to-hundred vocal performance that characterize a lot of more contemporary pop-star singers. It appeals to the "people", but I guess I'm not a person. Gentle reader of reviews, please forgive my flak towards the so-called Queen of Soul—I'm just not into it, and would sure prefer the more restrained substance of a Roberta Flack.

‘Into the Mystic’ is marvelous. That song alone has influenced my awarding of a 4.

As much as I admire Dylan, I'm not sure why this live record exists on this list. Notable in live performance for his compulsion to deviate drastically from studio arrangements, Dylan really lets loose with his own tunes here, dragging them out and around (especially on the electric side). It's long and sloppy and not so satisfying. Nevertheless, the only one that stirred me personally was this gentle rendition of 'Just Like A Woman'.

I've been meaning to listen to this for a decade - what a wait for such a strange thing!

I've written about this album before: Despite its deadly title, 2004’s Funeral by Arcade Fire comes across as quite the lively beginning for a band. From the first few seconds of ‘Neighborhood #1 (Tunnels)’ with its flowery prancing pianos running around in rich reverberant riffage, it’s clear there’s something strong and serious powering up. The chords shift solemnly along a full-band build-up, everyone chuggin’. That pulse is pregnant with child. Indeed, it is the childlike why, wonder, and worry for the end of kid-dom that fills out the central theme of this dreamy sadsong—in a neighborhood besieged by snow where families are frozen, the kids must tunnel out into the chilly wilderness and make ends meet all on their own. It’s a cold coming-of-age: “we let our hair grow long / and forget all we used to know / then our skin gets thicker / from living out in the snow”. Another verse concludes with the compelling vision: “sometimes, we remember our bedrooms / and our parent’s bedrooms / and the bedrooms of our friends / then we think of our parents / well, what ever happened to them?”; and that straightforward kind of commentary can instantly generate any number of memories in the minds of listeners, too. But even if times are tough, there’s love enough to make mysterious amends: “you change all the lead / sleeping in my head / as the day grows dim / I hear you sing a golden hymn”, this romantic-toned vague language sung with gusto to a lover. And with a passion comparable to that of the high-flying singing, the instruments also seemingly rise up above a cold snow-capped mountain and transcend time to reach a shining summit of glorious mandolin-style quick-picking heaven. And the hot-sun disco drums hit hi-hats on off-beats to keep the pulse perversely danceable! Ah, all in all, it’s an inspired song to start a superb album. There are some drums darkened by a shade of sleigh bells to open ‘Neighborhood #2 (Läika)’, a song with unhappy harmonic jangle guitars and even a crying accordion. Vocals shout out all energized and frantic about Alexander, an adventurous older brother who left the neighborhood-nest never to return (like Läika the space-dog). Choruses claim: “our mother should have / just named you Läika / it’s for your own good / it’s for the neighborhood”. Slyly, the crying accordion theme comes back twice: once from a weepy sweepy string section and later as a sung chant as the neighbors evidently dance “in the police disco lights”. Overall, the song rocks hards with many little general dynamic uppings of the ante over the course of its three swift minutes. ‘Une année sans lumière’, or “a year without light”, mellows the mood with a gentle repetitive riff. It’s a language-trading tale of metaphorical lightlessness. In this shadowland of burnt-out lamps, people wear blinders over their eyes (“porte des oeillères”); but the narrator alone can see with his eyes “shooting sparks” into the night. And musically, the song’s really not so-sad-sounding. It’s all the more confident come chorus: “hey, your old man should know / if you see a shadow / there’s something there” perhaps implying that the singer’s love is real and that it’s not really his fault if people lack the sense to understand it. Some slidey guitar-type-tone takes your attention after the singing stops; and here the fast ballad, hitherto gentle and silken, erupts in the end: choppy strums and drums come to a super-charged conclusion as if aligning to make bright lightning strike in the land of ever-night. But lightning only illuminates the land for a brief bit before it’s back to black: ‘Neighborhood #3 (Power Out)’ crashes down with huge horrible chords and another dancing drum-beat. ‘Though those drums stay the same, the verses emerge in sudden crazy contrast to the doom-laden introduction—a new key comes in optimistically with twinkling mallet-y music and sunshine chugging quick business in the guitar parts as the singer describes the situation: “kids are swinging from the power lines / nobody’s home, so nobody minds” and also urges “light a candle for the kids / Jesus Christ, don’t keep it hid!”; and with that, we’re back to the distorted chords, the dark parts, the powerless parts that actually sound the most powerful. Here comes a funky riff. The band can make a sense of apprehension and fear swell up sonically—in the bridge, as strings rise over the scene in minor melodies and you hear the heartfelt cries of “the power’s out in the heart of man / take it from your heart, put it in your hand”, you might realize it’s all about personal failure and aimlessness—the music drips with the dread you’d expect to accompany lines like that. All dark, all dark. ‘Neighborhood #4 (7 Kettles)’ brings the four-song theme-sequence to a close in a tranquil way. The track rides in from the winds as wild violins warble and seven kettles whistle. An acoustic guitar comes in with a little riff very much like a famous song about the “end of September” that came out exactly six days later! Disregarding such a silly coincidence, the song does indeed revolve around the tricky business of time. Here’s a line: “time keeps creepin’ through the neighborhood / killing old folks, waking up babies just like we knew it would”. The titular kettles come into play in the chorus where the words use the old adage about how a “watched pot won’t ever boil”; and tearful guitars strike down and strings rise most emotionally in this fragile and feely piece. Here’s the weariest waltz ever in ‘Crown of Love’, another song utilizing the band’s ace ability to hypnotize with a simple rhythm. This time it’s piano putting out the hypnotic pulse over a couple of extra emotional chords with vocals calmly declaring dramas such as “I carved your name across my eyelids / You pray for rain, I pray for blindness”. On chorus cue, strings appear as almost expected to do their distinctive duty of tension-building—rising high in a skyscraper of sad sound to accompany the titular take-away: “if you still want me, please forgive me / the crown of love has fallen from me / if you still want me, please forgive me / because the spark is not within me”. Those feelings have fled and the love is dead—or at least, that’s what one side of the relationship thinks; the song continually shifts perspectives back-n-forth. This unfortunate chorus continues to build until it all spills out into a fast disco-drummed dance-break play-out, absolutely a sweet yet strange surprise as if dancing is the only reasonable response to lost love in this mystifying life. Crunchy stuff comes chugging strong in ‘Wake Up’, the heaviest hitter on this album. Who can resist hollering along to the wordless whoa-whoa wailing anthem of the wowing power chorus? It’s complete catharsis. Ultimately, it’s another ode involving a child’s charge of responsibility and the grim business of growing up in a weird world. Hear sung in the second verse a broken throat summary: “we’re just a million little gods causing rain storms / turning every good thing to rust / I guess we’ll just have to adjust!”. The song’s epic enough to include a harp, but no note’s ever out of place in this dramatic thing. Even towards the end, when the music morphs into something like dancey doo-wop, it just seems like the right reaction—instead of sulking or whining why not celebrate what little life we all have to live? It’s with a great big generous serving of strong optimism that you hear the fragile-voiced twinkling singing of lines like: “with my lightning bolts a-glowing / I can see where I am going”. Wake up and take charge of your own life—that’s what this exceptionally lovely and uplifting big ballad seems to be saying. Here we take a trip to ‘Haiti’ where spooky siren sounds haunt the hills. Tea kettle mellotron toots a tune, sharp and whistly. The beat keeps bobbing with bass drum and dance-inducing cymbals as two chords strum some, just a standard major-minor rise-n-fall perpetual pattern, nothing particularly sinister or sad about this sound despite the eerie lyrics. Words flip between French and English again to describe the very bad history of Haiti, ancestral homeland of the singer. The ghosts of stillborn children inhabit this atmosphere and wage spiritual warfare against abusive autocrats of the past; but amid these spectral scenes, here’s a hopeful vision: “tous les morts-nés forment une armée (translation: all the stillborn form an army) / soon we will reclaim the earth / all the tears and all the bodies / bring about our second birth”. Yes, this lament doesn’t succumb to dumb defeat. Even death can’t keep the spirits from quitting their mission or surrendering hope. Maybe that standard major-minor rise-n-fall two-chord acoustic guitar perpetual pattern is the perfect progression for all underdogs: never resolved but forever rovin’ and hopin’. Fading in from the phantom haze of the last track, ‘Rebellion (Lies)’ kicks off with bass things. Punchin’ punctual snare strikes and piano stays on the same clacking chord, but that sinuous bass weaves between three different sectors of its fretboard. Something huge is brewing even if that something is only a small defiant child—the song uses the big debacle of bed-time as a metaphor for repression and the spreading of lies that parents (and less specifically, society) are sometimes inclined to try in order to keep kids in line. At the same time, it’s also the naive child who shares the tale, so we only see the lyrics from behind his inexperienced eyes; but nevertheless, he senses a sham. With one simple convolution of chord, hear the refrain go from sleepy-time cheerful (with the rootin-tootin lullaby-like “lies, lies!” in the background) to sudden serious-business all over the repeated “every time you close your eyes”. Things are false. Things are hidden. Too many people hide the “night”, their “lies”, their “lovers”, all these things “under the covers”. This dancey anthem advocates no more sleepy deceit! We ride out the last track ‘In the Backseat’, at once a mournful yet magnificent rock-song that manages to express loss and gain in the same strain. Fitted with a lyric that beautifully balances the disparate innocence of youth with the finality of death, the symphony-of-a-song soars straight into the head and heart of every sensitive listener—both its tune and its talk catch on tight to the ear and the emotions! A first verse imparts its delicate tidings amid twinkling pretty piano and ambiguously-shaped cloud-passing chords of string-sound: “I like the peace / in the backseat / I don’t have to drive / I don’t have to speak / I can watch the countryside / and I can fall asleep”, perhaps the perfect poem to summarize the burden-free business of childlike simple-living. Nevertheless, termless time administers aging and fading: “my family tree’s / losing all its leaves”. Yes, the guitars come to commiserate with the unanticipated tragic news of the chorus: “Alice died / in the night / I’ve been learning to drive / my whole life”. The knowledge of how to take charge of one’s own way seems to last a lifetime, the wisdom always weaving in-n-out. And all this happens again-n-again as the song’s just a big crescendo of power and passion; and on a larger scale, it’s a cycle of life. By the big finish, the song has swelled to both heaven and hell; and the singing has occupied many octaves, ultimately resorting to a primal wordless wailing for woe and for hope. Everything now. The tune takes an entire two minutes to calm down, all the strings slowly scrambling off; but what a rapturous unravelling it is. Funeral is an infinitely listenable album jam-packed with intriguing lyrics about power, time, childhood, and dying; all of those sorry affairs etched into a strong sonic palette. Most notably, and perhaps this is its most effective element, Funeral focuses on the feels. Each tastefully-played tune emanates and sustains a spirit of hope despite all the dramas alluded to in the lyrics. Don’t delay! Attend [to] the Funeral right away.

Oh God, it was absolutely awful! The album's a gagbag full of petulant, untalented shouts and overlong, unchanging chug-a-lug riffery. I hate it very much. But really, it's probably intentionally meant to be unpleasant to people like me who opine that punk sucks.

Although George is my fave, his 'Within You, Without You' is the only out-of-place thing on this disc. Nevertheless, I'll give the record a high 5 with or without that track.

This is a wild ride in rap with rather many references to rectums. I've never heard an album quite like it.

There's nothing else like Nick Drake. While this isn't, in my opinion, his best or most famous record, it's a five even by its title...

I slept on this album for several years, but it's worth the wake and wait! Hearing 'Since I've Been Loving You' again stirred some special feeling within me.

A whole lot better than Whole.

Of course, this is the one that started it all, the trailblazing ambient album—but it's really only half good: '1/1' and '1/2' being a billion times better than '2/1' and '2/2'. All that being said, even if it's a 50% F-grade record, it's an important recording I hold dear to my heart. I'd just have preferred to encounter Eno's later Ambient 2 or Ambient 4 on this list because those are absolute 5s.

At the insistent request of an oddball German professor, I performed the theme song to Shaft with a band during my college days, and I'll never forget our singer shamelessly declaring: "Who's the black private dick that's a sex machine to all the chicks?" What a weird piece! However, I was pleasantly surprised by the rest of the record...

There is a weird juxtaposition of moody McVie ballads and Nicks bits right beside trippy upbeat Buckingham hoedowns all throughout the album, but it’s really a miraculous record. Favorite Tracks: ‘Over and Over’ and ‘That’s All For Everyone’

Tack-piano attacks like a ticking alarm clock in a lone isolated phrase; yes, it is now the time (of the season) for some special occasion, some rising up out of a bed of obscurity for one singular great day of fame—such is a description of the Zombie’s one-off wonder Odessey and Oracle, an awesome album from 1968 released by a band that by that time was already broken-up and done-for. “Good morning to you…” the first song starts sung in prim smoky-tone over a delightfully familiar descending chord progression, just piano and drums chopping along. Bass enters in on tasteful phrases. The lyrics appear to regard man-n-woman’s long-anticipated reunion, divulged in the form of a letter; but how clever a concept when you realize that the boy plans to go get his girl from a correctional facility! Lyrics like “and we’ll get to know each other for a second time / and then you can tell me ’bout your prison stay…” reveal and explain the title ‘Care of Cell 44’. All the while, the music is sunshine-bright and beautified by spacious fades of mellotron and harmony vocal. In a chorus rivaling the best of the Beach Boys, ‘Care of Cell 44’ comes loaded with huge layers of heavenly harmony. “Feels so good!” ‘A Rose for Emily’ subverts expectations. An optimistic opening line “the summer is here at last” is coupled with the contrasting “the sky is overcast”. Worst yet, “no one brings a rose” for the eponymous Emily, and that’s what this is all sadly about. Played on piano, the song and its simple set-up become belied by complicated chords, inverted and diminished, minor and major, everywhere in the scale and beyond. Indeed, it all changes key for the chorus with well-woven vocal parts reflecting further on Emily’s hapless reality. Audible guitar occupies the shadowy opening of ‘Maybe After He’s Gone’, a sudden power-ballad in its chorus with walls of harmony, hammering piano, and the simple and somewhat desperate refrain: “maybe after he’s gone / she’ll come back / love me again”. Further verses wallow in great gloom with dramatic declarations of “I feel I’ll never breathe again / I feel life’s gone from me”. Drums thunder from a low valley and extra singers add sad la-la’s on the offbeats. These drastically different sections alternate (once with a bridge in between); and there’s finally an a cappella ending on those uncertain chorus words. Now the hazy glaze of 1967 summer-o-love shows up in the full swingin-psych of ‘Beechwood Park’. Warm organ and tremulous guitar walk in this pretty park together through a series of intriguing twists and shocking harmonic realizations—it’s a-lot like the natural ebb-n-flow of a free, sleepy mind. On those notes, the lyrics lean on wistful memories, detail-free impressions of the past with lovely music to match: “and the breeze would touch your hair / kiss your face and make you care / about your world / your summer world”. Hear the divine church-choir conclusion; it’s all a dusty dream for bygone times and untouchable things. ‘Brief Candles’ handles its drastic dynamics much in the same way as ‘Maybe After He’s Gone’ (ie, a sad and elegant section gives way to an enormous chorus). Each verse, with its pensive piano passages, features a distinct singer describing some lonely broken soul; but all is not lost as the music smooths into an exciting tune of triumph, an anthem of huge harmony with words “brief candles in his mind / bright and tiny gems of memory / brief candles burn so fine / leaves a light inside where he can see / what makes it all worthwhile / his sadness makes him smile”. How ear-catching! How encouraging! Next track trods through its end-twist progression insistently, the last chord always a strange yet stable resolution in this most noble of odes to the flower-power scene of the sixties: ‘Hung Up On a Dream’. The lyrics retell the singer’s blissful entrance into hippiedom when “a sweet vibration filled the air”, and how “[he] stood astounded staring hard / at men with flowers resting in their hair”. But what about that bridge? ’Tis revealed that this scene was just a dream, nothing but a transient time, a pleasant and intense memory that the narrator can never relive. But he’s hung up! The song haunts on with the presence of two more verses (now up a notch in a new key) and all the ghost vocals echoing each word (along with the tired lines “sometimes I think I’ll never find / such purity and peace of mind, again”). ‘Changes’ changes things up, appropriately so. This contrasting track blasts with banging bongos and overloaded harmony walls, these vocals repeating seasonal lyrics almost a cappella (save for the tribal percussion). Second section sounds outrageously dissimilar to the first due to its jazzy piano progression. These separate sections, essentially two distinct tunes, trade awhile and that’s all that really occurs in one of the longer songs on the album. Let that delayed bass bob along to introduce ‘I Want Her She Wants Me’, a harpsichorded rocker with audible guitar—again, the guitar does not feature nearly as frequently as common for contemporaries of ze Zombies. This track’s tune tickles the ear with its pleasant pop and optimistic message of mutual love. Maybe the mood’s a bit more menacing on the bridge (with lines advising care and caution); but ultimately, everything adheres to the easy-breezing feel-good stressless sentiment of young love: “there’s nothing on my mind / and life seems kind now!”. Piano drives the ballad-bus for ‘This Will Be Our Year’, a pretty little ditty refraining on the tag “this will be our year / took a long time to come”. The chords of the chorus capture the tumultuous up-n-down emotions of a pre-dating duo; but now their time is right. There’s even a short plunky piano solo and a key change stepping things up for maximum momentum in this lovely two-minute tune. There’s a big change of pace on ‘Butcher’s Tale (Western Front 1914)’ with its ominous winds and repetitive pump-organ passage. We’re here in the horrors of World War I as a poor butcher-turned-slayer sheds some dark light on the scenes of battle: “and I have seen a friend of mine / hang on the wire like some rag toy / then in the heat the flies come down / and cover up the boy”. The bleak chorus is most blood-curdling as butcherboy wails “I can’t stop shaking / my hands won’t stop shaking / my arms won’t stop shaking / my mind won’t stop shaking”. Of course, this eerie experience is utterly out of place on this album; but it isn’t unwelcome to any interested ears. ‘Friends of Mine’ be a twee tune about how touching it can be “to know two people / so in love, so in love”; in other words, it’s just a thoughtful guy feeling jazzed since his friends have found love. The music is straight-up fast piano-pop complete with the catchiest chorus—leadsinging repeats the title tunefully as buncho-backups say the names of specific friend-pairs: “Kim and Maggie / June and Duffy / Jean and Jim and / Jim and Christie” (I always enjoy that two Jims are mentioned—or maybe it’s the same scandalous Jim?). Cute composition. “Aw”, it ends. And at last ‘Time of the Season’ comes to close out the album with its classic claps and gasps and iconic drum-n-bass spooky-groove. Sensual singing comes to its glorious chorus with all voices together, tight and unaided by any instruments to express a simple statement: “it’s the time of the season for loving”. And there’s a few extended solos for an inspired electric-organ cutting loose over the only real instance of jamming this band left on the record. It’s a fine finish. Odessey and Oracle: it’s a mash of music characterized by a classical mode of composition, an ear-pleasing pop-sensible melody perspective, and a strong 1960s-style emphasis on love. Everything’s good-n-groovy, brother-n-sisters. Each song, crafted carefully with juicy artistic alloys, offers its own unique strength and sparkle. Taken as a whole, this album’s certainly one of the brightest and most substantial sets of songs of its time and season. [And even in 2019, 50+ years after the fact, the original band hasn't lost its verve and performs the entire album live! I won't forget a bunch of old Zombies making such beautiful music before my eyes—I hope they touch you all with their infectious melodies]

It’s 1971 and the purple world of Bryter Layter, Nick Drake’s second set-o-songs, rolls up regally in an entrancing ‘Introduction’. Gentle acoustic guitar goes low and high in fancy flights of elegant arpeggios as other orchestral instruments start to swell with romantic rises of string-sound. It’s just a couple chords mirrored again and again for not much more than a minute, but it sets the mellow mood for the rest of the record. ‘Hazey Jane II’ sounds like a sunny afternoon countryside with its quick twanging licks and background brass. It’s nothing but fast folk rocking with full band reinforcements and an unusual and upbeat course of chords. The first few phrases of verse draw on far longer than expected just because Drake, a rather shy guy, finds he has much to say in song. Sung in a sudden outpouring of posh flourish, his lines come across sprawling and spontaneous and a touch funny: “and what will happen in the evening in the forest with the weasel with the teeth that bite so sharp when you’re not looking in the evening?”. It all seems the smiling influence of the old hazy jane inhabiting his head and making him all the more articulate in his art. Indeed, the last lyrics are “if songs were lines / in a conversation / the situation would be fine”; and this seems to say that he can only really talk true if he’s singing a song. ‘At The Chime Of A City Clock’ starts with an apocalyptical guitar part, its tone beset by smoke and snow. After one pass, the band joins in jazzily and Drake sings “a city freeze / get on your knees / pray for warmth and green paper”. It’s a grim vision of poor people with no place to go and no one to know in an enormous and overpopulated industrial jungle. In addition to the bleary business of the bass-n-drums accompaniment, symphonious strings sweep above the scene in dark arcs, ominous countermelodies to the tuneful “chime of the city clock” of the chorus. Second verse introduces a squawking jazz-sax that adds a ton of rougher colors to the grey-shade spectrum of the song. Overall, it’s rather black, this track. Cheer up or perhaps down with ‘One Of These Things First’, a breeze-feel ballad belied by downbeat lyrics about everything that the singer could have been: “I could have been your pillar / could have been your door / I could have stayed beside you / could have stayed for more”. Clearly trapped in the past, Drake can’t move forward to make any changes: “I could be / here and now / I would be, I should be / but how?”; and considering his obscure and short-lived life, these troubles of time and identity are essential elements of the artist. Musically, the tune features a fast and relentless riff for guitar as well as some perfectly-employed piano. Restless drums drive the beat all the while; and even at five minutes, the song seems too short. Despite its sequel occurring earlier in the album, ‘Hazey Jane I’ shows up as an entirely different song. The first few seconds exhibit Drake’s masterful command of his folk-fingers with awesome acoustic guitar parts. Cinematic strings move with slow majesty almost out-of-time through this other dusty address to the vague Jane, likely both a person and a plant. Lines like “do you feel like a remnant / of something that’s past? / do you find things are moving / just a little too fast?” read with some stoned sense of loss as if time is trickling by and there’s no way forward. Last lines: “hey slow, Jane, clear your eye / slow, slow, Jane, fly on by”; it’s just another gentle rendering of the strange relationship between Drake-n-Jane, man and his high and flighty muse. ‘Bryter Layter’ title track turns out to be a charming instrumental featuring flute, very melodic and somewhat sassy-jazzy as strings enter in. No true telling what the words “bryter layter” may mean, but perhaps it’s an indication of sunshine to come tomorrow. ‘Fly’ comes across classically with its stately shape. Descending guitars go down against a droning two-note viola before a huge harpsichord fills out the sound. Drake’s hurried and high-pitched pleas of “please! give me a second grace / please! give me a second face” sound particularly pained against the opulent production as if his straining voice can scarcely rise above to voice responsibility and express remorse. The main takeaway can be collected from the end of each refrain: “it’s really too hard for to fly”, that folky double preposition/infinitive easy to mishear as “for the fly”. Jazz guitar does dim mutey music throughout ‘Poor Boy’, a track unlike all others on the album. Piano’s prominent and eventually gets to shine bryter layter during an extended solo. Saxophone squeals. Ladies lend dusty lungs to lead the chorus of “oh pooy boy / so sorry for himself / oh poor boy / so worried for his health”. Lyrics paint a picture of a poor little urchin child living a rough-n-ragged existence out on the streets; but it’s really just Drake the Waif singing with deathly self-pity: “nobody knows / how cold it grows…” ‘Northern Sky’ comes across like a cold yet cozy evening with its soft guitar and spacious organ atmospheres. It might the simplest song on of the set, but that doesn’t diminish its large charm. Drake soulfully sings: “would you love me for my money? / would you love me for my head? / would you love me through the winter? / would you love me ’til I’m dead?”. As evidenced by this song showing up in more than a few movies and inspiring other songs of its own (see The Dream Academy’s ‘Life In A Northern Town’), many people do love the man and his music. Indeed, this might be the most-known Nick Drake ditty. ‘Sunday’ is another flutey feature with a main theme most moody and menacing. No throwaway, the song boasts several melodies abounding in well-wound sections of innerestin instrumental music; and although there’s no words at work, it’s still quite catchy! Made by a man rarely recognized in his own time, Bryter Layter may take a few tries to really get; but if you like great creative guitar playing and introspective lyrics, listen and listen again to unlock this bunch of beautifully moody musics.

Why have I neglected this record for so long?

Uniquely done. Simone is best in slow mode. If you removed the fast, snappy tracks and left the record alone with the slow stuff, it would be far better!

Although the album is really much better that I expected (I thought this might be some horrible hardcore record), there is still something cold and unsatisfying about this approach to art.

Smooth Simon - I’d never heard this record, and I’m sure its chock full of tasteful treasure; but all I got out of it upon my first and so far only listen was how to properly pronounce “Magritte” which I’ve been saying incorrectly all my adult life.

This is my mowing music.

Perhaps the album's impact was profound upon its original release in 1971, but I really struggle to see or hear any justification for this record's commonly celebrated status as "greatest of all time". While I intend to listen to it again potentially to temper my opinion, the album as a whole, minus a few moments, seems to my ears a long and monotonous murk of reverb, strings, and dramatic vocal improvisation. Not my thing!

I love atypical hip hop.

Gag - this is the second CA album I've got from this last, and to make matters even worse, it's a double album! I suffered through.

Indie Indian!

Why is Beck considered among the best? With only some occasional exceptions, this is just another basic blues record, nothing too nice about it.

I love Lou Reed and especially John Cale, but they were both so much better without each other! Listen to their solo careers, or even the next Velvet Underground record after this one. WL/WH is too wild and horrible to be very enjoyable; nevertheless, it's not the worst noise I've heard.

I like my ambient so much better without a beat.

These little buggers made no impression on me, but I feel I'd best not ignore them. I'll have to come back to this and listen again to give it a fair rating.

I wish Tim Buckley had focused his talent in a different direction away from this funky mush of indistinct blues music—nevertheless, some of the more soulful scatting is insanely great!

Considered Coltrane's supreme achievement, the album speaks to God and doesn't last too long. Although I'd heard it before, I listened to the entire thing while out-n-about looking for my wallet; fittingly, once I found the wallet, traveled home, and pulled into my driveway, the album ended with a heavenly sense of bliss and unconditional closure.

I have no appetite for destruction. The most credit I can give this record revolves around fellow Hoosier Axl Rose’s intriguing two-tone voice—he can sound like two different people depending on which octave he occupies. That’s kind of nice, but he’s apt to spoil the treat with irritating imitations of his female partner’s passionate sexual utterances. Anyway, two stars for two tones.

This is a weird release with singing duties divided between Bragg and Tweedy (and occasionally some female singers). Evidently, these songs are all set to lyrics originally penned by the legend Woody Guthrie. I found myself drawn more to the Wilco/Tweedy tunes.

Banhart is always freaky and unique, but the songs don’t really stick.

I'm indebted to Shrek for introducing me to Mr. Cave, a really deep-cutter. Listener: explore his other works, as they are diverse and deep.

Not the best Bowie by any stretch, but I will always appreciate the insane piano solo in the title track.

This is weird but not nearly as weird as Marc and the Mambas which I like a lot better.

I've heard this several times during the last decade, but never does it remain in my mind.

Even though the whole thing seems to be steeped in irony, I couldn't enjoy the annoying voices.

This made me toot on my licorice stick!

I'm a fan of ambient music, and I know well enough that a good amount of music requires a lot of listening for it to really click. But it seems like no matter how many times I've heard this record, nothing sticks.

Time Out of Mind is probably Bob's best record from the backhalf of his big career. I credit Daniel Lanois for the luscious production, for making all of these gritty songs shine in a dusty light. Sadly, 'Highlands' detracts from the album with its pointless 16-minute story and only serves to make the album way too long. 4/5

I thought it loud and overlong, but the last track had me humming along. I'll revisit this.

Music from the mental asylum! I'm sure all the peeps here will hate ol' Pere.

At times, this sounds like the Cocteau Twins re-cast as a 1970s German Krautrock band. As if to confirm my comparison, it was only after reaching this conclusion that I discovered that the original lead singer of the band Can actually guest featured on one track of Weaver's record. Like both bands Can and Cocteau, the lyrics of Jane Weaver aren’t really clear, but that’s no problem. The grooves hold their own.

Jesus Built My Hotrod is the best thing about this, but it hardly belongs.

I'm not very versed in English rap, but a phrase like "the man in the white top at the MacDonald's car park" made me an instant-fan. This album's got an alluring charm all over it.

This record is like a gross half-eaten sloppy joe left behind for the flies at a family reunion in the middle of July. For those who thought Kurt Cobain was a bad singer, please consider Curt Kirkwood, main man of the Meat Puppets. Cobain's singing of three Kirkwood cuts on the famous Nirvana Unplugged record marks a significant improvement over the originals found within this record.

Ah, I love Richard and Linda Thompson—I'm excited to see they made it on the list. Linda’s lovely voice combined with Richard’s gutsy guitars makes for a winning combo. This specific album aligns with my ardent admiration for miserable music. 'Withered and Die' floats by with an ostensibly careless air, yet the lyrics reflect a weary and depressed resignation from life. 'The End of the Rainbow' is just as bleak as can be. Indeed, with such darkness all around, a desire to see bright lights tonight makes some sense.

Nowhere near as good as "Forever Changes"

Nowhere near as good as "Funeral"

Despite my proud ownership of the official ?uestlove signature drum set, I couldn't wait for this record to run its course.

Innnnnnnnnerestin'

Ambient mellotron music? I’m a fan!

I know repeated listens can yield delightful treats, but I’ve tried to get to know this album a few times over the years, yet nothing about it ever sticks out to my ears! Every song seems a long slog of sameness. Nevertheless, it’s never too terrible.

Between thin, crunchy, unbuttered layers of bass, squealing synthesizers and vexing vocals make for a thoroughly unappetizing musical meal.

Eh

Southern Rock Opera is a somewhat silly yet really interesting record about the South, more importantly, the misunderstood and mysterious “duality of the South”—it’s a record in praise of both Lynyrd Skynyrd AND Neil Young, a record that reviles racism yet can sing the strange praises of a controversial and complicated man like George Wallace. Nevertheless, a lot of the songs seem lazy and un-memorable.

Impressively performed! I love music that moves at a snail's pace, and I'm really surprised Yo La Tengo doesn't list Cowboy Junkies, a band I probably would never have listened to apart from this generator due to the name, as a prime influence.

Is it just me, or is the bass playing on 'Everyone's Talking' completely off the beat?

Given my appreciation of ambient and having heard all the hype about the Boards of Canada, I wanted to like this record a lot more. Unfortunately, the dream beats really bring it down to an average category—a three it shall be.

Oasis is definitely not the desperate refresher implied by the band name. No no, this album is just a dusty, interminable journey through an every-direction-the-same desert.

Marc Bolan’s the greatest champion for the campiness of rock-n-roll. T. Rex is always a treat to my ears.

Despite the curious context of its creation being blessed by the lovely likes of awesome artists such as Eno, Bowie, Fripp, Pop, Cluster, and Can, I can’t just stand Devo’s debut.

Be warned, this list includes not one but at least TWO Pere Ubu albums. That fact alone is almost as outrageous as this album, and for that, I applaud the curator and his atrocious gall.

The good Captain's debut is an unremarkable collection of blues tunes that shows a few signs of his future crazier creations. In my opinion, Beefheart would only get better, his band more magical, in subsequent releases of his ever-original and very weird work.

I had to resort to Soundcloud to listen to this two hour journey through the jungle. Listener beware: the jungle will exhaust you. While it isn't bad, it's just too much music for one album.

funky, feely

This music is distant and immense, just like a mountain.

As soon as this started I thought "wow, this sounds like the Flaming Lips"; and sure enough, the two bands walked side-by-side to inspire each other. I'm not surprised, and I quite like it.

Eno's organic "scenius" experiment worked wonderfully, although the songs tend to be far stronger than the soundtracks. This album made a mighty impression on me in my high school years, and I think it still holds up as the best studio-as-an-instrument album made by someone beside the Beatles or Beach Boys.

The best album by a brilliant band.

Please don't let this ugly beast ruin your impression of Soft Machine. By the time of "Third", the band embraced more than before its tendencies toward noisy jazz (or jazzy noise). However, "Volume Two", the band's best record, is unlike anything else that exists in its delicate and much more subtle fusion of the two. "Volume Two" manages to jam actual songs, or at least sketches of songs, into the wax. It's funny and wonderfully constructed with pretty little bits juxtaposed beside more atonal atmospheres. I know this is a review for "Third", but it's such a disappointment for me to have to hear this particular album when I rate its predecessor so much more highly. My advice is to go forth and listen to "VOLUME TWO" first before third.

According to all sources, this record is probably pretty clever and packed with endless wit, but the first listen left me cold and uncomfortable.

The Beach House is infested with sneaky little earworms that will make a home in your head as you sleep peacefully on warm pillows of sound. The colorful chords and glittery guitars will ensure your dreams are delightful. I discovered this album eight years late, but upon a few early listens, it swiftly took first place among my favorite records of its decade.

With a title true to its time and place, this record is an important precursor to what the band would become during its golden age of 1966-1973.

Stevie's so soulful, but I never remember his songs.

Robyn Hitchcock is an excellent stylistic emulator of the songwriting of Syd Barrett. On Underwater Moonlight, it sometimes sounds like Barrett himself charting a curious course through the weird waters of the chaotic 1980s. Of course, Hitchcock stands apart on his own merits, yet the influence of Barrett-era Floyd’s sunny psychedelia shines through. And for all that, I’m a fan.

Scott Walker was a Plastic Palace Person operating high above the heads of everyone else. That song itself is like a Fellini film for all of its themes of innocence and artificiality, and the idea of young Billy floating blissfully above the world calls to my mind the opening sequence of "Eight and a Half". My take is this: Walker's music, so seemingly thick with syrup, so overindulgent and ambitious, it at first appears to be reminiscent of the usual orchestral pop-shlock of the 60s, the types of records you might find in abundance at Goodwill these days; but listen again and you start to discover a dynamic very artistic aesthetic that could never be found with Bing Crosby or in the career of any other crooner who's ever existed. This is the strange and alluring magic of 1960s Scott Walker, a young man ahead of his contemporaries and unwilling to share their style at the risk of being misunderstood and labeled as unfashionable.

I don't find very much to enjoy in James Taylor, but it was a very precious coincidence for this \"Sweet Baby James\" record to be generated on the same day my new nephew James was born into the world.

Due to this list, I discovered and feel deep under the spell of "Felt Mountain" recently. Upon seeing another record by Goldfrapp, I got excited. "Seventh Tree" carries a lot more energy than its sister album, but I don't think that's a bad thing.

The Cure’s clunky but iconic monotony reaches some emotional peaks here (in songs such as ‘A Strange Day’).

Why had I'd never heard this before? All three songwriters offer unique styles, and the record is stuffed with surprises (mostly positive). I detract a point for the awful 'Good Time Boy'. Neil Young's got some outrageously ambitious contributions.

Memorably and legendary, "Grace" highlights Jeff Buckley's insane vocal range with an expressive singing that transcends the wild style of his father (the tragic Tim Buckley). With menacing original songs like 'So Real' and several obscure covers: Leonard Cohen's 'Hallelujah' rendered so unlike every other copycat cover, Nina Simone's elegant 'Lilac Wine', Benjamin Britten's austere arrangement of 'Corpus Christi Carole'; populated with songs such as these, this record is loaded with emotion, scope, and trenchant talent. A high five for me.

‘Ace of Spades’ is great, but then the album repeats itself with diminishing returns. Also, some of the lecherous lyrics are clearly dated with their creepy praise for sexual predation. Too bad they didn’t just keep to the cards.

While I enjoy and am more familiar with Joanna Newsom's fantastic first album, I think the songs on "Ys" take her unique, twee artistry to a higher, finer level. These long songs are arduous and uncompromising, but they are the sophisticated visions of an awesome artist.

I dreaded listening to this, but I actually enjoyed it more and more as time went on.

Wacky and fantastic, but these are hard bardy types of tunes dipped in hippy dust. Thus, it's a tough listen.

Take away the ten minute instrumental and we'd have another star.

Early Frank Zappa offers a sort of psycho doo-wop with teenager themes sung in funny voices. It really freaks out in the end. As smart and subversive as it may have been, it no longer resonates.

While I enjoyed the opening track with its quintessential morbidity (even Lemper's vocal inflection reflects Nick Cave's style), the dark bombast lost its initial appeal pretty quick. To be fair, I love Cave, Costello, Waits, and Walker. But this classy cabaret overwhelms my head with a grating pain.

90 minutes overlong!

Among my least favorite of 1960s Dylan records, BIABH sees Dylan turning in a different direction. The record is riddled by an awkward split of electric and acoustic songs. And in this messy mix of style, there are some absolute classics sitting next to a few total stinkers. It's a 3 for me.

I wasn’t impressed by this at all until ‘Bad Fun’ transported me back to the most happy memories of the Tony Hawk’s Pro Skater games of my youth. From there on to the end of the album, I simply smiled and let the boys rawk.

I like this a lot better now than I used to.

Spirit of Eden is much better.

Blackstar is an appropriately beautiful swansong for such an ambitious artist. Favorite track: 'Dollar Days'

I crashed my car listening to this album in high school after sitting through a brain-bending standardized test. Upon revisiting it fifteen years later, I find I like it more than before. However, I think the iconic Miles Davis records such as this one and the overrated "Kind of Blue" are not among the man's best, especially when compared to more emotional works like "Seven Steps to Heaven" or "In A Silent Way". Still, "Bitches Brew" stands out as a singularly unpleasant record. The dissonant improv captured on the album is suggestive of hexes and spells, a supernatural voodoo music that can cause car crashes and can ruin your life. I also applaud the fact that a 27-minute tune was squeezed onto one side of a record.

With album art that features a dying transgender actress, “I Am A Bird Now” addresses the cultural complexities of the concept of gender. The lyrics chronicle a complicated period of personal trouble and struggle in the artist’s life, a time of transition and change, a time when Anhoni felt like an individual denied of her appropriate identity. Throughout all of the pieces, Anhoni couples her ever-expressive and effective voice with evocative musical flourishes. She conveys the appropriate emotional mood on each track primarily through the use of pretty pianos and tragic cellos, and in all songs, the music has been meticulously arranged with great taste and intention.

I'll take the Incredible String Band over Iron Butterfly anytime. Iconic does not equate to enjoyable.