I didn't know I like Bowie until this listening project. I like Bowie. This record was terrific.

What is this? Why does it exist? It’s a curiosity, and not in a good way. The person who thought “a soundtrack, no, the score, to a movie I’m not clever enough to write, but without the movie,” should be jailed. Next to that person, whomever participated in placing this garbage on this list. It degrades the entire thing by its presence. It’s the first record I couldn’t finish. You couldn’t pay me. A just world would delete all copies this and pretend it never existed.

If a person pushed me down, shat in my ear, used their finger to push that shat further into my head, then flipped me over and repeated the act on the other side, it would still be preferable to ever hearing this record again.

At three hours, this is an album to listen to until you die. Currently playing as the soundtrack at a casual clothing store in your local mall.

What if Jefferson Airplane went to a renaissance faire? And then an Irish jig was sometimes performed. Come find out!

Listen to the Oceans 11 soundtrack. Then come listen to this. I think there is a glitch in the matrix. But this record it brilliant fun.

The down-votes of this record as “dated” are unhinged. Don’t trust these people to tell you the color of the sky. This record is an artifact of a time and sound, and it’s a brilliant one at that.

I like folk music. I like 60s/70s folk music. This, though, is just uninteresting. There is nothing different or distinct happening here.

Only meant to be heard while high.

This is the strangest thing I’ve ever heard. There were parts that were legitimately interesting, but by the end, I wanted Frankie to make a visit.

I didn't know I like Bowie until this listening project. I like Bowie. This record was terrific.

Brilliant doesn’t describe this. A lyricist with few peers, calling out from far beyond the grave, reminding us of what timeless means. Then, a then-modern twist, that somehow feels both of Guthrie’s time, and of our own, played exquisitely. This is a masterpiece.

What is this? Why does it exist? It’s a curiosity, and not in a good way. The person who thought “a soundtrack, no, the score, to a movie I’m not clever enough to write, but without the movie,” should be jailed. Next to that person, whomever participated in placing this garbage on this list. It degrades the entire thing by its presence. It’s the first record I couldn’t finish. You couldn’t pay me. A just world would delete all copies this and pretend it never existed.

You walk into a college party in 1997, but it's a movie. They couldn't afford to get popular bands to fill the soundtrack, so they found a close recreation, and used that instead. That's Shack. This is a compliment. It sounds like 90s poppier college rock, but on a budget.

Yoko is a criminal.

If a space alien came to earth and asked hear one record demonstrating what 70s classic rock is, this would be a terrific choice.

Write a third song already.

It’s Abby Road. In five hundred years, this will be one of the surviving artifacts, a masterpiece of our time. Three armed kids with lizard noses will learn these songs the way our kids learn Mozart.

A masterpiece. That’s all. Just a masterpiece.

It’s a fine record. Take away the pretense and it’s perfectly fine. But it thinks it’s smart and that makes it annoying.

The weird thing about this record is there are some interesting musical things going on, but the lyrics were written by an untalented child.

Pointless noise.

Remember Julia Stiles character in “10 Things I Hate About You?” She used guitar to start a band. It was terrible.

I’m a middle aged white guy. This is practically holy scripture.

This album contains actually important music. It’s a repository of music that mattered, and that should be retained. It’s also a standing rebuke to “country” music made by bros who couldn’t even get into the least impressive SEC schools. But it’s less than the sum of its parts because it is overly indulgent and massively bloated. Nothing is 2 hours good.

Evidence for the prosecution in the case of “allowing mankind the ability to record sound was a mistake.”

A jazz club, but it’s in hell, but hell is in Santa Monica, but Santa Monica is in Jersey. Three glasses of scotch and two bad ideas. But one of the glasses is filled with stones. Buster Poindexter was a major influence.

Solo work by members of the Pet Shop Boys is under appreciated.

The soundtrack to the 1979 video game of the same name, this album has become the official national anthem of a nation.

I am a clove cigarette.

When they couldn't clear Teardrop as the theme song for House on streaming services, they wrote this record as a replacement.

Robbie Williams is the most criminally underrated artist of the 90s and early 00s.

A great effort for five high school kids figuring out their tools and trying to be creative. Will make you sit in a dark room and fight away the sadness when you realize that are adults.

We tell our children, if at first you don’t succeed, try, try again. By track 9 or 10 of mediocre, fake tough guy nonsense, someone should’ve stopped this man. Someone put his recording equipment more than six inches away from him, so he can ever reach them again.

There are two kinds of people. People who love the talking heads, and people you eventually realize have never said a single interesting thing.

There are two kinds of people. People who realize half this record sounds like a chain saw, and people who realize Jump + Panama + Hot for Teacher are all that matter.

There are two kinds of people. Phil Spector and people he wants to lock in his basement.

There are two kinds of people; people who need a second Randy Newman record to get the point, and the rest of us.

There are kinds of people…. It’s the point of the record.

There are two kinds of people. Kanye, and Kanye’s other personality.

There are two kinds of people, but after this record, I’m too low-key to tell them apart.

There are two kinds of people; people who have gazed across the Caribbean with rum in their glass, pretending to be one of them, and people who don't appreciate Bob Marley.

There are two kinds of people. People who are convinced U2 are multi-generational geniuses, and those who see this as a terrific record that shouldn’t be missed behind the hyperbole. But dammit this sounds like U2. It’s almost a caricature it’s so spot on.

A pocketful of drugs. A circus on mars. Three monkeys singing opera. This is insane. If you didn't love this, delete my contact, delete your phone, delete yourself. We can't be friends. We shouldn't even be on the same planet. A delight. A masterpiece. I need a nap.

Mid-album, my wife walked into the room and said "that sounds like a high school jazz band. And not a good one."