If this wasn’t made by a supergroup of legends who play better on their worst days than 99% of the global population, no one would say this album is well made, memorable, or noteworthy. Too British and too bland for me to care.

One Direction’s “Midnight Memories” for Boomers – two timeless singles and then boardroom-crafted teenybopper filler. Actually, scratch that, because I like the 1D album better overall, and both "A Hard Days Night" and "Can't Buy Me Love" are low-tier Beatles singles, even for the first half of their career. Important for what the Beatles became, sure, but it's the least essential original material in their whole discography, in my opinion. At least the film is actually fun.

I've always felt that Radiohead is sonic Ambien, with the lyrical depth of a teenage stoner and the experimental depth of said teenager's father when he's pickin' up that ol' six-string. This album is proof that I'm not just a hater. And I'm kind of disappointed, because it started out a bit more energetic and emotive! But alas, by track 3, my eyes glazed over, like they almost always do when I listen to Radiohead, and it was all downhill from there.

I never understood this era of indie music, or this era of Pitchfork-core. I was the target audience of this album – applying to film school, going to hipster house parties, over with her hometown but also hopeless about the future. And yet, I never got this album, or Arcade Fire in general, besides a song here and there. It just felt more trite and put-on, even compared to my own suburban angst. Over 15 years removed, and I still feel the same apathy towards this music, and this band, and this general aesthetic. There's a song here and there that I can't deny, and generally, it's well-made, but it's still trite and it's still put-on – an aesthetic for the then 30 year old journalists to project onto, not one to be consumed by actual Millennials. It's only in the book due to the hype at the time, and the fact that it fancies itself conceptual. It's not going to stand the test of time, and the fact that we now know he's a gross creep helps me not feel guilty about not understanding the adoration.

When the guy with mismatched shoes outside the 7-11 who’s always talking about alien abductions and government conspiracies hands you a blunt that looks dripping wet and suddenly, starts to make a lot of sense.

Deeply influential to me as a youth, I could never hate Ramones. Now, as an adult, I can rely appreciate how innovative and simple their aesthetic is – sped up rockabilly/girl group/surf rock music with grittier lyrics? Obviously cool and catchy! All the common criticisms normally thrown at them are blatantly from people who don't believe in punk music, or from people who are projecting a preconceived notion about how the band sounds onto the actual songs themselves. The riffs are distinct, the hooks are all unique, and they shift tempos and have enough variety. Now, I do get that sometimes it's a lot in one album, but I wouldn't say that's an issue here (or on Rocket to Russia, for that matter – the stronger album overall). And sure, sometimes the change up is a little against their strengths ("Havana Affair), but sometimes it truly works ("I Wanna Be Your Boyfriend"). Most of all, Ramones are great at their meat and potatoes, and that's mainly what this record is dishing out. If you like punk, you may not think this is flawless, but you're going to like it. And I like it. I may not be spinning this all the goddamn time compared to Gorilla Biscuits or Embrace, but it's a solid classic in my primary genre of choice.

Honesty does not absolve, and this album is proof. Half balladry laid on thick, and half white boi pastiche of American blues and 50s rock 'n' roll without any personal input. I'll give him this, there are moments where I'm almost won over. The melody of "Jealous Guy"; the guitar work on "How Do You Sleep?" (although that's George's contribution, obviously), the strings on "How?" I'm not a big Lennon/Beatles apologist generally, but I'm also not deaf, and I know there's moments, and they're just enough to make me not hate this album, although they're also not enough to fully win me over, either. At the same time, though, there's enough pretension ("Imagine"), straight rip-off ("Crippled Inside"), and downright cringe ("Oh Yoko!") to make me physically grimace, and I can't ignore that, either.

This has always been one of those flawless albums I "forget" exists. In many ways, that's because when I was first getting into hip-hop, this was a typical ✨introduction✨ album. Plus, with time, Common has become a bit of an Award Season Man™️, which I think makes his classics easier to push out of your memories vantage point. Most of all, though, I think this album was very purposefully trying to fly a bit under the radar, at least as much as it could. But it's an album produced largely by Kanye in his prime as a producer, and the two songs that aren't Kanye are by the greatest producer in the whole genre's history, J Dilla. And every single song just hooks me. They're both gorgeous, like flowers in my ears, but also complex while still remaining actually fun to listen to. And the same goes for Common's rapping here. Always technically proficient, most of his discography is filled with unfit bravado or annoying holier-than-thous, and therefore boring. While both of those issues are still present here and may be the albums sole flaw if you look at either to closely – "Go" is a bit awkward, many songs are preachy, most notably "Faithful" and "Be (Intro)" – they're mostly forgivable because Common's storytelling is peak here, arguably the best in the genre's history, and it's only elevated by the context of the production. In many ways, Be is the Platonic Ideal of a hip-hop album: socially conscious, poetic, insightful and observant storytelling, with angelic production and a varied vibe throughout that could be rock a party and a church equally. Sometimes, that idealism can be its own Achilles Heel depending on your mood, but even then, I imagine it's hard to straight-up hate this album, because try as I might, I really can't see this as anything but perfect.

Though I'm now an adult, I'm still a Northeastern girl who was a bit of a pretentious teen, who wore a lot of cardigans, who always carried her poetry notebook everywhere she went, and who maybe once or thrice got a bit high and listened to her Dad's old Simon & Garfunkel albums and had her mind blown. Simon & Garfunkel – both together and in their solo careers – are pretentious bitches who made music for pretentious bitches. I am a pretentious bitch , and I like Simon & Garfunkel. Even at their most annoying here, with the anti-consumerism/commercialism of "The Big Bright Green Pleasure Machine" or the unfunny parody of "A Simple Desultory Philippic," I can't help but love them. But really, I love them when they're lovelorn, sentimental, and reflective. And they're that way a lot on this album, and I love it, even if I don't really like folk music. And no, my admiration is not only because I too referenced Robert Frost and Dylan Thomas to discuss a breakup when I was younger. Though that does explain a lot about me, and my love for this album.

The sound of crying into a PBR tall boy. Gorgeous production and there's moments where I almost get it, especially with the orchestration, but overall very much not for me.

As punk as slam poetry [read: not very punk]. A younger version of me may have been more convinced by this, but sometimes, an album comes into your life too late. My frontal lobe is too developed to fall for this, although there's moment that I do understand her role and her importance, and I can't help but bob my head, especially "Gloria" in its second half. Mostly, though, this album is a chore. Ironic, because on the surface, a punk queen who claims she's "beyond gender" would be my style, and maybe with time, it'll grow on me. But for now, smack dab in the middle for me.

In high school, an English teacher once told my class, “Spring has the highest suicide rates – everything’s blooming, and you’re not.” I don’t know why he said this to a room of 16 year olds, but it stuck with me, young and struggling to look her depression in the face and learn how to manage it. Now, here I am, 15 years later, screaming, crying, throwing up, sobbing to this gorgeous album by a man who tried his best to bloom with everything around him. The result is one of the most beautiful albums I’ve ever heard, and it’s a light of positivity from an artist who was so obviously trying to fight against the darkness. I’ve found a new favorite album. And yes, my therapist had to cancel our session this week, how on earth could you tell?

Sometimes a great idea can be so ahead of its time that it physically cannot be achieved at that time. That’s exactly the issue with Suicide. Because the idea is great, I really like the idea, but the execution….falls incredibly short. What this album actually sounds like is nothing close to how it could’ve sounded in theory, and the result is too primitive and too underdeveloped. The fact that it falls short actually does make it an important milestone, but it’s an incredibly hard listen to my ears today.

Boomer Carly Rae Jepsen [extremely complimentary]

Paul really said, “This one’s for the ADHD girlies,” because god, this record is all over the place.

Took me a little bit to warm up to it, but I really was won over. The genre blend is a bit hard to wrap my head around; it’s not quite punk, but it’s not just straight mod pastiche either, and it’s poppy, but not radio pop, more like college radio catchy. It’s very British, and that cultural disconnect might also be my issue. It’s honestly a record I need to sit with more, but even if it grows on me, I know it’s not something I’m going to revisit all the time aside from a handful of songs, if only because the mod-leanings and Britishisms are not to my taste. I’m glad I was exposed to this, however, and still feel this is more of a positive/3.5 rating overall, because even if I’m not despite for a physical copy, I will add a few of these songs to my playlists in the future.

I’m incredibly shocked by how much I enjoy this. It’s poppy enough to keep my ears tuned in, even when I tune out during the more verbose, winding psychedelic guitar parts. I’m also not a fan of when they get super quiet and folky, either, as those moments feel too subdued. The stereo mixing doesn’t do the pop sensibilities justice, unfortunately, but a good song is still a good song. Still, all these elements are small issues, and are mostly kept to a minimum on this record in favor of bright hooks and tight 3-minute song structures. And that’s why it wins me over – the annoying psych moments are never allowed to overpower what’s really just a good pop album with an aesthetic. Honestly, if I’d gone into this blind without knowing the history of the San Francisco scene, I don’t know if I’d even consider this a full-on psychedelic rock album, and that’s a benefit in my opinion. More positive toward a 3.5 with this.

If I had been a straight man born in the UK in the early 1970s who had a notorious affinity for tall French women, middlebrow literature, and frequenting chic cocktail bars, I think I’d understand this album. Alas, I am a queer trans woman born in the US in the 1990s, with a hatred for both the British and the French, and although I too like to read the New Yorker while sipping a Paper Plane, I truly don’t understand the appeal of this album. It’s too dorky and carnivalesque to be artful, but it’s too up-its-own-ass to be camp, and honestly, literally nothing about it stands out. Well, besides its weirdly misogynistic Pick Up Artist ego. I can’t decide if it’s being ironic in an obnoxious Gen X way that I’m supposed to read as ~social commentary~ even though time has made the joke incomprehensible, or if these lyrics are sincere, and if it’s the latter, then this album is bordering on immature, if not fully problematic, to the point where I’d cover my drink if he tried to hit on me at a chic cocktail bar. Either way, I hate this guy’s whole vibe. It took all my strength to not turn this off half-way through. Hell, I wanted to turn it off at the beginning of Track 3, and then I realized I was only on Track 3, so then with each song, it became more and more difficult to sit through this without wanting to cancel my Spotify subscription. Never again, please, or at least not for a long while.

A part of me always tries to argue that this isn’t my vibe when it comes to metal, that I’m not into bombastic, shreddy, operatic ‘80s Heavy Metal™️; another part of me loves the nerdy, DnD, socially conscious, head-banging nature of a lotttt of metal from this era, regardless of subgenre [e.g. Anthrax is my favorite of the Big Four]. Every time I put on Number of the Beast, I can’t help but love it. My head bangs. I get jealous of Steve Harris, and wish I could play bass like that. I dig into the themes. I air drum. I have a blast! But I keep trying to lie and say I only think this album is okay. Part of the issue is that my brain tries to tell myself that I prefer later albums [Piece of Mind and Seventh Son, specifically]. Part of my issue is that deep down, I’m still a teenager, trying to show that I’m not a poser for liking nerdy metal, that actually Death and Cryptopsy and Gorguts are soooo much cooler than this dorky, feminine, poser bullshit because *I’m* not a poser 🤢 But who the fuck am I kidding? This album is so fucking good! Honestly, without “22 Acacia Avenue,” which is only okay, it’d be a flawless metal album. This album makes me want to drive down the highway in the middle of July, windows down, blasting it, banging my head, hair obstructing my driving abilities. I don’t care if it’s entry-level poser behavior to like this album, because I really like this fucking album!

I was born in the wrong era. And by that I mean I’m a queer Millennial who wishes she could’ve gone to the club when disco was hot, but also, like, yes, I know, Strawman Queer Elder™️, I know…but how cool would it have been to hear this album when it was released?! God, it’s so good, and so layered that I find new details after every spin – and to think it’s not even my favorite Chic album?!? Disco deserved so much better.

So this album just invented literally every subgenre of punk – hardcore, noise, no wave, sludge, even fucking jazz punk – and I was completely unaware of how great it was until today? This could be released tomorrow and it would still sound fresh! I’m blown away, and even if some of it is a bit too meandering for my personal taste, I’m still in absolute awe. Historically important, sure, but more importantly, it still sounds amazing to this day. I think I’m about to become obsessed with Iggy Pop.

Despite listening to it in April when I’m not in the Christmas spirit, I still think this is somewhat overrated. The standouts are classics you hear year after year for a reason, sure, but there’s a lot of chaff on this. Of the “four” artists, I’d really say only The Ronettes pull through consistently; Darlene Love is good but not great aside from “Frosty the Snowman,” The Crystals are pretty consistently mediocre considering how much space they take up here, and Bob B. Soxx & The Blue Jeans are easily the weak link here and I thank god they only have 2 songs on this album. And that’s not even discussing Spector’s closer. Like, sure, the production is great, but couldn’t Spector’s Wall of Sound have been exemplified by a non-Christmas album like Presenting the Fabulous Ronettes, which would also do a better job showcasing doo-wop and girl group aesthetics? For that matter, where are the other essential Christmas albums: Charlie Brown Christmas, Mariah’s Merry Christmas, or Bing Crosby’s White Christmas, even if it’s from before the era when the book starts? Sometimes it’s hard to sympathize with a listen at face value when you know its inclusion means the exclusion of other albums with a similar purpose that are as good or even better than what I just listened to, and I think when only half the album works compared to other doo-wop and/or Christmas albums, it’s a fair complaint. Still, it’s mostly good, just overhyped in my opinion. At the very least, you’ll 1000% hear most of this before you die, because they play it every year, and what they don’t play from this album is better left unheard anyway.

Dense as a positive aspect, and retro while remaining distinctly modern. In some ways, it reminds me of Kirin J. Callinan’s Bravado, because I feel like it’s a ‘70s record that just so happened to be released in the 2010s. But unlike Bravado, which can turn abrasive and ultra-modern at the drop of a hat, Kiwanuka always marches forward on a traditionalist path. That isn’t necessarily a slight, because it makes for a seamless album that flows aesthetically and sonically into a singular statement, but sometimes, it also means that, while good, it can feel somewhat bland. It’s so traditionalist that I almost feel like I’ve heard it all before, and without anything fresh upfront to excite me, I’m having a hard time clicking with this. And I get that some of the freshness I’m looking for is in its contextualization, or better, in its recontextualization. In that way, it reminds me a lot of Ethel Cain, an artist I haven’t yet been able to get into because the treasure is buried beneath, and frankly, I just don’t have time to dig for buried treasure any more at this stage in my life. My ears are like the slush pile – if I’m not entranced after the first paragraph, you’re getting a rejection. Which is cruel, because I do like a lot of what this album is doing. It’s just not doing anything particularly unique to my ears to elicit excitement. That said, I wouldn’t be surprised if this grows on me by the end of the challenge. To be fair, I feel like that is the intention with this record – you’re supposed to sit with it for a month or six, and then, suddenly, it blossoms into an obvious magnum opus, and you feel foolish for not seeing it earlier. But my first impression is that it’s very good, just not something I’m falling head over heels for any time soon.

I'm going to be honest – I thought this album and Panopticon by Isis were the same album until today, solely based on their blue ass covers. At least now I know I have a preference for post-metal over shoegaze, even if that makes no sense intellectually. I don't hate it, though, it's just that sometimes it leans too much into shoegaze, and other times it leans too much into Britpop, and I don't particularly love either of those subgenres. Mostly, I just wish these Brits would stop ripping off the bass riff from "Taxman."

Jazz is a double-edged sword. Sometimes, it's this album's greatest strength; sometimes, it's this album's greatest weakness. Thankfully, it's also Joni Mitchell, so it's still amazing even when it gets a little wobbly, and she's really in her prime lyrically, which is what really sells me on this record. A great Joni Mitchell album [aka anyone else's best album].

Some fun drinking songs for the townie bar jukebox, some flawless ‘70s pop songs, and sometimes, both at the same time. Sometimes it leans too basic or too weird and it takes me out, but definitely a solid time with some essential tracks.

This started out so strong, and I was really expecting to adore it, but then it kept going, and going, and going…. There’s just no consistency, no arch — it starts dark and turns light, and then, after that arch is finished, it spirals into solos and experimentation without reason. The longer it went on with these sparse solos, the more bored I got, and the minimalism made it almost sound amateurish and strained my ears to their limits. I was so desperate for something exciting that the growls pulled me back in! But then the last 2 minutes threw me completely out again. I fully came in with an open mind expecting to love it, but hey, at least The Exorcist pulled out the best section for its score.

Sometimes, doing too much isn’t chaotic and fun, it’s just doing too much.

I suddenly understand why a lot of people turn 30 and start listening to the Grateful Dead as background music to help them focus on their spreadsheets at their white collar 9-to-5 jobs. I was pleasantly surprised by how pleasant this is on vibes alone. And if you want some vibes ✌🏻☮️, this is full of them. But then I started to put on my ✨active listening✨ ears, and all that positivity crumbled to the ground, because Jesus fucking Christ is this unstructured. Everyone is playing a radically different part that doesn’t even sound like the same song. The lyrics are meandering, and there’s barely a semblance of pop song structure here, only a paper bag wisp of a chorus-like melody. This metaphorically sobered me up quick, and I realized I was listening to an ugly band all night!! And realizing this aspect made it hard to fall back into the vibes I felt earlier, and when I did, it instead gave me a whole different vibe 😴 I’m almost impressed by this. How can a band be so sloppy, yet, if you’re only kind of paying attention/are intoxicated, they sound not only tolerable but enjoyable? And I think this is just the nature of jamming, where everything is “correct” but never overpowering enough to be distracting. So a part of me sees the value of this record, but another part of me knows I’ll never revisit it, so maybe praising it for being “good background music to listen to passively” is actually a slight, even if I mean it more positively.

The definition of the phrase, “This fucks.”

Hardcore’s most boring ~important~ band spends a long, mostly boring double album telling you how important they think they are because they’re not *just* a hardcore band. I’d prefer Zen Arcade being on here over this, even though I’m not a fan of that record much, either. If even the band thinks it would’ve been stronger as a single LP, that’s a tell.

Do people listen to Bowie's pseudo-intellectual, "experimental" bullshit and actually enjoy it? Like, do people throw these songs on playlists and play them at parties, or do they listen to this on their commute to work, or while doing the dishes? Do you put this on to relax after a long day?! Or is the love for this album akin to the love for the latest Franzen novel, where everyone parrots the critical praise because it makes them feel smart too, and also, no one wants to go against the tide, so they force themselves to love it because it's what smart people are enjoying right now, and they are certainly smart people. Am I insane for thinking this whole thing sounds like nails on a chalkboard? Even without Bowie's grating affectation, the instrumentals somehow feel full of themselves, like it's all too self-aware of its own self-importance. It feels like the musical equivalent of the self-proclaimed Communist in your Intro to Art History class who won't stop talking about how much better Dalí is compared to the Rembrandt you're actively talking about because it's still September and you're not there yet in the syllabus, and even after the professor tells him we'll get there in November and he stops talking, his presence alone starts to annoy you, because you're just spending every class waiting for him to start talking again. This whole album annoys me, even when it's technically being "quiet" with its experimentations. And honestly, these experiments don't even feel that ahead of the curve! I can hear free jazz and other, earlier synth pioneers all over this album who did these things better and earlier than this fucking record. And that's not even to mention how obnoxious I find Fripp's guitar sound and playing style. Honestly, I want to say "Heroes" is this album's only saving grace, but I don't even really love it all that much as a song. If this album – or Bowie – grows on me by the end of this challenge, it's not because I grew as a person, but because I developed Stockholm Syndrome.

When I was 11, VH1 counted down the top 100 one-hit wonders, and listed "Groove is in the Heart" at #14. They mentioned Bootsy Collins’ participation, who I recognized from the Beginner's Bass book I had gotten that Christmas. I also really liked the snippet they played a lot. So, even though I pretty much only listened to pop-punk at the time, during my next trip to Strawberries Records, I picked up the full CD. My mind was instantly blown. As silly as it sounds, World Clique was my gateway into dance music. (I enjoyed it so much, in fact, that it also inspired me to dig more into the full CDs of other one-hit wonders, which served as my own personal music history education throughout my teens.) While I’ve always loved this album, the older I got, the more it rose in my personal Top 100. By the time I was in college, it was solidly in my Top 10 favorite albums ever, and it’s remained there to this day. It’s bubbly and fun to dance to, but it’s also layered and has all these unique textures that you can unravel if you listen closely. It’s also deeply aware of its lineage, and I think that helps solidify it as a classic, because it’s reverent without feeling academic. This is really what I want most out of music – on the surface, pure fun, and if you want more, you can dig into it, but you can always just enjoy it on that surface level, too. It’s camp and inclusive and cute and catchy and feels communal. I love it so much, it’s flawless through and through.

Definitely not for me, but I totally get the hype around this. I personally think it’s strongest when it’s close to pure ’90s dance, and it’s rarely close enough for me. While everything here does have at least a hint of a dance elements or two [i.e. mostly when it sounds closer to a remix than an original rock song], it’s never enough to distract me from its base influences of British indie or psychedelic pastiche, and I’m not the target audience for either of those sounds. Still, I never once wanted to turn it off, which is insane, given its runtime. If a friend played this for me at their house or in their car, I wouldn’t be bothered. I get how this could be someone’s favorite album, and I now know why it’s on a lot of lists like this, but it’s not for me, simple and plan.

If you ever said, “Damn, I wish I could hear Ella Fitzgerald sing the phonebook,” then this album is for you! To judge it as a singular body of work like any other album on this list feels deeply unfair, and maybe misses the point. It was always meant to be a “choose your own adventure” from a listener’s point of view where you stick to one LP or one side. I’d even argue it was never meant to be an album for public consumption, and that it was actually meant to be used as evidence of Fitzgerald’s importance within the musical/standards canon. That said, Fitzgerald can really sing a song, and these renditions are really a tight. There really is something for everyone here. Ten people could pull out their favorite 10 songs, and you’d likely have ten different new versions. Ironically, I think that’s why this works best in the context of modern playlists, where you can easily pull out your favorites and leave it at that. So yeah, I don’t love all 59 songs here. No one does. If they claim they do, I’d assume they’re just being pedantic and are afraid to disagree with highbrow-ism. There’s some discs I love, and some I hate, although there’s at least one song on each disc that I adore. Sitting and listening to it straight through is a pain in the ass; rating this as I would another album on this list feels oddly disrespectful, too, and judging it by those standards, sure, I’d give it a 3. But this wouldn’t be a 3 like my other 3s, because I’m not on the fence about whether I think it’s good or enjoyable. It would be a 3 by the standards I’ve set out because I don’t like more than 29 of the 59 songs here, although I do get right to that line. I also won’t revisit this as a single sit-through ever again, so long as I actually finish the challenge this go-around, so that also means it should be a 3. But again, that isn’t the point of this album, and I know that. Oddly, this does achieve my main rule for giving 4 stars – would I buy this on vinyl and actually play it? I 1000% would, and I’d be foolish not to if I found it in the bins. I do think there’s better albums to represent Ella, though, but then you run into questions of whether to also showcase other people at the same time, or just give Ella all the shine. Of the songbooks I’ve listened to before, this is my favorite, and contains 2 of my favorite songs ever (“They All Laughed” and “Let’s Call the Whole Thing Off”), and both renditions are my favorite renditions of those tracks. It’s a hard one to judge, because I don’t regret listening to it. I think Ella Fitzgerald is wonderful, I love her renditions, and I like the Gershwin song book, even if it sounds same-y after 3.5 hours, but then again, anything would. At the end of the day, this is extremely good, and essential listening, but once you find the songs you like, you can just revisit those, or listen to this in bite sized pieces. The only real critique I [and most people] have is that it’s exhaustive, and not an album you sit down to listen to like others, but by acknowledging that, I feel better rating this higher as a collection of songs that are all great. But don’t listen to this in single sitting, or you will be annoyed.

At first, I really thought I was going to hate this, but as soon as the drums kicked in on “Where Do The Children Play?,” I was sold. This man knows how to use dynamics, he knows how to write a chorus, and he knows how to write very poetic lyrics that make you contemplate life that never distract from his pop sensibilities. Maybe I’m just old now, but this really is a warm blanket of an album, and I don’t see how anyone could hate it. My Dad is also a huge fan of this era of ‘70s soft rock from his teens and early 20s, and growing up hearing him play records by Bread and Harry Chapin, it’s funny to realize now how quickly influential Tea for the Tillerman was to a subgenre that basically defined the sound of an entire decade of music. Like, when you imagine ‘70s pop music that was actually on the charts, you’re imagining this folk-rock style that is explicitly drawing from this album. And while I think its copycats added a lot more piano and orchestration, which eventually morphed into Yacht Rock, it’s clear that this album is the progenitor of it all. More importantly, it was the high water mark for the sound, and actually holds up today, unlike those copycats. Glad I finally listened to this, truly a gem.

Eno was just in silly goofy mood 🤪😜🤣 Nothing on here takes itself too seriously, and that is very apparent right away, so it makes all the weirdness and experimentation very easy to swallow. Plus, even when he’s being a weirdo gremlin who doesn’t want to appeal to the masses, Eno is really good at writing a pop hook. I fully walked into this expecting to roll my eyes for 42 minutes, but this is exactly what I want out of experimental music. No matter how weird it gets, it’s fun!!

I really wish I could praise this, because nothing about it is explicitly bad. I understand if people find her voice annoying, especially when she belts, and I also get that this style of music can be boring if you don’t like folk. And while I think those critiques are fair, I also don’t mind anything here. Not to say I would revisit this frequently, but it has its time and place and purpose, both historically and in someone’s record collection. But then I factor how frequently I checked my phone while this was on. Not only to see if the song was over yet, but to do other things. I paused this to go on TikTok for 20 minutes. Twice. I paused this to do chores. I changed the song to listen to other artists not once, but three times! And I think that’s the things – this album is important, but Baez is also incredibly boring. The fact that she doesn’t do anything unique [by today’s standards] with her traditional folk songs suggests that maybe, in the end, while there’s nothing “wrong” with this album, there’s also nothing particularly good about it, either. The only songs I actually enjoyed were “El Preso Numero Nueve” and the CD-reissue bonus tracks. So while I could argue apathy but say it’s still enjoyable enough, I also don’t truly believe it’s actually enjoyable. Important, sure, but I never want to listen to it again.

Damn, 12 year old me would have adored this! It fills that preteen desire for grunge-esque, angsty sounds, while adding something new because they’re not from Seattle. At the same time, a lot of this sounds like an oil and vinegar cocktail of Oasis and The Smashing Pumpkins, which is pleasant to my ears, but also, why am I not just listening to either Oasis or, preferably, The Smashing Pumpkins? I don’t dislike this at all, and there’s nothing bad here, but the longer this went on, the more derivative it felt. Still good, but definitely not essential, and I should’ve assumed that based on the fact that I had never heard of this album before even though I had heard of their debut a million times.

I mean, it's no Stevie Wonder's Journey Through "The Secret Life of Plants" or anything, but I guess it's still pretty great, maybe an 11/10, nothing crazy.

I love The Cure so much 🖤🥀😭 And I don’t even love their goth era as much as their new wave era, but this is still amazing!!!

I dislike that I really like this album, because it is the album that launched a thousand ships full of jangle pop, Pitchfork-core, pretentious indie bands, and we are still suffering the consequences 50+ years later. But Mr. Tambourine Man is just so happy melodically yet so melancholic lyrically, and I’m a sucker for both of those things. This album is a sweet spot between everything I love in music and everything I hate. Also, I’m a sucker for a fisheye lens, so there’s that.

This New York Doll (🏳️‍⚧️) is a newfound fan of New York Dolls (🤘🏻)

Straight Outta Compton is one of those Starter Pack™️ CDs you buy when you’re first getting into hip-hop. You latch onto the edge and power of the first two tracks, and you continue to spin it based on name and influence alone until you’re “ready” for actual deep cuts. It’s been almost 20 years since I listened to this in full, and I was worried. My memory told me that I never really loved this the way I loved other Starter Pack™️ albums, so I was expecting to hate it now that I’m older and know a lot more about the genre overall. And honestly? It held up!! It comes out guns blazing with “Straight Outta Compton” and “Fuck Tha Police,” but it continues to hold its own as it goes. The production is an important factor here; even when a song bleeds into verse 4 or 5, the sample-heavy turntablism is ear candy, always keeping a steady groove that’s never chaotic or overwhelming, unlike Public Enemy or The Beastie Boys. The other key factor is Ice Cube, both on the mic and behind the pen. It’s insane how good he is, even by the standards of rap post-1992. His pen game is strong and helps create a lot of the group’s chemistry, although The D.O.C. is no slouch, and MC Ren holds his own just fine. Once Cube’s on the mic, though, it’s over. Honestly, he’s so good, it’s more annoying when he’s *not* on a song. Is it flawless? Not at all. I think the middle is a little weak, where the beats are slow and the rhymes are particularly corny [e.g. “wacky wack,” the entirety of “Express Yourself,” especially given historical context]. It also suffers from way too many verses, awkward skit-like talk, and some dated mixing. But the final leg wins me back, thanks to “I Ain’t Tha 1” and, again, Cube being an incredible rapper, and that energy stays through to the end. Obviously, this is essential listening on historical importance alone. Seeing some reviews about the “violent” lyrics conjures up images of Tipper Gore, and could not miss the point more. Sure, the misogyny/homophobia are what they are, but people rarely lobby those same critiques at ‘80s rock, do they? So I’m glad these lames had to be exposed to this important piece of history. But music is also more than history, and while some of Straight Outta Compton does sound dated, none of it sounds as dated as I initially feared it would. In fact, a lot of it still feels very fresh. Not that anyone under the age of 40 would claim this as their favorite album. Sure, technically speaking, I’d prefer Death Certificate, 2001, No One Can Do It Better, or even Eazy-Duz-It, but none of those make sense without this. Plus, Straight Outta Compton is still a great listen beyond its history lesson, with a lot more hits than misses. I’m won over all over again.

I’m too young for MTV Unplugged, and by the time I was a preteen, Nirvana was already being played on classic rock radio. That said, Nirvana’s studio albums still have an impact when you listen to them; even if I missed it in ‘93 because I was a little newborn, I ✨get✨ Nirvana and why they matter, and when I first listened to their studio albums, I knew immediately why Cobain specifically mattered. This unplugged set, though…I feel like I’m missing something?? It’s good, because Nirvana was a great band and Cobain was charismatic as hell. The covers are cool. These acoustic versions are cool. But there doesn’t seem to be any value to this beyond it being a cool tidbit of extra material for diehard Nirvana fans. And sure, I like Nirvana, but I like Nirvana because I like music, not because I’m a Nirvana fan. It’s cool, but it doesn’t strike me as essential listening. Is it because it broke the mold of Unplugged sets up to that point? Because if that’s it, well, that doesn’t mean much of anything now that Unplugged isn’t a thing. Is it because it was a posthumous release of an important set? Again, that feels like fan material, not essential listening. Is it because it changed people’s perspective about Nirvana and allowed them to project an assumed trajectory of the band based on a performance that had predefined parameters, because once again, cool, but not essential. The only other justification I can think of is that it was just a great live set, but then…just watch the live set, don’t list the recording minus the visuals as essential. This whole dilemma is frustrating, because there isn’t anything “wrong” with this album on a technical level. It’s a good set. I wouldn’t seek any of these versions out, but I enjoyed having this on. As fan service, it goes above and beyond. But that’s all it feels like to my ears. It’s fan service. It’s cool, but not essential.

I have tried for years to get into this record. I’ve listened to it so many times, in a variety of situations. I’ve been sober, and I’ve been under the influence of all the drugs I’m comfortable taking. I’ve listened to it sick with a fever, and on the elliptical at the gym. I’ve listened to it driving home at 3am, and during my commute on a normal Tuesday morning. All my friends have told me why I should adore this album, and so have all the critics and online posters. I know all about the innovations to guitar playing (trust me, I have ears), and I know why they’re an important band. I’ve heard gorgeous stripped-back covers and intriguing reinterpretations. I’ve heard these songs in every day life too, on TikTok slideshows and played through the speakers of an art school house party. I first picked up this CD when I was 15 and listened to it on repeat once I got my driving permit, trying to figure out both the rules of the road and this record. I picked it up because I knew it was important and innovative and I needed to get it and get into it. 15 years later, I’m past getting into it. I’m still just trying to get it at all! I know there’s hooks and pop songs buried beneath, and I know why those elements are buried under layers of fuzz and abstraction, and I get that half of what makes this important is the fact that it buries everything. And I enjoy a few songs, especially the ones where the hooks are right there, hard to miss. But for the most part, even when I see the hooks beneath an ocean of distortion, even if they’re not necessarily 10,000 leagues under the fuzz, I’m not really sure if I even *like* most these songs. I like some, and really like one or two, but it’s not enough to validate how many times I’ve forced myself through this in hopes that it would finally click. And tonight, 15 years in, I was hoping it would finally click. And once again, after a sincere and honest try, I walk away with the same conclusion: Loveless is okay, and I get why it matters, but it is not for me at all. I don’t loathe it, and I’m glad it exists, but I am over trying to force myself to love this. I would never in a million years put this album on for my personal enjoyment, and I’m mature enough to finally admit that liking something because everyone else says you “have to” is dumb. I don’t personally enjoy Loveless, I would never revisit this for pleasure, and I’m done trying.

When this initially came out, everyone from Pitchfork critics to parking garage attendants praised it as a perfectly-timed pandemic-addled exploration of isolation. And at the time, I didn't get it. I generally loved Fiona up to this point, but something about Fetch the Bolt Cutters felt distinctly too self-aware, too deconstructed, too heady. And this is why we sit with records for a few years! Revisiting this was a treat, and made me [finally] realize how amazing it is. I think the original context of the pandemic hurt my initial understanding, actually. Fetch the Bolt Cutters isn't isolationist; it’s begging for community, specifically community from women, which is important because it does so in a culture that wants women to isolate from each other. The percussiveness also works a lot better now after several listens and a bit of time; sure, maybe it's because I'm not stuck in the house banging my head against the wall, both literally and figuratively, but I take it less as a primal scream of anger, and more as a primal scream of femininity, akin to a seance. More importantly, now that I've had time to sit with my initial reaction, I'm able to listen to this and actually pick up the hooks, pick up on the off-kilter grooves, pick up on Apple's inherent pop sensibilities that are still there, just deconstructed like a burger at a 2-star Michelin restaurant. And like that burger, no matter how strange it may have felt to eat it, your taste buds will dwell on it for the next week. Literally, I’ve been humming the hooks to a lot of these songs the last few days, which is cool because they are not “normal” hooks by any means. This doesn't mean this album isn't obtuse – it very much is. It's coded-language, it's a college-level thesis paper, it's difficult and not something you'll get on spin 1, and maybe not even something you'll get on spin 50. I see why this may not be everyone's jam. This is the kind of record that shows the vital flaw of this project, because one day to process an album is not possible for something this dense. But thankfully, this isn’t my first rodeo with Fetch the Bolt Cutters, and this go around, it finally clicked. I'm still unsure if I would listen to this album in pieces/pull out specific tracks, or even play this frequently, because it is a very, very dense and intense full listen, but you don't need to revisit something constantly to know that it's masterful and great for certain situations. And while I’m still going to say When the Pawn... is my preferred Fiona Apple record, I’m deeply, freshly in love with Fetch the Bolt Cutters, and I think I'm finally comfortable saying that she may have a completely flawless discography. So deserving of that Perfect 10 from Pitchfork, and I’m happy to finally be on board.

It’s still severely overrated and I don’t really listen to the tracks on Side A on their own much, but when you sit down and give it a full listen…saying it’s anything less than amazing and pure fun is just being pedantic. And that’s despite the fact that “The Girl Is Mine” is cringey as hell.

I can’t tell if this is pop music made by goth people, or goth music made by popular people. It might be both. Either way, not for me. My reaction to most of this album was, “oh, I respect that as a decision,” not, “oh, I would listen to this again in public” because an idea isn’t a song, it’s just an idea, even if it came first and is a good idea. “Strangelove” is the sole exception; hard to deny that song slaps. Maybe this deserves a revisit later when I’m more depressed, hornier, or both.

Deeply surprised that I didn’t hate it. It’s breezy and chill Boomer Dad Blues-Rock. That’s its strength, but also its weakness, because aside from the side openers, most of it passes by my ears like sand. Don’t know if it needed to be in the book though - it’s not like it “inspired” a ton of bands like it afterwards. Besides all the worst townie bar bands, but that’s no fault of the record itself. But that’s probably why it’s in the book.

I never understood this era of indie music, or this era of Pitchfork-core. I was the target audience of this album – applying to film school, going to hipster house parties, over with her hometown but also hopeless about the future. And yet, I never got this album, or Arcade Fire in general, besides a song here and there. It just felt more trite and put-on, even compared to my own suburban angst. Over 15 years removed, and I still feel the same apathy towards this music, and this band, and this general aesthetic. There's a song here and there that I can't deny, and generally, it's well-made, but it's still trite and it's still put-on – an aesthetic for the then 30 year old journalists to project onto, not one to be consumed by actual Millennials. It's only in the book due to the hype at the time, and the fact that it fancies itself conceptual. It's not going to stand the test of time, and the fact that we now know he's a gross creep helps me not feel guilty about not understanding the adoration.

An immediate Holy Shit ™ album and it rarely lets up. It's both unapologetically sincere and tongue-in-cheek camp, and that dichotomy only underlines the gorgeous tone of nostalgic queer storytelling explored throughout. Sometimes this means it crosses into cringe, and sometimes that cringe is dated and gross and really makes you question if this needed to be a double-album even if compositionally those songs still kinda hit, but then those sore spots are over and you're back into piano-glam greatness. Absolutely great, will be picking it up next time I go record shopping for sure.

There’s an argument to be made that this is the greatest hip-hop album ever made. In a way, it’s the culmination of everything hip-hop aimed to encapsulate since its inception, and it helps that this then shaped the sound of the genre to come while still being in a league of its own because it's so detailed, which meant that almost no one would ever be able to redo this style. This is an example of art that may not be made for me, but I can still enjoy it and give it its flowers. It deserves all its praise as a pinnacle of culture. It is what music is meant to be in my opinion – expansive, confrontational, researched, reactionary, yet still ultimately enjoyable despite all that. But then again, PE was always for the punks. Easily my favorite PE album, because it expands their sound so much, but it feels like it's done purposefully as a way to target their message. Maybe not as important to Music History ™ as its predecessor, but I believe you can hear its impact more. And while it's not my favorite hip-hop album ever, it's solidly in my personal Top 100.

From the first note, it’s obvious that this ruined hard rock for the next 25 years at least. The sound of butt rock, but with more precision, but it doesn’t make me love it. It’s just heavy chugs, and yet not slow enough to give a beat down vibe. It just sounds like the music of a Gen X alcoholic plays in his garage while he lifts weights, annoyed that he doesn’t have a six pack but happy his arms make him look like he could punch a bouncer for kicking him out after he hits on a group of 19 year olds. There are brief glimpses of a more speed/thrash sound that I enjoy a lot more, but they feel more tacked on than sincere. Makes sense, since Pantera themselves said they saw this album as an opportunity to “fill a void” created by Metallica post-Black Album. Also I hate these solos. They take the worst lessons from Van Halen and exaggerate them beyond comprehension. Like it’s worse then Slayer, and that’s saying a lot. I swear I really love metal, I love punk, I love thrash and groove, I love all the subgenres this is pulling from. I just don’t think Pantera is for me; it’s so obvious their influence was brief and bright, and while that’s important to include in a book like this, it doesn’t mean the album holds up with time.

The definition of doing too goddamn much. If they were tighter, it’d be a better record, but I also think that their noodling bullshit is why this album is here. But to normal ears, the drums are too much, the guitar work sounds like the type of shit a 14 year old boy does to impress his friends, and the vocals are just flat out bad. There are no songs here, just jams, and that sucks. Maybe I just need to be stoned in a Trans-Am to get this, but I think this is just White Boomer Dad music history, not actually important.

If this wasn’t made by a supergroup of legends who play better on their worst days than 99% of the global population, no one would say this album is well made, memorable, or noteworthy. Too British and too bland for me to care.

If they ever invent time machines and make them accessible to the general population, my second trip – after first going back and telling my younger self what "transgender" means in hopes that she doesn't waste 29ish years in the closet – will be to go back and smack all my friends between the ages of 11 - 14 and yell at them for not introducing me to Soundgarden sooner. This particular album is a bit too long and has a bit of filler that feels a bit repetitive, but the highs are very high, and the lows are still enjoyable. I just adore this era of grunge, when it was still basically a midpoint between punk and sludge, and Soundgarden feels like the exact midpoint. Will be explore more of their discography right away!

I’m a poptimist and a hopeless romantic. I like what I like, even if it’s a little awkward and silly, and this is definitely awkward and silly both lyrically and musically. It’s not flawless, and works better as individual songs on a playlist than an album proper, but it’s so fun and so right for my tastes that it earns a personal 4.5 stars. Great find for lovers of kitschy ‘80s pop.

In the age-old debate over The Beatles and The Rolling Stones, I have always chosen a Third Coast – The Beach Boys. Unfortunately, my adoration for the group has always excluded this album. Today! is a record of historical importance more than anything, not only for the band, but for music overall. It’s basically the blueprint for the Pop/Rock Album, and the production techniques and compositions cannot be overstated. But albums like this often feel like homework. The real question is: are there exceptional songs? Are they enjoyable beyond their historic significance? Is it in frequent rotation in my house? And I personally answer “well, no, not really” to all those questions. Now, if you’re wondering if these songs are compositionally good, then yes, it’s the fucking Beach Boys. Even the bad songs are well-written. But unlike the albums before this, it’s not kitsch and ridiculous despite its dated sound; it’s just dated, and as a result, it comes across as stale. And unlike the albums that came after it, it’s not consistently throwing gorgeous arrangements and flawless songs at you; it’s “getting there,” but it’s far from consistent. There’s a handful of bright moments, especially in the middle, but they aren’t frequent enough to warrant the rest of the album acceptable. In fact, it’s trying so hard to be “great” that the majority of it ends up feeling forgettable, and some songs aren’t even fleshed out enough to draw you in and be listenable, not just by modern standards, but by the standards of 1965. I’ve tried so hard to see what others see, both today and in years past. And there’s moments where I start to warm to it. Side A starts off weak and uninspired but by “Don’t Hurt…” I start to find The Beach Boys I know and love, even though arguably none of these songs are particular high water-marks in the full scope of their career, excluding “Help Me Rhonda,” even if I love “When I Grow Up.” But then Side B, even though it starts okay, it just…Like, I get *why* the orchestration matters historically, but it’s all so bland and insipid. And then, it ends on the most banal chit-chat in all of recording history up to that point!! Honestly, “Bull Session” is so infuriating, it fuels my dislike more. In the end, while “hate” is a strong term, I can’t say I love or even really like this album. Even when it’s close, it’s never close enough, and that’s why I never relisten to it in full. I’m honestly upset to admit this, because there’s not *enough* Beach Boys on this list imo, so my apathy towards this will inherently make it look like I hate the band overall. But I also can’t lie. Sure, it deserves to be in the book, and it isn’t a worthless listen if you haven’t tried before, but it’s not something I’ll revisit much in full, if ever, and I’ll only pull a couple of songs off of it. It’s a bridge, a piece of history, but I don’t care for bridges or history much if I don’t actually enjoy it.

Is this a great album, or was I an 11 year old kid just getting into music when this first released and it was inescapable at the time? Why not both? It’s relentless with its sequencing. My memory was that the last few tracks kind of sputter out before it sticks the landing, but that's definitely not the case. Maybe my tastes have just become more refined with time, because I actually love Side B more. I think the back half is why this album is even on the list. Sure, the singles were inescapable, but Side B is proof that the Killers acted as a Alternative subgenre-link for indie, dance, emo, and punk, and kind of played a bigger role in modern post-genre aesthetics than one might think. Not that the band itself meant to do that. This album is just serendipitous – right vibe at the right time. It also helps that, musically, this is tight as hell (especially the bass; I've been trying to play like this for nearly 20 years!) I mean, who am I kidding? I’m a Millennial alternative girl through and through. I’ve always adored this album. It’s weird, has a little something for everyone, and makes me dance. Some of my favorite songs of all time are deep cuts from this album (“On Top” and “Change Your Mind” specifically). Personal top 100 album; every listen inspires a full play through. Classic, no need for me to be snobby just because giving Hot Fuss a 5 makes me realize how old I am.

I was raised a hardcore girl during the peak of the "post-hardcore" scene. I read Alternative Press' back pages, where they highlighted "influential albums in the scene" and I then sought those albums out at Newbury Comics like a fiend. I was a "memorize every band on a label" girl. And sure, I don't listen to this music much anymore, but it is part of my DNA. I know my shit. I loved this shit. And that's why I was confused...why had I never heard of this album? Sure, it's well before my time, but that never stopped me. I know my shit, or at least I thought I did. And the answer is simple – this is not "post-hardcore." This isn't even in the scene. Sure, I get that these are retired Dischord boiz, but this music has more in common with post-grunge than post-hardcore. It's chain-smoked and wrapped in pleather, it's wrap-around sunglasses and buzz cuts and 90s Cool, the soundtrack to Need for Speed. It's not part of the scene, it doesn't know anyone who's edge, there's no box hairdye in its medicine cabinet, and this is not being included in the Tony Hawk soundtrack, because it's too aggro. Is it bad? Not for what it is, no. But I'd argue it's bad for what it *aspires to be*, and that's somehow worse. It also isn't my jam. It's not my scene. I find this strain of rock-in-the-wake-of-grunge to be boring, muddled, and macho without reason, which is why I gravitated towards the post-hardcore scene, because at least those boiz were attempting to process their emotions. And this album is not processing anything, certainly not sonically. It just runs together into a single dull slog. There's moments where I see a glimpse of promise, and also understand how they were mislabeled, and I know sometimes it's "once a punk, always a punk," but this has more in common with Shinedown than Fugazi. My question is why this album? Why not Quicksand, or Jawbreaker, or At the Drive-In, or Refused? Fuck, the 1-to-1 replacement for this is Jawbox's "For Your Own Special Sweetheart" (although I'd say Jawbreaker's "Dear You" is maybe a better representation of the scene etre). Who cares if I don't love this – its inclusion is a purposeful exclusion of actually important punk/hardcore albums from the era, and also a deep misinterpretation of what "post-hardcore" looked like and would look like. It's a blatant misinterpretation of a subgenre, and a bad representation. That makes me even more upset. The fact that it's boring made me want to turn it off, which warrants a low rating anyway, but the fact that it has a seat at the table over anyone actually important to the history of post-hardcore warrants my angry rant.

For years, I just assumed Wilco was a twangy country band that tapped into rootsy Americana in a way that made Pitchfork writers give them too many flowers. A friend recently corrected me, saying they're a lot more indie rock than I was imagining, and insisted I should give them a listen. Well, this is serendipitous. And I don't know if that was a good thing. Sometimes, you hear an album and you know it's very good. But you also know it's not totally for you. That's exactly how I feel about this album. Sure, it's a lot more indie – a lot more alt-rock – than I assumed, but it's also very folksy, very twangy, and my Northeastern ass has a hard time with those sounds. And the rock/indie textures here is also something I traditional don't adore, either. Still, there are a lot more moments that I liked than I assumed there'd be, and it's more than half the record. But that's my other issue, too. This is soooo long, it becomes exhausting. And it's exhausting and feels long because it's all over the place. I feel like the best critique of this album is that it could've been a solid 5 stars if it was half the length, and cut down to 10 songs. I have a thing for short albums (maybe punk culture; maybe ADHD), but this throws way too much at me. The issue is that I'm unsure what to cut. I personally prefer the barn burners, but I'm sure a lot of Wilco fans prefer the slow burns. If you cut half this album, do you cut it 50/50, or according to texture? Because 50/50 is the same results to me, and otherwise one is a classic and the other is a bland album I would never revisit. Clearly, I have struggled with conceptualizing this album in my head. I think Wilco's a cool band, I think there's an album by them I may like in the future. Hell, I think some of these songs will end up on a future playlist for me. But in its entirety, I'm not here for Being There, but I'm glad other people are in attendance.

I remember this record better. The highs are incredibly high, and they're largely all Lauryn Hill coming through with some of the greatest verses in hip-hop history. But the lows stand out. Wyclef and Pras are...a lot more boring than I remember them being. It's not like they're bad, but they pale in comparison and weigh down the record on most tracks. The last few songs after the title track feel excessive, and while I don't hate them, the album should've ended with the title track and cut that feature. Maybe it's a sequencing issue, too? Also, the mastering is weird. The fake vinyl sound is annoying as hell. And the skits not being their own tracks ruin this – they're either really bad or outright unnecessary. Golden Age Hip-Hop albums are often bloated, but this would have absolutely benefited from a tight, concentrated edit down to 10 tracks, at least if you insist on keeping the skits. I complain only because it's flaws are obvious, but again, the highs are high. There are stretches of this album where it is just stone-cold-classic after stone-cold-classic, and that basically means the problems come out in the wash. It's still a classic record, and the quintessential "intro to hip-hop album" – I know it was that for me – and that reason also validates its acclaim. It's not a 5 star record, but it's an important record, and one that I think serves an important role in most music nerds' journeys.

Nick Cave is tailor made for my tastes: gothic lyricism, complicated composition, but always enjoyable either as a head-banger hymnal or an intimate therapy session. This album has both, cleanly split between their own separate discs. It's music for lapsed Catholics, and I am one of those lapsed Catholics in the target audience. At the same time, I feel like this is not the best album Nick Cave ever made. Sometime you hear an album you love, and you know you'll love the band overall, but even though you love the album, you know there's something better in the back catalogue, you just need to find it. Oddly, I've seen some people disagree, claiming this is his peak, but I doubt that. While both albums are very good – and let's be honest, they are two independent albums, stand-alone artistic statements – The Lyre of Orpheus feels a bit weaker, a bit too tight to be confessional but too loose to be honest. I also think Abattoir Blues wobbles with the last couple tracks. But don't get me wrong, I'm still impressed with this album. It's not life-changing to me personally, if only because I'm past the age where it would've been life-changing, but I am really really interested in exploring more Nick Cave coming up. I won't be shocked if this grows on me to the point where it becomes one of my favorites by the end of this challenge. Still, at the moment, it has just a smidge too many shortcomings for me to say it's flawless. Great new find, light 4.5.

One of my favorite books ever; one of my favorite movies ever. I've never been the type of person who listens to film scores as their own free-standing pieces of music, but I get why this is included. As a whole, it captures the essence of the story and presents a fully independent aesthetic. I would buy this on vinyl and play it in the background while I had a few girl friends over to gossip and drink off my bar cart. It's good background music, but there's a lot of details to unpack upon close listen. My first listen made me assume I'd never pull out individual tracks, but throughout the day, I kept revisiting this in pieces and I found myself gravitating toward it a lot. I guess that's also why the TikTok girls have latched on to certain songs to use as background sounds. It sounds like girlhood, in its entirety, and in its pieces. Just like its source materials. Which is crazy coming from 2 men. I don't know if their sonic style is really my vibe, but here, it 100% works. Not my favorite film score ever – where is Wendy Carlos' Clockwork Orange interpretations?!?! – but very good and deserving of a listen.

I've never been a psychedelic rock girl, not just because I can't really smoke, but because I find most of it dorky, pseudo-intellectual, and self-indulgent. Even so, I can't deny that the talent of the Jimi Hendrix Experience. Jimi obviously had charisma, but all three are tight as hell. There are moments where the skill displayed here just brings me back to when I was 12, first learning guitar, and everything noodly and wonky sounded mind blowing. And then there's the classic high-points, the dense blues-based ballads and hard rockers. It's an album that demands respect. But that's also all I can really give it, too. I respect it a lot. I know it's, technically-speaking, a showcase. But while my 12 year old brain likes the virtuoso noodling licks, my adult brain knows this is trait and self-indulgent flash. It's made worse by Jimi's cringey lyrics. And then there's the blues-based songs, which i find immensely forgettable – including the classics like "Castles Made of Sand" and "Little Wing." I think the moments that sound closest to their debut – the hard rock cuts that are pretty straight-forward with flash segments that don't engulf the song – are easily the high water marks for me, but those moments are basically nonexistent here. Overall, this feels like the limitation of Hendrix's legacy; for all his pure talent, he was still a product of his time, and those times were...incredibly stupid and self-indulgent. Even down to the cover, that Boomer attitude reigns supreme on this album, and it's the exact attitude that turns me away from psychedelic rock in general. Even when it's performed by some of the best, I think this kind of music just will never do it for me. I respect this a lot, but I know the highest personal praise I can give it is apathy. I'm not looking forward to a large piece of this challenge, clearly.

Why this Foo Fighters album??? It's totally passable, but it literally sounds like a man without a band. There's moments, sure, but...this doesn't feel like it's even a good representation of the band. It exists in the grunge/post-grunge grey area, but also lacks the the 90s emo aesthetic the SDRE members would bring once they joined, and those elements are important to the band's overall sound. Although I get it if you're looking for historical documentation of the post-grunge sound, but I don't even know if it's actually the correct historical document to point to (Live's "Throwing Copper" or even Bush's debut would be better inclusions over this for that purpose) Also, The Color and the Shape are *right fucking there*!! Not like it's a flawless album, but by comparison! Aside from "Big Me," this album is completely dismissible. I will forget about this record by tomorrow, which shows how important the next album is to the Foo Fighter's legacy.

Cools punks used "Reign in Blood" to get into metal; dorky punks used "Among the Living." I have always been a dorky punk, and I think this may be my favorite thrash album. If you were a preteen who liked comic books, Stephen King, and were a bit too politically informed for a middle schooler, you're going to like this album, even if you're now a full-on adult. I'm this album's target audience. My biggest gripes with it have always been the mixing being a bit muddy (your producer was right, guys), and that the songs are a bit too long, but that's more a critique with them being a thrash band instead of a punk band, which is a personal problem, and not a valid critique. This said, I don't think there's a bad song on here, it's just pieces of songs that I would rearrange, which is a testament that this is great if the critiques are mostly about personal preference. Easily my favorite thrash metal album.

Some killer, but no Thriller.

This feels somewhere between a DJ mix and a dated Golden Age Hip-Hop album. Clearly, the fact that it exists in that grey area is historically important, but the result is oddly boring. The growing pains of that innovation are evident. Even as a fan of both genres, early House can feel a bit repetitive, and early hip-hop flows can lack a bit of charisma while also feeling lyrically preachy. Combined here, during both genres' toddler years, the result is bit of a drag, sonically and intellectually, and requires a lot of active listening for something that isn’t actively engaging, at least not by modern standards. The length is certainly not a benefit, and the inclusion of cool jazz elements only ties an anchor to the album's foot. Now, most of this would be forgivable – this is one of the first albums to Do This™ sort of thing, after all – and even if I found it bland by today's standards, I'd have to respect it for setting up those standards. But all that goes out the window the second they're joined by their contemporary peers, who all sound so modern and fresh on the penultimate track. That alone basically negates any credibility I was about to give this album out of “respect.” The thing is, though, I really liked their debut when I was going through the Rolling Stone Top 200 Hip-Hop Albums list a year ago. Maybe because that album had clear standouts and obvious singles. And maybe that’s why this was included in the book over their debut; this is clearly meant to be an album-length statement. There’s brief glimpses of something like a single here and there, but those are cut off in favor of the DJ mix element, and I think that makes this inferior. I get the sense from some lyrics on this record that they were a bit bored by the idea of chart success, but "I'll House You" is miles above any highlight I could find here, and feels more historically important, too. Sure, this is also an important album, but important albums aren’t required listening if they're not enjoyable. And while none of it is ever technically bad even despite its age, sometimes I think being boring is a worse offense, especially when you’re supposed to have been the inventors of hip-house, a subgenre that's all about energy. If time mellows your art out to the point where you sound like the antithesis of your creative mission, then maybe you never achieved the original goal in the first place. I worry that sounds harsh, because again, my main complaint is that it's just a poorly-aged product of its time, but I physically cannot imagine anyone rating this highly if they never grew up listening to it when it came out.

It's incredibly hard to hate Dolly Parton, unless you're being nit-picky. If her voice doesn't charm you, you at least have to respect her skills, especially for the genre. Similar, even if you don't love the country-twang of the music, you can't deny the flawless talent of Nashville studio guns, and specifically with Dolly, it's hard to deny her skills as a pure songwriter. This is why Dolly has become one of maybe five exceptions to the phrase "I don't like country music." Personally, she was my main exception, at least until I actively worked to be less closed-minded, and while I still have difficulty being open to the genre (aside from female singers), I've never once had trouble with Dolly. She's just that good, and her music is truly captivating. All of Dolly's talents are on full display on this album. Her voice can be transcendent, especially when she sustains a note. The playing on here is out of this word, especially the bass/rhythm section. Most importantly, Dolly's songwriting is sharper than anything. Sure, the title track is great, but then there's the storytelling of "Traveling Man" that pulls you in like good gossip, or the grooving "Here I Am" that nods to stylistic changes to come, with its sonic breathing room that almost gives it a call-and-response record. "Early Morning Breeze" is like a country-fied Joni Mitchell, and "My Blue Tears" and "A Better Place to Live" just feel they'd inspire a small town bar sing-alone. You can bob you head to this, or you could sit with it like poetry – what more could you ask of music? I do feel like the main weak points here are the Porter Wagoner songs. Sure, they're still good, with great performances, but they all feel palpably backwards-looking, and it doesn't help that they slow the momentum of the record down in a way that isn't reflective like the title track, but more like, "Okay so the A&R said you need a ballad here, here, and here." On a 10-song record that's not even 30 minutes long, 3 only-great songs stand out. Those songs aside, there's very few slights you could give this album on face-value. In the context of Dolly's full career, though, I do think this is one of her weaker "classic records." Personally, I prefer "Jolene" or "Love is Like a Butterfly" overall, if only because they cut down Wagoner's influence a lot, or even "Here You Come Again" through her '80s output, though I accept that my love for those albums is more the taste of a queer Poptimist having fun and not listening with critical ears. Still, I think in some ways, there's a lot of hype around "Coat of Many Colors" as "the greatest country album" that makes me roll my eyes a bit, even against Dolly's own discography. But that should not in any way be misinterpreted to mean I dislike this album. In fact, I think if you were trying to sell country as a genre to anyone, this might be your most well-around example of everything the genre can offer. This is a lot of words all to say that Dolly Parton is a national treasure with a ton of great albums, and this is one of them.

This album proved 3 things to me: 1. The '90s were a decade of excess that ultimately harmed American society in ways that can still be felt today. This album is an excellent example. While this critique isn't really the album's fault directly, it's still a clear product of its time that can be used as a clear sign of trouble to come. 2. The Loudness Wars ruined music, but at least they started out with the worst offender first and got it out of the way. When the levels clip, these songs become almost unlistenable, even at a low volume. Why is the bass rattling? Why are soft guitar licks mind-numbing? Why do the cymbals sound like static? A remaster would fix this a lot, but then we'd still be faced with Point 3. 3. RHCP are burdened by the Prog Rock Band Dilemma™️. They're so talented that they struggle to hold it together 90% of the time. Like a gym rat who can't help but flex his arms when he's flirting with a girl at the bar while talking about the Joe Rogen Podcast – your muscles won't cover up your gross personality, no matter how impressive they are. Also like a gym bro, the RHCP are sexiest when they're just sitting there looking pretty. The ✨soft✨ songs like "Scar Tissue," "Otherside," "Californication," and "Porcelain" all stand the test of time, and while they do have small moments where you see through the sweetness and get the obnoxious musical jerk-offs, it's nowhere near as mind-numbingly insufferable to sit through as "Parallel Universe," "Get on Top," "I Like Dirt," or "Purple Stain." Normally, the juxtaposition of the annoying noodling songs with the pop crossover cuts would annoy me, but here, the latter serve as a much-needed breath of fresh air, especially on an album so long and exhausting. Hell, this album starts to overstay its welcome the instant Kiedis sings, "Ding, dang, dong, dong, deng, deng, dong, dong, ding, dang," with full sincerity. In fact, Kiedis sings some of the most stupid, inane lyrics I've ever heard. His lyrics are almost more annoying than the flashy playing, honestly. This album is maybe the beginning of the end for rock music as popular culture. I think it should be included in the book not because it's essential listening, but because it's a sign of the end. Sure, it was insanely popular at the time, but that popularity is a Faustian curse. Few other pure rock albums since have gone on to achieve Californication's level of success, and all the other examples I can think of are more niche, or equally braindead. In a way, this was the future RHCP's vision of music always predicted, adding too much rock to soul/funk and adding too much groove to rock to the point where neither sound reflected its point of origin when they played it. When you do that, you essentially kill the genre you're trying to actually exist within. And while RHCP aren't the only suspects in the murder of the genre (U2, Coldplay, even Gorillaz and the White Stripes, or arguably Arctic Monkeys and Imagine Dragons today, who are both trying to raise Rockism from its hospice care deathbed), this album encapsulates all the red flags into one time capsule. Californication is mostly a so-chaotic-it's-forgettable slog of tracks freshened up by a handful of decent gold nuggets of moderate value. But this is not the gold rush, it's the bottom of the barrel, and the only reason we're holding onto the nuggets here as a culture is because they're some of the last ones we'll ever see.

It's motherfucking Prince, arguably my favorite artist of all time. From his self-titled album up through Love Symbol, I'd argue that even a bad Prince song would be anyone else's best. Therefore, there's no such thing as a bad Prince album. It's all down to personal preference. And Sign "☮︎" the Times is a matter of preference. I've always felt like this is a Critic album, not a Fan album; it's boundary-pushing, expansive, and indulgent – all qualities critics fawn over when executed by the darling du jour who already has multiple classics under their belt. Personally, I always find these types of albums exhausting. They become instantly dated, because they use too many "new" sounds, which make them experimental for the era but old-fashioned a few years later. They're long-winded, which means more great material to mull over upon release, but the cream rises from these albums over time and become the only worthwhile pieces. They're too much of a good thing, and they often engage the egos of artists with already-huge egos, and it makes the music embarrassing over time. To me, Sign "☮︎" the Times has all of these flaws. Songs like "Housequake" and "It's Gonna Be A Beautiful Night" are pretty unexciting by today's standards. There's a lot of only-great songs here – "Hot Thing," "U Got The Look," "Strange Relationship" – and I sincerely think this would've been his best if it was only a single disc. (Again, personal preference; I dislike most double albums). And there's moments where Prince is at his most...Prince, and not in the gender-bending, sex-icon sense, but more in the moralism, the religiosity, and even the playing. The title track is easily the worst offender, but also it's there on "The Cross," though better executed, or the extended outro sections of "Playing in the Sunshine," or the molasses build of "It's Gonna Be A Beautiful Night." Yet despite this, there are tons of high points on this album, which, given the amount of sheer material on this thing, is impressive. "The Ballad of Dorothy Parker" is easily my favorite Prince song, and songs like "It," If I Were Your Girlfriend," "I Could Never Take The Place of Your Man," "Starfish And Coffee," and "Adore" are all career highlights. Career highlights from a man who has an entire decade dedicated to career highlights. Again, a bad Prince song is still another musician's greatest achievement, and so a messy double album is still a great album. If someone argued this was their favorite Prince album to me, I'd get it completely. Because this is an excellent album, just not flawless to me. But flawed Prince is still incredible and iconic, so this remains required listen.

This is a fun little 2-for-1 package: a greatest hits album and a live album! It's a shame that there's no proper Thin Lizzy album in the book, because they're great, but their strengths are on full display here. And really, there's a lot of strengths seen throughout Live And Dangerous. Amazing playing, breakneck speed, raw power, and charisma off the charts. Not only on the singles – although the high-tier songwriting is even clearer in these live renditions for songs like "Jailbreak," "The Boys Are Back in Town," and "Still in Love with You" – but also on the more unique deep cuts, these hard rock gems that only pimple-faced, dorky stoner boys would've known at the time. I think the combination of fast, face-melting playing and Lynott's stage presence are the backbone of this album, and make its live show runtime feel tolerable for not being in the crowd proper. Still, I think there's two glaring issues. The first is Lizzy's more prog-adjacent tendencies; songs like "Emerald," and "Johnny the Fox Meets Jimmy the Weed" are...exhausting? Nerdy? Embarrassing? Choose your adjective, I just find that they drag the vibe down from cool to chess club real quick. I'd also argue that Side D, while a great capturing of the essence of a live show, starts to wear thin on me, and makes me recognize that the album is probably overstaying it's welcome. But those negatives are minor when compared to the energy displayed here, even if largely overdubbed. It's a great live album and I'd gladly listen to these renditions over the original recordings moving forward.

Inevitably, there will be albums in this challenge that not only push me outside my comfort zone, but beyond my depth of knowledge and comprehension. The New Tango is the first album I've encountered so far that makes me feel this way. I know nothing about Tango, so how could I begin to appropriately appreciate the New Tango? If this were still 2009 and my 1997 Toyota Corolla stick-shift was still kicking, and I had this stuck in the CD player connected to the tape deck until I bothered to pry it out, I could see this growing on me. There's clear talent on display here, that's obvious. The more this leans into jazz, the more I enjoy it. Burton's talents as a vibraphonist are captivating, and "Vibraphonissimo" is a clear stand-out. I also like the energy of "Nuevo Tango," which is where I think Piazzolla brings the biggest jazz influence for himself. However, the rest of this album feels dependent on either a smooth jazz element or classical elements. And I’m as unfamiliar with those sounds as I am the tango. And maybe it’s my unfamiliarity with those genres, but the whole thing felt very melodramatic in a way I find disengaging and uninteresting. The fact that these moments eclipse the avant-garde, the jazz, and even the virtuosity of Piazzolla and Burton both, as well as the backing band, feels like noteworthy sticking points. Even the violin is louder in the mix than Piazzolla, which feels counterintuitive. I wonder, if I were to see a video of this performance, would I be swayed? Do I just need to revisit this later? I sat with this for a few days, trying to revisit it and feeling unable to ever feel the desire to even want to examine it and sink my teeth in, and I think that’s the root of my issue with this album. It’s not that I don’t understand its importance or its compositional brilliance, it’s just that, really, this is not the sort of album I enjoy. It’s not one I’d revisit aside from trying to continue to “get it,” but it also seems like it’s not the album that’s going to sway me to enjoy this style of music any time soon, though it does as much as I think any album could to get me to the line. But here I am, still at the line, and my honest reaction is apathy and respect, nothing more.

There's a spiritual nature to Isaac Hayes' records that just leave me floored every time, contemplating conversion to Scientology, and Hot Buttered Soul might be the best example of that. It's ironic that I already played this independently from the challenge earlier this week, because it'd been a while since I listened to it in full, and it really is *that* good. I used to listen to it while writing college papers, because it's excellent background vibe music, but you can also fully engage with it and find something new and rewarding to fixate on. You could argue that the track length, detail, and the singularity of this album are a sort of Achilles Heel, as they're strengths to the album proper but weaknesses if you want a more casual listen, but I wouldn't. No other 18-minute song in the history of recorded music makes me sit my ass down faster. The fact that 75% of this album is cover songs is crazy, because this is cohesive as hell, an Artistic Statement™️ if I've ever seen one. While I think it may be just outside my personal Top 100, there's a magic to this record that I can't deny. It's essential to a whole half of American music history in a way that I can't understate, and it holds all the allure I'm sure it did upon release 55 years ago.

Doing both too much and not enough simultaneously.

To write and release an album this harrowing, this deeply painful, so palpably learned and lived in, drawn from knowledge so obviously acquired from terrifying experience after terrifying experience, all before the age of 20, you have to understand one thing – womanhood is a petrifying risk, and the path to the summit via girlhood is a cliffside walk all the way up. But even the hauntings along the way can be genuinely gorgeous under the right, delicate light. Fiona Apple knows how to cast that light just before the beauty wilts. Every song here, from the sparsest piano ballad to the most orchestrated pop single, blurs the line between sensual and eerie, mixing dark lyrics delivered in a whisper across a variety of old-school pop and jazz aesthetics. It sounds like they were plucked out of the tradition, or like they've always been here. But only Fiona could've made these exact tunes, modern but universal, designed to pull tears to your feet. This is just one excellent example in a discography filled with multiple examples that only overshadow this record because, again, she was a teenager when she wrote these; a part of me doesn't care that I think "The Child Is Gone" and "Pale September" are only good, because I still am in awe of them, along with everything else here. This is music so emotional, words can't describe the tears, so it's better to just listen for yourself and bear witness.

When the guy with mismatched shoes outside the 7-11 who’s always talking about alien abductions and government conspiracies hands you a blunt that looks dripping wet and suddenly, starts to make a lot of sense.

There’s a such thing as having too many ideas at once. I’m normally a fan of this era of turn-of-the-‘90s pop that blended hip-hop, dance, r&b, and synth-pop into a chaotic soup, but normally, all those artists either had a) a standout hit with a couple supposed-to-be minor hits [because most were one-hit wonders], and/or b) a dominant genre they fit within, where they used all the other genre aesthetics as textures to their sound. This album doesn’t have either: “Buffalo Stance” charted, but it is really difficult to imagine how or why with today’s ears; meanwhile, the rest of the album is just an onslaught of different of-the-era sounds, all of which are done poorly for the time, and sound worse together today. I see the appeal of Neneh Cherry on paper, especially for 1989, a year of changing tides and potential, but the execution is subpar. It’s not bad in a campy way, either, it’s just deeply forgettable. I guess it’s valuable to see how weird pop music was at this time, but there’s better reference points than this.

One Direction’s “Midnight Memories” for Boomers – two timeless singles and then boardroom-crafted teenybopper filler. Actually, scratch that, because I like the 1D album better overall, and both "A Hard Days Night" and "Can't Buy Me Love" are low-tier Beatles singles, even for the first half of their career. Important for what the Beatles became, sure, but it's the least essential original material in their whole discography, in my opinion. At least the film is actually fun.

Elvis Costello made emo/pop-punk albums before those genre labels existed. As a grown-up emo/pop-punk girly, I am the target audience for Elvis Costello. Great record with only a couple missteps, big fan!!

At first I was going to be a bitch and roast this – and to be fair, it does start off on a very unappealing and difficult foot – but as it went on and with a few more listens, I warmed up to it a lot. It’s far from the most interesting no wave/industrial music ever, and I think a lot of the ideas for its strange, dark cabaret elements work better on paper than on wax, but it’s ambitious and animalistic and chaotic, which was 100% the goal and they definitely achieved it. Personally preferred the more straight-forward metal tracks, but I still respect the weird musique concrète tracks a lot. With a little bit of an open-mind, this is pretty enjoyable, especially if you like heavy music, experimental music, or both. It’s not going into instant heavy rotation if only because I have some semblance of sanity, but it’s a cool discovery that I wouldn’t have found without this challenge, which is pretty cool I think!!

I've always felt that Radiohead is sonic Ambien, with the lyrical depth of a teenage stoner and the experimental depth of said teenager's father when he's pickin' up that ol' six-string. This album is proof that I'm not just a hater. And I'm kind of disappointed, because it started out a bit more energetic and emotive! But alas, by track 3, my eyes glazed over, like they almost always do when I listen to Radiohead, and it was all downhill from there.

I was already being actively sold on this album as soon as I put it on, annoyed that I had somehow avoided it in my youth despite it being an obvious and known influence on the Midwest emo and 2000s pop-punk bands I loved at 17. Then "Androgynous" came on, and my nonbinary transfemme ass just started sobbing. Shout out to these drunk punks for being allies in 1984 😭💛🤍💜🖤😭 And shout out to them for being the first hardcore band to break the mold in a way that's actually cool while still making a killer hardcore record!! I'd ask "where has this been all my life," but I'm just ecstatic it's in my life now. Brand new favorite album, will be playing it into the ground for years to come.

This one’s hard for me, because I like Bob Dylan, but I don’t think I love Bob Dylan. I understand him as a poet, as a folk artist, as an important contributor to the American Music Tradition™️. There are plenty of Dylan songs that I enjoy, lyrically, intellectually, emotionally in my bones. There’s also a lot of Dylan songs that I hate – the more band-oriented, the abstract, the allegorical, and worst of all, the long-winded. Blood on the Tracks has both of these Dylans. Not to an exhaustive degree – in fact, it’s probably an even split of the two – but it’s just enough of a 50/50 divide that I’m torn. The raw songs that return him to his roots, like “Tangled up in Blue,” You’re Gonna Make Me Lonesome When You Go,” and “If You See Her, Say Hello” really hit me, even though I’m not going through a divorce or anything. And I think this album benefits from the fact that it starts very strong, and it ends pretty strong. But then there’s this middle section of longer songs, filled with allegory and abstraction and meandering Dylan-isms, and it just drags me down, and it takes me out. “Idiot Wind” and “Lily, Rosemary and the Jack of Hearts” are the worst offenders by far, but I’m also only okay with “You’re a Big Girl Now” and “Meet Me in the Morning,” and the actual closer, “Buckets of Rain,” is a bit too much of a wallflower for my taste. And I understand why these songs are the way they are, why they’re on this record, and the purpose they serve, but they just do nothing for me. I’m struggling to imagine if this record could grow on me. Dylan can have that effect. It also feels like a record where I’ll always revisit certain tracks, but rarely the album in full. But then again, the elements I dislike have always been the elements I dislike about Dylan. In the end, I think I’m slightly beyond neutral (a 3.5; this is where the 5 star rating system falls apart, at least at a glance), but not far enough to say I’m fully on board with it, at least not yet.

Theater kid music (derogatory) Very well done for what it is, no doubt, but a tedious chore to actually listen to unless you have a brain full of Sondheim songs.

For background music I'm only supposed to hear while I'm in line at TSA, it sure did trigger a mini existential crisis. Honestly, I just can't believe the goofy little gremlin who made Here Come the Warm Jets also made this gorgeous ambient album. Like, the range!!! Full transparency, though, I think Music for Airports is one of those albums where a star rating feels inappropriate. It's kind of removed from pop music criticism. I'm not going to actively listen to this all the time, but I do thoroughly enjoy it, and I will definitely listen to it passively. But it's also not an album that I'm meant to "enjoy" by definition; it's an artistic statement, closer to a composition than a pop album. That also means it's a bit unstuck from time, and places Eno in the lineage of your Bachs and your Beethovens and your Mozarts, not in line with his contemporary rock/pop peers. At the end of the day, though, this is a gorgeous album, a genuine work for art, and essential listening that I really enjoyed, and I'll be using this as my writing background music moving forward.

I went into this expecting sonic torture, but like…this is really good??? And fun?!?! It makes me want to have a woman with excessive lip filler sit on my lap while I drink a piña colada and imagine Ms. Lip Filler is my ex-wife who left with the kids 5 years ago today, and, simultaneously, it also makes me want to lean over the bar and bat my lashes at a man until he comes over and asks what I’m drinking and I make him order a Sex on the Beach just to hear him say, “Sex on the Beach,” while he tries to nonchalantly move his hand down my waist. Hotel California is just sleaze in its totality – as light-hearted fun, as a deep and dark sadness. It feels like flipping through a guest ledger of a Motel 8 in a beach town on a cold January afternoon. Sometimes it’s a bit self-indulgent and on the nose, but for the most part, it’s virtuoso without being too serious, and a sincere depiction of a time and place. After actually listening to it, I just think it became overplayed and that its time and place got a reputation as a result. But don’t let that fool you, because this is an excellent album, through and through. Not flawless (I am clearly not living “Life in the Fast Lane”), but pretty damn close. Also, Providence, Rhode Island got a shoutout, so it’s an instant love, in my eyes.

Always had a problem with this record, to be honest. It’s good, don’t get me wrong, but I think it’s severely overhyped. Obviously the lyrics are as pointed as they are on any PE album, and the production is great, but compared to the rest of their discography? I just don’t see how you can listen to Fear of a Black Planet and still say you prefer It Takes a Nation, because the follow-up improves on this album in every way. That doesn’t discredit this album’s influence, but a lot of influential hip-hop records get discredited all the time because they became “instantly dated.” And a lot of elements here are very, very dated: the DJ mix vibe, the turntable/interlude tracks, the BPM, the song length, Flavor Flav’s role as a hypeman, etc. Even some of the lyrical critiques feel very 1988 [“Channel Zero” especially], and while politics go out of fashion quick, they shouldn’t feel this stale on a supposedly “timeless” album. It’s not bad, and I get that it inevitably has to be here, because I know contextually it meant a lot. I just think it doesn’t deserve the hype as the genre’s pinnacle when it’s not even the best PE record.

I think music like this is reallyyyy hard to rate and critique with modern ears. Does it sound good? Absolutely, and that puts it leagues above other contemporaneous records. But is the music listenable to modern ears? Not particularly. This sort of big band jazz has been regulated to a certain type of cocktail bar/coffee shop/mid-tier Italian restaurant, and unless you’re trying to throw a try-hard dinner party, there’s very little reason to listen to this type of music. It never feels timeless, or even exceptional. It’s just “good for what it is,” and that’s extremely boring and forgettable to my modern ears. And I like it, but I’m not going to go out of my way to ever actively listen to it, either. I wonder if there’s maybe a better Ray Charles album to include on this list, because this is not doing much for me, even if it’s good for what it is.

Call me crazy, but I don’t think the local bar band should’ve let the barfly sing with them while he’s actively blacking out. At least they’re a tolerable bar band, even though, based on their blues-heavy riffing, I know the other patrons would try to hate crime me if I tried to get myself my usual fruity little drink.

It really catches you while it’s in a rough spot. The mix is strange, the playing feels out of sync, and it starts out with a pretty obvious rip-off of the “Light My Fire” keyboard riff. You just know these guys are C+ musicians at best. When the vocals came in, I immediately went, “Oof, that’s a choice for this dude to sing.” And so, Side A continues on as a messy, mediocre, forgettable slog. This isn't atypical for particular this era of psychedelic 🌼Flower Power🌸 drivel, but this is notably bad. I do get how the fuzz guitars and organ sounds can add a little ✨something something✨, but it’s not done well enough to even feel influential. In fact, I’m hearing a lot of flubbed notes throughout. In many ways, this is the quintessential $1 record, or worse, one thrown into the basement stacks, meant to be forgotten forever. And then the title track comes on. And like, it doesn’t need to be 17 minutes long, but it works. Despite the musicians behind it, it works. It doesn’t save this album or validate it or elevate it to the status of an essential piece of art to listen to before you die, but it saves it from an eternity of basement mildew by giving it something worthwhile. Unfortunately it’s not worthwhile enough to make it worth anything close to legitimate praise.

I notoriously dislike the Beatles, and I believe every song on Abbey Road is as close to “objectively perfect” as you can get in music. Yes, including “Maxwell's Silver Hammer.”

Sometimes, there’s nothing much to say about an album. It’s fine. It’s relaxing. It’s jazz. It’s solid. They’re all great players. The organ tone is cool. It’s not inventive, but it’s not offensive, but that’s also not much of a compliment. It’s fine. Cool, I guess? It’s not an album that stands out in your mind once it’s finished, and while it’s never bad, that fact alone brings it down a peg for me, because if I won’t remember it next week, it shouldn’t be in the book, especially a book that excluded so many jazz classics from this era.

The contemporary praise for this is astounding, and made me anticipate one of the most jaw-dropping albums ever. Instead, I got Portishead Lite™️, with some bland rapping that draws from ‘80s American pop-rap. It’s serviceable, but not at all memorable, except when it moves away from trip-hop and/or is lyrically crass for…the sake of commentary, I think?? There’s a reason no one has heard of this unless they were alive and/or living in the UK in the mid ‘90s.

The world knows this is two solo albums fused together in an effort to boost sales and not piss off hip-hop heads, so you have to take the sum of each part. To Big Boi: A good but never great first solo effort. He’s always been a great rapper with great classic tastes, but often those tastes feel derivative, not expansive, and that is very much the case here. It has its moments, but even at its height — “The Way You Move” — it’s never exceptional. Worse, Big Boi shines in comparison to other rappers, which is why he’s shined post-Outkast on his features, not in his solo albums, where there’s just…too much of him. The biggest issue is that this sounds distinctly 2003/2004 with its cluttered, everything-and-the-kitchen-sink production style, which doesn’t help its case when it wasn’t particularly unique even for its time. It’s also way too long, which is, again, clutter. It’s never horrible, but it’s never special, either, except in how dated/annoying it can be stylistically. 3/5 To André: Doing everything can certainly prove a point, but that doesn’t mean you *should* have done everything, because sometimes it can distract from the point entirely. There are soooo many ideas here that I would adore with some hard editing, and/or even the balanced addition of a Big Boi verse. I know this has been compared to Prince a lot, but even at his most ambitious, Prince stuck to a style, and that’s The Love Below’s biggest issue – it has no singular vision. (Ironic, given that Speakerboxxx’s main issue is that it has too narrow of a sonic vision.) It goes from R&B to rap to jazz like an undiagnosed kid in a candy store. And the lyrics are equally childish, especially from a Top 5 Dead or Alive Rapper who’s known first and foremost for his pen game. I can’t rate it too poorly because it does include “Roses” and “Hey Ya!,” but even a couple all-timer songs aren’t herculean enough to save this mess, even with the midpoint boost from some fine but not good neo soul tracks that still suffer from André’s excessive horniness. Speakerboxxx may be monotonous, but The Love Below is a chore, and that’s a greater offense. Some think this messy sort of chaos means the album was ahead of its time, which it isn’t, it’s extremely dated, but ignoring that, it feels like an artist burning out in real time, and time has kinda proven that narrative true. The man literally became a jazz flutist, which is cool, but maybe that’s the direction of someone who’s done all he can do in the pop realm. Based solely off of The Love Below, it seems like all he could do was “Roses” and “Hey Ya!” Which is still better than most of us can do, but I don’t need the rest of the mess to get to the diamonds. In conclusion: if a sample of Aaliyah’s “Age Ain’t Nothing But a Number” makes me want to listen to THAT R. Kelly apologist song instead of your song just so I can be listening to Aaliyah instead of you, then you’re doing something wrong. But hey, cool jazz cover of “My Favorite Things.” 1.5/5 OutKast has always been greater than the sum of its parts. I get how this ended up on this list based off sheer popularity, but it’s bad representation. Still, the sum of the parts here result in the same feeling the whole gives me – a couple great singles from two people who can’t work with or without each other, making one feel numb and the other feel manic, making me feel respectively apathetic and exhausted.

In my experience, fans of The Rolling Stones tend to be really vocal defenders of “what rock and roll used to be,” and really vocal crusaders against, “the shit they play on the radio now.” No one likes these people, but they all seem to like The Rolling Stones. I never really knew why, but their attitude alone convinced me to avoid the Stones at all cost. After listening to the traditionalist wankery of Beggars Banquet for the first — and probably last — time in my life, I now know why those people all really like The Stones.

A great introduction to Fela Kuti and Afrobeat. It’s an upbeat genre, despite the fact that Kuti instills a lot of political messaging into it, which is obvious even from the song titles alone, but that contrast really works. It’s hard not to groove along to this, and the energy and charisma are intoxicating. The inclusion of Ginger Baker on the back half does a lot to ~dumb down~ the rhythms for a Western audience, but honestly, I prefer Tony Allen’s playing on his own. Honestly, Baker’s inclusion brings this down a notch, because it feels purposefully introductory. And frankly, those back half Westernized tracks feel a bit boring toward their end. And I’m not even talking about the drum solo, which is just nerd shit, anyway. Not that I didn’t also use this as an introduction, but now that I’m revisiting it, I can see why it’s both essential if you’re new to Afrobeat/African music, and inessential once your ears get tuned. But it’s great because Kuti is great – he has like 4 or 5 grade-A classics under his belt, excluding this album. And the fact that this is still great on top of that proves his power as a songwriter and band leader. A great listen regardless!

Johnny Cash does excellent stage banter + a couple pretty good songs.

Master craftsmanship, but not particularly compelling. Most of this is sappy Boomer Mom balladry, which is fine and even great sometimes. “When We Were Young,” “Love in the Dark,” and “All I Ask” are all standouts within this style, but even at their best, these songs don’t particularly feel relistenable to me. There’s not many situations I’m in where I’d put this on, unless I’m going through a nasty divorce, run into my high school ex during our 25 year reunion, or my spouse died, which is all odd because those are not topics a 25 year old should being writing songs about. I’m not against Adult Contemporary, but I would love something ~else~ from Adele. There’s glimpses of that here when the producers Wall of Sound the ballad model and add a backbeat – “Send My Love” and “Water Under the Bridge” are the best examples – but even those moments are more Wine Mom Pop than actual pop music. They’re the standouts of 25, but they’re not standards of Adele’s catalog, or even of music in general in 2015. I just found this whole listening experience strange, because I do like half this album. Just as a whole, it doesn’t ever stand out as something special. I honestly think it comes down to a sequencing issue – all the bare ballads are lumped together on Side B, all the orchestral songs are lumped together in the middle, and the most contemporary sounding songs are lumped together on Side A. The songs meant to break up this tonal monotony are all the stinkers off 25. Plus, the album opener and album closer should have been reversed. It’s just sequenced incorrectly, and it feels like there’s no variety as a result. But also, 11 songs are not enough to give any album range, especially an Adele album, where she seems to stick to one very rigid and outdated sound. As it stands, though, 25 is a draining, drab, dull, bore ride. In the end, I’m left feeling like 25 is 100% inessential, no matter how well it was made or how well it sold. If Dimery truly thought this album was essential, he’d have added a Michael Bolton album, a Celine Dion album, a Cher album, and an early-era Mariah album – aka other Adult Contemporary albums. But none of those albums are on here, while Adele is, based only on sales alone, and it’s obvious that’s the case. Just because something is all over the bargain bin, that doesn’t make it essential listening; in fact, normally, it’s the opposite.

In my eyes, this album has only two flaws: 1. Choosing to name a song “Skidmarks On My Heart.” (Even though it’s one of my favorite songs here.) 2. Not being able to time travel and including “Vacation,” which I now know is unfortunately on their second album. If it had been on here, though, I’d have rated this 6 stars. I just adore bratty cheerleader punk, and Beauty and the Beat is the blueprint for that entire aesthetic. Crazy that I haven’t heard this before. New favorite album, and a perfect Warm Weather Record™️.

I don’t know if Simon & Garfunkel ever made a flawless album together, but Bookends is as close as they got. There’s a real sense of an Album-with-a-capital-A going on, with the orchestration and seamless transitions, with the concept narrative and high production value. The issue is that Capital-A-Albums mean songs/interludes that work in context, but not on their own. Plus, personally, I think this swooning version of S&G isn’t my preferred version of the boys; I like them quainter, a bit closer to their roots in the scene, and a little less purposefully shooting for high-brow. Still, I just love these two pretentious, precious boys dearly, so yeah, I’m a fan of Bookends.

I’ve always struggled with Kind of Blue, mainly because I think I’ve always preferred my jazz to be loud and obviously experimental. Knowing that, I really tried to walk into this listen with an open mind, some prior research on modal jazz, and some timestamp explanations to follow along with so I can actively know what I’m actually listening to in real time. And it really, really helped! Kind of Blue is rarely overt in its experimentation; it’s no Giant Steps or The Shape of Jazz to Come or even Bitches Brew. On face value, it sounds almost cliché, like music your grandparents would listen to, and sure, it’s undeniably pretty, but if you don’t gravitate toward pretty music, Kind of Blue can be an initially/superficially boring listen. But after learning exactly what is going on here moment-to-moment, it all clicked into place, and during my second listen, I could finally see the experimental patterns landscaped by Davis and Co. throughout this record. And also, it IS just an incredibly pretty, gorgeous, flowery album. The ballads do a lot to give that impression, but I also think “Freddie Freeloader” sets a similar tone, if not an adjacent mood. My preferred tracks here are still the most ✨jazz✨ tracks, with the obviously modal solos in “So What,” which are more clear once you know what that means, and the stuttering dissonant clash of “All Blue.” It’s still not going to be my go-to jazz album, but I’m definitely on board now with this being important, not just because other people say it’s important, but because I can *hear* why it’s important, and I'll gladly be listening to this more frequently now!

I walked into Dirt expecting to love it – grunge that teeters on the brink of alt-metal? Sign me up! – but in practice, it’s just the template for every post-grunge pseduo-sad but still masculine band from 2002 that got too much airplay on Hard Rock/Real Rock™️ radio throughout the 2000s, indirectly ruining radio as a whole. While AIC ekes out above those guys, it’s not by much. There’s cool tonal elements here and a couple excellent songs (“Them Bones,” “Dirt,” and “Would?” – all notably the opener, midpoint, and closer), but there’s a LOT more songs that are only “pretty good.” They play around so much with tempo and style changes that my ears can never really catch the groove, literally or figuratively, and a lot of the layered guitar work feels tacked on, especially for the solos. And boy, does it overstay its welcome. Not at all the record I expected, and frankly, while it’s perfectly fine, I’m left a bit saddened by how underwhelming this felt. If you want dark and grimy, listen to actual sludge metal, and if you want something more uptempo, listen to any other grunge band. You won’t regret listening to Dirt, sure, but you’d find more substance by listening to others instead. This is just trying to have too much of both lanes, and becomes a master of none as a result.

I wish I liked this album more than I did, but aside from the obvious bulldozer of a title track, I found this record oddly boring. I could say the tracks were way too long, that there’s a little too much ‘80s-era synth experimentation, or even that there’s very little material here with hit potential, but that’s not what struck me as odd, because I typically like new wave despite these issues. Really, Sweet Dreams just gave me the sense that Eurythmics are a Greatest Hits band. So, in a strange twist, this boring, mid-level new wave album with one stellar song and a couple decent but forgettable cuts made me explore more of their discography, and I discovered that, while their next 3 albums are all better than Sweet Dreams, Eurythmics are, in fact, a Greatest Hits band. That said, Annie Lennox’s Diva? Pretty fucking great! Should be in the book over Sweet Dreams, easily.

David Foster Wallace ruined an entire generation of middle-class white men. But at least this has a groove that prevents it from ever becoming as annoying as it sounds like it would be on paper.

When I was a pop punk obsessed preteen in 2005, you were either a fan of American Idiot or From Under the Cork Tree. I stood staunchly in the latter camp, and even deep into my teens, defended my stance against this era of Green Day. Listening to it now as an adult, I admit my wrongs! I still replay a lot of the emo classics, as any Elder Emo does, but very few actually hold up beyond nostalgia, and even then, “hold up” is a loose term. American Idiot, on the other hand, really does hold up! The production is incredibly tight, and sounds excellent and fresh to this day. The musicianship is top-notch, and it’s even more evident now how their elder-statesmanship helped them stand out at that time. And for a lofty concept album, it’s rarely a boring or pretentious listen, where 8 minute songs rarely feel longer than 4 minutes, and the energy is also there, even during the somber moments. And now, with maturity and the hindsight of time, the political critique feels especially on point, and maybe even works better today. I’d say there’s a handful of critiques to throw at this. The amount of slurs is a bit of a dicey minefield, and even looking beyond the short-sighted Conservative BS of Political Correctness blah blah blah, it does feel counterintuitive to the point being made; at the same time, punk has a history of white men saying slurs to be subversive and then realizing in retrospect that that was a dumb move and distracted from the message, and I think that’s the case here too. I would also say the fact that tracks are glued together as single tracks is dumb, but that’s a very specific streaming-era critique that feels almost ahistorical; sure, it annoys me today, but during the CD era, it would’ve only annoyed me when/if I was trying to make a mixed CD. Finally, I think Tré Cool should never sing ever again, but it *is* only for a moment and during a medley, so it’s forgivable. These critiques are not enough to bring this album down from its height. The only reason I hated this in 2005 was because I thought calling something pretentious and hating it made me smarter. I’m now an adult and know that’s an equally pretentious move. I have ears. I love pop punk. I always have, and I always will. And while my favorite pop punk/emo albums were solidified a decade ago, from a critical perspective, this is a high-water mark for pop punk and a crucial listen, especially today.

How do you rate an album that was formative to your tastes, but that you rarely revisit any more? I’ve had a really hard time trying to gather my thoughts on The Low End Theory. It was the second hip-hop CD I ever bought, right after Ready to Die. I know this album like the back of my hand. Once I started to drive, it was the one CD that never left the CD changer. It was maybe the first album where I had to research what the lyrics meant, because the references were to things that happened 2 years before I was even born, and also because I am very white. Along with DatPiff, it’s probably the reason why I was actively on the hip-hop blogs in the late 2000s. As an introduction to hip-hop, this album taught me not only to love the genre, but *how* to love the genre. It shaped my teenage love for backpacker hip-hop, and also nudged me toward jazz before my ears were probably even ready for that genre. It is the definition of a 101 Course on hip-hop, and remains the best example to throw to someone who “likes everything but rap and country.” But I’ve grown a lot since then. I still love hip-hop as much as ever, and I listen to basically all of its subgenres, from modern cloud rap and trap to Golden Age to Bling era 2000s rap. And I like a *lot* of “conscious hip-hop,” both classic and modern. But something about this album on a relisten rubbed me the wrong way. 
Objectively, it’s good – Tip and Phife are excellent rappers, with strong pens and great flows. The beats hit, the features are cool, and the style of mixing jazz with hip-hop still sounds modern, even if the mixing feels a bit quiet for my loudness war ears. There are some standout songs – “Buggin’ Out,” “Jazz,” and “Scenario,” plus “Skypager” as a personal fav. So why the hesitation? Maybe it’s the fact that the mere existence of the unlistenable, homophobic “Georgie Porgie” gives this record a certain stink that makes me realize maybe it’s not as socially aware as it claims to be. But critiquing an album for a song that isn’t there is dumb. Maybe it’s all the inside baseball talk about the music business, which feels very lame and very omnipresent when compared to the less-frequent but more impactful story-telling songs like “Butter” or “The Infamous Date Rape.” Maybe it’s the fact that Q-Tip gets over 20% of this record all to himself, which feels…egotistical, and kinda weird? Maybe it’s the built-in censorship, and while I know it had to happen to get Ron Carter’s immaculate bass playing, it still feels a bit holier than thou. And that’s maybe the issue. The Low End Theory just feels…preachy now??? Like, I got into rap too early to get on the “rap is crap” train and complain about its vulgarness, which is all based in racism, internalized or externalized, but there’s a sheltered nature here that The Low End Theory can appeal to, especially to white listeners. It feels deep and complex, and in some ways, it is, and on some tracks, it is, but it’s also not *that* deep, and has some complex problems baked in. And acknowledging those issues doesn’t make it a bad album, or even unlistenable, but it also brings it down a notch from the canonized pedestal I placed it on when I was 12. Because I think sometimes it’s totally fine to think an album is good, great even, and still feel like you’ve outgrown it. Besides, Midnight Marauders and We got it from Here… are both better albums, easily, and I stand by that statement because they’re both still heavily in my listening rotation, while The Low End Theory just isn’t.

I want to be kinder, because for a Made for TV band, it's pretty impressive that they even got to make their own thing. But, also, maybe they were a Made for TV band for a reason.

Possibly the first hardcore album to “not be a hardcore album,” whatever that means, but it’s definitely a very ✨music critic✨ move to pick this over the more traditional hardcore record everyone in the scene actually likes. And when compared to Los Angeles, this is just bland psychobilly with absolutely no edge. And I don’t even enjoy Los Angeles!! Wild Gift does have a couple solid songs — all songs where Exene is given more space to do her thing — but by the end of its short run, it all blended together, and even the good stuff fell into the background. And that’s why I really can’t say I’ll ever revisit this. I’m so confused by this book’s taste in hardcore, and I know it’s going to make it look like I hate punk music in the end because Dimery keeps picking inessential/bad hardcore albums. Ugh!!

This style of music really went out of fashion way too fast. I know it's ephemeral, but there's something about it that makes me so giddy and teleports me back to being a teenage girl talking with my friends on the kitchen phone about nothingness while my Mom pretends not to listen. And I was doing that almost exactly 50 years after this came out! Also, I really, really like this style of production. Everything sounds crisp. Those drums? Ugh, my god, so good! Also that guitar sound. And those harmonies are tight as hell. I do think A Date with... is still a bit too ephemeral, and doesn’t stick with me as much as I would like/as much as other teen pop from this era. Still, this is leagues above the copycat shit The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, and all the British Invasion boy bands were doing only three or four years after this, so for that alone it deserves praise.

What the fuck did these lads put in my tobacco tin and why am I kinda okay with it?!?!?!?!?! 🫨💨🌀🌛😵‍💫

I like what I like, and I like stupid but strangely introspective pop-punk bands. I’m more surprised that I like it done by these Mad Lads, because often UK-isms prove to be a barrier for me, but I guess my love for pop punk clearly supersedes everything else. Not like this is flawless, life-changing, or even essential, arguably. But what pop punk album is?

Poor, poor Brian Wilson. I feel like this album suffers under the weight of its legend. Had it come out in ‘67, it truly may have been one of the greatest albums ever made. It didn’t, though, not in the way Wilson intended. And this version isn’t the album he intended to put out, either. This is still a rough listen, though, because you can so clearly hear *what* the vision was here, but time hasn’t been kind to Wilson, and the weight of his tragedies are so evident in every note. Listen, though. It’s still essentially a Beach Boys record, and I love The Beach Boys, so I didn’t hate anything here. And there’s moments on Smile where the skies part and the colors become more vibrant and you start to hear one of the greatest albums ever made. Unfortunately, those moments are too infrequent and very fleeting. There’s also a lot more fun moments of silly inversions of school yard songs and nursery rhymes, and you chuckle and find it endearing, but your joy feels a bit forced, because it sounds like Wilson is forcing a smile, and what you’re actually hearing is a wince. And maybe that’s the point, sure, but in this version, I think it’s really, really hard to listen to it without the knowledge of all the years between its conception and the actual release date of the music. And that’s the biggest issue — this is a record full of hindsight, and that hindsight ruins a lot of its magic. And while it’s still The Beach Boys, it’s also not; the harmonies aren’t as textured, the session players aren’t the Wrecking Crew, and 40 whole years have passed, and the world where The Beach Boys meant something has long disappeared and now we live in a world where The Beach Boys mean something else entirely, and unfortunately, Smile contains very little of what they meant *or* what they mean. One day, I’ll get around to listening to the bootlegs/The Smile Sessions, because I think there’s a lot of potential on display on this belated version. But on face value, this version of Smile is not the masterpiece it could have been, and potential and concept are not enough if the music doesn’t actually come together in the end.

Since I was 13, this has been my go-to answer whenever people asked me my favorite album. It's not my most played today (that's Oil of Every Pearl's Un-Insides), and it's not the one that had the biggest impact on my brain chemistry (that's The Shape of Punk to Come), but when I think of albums I both love listening to all the way through and can make no critiques about, I think of Purple Rain. Music is 1000% subjective, but Prince makes very convincing arguments that sometimes, music can be objectively good, and Purple Rain might be the closest to an "Objectively 10/10 Album" in the entire history of recorded music. From the guitar solo on "Let's Go Crazy" to the drums on "Darling Nikki," from the chart-success of "When Doves Cry" to the second half of "Computer Blue," to the flawless climax of the title track – there is not a wrong note, not a single wrong melody, absolutely nothing you can lobby against this album. It's poppy, it's danceable, it's intellectual, it's sexual, it's romantic, it's easy to listen to for fun, and easy to listen to if you want to cry. Every track could be someone's favorite song ever. It's the sort of album that requires a full listen every time. It's a masterpiece, a high water mark for Prince, for rock, for funk, for pop, and for music in general. Easiest 5-star review ever. I have a bad feeling this is going to be the listening high-point of this challenge, but then again, that would've been true if I had gotten to it on Day 1088, too. "I'm not a woman/I'm not a man/I am something that you'll never understand" 🖤💜🤍💛

Was I just in a bad mood when I listened to In Rock? Because Machine Head is soooo on my wavelength. Do I actually like Deep Purple?! All the problems I had with In Rock — meandering songs filled with mediocre solos, failed prog attempts, and too much organ — are tightened to the point of nonexistence on this record. Instead, this is just a tight, proto-metal album with hard rock rhythm, gritty vocals, and neo-classical solos. Sure, it’s the sonic equivalent of hotboxing a Trans Am, but something about this is just a good, heavy vibe. And the fact that “Smoke on the Water” is one of the lesser songs on here should convince you of its overall quality. I do still think this could still be tighter overall. There’s some studio flourishes of flanger and organ effects that make me roll my eyes, and, conversely, there’s some bad vocal takes and stiff solos that don’t knock it out of the park. And sure, the end does go a bit off the rails for me: “Lazy” is just lazy blues rock pastiche, and “Space Truckin’” did not need a drum solo. But unlike on In Rock, none of these issues become so all-encompassing that I can’t tolerate it. Overall, this is just good meat-and-potatoes hard rock in the era right before it turned into actual metal. That’s all Deep Purple ever needed to be — in fact, trying to be progressive feels like the band’s Achilles Heel — and sometimes, that’s more than enough to elevate an album to classic status.

To my own surprise, I don’t hate it, but it definitely doesn’t feel essential in any way. It feels less put-on than The Suburbs, that’s for sure, but it still believes it’s deeper than it actually is. But the melodies are also very catchy, and while the compositions are a bit overwrought with twee orchestration, it never reaches the tipping point where it becomes annoying. I do think a lot of these songs overstay their welcome, though. I also don’t love Butler’s voice, its tone gets under my skin, and I personally would’ve loved to have more of Chassagne’s vocals doing these songs instead. I think this album actually helps me understand my disinterest in Arcade Fire. Musically, while it’s not my personal typical cup of tea, I think it’s very good and interesting, although it’s always at risk of crossing the line and becoming “too much.” At the same time, lyrically, it feels pretentious and try-hard, straight out of a bad poetry workshop. They are the definition of “one step forward, two steps back” for me. On top of that, while I know they were big at the time, I’m not convinced that they actually had any influence; almost two decades later, I don’t hear this sound or aesthetic coming from anyone who wasn’t originally from this scene. And that makes it feel unessential. More importantly, the pros and cons of listening to this albun even out in my ears, and I’m still not putting on Arcade Fire any time soon on my own volition. But at least Neon Bible is a tolerable listen, so there’s that.

Quintessentially British, quintessentially ‘90s. Yet somehow, I really like it! Either you like Blur’s shtick or you don’t, and even though I’d only heard Modern Life before today, I think I just like Blur’s shtick. This is an all-over-place record with a lot of studio bullshitting, which is normally a negative trait for me, but to my own surprise, it all works. Every song is so good, and each one stands on its own merits. There’a lot of style changes across the whole thing, but somehow, it always sounds distinctly like Blur. The whole album benefits from the greatness of each of its parts. I like some parts more than others, obviously, but my liked songs outshine the songs I disliked. I expected this to be sprawling, especially for a 14 track album, and in concept it certainly is, but as a listening experience, it’s oddly breezy, and always engaging. I’m sure once this challenge has shoved a few more Blur [and Britpop] albums down my throat, I’ll kick myself for not rating this 5 stars, because by then, Blur will be my favorite band of all time. But for now, I think a strong 4 stars shows how much this stuck with me.

This could come out tomorrow and it would still feel ahead of the curve. The skits and “joke” songs aren’t even a real distraction here, because they’re actually funny and actually sound like a group having fun together making music. Easily one of the most important hip-hop albums ever, but who gives a shit about influence, because as music, it’s flawless and so relistenable, and has basically everything you could ever want from a hip-hop album. It’s just one of those records that instantly inspires me to play it all again as soon as it’s over. And this is debatably not even their best album!! De La got played in the history books by not having an easily available back catalog for most of their career, but god do they deserve the praise. Stone cold classic.

A rather embarrassing fact about me is that I cannot understand a British accent at all. I know it sounds fake – a lot of my friends think at first that I'm bullshitting them, especially because I'm mostly okay with an Irish or Scottish accent, and accents in general, too – but it's 100% an auditory processing issue. I don't know why, but a British accent sounds like mud in my ears. That's important, because I literally had a hard time understanding this album, and this has always been my issue with The Clash. I should like this band more than I do. Of the first ✨big✨ punk bands, I think The Clash had a bigger impact on the direction and sound of punk, not only in the UK but in the States, too. (Literally who is doing The Ramones or The Sex Pistols today? It's all based on The Clash, and this album, or earlier proto-punk bands.) But this record just does not impact me like I want it to. Even when a song is 2 minutes long, somehow, The Clash makes it sound like it goes on forever. Politically, I agree with them, but when I read the lyrics, it feels kind of underwritten, especially given their reputation as a lyrical band. And again, I cannot for the life of me understand the vocals at all. I like that it's not entirely aggro but still always has edge, but sometimes there's also too much breathing room on a track. I like the influence of reggae, but they also seem to be doing it a disservice, somehow. And these things are all distractions I can't get over. And believe me, I really want to like this album. I would like a song, like "Career Opportunities," and favorite it on Spotify, and then it goes into the Oi! breakdown, and it loses me, and I'd unlike it. I did this for over half the album – a pump fake 4 star record, if you will, where little choices would get under my skin and turn me off completely. It does lose some steam in the last leg, sure, but for most of this, I truly think this is a "me issue." I don't hate it, but I would never revisit this for any reason. Is it important? Yes. Is it essential listening? Yes. Does it belong on the list? Absolutely. But do I personally enjoy it? Unfortunately, I think the answer is no. Simply put, I just think, for some weird reason that goes against my tastes, The Clash are not for me.

Having listened to both Want albums and only the two Want albums, I can safely say that the best thing Rufus Wainwright ever did throughout his entire 20+ year career was his duet with Carly Rae Jepsen on "The Loneliest Time," aka one of the greatest songs ever made.

A better, gayer, more theatrical Radiohead. Still not my vibe, but a million times more tolerable.

Sgt. Pepper's ruined music for a solid decade. That, or, I just find Bowie obnoxious. This is so overloaded with ephemera. I hate the soul pastiche. I hate the 50 additional, unnecessary instruments. I hate these pseudo-conceptual lyrics. I hate the way Bowie sings. I hate the way Bowie ENUNCIATES his words! It's everything and the kitchen sink, and it's all just fabricated drama for the sake of drama, which means it can't even be called camp because, per Sontag, it's too self-aware that it's being campy, and that is maybe exactly why I hate this. I knew I never liked Bowie and could never get into this album very far no matter how many times I tried, but truly, listening to this was the biggest chore of this whole challenge so far. I turned it off several times because it just got under my skin. I hate this album. I hate Bowie. Worst album I've heard so far.

I just realized that Weezer’s cover for The Blue Album is probably a reference to this album. Because the look just like Buddy Holly 🤯🤯🤯 Also, seriously, this holds up surprisingly well. Side A is much stronger because the slow-dance songs on Side B are not this band’s strong suit. Still, this is actually listenable and doesn’t sound like a bunch of novelty songs, unlike most ‘50s rock ’n’ roll. Just some white boys bustin’ it down sexual style, GOATed with the sauce. Huge fan.

I knew I'd eventually get to an album where my gut reaction was, "I need this on CD, and I need to be stuck in a situation where it's the only CD I have on hand because it's in my Walkman, and then, and only then, would I like it." Unfortunately, those days are long gone, and I somehow missed Big Star back when those days were very real, even though I knew they were important and influential and a point of reference for so many bands. A part of me wants to say this is two records. The first part belongs to Bell, who I don't really see as an "forefather of alternative rock," but rather a fairly mediocre mimic of CCR and other one-hit-wonder rootsy blues-based hard rock groups like Kansas from that era. I don't particularly like that sound, really at all, but I especially don't get this version as an alternative to mainstream rock. I find most of these songs to be filled with too many bells and whistles, and I also find Bell's singing to be annoying. But, then again, sometimes, the Bell songs are very tight and the guitar fucks, and I'm sold. Obviously there's a bit of nostalgia for the That 70s Show theme song "In the Street," an obvious lightbulb moment, sure, but I think my favorite Bell song is "My Life is Right." Then, of course, there's the Chilton songs. Recently, my Spotify has been suggesting "September Gurls" as an autoplay song, and I do like that song, so I'm not surprised that of the two, I like Chilton's songs more. "Thirteen" is obviously a standout, not only for this half of the record, but for the album in general. But at the same time, some of the Chilton songs on this half are wayyy too drab, way too quaint, and felt like Paul McCartney pastiche, and I mean that as an insult. And here's the thing, I want to say it's 2 records from two different solo projects, but I can't. "The India Song" ruins that, not just because it's bad, but because it's by neither of the band leaders. And then the closer is a duel-song of nothingness. But even when I want to make this clear distinction, I can't, because I can hear Bell and Chilton cross-pollinating, especially on Side B. And that cross-pollination? It's not for me, but sometimes, it's almost for me. If I'm generous and say this is a 10-song record, I like more than half of it, and I like 3/5 songs each songwriter brings to the table. But do I *love* them? Ehhhh, not really. I get how this is cool, but I don't find it particularly interesting for its time. On top of that, I can see the seeds of a great band, but they're also not ✨there✨ yet, not just because they're allowing shit like "The India Song" to slide into the track list to appease their poor bassist – they're still learning from each other as collaborative songwriters, and they're not done learning, and it shows. Still, I like enough material here to be intrigued. I wouldn't buy this on vinyl today, but I could imagine revisit it and liking it more. Honestly, the hype may have fucked with my brain chemistry, but while I don't get it, I at least get its allure now, which is enough to justify a relisten once I'm further on with this list.

It’s like reading the poetry notebook of the guy who goes to the townie bar every night, orders a Shirley Temple, and never says a word to anyone, but will sit there people-watching until close. It’s funny, it’s critical, it’s got social commentary, it’s sad, it’s heartfelt. And musically, it’s engaging and varied; the acoustic, folk-adjacent songs have just enough of a backing band to keep you invested, but they can also kick it up a notch and melt your face off, too. I’ve only heard this once before when a friend put it on his record player for me, and I liked it then, but this time I can really dig into it and appreciate how deep Prine is, both sonically and lyrically. And I think there’s a lot to dig in to here, and both elements are very well balanced, which makes it even better. Even as someone who isn’t a huge fan of Country music, this is an instant standout.

I speed-ran the math rock subgenre in my youth, moving from American Football to Hella to Meshuggah in the span of 6 months my Junior year of high school. Along the way, the post-rock Slint-inspired stuff never caught my attention, as it was either too sparse or too quiet for my ears. I craved the extremes, and the post-rock stuff felt like Brooklyn Divorced Dad™️ music to me, music made for a calm show with no pit where you can lean against the doorframe beneath the exit sign, nursing a PBR, not concerned about how much your knees will hurt in the morning. I’m older now and work in an office, and when I occasionally loudly listen to the math rock I used to like, my colleagues will turn to me and ask if I’m doing okay, mentally, and that happens more often than I’d like, so I tend to just avoid that type of music while I work. So I now get the appeal of post-rock - it’s tame but still weird and off-kilter. And Tortoise does a good job with their weird repetitive riffs and jazz-influenced structures. It is listenable, and well-made, and maybe even important to the genre, although, again, because I wasn’t initially sold 15 years ago, I barely know what the post-rock essentials are, so never hearing about this until today is a silly critique. If you want ambient, jazzy post-rock, this album serves it up hot and ready. But I don’t really need this in my life, personally, so I’m not really sold on this either. It is very, very bland. And that has a time and place, but I’d rather have my coworkers assume I’m having a mental health crisis because I’m listening to The Dillinger Escape Plan than assume I’m old as fuck for listening to this.

You know what? One Direction *was* right, "Baba O'Riley" *is* the best song ever! Somehow, I missed The Who entirely, besides the singles and the classic rock radio staples, but none of those songs motivated me to dig into a full album, for some reason. Which is funny, because listening to this, I realize The Who is an album band. The singles are great, but in context, they're even stronger, and somehow hold a bigger impact. "Baba O'Riley" is great when it's on the radio, but it shines best as an opener, and the same can be said about "Won't Get Fooled Again" as a closer. "The Song is Over" is an incredible side closer, and while on first listen I thought it should be the real closer, I actually like that Side B is just this all-killer-no-filler assault of talent and songwriting perfection. As a band, they're all on the top of the mountain; I could focus my ears to any one of them and be blown away (particularly by Moon, whose drumming is fascinating, even today). But you don't need to be a musician who nerds out over their playing abilities, because it all still gels extremely well. Unfortunately, "My Wife" is on this record, which prevents it from being flawless, and because this is such an Album-with-a-capital-A, I won't be pulling out individual songs frequently, but I'm still floored. Now I'm excited to get to hear what else they have to offer. Honestly, thank god there's more of this band on this list, because if it's all like Who's Next, then I'm going to have a great run with them.

The first half is a boring acoustic set that feels like Bobby D’s reciting his unedited lyric notebook and busting it down sexual style on his harmonica. It’s the kind of thing you either love or hate. And listen, I like Dylan, particularly folk Dylan, but this is exactly where I jump off the Bobby D express train. This set is mostly meandering moaning. So yeah, Disc 1 isn’t for me. Now, as for Disc 2? Honestly, it justifies not only why Bob went electric, but the sheer ✨energy✨ that must’ve filled the room once he did. It still suffers all the same issues as Disc 1 — unedited lyrics, sprawling jams, harmonica galore — but a backing band really numbs those nuisances, and makes Dylan fun to listen to, even more fun to listen to live than on his albums. This bootleg makes that contrast really clear, and you get the sense that it truly must have felt like a revelation to hear these two sets back-to-back. You can complain about the validity of including a bootleg, a live album, even another Dylan album, but honestly? It feels more necessary to include this than the two studio albums that originated most of these songs. Listening to this makes the electric controversy clear, and this feels like an appropriate historical document. That said, do I actually enjoy it? Well, yeah, half of it, but it’s still not an all timer favorite, either. Its contrast may have historical value, but my ears are inverted from the ears who initially heard this performance; the acoustic set is still boring, and so I inevitably dislike half this album. Meanwhile, while the electric disc made the controversy click, it still sounds like, well, a bootleg — peaking levels and all. While I would put this above Blood on the Tracks, it’s still not fully “there” for me. And maybe that’s because, nearly 60 years later, Dylan’s not all that exciting to hear, and the things that made him a musical god are now par for the course. And this feels extremely par for the course, no matter how much historical framing I place around it.

Chaotic muchness. Esoteric and vast, the product of a bookish talker influenced by queer Christian guilt. I’m old enough to know that Sufjan isn’t the cottage-core, quaint songwriter teens today think he is. I’m fully aware he’s a product of the Keith Herrings of this world and the maximalism of the 2000s. I was the target demographic for Sufjan when this album came out, and I knew that, but I still hated it. I didn’t know how much I was the target demo — I still thought I would die in a small New England town, I still was deep in the closet, I still thought I was above this level of pretentiousness. Still, my friends, from the punks to the hipsters, always insisted Sufjan was great, I just needed to give him another chance, especially this album, if nothing else. And so I tried, multiple times over the years, and yet, though I did warm up to it gradually with each revisit, I always walked away feeling negative toward this album. Maybe Brooklyn has finally rotted my brain after 8 years, maybe I can finally see the queer themes now that both Sufjan and I are fully out, maybe I’ve finally accepted that I’m annoying, but, whatever the reason, I’m finally positive on this album. I’m not 100% convinced yet that it’s a masterpiece. I still find the filler tracks deeply annoying, even if they are melodically sound, because I hate songs that only work in the context of an album and nowhere else. I still find this a bit overwrought, and in the finally stretch, its sprawl goes from exhausting to grating, though never so bad that I want to turn it off. As a result, I do find the first half much, much stronger, and wish it had stayed with those first 12 tracks only, or maybe go up to 15 songs total and stop. I do find it annoying and a bit like “I took a bunch of Adderall, grabbed a encyclopedia, turned to the index, read every article under the ‘Illinois’ header, and here’s everything I learned, no filter,” and that’s a bit annoying. But when it works? God, does it work. There’s just this magic to Sufjan’s nondescript descriptions that gets at the soul of something deeply Millennial, deeply post-9/11, dare I say chronically online, but oddly early to it, like a Wikipedia article sprint in an attempt to make sense of the chaos around you. It’s this longing to be a capital-A Artist™️ in a world where that no longer happens often, and by naming everyone you want to be compared to from the history books, it clicks. Also, sonically, this is very good. I think this album definitely has a singular sound, and if you don’t like that sound, 75 minutes of it can get boring, but I think he plays around enough in that sound to push its boundaries that it warrants its length. I do wish he went further with it, but this man said he would make an album for every state, so I think the sprawl here feels minimal compared to whatever sketches he may have had on file. As I said, I’m not 100% sold here, but I’m pushed just over the edge enough to know that I’m basically a fan of this, and will grow more confident with that the next time I listen. It doesn’t sell me on Sufjan, though, and I think if this book was written today, he’d have a lot more representation, and that would make me like this less because I know I don’t like his latest indietronica approach at all, or even Carrie & Lowell. But if we’re only stuck with Illinois, I’m feeling that Illinoise, baby!!

Minivan Mom Music™️ for your elementary school Art Teacher who also works part-time as a barista at the place with the Global Village Coffeehouse wallpaper and smells slightly like weed, but, like, bad weed, like the kind grown by the Super Senior who isn’t attentive enough to have a green thumb but who will eventually become the CEO of a multi-million dollar dispensary chain that charges you $40 for a bag of five 10mg gummies that you take to delete the Sunday Scaries because you’re in your 30s now and for some reason the thought of spreadsheets trigger an anxiety attack. Oh, right, Aimee Mann, ummmmmm……🤷🏻‍♀️🤷🏻‍♀️🤷🏻‍♀️

The fact that I thought “Brown Sugar” was “Start Me Up” tells you all you need to know about the Stones’ songwriting abilities. In all seriousness, though, I actually like this. It’s heavier and in your face, but there’s a lot of dynamics. The lead licks kick in the door and the rhythm section is tight as hell. Jagger can really command a track, with badass verses and sweet chorus melodies. It’s not like this made me a Stones fan or anything, but there’s a good energy here that feels much more unique than Beggar’s Bargain. Don’t get me wrong, it’s still too much pastiche for me, but at least they sound like a unique band, and that goes a long way.

I think MGMT is to Millennials what The Moody Blues is to Boomers. Good, sure, but mostly, you had to be there to get why it’s important. Their importance feels intangible. Words can’t really explain what it is about the music itself that matters. If you weren’t there, sure, the hits are still solid, but it never feels particularly unique stripped of the context of the time. I truly believe that once all the Millennial critics retire, MGMT will go the way of The Moody Blues, directly toward the bargain bin. But as a Millennial? Fuck, man, I don’t even like this album as much as my friends, and I still love it. It’s too fun and was the soundtrack to too much of my life for me to not adore it. It’s got a couple stinkers, but there’s just something about this album that speaks to that Great Recession era of pain. It summarizes what the kids now call Indie Sleaze that to me felt like we were all just trying to numb our collective shitty adolescence. It’s gaudy but somehow sexy, cheap but kinda chic if you squint. And I think there’s a bit more steam in its engine for the moment, as long as the American economic remains in the drain, which is why it’s remained a critical darling and found some newfound fans. I doubt that will last forever, though, because things tend to get better, eventually, and even if they don’t, new voices come onto the scene to represent the pain. But until then, “Oracular Spectacular” will remain beloved in my household, and will continue to be until I die and someone else throws my copy in a bargain bin.

This is one of those albums hyped up so much that there’s no way it can live up to the expectations, but that doesn’t mean it’s bad by any means. In fact, it’s pretty great!! But it is an extremely difficult nut to crack on first listen. A part of me is still intimidated by the Cuban elements, but they’re not so intimidating that I’m unable to hear the honor and tradition on display. Thankfully, the jazz elements are pretty obvious, and allow anyone to latch onto this, as long as you like jazz. It is much, much stronger in its opening third, though, and can start to feel overly traditional as it goes on, but the final leg closes strong in that style. And there’s still good material in the middle, as long as you don’t need it to be 100% in your face. I think it’s definitely an album that needs to marinate with the listener, and as someone who has a hard time with “albums you need to sit with,” this isn’t an instant love. I feel like this book’s main flaw – and the main flaw with music nerd lists in general – is that all “World” music gets lumped together without enough historical context, so you’re a bit lost at sea with only the crossover material as guidance, and sometimes, those records don’t give me as a music nerd enough to feel properly educated in any critique I may have. And knowing this book has a bit of a fascination for Cooder’s brand of ‘90s crossover-World albums, I’m unsure if I should read the lounge/calmer songs as a bit overly Westernized, or if that critique shows my ignorance. Especially when I feel like this whole album is a grower, even the tracks I liked instantly, because it’s dense and, well, still a jazz album. What I do know is that on pure vibes alone, it’s a perfect Summer Sunday album, a good relaxation album, and an album with layers. Once my ears let go of the hype machine, I think I’ll have an easier time moving from respectful enjoyment to active enjoyment, so in the meantime it’s getting a strong like from me.

It feels extremely important if you’re British, but otherwise? Eh, okay, I guess?? Honestly, if the production didn’t feel so insanely dated even compared to its contemporaries, I’d enjoy it a lot more. I get that it’s trying to sound dated in an attempt to sound timeless, but frankly, that choice is a brick wall that holds back a lot of the potential magic here. I also don’t love the Bowie pastiche, but that’s more a personal gripe with Bowie — these songs are better than Bowie’s, even if they’re rip-offs. Still, this is the closest to a 4-star rating an album can get without achieving it. It’s a sloppier Kirin J. Callinan, or a more sophistipop Pulp. I see its influence, and I like a lot of the songs, but something always holds it back. A chipped gem is still chipped, after all.

Mom!!! The lads are at the door again trying to sell us Britpop!! They’ve been here for almost an hour and it doesn’t seem like they’re leaving any time soon. Yes, I’ve already told them we’re not interested. Yes, they did bring up the fact that we liked Blur. No, they are not as good as Blur. Yes, they sound like a Econ major’s dorm room in 1995. I mean, what they showed me wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t good, either. Just a lot of noodling chaos. Yeah, I think they’re very high. Okay, they left!! But I think they’ll be back next week with more of the same. Yes, I’ll just close the blinds and turn off the lights next time so they don’t know we’re home.

When I say I dislike psychedelia, this is what I’m talking about. It’s not expansive experimentation with depth and good songwriting, it’s just overcrowded kitsch. Rambling nonsense lyrics, ~unique~ instrumentation (who knew a sitar could sound so obnoxious?), and just a general “everything plus the kitchen sink” energy to each arrangement here. Even the best songs suffer because of it. And yes, the best songs are the singles — “Sunshine Superman” and “Season of the Witch” — which suggests a bigger critique, that Donovan is a singles artist, maybe even a would-be one-hit-wonder who happened to hit a lucky streak thanks to right place/right time. And yeah, that’s what I expect from “Hurdy Gurdy Man.” It’s not the worst thing ever, but tolerable is not a compliment. Easily my least favorite psychedelic record so far, and very obviously inessential unless you adore this era of music.

Controversially, this may be the peak of The Cure’s goth post-punk era for me. I had to sit with this truth a lot, because I don’t personally love them for their goth era. Do I really want to rate this a 5/5? Does it achieve that status, even if I would place other albums by The Cure above it? Is it a bit sloppy, a bit loose with its playing? Yes. Is that maybe the result of an amateurish first attempt to shift the band’s entire aesthetic? Maybe. Are there a couple of instrumental songs that are just padding tracks? Sure, but strangely enough, I would listen to them out of context from this album, too. Despite its obvious critiques, this album just has a mood, a vibe, and that vibe is like a siren. It’s an enticing record, a life-changing record, even. I know it was for my high school girlfriend, who went from twee to goth a week after she first heard this and “Juju.” (Thankfully we’re cool now, so there’s no hard feelings around this listen.) There’s a pop sensibility here in “A Forest,” “Play for Today,” and “M” that appeals to me, keeps me going as a listener. And that’s then mixed against this very cool, slow-brewing darkness in songs like “Three” and “Seventeen Seconds” that perks my ears up, and I can’t avert my eyes, like I’m seeing a wolf during a walk in the woods. Honestly, I think I’m just trying to justify my emo love for The Cure, one of my favorite bands ever, and that’s silly. My emo heart loves The Cure and this is some of their best 🖤🥀⛓️🖤

I really dismissed the Eagles for no reason, because I think I love this band! This album is definitely not on par with Hotel California, which I now wish I had rated higher, but I still enjoy this s/t debut. It’s a lot less sleazy, more Music to Play With the Windows Down™️, and a lot more country (there’s even a little bit of banjo in the background), but it’s pretty consistently good, shockingly so for a debut. The Henley and Frey cuts are the clear standouts here, though, and without them, I think I’d be a little more apathetic to this overall. Like, those are ✨classic✨ songs, even the non-singles, and the rest are just, well, songs your Dad played the Summer of ’72 while working on his Firebird. You know, songs that teleport you to a very specific time and place, and give off a very specific mood, and either you’re into that mood or you aren’t. And even though this girl would never lift the hood of a muscle car out of fear of breaking a nail, I think I love the whole vibe of an Eagles record, whether it’s more Southwestern and country, or Californian and beachy. Sad that this is where my journey ends with them formally, but informally, I’m about to crack open a cold one and chill out to their entire back catalog.

I was a sophomore in college when this came out, very active on r/hiphopheads, and, at the time, a guy. I’ve loved this album since the day it leaked. I’ve long argued this is his best album, and relistening in full for the first time in maybe 5ish years, I’m even more convinced that I’m right. Start to finish, no skips. It’s lyrical and deep, but it’s also hard and catchy. I’d argue it’s maybe even a party record, or at least, obviously, a driving record. It’s referential and reverent, but it’s also explicitly personal. You could point to a song and say “ah that’s the hit,” or “oh that’s the deep song,” but I think every track here has an element of each style to it. It’s a dense record, but it’s never so dense that it’s exhausting. Actually, it’s an incredibly easy listen for a hip-hop album this layered. Even the goddamn bonus tracks are incredible!! King Kendrick 👑

My aunt got trampled by the crowd when she went with my Dad to see Fleetwood Mac at a sold-out show in ’77, literally breaking her arm just to see this band at their absolute peak. Now, I play her copy of this album religiously once a month, and hold it with the same reverence I’d hold any family heirloom. This is simply one of the greatest albums ever made. It’s one of those records where it’s so good, it’s not even fair to put it in a personal top 10, because yeah, everyone with ears adores this record, unless they’re purposefully being a contrarian. It’s the definition of “this sounds like a greatest hits album” because every song is just so deeply integrated into pop culture by now. There are no weak songs; my least favorite song, “Second Hand News,” would be a high-water mark for any other band, and only pales in comparison to the rest of the record it opens, because on its own, I adore it. I even go to bat for the McVie songs, because “Oh Daddy” and “You Make Loving Fun” are maybe my favorite songs here. It’s femme and witchy and sparkly thanks to Nicks, it’s reflective and somber and sultry thanks to McVie, and it’s bitchy and biting and masculine thanks to Buckingham. It’s rocking, it’s heavy, it’s pop, it’s folksy, it’s jazzy, it’s got a bit of everything for everyone. And even after decades of listening to it, today I still was hearing new elements I never noticed, which is the sign of a record that transcends criticism, in my opinion. This record is a cultural touchstone, so important to modern life that it’s now hard to see a world where it doesn’t exist. Flawless flawless flawless!!

A perfect late afternoon record, especially with a joint and a book. With Otis, you know what you’re getting and it’s always going to be great: brassy backing tracks, strong charismatic vocals, and pop standards you heard all your life without knowing it was Otis Redding who originally wrote it all along. He’s always got a little uptempo soul, a little downtempo blues, and a couple sultry ballads. It’s pitch perfect ‘60s soul, and fills that niche flawlessly. There is no such thing as a bad Otis Redding song or album, and Otis Blue is no exception. That said, this album does have a lot of covers – more here than on later albums – and I’ll be honest, the covers are the weakest versions of these songs. And I’d even argue that, for the original cuts here that became well-known off their cover versions, they’re also the weaker version of the song in question. And because of that, I have a hard time meeting Otis Blue on its own terms. It’s still a very good album, one I’d gladly own and listen to, but it’s never going to be a personal favorite, either. Now, if we were talking about Pain in My Heart or The Dock of the Bay….

I like what I like, and as someone who listens to DJ mixes on Soundcloud while she works, this is 100% up my alley. I just like everything about it – the gaudy female vocals, the frequent cutting, the sample flips to give the illusion of lyrics, the tacked-on raps. It is the Platonic Ideal of an NYC Block Party circa 1985, even though this is from 1989 and was made by two Brits. It is a hard album to rate, though. Not as a matter of personal taste, because again, I know this is to *my* taste. But it’s hard to listen to some albums on this list and not consider what is “missing,” especially when you consider genre pioneers. And this album/Coldcut feels distinctly ~lesser~ if the focus is to highlight innovators. It took slightly too much research to figure out why Coldcut was influential, or if they even were influential at the time, even though I could identify flags like the Tommy Boy US label distribution or the remix of “Paid in Full” being on that album’s CD reissue. And while I walked away concluding that Coldcut is, in fact, an important band in the history of House/Electronic music, I can’t help but wonder if Inner City’s “Paradise” or Fingers Inc.’s “Another Side” would work better as pioneer representatives, or even Lords of Acid a few years later, even if “Lust” is more New Beat/Techno. Still, I can justify “What’s That Noise” as perhaps influential on the DJ mix aesthetic so many use today, although I’m not entirely sure if that influence is as direct as others. Then again, House/Electronic music is not an album genre, and the pioneers can’t be easily summarized in a list like this. I can’t shake the fact that this is not on streaming, though, and all the YouTube comments are noting either a single track’s use in the Japanese game show Gaki no Tsukai (which is already a niche within a niche of online cultural awareness), or its inclusion on the 1001 Album list…which means this probably isn’t even directly influential to DJs today. “What’s That Noise” seems to suffer most from the fact that it sounds secondary, even for its time, and therefore can read as inessential. If you can strip your brain away from the challenge and listen to it on its own merit, though, I think this is a wonderful ‘80s House album, and if you like turntablism, sampledelia, and DJ mixes, you’ll probably enjoy this like I did. Ultimately, I think it earns its keep on this list, but I’d feel better saying that if early House was better represented overall.

One of the quintessential Late Night™️ albums. Given its construct, it’s hard to tell where the term “pop standard” ends and the term “country cover” begins, but maybe that doesn’t matter much anyway. If you walk in hating country, you’ll be okay, because it’s never so twangy that you can’t hear a pop tune, but then, if you don’t want to hear traditional pop standards, well, these are closer to a bar singer than Frank Sinatra, so you’re going to be okay. Some of the cuts here are the best versions of the song ever imo, regardless of genre: “Blue Skies,” “Unchained Memory,” and “Someone to Watch Over Me.” And the other versions aren’t too shabby, either. There’s a couple songs here that I’d only play during a full listen, mainly “Moonlight in Vermont,” but at a tight 30 minutes, this is an easy full listen, and an obvious “play it back again” record. Nelson’s voice is just so gorgeous, like it feels factory calloused, worn out and patched like an old flannel, but somehow has this model-esque quality, too, with striking blue eyes that would make your lip quiver and your spine shiver if you stare too long. I think that’s the most compelling element here. His voice is just so amazing, and it begs you to revisit each song as soon as it’s over. Absolutely a gorgeous record that has more depth behind it than you’d initially assume. Not flawless because not every traditional pop song holds water, but I also wouldn’t be surprised if my least favorite songs are someone’s favorites, and vice versa. Honestly need to dig into Nelson’s own music now just to hear more of that golden voice.

Wow, ‘60s mixing did these boys dirty, but the invention of the tremolo pedal made them do themselves dirty, too. You used to be able to go into record stores, befriend the old man who owned the place, and eventually, he’d bring you down to the basement, where water-damaged records were stacked to the ceiling. These records were forgotten one-hit/no-hit wonders, records with absolutely nothing of value, records meant to be sampled or used as frisbees. They were so inessential, the record shop owner usually let you fill a bag and give him $5 and call it a day. This is the quintessential example of that type of record. It’s not the worst thing ever made, though its flaws hold it back. With better mixing, it could be a great garage rock record, with touches of psych rock. With less psych rock studio bullshitting, it’d be a memorable record, one that moves from the basement to the bargain bin. With a stronger, less studio fuck-around Side B, it’d be a solid 3/5. But unfortunately, it has major flaws. It’s a very odd inclusion as a result. I’ve heard more insufferable, but this is definitely the most forgettable. Would probably make a great frisbee, though!

What the hell is this? Is it new wave, synth rock, or even just straight-up dance? Or is it post-punk, maybe even dance-punk? Are New Order savants, or can they not play in sync, either with themselves or a metronome? I can’t tell if this is avant-garde pop genius, or a sloppy mess of punks going pop, and it just so happens that they’re early enough to the party that not having a handle on how to play with new technology earns them respect instead of ridicule. But then they take a perfect song like “The Perfect Kiss,” which, despite their sloppy playing, is still a well-written song, and add in stock sound footage of frogs and other bullshit. Or they meander with songs like “Sunrise” or “Elegia” and just rip off their post-punk contemporaries [including their former selves] with less finesse. The closest they get to winning me over is “Sooner Than You Think,” but there’s just soooo many overdubbed guitars that don’t gel together well, it just pulls me out. And then there’s songs like “Face Up” that feel completely out of place on this record, way too uptempo and new wave oriented to even sound like the same band. I think if it was even slightly tighter, I’d be okay with it, though not fully in love. Yet if it was any looser, I’d be a lot more upset that I had to listen to this. The fact that it’s only 8 songs makes me feel a lot more apologetic, honestly. As it stands, it’s just too messy and undefined to convince me of its supposed unique genius. Maybe next time New Order will stick to a singular vision and actually care about playing well together.

Between my distaste for Beggars Banquet and my mild amusement with Sticky Fingers sits Let It Bleed, a record where all I have to say is, “Yup, that’s The Rolling Stones, all right, American blues pastiche with a couple cool hard rock guitar licks and fun vocal work by Mick Jagger.” My apathy suggests that I may be officially off The Rolling Stones hype train, despite never actually being on to begin with. Unlike Beggars Banquet, I don’t find it grating, but unlike Sticky Fingers, it’s not a tolerated listen, either. Honestly? I think they’d be better if they were American, but they aren’t, so, oh well, meh.

Maybe I don’t get it, but this feels like country music for indie rock snobs. And very little of it is all that interesting. It not only doesn’t sell me on country music, but it also gets under my skin and reminds me why I hated indie rock snobs for most of my life. If there were more songs like "Bad Liquor," I'd hate it more, but most of it is just bland and forgettable.

The Stranglers: “Hi there, we’re a weird, very English not-punk punk band with horror-themed lyrics and lots of organ!” *Listens skeptically to Rattus Norvegicus, only to hear a weird, very English not-punk punk band with horror-themed lyrics and lots of organ* Me: “I don’t know what I expected here....”

Do I….like a Radiohead album???? Ew, I hate this for me. But also, I’m a sucker for a drum machine and a groove, and there’s a lot of that here. When it’s back to our regularly-scheduled boring moan sessions, though, I’m out, and yeah, half this record is still that, and I hate it. But I like half a Radiohead album! There’s hope for me still!!

I can tell that this book was written in the mid-2000s because no one would include Jurassic 5 in any hip-hop canon unless that list was made at the peak of backpacker rap, aka hip-hop for white kids that felt intellectual but mostly could fit in well with the Tony Hawk Underground and SSX Tricky soundtracks. It’s a “subgenre” that not only feels inherently problematic in retrospect, but also now sounds dauntingly traditionalist in the way it mimics the outdated simplicity of ‘80s rap, allowing it to be annoyingly arrogant about its perceived respect for the genre over Bling/Crunk/Gangsta rap, even though it arguably respects the genre less by insisting hip-hop should never have grown or expanded its sonic palette. But also, god, is it boring as hell to listen to as a result, unless you’re a dweeb who gets offended by curse words or typical gangsta rap topics because it’s “inappropriate.” Jurassic 5 is the quintessential backpacker hip-hop group, and Power in Numbers [along with their previous effort, Quality Control] is a good example of that scene. Not that this is the backpacker masterpiece – sans Madvillainy, that belongs to Deltron 3030, God Loves Ugly, any pre-RTJ El-P effort, or, my personal vote, The Minstrel Show, although that may not even qualify as backpacker rap – but J5 is a good distillation of everything *wrong* with backpacker rap, and showcase why the label was eventually meant to be offensive and a critique of its white fans. This album is a slog and a half, filled with pretension and holier-than-thou subjects mixed with strange, nearly conservative politics, all presented in a stilted way that sounds like it’s being delivered by a 50 year old man with an extensive Kangol collection. The beats are fine, and are the one non-traditionalist element in this whole album, thank god, but unless you physically preoccupy yourself with an activity that prevents you from reaching over and hitting the skip or pause button, I can’t imagine anyone actually listening to these songs by choice unless you’re new to hip-hop and/or were/are a backpacker in 2024 somehow, or one of those Zoomers into “alternative rap.” An unessential listen, and an obviously dated inclusion even within the context of the book.

I’ve had a hard time gathering my thoughts on this album. It’s easily the one I’ve had the hardest time digesting quickly enough to share an opinion on it, at least so far. In some ways, it’s masterful. I was built to love Neil Young, and I’m shocked I’ve never dipped my toes until now. Sure, his harder rock songs and off-kilter solos are 100% my jam, but even slowed down to acoustic folk tracks or piano ballads, his poetic lyrics and heart-on-his-sleeve sentimentality boost these tiny tunes into monuments. After the Gold Rush is an album that’s hard to listen to one-by-one; it begs a full listen. It’s a summer sunrise album to listen to over a cup of coffee, a late night spring album to listen to while you cry over an ex-lover, and a cozy fall/winter afternoon listen you spin while you read. It all washes over me as a singular statement, one that cannot be pulled apart, an album that only makes sense in a single sitting, and an easy argument for a masterpiece. And yet, the fact that After the Gold Rush *only* works as a whole has been exactly what’s throwing me off. As an album, it certainly has a time and place, and while it can work well in multiple contexts, it also isn’t a “constant obsession” listen; I wouldn’t listen to this on my commute to work, while I write, while I eat dinner, while I work out, at a party, etc. And there are very few songs I would listen to on their own, except “Southern Man,” which is so rattlingly unlike anything else here, purposefully so, even, that its inclusion feels strange in the first place. Everything else is great, but it’s not something I always want to hear, because it’s too muted, too quaint, too understated. Ironically, it’s this low key nature that can also make a full listen a bit underwhelming, and make some songs blend together to the point where it no longer sounds all that inspiring, all that standout, all that special. I think that’s a pump fake, in a way, but it only makes it harder to process. And when everyone tells you this is the peak of Young’s entire career, it makes me a bit confused, because even though I really, really like this album, it’s not perfect, and almost feels overhyped. Yet, at the end of the day, I’ve kept coming back to this album. Not obsessively, not driven by the feeling that it’s an instant favorite, but more as a casual new comfort, a “peaked curiosity,” a sense that I want to get to know Neil Young more, like texting a bookish introvert after a first date to the movies . It’s an album meant to grow, meant to be cultivated as the seasons change, and one that might be a standout, but also might end up just being a gateway to Young for me. I may grow much fonder of this record with time, and I may regret giving it a 4 now, but I think it’s unfair to validate a higher review until I am fully comfortable with the man’s discography. And unfortunately, I am now in a situation where I can’t access most of his work until the generator gods hand it to me, so, let’s see how the next 3 years go.

The sound of sunshine ☀️🤗💛 The psychedelic nonsense lyrics can be a little annoying, but they're also so outrageously ridiculous that they loop back around to being fun and funny. They also do a lot musically for songs that never pass the 3-minute mark. Not all of it is a winner, especially when it turns into Tin Pan Alley reverence, but all of it is bright and enjoyable, and never asks me to take it too seriously. And when it does ask me to go deep, it's all about this nostalgia for youth and innocence, a topic I’m a sucker for generally. But unlike most records discussing those topics, it does so in a positive, sweet, cute way, which makes it an easy and enjoyable listen, instead of one that triggers an existential crisis, and I do appreciate that. I think that's why I like this so much more than other psychedelic records from this era. This is ironic and silly and enjoyable, compared to the high-minded serious ~insights~ other hippies insisted on expressing on their records. So while The Kinks aren't doing anything particularly exciting from a sonic perspective for the era (at least not anything obvious, unless you're a music theory nerd), what they ARE doing is having fun. And fun is important to actually enjoying music!! Because above all else, I just love a bunch of goofy lads 🤪

Of all the albums described as the “Sgt. Peppers of XYZ genre,” this is hands down my favorite. But I’m as a girl who gets weak at the knees whenever she talks to some quirked up white boiz with a penchant for just saying whatever stupid shit comes to their brain, so I’m a bit biased.

I know that this is a divisive album within this challenge, but I really don’t get why. It’s folky AND it’s funky – I don’t really need much more from the music I enjoy. She does have a weird voice that I could see as off-putting to some, but I think that’s actually what makes this unique. She can also write a song, and, more importantly, write a groove. It’s not the greatest album I’ve ever heard, but it definitely influenced a lot of the albums I do consider perfect. On face value, though, this is just a great Sunday Morning™️ album – fun and groovy and folksy music to chill out and vibe with while you make your morning coffee. But then again, I generally love lesbian folk music because duh 🏳️‍🌈👩🏻‍❤️‍💋‍👩🏻

The Bends is a decent Britpop album – a valid one to highlight, even, if you’re into the scene, though certainly not a subgenre masterpiece – but nothing more than that. It’s never bad, but it does feel distinctly derivative compared to its contemporaries, and I don’t really get how this kept Radiohead afloat long enough to get to their experimental phase, or even sow any seeds of good will. Most of this is very low-energy, and even if it’s not as sparse as the later releases I loathe, it really wears thin quick, especially after an otherwise strong start. And there’s brief moments of more grungy, loud energy that I like and I think they’re very good at creating as a band, but too much of this is just fine and coasting. But again, I don’t hate it. It definitely sits on the cusp of the Radiohead I traditionally hate, but it never crosses the line. I don’t know if I’d call it particularly essential, especially in a book filled to the brim with Britpop albums, but I’ll accept it as a Radiohead I can tolerate.

I get that it’s important to include albums like this in the book, because the Blues (especially Blues that influenced rock and soul) is an essential genre to cover in a book like this. I don’t hate it, but it also doesn’t pull me in. I find this style of blues very…bland, uncomplicated, and uncompelling. I just find a lot of the blues very basic, and to me, this sounds extremely dated, but rarely timeless. It’s not quite soulful enough to pull at my heartstrings, but not quite hard enough to rock. And god, does it drag! It felt like it was 90 minutes of the same song, and I was only half way through. Influential, sure, but not essential. If anything, revisiting it with modern ears makes it an even harder listen, unless you love this style of early ’60s music in general, which I don’t.

I now understand how this album has a cult online critic following. I’m a sucker for this era of electronica that sits between Trip-Hop and French House where that transition is evident in the music itself. This is a good, chilled out album filled with a lot of that sound, elevated by some veryyyy impressive acoustic drum sounds. I think it’s intriguing to know this band is a legitimately band in the traditional sense, although it doesn’t sound essential to the music’s composition to my ears. It really has everything I could want from it: a couple stand out tracks I’ll add to playlists, a handful of high-energy dance songs, a few cuts with vocals to not make it sound monotonous and only instrumental, and some solid filler songs that round out and enhance the album when listened to as a single unit. It ends a bit weak and the jazz ventures aren’t all that rewarding, but those aren’t overbearing critiques imo A very solid late night driving album. Good for fans of a niche within a niche, which applies to me. Not a favorite, but still a standout.

Ironically I think this challenge has made me appreciate what The White Stripes do, at least more than I did when I was a teen and they were actually popular, especially with all my guitar-nerd friends. I still don’t find it groundbreaking, but the fuzzed out version of traditionalism put forth by Jack and Meg here is interesting enough and done with enough skill and finesse to make for an enjoyable record. It helps that this has some of their best hits in “Seven Nation Army” and “The Hardest Button to Button,” which add some hard pop choruses to blue-rock solos. But I’d also say tracks like the jammy “Ball and Biscuit” and the sultry “In The Cold, Cold Night” show diversity and range that make this a unique listen. The biggest weakness here is the run time, because even though I’d say Elephant has variety, it’s still a long listen, with too much material for one sitting, and wears thin in the last leg. And it also gets a bit annoying whenever Jack feeds into his egoistic desire to be a Rock Star™️, which is more frequent than I’d like it to be. It’s not my favorite album ever, but I’m more pleasantly surprised than I expected. I may be overrating it for a first time listen, and I expect it will be on the bottom end of my 4 star ratings by the end of this challenge, but for now, I support The White Stripes, especially on this album.

Elton John, but, somehow, make it even gayer?! And I have to say, yasss qweens, this little queer loves to see it!! 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈 (Also, I learned that I spent my whole life mixing up Scissor Sisters with Dresden Dolls, and avoided this band like the plague as a result growing up, and I hate myself for that!)

Music for Young Professional Women who live alone in a mid-sized American city. And while I don’t live alone and I live in one of the largest cities in the world, this still speaks to my soul. Perfect record to put on while you cook dinner. Perfect early summer walk album, but also a great Thanksgiving album. Plenty of perfect karaoke songs. Plenty of songs to sing along with in your car while you cry. Flawless songwriting, insanely great piano playing, powerful vocals. It just feels like music that has always existed, which means it was always meant to exist. It’s front-loaded for sure, but the back half really shows how much King influenced music overall, and that in itself is powerful. Honestly shocked this is my first listening front to back, because I will now be listening to this on repeat forever.

I like the Stooges, I like Iggy Pop. I like this album. I’d own a copy, and I’d play it regularly. That’s enough for 4 stars from me. But I don’t love it. It’s not the revelation Fun House was for me, it’s a bit more basic, and it’s somehow more contrived and self-aware, which makes it less raw. Also, the mixing is straight ass, on both versions, and makes it extremely difficult to sit through.

I really hate that I hate this, because I love Wham! and I love Faith, and I love other late-era George Micheal songs. But this just sounds like an Abilities Flex™️ album, where the original praise was based on praising Michael for elevating himself above Wham!’s ✨inferior pop discography✨ (because ew, god forbid we praise queercentric music for teeny boppers 🤮🤮), and modern retrospective reviews project the HIV/AIDS pandemic onto material that doesn’t seem to be about that, at least not in my interpretation, and sometimes that projection reads strange, to say the least (because black music is about struggle and the gays community was struggling?? Like…not a one for one here…). On face value, this sounds to me like a pop star trying to do sophisti-pop. And listen, I like a lot of sophisti-pop, but Michael sounds late to the game, and the result sounds insincere — almost like a cash grab. Is his technical ability outstanding? Yes, and sometimes, that’s just enough to win me over. But for most of this record, I am bored out of my mind.

I think there’s a valid case to made that Roots is the greatest metal album ever made, aside from Black Sabbath’s Paranoid. The investigation of Brazilian culture both sonically and lyrically are ambitious but largely successful, and it helps that Sepultura were metal masters by the time they made this. From a musical standpoint, I think this is as good as metal was in ’96. The gutturals, the down-tuned riffs, the rhythm section that incorporates Latin grooves – all of it is top notch, and still sounds impressive today. While it didn’t invent nu-metal, it’s definitely coming to the same conclusions as Korn did, just from a radically different angle. But I also find Sepultura’s approach to this sound more sensible? more logical? At least more interesting. But I’m also a nu-metal apologist, so take it with a grain of salt. The only reason anyone would hate this I think is because extreme metal in any sense of the word is too scary for their ears, or because they just find metal lyrics a bit silly. And while that’s fair, thankfully, I was introduced to pig squeals, gutturals, and ridiculous lyrics when I was 12 listening to screamo bands before I even dove into “real” metal, so I’m actually upset more extreme metal isn’t on this list. But at least we have Roots, and Roots is a high water mark.

A more chaotic MGMT, and a lesser one as a result, but I guess I just have a soft spot for this era of electro-pop, so I enjoyed it enough. Its weakness is that it doesn’t really stick with me long term, but it almost does. Like it comes close enough for me to be sympathetic to it. This is one of those albums on this list where I’d argue I didn’t HAVE to hear it before I died, but I’m glad I did. Unsure if I’d go out of my way to own a copy, but I’d definitely pick it up if I can across it in the bin on a mediocre digging day.

This is the music playing over the speakers of a thrift store that charges $300 for a vintage t-shirt where the cashier doesn’t speak to you unless she thinks you’re trying to shoplift, despite the fact that the only size they have in stock in XXXS.

I think I like Nick Cave; I don’t think I like Murder Ballads, in particular. Maybe it’s because I’m listening to it in the dead of summer while I sweat my ass off with the AC on full blast, not on a dark snowy night deep in the throes of the Winter Blues. Maybe I don’t like the balladry concept, maybe I don’t like the traditional folk and lounge elements. Maybe I dislike the theatricality, and miss the harder edged post-punk of Abattoir Blues/The Lyre of Orpheus. Maybe it’s a grower. It’s not completely devoid of value, and there’s some tracks I really love. I like Cave’s general vibe – dark, edgy, brooding, death obsessed and referential. But most of this was a slog, most of it was too edgy, and most of it never caught my ears or made me perk up. But then again, maybe I’m just burnt out.

This is a strange album to classify as a magnum opus. This is the most “The Cure” that The Cure ever gets. If you like what The Cure has to offer – aka moody, washed out guitars, gothy grooves, and depressed lyrics moaned gently into the mic – you’re in luck, because there’s even more of it here! Quite literally, the songs drone on; not in a negative way, because they need the space, but these are the most spacious tracks in the band’s discography. There’s still an ear for pop hooks, but Robert Smith does his absolute best to subvert it. Still, they’re all over this record, and some of those hooks on the non-single tracks are standouts of the band’s entire discography. Now, if you don’t like The Cure and you haven’t up to this point, welp, bad new bears, you’re going to hate this album. This is the most “The Cure” that The Cure ever gets, and there’s even more of it here! Quite literally. I get why people hate this album, because I get how and why someone could possibly hate The Cure. I, however, absolutely ADORE The Cure. I could’ve had at least 2 more albums on this list (The Head on the Door and Boys Don’t Cry, but I’d also take Kiss Me… and/or Wish). I’m not going to convince you today to love The Cure, and therefore I’m definitely not going to convince you to love Disintegration. Now, if you argue they’re a Greatest Hits™️ band, the singles do rise above the rest, so I get it. But I’d argue the real beauty of this album is found in the songs that aren’t singles, especially on the back half, where they really dig into a vision for the band that is excessive – in length, in tone, in mood. And I’d urge you to listen to “Untitled” and “Disintegration” and try to argue that they are not on par with the singles on this album, despite their length. Disintegration isn’t going to convince anyone to like The Cure, but if you’re already a fan, it will be one of the greatest, most interesting albums you’ve ever heard. And I fucking adore The Cure 🖤⛓️🥀🖤

Now if Bowie sounded like this, maybe I’d actually like him. An extremely New York City record, and that makes me really like it. Definitely has a few kitschy low points, but while they’re not the songs I’d listen to on their own, I’m more than fine with them in the context of a full listen. Especially when the highlights are so high. Even at its worst, I still enjoy it a lot, in its queerness, in its eccentricities, in its alternative spirit.

It’s bad criticism to say you don’t “get it.” Whether you’re a professional critic or a casual observer, saying you don’t understand a work of art, and therefore don’t enjoy it, just means you’re missing the context that makes it a great work of art. Whether that’s context of influences and lineage, context of the medium’s history or genre’s history, or the context of its creation, not “getting it” is, in my opinion, not a critique of the art, but a critique of the critic. Especially when every audience is capable of enjoying a great work of art at face value, intrinsically based on its essence, at least if it’s truly a great work of art. I won’t say I don’t get it, and I won’t say this isn’t a great work of art, either within the context of its technical ability [obviously great] or within the history of a genre I know very little about. But I will say I’m missing a ton of context that would help me understand why this album above all others has been included here. On face value, I will never listen to this again, under any circumstance. I totally acknowledge, though, that I lack anything to hold it up against, no comparable album that shows a different version of this style of music. I’m also missing a ton of cultural context, so I’m unsure if this album is closer to Bach or Pet Sounds. Is this "classical” music or modern “pop” music? Finding a comparison routes me back to Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan, an important figure in “world music,” but….why? Was this because of Enya and the Gregorian chants, or is there a specific trigger from Pakistan at the time that isn’t just a contemporary Bollywood remix from the 21st century? Is this even the album to actually start with? All of it feels like a lot of work for a personal project like this challenge, and while it’s good to expose yourself to new voices, obviously, sometimes, you can be in over your head. And at face value, if you don’t love something, you don’t love something. And I cannot think of a context in which I’d listen to this. Maybe I’m missing that context, but I also maybe don’t care if that’s bad criticism. I just don’t get this.

Immaculately produced, and its highs are some of the best Music To Blast Out Your Trans Am With The Windows Down™️ ever made. Now, sometimes that’s also its Achilles Heel, because it sounds, well, like an episode of That 70’s Show. I’m also not as enamored with the prog leanings as others. It’s extremely front loaded, with a dorky Side B, and even Side A is isn’t a flawless excursion. I think this album has almost been overhyped with time. Maybe this is just a New England thing, given the Boston connection, but this feels like an album every Dad showed their kid as an example of peak music. And it just…isn’t? Not front to back. Some of it might be, but as an album? God no. But music criticism in the 2000s seemed to confirm those opinions, so as a kid, I felt like it was one of those albums I HAD to enjoy. And now, ironically, I think the pendulum is swinging the other way, because I rarely hear anyone talking about this album. Which is also annoying, because I do want to champion its highs, and at only 8 tracks, it has more highs than lows. Overall, I would put it on, and I’d maybe even own a copy for cheap, but I’d do so more out of principle, or maybe societal obligation as a music fan. It’s definitely something everyone should hear, but I don’t know whether it holds enough punch nowadays to be seen as a favorite by anyone under the age of 50. But there are a couple tracks here that make it all worth it, and I do think a lot of people would still enjoy this record. For me, though, it just doesn’t have that ✨It Factor✨, that ✨sparkle✨ that it once did. While I think it comes close to a like, it lacks any true magic, so I don’t feel bad about shrugging my shoulders to it.

The Rolling Stones for people from Boston (complimentary)

In the immortal words of Henry Rollins, “The drummer can’t drum, the bass player can’t play. The guitarist has one riff. The singer is this utter buffon.” A part of me wants to be forgiving. On first listen, Side A wasn’t the worst thing I’ve ever heard, but it was just boring ‘60s blues pastiche and/or 60’s pop that goes in my ears and out in an instant, with slight psychedelic touches here and there that aren’t to my taste. I’m far from a fan of this style, so I wasn’t going to praise this, but I wasn’t mad about it, either. But then Side B just turned that up to 11, with all the worst cliches of that era, and I almost lost my mind. Like, to the point where I revisited Side A and realized after two painful active listens that, no, I hated that too, I was just trying to restrain myself from being a hater. All the little tchotchkes in the background, the limited range and uncharismatic vocals, the rhythm section is uninspired with cluttered bass riffs and mediocre drummer, and Beck…I see what he’s doing, but to me, it both sounds basic and messy, and dare I say it, immature. I can’t imagine this being anyone’s favorite record, unless you know too much about reel-to-reels and smell a bit too much like skunk weed. A painful listen and a boring listen – the worst combination.

The “She's So Crazzzzzzzy, Love Her” meme, but in reference to your quirky Dad who tucks his t-shirts into his jorts, makes an exhausting number of puns, has a big love for a mid-tier game show like Deal or No Deal or Wheel of Fortune, and is probably on the spectrum, but we’ll never know, because he doesn’t believe in “that millennial crybaby shit.”

Deep down, I’m just a girl who loves to dance, so I tend to fall fast and easy for anything with a groove: funk, house, disco, pop, and apparently samba. On África Brasil, Jorge Ben Jor 1000% delivers a dance-party record. This has it all – casual bum-shakers to vibe along to next to the beach bonfire, chaotic cuts that force everyone on the floor, slow jams that beg you to hold a lover close, and everything in between. But this record is so much more than just dance grooves. It’s a party record with depth. Musical depth, for sure; this is some of the tightest, most technical shit I could imagine creating that still has pop appeal. But also, it has socio-political depth, using its points of reference, esoteric lyrics, and globalism to say something about the state of the world, about connected influence across continents and oceans, about black people everywhere. And by doing all that through winks and nudges, what could be seen through a translator as “simplistic” lyrics actually reveals subversive depth. And all over funky ass grooves that make you want to shake your ass! Literally obsessed. Really hitting me at a perfect time in my life, especially during the summer. The perfect record to put on at 2am to keep the party going. I won’t be surprised if this ends up toward the top of my overall ranking by the end of this challenge.

As always with Britpop albums, there’s some pretty solid Britpop songs on this. Some of them are even arguably great, or at least I imagine they’d feel epic when used in a music soundtrack or something. In theory, I like this record’s concept critiquing posh culture and bourgeois/upper crust snobbery. There’s a handful of songs I’d add to a playlist or two. But a lot of this just feels too British for my tastes, and also a bit too forced. The hooks feel forced, the insights feel forced, the playing feels forced. Maybe I wouldn’t add them to a playlist, but they wouldn’t kill my vibe if they were on my friend’s playlist. Then again, some songs are also obnoxious, and overly British, and overly snarky in a way that annoys me, like a drunk self-proclaimed Communist who corners you at a dinner party to talk about theory. I wouldn’t buy this album for myself, but I also wouldn’t tolerate a friend playing it at a dinner party, either. Maybe I’m just exhausted with Britpop at this point, maybe I just don’t like this particular album, but I’m never going to revisit this for a full listen ever again. One time was a chore in itself. I think this is just not to my taste, even if it seems like it would be on paper (see, Commie, praxis v. theory). But I’m also not stupid. “Common People” is one of the greatest songs ever written. That alone warrants this album’s praise. And the rest of it, while lesser, is certainly good enough to argue some level of essential listening.

This is what happens when a theatre kid spends their summer vacation writing a dorky rock opera about summer vacation. It's not bad, but it does make me roll my eyes a lot. At least it kicks off with one of the best hard rock songs ever, and that makes it a bit more tolerable.

I have no idea why I hate this album, because I love gothic punk, but this is so downtrodden and glum, it just ends up sounding like a boring snoozefest to me. It has a moment or two, and starts very strong, but everything else is a drag. Each track that follows the opener drags me down and actively works against the opener’s energy. By the end, my ears are so numbed with sonic novocain that I can’t even remember it enough to know if it actually came close to clicking for me. And this has been my feeling about this record for the last 20 years. Much like Loveless, I’m over trying to force myself to love this record. I don’t like it. End of story.

Weather Channel™️ music. Like, literally, background music. There’s nothing here that upsets me, but there’s also nothing here that motivates me to revisit it, or even recommend it. Which is funny, because I’d recommend some of these players’ solo material as more essential than Heavy Weather. The most memorable thing about this is how forgettable it is.

Forrest Gump music. Well made, saccharine and sentimental, dorky but uncontroversial, enjoyable on an airplane, forgettable once it’s over.

The quintessential double album. If you only kept the Side openers and closers, and kept one more song from each songwriter (“Storms,” “”Never Make Me Cry,” and “Tusk,” imo), I think you’d have an album on par with Rumours. But while this is no Rumours, it’s still Fleetwood Mac. The highs are so high, higher than the highs on Rumours, songs that would be career-defining songs for lesser artists. I think Tusk gets a bad rep for being bloated with Buckingham tracks, as he wrote 9/20 songs, and while I do think they’re often the album’s lowest points (“The Ledge”), he also has his own high points (“I Know I’m Not Wrong”). He’s no Nicks or McVie, but maybe I’m just biased. It is an exhausting full listen — my wife and I both were like, “there’s still a Side D?!” in unison — but in a modern context, there’s a lot here that work as songs, and I think that gives Tusk its value. A step down from the peak doesn’t mean you fell, just that you walked down a few hundred feet. All this said, it’s still no Tango in the Night…

While there’s a handful of excellent songs filled with 60’s pop harmonies, the majority of this is bland hippy pop that feels like it lasts an eternity. It certainly has at least two songs I could tolerate being in 1001 Songs list, but so does Cass Elliot in her short solo career, and those are even more essential, yet a Mama Cass album is nowhere to be found on this list. Suspicious, isn’t it… Yeah, this album is not essential. And not very good. You know what songs to add to a playlist. Keep it at that and move on.

If ska music is the sound of a group of 13 year old boys ordering mozzarella sticks, then RHCP is the soundtrack to those same boys spending a day at the waterpark. From the perspective of a craftsman, I won’t deny that this album is incredibly well made. From a “playing” perspective, from a flow perspective, and from a mixing perspective (thank god). If you like this extremely ‘90s blend of genre mishmash, then Blood Sugar Sex Magik has everything you could want – a little bit of grunge, a little bit of funk, a little bit of balladry, a little bit of hard rock. Unlike the insufferable mixing or pivots of Californication, this is very well-made, and not a fully painful listen. Grading on a scale, it’s worth the spin. But the thing about RHCP is this: either you like their shtick, or you don’t. And BSSM is a *lot* of that shtick. And while the singles are so ingrained in my brain from my youth that I can’t help but to at least appreciate them (although I’m less supportive of “Under the Bridge”), the rest of the album is a little more intense – more RHCP, and a lot more shtick. So if you, like me, only tolerate these singles when they come on the radio, then you’re going to have a tough time with this in its entirety. No level of technical proficiency is that appealing. To me, while not painful, BSSM is an exhausting listen. And that’s maybe an even greater hurdle to overcome as a listener. By the end, even if I nodded my head to more of this album, I was so overwhelmed by the RHCP’s muchness that I felt even more upset than I was after finishing Californication. Ultimately, for me, I find RHCP to be a singles band, where I’m able to appreciate them in small digestible doses. And as a result, there’s always at least some decent cuts in any RHCP album. Compared to other RHCP albums, the ratio of good songs is greater than bad songs on BSSM, but like all other RHCP albums I’ve heard, it’s still far below the threshold of what I would personally classify as “good.” That said, I am completely okay with being on the list and can see the argument if someone told me it was their favorite album ever, unlike, say, Californication, which should only be on this list to show what a bad yet influential album sounds like.

The original Weird Girl™️ album, and maybe the best. And I say that as a Certified Weird Girl™️. It just sounds like feminine transcendence, feminine exploration, and the female psyche; it speaks to my soul in a way I could never put into words. Top 5 Dead or Alive, easy.

If you still live in your hometown and have nostalgic associations with Springsteen, Dylan, Tom Petty, and all other heartland rock, then you’ll enjoy this well-made, immaculately-produced pastiche album. But be warned, it’s a lot of pastiche, with songs that drag past the 5-minute mark and really test your adoration for what essentially equates to a studio cover band. If this was 30 minutes long, I might be giving it a little more praise, even as pastiche. But at 60 minutes, it is the definition of exhausting. It’s nothing new, and unless you’re a production nerd, I can’t imagine what the appeal here is compared to its own influences. Its presence on this list doesn’t really make sense either – just include more of those classics, or new albums that present new sounds. It’s okay for what it is, but I knew that after the 3 minute mark, and then I stopped caring.

This is the type of band that can kill a basement show set, but years later when you remember that you bought their tape after the show and give it a relisten, you remember why you forgot that you even had this album in your cassette collection in the first place.

The classic hip-hop debut dilemma: praised as an essential classic for its singles and for presenting a sign of what’s to come, but time seems to not be kind to the immature looseness it presents, especially when compared to the tighter, more forward-thinking follow-ups. When Tribe is Tribe as they came to be – Phife and Tip trading verses, Ali on the mix, jazzy samples with amazing hooks – this album is worth the listen (see: “Can I Kick It”). But most of this album is not that. In fact, the rest of it is either Ali and Tip still exploring Tribe’s “signature sound,” or Q-Tip essentially rapping as a solo artists, with Jarobi as his Flava Flav-esque hype man. And like all CD-era hip-hop albums, its long runtime bloats the record to the point where I as the listener just wish I could trim the fat and have a better, tighter 30-minute album. But then again, if I trimmed all the fat here, I’d be left with very little; while there are a handful of highs beyond the stand-out singles (“Footprints” and “I Left My Wallet,” especially), it’s not as frequent as I think people think. Most of this album is badly dated, and most of it is a band obviously in search of a sound, and while that’s totally fine, it doesn’t mean this debut should be seen as a genre essential, even if the singles are genre essential tracks. It’s fun, and some of it’s great, but it’s not essential. Midnight Marauders and We got it from Here…. both deserve a spot on this list over this record. But if you like it, I totally get it, and would still listen to a decent yet inessential debut from hip-hop legends than some of the other rockist slogs on this list.

Even though I’ve never really been won over by Talking Heads, I truly tried to give this a sincere listen and walked in with an open mind. But this album? Not for me at all. Even with the saving grace of “Once in a Lifetime,” one good pop song can’t save the rest of the album from being a rambling, muddy, pseudo-intellectual recontextualization of ~world~ rhythms that aren’t even enjoyable grooves to listen to. Truly a painful listen for me throughout, and I was trying my best not to skip it completely. While I see the vision, I find the execution downright exhausting and incompressible, which is how I imagine I’d feel if I had to hold a conversation with David Byrne. And that’s me being kind.

Country can be a hard genre to grasp. Red Headed Stranger feels not only like a primer for the genre, but also its True North. This is a dense record, and because it’s a first-time listen for me, I’m not sure if I’ve been fully able to digest it. Country is not my genre – I know the broad strokes, but I mostly stick to more contemporary female singers that play with pop, aka Kacey Musgraves, Maren Morris, The Chicks, Shania, etc. – but I really did love Nelson’s Stardust on face value, so I was really excited for this. But unlike Stardust, whose pop tunes hit you straight on the nose, Red Headed Stranger is a complex slow-burn. Now, I’m sure if I had a more refined palette for country, the nuances of this album would feel obvious, but I’d also argue that this is the album that taught most modern country fans to appreciate those nuances, or so it seems. Nelson’s guitar playing specifically feels so detailed, so subtle but with this nonchalant confidence. Ironically, it reminds me a lot of Neil Young’s playing. This album is also varied, with a lot of different styles of “country,” from barn-burners to love songs and everything in between. It may have been against the textbook upon release, but it feels textbook now, although much more nonchalant than a Zach Bryan or Sturgill Simpson. Still, with all that praise aside, I’m not sure if I am fully in love with this album. It’s great, don’t get me wrong, and I do like it, but it doesn’t stick with me like other albums have, even other country albums. Some of that is just me needing a lot more time with it – it’s an album that I 100% need to revisit as I continue on with this project, because I’m sure I’ll enjoy it more with time. That said, I think Side B was much more my speed than Side A; I’m not sure if that’s because the theatrical story-telling of Side A with its reprises and traditionalism threw me off, or if I just like Nelson’s voice when he’s doing more ballads and/or rock-oriented jams, but there’s an immediacy to Side B that stands out from the concept record context. What I will say is that this album is a bit of a code-breaker, because it’s using the “language” of country music to make commentary on the genre, old and new. So now, any time I have “issues” comprehending a country album, I think this will be the one I revisit to help me see what’s going on more clearly. Because of that, I anticipate that I’ll revisit this a lot in the future, and I now understand why it’s held in such high esteem. That said, while very good, it doesn’t transcend the way I wanted it to, at least not after a couple listens. Maybe more Nelson beyond this challenge will make me regret giving it a 4/5, but I also can’t say I love this fully, just like it and appreciate it.

I don’t know if I love this or find it extremely strange. Maybe a little bit of both? It’s not cohesive, that’s for sure, and I think that’s what’s throwing me off. Main thing I learned is that I really, really like Stills as a guitarist, and I adore Young as a guitarist. Both of them have such a unique style (it makes sense that they were in a band together in another life) that just sounds unlike literally anything I’ve ever heard. Stills’ playing is a lot cleaner, but I think Young’s sloppiness is actually what I enjoy. Above all else, that makes this is good listen, because the guitar work is kind of cool to hear, as long as you’re into that sort of thing. I’ll also say, I think they’re all good songwriters. Now, I have a least favorite [Nash] and a favorite [Stills], but I’m not against any of them. I think all four have highlights and lowlights here. For me, all the lowlights are the folky, somber, acoustic tracks that seem to fill out half this record. Songs like “Teach Your Children” and “4+20” just do nothing for me. I am a bit stuck on “Our House,” as it’s got that post-Beatles domestic romanticism of romance that’s just cute and hard to resist, but then I think about it and it makes me roll me eyes, too. The other thing I don’t love are the psychedelic tracks. I don’t hate them, surprisingly, because they’re not so left-field that they ruin a song and/or drag it down, as psychedelic stylings tend to do, but they are…jarring? They just come out of nowhere. I think when they’re grounded by Young’s eccentric playing, they work a *lot* better, but on “Carry On” or “Deja Vu,” they feel unbounded and too loose for my taste. I’d also say, even though I’m still new to Young’s discography, his songs here feel, well, like lesser Neil Young songs – like, nothing standout, but nothing bad, and sometimes he does just have a knack for something gorgeous and true, like the last third of “Country Girl,” where he nearly brings me to goddamn tears. 
For me, though, Deja Vu lives and dies on the strength of its pure rock cuts. “Everybody I Love You” is a great closer, “Almost Cut My Hair” has all the gravity I think CSN&Y think the rest of album has and actually makes me sympathetic for aging hippies, and then of course “Woodstock” rips. I do like other songs on this album, but I don’t love them, or I only love pieces of them before they stray into territory I disagree with. These songs, however, are incredible standouts, through and through. While the rest of the album sounds every much like Music for Retiring Hippies™️, these 3 tracks sound legitimately timeless, vital, essential. And like, what do you do with that? How do I rate an album where I adore 3/10 songs, but then like anywhere from 30% - 50% of 4 other songs but would fast forward past the parts I don’t like on them? My general rule of thumb is if I like over half the songs on an album but less than 90%, it’s a 4/5, but like….what about half-of-a-song? (My other rule is if I would buy it on vinyl, and somehow, I already did, I’d just never played it, and I realize it came from an old yard sale dig I did when I was in my teens, and somehow I’ve kept all those albums because it was a good dig and my crates are still mostly organized by “order of purchase.”) I think when all’s said and done, once I’m more versed in all their solo work and prior bands’ output, I may need to revisit this to make a better determination, but as it stands, I can’t say I’m looking forward to that revisit. It’s just too piecemeal for me, down to parts of the song, and no album I actually enjoy would elicit that much nit-picking from me.

If this challenge has taught me anything, apparently, I missed my grunge phase when I was 13. Obviously, as an Alternative Rock Radio Girl™️ growing up, I’ve heard these singles, but I never really paid attention to them, and I definitely have never heard Ten front-to-back. Or any Pearl Jam album, for that matter. Right out the gate, I’m deeply impressed by the guitar work on this. It 100% doesn’t sound like what I thought it would sound like. It has a more CCR mixed with Stevie Ray Vaughn flavor to it, just cranked up to 11. But there’s also a lot of variance on display, and the dynamic range of the band is a lot more interesting than I would’ve expected (“Alive,” “Black,” “Release”). I can see why this gets the praise it does – it’s not a classic grunge album, it’s a classic rock album in the traditional sense. And while this normally isn’t my vibe, I am intrigued. That said, I’m also not sure if I am personally sold all the way. And one of my major holdups is Eddie Vedder. I don’t live under a rock; I know his singing style is divisive, to say the least, and I know the jokes. But even knowing what his voice sounds like, I still found it instantly shocking in the context of a full-listen. Like, I’m not sure if I’d go so far as to say it straight-up doesn’t work, because I think it does create a very unique vibe, and on some songs, it does click for me. But for the most part, I just think Vedder is more a distraction to me than an asset. Every single time I’m about to be like, “This song kicks ass,” I’m interrupted by Vedder’s howls, and each time, I said, “Ew, gross,” out loud to myself. It happened on “Once,” it happened “Why Go,” it happened on “Garden.” By the end, when it was happening, I just expected Vedder to ruin it the second his vocals kicked in. I would LOVE to hear Pearl Jam with a different vocalist. I can tell they kill live, I can tell they’re all amazing musicians and writers, and I would love to hear an instrumental version of Ten. But I need it all without Vedder’s moans. Still, Ten is a digestible, breezy listen with a lot to offer. It comes awfully close to a 4/5, though ultimately, its classic rock aesthetics and Vedder’s vocal styling both get in the way for me personally. It may be a grower with time, but if that happens, it’ll be a result of me listening to it track-by-track on shuffle, not in a single sitting again.

I think sometimes it’s obvious that I play bass guitar, because even though I’m not the biggest fan of ‘60s funk/soul, this shit can still get to me. I just love a groove, and Drake’s uncle can really groove. My thing with Sly & The Family Stone is that, for every pure soul track they do, they have just as many psychedelic funk songs, and I *really* hate that sound, because I’m not a fan of psychedelic anything, and Sly Stone *always* takes it too fucking far. I get that this was an important advancement in musical history, but my modern ears can’t take it. No matter how much groove, no matter how much important socio-political messaging, no matter how much artistry, it’s just always done in a way where my ears beg, “Please talk to me once you’ve come down from your trip!!” Unfortunately, I think Stand! leans too much of its weight on the psychedelic, and while that might make it crucial and appealing to some, it takes me out, and ruins some otherwise great soul tracks. I would much prefer this on a track-by-track basis. Overall, the parts are greater than the sum of this album, and while that sum is not bad, it’s not something I want to revisit often as a full listen. But throw the singles and “Somebody’s Watching You,” and maybe even “Whitey,” on a playlist? I’m fully endorsing the songs themselves. It’s closer to a 3.5, but still not enough to want to give this a full listen again any time soon.

It is REALLY difficult to hate this record. I don’t know if it’s just because this sound have become ingrained in popular culture as “classics everyone from toddlers to centenarians can enjoy,” or if I’ve just had to go to too many weddings in the last few years, but this is great, front-to-back. Little Richard’s pure charisma and rock star nature shines through – in his vocal screams, in his piano playing, in his lyrics, in his vibe. This sounds like rock music, which is crazy, because most of it is closer to softer 12-bar blues made for dances and soda shops. But when Richard kicks it, he shreds, and he can burn the roof off, even by today’s standards. And while both styles fit Richard, I personally thank god that this debut is more the latter than the former. It’s also hard to listen to Richard and not hear queerness, because everything about his sound and aesthetic feels important and influential to queer culture. Personally, this girl can’t help but feel that and admire that in Little Richard’s music. Knowing how Richard himself struggled with his identity, despite it so obviously playing a role in his impact, is truly heartbreaking, and I hope that in another lifetime, he’s resting easier and living more authentically. (And maybe not expressing himself in such creepy, sexually frustrated ways….) I think if these songs were longer or the album itself was longer, I’d complain about the limited range of style, but at 28 minutes, this is a bop all the way through. Sure, it’s still ’50s rock music – you aren’t going to think this is one of the greatest albums ever made unless you’re a sucker for this era writ large – but given its age, it’s incredible how well it holds up, even now. Like Buddy Holly, this is more deserving of praise and should still be played loud as hell.

One of the greatest albums ever made. I’m not normally one for pastiche, but there’s something forward-thinking about Amy Winehouse’s (and Mark Ronson’s) interpretation of retro soul that’s crasser, more biting, and more honest. It’s not reverent, it’s referential. While I personally don’t return to the ballads like “Love Is A Losing Game” and “Wake Up Alone” as much as I do the upbeat kiss-offs of “Me & Mr. Jones” or “Tears Dry On Their Own,” there is absolutely no flaw on this album, especially on a full listen. Timeless in all the right ways, with a little something for everyone, for every mood and every occasion.

The guys who own that hair salon for men downtown sure make up a really good bar band. Anyway, yeah, let’s down another round of Coors for the table, and grab some more of those complementary peanuts while you’re up!

To say I’m blown away is an understatement. This is everything I want in a record — female songwriter with lyrical poems about being a townie over shredding guitar. I’m far from a country girl, but Lucinda Williams embodies that punk ethos that country originally stood for in a way that really speaks to me. It still has the twang and topical focus of country, but it does so in a way that transcends genre cliches. Honestly, it’s a great entry point into country, and I’m shocked I didn’t come to it sooner. There isn’t a bad song on this album, and to my own surprise, it is quickly becoming a newfound favorite.

A lot of times with music, you have to fight the urge to gaslight yourself into liking an album. You know, the classic, “All the reviews say it’s an 11/10, and all my friends adore it, so I must be missing something.” With Aja, I’m doing the exact opposite — fighting the urge to gaslight myself into hating it. It feels…pretentious to like Steely Dan, and praising Aja suggests that I have deep-seated, TED talk level thoughts on things like ✨sound design✨ and ✨audio headspace✨. To like Aja suggests you like it not as a pop record, but as a a subversion of pop, something much more complex. It’s not the hook or the groove, it’s the 7/9 Lydian shuffle that blah blah blah. Liking Aja is coded language for a more sinister type of music nerd, one that I try very hard not to be. But the truth is that I like Aja because I think it’s just catchy as fuck. Sure, the songs are long and it gets pretty damn jazzy, but it’s also infectious. Even a fill can be a hook, and I find that appealing and constantly engaging. Sure, it’s also complex and dense and you can dive into that if you want, or you can just sit back and enjoy the occasional Michael McDonald harmony and novelistic lyrics and vibe out!

Early-era Beatles records really confuse me. The singles from that time are some of the greatest songs ever written in my opinion — even better than their late-era material — but almost none of those songs are ever on an album proper. And listen, I know enough about music history to know why that is the case, but as a result, I leave every pre-Rubber Soul album just wishing I could listen to The Red Album 1962-1966 compilation, which deserves a spot on this list way more than almost any “official” Beatles album. Certainly over With The Beatles. I just cannot stand behind an album that is mostly comprised of cover songs, all of which are worse than their original counterparts. And like, it’s not like these covers are by obscure artist — listen to Chuck Berry, listen to Smoky Robinson, listen to the Marvelettes even!! Don’t get me wrong, though, the original material that does end up on With the Beatles is pretty good. It’s juvenilia, but it’s pretty strong for 4 boys still learning how to be songwriters. Stronger than Hard Day’s Night in my opinion, although a lot more spotty than the non-album singles. It’s mostly growing pains, but it’s less transitional than it feels on the next couple records. I’d still argue With the Beatles is really only worth it for the opener, “All My Loving,” and “Don’t Bother Me.” After that, the boys are still too teeny bopper to maintain my interest, especially on Side B. It’s not the worst Beatles album, but it’s not painting them in a good light, either, and remains absolutely unessential.

I admire what these guys are trying to do. Like, a lot. The genre-bending. The socio-political lyrics. Their technique and musical prowess. Their general vibe as a band. Sometimes, it works. A lot. Especially when they play it a bit more straight. It almost doesn’t matter what “genre” they’re playing straight, as long as it’s a single genre. And they can play across styles. “Question of Life” and “Pouring Rain” have ska and more trad reggae sounds, “Deep Inside” is more punk, and “One Day” really knocks it out of the park with its funk metal. But even if the songs are sprawling and the lyrics cover big themes, these tracks feel tight and contained. But there’s also a lot of boundary pushing that’s way less successful. “Mighty Long Way” is too much of a blues piss-take, and I can feel that insincerity; meanwhile, “Change” is too soft to feel like it even belongs here. Then there’s the hit-you-over-the-head obviousness of a song like “Subliminal Fascism” that feels dated as hell, whereas the funk metal-ification of “Freddie’s Dead” and the point of opening with a funk cover, falls flat without its context. Even as a punk kid, I was never sold on ska, even at its most punk, but I could still appreciate the scene, the sound, and the vibe. The vision of ska is something I could always stand behind, it’s just the chaotic sound that turned me off. And that’s basically how I feel about Fishbone. Just because I like the ideas on Truth and Soul doesn’t mean I like it in practice, though sometimes it does come close. All this said, I’m sure a Fishbone show would be a blast.

When To Pimp a Butterfly first came out, I was firmly in the camp of “It is technically flawless, but it has very little replay value because there’s no song on here that I would play outside the context of the album.” I liked it, but I revisited GKMC way more. Time has proven that critique wrong. If GKMC was a standout designer perfume like YSL Libre that could be enjoyed by anyone regardless if they’ve developed a nose not, TPAB is a popular niche house that pulls from different influences and incorporates it into something unique, like D.S. & Durga’s Debaser. You can still appreciate TPAB without a nose, and walk in blind, but a developed nose will get more out of it, and the longer you let it macerate, the better it smells. I think songs like “King Kunta” and “Alright” have transcended culture, and their impact has made them more timeless than they felt upon release. Meanwhile, songs that were initially panned by fans like “i” or “u” or “These Walls” for being a bit stranger make a lot more sense in retrospect when reflecting on Kendrick’s career and hip-hop’s aesthetics today. Some of the deeper cuts that used contemporary synths that I thought would age poorly (“Mortal Man,” “Hood Politics,” “Institutionalized,” “How Much a Dollar Cost”) all won me over this time because of their strong songwriting. And then there’s still bangers throughout, like “Wesley’s Theory” and “You Ain’t Gotta Lie,” and most obviously “The Blacker the Berry.” TPAB has also benefited from its own creative incubation. As people like Kamasi Washington, James Fauntleroy, and Thundercat have grown in popularity, the sounds being explored on TPAB are a lot more digestible than I thought they were initially. And I would say the same for a lot of the more overt lyrical topics, especially on “How Much a Dollar Cost” and “Complexion,” where that blunt writing style is a bit less jarring today. If you asked, I would still say I prefer GKMC over TPAB. But I think it’s just a taste thing, and GKMC fits more neatly into what I traditionally listen to in my day to day life. That said, TPAB has a lot of replayability, and is arguably the more masterfully crafted record. To say it’s not a classic would be an insane statement, and it is neck-and-neck with GKMC. Both records are incredible, and easily some of the greatest offerings in hip-hop history, and even in music history in general.

I walked into this album assuming I’d hate it based on the description. Modern psychedelic indie rock is very much not my jam, traditionally. But, strangely, synthy space age indie rock very much is my jam! It has a handful of casual hiccups, don’t get me wrong. It can sometimes be a bit too sparse, like “The Soft Season” or “Each Time We Pass” And sometimes it doesn’t tie up neatly enough, like “Boxing Day.” Overall, Side B is a much weaker offering than Side A, as that side has a lot more stop-start energy, but I think to say o prefer one over the other is also splitting hairs when overall, I liked it all. It’s a stronger listen front-to-back than it is with each track heard on their own, sure, but this isn’t an album I’d normally listen to track-by-track. It works as a single-sitting flowstate album, which fits with its vision and themes. I don’t know if it’s the most essential album of the last 10 years, but I’m really glad this challenge brought it to my attention. It’s a very solid modern take on this sound, and I think it’ll age like fine wine over the next decade.

The sound of pleather, a strobe light, and clove cigarettes. Through I was never a goth, I think emo girls have an inherent affinity towards goth music. This is no exception. It’s got a little bit of everything: pounding rhythmic songs for the goth club, brooding dark songs to soundtrack your depression, gospel choirs, out-dated synths, and all the gated drums your heart could ever desire. It even has melodramatic/tragic piano ballads sung in a way where you can’t tell if he’s got cotton mouth, is having a stroke, or has the acting chops of Tommy Wiseau. Songs go on for 10 minutes but engulf you so deeply that space and time stop existing and you just become one with the darkness. In a word, it is a stunning work of high beauty. The fact that I like this as much as I do probably tells you all you need to know about my taste (it’s highly subjective and stupid, to say the least, but at least I’m self aware), but god I love this album. I love this more than some of albums we’re all “supposed” to love on this list. If I’m being real, I’ll revisit this a million times before I touch some high-minded double album or some artsy prog band, even the ones I already adore! This is just so up my alley, taps into the exact vibe I want to shroud myself in, and speaks to my soul in the way only dumb, dark, edgy music like this can. God bless the goths 🖤🖤🖤

Truly, I’m just a girl who loves to dance. I’m especially a sucker for this era of electronic music, with those 303 buzzes and chaotic breakbeats. This style of music just scratches a spot in my brain. It’s the type of shit that would make me lose my shit in the club, but it’s also cerebral, and I have no problem listening to it sober during my 9-to-5. To me, Dig Your Own Hole is a perfectly balanced electronic album – it’s equal parts club and home-producer; equal parts rolling and trip-sitting. Sometimes I think it blends together so much that it feels less like an album and more like a DJ mix, which is fair, but feels less tight as a result. And I will say, The Chemical Brothers build songs in a much slower, less efficient way than their contemporaries, so you can sometimes get lost where you ✨are ✨ in the song. But I think these are minor critiques. When they want to get a room moving, they get that room moving; when they want to make that same room think, they really make everyone sit down and meditate on their lives. I’m not saying it’s better than Homework or even Remedy, but Dig Your Own Hole comes close, and is only a half-step down on the tier list of great 90s electronic albums. Huge fan, will be playing it loud forever now.

If you think every AC/DC song sounds the same, you’re not actively listening to AC/DC. Sure, there’s a blues-based branding to their vision for hard rock. Though potentially adolescent, Highway to Hell shows sonic diversity and a real knack for a chorus. You can’t tell me that the title track and “Touch Too Much” sound the same or that those hooks aren’t independently recognizable. Especially on its back half, with songs like “Love Hungry Man” and “Night Prowler,” there is room for a different presentation. On top of this, the playing is so cool; AC/DC isn’t a “flash” band, but a “flourish” band, and you can hear those flourishes all throughout this record. And look, I would never say that AC/DC are a flawless band. Sometimes they get too bluesy for me, like “Beating Around the Bush,” or even speed past the song before it can have time to breathe, like “Get It Hot.” But I would almost always defend AC/DC. I could see an argument that they are a singles band (because a Greatest Hits puts their talents right at the forefront), but I’d be damned if you tried to argue that almost every AC/DC album from High Voltage through For Those About to Rock isn’t a solid, true blue, 8/10 across the board, at the very least. And maybe that’s because I support whatever AC/DC is selling, and I stand by their whole vibe, but these are just great hard rock albums. Especially with Bon Scott, whose charisma carries his performance, and is only enhanced by the impeccable recording on this particular album Just because it’s a cheeseburger doesn’t mean that every cheeseburger isn’t unique, y’know? And Highway to Hell is a damn good cheeseburger, motherfucker!

This album alone earned Dylan a Nobel Prize in Literature. It helps that I'm a sucker for '60s folk, but the way Dylan plays is also so unique, unlike anything else from the era. His lyrics are truly timeless poetry, covering everything from protest to philosophy to young love lost, found, and lost again. Sometimes he’s serious, sometimes he’s taking the piss, but either way, his pen is strong, and the fact that it’s backed by great acoustic playing makes it even more compelling. And I’ll be brave and say it: the way he plays a harmonica makes me think it’s actually a beautiful instrument!! Like, the end of “Girl from the North Country”?! “Bob Dylan’s Blues”?! “I Shall Be Free”?!?! I think I prefer other folk artists from this era overall, but to me, Freewheelin’ is the peak of that sound. It’s a timeless sentiment with timeless songs, and while I think there’s maybe a couple Dylan albums that come close (and a lot that stray very far from this album’s vision, to their detriment), he’s never done anything as important as this record. It’d be my pick on a Top 100 Albums To Hear Before You Die list, that’s how essential this to pop culture.

Björk is a complicated artist for me. In theory, she’s my favorite artist ever – quirky, experimental, playing with sounds and genres and aesthetics that I typically adore. In practice, though, she’s more a 50/50 coin-flip artist. Sometimes, she makes the greatest music I’ve ever heard. On other albums, I can’t fathom how anyone could like her music, and those albums are usually the ones that are sparse, expansive, less electronica, and more orchestral. It’s not always the case (for example, I love Utopia), but, like, my favorite Björk album is Homogenic. I like one half of her vibe, and check out for the other half. Unfortunately for me, those sparse orchestral albums are always the ones that receive the most critical praise, the most fanfare (which makes it hard to critique these albums), and, apparently, are the exact Björk albums that make it onto lists like this. So, all this said, I walked into my re-listen of Vulnicura a bit pessimistic, to say the least. And I’m happy to say, this revisit was very necessary, and I’m walking away pleasantly surprised! First of all, Arca does her goddamn ✨thing✨ on here, especially on the back-half. Without her very specific brand of IDM/deconstructed club, I would find Vulnicura a bit less sonically interesting. And those Arca flourishes are all throughout this album – sparsely, for sure, but palpable enough to make this feel like a true collaboration. It is missing Arca’s distinct Latin je ne sais quoi, but I get why it’s stripped away on this record. This album’s other strength is Björk’s lyrics. Normally, I’m not a fan of her dense abstraction, but here, it’s pretty clear what the themes are, what the emotions are, and what I’m supposed to feel. This is an album about feminine transformation post-love lost, and trying to determine what a life alone looks like when you’re a grown women who just yesterday had a nuclear family and stability and, well, normalcy. (I also think these themes are especially interesting in the context of collaborating prominently with two transfemme artists on this record. Obviously, I’m not saying that was a calculated decision, or that they were only called because of that, or that this album is exclusively built off those collaborations, but it makes a lot of natural sense and is interesting from to consider. And it’s something I want to think about because 🏳️‍⚧️) And then of course, there’s the general goodness about Björk – her vocal tone, her vocal range, her general aesthetic, and the general vibe, which is not always the vibe you may want to live within, but it’s certainly something to dive deep into when you do want it. All this praise doesn’t come without some critique, though. Again, historically, this is the side of Björk that I usually hate, and it’s largely because I find orchestral arrangements to be boring. Call me a pleb, but I’m no classical gal, that’s for damn sure. And this album is very much tapping into that classical aesthetic. And sure, it’s trying to experiment within that sound, which is cool. But Vulnicura is an electronica-forward orchestral album, not an orchestral-forward electronica album, and that makes all the difference. It’s not even like Medúlla, where the experiment with tradition is the point and punches you in the face when you hear it; I just feel like Vulnicura is too light with its distortion, too playful with its experiments, especially for its subject matter. That also makes it easy for critical adoration, and I think my cynical skepticism is holding me back a bit, here, truthfully. I’m not saying I dislike it, but I do need to be in a very specific frame of mind to appreciate it – one I’m rarely ever in. Because otherwise, I find this record boring, like “History of Touches” or the first half of “Family.” Even “Stonemilker” was a bit of a take-it-or-leave-it, at least until the hook got stuck in my head. I really had to play this back a few times to see if I was missing something on the more somber tracks. Sometimes I was, but other times, I think I just am not the target audience for the general sound of this album. There are moments where playing it straight still works thanks to strong songwriting, say on the closer “Quicksand,” but most of Vulnicura’s strengths is in its flourishes. Fortunately, most of the album is strange enough and therefore engaging enough to win me over. On a worse day, I’d rate it a little lower. Not because it’s bad or poorly made – I’m not deaf – but because I just find orchestral sounds underwhelming. I need a thrill, and knowing Björk can thrill, I have a hard time accepting when she actively chooses not to. I now understand why I was against this record when it first came out – I didn’t give it enough time to breathe, and Vulnicura needs that time. Now I get it, and I know that, in the right context, this album really is worth it. Would I prefer a solo Arca album on this list and/or a different Björk? Absolutely, no question in my mind. But without those alternative options, I’m happy to stand by Vulnicura as a very good example of late mid-career Björk, and why she matters so much to alternative music, pop music, and electronic music. It’s not a peak – and maybe not even an essential listen before you die – but if you’re on board with her discography, it’s a crucial turning point and worth the listen.

Is The Atomic Mr. Basie a good jazz record? Sure! It’s extremely traditional, especially in retrospect, but not as traditional as you’d expect. When you hear the term “big band,” your mind conjures up a very specific sound, and I would say the majority of this album is not playing within the parameters of that sound. A lot of it is a lot more low-key, melodic, lounge-esque, even. I think you either like that aesthetic in jazz or you don’t, and I typically don’t, but I still see its value. There are some bop elements to keep the attention of modern ears, though, especially in how the horns are played. Actually, I think it’s that piece that earned this album a spot in the book in the first place. And Basie’s piano playing is pretty engaging, if you like that kind of thing, but that’s not unique to this record. But is this an essential jazz album, especially from this era? Honestly, no. Jazz is a hard genre to get into because it lacks a clear hook 90% of the time, but there are a 1,000,001 memorable jazz songs, and albums filled with jazz cuts that get stuck in your head for day. Basie has some examples himself! But unfortunately, while The Atomic is good and seems to be a noteworthy example of jazz while it was transitioning sounds, this album contains zero stand-out, flat-out, stuck-in-your-head-for-days jazz cuts. Even at its best. That isn’t to say it’s bad, because it isn’t, but it never really shines, either. Which is fine if you’re just bouncing around listening to jazz albums you pulled out of the bin, but that is far from a standing ovation or strong recommendation. If some of these songs – especially cuts on Side B – came on my Spotify shuffle, I wouldn’t hit skip (especially if I’m in the mood for jazz, which is why they’d be on my shuffle list in the first place). But I doubt that I will ever revisit this album in full ever again after today. Maybe another Basie would have been a smarter choice.

This is the kind of country album that would be mentioned in a pre-9/11 indie film, championed by the leading man (played by Ethan Hawke or Matt Dillon) while he’s driving, yapping about the poetic depth of the lyrics to the Manic Pixie Dream Girl (played by Heather Graham), who’s dressed like Stevie Nicks, not paying attention to a word he said, using the glove box to paint her toenails, and the scene is meant to add to the general theme of the film that Gen X’s apathy to American patriotism contradicts the fact that they are a generation emblematic of America itself. And I, in turn, would’ve seen this movie and ran out to buy this album, loving it before I even pressed play, and loving more as I actually listened to it. For a Northern chick, maybe I’m more of a country gal than I thought, and I’m totally okay with this newfound revelation!

The idea of this album intrigues me a lot, especially as a general fan of electronic music. In practice, though, I’m quite literally not high enough to enjoy it. If I’m going to be forced to listen to IDM, I’d prefer Burial, Aphex Twin, or Autechre — people who don’t become germophobes the second they’re around an actual beat. And while Music Has the Right to Children does have a few fleeting moments where Boards of Canada back into an actual groove, it’s never fully developed. I also just don’t care for Lo-Fi Beats to Chill and Study To, no matter how cool it may be that they’re using a bunch of vintage synths and tape machines. Influential as it may be, this is really not my vibe.

I don’t hear any rock, but god do I hear country… So traditional that it’s hard to see what makes it original, although there’s just enough tolerable cuts to not make me want to turn it off. But even though I don’t hate it, I can’t understand why this receives any amount of praise for what sounds like a cover album played very straight. The best part of this is when it’s actually just a Byrds album; the originals, especially “One Hundred Years From Now,” are what I think people are remembering, and that colors their memory of Sweetheart of the Rodeo overall as some Byrds Go Country But Stay the Byrds record, when really there’s almost none of the later. Actually, even when it does sound like the Byrds, it’s still pretty bad. Or at least boring, if not offensive. I lied, apparently. I’m not a Country girl. RIP to me 😔

Theatre kid music (mildly complimentary)

In high school, my friends used to play this album obsessively. We learned how to play it front to back, because it’s all pretty easy to learn and sounds good on an acoustic guitar sitting on the ground between rows of lockers. At the time, I felt like I liked this album, but I never loved it. Not as much as my friends, at least. Now — and maybe it’s nostalgia talking — I feel like I’m rediscovery a gem I previously underrated. Obviously, the singles are amazing and timeless, and I always had a soft spot for deep cuts like “Kiss Off” and “Add It Up,” but now I think most of the deep cuts outshine the singles! It’s an album with a specific energy and feeling, but the band does a LOT within that sandbox. I’m a sucker for a punk band with a vision, and while I kind of hate the scene that Violent Femmes inspired, this album is truly timeless. It’s a short and fun vibe that I think almost anyone can enjoy. It’s a little crass and a little snarky, but that’s mainly what I look for in an album, anyway. Great reminder to spin it more frequently!

A no-skips sonic journey that reminds you that a party is only possible with other people.

If all Britpop sounded this punky, snarky, and excited, maybe I’d actually respect it as a genre.

While I’m a poptimist through and through, Beyoncé has always been an artist who I wish I liked more than I do. Her strongest work – outside of Destiny’s Child’s entire discography – is either her debut (which I like because again, I adored Destiny’s Child) or Renaissance (which came out after the latest edition of this list, and will most likely be included in a future revision). There are many great Beyoncé albums, but there’s no such thing as a flawless Beyoncé album. Normally, it’s her ballads that ruin it for me. Some attempts are better than others, but a piano and adult contemporary vibes don’t flatter her. Sure, maybe they’re commercially flattering, but she needs bass, she needs off-kilter grooves, and she needs either a DJ or a funk band behind her, preferably with other vocals to play against. It’s why “Single Ladies” slaps, it’s why the bridge on “Say My Name” kills, it’s why Renaissance gave her another career renaissance that went beyond music critic circles and the Beyhive and had tracks that were actually played in public, from the club to the coffee shop. From a History of the Album Era™️ perspective, Beyoncé’s Beyoncé deserves to be on this list, if only for its unique release method. I was an avid browser of hip-hop blogs at the time, and knew “Bow Down” (later retitled “Flawless”) was getting praise and chopped and screwed remixes, but the album release was still shocking. And I remember listening to it when it dropped, and liking it. Yet as the years went on, I rarely revisited this album, and almost barely remembered it, aside from “Flawless” and the meme of “Drunk in Love” with lines about surf borts and eating cake. Its recent retrospective praise on lists like Apple’s Top 100 made me wonder why I overlooked it, so a relisten was overdue anyway. Instantly, the first half really had me thinking I’d lost my mind for not remembering this better. “Pretty Hurts” is not my favorite flavor of Bey, but god, does she slaughter you with that hook, and I think the dynamics give her a lot of space, to her benefit. Then “Haunted” kicks in and we start to get into the album proper – a moody yet groovy take on 2010s sounds, sultry yet tell-all, filled with the mystery of wearing sunglasses around the paparazzo. Sometimes it’s more dance (“Blow”), sometimes more electronic (“Haunted”) sometimes straight R&B (“Jealous” and “No Angel,” the latter written by icon Caroline Polachek!!!). Most often, it’s 2010s hip-hop with dashes of Houston rap embellishments, especially on “Drunk in Love” and “Partition.” The former has aged a lot better than I expected, if only because Jay’s verse isn’t the worst and their chemistry saves it; the latter, on the other hand, is the album highpoint, and debatably the best song not only on the album, but of Beyoncé’s entire career – solo, as a feature, or with Destiny’s Child. And throughout, the vocal snippets flesh out themes that, while celeb-obsessed, at least communicate a theme. And then there’s the second half of the album…Truthfully, the cracks start to show on “Jealous,” but they really become evident on “Rocket,” which reeks of a mid-tier Miguel song because, well, it is exactly that. Then there’s “Mine,” which I can stomach as a 31 year old woman who was starting college when Take Care was released, but the song’s Drake-ness™️ is still an issue. And here’s where I come in with my biggest critiques of this second half: A.) this half is overpowered with feature artists, which makes it feel like B.) all these songs are not Beyoncé songs, but songs meant for the feature that have Beyoncé added on, which is bad because C.) all of these features are very specifically 2013, which D.) makes those songs feel extremely 2013. None of them are bad – all the features are great songwriters – but none of the material here is their best work, and that forces Bey to drop down to their level. Why aren’t the features at the top of their game here, for Beyoncé?! This run from “Rocket” to “XO” is tolerable and still good, and saved by the immaculate “Flawless” (which is lesser than the “Bow Down” demo, but that’s splitting hairs). And then my age old issue comes back, this time with this new problem of features with the Frank Ocean cut. From here on out, it’s ballads, it’s somber, it’s sophisticated. And I have to ask….Why? It’s so tonally and thematically out of step with the rest of the album. In many ways, it feels like ending a break up novel with a loving reunion; it feels saccharine in a way that makes me roll my eyes as a listener. So while I don’t hate this second half, I also don’t adore it; it’s more a casual like, a respect, a don’t turn it off but also I’m not going to flip it over. But the whiplash between this and the immaculateness of the first half confused me. How on earth do I rate a record that feels like 2 separate albums that I have two differing opinions on? (If I’m being pedantic, though, the Platinum Edition’s bonus tracks give me exactly what I want again, and would elevate this to a 5-star if I counted them, but that’s not the album proper, so no more words, except that “7/11” still slaps.) This album made me reassess my own rating system, where I would argue all my 4 stars are great, 60-70% loves that I would own on vinyl, and spin nonstop because the bad songs are sprinkled throughout. This album has a clear dividing line, and I had a hard time thinking about what that means – do I like only half the record (3 stars) or is the weighted enjoyment enough to elevate it higher? And what if I still enjoy the back half, just not as much as the first half? I also had to not let opinions on this site influence me. Looking at how grossly low this album is rated and some of these reviews, it was hard for me to not just give this a 5-star rating and say shut the fuck up, weirdos. This album is also in my wheelhouse for genres I enjoy and eras I lived through, so I also had to accept that my harsh criticisms are coming from a place where I want more, not less. And would I feel better about being harsh if there were more Beyoncé albums on this list? As I looked at my past ratings and revisited some albums, though, I realized that Beyoncé’s Beyoncé is 110% a personal 4-star album. It’s very good, I would own it, and while I don’t think it’s flawless, I wouldn’t turn off even the bad songs. It’s just harder for me to see it as that because all the weak songs are on one side, not sprinkled throughout, so it’s harder for me to praise it, but also harder for me to deny how much I adored Side A. This might be a line in the sand for me between a 4-star and a 5-star – above Sign O The Times, neck-and-neck with After the Gold Rush – and I still really, really, really like it. But it has too much holding it back, and I doubt I’ll ever get over those elements to elevate it higher. But I’m also so glad to have rediscovered it, because now I know how much I do enjoy it, and can replay the parts I adore frequently.

Play is a good album, and a well-made album , but it’s one with diminishing returns. This was my first listen, and I was immediately impressed by the sample blending, which is incredibly unique, even today, as well as Moby’s brand of downtempo, spacey electronica. Especially on the first half, it comes in strong and feels energized, but the back half is more laid back, more textured. But then I replayed it, and it started to lose its luster immediately. Now that I’d seen Moby perform the trick once, it stopped being cool. The more I focused on the blues and roots music samples, the more I thought about the inherent politics of using disembodied black voices in white art, and it reminded me of a novel I read a few years ago, White Tears, which frames this issue throughout history as a horror story. And that thought couldn’t leave my brain. No matter how respectful Moby may have been when he made this, it’s still, well, a political act, and as a listener, it’s hard to not sit with the politics of this choice. The issue, though, is that those are the best songs Play has to offer. They’re the most energetic, the most complex, and the most engaging. Without this trick, you’re left with Moby, on his own. That means a lot of downtempo trance. A LOT! Sometimes, it also means you have to tolerate his voice, which isn’t great. And I think ultimately this became Play’s Achilles Heel for me. These downtempo trance songs all blend together. They don’t really go anywhere, they don’t evolve, and they’re either given no space or too much space. With little meat on each song’s individual bones to warrant a track-by-track revisit, I found myself growing bored with the whole venture of the album itself. By a third listen, Play’s back half barely registered in my brain, and I accepted that this is the exact type of electronica I would never listen to by choice. What’s more, it sounds so distinctly ‘90s, the sonic equivalent of the iMac G3, and that dated quality made it even less interesting. Play is a cool idea, and cool for its time, but that coolness has a half life. An active listen expedites that half life. If you get through a handful of listens without that half life being an issue, then Play will always work for you. For me, I have to tap out and accept that a truly enjoyable electronic album would not make me question its creation, and also would actually get my ass moving. Play does neither. Interesting and important, sure, but I won’t relisten any time soon.

Achtung Baby is an album with a lot of interesting ideas. Unfortunately, I don’t think U2 are the band to successfully pull off said ideas. What should be a spacey deconstruction of rock comes out as edgy Adult Contemporary music for Cool Moms™️ to play while they smoke Capris in their minivans and wait for their kids to finish soccer practice. Part of it is Bono’s lyrics, which are either sappy or pseudo-intellectual – more often, a combination of the two. I also think the band overall isn’t good enough to pull off the studio trickery required to execute Achtung Baby to its fullest – The Edge does too little on their guitar, and the rhythm section is extremely background, to the detriment of every song here. That said, U2 are extremely overhated. Again, I don’t think they’re a *great* band, but they are very close to being one. I think Bono’s voice does a lot of the work here, but also, they have a knack for riffs and hooks, even when they’re experimenting. More importantly, they have ideas, and those ideas give this album in particular a lot of mileage. Achtung Baby is far from the greatest record I’ll ever hear, and I doubt I’ll either revisit it or even remember it, but it’s also not unappealing. I doubt I’d be friends with anyone who loves this washed out type of Boomer Mom rock, but I also wouldn’t think they’re deaf or insane of enjoying it. This is an album that’s close to something great, but falls short from just a far enough distance that it makes you feel embarrassed for the band for even trying. And I don’t want to feel embarrassed for U2, a band who sells out arenas with little to no effort. But I also don’t feel the need to dogpile on this record. Although it’s not essential and I’m sure I’ll be more critical of the three (!!!) other U2 albums on this list, for now, I’m fine with Achtung Baby, because at least they’re trying. Not the worst, but not a great listen, either. The epitome of the word “fine.”

Talented theatre kids are still theatre kids.

On the one hand, this is the music I desperately wish David Bowie made, given how much Fry’s voice sounds like Bowie’s, just with more tact. On the other hand, I think I’m just a sucker for new-wave sophisti-pop, a horn and/or strings section, and a killer bass riff (crazy considering that ABC lacked a steady bassist during recording). I’m also just a fan of camp, and this is Camp with a Capital K™️. It’s one of those ’80s records you pick up because it has one hit you kinda sorta remember, but once you actually put the record on, it hooks you from the start and only keeps getting better, and because the hit is buried so deep in the record, by the time you actually arrive at it, you’re already so sold on the record overall that the hit blows your fucking mind. Every time I think ABC is about to lose me by being a bit too much, they’re somehow able to hold it all together and ride the chaos beautifully without breaking the pop music vases they’re juggling. If I have any critique, I’d say I prefer Side A to Side B overall – the contrarian opinion, from the looks of it – but that may have to do with the fact that Side A is more clearly disco-adjacent. Whenever I pull a cheesy pop record on this list, I try so hard to tell myself that my preference for cheesy pop music shouldn’t influence my rating, and I try to initially rate those records lower. And normally, I fail at being my own Devil’s Advocate, if only because I subjectively adore dorky pop music, and I’d be lying if I tried to claim otherwise. The Lexicon of Love needs no justification, though. This is pure pop crafted with meticulous care and respect for the tradition of the pop song. It’s so undeniably infectious, and only gets better with each listen. A must-listen for every poptimist!!

Maybe it’s the ADHD/transfemme brainworms, but this is exactly the kind of all-inclusive, anything goes, subtextual, just plain old weird yet chaotic experience teetering between a rave and a sensory deprivation tank that soothes my mind and speaks to my soul.

Huh. So, normally I hate Bowie. A lot. This is….interesting, though….It’s still too untethered and blatantly coke-fueled for me, and would benefit greatly from some editing, but I like it more than the pseudo-intellectual experimentation of the Berlin Trilogy, and a lot more than the gaudy theatricality of his glam rock era. It has groove, it’s sonically varied like a normal pop record but still cohesive, and it’s a little more accessible, despite its experiments. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t bob my head throughout. In the end, though, Station to Station still always goes too far for me to be sold. Just when I’m digging a chorus or a beat, there’s a change-up or sound that just gets under my skin. I just think that’s the issue with Bowie for me in general. I truly hate his vocal choices, I hate his vaudevillian aesthetic, I hate how he builds a song. For all my ADHD-fueled love of hyperpop and noise rock, I hate how so many parts here just cut in out of absolutely nowhere throughout this record. I just can’t follow the logic of these songs. Every time I want Bowie to just stay focused, he explores a new avenue, and it always takes a good idea down a bad path. Unfortunately, red and green peppers, milk, and coke will not keep you on a focused path. For many, I’m sure that lack of focus is the exact thing they find appealing about Station to Station; for me, it’s the pressure point that brings the whole album down. I can see a version of Station to Station that was made with careful precision, tighter disco-inspired grooves, and songs that were contained to 4-minute runtimes, and I imagine truly adoring that version. That’s not what I have in my hands here, though. I’m pretty close to being okay with it, but I’m just not close enough to cross that line today. But it *is* the closest I’ve come to ever liking a Bowie record to any degree, and that has to mean something. (Yes, it means I’m experiencing Stockholm Syndrome thanks to this list insisting I listen to Bowie’s entire discography against my will.)

Even as a fan of extreme genres like death metal, noise rock, and post-hardcore, I still wasn’t prepare for the violent, nihilistic jolt of The Downward Spiral. Somehow, I missed NIN growing up, which makes little sense because I would’ve obsessed over this as a kid. Thankfully, the abrasiveness still feels fresh today, and won me over instantly. After the initial shock wore off, though, I was really able to dig into how intricate and meticulous this whole record is. Reznor builds a track with a lot of meat on the bones, and that creates a splatter painting of pure sonic chaos, but if your ears can stomach loud, then there’s a lot of texture and craft to appreciate here. For me, the sheer scope of The Downward Spiral is a double-edged sword, though, and at times borders on bloat. It opens great for a first listen, but the real beauty of this record is in its mid-section. It’s a small issue, but it is glaringly obvious on relisten that the album doesn’t really kick into 5th gear until “Heresy.” But from there, it keeps my attention locked in until “Big Man With A Gun.” I’d also say the last leg starts to wear thin; while I respect and understand the logic of the sparser tracks like “A Warm Place” and the title track, it’s almost too much whiplash, especially when a) Reznor has quiet moments sprinkled throughout the tracklist already, and b) these songs are maybe the least detailed songs on the whole album. That said, “Hurt” is a gorgeous song, both from a production standpoint and a songwriting perspective, and it honestly might be one of the best closers of all time. It’s records like this that make me wish that this list had even more space for the loud, the abrasive, and the strange, because The Downward Spiral is an obvious testament to how even those records can be mind-bending yet remain catchy, and build to create amazing works of art.

Blondie’s Parallel Lines for Millennials. And just as good. (My credentials for making this statement? I’m a 31 year old woman who dropped out of film school and went to a lot of hipster parties in the early 2010s. I’m basically an authority on Millennial hipster music.)

I was born in the wrong generation, and by that I mean I was meant to be driving around on a sultry summer day in 1989, fresh out of undergrad, cranking my window down to smoke a Camel, blasting college rock radio on my way to my new graphic design job, vocalizing fuzzed-out guitar solos and cursing out the old lady in front of me for driving so slow and making me late for my morning meeting. Bug is a close approximation to what that must’ve felt like, though, so I’ll take it.

The quintessential Mad Lad™️album. Despite being obsessed with this as a teen when it first came out, though, I have to say, I was a bit concerned that transitioning and aging would make me side-eye this album today. Turns out, I had nothing to worry about! And maybe that’s because I’m still just a Hipster Party Girl™️ deep down and this is a true Indie Party Masterpiece™️, but I also think this record is just a masterpiece, flat-out. The lyrics are insightful but also witty and perfectly encapsulate the emotions of being in your late teens. The rhythm section is *so* tight and to this day still inspires a hip shimmy and hands in the air moment from me. And the guitar work is goddamn brilliant, as well as the jittery, stop-start, dynamic-centric songwriting. They’re pulling from a lot of important bands who came before – Pixies, Supergrass, Blur, The Kinks, The White Stripes – but it’s all put into a blender. So while you can taste the flavor of this or that, the end result only enhances the other elements, and the whole thing comes out tasting like nothing else that you’ve ever tasted. And while I think Whatever People Say I Am comes dangerously close to overstaying its welcome (and the band’s sound did get stale for a couple albums after this, at least until AM), this album overall explores enough of a variety of tones, dynamics, and degrees of the band’s sound that, as a self-contained package, it stays enjoyable throughout and never gets boring. If the best thing that ever came out of Britpop was Whatever People Say I Am, then shout out to Britpop. Glad to know this record still bangs.

As someone who’s heard a lot of dudes death growl the sentence, “I wanna see you open this fucking pit up!!” in her lifetime, I was already primed to love Scum, an album I somehow just never got around to, despite the infamy of “You Suffer” and the overall short runtime of this album. And yeah, it’s fucking incredible! If you hate extreme music genres in general, yeah, you’re not going to like Scum or any grindcore for that matter, or even anything lighter, like death metal. But thankfully, I like extreme music, and this album hits a sweet spot for me, mixing my love of punk and death pretty evenly. Side A alone would warrant Napalm Death’s deserved placement on this list, as it includes insane blast beats, infamously short songs, and insane shreds that pushed extreme metal to its breaking point. Side A also shows so much variety, and just picking up my favorites of “Instinct of Survival,” “Scum,” “Siege of Power,” and “Born on Your Knees,” you can clearly hear the diversity of their sound, as long as you don’t walk into this listen looking to mock this album for sounding the same. But then, Side B takes everything from Side A and makes it look like doo-wop music by comparison, increasing the speed and making the guitars lower and nastier. But there’s still great songs in that space, like “Success?,” “Common Enemy,” “Moral Crusades,” or even “Parasites,” which somehow fits a guitar solo in there! Scum incorporates every vocal technique, every blast beat, every downtuned guitar style – everything you could imagine wanting from extreme metal, and hands it all to you in a tight 33-minutes, and it’s amazing. Sure, it’s abrasive, and you’re certainly allowed to not enjoy extremity in music, but if you like or even desire extremity, Scum is a pinnacle, a high water mark. While I think other bands took what Napalm Death did here and added to it, but very few have done *all of it*, especially in one record, and even fewer have done it with this level of expertise. A pure game-changer, and an essential listen.

Shockingly underwhelming. I think it’s completely fine for early goth, and there’s a decent amount of good stuff on Mask, but it’s never mind-blowing. There’s also a lot of elements that proved to be influential, but sound really awkward and poorly executed in Bauhaus’ hands. The spoken word gloomy poetry of “Of Lilies and Remains,” the Jim Morrison-esque crazed jitter of “Muscle in Plastic,” the effects-riddled closer/title track that makes you want to jump through the speakers and tell them to turn OFF the pedal board. The songs that do work, though, are still not the strongest goth songs in history. The grating vocals nearly ruin “Dancing” and “The Man with X-Ray Eyes,” and the annoying delay effects on “The Passion of Lovers” teaches us that there’s a such thing as too much aesthetics. Bauhaus is a good band, but rarely a great band. It seems like their biggest strength was just being early to the party and bringing a sound and an aesthetic that was damn near inevitable, given the post-punk scene at the time. The guitars can be cool when they aren’t washed out, the vocals can be good when it’s not riddled with spoken word tropes, and the rhythm section does evoke the right vibe when it’s not fighting to course-correct the previous two issues. It sounds like I hate Mask, when I don’t. It’s just a 60/40 album with a bad batch of tracks, and good tracks with bad habits sprinkled throughout. If it sounds like I hate Mask, it’s explicitly because everyone knows Bauhaus *can* write songs a million times better than this. In fact, they did!! The album’s biggest weakness is that it doesn’t have the seminal goth track “Bela Lugosi’s Dead.” The issue is that “Bela Lugosi’s Dead” never ended up on a proper album, which means it couldn’t be included in this book, so in order to include Bauhaus, the book had to make a choice, and while Mask isn’t a bad album, I think it is a bad choice to include on this list. If you take the time to listen to “Bela Lugosi’s Dead” and immediately listen to Mask back-to-back, it’s clear that Mask isn’t even a fair replacement for that single. Honestly, I think the song “Hollow Hills” summarizes Mask best: it’s a good goth song if you have little to compare it to, but less than impressive if you’ve heard other seminal goth songs. And not to play the comparison game, but Juju came out 4 months before Mask! It’s sad that Bauhaus can’t reach the heights of their first single, but being first doesn’t absolve you enough to validate a mid-tier album.

Question – are Metallica a good enough live band to warrant a live album? Another question – are Metallica good enough live to stay in sync with an orchestra? S&M is a cool idea. Metallica have always been closely linked to classical music, particularly thanks to Cliff Burton’s compositions. But the concept ignores the big issues of Metallica, particularly of a Metallica circa 1999. While the symphonic touches are cool, in every instance, I’d rather just hear the original material from the original album. And actually, I frequently found the orchestral elements to be too much on top of the band’s live tone (a tone that is….certainly a choice). Hetfield is not giving his greatest vocal performance, either, and frankly nearly ruins a lot of these songs, although there are a few bright spots, such as “Hero Of The Day,” “Bleeding Me,” and “The Outlaw Torn,” although I might just like when he goes into his lower register. On the other hand, Lars is always going to be an ✨interesting✨ drummer, and while he keeps it mostly together here, there’s still ticks, and those ticks are heightened when he’s forced to actually play with good musicians. Kirk’s as good as always, but his tone is also as take-it-or-leave-it as always, too. The best part of this record is Newsted’s bass, but also, isn’t that the issue with this era of Metallica? Like, isn’t he how we got to Metallica Goes Classical™️, because these other three grown men just couldn’t unpack Burton’s death and did weird shit as a result for about a decade? Also, not to be this bitch, because I normally hate this complaint against other albums on this list, but…I really don’t need 2.25 hours of Metallica Goes Classical™️. The one saving grace for S&M is that half of it is material from their peak era, and even though I’m not the biggest Metallica fan ever, those songs are still peak metal. To play my own Devil’s Advocate, though, the other half is made up of songs from an era where Metallica were quickly devolving, and while it’s not quite rock bottom and some of those songs are pretty good, none of them are what anyone would classify as peak metal. If I wanted seminal symphonic metal, I’d just listen to Nightwish or Within Temptation. And if I wanted Metallica, I’d listen to their first 5 studio albums. The problem is, I rarely want either of those things, so S&M and I were already starting off on bad footing. It’s then unfortunate that actually listening to S&M only made things worse. Again, it’s saved by the sheer strength of the original material from the band’s heyday, but it’s only barely saved. Even with its inherently strong material, S&M is an exhausting listen, one that numbs your brain to its problems by just throwing too much material at you that is only tolerable if you’re already a huge Metallica fan who likes both their peak era and their declining eras. If that isn’t you, you won’t enjoy this, and if you try to actively engage with it, you’ll only see problems. And that isn’t me, and I didn’t enjoy this, and actively engaging with it made me angry. So angry, you could even call me St. Anger. (Also, let’s be real, if Dimery is going to skip over Ride the Lightning in favor of S&M, then he could’ve at *least* include Lulu on this list.)

Have you ever been to a basement show, and after a set, you go outside for a smoke and, by chance, run into the singer of like, the second band, and to avoid an awkward situation, you casually say, “Hey man, nice set,” even though it wasn’t really that great of a set, but instead of responding, “Thanks, dude,” like a normal person and walking away to leave you alone, he instead starts telling you all about how it wasn’t their best set because they really wanted to hand out flyers about how taxation is theft and about how it’s our God-given right as Americans to be able to own a semi-automatic, but when his dipshit bassist (his words, not yours) went to print said flyers at the library, which is only a block away from the basement you’re currently at, he bumped into some old lady, who was printing flyers about how her 12 year old tabby is missing and there’s a $100 reward to anyone who finds this cat alive, and now they have 200 flyers about this fucking cat, and so then this guy (the singer, not the bassist) starts to tell you his theory about how guys who owns a cat are all beta males and about how real men only own reptiles, and in fact he has a picture of his snake on his phone, and now he’s showing you this fucking snake, even though you’ve already finished your Camel Crush and the next band is already on stage, and now you can’t escape, even though it’s the only thing you want to do, second only to maybe leaving and trying to find that tabby? Well, John Lydon was the first one of those guys. First Issue – and I assume PiL in general, based off this rancid debut – is like a stupider version of The Sex Pistols, which isn’t saying much, but at least that band had songs that evolved and sounded listenable. From a musical standpoint, none of these songs ever really evolve; PiL hands you a single riff, and that’s as much as they’re willing to give you on each song. And I’d almost be fine with that, if it didn’t go on for 8 fucking minutes! Then, on top of that, you not only have to deal with Lydon’s obnoxious, infantile insights, but you also have to deal with these random sonic non sequiturs like the chimes on “Religion II” (what a ridiculous, obvious metaphor) or the mismatched drum beats on “Annalisa.” The closest this record gets to ✨tolerable✨ is “Public Image,” which is still just a bad Sex Pistols song that would sound deep to a 12 year old who spikes his hair, but pseudo-intellectual to anyone who at least graduated middle school. The next best song on this record is “Low Life,” which isn’t even a compliment, because there are blatantly flubbed notes on that simple ass song that’s basically Part A (a single chord for 3 bars and a simple fill), and a 2-chord Part B that’s just quarter note strums that anyone could do after a single guitar lesson. Every other part of this record is as close to “unlistenable” as you can get. Not because it’s actively trying to be unlistenable – although at times it is, but those songs are unlistenable not because they’re *too* avant-garde, but rather because they’re unsuccessful at being avant-garde and are therefore annoying. No, First Issue is unlistenable because it’s banal, trite, and pseudo-intellectual to a degree that is almost unfathomable. It is unfathomable that anyone would make music this goddamn shallow, especially someone who already had a successful career as the frontman of a band that had something to say. And sure, it’s not like The Sex Pistols were deep, but at least they said SOMETHING! PiL, which is basically just Lydon’s solo project, has absolutely nothing to say at all!! Sonically. Lyrically. Aesthetically. All empty, all the way down. But what makes it obnoxious, damn near insufferable, is that Lydon and company clearly think this album is the deepest, most thoughtful, most inventive album ever committed to wax. I hate First Issue. I hate it sonically, lyrically, and aesthetically. I hate it on principle, and I hate it in practice. I hate every choice made to create this album, and I hate every note played to record this album. I even hate that there’s a saving grace in one of those songs, and I hate that it’s not even like, a song I would classify as being at least okay, but instead it’s a song that I would label as passable, and actively shit on if this was any other album. This record doesn’t deserve any sort of praise, to any degree. It’s obnoxious and gets under my skin – no, under my soul. I loathe this record. Fuck you, John Lydon. Fuck you.

Like a bar band that decided to play a few basement shows at the punk house where their friends are squatting. It’s not groundbreaking when they’re tight, and sometimes they’re a bit too drunk to be tight and instead play stupid ass joke songs, but at least their set is always fun. They have this cowpunk piss-take of country blues, especially the style popularized by Elvis, and it’s just fun if you let loose a bit. At the same time, though, based on the talent, range of styles, and even the features on here, I suspect these guys are a lot more respectful of the blues tradition than people who hate on this record. I don’t know if I’d call this essential — I’m not even sure I would’ve told these boys to get into a studio, if I’m being honest — but truthfully, I enjoyed this a lot more than other ✨serious✨ albums on this list. It’s definitely way too long and way too disheveled and unfocused to get too much praise from me, knowing I won’t remember it much in the morning, but I do like it! If I stumbled upon Now I Got Worry in a bin, I’d pay no more a Hamilton for it. More importantly, I’d 100% see these guys play a punk house basement, and that might be higher praise than any attempt at real criticism here.

Global Village Coffeehouse: The Album. If you bobbed your head to this album in a Starbucks while waiting for your Strawberry Refresher, that’s fine, because on face value, it’s fine. Basic, but fine. Based on the music alone, I wouldn’t turn this off, although most of it is uninteresting and some of it is noticeably bad. But just like GVC, there’s some inherent political elements at play that just…aren’t great. What I learned about this man from Page 1 of Google alone 😳 And that then reshaped how I heard Maverick A Strike entirely. The music is still too okay to drop to a 1-star for me, but it’s certainly not special, and it’s definitely got some built in problems, so….yeah, a 2 is me being generous. How this album made it on this list over other reggae or dub records....big yikes, Dimery!

I’m officially no longer a Radiohead hater, and it’s all because of this gorgina album full of weird time signatures and dynamics as powerful as hymnals. Thank you all. Your love has broken the curse and freed my soul. I’ll never have to kill again 🌸💖🌼🧚🏻‍♀️🥰

Are they a jazz band, a hard rock band, a soft rock band, or just a wedding band with a record deal? Even Chicago can’t decide! It starts out pretty okay, with some key essential tracks to the Adult Contemporary Canon™️ – not the best songs in that canon, but song I’m not going to turn the dial on, especially “Questions 67 and 68” – but there’s hints of an annoying jazz band underneath, on “Intro” and the first half of “Beginnings.” After that initial run of singles, though, Chicago Transit Authority quickly devolves into jazz noodling. It’s uncool and unstructured, and the album immediately lost any good will it had built up from the mediocre singles that came before. The real turning point is “Free Form Guitar,” which is just obnoxious and masturbatory. From here, Chicago try to instill some ‘70s hard rock ✨edge✨, which isn’t even a strength this band can truly lean on. By this point, their affinity for jazz and being long-winded started to annoy me. What started as a passable yet passive listen turned in an experience I couldn’t wait to finish. And while there’s a glimmer of the ‘80s AC charts with Cetera’s “Someday,” the album closes with “Liberation,” a song that’s essential just “Free Form Guitar” with the entire band deciding to chime in this time around. How these guys have almost 40 more albums also named Chicago filled with this bullshit is beyond my comprehension.

I grew up with this era of prog-esque post-hardcore, so I have a soft spot for this album and this style of music in general. On a base level, I knew I was still going to love it, and I knew that before pressing play. The latin-inspired rhythms are something I missed as a teen, and they really elevate Deloused in the Comatorium to essential status. Also, Cedric’s vocals and Omar’s guitar work are as amazing as ever, and shine brighter than they do on any At the Drive-In album. This album has it all: heavy, soft, spacey, prog, and pop, all in one. Actually, it’s incredible how many pure hooks there are sprinkled throughout this record, given that it’s both a concept album and a prog rock record. That said, I always preferred AtDI to the Mars Volta, as I found the latter to be a bit too chaotic and disorganized for my taste; after revisiting Deloused, I’d still say the same thing today. A song like “Eriatarka” is amazing, but it has so many parts that are tied together by the thinnest connective tissue possible. Compared to classic prog records, Deloused lacks cohesion, which is almost an ironic critique because simultaneously, it’s biggest strength is that every song flows together into the next one as if this is an album with only one track. There’s a general ✨muchness✨ to this era of post-hardcore that you either love or hate, and the Mars Volta are a big reason for why that is, so as a result, you’re either going to like it and turn a blind eye to it when it maybe borders on overboard, or you’re going to tap out.

And again, I grew up obsessed with this scene, so even when Deloused is a little sprawling and tangled, I still have a blast with this record. Honestly, I’m sad that more of the classics from this era aren’t on the list, particularly Relationship of Command, but that shouldn’t distract from Deloused’s shine. This album is essential and a post-hardcore masterpiece, and still holds up today for its unique genre-bending and sheer display of talent.

I hate to say it, but, minus “Nightswimming” and the hook on “Man On The Moon,” I find this really, really, really, really, really, really, *really*, reallyreallyreallyreally – no, like, I’m being serious, REALLYYYYYYYYYY – boring.

50 Cent: “I try not to say nothing, the DA might want to play in court.” Also 50 Cent, 5 songs later, over a beat made from the sound of a gun cocking and firing: “I don’t care if I get caught, the DA can play this motherfucking tape in court.” Get Rich or Die Tryin’ is the peak of gangsta rap. 50 is an obvious student of the genre and came in with some of the best flows, bars, and especially hooks in the history of hip-hop up to this point. It’s a treat that, on top of all that, this is also a no-skips album where even the deep cuts go hard. You get Dr. Dre production, 2 of Eminem’s best verses ever (I prefer “Don’t Push Me” tbh), and 2 of the most hilarious diss tracks of all time (no one has wrote a diss bar better than “You sing for hoes and sound like the Cookie Monster,” even 20 years later.) Also, 50 Cent is my Brother-in-Law’s second favorite rapper, behind only DMX, so I also feel like this is almost a personal Christmas album because he always ends up playing it after we’ve had 5 drinks and just start pouring tequila in a glass. And it still sounds just as good as it did when we were in 4th grade.

Bold as fuck to have a solo career when you can’t even sing in the first place. Even bolder to make a bland folk-rock album that puts your voice front and center. (Yes, I know Rod Stewart *can* technically sing. I just hate the tone of his voice, it sounds like nails on a chalkboard to me. So yeah, I didn’t really enjoy this album.)

I could imagine bumming a ride to the train station from a friend or five of mine, and they turn this on and insist that I really need to listen to The Fall, they’re so deep and were so ahead of their time and this album will change my life, I have *got* to listen, but like, REALLY listen, dude. And while The Infotainment Scan is a decent post-punk album with slam poetry vocals and totally cool guitars etc. that don’t stand out much once the song is over, and while it would also be rude to tell my friend(s) to turn it off, especially when I’m the girl bumming a ride from them in this situation, I don’t think I’ll be going out of my way to learn more about The Fall any time soon. Actually, this might be where I need to get out – both metaphorically from the thrill ride through the history of post-punk, and literally out of the car before this album is over and before I miss my train. But sure, dude, I’ll check out The Fall more, this is cool 🙄

When the worst song on your album is “Bridge Over Troubled Water,” you know you’ve got a banger on your hands. While I’m more likely to relisten to the other two S&G albums on this list, from a song-by-song perspective, this is their peak. It also contains my favorite of their songs, “Cecilia” and “The Only Living Boy in New York,” as well as amazing cuts like “Keep the Customer Satisfied” and “Song for the Asking.” I do think you could cut a song or two and have an even better/tighter record — my vote is against “Why Don’t You Write Me” or maybe “Baby Driver,” as both feel a bit tonally off — but that’s just nitpicking greatness. Justice for Art Garfunkel’s solo career, though, even if he’s annoying.

Oh……….oh, um…….no no no no no no no no no no no no. Nope. Nah. Nope. Yeah, no. Not- I don’t think….Excuse me, waitress? Yes, um, I don’t think this was meant for our table. It’s not mine, so, um…..yes, can you send it back, please? Oh, for sure. Yes, I order the Bolognese. Not, well, whatever this is. What is it, exactly? Is that…oh, yeah, well, that’s interesting. No, no thank you. But thank you for understanding. As long as it’s not on my bill ha ha ha ha ha…….Thank you so much. Anyway, as I was saying….

As I’ve gotten older, I’ve found myself saying the phrase, “Oh, what the fuck is this?!” with less frequency and excitement whenever I listen to an album for the first time. Everybody Knows This Is Nowhere made me say, “Oh, wait…what the actual fuck is THIS?!?!” to every single song, then immediately start it all over again. Even after listening to it obsessively all day, even on listen 7 and counting, my jaw is still on the fucking floor. Every element — the songwriting, the lyrics, the drum sound, the bass grooves, the vocal choices, the unique rhythm playing, Young’s solos, the production, EVERYTHING — instantly rewired my brain and redefined my understanding of what a rock album could be, let alone what a song could be. This could come out tomorrow and sound light years ahead of its time. Mind blown 🤯🤯🤯

A second-rate version of The Chronic is still an incredible record, go fucking figure.

We all have that coworker that clearly is great at their job doing spreadsheets, but they eventually got promoted to be a manager and now all they do all day is micro-manage and schedule idea-generation meetings to discuss things that never turn into real work and spend 30 minutes talking to you at your desk, distracting you from your own spreadsheets, which you have to work twice as hard on now because this coworker no longer does spreadsheets. Peter Gabriel is the pop music equivalent of that. The man can write a killer pop hook, but he’s so goddamn famous already that he instead feels like he should spend his time being experimental and trying to push the envelope, and he’s just not as good at that. When he’s on, he’s fucking on, but he’s only on about 50% of the time. Most of Car is mediocre experimental art pop that isn’t worth your time. But the other half is great ‘80s pop. “Solsbury Hill,” obviously, but really the best song to me is “Modern Love,” and the gorgeous closer “Here Comes The Flood.” I’ll also give it up to “Humdrum,” although Gabriel does teeter on the edge with that one. I’m not sure any of these songs elevate Car to essential status, but it’s still very good. They’re just unfortunately surrounded by some of the most annoyingly pretentious drivel imaginable. I think the highs on Car do enough to push me toward positive apathy, but on a worse day, I could easily demote it a star for being try-hard. I admire Gabriel’s efforts, I just don’t think he can execute at the level he believes he can. But that was also my issue with A Lamb Lies Down On Broadway and his era of Genesis in general. But when Gabriel wants to write a pop song, the man is one of the best ever, and I will be adding those songs to future playlists. But a couple songs doesn’t make an album, even if there’s just enough to make it a technical 50/50 split. Idk Gabriel, maybe I’m saying you should stick to spreadsheets, I didn’t need you in upper management.

I somehow skipped that stage when you’re 17 and buy that Bob Marley Greatest Hits album, so the closest I ever got was The Fugee’s cover of “No Woman, No Cry.” I don’t think that benefited me during this listen; my ears are missing some context to fully make reggae click. That said, this album has some really great highlights that do get me interested to learn more about the genre. “No Woman, No Cry” is truly incredible, and the obvious album standout, but the next track, “Them Belly Full” is just as good. I also like “Talkin’ Blues” a lot. Besides that, there’s songs I find to be good — “So Jah Seh,” “Natty Dread,” and Revolution” — but I actively did not enough everything else. I have no way to really explain this well, but they all sounded very dated and the funk-rock vibes felt very thin. Thin production, thin genre blending, and thin songwriting. I also think Marley makes some vocalization choices that I hate, which is weird because I actually enjoy his singing voice. It’s just when he’s trying to convey stage presence, something about it feels too forced. Thankfully, Natty Dread is a short album, and even if I find it to have some obvious peaks and valleys, it’s mostly an enjoyable listen. I’d love to revisit this album once I’m more comfortable with reggae and Marley’s general discography. I can’t shake the feeling that my lack of exposure overall is making me underrate this. But on face value, it’s a little too spotty, with clear highlights but also clear low points.

Synths as thin as paper dolls, with the songwriting to match.

Why does this album sound like Springsteen doing an impression of himself? The songwriting is strong, if you like this style, but it’s a bit much for me (it does come close to selling me, though). The vocals just take it over the edge here and turn me off. One day I’ll grow up and enjoy Springsteen. Not today.

Live At The Apollo is one of those albums that everyone likes because it has mass appeal and works really well as a sum of its parts. It’s groovy, funky, all-ages fun. The issue is, I rarely listen to those parts on their own. Hell, I rarely revisit Apollo as a whole, as it is. What’s more, I think this era of funk has just been culturally regulated to Wedding Music™️. Maybe I’m showing my age/that I’m at that point in life where you spend your fall going to 5 weddings, but this style is just sonic novocaine to my ears. This is a quintessential example of an album I respect a lot more than I enjoy. But that’s also how I feel about James Brown generally.

The sound of being slowly caressed under silk bedsheets; crafted with the intricacy of a Swiss watch, where you find a new detail every time you look at it; and a voice that could impregnate me, despite the fact that I don’t have a uterus. This is one of my favorite albums of all time. I love Neo-soul in general, but D’Angelo is on a whole other level. And even though I subjectively love this record, objectively speaking, Brown Sugar is probably the least essential album in his discography. All three of his albums should be on this list, and that is not up for debate.

Populist classic prog, which, as a poptimist who never really had a classic prog phase in her youth, I’m fine with. But it’s still prog — and indistinct prog, at that. It’s just kind of…there, and while Queen oozes talent, they never put it all together. There’s no truly transcendent moment on Queen II, and that results in a bland record that completely washes over me. But at least it’s not so over the top that I’m annoyed. I’ll never revisit this again, though.

I recently had to confess to my friend – who is a huge fan of The Smiths – that, despite my general superiority complex around the band given how frequency I mock people who are stereotypical fans of The Smiths, I actually really, really like them as a band. This made her gasp, smack me, and then yell at me at the lesbian bar for refusing to go see Morrissey with her earlier that year, despite the fact that she had just broken up with her boyfriend at the time, who was supposed to go with her. No no no, I insisted, I like The Smiths; Morrissey is still both pretty gross (albeit complicated) and deeply obnoxious (and doesn’t complicate that truth ever; in fact, he makes it apparent the minute he opens his mouth). Johnny Marr and Co., though, those boys are all right with me, but only those boys. I did leave out one crucial detail. I had never listened to a Morrissey solo album. Now having listened to You Are The Quarry, while I do still find him to be both pretty gross and deeply obnoxious, and would still say this album is sometimes too much of one, the other, or a third worse sin – the sin of being saccharine as hell – I now think I have to find a way to tell my friend that maybe, just maybe, I actually like Morrissey. At least as a musician, and at least on this album, which is pretty damn good.

If you time traveled and told me that the blonde Disney “Teardrops on My Guitar” country star who I listened to as a guilty pleasure when I was 14 made a classic album, Evermore is the album I would’ve imagined in my head. Ironically, adult me would be talking about Folklore, and while this is no Folklore, Evermore is pretty damn close. If Folklore is Swift on her Joni, Evermore is Swift being herself, mature and at full strength after all these years. I was so dismissive toward this when it came out, and I think it’s because Folklore was just so overpowering and such an obvious, instant classic (although it was a bit of a personal grower for me), and it was hard to not see this album as a b-sides companion to those sessions, especially given the release timeline. Listening to this now, it’s a lot closer to her country music roots, like a barrel-aged version of Fearless/Speak Now. Songs like “No Body, No Crime,” and “Ivy” have that twang but bring a singer-songwriter touch to that style; meanwhile, songs like “’Tis The Damn Season” and “Cowboy Like Me” add some Nashville gleam to coffee shop jams. But most of Evermore is just a quiet record, with observational lyrical tales that seem to have nothing to do with Taylor herself, for once. It works, though, because sonically, this feels like her at her most authentic. This lends her the opportunity to explore her talents with full-on confidence, and while that normally means sparse acoustic numbers like “Dorothea,” and “Champagne Problems,” it also allows for an eco-friendly spin on her pop charters, with “Long Story Short” and “Gold Rush,” and more subtly on “Marjorie” and “Closure.” And while this whole record is clearly strong, it’s elevated by its bookends – the opener and closure rival the best Taylor Swift songs ever, and may win out in some pairings, in my opinion. I still think it has a couple misses in my opinion, mainly in “Happiness” and “Tolerable,” but I’d be lying if I tried to pretend it wasn’t an excellent record overall. It’s so good that even the bonus tracks are not only excellent, but essential to her overall discography, especially “Right Where You Left Me.” This is one of those records that would be any other artists’ magnum opus, but [un]fortunately, Swift has a claim to at least 3 magnum opuses, and a minimum of 5 essential classics. Would I personally add Evermore to either of those lists? No – I still think Folklore should be on this list before Evermore, and I’d argue Speak Now and Red are at least as deserving of a spot here. (If Bowie and Costello and Young and Nick Cave and all these other men get so many, even if I like a lot of those discographies so far, I’d say Taylor is easily deserving too, because she’s 100% seen at that level by now.) But just because I’m personally more likely to play Reputation or Red, I still know that Evermore is great. It’s especially great if you want a more authentic, consistent version of Taylor, one that is less of a pop star, but also one that isn’t fully Nashville. But maybe I’m just a braindead Swiftie. Honestly, even I can’t tell at this point.

In the wake of a dead man, a woman is left to make sense of the emotions he was unable to bear. The weight of that, the process of that, and the pain of that is all on display on Celebrity Skin. Listen. Courtney Love – complicated individual. Hole, however, is an excellent band, and Love is an amazing front-woman, and a particularly great lyricist. She has her poetic tics, I’d say, but there’s a raw gut-punch of emotion that she’s really good at conveying, both on the page and on the stage. This is a lyrically devastating record, one that explores genuine feminine heartbreak. It’s made better by the fact that these songs have been stuck in my head for days. I’m not going to pretend that this is the most earth-shattering ‘90s alt rock/grunge I’ve ever heard in my life, but god, can Hole write a banger! And can do so with some variety and flair. This album has catchy acoustic joints and slow jams, big radio rock songs, and moodier, edgier spaced out tracks. I think you could argue that Hole does sometimes feel a bit stereotypically grunge, and especially seem to mirror The Smashing Pumpkins, but I’d say the hooks, charisma, and lyrics on Celebrity Skin overshadow that critique. I don’t know if it’s an essential record, given that it can sometimes have a slightly derivative sound (which I think is just the sound of the genre in 1998), but if anything, it’s an essential record to understand the impact of Cobain’s death, and truly understand who exactly had to deal with the fallout of that. It was all on Courtney Love, and I think she processes it in a way that created a great work of art. I also think I’m just naturally predisposed to like Hole, but I also think this album is really good front-to-back, and going to stay in rotation for a while.

While it’s not my favorite Beatles album today, Rubber Soul was the first of their albums that I really enjoyed. That said, I’m still not the biggest Beatles fan – I love certain songs, and I love Abbey Road, but I’m very rarely returning to their discography. So even though I would blindly rank Rubber Soul high on my tier list of Beatles albums, it’s probably been at least a decade since I’ve given it a proper, active listen. And yeah, it holds the fuck up. Side A is maybe the tightest side of any Beatles record, in my opinion. “Drive My Car,” “Nowhere Man,” and “Think For Yourself” are all excellent and push the band to be a little less teeny-bopper and a little more timeless, but songs like “Norwegian Wood” and “Michelle” really come in for the kill. And I like “You Won’t See Me,” even though it still has a bit of early-era Beatles stink on it. This said, “The Word” is a complete dud, and one of the lamest songs in their catalog, which is saying a lot for a band who I think has some pretty lame string cheese in their back pockets. But I’ll accept one dud. The real cracks start to show on Side B. Starting off with a Ringo song is bold, and it’s not a particularly good and/or even fun Ringo song. “Girl” and “I’m Looking Through You” are both enjoyable to me, but they play into Lennon’s and McCartney’s fallback comfort-area tropes of moody downtempo and rockabilly, respectively. The momentum is saved by “In My Life” – one of my favorite songs of all time, period, no question – and some great songs that feel like there was an actual element of true collaboration. That said, it ends on one of the weirdest Beatles songs ever; “Run for Your Life” is sonically good, but the second I pay attention to the lyrics, I immediately get the ick. Closing an album with a song about spousal abuse is not a good look given your track record, John. All these complaints are pretty nit-picky, though. Again, I’m not a huge Beatles fan, but even I can’t resist Rubber Soul. It’s so good that its valleys do little to distract from its peaks. Still, it 100% has peaks and it 100% has valleys, so it’s not a truly consistent record. But also, this is the album this list should have started with. Not their height, but pretty damn good, and I should definitely own a copy on vinyl.

If this generator has taught me anything so far, it’s that I was born to be a Neil Young fan. He was the saving grace on Déjà Vu – which is still a mediocre record overall. Now, without him on Crosby, Stills & Nash, I find CSN to be nearly unbearable, and certainly forgettable. The best songs on here are, in my opinion, “Guinnevere” and “Long Time Gone.” Which makes sense, because I like David Crosby, and I like his era of The Byrds. But gun to my head, I don’t think I could hum the melody of either song. To be fair, apparently, Crosby himself couldn’t even recognize “Guinnevere.” Those are just the songs that I didn’t either hate or not give a single shit about. Most of this album went in one ear, and went out the other. It is blander then bland. I think it’s decent enough where I can’t fully hate it, but this is a nothing album to me. It has no defining features, nothing unique, nothing interesting about it, nothing that makes it timeless. Its heights are still forgettable. When your best material is only good because it’s not as bad as the material around it, you don’t have a classic album on your hands. Boomer white bread. That’s all this record is, and frankly, all CSN may be. Neil Young, if you can hear me, please, save us. We need you. Or at least, CSN needs you.

A band with no original ideas and a tone-deaf singer who sounds like he can only speak beginner level English walk into a studio, pick up an instrument at random, and say to each other, “Hey dudez! What if we added this to the song?” And then they did that with everything in the studio, for no apparent reason, for 37 excruciating minutes. Like, yeah, I could’ve guessed these motherfuckers were home-schooled. They sound arrogant as fuck about their basic level of musical proficiency and generally annoying as hell. A waste of my time.

Music for little boys and kitsch honky tonks in the 1950s. It just feels cheap, vaudevillian, and plastic, with its plot-driven lyrics and literal cowboy chords. The best songs are Robbins’ original material (mainly the singles), with a good rendition or two here and there, but that’s not high praise. For the most part, there’s very little variation on this thing. Both sonically and thematically. What you see is what you get; if you want cowboy country, then you’ll be more than happy, but I think the audience for that is basically nonexistent. Gunfighter Ballads is ultimately a trivial record, elevated mainly by its age and critical praise. It seems like most of the adoration around it is tied to the singles and the idea that country “used to be good,” so obviously this old album with a good critical track record falls into that nostalgic interpretation too, right? In reality, it’s kitsch. Sometimes kitsch can be good, but this is far from camp. It was meant to be forgotten, and in a week, I’ll definitely have forgotten that I ever listened to it.

Sometimes I forget that I’m the daughter of a Hot Rods Guy™️. Then I hear music like Bad Company, and something deep in my soul awakens, and I’m holding a flashlight while ‘70s butt rock plays over a crappy Walkman radio on my Dad’s workbench. That said, only half of this album is cool and actually rocks. The other half, strangely enough, is mostly ballads, for some reason. And they mostly suck. Like, I get that this was a ✨thing✨ at the time, but they’ve all aged like milk. By now, trying to listen to a lame hard rock ballad is like drinking from a Garfield glass made with lead paint. Still, the songs that rock do kick ass. Maybe they’re not the pinnacle of this type of music, but they’re pretty good. Especially Side A. That said, I don’t think they are good enough to be essential. Even if this whole album kicked ass, while I’d definitely enjoy it more, I don’t know if it would make it any more essential. Influential, maybe, but the bands it influenced are not good and not represented on this list. And that’s just what Bad Company could sound like in theory. As it is, though, ballads and all, I find Bad Company to be even less important. A few staple cuts for classic rock radio, sure, but the full album does not belong on here. But hey, the triple self-titled thing, that’s gotta count for something!

When I was ~17 years old, I developed this theory that there are 3 Grandfather Alternative Bands™️ every alternative/hipster/scene kid knows, but everyone always only likes two of them. Those bands were The Cure, The Smiths, and Pixies. I’m not sure adult me would agree with these being the three correct bands, but I get younger me’s point, and she’s not entirely off-base. I, for one, was always a girl who loved The Cure and Pixies. Especially Pixies. A large part of that is thanks to Kim Deal, who has long been a North Star for me as a bassist, but really, it’s thanks to the fact that Doolittle melted my face off when I was 15 and heard it, piece by piece, via track-by-track YouTube videos that each took ~3 hours to load thanks to my parents still having dial-up internet in 2008. This is one of those records that I just can’t listen to critically. It truly changed my life. If you knew me as a teenager and drove anywhere with me, you 100% were subjected to me blasting this at full volume. I love every single song, every single lyric, every single note. It’s one of those albums from youth that I listened to so goddamn much that now, as a 31 year old Brooklyn transplant, I almost don’t need to replay it – it’s just there, in my mind’s eye, any time I want to hear it. That said, when I do play it, it’s like I’m 15 all over again, and the magic is still as strong as the very first time I listened to it. Even songs I typically skipped back in the day, like “Mr. Grieves” and “No 13 Baby,” sound amazing to me now, although I think that’s because I only became more exposed to weird chaotic noise rock adjacent bands as I got older, especially going to Providence basement shows in college. I’m also floored by how much Pixies fit into such a tight space; these songs are a *lot* shorter than I remember them being, but they still feel as full and detailed as a 5 minute track from another alt-rock band. Doolittle is an album that will forever live in my Top 20, no matter how much music I’ve heard in my life. Perfection is an understatement. And I’ll always say that I’m the kind of alt kid who likes The Cure and Pixies. Especially Pixies.

Sometimes, even the most annoying group of theater kids can make art that is legitimately amazing. A Night at the Opera is proof that Queen are more than a singles band. (Though, if you took this album out of the equation, then yeah, they’re strictly a singles band. But that’s not reality, thankfully.) Frankly, I don’t know why I adore this record as much as I do – it has the exact same issues as the other two Queen records on this list; it’s just as overly theatrical and filled to the brim with muchness, which I find obnoxious – but there’s an element of constraint here that elevates it above anything else in their discography. And yes, I know that sounds silly when there are songs like “Lazy Sunday Afternoon,” “Seaside Rendezvous,” “Love of My Life,” and “Good Company,” but the pop sensibilities just overpower the dorky extravagance. There’s definitely a song or two I would cut in an ideal world (“39” and “Prophet Song”), but the fact that I would preserve a song like “I’m In Love With My Car” is testament to the level of consistency on A Night at the Opera, as well as the pure talent it must’ve took to make this album. But then again, if your album has a song like “Bohemian Rhapsody,” I think you probably have a classic on your hands, no matter what the fuck you put next to it. Thankfully, the rest of the material around that flawless song is very good, if not on the same caliber. Yeah, this album’s great. Dorky and a lot, but surprisingly great.

Acid-induced drivel. Just because you have the idea to blend 5 different genres doesn’t mean you can execute that idea successfully. The thing is, Super Furry Animals *can* legitimately play, and there’s a moment or two that comes close to decency. The problem is that these aren’t songs, they’re just ideas and experimentation. Nothing here left anything close to an impression on me as a self-contained song. It’s not bad because it lacks talent, but rather, it’s bad because lacks cohesion, so the end product is just gobbledygook mush. And that’s maybe a worse offense, and makes for a more painful listen.

Walking into Reggatta De Blanc, I was fully prepared to call The Police a singles band. And like, in a way, I don’t think that’s a bad take – that old Greatest Hits compilation is certainly a stronger record than this by a mile – but I’m sincerely shocked by how much I enjoyed this overall. It’s not the record I expected, that’s for sure. There’s a much stronger punk energy here than I anticipated, and I really enjoy that a lot. A song like “It’s Alright For You” and “No Time This Time” scratch an itch in my brain. Also, I’m a big fan of Copeland as a songwriter; “On Any Other Day” and “Does Everyone Stare” are strong highlights I know I’ll be revisiting. And then there’s just the general magic of hearing an S-tier power trio be amazing: Sting’s bass tone is like a warm sweater; Summers’ guitar is engulfing; and Copeland sounds like Jesus Christ himself sitting behind a drum kit. All this said, I think The Police’s worst enemy is The Police. Ironically not due to their egos, but due to their love for moodier, looser, more traditional-leaning reggae. “Bring On the Night” may have some intriguing fills, but it’s static motion kills the momentum of the opening three tracks. Both “Deathwish” and “The Bed’s Too Big Without You” have these same issues. I don’t think they’re bad tracks, but they feel a bit too pastiche-esque, and while these guys can *play*, these moments feel stale from a songwriting perspective. These songs just…✨exist✨, yet never feel like they develop or go much of anywhere. And the fact that two of these were singles kind of proves that The Police were clearly *not* a singles band. Thankfully, the majority of this album has enough of a unique blend of sounds and aesthetics to help The Police create their own sound, and the majority of this album is strong. In fact, if anything saves Reggatta De Blanc from its weak points, it’s its Side openers, which are both amazing songs. The level of songwriting on both “Message In A Bottle” and “Walking On The Moon” is the stuff of legends, and may be why The Police overall have a bigger reputation as a compilation album band. It’s these mind-blowing singles plus the other mostly great deep cuts that validate Reggatta De Blanc. I’m not saying it’s the best record I’ve ever heard, but it does have a lot more value than I thought it would. If anything, I’m going to be replaying “On Any Other Day” for weeks now, and I think that alone is worth praise.

I’m never beating the weird girl allegations, am I?

The soundtrack to the season finale of any mid-2000s sitcom without a laugh track that critics used 10¢ SAT words to describe, like “piquant,” “astute,” and “revelatory,” which producers took as a compliment and quoted in bumpers that aired in the commercial break between Jeopardy and Wheel of Fortune, but which magazine editors meant as a slight. Immaculate production with a 1001 overdubs doesn’t turn sparkling water into wine. Which sucks, because I like all these genres. I like trip-hop, I like ‘90s electronica, I like sophisti-pop, I like singer songwriter Mini Van Mom™️ music. But this is a vanilla waft of emptiness, and its craftsmanship isn’t a replacement for substance. I can see where Orton comes close, like on a song like “Pass in Time.” The issue is that every time she has a cute little song on her hands, she either pollutes it with too many layers that add nothing and distract from the core song, or she draws it out to an exhausting 5 minutes that feels like 20. For most of Central Reservation, she’s doing both. Combined with the fact that her voice just isn’t for me, and that her electronic choices are so amateurish she should be embarrassed that she committed them to wax, I think I could make a legitimate case against this record if it weren't so well-produced. I'm definitely not going out of my way to listen to it, and I would tell a friend to turn it off, but it also wouldn't drive me crazy in the supermarket. But I’d prefer a Dido record before this. In normal people words, this bored me to fucking tears.

Sometimes a cool idea isn’t something anyone would actually listen to, unless you’re being pedantic. A lot of people would say that type of thing about noise rock bands like Sonic Youth or Big Black or Boris or Melt-Banana or Lightning Bolt, but all those bands still make, well, songs. Some are more chaotic than others, some more deconstructed than others, but these groups push the boundaries of traditional pop music. Sure, that can be abrasive and hard to listen to, but if you squint your ears, your mind will adapt to the noise and hear the song underneath it all. There’s a whole other world of experimental noise music where the idea of a song becomes obsolete and the semblance of song structure no longer matters. Merzbow, Earth, installations like The Disintegration Tapes; circuit bending, mic feedback, that tiktok of a guy banging a snare drum on a table with no application of musical rhythm while everyone just watches him with their arms crossed as he destroyed the snare and smashes it on the ground. If you’re depressed and too far down the music nerd rabbit hole, you’ll be [un]lucky enough to discover that this music — the edge of the metaphorical cliff, so to speak — is big on a site like Rateyourmusic, where being pedantic and knowing more about obscure artists increases your cred, which is more valuable than actually listening to an album or even enjoying it, especially when no one can really fact-check your listening habits. If you say your favorite album is Instruments Disorder, no one can disprove you or know for sure that the truth is that 99% of the time, you're listening to Sabrina Carpenter in your headphones. Throbbing Gristle are like, the progenitors of all this shit. From an artistic perspective, they matter. Experimentation should be championed, and moves everyone forward. The non-music of Throbbing Gristle expanded the palette not only of noise artists like Boris or Lingua Ignota; it also expanded the palette of Ariana Grande. Just because the former is aware of those new sonic possibilities and occasionally applies them in their own art doesn’t mean the latter isn’t benefiting. There is value in deconstruction, and sometimes, pure experimentation is beautiful. But just because an experimental art film of static makes sense in a contemporary art museum and can be appreciated within that context, you’re not going to go home and put that art film on while eating a bowl of microwave popcorn after a long day in the office discussing Q3 projections, now are you? Be honest, because the only people who claim otherwise are just trying to lord a pretentious, holier-than-thou lifestyle over you, at least that's my personal experience as someone who works with/leaves around/is occasionally friends with this sort of person, and maybe sometimes sounds like this type of person to other people. Very few people *consume* pure experimentation. Again, that doesn't mean *creating* pure experimentation should be dismissed or that the byproduct of experimentation should ignored from the history books. I'm just not going to listen to it, at least not in a way that matches my enjoyment of a favorite album or movie. That’s basically my thoughts about D.O.A. and Throbbing Gristles. I inherently respect the experimentation as an artistic statement. But are these songs? I don’t think so. The closest to popular song structure we get is “Weeping” and “Hit By a Rock,” which both walk the line between slam poetry and music. “Blood on the Floor” would also classify if the song wasn’t purposefully cut short with a fade-out before it could develop any structure. Otherwise, there’s a little bit of rhythmic patterns on “Dead on Arrival” and “AB/7A,” but the rest? It’s spliced tapes, recorded conversations, sustained notes, and circuit feedback. It's noise, yes; it's very rarely a song. For the most part, D.O.A. is an art installation, at its best. At its worst, it’s a tutorial sales pitch for one of those newfangled synthesizers. Look at the bleeps and bloops, aren’t they fascinating? What does a mostly glitched 16 second clip of “United” inspire in me as a listener? What about the 30 second cut-up technique of “Death Threat”? The artistic merit of a song like “Wall of Sound” can’t be understated, nor can its influence on a scene be dismissed, but who on earth of sound mind and body actively listens to that track? (This said, in May 2020, I did turn on Pulse Demon frequently to block out my thoughts while I work. But I wouldn’t say the human brain processes harsh noise, but rather just accepts it, and I was actively trying to ignore dark thoughts during a dark time in society.) The concept of active listening means being aware of the art in a way that can illicit enjoyment of it through appreciation. I know people can enjoy all sorts of art. That’s why all sorts of art exist. But this level of experimentation is purposefully pushing beyond the human capacity to actively listen to it, so it begs the question, how can anyone actually enjoy it? I don’t believe they can. I think anyone who says they enjoy it is being pedantic, trying to one-up you in an intellectual game of 5D chess, despite the fact that you never offered to play in the first place. That doesn’t undermine the value of an album like D.O.A. Does it belong on the list? That I’m a bit torn on, if only because I can’t tell if this is a list of “popular recorded music since the creation of music-related home media was made available to a mass market audience,” or “an exploration of any and all music since around the time when music could be recorded and purchased via a mass market, thus arbitrarily beginning at the year 1955.” Because if it’s the former, this album doesn’t belong, because this isn't popular music, aka it lacks the structure and purpose of popular music, which is fine but art music isn't consumable as a mass market product. But if this list is the latter option, well then, this list did a pretty shitty job exploring all those avenues in a balanced way and overemphasized the value of popular music over art music, so it’s probably the former. Still, I can respect the value of this record, and the impact on a scene. I just think it’s not what I would call music, at least not music as defined by 95% of the albums on this generator, even including the other noise and experimental albums on the list. All this said, it’s not bad as art music. It just doesn’t belong here, and I’ll never revisit it. Could I be annoying and pretentious and give this 3 stars? Sure, because intellectually, I think it's good for what it is, even if that isn't the point of this list as I see it, and a passive, head nod acknowledgement of this as a work of art is what I would give it at an exhibition opening, which still doesn't mean I love it, but I also don't think it's bad art or underdeveloped or something. But I'm not in an artistic third space, I'm in my goddamn apartment listening to popular music albums. And based on that metric, I'm never going to return to this, let alone enjoy it passingly like I do all the other 3 star albums. So even though I don't dislike like a 2 star album, that's where I'm falling. Put this in a room in The Whitney or The New Museum, but don’t put this on this list.

Side A is one of the most immaculately produced, intricately detailed, tightly crafted Side As in pop music history. The only real complaint you could lobby is that some of the songs — especially the opener, “Shout” — go on for a bit too long. Like, a 9.5/10, making you expect nothing less of perfection from the rest of Songs From The Big Chair. Side B, on the other hand, is a lot weaker. Still good new wave era pop, sure, but nowhere near the caliber of the first half. Really, “Head Over Heels” does the heavy lifting on this side, as “Broken” is an interlude more than anything, though it’d be great if it’d been expanded to a proper song. The other two tracks, “I Believe” and “Listen,” are softer, overwrought piano ballads that haven’t aged very well. The synths sound overblown for the first time, and the gloss and shine read as too clean. It doesn’t help that these also aren’t the strongest tracks here, regardless. Songs From The Big Chair is one of those records that you can keep on your record player for a week without flipping it over. And while I don’t hate Side B, I wish “Head Over Heels” was just on the first half, because it would make life easier. It’s one of those records that could have been flawless, and may have felt flawless in the ‘80s, but has too maybe weak moments to get there. Still, its strengths still hold up very well, and that makes it a worthwhile listen, even after all these years.

When you're 20, you're not quite an adult but society expects you live your life like an adult even though no one treats you like one, but you're also still basically a teenager because until last year you were so what difference would a year make, really? For some reason, every single emotion you have is still as gigantic as it was when you were living through the height of puberty, it's just now you're mostly independent and instead of feeling intense feelings about not making the cheer squad or flunking a math test or a fight with your mom, you're feeling all those emotions about your one-night stand or what you said when you were blackout drunk or you’re having an existential crisis about finding a career job. This is the time in your life when you will be the biggest fan of Jeff Buckley and his mournful moans, weeping blues riffs, and tortured poetry. I am no longer 20, but even when I was, Buckley was never my speed, though I did have two brief situationships who were both very into him. The first, a boy, loved Grace, and proclaimed it was ✨the greatest album ever made✨; the second, a girl, preferred his live material, and once told me that was where Buckley placed his ✨soul✨ before she then forced me to listen to his Van Morrison cover while lying on her bed. Both of these people, in my estimation, were wrong, but I gave them a pass because I too was 20, and I too cried out my feelings over both of them while attempting to listen to Jeff Buckley, although I turned it off before it finished both times, partly because of them, but partly because of the music. Now, as a full blown woman in her 30s, I rarely hear a soul mention Buckley, and I haven't thought about this album in ages. And that's for a good reason, because frankly, a lot of it is pretty bland. He's a good guitarist, but his blues formula feels pretty stale. What he isn't is a good vocalist, unless you value raw emotion over technique, and his moans sound like nails on a chalkboard to me. This combo makes the majority of this record not bad, per say, but it definitely evens out to boring, and sometimes pretty bad. But sometimes, I have to admit, he knows his way around a tune. The title track and "Last Goodbye" are the best songs here, and even though it's overrated, his cover of "Hallelujah" does hold up. I'm also a fan of "Eternal Life," but that's only because it picks up the energy after a drag. I'm more on the fence about "Lover, You Should've Come Over," but I see moments and hooks that I enjoy, even if I wish there was simply more of them to make me like it all for its whole runtime. And frankly, that's where I stand with the rest of the album. Buckley will have a spark here and there, but he either drags it out beyond what I'm willing to tolerate, or he adds a piece or five that make me want to gag. There's too much back-and-forth between the good, the bad, and the ugly here for me to loathe it, though it does come very close to my breaking point. If it was a little bit more energetic, I could see myself liking it, but if it was even a smidge more tortured, I’d despise it. Sometimes, you just have to accept that you've outgrown a certain musician. I may not be 20, but I'm still young enough to know the value of a Jeff Buckley, because I still remember when people acted like he was valuable. But age has numbed me, and my black heart is more apathetic than anything – to a lot of things, but especially to Jeff Buckley. But maybe this is just the situationships talking.

I’d be depressed too if Ava Gardner broke up with me. Truly a great album that still holds up after all this time. It has some flawless peaks and is pretty consistent throughout, but the B-side does have a couple snags. Maybe they’re just the weaker tracks on a long track list, maybe the style just gets exhausting after that runtime, maybe that style *is* a bit outdated, but there’s just one too many songs on here that are only “okay,” and they keep this from being a full-on masterpiece. Despite that, it’s still a towering achievement. There might be a few albums that came before In The Wee Small Hours that deserve to be on the list, but if you’re going to start off with a bang, this is probably the right place to start. Will 100% stick with me, especially on a late winter night with a glass of scotch on the rocks.

There’s some great songs in here somewhere, but Clinton & Co. have a bad habit of burying the lead under six feet of every riff and instrument they could add to the tape without turning it transparent. I get that the point is to basically push funk to the edge of psychedelic prog rock (see: “Who Says a Funk Band Can’t Play Rock?!”), but given how little I enjoy either of those genres, it kind of ruins the funk here. The guitar riffs are too fluid, the grooves are too loose, the synths and bells and whistles are just that — bells and whistles that don’t add much. Musically, this album sounds like the wheels are about to fall off, and I get how that can sound appealing, but for me it lacks cohesion. I also find the lyrics to be absurdist to the point where anyone who sees any depth there has to be projecting, which gives the overall music more credit than it deserves. Historically, Funkadelic has been a band I want to love in theory, but can’t stand in practice, though I’d be the first to admit that I’ve barely scratched the surface of their full discography. One Nation Under a Groove comes closer to good than most of the Funkadelic albums I’ve listened to so far, but it’s still flawed in exactly the ways I expected it would be. Most of my issues are on Side B, where the ridiculousness of “The Doo Doo Song” and the corny vocals of “Into You” push me toward negative. I just find Funkadelic exhausting, and this record doesn’t do much to change that fact, even if I can see a moment here or there where I could bend my brain and enjoy it.

Edgelord music. I could feel the Cheeto dust caking my fingertips and the Mountain Dew staining my teeth as I listened. Sometimes, I mean that as a compliment, especially when Zappa adds in strange instruments and cool tones over tight compositions (“Peaches en Regalia,” “Little Umbrellas,” the first half of “Willie the Pimp”). But most of this record is just meandering solos over the barest jazz structures, to the point where it sounds not only monotonous, but maybe insulting to jazz as a genre? Although Zappa is taking a piss so hard that I can’t really tell if that’s the joke or if he actually does hate jazz, like his irony loops back around to actual hatred. At its best, Hot Rats is quirky and fun, but it’s far from breaking jazz apart. At its worst, it fully believes it’s breaking jazz apart, and if you’ve ever heard any other jazz album in your life, you know it isn’t doing that. It’s jazz and art rock for 4chan weirdos and their archetypal predecessors. It’s not poorly made or a hard listen, but its cute little highlights won’t inspire a relisten, and the rest truly would’ve benefited from being a more difficult, complex listen. But whatever. If I think about it for much longer, I’ll end up hating it, so I’m happy to just shrug my shoulders and move on.

Red Dirt Girl is a perfect example of when an album (and this list) can feel like a chore. Boring, insincerely trying to rip off that ‘90s Sheryl Crow sound, and wayyyy too long. A couple okay songs, but even then 🤷🏻‍♀️🤷🏻‍♀️🤷🏻‍♀️

A transitional album. It’s good – pretty close to great, even, especially the songs with Gordon doing lead vocals – but I’m not sure if I absolutely *needed* to hear Sonic Youth try to Keep It Real™️ to their no wave/noise roots while also trying hard to not write a pop hook. Maybe I’d suggest EVOL to someone who’s already a fan of the other essential Sonic Youth records as a Tier 2 Essential Listen. As someone who’s only recently become a fan of the band herself, though, this style and sound isn’t my jam, and I’m not sure if EVOL is particularly innovative or unique enough within that style and sound to warrant a specific call out. Maybe this would click more if I’d gotten this on CD 10-15 years ago and felt compelled to constantly replay it in order to get my money’s worth. Today, though, I’d rather just move on to the better, more essential albums that came after this that actually achieved the balance between noise and pop that EVOL was so desperately trying to strike.

Every time I listen to The Queen Is Dead, I learn to love it more. When I first heard it in early high school, I was a bit too closeted and immature to appreciate it, but as songs like “There Is a Light That Never Goes Out” became hipster chic, I slowly came around to the singles by college. By my mid-20s, I could fully admit that this was a classic, very good album, with a couple sour spots. Today, though, I think I might fully be in love, 110%. Like, it might be one of the best albums I’ve ever heard. Ignore Morrissey’s flamboyant, obnoxious lyrics, even though I unfortunately have to admit I relate to them as a flamboyant and obnoxious individual myself. The music on this album is masterful. The way Johnny Marr composes a song is elegant, with no moment of excess. It’s intricate and detailed, and while those terms get thrown around a lot in pop music, I think the songs on The Queen Is Dead not only warrant their use, but are the textbook definitions of those words. It goes beyond “the perfect pop song” and just enters into “the perfect song.” It helps that The Smiths have an incredible, *incredible* rhythm section – so in sync, perfectly supportive yet still interesting bass lines, dynamic drums with unexpected but fitting fills. And then back to Morrissey – this album is so goddamn good, I almost don’t give a fuck that he is who he is. Does “Vicar in a Tutu” almost invalidate the praise I’m vomiting here? Potentially. But it’s not a bad song, or maybe not even a lesser song; it’s just a hokey song, and like, okay, that’s ‘80s era indie music for you, y’know? Plus every great album has one bad song, right? (See Example A: Thriller) Everything else on here is an 11/10 song, though. Like, some of the greatest songs I’ve ever heard. At this point, “There Is a Light…” is probably my least favorite song on here, and it’s one of the greatest songs ever written. This is just one of those records where you find a new favorite every relisten. Today it’s “I Know It’s Over,” but last year it was “Some Girls Are Bigger Than Others,” and before that it was “The Boy with the Thorn in His Side,” and next week it’ll be “Frankly, Mr. Shankly.” What can I say? This is flawless, and has only gotten better with time. I love it, and I feel no shame admitting that.

Psychobilly and rockabilly are silly, stupid subgenres. I’m too much of a Hardcore Kid™️ to even stomach it. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t at least respect The Cramps. And if there was just a shift here or there, I could really love them. The best moments on Songs The Lord Taught Us are the ones that either veer far enough away from the path of pastiche that it sounds actually punk, like “Garbageman” and “Mystery Plane,” or, more frequently, where they use reverence as an excuse to reinvent, like “Strychnine” and “Fever.” I’d say about half the album hits these marks, and with the added layer of goth/horror-obsessed lyrics, I’m satisfied. Maybe not sold, but content, or at least not angry. 
Unfortunately, the other half of this album is strictly pastiche, like all rockabilly tends to be. It’s not bad for pastiche, honestly, but it’s still bland, because it’s still, by definition, unoriginal. Couple that with the pretty rough production throughout and the lack of bass to fill out the literal sound of this album, and I’m pretty close to being actually angry. This split opinion is interesting, but at the end of the day, I still think psychobilly and rockabilly are silly, stupid subgenres. I don’t hate Songs The Lord Taught Us, but I’m not going out of my way to buy a glittery hollow-body that could match some thrifted Go-Go boots and a latex poodle skirt, y’know?

There’s a billion buskers in every major metropolitan area around the world who have fried their brains by dropping acid every day for a decade, and they all have been deeply influenced by Oar, but I’m positive none of them would recognize the name Skip Spence. Just like those buskers, there’s a moment or two on Oar where you hear a nugget of something that could have the potential to be the most beautiful song you’ve ever heard in your life. Unfortunately, those moments are fleeting, either ruined by insane nonsense or bland mumbling, and sometimes even both at the same time. I get how Oar could be seen as influential to lo-fi bedroom pop in retrospect, but I think that’s placing too much value on the ramblings of a literal madman. Don’t do drugs, kids.

The closest I’ve gotten to liking Beck!!! I know it sounds like the type of thing you borrow from your friend who stole it from his older brother who you think is cool and edgy and maybe even hot, even though he just watches Spike TV and wears Axe Body Spray. But to my own surprise, I’m kind of okay with that this time around. At least I’m more supportive of Guero than I am of Odelay. It has a still-clinging-to-the-‘90s-post-9/11 vibe that I’m cool with. It’s very ✨white hipster living in Williamsburg✨, kinda cringey, and maybe a bit too maximalist; it’s a product of its time, for sure, and also sounds like it’s trying to sell me a product, like the new iPod Mini or a Kia Soul. But despite these potential pitfalls, Guero is still fun, has an early summer joyfulness to it, and, unlike the other Beck albums I’ve heard, doesn’t feel self-serious or self-absorbed. It’s just dorky and silly, and I find that really endearing in music. In my opinion, that wins out over whatever cultural ✨product of its time✨ critique you could throw at it. Honestly, Guero is what I expected all of Beck’s discography to sound like, in retrospect. So I’m surprised this is the first album of his that I’d describe as legitimately fun. Because everything else I’ve heard from him is so goddamn dour and trying so hard to be intellectual, I think I just walked into this expecting to loathe it. The fact that I’m a fan is a pleasant surprise! Like, this isn’t my new favorite record by any estimation, but I’m wondering now if I was just being a hater on his last albums. It’s unfortunate that this is the last of his albums I pulled from the generator, though, because I really enjoy this. I’m glad I’m ending Beck’s entries on this list on a high note with Guero. Let’s hope there’s some other albums in his back catalog that are closer to this than Sea Change.

As a young punk, I used to be snotty and bratty, and I used to argue that London Calling was wildly overrated. Sure, the singles and the opener where great, and there was a couple tracks here and there that I loved despite myself – “Spanish Bombs” has long been my favorite song by The Clash – but most of the album was boring. That rockabilly shit was corny, the ska shit sounded dated even in 2008, and this was far from anything I’d personally label as punk, so it definitely wasn’t the high water mark of the genre overall. While I’m now older and wiser, a part of me gets what younger me was trying to say. And to be honest? She kind of ate… Like, I was still totally wrong about this album. London Calling is a great album. There’s no obviously weak songs on here, and definitely no bad songs. Now that I’m a bit more mature, I can appreciate the rockabilly, the ska, and the reggae sounds they’re pulling from; they are definitely trying to go ✨beyond punk✨, but at least they sound good while they do it. And when I think about other great punk albums – The Shape of Punk to Come, American Idiot, Mystery, etc. – they’re all stretching beyond punk’s sound while retaining its aesthetics. That’s because of London Calling. And I respect that. And I respect it because the individual songs are strong, even the ones that aren’t specifically what I would label punk. What I think younger me was trying to articulate, though, was not that the vision of London Calling was too expansive, but rather, the sheer amount of material itself was too expansive. As a whole package, London Calling feels bloated. It’s excess that goes beyond even the normal critique of a double-album being long. Because again, there isn’t a particularly bad song on here. I just wonder if there’s a tighter vision, an edited version that I’d prefer that cuts out the more obvious diversions from punk overall. The cover of “Brand New Cadillac,” the pretty bland cover of “Revolution Rock,” the heartland blues-based “Lover’s Rock,” the drunken blue-eyed soul of “Wrong ‘Em Boyo,” even the less good songs like “I’m Not Down,” “Jimmy Jazz,” and, dare I say it, “Rudie Can’t Fail.” Again, nothing on this album is bad, it’s all great, but if I want to split hairs, there are a batch of tracks that I would personally have left on the cutting room floor. Not that it would have been an easy decision, but I do sincerely think these songs are maybe too outside the scope. Now, I know there’s an argument that these diversions are the *point* of London Calling’s vision as an album, and that’s fair. However, if that’s the case, well, I like all of these songs less than the rest of the album, so if they’re the core of London Calling, then that edited version is one I like less than even the current version. But even in its current form, London Calling still suffers from double album bloat. Side B is an incredible side, and Side C is pretty good, although I’d rearrange the track listing personally. My real issue is Sides A and D. The former has good songs, but I think it pulls away from punk too soon; I get the point of a cover via Track 2, but I then have a hard time coming back around. Meanwhile, almost all of Side D feels like B-sides, minus “Train in Vain.” And maybe that’s the runtime exhaustion talking, too, but “The Card Cheat” into “Train in Vain” would be a much stronger way to close this record out. Finally, back to younger me’s original critique: London Calling isn’t punk. And I know that’s the point. But like, it *is* annoying to then call it the high water mark of the genre, and that praise is really hard to shake when you’re listening to it. Like, I walk in every time expecting, well, punk music, and I get ska and blue-eyed soul? Like, I *know* that’s what I’ll get, and I’m still a bit shocked by it. And I just can’t really shake that as an issue when I actually listen to London Calling. Which feels like a weird critique when the music isn’t bad, but like….I want to go out of my way to listen to a punk record, not punks doing old-school soul music. And I don’t think that’s unfair to say if it lessens my experience with the album overall. Younger me was wrong, I’ll willingly admit that, because London Calling is a good album. However, she wasn’t wrong about my own subjective tastes. Even with age, I’m not really revisiting London Calling. Maybe some of the high points, but overall, it just isn’t what I want to listen to, ever. It’s still good, but its bloated scope and runtime push it down. Plus, I’m not subjectively enamored by it. I just think at this point we can move on from thinking that punk peaked with London Calling. Good record, sometimes even great, but a great double album that pump fakes its genre isn’t going to be something I find flawless.

Ariana, what are you doing here?! While I’m glad Eno is still making music for airports, All That You Can’t Leave Behind is inoffensive yet unnecessary. I think I’m too old to hate U2; not that I foresee myself going out of my way to defend them, especially on this record, but nothing here actually pisses me off. In fact, the fact that these songs are well-produced, well-written, and all appeal to a big tent is exactly why I almost kinda like it. Like, there’s nothing I *adore*, and that’s the real issue, but there’s also nothing I loathe. It’s a clean, serviceable album that shouldn’t encourage you to change the dial, and I personally never feel the desire to change the dial while listening to it. At the very least, it’s a huge step up from their more “experimental” albums from the early ‘90s, for sure. That said, mere existence and appeal so broad that preemies and Hospice care patients alike can hear it and say, “This is fine,” doesn’t merit praise. I wish I felt *some* critical spark while listening to this, but none of these songs do enough to move the dial. I don’t hate any song, although tracks like “Beautiful Day” or “Peace on Earth” do feel very pandering in a way that almost elicits hatred, though it’s again saved by its tightness and cleanliness. But I don’t love anything, either, even the more uptempo and rock-driven tracks like “Elevation,” “When I Look At The World,” and especially “New York,” which all don’t go far enough. Ironically, though, I think I could preserve my critique and flip the songs I’m talking about, and the statement would still ring true. U2 is like air, and All That You Can’t Leave Behind is an oxygen tank. In a list of 1001 albums, it almost feels like the control in the dataset – this meaningless, empty record that isn’t good in any standout way, but also isn’t shitty in any particular way, either. The only reason to hate this is because it inspires so much apathy in the listener that it feels like it’s mocking said listener’s intellect. I don’t hate this that much. This album is there, in the ether, sure, but it shouldn’t be here, on this list. I’ll never think about it again.

Something about this makes me feel uncomfortable. Quirky men who insist on writing songs either about the pitfalls of capitalism or their boners with no lyrical prowess in-between certainly aren’t who I’m listening to in my free time. And Beautiful Freak definitely has that feel, although I think/hope that it’s a bit self-aware, and that Everett knows his focus areas are a bit problematic, like Ghost World or Scott Pilgrim, although maybe not even like Pinkerton. Still, even if it’s satirical with a good ol’ dose of that David Foster Wallace sense of spectrum-driven irony, it’s still focused on these topics, this aesthetic, this type of pre-internet incel vibe. I’m not particularly interested in that, not only as a listener (because duh), but I’m also not interested in it intellectually, because even if you’re being tongue-in-cheek, then like, what the fuck are you trying to say? Am I supposed to find this funny, or insightful, or deep? Because I don’t. So there’s that. But on a purely sonic level, the outsider aesthetics and nerd-core alt-rock genre mashups are really grating to my ears. Like, I get that there’s an appeal and an art to throwing the kitchen sink into a record, but I wouldn’t call the execution on Beautiful Freak artful by any stretch of the word. The soft-loud dynamics were done better by the college rock radio staples that came before Eels, the studio frills are done better by both bedroom artists and ‘60s psychedelic rock bands, and without those elements, you have some pretty bland post-grunge alt-rock that feels like it could’ve been made by any 22 year old man in 1995. It’s serviceable, and maybe almost decent, but it also feels like Eels is purposely writing against what “sounds good.” And that’s annoying. Even at its best moments, it’s far from enjoyable, because in my opinion, passable should be the baseline of a fucking song, and none of these songs are what I would call passable compositions. There’s very few well-composed moments on this album, let alone songs. In fact, Everett can’t seem to last an entire 3.5 minutes without adding in something to make his music soooo quirky and soooo random and sooo original. But it just sounds stupid, like he can’t actually write a fucking song. I tried so hard to find something to enjoy about this album – and I mean a moment, like a chorus or a bridge, not even a fucking song! And while I found a couple (the hook on “Your Lucky Day In Hell,” the chorus of “Susan’s House,” the ukulele-drum machine combo on “Flower”), none of them equate to a full blown song that’s worth my time. So there’s that. I don’t know to describe it, but there’s a smugness to this album that feels like I’m being looked down upon by the artist. Like, if I’m not smart enough for enjoying the eccentricities, then I’m obviously just being a prude and cunt (hard “c” on that one) for finding some of the vibes gross and inappropriately revealing. But I get it, I know exactly what’s happening. A man can put his strange and anti-social worldview on full display in his music and the world will describe it as “raw.” I don’t believe it’s raw. I find it unsettling, and annoying, and downright painful. Like Fiona Apple doing coke with Quentin Tarantino. The more I focused on what little potential I found suggested in a few fine fleetingly moments, the more its aesthetic choices and general vibe gave me the ick. That’s it. This album just gives me the ick. It’s music for a very specific type of man, a man no woman in your life trusts. And maybe that’s an unfair/invalid way to critique music, but it’s the gut feeling that bubbles up in my throat as I listen to this. It’s purposefully pathetic and mentally ill, but it’s not like it’s trying to heal, or be better, or even say anything. It’s just an insecure man blabbing about his insecurities, and just because he’s a man, he anticipates and even expects praise, regardless if those insecurities reveal a toxic, uncomfortable truth about the type of man he truly is. Maybe if the sonic palette was at the very least enjoyable (and maybe if I had come across this album pre-transition as a 15 year old, a la Pinkerton), I would be forgiving if still critical because at least the music would be good. But the music itself isn’t even worth my fucking time! So there’s that. This record is gross. Men are gross, and I don’t respect them. Yuck.

While I was pleasantly surprised that I didn’t absolutely hate it, this also is very much not for me. This is so stoned out, so vibey, and so goddamn British. It’s fine while it’s on, but I know I’d never go out of my way to revisit it. And truthfully, it’s so spaced-out and drug-fueled that even when it’s on, it faded into the background for me. It felt so invisible, in fact, that I’m having a hard time understanding how it still has retained such a high level of praise, even for folks who weren’t alive to witness this album in real time. It’s solid, sure, but very far from genius. It just doesn’t engage me, and while I know that’s the point in a way, I need something with more teeth. At least it isn’t just blatant pastiche for ‘60s British bands. That counts for something.

ABBA is the Beatles of the queer community. There is not a gay person alive today who isn’t a massive ABBA fan, myself included. But more importantly, ABBA has clearly stood the test of time and have arguably made a larger impact on modern sounds and styles than any rock band ever did, including/especially the Beatles. While Arrival is maybe my least favorite ABBA album, it’s still one of the best pop albums ever made. From the harmonies on “Knowing Me, Knowing You,” the musical theater rhythm of “Money, Money, Money,” the subtle bass groove on “When I Kissed The Teacher,” the guitar lick on “Tiger” – it’s all so strong. What pushes Arrival over the edge, though, is the phenomenal instrumental title track and, of course, “Dancing Queen,” which is, as they say, a ✨cultural reset✨ that still hits you like a ton of bricks at the club 5 decades later. I’d personally say Voulez-Vous and Super Trooper are both stronger albums and better entry points into ABBA, but that’s just splitting hairs and picking a favorite child. Because again, I’d switch out 7 Beatles records with 5 ABBA albums in a heartbeat. Arrival is amazing, one of the greatest pop albums ever made, and 1,000% deserves to be on this list.

Sometimes The Hipster’s Guide to Frank Sinatra’s In The Wee Small Hours, sometimes The Hipster’s Guide to Willie Nelson’s Stardust. But British? I like the traditional pop songs more than the country-tinged tracks, honestly, but even though all of it is pleasant, it’s also all perpetually indistinct. Well made, sure, but definitely not noteworthy. Unless you’re British, maybe? Idfk

Easily his best album in my opinion. While Thriller has higher highs, Off The Wall has always felt more consistently great overall. I could listen to this front-to-back and praise every song, which isn’t something I can do with Thriller. It helps that I’m a sucker for disco, and besides maybe Diana Ross’ Diana, this is the best disco album made by a pop star. Shout out Quincy Jones, for real.

Thank god I was too young to experience the neo-psychedelia hipster revival of the early 2000s in full force, because I would’ve lost my goddamn mind walking around the streets of North Brooklyn if this is the shit they played in coffee shops. And I already kind of lose my mind when I’m up in Bushwick today anyways. Completely forgettable, aged like milk. A great example of how bad this book is at “predicting” what modern records will one day be considered timeless, and how those poor decisions are based on strong biases toward British bands and revivalist acts. As minimally passable as an album can be before it becomes horrible, in my opinion, but still a deeply painful listen for me.

Mostly cute and pleasant, though largely ephemeral hippy-dippy nothingness, from the lyrics to the folk guitar to the literal album cover. But a good version of that! Which maybe isn’t saying much in my opinion, but I’ll take what I can get when it comes to this era. Even at its best, though, this album is more of a testament to the beauty of The Wrecking Crew. In a way, it’s almost *their* album. The things I enjoy – the parts that stand out – are the session musicians. From the backing slide guitar to the glorious rhythm section, I started to wonder if Triangle would be as enjoyable without The Wrecking Crew behind the band, who I imagine otherwise sounded like another dime-a-dozen hippy band from 1967. Hell, a song like “Magic Hollow” lives on the back of Van Dyke Park’s harpsichord, so like, what praise can I really give The Beau Brummels here, y’know? On top of this, every time I started to actually enjoy a song, it ended. I’m not sure if that’s more of a reflection of the industry’s view of pop music during that era, but most of these songs stop dead at 2 minutes, and die on arrival. To my modern ears, it just sounds like The Beau Brummels are physically incapable of finishing a song. I went into this judging the book by its cover, and I expected something a million times worse. What I got was…fine. Pleasant ‘60s psych-pop to casually breeze through on a Friday afternoon in late August. While most of that praise has nothing to do with the band themselves, it’s still enjoyable, but because the band, this is still far from greatness. I’m sure there were defenders in 1967, but there’s a reason no one has heard of Triangle today. Still, it’s far from the worse thing on this list, and again, that’s a testament to good session musicians. Let’s ignore the last two tracks, though. If I focus on them too much, then I might grow to hate this thing.

Holy harpsichord, Batman!!! From what I’ve been exposed to so far, The Kinks clearly write great songs. I support their British-focused psychedelic efforts more than The Beatles, that’s for sure. That said, this is still veryyyy much a psychedelic record, and sounds very distinctly stuck in the mid-‘60s. So even though I like the Kinks in general and like parts of everything on here, Face to Face still fits within an aesthetic and vibe I generally hate. That vibe forces them to add in flourishes that I genuinely find distracting, and it makes for a hard listen overall. Not to say it’s all negative; there’s elements to every song here that I like, and there’s some songs that I’ll be returning to frequently (“Rosy Won’t You Please Come Home,” “House in the Country,” and “You’re Looking Fine”). Most of this record is just songs that I like but don’t love, though, with some songs I straight up find annoying – “Dandy” and “Fancy,” in particular. Side B is especially rough on my ears, but does end strong. Face to Face is strong, but I wish it was stronger. It’s clear this is a transitional album, and that’s fine, but that results in spotty growing pains. Growing pains are fine once I’m sold into being a completionist for a band, but not essential. Face to Face is good, but it’s not going to make you a Kinks Konvert. I’ll probably revisit this once I finish their entries on this list and decide to dive into the Kink’s full discography, but even though I now know it’s good, I also know that even on a revisit, it’ll never be my favorite record by them.

Some absolute guitar god greatness, some absolute acid-fueled drivel, but mostly, Electric Ladyland is just mediocre blues-based proto-hard rock. Maybe if it wasn’t so goddamn long it’d be better, but even the flashiness of Hendrick’s raw talent can’t distract me from long-winded songwriting, bland structure, and useless studio tinkering. It’s fine, but the best songs are mostly found on Side D, strangely enough. It’s less annoying than Axis Bold As Love, but it’s also a million times more boring. It’s sad to realize that Hendrix was mostly a Greatest Hits artist, but god, the dude could not stay consistent for a single record. If he wasn’t such a goddamn incredible player, I doubt we’d talk much about him, let alone continue to praise a pretty mid-tier record like Electric Ladyland. The best songs are worth a listen, but you don’t have to slog through the rest of the record to get to them.

This isn't hardcore punk, it's Britpop! Thankfully it's in a different class than Different Class. It's moodier and a bit more post-punk influenced, and that thematic and sonic diversity changes things up just enough to pull me. I do think it's missing a true stunner – though "Sylvia" does come very close – but at least it's consistent. Still too overtly pretentious and smug for me, but more complex and unsure this time around, and that's to Pulp's own benefit. I'm not head over heels for Pulp still, and won't be revisiting this much moving forward, but in the polluted sea of over-represented blah Britpop albums, I'd take This Is Hardcore over a lot of other Britpop albums on this list.

I wish there was more Nina Simone on this list, and I’m honestly shocked that there isn’t. There’s moments on Wild is The Wind that are no less than transcendent; the run from “Four Women” to “That’s All I Ask” is truly untouchable. Simone had such a unique, singular voice, literally and figuratively, and the stark, sparse songs that let that voice shine with just her and a piano showcase why Nina Simone is still so goddamn powerful. But there’s other parts of this record that just feel….like fluff? The more trad-r&b songs, like “I Love Your Lovin' Ways” and “Either Way I Lose,” feel really cheap standing next to some of the most powerful social commentary in music history. And then there’s songs like the title track or “Black Is the Color of My True Love's Hair,” which are complex and noteworthy, but also dense, and are very hard to digest. For the majority of Side B, I honestly find Simone’s deeper register more distracting than engaging, which doesn’t help me fully fall in love with this record overall. To me, Wild is The Wind is a 50/50 split. What’s annoying is that I *know* I like other Simone records. I know I like I Put a Spell on You and …Sings the Blues and would consider both stronger listens front-to-back, and that’s excluding at least 3 other records in her back catalog that are equally revered. I’m not saying I need 6 Nina Simone albums on this list, but given her influence, it feels strange to only acknowledge her once with what may be her spottiest record. The highs are mountain tops, but the lows are either deserts that do her style a disservice, or canyons that take years to descend. Truthfully, it wouldn’t be my pick for this list, and I feel like it’s a weak representation of her talent, despite its best moments.

Shout out to all the lesbians!!! Only a dyke could sing 11 majestic, melodramatic songs about the one guy she knows who is a somewhat decent person, which makes her believe her comp-het is justified (it isn’t). I love this goddamn album, it speaks to my lesbian heart so deeply. Like, yes, strong arrangements and amazing songwriting from a stacked roster and I adore her voice and yes to all that. But sometimes it’s more about the vibe. And Dusty in Memphis is such a good queer vibe! It transports me to the living room of every lesbian couple of the last 50 years, and how can that not make me feel warm and cozy and safe? One of the best albums ever 🧡🤍🩷

I was very aware of the experimental noise rock scene of the 2000s, so I was a bit confused why I had never heard of Liars until today, but also a bit excited. Sure, they were a bit before my time by ~5 years, but that rarely stopped me; I may have been in my early teens, but I was reading Spin and Alternative Press ferociously by this point, and was at least aware of the Providence scene enough to know about any Brooklyn bands that may have passed by for a gig. Listening to They Were Wrong, So We Drowned, though, I understand how I missed it. This is experimental noise rock, with the stress on the first word. When you think of that scene today, you can reference Hella and Lightning Bolt and Melt-Banana and Boris and stress the second word, or maybe if you were actually alive at the time you’d think of bands that stressed the last word, like No Age and Japandroids or even Sleigh Bells. Liars doesn’t fit into either of these latter categories. They are taking the work of the no wave scene and running with it, as if their idols Sonic Youth never sold out. It reminds me a lot of Xiu Xiu, really deconstructing not only what a rock song can be, but what even classifies as “noise.” There are songs that are nearly droning instrumentals, but not in an Earth-like way with fuzzed out guitar feedback, but just…steady percussive thumps or single chord licks. It’s droning via constant monotony, not through minimalistic playing. And while I like that concept on paper a lot, I don’t find Liars to be a particularly….strong take on that approach? There are certainly moments where I think it works very well, and they still spell out a song in their alphabet soup, but there’s also songs that are barely a sketch, let alone studio-ready. Sure, that might be the point, but an idea is pretty boring to listen to, in my opinion. I’d say about 45% of this record is listenable while still being experimental, and the other 55% is better represented as a footnote during a lecture on the history of the noise scene. But even the successes chew the scenery, and are less successful than any high points from any of the bands I name-dropped above. Listening to They Were Wrong… tells me a lot about what type of “experimental albums” the editors found fitting to include on this list. While that flavor wouldn’t have been my choice, personally, I can respect it, and I can respect a lot of the bands that come from that school of thought, even if I don’t enjoy listening to their work. But while I would’ve been fine with Xiu Xiu or something, Liars aren’t particularly spectacular. They Were Wrong… may be more listenable than Liars’ no wave influences, but I wouldn’t call this a star-studded showcase. It’s just fine, tolerable if you’re down with experimental noise rock from 2000s era hipsters, and less tolerable if that description sounds intolerable to you. I’m fine with it, but it’s also not my cup of tea, and even as it is, it could be a lot stronger. Unfortunately, these experiments are pretty forgettable. I won’t be upset if Liars comes up on shuffle after my next Sonic Youth record pull, but I also won’t be going out of my way to hear this record in full any time soon.

It’s crazy how much power Rage’s debut still holds today. It not only sounds clean with immaculate production, but it sounds unique, which is insane because this album launched a thousand mediocre rap-rock ships. It’s one of those records that just feels like it’s always been around, and even though many tried to Xerox it, the sound still sounds singular. You can tune your ears to just one instrument and find joy in every song here, and every song is amazing. I will say, though, that I think it’s hard to swallow as a full, single listen. In many ways, it’s the only Rage album anyone ever needs to hear, and arguably the only rap-rock/jock rock album worthy of anyone’s time. Anything more is almost too much. Arguably, that starts to become evident once you’re about 75% through with this record. Around that point, the schtick becomes predictable – funky rhythm section groove with a heavy metal punch, vaguely-leftist populist lyrics about the ills of a nation-state under capitalism that build to a rally-cry chorus, and Morello’s signature switchboard glitchy solo riffs that feel off-kilter but aren’t all that strange once you lock into their groove. It’s a great formula, but it’s formulaic, and that wears thin even in this self-contained presentation. It’s why Rage’s later material has lost most of its luster nowadays (although the stuffy production on those albums don’t help), and it’s why the whole genre went belly up by the end of the decade. Thankfully, when you pull the songs out on their own, this predictability isn’t really an issue, and even when it’s exhausting, I know this album is still very, very, very good. Rage’s debut is tight in a way few albums are tight, and it’s really hard to dislike, even if this isn’t your genre or your worldview. It’s a clear high water mark with a specific goal in mind. Also, a great workout record! Wish they didn’t peak so soon, but at least this album still stands as tall as it ever did.

Combining more traditional Indian compositions with ‘90s electronica tropes is a very, very cool idea on paper. It’s also a pleasant, unoffensive listen in practice – never a chore – and well-executed on wax. But as a final, full, tactile product? It’s like, yeah, this is exactly what I expected….cool…and that’s kind of…it. In many ways, it doesn’t feel all that deep; it’s the record you imagined based on the description, and either you enjoy that kind of Mom Jeans Yoga Vibe™, or you’re a normal person. It’s bland, watered-down Indian classical with white-bread drum and bass backbeats. It’s not difficult, but it’s also far from fulfilling, and even farther from essential. This is one of those British Mercury Prize albums from the turn of the 21st that this book has an affinity for, clearly because Dimery and Co. thought a lot of those albums would become modern-day classics. Very few of them did. While a lot of them now sound dated and annoying, though, Singh is talented enough and palatable enough to never upset anyone with Ok. He falls flat because Ok has nothing unique to say beyond the face-value conceit of its concept, which you get after the first song. No one needs to consume multiple tracks exploring this idea, let alone a whole album. But a single listen won’t put a bullet in your brain, either. Ok is okay, like, okay…let’s move on to the next one.

The idea behind the American series is very cool, but gets stale very quickly. Thankfully, this list chose the correct one for this list, for once! This said, American IV is a lot more spotty than I remember it being. There’s some true standouts here – obviously “Hurt” and “Personal Jesus,” but “The Man Comes Around, “We’ll Meet Again,” and most of all, “Tear Stained Letter.” When Cash locks into a vibe, it’s immaculate. And he’s on one for a lot of this album, especially on the songs that feel like curveball choices. The “safer” songs rarely hold the same power, though. The re-recorded “Give My Love to Rose” is fine, as is a song like “Sam Hall.” But often, the more traditional the pick, the less interesting the concept, and thus the execution. Cash duets beautifully with Apple, but I doubt I’d rarely pick this version of “Bridge Over Troubled Water” over the original. Meanwhile, a song like “The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face” and “In My Life” avoid challenging the listener’s assumptions and are played too straight. There’s also a couple solid stinkers, including “Streets of Laredo” and the god-awful Nick Cave duet of “I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry.” At its best, American IV is a revelatory display of how age can adjust a song’s perspective. At its worst, it sounds like a late-career cash grab. The truth is that these ideas are two sides of the same coin, and the end result splits me down the middle as a listener. It’s good, but never fully great, but its great moments are definitely worth its duller moments.

FINALLY, I LIKE A BOWIE ALBUM!!! Without the theatricality of a concept album or the weight of trying to push his musical boundaries to the limit, Bowie delivers some great meat-and-potatoes glam rock. I think that’s for the better, as someone who hates the theatricality and the experimentations. To my ears, Aladdin Sane is a godsend, a record that feels sensible and listenable without me needing to overthink it or do a deep dive. I’m sure some of that has to do with the more American-centric aesthetics of this album compared to other Bowie records, but it also just rocks a lot harder and is a lot more fun. I can digest it on face value. That said, there are still plenty of theatrical and experimental moments that I won’t support. The initial sparseness of the opener “Watch That Man” makes me queasy, and a song like “The Prettiest Star” just sounds a leftover Rocky Horror song. I also don’t love the brief piano absurdity, like on “Aladdin Sane.” But while I have my qualms here and there, it also sometimes does work. The initial melodramatic cabaret aesthetic of “Time” wore off with a strong chorus and a relisten, and a song like “Lady Grinning Soul” is just so well written that the piano madness still works despite itself, while the ending of “Let’s Spend the Night Together” succeeds in its musical kitschiness. Honestly, the biggest issue of Aladdin Sane is its pastiche. From the soul of “Drive-In Saturday” to the Detroit rock of “Let’s Spend the Night Together” and “Panic in Detroit,” to the rockabilly/Jerry Lee Lewis rip-off of “Cracked Actor” and “”The Jean Genie,” Bowie really straddles the line between referential and copycat. It gives this whole album a “lesser than” feel, like it’s a love letter but not a serious project. Even if the songs are great. But I still think the songs are great. The best Bowie so far, easily! I went from hating this man to actually enjoying him. Again, it could be Stockholm syndrome, but I also think this is legitimately my speed. Will I feel this way about the remaining Bowie albums? Probably not, but at least I have one I like, finally!

The quintessential album for the weird girl outside of the punk show who shyly smoked alone between sets, not talking to anyone but constantly making awkward eye contact with everyone, playing Pokemon Crystal on an old translucent Game Boy Color, who then went inside and jumped on stage with a bunch of boys who each played with different bands earlier in the night, and then proceeded to play the best set of the whole night. (It’s me, I’m the weird girl who did this shit at 20, but also, not actually, because I’m not fucking Björk.) For a post-punk piss take on pop music, this album is incredibly fun, catchy, and accessible while never feeling overbearingly obnoxious, yet Life’s Too Good always retains that good ol’ tongue-in-cheek irony of post-punk. A couple tracks do come close to being annoying, but that’s when the joke of it all saves it. Oh yeah, and motherfuckin’ BJÖRK does the vocals and sounds perfect!!! Lord knows why I’ve glanced past this album all these years, because it’s totally up my alley.

That’s the blues, alright! Good blues, sometimes even great blues — Muddy Waters and Johnny Winter can clearly play their asses off — but most of Hard Again is still that cliché, jammy, 12-bar blues. There’s some songs that rock hard as hell, especially “Mannish Boy” and “The Blues Had A Baby…,” but there’s even more songs that just bore me with their endless minutes of constant soloing. I’m never against it, because again, this record is brimming with talent and clean production, but I’m also rarely into it. Even at its best, I think the blues just isn’t for me, and Hard Again might be some of the best blues I’ve heard, and yet, I’m still not sold. But I’d take Hard Again over a lot of other albums, so I also can’t be that dismissive of it.

On a base level, I was born to love Neil Young. Even though I had somehow basically avoided all but maybe two of his songs until this generator (a fact made weirder when I recall that my college roommate was a guy born in northern New Hampshire and is therefore a massive Neil Young fan by birthright), I have yet to hear a Neil Young album that I’ve hated. Mind you, Rust Never Sleeps is only my third album in this discography-dive-in-disguise, and I refuse to listen deeper until the Generator Gods are finished showing me what they have to show me, but so far, I can confidently say that I think he’s one of the greatest songwriters of all time, bar none. Is his voice not great? Sure. Is he a very idiosyncratic guitar player? Duh. Are his solos a very specific taste? Definitely. Do I fucking care? Not in the slightest. Based on everything I’ve heard, read, and gleamed from this list, I can confidently anticipate that I will at least love every album he put out between 1969 and 1979, and maybe even more after that! Now, all this said, Rust Never Sleeps is not my favorite album so far. While very tonally different from each other, I think I was spoiled by getting both After the Gold Rush and Everyone Knows This Is Nowhere, which, for very different reasons, are powerhouse examples of a no-skips album for me. Rust Never Sleeps, on the other hand, does not fit this bill for me, and I could almost tell it wouldn’t based on its structure alone. I’m not typically someone who loves the Side A/Side B tonal shift, especially when it’s acoustic v. electric, because I know before even pressing play that there’s a 99.999% chance I will much prefer the electric half to the acoustic half. And that’s especially true on Rust Never Sleeps. I do think there’s some strong material on Side A, though. Obviously, “My, My, Hey, Hey” is an excellent song, but – not to spoil the fun – its power is significantly stifled by the redux closer. Meanwhile, “Thrasher” really overstays its welcome, and “Ride My Llama” is too lyrically surrealist yet too musically bare for me to really have anything to latch onto. Side A does get stronger with “Pocahontas,” and while I don’t think “Sail Away” is the best Young song I’ve ever heard, it’s one of the better songs here. In general, though, Side A feels too bare, and the ~live~ shtick seems to work against the vision – Young’s shaky voice and strange visions feel lacking without some power behind them, and the stadium reverb plus the constant fade outs undermine almost every cut here. It’s still very good, sometimes even great, but it’s not my favorite. Of course, then there’s Side B. All my critiques of Side A are almost nonexistent here, because now there’s some real guts behind the songs, and as a result, they all feel fully fleshed out. “Powderfinger” is enhanced by its runtime because there’s now a real jam quality, and its loose narrative adds musical meat to its bones. Then, sillier/stupider/chaotic songs like “Welfare Mothers” and “Sedan Delivery” are easy to enjoy because, with Crazy Horse behind him, these cuts become goddamn barn burners. Young’s vocals are also enhanced because there’s clear interplay with the band going on, and his unique playing style is strengthened by Crazy Horse’s futuristic, gritty tone. Plus, when he has a band behind him, his songwriting talents become clearer, like the chorus on “Sedan Delivery,” which I don’t think would hit the same without a full band. I do think there’s less punch without Whitten, but Crazy Horse are still a ferocious unit without him. And then there’s “Hey, Hey, My, My.” Tonally, lyrically, structurally, from a guitar-nerd perspective, from a pure vibes perspective – this might be one of the greatest songs I’ve ever heard. Everything that made “My, My, Hey, Hey” great is still preserved here, but the value-add of Crazy Horse and literal amplification cannot be unstated. It has been stuck in my head for days, and really made me question where I stood on the album overall. If everything is very good, but there’s a couple perfect songs, can an album be mid? Especially if I’m predisposed to be biased to the artist, and I’m just thinking the “okay” material is merely “okay” for Young, but excellent for others? It reminds me a lot of how I feel about a mid-tier Joni album; if it were any other artist, it would be perfection. And given the obvious lore around Rust Never Sleeps, it’s certainly meant to be included in the book. It’s just a lot spottier than other albums I’ve heard from him. That’s totally fine, though, because a mixed Neil Young record is still a great record. It’s just not a no-skip. But damn, when it hits, it fucking hits.

There’s a certain type of hip-hop that sounds hard, “gangsta,” or even has a Bump In The Whip™️ energy, but when you pick it apart, it’s actually closer to the Lyrical Miracle Spiritual Spherical Backpack Acrobats Rap Attacks™️ bullshit. Y’know, rap that feels significant because you can party to it and break down the lyrics, but when you actually break it down, not only are the beats pretty standard issue for the era in question, but the bars are actually….not saying a goddamn thing. On paper, this style of hip-hop feels strongly technical and detailed, but the execution lacks a message, a statement of purpose. There’s people like this today (Megan Thee Stallion in particular, as much as I hate to admit it), there were a million of them throughout the 2000s in the underground with MF Doom and everything, but also with Cam’ron and Jadakiss, and even in the long Golden Age, there was a lot of this shit. And I think Raekwon is the textbook example of this, with Only Built 4 Cuban Linx as a sort of blueprint. If we’re talking about pure talent, there’s no debating. And if this was just a collection of Wu songs like 36 Chambers, then maybe pure talent would be enough to win me over. But Cuban Linx insists that it’s conceptual, and that is just straight up not the case. The “concept” is as flimsy as airline single-ply. This isn’t mafioso, this isn’t cinematic, and it certainly isn’t a concept album. It’s RZA beats from the mid-90s, but not even like where he’s sampling certain genres or adding in references to other genre films; every beat here could be a B-side beat from 36 Chambers. So yeah, it’s still great, but it also doesn’t feel particularly…special? Unique? Then there’s the rapping. Raekwon is a good technical rapper, no doubt, but the dude has very little to fucking say. Across 18 tracks, you get a sense that Rae has literally exhausted his pen game. Even if new flows and new experiences came to him in a dream, the man would be rapping about getting money and driving around in his black ac, y’know what I’m sayin’? But unlike, say, Pusha T, who avoids the single-subject critique by having the most charisma anyone has ever had on a mic, Raekwon kinda fades into the background. Maybe it’s the guest features. First, Ghost — now, even though I think Ghostface took a while to find his voice has an artist and he is not there yet on this album, the man has always had a presence, which again, works against Rae here. The rest of the features, though, are standard Wu solo album fare. Besides a non-Wu Tang feature from Nas — who is good because he’s Nas, not because it’s his best verse ever — everyone else is as good/as mid/as bad as you’d expect based on how well remembered their first round solo record is today. GZA is great, Meth has good hooks and decent verses, Deck is fine, and the rest are present and accounted for. I’m ranting like I hate Cuban Linx. I don’t. A good first-round Wu solo album is a good album, no question. When a song hits, it’s very good. But every time, it’s simultaneously a good song and mediocre Wu Tang cut. To me, none the high points of Cuban Linx match the high points of any other above-the-fold Wu solo project. And its low points? Well, the low points are the skits, which are horrible, even for hip-hop skits, which is saying a lot….but the low points that aren’t skits are pretty forgettable. I’d say 45% of this album falls short, and again, even its highs feel oddly low to me. Is it a good album? Yes. Is it a technically well-made record? Absolutely. But if you stripped it of its context — removed it from the Wu Tang lore, removed the reason why the Nas feature matters, removed our pure adoration on ‘90s RZA production, removed the concept it claims to represent — is it still a classic? No, because it just isn’t at that caliber. Just because it sounds deep doesn’t mean it IS deep. Swap this with ODB for me any day.

A store-brand version of At The Drive-In, with more garage revival and less post-hardcore. It’s fine — and I tend to be very forgiving of this sound based on my biases — but it’s very sloppy, very cobbled together, and while The Icarus Line would probably argue that that was done so with purposeful intent, the result is closer to a chaotic assault of mediocrity than anything truly experimental. When it is noisy, post-hardcore, and doing what every good band from Refused to The Blood Brothers did in this era, the results feels cheap and the band feels unsure of themselves; when they’re at their tightest, though, they sound like every other dime-a-dozen garage revival band that got overhyped in music rags at the time. If Penance Soirée had a bit more focus, it would be a better record, but I’d still probably felt apathetic about it. It’s heavy for people who thought Franz Ferdinand were hard, and that’s way too tame for me. Yet another instance where I’d have made a radically different decision with the “post-hardcore” inclusions on this list.

I'm a bit surprised that I'm even going to say this, but I find this album to be incredibly...boring. I'm a sucker for that classic Motown sound, and by definition, All Directions is chalk full on it, plus genuinely tight studio musicianship, vocal harmonies, and pop sensibilities. So why don't I love this? For one, I'm really not a fan of psychedelic soul. I just don't think the aesthetics blend. While All Directions isn't the thickest psychedelic soul album ever, that texture really ruins a lot of the potential here. Whether it's the cluttered production of "Funky Music Sho Nuff Turns Me On," the guitar work on "Run Charlies Run," the spaced-out harmonies of "I Ain't Got Nothin'," or, most of all, the extended instrumental build of "Papa Was A Rollin' Stone" – it all just feels overblown with frills and extra trimmings that needed to be cut. But the rest of the record isn't much better. Sure, it's well made from a technique perspective, but a lot of it feels like leftovers from better Motown sessions. "The First Time I Saw Your Face" and "Do Your Thing'" feel like songs anyone signed to Motown could’ve made in '72. Even songs I like, like "Mother Nature," feel like a poor man's Marvin Gaye or Al Green. All Directions feels like a misnomer, because arguably, it only has one direction, one narrow lane of '70s psychedelic soul that was flashing in the Motown pan at the moment. What it's missing is the It Factor™️. I mean that both on face value when I'm talking about the standout songs – sure, "Papa Was A Rollin' Stone" comes close to being worth the journey, but no one track is even remotely as good, and the aforementioned is a weak Temptations song anyway – but I'm also talking about the group, who by this era clearly lacked the star power of David Ruffin. To me, that absence is obvious, and prevents most of the material on All Directions from ever ascending higher. The fact that I'm also just generally not a fan of this brief era within a genre I'm heavily biased toward loving just adds insult to injury. Odd choice to include here.

The best possible version of County Fair Music™️. And just like the county fair, I walked in thinking I was going to hate every second, but by the end, I had just enough of a buzz going to enjoy myself. I’m not saying The Black Crowes are standout musicians; they are Xerox copycats at their strongest, but they can write a modern enough throwback song without feeling more than 60% stuck in the past. Shake Your Money Maker is clean, doesn’t overstay its welcome, and listening to it made me realize that its staying power on classic rock radio surprisingly had some now-obvious influence on the Jets and Wolfmothers and Greta Van Fleets of the world when I think about it. The weakest moments here are not the products of pastiche, but the products of the time, in particular the ‘90s balladry. I’m not saying this record is special, but it’s not a drag; it exceeds expectations, though that’s probably because I placed the bar on the ground before I pressed play. Shake Your Money Maker is like funnel cake. You don’t need to try funnel cake before you die — in fact, maybe you should avoid it if possible — but in the American hellscape of constant fast food, a funnel cake once or twice a year at the county fair isn’t going to hurt you much. And it’s fun! And nostalgic! And a little nostalgia here and there is fun! Now, if you’re constantly having funnel cake outside of that, we have a problem, because how many county fairs are you going to? Do you work for a traveling fair company? Aren’t you sick of funnel cake by now? Are you sick of the county fair? God, being a carny at the fair would be miserable….but at least you’d have funnel cake…. And see, now I want funnel cake! Where was I going with this metaphor?….Oh yeah, not the worst. Whatever 🤷🏻‍♀️

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again – I just like electronic music. Maybe it’s my transfemme brainworms, but I have a really hard time disliking any electronic music that could reasonably be played at the club. Acid house is no exception. Sure, it sounds dated and is definitely not for everyone, but give me a 303 bass and a beat and I’m sold. I’m no electronic aficionado, but when I get it in my hands, I’m very easily convinced. Not being British and being much too young to have heard of The KLF – who seem to have purposefully blown up their legacy as a punk statement, which only adds to their coolness potential for me – The White Room is a blind listen. The multiple versions on Wikipedia’s track listing did leave me a bit suspicious, but those fears were pretty quickly quelled. Listening to the North American release, I was a bit concerned by the vibe that “Justified and Ancient (Excerpt)” was putting out, but from “What Time Is Love?” through “Last Train to Transcentral,” I was just met with some excellent, intricate acid house that I would love to hear at a club, and also would love to play will working my adult 9-to-5. Again, I’d be hard press to hate this music, and The KLF make a great version of that style. Where The White Room starts to lose me, though, is on its second half. There seems to be an ambient approach to house here (which may be based on a side-project, from what I’m learning), but there’s also a strange reggae influence, and both those things are not my particular vibe. It’s still well made, for sure, but these songs’ length and sparseness don’t hold my attention. Call me basic, but I need something to dance to, and “Build a Fire” and “The White Room” really don’t give me that. Momentum picks back up a bit with “No More Tears,” but that and “Justified and Ancient” are both a little more rave-y and spacey than I prefer to hear from my house music, and lack the punch of the first half of the album. On face value, The White Room is very good, with some standouts and just enough solid tracks that push beyond acid house to make me lean positive past a 50/50 split. What solidifies my interest, though, is the group itself, and their lore, which is absolutely fascinating, and justifies their inclusion on this list in and of itself. When I listen back to the music, though, I won’t be surprised if I search for a vinyl copy and stick to Side A, because that’s the type of house music I prefer, even though I acknowledge the value of Side B aesthetically. Still, overall a strong album, but also, as I said, I’m biased and a bit of a pleb with this stuff and go mostly off a vibe of how excited I’d get if this came on at the club.

I never really “got” LCD Soundsystem. I like dance, I like this era of indie rock, I like punk. I get what they’re doing, and I even really like most of their singles, and maybe even a song or two from each album. When Lil B sang about hipster girls shaking their ass, I was one of those girls he was talking about it, and at most of those parties, I was shaking ass to LCD Soundsystem. But left to my own devices, I rarely if ever would choose to listen to LCD Soundsystem, especially a full album back-to-front. There’s just something about it where the parts are greater than the sum. I like the genres they’re trying to combine, but I don’t like the combination; I like a song or two on a party playlist, but the albums lack momentum or gravity. Which is strange, because what Sound of Silver does have is variety — normally the lifeblood behind momentum and gravity! Maybe it’s the track length, which implies a dance beat crescendo that LCD can never really build. Maybe it’s the self-seriousness of the lyricism, which all have the depth of a 2000s indie film about the bridge and the tunnel. Maybe, just maybe, I just find LCD to be too pretentious, with too much of a “look what we can do by blending genres you wouldn’t expect a couple Williamsburg boiz to be interested in blending!” And maybe, just maybe, that’s a bit too far past the line for me to sit through an hour’s worth of material without rolling my eyes. This is a very long way to say that LCD Soundsystem aren’t really for me, unless it’s in small bits. While I get how and why someone could love Sound of Silver, and I can respect it and might’ve felt differently with modest tweaks, this is the quintessential example of a Greatest Hits Band™️ to me. You can like Sound of Silver, but I’ll just take the moments that don’t overstay their welcome with a 10-minute runtime and move those to a playlist that people can actually dance to at an actual party. And maybe even “New York I Love You,” whose sentiment may be overdramatized and dismissive of this gorgeous city, but also (and I say this from experience) still at least speaks to the Youngest Millennials in Brooklyn™️.

Rubber Soul for Pitchfork writers. Sometimes it’s really good, sometimes it’s really try-hard, but for the most part, it just feels like a series of intros, mid-album cuts, and outros. It’s almost like I’m listening to a bunch of lead-in songs, songs to ramp up the momentum before the album really gets started, something emotional to ease me in before the band busts open the door. Of course, that never happens, so I’m left with an album that just doesn’t feel complete. It’s almost there, and I see the vision, but it never fully crosses over into something I’d ever really want to fully sink my teeth into, especially when the low points are so obnoxiously art pop that I can’t help but roll my eyes. And even its high points are more witty than clever, and never feel as deep as I think XTC thinks they do. Let’s just hope this is a bad starting point for XTC.

Music for a TV show about a couple of chill Californian cops who bust the investigation wide open on a new case every week, then go shred some narly waves while the credits roll. Take a 5-minute radio edit of “Street Life,” and throw the rest of this smooth jazz into the dollar bin so a budding hip-hop producer can practice chopping on their new MPC 3000.

Not bad, but also, not good. Dad rock for Elder Baby Boomers. It sounds like it was made in 1968 for all the centrist college students in frats who needed to act like hippies but didn’t want to stop being douchebags who used the aesthetic in order to convince the “free spirited” bohemian girls to come back to their dorm with them. It’s all over the place, and absolutely none of it stuck with me, but it was never so bad that I cared enough to change the dial. Traffic’s Traffic is almost proto-yacht rock — pristine and satanized psych-rock for preppy assholes who think cleanliness is next to godliness. Maybe that’s why it’s noteworthy? Otherwise, I see no justification for praising Traffic’s Traffic, and it certainly doesn’t make me excited to know they have another album on this list.

Eminem is Loud Junior High Kids in the Back of the Bus™️ music. For me, that is literal. Even though I was only in 2nd grade around the time when this record came out, I was quiet, which earned me a seat in the back of the school bus with the 5th graders, who were all very sweet and acted like they were my older siblings, even though I’m sure I annoyed them. But in this process, they exposed me to a lot of early 2000s media, arguably a bit too early – Final Fantasy and Grand Theft Auto, Adult Swim and Inuyasha, Seventeen and boy band crushes, coffee, and, of course, Eminem. As a result, I have a really, really, really hard time listening to The Marshall Mathers LP in a vacuum. And given that it was never my preferred Eminem album, I was a bit concerned that this listen would be just pure nostalgia without criticism, or a dated regretful mess. Turns out, it’s a bit of both. First and foremost, I’m not going to pretend like Em isn’t insane on the mic. He is so technical, but he presents his intense rhyme schemes and lyrical miracle schtick in a way that feels alluring and enjoyable. His style is never obnoxious, and that earns a lot of points, because it’s always digestible. A lot of people complain that this grew stale by the end of the 2000s, but listening to this is a night and day comparison; his whole style changed, for the worse, and became less natural and less playful than it is here. Now, similarly, I was concerned about the beats, which were never the best part of an Eminem record. However, a *lot* more of this record is produced by Dre than I remember, and Em’s own beats are not as hallow as I recall. Beyond that, the biggest criticism is the skits, but they aren’t really as intrusive as they seem, especially when compared to other great hip-hop albums. So, that took away my face-value concerns about what I remember of Em’s talent in his prime. Starting out, this is an incredible record. I would say that the first 10 tracks, skits included, make up one of the greatest hip-hop albums of all time. The over-the-top, everything-phobic Slim Shady persona is clearly meant to be cartoonish, and each Shady track is contrasted with a very serious Marshall track that is directly telling the listener that if they believe the horrorcore ridiculousness at face value, then they should probably work on improving their media literacy. The features are limited to essentials who bring it, the beats are almost all Dre so they’re god-tier, and the complexity on the mic is there as an added bonus. Sure, Eminem talking about his woes with fame and referencing bullshit that only mattered in 1999 might feel banal today, but if you happened to be there, it’s easy to dismiss. But then there’s the back half…I’d say from “Marshall Mathers” to “Amityville” is a rough listen. It’s still very good – again, a man in his prime – but it’s so much worse than the first half of the record that your brain wants to dismiss it outright. The Ken Kaniff skit isn’t the roughest in hip-hop, but it’s close, and while I like the beat and Em’s verse in “Amityville,” Bizarre basically ruins that song. And that’s the other issues, the beats; now that we’re spending less time with Dre behind the boards, Em’s beats start to show their fault lines. I think “Bitch Please II” does just enough to bring the energy back up and includes great verses from Xzibit and Em, but “Kim” comes in and slaps you in the face. I’ll give “Kim” credit though as a haunting, devastating work of art, so even though I’m not going to casually revisit it as a song, I’m glad Em wrote it. From there, though, we’re kind of lost at sea with Eminem, a man still processing his old life and his new life and not handling either well, and the meta-commentary of the first half now starts to feel banal not because who gives a fuck about Carson Daly, but because anyone who could write “Kim” should probably not be famous and should instead be in therapy. We’re now 5 songs away from any material that, if not enjoyable, was at least relistenable. Where do we go from here? A rehashed version of “Drug Ballad” now featuring D12 be varying levels of okay-to-bad, and “Criminal,” which sounds like it was just left on the cutting room floor from the Slim Shady LP sessions. By the end of The Marshall Mathers LP, you can literally hear Em run out of material. You hear him exhaust not only what made him stylistically unique in tone, but also on the mic. He’s painting himself into metaphor corners, into subject area corners, into reference point corners. His beats are beginning to feel formulaic. He’s already made the most shocking songs he could possibly make, so that’s gone now forever, and talking about fame isn’t going to stay interesting for very long. Sure, the man can rap faster, he can up his pen game to write only internal rhyme schemes, and he can maybe try to explore more lyrical sincerity, but if “Criminal” is any indication, he’s going to fall flat. There’s this blaze of glory element to The Marshall Mathers LP that very few records have, where you can see the star burn out in real time. At its beginning, it’s a man in his prime making one of the greatest hip-hop albums ever made. By the middle, it’s a man in his prime rap well but lose his focus and feature too many of his friends, tripping into a couple brilliant niche moments in the process. By the end, it’s a man still in his prime still rapping well but going back to the well, failing to push his own career forward, and it leaves the listener confused how something that started so great could end so flat. Throughout it all, though, Eminem is still in his prime, and that alone means that even the worst moments here are great hip-hop. It just doesn’t stick the landing. Am I nostalgic for the old Eminem? Yeah, up through “I’m Back.” After that, I’ve been hearing the same man since “Marshall Mathers,” and frankly, no matter how talented he is, he isn’t for me, but I respect it. But the good outweighs the bad here, and that is what matters most for me with this album.

Now I want to go out and learn how to play the fiddle! It’s never sounded as cool as it does on Fisherman’s Blues This album is a brand new surprise. I’m shocked that this is so high-energy and so punk, but I think that’s part of its beauty, and its ethos. Sure, the interludes are a bit too dry, and there’s definitely some jam-band qualities here where I maybe didn’t need every song to be almost 10-minutes long, but the songs themselves are so great, so anthemic, and so seeped in culture. There’s really nothing about this record that I hate. I feel like I need to know more about this scene to know if Fisherman’s Blues is an essential listen, but I know for sure that it’s a great listen, and that’s all that matters to me.

Actual question: how the fuck does Stevie play the drums? I mean, I guess these drums DO sound like they’re being played by a blind man, and I mean that literally, because they’re very percussive and feel like he’s mostly washing and maybe even physically holding onto the hi-hat and tapping toms and whatnot. But still, how does he SEE what he’s doing?! Like, piano, guitar, harmonica, those all require you to physically touch the instrument. But with drums, you’re only touching the sticks, so you can’t physically decipher what you’re playing based on touch alone, right? I know that there’s different definitions of the word “blind” and obviously rhythm isn’t visual, duh, but how does he see what he’s hitting?! It’s just so odd that he’s able to play the drums, and play them so goddamn well!! Anyway, Talking Book is pretty great. Definitely a Growing Pains™️ album, and my least favorite imperial era album, but it has a lot fewer blemishes than I remember and still slaps.

I like Adele; I don’t love Adele. I get why Adele is included on this list – and I understand specifically why 21 is here (although justice for 19 > 25) – and I think it’s fair to say that the reasoning is much deeper than her insane sales numbers. Adele, specifically during this era, was the last of the Turn of the Century Revivalists™, following in the wake of Norah Jones, Joss Stone, Duffy, and, most obviously, Amy Winehouse. She also filled a gap in the Adult Contemporary market, a chart that was largely left vacant following Celine Dion’s crescendo in the early 2000s, as the former group of women mostly had crossover pop appeal (potentially thanks to the Millennials who wore business casual to the club, although even the twee-est of us were shopping on ModCloth, so, yeah, we liked a lot of Mom Music™ for some reason). I recently was reading a Reddit thread about how Lady Gaga’s rise killed this blue-eyed soul revival, with Adele being the sole exception, though that line of thought was never expanded upon in the comments below. Listening to 21, I think the reason this still broke through at the time is obvious: good soul songs with a beat. The best parts about this album – the parts you remember fondly and the parts that got it to fit in with the electro-pop charts of 2011 – are all the songs that have an actual groove, an actual rhythm, and feel most like an Amy Winehouse or old Dusty Springfield song, or hell, even a non-trip-hop Everything But the Girl or Dido! “Rolling in the Deep,” “Rumor Has It,” “He Won’t Go,” and “I’ll Be Waiting” all shine, and they’re all very intricately written. The other thing that stands out about 21 is how well-produced it is, and how the details and flourishes feel, well, essential. This benefits songs that lack a beat, like “Turning Tables” and “Don’t You Remember,” where the pianos feel rhythmic and Adele’s melodies have a bounce to them. All these songs are appealing because they aren’t *just* ballads for Moms to cry to in their minivans, but they also aren’t niche music critic addiction tales, either. It takes the good elements of 19 and adds shine onto an already great package. The problem is, this is only about 50% of the album. The other half is exactly what you think about when you think about Adele and roll your eyes. It’s the ballads. It’s the “Set Fire to the Rain” and the “Take It All” and the “Someone Like You” and everything else in between that’s so forgettable that I don’t even care to even mention it. It’s by and large every track reduced by Rick Rubin, and those stripped-down reductions are noticeable and also for the worst. Sure, they may have been what catapulted Adele to be a superstar (everyone likes a residency-type), but it also sucks the soul out of this record. Those instrumental backing band details are gone on these tracks. The rhythmic bounce is nonexistent. Adele belts, but she doesn’t flow. And what was once sincere songwriting and interesting composition becomes belted vocals with no true purpose. These ballads are what Adele becomes, because these songs sold to everyone, including your grandmother, but I think it was for the worse. In practice, they made Adele less interesting, and now, 2 albums out with a third not on the horizon any time soon, I’d argue it was a double-edged sword that may have stunted her longevity, and frankly, any chance at a legacy. That double-edged sword is clear on 21, an album that I could cut in half evenly. On one hand, a bouncy, soulful, intricately-crafted Adult Contemporary classic deserving of praise, especially in a genre that rarely gets respected because critics hate schmaltz; on the other hand, a half dozen ballads given little care by the world’s worst minimalist that sold well and appealed to everyone on earth, but didn’t actually win anyone over. I think it’s important to note the value of both those traits in 21, but there’s also something frustrating about this fact that makes it simultaneously a frustrating listen as you realize what Adele could have been, and a bland one as you listen to what she would become.

It’s a bad sign when I’m 100x more interested in the free jazz, avant-garde pop, and ambient electronica that Spotify autoplayed at the end than anything I heard on the album I just finished listening to in full. I like eccentric, but eccentric is effortless. I hate noodling with the forced intention to sound eccentric. Movies is just noodling. Clearly, Czukay is a capable musician, and when this record catches a beat or develops a funky groove, I start to enjoy it, but it’s all the fucking noodling that inevitably ruins it for me.

**Shocking News**: the original Bob Dylan knockoff made solo albums that sound like store-brand Dylan records. Unfortunately, without a band behind him to make those Dylan rips special, his solo material falls mostly flat, even when there’s a couple decently composed songs (though he still never comes close to his idol, or even his former band’s glory days).

33% leftover sketches of songs not good enough to put on a Pixies record, 33% tinkering with whatever cool instrument was within arms length, and 33% ‘50s rock ’n’ roll pastiche. When he splits the difference between the three, Frank Black is able to make a pretty decent post-Pixies solo album that takes the strengths he showcased in his old band and expands on them in intriguing ways, at least if you’re already into Black Francis as a songwriter. It’s when he decides to write a song that only focuses on one idea, however, where this record falls apart. There’s a lot of songs that just sound like worse versions of better Pixies songs. There’s even more songs that feel like genre experiments that have no purpose being on an album proper unless you support his watercolor-esque sketches of Latin syncopations. And there’s a handful of rockabilly moments, which don’t appeal to me personally, and even if I try to stomach them, still feel kitsch and ephemeral on their own terms. Look, I adore Pixies, and I enjoy Black Francis as a songwriter. This was never going to be on the same tier as Surfer Rosa or Doolittle or even Bossanova, but at its strongest moments, I’m pretty easily won over, because I’m biased. If you trim the fat from Teenager of the Year, you might honestly have a great solo effort on your hands. But there’s a TON of fat here, and that makes this record both inessential and kind of exhausting, even if you’re a hardcore Pixies fan. In the end, there’s just enough for me to go positive on it, but if you’re not already a fan of Pixies, this certainly isn’t going to win you over on Black Francis.

I grew up close to Boston during the reign of The Dropkick Murphys, so I’m at least acquainted with the sounds and the aesthetics of Celtic Punk, though I’m far from a fan. This said, I’d never given The Pogues a fair shot, largely because I was never won over by their 2000s torchbearers. I’d heard great things, and on paper, it seemed like I could be easily won over, so I went into this listen hopeful with open ears. Those hopes were optimistic, and those ears didn’t need to be that open. At the end of the day, The Pogues are just exactly what you’d expect from the progenitors of Celtic Punk. As the originators, though, I am a bit kinder to the cliches, but not by much. A song like “Bottle of Smoke” or “The Recruiting Sergeant et al.” just doesn’t get me excited. It’s just either sped-up Irish Folk music or punk with folk instrumentation, and while the idea is sound, the practice isn’t something I want to actually hear. Now, I’ll say this– I think If I Should Fall From Grace With God is frankly too long. Not that 51 minutes is long, but 15 tracks, no matter how short, can be an exhausting listen if not every song earns its keep. And I’d say about half of the tracklist sounds like cliches, or, at least, future cliches, and that drags this album out beyond the point where I can tolerate it. That said, The Pogues are capable of writing great songs, and there are great songs on this album. The opening title track does the cliche-setting the best, and “Fairytale of New York” kicked me in the ass, like, holy shit, that’s great songwriting! I’m also good with “Thousands Are Sailing” and “The Broad Majestic Shannon.” There’s also a few tracks that change it up just enough and help give this record enough variety to keep me moving – not even averting cliches of Celtic Punk, but averting Punk cliches in general – like “Streets of Sorrow,” Metropolis,” and “Worms.” I wonder if this is more of what I was expecting from The Pogues, as opposed to the foundation-building of a whole genre, because these songs feel boundary-pushing in a way I’m not seeing on the rest of the album. Regardless, while I appreciate what The Pogues are doing, and I think they can sometimes transcend, overall, this is just the building blocks of a subgenre I don’t really enjoy, so, unsurprisingly, I’m not head-over-heels for If I Should Fall From Grace With God, and find it mostly just okay.

Oh boy….what a messy album. Some of best songs The Smiths ever made, especially “Death of a Disco Dancer,” but also, some of the absolute worst songs The Smiths ever made. And the thing about it is, what makes one song so fucking phenomenal also makes another downright deplorable. Morrisey’s weird vocal choices work on some songs here and ruin others, like “A Rush and a Push and the Land Is Ours.” Marr trying to get away from jangle pop clicks on “I Started Something I Couldn’t Finish” but fails miserably on “Death at One’s Elbow.” The strings and piano sometimes fit, sometimes feel messy. Rourke and Joyce feel as locked in as ever, but some of the material just straight up doesn’t work. Sometimes it’s too spacey, sometimes it’s too minimal, sometimes it just sounds like the band is running out of steam, like on the single, “Girlfriend in a Coma,” which is good, but far from their best single, that’s for sure. And I know that if you lined up 500 nerds and asked them their favorite cuts on Strangeways, you’d get 500 different answers, but I would still safely bet that none of them prefer Strangeways to literally *any* other album by The Smiths, compilations included. If you really like The Smiths, their discography is 4 albums long and some extra singles – you should take 30ish minutes to listen to Strangeways to be complete, but that is not a requirement by any means. It’s sad that they couldn’t go out with a final bang considering the rest of their discography, but Strangeways is too chaotic and too all-over-the-place to be anyone’s favorite child, even if it’s the last breath of an otherwise truly great band. Thankfully, because The Smiths were a truly great band, there’s still a good chunk of material here to salvage, but I say, take what you need and send the rest to the body shop.

I do not understand how this album made Blur so goddamn popular. Blur are a band who can make the most goddamn obnoxious song you’ve ever heard in your life, yet by the time it’s finished, you kind of want to replay it because the hook wormed its way into your little earholes and dug its claws into the wrinkles of your brain. Parklife is a strange fucking album. Like, “strange” is being kind. It’s weird, but not noisy and chaotic, and not trippy and psychedelic, but like, just….all over the place? Every song here has a weird sonic “doo-dad” that is persistently grating against your eardrums, and while they can definitely play, each part feels almost out of sync. It doesn’t feel like musical genius, but more like a miracle– maybe even divine intervention. It’s definitely not the production, which is so ‘90s Loudness Wars ™, and it’s definitely not like these songs are particularly inventive or nuanced or even smart. In a lot of ways, Parklife is kind of a dumb album. By lads, for lads. Maybe that’s the appeal; maybe that’s the appeal of Britpop, although if that’s the source of the magic, I’m left deeply confused how I liked the parts I liked, because that’s the thing about Britpop that I hate the most. No, I think, for all its weirdness and chaotic off-kilter stylings, Albarn can just write a fucking hook, and Parklife is filled with motherfucking hooks. It’s also stylistically diverse, which gives it a lot of legs. The first five songs are quite the run. It’s not how I expected Blur to sound, and it’s always changing, but it’s also weird but still very catchy, and it’s paced really well, and I have to admit, I started to wonder if I was about to find a Britpop album I unequivocally enjoy. That fantasy quickly fell apart by the time “Badhead” lazily crooned its way past me, and from that point on, Parklife never really came back around. It remains a weird, doohickey-filled record, it tries to be stylistically diverse, and I do think the hooks continue to land, but the rest of the record is much more aligned with the sounds and aesthetics of Britpop, whether in ballad, arena anthem, or anything in between. I think there’s a couple more standouts, namely “To the End” and especially “Magic America,” but nothing else really reached the heights of the openers. I thought I was just looking for issues, but even on multiple listens, Parklife just looses steam for me, and doesn’t ever recover. Ending on the Britpop cliche of “This Is a Low” and the stupid filler of “Lot 105” is the nail in the coffin for me. I respect what it’s trying to do, and I think it starts out doing something, but Parklife is front-loaded as hell, and lacks enough punch on its back half and put-togetherness to leave me feeling much of anything. I’m still positive overall, but it’s more apathetic positivity than enjoyment.

Few record can physically transport you to a place like The Chronic, and that place is the backseat of your friend’s boyfriend’s 20-year old used Chevy Malibu, blasting this record through 2 blown out subwoofers that are held in place in the trunk thanks to the magic of duct tape and a prayer. The Chronic’s biggest fault is that it’s long, and pretty one-note. Not as bad as its sequel, Doggystyle, but I’d say from the “$20 Sack Pyramid” skit through “Stranded on Death Row,” my focus and active attention begin to fade. That said, nothing on this final leg is bad, it’s just not the S-tier perfection of the first 9 tracks. Thankfully, “The Roach” and “Bitches Ain’t Shit” not only tie the record together as an outro/coda two-hitter, but they win me back. Definitely not my favorite hip-hop record of all time, but I’d be stupid to argue it’s not one of the best from a quasi-objective level, especially when I still really, really love it. Plus, it’s held up remarkably well even after all these years, both objectively speaking, because the production still sounds flawless, and personally, especially considering how rarely I smoke these days. Apparently, I can appreciate The Chronic without being high as a kite, so that’s great news.

As a girl who was raised by the Providence punk scene, which was a weird amalgamation of Boston Hardcore and RISD, I’m a sucker for noise punk. While I gave Songs About Fucking a spin as a teen, I never really did a deep dive into Albini’s other work, not even with Big Black. And that’s a real shame, because Atomizer is a fucking phenomenal record. It’s full of rage, spite, and disgust, really taking the vileness of masculinity and pointing the gun inward thanks to a healthy dose of deadpan delivery and violent noise, accomplished both sonically and vocally, somehow. This is a classic because of the guitar work, funky bass lines, and stunning vocal howls, but then I consider the unique addition of a drum machine, and my mind is blown to pieces, even today. It’s not a “fun” listen and I’m not going to be spinning this every day– mainly because that would probably wreck my mental health as a trans woman – but its value is clear as day, and I can point to a hundred bands I used to adore who wouldn’t have existed without Atomizer. But that’s showing my bias for this type of noise punk, so maybe I’m in the minority here.

So late ‘60s, psychedelic Beatles ripoff with a heavy interest in Paul, All Over The Place So Let’s Call It A Concept Album™️, it hurts. I was so excited when I first heard The Kinks, but this list has really proven that they were just a lesser copycat band who chased trends and rarely did them well. Sure, they can play, and sometimes they stumble into something amazing, but most of the time, it’s derivative. Arthur especially is just overblown and insufferable ‘60s pop; a big idea with very little depth in practice. A huge step down from Village Green, and a huge let down for me, personally.

I feel like there are a lot of trip-hop adjacent electronic albums from the ‘90s on this list that I’ve never heard of, that time has essentially forgotten. Not that I’m complaining – I love ‘90s electronica, and I love trip-hop, so I’ve loved a lot of these records – I just can’t help but feel that the importance of this sound, aesthetic, and era are being over-represented by Dimery and Co. Melody A.M. really fits the bill for what I’m talking about here. It is, in some ways, maybe the best non-essential downtempo/trip-hop album I’ve gotten yet. It’s sonically diverse, it’s detailed as hell, and it flows in a way that always keeps me engaged without losing the vibe. It’s just solid as fuck ‘90s electronica. But it’s still not essential. And that’s obvious as I listen to it. No matter how good it may be, it’s not nearly as good as Dummy or the Massive Attack albums, or even lesser Everything But the Girl records and early Gorillaz tunes. That doesn’t mean it’s not great. I really liked this record. But it’s more for people into this specific scene, looking to find Tier-2 classics, I’d say. I’ll personally return to this a lot, because I like trip-hop and I need some good Tier-2 classics. But I get if someone waved their hand at this album. On a worse day, I probably would, too.

Classical music for nerdy high school English teachers to grade papers to while they ponder their fleeting youth when they used to lean against the doorframe at frat parties awkwardly leering at the sorority girls who were never ✨intellectual✨ enough to date but certainly hot enough to gawk at. I’d call it well-composed, but well-composed is just a nice way of saying the music is pretentious *and* boring at the same time.

If you’re a girly who really leaned into 💚Brat Summer™️💚 like me, you’ll probably adore Darkdancer, an album of front-to-back ironic/iconic club classics. Otherwise? I mean, sorry you’re lame, I guess…😬😬😬

A deeply, deeply, *deeply* formative album for me as a burgeoning hardcore kid. It’s not my favorite of the Essential Classic Hardcore Starter Pack™️ – I’d personally take Milo Goes to College or Start Today – but I understand why Group Sex is the more “correct” choice to include on this list. It’s crazy how much this still sounds like a kick in the head. Incredible drumming that really paved the way for every drummer in the scene after; great lyrics that are simultaneously politically-aware and valid while still being youthfully naïve and sometimes downright stupid as fuck; and it’s less than 16 minutes long, yet features multiple songs that somehow find time for a guitar solo. It’s all quintessential punk, arguably even its Platonic Ideal. The fact that nearly every song gets stuck in my head for days after is proof of its power, because being punk doesn’t mean you can’t be catchy. I love Group Sex. And yes, you can quote me on that.

Peter Gabriel did it – he stayed in his lane as a pop songwriter, and the result is a fucking phenomenal pop album!! And he did it will still finding ways to *gently* incorporate experimentation, and world music, and more theatrical elements. It’s not flawless, especially in its more downtempo, dour moments, but it comes really, really close. So is one of those albums I could see growing into one of my favorites ever if I gave it some time, because it’s right on that line. I think if I find it on vinyl and play it straight for a week, it will definitely get there. But for now, it’s still very, very, very good. Stick to pop, Gabriel!!!

As far as I can tell, the only thing Todd Rundgren can do wrong is sometimes be a little bit longwinded and a little bit quirky. And, as someone who has issues being brief and/or staying serious herself, that makes me feel deeply seen. Even at its goofiest, even at its nerdiest, and even at its most verbose, Something/Anything? is a goddamn masterpiece. From the ballads – some of which may be the greatest songs ever written, like “Hello, It’s Me” – to its experimental Tin Pan Alley pisstakes, Rundgren is always a positive light and a fun musical companion. The fact that there’s nerdy shit like “Intro” on here just warms my heart!! Honestly, it’s not made for single-sitting listen; I immediately got the vibe that I should digest it as 4 brief EPs, and that made for an even better listening experience. I also think it’s an ideal record to shuffle, which just goes to show how ahead of his time Rundgren is on this album. Something/Anything? is a masterpiece, a no-skip, and dare I say the 2nd best double album ever made, second only to Songs In The Key Of Life. And I don’t give a fuck what anyone has to say about “Piss Aaron,” damnit!!!

I walked into Faust IV expecting the worst, especially since I tend to be very anti-experimental psychedelic ‘70s rock, and Faust had that stink all over it. And I’ll be honest, the 11 minute droning of “Krautrock” was not initially selling me. But then, “The Sad Skinhead” was such a pivot, a left turn into a clearing. Sure, it’s a goof, but it was the exact amount of levity I needed after the weight of the opening track. To then follow that up with one of the most gorgeous songs I’ve ever heard in “Jennifer,” though? That’s when it all started to click. Faust IV continues on like this, pump faking its next move and shadow boxing with a new genre before it’s even finished its fight with the last genre. At times, it is pioneering electronic synths to be as obnoxious as possible, and at other times it has the sincerity of a hippy-era acoustic love song, and sometimes, those things happen in the same song. Normally, this sort of eclecticism is not for me, especially not in such a chaotic soup. But there’s such a playful and sincere charm to Faust! I think it helps that they’re clearly playing *below* their skill level, which inherently means it’s a little more accessible and a little less progressive. It’s also clear that the band is just having fun, which adds to the goofs, sure, but also makes the serious parts feel more potent. While I still know I need to give Faust IV a while to grow on me, I already know I enjoy it top-to-bottom, and would be happy to listen to it both actively and passively. I wouldn’t be surprised if it rises to the top of my 5-stars after more time with it. Influential, sure, but more importantly, fun, and that’s what I want most out of the music I enjoy.

The first time I listened to Kraftwerk, I was dismissive and apathetic, the way a lot of people are when they hear early electronica. That opinion was very, very wrong. Trans Europe Express is both a triumphant Suite and celebration of the endless abilities of electronic music the same way a trip through the gorgeous European countryside into the magnificent city can fill you with inspiration, and a foundational building block album that establishes a lot of the genre’s themes, tropes, and fascinations in a way that makes it inextricably linked to the history of the genre, whether you actually enjoy listening to the album on face value or not. Now that I’m past the “yeah, yeah, it’s important, who cares,” stage of my Kraftwerk exposure, I can appreciate Trans Europe Express as music. And as music, it’s perfection. Side A in particular works for me: the chugging serenity of “Europe Endless,” the Dorian Grey haunt of “The Hall of Mirrors” as it builds up to a full narrative, and finally, in stark comparison, the porcelain stillness and minimal build of “Showroom Dummies.” Again, I think the latter two songs in particular are pretty essential to electronica tropes – about the line of reality and the line of human existence – but the opener’s sprawl is just as important to the vibe of the genre. Side B contrasts this with a tight operetta of sorts, revisiting elements of the opener on “Trans Europa Express” and extending those elements to more nuanced avenues that still keep the sonic motif alive to the very end. Trans Europe Express is magic, and it shows the magic of electronic sounds to create something akin to classical composition, debatably for the first time. It’s also one of those albums that gives you more the more you sit with it, as I’m learning. If it doesn’t click at first, I really encourage sitting with it more. Because once this clicked, it really clicked.

What if – and hear me out – Oasis was never really good, but British people were just *so* goddamn nostalgic for their ‘60s rock bands that they let a group of lads who wrote pretty boring and basic songs and who couldn’t sing for shit become the biggest band in the world, and then let them make the most mid-‘90s overproduced album imaginable built around a handful of half-finished hooks and beginner guitar chords that go on for 5-10 minutes for no reason whatsoever. Anyway, here’s “Wonderwall,” the best song on this god awful overhyped piece of trash, which tells you how good the rest of it is, really.

If you told me this album came out in 2016 and was very popular among white hip-hop nerds who watched Anthony Fantano religiously, I wouldn’t bat an eye. To say Boy In Da Corner was ahead of its time is an understatement. The beats feel so weird and off-kilter, purposefully cheap both for practical reasons and aesthetic ones, but they’re always still so fucking catchy. While there’s a few songs here that up the production value a smidge, namely “Fix Up, Look Sharp,” most of this album sounds literally unlike anything else. It certainly doesn’t sound commercial or mainstream. But still, it bangs the whole way through. The shtick of the aesthetic never gets boring. After 15 tracks and nearly an hour, I still want to hear where else this sound can go. But who gives a fuck if it sounds futuristic if the rapper can’t handle it, right? Well, that’s the thing…Dizzee Rascal *can* handle it. In some ways, I’d almost argue he’s too good for this, even at its most experimental sounding. His flow is INSANE, and is probably only dismissed because Grime was historically dismissed by American hip-hop heads until like, 5 years ago, maybe. I think Dizzee’s pen game from a rhyme-scheme perspective isn’t god-tier, but that weakness only strengthens his flow. Really, though, Boy In Da Corner is a masterpiece album because Dizzee is a story-teller. I’ve seen people online compare him to Nas, and I see it, really. Most of the songs here feel observational yet personal, like I can see Dizzee watching a scene play out and start to insert himself into the story even if he’s just the on-looker. It’s really smart, and sure, really similar to Nas, but also just a compelling way to write a song. There’s definitely more personal songs or songs about Dizzee on here, though, because the mode would get boring quick, but it’s not as frequent as I expected, and I find that fascinating. Boy In Da Corner is influential, important, and noteworthy for multiple different reasons, and all of those reasons are also why it still holds up today, they’re why it’s still fun to listen to for the first time today, and they’re why it could literally be released tomorrow and arguably still be ahead of its time. This is a one-of-a-kind, once-in-a-lifetime album.

Tical is a brief, tonally consistent ‘90s boom-bap album that showcases RZA at his grittiest as a producer and Meth at his most competent as a rapper, although he’s clearly holding back from selling out here by resisting the urge to add in a few great hooks, which ultimately puts every track on the same playing field, with no particular song standing out above the rest. I mean all this as a compliment. Similarly, Tical is a brief, tonally consistent ‘90s boom-bap album that showcases RZA at his grittiest as a producer and Meth at his most competent as a rapper, although he’s clearly holding back from selling out here by resisting the urge to add in a few great hooks, which ultimately puts every track on the same playing field, with no particular song standing out above the rest. I mean all this as a critique.

If it wasn’t for Bono’s yowls, gun to my head, I would not believe this is U2. War is fucking incredible!! Obviously, I knew “Sunday Bloody Sunday” was an amazing song, but the rest of this record is truly an underrated post-punk masterpiece. “New Year’s Day” is an understandable single, as well, but I think “Like A Song…” and “The Refugee” are arguably the standout tracks here. Honestly, I don’t think there’s a bad song on War. I do think I could nit-pick: “Seconds” feels underdeveloped, “Red Light” is a bit all over the place, “Drowning Man” and “’40’” foreshadow what U2 would eventually become and while neither of them are bad songs, that does make them hard listens. But those are nit-picks. Front-to-back, this is really, really, really great post-punk. Musically, not the best the genre has to offer, but definitely noteworthy nonetheless. The thing that elevates War, though, is its themes. I think the heavy political lyrics are what pushes War over the line. Mixed with the melancholic vibe of the effects-pedaled guitar and driving rhythm groove, the focus on stories about how war divides people, families, and lovers really tie it all together and give it a lot of power. Ironically, this would become one of the band’s biggest issues, as Bono became more of a neoliberal political figurehead than a true activist, or even spokesman. But on War, before all that, it works, and it’s the most effective part of the record. Strangely, my biggest gripe with War is also about Bono. Now, on other U2 albums, I’ve mostly been able to dismiss Bono’s vocal styles, because I’ve been able to dismiss U2 as nothing but fine but forgettable stadium rock for your parents to enjoy. On War, that is not the vibe at all, at least not musically, yet Bono is still doing Bono, still yowling and extending the note for days. I’m a bit torn on if I actually like it or not, though. On the one hand, it is what makes U2 distinct from other post-punk bands, and it does give the political lyrics the weight they deserve (especially because the political themes wouldn’t exist without Bono behind them). On the other hand, it really makes a cool post-punk groove suddenly very uncool, and he does start to get on my nerves quickly. I’d also say he’s very one-note. The great thing about War is that it shows that U2 were *not* a one-note band, but they became one over time; unfortunately, War shows that the Bono isn’t really able to diversify his singing to match a vibe, no matter how slight the difference may be. Sure, I can nit-pick the songs, but even the bad songs on War aren’t the issue with a different singer. It’s just Bono. Thankfully, War so good, it makes me able to tolerate Bono. And maybe if I can learn to even start to like Bono, I can see War moving up my rankings. But I know how I feel about Bono, so I won’t get my hopes up any time soon.

Nondescript ‘90s alt-rock back when that meant college radio rock trying to do stoner grunge. When it’s good, it’s just meat and potatoes alt-rock, and it’s fine; when it’s bad, it’s clearly a bunch of stoned motherfuckers trying to be ✨experimental✨ by just playing sloppily and out of sync, and it’s annoying. A whatever of a record. I'm fine with it, but I'm also not inspired by even its best songs. Eh 🤷🏻‍♀️

I’m resisting the urge to just write, “Fucking Slayer!!!! 🤘🏻🤘🏻🤘🏻” To me, Reign in Blood is the best thrash metal record ever made, and maybe one of the best metal records, period. This was metal for punk kids, with punk’s breakneck speed and lyrics critical of religiosity, but adding in the chugs, shreds, and opera shrieks and grunts of metal. Reign in Bloods biggest issue is that its opener, midpoint, and closer stand leagues above the rest of the songs, but that’s only because they’re 3 of metal’s high water marks. Even without them, this is a brilliant and consistently amazing record. It may suggest some of the tropes that Slayer (particularly King) would be clowned for later in their career, but here, they’re innovative and still fascinatingly fresh. It’s consistently intense, and yet consistently catchy, never stopping for a moment. The fact that it still holds up as an intense listen today is a testament to Rubin’s production and Slayer’s compositional ear. Also, I love having my face melted off, so fuck yeah, I love Reign in Blood.

Trout Mask Replica for film majors who believe liking Gus Van Sant and Jim Jarmusch makes them ✨not like other film majors✨ ***AND/OR*** Fetch the Bolt Cutters for men with a lot of opinions about Alcoholics Anonymous and how the 12-step program is✨problematic✨ (they would benefit greatly from attending an AA meeting or two). This is where Tom Waits loses me. There’s 3 moments where his sullen, chain-smoking bar singer shines through the cracks, but they’re all pretty bad versions of that shtick. Otherwise, this is just an annoying series of obnoxious bangs and grating blues-based bashes. You can claim experimentation all you want, but you can’t outrun the truth of a terrible song, and Bone Machine has 16 truly god awful songs. I can’t imagine anyone actually enjoys this record, and suspect that the only people who do listen to it are doing so because they are contrarians, teenagers, incels, or man-children — or, sadly, possibly all four.

It’s hard to continue the momentum when your album starts off with 4 of the greatest songs in your genre’s history. It’s insane how timeless “Peter Piper,,” “It’s Tricky,” “My Adidas,” and “Walk This Walk” sound, especially considering how entrenched they are with ‘80s hip-hop tropes, but damn do they still hold all their power while distilling Run-DMC to their simplest, strongest elements. Those 4 tracks alone elevate Raising Hell to classic status. The rest of Raising Hell, however, lacks that Midas Touch. There certainly are highlights (“Is It Live,” “You Be Illin’,” and “Proud to Be Black,”), but there’s also lowlights, too (“Perfection” “Dumb Girl,” and the throwaway “Son of Byford”). If I took away the 4-song opener, I wouldn’t call this a particularly bad record, but I would have to note that it’s a particularly ‘80s hip-hop record. Either you’ll like that, or you’ll find it dated. I personally enjoy a lot of ‘80s rap, and I like Run-DMC’s approach to it, so despite its bad cuts, I am mostly a fan, even if I know it’s far from the greatest hip-hop record ever made. It isn’t like Raising Hell has aged like milk, but it hasn’t aged like fine wine, either. The majority of this album is like a flat Coke you left in the fridge for a day or two – you can still enjoy the taste, but the magic is mostly gone. But goddamn, those first 4 songs!!!

Very chill, very well-made, very good vibes, very nonchalant listen. But I don’t know if there will ever be a time where I’d revisit this record. Like, I can’t imagine a situation where I’d say, “Oh, this would be a perfect time to play Djam Leelii.” Clearly Baaba and Seck are good musicians, and this is very easy to listen to, but there’s nothing here that grabs my ear. Maybe I’m missing some cultural context – and I think that’s a huge problem I’m finding with the non-English language albums on this list – but I also don’t find this soft, ethereal style of folk music entertaining, even when I’m talking about Western musicians, so maybe that’s the issue. Still, I’m totally okay with Djam Leelii, just not left obsessed.

To my own shock and maybe even horror, I think I’m a fan of Van Morrison?!?! That sounds like such a weird Boomer opinion, especially because I normally like my music fast and abrasive, but there’s just something so appealing about his vibe. His music is approachable, tight, and groovy, and this really put me in a positive mood as I listened to it. That said, It’s Too Late to Stop Now was born with marks against it. For one, it’s a live album. Now, outside of just being alive for 31ish years, I’ve never gone out of my way to listen to Van Morrison, so while I recognized some songs, most of the originals here are new to me. And yet, I couldn’t shake the feeling that, for most of these songs, I’d rather just listen to the studio version? Which, frankly, is the issue with a live album for me. Live albums are for super fans or for reinvention, and every “Classic Live Album” I can think of/on this list is 100% the former, it seems. (Except maybe Kiss Alive, but that’s because they sucked as studio musicians.) It’s Too Late does add some fun, interesting elements, and I can tell which songs are expanding on the studio version, plus the covers are good covers. For a live album, it’s pretty damn good. But it’s still a live album at the end of the day, and it definitely isn’t reinventing anything in Van Morrison’s back catalog. For two, it’s a double album. I’ve gotten lucky with the double albums on this list so far, but even the good ones are an exhausting listen. I think It’s Too Late keeps the good vibes going despite its length, and I could see this being an even easier listen on vinyl. Side A and Side D in particular are very consistent, and I would probably just stick to those sides if I was listening to it on a record player. But as a full experience….I’m sure it was a lot more fun if you attended the concert in person, let’s just say that. Combined, It’s Too Late is clearly a “yes, but” record. It feels supplemental, like an asterisked footnote to highlight the huge amount of superstar material Van Morrison put out in the late ‘60s through mid-70s. It’s a victory lap, it’s a good listen, it’s fun. It’s not an intro, it’s not a pinnacle, it’s not essential. It’s a live album, and a double album. But hey, it makes me want to check out the rest of his discography, so that’s kinda still a win, right?

I can’t think of another album I’ve gotten so far that I could so perfectly summarize as “Not for me.” I hate this era of twee, faux-woodsy, fake Bohemian, quaint, sparse, nothingness folk music. I hated it when it was popular, I hated everything it influenced in the 2010s, I hate it today. I find it not only disengaging, but also annoying and snobby. To me, it feels contrived. And everything about Fleet Foxes and their debut falls under this argument. I have no desire to listen to it ever, and I became actively angry as I listened to it, because it kept giving me nothing. Yet, I’ve heard way worse albums here, and I can’t deny that this is, from a crafts perspective, well-made. I can see glimpses of moments where I could’ve maybe latched on to something here, they just never materialized into something fully fleshed out for me, instead committing to a sparse and thin aesthetic that I can’t get behind in folk music. And while that’s not enough for me to praise it, it’s also not fair for me to deny its value. In so many words, Fleet Foxes by Fleet Foxes is very much not for me.

Listening to the CD tracklist: “Holy shit, this is way better than I remember it being. There’s a couple weird duds here and there, and it feels long, but I love the range and I think I just love The Smashing Pumpkins. Extremely high hit rate for 28 songs.” Listening to the original vinyl tracklist: “This is the greatest grunge album, the greatest double album, the greatest album ever made. Holy motherfucking shit. No skips, perfect flow, perfect runtime, perfect album.” The power of track order, people!!!

Vendetta against David Bowie is over, David Byrne is my new enemy. Maybe this was forward-thinking for the time, but Jesus fucking Christ does it have “Culture Vulture” written all over it, for like, 20 different reasons. I won’t deny, sometimes, it hits a groove, but if I feel icky every time it doesn’t groove, maybe there’s a deeper issue at hand.

Am I a Nirvana was a Greatest Hits Band™️ girl?? Or, at least, they’re a One Album Hit Band™️ for me. On the surface, In Utero should be a record for me. I like noise punk, I like “Heart-Shaped Box,” I even know this is a purposefully ✨uncommercial✨ album. I know who Steve Albini is! But listening to it, In Utero feels…forced. It doesn’t feel organically punk, or naturally abrasive. It feels like Kurt took some pretty good bones for some decent songs and actively sought out ways to muck ‘em up. And that’s….kinda lame. Kinda not punk. Kinda antithetical, isn’t it? Like, it’s pretentious to have the skillset of a genius songwriter and then add sloppy guitar solos and overblown effects. If those elements were added *during* the songwriting process, it would feel natural, but they sound tacked on throughout this album. What’s more, the majority of the “good” songs here sound closer to country-rock than anything I would normally gravitate toward. So even a song like “Frances Farmer,” which I like in context, is not a song I’m gonna revisit. Obviously, some of that Nevermind magic is still here. I do love “Heart-Shaped Box,” “Rape Me,” and this version of “All Apologies,” but like….that’s a greatest hits band??? If I had bought In Utero on release based off the singles, I would have traded it in. And I know that’s kinda the joke about In Utero in retrospect, but for me, it’s not because I don’t like this sound, but rather because I don’t like Nirvana doing this sound. And, frankly, maybe I don’t like Nirvana.

Solid ‘70s pop band doing a prog album. I feel like this is a niche of a niche genre within itself. It’s fun, it’s good, it’s cute. I’m not blown away. Sometimes, it comes close to B-tier ‘70s prog rock, but other times, it feels like Theatre Kid Music™️. Flip a coin. Either way, it’s not going to change you life. Give me Breakfast in America any day, and I don’t even know if I’d consider that album essential. But at least it’s more kitschy and more fun and definitely more relevant than the mid-ness of Crime of the Century.

I’m such a slut for 2010s alternative R&B, neo-soul in general, and a Lil’ Wayne feature from any era. The fact that it’s a gorgeous politically-motivated statement only adds to the power of A Seat at the Table. I recall this being a juggernaut on its release, but it did fade into the background for me personally in the years since. Revisiting it now, it’s aged like the finest wine, and there is no doubt that it belongs on this list. Its influence is clear, its sound is both of the time and progressive, and its songwriter is gut-wrenchingly beautiful.

I’ll never understand the logic behind some of the punk-adjacent alternative albums chosen by Dimery and Co. for this book. I wouldn’t call Copper Blue bad by any means, but it isn’t particularly special. I think it has its moments, with “Helpless” as a clear highlight, but overall, it’s pretty indistinct ‘90s alt rock born out of the ‘80s college rock and/or art punk scene. I’m not against it, but I’m also not really in love with it, and there’s a lot of it on this list. I think Sugar’s biggest flaw is that they let their songs go on for too long, and I wonder if some hard 3:30 edits to their songwriting would improve Copper Blue, which feels longwinded and aimless on the whole. That said, there still isn’t anything unique here, either, and I think that might ultimately hold this record back most. I think the inclusion of an album like Copper Blue took space away from more interesting post-Nevermind records, like Helmet’s Betty or Quicksand’s Slip, not to mention Jawbreaker and Jawbox who both got signed off the expectation of repeating Nirvana’s success and whose major label output is still pretty influential in the scene, even if it’s less obvious now than it was in ~2011. In short, Copper Blue is fine, but definitely a strange, fringe pick that really only appeals to people looking for some late-era college rock aesthetics. I’m not really one of those people, so while I’ll pull a couple songs and add them to a playlist, Copper Blue won’t stick with me long.

The Original Era Tumblr Girl™️ in me adores this record because it reminds me of being a moody, brooding teenage queer (who was very, very, very in the closet) who chain-smoked unfiltered cigarettes in the parking lot of the combination Taco Bell/Kentucky Fried Chicken in her hometown and romanticized everything she touched. The adult in me also adores this record, but I think that's because it's just a fucking amazing record.

At the end of the day, I am simply ✨Just A Girl™️✨ Like, sue me for being a Millennial trans woman who adored Britney as a kid and had to keep that love to myself and grew up to be a Poptimist who actively uses Fantasy on her lazy days and has maybe had a Juicy tracksuit sitting in an online cart waiting to be purchased since my last payday. Like….duh, I love this album, obviiiiii!!! Like, I’m not saying this is the Britney album I would’ve personally picked. Even though Britney and Circus are my personal favorites, I am a bit shocked that the debut came in alone, and above Oops!…, In the Zone, and even Blackout (which makes sense, actually, but has gotten a rightfully-earned critical reappraisal in the post-hyperpop era). But I’m still a fan of ...Baby One More Time. Sure, it front-loads its strongest 3 tracks off the bat, but “Born to Make You Happy” and “I Will Be There” are great tracks exemplary of the late ‘90s teen pop era and therefore crucial for the histrionics of it all, while “E-Mail My Heart” wins me over off its pure camp energy, and “From the Bottom of My Broken Heart” still holds up as a solid Britney ballad. And it’s not like the opening singles are flawless, leaning into Spears’ signature key-change final chorus trope early, but denying that they don’t hit would be like saying water isn’t wet – you’re just being a prick, shut the fuck up and have fun. This said, I’m not a huge fan of the duet with some nameless boi time has since forgotten, nor was Spears ever great with a cover, but two duds on a teen pop album from 1999 is a true success. Plus, the bonus content of “Deep in My Heart” and *especially* “Autumn Goodbye” more than make up for the small missteps in the original tracklist. I grew up on this era of teen pop, and I hold it close to my heart, even today. And yes, maybe I’m able to tolerate “Soda Pop” because it reminds me of Pokémon: The First Movie, but I don’t fucking care!!! Justice for Britney. IRL and on this list. I have no choice but to Stan. I just prefer a cute, flirty, bop of an album. Doll behavior, what can you say ✨💖💅🏻💋💁🏻‍♀️

Sellout Stadiums era U2 for British readers of Pitchfork. Like, take the saccharine sincerity of "Beautiful Day" and make it a bit more lo-fi, a bit more home-recorded, a bit more analogue, and you basically have Lost Souls. Much like that era of U2, I'm not necessarily averse to this, but that's because there's nothing here that I could possibly find offensive. And that's kinda why it feels a little offensive. Lost Souls is an inherently passive listen. A wallflower record – casual and pretty, but a wallflower nevertheless. There are worse albums on this list that I prefer to this, either because they have stronger singles or at least try something interesting. There's also better albums that I hate more because I find them much more egregious and grating. I have no clue why Lost Souls is on this list, but it also never does anything to make me angry, while also never going out of its way to make enjoy it. The closest it ever gets to energized is "Catch the Sun," which is still pretty goddamn passive. A true neutral listen for me.

If Rumours is for children of divorce, then The Visitors is for the disowned queer children of the most god-fearing Boomer couple you know, who have been “happily” married for 30+ years, mainly because they sleep in separate beds and rarely talk to each other, a habit they picked up as soon as they realized that neither of them actually wanted to have kids somewhere around one of said kid’s 3rd birthday, which ironically only got worse after they kicked their gay daughter out of the house, probably because they still need to support their intensely straight son who lives in “his own apartment” in their basement. And while that description is only ~75% accurate to my personal experience, it’s accurate enough for me to find The Visitors flawless. And it’s still not my favorite ABBA record!!

When they pick it up-pick it up-pick it up, I like it, maybe because it’s closer to the ska punk it influenced, which I can tolerate (key word here); when it cools down and sounds closer to more traditional reggae, I get bored, and I think that’s just because I don’t really love reggae at all. Unfortunately for me, because it’s a 50/50 split between the two styles, I couldn’t really ever get to a place where I loved this. In fact, it took me a long time to even just warm up to it. I expected more punch, and even at its punchiest, it’s very downtempo, and that just isn’t to my personal taste. But again, even if it had sounded like riotous ska punk, I still would’ve found it corny, and wouldn’t seek it out past this listen. The historical value of it is undeniable, though, and when it hits, it hits just enough to earn my lukewarm support.

Trio is a neat little record – 3 country stars who diverged from the genre in various ways throughout the ‘80s coming back to the genre and its then-contemporary sound all as a unit, all bringing their own unique flair to it. It is very ✨of the times✨ with its sullen, staring-down-an-empty-whiskey-glass, adult contemporary-adjacent sound, and that is a fair mark against it on face value. At the same time, though, Parton is magic, Ronstadt is an incredible vocalist, and Harris can really play a guitar. None of the material here is a catalogue-best standout, but it’s the same consistent quality. Solid! I do fear that Trio was included as an excuse to triple-dip, though. Like, we only have one Parton record, and while Coat of Many Colors the right one, I would say both Jolene and even Here You Come Again are more essential than Trio. Meanwhile, Harris has one album too many with Red Dirt Girl, and Ronstadt should have at least had Heart Like a Wheel, *at least*. Knowing this, Trio feels like a way to avoid an argument and get representation from everyone, and add in some pure country, especially during an era and sound that doesn’t seem to be heavily represented by anything else on the list. But that compromise is audible in Trio as a record, which itself is a compromise between 3 styles. I’m not saying I wanted a big-band Ronstadt album from ’82, I just wanted something more representative and more essential. That doesn’t mean that Trio is bad. It’s cool, just maybe more for interested parties, not essential listening.

For a long time, I thought this was what Phish sounded like – grunge-flavored psychedelic rock. And I definitely like this more than Phish. What Screaming Trees actually is, though, at least on Dust – grunge-flavored ‘90s U2. And I like this less than ‘90s U2. Not by a lot, but its verboseness and genre-blending does insist upon itself a lot more forcefully. It’s fine while it’s on, until it keeps going, and then it’s not fine at all. And the most obnoxious parts are very obnoxious. But mostly, Dust is forgettable.

Jerry Lee Lewis said, “Sit your ass down and listen to me kill it, literally and figuratively,” and MY 👏🏻 ASS 👏🏻 WAS 👏🏻 SAT 👏🏻 A near-perfect live album that oozes charisma as much as it oozes insanity. Normally, I’d say that the fact that it’s mostly covers brings it down a notch, but unfortunately, the Nashville Teens fucking rock. Normally, I’d say that the fact that I wouldn’t listen to any of these cuts on their own brings it down a notch, but some records are hotter as a single package, and this set is white hot. I think I’m just trying to find an excuse to not praise a crazed, narcissistic, murderous pedophile. Unfortunately, though, every so often, a crazed lunatic makes an incredible record, and this is still a great fucking rock ’n’ roll record, even after all these years.

Untitled (Black Is) lacks that It Factor™️. I hate to say this, because I’m normally a huge fan of this style of soul and R&B, especially from the 21st century, but I could not get into this at all. Sure, it’s well-made, and there’s a couple songs that have a presence, but nothing here stands out loud and proud. Actually, most of this record is a wallflower – a background listen. That might be because of the length and/or the interludes, which seem to aim for a ✨required full listen✨, but even a Record™️ needs a stand out track or three. Untitled has nothing. It’s a tepid, soft, ethereal vibe, and while that may have been the goal, the execution leaves little for me to latch onto in the end. That doesn’t mean SAULT are bad musicians, but rather too refined, too measured. While that might attract a music snob or two, it does little to attract new fans. And considering the sheer number of phenomenal records tackling similar themes and sounds throughout the 2010s that are not represented here, the stark divide between SAULT’s calculated maturity and the actual emotion of, say, Black Messiah, were evident as I listened. I don’t want to call it forgettable, but maybe negligible. It’s fine, but it lacks any real oomph. So many other records give me the same vibe with a little more presence, and I’ll just stick to listening to those.

I’m a sucker for anything that sounds like it could soundtrack the character select screen of a PS2 game. On vibes alone, I was going to love this album. But Second Toughest In The Infants takes that vibey, pumping, loop-able genre and elevates it to something serene, something almost religious. It does it in the lyrics, and in the builds, and it’s all so small and minimal, but the reward is in the details. Those details are hidden and demand attention to appreciate, but god, does it pay in dividends. The only thing that could make this record better is if “Born Slippy” closed the album out.

Is this the greatest Bollywood album ever made? I have no idea, and this book is clearly not going to provide me with enough context to know before I rate and review Shalimar. What I will say, though, is that it’s a ton of fun! Half groovy referential disco mixed with kitschy, sappy movie romance songs. Both of those things are right up my alley, and no language or cultural barrier could ruin those good vibes for me. Maybe I should dive a little deeper into Bollywood soundtracks, clearly.

If an electronic band made a punk record. Literally. Brilliant, exhilarating, mind-melting, and extreme. Amazing singles, and they’re arguably the worst songs on here, or at least the least interesting. Fits my tastes perfectly. Also, maybe the best gym record ever made.

It’s embarrassing to even think that there was a time in my life when I thought Kiss was good. And I know we all did when we were 12, but it’s worse than you can imagine. Because holyyyyyy shittttt is this album bad!!!! Every song you think, “No, but that’s a good song,” just…isn’t. The riff on “Detroit Rock City” is good, but drove into the ground by its own insistent repetition, and the overdubs of radio chatter and motorcycles not only make it cartoonish, but hard to listen to as a stand-alone track. Meanwhile, “Shout It Out Loud” isn’t the bombast my brain thought, but instead as sterile as a 65 year old Dad mimicking air guitar at his retirement party. For the sappier amongst us, I thought “Beth” would at least be a breath of fresh air, but while the song is well-composed, Criss’ vocals are maybe some of the worst vocals I’ve ever heard on any record ever. And those singles are Destroyer’s HIGHLIGHTS!!!!! Everything else here is WORSE THAN THAT!!!! It’s pretty much different flavors of string cheese for toddlers and/or sheltered middle schoolers who imagine rebellion as a cliché episode of Skins (US). I have never laughed out loud at a song as hard as I did when “Great Expectations” came on. And like, the fact that Kiss clearly suck as studio musicians aside, the material itself is lame as hell. The riffs, the lyrics, the hooks – they all straight up suck. “Do You Love Me” is as close to okay as any track here besides “Detroit Rock City,” and it’s still an atrocity. I think if you end a record with muted crowd noise to imitate a riotous fanbase, you probably don’t have that fan base. And ironically, I revisited Alive!, just to make sure, and while I wouldn’t say it’s a good album – still sterile songwriting, still mediocre playing, still fake illusions of adoration, still lame topics and comic book visions of sex, drugs, and rock ’n’ roll – it at least could fool you into believing Kiss are worth remembering, and is also way more deserving of being included on this list. Destroyer, on the other hand, should make people run for the hills. Unless you grew up with Kiss in the ’70s and never stopped listening, this record is a rough time, featuring some of the worst songwriting, studio performances, and fucking musical ideas I’ve ever heard in my life. Grow up. Give up on Kiss.

Kiss for the Monday Night Raw era. While Slipknot is the tiniest bit better than their godfathers – Taylor can actually sing, Jordison’s drumming is technically impressive, and the guitar work is generally decent – the majority of this is nü metal watered down for 12 year olds. It works for a couple songs, mainly at the start, but most of this sounds as edgy and bland as you’d expect. More importantly, most of the songs here sound indistinguishable from each other, and I say that as a metal fan. The best songs are early on, specially “Eyeless,” or not even included on the record now, aka “Purity.” Everything else is the same rhythm, the same groove, the same edgy lyrics, and the same sing-scream-rap flurry of nonsense. All to sound tough. And I say all this as a nü metal defender. Grow up. Give up on Slipknot.

Yuppies…. 🙄🤢🙄🤢🙄🤢 Paul Simon sure does talk a lot just to say absolutely nothing.

It is incredibly strange that Synchronicity by The Police broke Thriller’s chart dominance by toping the charts in the late summer/early fall of 1983. (Although the Flashdance soundtrack did initially end Thriller’s streak earlier that summer. Semantics!) It’s even stranger to learn this fact after listening to Synchronicity, which is….a really strange album. Like, the art pop album with reggae undertones and literary lyrical references had as much/more mass appeal as universally-approved pop perfection? Strange! I still really like it, though, but that might be because I’m into weird art pop. It starts off pretty slow and a bit obtuse, but “O My God” brings some much needed energy that helps win me over. Also, “Mother” is maybe the craziest song The Police ever recorded, and I adore it. After that, I’m 100% invested. Because of the rough beginning, Synchronicity is backloaded – even though I am bored by “Every Breath You Take,” only because it’s been overplayed to death – but it’s consistent commitment to strangeness and pushing the boundaries of the band’s signature sound are evident and appealing. Though I preferred Regatta De Blanc, Synchronicity is proof that The Police were never a singles band. If you like amazing musicianship, lyrics you could unpack for years, and unique aesthetic choices, this record will work for you. If it worked for everyone in 1983 and dethroned Thriller, it should work for you, too.

Turns out, Paul McCartney is just a strange dude. I guess that makes sense, though. I mean, what else are you supposed to do after you quit one of the most beloved, most accessible bands in history where you were known as the “traditional” one, but make weird, quasi-experimental music? McCartney is definitely not what I expected. I don’t think anyone expected it, to be honest. It’s 1/3 loose instrumental jams, 1/3 joke piss-take songs, and 1/3 nuggets of an idea that are never fleshed out much. None of it is particularly bad, mind you, and I think McCartney got more annoying and more ADHD later on in his solo career and with Wings, but the ADHD bounce-around-and-never-flesh-anything-out is a huge weakness. In fact, it’s what keeps this album from being great. There’s definitely some very good songs here – “That Would Be Something,” “Every Night,” and “Maybe I’m Amazed” – but they’re surrounded by ✨Ideas, Not Songs™️✨. Again, none of those ideas are bad, but they’re just not…quite there. As a result, McCartney feels like an escape from the biggest band in the world, not an authentic solo debut. And maybe Paul is just a strange little guy who never made a perfect solo album worthy of being included on this list. But also, based on the autoplay that happened after this record ended, justice for Ram.

I think I just like The Byrds’ early era. While I loved Mr. Tamborine Man, I hated Sweetheart of the Rodeo, but that’s an unfair comparison, since that’s essentially a Ship of Theseus band by that point. Fifth Dimension, on the other hand, still sounds like the Byrds, with a little something extra. I may not be the biggest fan of country rock or psychedelic rock, but those genres are very obviously being invented here, and so the difference between experimentation and pandering is palpable. Plus, I just love The Byrds’ guitar tone and approach to harmony. Fifth Dimension isn’t a perfect album, and the psychedelic shit and traditional songs do border on annoying to me, but overall, I still find this very enjoyable, despite my normal tastes, even if I wouldn’t reach for it super frequently. The fact that it’s a progenitor for multiple genres also warms me up to its inclusion in the book. This said, this is 100% where I jump off The Byrds train, so I am not excited to learn that I have two more of their albums to get through.

Depeche Mode is a cold band, and either you like that or you don’t. To my own shock, even as a former emo kid, I don’t. That said, Violator comes pretty close to winning me over. Maybe it’s because the synths are less dated. Maybe because the choruses are actually catchy and not purposefully averse. Mainly, I think it’s because of Side B, which is just hit after hit after hit after hit – truly an immaculate side of a record. Not that Side A is shabby, but the space, length, and heavy synths speak less to my tastes, even in its brightest moments. Ultimately, it’s the band’s goth synth vibe and aesthetic that hold me back from fully falling in love. Sure, a song like “Blue Dress” is amazing, I’ll admit, but I’m less likely to revisit it because this isn’t a sound I’m normally looking to hear. I think if Violator came with a bit more pop and bit less goth, à la Tears for Fears, I’d be more amenable to it, especially knowing that Songs From the Big Chair is also a side-loaded record. But Depeche Mode are just too goth, and I guess I’m just too basic. Then again, I do really like their early singles when they were essentially a boy band, so maybe I’m the problem.

It’s amazing what good, honest songwriting can do! To be so for real, I thought I was losing my mind when I realized I was enjoying A Short Album About Love. Casanova is maybe one of the worst albums I’ve ever heard in my life, and easily the low point of this list so far; a brief revisit only solidified that opinion. But aside from his vocal tone, there’s almost no similarities between this record and its predecessor. While Casanova insisted on forced bells and whistles, A Short Album About Love keeps it classic, and that restraint is a large reason why this works. I also this The Divine Comedy’s voice is more fitting of this traditional pop sound than his suave ‘90s melodrama. But also, the difference is that this record has some great songs on it! I think “Everybody Knows (Except You),” “If…,” and especially “If I Were You (I’d Be Through With Me)” are all brilliant, well-written, funny yet honest, and just catchy as hell, based on the fact that I’ve been humming them for days. It’s not to say that the other tracks are bad, because they aren’t; I may not personally love the slow pace of “Timewatching” or the more eclectic “In Pursuit of Happiness,” but they’re all enjoyable while showing a lot more maturity and restraint than anything on Casanova. Now, don’t get me wrong, The Divine Comedy’s lyrics are still dripping in post-ironic ‘90s irony, which can be annoying, but I think there’s a deeper, more sincere level of self-deprecating reflection that makes these tracks work. A love song by a weirdo who knows he’s not worth loving is interesting, and an improvement over forced machismo. It’s also a lot more tolerable when it’s 7 songs and 30 minutes, which is a huge strength of this album. Overall, I know this is pastiche. I know it’s inessential. I know I could easily apply a lot of the same criticisms I had to his previous entry to this. But somehow, this little record won me over. It’s fun, it’s got some good songs, and it’s a quick listen. It might not be influential or important, but an ear worm is an ear worm is an ear worm, and considering how short this record is, it’s got an extremely high hit rate.

Coldplay are just one of those bands who I think we all wish were better than they are. Like, we all know they’re talented, and we all know they can and have made excellent songs, but 90% of the time, you’re left with boring post-globalist Adult Contemporary for Soccer Moms. A Rush of Blood To The Head is no exception, and maybe the worst offender. It starts off with its most upbeat song, “Politik,” and there’s a moment here and there that grabs my attention, but most of this is pan-fried chicken breast with no seasoning. And look, I’m not above a sappy, slow love song, even if it’s not my go-to aesthetic. But the cheese balladry of Coldplay borders on offensive. It all has the same monotony. The worst offender is “The Scientist,” a song with god awful production that makes it sound like nails on a chalkboard to me, and is so poorly made that I almost can’t believe it has 2 billion streams. The rest of the album is never *that* bad, but it also does little to garner attention in any way. I think if you took the high points of Coldplay’s career – not even the most commercial points, just the good, fun songs – you’d see them for what they are: a singles rock band. On a whole album, they’re a drag, and not even an interesting one to dissect. I blame U2 for this.

Chappell Roan for ‘80s kids (complimentary to Cyndi Lauper, discriminatory to Chappell Roan). I hope this review ages poorly, because while the many highs on She’s So Unusual hold up, its lows are…strange. And I think Midwest Princess has a similar problem, even if I also really like it 🫢🫢🫢

All over the place, bouncing between electronic beats to jazz to generic ’90s art rock. None of it bad, but none of it amazing. It’s very self-absorbed, and that gives it this vibe that it’s an oddly insular album that no one really needs to spend a lot of time on, so I won’t give it any more unwanted attention.

Just because you can think of the experiment, doesn’t mean it’ll necessarily sound good in practice. The ideas throughout Tago Mago probably sounded groundbreaking and inventive in theory, and they *were*, technically speaking, but as music, this is incredibly tedious and borderline unlistenable. Side A is maybe the most traditional, composed of actual songs. After that, it is the idea of music, progressively unraveling to become less and less sonically appealing as it goes. It’s not that Can makes harsh noise – they’re very much a psych rock band (derogatory) – but the majority of this is not something I would call composed in any sense, and that’s for the absolute worst. Can are good enough musicians to execute these ideas well, though, and if you meet them on their own terms, I can imagine someone who has more affinity for psych rock respecting this. But any honest praise feels more like music critic intellectual posturing than actual enjoyment. I’ve heard worse music trying to have actual mass appeal, sure, but I’ve also heard better experimentation in harsh noise. Tago Mago may accomplish its boundary-pushing goals, but it was a chore and a goddamn half for me to listen to, and I will never revisit it again.

Oh yeah, just like, the most gorgeous album I’ve ever heard with quaint yet catchy tunes filled with heavenly strings and hyper-literary lyrics and allusions to historical events. Just throw that casually next to the psychedelic bullshit and filler-filled CD era grunge. Cool cool cool, totally nbd, no one will notice. In all sincerity, I expected this to be trash, and instead found a diamond. Absolutely floored by this, expect it stick with me for the rest of this project and slowly rise in my rankings.

The best Simon & Garfunkel album ever made.

Good for these weirdos. They had me with the Brazilian touches, but immediately lost me with the psychedelic noodling. And that’s lame, because I can totally see myself loving these songs if they were less acid-fueled. But hey, Os Mutantes’ hippy drool got them on this list, so what do I know?

Half uptempo, half downtempo. I think if it was more one or more the other, I’d have an easier time having a strong opinion on this record. Because the thing is, I like samba and bossa nova on a baseline level, regardless of its tempo. And Tanto Tempo is consistent, while also adding some cool flourishes of electronic elements, which do enough to warrant this record intriguing. The problem is that Gilberto does uptempo muchhhh better than downtempo, and the downtempo tracks are the more traditional, and therefore lack the electronic flourishes that make this record interesting. It’s fine. If I put it on at a party, it’d go over well. I could listen without complaint. But when it’s not on or staring me in the face, I know for a fact that I’ll forget all about it. It’s so close to inventive, and the fact that it never takes that leap fully makes it even more lackluster somehow. Because now, I’m left with a largely traditional bossa nova album that’s pretending to be forward-thinking while really being stuck in the past, and if I wanted to listen to yesterday’s bossa nova, I could just go and do that.

Debut is one of those records that only gets better each time I listen to it. Even as a fan of ‘90s electronica, I used to have a bit of an issue with this record, but that’s dissipated as I’ve grown more comfortable with art pop throughout my life. Side A is pretty much all consistent bangers, while Side B is more obtuse and experimental. Side A does include a strange, ethereal art pop song in “Venus as a Boy,” and “Violently Happy” brings the club to Side B, but that basic framing is why it took me so long to finally accept Debut as a great record. The length of “One Day” and the limp trip-hop of “Come to Me” still stand out as the biggest low points, but a low point from Björk would be another artist’s career high. I – and everyone else here – would’ve probably chosen Post over Debut as the album that belongs on this list; and I will say for the record, Post is one of the greatest albums I’ve ever heard in my life. But that doesn’t mean Debut is worthless. It’s also an incredible album that blends electronic pop with traditional folk in a way that only Björk could accomplish with pose and finesse. Absolutely a great album that gets better the more you sit with it.

This is exactly the type of record I would have read an article about in Spin magazine circa 2007, in which some Gen X writer referred to it as a Certified Classic™️, before turning the page to a review of the latest !!! record. Then, about 3 years later, I would find it used for $2.50 in Newbury Comics, so I would’ve bought it, remembering it was supposedly a Certified Classic™️, and after the first listen, I would’ve found it to be okay, but very much not my thing. Still, I’d proceed to force myself to listen to it every day for the next 3 months, concerned that I was Uncool™️ and confused what exactly I was missing from an album that, to my Millennial Emo ears, sounded like pretty standard-fare ‘90s post-Nirvana indie hipster shit, until one day I moved on and loaned the CD to one of my more pretentious high school hipster friends. It’s pretty fine for what it is, but I don’t find it to be ✨magical✨ in any sense of the word. It’s got some high points of solid power pop songwriting, and it’s got some low points of 2cool4skool eye-rolling pretense. Taken as a whole, the good sandwiches the hipsterness, but the balance is iffy as a result. In some ways, I can see how this is seen as influential, but that influence is on an entire group of artists I personally find annoying. More annoyingly, it feels too try-hard with its punk and art rock attempts, and I think I’d respect this a lot more if it was more focused on fun, fuzzy power pop songwriting. One of the better records on this list to represent the early ‘90s indie rock boom, and while I do like it, I never love it. Probably a taste issue, to be honest.

Vivid is a tough record to rate, and that’s mainly because it kicks off with one of the best metal songs of all time in “Cult of Personality.” That song alone is a 5-star song; I wouldn’t change a single aspect about it, and its power is cross-cultural and cross-generational. But when you start a record off on one of the highest high notes possible, the only place you can go from there is down. Which sucks, because if you removed “Cult of Personality” entirely from this record, you’d still have a very, very good late-80s metal record on your hands! To be sure that I wasn’t insane, I literally did a second listen starting on “I Want to Know,” which is also a great track, and would be a great opener for another band. Most of the record is very worthy of praise and respect, actually. From Glover’s stunning vocals to Reid’s illogical but somehow comprehensible shredding to Calhoun balancing funk and metal flawlessly with his drumming, Living Colour are a great band, and the political commentary only adds to it. There are some reallyyy shining tracking on here, including “Open Letter,” Glamour Boys” and “Which Way to America?!” Honestly, despite the dubs of “Middle Man” (a fairly copy-paste hair metal vibe) and the choice to do a cover with “Memories Can’t Wait” (which I hate mostly because I hate Talking Heads), Vivid is a consistent record. Arguably a top 20 funk metal record, if only because that’s a subgenre with tight competition, and/or, for the genre-flexible in the crowd, a top 5 hair metal record. I could see how these positives are negatives to some, but I’m a girl who likes political records, hair metal, and funk, so this is right up my alley for a lot of reasons. If you can look paste the brilliance of the opener, there’s a great record to follow. Dismiss it as a one-hit wonder, but I think it’s stood the test of time, and maybe is more powerful today.

Judging a book solely by its cover, I expected this to be a chore to listen to, and I think it took me a little too long to shake that feeling. In the end, though, I do think it’s a good album, and a good representation of this niche of British folk revival. The good? Denny’s vocals, which are maybe the sole thing keeping me engaged throughout Liege & Lief. Swarbrick’s fiddle work - very impressive, too! 
The bad? It’s a psychedelic-adjacent folk band taking traditional British Isle tunes and arranging them the way you’d imagine a psychedelic-adjacent folk band would circa 1969. And not to be a hater, but I don’t know if that vibe is really pivotal to the overall history of music. Especially when the results can range from standard-esque (“Reynardine”) to annoyingly of its time (“Tam Lin”). It’s overall pleasant, but it’s not so gorgeously arranged and executed that I’m gushing over it. It’s pretty, which is a high compliment coming from me regarding this era. I wouldn’t turn it off, but I wouldn’t seek it out. Maybe the hater in me judged it too early, though, and I need to give it another listen, but while it’s not as bad as I anticipated, it just isn’t the kind of thing that sticks with me.

The most annoying women I know living in Brooklyn like PJ Harvey – women who say they’re, quote, “so goddamn old,” even though they’re 33; women who talk about their relationship with their mother after ordering (read: not yet drinking) a martini at the Company Happy Hour; women who date men 20 years their senior but don’t want to date men with children, so they either date alt-right men who live in Bushwick, or men who work at Morgan Stanley with a rent controlled apartment in the East Village. I think the younger/more chronically online call these women “femcels,” but I just find them boring. None of this has shit to do with PJ Harvey, who I never listened to because I always found the women who told me to listen to her annoying, and because I want my music to have a bit more ✨cunt✨ (girlypop) and less 👹cunt👹 (misandrist). But I can’t say I’m particularly surprised by anything I hear on Stories from the City, Stories from the Sea. I would describe this album as “raw.” To a lot of people, that would be a compliment. It’s very lyric-forward, with respect and adoration for an overdriven Fender Jaguar and one-take vocals. When a full band is deployed, the rhythm section is placed in the back, almost as an afterthought. It is dense, and Harvey is painfully honest yet poetically obtuse. I get the appeal, but it’s not my vibe. Maybe I came across it too late in my life, maybe I’m too much of a bimbo, but much like her predecessor Patti Smith, everything here feels too purposefully composed to be honest, and that strips it of any potential power it could’ve had. That’s not to say that I’m unable to like this vibe, because I do like Liz Phair, and I do enjoy just about half of the songs on this record, despite its cynicism and low-energy. But even the best songs here never win me over, and the worst songs are very much not my vibe. The thing that ruins it for me, though, is how Stories of the City… frames New York City. It’s the way a transplant sees the city, where the grit and the toxicity and the chaos come before the community and resilience and directness. Even beneath the obtuseness-as-poetry, even when Harvey is writing a love song or a positive song, it starts from a negative space. Whether she’s singing about the city or the people in it, she’s starting from an elevated train platform looking down at her potential death, concerned about all the straw men strangers who may push her off the platform. Or, in another sense, she’s in the gutters looking down at the trash the street sweepers haven’t picked up yet, refusing to look up at the stars. Even at her most optimistic, Harvey sees the world in a way I never could, and never want to, so I simply cannot relate, or even comprehend. It’s sad that PJ Harvey is the exact artist I expected her to be, at least on this record. There’s obvious talent here – as an artist, guitarist, vocalist, and lyricist – but those talents translate to something so unfit for my tastes, and also something that I find artistically limp. I can imagine more energy and more directness, both from the music and the lyrics, could make me enjoy her more, but Stories from the City… is not that record.

Imagine “old country music.” Got it? Great! Now you know what I’m a Lonesome Fugitive sounds like. Is it bad? Not really, no. In fact, some of it is pretty fun, proto-outlaw, even! But most of it is cliché as hell, and if it is one of the progenitors, it’s still an absolute chore to get through. Its best moments are the barn burners, and its worst moments are the ballads. Unfortunately, the highs are still pretty mid, and the lows are pretty exhausting. I also feel like 12 tracks is a lot of this type of material. None of this is bad, but it’s very stylistically-specific, and if you’re not fully into old-school country music, this isn’t going to change your mind. Also, from my understanding, this is a horrible record to represent Haggard’s legacy, so that might be an issue, too. I’m not mad that I had to listen to this, but maybe there’s something better out there to scratch the same itch. Unfortunately, I will probably forget the majority of this record by next week.

This might be the most confounding record I’ve heard so far– both on this list, and in my life. I absolutely LOVE just about 50% of it, but I also absolutely HATE the other 50%!!! The best parts are the folk songs, by a goddamn mile. Sure, they’re very derivative of Nick Drake, fair complaint. However, I think the lyrics are poetic, and, more importantly, the guitar is phenomenal. In a weird way, I can make an ancestral tree tying John Martyn to Mk.Gee (who was my #2 most listened to artist this year); they both have the same playing style and it creates the exact same ✨ethereal busker✨ vibe. I find songs like “Go Down Easy” or “Don’t Want to Know” to be heart-wrenching and amazing, and I really love that sound in guitar-based music, regardless of genre. I also like the more ‘60s folk vibe of “May You Never,” with the percussive playing, and while it’s not my favorite or something I’ll return to, “Over The Hill” is pretty good, too. However, I hate “The Easy Blues,” which sounds cliché and also features some strangely bad singing (more on that in a second). While Martyn clearly feels the most comfortable as a Man and His Guitar™️ act, though, the other half of the record is like….a weird jazz fusion folk record? And it sounds as annoying and as pretentious as that genre description sounds. The worst offender is “I’d Rather Be The Devil,” which I find rambling and nearly unlistenable. Meanwhile, a song like “Solid Air” and “Dreams By the Sea” are bad, mainly because of his atrocious, “deep” singing vocals. I don’t get why he’s putting on this voice, especially when we know he can sing normally, based on the other cuts here, but it is painful to listen to. The jazz noodling on these cuts doesn’t help, either. The standout here, though, “The Man In The Station,” seems to accomplish what Martyn aimed to do with this record, and seamlessly blends together the folk guitar aficionado with the jazz fusion backing band, and does so in a way that feels earnest and earned. Lord knows, then, why he decided to keep these two aesthetics separated like oil and vinegar on the rest of Solid Air, but here, it works, and it’s worth the pay off. But that’s the thing: 9 tracks, 4 hits, 4 misses, and 1 shoulder shrug. How do you rate that? How do you digest that when the hits are mind-blowing and the misses are unlistenable? I’d say the issue is that Martyn clearly needed to choose a lane and stay in it, but that’s not entirely true for either the folk I mostly loved (“The Easy Blues”) or the jazz I mostly hated (“The Man In The Station”). It’s not even like this album will grow on me, because I do truly loathe some of the songs here. In the end, it’s a split, which is unfortunate, because there is a world where I could call Solid Air a favorite record if it was more cohesive and if Martyn accepted his own strengths. Then again, there’s also a world where I hate Solid Air, if Martyn leaned into his demons and made a pretentious jazz fusion record. I guess I should be thankful that that didn’t happen.

As traditional soul transitioned to modern soul, Al Green sat at the helm as the fulcrum. In its best moments, then, Let’s Stay Together is immaculately produced and performed, and while the songs are a bit thick, they’re still undeniably infectious and crisp, which holds true to this day. And I’d say the majority of this album is as strong as you’d anticipate. But there are weak spots, and those weak spots are the more traditional, and start to break the facade of classic to reveal datedness beneath the cracks. Even as a girl who *really* enjoys ‘70s soul, there’s some real bland cuts here that sound “similar” or even, dare I say, cliché. It’s only about 1/3rd of the album, but proportionally, that’s a notable minority. I do think the more diverse, expansive sound palettes of Side B benefit the album’s legacy beyond its title track’s greatness, but while it’s far from the flawless masterpiece some may claim, it’s still very, very, very good. Let’s Stay Together is still a soul classic, and if you like soul music, you’ll like most of this, even if you think it’s a bit old-school. I’d have just stuck to the Greatest Hits, as evidenced by the fact that the singles are the best parts here, but this is obviously still a great record in its own right.

Pet Sounds for angst-ridden suburban Millennials (highly complimentary). Yes, I did play bass in about 6 different pop-punk bands as a teenager, how did you guess?!?!?!!

Again, I love music that sounds like it’s meant to soundtrack the character select screen of a PS2 fighting game. Unfortunately, Snivillisation is also a pretentious trance album targeted at the club kids who fried their brains on acid and think rambling about their 101-level misinterpretation of Buddhism means they’re enlightened. That doesn’t mean that there’s not any bangers in here – there are a good, hefty amount of excellently layered dance cuts here, especially in the middle. Those highs are just unfortunately overpowered by the annoying, longwinded highs of an equal number of pseudo-psychedelic tracks. And those songs insist upon themselves. Even if Orbital had one more club track to replace one 15-minute existential monotonous tangent that you’d only listen to if you were in the middle of a past life regression and couldn’t hit skip, I’d be praising this album. As it stands, though, it’s half getting high with the club v. half getting high with the cult, and I only really vibe with one of those.

The most Britpop album on this list. Mixed like mud, yammering about pub life as if I give a fuck, and being quirky with guitars over ‘60s mod revivalism to little success. There’s a good band in Suede somewhere, and I can see it in some of the melody lines and riffs here and there, particularly when stripped back like on the closer, but it never lasts long. Still better than Oasis to my ears, somehow, but I don’t mean that as a compliment.

It helps that I got violently high to listen to this. But even sober, I really like this. I remember getting this album when I was 12 or 13, and I absolutely hated it. I didn’t get the hype– how was THIS the album that launched a thousand ships? Well, for one, it makes sense why this deconstructionist art pop record went over my head at that age, so there’s that. But also, I think this album’s impact and legacy has really been overhyped. There are so few bands that sound like this– few singers singing like Nico, few drummers pounding like Tucker, few guitar solos like Reed’s, and no one is certainly using avant-garde classical viola like Cale. Even the most artistically explorative pop groups to exist following this record never come as close to breaking pop music apart like this. The Velvet Underground & Nico is almost a one-of-one, singular experience: it may have inspired a million bands, but no one could ever replicate this album. And I think that has been glossed over a lot, and also takes away a lot of the power of this album. Because not only is it very good, but it’s also still extremely experimental to this day. Everything here is still pop songs, though, it’s just accomplished from a different approach. “Femme Fatale” may be a doo-wop cut, but Nico’s vocals transform it; “Run Run Run” and “Waiting for My Main” may be mid-‘60s rock songs, but the lyrical content and deconstructed guitar work transform it. Even a song like “Sunday Morning,” a song that feels proto-hippy in the best/worst way, is elevated thanks to use of the celesta. Of course, that’s ignoring the truly experimental, sparse, and haunting cuts of “Venus in Furs,” “Heroin,” and “The Black Angel’s Death Song,” which veer closer to musique concrète than anything that could be played on radio, and yet they still contain earworms and appeal on their own terms. I do think my enjoyment of The Velvet Underground & Nico is ironically restrained because of the Nico tracks, which feel mostly out of place here. I enjoy her vocals, just…not on these types of tracks. These are also the songs that feel the most dated, the most 1967, the most “flower child”-esque, whether it’s the psychedelia of “All Tomorrow’s Parties,” or the basic $1 bin sound of “I’ll Be Your Mirror.” I do also have a smidge of an issue with the psychedelic aspects of a couple other tracks, mainly the longwinded closer of “European Son,” but for the most part, those elements feel sincere and boundary-pushing when it’s just the band being the band. With Nico, it feels manufactured, focus grouped, even. But these are tiny faults. I’m pleasantly surprised by how much I like this, and won’t be surprised if it grows on me the more I sit with it.

I could listen to preppy people mope about their situationships over a martini and cigarettes and classical guitar music alllllllll dayyyyyy longgggg!!! I’m not saying Idlewild is the best album I’ve ever heard; there’s definitely some dubs, and it can be very same-y after a while. But this vibe just really does it for me, and Tracey Thorn could sing me the phonebook. The best songs here are perfect rainy day mood songs to listen to at a coffee shop, and the worst song, well, that’s the one song sung by a man, so…there’s that. I just think I’m a sucker for sophisti-pop. Get this girl a Lacoste tennis skirt, a Longchamp tote, and a cortado, I guess 💅🏻💅🏻💅🏻

The kind of album that inspires music journalist to overuse the prefix “post-“. Post-Britpop. Post-Nirvana. Post-Globalization. Post-9/11. Post-Divorce, when you marry a box-dye blonde half your age who studied Communications. Post-Divorce, when you have to go to two Christmases, but at least you got *both* an Xbox and a PS2, so that’s pretty cool. Like most things post-, Highly Evolved is pretty cool, but not really. It’s good, but it never really comes together to make anything cohesive or memorable. And, like most things post-, it has a tendency to spiral into lunacy and goofiness, when it would’ve been better off just following the script. But, like most things post-, it’s also ephemeral, and won’t last forever, which isn’t a good thing, but it’s not a bad thing, either.

Starts off incredibly strong, but gets a lot lumpier the deeper you dive. The singles obviously propel this debut and solidify its place in the canon, and it’s a bit annoying that it blows its load early by putting them up front. It’s only made worse when “I’m in Touch with Your World,” one of the worst songs imaginable, follows that strong run. After that, it gets better, but even the best songs on Side B (“You’re All I’ve Got Tonight,” “Moving in Stereo”) don’t hold a candle to the singles. The overall track-by-track sum evens out to a positive in the end, sure, but I really can’t undersell how low the lows go. The Cars are kind of a poor man’s Devo, in retrospect, and this debut highlights that, both in the best ways, and the worst. Conversely, this is also the Boomer version of MGMT’s Oracular Spectacular, with some incredible synth-heavy singles and a few very good deep cuts, but also some god awful filler shoved in, yet it still gets well remembered purely because of nostalgia and cultural significance. Whichever framing I choose, I’m still positive, but barely.

Proto-punk by accident; proto-psychedelic by force. If that had been reversed, I would’ve liked it as a whole package. As it is, I only like the hardest hitting, most garage rock inspired songs, and there’s fewer of those than I expected, based on the stellar opener. The rest is chaotic, crowded, acid-fueled mush, but I don’t know what I expected from a band with an electric jug. Nuggets distills this sound and scene better.

I absolutely love how yuppie this sounds despite the fact that it’s a blatant middle finger to the yuppie lifestyle. Also it fucking grooves!!! Again, I’m a sucker for sophisti-pop, but this is so much more complex and textured, it’s kind of hard to argue against. Just because it’s a bit smooth and not in your face doesn’t mean it’s not masterful. When this came up for me, I was a bit surprised, because I personally would’ve expected any other Sade album than Diamond Life. But after listening to this record, and then subsequently listening to both Strong Than Pride and Love Deluxe (aka the Sade albums I knew I loved), I have to admit, Diamond Life might be their best record. Then again, Sade are pretty consistent, and we absolutely could have made room for one more of their records, at the very least.

An old boss of mine is *really* into Pet Shop Boys, and constantly tried to get me into them. Yet, after 4 years, I just never got around to it while I worked with him. (I should have, though, because we do have very similar (read: queer) music tastes, despite being 25 years apart.) Now that I’m forced to listen to them, though, I’m not exactly sure if Very is a good entry point, because this album is really…hard to judge. I hate to use to the word “dated” as a critique, but even great synth-pop albums can suffer from the outdated technology used to create it. Very suffers a lot from age. The Midi stabs, the now-cliché trance 303 bass line, the stiff drum programming. All these things bring to mind an N64 game from 1997– the graphics looks a lot better in your memory than they do on revisit. Combine that with Tennannt’s nasally vocals, and there’s a very specific time and place for Pet Shop Boys. That time has long passed, though, and that place no longer exists, and revisiting it is like revisiting an empty, liminal space at times. And yet, I can’t deny the fact that there’s some amazing songwriting on here. “A Different Point of View,” “One and One Make Five,” and “Go West” are stellar songs, and while it took me a bit to warm up to “Can You Forgive Her?” or “One in a Million,” once those tracks clicked, they really clicked. Even songs I’m less keen on have some incredible moments, particularly in their hooks and choruses, like “Liberation” and “Yesterday, When I Was Mad.” While there’s other songs that I find too dated to latch onto, I can generally see the appeal, even in the rearview mirror. The fact that there are songs here that have grown on me after only two listens suggests that Very is very much a grower, and I could imagine myself coming around on it eventually. But I also can’t shake how dated this album sounds, and I think that will hold me back from loving it for a long time. Sorry, John 😭😭😭

Oh, Nick Cave…. There seems to be ✨flavors✨ of Nick Cave. The first is an artsy goth rock star who can burn down the house; the second is a sultry bar singer who wants to sing 19th century folk songs alone with just a guitar, piano, accordion, harp, etc. While both versions are represented on this list, I seem to only really run into the latter. Unfortunately, though, I’m a much bigger fan of the former. The Boatman’s Call is far from a bad album on principle. In fact, I think Cave is a great songwriter, even on his worst days. The fact that this is all original material means it’s inherently better than Murder Ballads in my opinion, which suffers from the lack of Cave’s talents as an original songwriter. The Boatman’s Call doesn’t have this issue. In fact, there is some truly great songwriting on display across this record! The problem is the approach. By making this *only* low-key, piano-forward, sparse renditions of these songs, it almost robs them of any actual power, any actual dynamics they could have. It makes even the best tracks here few like stilted sketches, not fully finished songs. On top of that, the pony’s trick gets old quick. 52 minutes is a *lot* for similarly-sounding goth piano ballads, and by the end, I was craving some diversity. And I just never really got any. Finally, there’s Cave’s lyrics, which are fine when supporting a rocker, but feel immaturely crass in this context. There’s a good album in The Boatman’s Call, but that version requires it to completely reject its core conceit, which currently leaves it monotonous, drowsy, and dull. This feels like a record for the hardcore fans, and to be honest, I think what I’m realizing is that I like my Nick Cave in small doses.

When The White Stripes embrace their eccentricities, it makes their neo-traditionalism a hell of a lot more interesting. Get Behind Me Satan really pushes both Jack and Meg’s talents, and it’s for the better overall. Sometimes, the path this leads them down is a little silly and not something I see myself revisiting, but the majority balances it out. I never thought I’d hear myself saying that I’m cool with The White Stripes. And yet, here I am.

I’m surprised by how well this list covers West African music, and it seems especially tapped into the “desert blues” scene. That is really cool, like, legitimately, especially considering how spotty this book is otherwise when it comes to ~world music~ from other continents. (For this reason, I won’t be at all shocked if a new edition includes an album from Mdou Moctar.) Unfortunately, Music in Exile isn’t really my personal vibe. It’s clear that Songhoy Blues are talented as fuck, with chaotic yet tight as screws rhythms and guitar shreds for days. They mostly use this talent to make some pretty standard-fare blues rock, though, which is disappointing and a clear waste. The best moments on this record are the ones that seamlessly combine West African musical elements with American blues traditions, leading to a frenzied, Afrobeat flurry. When that touch is light – or worse, nonexistent – it starts to drag, and the charm is lost completely. And it’s really a 40/60 split between a unique approach and bland pastiche. I think Music in Exile is pretty decent, but it’s not as interesting as the description on the tin makes it sound.

I could not give less of a single fuck about a band for dudes in their mid-30s still going to basement shows after their day job as a consultant, still drinking PBR, still smoking Marb' Reds, and still dating girls who are freshly out of liberal arts college and trying to ✨find themselves✨ while working a temp job as an Executive Assistant. I especially don’t care when that band makes 15 songs that all sound the same, despite the obvious expert-level studio tinkering going on. If you’re going to be Steely Dan for Millennials, the least you could do is write catchy fucking music, and not the sonic equivalent of unseasoned chicken breast. Like, sure, you'll get the gains, but what's the point if there's no flavor? I know there are actual bad albums on this list, but I’d be lying if I tried to pretend that this has any value. Just because The Black Keys are talented, doesn’t mean they deserve my attention. Michelle Branch's The Spirit Room is a million times more deserving of being on this list.

If I was still 16, still heavily into the punk scene and still taking most of my cues about ✨good tastes✨ from the older hardcore kids and record store clerks and the back of Alternative Press, I would’ve stumbled upon this moderately popular album and never shut the fuck up about how it’s an underrated masterpiece that should be appreciated on the level of Punk in Drublic or …And Out Come the Wolves. Hell, I probably would’ve even had less tact and said it’s better than Enema or Dookie. And honestly, it’s shocking that I didn’t come into contact with Rocket From The Crypt earlier, given the Angels and Airwaves *and* Drive Like Jehu connections, but then again, I was the kind of girl who said dumb shit like, “No Doubt is better than Op Ivy.” Because I lacked tact, because I was 16, and because I never really understood the appeal of ska. There’s a ton to love about Scream, Dracula, Scream!, even if it’s not really on the level of a ✨true✨ punk classic. First off, the drums are goddamn flawless, and have such a nuanced feel to them; what sounds like just a basic bass-snare 1-2 with hard cymbal hits actually has some really smart yet not-distracting fills, and the drums overall are really balanced in the mix. The same actually goes for the guitar playing, which crams in a lot of chords without feeling like it’s constantly shifting, and it feels less punk and more classic rock. It helps a ton that this is really well-produced, and I picked up a lot of the details after multiple listens. Mix that in with the light-touch of a horn section to ska it up just a smidge, and the gritty vocal energy, and there’s a lot to love about this record, and Rocket From the Crypt in general. There are a few glaring issues, though. For one, Scream, Dracula, Scream! goes on for wayyyy too long. 14 tracks is a lot for punk album that isn’t a pure hardcore, in-and-out-in-17-minutes thing. It would benefit a ton from a trimming. Nothing massive, just like, a song here and there. The two worst tracks I think are towards the backend, “Misbeaten” and “Salt Future,” but I also think there’s a good amount of “decent, not special” songs like “Young Lives,” “Burnt Alive,” and “Fat Lip” that could be considered for the cut. But even with a bit off the sides and a straightened neckline, I don’t know if I’d say this is a masterpiece. Rocket From The Crypt can write very good songs, and have some clear hooks throughout this record, but none of them ever reach that truly transcendent level of so many pop-punk hits. Especially when those hooks are eclectically buried outside of a chorus, and are something more a riff tangent, bass line, or horn line. And while the production *is* great, it’s also very ‘90s, pushing the red and chaotically overwhelming your ears. Even though I ended up overall enjoying Scream, Dracula, Scream!, it’s still one of those records where I can envision a better version of what could be: more refined, more essential, more impactful, more hard-hitting. That doesn’t mean it’s lacking any of those things, just that they’re at a strong 7, a light 8, racking up points but never delivering a KO. And sure, a TKO counts, but it’s not as bombastic as it could be, y’know? Rocket From the Crypt crosses the finish line with a positive score from me, but I’m also very much the target audience here. I can look past its flaws. I’m not 16, though, so even though I like it, I get that’s a ✨me✨ thing specifically; I won’t sit here and argue it’s an underrated masterpiece. It’s pretty great for what it is, and I’m glad that *I* personally heard it before I die, but there’s so many other punk-esque albums from this era that are more deserving of a spot that I can’t in good faith say it belongs in the pantheon of essential punk records. But if this type of stuff is typically your jam, you’ll definitely be receptive to this.

Surfer Rosa is a hard album to judge, especially when I just like Pixies by default. But I came to love Pixies through Doolittle, and Surfer Rosa is no Doolittle, and it’s never been. I rarely revisit Surfer Rosa, and I might even put it last in a ranking of their discography proper (aka pre-reunion). And yet, my gut feeling says I should give this a 5-star rating, even if it’s not a perfect album. Although the first 7 tracks might be on their own. Starting with the off-kilter beat and abrasion of “Bone Machine” through to the stoned-out pop perfection of “Where Is My Mind,” it’s an immaculate run of songs. Whereas the heights of Doolittle are “pop forward with art punk edges,” these songs are all “art punk forward with pop edges,” and it makes Surfer Rosa a stunning thing to witness. Whether you’re looking at the blunt screams of “River Euphrates,” the grunge-precursor “Break My Body,” the weirdly glitchy “Broken Face,” the early rock ’n’ roll/surf jangle of “Something Against You,” or what may be my favorite song of all time, the immaculate gem of “Gigantic,” there is nothing to critique about the better front half of Surfer Rosa. After that, though, I start to have issues with it. I can’t put my finger on why “Cactus” throws me off, but I think it’s just a boring song, and it’s where the experimentation of Black Francis starts to hit its natural ceiling, as by this point in Surfer Rosa, I’ve heard all the weirdness he has to offer, at least for 1988. I feel the same way about the persistent dynamics of “Oh My Golly,” and, on a worse day, “I’m Amazed.” My other issue with this lesser half, particularly with the two aforementioned tracks, is the studio banter, which slams the breaks on the record’s momentum instantly. That isn’t to say that I don’t love and adore the dumb fun of “Tony’s Theme,” the involvement of the full band for the experimental vision of “Vamos,” or the saucy closer “Brick is Red.” Hell, I don’t even dislike the songs I said I dislike, I just find them to be weaker. And strong albums with more obvious missteps are easier to critique, and frankly make for more frustrating listens, because I am *so close* to adoring it if it wasn’t for those few faults. I really went back and forth on this. Surfer Rosa is the type of record that I almost can’t rate on the same scale as I’ve rated the last 391 albums. It’s my least favorite record from one of my favorite bands of all time. The scales are weighted in a way that doesn’t work. It’s nowhere near my own Top 100 Albums, and I’d revisit, enjoy, and praise about 60% of my 4-stars above this record. But objectively, I think the best parts are more plentiful and more artful than some of my 5-star ratings are as a whole. And that’s ignoring influence! In the end, I have to be honest, and while that feels like splitting hairs, I need to accept that I don’t have to adore every Pixies album, even if it contains one of my favorite songs of all time and multiple other A+ bangers.

This is an interesting curio: how do you remember an Album Band™️ who are mostly remembered as one hit wonders? Yes, I know that Dexys Midnight Runners are not one hit wonders in the UK, but I get the impression that time has leaned more favorably to the American narrative in public memory. And if we’re talking canon (as we always are when analyzing this list), then public memory matters when assessing Searching for the Young Soul Rebels. Modern critics seem to overcorrect the one hit wonder allegations, claiming that the US messed up by not giving Young Soul Rebels its rightfully earned dues, and I think that overcorrection is what landed this record a spot on this particular list. (That, and the British-centric narrative that persists throughout this list.) But is it canon-worthy? Is Searching for the Young Soul Rebels a great album? Does it prove that Dexys Midnight Runners are more than their most well-remembered hit(s)? Was their clear album-oriented vision only obvious in retrospect? Kinda. And kinda not really. Searching for the Young Soul Rebels is certainly well-made. The musicianship is top-notch. The aesthetic, while put on, is intriguing, and feels sincere. The soul revival approach is coming less from a place of nostalgic cash grabbing, and more from the vantage point of a crate digger, and that’s obvious, and one of this record’s greatest strengths. And even if you’re not a fan of Kevin Rowland’s vocal choices like me, it’s still a meaningful, thoughtful choice that fits the aesthetic goals. My issue, unfortunately, is that the songs very rarely work. The crate-digger, niche reference worldview brings Dexys down interesting alleyways that tie back to long-forgotten touchpoint of the soul genre, but hearing them revived, you immediately realize why they died off in the first place, and why their graves were forgotten beneath the overgrowth. The origin of this style of soul feels kitsch in a Tin Pan Alley way, ephemeral and made for a quick buck. So when Dexys tries to redo it with all the sincerity in the world, it doesn’t sound artful, it sounds tasteless, naïve, and even immature– not just collecting Beanie Babies in the 2020s, but leaving them in your will to your children as a financial asset. Not everything on Searching for the Young Soul Rebels falls this flat– the record hits a good stride in the middle where I see how someone could enjoy it– but most of it just doesn’t feel all that deep. That’s important, because this is one of those records that you know the band thinks is so deep, overflowing with meaning, and deserving of canonization. And it just isn’t that, despite the band’s talent and despite Rowland’s vision. As someone who’s fascinated with one hit wonders, there’s so many records by long-forgotten bands that I’ve sincerely defended as 10/10 albums that I’d rate above Abbey Road, Pet Sounds, Dark Side of the Moon, Rumours, etc. I’m not averse to sticking my neck out for this type of band. But Searching for the Young Soul Rebels is not an album worth sticking my neck out for. It’s decent, and not trash, but it is shlock, forgotten for a reason. Not $1 bin, but $2 bin. It’s decent, but I’ll be lucky to remember to pull the few songs I like out and put them on a playlist, let alone remember the album as a whole in a month or two.

I’ve been thinking a lot about Loveless– an album that eluded my ears and my taste for so long that I had to throw in the towel, accept that I respect it, but also accept that it isn’t for me. When it came up for me early on the generator, I had come to what I thought was a final determination, that I felt it was a mid album I wanted to caste aside so I could finally move on with my life after nearly two decades of trying to “get it.” And yet, 300 albums later, I’ve found myself thinking about Loveless again, wondering if I should give it another chance, concerned that my apathy dismissed the number of earworms that’ve stuck with me still, despite listening to at least 150ish albums I supposedly enjoy more, at least according to a 5-star rating system. And so, m b v presents a fun opportunity. Maybe meeting shoegaze in the modern era is what I need in order to appreciate My Bloody Valentine. The answer is yes, it’s exactly what I needed. m b v is easily a better album than Loveless to my ears. That’s in large part thanks to the production, which is much cleaner, and actually allows Shield’s Christmas Tree pedalboard to simultaneously achieve his desired washed-out sound while not feeling like a mudslide in my earholes. This, in turn, allows the actual songs behind the effects to not only be enjoyable, but audible. I know that was the aesthetic choice of Loveless, which does have some solid songs buried beneath that choice, and is part of the album’s lore. But I don’t know….I like to hear songs when I listen to them, which I know is a crazy fucking concept. So we’re already starting off strong in comparison. I also think I just like the songs more on m b v. While before, My Bloody Valentine aimed for blown-out indie rock, this time around, they’re largely aiming for blown-out post-punk, and I’m a lot more amenable to that style. The back half in particular stands out, with “new you” and “in another way” being instant grooves and instant revisits. I honestly could listen to Side B front to back, no issue. And there’s plenty of energy on “only tomorrow” and “who sees you” to make me immediately like the majority of this record. That’s not to say that there’s a lack of spaced-out slow core, from “she found now” to “is this and yes” to “if i am,” but by incorporating more subtle guitar work, synths, and other new touches, I think there’s a level of sonic diversity to the style this time around. And I also think I like all of these songs, even in their prolonged balladry, more than almost every song on Loveless. But most of all, it’s about the level of indulgence. The closest Shields gets to feeding his effects demons is the closer, “wonder 2,” which still has just enough energy to cut through his literal music for airports. The second closest is the opener, “she found now,” but it’s folkish, Man With His Guitar™️ approach makes it much more tolerable. The rest of the record has real energy, and now that the aesthetic distortion is less intrusive and more well-rounded, that energy is much more palpable and immediate. Am I now shoegazed-pilled? Will My Bloody Valentine suddenly become my favorite band in the world? Am I going to go out and buy 500 guitar pedals from independent evangelicals? Probably not, but I might revisit Loveless, and I’ll certainly talk less shit about this band in the future. I don’t anticipate revisiting m b v frequently, but I can proudly say that I am sincerely into this record. See, even when you think you hate something, there’s always a counterpoint!

It’s impossible to listen to Nevermind in a vacuum anymore. That’s made harder by the opening trifecta of grunge perfection, three songs that transcend not only Nirvana, but the genre as a whole. As I’ve said before, by the time I was introduced to Nirvana in the early 2000s, a year or two out from the emo explosion of the aughts, they were already seen as a classic rock band, and like all other classic rock bands, most of my exposure to them was through their Greatest Hits album. But after a year or two of classic rock, my friends’ cool goth older sisters were listening to My Chem and Evanescence, and so, as a young, envious, impressionable closeted trans girl who wanted to be like these young women so very badly, I traded in my classic rock for Fall Out Boy and Warped Tour. And in the process, I gave up Nirvana before getting to listen to an official release front-to-back. I say all this to say that I have very little nostalgia for Nirvana; Nevermind didn’t change my life. Sure, I eventually got around to Nevermind, but I did it with the same energy of someone listening to Sgt. Peppers. As I’ve learned from the other Nirvana albums I’ve listened to for the first time because of this list, I’m not necessarily the biggest fan of the band beyond their greatest hits. Thankfully, Nevermind might as well be a greatest hits record. Again, the opening 3 songs are a tour de force, sure, but so is “Lithium,” perfecting the quiet-loud dynamic of a Pixies song, and “Polly,” a Gen X McCartney-penned Beatles song, and “Drain You,” a deep cut that could easily win the argument for best grunge song against any other song by any other grunge band, and of course, the gut-punch of “Something In The Way.” Of course, Cobain’s vocal delivery, lyrics, songwriting dynamics, and melodic yet still engaging solos are the star of the show, but Grohl’s god-tier drum technique and Novoselic’s tight-end tone make this a stunning listen, only underlined by the fascinatingly clean production of Butch Vig, who somehow retains the band’s grit without losing clarity or definition. This is one of those records where even the most edgy punk tracks are pop perfection, whether we’re talking about the fuzzed-out and dirty-in-more-ways-than-one “Breed,” or how “Territorial Pissings” sounds like it could legitimately fit into a basement show set, or the farm-town Seattle-ness of “Stay Away” and “On a Plain,” or, of course, the literal piss-take of “Endless, Nameless.” There is not a single bad moment on Nevermind. It is a great record, even today. Maybe the impact it made at the time was over-exaggerated, but I can see how something so powerful yet so clean could sound like a mindfuck to a generation of angsty small-town kids in 1991/1992. And that holds up today. All that makes it a strong contender in the Top 10 Greatest Albums of All Time conversation, at least from a supposedly quasi-objective viewpoint so many of those ranked lists are based on. It might not make my personal Top 10, even if I applied that same objective criteria. But it’s impossible to deny its greatness. Sometimes, that greatness can make an album this renowned feel sterile, and it can be hard to engage with it. Nevermind’s biggest weakness for me is that I’m not emotionally bound to it– I know it’s well made, but by not being there at the time, and also not falling in love with it early in my youth, I miss a lot of the magic, even if I can still acknowledge how great it is– even if I enjoy it front-to-back thoroughly. It feels bland to adore Nevermind. It feels corporate, mainstream, and antithetical to Nevermind to passively enjoy Nevermind. But again, it’s hard to listen to in a vacuum, so the best I’m ever going to get is listening to it with the contextual knowledge that this is one of the most praised albums of all time. And it deserves every ounce of praise it receives, because even if it’s not my favorite album ever, it’s faultless in a way few albums are, unless they’re Greatest Hits compilations. Thankfully, Nevermind is one of the greatest Greatest Hits compilations ever made.