My husband vigorously defends this album, and while my first instinct was to be sceptical, I now concede that he presents the strongest argument for this record I've heard, which is that it's the greatest collection of songs from the two most powerful producers of the era: The Neptunes and Timbaland. Justin Timberlake, on the other hand, can come across as grating and insufferable. Even though he is a talented singer, his contributions are not at all what make this album enjoyable. My husband brought up the fact that this album would be even better if it was sung by someone less unctuous, like Usher for instance. But I responded that I can't see Usher being interested in the weirder sides of The Neptunes and Timbaland. And weird they were! Before Timbaland, did you think it was possible to take traditional Middle Eastern songs and create hooks that would be burned into your brain for literal decades? Before The Neptunes, did you think it was possible to have a synth sound like silk? The string arrangements are luscious, the acoustic guitar is crisp and sensual, the flute (?) is unexpected yet natural and proves the record deserves to be taken seriously. I can't say I've kept up with JT, but his interest in producing pastiche (even executed poorly) at least demonstrates a curiosity and musical appreciation uncommon of pop singers generally but certainly pop singers of the Bush era. The weaknesses, of course, are plentiful. It's front-loaded (typical of pop albums) and the blatant Michael Jackson rip-offs (and then a blatant Stevie Wonder rip-off!) are bland. My husband says that JT has absolutely no sincerity, that it's clear he doesn't believe in what he's singing. I don't know about that. I'd argue his conviction is very clear on the songs where he feels he is the wronged party. No one like JT can lean harder into sounding petty as hell. For what it's worth, I'm relieved that even as a young girl I found him annoying (I had a crush on JC Chasez instead). Still, I can see why this album is on this list. It's fair. B+

Let's start with the album art, which may be a trite exercise, but since it's such an iconic image, I suppose I can be forgiven for sliding into my laziest impulses. So, I don't know, something about Elton peeling off this imaginary one-dimensional world and finding enough depth that he can start to walk through (with the other red-ruby-platformed foot firmly in reality) feels appropriate for this record. The image itself looks slightly psychedelic, but has been faded to lose its once spritely neon glow. And so too does Elton shed the skin off of the aesthetic contours of 60s psych rock in order to help usher in a special breed of anthemic rock-and-roll with flamboyance at the front-and-centre. Bernie Taupin is a severely underrated lyricist who also deserved everything that happened to him after "We Didn't Start The Fire." But, the man can imbue so main pain and sadness in the simplest of phrases - "I've Seen That Movie Too?" "Funeral for a Friend?" "Love Lies Bleeding?" Hell, even "Candle in the Wind" is such an evocative image; the tiniest glimmer of brightness and warmth meeting resistance in the form of a shapeless, unknowable force. He's so good at descriptions of people and what it means to be perceived by people (and of course, by logical extension, the celebrity culture that feeds off this idea like chum to a shark). Does it really get any better than the mohair suit and electric boots, which the narrator only knows because of reading it in a magazine? And does it get even more depressing than seeing that the only thing the press had to say about Marilyn Monroe's death was that she was found in the nude? Maybe, but let's be real, maybe not. Still, he deserves some grief for some truly boneheaded moments in the form of "Jamaican Jerk-Off" (get it? Yeah) and "Dirty Little Girl." In listening to this album and reading reviews, I'm surprised at how little attention is paid to Elton's backing band here, composed of guitarist Davey Johnstone, bassist Dee Murray, and drummer Nigel Olson. Sure, we're not missing out on some secret virtuosos (though, I'm inclined to listen closely to Elton's previous records to be sure), but these are no lazybone-two-bit-players up on stage. There is a slight deliciousness to Dee Murray's bass tone in "Candle in the Wind" as well as a slow, sexy strut in "Bennie and the Jets." At this point, it's become cliché to say this, but "Bennie" is my favourite track of the record. Elton's vocals are aces, the piano sounds like champagne glasses clinking together in a toast that lasts for ages. Johnstone brings in the acoustic guitar right before the chorus (for the aforementioned mohair suit, electric boots combo) in a way that it sounds like change swishing in a pocket in order to convey that Bennie looks expensive and knows it. I never tire of this song. Of course, the band is in full form for "Saturday Night's Alright for Fighting," which singlehandedly lifts up the second disc from being an outright snoozefest. There's a world that I wish to inhabit in which the narrator for "Saturday Night's Alright for Fighting" knows the narrator in Roxy Music's "Editions of You" off of For Your Pleasure, another glam rock album from 1973. It's fun to imagine that two different dudes are hyping themselves up - in the exact same way - to meet up with each other. In short, dudes rock. A-

The thing my friends and I would bring up when listening to and discussing this album was Nas' age. There had been adolescent rappers before; younger than Nas even. Biggie Smalls was roughly the same age when he released his own debut album 'Ready to Die' in 1994. But whereas Biggie shows that he has the capacity for sprawl, for levity, and let's be honest, for filler, Nas does not, at least not as much. Biggie's message can be a little diluted, which is typical of easily-distracted young people, I guess. Nas, on the other hand, goes hard and (mostly) stays hard with a level of discipline that's only forged through life experience, mostly erring on the side of traumatic. The production is absolutely on-point. The opening chords ringing through on "N.Y. State of Mind" sound like a car alarm blaring off in the distance, with a truly menacing piano sauntering through. This song gets analyzed to pieces, and truly, all I have to add is that my favourite line is NOT "I never sleep, 'cause sleep is the cousin of death" but rather, "life is parallel to hell, but I must maintain." Note that Nas isn't exactly saying life IS hell, but runs in the same direction. Will they intersect? What would make that happen? How can he PREVENT that from happening? Does he even want to? I mentioned the relative lack of filler on this album, but "One Love" and "One Time 4 Your Mind" are viewed as the superfluous tracks. However, the groove on the latter song feels so deep, it's like gradually filling a room with smoke from several cigars. My favourite cut off the record has to be "Represent," another DJ Premier beat if I'm not mistake. With a hook like a music-box, we have another song about memory. The echoes you hear sound woozy, as if it's all in a dream or some hazed out recollection that makes you question whether it even happened. A common trauma response. A

While not introduced to Muddy Waters this way, I would have to count myself among the hordes of people whose affection for Muddy began with his performance in 'The Last Waltz.' A static shot with no edits or movement but all the same engaging as Muddy really lets it loose (with his cocaine badge and all. Not sure what I mean? Take note of those yellow pins, folks!) The story around his inclusion is my favourite tidbit about the concert. Apparently, Robbie Robertson was thinking of axing Muddy from the lineup, which prompted Levon Helm (the most perfect man of all time, if you ask me) to threaten to shoot Neil Diamond, whose latest album at that time was produced by none other than Robbie. Thank God Robbie listened. I can't pretend I know anything about The Blues or even about Muddy Waters. Like everybody else in the world, however, I don't tire of hearing Muddy do "Mannish Boy" again. It's certainly fun to hear all versions and try to come up with your favourite rendition. While the '68 version is certainly a vibe, and the '55 version has a haunted quality to it, I love that this cut goes on for longer. Sometimes, you gotta give the people what they want. As for the rest of the album, it's certainly delightful enough but doesn't quite meet the energy of "Mannish Boy." Make sure to pay close enough attention to catch the piano work of Pinetop Perkins. I'll credit Robert Christgau who says that this is one of the very best Chicago blues album, right up there with B.B. King's 'Live at the Regal.' 'Hard Again' is a magnificent album title, especially for a comeback record. It's also true. Muddy Waters was 64 in 1977. And he was still fucking.

A capital-I Important album whose release cycle I can remember pretty vividly since 'Third' served as my proper introduction to Portishead. Influenced by Krautrock and the hypnotic synth scores of John Carpenter, 'Third' is not so much an album as it is a horror film. Right from the opening spoken word manifesto in Portuguese - a musical equivalent of a title card letting viewers know this is inspired by a true story - the album plunges right into an underworld and rarely lets up (except in one instance, more on that later.)The guitar(?) in "Nylon Smile" sounds like the wispy tingle of a spider crawling on your skin. Gibbons never sounds as close to you as when she is pleading about her struggles with herself, her disconnect with her body as she refuses to conjure a smile let alone a laugh. In some of my favourite horror films (such as 'Lake Mungo' and 'Rabid'), there is a moment where the protagonist feels there is just something not right with her body. In 'Lake Mungo,' this is meant to signal that the protagonist intuitively knows her death is imminent and inevitable. Which brings us to 'The Rip' (or R.I.P). Is 'The Rip' the best song of 2008? I don't know, but it's gotta be up there for sure. British folk that suddenly turns into a violent maelstrom with some of the most haunted and conflicted images on the record: "wild, white horses, they will take me away/and the tenderness I feel/will send the dark underneath/will I follow?" The question is never answered directly, but given the rest of the record's sound, it's clear that we've crossed the rubicon of the macabre. "We Carry On" has a bass line that sounds like Peter Hook in a black cape trying to summon the undead. I know lots of people have a problem with "Deep Water," but if we are to run with this horror film analogy, then this feels like the moment when we see something that at first feels totally wholesome, only to be met with a flash jumpscare of something really horrifying, like older people on rocking chairs listening to the radio only to notice that they're dead and rotting and maggots are dropping from their orifices. It's this juxtaposition that makes "Machine Gun" all the more powerful. Play this record on Halloween. A

A document of a band truly at the height of their powers. You could make the argument that this is the band's best album. But if you did, I think that would reveal how you feel about long (or long-winded) drum solos on live records. Are those really enjoyable to listen to? As much as I like Ian Paice, I just can't really pretend it's something that works on a record. Maybe in a live performance. Maybe. Absolutely ripping versions of "Highway Star," "Smoke on the Water," and my all-time favourite Deep Purple cut, "Space Truckin." Hard to believe that there were no overdubs and that the band didn't care for it much when it was mixed. Great font on the cover. A

I'm surprised something so recent is on a list like this. I'm not sure if I would ever meet someone who would clamour that this is indeed essential. But what do I know? It's a perfectly pleasant record and Michael Kiwanuka sounds like a nice person. If I was a more skilled writer and thinker, I would try to posit some theories around the emergence of hypnagogic pop (soul) in our digital age. I appreciate anyone trying resist the whims of the algorithm and think about authenticity in a time when that seems to be rarer and rarer to see. B

Remember the premise: 1001 albums you must listen to before you die. BEFORE you die. I suppose the idea of listening to albums that captured a zeitgeist, even for a few seconds, is a worthwhile exercise to demonstrate your curiosity and ability to contextualize a record in its time. But if you were to suddenly die without listening to 'Make Yourself' by Incubus, you'd be fine. While not outright inept and offensive, this is not an edifying album or even a good album. But if I were to posit some sort of defence of Incubus, it would be that they're a band of commercial success trying to actively meld multiple genres together while still retaining the framework of a hard rock band. Which is interesting. But of course, they would not be the first to do this and they would not be the ones to perfect this idea either. I'll be honest: I did not immediately recognize single 'Drive' after examining the track list, but as soon as I heard the chorus, I was reminded of its whiny Dawson-Creek-soundtrack-chorus. In all sincerity, there are some nice little moments: the watery guitar sound on 'The Warmth,' for instance. The bass sound is 'Battlestar Scralatchtica' or whatever the fuck it's called is delightfully gooey and deep. But to reiterate: you would not miss anything important if you died before listening to this album. C

A genuine question for the group: is 'Skylarking' anyone's favourite album? There are many things to enjoy and appreciate (chief among them: Todd Rundgren's production), but I have yet to encounter one person who would choose this - THIS - to accompany them on a desert island. Simply put: there are songs that work and work beautifully, and there are songs that don't work at all. A funny but delightful assorted bag of lush tunes with chintzy synth tones thrown in. A pastoral affair that seeks to recontextualize the spirit and sound of 60s psychedelia and chamber pop while using the technology of 80s musical production. The end result is the aforementioned cheap, ice-cream-truck-jingle synth at work with occasional harsh aesthetic contours. Still, I too am totally serene when I hear the birds chirp at the opening seconds of "Summer's Cauldron." I too deeply relate to a uniquely 30-year-old-person problem of wanting to settle down comfortably with your partner while staring down the grim reality that economic and social mobility will be nearly impossible to achieve ("Earn Enough For Us"). And I too feel heartened by the dewy clarity of the acoustic guitars in "Mermaid Smiled," probably the strongest track off the album. But when things go sideways, they certainly go. "That's Really Super, Supergirl" has a fumbling quality that echoes the protagonist's own awkwardness, sure, but I just can't abide the synth tones or the lyrics. You hear a song like "Season Cycle" and understand where Ben Folds Five comes from and I suppose that speaks to XTC's innovation. But there is a saccharine quality to this track in its attempt to rewrite and recreate some of Paul McCartney's worst musical impulses (the so-called "granny shit.") I think "Sacrificial Bonfire" is a fitting climax for the record with some wonderful bass from Colin Moulding (the real MVP of XTC) and beautiful strings but the way that Andy Partridge screeches out "sacrificial bonfiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiIIIiiiiire" is just...I don't know...awful. I'll end with this: Sarah McLachlan's version of "Dear God" is better than the original. She is lightyears beyond a better vocalist than Andy Partridge and her artistic sensibility as a singer-songwriter behind the piano gives the song a needed gravitas and poignancy. As the song swells into its climax of "the father, the son, the holy ghost/is just somebody's unholy hoax," Sarah sounds legitimately pained and conflicted; Andy Partridge, once again, just sounds goofy as hell. My favourite thing about 'Skylarking' is the album art. It looks how the album sounds. A-

First off: stunning album art! Doesn't this image encapsulate the 1990s? Like the ending of 'The Day of the Locust' by Nathanael West but with Nintendos, AOL, and Fruitopia. Even dogs are getting into the crosshairs. Self-destruction is not the word I would use to describe this album. I don't think Billie Joe Armstrong inflicts serious pain on himself, but you certainly believe him when he says he thought about it. Take "She" and "Coming Clean," two songs that are Queer-coded and discuss Billie Joe's bisexuality. You'd think that there would be more coverage of this during this initial album release, especially with Pansy Division opening for Green Day on the Dookie tour. To me, that upholds a real kind of supervision and commitment to punk ethos that you would never see from, say, their contemporaries in SoCal punk Blink-182. And unlike Blink-182 (a band that's crass but not all that vulnerable or, frankly, interesting), Green Day does perfect a model of retaining legitimate SoCal punk roots within a framework of commercial success. People accused them of selling out for this record after parting with Lookout! Records and signing with Reprise. In a few reviews on this website, I see people make the point that this is NOT punk, but in fact pop-punk or just straight pop. Personally, I can't think of anything LESS punk than aligning yourself with traditionalist, conservative views of music and genre. Not that I'm defending obvious industry plants or talentless hacks assembled in a boardroom by high-priced executives, but come on. Lobby your complaints at literally anything else. Besides, I feel like Green Day have some serious SoCal punk bonefides. Why else would they opt to go with Rob Cavallo from The Muffs in the producer chair? Maybe they didn't want to be confined to the technical and production constraints of DIY, but that doesn't mean they abandoned the ethos altogether. Anyway, enough about this, let's get to the music. There are so many good, satisfying dips. The rhythm section of Mike Dirnt and Tré Cool charge so effortlessly on "Having a Blast" and particularly "Longview." One thing that I particularly enjoy about SoCal punk (even though, it's not my favourite scene) is the few times in which it dialogues with other canonically Californian subgenres. When you hear that bassline in "Longview," it rings exactly like surf-punk. I appreciate that Green Day is not afraid to embrace other influences in their music. On "Pulling Teeth," you can tell these guys were playing a lot of Beatles covers. The 90s pop-punk version of "I Should Have Known Better." I'll wrap up with highlighting some of the excellent images in this record found in Billie Joe's lyrics, which I feel speaks to the very excellent album cover: "Get me off this Velcro seat and get me moving." "Smoking cigarettes, wasting your time.""I'm feeling like a dog in heat/barred indoors from the summer street." A-

A pleasant surprise! While I think there could be a LITTLE recency bias in including something like this on such a list, I'm glad I found it all the same. I have a soft spot for indietronica-cum-krautrock-psychedelia that traverses intellectual terrain as much as emotional terrain. Your Stereolab and Broadcast comparisons are merited, as are soupçons of Julia Holter and Beth Gibbons. However, while all of those artists have made fully realized works, 'Modern Kosmology' sadly suffers from a bit of front-loading. Despite being active for over 20 years and releasing several albums, Jane Weaver is not a big name, even among the type of nerds who would eat this stuff up. A search on RateYourMusic (note to users: if you're serious about music writing, go to RYM! But maybe like me, you prefer the greater anonymity of this site!) shows few reviews. The album doesn't even have a Wikipedia page. And yet, it seems to me the problem is that the music is TOO accessible, especially on the second half. A song like "Slow Motion" feels like it could play in a change room at H&M and would such be out of touch on, say, college radio. Whereas Broadcast and Stereolab were interested in recontextualizing sounds and moods of the 1960s within a 90s framework, I hear less nostalgia in Jane Weaver's aesthetic sensibility and ultimately less innovation and originality. Even the song with original Can singer Malcolm Mooney ("Ravenspoint") feels more firmly rooted in the 2010s than the late 1960s or late 1980s. Frankly, I'm not sure if he adds anything interesting to the song. His voice was certainly scrappy and a little funky (I'm very fond of "The Withoutlaw Man" on 1989's 'Rite-Time'), but here, it is incongruous without any pleasure. But you know, if I found this CD for $4 somewhere, I'd buy it. B

I was not familiar with John Grant before listening to this record. A Father John Misty-type who is a bit more worldly and literate. There is candour and sentimentality as well as a darkly humorous point of view that I appreciate. For Grant, the only way to get over the fact that your mother calls you a disappointment (on her deathbed as her FINAL WORDS, no less) is to laugh. Working with Midlake, John Grant produces a soft, tender album about growing up in the Midwest, confronting your sexuality, and witnessing the promise of liberal idealism curdle before your very eyes. The Elton John comparisons are apt, not just for the foregrounding of the piano and Taupin-like lyrics that feels more like prose, handwritten letters, and notes-to-self. There is a glammy, cosmic quality in the synth flourishes that run throughout the album and a self-deprecation that is wrapped up in some in-your-face behaviour. "Chicken Bones" has a bouncy, late 90s cabaret but is just so laugh out loud funny. If I go back to any song off this record, it will definitely be that one. Feels like an album he had to make. B+

Another album I remember from middle school. I think I had a few tracks off of 'Origin of Symmetry' on my WalMart 30-song mp3 player my dad got me, but I was also 13 and dumb as hell. I don't know what to make of Muse. A more handsome Rush? But honestly, that's unfair to Rush - a band that I would defend! A brief aside: when '2112' and 'Moving Pictures' come through, be sure to find me. I'll have a lot to say! Look: I don't want to be unfair here. But if you are a Muse fan who can string together a few words, please let me know what Muse's musical innovation is. It can't be incorporating the aesthetic contours of modern pop radio on prog music because that had been done and perfected elsewhere (ie. Genesis, Yes, the aforementioned Rush). Maybe you could replace 'modern pop radio' with 'house or disco.' Like Radiohead (who they're often compared to), they read the writing on the wall. Except they just don't do anything interesting with pastiche. I don't know, I listen to this and can only conclude it's sophomoric. C-

They say that nostalgia works in 20-year cycles, which is why there were so many different homages to the sounds and spirit of the 1960s during the 1980s. Recently, I listened to and reviewed 'Skylarking' by XTC that presented this very phenomenon - a Sgt. Pepper's for a generation growing up under Margaret Thatcher. 'Psychocandy' by the Jesus and Mary Chain is no different. A pastiche of different moods and subgenres that defined the 1960s all under a veil of harsh noise and dissonance, thereby ushering a new style of music altogether. But make no mistake: as lovely as this record is (it really is!), I'm not entirely convinced we have some true musical geniuses on our hands, though I do think it's worthwhile that they were the first to arrive at what was already a logical conclusion in the world of rock and roll. But that's about it: it was a logical conclusion that someone - anyone - was bound to make. Still, I enjoy this record! "Just Like Honey" is a wonderful album opener and one of the key tracks in 1980s alternative rock. By taking an iconic drum fill (certainly one of the most iconic from the 1960s) to prime you for an overwhelming deluge of distorted guitars is just so excellent. This is exactly the music you want to hear when you are confronted with a wide range of emotions: wistful, hopeful, melancholy, lonely; like being caught in a snowstorm and knowing it would serve as a beautiful sight if only you were inside looking out. The Velvet Underground has been cited as a key influence on this record. You hear that in spades on "Cut Dead." On streaming and on the 1986 CD release, non-album single "Some Candy Talking" is included and given that the majority of listeners on this site probably listened to this record on Spotify, I'm surprised no one has picked up on "Some Candy Talking" as an even more overt Velvets homage. Maybe it doesn't sound anything like "Candy Says" from 'The Velvet Underground' but I appreciate the attempt to create a dialogue with the band. For the Velvets, Candy is a woman who hates her body and all that it requires in the world. It's not a temple nor an avenue of pleasure like in "Some Candy Talking" but that wouldn't stop others from only viewing it as such. Bobby Gillespie (from Primal Scream!) does some wonderful drum work here, echoing the primitive sound originated by Mo Tucker. But if I were to point out the problems with this record (it's not flawless), it's that even by 1985, we could already start to see the cracks in post-punk music. By nature a derivative music genre, it's clear that The Jesus and Mary Chain just didn't have the chops to produce original musical ideas for long. "Sowing Seeds" is a rewrite of "Just Like Honey," which itself is a rewrite of "Be My Baby" by The Ronettes. Many people point out that 'Psychocandy' is the first shoegaze record, which I suppose is true. But The Cure and Cocteau Twins were already exploring the tension between pretty and ugly, between distortion and tender melodies; this just seemed like the foregone conclusion, which I have to say, would be perfected by other bands. There are some other noteworthy tracks (ie. "The Living End," "Taste the Floor") and I will concede the way in which everything blurs together is part of the musical innovation. And yet, I have to conclude this is mostly due to a lack of ideas and/or skill. Either way, this still needs to be a part of the alt-rock canon. Or 1980s canon. Or any canon, really. B+ *I'm going to note here since you can't go back and edit your past reviews (why!?) but John Grant's 'Queen of Denmark' can't be the same grade as this, so I hereby demote it to a B.

Ever listen to a song that feels like the equivalent of stepping outside to bustling city traffic, looking side to side, and then putting on sunglasses to walk right into the fray without a care in the world? Just me? Well, whenever I get the urge to actually do this, it's probably the most self-assured and relaxed I feel. "Hazey Jane II" by Nick Drake is a song that makes me feel like this; "Light Flight" by The Pentangle could make me feel like this too. Not that this is "cool" music by any means. This was recorded by the leading band of the height of the English folk revivalism period in the 1960s. As much influenced by Renaissance Fairs as it is smokey, sultry jazz, it happily traverses nerdy sonic terrains. There were some real eggheads in The Pentangle, notably Bert Jansch (yes, that one) and John Renbourn. The former is probably best remember for his solo records of true "m'lady-core" quality. But credit must also be given to the rhythm section of Terry Cox and Danny Thompson (no relation to Richard and Linda) for taking The Pentangle and giving it a robust and dynamic bottom-end, thereby making the band stand out over their contemporaries in Fairport Convention or Incredible String Band. With every "Lyke-Wake Dirge" (nerdy), you get a "Sally Go Round the Roses" or "Springtime Promises" (cool and sensual). Leave it to producer Shel Talmy, of The Who's "My Generation" fame, to imbue both cool confidence and earnest acoustic arrangements that feel like a woven tapestry or, you know, a basket weave. Very cool album art. What you see is what you get: warm, glowing vistas in motion, like you're sticking your head out the passenger-side window to get a view of the sunset. Turns out "Springtime Promises" was written after a bus ride on an early spring day. I believe it. A

One of the finest American bands doubles down on their noisiest impulses only to lose the plot on certain tracks, offer an uneven work, and thereby creating their first real polarizing effort. Can you tell these kids came from the NYC No Wave scene, which was fun and brash as much as it was directionless? And yet, calling this Sonic Youth's worst album feels like a stretch to me, especially since this is the album that contains "100%" and "Youth Against Fascism." Make no mistake: the tracks that whip ass certainly whip ass. And the tracks that don't can be forgotten. If you listen to enough Sonic Youth, a track that's forgotten feels like a disappointment. But 10 years into their career, bum tracks were inevitable. 'Dirty' is indeed the word. None of the ethereal dreamlike quality in Sonic Youth can be found on this affair, produced by Butch Vig and released in 1992. What we have is a post-grunge Sonic Youth, exploiting the now-ubiquitous soft-loud dynamics in a milieu of major-label privilege. Thurston Moore's guitar tone has never sounded more ferocious and chaotic. On this record, I think of his strings as less up-and-down and more of a circular clockwise-counter-clockwise movement, almost like how a roller-coaster is composed of steel loops and corkscrews, with the car grinding in every kind of direction. This is especially the case on the guitar solo on "Sugar Kane," which belongs smack-dab in the middle of a Greatest Hits compilation (a little bit of a research would show that this would be the third track off of 'Hits Are For Squares'). I always viewed 'Dirty' as one of the best albums to showcase the vital work of drummer Steve Shelley. On "Swimsuit Edition," the drums come in like a brutal gallop; when everything starts to swell and soar on "Theresa's Sound-world," the drums propel everything in an upward direction, like being scooped up by a tornado. The floor toms do some serious work in making "Drunken Butterfly" heavy and swampy, only aided by Kim Gordon's lugubrious vocals. Kim has to be given credit for the amazing bassline that opens up "Youth Against Fascism" and making the song an absolute earworm. To me, Sonic Youth's lyrics never really MEANT anything: some cool turn of phrases here and there, some stray observations on liberation that sometimes work but sometimes don't. In fact, they're quite clunky. Still, I know Thurston's heart is in the right place and sometimes it takes agitation to get people to really understand how they're being oppressed. I gotta say: I love that the chorus to this song is "it's the song I hate/it's the song I hate." Perhaps he's commenting on the nature of producing an overtly political song (a cliché, which of course was dominated by a whole-ass generation of preachy, idealist Baby Boomers that turned out to be massive hypocrites) or commenting on the fact that hatred - in this case righteous hatred - has to be in your heart to stand for something. I would consider "Shoot" to be one of the forgettable tracks, but the bassline that opens the song manages to be cool and approachable in its simplicity while still retaining a sinister quality. "Wish Fulfillment" is a skip and I can hardly remember how "Chapel Hill" goes, which speaks to the coherence in sound found throughout the album as well as Sonic Youth's misguided urgency in releasing this so soon after 'Goo' since it's clear they're using some scrapped ideas. If you're doing that however, why not just go with "Genetic" which was the B-side to "Wish Fulfillment?" I know that "Nic Fit" is just too swift and unserious to contribute meaningfully to this album. It's simply another way for Sonic Youth to flex their cool-kid bona fides. At this point though, it's like, "yeah, we get it." An Untouchables cover that would then help the L.A. hardcore band get some greater notoriety, but really doesn't do anything other than...whip ass! At least that's what I thought when I was 15 years old and ate this shit up like breakfast cereal. After this song, things really start to blur together, with the exception of "Purr," which has such a killer riff that then explodes into the type of screams you'd hear on a Mudhoney record. A little over two mintues into the song, you get what could be some of the prettiest guitar work on the record, only to be met with a blistering melody that probably was noodled around with while writing "Kool Thing." While the lyrics could really be about anything, I'm inclined to think that the references to love, howling to the moon, scratching a dog, "do it again," and "come back tomorrow" suggest the song is about sex, a subject that Sonic Youth excelled in. So at the end of the record, we have "Créme Brûlèe." In case you care, the accents are placed incorrectly! A creepy, cobweb of a song about a hazed-and-dazed summertime hangout. After the sweaty, lusty Saturday night exhilaration in "Purr," we're now met with the Sunday-scary realization that someone thinks, "I'm so happy that we're just friends." Uh-oh. But don't worry: Sonic Youth would do Sunday, and sex, and Sunday-sex on a better record. The album art? It makes a great t-shirt. A-

A cool, tight, yet very laid-back affair from top organ player Jimmy Smith. Like cooking in the kitchen on a Sunday afternoon with someone you love, the album bounces along, is filled with activity, and just enough moments of softness and tenderness. If you're like me and feel that jazz constitutes a massive knowledge gap (and I'm told that the best place to start would be compilations, not the album form), then this is a worthy collection of songs that can help you broaden your range from the Accepted Pantheon of Gods. B+

Oh, you want music fed to you with itty bitty tiny spoon? God forbid you listen to anything that's too challenging! We simply can't have that! God, you people need to get a grip. I don't profess to be an expert on jazz in any way, but innovation tends to inspire provocation, and sometimes that's desperately needed for any meaningful change to occur. Were you people this irked by Coltrane or Mingus or even Ornette Coleman himself? Not that I'm comparing John Zorn to those three in terms of aesthetic quality, but all four certainly have (had) a vision and all four are (were) interested in pushing the genre forward. And to that end, jazz was now in dialogue with other genres and subgenres. It simply had to be in order to remain relevant and interesting. So why not attempt to strike communion with punk and post-punk? Maybe this is not music that you are listening to while you go out on your evening constitutional or when you're flipping pancakes with your kids, but if you're seeking to gain an appreciation of outsider culture, of avant-garde contours, and how music is a powerful tool for agitation, then this would be more than suitable. If I had a criticism, it would be that volume (and in a sense, violence) is usually most effective in very short doses. At times, the overwhelm is the point (like in say, 'Metal Machine Music'), but more often than not, it can then lead to apathy. Lovely album art. Get a grip. B+

Perfectly serviceable honky-tonk country and western tunes. The covers stand out over the originals, particularly "The Band Keeps Playin' On" which features some very memorable dramatic pauses ("my world stopped --- but the band keeps playin' on.") It's a lovely rendition and I think Buck is so good at the twangy self-pity found in country music. B

It's always nice to be reminded of the power of the album format, meaning a fully-realized unit of work in which the whole is greater than the sum of its parts. But in this case, is it still technically accurate to describe 'good kid, m.A.A.d city' by Pulitzer Prize winner (remember that?) Kendrick Lamar as just an album? The work is subtitled as a short film. I can definitely see listeners bristling at that seemingly-pretentious description, but I don't know, I've always appreciated it. More than ever now, we are using cinematic (or literary) terms to describe our irl surroundings (ie. "main character syndrome," "lose the plot," "advance the plot," "soundtrack of our lives," etc.) Why not produce art about the idea that your life feels like a movie? Why not be aware of this? And more than just aware, why not draw attention to this level of creative agency? I mean, of course it's still an ALBUM, but it's a short film in that Kendrick creates powerful images that have been so burned into our brains that he's now recognized as one of rap's great Auteurs (but still not on the level as Kanye). Vistas of a young man's head out sticking out of a car window waving gang signs, a POV shot of Compton from the driver's seat in a mom-minivan, two people in black hoodies next to a teenage girl, and a swarm of men that convene and disperse at the sound of gunshots. I know the focus is Kendrick's visual storytelling, but beats from eleven producers (all supposedly working under the direction of Dr. Dre) dialogue nicely with the lyrical direction and flow. Take the airiness of "Money Trees" that renders a daydream quality to the track or the murky tension of "The Art of Peer Pressure," which in the hands of a weaker producer, could have sounded like 'news-at-night' background music for a 30 second promo on basic cable. The repetitive echoing percussion on "Backseat Freestyle," produced by Hit-Boy, feels like keys in the ignition hitting into one another, swinging like a chandelier, helping lift off the idea of how most rhymes would have been written while driving around with the boys. I read one criticism of the album that singled out this track as standing out from the rest of the introspection found throughout, but that's missing the point completely. To me, this record is about Kendrick Lamar grappling with his multiple selves: son, friend, wannabe MC, current MC, criminal, alcoholic. A song in which you pray your dick was as big as the Eiffel Tower would understandably come right before a song exploring the psyche of a young man desperately seeking approval from his peers. Tying these pieces together - all of Kendrick's different selves - would be the voicemails from Kendrick's parents. Voicemail skits on rap album are not new, but their inclusion on this album is probably my favourite use of the trope, mostly because it does capture an essential part of being a teenager or young person, which is that your parents are calling you all the damn time. The album could have ended there, frankly. Not sure what was the point of including "Compton." It's not bad per se, it just feels a little tacked on to remind you of mastermind Executive Producer (he of the Grammy Awards Global Impact Award(TM)) Dr. Dre is here. Wonderful album art. A+

Did you know that at one point Lynyrd Skynyrd was led by someone who wasn't an outright loon? I'm not going to defend the use of the Confederate Flag here (for what it's worth, remember that Tom Petty used it too), but Ronnie Van Zant was, by all reports, a reasonable person. Sympathetic to progressive causes and capable of introspection and critical thought, especially directed toward The Idea of the South. "Sweet Home Alabama" might be the South's equivalent of "Born in the U.S.A." which is to say that a song that has been erroneously embraced as a patriotic anthem but is anything but. Well, maybe it is a little. The band undoubtedly went bananas after his death, but Ronnie? Ronnie seemed to be an ok guy. A worthy debut record with classic songs left and right, including the final track which whips ass. Back when I was in middle school starting to get into music, it was still common to randomly shout "Free Bird!" in crowds. I haven't heard anyone do that since and thank goodness for that. It's clear that the boys in Lynyrd Skynyrd were operating in a post-psychedelic, post-hippie world, where sprawling jams were becoming increasingly regular but idealism was slowly fading. These songs, notably "Tuesday's Gone" and "Simple Man" are genuinely despairing. The upbeat numbers rollick and tumble along so effortlessly despite so much going on. On paper, you'd think that three guitarists would spell 'too many cooks' but producer and Bob Dylan-sideman Al Kooper manages to map it out without any clutter. Gotta love an album cover that's basically "dudes being dudes." A-

My husband vigorously defends this album, and while my first instinct was to be sceptical, I now concede that he presents the strongest argument for this record I've heard, which is that it's the greatest collection of songs from the two most powerful producers of the era: The Neptunes and Timbaland. Justin Timberlake, on the other hand, can come across as grating and insufferable. Even though he is a talented singer, his contributions are not at all what make this album enjoyable. My husband brought up the fact that this album would be even better if it was sung by someone less unctuous, like Usher for instance. But I responded that I can't see Usher being interested in the weirder sides of The Neptunes and Timbaland. And weird they were! Before Timbaland, did you think it was possible to take traditional Middle Eastern songs and create hooks that would be burned into your brain for literal decades? Before The Neptunes, did you think it was possible to have a synth sound like silk? The string arrangements are luscious, the acoustic guitar is crisp and sensual, the flute (?) is unexpected yet natural and proves the record deserves to be taken seriously. I can't say I've kept up with JT, but his interest in producing pastiche (even executed poorly) at least demonstrates a curiosity and musical appreciation uncommon of pop singers generally but certainly pop singers of the Bush era. The weaknesses, of course, are plentiful. It's front-loaded (typical of pop albums) and the blatant Michael Jackson rip-offs (and then a blatant Stevie Wonder rip-off!) are bland. My husband says that JT has absolutely no sincerity, that it's clear he doesn't believe in what he's singing. I don't know about that. I'd argue his conviction is very clear on the songs where he feels he is the wronged party. No one like JT can lean harder into sounding petty as hell. For what it's worth, I'm relieved that even as a young girl I found him annoying (I had a crush on JC Chasez instead). Still, I can see why this album is on this list. It's fair. B+

There are certainly better albums from the 2000s, but this one FEELS so much like the era in terms of living in a neoliberal, post-globalization world. The speed in which the exchange of currency occurs, which has led to a rapid exchange of culture, language, and perspectives, is so well-captured on 'Kala,' the second album from Sri Lankan rapper M.I.A. from 2007. A real murderers' row of producers, including Diplo and Timbaland, who would help usher in sounds from every stretch of the planet to create a real sonic constellation. The first side alone is almost unrelenting in its intensity. By the end of track two, you already have enough information to determine if you'd vibe with M.I.A.'s artistic vision. I know tons of people who take issue with her bratty vocal delivery. In my view, this tends to wonderfully match the nonsense words and sounds she offers ("na na na" on "Boyz," "a-nee-nee-nee" on "World Town"), which is a cross between school-girl taunting and pidgin English, the combination of such over layers of beats presents a totally interesting and important musical innovation. What does "bamboo banga" even mean? Does it even matter since it sounds so deliciously cool, especially since it takes over two minutes to get to the chorus? Other times, it's just plain nonsense ("live in trees, chew on feet, watch Lost on cable"). The first side of the record - really, the first four tracks - are really where the flavour is. "Bird Flu" is absolutely relentless in its intensity with its propulsive rhythms, acoustic percussions, trills and yelps from all sorts of voices from all sorts of ages. "Boyz" is like the world opening itself up to you after spending hours on an airplane and now you're confronted with a crush of people, cacophony of noise, and rush of colour. "Jimmy" would have to be one of my favourite tracks off the record with its Indo-neo-Disco hook and quivering yearning. The strings that come in at around 2:40 both mount tension but echo the kind of gasp-y shallow breathing M.I.A. would do at the final moment of the song in between sobs. Not to say the album is front-loaded, but there is a greater cohesion of sound after "Jimmy" and a slight dip in energy. But this brings us to "Paper Planes." I recall we all agreed that this was the Song of the Decade. A brilliant use of a Clash sample and another instance in which the words don't offer any particularly deep insight into the Immigrant Hustle, but that doesn't matter since the high levels of swagger and attitude mean any misstep is instantly cast aside. The pairing of gun shots and a cash register in order to make a link between violence and profit - not just in terms of individuals, but whole systems at play - is amazing. I saw a review on here that stated that everyone, immigrant or not, could relate to this song. We've all moments in our lives in which we're "sittin' on trains/every stop I get to, I'm clocking that game." We're lamenting the long commute that we have to embark to even START our work day and we're imagining a better life for ourselves where "everyone's a winner." "Come Around" may be the album's one skip, if only because it sounds the most convention and features a Timbaland verse that really didn't need to be there. M.I.A., on the other hand, is the sharpest she's sound on the record. Her ability to enunciate and add in those bratty flourishes at exactly the right moment as she imbues youth vernacular is one-of-a-kind ("Sidekick rings, 'what's up, holla!'/text the address, 'I'll see ya later!'). I liked 'MAYA' and 'Matangi' just fine, but 'Kala' is absolutely thrilling; it's all over the album art. You simply had to be there. A

The tide has turned on this record and thank goodness for that. No longer considered Led Zeppelin's worst album, 'Led Zeppelin III' is a welcome foreshadow into the diversity of sound the band would explore later on. Simply put, if you don't vibe with this record, then maybe you don't vibe with a crucial element of the band, which is their total embrace and celebration of English/Celtic folk and regional music, particularly from the Middle East and North Africa. Jimmy Page's ability to take his guitar virtuosity, Robert Plant's soaring vocals, and John Bonham's sheer power as a drummer is Led Zeppelin's musical innovation. But no disrespect to John Paul Jones, who was responsible for many of their arrangements and is a masterful multi-instrumentalist. Certainly on this album, you hear some wonderful mandolin lines. So if you don't care for all that, then you're missing what makes Led Zeppelin special tbh. Eighth grade seems to be the time when the geekiest music nerds I know let the Led out, myself included. This was my favourite Led Zeppelin record growing up; it certainly brought me the most pleasure. No outrageously long wankfests ("Since I've Been Loving You" is the closest thing and it's my least favourite track), no dumb songs about sex and women, no drum solos, no 'Lord of the Rings' references. Honestly, you can point to this collection of songs as upholding all that makes Led Zeppelin unique without needing to apologize or side-step anything. "Immigrant Song" is the song that normies would know but with good reason because it absolutely whips ass. Remember what I said about Led Zeppelin's musical innovation? Well, this song captures all of that in miniature. Even though the rest of the record isn't like this at all, it doesn't mean that Led Zeppelin avoids their 'heavy' sound altogether. Songs like "Friends" and "Gallows Pole" show they can let the hammer drop even with acoustic instruments. "Celebration Day" has an intoxicating thick rubber ball bouncing slide guitar that feels natural alongside their other face-melters from 'Led Zeppelin I' and 'Led Zeppelin II.' I used to think that "Out on the Tiles" was forgettable, but I love opening few seconds where the guitar descends step by step and the drums march like it's a parade on storm. All of this then bleeds into the chorus, easily one of the album's happier moments, second to the chorus of "Celebration Day" in which Robert Plant literally sings about how happy he is. Of course, the best part of the record would be the acoustic songs. "Tangerine" and "That's the Way" beautifully captures innocence and wistfulness in a way that's reminiscent of the final days of summer, when the hot August sun is flat and renders everything in a dappled orange glow leaving you to wish this feeling could go on forever. I know "Bron-Y-Aur Stomp" is about Robert Plant's dog, but to me, it contains some of the very best lyrics about the pure bliss you feel in romantic love: "caught you smilin' at me/that's the way it should be." Is there really a better feeling than noticing your partner, the love of your life, your soulmate, beaming as they make eyes at you? In the throes of love, aren't you just begging for opportunities to bring that person up so you can say their name, getting to the point where you're just saying it anyway? ("As I walk down the country lanes, I'll be singing a song, hear me calling your name"). I know it's about a dog! I'll resist the temptation to armchair-psychoanalyze Robert Plant on how he was able to produce such a tender song about a Merle that's fit for a square-dance but not about any human woman. Maybe Led Zeppelin would sound happier ('Houses of the Holy') or more sonically diverse ('Physical Graffiti'). And maybe they would refine their strengths, distill their sound even further, and create their greatest artistic statement ('Led Zeppelin IV'). But in 'Led Zeppelin III,' they proved they were not going to be your average incurious brain-dead blues-based riff-o-rama rock band. If that's too much for you to handle, then I don't know what to tell you. Listen to REO Speedwagon, I guess. Iconic album art. A

Should I be sad to admit that this was a new discovery for me? Or should I be delighted that the horizon of discovery is still as vast as it ever was? Like Dante once said, I am as proud of my knowledge as much as my doubt. Still, a college rock band eluding me for this long! Anyway, 'Rattlesnakes' by Lloyd Cole and the Commotions is a remarkable debut record, though I'm not sure if he has penetrated influence beyond those in Scotland. His literary sensibility married with buoyant jangle-pop soundscapes is delightful at best and unmemorable at worst. In fact, the first four songs are a solid showcase of the very best of Lloyd Cole, particularly his incisive descriptions and observations. Lead single "Perfect Skin" contains some of the most original lyrics on a woman's face I've heard in a while: "she's got cheekbones like geometry and eyes like sin/and she's sexually enlightened by cosmopolitan/and when she smiles my way/my eyes go out in vain/for her perfect skin." This is the kind of description you share after studying someone for so long. Idealizing someone not just for their beautiful features, but for the fact there is something so pure and so unblemished about them. "Speedboat" is a sly, slinky, sexy song. As it should be given that it is referencing a Renata Adler book. It begins humourously enough ("they're all down in my cellar/with their government grants and my IQ") and Lloyd Cole's singing is soft yet imbued with so much attitude, it's totally beguiling. That said, I feel that the verses and the bridge set you up for such a rewarding payoff in the chorus, but the key change feels a bit awkward to me. The strings in "Rattlesnakes" are as every bit ravishing as you'd hear on any R.E.M. album from this period. And like R.E.M., Lloyd Cole seems to be working with a tapestry of melodies for the grand majority of time, so if you're listening to this and thinking it's not all that catchy, the goal is to keep listening to it until the entire songs lives inside you. "Down on Mission Street" comes close to providing a satisfying melodic line in its chorus ("when you go down on your knees/you're so hard to please") but wraps it up a beat or two in advance, until the very end when it is repeated again and again, only with more embellishment from the strings. A masterful move given the song's subject about living a life bereft of gratification. The second side drops down in energy a little bit, but picks up with the rockabilly-meets-Flying Nun buoyancy in "Four Flights Up." The guitar sound in "Sweetness" sounds exactly that and could frankly go on forever. "Are You Ready To Be Heartbroken?" is befuddled with a few confusing production choices (electronic drum/claps, choir), but is otherwise a very sweet track with some more beautiful strings. Rainy day music. B+

I guess this would be the one essential "album" album from Aerosmith. 'Get Your Wings,' 'Toys in the Attic,' and 'Permanent Vacation' are all inconsistent affairs. 'Rocks' is a strong distillation of their sound and notable for showcasing Aerosmith's sort-of innovation, which is the crossbreed of American funk and soul music with British-based blues rock. "Back in the Saddle" does indeed whip ass. If somebody asked me for an example of a guitar line that sounded outright mean, I would offer this. "Last Child" is noteworthy for upholding Aerosmith's cheeky approach to funk music. "Nobody's Fault" has a doomy quality to it. Maybe the album is not as consistent as I thought. B-

Could this be Neil Young's finest work? I may be a 'Harvest' head like the lot of you, and I have wallowed in the Ditch Period like my brothers and sisters before me, and I even have expressed affection for his later period works, such as 'Prairie Wind' and 'Le Noise.' But honestly, if you are looking to understand what makes Neil Young special - this deeply frustrating, mercurial man who bends to the will of no one else but his own - then 'Rust Never Sleeps' could be it. 'Live Rust' may be a proper entry point due to its Greatest Hits-like setlist, but 'Rust Never Sleeps' so beautifully captures all of his glaring contradictions, for better or for worse (but mostly better). It's this exploration of his interiority with his truly masterful guitar playing (that might be his greatest asset) in conjunction with his ability to operate as the de facto leader in any musical unit he inhabits, harnessing the power of a full-blown musical band under the singularity of a musical vision - his own. I mean, this is the same dude who began his Rock and Roll Hall of Fame acceptance speech with "it's been a solo trip." Jesus Christ. We've all heard it: "it's better to burn out/than to fade away." Many have tried to grapple at what this means and many have failed. And many of course have placed larger aims on this one statement to summarize an entire generation's futility and collapse of their own ideals. And one person took this statement tragically to heart. I'm not even sure if I know what it means, but I know that Neil is a shrewd observer of the world around him and the world inside him (no literary sensibility with Neil, unlike his peers Joni Mitchell (at first), Leonard Cohen, and Bob Dylan. I'm CONVINCED that Neil Young hasn't read a book since the Johnson administration) and the world inside him seems to operate on a different level than the rest of us. And so with this statement, Neil projects a persona (that was already rumbling beneath the surface) that is more humble, less self-indulgent than his peers (no 'Woodstock' performance for him), seemingly more accepting of a future of rock and roll that would not have any room for him. And it nearly didn't, if it wasn't for this exact frame-of-mind that would endear him to a new generation of punk and post-punk musicians and thereby ushering a new era for Neil in which he was praised, touted, and given the red carpet treatment for his late 80s/90s comeback. But unlike Lou Reed's and Bob Dylan's resurgence in this era, Neil's was also entrenched within a larger musical shift. Neil wasn't just an influence on Sonic Youth, he was their peer, and had no pretentions on the importance of this designation to project this new, flattened structure. "Powderfinger" may be one of very best live recordings. Has there been any other artist that has reflected on the (renewed, repeated) profundity of being and FEELING a certain age? "Old Man" would be the most famous example of this ("twenty-four and there's so much more"). But to paraphrase another singer-songwriter who he's often compared to, in "Powderfinger," he was so much older then, he's younger than that now. ("So the powers that be left me here to do the thinkin'/and I just turned twenty-two/I was wonderin' what to do/The closer they got/the more those feelings grew"). Thank you DEVO for your efforts. A+

You gotta ask yourselves why the editors of the 1001 Albums list included this and not, say, "Tango: Zero Hour" from the previous year, which Astor Piazzolla himself said was his greatest work. With that assessment, "Tango: Zero Hour" seems to have the most cross-over appeal with audiences. That said, this recording with Gary Burton is genuinely delightful and embodies the spirit of Tango nuevo, which is a melancholic yet sensual blend of genres, traditions, and lineages. To incorporate the vibraphone is to show the genre's beauty and mystique. That's why it's always "tango de la muerte" and not "merengue de la muerte." The violin playing from Fernando Suárez Paz is genuinely hypnotic since it can go anywhere from screeching and tense to tranquil. Take the strings starting at 9:29 for album opener "Milonga Is Coming" which sound exactly like the siren of a firetruck blaring off in the distance. A-

Ran out of time yesterday so I haven't gathered enough thoughts on 'Safe As Milk,' the debut record from Captain Beefheart. But I've listened to this record a few times, having done a re-listen just a few months ago and concluded that it is indeed enjoyable and perhaps BETTER than 'Trout Mask Replica' but nowhere near as fun to think about. I don't know, something about Captain Beefheart's whole DEAL, his attitude, his swagger. When a nerd can still walk into any room and own the place while letting his freak flag fly high, it gives mere mortals like us a supercharge of confidence. I'll have to credit Captain Beefheart for creating such stunning images with words and pairing them so deliciously with sounds. I don't know he managed to make a whole career of it, but he did. You listen to his Howlin' Wolf-soaked-in-bourbon vocals and think, "yeah, that sounds like someone called Captain Beefheart." You listen to 'Trout Mask Replica' from 1969, widely considered to be inaccessible to the grand majority but a work of genius for a small yet influential minority, and think, "yes, this sounds like whatever a trout mask replica is and whoever would make such a thing and find it useful." The song "Zig Zag Wanderer" makes wonderful use of panning at the very beginning to echo the hard left and right momentum in the song's title. I'm not sure if Captain Beefheart could read the writing on the wall about the dairy-based diet back in 1967, but given that he was always a forward-thinker, it doesn't surprise me if his introduction to the world was an album that leaves its listeners satisfied yet a tiny bit unsettled. 'Safe as Milk.' Anyway. The drums in "Electricity" is probably my favourite moment of the record so hats off to John French and hats of to Ry Cooder whose guitar playing does flesh the album's contours quite nicely. A-

The consensus is swelling: 'Catch A Fire' by Bob Marley and The Wailers - their first for Island Records and first of two records from 1973 - is now considered their best album. When I was a kid, 'Exodus' seemed to be the Big One, but of course, nothing compared to 'Legend: The Best of Bob Marley and The Wailers' as the ultimate collection of songs. To me, I'm still sceptical if the album form is really the way to understanding and appreciating The Wailers since reggae and dub music was mostly presented in singles, EPs, and 12 inch records. But then again, Bob Marley and The Wailers were reggae artists operating in a rock-and-roll framework; on 'Catch a Fire,' it certainly shows. I used to think that people liked the origin story of this record more than the songs itself, with the origin story consisting of big-baller moves from Island Records head Chris Blackwell, breaking new ground for reggae with the album's pioneering use of a state-of-the-art studio, and wildly ambitious and inventive album art. But no, the songs really ARE that good. "Concrete Jungle" is as moody of an album opener as it can get, though I think the live version from 1979 is much better. "400 Years" begins with the type of dissonant guitar drone that would be just at home on any indie rock record from the 80s and 90s. I'll admin that I have a soft spot for that children's toy-like synth tone you hear in the chorus; it basically sounds like tiny icicles forming, which feels insane to see given the very hot climate. "Stop That Train" has tambourine that is panned so far to the right and so off and away in the distance, it makes you think that it's a sound in your natural surroundings. "Baby We've Got A Date" has some of the most unbelievably sounding slide guitar. Is "Stir It Up" the most liquid sounding song of all time? Just pools and pools of warm, teeming energy that you shimmer and ripple throughout the song. I never tire of it. To promote this record, Bob Marley and The Wailers opened for Sly and the Family Stone, who in 1973, released 'Fresh,' their last truly Classic Record. Imagine seeing both Bob Marley and The Wailers during this period AND Sly and the Family Stone on this tour? It makes one reflect on the audience and say, "God, I see what you have done for others..." Iconic album art - both versions. A

It's funny to see the Global Reviews whenever you're assigned a pop album. You hardly ever see tepid, lukewarm reviews; it's either a straight 5 or 1. Rarer still are reviews that actually grapple with the music itself. Like many of you, I too had contempt for pop music (back in like, middle school), thinking that it was insipid and craven. And some pop music is, but even then, it still says something about The Times We Live In. Now I find I'm someone who has a hard time keeping up with most pop music, which I realize is to my own detriment. Adele always seemed to be one of the few pop artists that managed to reach across the aisle. That may be due to the aesthetic sensibilities and overt influences found in her earlier records that sought to usher in the 60s jazz-soul resurgence in the early 2000s. '21' - her previous album and the era that truly marked her musical dominance - was rife with this particular sounds that rendered her music as bearing more authenticity than her pop counterparts, at least seemingly so. Like "Rolling in the Deep," "Hello" was a monster of a lead single. I remember this song was absolutely everywhere. Its premiere was like, a massive global event. And truly, everyone loved this song: your mom loved this song, your grandmother loved this song, your boss loved this song. SNL had like 200 sketches about it. Everyone sang "hello from the other siiiiiide!" as a meme for even the most mundane things. It's a powerful single and a powerful way to start the album. Probably a test for a listener to see if you can endure Adele's Whole Vibe, especially on this new record. "Send My Love (To Your New Lover)" summarizes the album's thesis, which is about living life as someone in your mid-20s, when you start to think "we both know we're not kids anymore." Bruce Springsteen said the same thing on "Thunder Road" and he wrote that song when he was 24. This track has that classic Max Martin bouncy chorus with an effective and catchy breakdown of the words, syllable by syllable. Truly, the rest of the album peters out for me and is nowhere near as consistent as '21.' Some pained singing that at times resonate and at other times feel just screechy. I would point out "A Million Years Ago" as a highlight and man, I do wish Adele would do songs of an understated quality a little bit more. B+

The authors of this list are funny. I don't know a single person who cares about this album or would consider Lenny Kravitz a particularly important musician. His songs usually contain some well-meaning Liberal platitude about the world and togetherness. Positioning himself as some sort of sexier Prince for the 90s, Lenny plays all the instruments on 'Let Love Rule' from 1989 but you can't say that it's particularly virtuosic. On "Mr. Cab Driver," there is a point where Lenny says "here we go" to usher us into a musical break, but it's so basic and really meant to showcase the very Macca-esque bass tone (and overall sensibility) found on the song. I have to admit that my internet was also cutting out while I was listening to this album, so maybe it's my way of answering the question, "Does Anybody Out There Even Care." Sorry, no. B-

I'll admit that The Jam is a serious blindspot that I need to correct, but thankfully, listening to the 1993 debut album from Paul Weller will compel me more than anything else, since how is it possible that I've listened to this more than 'This Is The Modern World?' I suppose this album is worth noting due to 1) The Jam's reverence in their native U.K. 2) How it occupies an interesting space and time in between grunge and Britpop that somehow manages to traverse both and neither. And 3) that it is a clear attempt to create music for adults by an adult, not unlike another post-punk/new wave artist from an iconic band who ventured out off on his own (I'm talking about the Youssou N'Dour of England, Sting). I don't think any of these songs are as good as any of Sting's cuts, but they're not as embarrassing either, and so, just not as memorable. B

Be still my beating heart! Let's get one thing out of the way: Thin Lizzy is among the top three greatest Irish bands of all time, with U2 and My Bloody Valentine rounding it all out. They may have an uneven discography and there is a lot of material to sift through, but their Golden Run of Records, which starts with 1975's 'Fighting' and ends with 1979's 'Black Rose' and peaks with 1976's 'Jailbreak,' is among the very best in Hard Rock music. In rock music. In music. But why this record and not 'Jailbreak,' especially when you consider that an alleged 75 per cent of this album consists of overdubs? There are three reasons: 1) This record can competently serve as the finest Greatest Hits compilation for the band, which is heavy on material from 'Jailbreak' and 'Fighting' but also features some cuts from 'Johnny the Fox' and even 'Vagabonds of the Western World' (which has its defenders). This brings us to 2) the album is the appropriate entry point for those looking to go beyond 'Jailbreak' since the inclusion of deeper cuts would naturally lead to greater curiosity about their earlier material. And 3) the energy is so combustible on this album, it makes the studio versions sound anemic in comparison. Do you want to listen to the classic chunes you know and love? Why not listen to the very best versions of 'em? There is a silly alternate universe out there that considers this band a one-hit wonder or simply the hard-living lads behind "The Boys Are Back In Town." But anyone serious knows that this is a band worthy of deep criticism and analysis due to Phil Lynott's traversing of racial lines, original perspectives of Irish heritage and tradition, and the musical innovation of the band of producing some of the sweetest guitar melodies (and harmonies) ever. "Jailbreak" is a crushing album opener for both this live recording and studio album. "Tonight there's going to be a jailbreak/somewhere in this town." I love this line so much, it's so unintentionally goofy yet deliberately unserious. A mystery abounds as to the location of this jailbreak...somewhere in this town...and not, you know, the jail. They tease "Cowboy Song" a few times! The first instance of which is in "Rosalie." This is one of my all-time favourite songs. Normally, I think guitar solos can be a bit of an unnecessary wankfest. But three guitar solos? In one song? All of them are essential. Don't change a note. This is a song that feels like the first clap of a sunshower with rain falling so heavily yet so beautifully. "Roll me over and turn me around/let me keep spinning 'til I hit the ground/roll me over and let me go/riding in the rodeo." I'm not sure what any of that is supposed to mean. Maybe something about endurance and perseverance? How we have to tame the beasts in our lives in the same manner as a cowboy? When I recall some difficult moments in my life - loss, heartbreak, disillusionment, general malaise, and anxiety at The State of the World - I remember this song, listen to it, and feel completely at peace. Nothing quite makes me feel better like listening to this song. I especially adore the way in jumps right into the "The Boys Are Back In Town." Just thrilling. It treats the song as both a big event - here's the one you've been waiting for! - and something that's so casually tossed off - here's the one we can play in our sleep. I've been pretty vocal in my distaste for drum solos on live records (or anywhere, really). And yes, there is a drum solo on "Sha La La." I'll believe producer Tony Viscounti who said that the drums and the noise from the audience are taken straight from the shows. So for that reason alone - the reason being novelty, heightened novelty - I'll take it. On "Baby Drives Me Crazy," we have harmonica from none other than Huey Lewis! Why is that so insane? He was in the band Clover, which was a supporting act for Thin Lizzy at the time, and get this, the backing band for Elvis Costello for 'My Aim Is True.' And yet, something about this feels so weird, so spontaneous, almost like you're listening to a live performance. One of the coolest records ever to be affiliated with Toronto. A *I must resolve to run my reviews through a spellcheck! I'm sorry!

We all concluded that 1998 was an exceptional year in music. The atmosphere at the time was of an increasingly globalized world with rapid technological developments that led to more innovation in electronic music and its embrace by mainstream culture. 'OK' by Talvin Singh is an album that leads you to think it's a seminal record from this crucial period until a deeper immersion into the subgenre shows you that this is...just ok. Hence the title. So goes the saying: a pool is deep if you have never seen the ocean. I don't want to discredit it entirely, however. Talvin Singh has worked with some cool people: Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan, Siouxsie Sioux and the Banshees, Björk, Ryuichi Sakamoto, etc. But the beats are a little anemic and it all is awash under this very safe adult contemporary yoga-class electronic music aesthetic contours. And unlike Aphex Twin, there is no depth or beauty or innovation found within. Still, I appreciate the fusion and the attempt to recontextualize (seemingly) 'traditional' sounds. Just don't stop and think this is where the electronic music of this period ends. Far from it. B-

An album that was designed for the word 'meh.' Not to be too harsh here, but I don't think you'd be missing anything crucial by skipping this album. The ideas are not new or original and have been perfected by other Britpop bands. Is it outright offensive? No. Is it memorable? Again, no. One of those albums that's no one's favourite. Not sure it inspires that much passion. C+

A string of albums that aren't altogether offensive but don't inspire a lot of reflection. Hopefully, this is the last one? At least for a while? Anyway, nothing against Goldfrapp. 'Felt Mountain' would be welcome in any 2000s canon as would 'Black Cherry,' honestly. "Strict Machine" is a song worthy of an A, as is "Ooh La La." I appreciate any artist who is serious about pastiche, even if that results in an uneven discography. On 'Seventh Tree,' we hear the duo in Goldfrapp take on indietronica with some folk music contours in the mix. The result is a perfectly delightful Sunday-picnic-core for people with those tiny little tattoos on their arms and hands. "Caravan Girl" in particular is a song that I'll certainly return to, particularly on warm summer afternoons. It is bouncy, lively, and upbeat without being craven or dumb, or (of course) over-saturated. B

Anytime this record comes up in conversation (with friends, strangers, my husband), I always say, "it was a landmark record for my sixth-grade class." It's true. Released by Green Day in 2004, 'American Idiot' was possibly the first time my peers and I were swept up in an album cycle that attempted to reflect The Times We Are Living In. Radio singles, interviews, a tour, and an overall buzz in the air, the look of the album serving as a signal of identity. As Robert Christgau says, the visual language on this album is probably the most essential factor in understanding it, especially during its release within a context of a burgeoning pop-punk emo scene that rendered style and artifice over any meaningful substance (be honest). A stark red, white, and black album cover (ostensibly an homage to Saul Bass' title sequence for 'The Man With The Golden Arm') and smoky music videos that played around with colour saturation settings. One such music video was basically a short film with a (pointless) prelude featuring scripted dialogue between Hollywood actors. The album was huge. Starting with the title track, it was anthemic, and operatic, with huge aspirations even if the actual message itself was vague and riddled with a few clichés. Still, Green Day was able to harness the genuine rage and despair of the time and make a song that was genuinely upbeat and fun while retaining subversion. As Christgau pointed out, it "makes being called 'f-----' something to aspire to, which in this terrible time it is." I credited Green Day with producing something with huge aspirations, but to me, most of those aspirations do fall flat. "Jesus of Suburbia" is a good example of this. Did you know that he is our main character in the Odyssey that is 'American Idiot?' Do you even care? Well let me tell you: I don't. And so, while I appreciate a punk band experimenting with a multi-movement song in 2004, it ultimately does not stick. "Holiday," on the other hand, is a fine song and certainly my favourite off the record. The opening guitar has such a sweet, crisp tone that reminds you of these guys SoCal punk bona fides. A great lyrical showcase from Billie Joe Armstrong, who I believe is especially powerful when writing about dogs (please see my review of 'Dookie'): "hear the dogs howl out of key/to a hymn called faith and misery" which is then followed by a well-timed and satisfying "hey!" The call-and-response on this song is a wonderful touch. "Can I get another amen? Amen!" Was there even a first one? No, not in the song at least, but you know everything Billie Joe is saying is true. Is so. Un fait accompli. What is meant by the use of the word 'holiday' here? The idea of being on holiday, or out to lunch, or just spiritually not there, particularly resonates in the Bush-era as our politics increasingly became devoid of facts and data. I wonder if the boys in Green Day stopped to consider whether "Boulevard of Broken Dreams" would be a mainstay in the waiting offices of doctors across the globe. The song has powerful soft-loud dynamics that beautifully channel angst and loneliness, even if the lyrics are a bit sophomoric and goofy. The final 40 seconds or so when guitars start to sound like gusts of wind are exceptional. I can't say that my attention remains as close for the rest of the record as it does here. The transition into "She's A Rebel" is a little bit awkward, but I appreciate Billie Joe's Westerbergian approach of creating complicated female characters that serve as a stand-in for the male author. You know, the production of "Wake Me Up When September Ends" is a bit too saccharine for my tastes, but I will concede that the song captures a beautiful idea about time - needing it to slow down, to speed up, mostly to avoid any suffering. But yeah, I don't know about that 12-minute music video, guys. Many flaws on this record for sure, and once I grew tired of Green Day, I then moved on to some of their influences: The Clash, the Sex Pistols, and the Ramones. So I can't hate it for that reason. B+

Well, folks. Allow me to present something of a complicated opinion on 1999's 'Ágætis Byrjun' by Sigur Rós. I see you lobby 5s left and right and I go through the reviews hoping someone can actually grasp what it is about this record that is so revered. Yes, it's "orchestral." It's "beautiful." It's "calming." I know. We all know that. I imagine that 'Ágætis Byrjun' is a foundational text in turn-of-the-millennium post-rock, which took the elements of conventional rock music (your standard drums, guitar, bass, keyboard configuration) to deconstruct and subvert listeners' expectations by imbuing elements of ambient, minimalist, and drone music through nontraditional song structures, time signatures, and chord progressions. There's no denying that the music and production is lovely and in turn creates lovely images in a listener's mind. Think of a lake freezing over with steam rising, the breath of a lover on your skin, tears of happiness that compel you to break into laughter. There's a spirit in this album that leaves you thinking that Jónsi wanted to...change the world? Love again? Who's to say? I bristle at any album that has a heightened sense of self-importance attached to it, but I know that reaction probably signals a need to examine my own contradictions found in music. 'Self-importance' is a label that is usually attached to instrumental music or non-English music and I can't fault any quote-unquote "rock" band for wanting to have higher ambitions and seek more from music than your verse-chorus-verse duds. Believe it or not: instrumental music and/or non-English music can be fun and enjoyable to listen to and not just for eggheads. Still, while I don't entirely agree with the grade (or the spirit) of Robert Christgau's assessment, I can kinda get a sense of what he means with each passing listen. The music is indeed entrancing without being warm. Maybe it's a little much for Jónsi to deliver "shamelessly tear-stained epics" but to make beautiful art for beauty's sake is still brave, no? And ultimately, this is music that reminds you of the bravery required in everyday actions. Bravery in being resilient. Bravery for falling in love and remaining in love. The twinkle of the piano of "Starálfur" or the flute in "Olsen Olsen" are sonic representations of earnest vulnerability amid cold, sonic landscapes. I know many people think "Avalon" is a skip, but I actually enjoy the outright embrace of repetition, be it a blink or a heartbeat. I guess what I'm trying to say is that if you're quick to say it's great because it FEELS great, unpack that feeling a bit more. Iconic album art that I personally always found ugly. A-

Not an album for the faint of heart, sure. Not only is it long (over 75 minutes), but it is dense and demanding. But at times, very moving and beautiful. I'm sorry your music can't be spoon-fed to you all the time. Sometimes, you have to work at it! I can't pretend that I know anything about drum and bass (or electronic music at large) and I will sympathize with anyone who has a tough time appreciating it, since I often get caught up in what I'm supposed to be doing while listening. The genre (or family of genres) was literally designed with dancing in mind, but have you ever seen anyone dance to drum and bass? What are you really supposed to do here, other than nod to the beat? It's a bit too esoteric to inspire dancing, at least from human beings. But jellyfish? I can see it. A-

You simply have to hand it to them. I'm trying to think of another musician or band that experienced such a dramatic step-up from the first album to the second and the only one that readily comes to mind is, well, Bob Dylan. Not that I equate Bob Dylan and Radiohead in terms of aesthetic and artistic quality, though each offered ready-made anthems for the youth of their respective generations and then distanced themselves from such a responsibility. When push comes to shove, I have to admit that 'The Bends' could be the Radiohead album I've listened to the most out of pure pleasure. The height of my listening occurred when I was 14 or 15 years old, not long after the release of 'In Rainbows.' Truthfully, when I come across Radiohead fans, I feel an instant scepticism (at best) and distrust (at worst) when I hear people dismiss this album and not give it the time of day. It's easy to assume that, as a transitional record, it's filled with uneven ideas and awkward growth, but repeated listens have shown me it's anything but. There are flourishes of grander aims and a burgeoning interest in adopting an expansive sound, even if it's buoyed by tunes with typical song structures. But even those songs still strike at the emotional depths the band would explore later on through more complicated means. I used to consider "Planet Telex" as my all-time favourite album opener. True to its name, there is an otherworldly quality to the opening 20 seconds. From the whoosh and whirr of a spaceship landing to the echoed chords that always reminded me of walking in slow-motion, there is already a sense that this is not the same band that produced "Creep." But like "20th Century Schizoid Man" by King Crimson or "Zoo Station" by U2, this opening track is not necessarily an indication of what the rest of the album would sound like. Not that 'The Bends' falls short of the expectations set by the opener, at least not for me. For example, I love the way the guitars absolutely crush your eardrums in the opening chord for the title track, which really feels like a rapid pressure change in your brain. Radiohead too were students of The Pixies and utilized the soft-loud dynamic incredibly well in their sound. If we're being honest with ourselves, the dirty, crunchy guitar tone by Jonny Greenwood before launching into the chorus in "Creep" was the first indication that this band may have way more tricks up their sleeve. More than any of their other albums, 'The Bends' would take this idea and push it to its logical extremes on "The Bends," but also on "Just," "Nice Dream," and "My Iron Lung." And yet, they would sound so ethereal and pretty on "High and Dry," "Fake Plastic Trees," and "Bullet Proof...I Wish I Was." This brings us to the album closer, "Street Spirit (Fade Out)." If you listen to 'The Bends' for clues as to what the band would later become, then "Street Spirit" could be the clearest link to the mood found in later albums. A mounting tension, layered sound, and soaring vocals from Thom Yorke with lyrics that are evocative about death and modern life, where technology has a role to play with damaging results: "This machine will, will not communicate/these thoughts and the strain I am under." 'The Bends' is as accessible (if not more so) than 'In Rainbows' and hints at an innovation that would be explored in greater detail on 'OK Computer' and 'Kid A' without as cold and bleak of an atmosphere. If you're looking for some observations about the role technology would have on our ability to form relationships and construct a better world, I'd argue that Radiohead was already offering that on 'The Bends.' I mean, look at the album cover. A-

Interesting that the authors of the 1001 Albums To Listen To Before You Die would pick this one over, say 'Piece of Mind' or 'Powerslave.' Nothing wrong with the first album, mind you. It's a sturdy collection of songs and is a foundational text of the New Wave of British Heavy Metal. Original vocalist Paul Di'Anno has nowhere near the range of Bruce Dickinson, but his scratchy, guttural sound matches the musical chops of the band at the time, though bassist and founder Steve Harris was already casting his gaze very far into the horizon. Not that they couldn't shred and up the irons; they were already experimenting with progressive rock-inspired song structures and movements with the required virtuosity on songs like "Phantom of the Opera." Maybe the first album wouldn't serve as anyone's entry point to Iron Maiden (at least in 2024) or NWOBHM as a whole, but it's still satisfying to hear the start of the steady progression the band would take on their musical trajectory. The visual language, however? Formed on day one. A sign of something special. B+

I saw one review of this record on RYM that stated that a little '60s nostalgia never hurt anyone. I suppose that's true, but I wonder how that could be the takeaway from listening to 'Ragged Glory,' released by Neil Young and Crazy Horse in 1990. To me, this is a record less about nostalgia - romanticizing and yearning for the past - and more about grappling with How We Ended Up Here, with the We being the Baby Boomers and Here being a place that's rife with contradiction and disappointment. I mean, it's literally called 'Ragged Glory.' This record finds Neil reflecting on the ideals of the '60s within a musical configuration that supported him throughout most of the '70s, in a move that could be described as a 'return to form' after an unsettling and unpredictable '80s. If you were Neil Young, how else would you ring in a new decade? With newfound hope and optimism? Retreating into a messy sound that harnesses the (literal) power of volume, noise, and imprecision makes sense to me. Musically uninteresting? Sure? Perhaps in the sense that the songs are all in the same mid-tempo range, each exhibiting the same rough-around-the-edges quality of Crazy Horse and the delightfully imprecise guitar work from Neil. The impact of the record is achieved through volume (as in, the volume of sound, not quantity), consistency, and the fact that Neil is leaning into his bite. "Why do I keep fucking up?" "You got love to burn." "Feed this world ruled by greed." While it's true that Neil's politics were all over the place, things seemed to finally settle into place (left, environmentalist stance) around this time. Perhaps it took some contemplation of how greed could corrupt even the most idealistic people of '60s counterculture for Neil to make the leap. Angrily so. The album art: looks like dudes in a basement? In a garage? Neil and Crazy Horse are always some blurred, obscure, tough presence. And I love them for it. A-

Confession: I resisted listening to and reviewing this album for a while because I felt I had other priorities, but this was quite enjoyable! One of those albums that I'm sure would work for our algorithmic-playlist-friendly age if it wasn't for the band's tragically uncool name (I don't care how open your heart is, you gotta wince a little at the name Incredible Bongo Band; it doesn't read as "hidden gem.") It's definitely not seven-dollar-mocha-core, but a bar that does $18 cocktails and has bathrooms with fun, IG-ready wallpaper? For sure. You could see how hip-hop heads would take this and run with it. Listeners will note "Apache," which was once described as hip-hop's national anthem, as well as "Last Bongo in Belgium" which have both been used in iconic tracks from Grandmaster Flash and the Beastie Boys. But frankly, I'm surprised that someone like Quentin Tarantino didn't add a cut from 'Bongo Rock' to one of his already impressive soundtracks. One last sign to give this album a proper shot? Jim Gordon is the drummer. Jim Gordon, he of 'Layla' coda fame. Let's look up his Wikipedia pa--oh. B+ (but a sturdy B+)

It's almost perfect that this album could be the finest record of both 1979 AND 1980. Traversing eras as much as it traverses genres, subgenres, styles, moods, songwriters, vocalists, continents, and basically everything else. I've never considered this album to be one about motion and movement, but you do end up going to many places in 65 minutes, don't you? They say that travel is the only thing you spend money on that makes you richer, well, so does this album. It's all in the title: you're called to join at the global and historical nexus that is London, England, but from there, you're off. Anyway. This is as close to perfect as an album could get and such a massive step-up from the band's previous work, I almost wonder how shocking it must have been to receive 'London Calling' in its time. Think about it: the Clash was destined to be another faceless punk band, churning out the same three-chord song structures until something or someone literally stopped them. Instead, we are offered a musical family tree that demonstrates powerful songwriting chops in 19 songs that are all classics in their own right. I'll glance at the tracklist and think, "oh I don't immediately recall the melody for "The Right Profile" or "The Card Cheat." Maybe those are bum tracks after all." How sorely mistaken I am. "The Right Profile" has soaring horns and vocals that are imbued with so much delight at the subject matter, even if it does touch on the magnetic yet complicated Hollywood actor Montgomery Clift ("it's Montgomery Clift, honey!") It's almost as if Joe Strummer is laughing as he is singing. "The Card Cheat" may be the finest Bruce Springsteen song not written by Bruce Springsteen, with its deliberate pacing and triumphant, cresting-the-hill big-band chorus. And remember: these are the songs I THOUGHT were POSSIBLE skips. The remaining 17 songs are undoubtedly memorable and basically unimpeachable. The title track sounds exactly like a plane landing on the runway: a little wobbly and uneasy, but brimming with anticipation for whatever's next, mostly because it means the present moment has passed already. It introduces the album's theme of nuclear destruction ("the ice age is comin'/the sun is zoomin' in") and overall thesis statement. Creation is only made possible by destruction, but at what cost? What will be lost in the pursuit of innovation? This is why the 50s punkabilly cover of "Brand New Cadillac" is especially powerful as the second track and sleazy lounge jazz number "Jimmy Jazz" as the third track. "Jimmy Jazz" really sounds like a cigarette drooping down from a swollen mouth. Not to suggest that the album is sequenced to reference any sort of linear chronology. By track eight, we are already immersed in the liquid, crystalline guitars of 80's new wave (and late 70s disco unctuousness) with "Lost in the Supermarket" and 70s ska and regge with both "Wrong 'Em Boyo" and "Revolution Rock." Which brings us to the final track. Has an album ever ended on such a high as 'London Calling' has? Maybe a little album called 'Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band' with "A Day in the Life," but I know which track I've technically listened to more. "Train in Vain" may be a song that's 100 out of 100. A flawless pop song that describes heartbreak and the constant emotional yo-yo between sorrow and anger: "all the times that we were close/I'll remember these things the most/I see all my dreams come tumblin' down/I can't be happy without you around." The way that Mick Jones sings, "did you li-i-i-i-i-i-e when you spoke to me?" is the closest thing to a male sobbing on song as we'll ever get. There's nothing wrong with this song. Made all the more special if you listen to the original pressing of the record when it comes in as a secret and a surprise. I love this record. I've loved it for so long. The most iconic album art of them all. A+

Look, let's get one thing straight here: we all know Morrissey has lost the plot. I get that it's a betrayal and a shocking one at that. Imagine you went back in time and asked music fans which of these two singers would spew racist hatred and which would be actively challenging a world leader who himself spews racist hatred: Axl Rose or Morrissey? Funny how things work out. Anyway. The music. What we're here for. I should start by saying that this is not my favourite album of theirs (that would be 'Meat is Murder') but many smart people I know say this is their masterpiece. Even Christgau - a Smiths agnostic - says he had an "instant attraction" to this record. If you were to assemble a Greatest Hits compilation or a definitive Smiths playlist, I'd wager that a majority of the tracks would come from this album. Showcasing their wit and humour as much as their penchant for despair and melancholia ("I Know It's Over," "There Is A Light That Never Goes Out"), in 'The Queen is Dead,' you have memorable characters ("Frankly, Mr. Shankly" and "Vicar in a Tutu") and outstanding virtuosity (RIP to Andy Rourke, who makes the title track if you ask me), all awash in romantic and literary sensibilities from a one Stephen Patrick Morrissey. Possibly their artistic peak and certainly a good distillation of their sound, complete with a strong visual language that shows austere beauty. There are tiny moments on this album that really endear me to it, such as the noodling backing vocals on "Bigmouth Strikes Again" or the proto-Southwestern Meat Puppets-like vibe at the start of "Vicar in a Tutu." I for one don't hate the incongruity of the silly subject matter with the wistful musical accompaniment found on "Some Girls Are Bigger Than Others." The Smiths? Morrissey? Cheeky? How could this be? RIP Alain Delon, you made a great album cover. A-

If there is one subgenre I wish I knew more about, it's industrial music. I genuinely think that the fusion of electronic music and heavy metal is brilliant, but I lament at how it's been dumbed down by artists like Marilyn Manson. Who, I'm sorry, you cannot convince me is all that smart. The word that comes to mind when listening to 1992's 'Psalm 69' by Ministry is "pulverizing." The guitars and vocals grind everything down to a fine dust. There's a bit of levity on "Hero," which feels like the most overt example of trash metal on the album, it almost sounds like 'Ride the Lightning' era Metallica. An apt comparison when you consider the production which sounds paper-thin, with absolutely none of the intensity of a rich bottom-end. I thought this was an industrial band I was listening to. "Jesus Built My Hotrod" is so hilarious, of course the lead vocals are by Gibby Haynes from the Butthole Surfers. But if any song was meant to soundtrack a monster truck rally in the Appalachians, complete with spectators sporting tragic haircuts but genuine joie-de-vivre, it would be this. This is a compliment! Very creepy album art. A- (but a weak A-).

Hard to top the assessment in the album's liner notes (nicely written by Nat Hentoff): "this album presents Ray in two new contexts - as singer and pianist with a big band and as one of the most warmly personal and sensitive ballad singers of this generation." Many reviewers have rightly pointed out the bifurcated approach to this album, but what ties it together is a unique tenderness in Ray Charles' vocals and piano playing that highlights his so-called genius and his versatility. We know that Ray can squeal, shout, and yelp with the urgency of a gospel singer on fire (in fact, that might be where his real talents shine the best), but the romantic sensuality of songs such as "Tell Me You'll Wait For Me" or "It Had To Be You" could not be beat. Still, the languishingly arranged string and brass arrangements lead to attention veering off, so I can't quite say this is the definitive Ray Charles album, even if the title would have you believe that. But it's a great title! As is 'Modern Sounds in Country and Western Music' (also on this list, btw). It sounds like the title of a textbook or a serious, foundational text. As a sidenote: if you are curious as to how the film 'Ray' holds up 20 years after its release, then I can tell you: poorly. In fact, it was never good to begin with. B+

A foregone logical conclusion pushed to its extreme with stunning and hilarious results. Still, if you end up being the first ones there, you may as well show that it was plan decades in the making. And for producer, Rick Rubin, who had flirted with the fusion of hard rock and rap before, it certainly was. MCA, Ad-Rock, Mike D would have you believe that they're simply young, dumb, and full of cum, until you take a step back and realize that their wordplay, niche references, and memorable flow belie something much deeper with a greater understanding of storytelling craft. It's a shame that the audience at the time (and maybe for years after) didn't understand that they were being rightly skewered and parodied, but I can't quite blame them since the humour and levity are boundless here. Imagine living a life with so much privilege that the only right that you feel is being infringed on is your right to party. Yet, the statement works were removed from its subtext. A thrilling way to introduce yourselves to the world and show that you're only getting started. Incredible album art. A-

Can't say I've ever been all that interested to immerse myself in goth rock. If I need some brood and darkness with post-punk guitars, why not just go with Siouxsie Sioux and the Banshees? I don't know, goth rock and coldwave/darkwave always comes off as boring to me. A sound meant for bouncing off a dark concrete corridor with a fluorescent light flickering on the ceiling. The first half of the record lacks some energy. Personally, I found the last 20 seconds of "Lucretia My Reflection" as the most engaging. The drums and backing vocals (from The Gun Club's Patricia Morrison) for "This Corrosion" are pretty fun, however. I can picture this song being played in the end credits for an 80s exploitation horror flick. Cinematic quality from Jim Steinman? Groundbreaking! 'Floodland' may be one of those records that's actually backloaded, with "Flood II" adding some extra warmth to the otherwise cold atmosphere overall. But then we're back into the concrete undertow with the final two tracks. At least the album cover looks how the album sounds. B

If there is one artist I wish I knew more about, it's Elvis Costello. A fascinating case in which a punk rocker is literate enough to appreciate poets, jazz and blues musicians, but refuses to sacrifice any abrasion or humour or serious songwriting chops. He takes himself seriously enough - meaning not too much that he is an inaccessible bore but not too little in that he's just goofy and inept. Like Warren Zevon or Randy Newman, Elvis Costello may be "your favourite artist's favourite artist." It comes as no surprise to me that this was released as the same time as Paul McCartney's 'Tug of War,' which was engineered by Geoff Emerick who produced 'Imperial Bedroom.' The record has the same despairing British adult contemporary feel as 'The Pound Is Sinking,' a little surprising given that Elvis Costello was only 28 at the time. His youthful energy comes through in brief flashes, like in the charging guitar fade-in of "Man Out of Time." This song is great, by the way. Elvis displays stunning vocal work, especially on lines like, "nothing but an afterthought" or "there's a reputation to be made." Still, while I think the wall-of-sound treatment with shimmering acoustic guitars and drone-y sitar serve the song well, I wish there was more on the album that sounded like the final 8 seconds or so. "Little Savage" doesn't quite cut it per se. Where you want to be is deep in the lyric sheet (or Genius app or whatever). I know that Elvis Costello is a strong tunesmith, but he could have made a great novellist or short story writer. Musicians would simply kill to write lyrics as good as the ones in "Pidgin English" or "Human Hands." Am I dumb for liking the album art? Or just plain duped by a promise of sophisticated taste? B+

You know, for a band I would describe as "my second favourite," whose discography I have listened to front to back countless times, I find myself grasping at straws when asked to explain what makes them so special. The only thing I could posit is this: wiry and jittery with a funky-as-hell bottom end that was the band's secret weapon after all; they made the esoteric accessible and the mundane actually pretty wild when you stop and think about it. Titling an album 'More Songs About Buildings and Food' comes across as either a) lazy; b) dishonest; or c) so brutally honest that it leads you to explore and unpack your own reaction to it. This album marks the start of their collaboration with Brian Eno, who is responsible for cloudy background synths on "With Our Love" and "The Good Thing" and the needling, not-quite-highlife-but-give-it-a-couple-of-years-and-it-will-be-highlife guitar tone on "Found A Job" and "The Girls Want To Be With the Girls." Really, Brian Eno should be credited for helping define Talking Heads' musical innovation as much as the actual band members themselves (not sorry). As much as I like 'Speaking In Tongues,' there are some touches that I KNOW he could've added to strengthen the album, though I'll credit David, Tina, Chris, and Jerry for absorbing as much as they did and putting it into practice. But back to 'More Songs...' The thing I love most about the record is the way it feels, I don't know, more open? 'Talking Heads: 77' has such a deeply New York-claustrophobic atmosphere, but this album shows that they were a band in motion, casting their gaze forward past a horizon few other artists could see. One reviewer on RYM made an especially salient point about how the album cover demonstrates the band's awareness of the coming digital era with the hundreds of Polaroids resembling computer pixels (an idea that would be made more overt on 'Remain in Light.') At this stage, instead of paranoia, there was excitement at the possibility of how the digital era could open up the world. It feels like no coincidence that the sound on "Thank You For Sending Me An Angel," "I'm Not In Love," and "The Big Country" sound so wide and expansive. I could see why The Ramones (another band I love) were annoyed as hell with Talking Heads. A song like "I'm Not In Love" showed them that they could do punk just as well without needing to dumb anything down or resist any ambition. Yes, it's a pretty simple song structure, but it sure takes a tried-and-true formula and turns it on its head through the employment of soft-loud dynamics and paper-shredder guitars buzzing throughout. "Take it easy, baby, don't let your feelings get in the way." Maybe David Byrne could have said, "fuck you," but that would be the moron's way out. Speaking of David Byrne, I know he has become some sort of Gen Z idol as of late, but if anyone deserves a pat on the back, it's Chris Frantz. A Southern boy who could read the writing on the wall before any of 'em about the rise of hip-hop and rap music. That slow, lugubrious drum beat on their cover of Al Green's "Take Me To the River" sets the stage for a swampy-sounding, sweltering affair in which lust and baptism are interchangeable. That bottom end I was talking about? Only made possible because of Frantz's love and appreciation of American Black music. I may be mistaken, but including this cover on live sets may have been Frantz's idea, and including this cover on the album was definitely Eno's. Lovely album art. A sign of what eventually did come. A

My unproven theory is that 'Natty Dread' may be the finest showcase of Bob Marley's understanding of how the voice - literal, figurative, symbolic, political - can still connect despite a lack of traditional melodies, choruses, and songwriting structure. Think about it: apart from "No Woman, No Cry," there really isn't any a catchy tune on the record. And yet, his singing on "Lively Up Yourself" is probably the most triumphant and expressive they've ever been and in total communion with his backing singers the I-Threes. Despite the lyrical images of unrest and agitation (there literally is a song called "Revolution"), it is a laid-back vibes-based affair, musically speaking, without clear Marleyesque hooks (apart from the aforementioned "No Woman, No Cry," which was perfected on the 'Live!' record from 1975.) I suppose that would be expected in this transitional period following the departure of Bunny Livingston and Peter Tosh. Of course the album art would consist of Bob, clearly head and shoulders above the world. A-

One of those albums that I'm sure was designed with AM radio in mind so that the songs could retain mystique as being out-of-world, out-of-time transmissions that would haunt you in the middle of the night and basically disappear in a puff of smoke. If Dr. John meant nothing to you before this record, he will surely mean something now. Indelible and beguiling, his 1968 debut record 'Gris-Gris' is a bubbling witches' cauldron of New Orleans R&B with touches of zydeco and proto-freak folk. The opening track "Gris Gris Gumbo Ya Ya" is an introduction to the mind and persona of Dr. John (a real voodoo witch doctor in New Orleans by way of Haiti) complete with a cavern-like atmosphere of shrill mandolin and a warbling electric guitar that sounds more like a swampy mosquito buzz swerving around your orbit. "Danse Kalinda Da Boom" opens with a sudden pounding percussive sequence, like a knock on a wooden door, in order to usher in a wordless yet hypnotic chant interlaced with a spidery mandolin and organ. The two songs in succession make the enduring impact of "Mama Roux" so strong, like drinking something to settle your stomach. A genuinely beautiful organ accompaniment with a breezy "chica chica, chica chica" from the backing vocalists, a song meant for tender and intimate sway. The second side is where things get even more loose, with smoky saxophones and extended psychedelic descents, especially on the final track "I Walk On Gilded Splinters." One of those album covers that look exactly how the record sounds: X-rated New Orleans mixed with Giallo red lighting in a dark swamp straight on Dr. John who is more spirit than man. A-

In which one of the greatest American songwriters (whose sensibility has stymied his contemporaries but endear him to those seeking a "secret third thing" to Bob Dylan or Leonard Cohen; not that Paul Simon doesn't have a literary sensibility, he certainly does) offers a universally-derided work about pushing 40. Honestly, I would say that 'Hearts and Bones' from 1983 represents a critical moment in Paul Simon's career in which he owns up to being an older person in the world with older-person-problems (ie. divorce, death of peers, allergies) and in doing so ages better than all of the other 60s boomer songwriters combined. Perhaps this style of sophisti-pop dreadfully awash in stiff and dated 80s sonics isn't Paul's bag. But the highlights on this albums could maybe stand with Paul's best solo work? Maybe? If I'm creating a compilation of Paul Simon's best tunes, the title track absolutely deserves a spot on the back half. And "Think Too Much (A)" is another stunning lyrical showcase from one of the greats: "I had a childhood that was mercifully brief." Sometimes I think Paul Simon could've made a great novelist or short story writer, but then again, the top-line melodies he is able to construct clearly show he is a born musician. B+