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.
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).
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.
I just can't enjoy the monotonous sludge of distorted guitars and Corgan's petulant whine.
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.
It all sounds like a set of poorly-recorded random Indian pop music, but I liked it!
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)...
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.
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.