Super funky and a joy to listen to!
Melodic, folksy, and pleasant.
Pleasant, jangly mixture of guitar based folks and rock, with country thrown in.
Experimental 60s pop. Very Sergeant Pepper but without the melodies.
Folksy warbling. Not my cup of tea.
Now I see why They Might Be Giants write some songs as they do! Phenomenal writing here, with occasionally beautiful melodies.
Beautiful, unexpected, and so smooth!
Prog rock. Regular rock with a story and weird sound effects thrown in on top of a story...kinda?
Fantastic easy listening bossa nova vibes!
Occasional delights but mainly David Byrne's weird cadence waddling all over meandering melodies while Brian Eno tries to make sense of the mess of it. Lightning occasionally strikes but it's too seldom for me.
Surprisingly jaunty album with acerbic lyrics. Morrissey is too clever for his own good, too often, like Jeremy Corbyn who, if he were Morrissey, might produce something more folksy and less accessible than this.
Screamy metal with occasional delights…but mostly screamy metal.
Teen angst rock. Bleurgh.
Some really nice rhythms and bass lines here but the strong religious and R&B vibes ain't my favorite. Easy listen, though.
Surprisingly diverting rock. “Elected” is really a fun song with more incisive lyrics than I’d have attributed to Alice Cooper!
An astounding range of wit, soul, and polemicizing wrapped in Simone’s phenomenal voice. Too few songs truly pierce my ears but almost every one takes hold of my attention.
As much as I appreciate that the album is an ode to Syd Barrett after his exit from the band, the whole concept strikes me as ponderous self-indulgence. From the schoolboy lyrics lamenting the band’s experience of their own success to the guitar licks that have inspired overbite-air-guitaring for generations, it’s insufficiently interesting and not especially engaging.
A more pop-oriented album than I’d expected, with songs like I Started Something and Girlfriend in a Coma leading the way. Overall too jangly and underplayed bass lines for me, however.
Tremendously listenable funk.
Almost every song is one idea repeated ad nauseum. Sure, that’s a fine thing in jazz when variations are layered through the performance but here it’s simple repetition with vocal gymnastics as the center of attention. It’s tiresome. Lyrically it’s moribund. “Superstition” is of course a hoot, and other tracks occasionally pop with funk, but nonsense like “You’ve Got It Bad Girl” and “Maybe Your Baby” are juvenile.
Screamy, angry punk rock that connects with me on zero levels.
Overbite rock that likely was quite a divergence from the norm at the time but now is the soundtrack to Boomer age despair and complaints about the state of the world. Musicianship? Sure. But borders on easy listening too often.
Elton John and Bernie Taupin write some great songs but this album contains none of them. Their romantic fascination with the Old American West is on full show, with John’s faux American singing accent dominating every song, like a crooner at an English working men’s club on a boozy singalong night, while Taupin tries to ape the Great American Songbook’s storytelling-in-song but never quite gets there. Too many themes and too little story. “Tiny Dancer”, for example, occasionally delights but is smothered in its wrapper of New Orleans piano pastiche. I can see why this was not popular in the UK and sold like hotcakes in the US.
Some interesting diversions here! “Freedom” is fantastic. But rap isn’t my favorite.
Loud. Boisterous. Says little.
New-wave/punk that sounds like a student band practicing in their dorm room.
Metal metal metal! After a while it all sounds the same.
Angst rock. Occasionally melodic but too one note in sound and themes.
I could listen to this all day every day and never get bored.
Rock / funk combination that disappears so far up its own backside it can see the back of its own teeth.
Don’t Cry Daddy is creepy AF. Otherwise pretty much your standard Elvis crooner fare. Meh.
A mix of genres lobbed into a stew. It sometimes works but mostly seems juvenile to me. And the lyrics are some of the worst adolescent poetry I’ve ever heard.
Every song sounds like the last one, with plaintive lyrics that warble on. And “Jacob Marley’s Chain” steals its main melody from Nik Kershaw’s “The Riddle” almost wholesale.
Surprisingly fun listen, with plenty to pick apart in the music and lyrics. Morrissey confounds me. Sometimes I think he's a genius and others he seems aimless.
An unexpected delight. Joplin wailing over some psychedelic blues riffs…what’s not to like?
I need to listen to this more.
I’ve always liked this album, though it flits between delights that are almost perfect and odd curiosities that only barely work. His later albums tended more to the latter but this remains a gem of the 80s.
Meh. A mish-mash of under-produced melodies.
Fascinating listening. Jazz and blues mixed with political poetry. Not my jam but eminently listenable with a ton of depth.
Pleasant melodic pop rock. Remarkably consistent throughout and definitely the sound of its age.
It's a fine album. Not really my jam.
More poppy than I’d anticipated!
Adolescent.
Sample noodling in its earlyish days. Occasionally grooves but it’s more experimental than musical. Notable for what it helped pioneer but not for its own musical merits.
I just don’t care. Saccharine, whiny relationship bollocks. Sure it’s got Hugh production values and clearly they hired a bunch of talented songwriters. But it’s pop R&B. For over an HOUR. Yikes.
Bigmouth Strikes Again remains a staple of the 1980s. Morrissey being his usual dour self, with adolescent angst as the main course. Johnny Marr raises the stakes throughout.
Hauntingly beautiful. Cohen's poetry, delivery, and the orchestration of "You Want It Darker", "Treaty", and "Steer Your Way" are absolutely amazing. Definitely an album for shadowy rooms and brooding moods.
More engaging than I was expecting, a pleasant throwback to 1980's rock/synth pop. Too many single idea songs here, though, drawn out for far too long. And maudlin. SO. MAUDLIN.
It's pleasant enough. Weird to have a band from Dublin croon about Santa Cruz and LA but fair enough. I can see why George W Bush had a track on his iPod -- jangly guitars and so on.
Violator was such a surprise when it was released and it is still an exceptional album these many years later. Gahan’s lyrics, shot through with his addiction and fascination with heroin, are suggestive and grimy, set amidst synths and dance beats that have been dragged into back alleys where addicts are slumped against damp, graffiti’d brick walls. But there they spring blooms in shafts of sunlight, truly lying in the gutter but looking at the stars. “Policy of Truth” is a marvel. “Personal Jesus” is wry and threatening. And “Enjoy the Silence” blends romanticism and the confessional. Flood’s production is daring and orchestral, making the band’s electronica speak to the heart and groin. There are some low points in the album but they are transcended by the huge heights of its epic wonders.
Incessant warbling. I get that Adele’s voice is a marvel but it’s overused, melodies and phrases are repeated as nauseum in service of it, and the lyrics are far from poetry. Boring.
Some true gems here. Aside from the novelty “Coconut” record, “Without You” is a classic, but it’s the range of styles and themes that’s most impressive. I feel like I’ve missed out on a whole world by not appreciating Nilsson before now.
Juvenile.
It's...fine. Young's lyrics are sometimes comically silly and simple, which makes it hard to get to the root of what he's trying to say. The melodies are...fine.
I’m not a huge fan of jazz. Correction: I’m not a fan of jazz. But there’s something about Amy Winehouse that is irresistible. “Valerie” is wonderful. “Fuck Me Pumps” is fantastically ascerbic. “You Should Be Stronger Than Me” is a song for the ages. This is eminently listenable in so many moods.
I wish I could like REM more but I cannot get past Michael Stipe's voice. It grates. It's uni-tonal. It's atonal. "Stand" is a fun song. "Orange Crush" has moments. But almost everything else seems like whiny college navel-gazing.
Chun-chun-chun-chunnnnnng! For an hour. No.
Chun-chun-chunnnnng with an orchestra trying to make itself heard in the background. For 2 hours and 13 minutes. It's a novelty record.
Pleasant, folksy, humdrum of an album. "Homeward Bound" is of course lovely. "A Simple Desultory Philippic" is a funny and acidic contrast to most of the album. "For Emily, Whenever I May Find Her" is luscious and sweet. And "The 59th Street Bridge Song" is, of course, groovy. The 1966 production is not stellar, however; I felt that the instrumentation was unnecessarily tinny, while the harmonies were weedy and not sonorous, which makes me like almost every song less. It's clearly a product of its time, and I'm too picky.
So much better than so many of their contemporaries, The Kinks drive a dagger through the heart of the English establishment with this opus.
School's Out, and so am I.
Always liked The Police but never really listened to an album from start to finish with focus. And still haven't. The hits override everything else here, Message In A Bottle and Walking on the Moon taking up all the airspace. The Bed's Too Big Without You is a surprising loveliness amidst all of this.
Not my cup o’ tea, though it’s funny and groovy in spots.
Funky stuff interspersed with lingering soliloquies. Fun as a concept and shimmering in spots.
Such a fun album! "Queer" is maudlin, and "Happy When It Rains" still slaps. I'm not sure what else they were shooting for on this album but it remains a very fun listen.
The production on this is awful. The vocals are whinging blah. Britpop gave us many great things and some may say Doves is one of them. Sadly not me. I simply don’t get it. Average composition, dirge arrangements, and a mix that could only have been produced on a Commodore 64.
There are some pop hits that remain fun. But the whole Bon Jovi schtick is tiresome.
What a tremendous album! I'm not a hip-hop aficionado by any means but this had me grooving along nicely. Hugely impressive lyricism and beats that beg huge rooms of people to nod their heads in sync. Marvelous.
Pleasant. Nowt special.
Boring, from start to finish. The loose theme of emotional "side A" songs and fantasy "side B" material makes no sense, the guitar work is (to my ears) generic and presages Metallica and the like, all of whom are emotionally vacuous and musically grinding. Queen made wonderful songs throughout their careers and none of them are here.
Presumably, if Sabrina was American her debut album would be on here too, then? "Baby One More Time" is of course iconic but the rest of this mass-manufactured, Disney production line pop is muzak for big box store shoppers.
I find myself humming and nodding along to this quite pleasantly. It's not al album I'd put on out of the blue but it definitely takes me elsewhere in the world and head.
A bit DJ Shadow-y with more focus on samples and cuts than mixes. It’s sometimes groovy and sometimes mellow, and continuous. After a while I got bored of the aesthetic (unlike Shadow).
Maudlin and repetitive. The worst of 80s emo indulgencies.
The Northern soul and ska influences should make me live this album. But Kevin Rowland’s idiosyncratic vocal style grates quickly throughout the highlights. “Geno” is great and other tracks could shimmer and strut. But there’s no escaping Rowland’s deliberate squeaks and off-tone quips.
A more fun and engaging listen than I had expected.
What the hell is this?
As an admitted skeptic when it comes to Radiohead no Thom Yorke’s voice especially, I am pretty bowled over by OK Computer upon a complete listen. I need to listen a lot more, and a lot more carefully, because I’ve missed out here. Badly.
Dull. SO dull. Meandering, burbly melodies, with that irritating electronic piano burping in the background and throwback 70s guitar licks trying to create any sense of momentum. I once liked Stevie Wonder. Now I resent him when I see one of his albums on this list. 2 stars but only because I have a daughter, and she is indeed lovely.
Repetitive (uhn), rhythmic (uhn) meanderings (uhn, uhn-uhn), interspersed with appeals to God (God) and phrases interrupted (uhn) with random uhn’s (uhn) and words repeated (repeated) for lack of syllables (bals). Gets tired quickly.
Notable only for its place between rock and punk, and for introducing Iggy Pop in such an explosive fashion. Imagining myself as a listener in 1969, I’d be completely taken aback by the viciousness of the production while recognizing themes that, today, are tired and loathsome — almost every track is about some girl or woman, or spending the night with a woman, or drugs. So late 60s, but angry and somewhat whiny rather than purely hedonistic. As a listener today, it fails to capture attention as much as derision, but such is the case for all pieces of art outside their time. What’s more unforgivable is that modern bands like The Strokes and White Stripes try so hard to recreate this sound, as some sort of homage. MOVE. ON. Won’t listen again but glad to have done so.
Relentless chunggh-chunggh blues with the lyrical sophistication of a broken brick.
What a little jewel this is! Extremely pleasant and jolly.
Bassist: "So, lads, I'm gonna lay down some bumbly rhythms."
Dummer: "Coolcoolcool. I can tiddly-bop on the top of that."
Bassist: "Nice. Now, Sax?"
Sax, presently cutting his toenails: "Huh?"
Bassist: "We'll need you in a few minutes. Cool?"
Sax: "Yeah, I guess. Kinda busy. But anyways..."
Bassist: "Ay-right. Guitar dudes, you're up!"
Guitar dudes: "On it, big man. We'll doodly-dop on top of your bumbly-bips."
They play. Minutes pass.
Bassist: "Sax, now!"
Sax, baking a cake, in a flour-covered apron: "Aw crap. Now?!"
Bassist: "Yes! Now!"
Sax wipes flour off his nose and starts to honk-hunk.
Bassist: "That's some nice hunk-honking, Sax!"
Sax looks at Bassist witheringly.
And so it goes for minutes at a time until the oven dings, the cake is ready, the group loses interest in each other, and the music fades out through lack of any other plan or intention.
Yawn.
I love this album. Absolute game changer for electronic music at the time, demanding to be listened to from start to finish.
Foreshadowing and pioneering so many of the artists that dominated the 80s, this album is a window into the 70s music world in transition. I can’t say that I love much of this album — I didn’t at the time and still don’t, even with a more mature listening ear — but there’s no doubting the debt owed to Japan by Nik Kershaw, Duran Duran, and so many others.
Twang.
One sound. Over and over again in different forms. Freddie harmonizing. Brian May twerdling up and down the fretboard. More harmonizing. A lyric about some imagined tragedy or yearning. A reference to a poem or historical event, or something vaguely satanic. And that sound again. Repeat.
I get that this album represents the genesis of heavy metal. And that “Iron Man” and “War Pigs” are thematically important. But this is boring, right? I mean, soul-crushingly, navel-gazingly dull. Right? Hello?
Meh. Pleasant enough but absolutely nothing that grabs the attention and keeps it. Derivative and unexciting.
As usual with Albarn, I’m not sure how much of this I like versus tolerate. There’s a lot of throwing ideas against the wall and seeing what sticks without any clear intention behind a bunch of it. As a depiction of London in the 2000s, it’s myopic and overly concerned with angst…which is often where Albarn loses me. Where’s the optimism? Where’s the energy of the city? Interesting collaboration but forgettable beyond the people involved.
Music by which to eat Panera. It’s satisfying without ever delighting, some interesting flavors but determinedly tailored to moderate tastes that demand frissons of exoticism (red wine vinegar pickled onions, usually). That’s Paul Simon’s entire ouvre.
Fantastic recording of a time and sound that, in the moment, must have been electrifying.
No. Depressing guitar grind, AGAIN.
Nope, I don’t get it. Dylan’s influence is everywhere. I wish it wasn’t.
More depressing rock, this time with lunatic cymbals crashing all over every track like hooligans cascading down a football terrace.
An album for which the word “mid” was made. It’s pleasant. It’s fine. But it’s thoroughly unexciting, like a trip to DSW for a pair of shoes.
When A-Ha are writing bangers, they’re writing BANGERS. Most everything else is uninspiring in all the ways, lyrically and melodically.
Prog rock was, I suppose, *necessary* for rock to evolve and avoid the trap that US country music now finds itself — self-referential anaemic reverence of tropes so worn out you they’re like muslin in the sun. But did it have to be so outright dull? There are two ideas, maximum, on each of these tracks. And then there’s buggering about on a keyboard, committed to tape, and regarded as some sort of innovation. No. This says nothing, means nothing, evokes nothing. Dirge.
I love me some experimental electronica. I like juxtapositions between rock and rave. But this is a CD of background music played in an arts and crafts store that’s trying to be edgy. Was disengaged throughout.
I can’t. I just can’t with this. WHY do people revere Led Zeppelin to such a degree? It’s wailing nonsense. Jimmy Page pleading for someone to take his love, with far too many “baby”s thrown in at every lyrical pause, is tiresome after the first two minutes of the album. This is an album for people whose tastes were cryogenically frozen in 1972 or in the middle of their goth period in high school.
