This album is breathtaking. I nearly wrote a whole thing about separating art from its context. About how my appreciation of BWPS really has very little to do with the music itself. About how Smile plays more like a great documentary about the making of a great piece of art that was never actually made. About how it all feels a little nostalgic, a little "Disney." About how there's a quality to the mix and production of BWPS that I find unpleasantly nostalgic, stale, flat, over-produced. There's an element certainly that feels like a museum piece—the ornate stitching around the album art helps hit that home, as does the word "presents" in the album title. Not too mention the fact that there are far better recordings of many of these songs scattered across various post-Smile-sessions Beach Boys' albums, and that BWPS doesn't feature any other Beach Boys members. But—now that I've gotten those asides out of my system—I can reaffirm that this album is truly breathtaking. I think those struggles I have with BWPS are accurate, but the truth is listening to this album is an experience unlike any other I can think of in modern music. Recorded and released nearly 40 years after the 24-year-old originally sat down and attempted to record it, had a nervous breakdown, and ultimately abandoned the project, Smile is packed with so much emotional drama, so much story, so much humanity...it really makes me want to cry just thinking about Brian Wilson's personal struggle and ultimate success with this piece art. Sure, a part of me wonders constantly about the version of Smile that might have been recorded in 1967 as originally envisioned (and I can't help but miss the younger Brian Wilson's falsetto in these songs, either). But that doesn't take away from my thoroughly enjoying the version that the elder Brian Wilson released in 2004. In fact, it's an essential part of the experience of listening to BWPS. Listening to this album is to reflect on time, art, and age. To wonder about our younger selves and older selves, and if they're really the same person. To wonder if the art that we might have made in our youth could ever truly be re-created in our middle-to-old age. And to marvel specifically about the emotional journey Brian Wilson took in revisiting this material; reflecting on his younger self—a younger self in the throes of his traumatic, emotionally wrought, defining hours no less—and reclaiming a forgotten dream. I admire this album a great f***ing deal. This album is as great a champion of the human spirit as I can think of. And actually listening to the music, only heightens the emotional pull of that experience. Many moments on this album seriously make me want to cry in the same way I almost always cry listening to "God Only Knows." It's the music itself, but it's also the tragic, heartbroken figure of Brian Wilson inside of it. To hear him struggling through his music. Expressing his deepest feelings and personal anguish and doing it through the traditionally rigid confines of a 1960s pop format. Not to mention, there are some wonderful melodies and great pop experiments here. The whole album has a wonderfully cohesive, downriver flow to it. It's a very strange storybook sort of experience to actually sit down and listen to it. To unpack its movements, its textures, its characters, its geography, and musical histories. It's magical. But I'm also a Brian Wilson fanatic. In the liner notes for this album, author David Leaf asks, "Does Smile exist?" It's a legitimate question. And as an album that I think requires knowing some backstory to appreciate, it's hard to argue that this album really stands on its own in the way it might have in 1967. But does anything? BWPS is the realization of dream. It's music that soars well beyond the confines of music. It exists in our cultural unconscious; in our minds and in our hearts. Of course Smile exists. It always has. I was going to give them album a 4 but screw it, it's a 5.

An immaculate and storied album. I listened to it a lot in college. I’ve always loved Gaye’s lyrics, thematic focus, and vocals on this album, but what struck me most today was the production and musicianship exhibited behind the man. And how well these songs flow from one into another. They practically compose a suite from “What’s Happening” through “Mercy” and from “Right On” to “Holy.” Simply one of the great, grooviest albums ever.

Randy Newman’s finest, most complex work and concept album. There’s a quote somewhere—I can’t find it now—from Mr. Newman where he talks about making dinner party music that you can’t play at dinner parties. I believe that was in regards to his 1971 album Sail Away, of which its central song is told from the perspective a slave trader trying to entice an African to “sail away” to America. Well, if any self-effacing white American hosting a dinner party in the early 70s had an awkward moment with the content of that otherwise gentle, bluesy, and sensible pop song, then the color would have been absolutely drained from host and guest face alike when the chorus of “Rednecks” set in. Newman’s dedication to voice, satire, political intent is as punk rock in Good Old Boys as any punk rocker ever was. But even more so, the empathy he shows here—his ability to actually stand in the shoes of the good-old-boy, Southern characters he sketches and breathes life into across this album—makes that satire even harder hitting. It forces the listener to embody a place, a person, a history, and to reckon with a responsibility we all have for the pervasive racism of this country whether in the South, North, East, West…everywhere. That the songs are so stunningly beautiful—“Louisana 1927” is as fine a Randy Neman song I can think of and it has soundly soundtracked these last few months of California 2023 rain for me—makes the satire, history, and characters in this album bright and brilliant beacons. It makes the whole story go down easy, even as it gets hard to swallow. I don’t know how he quite achieves that. And I can’t think of anything else quite like it. Certainly a favorite album of mine. I hope anyone who hadn’t heard this album before and who had gotten into the easy routine of jamming through these 1001 albums each day had a head turning moment with this one! It’s definitely one that benefits from some time spent with it. Malcolm Gladwell did a great Revisionist History podcast on it a few years ago, I recommend checking it out. 5/5.

I too am surprised with how much I enjoyed this album! I started off listening to it with my brother on a Thanksgiving road trip. We took turns reading the lyrics and laughing at their silliness; I mean, "Red light, green light, yellow light, go!" says it all. Then the songs started sticking in my head. When we arrived at our destination, I listened to the album again whilst shooting pool—a perfect Def Leppard scenario, I think. And the transition from ironic-love to genuine-love for DL's Hysteria took hold. I began to appreciate the boldest, largest moments on this album just as they're presented ("God of War," for instance, is fan-friggin-tastic!) And soon I was mumbling "Red light, yellow light, green light go" and "You got the peaches, I got the cream" to myself without any concern or conscious, and much to my brother's chagrin. I couldn't exactly explain to him why I all of a sudden thought this album was great, and I agreed fully with all of his complaints. I just liked it! For many of the same reasons he didn't to be honest. So there you have it. I would say this album is too long, because it assuredly is, but it has too be! I couldn't imagine this insane, maximilist, balls-to-the-wall, tongue-not-even-in-mouth-let-alone-cheek, a record being any shorter. What's unfathomable is how tight the songwriting and production still manages to be in spite of all this album's late-80s, obscene, excesses. I can best describe the sound of this album as if the members of Slayer performed an Eagles cover, with, yes, a twist of Michael Jackson. Which, come on! It's so cool! Four stars!

I previously listened to Nick Cave’s Skeleton Tree in 2016 and it never quite left me. But the grief and heartbreak of that album was always too much for me to return to directly. So I have not since sometime in 2017. Nor have I listened to its follow up and trilogy-ending, double, 2019 album, Ghosteen. Well I’ve re-listened to Skeleton Tree once today. And visited with Ghosteen thrice. When driving around with it on at night, I was best able to experience this album. That is, Cave’s lyrics, emotional journey, and spiritual arcs as an artist and human being who is selflessly sharing his deepest heartbreak with any who will listen. There’s a lot to take in. And that it caps a decade when many other artists seemed to turn inward with equally emotional, heart-wrenchingly personal albums—Mount Eerie, Sufjan Stevens, Japanese Breakfast, and so on—a decade whose collective grief was buoyed by politics and “grand finale-ed” with 2020 and everything after…it makes Ghosteen seem especially potent. Nick Cave feels to me to be the elder statesman of this moment in music. If anyone can be. His trauma is particularly horrific, even, fateful. And his musical interpretation and communication of personal and personal-made-communal grief is lush, complex, and most often beautiful. Where many artists strip away flourishes and non-acoustic sounds for their most intimate albums, Cave seems to layer upwards. What he does strip away is words. Rather than filing his grief through doomed babbling like other searching artists might, he often lets soundscapes and ambience do the speaking for him. Or other musicians and/or singers all together. After all, how can the right words even be found, let alone without the help of others? I don’t know. It also just all seems silly to say anything about this album at all. It’s stunning.

Not spending a ton of time with this...can't really figure out why this album is considered better than others by Funkadelic. It's a bit more jam-based, I guess. More "grooves" and sick instrumentals. Great sense of humor. Dancier, certainly. It's good. But I don't know. I kind of prefer Maggot Brain and Standing on the Verge Of Getting it On. Maybe it's because this, as a late-70s cut, was dancier? Also, it appears to be the best performing Funkadelic record which tells something of the story. Whatever the case, I'm probably more likely to revisit other P-Funk records. But still very groovy, indeed. I'll give it a 4 just because I think it will grow on me with time.

Tough to rate this one. While the songwriting is excellent—one of the great American bands working at a creative peak—the production and recording of these songs is bland. But the Dead were never an album-focused group. These songs, and those from Workingman’s Dead which came out this same year (🤯), were part of a songbook, a template for the band to journey from and back to while on the road. Most notably in their renowned Europe ‘72 tour. As such, these aren’t the best recordings or performances of any of these songs. But, it still stands tall as evidence of the group’s songwriting prowess and their surprising ability to churn out a whole album of great pop-Americana tunes with crossover potential. For newcomers, it’s a great starting point with pleasant bops and lasting songwriting. But it hardly touches on the entirety of the band’s long, strange trip. Highlights for me are the Phil Lesh helmed “Box of Rain,” “Friend of the Devil,” “Ripple,” and “Brokedown Palace.” But boy, there are just an absurd number of classic songs on this album! Sad Fun Fact: my Dad wants “Brokedown Palace” played at his funeral. I imagine he has a different version in mind…

Ah the early aughts “rock revival.” Surprised this band isn’t from the UK. Glad they aren't. I don't think I could handle another band from the UK with this sound. Luckily, "Your New Favourite Band" feels more a product of a genuine garage rock than some of the more polished, post-Brit-pop rock releases of the era. (Though I still prefer the ramshackle Americana blues-rock of a band like the White Stripes to this.) I love a good compilation. It feels messy and alive. And fits well with The Hives' sound here, even if it was just a marketing tactic to bump sales over seas. The tongue-in-cheek title winks at that capitalistic origin and yields just enough cheekiness to make me smile. Musically, I like the band's more straight-up punk numbers to the Strokes-ier ones; ie, I'll take "Outsmarted" over "Hate To Say I Told You So" any day. Sweden has a long history of hardcore and metal that I think The Hives draws on here to give their brand of early aughts rock an especially rough edge. I like that. And this album is electric! Not a bad song. Nothing much to write home about, but a very good record indeed.

Love The Knife. Never knew about this solo project. (2 Swedish albums in a row!?) I like it. More mellow and experimental than The Knife's club-ier beats. Reminds me of Björk projects that came before at times and XX/Beach House albums that came after at other times. Also worth mentioning that this just predates the Johnny Jewel, Drive OST synth-pop phenomenon. Feels like it was likely an influential record. Either way it is a very cool project that I can just sort of get lost in. I especially love the more ambient, languid pieces like "Seven," "Triangle Walks," and, especially, "Coconut." Those tracks really resonate as the leg-stretching work of an artist otherwise known for their dance music.

I'm a stranger when it comes to The Smiths. For whatever reason I've put off listening to them even though I know they are the precursor to some of my favorite bands. I got into this album almost immediately and have found something like about almost every song. Though "Death of a Disco Dancer" is my favorite.

This album is beautiful. I loved it's strange New Wave melodies. They feel lost somewhere nice between between punk and disco. With just a twist of kraut rock in the synths and percussion. I loved that the brutal honesty of Marianne's lyrics feel especially brutally honest in the unique voice and way of her singing. She is an amazing storyteller. "Witches' Song" might be my favorite. "The Ballad of Lucy Jordan" and "Why'd You Do It" too. This is my first time ever hearing this album. And I'm so grateful for it. It feels really special.

Young Americans is like a sandwich where the bread is just absolutely delectable, enchanting. Not that the insides are bad, but just that by comparison, the bread of this album—being opener "Young Americans" and closer "Fame" in this half-baked metaphor—are out of this world. Some of the best bread I've ever had. Seriously. This album is also great because it's got Bowie exploring deeper into funk and soul and then weirdly, simultaneously manages to be a strange Beatles crossover album with John showing up on Bowie's rendition of "Across the Universe" and of course (famously) on the ever-groovy "Fame." Young Americans also boasts Bowie's sexiest appearance on an album cover. I feel like he was doing a bit with this pose, but damn does he look good. The sparkle in his bracelet, the hair light, the thin plume of smoke from the cigarette...so good. There are other highlights in this sandwich for sure. "Win" is weird and groovy. I do like where he takes "Across the Universe," but wouldn't necessarily listen to it over the original. "Right" is super funky. And "Somebody Up There Likes Me" is fantastic. Not his best, but certainly a classic.

This album is breathtaking. I nearly wrote a whole thing about separating art from its context. About how my appreciation of BWPS really has very little to do with the music itself. About how Smile plays more like a great documentary about the making of a great piece of art that was never actually made. About how it all feels a little nostalgic, a little "Disney." About how there's a quality to the mix and production of BWPS that I find unpleasantly nostalgic, stale, flat, over-produced. There's an element certainly that feels like a museum piece—the ornate stitching around the album art helps hit that home, as does the word "presents" in the album title. Not too mention the fact that there are far better recordings of many of these songs scattered across various post-Smile-sessions Beach Boys' albums, and that BWPS doesn't feature any other Beach Boys members. But—now that I've gotten those asides out of my system—I can reaffirm that this album is truly breathtaking. I think those struggles I have with BWPS are accurate, but the truth is listening to this album is an experience unlike any other I can think of in modern music. Recorded and released nearly 40 years after the 24-year-old originally sat down and attempted to record it, had a nervous breakdown, and ultimately abandoned the project, Smile is packed with so much emotional drama, so much story, so much humanity...it really makes me want to cry just thinking about Brian Wilson's personal struggle and ultimate success with this piece art. Sure, a part of me wonders constantly about the version of Smile that might have been recorded in 1967 as originally envisioned (and I can't help but miss the younger Brian Wilson's falsetto in these songs, either). But that doesn't take away from my thoroughly enjoying the version that the elder Brian Wilson released in 2004. In fact, it's an essential part of the experience of listening to BWPS. Listening to this album is to reflect on time, art, and age. To wonder about our younger selves and older selves, and if they're really the same person. To wonder if the art that we might have made in our youth could ever truly be re-created in our middle-to-old age. And to marvel specifically about the emotional journey Brian Wilson took in revisiting this material; reflecting on his younger self—a younger self in the throes of his traumatic, emotionally wrought, defining hours no less—and reclaiming a forgotten dream. I admire this album a great f***ing deal. This album is as great a champion of the human spirit as I can think of. And actually listening to the music, only heightens the emotional pull of that experience. Many moments on this album seriously make me want to cry in the same way I almost always cry listening to "God Only Knows." It's the music itself, but it's also the tragic, heartbroken figure of Brian Wilson inside of it. To hear him struggling through his music. Expressing his deepest feelings and personal anguish and doing it through the traditionally rigid confines of a 1960s pop format. Not to mention, there are some wonderful melodies and great pop experiments here. The whole album has a wonderfully cohesive, downriver flow to it. It's a very strange storybook sort of experience to actually sit down and listen to it. To unpack its movements, its textures, its characters, its geography, and musical histories. It's magical. But I'm also a Brian Wilson fanatic. In the liner notes for this album, author David Leaf asks, "Does Smile exist?" It's a legitimate question. And as an album that I think requires knowing some backstory to appreciate, it's hard to argue that this album really stands on its own in the way it might have in 1967. But does anything? BWPS is the realization of dream. It's music that soars well beyond the confines of music. It exists in our cultural unconscious; in our minds and in our hearts. Of course Smile exists. It always has. I was going to give them album a 4 but screw it, it's a 5.

A very fine album. Mr. Young's most popular album to date. And the album that really established the Canadian as something to reckon with—though he already had a handful of incredible (arguably better than this) solo and group albums under his belt. Remarkable that these songs were written by a 27-year-old. So much heartbreak and wonderful musings on age, death, loneliness, relationships, drug use, and so on. But, while this album famously gets Young into "the middle of the road," and earns him the recognition he deserves as a great songwriter, it is not an album of his I return to often. I think there are better versions of the best of these songs on Live at Massey Hall 1971, a live album that captures the heartbreak in his songwriting from the time much more vividly. (Indeed, the "Needle and the Damage Done" performance here is taken from that show.) I also much, much prefer Neil Young's subsequent "Ditch" records; those that he made trying to get himself out of the middle of the road and away from the pop spotlight. I even probably listen to his 1992 album Harvest Moon more than this. Let alone After the Gold Rush, which is easily my favorite. But that said, I'm surprised how much I still enjoyed this album listening to it today. It's probably not in my top 10 Neil Young albums and as such I don't revisit it often. I never cared for "There's A World" and I still don't. "Alabama" is just okay. But every other number basically is either really great, or absolutely essential. So it's a great record. And the fact that I think there are better Neil Young albums just speaks to the songwriter's prowess. He's one of a kind. Would I like this album more if it wasn't so popular? Admittedly, maybe, yes. But I've been at enough Neil Young concerts where everyone and their mother is screaming for him to play "Old Man" to be a little peeved at the popular shadow this record casts over the rest of his career. So Harvest gets a 4 from me.

A phenomenal debut, no doubt. I always thought I should like this album more. And I gave it my best shot today. That songwriter Robin Pecknold and producer Phil Ek were able to craft such a catchy record, that is simultaneously so dense in musical arrangements and lyrical poetry, and that feels timeless—in the sense that it does not feel of our era in 2008 but not definitively of any other era that came before us—and placeless—in that it definitely does not feel of its Seattle roots—is remarkable. It's a great album to visit in the winter too. I think those words—timeless and placeless—begin to get at my problem with this record. It all feels a bit like dress up. A little too myth-makey and certainly it feels a great deal too much like a cipher. As folk music goes, Fleet Foxes lacks the personal surrender on the part of Pecknold that would ordinarily invite me in. Instead what I find inviting is a great deal of style and poetry. Beauty that lacks specificity beyond generalized thematic textures. On \"Blue Ridge Mountains\" he sings of \"connecting flights,\" but it's one of the album's only references that relate to the actual world we and Pecknold live in. It feels like one of the album's only immediately personal moments, of which I crave far more. I'm being too hard. And I'm not saying that these songs aren't imbued with meaning for Pecknold or other fans—they assuredly are—but that I just feel lost somewhere outside of it. Out in the snow looking in at someone else's fire. Even with a deep listen, my full concentration, and lyrics in front of me, I don't learn any more about Pecknold or his Fleet Foxes project. I'm only able to glean insights through the clothes they wear. That is, the wonderful style they dress these folk songs up in. The story world they build from the inside out. The cryptic moments of bittersweet poetry: \"And Michael, you would fall and turn the white snow red as strawberries in summertime.\" The wonderful harmonies, and so on. Those are the things that invite me in, rather than Pecknold himself. On the other hand, \"Oliver James\" is a song that feels deeply personal to Pecknold, like you can hear his spirit and his voice clearly. But reading the lyrics, I just get confused. It doesn't seem to go deeper than the impression of beauty. Which is still pretty nice. It still is beauty. And I like listening to these songs. It's just... I guess my sentiments can be summed up in discussing the album art. It's wonderful. Immediately impressionistic on a casual glance. But up close full of so much beauty; strange stories, darkness and violence, demons, comedy, absurdities, myth, and so on. It's stunning. But trying to make any sense of this textured madness, and the sand sifts through my fingers. Perhaps that's a magically fleeting experience to have with an album. Perhaps I have the wrong mindset and I should just let this album wash over me like a bath and not think so hard about it. Sadly, that's not what I’m looking for. The water is warm but cools quickly, and I'm left feeling a bit hopeless.

It took me a bit, but I'm really getting into this record. The first songs to really catch my attention were "I Am The Law" and "Seconds." Those slower tracks seem stranger to me. More weird soundscapes and bizarre little accents crafted with the synths. (There's a fantastic LCD Soundsystem cover of "Seconds" that is worth checking out!) Those strange, early-synth/electronic Kraftwerk-inspired elements are evident elsewhere in the record. But, coming to this record from 2022, it was hard for me to get into the sound which (A.) has been parodied and mimicked to death, (B.) reeks distinctly of chart-topping pop music from a decade I don't particularly care for, and (C.) sounds cheesy and dated in the same way proto-CGI work in a film always feels cheesy and dated. But, as with those film effects, such knee-jerk aversions to early technology in art are best looked past as they really have very little to do with the music. It's just the unfortunate effect of perspective. So, now that I'm into it, I'm digging it. I think the second half of the album, from the instrumental "Get Carter" through the immortal "Don't You Want Me," is seriously fantastic stuff. The front half still feels a little single-focused to me, and a bit less cohesive. But it doesn't take at all away from the album's flow. I think that kind of pro/faux-commercial wink is a very important part of the band's identity, as it was many other bands of the era from Devo to Frankie Goes to Hollywood and even some 80s Bowie. The band name as well as the album title and art—such weird stuff going on with typeface and that cropping haha—certainly supports that. Overall, it's an amazing, essential album buoyed by what is quite possibly an even more amazing backstory behind it's creation. (Seriously, has no one made a movie about this yet?) I've had a great time jamming to this today and an incredible turn around with it. I went in thinking it would be a 3. But honestly, think I'm going to give it a 5! I can't think of any good reason why I shouldn’t.

Mostly, yuck. The moments of cultural appropriation. The pervasive moments of wannabe-rock-starriness. However, to my surprise, I do mostly like the sound and production on this record. It manages a middle ground between stadium-filling vocals coupled with fast, reverbed-out guitar licks, against an overall grimier, punkier feel. I'm sort of partial to Perry Farrell's vocals too. Just the sort of childish, adolescent silliness he brings to some of the deliveries. His sing-shoutiness that never really manages to be either singing or shouting. The tone of this music lives somewhere between the annoying self-seriousness of, say, Guns N' Roses, and the complete funk idiocy of say, The Red Hot Chili Peppers. (For the record: I mostly abhor Guns N' Roses and I am much more partial to the Chili Peppers funk idiocy.) Undoubtedly, Jane's Addiction would have been fun to see live in the Echo Park, Los Angeles of the late 1980s (I've heard some amazing stories of Farrel's sexually explicit acts on stage, complete with dildo and bare a**hole, for example), but now, this whole scene just seems like an unfortunate cultural misstep. The last gasp of weirdo artists attempting to achieve fame and fortune by attempting to be bonafide rock stars—complete with "sex, drugs, and rock and roll..." (sigh). Any irony is of course lost, and I just can't really abide by the band's image and likeness, even if the music itself isn't that bad. Sure they are a pioneering alternative act, but the acts they pioneered for are largely nu-metal...so I kind of wish they just hadn't. This is a distinct precursor to say, the horrors of Woodstock '99, for example, and I kinda just wish this music lived in the opening credits of an Entourage episode and nowhere else. "Three Days" is actually interesting as it adopts a more straight-up grunge, indie rock sound. And stretching itself out to a whopping 11 minutes, it's a pretty daring number for a group whose lead singer is known to stick things up his pooper on stage. It even achieves a post-rock adjacent jam from about the 5-minute to 8-minute mark and really highlights the band's control and musicianship in spite of the chaos I typically associate with these musicians. "Then She Did..." falls in this camp too. Though this song gets pretty annoying with the backing strings. It takes itself way too seriously. "Of Course" is also kind of garbage. I can't figure out what the hell these guys are doing or going for. Same goes for the closing track. I don't want to hear these guys croon. What are they doing? In closing, I only really liked that one track ("Three Days"). I actively disliked everything after. And everything before is just fine. Like, if I was outside doing some gardening and listening to a little portable radio and any of those first 5 songs came on, that'd be fine. I wouldn't get up and brush the dirt off my hands to change it. But I wouldn't turn it up or put those songs on either. They can just exist and that’s fine.

Listened to this while cleaning my apartment today and it was quite a hoot. I really like about half the songs on this album (admittedly in a guilty-pleasure kind of way). Those that I don't care for don't bother me. I'd gladly listen to them again. They're just a little operatic, a little Broadway for me. I much prefer the more straightforward pop and/or dance tracks. For instance, "I Let the Music Speak" clunks while, "One Of Us" gets me going. I don't have much context for the evolution of Abba's sound with this record, but this is certainly a more complex, realized piece than I had anticipated going in. Feels like a concept record in many ways. I quite like it.

I like this record! Best Smashing Pumpkins album for my money. So much more immediacy, urgency, and raw sound than anything on that Mellon Collie And The Infinite Sadness (there's only so much Billy Corgan I can take, and any double LP by the Smashing Pumpkins is simply too much Billy Corgan). Grunge is frequently paralleled with Shoegaze, but no other artist intertwined the two sub-genres so well as Smashing Pumpkins did here. At least not without sacrificing any pop sensibility. As a standalone record, this isn't really a great record, though. There are a lot of stinkers and I only really like about half the songs. But those that I like, I really like. Some are my favorite Shoegaze tracks of all time ("Mayonaise") and others are just great 1990s grunge-pop nostalgia vehicles ("Cherub Rock," "Today," "Disarm"). I return to this album more frequently than I care to admit. And it's really for more helpings of "Mayonaise.” But I'll stick around for the nostalgia vehicles, admire the album art, wonder about B. Corgan’s deal, and skim through the rest. (Side note: Odd that they would have the 2011 reissue album cover here...🤔.) Even the songs I don't care for—mostly the heavier, less pop-inclined cuts—are pretty amazing for their production alone. I find the overdubbing and layering used on this album, particularly of the guitar parts, to be really powerful. Like "Soma," which reportedly has over 40 different guitar parts all laid down on analogue tape. As for the lyrics and vocal work, well I mostly block that out when I listen to this album as, again, Corgan bugs me. I just find him a bit cloying when he’s being sweet and a bit screech-y when he’s being loud. And a bit pretentious overall. Somewhere between a Rivers Cuomo and Kurt Cobain of that era; but most like a Rivers Cuomo trying desparately to be a Kurt Cobain which is not particularly flatterring at all.

I’ve had a hard time making a strong connection with this record in the past. It is absolutely pleasant, and every time I return to give it another shot I think, “Oh yeah I like all of this!” But it just teeters on the wrong side of bland. Pretty, but not exactly distinct. It always seems to remind me of another band I can’t always think of the name of…sometimes it’s of Oasis, sometimes it’s of The Byrds or early Beatles, several times it’s of Big Star and The Replacements, sometimes of other Scottish rock bands like Orange Juice, The Proclaimers, and The Beta Band, sometimes it’s of labelmates My Bloody Valentine, other times of fellow UK shoegazers, Ride, sometimes it’s of Pavement and often of Yo La Tengo, sometimes it’s of Wilco, and once or twice it even reminds me of U2, but no matter, the point is it’s music that forces my mind to wander, for better or for worse. For certain, comparisons with any one of these bands would be high praise—and that’s besides the fact that this album predates many of these artists—but comparisons with all of them simultaneously is sort of mind-bending; it’s a web of sound perhaps cast too wide, too thinly, too generalized. For instance, I think it would be difficult to describe another band as sounding Teenage Fanclub-esque. Because that’s just saying it sounds like so many things all at once! But I digress… The harmonies are the stand out element. As are the meta commentaries on music fandom and identity present in these songs—“The Concept,” most notably—this album title, and this band’s name. I quite like all the instrumental work on this album as well. The guitar solo on “The Concept” and tone on “Is This Music?” come to mind. As does the bass work all over this album—I love how forward it is in the mix! And the drums and percussion is what really solidifies this as jangle pop I think. It ties the rythm together with a nice boppin’ bow that would make The Byrds and Big Star both proud. Indeed, this is music. Quite good music too! Huzzah. Being forced to really listen and review this album for the group has helped this album considerably for me! It’s really growing on me and I’m beginning to love it. I’m going 4/5.

I too am surprised with how much I enjoyed this album! I started off listening to it with my brother on a Thanksgiving road trip. We took turns reading the lyrics and laughing at their silliness; I mean, "Red light, green light, yellow light, go!" says it all. Then the songs started sticking in my head. When we arrived at our destination, I listened to the album again whilst shooting pool—a perfect Def Leppard scenario, I think. And the transition from ironic-love to genuine-love for DL's Hysteria took hold. I began to appreciate the boldest, largest moments on this album just as they're presented ("God of War," for instance, is fan-friggin-tastic!) And soon I was mumbling "Red light, yellow light, green light go" and "You got the peaches, I got the cream" to myself without any concern or conscious, and much to my brother's chagrin. I couldn't exactly explain to him why I all of a sudden thought this album was great, and I agreed fully with all of his complaints. I just liked it! For many of the same reasons he didn't to be honest. So there you have it. I would say this album is too long, because it assuredly is, but it has too be! I couldn't imagine this insane, maximilist, balls-to-the-wall, tongue-not-even-in-mouth-let-alone-cheek, a record being any shorter. What's unfathomable is how tight the songwriting and production still manages to be in spite of all this album's late-80s, obscene, excesses. I can best describe the sound of this album as if the members of Slayer performed an Eagles cover, with, yes, a twist of Michael Jackson. Which, come on! It's so cool! Four stars!

A stunning album. One that holds deep power for me. "The poster boy of irony looking straight into the camera and confessing his bitterness and desolation following a breakup," as one reviewer put it. I don't have a strong connection to Beck save for this record. I appreciate its honesty and simplicity. I am enchanted by its melodies, arrangements, and (mostly live) production and recording at the hands of Nigel Godrich. I listen to it frequently. His voice here sounds so aged and weary. Nothing like the voice on his albums that came before it. Hard to believe that this is the same artist who launched his career with "Loser," and harder still to believe that he went from that to this, his eighth studio album, by the time he was 30.

5 stars!! It's like it was recorded live and yet it sounds so so good. The only shame is that other blues greats weren't given a polished, late-career, album-era recording as good as this. So incredibly grateful that we do have this. And that a 60-year-old Waters and co. could serve up some classics and some new cuts with as much tenacity as they ever did. And that Johnny Winter was able to give it the proper album treatment so that it might just live forever. As lively as it ever was. Like you're right there in the room. Makes me smile and shake my booty all the time.

I have a strong feeling this one is a 4. I don’t have a real strong feeling why. I simpy find myself awash in it. In its storybook lyrics, its melancholy sound, its working class folksiness, its heritage and ancestral pride, and the way in which it brings that heritage right to your doorstep in New York and London and everywhere immigrants have been. The punkiness—which would ordinarily be the main course for me—is honestly just the cherry on top. There is so much more to love about this album. So much to get lost in. The song “Fiesta” threw me at first, but there’s a certain championing global beauty to it. And “Fairytale of New York” is just stunning.

So good. I was between 4 and 5 on this one. But this album just feels hugely important and groundbreaking. And something I'll return to frequently. 5 it is.

I like just about every song on this album. But there are certainly some skippers—"Renaissance Fair," "Why" is fine but it's a weak closer—and I also agree with the other reviewers in our group that this album, while good, feels a bit inconsequential and single-based. In other words, this doesn't feel necessarily like a comprehensive LP the way that Sweet Heart of the Rodeo does. Which is hindering my rating of it, especially knowing that at least two other Byrds LPs are likely to show up on this list (Sweetheart and Mr. Tambourine.) Hard to establish why this one is so important that it needed to show up here too. I will say the Byrds seem like they had a lot of fun putting these albums together! Just the way they bounced around, changed the lineup, experimented with tape machines and new technology, played covers, and tried new genres. Perhaps that's more evident here than anywhere else. I'm between a 3 and a 4 but I'll round up to 4.

My first time with this one. (Though it’s been on my to-do list forever!) Great album cover. No bad songs. Unique sound. The closest comparison I can come up with is Wire circa Pink Flag. But where that feels more Art Rock or New Wave in essence, Gang of Four feels decidedly more Punk. And more cohesive and like the product of somebody’s political and personal vision or dream. The sound reminds me of Young Marble Giants, but louder and faster and more yelling. Great satire. Instrumentation is really unique. The backing vocals on the chorus of “Damaged Goods” takes what should have been the hit, sing-a-long moment of the album and puts it waaaaaay back in the mix. There are other moments like that, where instincts and inclinations are not only ignored but actively opposed. Really great content and lyrical subject matter. Yeah this is great. Best punk album we did this week! 5 stars!

The greatest pop punk record of all time. Full stop. 5 stars. What started with The Ramones in 1976 and evolved through the CA beach-side ecosystem of hardcore acts like The Descendents and Bad Religion in the 1980s, finally matured in the mid-90s with fresh CA acts like Green Day, The Offspring, and Blink-182. Yes, "matured." For in this era of pop punk, potty humor and songs about masturbation where as vital to these band's exploration of their humanity as were their explosive, catchy, angst-driven, marijuana-fused, riffs. Such humor was a direct way to point out the irony in so much overbearing bureaucracy and modernity in the American world. There was seriously a moment in the 90s where potty humor ruled only because there was an audience for it and people truly connected to that irony. It was all comedians like Adam Sandler and albums like Dookie. But Dookie, I'd argue, rises above the rest. It really capitalizes the angst, modern malaise, and suffocated frustration at the heart of such poo jokes. To "throw?" is to exercise some command over the uncommandable bodily functions that bind us to these bodies, this planet; an exercise in freewill. But more than that, it's a reminder to those bureaucrats, over-bearing parents, politicians, religious zealots, insurance salesmen, and corporate marketing systems that, "This stuff comes out of you too, you know. Don't act like it doesn't. We know it does. You had this coming." No other pop punk band before or after achieved such political and existential resonance with such "silly nonsense" as Green Day did here. The other thing that makes this record great is that it represents a watershed moment in the history of punk rock. This era of pop punk was incredibly short-lived in much the same way second-wave emo of the same mid-90s period was incredibly short-lived.* Those two genres, in part thanks to the success of this album and Green Day's career trajectory post Dookie—what with their "Good Riddance (Time of Your Life)"s and their "American Idiot"s—were subsumed by the corporate machine of "Pop Punk" and "Emo" in the Hot Topic, Scene Kid era along with acts like Paramore, Panic! at the Disco, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Avril Lavigne, and so on. Dookie sits right on the fence of the moment that pop punk became more pop than punk. Musically, in the sense that these songs very much share a lineage with the earliest of the aforementioned pop-punk rockers but achieved radio viability in a way none of those artists ever had, and politically, in that this album very much maintains a punk ideology that, because of Dookie's success, was hereafter corpratized, sought after by record labels, and made more pop than punk. That moment would come to fruition, truly, with Blink-182's Enema of the State ("All the Small Things," "What's My Age Again?") five years later, but it begins here with Green Day's Dookie. So in summary, this is a great record of a short-lived era in which there aren't many records quite like it. And certainly none that dominated the radio waves quite the way this did. It's a watershed moment that would go on to change both punk and pop punk hugely in the 21st century, for better or for worse. And it's also just front-to-back full of great, catchy bangers. Songs that are simultaneously pleasant fun to shout along to, and that hold deep witticisms born of profoundly bored, horrifically dark, uncertain, anxiety-ridden, satirical, truly American, suburban places. I listen to it every month. *A scene that Green Day connects to via fellow SF act Jawbreaker. You can even hear a bit of second-wave, mid-west emo in Green Day—albeit tongue-in-cheek—via Dookie closer "All By Myself," which reminds me hugely of some Cap'n Jazz recordings.

Let’s go! 3 punk albums in a row!? And another San Francisco punk band at that. I’m fired up. This album is incredible. Some real ferocious stuff by the band with the best name in punk rock. Not to mention the monikers chosen by its members... When I was 12 years old I went over to my good friend Connor Cantelmo’s house and he sent me home with a paper Trader Joe’s grocery bag full of punk CDs. Included was a compilation that included both the Dead Kennedy’s sophomore effort, Plastic Surgery Disasters, and an EP from the year before, In God We Trust, Inc. To this day, I am surprised by how much I liked this CD. Everything about it told me I should hate it. Abrasive. Indescribably unpleasant—even cartoon-ish—lead vocals. Horrible lyrical content. Screeching, feedback-heavy production and recording. And so on. And being 12, I didn’t even understand it as far as it’s political satire, which, now, I truly find to be the main course here. But I took to it all the same. It had this draw. It seemed to exist of its own accord. In its own world. By its own rules. It had absolute soul in the sense that this band truly meant every word they said and every note they played. They had to. Where else would this sound have come from if not from someplace deeply personal and undeniably urgent? It was only a hop, skip, and a jump to DK's debut album Fresh Fruit For Rotting Vegetables which contained fan favorites "Califronia Über Alles" and "Holiday In Cambodia." (Though my favorite DK song then and now was and is "Nazi Punks F**k Off" off In God We Trust, Inc.). I love that this album gives conservative parents and nay-sayers exactly what they want to complain about. It's almost like DK decided, "Let's make music for people who want to claim this as devil music anyway. Let's just give it them; give them the evidence. And be as controversial and in-your-face as possible. To every part of the system, Democrats and Republicans alike." I think that approach to being punk is beautiful. It really just takes the breath away from potential critics. It strips them of their power of interpretation. There's almost nothing you can say about this music because what it is so unashamedly blatantly awful. I think it ends up being more depressing to those critics that this music is actually popular than it is anger-inducing, which is a good trade. And it IS incredible this band became so popular. That they have a song on Guitar Hero for instance (!!). Conservative zealots be damned. The system sucks and instead of explaining why, we're just going to show you how the system can not only birth, but foster a band as blatantly distasteful as Dead Kennedys. What is the conservative majority of Reagan's America to do with that!? It makes me smile just knowing this band existed in the context they did. Musically, DK stands in a class of its own too. The way they incorporate decidedly non-punk elements between ferocious, hardcore riffs. There are moments of circus music. Some of more straight rock influences. Some wildly syncopated drum beats. Some of the great early-80s hardcore bass lines. Stop and start call and response moments. Sound collage. And more. All this seems wildly out of place for a hardcore act that had so much on its agenda already politically. That the music is so good, rich, and unique in addition to everything else going on satirically and politically is just gravy. Loud, abrasive, in-your-face-disturbing gravy. Viva Las Vegas. 5 stars.

Lush. This is about the album I expect Brian Wilson might have made if his brilliant, 20-year-old self had lived sometime in the mid-1980s instead of the late 60s. Which is high praise. It's not without its musical associations with the mid-80s zaniness of, say, Oingo Boingo and Danny Elfman, which I could take or leave generally. But this also reminds me of a British work that distinctly predates Talk Talk’s post-rock turn as far as experimentalism, multi-instrumentalism, recording/editing process, production, and genre-bending. This is art pop at its best. And I quite like it. It's so bright and warm and has layers not just in its sonics but in its lyrical content as a concept album. I liked almost every song. Though, by the time we got round to “The Man Who Sailed Around His Soul” and “Dying,” I was feeling tired and maybe could have skipped those two. Perhaps it could have been shorter, but it really isn’t all that long. I think it’s just a lot to take in at once, especially given there isn’t much quite like it; ie, I’m not bringing anything to the table that might help me ease into this album. It’s a completely fresh sound and I think these songs will grow on me. I’m going 5 stars. I’ve listened to a few songs off this album before, but never really sat down with it. It’s pretty incredible. And I bet it sounds great on a hi-fi speaker system.

Guys we had a very good week in The Becca Records Club! I’m about to give my 5th 5-star rating here, but that’s not the point. The point is, I am a nut for late-period Bob Dylan. I’ve never listened to this, though I’ve heard it mentioned frequently. I’ve listened to 1989’s Oh Mercy (also produced by Lanois) and 2020’s Rough and Rowdy Ways many times, both of which I love. I find that Bob Dylan is a songwriter, and more importantly a singer, who only got better with age. It's not evidenced on all, but many of these later albums, and especially Time Out of Mind, which is just so stunningly beautiful. His voice sounds like leather and he manages to say so much more with so much less than he used to in the 60s and 70s. He masters the power of silence, of sometimes not saying anything at all and letting the music speak for itself. Musically, he isn’t afraid to get weird and challenge himself later in life too. Playing with different bands and session player. Introducing new genres and instruments, and not just introducing them, but inviting them in and allowing his own writings, voice, and tone to grow around them. You never listen to a Bob Dylan album and feel like he’s wearing someone else’s shoes. No, Bob Dylan always sounds true to himself, but he isn’t afraid to explore all the many shades of that self. And not just explore, but communicate what he’s found or seen with all of us. The lyrical content is as dark, haunting, and profound as any Dylan album I can think of. It’s up there with Blood on the Tracks. And for me, maybe even stands a little taller because of the age and experience he brings to this record. Sonically too, it has such dynamic range. It’s some of the best-sounding music I’ve ever come across, in terms of pure audiophilia. And hats off to Daniel Lanois for his production work here. I can get lost in these songs, his voice, forever. It’s like swimming in the greatest sea of all time. And he just keeps giving. He’s truly the greatest songwriter we have. And that talent, almost 40 years into his career, is on full display in Time Out of Mind. “Make You Feel My Love” is the only moment I can see feeling a bit off. Especially as it’s been covered and grown in the popular conscious after the release of this album. But as one reviewer put it, “In context, “Make You Feel My Love” is not a romantic bauble; it is an ironclad threat in a velvet glove, one final attempt to force love from the listener at any cost. “ And I couldn’t agree more. I think this “ballad” is one of the more tormented moments on the album and in many ways is its centerpiece. But my two favorites songs ares “Standing in the Doorway” and “Not Dark Yet.”

Great record. Never listened all the way through until now but I can still remember how taken I was when I heard White Rabbit for the first time. Still an all time song. Not a bad song in the bunch. Fantastic, important record. Hard to think of any peers to this even in terms of 60s psychadelia. One of a kind.

Love this record. Love this band. J Mascis is maybe my favorite guitar player of all time. I mentioned the shared cross-section between grunge and shoegaze when we did Siamese Dream. Well Dino Jr is another band that fits into that hole. But they do it whilst maintaining a sound so entirely unique to them as to not really fit into either scene. I LOVE the sound this band achieves. I love their explorations in sound and distortion and fuzz. Such a powerful sound for a weirdo, three-piece band. And they achieve some wonderful melodies to boot. And fun explorations with time too. Seeing them play live is incredibly wonderful and impressive. Still the loudest concert I've ever been to and more amazing still that it’s just 3 guys making all that sound. Gonna give this one a 4. I assume we'll be doing their debut effort You're Living All Over Me and want to save the 5 for that. This is a great follow up. But doesn't necessarily do anything that first album doesn't. Although it is tighter, more conventional, and more melodic than that first album, which contributes to the band's success. But it’s not too significant an evolution and I prefer the purity of those initial experiments in sound from the Amherst band. Perhaps, Mascis was a bit green as producer here? He's produced every album since himself and done some amazing work but Wharton Tiers produced that first album which might have given its tone a bit more depth, idk. In any event this is still a very good record and important for breaking an all-time band to the college rock world.

Meh. I find much of this whole Brit Pop thing to be so quarantined to a time...and not in a good way. Sound like early Coldplay. And I've got Blur and Radiohead...don't really need anything else. Though I'll bump this up a notch for "Bittersweet." That is a good song. Reminds me of my dad, who used to have this CD in his car and play that song a lot. Funny I don't recognize or remember my Dad playing a single other song off this album. The "Hidden Track" concept is a fun CD memory. But nostalgia aside, not much jumps out at me here. These songs are too long. The whole album is too long. And "The Verve" and "Urban Hymns" along with track titles like "Neon Wilderness," "Space and Time," and "Velvet Morning" feel like titles and names put together by ad people. There's a bit of classic-rock psychedelia here that is a nice twist and squeeze on the old Brit Pop formula. But it's a far cry from the grit and kaleidoscopic brilliance of The Flaming Lips or Brian Jonestown Massacre. It all feels very safe here. Very classic rock. In a way that both millennial sons and boomer fathers can nod along too. And that sentiment is nice. It's just also a little boring.

Blur makes an indie rock record. Specifically, a Pavement record—there are moments on this that sound like all kinds of 1995’s Wowee Zowee (I see now, reading the album’s wikipedia page, that this influence has been confirmed by the band). I think this is the moment Blur distinguishes itself from that whole Brit Pop scene (much the same way Radiohead did this very same year.) It’s the first time I can hear hints of Gorillaz in Damon Albarn’s songwriting choices; he (and the band) is (are) experimenting more with non-rock, instruments and production choices here. For instance, “Theme From Retro” and “Strange News from Another Star” sound very much like they could have been on a Gorillaz concept album (the latter even would be quite at home on a Bowie album!). It’s a long record. It kind of passes in a blur. Which I like. I bought it used on CD from Amoeba years and years ago but never really listened to it. The liner notes reveal almost nothing about the piece. There are no album credits or lyrics. Even the song titles on the backside are easily missed. The backside features an image of the band amongst sulfur fields in Iceland; but it’s all clouded by a thick bank of haze. The rest is an orange blur left in the wake of some hospital patient being rushed down a hallway and out of sight. I’ve read Albarn’s lyrics are especially potent on this record, but I didn’t necessarily pay them close attention (in part because I couldn’t read along in the liner notes.) I expect I might like this album more over time. For certain, the influences they draw from and direction they take with this album are more in line with my tastes, traditionally. But for whatever reason, at this moment, I much prefer Parklife.

First CD I ever bought. I still think this album is great. I remember listening to it with my Dad in his car when he—and this is music I knew he would humor but not indulge in himself, mind you—said, "Usually there's only 1 or 2 good songs on an album. But nearly every song on this album is good." I didn't know anything about albums at the time, but I agreed that almost every song on this album was indeed good. And I still believe that. In an objective sense, it's difficult to argue there's a not-catchy song on this album. Or see why the response to this album, especially among burgeoning scene kid community, was so enormous. This is an enormous, theatrical, ambitious, political and important post-9/11, pop-punk masterpiece. It's a little cringe-worthy maybe. And it hurts a little to see the trio behind Dookie stoop to this sort of sentimentalism following the prom-night success of "Good Riddance (Time of Your Life)." But the band who wrote "Basket Case" and "Welcome to Paradise" is still very present in the louder, angrier songs here. The songwriting is still very, very good. And in many ways this is a better record than anything they ever recorded. Certainly it is bigger. More influential. Perhaps, more important. Even if it is hard to swallow with all its populism. I love this record. It's a guilty pleasure for which I have a sweet tooth. I'd roll the window up if "Wake Me Up When September Ends" came on my radio while driving, but I wouldn't turn it off. "Boulevard," though, I might turn off. That's just a tad too sweet. 4/5.

Great record. I listened to Bonnie Prince Billy and his associated early projects all day yesterday. This is a special record that seems to hold great mysteries and power.

A little shook I gotta come on here and defend Low! Not sure I have the credentials to do so. But this album is groundbreaking! One of the world's biggest rock stars assuredly planting is feet at the edge of the genre's avant garde. This album is so dense with collage. Such an unusual and introspective use of rock and roll; exploring all the ways it might collide with electronic, kraut, ambient, and so on. I can honestly say I've never heard an album from before or after Low that sounds quite like it. Even Heroes, which is, I think, his best album, and was released the same year (!!!), finds Bowie taking his experiments in a tonally different direction. I think it's stunning and inspiring to hear someone who had just released their first "greatest hits" album whipping around and doing something like this. The influence this album had on New Wave, Post-Punk, Indie, and everything after Rock's golden age is evident and essential. Hard to imagine many of our most beloved rock groups up to and including Radiohead existing as they do without Bowie's experimental period and without this album. All that, AND the first half of this album totally bops! "Sound and Vision" is one Bowie's best pop songs!

The Rolling Stones have at least 3 perfect albums. This is one of them. And it's probably the best sounding of the 3. The production on this album is awesome. When I noticed the layering of guitar riffs in "Can't You Hear Me Knocking" with big headphones as a kid for the first time it was probably the first time I ever realized there were people who recorded music for a living. And made decisions about how to record it. Decisions that went beyond the songwriting and composition. This album changed music for me. And it holds up tremendously.

I'm not new to this album, but it is an album that has taken a considerable time to grow on me. This time listening has been far and away my favorite. Halfway through it's easily a 5-star album. A remarkable piece that slides uniquely into some unclaimed space between hip-hop, sampledelia, and IDM. As indebted to Grandmaster Flash and Public Enemy as it is to Brian Eno and Aphex Twin. The only post-1990, sample-based album I can think of that touches this in terms of influence and importance is J. Dilla's Donuts or Danger Mouse's Grey Album, but those are each wholly different affairs, unique and influential for entirely different reasons. Endtroducing... plays like THE essential piece on sampling. It's like a history of sampling. Obsessed with its own art form it manages to work as simultaneously as a critique of itself and an oral history. Its a haunted record too, as any sample-based record should be. Its legacy continues to haunt me today. I get chills thinking about DJ Shadow in the basement of some Sacramento record store cataloguing moments that might someday collage into the songs featured here. It's a masterclass in the artform. Perhaps the definitive piece. I've reached the end without noting a single dull moment. Maybe one...maybe by the time we get to the 9-minute-and-21-second "Napalm Brain / Scatter Brain - Medley" the album runs a little long. But I hate to criticize an album for being too long. Especially one whose catalogued exhaustion is its greatest strength. Plus the meandering rhythm of that song is a unique highlight that allows the previously pumping album a bit of time to drift and settle somewhere beneath its own weight before signing off. So, 5 stars.

It’s pretty remarkable the effect Bob Marley, Toots, and Jamaican music at large had on the world. It’s pretty remarkable that such a huge subsection of disaffected, urban, English youth would turn to rocksteady, ska, and largely upbeat, surface-level-silly music to express their frustration with the modern world’s widening inequality gap and bureaucratic absurdisms. The result is a fantastically satirical and fun record that feels utterly timeless. As relevant and influential today as it was in 1979. A perfect cross-section of world music, punk rock, and new wave with more angst, political heart, and purpose than most burgeoning music scenes can hope for. The world of music in the 1980s, 90s and beyond would feel very different if not for this record. I am especially partial to the band’s sophomore album, More Specials, but what that album gains in sophistication, songwriting, and studio fidelity, it loses in spirit, urgency, and tenacity. To listen to the their self-titled debut today is to look back through history and experience a movement otherwise frozen in time. Few records, in my opinion, can claim that power quite like The Specials can.

I’m liking the album more than I thought. I've never been that big an S&G fan (nor a big solo S fan, at that). But this album is noisier, angsty-er, and better than I expected! Songs like "Patterns," "A Simple Desultory Phillippic" (hilarious, btw), and "7 O'clock News / Silent Night" made the softer, more elegant duets between S&G—for which they are most associated—a bit taller, a bit more dynamic in my mind. I especially liked "The 59th Street Bridge Song (Feelin' Groovy)" and the opening cut. The lyrics are sometimes a bit silly. Sometimes a touch pretentious and the soundscape is perhaps too "medieval" at times. But overall a very soft, pleasantly satirical, mid-60s cut by two great singers and one great songwriter. I like the production too. And am glad it's so short. Though I will say, I am little uncertain why this album is on the list when I expect we are going to get at least 2 more S&G albums and at least 2-3 solo S albums thrown at us in the future. Not sure what makes this one deserving of a place in addition to all those. But that's besides the point. It's a very good album and I like it.

What impresses me most about CCR is their consistency. And that consistency seems to be born of simplicity and hard work. Just 4 guys—2 brothers accompanied by 2 neighborhood classmates—who started playing together as early as 1959, with no additional personnel on this record, which all sounds to be recorded live and was self-produced by writer/singer/guitar player Mr. Fogerty himself. Simply, they worked out a handful of songs that give their Northern California band a distinct Southern Rock feel, throw a blurry album cover over it and whamm-o! a timeless record. And hardworking because not only was this the first of three records they released in 1969, but they would go on to release 2 more in 1970, not to mention their fantastic debut in 1968, nor their arguable masterpiece released in 1970 (the first of two albums released that year I might add.) And each of those album’s finds the band reinventing themselves, all while maintaining their consistency. It’s like the 1960s equivalent of King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard without all that psych rock madness or PR. My one knock on this album is in regards to those few moments where Mr. Fogerty’s adopted, Southern affectation starts to overstay its welcome. His pronunciation of “boinin’” on “Proud Mary” in particular makes me grind my teeth a bit. But nonetheless! A few future album cuts aside, the songs on this album might be the most consistent, and straight-ahead grooviest and rockin-est of CCR’s releases. This album certainly maintains a pure rock sound that, after this, is abandoned a bit in favor of a sound that leans a little more pop. I especially liked the longer cuts “Born on the Bayou,” “Graveyard Train,” and “Keep on Chooglin’.” “Bootleg” kicks my ass as well. As does the ripping Little Richard cover “Good Golly Miss Molly.” I better stop myself before I go ahead and namecheck every song on the album because they’re all good! Beyond consistency, Bayou Country has a unique identity unto itself. It works as a concept album of sorts; a California band experimenting with another region’s rock sound. Playing musical dress up of sorts and ultimately owning a different sound that’s all their own. All that, and I could listen to this album on loop for hours and hours honestly. It’s that consistent. 4 stars. Keep on chooglin’.

Pleasant. I mean in the background…actually tuning into the lyrics is a surprisingly dark experience. Which gives the album that much more oomph in my mind. But I’m honestly more inclined to visit music from the days of the original Bakersfield Sound scene than Yoakam’s revivalist late-80s, early-90s pieces. I respect the hell out of Yoakam. As a renegade country star. A punk rocker that was more inclined to tour the grimy LA bar-room scene and ridicule the country establishment of Nashville than he was to join those ranks himself. (Plus he’s a great actor!) And I respect that he successfully breathed more grit into the country music charts and inspired newfound respect and fame for greats the likes of Bakersfield’s own, the original, Buck Owens. Plus Yoakam has the support of an incredible backing band here with some real interesting choices in instrumentation, recording, and production that showcase a knowledge and respect for the American South/Southwest country tradition all across state borders. Love that steel guitar. Accordion and fiddle too, but I’m especially a sucker for any pedal steel guitar. The duets are knock outs too. Maybe I’m coming around even further on this album as I type. Still I’ve had more joy actually coming to learn about the older country music eras this album draws on than I’ve had sitting with this 1988 album. For instance, the Buck Owens original solo version of “Streets of Bakersfield” is decidedly better, I think—less flare, more straight ahead storytelling. And the same goes for Mr. Cash’s version of “Home of the Blues” versus Yoakam’s (albeit by slightly slimmer margin thanks to the barn-storming energy Yoakim brings to the song), but is there really any competing with the likes of Owens and Cash? And is there really any sense comparing Yoakam’s cuts to those greats? Ultimately, I admire the flourishes Yoakam adds to these songs as well as the re-interpretive work he does for them and for the tradition he steps into by cutting them. As a whole, the album does the essential work of a musical historian, bringing us into a world that was momentarily all but forgotten. It yields some much needed life, darkness, grit, spirit, punk-rock attitude, and straight-away musical talent to those eternally stiff country music charts. Country music needs an artist like Dwight Yoakim every decade or so to restore the spirit to one of America’s greatest, and most exploited, musical traditions. And in that regard, Buenos Noches From a Lonely Room seems to be Yoakim’s greatest treasure as an artist.

I discovered this album sometime in the last year—thanks to my friend Joey!—and have since bought it on a CD that I play once every other month or so while I’m working or cooking or doing some other mindless task that I’d like soundtracked. I love this album. Not only is it ominous, but hilarious. Not only experimental, but traditional. It’s unique and mind-bogglingly successful. Wildly impressive, and impressively wild. Impressive that a 19-year-old Oldfield put this together nearly single-handedly. And wild that it has had the profound effect on our cultural unconscious that it has had. It’s got to be among the most commercially successfully 20+ minute musical pieces this side of the 19th century. I can’t believe how popular it is. And it makes me giddy with excitement just thinking about its existence. This is why I love music. It’s stories like that of Tubular Bells. A strange coming-together of commercial forces—a young, risk-taking Richard Branson—artistic forces—the manic, frustrated, and frequently drunk Oldfield and all others who had a hand in this recording up to and including Master of Ceremonies Vivian Stanshall and photographer/graphic designer, Trevor Key—and cultural forces—a who’s who of English avant-psychedelic figures of the late 1960s that batted harebrained ideas around no matter how silly, pretentious, or irreverent—to manifest what we now know and love as Tubular Bells. It’s hard to even wrap your head around how this came to be let alone why. It’s like looking up at a cloud or a smattering of stars and searching for shapes, stories, or any other sort of meaning as you bask in the sheer beauty of all its madness. And it’s mad as hell, this album. And I love, love, love it. Lastly, the impact the opening theme of this album has had on horror movies thanks to Friedkin’s inclusion of it in his The Exorcist is undeniable. You can hear echos of Tubular Bells in just about every major horror soundtrack from Halloween to Hereditary. Which has very little to do with this music itself, but lends to the album’s aura, mystique, and strange hold it continues to have over us today. For further evidence of this just see Branson’s chilling 2013 statement re: the album and the consequential success of his company: "I never thought that the word 'tubular bells' was going to play such an important part in our lives ... Virgin going into space most likely wouldn't have existed if we hadn't hired that particular instrument." So one weird teenager’s odd-ball musical vision and crazed, uncompromising pursuit of such has directly and incidentally left an indelible mark on not only the soundscape of our collected nightmares, but also mankind’s pursuit of outer space. That’s about as close as we’ve ever come to actuating the plot of Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure. So, yeah, in my opinion, pretty cool album.

Great album, and a formative one for me in expanding my musical horizons in college. My experience with this album has always been a primarily sonic one. When listening, the sounds of this album fill my head, my room. Veckatemist has an ambience all to itself. Its soundscape is distinctly American, and utterly ethereal. It’s in-your-ear cavernous. It’s music to dream too. Haunted. It lives somewhere between the spectral works of Edgar Allen Poe and the 1960’s most anxious freak folk. And yet, it is undeniably of the 21st century. Its ghosts (anxieties) could only be of this age. Its themes are deeply personal, but its lyrics are vague and riddling enough to map your own fears too. Those topics—in my estimation—run the gamut from anxious attachments, imposter syndromes, the disintegration of relationship, coping with depression, modern malaise, and an overall frustration with an inability to live in the moment. Its victories over these immense difficulties are few and far between, and when they do arrive, such as in the late-album “I Live With You,” the advice is measured. “We’ll do what we can,” Rossen echoes as the song rises to a resounding outro. Listening to Grizzly Bear’s discography chronologically is like hearing a band come together in real time. Beginning as the solo, bedroom project of co-lead vocalist Ed Droste, Grizzly Bear’s subsequent albums each sound a little more like the work of a full “band.” But each also sounds further from the haunted, intimately homespun material that gave the “band” its unique identity to begin. Especially after the success of “Two Weeks” and Veckatimest. You can hear the band, on their excellent follow up, Shields, favoring a sound that would fare a bit better on the road, on Late Night TV, and at musical festivals. What’s truly unique about Veckatimest then, is it’s recorded just before the band really, truly becomes a band. Or, it’s at least the sound of them becoming a band. For one thing, it’s unique that Droste didn’t keep Grizzly Bear a solo project with a touring band the way, say, Tame Impala did. (Also worth mentioning here that Droste isn’t even in the band anymore as he is now retired from music and pursuing a career as a therapist.) Instead he invited 3 new individuals under the moniker of his own deeply intimate project, to contribute their own intimacies into something wholly unknown that together they might eventually hone. It’s a spirit of collaboration that seems impossibly difficult. And it’s evident too on their amazing Friend EP, released two years before Veckatemist, on which they not only reworked their own songs, but invited bands like Band of Horses, CSS, and Atlas Sound in to do the same. The results of their selfless collaboration up to Veckatemist are astounding. Droste’s own advancements in songwriting are buoyed by the those of Rossen; their vocal arrangements therein buoyed by harmonies from Bear and Taylor. Then there’s the excellent (excellent!) production of Taylor, plus the choral arrangements, the string arrangements, Bear’s minimalist-yet-explosive drum patterns, the cover art, and on and on. It’s an amazing sounding, feeling record. Coming in 2009, Veckatimest hits very near the end of the freak-folk-revivalist 2000s. I’ve heard of and have always preferred to refer to this era of indie rock as New Weird America (in contrast with Old Weird America of the 1960s, 50s, and before). But of all the albums and acts that make the genre, none feel more suited for the label than Grizzly Bear’s Veckatemist. In its geography, its band name, its spirit and democracy, its soundscapes, and its anxieties; it is Weird America through and through. Side note: I said this album is cinematic—and as if to evidence such: Grizzly Bear’s music soundtracked 2 full movies of its era. One of which is Blue Valentine, another formative favorite of mine and certainly one of my favorite uses of music in film.

I mean what can you say? It’s Led Zeppelin. It’s their debut album. It’s through and through a brilliant, stunning, raucous blues rock debut and as significant an album as I can think of. I myself am more partial to their later stuff. Particularly that which moves away from the classic blues, hard-rock standard and into the realm of post-rock; especially Physical Graffiti cuts like “In The Light.” But there is something undeniably raw and special about the band’s first two albums. And at least once per year I find myself listening to the bands’s whole discography (or at last I through Graffiti) because it’s just that good. I woke up a little tired this morning, and frustrated I had to work. But Good Times Bad Times perked me up and got me moving. It was an all Led Zeppelin kind of day. :)

64 albums generated and this is the first rap album we’ve done? Hmmm. Something seems off. Which editors put this list together anyway? Ah…I see now that 1001AYMHBYD is edited by one Robert Dimery, an *English* writer and editor. That explains some of the more obtuse English albums we’ve gotten. Not that A Grand Don’t Come For Free is necessarily one of those… BUT, the first edition of 1001AYMHBYD was published in *2005*, just one year after Mike Skinner’s sophomore LP as The Streets. Which explains why some selections from the early aughts/late 1990s—including Skinner’s—might retain honors despite not aging all that well. But I digress. This is not a bad album. I would have liked this if I knew about it in high school, I’m sure. A time when I was listening to a lot of Atmosphere, Eminem, and Australian rap for some reason. Now, it sounds dated. The half-singing sounds…kinda bad, but in a charmingly amateurish way I guess. I appreciate the simplicity of the production. Skinner’s inclination and knack for melody too. I half-heartedly appreciate Skinner’s flow. How focused on the storytelling he is. On rhythm, inflection, and simple patterns between words rather than braggadocio. His rapping would be nice at, like, an open mic poetry night where you have zero expectations and are just happily impressed with your fellow citizens. But here? Very mid. However, I am a sucker for storytelling in music. So my ears perk at the idea of a rap album with a “Plot” subsection on its Wikipedia page. My plan was to listen to this album twice: once to listen, once to read and follow the plot. Listening: By the time we get to track 7 I’m a little tired of this sound. And track 8’s called “Such a Twat…” oh, joy. I’m skipping a few songs now. I am not digging this angry stuff. “Dry Your Eyes” gets back to the stuff I like a bit more. Like the beginning stuff. The stuff I would have liked in high school but that sounds dated and amateur now. Definitely don’t care for the 8-minute closer. Despite some mid highs, not a lot here to keep me engaged. Mostly lows. 2/5 on this listen. Reading: Honestly, I couldn’t muster another listen. But reading the lyrical plot summary on the Wiki page, I don’t think I missed much. The storytelling seems incidental and slice-of-life. Which isn’t bad, just isn’t exactly what I had in mind when I read “rap opera” and “concept album.” Still 2/5.

This one’s new to me! Side A kicks off with a bang. I am really into the jazzy, new wave cross over; sophisti-pop I suppose. Not a genre I’m all that familiar with outside of Roxy Music’s Avalon. The first reference that came to mind in reading about The Style Council and listening to this album, was Talk Talk’s post synth-pop albums, namely The Color of Spring and Spirit of Eden. Talk Talk’s musical evolution reminds of that which Paul Weller made between his former band, The Jam, and The Style Council. Both are stories of two artists, at peak commercial success, who grew restless, threw that success to the wind and used their newfound notoriety to craft music more soulful, jazz-influenced, and totally different; long-time fans be damned. Obviously, this debut isn’t as experimental and left-field as Talk Talk’s post-rock, but still it’s a jarring turn for Mr. Weller, far from his punk rock roots. And I dig it! Side B meanders a little. I enjoy, in theory, the divergences taken to experiment with rapping on “A Gospel,” and with the melding of hip-hop, funk, and dance on “Strength of Your Nature,” but those forays make me stray a little, in turn. I only return for a few cuts, namely, “You’re The Best Thing,” and the fantastic closer, “Council Meeting.” But I think those few tracks in between that didn’t grab me will only grown on me with time. Actually, those two I mentioned are the only two I wasn’t shakin’ my booty too, I really liked the second and third to last tracks too. This whole affair reminds me a lot of Japanese City Pop. Which is cool. Thoroughly enjoyed this album. It’s really pretty fantastic. 4/5.

I immediately dug this record. Its mashing of dub, 1990s house, and ambient holds strange powers over me, and William Orbit knows it. A fitting album title and accompanying album art. Very strange to hear Beth Orton’s voice hear too (read she was Orbit’s gf at the time). The ambient stuff is especially cryptic. I feel like I’m on drugs. I just want to lie down in the wet mud with my eyes closed and listen to this all day. There are a lot of ideas on this record. But somehow it retains its consistency and form. Never sounds scattered. Just, yeah, lots of ideas. This is music for a brainstorm. I’m going to give it a 4 but it honestly could be a 5. I just need more time with it. This album comes to me completely context-less. I have no references. Well, one: maybe the KLF. Otherwise, I can’t place it and it’s marvelous.

Musically, I’m not sure this album represents a “rebirth” so much as a coalescing of musical ideas; a hip-hop/neo-soul meeting of the minds that breathes Q-Tip’s cultural input/output across 20 years from the late 80s to late aughts. It’s wonderful. Clear, concise, poetic, impactful and a whole lot of fun. My only run-in with solo Q comes in the shape of 1999’s Amplified, which has some absolute-fire bangers, but as more of a straight forward hip-hop album, lacks the unified musical/lyrical vision that The Renaissance achieves. I took what free time I had this weekend to read through some of lyrics, and while I couldn’t address every song, the bars I did read were really felt. From exploration of identity and self in opener “Johnny is Dead,” to the use of professional sports terminology as a metaphor for relationship in “Won’t Trade,” to the catalogic, Norah-Jones-featuring, love letter to hip-hip, “Life is Better,” Q-Tip’s songwriting has proven him, again, to be one of my favorite lyricists in music. Which is funny, because the highlight of The Renaissance is really not the lyrics, but the live instrumentation and production. Every instrumental decision on this record is unparalleled. And featuring the likes of Dilla, D’Angelo, and Robert Glasper, Q-Tip knows how to call in help when he needs it. Plus there’s a whole handful of songwriting credits bestowed upon session musicians which I find to be incredibly cool and demonstrative of the collaborative, music-first spirit this album embodies. (Maybe the title The Renaissance refers to a rebirth of that spirit in hip-hop.) Plus, plus, there seems to be just as many if not more European psych and prog rock samples as there are classic American R&B/Soul sample, which lends this album a totally unique sound in the world of hip-hop. A sound that I think might have influenced producers in the following decade (2010s) to sample more adventurously and blur the lines of hip-hop far beyond what defined the genre in the 2000s. All in all, a fantastic 4-star record that I will most certainly be returning to. After all, “What good is an ear if a Q-Tip isn't in it?”

I am really ignorant when it comes to some pop music. Typically it just goes in one ear and out some other. White noise. For instance, the only time I can consciously remember having heard “Like A Prayer”—a song I’m sure I’ve heard hundreds of times and just not realized it—was at a karaoke night a few weekends ago. I remember all the women in the establishment hitting every note, while I couldn’t fathom a single melody or even tell you it was by Madonna. Then the guy standing next to me turned and yelled at his belting-along girlfriend, “Is this just about a blowjob!?” To which she responded, “Yes!!” And continued to sing. Any pop super-hit circa 1989 about a blow job is pretty cool in my book. Makes me kind of miss the days when sexually innuendo in song was wrapped in double entendres and metaphors. Not that I don’t like “W.A.P” and such. Just different. And this song is really quite good. Same goes for “Express Yourself.” Can’t tell you I’ve ever actually listened to this song, though, again, I’m sure I’ve unconsciously heard it hundreds of times. But that’s kind of a strength here as I don’t have any baggage associated with Madonna, this album, or this style of music. (For reference: I was born in 1993.) I find this song to be bright and cheery. Reminds me hugely of stuff the B-52s were doing at the time (I actually checked to see if the deep backing vocals were the work of Fred Schneider; they weren’t). And of that last gasp of the chipper, bright, and grossly-colorful 80s, before Nirvana came on the scene and changed alt/pop rock forever. I know this Madonna album is decidedly a pop album and not rock. BUT, it really does not sound too different from rock acts of the day. There’s Bowie and Talking Heads and R.E.M. all over this record. I mean, hell, Prince makes an appearance in what is just an insanely weird cut for a pop song. Kinda great minimalist, funk/R&B infused instrumentation on that number. And the personnel on this album, everywhere, is just a who’s who of pre-eminent rock session musicians. The whole project is bursting with talent. Weird to have “A Digital Recording” printed right on the album art, like that was some sort of selling point in 1989? I appreciate the Sticky Fingers reference of the cover image, and the political, feminist use of it by Madonna which pairs well with her boundary-pushing sex positivity that is really on full display on this record. It’s kind of punk rock. And taken as a whole, it’s that sentiment that probably represents her greatest cultural influence as an artist. This is at least as good as that Queen record we did yesterday. In fact, it’s better. On first listen, I thought the second half of this album got a little limp…but boy, nope, turns out Madonna knows how to sing some serious ear worms and each time I listened to those later tracks they got better and better. In fact, “Cherish” is probably my favorite track on the record right now and it’s going in my playlist rotation right behind “Killer Queen,” from yesterday. I’m very tempted to give this album a 4. But I won’t. Just know that it’s close!

I have never—with the exception of some greatest hits compilations my childhood friend Brendan Vinnicombe used to play incessantly in his Mom’s SUV—listened to a Queen record. This might have something to do with my upbringing. My Dad—never the prog rock fan—used to decry the band as being “too theatrical” and “operatic.” He preferred his Grateful Dead, Bob Dylan, Neil Young, and the likes. I followed suit. Never to listen to Queen outside of Brendan’s Mom’s SUV or otherwise in the public sphere of film, radio, and advertising. Before today I couldn’t have told you what years the band was even active or how many albums their wealth of hit songs were spread across. I was quite surprised to discover Queen was experiencing success this early in the 1970s, and that they would become one of the few 1970s acts that would find success in the 1980s. What strikes me most about Sheer Heart Attack is the musicianship. This is just excellent. Weird. Powerful. Maybe it reminds me of the Doors the way they seamlessly incorporate non-rock elements into a pure rock sound, but in an entirely different way. I’m blown away by May’s extended guitar soloing in “Brighton Rock” and by the experimental recording techniques used on Mercury’s voice and all instruments throughout. I’m also surprised and impressed to find songwriting credits here given to each of the four band members, together and individually and to read that often they switched instruments in the studio. This is a very solid album, with some essential cuts and, as I’m reading, was the first Queen album to really cement the band’s direction going forward. But, as a cohesive album, I’m not sure it totally succeeds. It just doesn’t do enough to be that weird or break new ground. It may be a step forward for Queen but, with the exception of “Killer Queen,” the step feels small. In spite of its strengths, I find the album’s eccentric allure to be not that unique in a year (1974) that also saw the release of King Crimson’s Red, Bowie’s Diamond Dogs, Eno’s Here Come the Warm Jets, Supertramp’s Crime of the Century, and so on. I think this album fits quite neatly into the weird theatricalities of British Glam Rock of the day. Irregardless of the timeless, larger-than-life phenomenon Queen would someday grow into, in 1974, Sheer Heart Attack just fills out the margins of an already vibrant scene. And with the exception of a few cuts off this Queen record (namely, the first two, “Now I’m Here,” and “Stone Cold Crazy”), there isn’t much calling me back to listen to this record in full. Of course Queen is a hugely influential, important act with incredible musicians/songwriters and quite possibly the greatest front person of all time in Mercury. But otherwise, I kind of agree with my Dad. I don’t think this is all that’s cracked up to be as far as albums go and if I’m listening to a Glam/Prog rock band from England who released an influential album in 1974, I’m listening to Supertramp 6 times out of 10. 3 times out of 10, I’m listening to Eno. And I’ll save that last time for King Crimson. But I’d certainly save a shout out for “Killer Queen.” And I look forward to uncovering some other Queen albums elsewhere in this list.

My pick for “best Beatles album” has evolved over the years. Listening again to Revolver today, I think it takes the honor. The magic of Revolver is that you can listen to it in 2023, having listened to it many times before, and still hear that special pop something this band brought to music back in 1966. You can hear that, of course on each subsequent Beatles album, but that “special pop something” is also increasingly infused with a pretense, a felt duty to one-up themselves. Post-Revolver Beatles is art pop and concept albums. Which is great, and I love all those records. But, I think Revolver is peak Beatles as a phenomenon and a pop group. Most my favorite Beatles songs are on those later albums, with the exception of “Tomorrow Never Knows,” sure, they’re more seasoned after all. But as a cohesive, joyful, listening experience, Revolver is hands down my favorite Beatles album. I’m a George stan, so love to see a cut of his opening up a Beatles record (and that solo!). Side note: I never noticed how truly psychedelic this album art is. George is staring straight through me. Plus you get an underwater Ringo staple and Paul and John just working at an incredulous rate to craft bangers and ballads across all sorts of musical boundaries. Not a beat is missed. Every time I hear this album it’s like the first time. It’s like I’m 6 years old again in the back of my Dad’s car by. No other Beatles album claims this power over me. No other music period. This being the best Beatles album makes it probably the best album on this whole fkn list that isn’t Pet Sounds too. So, 1,000,000,000/5. Nice job George, Ringo, Paul, and John. You guys are good!

Having never heard of this album or group, I skipped ahead to preview their most played song, ”Saturday Night,” and immediately thought to myself, “I don’t need this. I’d be just fine if I died without hearing this record.” And if this track was the highlight, I was not looking forward to the rest. But turns out, “Saturday Night” is the lowest of low points on this record. Probably because it is the hip-hoppiest, and features the most rap which I don’t care for anywhere on this album, except for Chali 2na’s verse. And actually the main verse on “Street Signs” ain’t bad either. But still, I much prefer the latin-funk-rock fusion of tracks like “Love and Hope,” “Dejame En Paz” and, really, all the songs with Spanish titles, to the hip-hop stuff. Overall, it’s all a little disorienting, like they’re trying to be every genre at once. Hard to grasp what this band is. Did I really *need* to hear this album before I died? Probably not. Is this even their best album? I’m not sure. Most plays on Spotify goes to their 1998 self-titled effort, and having just listened to a few songs off that (one of which is even featured in Tony Hawk’s Pro Skater 3!), I think that album is loads better than this. In closing, I’m kinda glad I know this group exists, especially as an Angeleno, but I could do without the album. I won’t be listening again and will probably forget it in a few years time. I hope we get some Los Lobos on this list. 2/5 - not bad, but more mid-to-low moments than highs.

Easy 5 for me. Though not a perfect album, I find strange, twisted beauty in The Doors’ imperfections. And its strengths are stellar enough to rise the whole project to an iconic, mystical stature. Especially for a debut. And especially for 1967. The sound achieved by the Doors continues to be one of the most unique I have come across on any record. From Densmore’s jazz background, to Krieger’s flamenco-guitar stylings; and from Manzarek’s simultaneous piano bass/organ work, to Morrison’s one-of-a-kind, larger-than-life persona and poetry. Tie this all together with a UCLA film studies program and a chance encounter between all 4 future Doors members at a meditation retreat and yeah. It’s hard to explain how the stars align sometimes. But for this band, and this album—even if all too briefly—they surely did. The extended solo in “Light My Fire” and especially the part that returns from the jam back into the verse with little more than a shrug makes me smile. “Break On Through” is a barn-burning opener, a song I could play endlessly and did as a kid while playing Tony Hawk’s Underground 2. (Funny enough I remember playing a racing game with my brother too that featured “Riders On The Storm” heavily, and I remember too several of my middle-school classmates having songs by The Doors on their Myspace pages, and then there was the movie; it seemed like The Doors were everywhere I looked as a kid.) “Alabama Song (Whiskey Bar)” a cover and re-working of a song by German post-modern playwright, Bertolt Brecht, shows off half the band’s film studies background while experimenting with carnival music, ska, and psychadelia. With those highlights and an excellent supporting cache of tracks showcasing the band’s unique brand of baroque and blues rock, The Doors is a strange and classic record.

It’s tricky doing these sorts of albums in the 1001 Albums Generator. Is 24 hours, on a Monday really enough time to properly breakdown Mr. Bob Dylan’s most complex, personal, beautiful, and literary record? Doubtful. There are likely semester-long graduate classes dedicated exclusively to this 10-song album. I’ve listened to it many times. I have a hand-me-down vinyl LP from my dad. It’s the kind of record I try not to overplay, for fear that I’ll degrade the audio fidelity. The kind of record I’ll pull out and lie on the floor reading the lyrics like poetry, with or without the music. My dad used to play “Tangled Up In Blue” on guitar when he played guitar. I can hear his voice pouring from my parent's bedroom and filling the house when I play this record. I’d rather not over analyze this one. Just enjoy it.

“[Harvest] put me in the middle of the road. Traveling there soon became a bore, so I headed for the ditch. A rougher ride but I saw more interesting people there." Admittedly, this is not Young’s best album, but it might just be my favorite. Certainly, it is my most-played. Fully eschewing the commercialism achieved on Harvest, this album might as well be by a different artist than that. But, while bleak, On the Beach is still a far cry from the utter heartbreak and desolation in low fidelity that Young and co. put to record for their follow up to this Tonight’s the Night too. That album (arguably his best) was actually laid down before On the Beach, which means OTB finds Young after having gotten such vivid grief, pessimism, and anger out of his system. It finds Young amongst the rubble and decay—the vast fallout of Harvest’s overwhelming spotlight and the loss of multiple loved ones to overdoses—sorting through the sand as the waves lap. Having grown up near a beach, these themes strike a resonant chord with me. Too often the beach is the subject of tourism, sun-shiny days, sports, beer, sex, and the like. Less often is the beach illustrated on those cloudier days, with rougher waves, silent and empty sands; those days that remind you very much of the surface of this planet, and your no-where place on it. Full of anger and isolation, Young hurtles pessimistic musings at oil companies, fame, 60s “revolutions,” and lost loved ones. However, the album starts on a high note with “Walk On,” and an expressed desire to keep on living. I said yesterday in my note on Dylan’s Blood on the Tracks that I almost fear to play that record on vinyl for fear of degrading the audio fidelity. I feel oppositely about On the Beach. Where Blood on the Tracks’, poetry and intimacy seems to belong to someone else—Dylan—On the Beach’s feels personal to me. Each scratch in the record holding a time, on a rainy day, when I sat and took the record to heart. It has scars for me. Reminders and advice as I go forward. Pretty cool that Levon Helm (The Band) played drums on two songs here. I never knew that. Plus Rick Danko (also The Band) plays bass on one. Of course Crosby (RIP) crops up and Nash too. I had also never heard of these "Honey Slides" Young and his colleagues were consuming throughout the recording—a homemade goop of sautéed marijuana and honey. Pretty groovy. The liner notes for this album are pretty f***ing cryptic. Rusty Kershaw, the “de facto producer” of the album, writes, “On Revolution Blues I turned into a python, then an alligator, I was crawling like one, making noises like one. Plus I was eating up the carpit [sic] and mike stands and such. And in the meanwhile I started to crawl up towards Neil; which is pretty spooky when you’re trying to sing…” He closes, “But what the hell I give you my word there is good music in this album.” Yes, Rusty. What the hell, indeed. A 5-star record to me. And my favorite by my favorite.

This feels like an essential UK dance record. I can hear a lot of Jamie XX in this. Even where I don’t hear influences in sound, I hear influences in spirit. Like certain elements of LCD Soundsystem, Avalanches, Justice and other indie-dance progenitors. I’m really fond of “The Heart Remains a Child.” It comes at a time in the record when the tone of the first 3 tracks, though great, is just beginning to wear a little monotonous. Track number 4 (aforementioned) introduces me to a different side of the duo and perks me right up. By “Big Deal” that feeling of monotony and sameness creeps back. But again, “Mirrorball” takes a step in a different direction. Some indie hip-hop beats. These beats make for some pretty nice beats to study/chill too. This seems to be in a conversation of sorts with that Style Council album we did recently, Café Blue. Where that album is a punk band becoming a soft jazz-y indie twee act (with a twist of hip-hip; “sophisti-hip-hop,” if you will), Walking Wounded finds a soft jazz-y indie twee act turning that café into a house party. And like that project before it, I love where new musical experimentation lands this established duo. Of course, against Café Blue, this album is significantly more coherent, tonal, and intimate. Not only do Tracey Thorns and Ben Watt introduce new musical elements into their craft, but they also achieve a profound poetry and beauty in doing so. The Toddy Terry mix is worth mentioning too. And it might reveal why the main-album cuts tend to wear thin on me over time. I think what I’m wanting from some of these house numbers is for them to be even housier. Like, if we’re gonna turn this coffee house into a club, let’s fully do it. I love that vibe. But then again, Omni Trio’s remix goes too far and I’m missing the coffee shop. It’s a delicate balance. And Everything but the Girl really walks the line quite beautifully. Of course, it’s also a line they themselves drew as they walked. A line for any and all 21st century indie dance acts to follow. In closing, the indie-r tracks are my favorite. But the production throughout is pretty spot on and pair excellently with the vocals. This is a unique group and feels to be a pretty influential album. I’ll give ‘er the old 4 stars.

I remember when I first heard “Mr. Brightside” in a middle school PE class where we had to select songs to choreograph a dance too. We played that song 500 times and it never got old. I remember the first time I heard “All These Things That I’ve Done” on the radio on KROQ in my Mom’s Ford Explorer and it stopped me dead in my tracks; I had to know who wrote this; probably the first time I ever felt that. I remember first hearing “Somebody Told Me,” also on the radio, and wondering how a boyfriend could look like a girlfriend. I remember when I finally bought the CD and discovered this band of 3 radio-friendly songs had numerous other hits on the very same debut album; namely, “Jenny,” “Smile,” “Andy,” and, my favorite, ”Change Your Mind.” I remember high school, and feeling ashamed for ever having liked these songs. I remember in college when it became cool to play these songs again, at parties and karaoke and such; later, weddings. I remember Phoebe Bridgers’ atmospheric rise and how she and her moment suddenly made Brandon Flowers “cool” and “significant” again. I remember at one time thinking this album was front-loaded with hits, but listening again, I can attest it is truly front-to-back loaded with hits. Last week, this album hit me like a ton of bricks. Not only because of the nostalgia I have wrapped up inside it. But truly because of how solid and emotional a record it is. How good the songwriting is. How good it all sounds. I have it on CD. The same CD I bought all those years ago—one of the first CDs I ever bought honestly—and still in great condition. The production and mix is awesome. This album and this band is as good as any that came to fruition in the mid-aughts. I’d take this in the same hand I’d take the Strokes debut. And honestly, a comparative study of those two albums might yield an interesting piece on music criticism, fashion trends, song-writing, rock populism, and stardom in the first decade of the century. They are perhaps the two most significant debuts of the era, after all. Sadly, where the troubled Julian Casablancas was heralded as some kind of genius and critical darling, Brandon Flowers was written off as a pop star. When critics turn their back on bands, bands tend to turn their back on critics. And when band’s turn their back on critics, they play for fans. I think you can see that happen to The Killers after this album. Where this album is specific, nuanced, and personal, latter efforts are broad and populist. Where Hot Fuss finds a group of Las Vegas natives stumbling upon songs that would speak to hundreds of millions all across the globe, subsequent efforts finds that same group working to write more songs like that. All I can say is it’s a shame. It’s a shame we didn’t foster and encourage the artistry of a band that gave us one of the best debuts of any era. I’m giving this a 5 for posterity’s sake if nothing else. But Hot Fuss is every bit deserving.

I always hear GMF as history. The music is always couched as hip-hop’s origins. Listening to the entirety of this record, puts GMF and the FF in context. This is future music. It’s a hot mess and I love it. It’s a band not creating hip-hop but experimenting with every musical idea that’s lying around them at the time. There’s techno, Kraftwerk-adjacent tracks. There are R&B ballads. There’s funk. Perhaps more than anything there’s funk, for this music shares not only musically with Parliament Funkadelic but spiritually with Parliament Funkadelic more than anything else. More than even hip-hop. I mean, there are only two rap songs on this album and they’re the last two. This album is fun, wild. Sounds like a block party and I’m hear for it.

Joey said it best in several texts to me today: 12:38p OK musically this album is super well done but i feel like I’m watching schoolhouse rock or something 12:47p John Wayne Gacy, Jr. damn. What a beautiful and dark track 12:56p Ok maybe this album is extremely epic and is one of the most important singer songwriter works of the 21st century 5/5

A truly stunning album, by one of the weirdest bands that ever was. This is the 9th (!) studio album by the Oklahoma City trio and, after mussing around with all forms of garage-rock-meets-experimental in the decade+ before, The Soft Bulletin sets the bar for all Flaming Lips work after. It sets the bar for all psych rock work after, really. Which, ever since the year 2010, what with MGMT’s Congratulations and Tame Impala’s Innerspeaker, has been having a real lengthy revivalist moment. One that The Flaming Lips’ mid-career masterpiece(s) undeniably had a profound influence on some 10 years earlier. Sometime a year ago, autumn, this album had a profound influence on me too. That was a time when I was still sorting through the sands of depression after Covid’s fallout, working a job I hated, and feeling entirely purposeless. Then, when I first heard this album, Wayne Coyne quickly became one of my favorite lyricists. During those bad commutes, his simple, child-like musings on the smallest and largest of all things, delivered in that fragile, kermit-y way he sings, bolstered by the explosive, earth-shatteringly cosmic sound of the album gave me a second chance. That sound is in big part thanks to Steven Drozd’s drum work with the help of Michael Ivins engineering and David Fridmann’s production in addition to Wayne Coyne’s endlessly wandering mind. And it sounds, still, even post Yoshimi and all that psych rock revival that followed, like nothing I’ve ever heard. But back to the lyrics. Wayne Coyne’s ability to communicate the overbearing weight of depression in a slight, incidental bleed; his ability to communicate the power of togetherness and love in a “spoonful,” or in the biting, itching bugs splattered across your windshield in summer; the burst of existential terror you might face while putting away your vegetables; that a spider bite might destroy you the same way a broken heart will, is nothing short of humanizing. It’s looking at the stars at night. The connections he draws between the big and the small of everyday life, and how it all wraps up like some sort of recipe for the Universe…I want to live in there. And I try to. Another note on this theme: in the liner notes, each of these songs is given subtitles. And the subtitle for track 6—“What is the Light?”—is “An untested hypothesis suggesting that the chemical (in our brains) by which we are able to experience the sensation of being in love is the same chemical that caused the "Big Bang" that was the birth of the accelerating universe.” “Waiting For Superman” is perhaps the album’s centerpiece; it’s thematic core and second single. Coyne sings “Is it getting heavy? …Is it overwhelming to use a crane to crush a fly? …Tell everybody waitin’ for a superman that they should try to hold on best they can…” But what I love most is the more practical note this song ends on, “It’s just too heavy for a superman to lift.” And so what Coyne emphasizes is the “waiting” rather than the “superman” and I admire him a great deal for that. Because despite all the beauty and love he sees in the most minute and grand details of life, he recognizes the overwhelming weight and chaos that makes all that beauty possible. And how it’s not usually all that suited for human kinds. In closing, I have many albums that affected and influenced me in my adolescent life. But far fewer that I’ve clung to that same way in my adult life. This album is one of the few that has. Perhaps more so than any other. But even personal histories aside, I can attest to the musical and lyrical brilliance and innovation this album brought into the world. Whatever chemical caused that first Big Bang is in here too, and it’s accelerating on.

Yesterday I knew exactly one thing about Tango: that it takes two. Today I know two things: that it takes two and that the form was revolutionized by one Astor Piazzola, an Argentine bandoneon (no idea what that is) player in the 1980s. So I now know enough things about tango to have what I know about tango tango. Which is cool. Not sure what exactly makes this piece, recorded live together with American vibraphonist Gary Burton, especially special. But, what the hell. There’s good music in here. Maybe I’ll even listen to it again. I certainly won’t be caught dead listening to that old tango! Can you imagine? Not sure what to rate this, but, alas, I must. The 2.88 average it currently sits at seems unfairly low. So I’ll give it a little 4/5 boost. Thanks for all you’ve done for tango Mr. Piazzola. We salute you. 🌹

If this was half as long it would be great. Ballooned up to almost an hour, it’s just good. There’s not many songs that miss, but not many that really HIT either. Mostly, it’s a promising, early-career effort that, in hindsight, provides a blueprint and origin story of sorts for many of the band’s later, greater career works.

This album is spectacular but it is long. I’m sure I’ve listened to the full thing but I can’t even remember at this point. It’s the first batch of songs that really stand tallest in my mind. The opening song is a heater and one of Mr. Costello’s best while introducing a whole new, psychedelic and experimental direction to the artist’s oeuvre. I feel like there’s so much more to this album. I think it’s even greater than I’m aware of at this moment. I just need more time. Right now it’s a 3, but I’m going to give it room to grow with a solid 4.

I Against I is as a big a leap as any hardcore band I can think of made in the mid-80s. The fact that Bad Brains are so influential to begin with, compounded with the fact that this 1986 album finds them branching out from their D.C. roots and experimenting with different sounds and ideas, makes them all the more so. The sheer number of guitar solos on this record is astounding—for a hardcore act—not to mention the funk vibes in numbers like “Secret 77,” the 80s-goth-ballad-y vocals on “Sacred Love” (reportedly recorded over the phone from prison where H.R. was serving time on marijuana charges), and the many moments that seem to predict everything from alt rock to neu metal to radio-ready pop punk in the decade+ to come. The proficiency, tenacity, and musicianship exhibited in all these genre-bending musical directions (and misdirections) is just gravy on top. “I Against I” has been covered by Jeff Buckley, Lamb of God, and Denzel Curry. I mean, what!? If that’s not influence I don’t know what is. Am I still more partial to the band’s iconic debut? Probably. But if you’re in need of more evidence that this band was great and wise beyond their genre-boundaries, you’ll find it in I Against I. An absolutely essential hardcore (post-hardcore?) work and every bit deserving of its place on this list.

Equal parts Cleaners From Venus, The Kinks, and Wire. I especially love the more melodic moments—“Boy About Town,” “That’s Entertainment,” “Man in the Corner Shop”—which seem to predict the whole indiesphere as it exploded into existence in the mid 1980s, 90s and beyond. Moments here that remind me of slightly punk-ier versions of The Beta Band, Guided By Voices, and Teenage Fan Club. Other moments that remind me of indie-er versions of Wire, Gang of Four, and Fugazi. I’m a big fan of this album. And I guess a fan of Paul Weller too as I liked his subsequent project, The Style Council, too. But I like this more. Where that feels fun, silly, and experimental (for him), this feels important and influential. Part of a watershed moment in the early 1980s that set the score for all “indie” acts to follow. Today, it sounds tame, sure, but only because the sound has become cliché, trodden. In the context of 1980, it plays like a revolution. Definitely a legacy here shared with some late 1960s avant-hippie acts like Jefferson Airplane, 13th Floor Elevators, and even The Beatles to an extent—the bass line on “Start!” and harmonies on “That’s Entertainment” notably.

This is the album that kept me from listening to the last 10+ days of 1001 assigned albums. This album absolutely floored me. I’ve listened to it countless times. The storytelling is so vivid, the wordplay so nuanced, and the production and sampling is just some of the best ever. I could go on…but it’s just all-time hip-hop album.

It’s a shame I’m not giving this album a 5. Because I do think it’s one of the best albums of a particular genre and musical era. Its strengths are in its lyricism and atmosphere. It knows its tone and thematic intent well and does not miss a step in addressing it over the course of the album. That said, some of these songs blend together for me. Particularly “Silver” and “Crystal Days” (the latter reminding me of the former.) And while some songs, like “The Killing Moon” and “Seven Seas” are full and lush in their sound, other cuts, like the unfortunately lackluster “My Kingdom” just lacks a certain *mmph* in its mix. It is mysteriously quieter than “The Killing Moon,” and lacks the dynamic range of that song. Wait…hold on…Okay I just switched over to the remastered version from the 2008 deluxe edition. Soooo much better! “My Kingdom” gets its due here. But the remaster only helps so much. I’ll give Echo and his Bunnymen a LOUD 4 for their best, their essential and timeless album, Ocean Rain.

Miscellaneous thoughts on an album I’ve loved for many years and thoroughly enjoyed revisiting: Analog tape mysteries and foreign-tongued harmonies fade into far away thunder, then, radar blips. In the background, there are epic sounds like that of moving mountains, and in the foreground a human voice with human toys. Radio transmission static. Synth and guitar riffs bathed in echo like beams from another planet, joyous that they have found contact. While much of this album is very much indescribable, otherworldly, there are songs like “Ny Batteri” that very much echo the indie rock “big band” era of the day; bands that seem to share some debt to the Neutral Milk Hotels, Spiritualizeds, and Talk Talks of the 1990s. Bands like Arcade Fire, Broken Social Scene, all those burgeoning post-rock acts, and even maximalist solo artists like Sufjan Stevens. “Hjartao hamast (bamm bamm bamm)” is similar. These two mid-album cuts are a touch less celestial, a touch more “rock-ous” and fit more squarely in with the whole indie, post-rock scene. “Ny Batteri” definitely has Thom Yorke vibes as well. I don’t really have a point in saying this, other than I think it’s interesting, because, compared to the songs that precede and follow, they make this otherwise cosmic album distinctly Earthly, grounded in trends and scene. Spell-breakers. But I like these songs very much still. And appreciate them critically for exactly that reason: the context. Kingdom has come on Olsen Olsen. Fun with speed, a recursive loop. Something happened at the end of the last millennium. Artists were living the future. Just look at the top releases from 1999, 2000. Our artists were floating in space. Some twenty years on, an alright start, indeed.

Sparse, simple, and lonely, with Red Headed Stranger, Mr. Nelson risked it all for story and song. I’m not familiar with Nelson’s earlier work, but I am familiar with that of other beloved country artists—like Townes Van Zandt—whose records bore the curse of over-production at the hands of the business. It’s amazing here to hear Willie successfully strip all that pop accessory away, and find success with an understated sound. Red Headed Stranger acts more like a playlist at times, carefully arranging standards, medleys, instrumentals and originals in order to tell the life story of heartbreak, chaos, loneliness, and redemption. It’s a story that seems to speak to Nelson’s own trials and tribulations as he faced 40 and stood on the brink of overwhelming success. This album, more so than any I’ve heard, echoes the feel and comfort of watching an old black-and-white western on TV. It’s a great album for a lazy Sunday afternoon, lying on the carpet, hands crossed, staring into the ceiling.

I don’t know what it is about “Jump,” I’ve always loved this song, ever since I first heard it. It’s like the best of ear worms and guilty pleasures. Those synths just wriggle up inside my brain and pull some sort of dopamine release lever. Something too about the likes of Van Halen—a band named for their guitar player—venturing so boldly into the pop synth sound. It makes the guitar solo that much better when it hits. It’s silly, fun, and I love it. Reminds me to of the guitar work Eddie provided for MJ’s “Beat It,” another great melding of 80s pop and rock sensibilities. Sadly, the rest of the album does not maintain that sensibility…or make much sense. Is 1984 some reference to an Orwellian future? Unlikely. Is “Panama” anything more than inane nonsense and lukewarm metaphors about hard-partying, hot chicks, and fast cars? Unlikely. And while I much appreciate the fun of such songs when The Beach Boys were doing it jovially in the 1960s, by 1984 I find it pretty gross. Grosser still that these bands do nothing but take pop hedonistic chants to such absurdist extremes as “PANAMA-HA” and toss it together with distasteful locker room lines like “I brought my pencil / Give me something to write on!” in “Hot for Teacher.” Though, “Teacher” is a song I actually like musically. The blues riff is tasty, fast, and the opening drum solo is memorably heavy. And, aside from that aforementioned line, I find the crude adolescence mostly works in “Teacher.” Not much else grabs me here. I’m reminded of Def Leppard’s Hysteria and wonder why I came around so sharply on that record when I can’t here. I think it’s because of the maximalist pop-rock inclinations of that record. When VH follows suit—“Jump”—it works tremendously. But the rest of the album, with a few impressive instrumental exceptions, just feels like so much stale rock of the 1980s.

An immaculate and storied album. I listened to it a lot in college. I’ve always loved Gaye’s lyrics, thematic focus, and vocals on this album, but what struck me most today was the production and musicianship exhibited behind the man. And how well these songs flow from one into another. They practically compose a suite from “What’s Happening” through “Mercy” and from “Right On” to “Holy.” Simply one of the great, grooviest albums ever.

I’m no expert in Leonard Cohen’s music and am only familiar with a handful of his songs and two of his albums—Songs Of and Death of a Ladies Man. None of that could have prepared me for this. Like, I knew he could get weird. But this is really weird. It’s like…Huey Lewis and the News meets Tom Waits?? But no not Huey, because this is dark as hell. It doesn’t have to be though, much of the actual music is upbeat, technically, but listen to it twice and you have no choice but to hear a middle-aged artist working from the absolute depths of mortality and depression. Looking for life there, purpose, anything. I appreciate greatly just how weird this gets, like “First We Take Manhattan” and “Jazz Police,” and how he’s eating a banana on the cover, but I can’t say I always enjoy it, again “Jazz Police” which reminds me of something Negativland might have pressed. I appreciate greatly just how intimate Leonard Cohen is in his darkest hour. His songwriting feels extraordinarily powerful, heartfelt, funny, and even…hopeful; eg, the marching, fading coda of “Everybody Knows.” Some songs I truly liked immediately: “Ain’t No Cure for Love” and “I Can’t Forget.” Others, I had to let grow on me, to read the lyrics, and supplement my listening with some research. On surface level, this album reminds me of Neil Young’s Trans; an established, critically-appraised artist venturing out into the contemporary future in search of new sound. But, thematically, lyrically, there is so much more at stake on this album. Everything perhaps. It’s miraculous and a gift that I will treasure. Probably should be a 5.

Neat! A conguero! I grooved…but desperately needed context for this album. According to Wikipedia Sabu Martinez has a wildly impressive American jazz and pop resumé and started his career performing with Benny Goodman and Dizzy Gillespie at 19 years old! That’s about all I can find. Dude seems pretty important to a very specific scene. And notable for weaving percussive, Afro-Cuban sounds into the American bebop scene. But Palo Congo—his debut—doesn’t appear to be his most important album. That appears to be his last, 1973’s Afro Temple, which is wildly psychedelic and awesome! I highly recommend checking it out (it’s on Youtube) if you were at all intrigued by this. Interesting how the larger 1001 community reviewers rate obscure, dated, and global (or globally-influenced in this case) music so lowly. Seems unfair. I seriously saw one reviewer complaining that this album was featured on the list instead of a second Supertramp album. Like, what? Nobody needs to hear two Supertramp albums before they die. One of these is far more vital. So, I’m boosting this master conguero's record with a strong 4 out of 5.

My first time with Debut, an album that, for me, provided much context for the singular brilliance of Björk’s few later works with which I am familiar; Vespertine, mostly. There is early EDM here. There is trip hop here. There is post punk here. Lots of all of it. And in a dark, seedy, underground, and serious way that I don’t particularly, as they say, f**k with. That said, that singular, unmatched brilliance for which we now know and love Björk for is here everywhere too. In her voice. In the piano riff in “Crying.” The distant chimes in “Big Time Sensuality.” The muffled horns in “One Day.” The percussion in “Come to Me.” These odd choices in otherwise straight-ahead dance-y, post-punk numbers recalls The KLF in how radically she utilizes and transforms existing genres to fit her own unique sound and vision. Then, of course there’s her voice. Songs like “Venus as a Boy,” “Like Someone in Love,” and “The Anchor Song” strip any conceivable context away all together—except for like, maybe, some early Kate Bush or Todd Rundgren stuff—and just leave the artist we unmistakably know now. So yeah, a complete and unique record in its own right, but more than that, the origin story of an essential artist. 4/5. Last thought, wtf is going on in “There’s More To Life Than This - Live Version?” If anyone knows please let me know!

Hard to believe these songs were all released on just two sides of the same disc. “And It Stoned Me” is one of my most-played Van songs, but it is a sure second to the version of “Caravan” he sings with The Band in The Last Waltz. (Van the Man!) This album is great! But—and this is a big but—a significant part of me is always saddened listening to this follow up to 1968’s Astral Weeks. With Moondance, Mr. Morrison sacrificed the ambling rhythms, forested textures, and dreamy gnosticisms of Weeks for a stripped-down and streamlined pop sound. The results are brilliant. And evidence the versatility of one of the era’s greatest singers, so I can’t complain too much. But I’ve always felt that he might have returned to explore the terrain set out in Astral Weeks if not for the overwhelming success of this record and all that came after it. Oh well. It’s still a damn good record.

Randy Newman’s finest, most complex work and concept album. There’s a quote somewhere—I can’t find it now—from Mr. Newman where he talks about making dinner party music that you can’t play at dinner parties. I believe that was in regards to his 1971 album Sail Away, of which its central song is told from the perspective a slave trader trying to entice an African to “sail away” to America. Well, if any self-effacing white American hosting a dinner party in the early 70s had an awkward moment with the content of that otherwise gentle, bluesy, and sensible pop song, then the color would have been absolutely drained from host and guest face alike when the chorus of “Rednecks” set in. Newman’s dedication to voice, satire, political intent is as punk rock in Good Old Boys as any punk rocker ever was. But even more so, the empathy he shows here—his ability to actually stand in the shoes of the good-old-boy, Southern characters he sketches and breathes life into across this album—makes that satire even harder hitting. It forces the listener to embody a place, a person, a history, and to reckon with a responsibility we all have for the pervasive racism of this country whether in the South, North, East, West…everywhere. That the songs are so stunningly beautiful—“Louisana 1927” is as fine a Randy Neman song I can think of and it has soundly soundtracked these last few months of California 2023 rain for me—makes the satire, history, and characters in this album bright and brilliant beacons. It makes the whole story go down easy, even as it gets hard to swallow. I don’t know how he quite achieves that. And I can’t think of anything else quite like it. Certainly a favorite album of mine. I hope anyone who hadn’t heard this album before and who had gotten into the easy routine of jamming through these 1001 albums each day had a head turning moment with this one! It’s definitely one that benefits from some time spent with it. Malcolm Gladwell did a great Revisionist History podcast on it a few years ago, I recommend checking it out. 5/5.

Queens of the Stone Age is a band I’ve always respected but never quite enjoyed. Their brand of rock is just a bit heavy for me. But I’ve always found that what they do with that brand to be really off-the-beaten-path, unique, intricate, and often not that heavy at all. Like the Thom Yorke-like falsetto Josh Homme often adopts in songs like “Regular John,” not to mention the metronoming bleeps and bloops. I’ve also always been a big fan of the band’s percussionists and drum patterns. There’s a driving, post-punk flavor to it that blends nicely with the hard rock overtones. In a quote, Homme described his new music with QOTSA as “this [Can inspired] trance rock music that you can dance to,” which is rad and honestly similar to what other post-grunge rock bands and post-post-punk bands were doing all through the mid aughts—see Meet Me in the Bathroom. This is just the California-desert-meets-Seattle flavor of that. So cool. I guess everyone at the top of the century just wanted to dance!! The more I listen to this the better and better it is. It’s really closer to stoner rock than hard rock. This band is having fun. You can hear it. And I’m having fun listening. Grooving even. It’s long, and the songs do blend into one at times. But the highs that bring me back to focus—like “You Can’t Wait Me Baby”—are HIGH. And the rest just soundtracked this Wednesday morning nicely in the background. Overall, really enjoying this and excited I’m coming around on this band and to dig into the rest of their acclaimed discography! Also—re: Jacobs note on Moondance’s many absurd deluxe editions—be very careful not to listen to the re-release version of this on Spotify! The original album is 15 minutes shorter and has WAY cooler album art. Mostly highs so rounding up 4/5 on this.

I previously listened to Nick Cave’s Skeleton Tree in 2016 and it never quite left me. But the grief and heartbreak of that album was always too much for me to return to directly. So I have not since sometime in 2017. Nor have I listened to its follow up and trilogy-ending, double, 2019 album, Ghosteen. Well I’ve re-listened to Skeleton Tree once today. And visited with Ghosteen thrice. When driving around with it on at night, I was best able to experience this album. That is, Cave’s lyrics, emotional journey, and spiritual arcs as an artist and human being who is selflessly sharing his deepest heartbreak with any who will listen. There’s a lot to take in. And that it caps a decade when many other artists seemed to turn inward with equally emotional, heart-wrenchingly personal albums—Mount Eerie, Sufjan Stevens, Japanese Breakfast, and so on—a decade whose collective grief was buoyed by politics and “grand finale-ed” with 2020 and everything after…it makes Ghosteen seem especially potent. Nick Cave feels to me to be the elder statesman of this moment in music. If anyone can be. His trauma is particularly horrific, even, fateful. And his musical interpretation and communication of personal and personal-made-communal grief is lush, complex, and most often beautiful. Where many artists strip away flourishes and non-acoustic sounds for their most intimate albums, Cave seems to layer upwards. What he does strip away is words. Rather than filing his grief through doomed babbling like other searching artists might, he often lets soundscapes and ambience do the speaking for him. Or other musicians and/or singers all together. After all, how can the right words even be found, let alone without the help of others? I don’t know. It also just all seems silly to say anything about this album at all. It’s stunning.

🤘🗿🤘

Marc Bolan and T. Rex is like the original garage band. They make it seem like anyone can do this rock and roll thang. They make it seem fun and loud and easy. Just guitars, a look, loud amps, and chooglin’. Of course it’s not easy. As Marc Bolan’s knack for tight, playful songwriting and place as a frontman and rock visionary evidences. I prefer The Slider to 1971’s Electric Warrior, which, to me, feels more polished somehow—more nuanced in certain ways—but overall subtler. Compared to The Slider whose sheer rawness and power is unmistakeable. My favorite kind of album. Fun, loud, distorted, power-poppy rock music for getting up and doing things. The sound is infectious. Between T. Rex and Big Star, every kid with a rock n roll dream had proof that dreams really do come true.

Wow. More Van Halen, huh? Off to a good start with "Runnin' with the Devil.” Much fun and probably a better song than anything on 1984 not called “Jump.” The sound here is still decidedly guitar-focused hard rock, but there’s much more in common with early 70s bands like Thin Lizzy, Dire Straits, T. Rex, even Led Zeppelin to a degree. There’s more nuance and focus on songwriting compared to the maximalism of 1984. And just more fun! Like the little mid-song, barbershop number they break into in the midst of the otherwise hard-rocking “I’m the One.” Not to mention that joyously fun little blues number, “Ice Cream Man.” So good. I was dismayed when I saw this record populate after T. Rex last night, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have a good time with it. Even if the guitar tones are a bit polished for my tastes and the hoo-rah-YEAH! moments are bit stomach-churning. Still more highs than lows, so 3 stars…by the skin of its teeth.

I guess in my estimation of pre-1970 bands that Van Halen would draw on and 80s-ify in the latter half on the decade, I did not consider bands like Deep Purple. To be perfectly honest, all I knew about Deep Purple going into today’s selection was “Smoke on the Water,” and how it IS the guitar riff for all beginners everywhere. Honestly, this album kinda slaps. I love when mix quits on “Speed King,” to make room for the organ solo. Very Doors, very heavy, and very prog-rock all at once. The extended jam on “Child in Time” is great too. Like the Allman Brothers Band turned British and made a prog record. Though, the vocal soloing and circus-vibe in the latter half of the song lays it on a little thick. “Flight of the Rat” is probably my favorite. Just the right mix of raw, proto-heavy rock and prog. I don’t really care for the last three songs. Probably for no better reason than that I can only stomach this sound for so long. Hard to believe this is from 1970. However, I don’t think this album really rivals those it begs to be compared with. Like not even close. Deep Purple in Rock—great tongue-in-cheek album title and artwork—is fun and almost more fun because it’s less self-serious than some of those prog-ier bands, even if it is less impressive. The mixing and mastering could definitely be better. But I don’t see a remaster. All in all, for 1970, pretty solid. But nobody needs to hear this before they die, and I have a feeling we’re going to get more Deep Purple. 3/5.

Having only listened to one Metallica album before this, I don’t exactly think this is for me…yet. And while I enjoyed it fine, I’m not totally sure how tall it stands as an essential live album. Cool idea. And ton of respect out to Metallica for going for it and actually pulling it off. I can only imagine how awesome it would have been in person! But here, via Spotify, in the background while I work on this ordinary Thursday afternoon, and with little-to-no context for what most these songs sound like sans orchestra, it doesn’t quite achieve what I’d hope. This one’s kind of a shrug for me. I’d rather just listen to the original versions of these songs. But I’ll go 3/5 just for being so unique and envelope-pushing. The quieter moments are the ones that really stood out to me. Like “Hero of the Day” and “Nothing Else matters.” A lot of the rest kind of blended to together for me besides a few “oh yeah I know this song” moments. I’m a sucker for some Ennio Morricone too.

Feel like we’ve been on a pretty mediocre streak. But of said streak, this is the lowest low. Before Friday I only knew Eels from the Shrek OST CD that invariably found its way into my Mom’s car. On that CD, “Beautiful Monster” was always a skipper. On Beautiful Freak, it is an unfortunate highpoint on an album chock full of skippers. Eels brings to mind 1990s/early 2000s guilty pleasures like Ben Folds, Wheatus, Primitive Radio Gods, Dynamite Hack, even like Sugar Ray to an extent I’m not sure why. Then like, some less-guilty pleasures like Beck or…I don’t even know. This album just seems to have never escaped a hyper specific moment in time. A post-Pixies time when outsider musicians and wannabe artists were inspired by everything from NWA to Daniel Johnston and had all these new musical toys at their disposal to tinker with. This album sounds like tinkering. But where Ben Folds, Wheatus, Sugar Ray, even Beck are fun in their guilty-pleasuredom (ie, pleasurable), this album is a total fkn drag. I feel guilty listening to it *and* it’s depressing. It plays like a Xerox of a Sparklehorse album that re-envisions such artistic integrity and heartbreak as sure-fire radio hits that will someday play on major motion picture soundtracks. It is pretty enough. Just kind of pathetic too. I’m being too hard. Jacob, that documentary sounds special and I will watch it. But for now, I’ve given a lot of 5s and not a lot of 1s. This my friends, is a 1.

Huzzah! Our cold streak is over! I don't know how many Hendrix albums we're going to get here. But might be 4 I would give a 5. This is one of them.

I think this is a remarkable album. I’m sure I’ve heard of this band before but can’t remember the context. This predates Pixies and is as early a “90s indie” album as I can think of. I listened to their 1991 album The Real Ramona and thought that was spectacular as well. The fact this is from 1986, was released by a British label, is by a band fronted by two women, and is so tight, unique, and confident a debut all at once congeals it into something special. It’s sent me down a long forgotten rabbit hole today listening to bands that Throwing Muses undeniably had a huge impact on with this debut: Autoclave, Rainer Maria, Liz Phair, Pixies, Modest Mouse, Bikini Kill, Nirvana, Breeders, That Dog, and so many others. Hell, it paved the way for the entire 4AD label, now home to indebted powerhouse indie acts like Adrianne Lenker/Big Thief, Deerhunter, Tune-Yards, US Girls, The National…. A great, great, important album and honestly one of my favorites discovered via this group! Thanks 1001 Albums Generator! You da best! 4/5.

A few moments I think are actually interesting buried beneath a bunch I just can’t stomach. “Love is a Stranger” is a lot of fun. The titular track obviously hits. The rest is just far too theatrical, self-serious, and synth-y for my tastes. The lyrics are gaudy and sticky sweet and the annoying inflection with which they’re sung sound to be all done in up in some reverb-y velvet that feels like a great big facade the band can hide behind. “I’ve Got an Angel” and “Somebody Told Me” in particular are garbage. There are other moments though where I was quite taken with the production. The horns on “The Walk” and on “This is the House,” plus the bass on that latter song is hoppy, happy, and rad. It’s those moments that remind me a little more of Talking Heads and play a bit more post-punky and like actual-fun. “Jennifer” is the high point of the album musically but the absolute low point lyrically. Would have loved an instrumental version of that. Essentially, all the post-punk, stripped down satire of the The Human League’s Dare (1981) is done up in some ornate, pop-friendly, radio-theater bombast that is the Eurythmics’ “Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This),” an album that I bet would have dropped the parenthetical from the title if it hadn’t meant risking unit sales. The music here feels feels genetically engineered for (then) MTV VMA shows and (now) water aerobic classes for aging retirees at community pools the whole world over. For the purposes of this review, the negatives far outweigh those few highlights, no matter how well this album was produced or influential it might be or that I actually quite like some of Annie Lennox’s solo stuff. 2/5.

Man, 1969, what a time to be alive. And this album is ALIVE. Absolutely electric. You can hear a revolution. You can hear everything that punk rock would become. It goes 0-60 in 3 seconds flat and never takes any 1 of those 10 feet off the gas. (Except for in those pesky fade-outs which seem entirely unnecessary today and are probably just a relic of where and when this album was mixed. And honestly, there’s a bit of of character and appeal in that imperfection. A certain marinade for the raw flavor dished up across all 8 tracks.) I’ve never listened to MC5 or heard of this album. But this is just awesome. Great, great live album. THIS IS THE HIGH SOCIETY. I dig the experimental bend in “Starship” but don’t dig that song as a closer. This needed a high energy encore to take us home. 4+, rounding-up-to 5 STARS! Also just so great to hear a punk band behind before there was any inclination of what a punk band was. A punk band pulling on all their influences from rock n roll, to blues, to drawn-out, experimental droning. Just following taste and natural inclination, these 5 created something wholly new. Not unlike that which that other 5—Grandmaster Flash’s—created with the Message.

This is too weird. After being introduced to Throwing Muses earlier this week, I had naturally revisited that second American act 4AD signed in the mid-1980s, another New England-based, outsider alt band: Pixies. In particular, I revisited Doolittle, the band’s high watermark and imperfect masterpiece. To dissect Doolittle’s two album sides independently is a great way to understand the band as a whole. The A Side—“Debaser” through “This Monkey”—is somewhere on the shortlist of great, great album sides. It carefully alternates punk-ish, grinding noise for refinements on a power pop sound. Some songs—“I Bleed” and “Dead”—even make these trades between verses, which strikes me as a surprisingly successful feat. “This Monkey” even weaves strings into the mix which elevates an already strange spectacle into something quite otherworldly. That power pop sound Pixies exhibit so well on Doolittle is one they had only hinted at before with Surfer Rosa’s “Where is My Mind?” But if you were to listen to Surfer Rosa in its entirety, you would assume that magical pop number to be the result of sheer luck, for nothing else on that half-digested, slap-sticky, body-horror-obsessed record gives any indication that this band could record any pop masterpieces let alone 3 on one side of a disc. But they did just that with Doolittle’s “Debaser,” “Wave of Mutilation,” and “Here Comes Your Man.” And a side note on their penchant for b-movie, horror imagery and thematic content. Sometimes Pixies are just too balls-to-the-walls campy. More Joe Dante’s “The ‘Burbs” than Sam Raimi’s “Evil Dead II.” Listening to the first two tracks on Surfer Rosa I am reminded of that “I Think You Should Leave” sketch where Tim Robinson attempts to improvise lyrics to a song but can only come up with stuff about skeletons coming out at night and using bones for money. Pixies often rival that comedy and honestly remind me of an act like 100 Gecs in their outsider-ness and pop-cultured tone. Other times—“Debaser,” “Gouged,” “Wave of Mutilation”—their lyrical content strikes a little closer to the absurdist macabre of the Bible or Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, which luckily elevates Doolittle as a whole to a place just beyond silly, alt nonsense. That said, the entire B Side of Doolittle is quite nearly all silly alt nonsense. This is apparent right away with that first sarcastic, faux-ska riff that opens the ridiculous death-obsessed “Mr. Grieves.” That faux-ska riff makes a little more sense in context, what with Pixies being a part of a Boston scene that also had a very active ska subsection (Mighty Mighty Bosstones), but it sounds ridiculous today nonetheless. “Mr. Grieves” goes straight into the absolutely-bonkers mosh-pit cut “Crackity Jones” (more bones references???) and that transition is so quick I had to check several times to see if the song had even changed. “Crackity” then goes into a song that another ska band, Smash Mouth, would very blatantly steal a riff from some 10 years later. Of this song, “La La Love You,” singer/songwriter Francis Black had to say it’s “like a comedy sketch. It’s very simple and sweet but also very ‘fucky-fucky,’ you know?” No. I don’t know, Francis. But I do like it. (And on the subject of future bands ripping off riffs from Doolittle, “I Bleed” will never not make me feel like I’m being Weezered. That song always builds exactly into a place where I’m conditioned to think the chorus from “Undone (The Sweater Song)” is about to drop). Doolittle’s low point is somewhere within the next two tracks, “No 13 Baby” and “There Goes My Gun.” They’re the only two songs that would have been at home on Surfer Rosa notably, in their half-digested nothingness. At best, they’re experiments in pop minimalism. At worst, they’re wannabe Butthole Surfers tracks without any satirical bite. Then, “Hey.” “Hey” is my favorite Pixies song and to me it encapsulates everything that they did so well. It is very much in line with what the Velvet Underground was doing some 20 years earlier with songs like “Heroin,” which is, it breaks down and apart—from the perspective of an outsider, a listener—what a pop song can be, what it means, and attempts to cobble those pieces back together again. “Hey” is the result of a very bizarre puzzle that draws on punk, noise, pop, body horror, death and R&B and congeals itself into a singular, stunning portrait. It’s a song I’ve always been surprised I liked so much and my affection for it has only grown deeper over the years. “Silver” is madcap and weird. Easily my least favorite little foray on Doolittle. But “Gouge” is a perfect closer. Not the high point, but very far from the low point, it surmises all that this record attempts to put together on both sides. And always makes me want to go back and kick things off with “Debaser” all over again. So yeah, not a perfect record, a lot of very weird songs, but some outright masterpieces and a testament to—as Mike Powell put it in his retrospective on the band’s catalogue for Pitchfork—the spark of liberated thinking that often lies behind a bad idea. I find Doolittle inspiring and essential. And I will always treasure it.

A cool find! I have to say, this puts the 80s classic “Our House” into a whole context. Hearing it here, it’s so much darker, stranger, madder. And it is mad! More circus music than ska, practically. But the Rise and Fall—a pseudo concept album on nostalgia, memory, and childhood in the modern age (in a way that’s reminiscent of Arcade Fire’s “Suburbs” and a lot of what Blur did in the following decade)—might best be described as a Ska Odyssey. Which I love. Honestly. There’s a lot going on musically. A very unique record. Surprised this came out as early in the decade as it did. I really enjoyed this listen. Feel like there’s even more to sink my teeth into than I did with it today, but not sure I’m quite ready for whatever jelly lies within. Today I found it a pleasant-enough listen even while it seemed to hide deeper, darker truths. I think this will grow on me. It is an enigma, a maze. Surprised it was never released in the US of A and that it remains a sort of buried treasure by a band assumed to be a one-hit wonder. Not so! If I ever see this in a used CD bin at a record store I will surely buy it and dig deeper into whatever madness Madness had on its mind.

At first, I was surprised to find I quite liked this. Then, my initial suspicions were confirmed: Cyndi’s charm does not wear well. The hits are the hits. One of them is a certified heater and an essential song of summer. The other sounded better in my head, or in some movie soundtrack I can’t remember, but it’s still pretty good. “Money Changes Everything” was the only genuine discovery here and is the opening track that had me thinking I’d be surprised. But alas, “She Bop” through “Yeah Yeah” + “When You Were Mine” is pretty darn dreadful. I skipped around a lot. The production of these songs sounds like keyboard presets. These are “Weird Al” Yankovic beats. The lyrics are somehow even worse. Total Novelty 80s. Complete with keyboard necktie. “All Through the Night” is okay. But boy does that synth riff get on my nerves. The additional synth solo over that already-obnoxious synth riff sounds like Walt Disney’s “Main Street Electric Light Parade” and not in a good way. It doesn’t do Ms. Lauper’s shrill any favors. But hey, she’s just wantin' to have fun! Who am I to take that away from her? Nobody. I’m nobody. 2/5. Edit: Well, it turns out Cyndi has great test in music (better than I), for she chose great songs to cover here—The Smiths, Prince—choices that went right over my head. Also cool to hear this droll that is “She Bop” is secretly about masturbation. Which bump (bops) it up a point. Maybe this album is better than I’m crediting it for. But I’m sticking to my guns. Still 2/5.

Has there ever been a band cooler than this, The Isleys in 1973 singing “That Lady?” Doubtful. You get the feeling, as with Parliament Funkadelic and some other black bands that dared to blur the lines between soul and rock, that the Isley Brothers never quite got the due they deserved. At least when compared to the glorified reputation of all those beloved white acts they influenced. But the sustained relevancy of this band through the contemporary age of hip-hop is undeniable and powerful. They’re just simply one of the greatest bands that ever was. And this might be their greatest album. I have some qualms perhaps with some of the covers. “Listen To The Music” for instance doesn’t do much for me that the Doobie’s version didn’t. I feel similarly about Jonathon Edwards’ “Sunshine (Go Away Today)” (though, in that case, the original doesn’t do anything for me either.) I do like their version of “Summer Breeze,” and quite a bit more than the original—they turn that cloying pop song into an super-groovy soul ballad complete with soaring/shredding guitar solos—but still weird to hear a Seals and Crofts song cropping up here. The James Taylor cut is less good as a cover but still pretty nice. I guess these just strike me as odd choices—that they cover all these soft pop hits of the early 70s and cut them against funk originals (well, almost) like “That Lady.” It speaks to the groups versatility. But also to their want for a top ten hit. I mean, even “That Lady” is a cover of their own earlier song, though it is much, much improved and wholly distinct. A masterpiece, really. Perhaps the closing track, a soft-poppy Isley’s original, puts these choices in context. But where some of the covers feel shallow, “The Highways of my Life” has much more depth and soul. It feels heartfelt and vital and its presence echoes as a closer. Beyond the extended version of “That Lady” (which has some sick jams the radio missed out on!), my favorite discovery here was “You Walk Your Way,” a groovy, bouncy jam, with a great organ riff that reminds me of listening to The Band in the springtime. And I love, love the synth solo in “What It Comes Down To.” Overall, I have some qualms with the covers that knock my rating of this album a bit, but I’m still going to round up to 5 because some of them do really work and I mean…come on! It’s the Isley Brothers! 5/5.

I'm just gonna go ahead and give this a 5.

100% agree with Jacob on this one. Even though I do still like this more than I once expected, and think it is certainly better than a lot of music by Def Leppard's peers of the era, Pyromania just doesn't quite hit for me (with a few exceptions.) They just hadn't quite refined the balance yet that they'd achieve on Hysteria. Nothing I found distasteful necessarily, just found songs blending together and not quite grabbing my attention. A solid 3.0.

Music From Big Pink (1969) I needed this yesterday. This is comfort food. When I was a kid I had the privilege of seeing the late Levon Helm play an intimate show in his barn in Woodstock, NY. He is a top-five, dream-dinner-party guest for me. That show was probably the most memorable I’ve ever attended. And his band (THE Band) will always be one of my favorites. I love a band where everyone can sing except for the guitar player and only-eligible front man of the band, Robbie Robertson. Robbie is a fantastic, under-credited guitar player, but the other members always alleged that he sneakily claimed songwriting credit for the group’s greatest, co-written hits without their knowing it, so he’s not that great. The actual leading force behind the band, Levon Helm, drums like no one else—his syncopation is so unique—and he sings with the whole dirt of the Earth beneath him. Richard Manuel has a such a specific sorrow—a just-below-cracking fragility—to his voice and is a vital Canadian songwriter. Danko, by contrast, has such a joyous, carnivalesque—kind of crooning; like he’s sing-announcing all the twisted attractions of the greatest show on Earth. No one would ever think to stress syllables the way he did. And I’ve always loved the back-country bounce to his bass playing. Garth Hudson’s organ playing is the stuff of dreams. Together, they are a surreal cast of soft-spoken, bearded, and deeply troubled characters. They are a band born of a backing band. A rock band without a frontman. A band composed of players as down to earth and everyday American (or Canadian) as they come. I love everything the Band ever did. But Big Pink is their masterpiece. Listen to the version of “The Weight” from Scorsese’s The Last Waltz done with the Staples Singers. And definitely watch The Last Waltz. When we listened to Grizzly Bear’s Veckatemist I had some spiel about what makes a great Americana/folk band great. Well The Band is the epitome of that Americana spirit. The gold standard. Even if they’re mostly Canadian.

I think this does what that Eels album I disliked so much hopes to do. Where that album feels cute and kitschy, Clandestino feels inspired and important. Grown from the deep well of one global traveler’s observations of the world. It has that purpose behind it, plus it’s a hell of a lot of summer fun. It sounds of an artist who saw the potential in music’s hip-hop inspired, technological revolution and saw a way to capture his own unique voice and political vision through those new tools. Recorded and produced on the road by Manu via his laptop, Clandestino is a unique and inspired work of global music that I’m excited 1001 has introduced me too. Can’t wait for the summer so I can play this again, appropriately.

No matter how many times I’ve tried, I just can’t get through this album. I said this when we listened to Siamese Dream, but I don’t care for this record. I think all the success of that previous record—which is so much more immediate, raw, and urgent than anything here—went straight to Mr. Corgan’s noggin. Sure, there are some great pop songs. But I find the string arrangements cheesy, Billy’s sneering croon far too sharp and bare, and the thematic content annoyingly twee. Maybe I’ve just heard these songs on KROQ too much in my 30 years. But still, having liked what the Pumpkins turned in with Siamese Dream, I find the mainstream, grunge-pop, alt-important sound of Mellon Collie to be a major misdirection. And I also find no reason why this should be a triple album. It’s far too long. Many songs here that should have been B-sides. The 6-hour reissue is just ridiculous. It makes me like the album even less. As does the fact that the vinyl version of the album has an entirely different track order. I really only like the straight up pop numbers. The rest is just not good. I’m borderline 1/5 but will bump one point basically just for “1979,” which I think this an important cut in the history of indie/alt rock and is not only listenable, but enjoyable too, no matter how many times I’ve heard it.

I enjoyed myself with this. At least for a short while. And not just because of nostalgia. BSSM is entertaining and impressive in parts. And while there are elements of the wannabe-90s-funk I could do without—especially where it fuses with wannabe-hiphop—I admit, I am mildly interested in the space where RHCP fuses funk with punk. Though I am firmly uninterested where any of this attempts to cross over with alt pop or adult contemporary. Listen, RHCP (or was it Rick Rubin?) saw a hole in the billboard charts that the band’s perverse brand of punk/funk/alt-pop might just party-boy its way into. And it did. There is vision there. And there is immense talent in this band. Flea, for instance, is a vital American cultural and musical icon and one of the best-ever bass players. Kiedis, meh, I’m not so hot on him, his presence, or his voice. Rick Rubin and John Frusciante are likely the forces that made this album the cross-over success that it is and they’re both OK in book, and obviously immensely talented and important to their craft. But the buck stops there. Oh Chad Smith is fine too. Blood’s greatest fault is its runtime. I like the first 6 tracks and very little more than a riff after. It’s just repetitive, monotonous, and sounds quite like a headache. I like that Steve Huey of AllMusic called it "probably the best album the Chili Peppers will ever make.”That’s the best dig at a band that was doing something novel with pre-existing pieces and doing it well but not exactly combing the ocean floor for artistry, poetry, or depth. They really couldn’t and wouldn’t do much better than this using the formula they were using. All they could and would do is lean further and further away from the punk-funk roots that once made them interesting, in favor of an all-out, soft-rock sound designed for arenas, nostalgia, and radios. And I actually disagree with Mr. Huey; the best RHCP album is the George Clinton-produced Freakey Styley. But still, BSSM is a pretty good funk album for a bunch of strung-out white boys living by the beach. If the first 6 tracks are a 4/5, what follows quite nearly approaches a 1, which makes this a 2/5. But I'll give an extra half-point for Flea, and an extra half-point for nostalgia's sake. I used to listen to this album A LOT as a kid.

Funny we get this after Blood Sex Sugar Magik, considering the Chili Peppers do a cover of “Higher Ground.” I don’t know how many 5-star albums Mr. Wonder has to his name, but that’s not really my business. I just rate them when I hear them. 5/5.

Weird! At first I thought this was a strange choice for the list and thought it middle-of-the-road fun—a very solid hip-hop album and a nice alternative choice but nothing groundbreaking for 1990. But then I found out it was a concept album about “a pharmaceutical substance that comes in a condom-sized package and is developed by the government to provide its users with a satisfying sexual experience in situations where the normal attainment of such experiences would be counter-productive to the mission at hand.” (!?) And then I saw all the P-Funk samples and general dedication the Digital Underground maintains for this wildly unique blend of sci-fi, dance, funk, rap, and absurdity. Something only Oakland boys could come up with. So it’s growing on me as I’m beginning to pick out the samples, comedy, and thematic content of the lyrics. Still surprised to see it on this list. And there are a few lyrical moments that very-much cringe. But a very fine hip-hop—and a great alternative hip-hop—record nonetheless. Honestly, I’m just stoked we got an alt hip-hop album at all! 3/5.

This is great. Really great. Some great originals, at least one true classic, and some great covers/traditional numbers. I’ve never heard of Fred Neil but his work clearly had a profound influence on Jerry Garcia who would cover many of the same songs with the Dead. This seems an important album in the evolution of folk away from its strict, traditionalist roots and into the realm of free-loving rock and roll. That, and I find Fred’s voice profoundly beautiful. And his original lyrics simple, sweet, and deep. This album has no fat. It carefully captures a watershed moment in the evolution of folk, rock, and Americana. This is one of my favorite discoveries yet.

Sonic Youth has always been a tough one for me to crack…but this might just be my ticket in. The explorations between noise, harmony, and tone are so unique. In no two places do they sound alike, yet they all fit together seamlessly. “Shadow of a Doubt” and “Expressway to Yr Skull” are stunning. Cinematic is right, Jacob. “Starpower” too. Cool to see Mike Watt of Minutemen play on a few tracks and to hear that his time with Sonic Youth is what inspired him to form fIREhOSE, his second act in music following D. Boon’s passing. Also cool to hear Sonic Youth developing their sound here. I had listened once before to their album before this, Bad Moon Rising, and really thought it wasn’t very good. I can’t remember much about it except that it was goth-y and, like, shoe-gaze-y but completely devoid of harmony which isn’t a great combination. But on EVOL, you can hear Sonic Youth adapting and establishing a slacker-ed, grunge-y, and poppier sound without sacrificing any of their previous work’s bite, darkness, or political intent. It’s a sound whose legacy would be a beacon to indie/alt bands of the whole next decade to come. And that would throttle a few of those bands to overwhelming success. It really feels like that all started here, with EVOL.

Rocking. This is great late-period Bowie. A fantastically fun precursor to Blackstar that cheekish-ly hints at all the death, heartache, and tragedy of that one-of-a-kind grand finale. I believe those two albums should be considered together as they contemplate artistry, fame, legacy, mortality, and death in very different ways; two sides of the same disc. Where Blackstar very much lives in Bowie’s struggle with liver cancer and his final encounter with death, The Next Day—despite all its mentions of that impending death and “the end” of things—still feels like a last-gasp celebration of life. A dance of the dead, perhaps. And a primer for that ultimate comedown before the final passage. What a treat that David Bowie shared his most-personal journey with us as art. And such magnificent, powerful art at that. “Where Are We Now” is heartbreakingly wonderful. Like laying on a wind-soaked beach and watching the dark clouds roll past before getting up to run for the pier. What makes the Next Day most special is perhaps just how listenable it is. It rocks and grooves even while it marches deeply, inevitably forward into that great beyond. Yes it’s long, but not terribly. And that varied creative out-pouring of an artist so late in their career and life is part of this album’s charm. 4/5. (I’ll save the 5th star for the Black one.)

This works for me. And it’s close to not working, I know. But it’s the thinness of the line upon which it works that most impresses me. I think the production work is pretty impressive for 1987. Its sound is very 80s but its spirit is more a precursor of some very 1990s irony. It’s content is pretty politically abrasive, like a punk band disguised as a synth-pop band with viable radio hits. The vocals remind me of Mercury Rev, an even-more-mystifying, tongue-in-cheek-sentimentalist band. On a track like “Rent,” there’s heart-on-sleeve crooning from someone who should not be crooning. Tie in the fact that the lyrics are from the perspective of a mistress put up in an apartment that her suitor pays for to keep her from his family and the public eye, and the comedy of this crooning is ratcheted even tighter. Maybe a track like “Hit Music,” is too obvious. But the idea of this playing on the radio in Margaret Thatcher’s England still makes me smile. And, in any event, its the music here that makes this and these tracks work. The coda for “Hit Music,” is a breathtakingly expansive moment, with beauty and patience that nothing else in the song could possibly have hinted at. And it’s a great way to end the album side. That knack for songwriting and arrangement buoys the Boys satire and songwriting. It lends it strength, purpose, and viability in delivering a message that might otherwise prove too radical to sell. I’m somewhere between a 3 and 4 on this just because I don’t know how long I can listen to it before its charm wears off. But I’ll round up to 4.

This is one of those albums that I’ve always wanted to like but that I’ve never quite clicked with. Well, yesterday, it clicked. A precursor to everything from Animal Collective, to Flaming Lips, to The Go! Team, and so much more of that indie-psych rock scene of the following decade. It just feels hugely influential to a scene I hold dear and just specifically weird enough to work. Like if it was just Emperor Tomato, or Emperor Ketchup, it would be surface level weird. But Emperor Tomato Ketchup is next-level weird and gives the impression that there’s a whole storybook world behind the decision to name this album such. And the transformation Stereolab underwent in the just 1 year between ETK and Dots and Loops is astounding. Not that what was to come with D&L is not present here. It’s just collaged in an entirely twee, bizzaro-indie fabric that simultaneously follows that very French urge to make indie music dance. Love this album. Easily 4 stars. Maybe 5.

Big fan of Bowie’s Rolling Stones abum. Or his Ziggy in America album. Whatever its inspiration, Bowie’s venture into blues rock for Aladdin Sane is a far stranger affair than even expected. I love, love Mike Garson’s piano work. And I’ll never forget the first time my dad played Mick Ronson’s riff from “Panic in Detroit” for me. I think Aladdin Sane is often overlooked in Bowie’s ouevre (album art aside), but to me it is one of his most fun, rockingest, and essential albums.

It’s fitting the opening track off John Grant’s solo debut has the word “Honeybear” in the title. Because this is every bit a precursor to Father John Misty and the post-indie-folk revival of the 2010s. Never heard of John Grant or his band before this—The Czars—but this is a very fine album indeed. The lyrics are fun and impactful. The production is adventurous too. I like when it weaves in electronic accents on “Sigourney Weaver;” that melding of folk and science fiction reminds me of Grandaddy in a very nice way. Then “Chicken Bones” is a groovy, bouncy, bayou bumper complete with a very Jerry Garcia guitar solo. And other sounds are explored too—Beatles-esque horn arrangements on “Silver Platter Club,” proggy synth work on “Outer Space,” abrasive industrial synths on “Jesus Hates F****ts,” shoe-gazey acoustic guitar vibes on “Honeybear” (think Red House Painters) and singer-songwriter piano moments on the climactic closer. But wherever John Grant and Midlake—another band I’ve never heard of, which just speaks to the scope of the whole folk revival—go, Grant’s syrupy baritone and thoughtful, almost-casual lyrical insights buoy this record from top to bottom. It’s a fine record. A deep cut from a particular era. Maybe not essential. But a fun one to share with friends who like FJM, Fleet Foxes, Joanna Newsom, Woods, and all the rest. I quite like it.

A seismic, once-in-a-generation kind of album that managed to shake up the very fabric of top 40 radio. 21 most-compellingly showcases Adele’s one-of-a-kind vocal talent, but simultaneously washes the heartbreak behind these songs clean into a bland and timeless sort of corpratized R&B that will forever haunt us in the all the shopping malls of the world. Adele is an amazingly uniqe artist, and I would love to hear more specificity in her songwriting than we get here. +1 for “Someone Like You.”

A fantastically soulful hip-hop album. Great production. Great lyrical intricacies, thematic content and word play. Funny that there’s a live TV performance on this album, not sure I’ve seen that before. Funnier still that it’s from the Chapelle Show. Really appreciate that this album isn’t 2 hours long with a million sketches. Absolutely one of the most accomplished, refined hip-hop albums of the 2000s. Both lyrically and instrumentally and it continues to hold influence through Chance the Rapper’s The Coloring Book and beyond. On a personal level, my roommate, Matt, in college—a Chicago native with an awesome collection of CDs he would haul into our new dorm room each year—used to alternate between Common’s Be and D’Angelo’s VooDoo each morning as he would French press coffee in our 7th floor dorm room sophomore year. The two albums perfectly soundtracked those morning as we sipped caffeine and caught up with each other’s lives. And, of course, talked music. This one’s a 5.

Not to diminish Emmylou’s talent and legacy in any way, but these songs are just a bit too squeaky clean for my taste. Pristine where I prefer my country more scraggly, found, and rough around. But it’s worth a hearing just for history alone, as it finds a young Emmylou climbing back to her feet after the tragic overdose of her singer and friend Gram Parsons just a year earlier. “Boulder to Birmingham” perfectly encapsulates that history and heartbreak, just as it plays to Emmylou’s strengths as an ever-elegant, country-western singer and songwriter. That’s a classic tune. I just don’t care for how clean it sounds.

Every CCR album has a few timeless cuts. But none has as many as Cosmo’s. Nor did any album perform as well as Cosmo’s. It’s also their longest by about 10 minutes. What surprises me most listening in full is how those timeless tracks are all buried late in the record. More surprising still is how at home they are—with the exception of maybe “Who’ll Stop the Rain”—among the deeper cuts and just how good those deeper cuts—all of which pay tribute to one rock n’ roll great or another—are. In the late 60s and early 70s, CCR churned out quality music at a rate and consistency that matched the likes of The Rolling Stones or Beatles. And in 1970, they even sold as well. They have a lot of great records in that period. But Cosmo’s is likely their peak, and definitely their last hurrah.

What a trip and a treat to go back and visit the debut album by the man who has got to be the most recognizable rapper in the world. Only, I can’t remember the last time I thought of Snoop, purely, as a rapper. This album is pretty good. Not great, overall. It’s a little too *funny*, maybe. Though sometimes I really dig the comedy! Like the opener, “Bathtub,” I really enjoyed. And the radio station potty humor bits are okay. Maybe it’s just long. Anyway…Dre’s production and the evolution of the west coast G-Funk sound coming off their work on The Chronic, paired with some essential gangster rap features from Lady of Rage, Warren G, The Dogg Pound, and others, and Snoop’s great lyrical work and flow, arriving in his debut as an artist fully-formed, makes Doggy Style, actually, yeah, great. I changed my mind. A song like “The Shiznit,” without any features or any real hook (besides some excellent sample choices—Billy Joel and P-Funk—and production from Dre), that offers nothing but pure bravado and bars from Snoop, really blew me away. And it all sounds really good. 4/5.

Fragile strikes me as a stepping stone to 1972’s Close To The Edge. “Roundabout” seamlessly merges Yes’ more experimental, proto-post-rock instincts and interest in classical music with the band’s earlier, pop inclinations. (The softer section around 5:30 reminds me hugely of The Flaming Lips in a cool way.) It is an essential track. Those that follow are not. But provide good background for a follow-up record that I very much treasure and hope we get to listen to someday as a part of the 1001! My other favorite moments on Fragile are the tape effects and cheeky panning in “We Have Heaven,” and the nice, low-stakes instrumental moments like “Mood for a Day.” Also, the album art is so good. B/w 3 & 4 but I’ll round up.

I still hear SAW85-92 everywhere today. And even still, this source material to that influence sounds every bit as original 30 years later. The fact that Richard James put together some of these songs as early as 1985, when he was just 14 years old with homemade instruments and while holed up in the Irish countryside, is astounding. It inflates the mythos around this artist and this album to make it the pioneering work in electronic music that it has become. 5 stars.