When I decided to commit to listening to all the albums on this list from start to finish, I was fully aware that there would be some releases I’d find challenging and others for which I’m simply not the intended audience. What I didn’t anticipate, however, was encountering a Limp Bizkit album—let alone this one. Let’s get the album title out of the way first: Chocolate Starfish and the Hot Dog Flavored Water. It’s based on a joke so puerile that even Beavis & Butt-Head might roll their eyes. As for the cover art, it baffles me to this day how no one in the band’s immediate orbit—whether management, the label, or even the guy selling t-shirts—pulled Fred Durst aside and said, “Look, man, this is embarrassing. Maybe we can put some of the 'Significant Other' dollars towards something a little less... awful.” But as the old saying goes, "Don’t judge an album by its questionable cover." So let’s talk about the music. Nu-metal was a curious phenomenon of the early 2000s, and to be fair, this music was everywhere for a while. I was once an angry teen too and while the music doesn’t speak to me as much today, there are a few releases from the likes of Deftones or System of a Down that I’d gladly revisit. Unfortunately, this isn’t the album that best represents the genre—or even this band. Let’s highlight the high points: "My Generation" (not a Who cover), "My Way" (not a Frank Sinatra cover), "Take a Look Around" (not a Temptations cover), and "Rollin’" (not a Tina Turner cover). These singles were omnipresent in 2000, so I had some ingrained familiarity, and I was surprised to find them still enjoyable. They showcase some unexpectedly strong songwriting, great musicianship, and some of Durst's most memorable deliveries. But beyond these hits, the rest of the album is a mixed bag. Tracks like "Hot Dog" and "Full Nelson" lean heavily into aggression but feel repetitive after the initial shock value wears off. "Livin' It Up" lacks the cohesion of more successful genre crossovers, and "Getcha Groove On" sees the band experimenting with hip-hop elements, though the result feels more like a novelty than a serious blend of genres. "Boiler" stands out with a darker, more brooding tone, showcasing a more introspective side, while "Hold On" provides a rare moment of restraint, even if it doesn’t quite stick the landing. Tracks like "The One" offer some variety, but they ultimately get lost in the album’s overwhelming reliance on loud, chaotic energy. The band's tendency to crank everything up to eleven often detracts from the overall experience, making some tracks feel exhausting rather than engaging. By the album's end, the lack of dynamic range makes it difficult to remember any one individual track. The riffs blend into one another, and the reliance on copy-paste distorted guitar tones feels extremely dated today. Then there’s Fred Durst. Lyrically, he operates in three modes: pissed off, really pissed off, and really really pissed off. This would be fine if the words or music were particularly memorable, but too often it comes across as whiny self-agrandization. While I believe Durst’s delivery, vocal timbre, and sheer exuberance actually suit the genre, the problem is that he rarely has much to say on this release. The now infamous (over)use of the F-word becomes numbing after a while, its impact diluted to the point of irrelevance. Now that I’ve sat through all 74 minutes of this album, I’ll admit I didn’t hate it as much as I expected. It’s certainly not the worst album I’ve encountered on this list. I suspect it was hastily included out of fear of missing out on a cultural phenomenon during Limp Bizkit’s peak, suggesting Dimery and his team are not immune to passing cultural fads. But it raises a bigger question: what was the purpose of this album in 2000 beyond cashing in on the success of 'Significant Other'? And perhaps more importantly, why would anyone listen to it now? If you’re after nu-metal anthems or crunchy riffs with real bite, there are far better options from this era that have stood the test of time. Unfortunately or fortunately depending on your viewpoint, *Chocolate Starfish* just isn’t one of them. Did/Do I own this release? No Does this release belong on the list? No Would this release make my personal list? Never Will I be listening to it again? Hopefully not

First of all, credit where credit is due: an album doesn’t sell over 31 million copies without extreme talent and widespread appeal. What’s often overlooked is that 21 was released on the indie label XL Recordings. While Adele’s debut, and especially "Chasing Pavements," hinted at potential, no one could have predicted the stratospheric success of 21. Today, it’s hard to separate the album from its overwhelming cultural presence. These songs—still omnipresent on playlists, soundtracks, and radio—remain as epic and timeless as they were a decade ago. Despite the numerous high-profile collaborations, Adele retains songwriting credits on most tracks, but crucially, she makes it feel like no one else in the world could ever sing these songs. The opener, "Rolling in the Deep," remains one of the best tracks recorded this century, blending gospel and blues in a way that was both fresh and unexpected from her at the time. The retro-inflected "Rumour Has It" follows a similar path, its rhythm-driven, almost Motown feel makes it immediately memorable. It suffers solely from being in the shadow of such an electrifying opener. The album's main issue is that as it proceeds, the tracks become less memorable. While "Set Fire to the Rain" and the closer "Someone Like You" certainly keep up the emotional intensity and songwriting quality, they shift toward more straightforward pop territory. As Adele dives deeper into heartbreak and lost love, some tracks feel less impactful. The vocal performance is (obviously) flawless, but certain songs play it a bit too safe. Rick Rubin’s involvement had my expectations high, but his contributions, unfortunately, fall short. His work, on the tepid cover of The Cure’s "Lovesong" for example, lacks the spark it could have achieved considering the people in the room. Rubin’s production feels overly reverential and flat here. Did/Do I own this release? No Does it belong on the list? Absolutely, given its massive cultural impact Would it make my personal list? No Will I listen to it again? Whether I want to or not, I’ll hear these songs again soon. 21 is everywhere.

To this day, I’m not sure why, but an older kid I vaguely knew took me aside and handed me the first two A Tribe Called Quest albums in the locker room at school. "Listen to these, give them back when you’re done." At the time, these albums were unlike anything I’d ever heard—instant classics. The Low End Theory in particular was a revelation, with its deep basslines, minimalist beats, and live jazz instrumentation offering a sound that was both raw and smooth. It broke away from the heavier, sample-driven style of its era, creating something that instantly felt timeless. The heart of the album is the incredible chemistry between Q-Tip and Phife Dawg. Tip’s laid-back, cerebral flow perfectly complements Phife’s punchy, no-nonsense delivery. Their synergy is effortless, shining brightest on tracks like “Check the Rhime,” where they bounce off each other with precision and style. As for its legacy, The Low End Theory reshaped 90s hip-hop, proving the genre could be introspective without losing its edge. And let’s not forget—it introduced the world to Busta Rhymes, whose explosive verse on “Scenario” set the stage for his breakout. Those CDs still sit in my collection. The guy never asked for them back, and it’s become a running joke for me to message him every few years on social media to ask if he wants them returned. Did/Do I own this release? Kinda still do Does this release belong on the list? For sure Would this release make my personal list? Definitely Will I be listening to it again? No question

(BTW: Spotify mistakenly lists this as a compilation, while Apple Music correctly labels it as the original 1957 album.) Fats Domino, revered by everyone from Elvis to the Beatles, often doesn’t get the full credit he deserves today, despite his immense influence. This Is Fats Domino! was released in 1957, and though it may sound neat and polished now, it was groundbreaking at the time—anti-establishment music that got tongues wagging and hips shaking. Standout tracks like "Blueberry Hill" and "Blue Monday" capture Domino at his best—smooth vocals, irresistible piano rolls, and a blend of blues and early rock that defined an era. These songs shaped the sound of rock and roll, making waves far beyond the R&B scene. The album's influence still echoes in today's music. Whether in piano-driven pop or the evolution of rock, Domino's impact is unmistakable. And as an aside, “Fats Domino” remains one of the greatest stage names in music history—perfectly fitting his larger-than-life sound and persona. Domino’s legacy is undeniable. He crossed musical and racial boundaries, influencing everyone from rock legends to modern pop stars. This Is Fats Domino! is a cornerstone of that legacy, a reminder of just how revolutionary his music was. Did/Do I own this release? My dad had some compilation or other. Does this release belong on the list? It is time Fats Domino gets more respect. Would this release make my personal list? Perhaps too dated now for my definitive list, but never say never. Will I be listening to it again? In the right setting, this is a no-brainer.

A classic in so many ways. So many memorable lines and a great snapshot of who Biggie was, before all the posthumous releases started popping out.

A classic in so many ways. So many memorable lines and a great snapshot of who Biggie was, before all the posthumous releases started popping out.

Albums are often referred to as "seminal", but in the case of Doolittle this word rings true. The singles "Here Comes Your Man" and "Debaser" were delicious, but it is on tracks "Hey" and "Gouge Away" that the band set up the blueprint for much of the music that was to come in the first half of the 90s. When Kim Deal and Frank Blacks voice come together the satisfaction is similar to when you manage to zip your coat up with just a hand in one go.

Perhaps this is one of those "you had to be there" albums. While "Take It Easy" is undeniably a great track that has truly stood the test of time, the rest of the album feels a bit inconsistent and incohesive at times. Tracks like "Nightingale," "Witchy Woman," and "Tryin'" are solid rockier numbers that showcase the band's potential, but they aren't enough to carry the entire album. One of the standout features of the album is the vocal harmonies, which are undoubtedly a highlight. However, there are moments where they feel overdone, as if the band was playing with a new toy and couldn't resist using it at every turn. It's hard for me to fully grasp the appeal of the Eagles (both the album and the band) when considering that contemporaries like The Byrds, Buffalo Springfield, and The Allman Brothers Band were exploring similar musical territories around the same period but with more originality and intrigue. While the Eagles would go on to achieve legendary status, this debut album feels more like a band finding its footing rather than one that has already arrived.

I was familiar with Solomon Burke's name before but hadn't delved into this album until recently. To modern ears, the production might come across as a bit cutesy, and the mix between soul and rock could seem tame. However, considering its historical context, Rock 'N' Soul has a lot to offer. Burke’s commanding vocals shine throughout, with particular highlights being "Cry To Me" and "If You Need Me." These tracks exemplify Burke's ability to convey deep emotion and showcase the album's enduring appeal.

Are You Experienced is a powerful debut and a thrilling introduction to Jimi Hendrix's groundbreaking sound. Even after 60 years, his guitar playing remains utterly compelling, with tracks like "Purple Haze," "Hey Joe," "Highway Chile," "Fire," and the iconic "Foxey Lady" still shining bright. The musicianship from all three band members is outstanding, but it's Hendrix's charisma that truly bursts out of the speakers. However, the album can feel a bit disjointed, especially in the extended remaster versions available on DSPs. While the experimental tracks may have been revolutionary at the time, some may now come across as meandering, affecting the album's pacing and making it feel slightly on the long side.

Joplin is an icon, and "Pearl" serves as both a showcase of her considerable talent and a tribute to her enduring legacy. "Cry Baby," "Me and Bobby McGee," and "Mercedes Benz" are standout moments, but the entire album has aged remarkably well in terms of songwriting, performance, and pacing, offering a poignant glimpse into what might have been. The inclusion of the instrumental "Buried Alive In The Blues" further heightens the sense of loss, reminding us of the unique voice and true legend we lost too soon.

Blood and Chocolate isn’t an easy listen, but it’s ultimately a rewarding one. The decision to record live with minimal polish, combined with the band’s palpable tension, results in a satisfyingly abrasive aesthetic. However, without this context, listeners may feel alienated. I urge them to persevere. While this might not be an album I’ll revisit often, it’s deepened my respect for Costello and The Attractions.

"New Gold Dream" undeniably captures the essence of its era, and while this isn’t intended as a dismissive comment, it’s clear that its sound is very much a product of the early 80s. At the time of its release, the album likely felt innovative and boundary-pushing. However, with over four decades having passed, its distinct 80s sound can sometimes blend into the broader sonic landscape of the decade. In hindsight, other albums and singles from that period have left a more lasting impression on me. That said, the album isn’t without its merits. The bass lines are particularly impressive and add a compelling groove throughout. Jim Kerr’s vocals are a standout feature, conveying a positive and uplifting mood that pervades the lyrics. While "New Gold Dream" may not be one I’m eager to rush out and buy on vinyl, there are certainly a few tracks that I’ll return to from time to time for their standout qualities.

It's hard to separate Happy Mondays' music from the lore surrounding the band, particularly the infamous stories around their fourth album, which helped bankrupt Factory Records. Based on Bummed, it's puzzling how they even made it to a fourth release, or how their much sharper, lauded third album followed just two years later. Normally, I'm drawn to leftfield releases, but Bummed feels like it's pushing boundaries simply for the sake of it. The production is disjointed, the jangly guitar choices are grating, and Shaun Ryder’s vocals—typically a highlight—lack the impact you’d expect. This sounds like a band throwing things at the wall to see what sticks, and that chaotic approach is evident throughout. Ultimately, Bummed is an unfocused experiment best left behind. Give it a miss.

I’m generally indifferent to live albums. To truly enjoy one, you need to be a big fan of the artist, or at least recognize a good number of tracks. Even with concerts I’ve attended, I often find that these recordings fail to capture the electricity of the live setting or those unexpected moments that make a performance memorable. I’ll admit that I’m not a huge Thin Lizzy connoisseur, so I already fail my own test for enjoying this kind of album. However, I did see the band in Hammersmith several years ago—though, bizarrely, none of the original members were part of the lineup. What stood out most from that show was how the big hits translated effortlessly across decades, with both old-school fans and relative newcomers (like me) screaming along at the top of our lungs. Some of the deeper cuts were harder to connect with, especially without the context longtime fans bring. The same applies to Live and Dangerous. When the highs hit, they really hit—tracks like The Boys Are Back in Town and Jailbreak still pack a serious punch. But other parts of the album passed me by, lacking the same impact. Still, when those highs come along, the rush is undeniable. The ongoing debate, fueled by producer Tony Visconti, over whether the album consists of 75% overdubs or "just" 25% adds some intrigue, but at least guarantees the mixes are consistently strong. I suspect Live and Dangerous is included in 1001 Albums to Hear Before You Die more for its historical importance than for the recording itself. And if I’m being honest, I don’t see myself sitting down and thinking, “Ah, let me put on that live Thin Lizzy record.” Yet, I’m glad to have been exposed to it and appreciate its place in rock history, offering a new perspective on a legendary band.

The combination of folk, psychedelia, and the occasional mariachi element shouldn't work on paper. In addition, this album was recorded on analogue equipment, and the potential for mishaps was huge. Perhaps due to this eclecticism, the album did not achieve commercial success upon its release. It may have been a case of rotten luck, or perhaps the music industry wasn’t ready for something so unconventional. Fortunately, Forever Changes is now receiving all the retrospective praise it deserves. While it's easy to place the album alongside its late '60s contemporaries, it stands out from the crowd. This distinction could be due to the lush orchestral arrangements that appear throughout or possibly Bryan MacLean and Arthur Lee's tendency to take melodies in wholly unexpected directions—even after you've heard the songs multiple times. Additionally, there's a dark undercurrent to much of the material, setting it in sharp contrast to the more idealistic and hopeful releases of the era. Though Arthur Lee wrote the majority of the songs, Forever Changes feels incredibly cohesive, with the occasional input from Bryan MacLean adding a subtle yet distinct flavour. It's an album I can return to time and time again, and its layered complexity makes each listen feel fresh.

When I think of Serge Gainsbourg, I’m immediately reminded of the surreal TV tribute by Les Petits Chanteurs d’Asnières—a children’s choir dressed in dark shades, each holding a fake cigarette and a glass of "whiskey," belting out one of Gainsbourg's hits. Meanwhile, a teary-eyed Gainsbourg chain-smokes real cigarettes as he watches. Bizarre barely begins to describe it. This odd tribute captures Gainsbourg’s world—one that feels completely culturally, ideologically, and musically alien to me. Histoire de Melody Nelson treads a similarly mystifying line, presenting the unsettling story of a middle-aged man (played by Gainsbourg) infatuated with a 15-year-old girl (played by the very much of-age Jane Birkin). Even by the standards of the '60s and '70s, this was a taboo subject. Viewed through today’s lens, it can provoke strong repulsion, a reaction that is entirely understandable- and even justified. Yet, this perspective risks conflating the art with its disturbing themes. Much like Anthony Hopkins' chilling portrayal of Hannibal Lecter in The Silence of the Lambs, the protagonist of Histoire de Melody Nelson is not meant to be sympathetic, yet his story remains compelling. The Silence of the Lambs excels through its taut storytelling, masterful pacing, and relentless psychological tension, rendering Lecter’s monstrous nature both horrifying and fascinating. Similarly, Histoire de Melody Nelson captivates with its seductive orchestration and avant-garde arrangements, even as the narrative unfolds in a morally troubling manner. Musically, the album is a tour de force, with Jean-Claude Vannier’s brilliant arrangements at the forefront. The lush string sections, combined with funky basslines and jazzy percussion, create an intoxicating contrast between elegance and raw emotion. Each track transitions seamlessly into the next, crafting a cinematic experience that feels like a fever dream—unsettling yet beautiful. Vannier’s orchestration is both grand and minimal, featuring moments of baroque splendour that draw the listener deeper into the album’s strange world. Jane Birkin’s voice, with its suitably lustful and breathy delivery, perfectly embodies the naive yet seductive character of Melody. The synergy of Gainsbourg’s murky storytelling, Vannier’s lush instrumentation, and Birkin’s ethereal performance make Histoire de Melody Nelson an album where the music itself is as compelling and provocative as the story it tells. The album’s innovative use of strings and its brooding, cinematic quality can be heard in the work of Trip Hop acts like Portishead and fellow Frenchmen Air, who similarly blend melancholic orchestration with moody, atmospheric textures. Gainsbourg’s fusion of orchestral grandeur with modern sounds laid the groundwork, making Histoire de Melody Nelson not just a product of its time but a lasting influence on the evolution of experimental and genre-blending music. Does this album belong on the list in my opinion: Yes Would this album make my own list: No Will I be listening to it again: Infrequently

When the Fugees broke out, it seemed to come out of nowhere (though, in truth, they had been working behind the scenes for years), and the overwhelming success of The Score caught everyone by surprise—including, I suspect, the three members themselves. As a result, the album radiates bold energy and youthful confidence. At the time of its release, Wyclef was 26, Pras 23, and Lauryn Hill just 20. This enthusiasm translates into an album that feels both raw and assured. The trio doesn’t just showcase their lyrical abilities; they tackle deeper issues like systemic racism, police brutality, and social inequality—topics not always front and center in 90s hip-hop. Lauryn Hill’s ability to switch effortlessly between soulful singing and incisive rapping is particularly striking, while Wyclef’s genre-blending production pushed the boundaries of what hip-hop could sound like. The Score is packed with memorable hooks and instantly quotable lines. Covering two iconic tracks—“Killing Me Softly with His Song” and “No Woman, No Cry”—was a risky move, but the Fugees infused both with their distinct style, making them feel fresh and personal. However, the album’s real strength lies in the consistency of its original tracks, a rarity at a time when listeners couldn’t preview songs before buying the full CD. Tracks like “Ready or Not”, "Fu-Gee-La" and “How Many Mics” not only became 90s hip-hop staples but also highlighted the group’s tight lyrical interplay. With the benefit of hindsight, we now know this would be the Fugees' final release. While the individual members went on to varying degrees of solo success, it’s hard not to wonder what more they could have achieved together. Did I own this release? Yes Does this release belong on the list: Yes Would this release make my own list: Yes Will I be listening to it again: Yes

When I decided to commit to listening to all the albums on this list from start to finish, I was fully aware that there would be some releases I’d find challenging and others for which I’m simply not the intended audience. What I didn’t anticipate, however, was encountering a Limp Bizkit album—let alone this one. Let’s get the album title out of the way first: Chocolate Starfish and the Hot Dog Flavored Water. It’s based on a joke so puerile that even Beavis & Butt-Head might roll their eyes. As for the cover art, it baffles me to this day how no one in the band’s immediate orbit—whether management, the label, or even the guy selling t-shirts—pulled Fred Durst aside and said, “Look, man, this is embarrassing. Maybe we can put some of the 'Significant Other' dollars towards something a little less... awful.” But as the old saying goes, "Don’t judge an album by its questionable cover." So let’s talk about the music. Nu-metal was a curious phenomenon of the early 2000s, and to be fair, this music was everywhere for a while. I was once an angry teen too and while the music doesn’t speak to me as much today, there are a few releases from the likes of Deftones or System of a Down that I’d gladly revisit. Unfortunately, this isn’t the album that best represents the genre—or even this band. Let’s highlight the high points: "My Generation" (not a Who cover), "My Way" (not a Frank Sinatra cover), "Take a Look Around" (not a Temptations cover), and "Rollin’" (not a Tina Turner cover). These singles were omnipresent in 2000, so I had some ingrained familiarity, and I was surprised to find them still enjoyable. They showcase some unexpectedly strong songwriting, great musicianship, and some of Durst's most memorable deliveries. But beyond these hits, the rest of the album is a mixed bag. Tracks like "Hot Dog" and "Full Nelson" lean heavily into aggression but feel repetitive after the initial shock value wears off. "Livin' It Up" lacks the cohesion of more successful genre crossovers, and "Getcha Groove On" sees the band experimenting with hip-hop elements, though the result feels more like a novelty than a serious blend of genres. "Boiler" stands out with a darker, more brooding tone, showcasing a more introspective side, while "Hold On" provides a rare moment of restraint, even if it doesn’t quite stick the landing. Tracks like "The One" offer some variety, but they ultimately get lost in the album’s overwhelming reliance on loud, chaotic energy. The band's tendency to crank everything up to eleven often detracts from the overall experience, making some tracks feel exhausting rather than engaging. By the album's end, the lack of dynamic range makes it difficult to remember any one individual track. The riffs blend into one another, and the reliance on copy-paste distorted guitar tones feels extremely dated today. Then there’s Fred Durst. Lyrically, he operates in three modes: pissed off, really pissed off, and really really pissed off. This would be fine if the words or music were particularly memorable, but too often it comes across as whiny self-agrandization. While I believe Durst’s delivery, vocal timbre, and sheer exuberance actually suit the genre, the problem is that he rarely has much to say on this release. The now infamous (over)use of the F-word becomes numbing after a while, its impact diluted to the point of irrelevance. Now that I’ve sat through all 74 minutes of this album, I’ll admit I didn’t hate it as much as I expected. It’s certainly not the worst album I’ve encountered on this list. I suspect it was hastily included out of fear of missing out on a cultural phenomenon during Limp Bizkit’s peak, suggesting Dimery and his team are not immune to passing cultural fads. But it raises a bigger question: what was the purpose of this album in 2000 beyond cashing in on the success of 'Significant Other'? And perhaps more importantly, why would anyone listen to it now? If you’re after nu-metal anthems or crunchy riffs with real bite, there are far better options from this era that have stood the test of time. Unfortunately or fortunately depending on your viewpoint, *Chocolate Starfish* just isn’t one of them. Did/Do I own this release? No Does this release belong on the list? No Would this release make my personal list? Never Will I be listening to it again? Hopefully not

If you took all the Ramones, Misfits, and Cramps t-shirts in the world and piled them up horizontally, you could reach the moon and back three times. I completely made that stat up, but the fact that it feels vaguely believable shows just how ubiquitous these bands—or rather, their logos—have become. While all three are rooted in punk, share a fascination with the macabre, and have been portrayed as oddball figures, it’s The Cramps who, at least to my ears, have the least accessible sound. Let’s get it out of the way: The Cramps are weird and chaotic. Not exactly what you’d put on while driving your grandmother to run errands. But if we were to measure an artist's worth solely by their appeal to octogenarians, not many albums would make the cut. For those of us who thrive on weird and chaotic, Songs The Lord Taught Us is the perfect way to occasionally let loose. The album takes 1950s rock and surf music, injects an (un)healthy dose of horror movie schtick, and creates a sound that, even 40-plus years later, feels a bit left of centre. It’s Halloween music that you can (and should) play year-round, with its spooky atmosphere and campy, theatrical energy. Reverb-heavy guitars and Lux Interior's echoing, wild vocals make parts of this album sound unhinged—in the best possible way. While the psychotic surf rock vibe might get a bit exhausting over a full album, this record inspired a long list of modern acts, including The White Stripes, Queens of the Stone Age, Nick Cave, Ty Segall, and The Hives. For me, that’s a net positive. Did/Do I own this release? No Does this release belong on the list? YES Would this release make my personal list? If I am being honest, probably not Will I be listening to it again? infrequently.

Steely Dan always seemed like one of those bands with a towering reputation in the United States but less recognition elsewhere. I knew the name but didn’t think I knew the music—until I hit play on Can't Buy a Thrill and instantly recognized so many of the tracks. These songs have not just shown up in countless soundtracks; they’ve become classics of their era, woven into the fabric of 70s rock. In my mind, few bands have delivered an opening one-two punch as tight as “Do It Again” and “Dirty Work,” especially on a debut. On paper, this kind of ultra-smooth 70s sound and slick production shouldn’t be my thing, but the technical proficiency, unpredictable arrangements, and sheer quality of songwriting had me hooked. I ended up playing the album a few times on repeat without even realizing it. Maybe this is a sign I’m getting older, but there are times when I just want to sit back and relax with guitar music, rather than be pummeled by riffs. Can't Buy a Thrill isn’t short on big moments—just listen to the solos in “Reelin’ In the Years” or “Change of the Guard”—but these moments feel like part of the bigger picture, rather than the main attraction. What I liked best was the balance between accessible, feel-good tracks and hidden complexities. This is music you can enjoy or obsess over, depending on your mood. I fully understand how this album became a cornerstone of 70s rock and how it began to cement Steely Dan's place in the Rock and Roll pantheon. Did/Do I own this release? No Does this release belong on the list? Yes Would this release make my personal list? strong candidate Will I be listening to it again? for sure

At a time when rock bands seemed to name themselves like law firms, CSN added a new partner in Neil Young. His arrival brought another dimension to the band’s already stellar songwriting and live performances, though it came with Young's famed unpredictability and headstrong attitude. Having already watched Young dismantle Buffalo Springfield, Stephen Stills should have known better—but Young’s musical chops clearly outweighed the risks. Given the towering egos, volatile relationships, and an infamously scattered recording process, it’s a miracle Déjà Vu was recorded at all—and even more remarkable how accomplished it sounds. The album flows seamlessly, with songwriting and singing duties shared almost equally (Stills x3, Crosby x2, Nash x2, Young x2, plus one cover). Stills brought technical precision and rock sensibilities, Crosby offered dreamy, freeform experimentation, Nash delivered polished, melodic pop, and Young added raw emotion and introspective grit. Together, they pushed each other to raise their game, allowing every member’s strengths to shine. Déjà Vu contains some of Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young's most accomplished and memorable songs as a band and as individuals—no small feat, given the stellar careers each of them had. Did/Do I own this release? No, but I should Does this release belong on the list? Yes Would this release make my personal list? Yes Will I be listening to it again? Yes

Tank Battles offers a unique blend of avant-garde cabaret, political folk, and classical music. Dagmar Krause takes on the compositions of Hanns Eisler, whose work was rooted in protest and resistance. Her intense, theatrical delivery suits the stark, socially charged lyrics, while Greg Cohen’s sharp production brings out the tension in these minimalist, cabaret-like arrangements. The musicianship is flawless, adding depth to an already weighty album. The historical relevance of Tank Battles is undeniable. The universal themes of war, oppression, and resistance still resonate, and its rarity gives the album a special allure. For this reason it fully deserves its place in 1001 Albums You Must Hear Before You Die. Krause brings immense gravitas and theatricality to these tracks, making the material feel both urgent and timeless. That said, the album’s length—26 tracks in total—can make it feel overwhelming. Even with many short compositions, the experience is a bit long-winded. Krause’s teutonic vocal delivery, while powerful, can also be jarring for some listeners, coming across as more confrontational than melodic. This starkness makes the album feel more like a political statement than a traditional listening experience. In the right setting, Tank Battles can be gripping and eye-opening, but it’s not a go-to album for casual or repeated listens. Despite its impressive achievements, this is more of an album you appreciate for its impact rather than one you turn to for musical enjoyment. While it’s certainly thought-provoking and historically important, it’s not an album I find myself eager to revisit any time soon. Did/Do I own this release? No Does this release belong on the list? if the aim is to include a multitude of genres and eras then yes Would this release make my personal list? doubtful Will I be listening to it again? rarely

As one of the latest additions to 1001 Albums to Hear Before You Die, it’s easy to be sceptical of Grey Area. Don’t be. In just 36 minutes, Little Simz delivers a masterclass in lyrical precision over a simultaneously modern and timeless production that fuses jazz flourishes with the grit of hip-hop and grime. The inclusion of live instrumentation adds a fresh dynamic. Tackling relationships, the struggles of adulthood, and mental health, Simz remains assertive throughout, dropping truth bombs with confidence—even when confronting the darkest moments. Did/Do I own this release? No Does this release belong on the list? No Would this release make my personal list? Strong candidate Will I be listening to it again? For sure

Divorced from the context of Nick Drake's life, Pink Moon is a hauntingly intimate album with consistently gorgeous songwriting. The title track opens with a delicate piano flourish, but from then on, the album is stripped down to just vocals and guitar. Drake’s playing and singing are flawless throughout, lending a sense of raw vulnerability to the record. With songs like “Place to Be” and “Things Behind the Sun,” the album reaches moments of truly heartbreaking beauty. Each track is minimal yet powerful, revealing layers of melancholy and introspection. Knowing how little attention all his releases received at the time, Drake’s documented depression, and his untimely death, Pink Moon transforms into a masterpiece—a quiet, yet devastating farewell. It doesn't surprise me that its influence has only grown over time. Did/Do I own this release? No Does this release belong on the list? Yes Would this release make my personal list? Yes Will I be listening to it again? Yes

First, a word on the truly ghastly album cover. These days, you can overlay an image in seconds using a phone app, but back then, you had to put in serious effort to create this kind of mess... and don't even get me started on the font. Based on the visuals alone, I wanted to hate this album, but I've learned never to dismiss a project involving David Crosby and his friends. If I Could Only Remember My Name feels like one of those extended jam sessions countless musicians (professional or otherwise) have been part of—except when Crosby called his friends, they included Joni Mitchell, members of Jefferson Airplane, Jerry Garcia, parts of the Grateful Dead, and his on-again, off-again partners in CSNY. Still mourning the tragic loss of his girlfriend Christine Hinton, the album carries a contemplative tone, tinged with melancholy. Yet, thanks to the beauty of the melodies, it’s not a heartbreaking listen—there’s room for optimism. Perhaps it’s the laid-back, improvisational nature of the recording, but many moments feel more cathartic than self-pitying. The opener, “Music Is Love,” is a breezy, hopeful track that sets the tone with its simple acoustic strumming and communal vibe. Crosby’s signature harmonies are on full display, with Jerry Garcia’s contribution on “Laughing” standing out as a haunting reflection on searching for meaning. “I’d Swear There Was Somebody Here,” a wordless vocal piece that still says so much, captures the album’s spiritual core, while “What Are Their Names” channels an eerie atmosphere through its minimalist, improvised feel. Even the longer tracks deliver their core motifs and fade out gracefully before overstaying their welcome. While the album’s looseness means I won’t return to it often—especially given that this isn’t a genre I frequently explore—I can appreciate its significance and am glad it’s been rightly reevaluated. I can definitely hear this album’s influence in the music of Bon Iver and Sufjan Stevens. Did/Do I own this release? No. Does it belong on the list? Yes. Would it make my personal list? I enjoyed it more than expected, but there are other releases in this niche that feel more representative of the genre. Will I listen again? In the right setting, sure.

Considered the best of the three albums Buffalo Springfield released between 1966 and 1968, Buffalo Springfield Again showcases a band that was increasingly fractured, with three key songwriters often composing and recording their own pieces in isolation. The result is occasionally disjointed, with styles and instrumentation not always reflecting what came before. Despite its unevenness, the standout moments more than compensate for its rougher patches. The album is particularly notable for marking the emergence of Neil Young as the singular songwriter we now know and love, along with the well-documented social awkwardness (borderline misanthropy) he has displayed throughout his career. Young at times simply didn't show up for group sessions, yet the four songs he contributes are exceptional. Mr. Soul, with its raw, gritty energy and biting commentary on fame, captures Young’s discomfort with the spotlight. Meanwhile, Broken Arrow is an ambitious, sprawling piece of experimental rock, full of fragmented imagery and tape effects, hinting at the bold directions Young would later explore in his solo work. Expecting to Fly, a lushly orchestrated ballad recorded separately from the band, showcases Young’s ability to craft deeply emotional tracks with a cinematic quality. Having reached such a stellar level of songwriting, it's no surprise that Stephen Stills would later invite Young to join Crosby, Stills & Nash, despite the inevitable tension he would bring to the group. In fact, Young’s presence may have pushed Stills to reach new heights. Stills' contributions—Rock & Roll Woman, Bluebird, and Hung Upside Down—are among the album’s best, blending smooth harmonies with a more adventurous spirit. These tracks highlight his skill at merging folk, rock, and country elements into songs that feel immediate and timeless. Richie Furay’s contributions, while heartfelt, are a bit more hit-and-miss—sometimes even within the same song. Tracks like Sad Memory show flashes of the more mature voice he would develop, but there’s a sense that Furay was still searching for his direction, much as he was in life, later finding his calling in religion. IBuffalo Springfield Again may be disjointed at times, but its best moments offer a glimpse of greatness, particularly in the songwriting of Young and Stills. Did/Do I own this release? No Does this release belong on the list? Yes Would this release make my personal list? Strong possibility Will I be listening to it again? The Young and Stills tracks for sure

When Arctic Monkeys first emerged, I was ready to dismiss them as yet another overhyped guitar act, worshipped by the British music press as rock 'n' roll's next saviours. I actively avoided this record for six months, even though the singles were playing in every pub and club I visited. This was unfair—unlike many flash-in-the-pan bands, Arctic Monkeys had earned their stripes by building a loyal online following and commanding the stage at countless small shows with confidence beyond their years. My resistance finally broke when "The View From The Afternoon" came on the radio in sometime in the summer of 2006. Stuck in my car, I had no choice but to pay attention—and admit I’d been wrong. I bought the CD that same day, played it three times back to back, and realized that sometimes, the hype can be deserved. Beyond the angular riffs, intricate guitar work, and rough-edged sound—things I instantly loved—the real ace here, as in all Arctic Monkeys albums, is Alex Turner's sharp lyricism. Just a teenager at the time, Turner captured the Britain I saw outside my window, not the glossy, stylized version you’d see on TV. His cutting observations and witty lines shone a spotlight on the country's grittiest corners. This was a snapshot of everyday life, especially for young people in the North, documenting nightlife, friendships, and the local scene with a fresh, authentic voice. While tracks like "I Bet You Look Good on the Dancefloor," "Dancing Shoes," and "The View From the Afternoon" show the band comfortable operating at full throttle, songs like "Mardy Bum," "Riot Van," and, to a degree, "Fake Tales of San Francisco" reveal a more nuanced sound and Turner’s ear for melody and dynamics. Whatever People Say I Am, That’s What I’m Not could very well be the last great British guitar album. Did I own this release? Yes Does this release belong on the list: Yes Would this release make my personal list: Yes Will I be listening to it again: Yes

Music for the Masses saw Depeche Mode evolve into a more sophisticated sound, with expansive production that enhanced the already anthemic qualities of their music. The upbeat minimalism of earlier albums gave way to something darker and more brooding, sharpening both their sound and image. This shift not only contributed to their global success but also ensured that the album still sounds remarkably fresh even today. Martin Gore’s songwriting is brilliant throughout, while Dave Gahan began to exude his now-famous magnetic stage presence and sex appeal. An ambitious album that achieves its goal of reaching the masses, even if the title was initially tongue-in-cheek. Did/Do I own this release? No Does this release belong on the list? Sure Would this release make my personal list? I enjoy this release but if I had to pick just one DM album it would probably be Violator Will I be listening to it again? Definitely

First of all, credit where credit is due: an album doesn’t sell over 31 million copies without extreme talent and widespread appeal. What’s often overlooked is that 21 was released on the indie label XL Recordings. While Adele’s debut, and especially "Chasing Pavements," hinted at potential, no one could have predicted the stratospheric success of 21. Today, it’s hard to separate the album from its overwhelming cultural presence. These songs—still omnipresent on playlists, soundtracks, and radio—remain as epic and timeless as they were a decade ago. Despite the numerous high-profile collaborations, Adele retains songwriting credits on most tracks, but crucially, she makes it feel like no one else in the world could ever sing these songs. The opener, "Rolling in the Deep," remains one of the best tracks recorded this century, blending gospel and blues in a way that was both fresh and unexpected from her at the time. The retro-inflected "Rumour Has It" follows a similar path, its rhythm-driven, almost Motown feel makes it immediately memorable. It suffers solely from being in the shadow of such an electrifying opener. The album's main issue is that as it proceeds, the tracks become less memorable. While "Set Fire to the Rain" and the closer "Someone Like You" certainly keep up the emotional intensity and songwriting quality, they shift toward more straightforward pop territory. As Adele dives deeper into heartbreak and lost love, some tracks feel less impactful. The vocal performance is (obviously) flawless, but certain songs play it a bit too safe. Rick Rubin’s involvement had my expectations high, but his contributions, unfortunately, fall short. His work, on the tepid cover of The Cure’s "Lovesong" for example, lacks the spark it could have achieved considering the people in the room. Rubin’s production feels overly reverential and flat here. Did/Do I own this release? No Does it belong on the list? Absolutely, given its massive cultural impact Would it make my personal list? No Will I listen to it again? Whether I want to or not, I’ll hear these songs again soon. 21 is everywhere.

In case you were confused like I was for most of my life: Sade is both the name of the band and its frontwoman, Sade Adu. Formed by Paul Anthony Cook, Paul Denman, and Stuart Matthewman after leaving their previous group, they placed their bets on Sade’s undeniable vocal talent. That gamble paid off spectacularly with the release of their debut, Diamond Life. The music is smooth and clean—almost impossibly so—like hair conditioner. Every sound is deliberate, and each note is meticulously crafted to elevate the vocals, creating a refined, atmospheric blend of jazz, soul, and pop. Unlike many divas of the era, Sade’s delivery is subtle. Her lower register doesn’t overwhelm but seduces, drawing you in without ever needing to show off. The power lies in her restraint, letting the emotion simmer beneath the surface rather than explode. Today, the album’s polished production might sound a bit safe, but I remember hearing “Smooth Operator” as a child and instantly recognizing its standout quality. Amid the hits of the time, it exuded a cool sophistication that was hard to ignore. It’s no surprise Diamond Life became the best-selling debut by a British female artist for many decades, and remains a classic of the era. While I usually gravitate toward grittier, more unpredictable sounds, I found Diamond Life to be an album I could easily glide through—albeit one that feels slightly one-paced at times. It’s an album that can easily blend into the background if you’re not actively tuned in. Did/Do I own this release? No, although my mother probably did Does this release belong on the list? Yes Would this release make my personal list? Unlikely Will I be listening to it again? Occasionally, and only when in the exact right mood and place.

I have always adored Kate Bush’s unique vocal style, distinctive phrasing, and impressive range. As such, I really wanted to love this album. The first half, Hounds of Love, is packed with pop hooks and unforgettable melodies. It has all the big hits, and what sets these tracks apart is how Bush infuses enough quirkiness and inventive touches to keep them fresh, even after all these years. The second half, The Ninth Wave, is more of a mixed experience for me. This conceptual suite follows a character lost at sea, drifting between life and death. I admire the ambition and experimentation—some of the recording techniques were groundbreaking at the time, especially given that Bush recorded it all in her home studio with no label interference. However, the use of vocal effects and a few odd genre turns left me wishing for more of her raw, unadorned vocals. It feels almost sacrilegious to obscure such a beautiful voice. Despite that, the creativity and boldness displayed on the album as a whole showcase Bush’s genius and why her voice was so synonymous with the 80s. Did/Do I own this release? No Does this release belong on the list? Yes Would this release make my personal list? No Will I be listening to it again? "Hounds of Love" and "Running Up That Hill" are eternal classics I'd be glad to hear any day, any time.

Usually, when an album I’m looking for isn’t available on streaming, it’s either so underground or extreme that no one wants to be associated with it, or it’s a really old recording whose rights have lapsed. So, it raised some red flags to discover Apple Venus, Vol. 1—an album released as recently as 1999 by XTC, a band with notable commercial and critical acclaim—was missing from all the major streaming services. In this case, the extra effort to track it down was worth it. I was familiar with XTC before, particularly their single "Making Plans For Nigel" (which I relentlessly sang at a co-worker for a full year—sorry, Nige!), but Apple Venus, Vol. 1 caught me totally unprepared. Expecting New Wave and Post-Punk leanings, I found lush orchestrations and layered arrangements instead. The music marks a dramatic shift from their earlier sound, leaning heavily on orchestral elements like strings, woodwinds, and brass. Tracks like “River of Orchids” open with sparse, percussive plucking before blossoming into a rich tapestry of overlapping instruments, while “Easter Theatre” is a baroque pop number that feels like a celebration of renewal and nature. There's an underlying pastoral quality to much of the album, with songs like “Greenman” blending mysticism and whimsy. The orchestral arrangements on Apple Venus, Vol. 1 feel integral to the songs, not just decorative. The result is an album that feels focused and deliberate, with XTC returning from their seven-year break with a clear and cohesive vision. Also gone is the band's previous cynicism. This album feels upbeat and optimistic, which is surprising considering its recording was marked by turmoil within the band. Dave Gregory, their longtime guitarist, left during the sessions due to frustrations with the heavy use of orchestration, and tensions between Andy Partridge and Colin Moulding grew increasingly strained. Despite this discord, Apple Venus, Vol. 1 emerges as a cohesive record that showed the band moving forward artistically. The end result combines Paul McCartney's melodic sensibilities, Peter Gabriel’s adventurous arrangements, and a touch of Tears For Fears' grandeur. It must have sounded completely out of place in 1999, especially when contrasted with the era's dominant musical trends. • Did/Do I own this release? No. • Does this release belong on the list? Skylarking feels more essential, but this album has plenty of captivating qualities. • Would this release make my personal list? Frankly, no. • Will I be listening to it again? Despite the effort it took to find it, it was an enjoyable experience with some clear highs.

It is fitting that this album popped up just as I am experiencing possibly the worst fever of my life, because The Dandy Warhols Come Down feels like a fever dream. The music drifts between woozy, reverb-soaked soundscapes and sharp bursts of psych-pop energy. It’s a swirl of hazy guitar riffs, hypnotic grooves, and vocals that float in and out of focus, like you’re slipping between consciousness and delirium. To be honest, I hadn’t thought of this album in a while, but a long time ago, a teenaged me overheard "Not If You Were The Last Junkie On Earth" at a local indie record store, and I remember feeling almost hypnotized. I picked up the CD without even hearing another note. When I finally played it, it was like nothing else in my then-modest music collection. The Dandy Warhols have an uncanny ability to mix catchy, sun-drenched melodies with layers of fuzz and distortion, creating something both accessible and otherworldly. Their blend of psychedelic rock, alternative pop, and ironic detachment makes this album a unique and unforgettable listen. The album opens with the sprawling, 7-minute "Be-In," a bold and unusual move that sets the tone for the band's refusal to play by typical alt-rock conventions. It’s a slow-building, psychedelic haze that feels less like an intro and more like an invitation to get lost in their world. Then there’s the aforementioned "Junkie," a punchy and sardonic hit with its infectious chorus and playful critique of drug culture. On the lighter side, "Every Day Should Be a Holiday" offers a sunny, feel-good escape, with its jangly guitars and carefree vibe, embodying the band’s more accessible pop sensibilities. The quirky "Minnesoter" showcases their offbeat humour and knack for blending catchy hooks with psychedelic textures, while "Hard On For Jesus" blends irreverent lyrics with a driving beat and spacey instrumentation. As the album winds down, the Dandy Warhols once again throw convention out the window, closing with two tracks—“Pete International Airport” and “The Creep Out”—that stretch over 14 minutes combined. Both songs drift into spacey, instrumental territory, a fittingly hypnotic end to an album designed to take you somewhere strange and unexpected. From start to finish, the band plays by their own rulebook, and it’s this sense of unpredictability that keeps Come Down feeling fresh, even decades later. Did/Do I own this release? Yes. Does this release belong on the list? It’s unique, enjoyable, and has stood the test of time—so why not? Would this release make my personal list? As mentioned, I hadn’t thought of this album in a while, but it does tick many of my boxes. Will I be listening to it again? For sure, frequently.

To this day, I’m not sure why, but an older kid I vaguely knew took me aside and handed me the first two A Tribe Called Quest albums in the locker room at school. "Listen to these, give them back when you’re done." At the time, these albums were unlike anything I’d ever heard—instant classics. The Low End Theory in particular was a revelation, with its deep basslines, minimalist beats, and live jazz instrumentation offering a sound that was both raw and smooth. It broke away from the heavier, sample-driven style of its era, creating something that instantly felt timeless. The heart of the album is the incredible chemistry between Q-Tip and Phife Dawg. Tip’s laid-back, cerebral flow perfectly complements Phife’s punchy, no-nonsense delivery. Their synergy is effortless, shining brightest on tracks like “Check the Rhime,” where they bounce off each other with precision and style. As for its legacy, The Low End Theory reshaped 90s hip-hop, proving the genre could be introspective without losing its edge. And let’s not forget—it introduced the world to Busta Rhymes, whose explosive verse on “Scenario” set the stage for his breakout. Those CDs still sit in my collection. The guy never asked for them back, and it’s become a running joke for me to message him every few years on social media to ask if he wants them returned. Did/Do I own this release? Kinda still do Does this release belong on the list? For sure Would this release make my personal list? Definitely Will I be listening to it again? No question

The Number of the Beast is gloriously over-the-top, blending ridiculous themes with impeccable musicianship. Iron Maiden delivers demonic visions, apocalyptic tales, and biblical nightmares with absolute sincerity, all backed by blistering performances. Every track embodies what makes ‘80s metal iconic: duelling guitars, Bruce Dickinson’s soaring wails, and galloping drums that feel like they’re charging into battle. Just listening to this album makes me want to grow a mullet, throw on a denim jacket, and dive into a mosh pit. It’s raw, high-octane energy from start to finish, the kind of record that screams to be blasted at full volume while you’re pounding warm, foul-tasting pints of lager with thousands of fellow metalheads. And yet, despite its rebellious, dark themes, The Number of the Beast did the impossible: it topped the UK album charts. In a country that often shies away from anything too extreme, an album about devils, dystopia, and chaos dominated the mainstream. That feat alone makes it legendary, but its impact goes far deeper. This was the moment Iron Maiden became metal icons, setting the stage for a career that would define the genre. From the relentless opener “Invaders” to the epic closer “Hallowed Be Thy Name,” this album has no weak spots. The title track and “Run to the Hills” are the obvious standouts, but tracks like “Children of the Damned” showcase the band’s knack for storytelling and theatricality. Lyrically, it can be clumsy and slightly camp, but that’s part of the appeal—it adds to the album’s charm and over-the-top, theatrical essence. Is this an album, or even a genre, I frequently listen to? Not at all. But when the odd Maiden track comes on, I can’t help but crack a big smile and throw up the devil’s horns. It’s hard to resist. Did I own this release? A copied cassette. Does this release belong on the list? Absolutely. Would this release make my personal list? I hadn't listened to it in a long time, but if the goal is to represent diverse eras and genres, this fits perfectly. Will I be listening to it again? This album has its time and place, and I’m sure it’ll find its way back into rotation when the mood strikes every couple of years.

Listening to the daily album pick has become a bit of a ritual with my wife as we unwind from a long day. For once, I’m glad she’s not home for this one—Sepultura’s Roots is an intense ride. My first memory of hearing the band takes me back to 1997 when I witnessed them live at a massive summer festival in Italy. Surrounded by over 100,000 fans kicking up an almighty dust bowl, that chaos instantly earned my respect. Produced by Ross Robinson—ubiquitous in the late '90s—Roots embraces many of the nu-metal tropes popular then. However, what sets it apart is Sepultura’s incorporation of traditional Brazilian instrumentation that makes it immediately clear who you’re listening to. The opener, "Roots Bloody Roots," remains an undeniable classic. Its iconic chorus and memorable guitar progression are instantly recognizable to a generation of MTV rock fans. Yet, that relentless assault can be overwhelming over the album’s hefty 1 hour and 12 minutes, which is a shame because some of the more interesting moments are interspersed in the album's tail end. Perhaps it’s a sign of getting older, but I find the abrasive vocal style harder to digest nowadays. Still, this is the first non-European/American album I’ve encountered from the list, at least offering an intriguing change of pace. While Roots may not be an easy listen, it reflects a time when a band from Brazil travelled the world and kicked everyone's ass. Repeatedly. Did/Do I own this release? No Does this release belong on the list? Unsure Would this release make my personal list? Not for me Will I be listening to it again? It's not something I find myself wanting to revisit, but that doesn't diminish my respect for the band.

This was one of the first bands my younger brother introduced me to when he started developing his own musical taste. Suddenly, the kid who barely cared about anything beyond mainstream hits became my gateway to twee pop and indie gems. I was impressed, but I'll admit, slightly threatened by this new contender in the household. Up until recently, I thought I "had" the album on MP3, but with hindsight, I realize the tracklisting was all wrong, with random songs from their debut and later releases mixed in—probably mis-tagged. Still, Belle and Sebastian’s sound stood out: soft, jangly guitars, whispered vocals, and lush, melancholic arrangements. Their music felt intimate, like overhearing someone’s secret thoughts. Tracks like “The Stars of Track and Field,” “Like Dylan in the Movies,” and “Get Me Away from Here, I’m Dying” stand out for their bittersweet storytelling and understated instrumentation. While the album may seem subdued at first, it's full of unexpected chord changes and subtle instrumental touches that keep you hooked. Stuart Murdoch's knack for taking melodies in surprising directions is a masterclass in restraint and creativity. The title track, “If You’re Feeling Sinister,” is a great example, sounding especially haunting with its reflections on faith and doubt. Released in the mid-90s, at a time when guitar music was dominated by grunge and Britpop, this album feels like an anomaly. Yet, its quiet brilliance laid the groundwork for future indie giants like Death Cab for Cutie, Sufjan Stevens, and The Decemberists. Did/Do I own this release? I thought I "owned" it on MP3. Does this release belong on the list? Unpretentious and sweet, yet massively influential. It deserves its spot. Would this release make my personal list? It's a great shout, but I'd be tempted to pick the follow-up The Boy With the Arab Strap instead. Will I be listening to it again? Of course.

Led Zeppelin wasn’t a significant part of my musical world growing up. My parents leaned toward the Beatles and Elvis while I was beginning to get immersed in grunge. I knew the hits but missed the band’s deeper lore. Starting with their debut album feels fitting—it sets the stage. Let’s be honest: Bonham is a force of nature, Page’s guitar work is immaculate, Plant is larger-than-life, and Jones holds it all down like a rock. The chemistry among the four is electrifying. Bonham’s thunderous yet precise drumming on “Good Times Bad Times” revolutionized rock rhythm, while Page’s guitar solo in “Dazed and Confused” became a blueprint for heavier, experimental rock. Plant’s emotive vocals in “Babe I’m Gonna Leave You” balance raw power with delicate restraint, and Jones’s bass and keyboard provide essential depth. Tracks like “Communication Breakdown” burst with proto-punk energy, and “Dazed and Confused” showcases their improvisational prowess. Even on their debut, Zeppelin arrived with a fully formed sound and swagger. However, the straight-up bluesy “I Can’t Quit You Babe” and “You Shook Me” feel unnecessary. While they may have been groundbreaking at the time or truly came alive on stage, they haven’t aged well. In an era where every song is readily available, it’s easy to appreciate the original blues masters—Muddy Waters, Willie Dixon, Howlin’ Wolf—directly. That said, Zeppelin’s moments of innovation far outweigh the derivative ones. This album marks the genesis of a band that became a blueprint for rock music to follow. For that reason alone, it’s essential listening—most of my favourite rock acts wouldn’t exist without it. - Did I own this release? No. - Does it belong on the list? Yes. - Would it make my personal list? TBD—one Zeppelin album should make the cut by law. I just need to figure out which one. - Will I listen again? Occasionally.

Songs Of Leonard Cohen by Leonard Cohen reviewed in the style of Leonard Cohen Songs of Leonard Cohen, a stunning debut, marked by soft strings, and words that cut through the quiet. Each song, a whispered tale of love, of loss, of things unseen— a voice that trembles but never falters, an artist already knowing how the heart bleeds. I’ve loved his later works, where gravel seeps into his throat, the years, the cigarettes, the bourbon— they tell their stories too. But here, his voice is crisp, clear as a winter morning, relatively untouched by time's slow erosion. I knew I liked Leonard Cohen, but I didn’t realise just how much I liked these songs until I sank deeper into them. They hit harder than I remembered, like an old friend whose words now cut cleaner, linger longer. There’s a weight to it, each note, each line, gently pulling you under, each thread a part of the web you didn’t know was being spun. No track stumbles, no moment lets the album down. It moves like shadows at dusk, slow, steady, inevitable— the kind of quiet that makes you listen closer. This debut— not just a door half-open, but a threshold to something vast, inevitably drawing me back in. Did/Do I own this release? No, but I should Does this release belong on the list? Yes Would this release make my personal list? I was surprised by how much I enjoyed this album as a whole Will I be listening to it again? For sure

(BTW: Spotify mistakenly lists this as a compilation, while Apple Music correctly labels it as the original 1957 album.) Fats Domino, revered by everyone from Elvis to the Beatles, often doesn’t get the full credit he deserves today, despite his immense influence. This Is Fats Domino! was released in 1957, and though it may sound neat and polished now, it was groundbreaking at the time—anti-establishment music that got tongues wagging and hips shaking. Standout tracks like "Blueberry Hill" and "Blue Monday" capture Domino at his best—smooth vocals, irresistible piano rolls, and a blend of blues and early rock that defined an era. These songs shaped the sound of rock and roll, making waves far beyond the R&B scene. The album's influence still echoes in today's music. Whether in piano-driven pop or the evolution of rock, Domino's impact is unmistakable. And as an aside, “Fats Domino” remains one of the greatest stage names in music history—perfectly fitting his larger-than-life sound and persona. Domino’s legacy is undeniable. He crossed musical and racial boundaries, influencing everyone from rock legends to modern pop stars. This Is Fats Domino! is a cornerstone of that legacy, a reminder of just how revolutionary his music was. Did/Do I own this release? My dad had some compilation or other. Does this release belong on the list? It is time Fats Domino gets more respect. Would this release make my personal list? Perhaps too dated now for my definitive list, but never say never. Will I be listening to it again? In the right setting, this is a no-brainer.

For many, a-ha is instantly synonymous with THAT song and THAT video. Visually, “Take On Me” still feels groundbreaking, even today, when CGI could easily recreate its animated/live-action magic. As an ‘80s kid, I knew of a-ha and could name a few of their hits, including from their 2000s MTV comeback, but I never really explored their full repertoire. Listening to Hunting High and Low as a whole for the first time was a revelation. Coming from the far north, a-ha delivered a surprisingly tight sound that not only matched but arguably led the global synth-pop wave. The aforementioned “Take On Me” is still brilliant—a song that can set pulses racing even today. Opening the album with such a defining track was a bold move, as many bands would have buckled under the risk of becoming a one-hit-wonder. But a-ha rises above. The title track, “Hunting High and Low,” is a beautifully restrained ballad that showcases Morten Harket’s stunning vocal range, while “The Sun Always Shines on T.V.” is grand, bombastic, and utterly captivating. Even tracks like “Love is Reason,” while not as iconic as the big singles, bring a lively energy and contribute to the album’s consistent flow. With the exception of a couple of tracks that are merely “good,” the album maintains a remarkably high standard. Sure, it’s sometimes a victim of its era (some of the drum and synth sounds feel a bit dated), but there’s no denying the inventiveness and sheer quantity of pop hooks on display. Far from just being a vehicle for their biggest hit, Hunting High and Low stands as the synth-pop classic it is. With its emotional depth and variety, it captures the essence of the ‘80s in a way few albums do. Did/Do I own this release? No. Does this release belong on the list? Given the global impact of its hit single and its massive sales, absolutely. Plus, there aren’t many Norwegian artists represented. Would this release make my personal list? It's not a sound I naturally gravitate towards, so likely not, but part of the purpose of undertaking this task was to expand my horizons. Will I be listening to it again? I was more impressed than expected—I'll return to it.

After diving into some challenging yet ultimately rewarding music, I was eager to immerse myself in Songs in the Key of Life, an album universally revered by critics and fans alike. While it feels audacious to critique a record that sold millions and earned Stevie Wonder an Album of the Year Grammy, I must admit this wasn’t quite what I expected based on the rave reviews. The choice to release a double album is considered financially fruitful today—double the songs roughly equals double the streams—but in 1976, this likely had record executives pulling their hair out. In that decade, everyone from The Stones to Zeppelin to Elton John took similar risks, making it fitting that Wonder released his own opus. A more concise album filled with pure hits might have been more effective, but for these artists, proving their prolific nature was a flex in itself. I was familiar with the massive singles that shine in Wonder's discography. "Sir Duke" is timeless, revealing new facets with every listen, while "I Wish" is pure joy, even getting me—the most awkward dancer in the world—on the dance floor. Among the deeper cuts, "Have A Talk With God" stood out with fantastic funk influences. However, the abrupt transition from the poignant "Village Ghetto Land" to the jazzy "Contusion" and then to "Sir Duke" can be jarring. It feels like Wonder is eager to showcase his myriad talents, and while he leaves his contemporaries in the dust regarding sheer musicianship and creativity, this ambition can sometimes result in musical whiplash, a theme that repeats itself throughout the album. "Knocks Me Off My Feet" pleasantly surprised me with its warmth, perfectly encapsulating Wonder's signature sound. Though it may not reach the heights of his big hits, it demonstrates his prowess in more subdued settings. "Pastime Paradise" is another highlight, with textured synths adding gravitas. Coolio's best-selling single in the '90s essentially samples this Stevie Wonder classic, illustrating Wonder's profound influence. Will Smith also scored a chart-topper with a carbon copy of "I Wish," showcasing Wonder's lasting legacy. "Summer Soft" offers a delightful moment, with jazz influences that allow the melody to soar. Yet, I find the pacing around this part of the album disorienting and somewhat unfocused. "Isn't She Lovely" is a sweet ode to his daughter that would have felt cheesy in the hands of another artist, but Wonder transforms it into a universal celebration of fatherhood, making it a track almost anyone can hum. "Black Man" is another standout, bursting with energy Jamiroquai’s entire persona was based on. At over eight minutes, it could feel excessive, but its liveliness and Wonder’s charismatic delivery keep it engaging. While I have immense respect for Stevie Wonder, the pacing of this release feels intentionally uneven. An alternative track listing might enhance the listening experience—though who am I to advise such a genius? At 105 minutes, fatigue inevitably sets in, making it tough to maintain focus—especially with the original LP editions that included a bonus 7-inch EP, A Something’s Extra, with four extra tracks. It raises the question: could some tracks in the latter half have been saved for future releases? This would have necessitated getting up to switch records at least three times. Yet, glancing at my score sheet, no track—except the slightly repetitive "Joy Inside My Tears" and "Ngiculela – Es Una Historia – I Am Singing"—scored less than 8/10. Perhaps more listens will help me embrace the album as a cohesive whole, as I clearly appreciate each track individually. Right now, though, I’m struggling to connect with it completely on an emotional level. That said, when the big hits play, it’s impossible not to smile, and those moments undoubtedly elevate the album’s overall score. Did I own this release? No. Does this release belong on the list? Yes. Would this release make my personal list? Currently, no. Will I be listening to it again? The hits are untouchable.

There I was, hunched over my computer like a modern-day monk, when my wife walked in, eyes narrowing in curiosity. “What are you doing?” she asked. I panicked, slammed the laptop shut, and muttered, “… Nothing.” Deep down, I knew I was entrapped in Captain Beefheart’s Trout Mask Replica, a wild ride through the fever dream I didn’t know could exist. “Seriously, are you going to tell me what you were doing?” she pressed, and I felt like the sole punter at a run-down bar, suddenly the focus of unwanted attention. Reluctantly, I confessed the album’s name. Her expression shifted—disbelief melting into resignation. She turned and hastily packed a suitcase as if fleeing a sinking ship, and with each clink of her belongings, the weight of the moment crashed over me. The door slammed shut like a drumbeat of finality, marking the end of something I couldn’t quite grasp. As the silence enveloped me, I reopened my laptop, where Beefheart was still wailing about gophers or some such madness, a surreal soundtrack to my newfound desolation. Should I say it was worth it? Was this plunge into madness a cosmic revelation? Here I sit, baffled after four relentless spins of this 1 hour and 20-minute avant-garde odyssey. And can we talk about the sheer insanity of it all—28 tracks! WTF! How does one even begin to digest this buffet of bizarre sounds? One moment you’re bobbing along to a catchy riff; the next, you’re thrust into a chaotic din that makes you question reality. It’s as if Beefheart and his crew threw every wild idea into a hat, then had a blind man pull out the resulting sequencing, crafting a disorienting soundscape that feels more like a chaotic carnival than a collection of songs. But hey, that’s Trout Mask Replica—a dazzling whirl of jazz, blues, and utter unpredictability. It demands a kind of madness to appreciate. If you’re drawn to chaos and beauty, dive right in! But if you prefer your music with a hint of sanity, with words you can grasp and melodies you can hum, seek out a different groove. Personally, I remain adrift in a sea of surrealism where coherence is a distant shore. Maybe avant-garde isn’t my journey. Perhaps I crave hooks, sweet melodies that sink into my soul. My heart yearns for the simple joy of a catchy chorus, a well-structured song. Instead, Trout Mask Replica makes me feel like I’m trapped in a cosmic bender. It is the sound of cocaine-fueled escapades slowed to a crawl and then slowly sped into the stratosphere on a ketamine high. It’s a sonic maelstrom, a kaleidoscope of sound that resembles an endless rollercoaster with no stops and no straps. So here’s to Captain Beefheart, the jester of the avant-garde! You’ve pulled me into your wild world, questioned my musical reality, and driven my wife away in the process. Yet, amid this chaos, I can’t shake the feeling that this bizarre odyssey is a tale worth spinning—a wild adventure in a universe of gopher conspiracies and chaotic symphonies. Disclaimer: Some events told in this review are fictional, especially the part about my wife and the gophers. Did/Do I own this release? Absolutely not! Does this release belong on the list? Let’s just say, it’s… something. Would this release make my personal list? Not in this lifetime! Will I be listening to it again? This is the new soundtrack to my nightmares. Yet I love it

I confess I’m a big fan of Neil Young, even the more obscure stuff, so this review isn’t entirely objective. Everybody Knows This Is Nowhere, released just four months after his solo debut, marks the true beginning of Young as the revered artist we know today. Much of this can be attributed to the recruitment of Crazy Horse, who take Young’s rolling chord progressions and sweet melodies and tear them apart like the teeth of a mountain lion. Instead of refining the songs, they rip through them with jagged intensity, exposing raw nerves and untapped emotion. The contrast between Young’s plaintive vocals and the band’s rough-edged delivery creates a tension that balances on the edge of chaos. This electric tension adds volatility, making the songs feel alive and dangerous. “Cinnamon Girl,” with its punchy riff and infectious energy, showcases the perfect blend of melody and grit. “Down by the River” is a hypnotic epic, its extended jams and dark narrative building a haunting sense of unease. “Cowgirl in the Sand” blends dreamy introspection with fiery guitar work, while the title track captures Young’s yearning for escape with its breezy rhythm and underlying restlessness. These tracks aren’t just highlights; they’ve become foundational to Young’s career, merging folk sensibilities with hard rock through Crazy Horse's distinctive style. Everybody Knows This Is Nowhere explores both the beauty and darker sides of human emotion, framed by Young’s raw and evocative songwriting. Did I own this release? No Does this release belong on the list? Yes Would this release make my personal list? I have to include at least one Neil Young release; the tougher question is which one. Will I be listening to it again? As a big fan of this record, its seven tracks (40 minutes) make it perfectly digestible.

As someone who is far from an expert in Brazilian music, I can confidently say that Africa Brasil by Jorge Ben Jor is utterly captivating even without any prior knowledge. This album pulses with the spirit of Brazil—imagine lounging with a Piña Colada, surrounded by the vibrant energy of famous Copacabana Beach and the rhythmic sounds of people playing futebol, all while the iconic Christ the Redeemer statue watches over you. From the first track, the fun, high-tempo music draws you in. Ben Jor masterfully blends expert musicianship with an irresistible mix of Western influences and African and local melodies. Songs like "País Tropical" celebrate Brazil's lush landscapes and vibrant culture, while "Menina Mulher da Pele Preta" captures the romance and allure of love set against infectious rhythms. "Oba, Oba, Oba," with its upbeat tempo, is impossible to resist, embodying the spirit of Brazil and inviting everyone to join the celebration. Then there's "Taj Mahal," which features a melody so catchy that Rod Stewart "borrowed" it for his own hit. This captivating fusion of samba and funk showcases Ben Jor’s talent for crafting music that’s sophisticated yet accessible. Africa Brasil is an invitation to experience Brazil's vibrant life, capturing the essence of a country where music flows through the streets. I have no idea what exactly he is saying, but with catchy hooks, infectious rhythms, and lively beats, the music evokes instant joy while sweeping you off your feet. • Did I own this release? No • Does this release belong on the list? Yes • Would this release make my personal list? I wasn't familiar with it before, but I really enjoyed it. I need to do a deep dive into Brazilian music in the '70s first. • Will I be listening to it again? For sure!

Growing up, I knew Elvis Costello by name, but I never considered myself a fan. I didn’t own any of his albums, yet whenever his music came on the radio or at a friend’s house, it always resonated with me in some way. Thanks to streaming, there’s no excuse not to explore his full discography, and I’ve been doing just that, bit by bit. By my count, at least six of Costello’s albums appear in Robert Dimery’s 1001 Albums You Must Hear Before You Die, with even more featured on lists from Rolling Stone, NME, and The Guardian. That might seem excessive, but based on what I’ve heard so far, at least some of those inclusions feel justified. For now, 'Armed Forces' is only the second Costello album I’ve tackled, so I haven’t experienced the same burnout that other reviewers mention when working through his extensive catalogue. Objectively, Costello had an incredible run between 1977’s My Aim Is True and 1982’s Imperial Bedroom—seven albums in six years that secured his reputation as one of the most prolific and versatile artists of the late ’70s and early ’80s. While his output in the late ’80s and ’90s became more hit-or-miss, that early stretch remains consistently revered, and it’s easy to see why. Together with This Year’s Model, Armed Forces stands as one of the defining records of Costello’s early career. Where This Year’s Model bristled with anxious, raw energy, Armed Forces introduces more complex arrangements and a polished new wave sound. It’s not a sellout; it’s a natural evolution, with Costello broadening his sonic palette. The key tracks make this clear. “Oliver’s Army,” with its irresistibly catchy piano hook, tackles British imperialism while cleverly packaging sharp political commentary in a radio-friendly hit. “Accidents Will Happen” and “Green Shirt” combine upbeat melodies with darker themes, showcasing Costello’s gift for making complex ideas accessible. Meanwhile, “Goon Squad” delivers biting social commentary on conformity and military recruitment, pairing it with punchy instrumentation. “Senior Service” also stands out, with its tight, sarcastic lyrics taking aim at corporate greed and bureaucracy, a perfect example of Costello’s sharp wit. I understand that Costello’s vocals aren’t for everyone—his nasal tone and limited range can be divisive—but for me, it works. He sings with emotional urgency, which suits the biting, cynical nature of his lyrics and enhances the album’s impact. It’s impossible to discuss Armed Forces without addressing the infamous incident during its tour when Costello made racist remarks in an argument with Stephen Stills and Bonnie Bramlett. The backlash halted the tour and effectively crippled his U.S. career, and while he’s expressed regret, the stain lingers on both the album and his legacy. This is disappointing because Costello’s lyrics are full of inclusive undertones and anti-fascist sentiment—values diametrically opposed to what he said that night. Without that incident, who knows how much further he might have gone—or how many more listeners might have embraced his work. Did/Do I own this release? No. Does this release belong on the list? One Costello album should definitely be included. Six? I’m not so sure. Would this release make my personal list? I think I slightly prefer This Year’s Model. Will I be listening to it again? Occasionally.

When I saw The Cult on the list, I expected the brooding gothic rock and post-punk flair that made 'She Sells Sanctuary' iconic. Instead, 'Electric' hit me with a barrage of power chords and bluesy riffs. It’s not that the songs are bad—tracks like 'Wild Flower,' 'Lil’ Devil,' and 'Love Removal Machine' are undeniably fun—but this feels like a band abandoning their signature sound for something safer. What makes 'Electric’s' inclusion on this list even more puzzling is that just months later, Guns N' Roses and Aerosmith would unleash 'Appetite for Destruction' and 'Permanent Vacation,' respectively. Even the filler tracks and throwaway moments on those albums outshine the best offerings of 'Electric.' And it’s not just GNR and Aerosmith—the likes of Motörhead, Whitesnake, Kiss, and AC/DC all released albums in the same year that captured this hard rock vibe effortlessly. The Cult's attempt feels forced, like a cat trying to play fetch, awkwardly inserting itself into a game that’s simply not in its nature. Nothing illustrates the album's confused identity more than the regrettable cover of Steppenwolf’s 'Born to Be Wild.' The Cult drains all the energy and danger from the original, leaving a lifeless, by-the-numbers version that feels more like a box-ticking exercise than a tribute. As for Rick Rubin, he’s known for his minimalist production style that allows an artist's raw energy to shine. Around this period, he produced iconic albums like 'Licensed to Ill' by the Beastie Boys (1986) and 'Raising Hell' by Run-D.M.C. (1986), capturing their live essence. His work on 'Reign in Blood' by Slayer (1986), 'Blood Sugar Sex Magik' by the Red Hot Chili Peppers (1991), and Rage Against the Machine's self-titled debut (1992) showcases his knack for capturing a band's raw energy. However, Rubin’s approach falls flat with' Electric', stripping away the atmospheric elements that defined The Cult’s earlier work. The material may not have been strong enough to begin with, but the result is a hollow sound that lacks the visceral impact of their past. Instead of forging a clear identity, Rubin's production leaves the band sounding disoriented. Did/Do I own this release? No Does this release belong on the list? No Would this release make my personal list? No Will I be listening to it again? It’s fun in parts, but there are better albums and more authentic bands from this era.

Let It Bleed is one of the Rolling Stones' albums I'm most familiar with, mainly because my son, as a toddler, became obsessed with the iconic album cover. He dubbed it the "cake song" and insisted we play “You Can't Always Get What You Want” on repeat 15 times daily. My own introduction to the album came years earlier when a classmate played it on cassette, whispering, “You must hear this,” as if he had unearthed the most underground band in history. Nice try, mate! Let’s get the obvious out of the way: any album that opens with “Gimme Shelter” and closes with “You Can’t Always Get What You Want” is an automatic classic. These two tracks are timeless; any artist dreams of writing something even a fraction as powerful. Among the lesser-known tracks (if such a thing even exists in the Stones' extensive catalogue), “Live With Me” perfectly encapsulates Jagger's swagger and Richards' edgy guitar tone. The title track takes country influences and spins them on their head in a rollicking fashion that builds on the band's strengths. “Midnight Rambler” would sound pedestrian in the hands of any other band but is glorious here, starting with an upbeat riff that gradually reveals a menacing undercurrent. “Monkey Man” features a distinctive groove with reggae influences, showcasing Jagger’s playful charisma. As the song progresses, he becomes increasingly frenetic, while Richards delivers his trademark catchy guitar riffs, complemented by horn arrangements and Charlie Watts’ legendary steady drumming. Some tracks may resonate more with Stones purists. “Country Honk,” a stripped-down reworking of “Honky Tonk Women,” feels redundant, and the repetitive blues structure of “Love in Vain” misses the mark. Nonetheless, the Stones infuse these songs with their signature flair, even if they don’t stand out in the band's extensive discography. Compared to its predecessor, Beggars Banquet, Let It Bleed is more eclectic in genre experimentation while boasting bigger riffs and possibly more memorable melodies. For me these albums are near equals, and while it feels odd to call Let It Bleed a transitional record, it paved the way for Sticky Fingers and Exile on Main St., both of which refine the elements explored here. Exile, in particular, embraces the chaos surrounding the band, resulting in one of their most immersive experiences ever recorded. Ultimately, Let It Bleed is a pivotal moment in the Stones' evolution—by no means perfect, but undeniably iconic. Did/Do I own this release? No. Does this release belong on the list? From a historical perspective, it's a landmark album, even if its best tracks are the opener and the closer. Would this release make my personal list? I like the Stones, but there’s so much to savour in their discography that it’s hard to pick a definitive album. Will I be listening to it again? Overall, it’s an enjoyable experience with incredible peaks, and as I grow older, I find myself drawn to the Stones more than ever.

Goth as a genre is occasionally misunderstood and unfairly dismissed as overly theatrical or bleak. Yet, it produced some of the most compelling music of the late 70s and 80s, with artists like The Cure, Bauhaus, and Siouxsie and the Banshees crafting dark, unforgettable anthems. By the time Juju was released, Siouxsie and the Banshees had already secured their place in goth’s pantheon, but this album took them to another level—it cemented their status as pioneers, laying down a blueprint for the genre's sound and aesthetic. On Juju, Siouxsie Sioux stretches her vocal range, alternating between eerie, ritualistic chants and powerful, defiant bursts. Her voice is far from mainstream but remains both mesmerizing and menacing, perfectly shaping the atmosphere of each track. "Spellbound" highlights her ability to be melodic yet forceful, while "Night Shift" sees her delivering chilling, almost spoken-word passages that add a sinister edge. Throughout the album, her vocals guide the listener through a hypnotic journey—whether it’s the seductive pull of "Arabian Knights" or the primal intensity of "Voodoo Dolly." Musically, the album is propelled by John McGeoch’s masterful guitar work. His intricate, swirling melodies on tracks like "Spellbound" and "Into the Light" are instantly iconic. McGeoch’s playing elevates every song, turning even the darkest moments into something mesmerizing. His influence is undeniable, shaping the sound of artists like The Smiths, Radiohead, and Interpol. The band’s tight cohesion and ability to maintain a brooding atmosphere is evident throughout Juju. Some modern listeners might find the drum machine-heavy tracks and reverb-drenched guitars dated—hallmarks of early 80s post-punk that can feel cliché today. Yet, these very elements give Juju its distinct, haunting character, enhancing its eerie atmosphere. While it may not appeal to everyone, these production choices suit the album’s dark themes and make Juju a goth classic that still holds its power today. Juju is a key moment in goth music, an artistic statement that influenced an entire generation. Siouxsie and the Banshees crafted a record that not only cemented their legacy but also set the stage for the future of alternative music. Did/Do I own this release? No Does this release belong on the list? Yes Would this release make my personal list? Still to be decided Will I be listening to it again? Yes

It’s hard to fathom that M.I.A.'s Arular is closing in on its 20th anniversary. When it dropped in 2005, I was living in London, and the buzz around it was undeniable. You’d hear tracks like “Galang” and “Bucky Done Gun” everywhere—from the most uptight clubs to the scuzziest dive bars. Arular stood out, with its heady blend of hip-hop, dancehall, electro, and world music creating a sound that felt far more alive and unpredictable than anything mainstream at the time. Truth be told, I’ve never been sold on M.I.A.’s lyrics. Even back then, it felt like she was a teenager cosplaying Noam Chomsky, throwing out broad political statements without any real knowledge to back it up. Nearly 20 years on, that impression has only solidified, especially with her recent dabblings in conspiracy theories and newfound religious leanings. At her best, her lyrics skim the surface of complex issues—civil war, terrorism, oppression—but rarely dive deep enough to say anything meaningful. However, unlike many reviewers, I do enjoy her vocal delivery. It’s one of the things that hooked me back then and still stands out now. There’s a swagger and rawness to her voice that matches the experimental production perfectly. Where her lyrics might stumble, her voice hits hard, and the beats—while sparse and jarring at times—still feel ahead of their time. Listening to Arular today is like catching a glimpse of a parallel 2025, where the music is sharp and anarchic, even if the message is occasionally muddled. In the end, Arular endures not because of its political depth but because of its fearless, genre-defying sound. It captured a moment and remains a vital, if flawed, musical rebellion. Did/Do I own this release? On mp3 Does this release belong on the list? Kala feels like a more essential album. I’ll get back to you after I listen to that one again. Would this release make my personal list? Probably not. I do like it, but some of the topics are poorly fleshed out. This is an album that’s fun once in a while. Will I be listening to it again? It’s an album I’ll return to occasionally, but probably not one I’ll reach for often.

Lenny Kravitz has long embodied the quintessential rockstar: charismatic, hit-making, and oozing sex appeal. For over 30 years, he's been a cultural icon with magazine-cover abs and the swagger to match. While I’ve never delved deep into his catalogue, I’ve always respected his craft and enjoyed his occasional hit. His debut album, Let Love Rule, highlights his immense talent from the start, with Kravitz playing nearly every instrument—guitar, bass, drums, and keyboards—himself. At the time, it was impressive, and it still holds up today. The raw, analogue production was a deliberate contrast to the overly polished sound dominating the late '80s. Despite his talent, the album leans too heavily on his influences, often feeling more like a tribute to past giants than an original work. Listening to Let Love Rule can often feel like playing a game of "spot the influence." Kravitz channels Jimi Hendrix one moment, then switches gears to evoke The Beatles, Prince, Curtis Mayfield, Stevie Wonder, and The Rolling Stones—all in rapid succession. While he clearly has the chops to pull off these styles, his interpretations rarely rise above imitation. Instead of showcasing versatility, the genre-hopping leaves the album feeling scattered and unfocused. The title track, "Let Love Rule," is undeniably the standout—an anthem that showcases Kravitz at his best. But the rest of the album feels less inspired, jumping from soul to rock to funk without a cohesive thread to tie it all together. Given Kravitz’s later career, I shouldn’t be too surprised by this eclecticism. He would go on to have chart-topping hits spanning a wide range of genres, from the Motown-inspired “It Ain’t Over ’Til It’s Over” to the riff-heavy “Are You Gonna Go My Way” to the electro-tinged soul of "I Belong To You.” But on Let Love Rule, this eclecticism feels more like a lack of focus than versatility. The inclusion of "Let Love Rule" in 1001 Albums You Must Hear Before You Die is baffling. It is the sonic equivalent of reheating last night’s leftovers—fine in the moment but lacking in spark and freshness to leave much of a lasting impression. Even Kravitz himself seems to recognize this; outside of the brilliant title track, most of the album is absent from his greatest hits collections and curated playlists on most streaming platforms. Let Love Rule is a promising but flawed debut. It’s a decent listen, but too derivative to leave a lasting mark. Did/Do I own this release? No Does this release belong on the list? No Would this release make my personal list? No Will I be listening to it again? The title track is a banger, but the rest is mostly forgettable

For many Metallica purists, ...And Justice for All is the last true Metallica album before the band's infamous "sellout." Released in 1988, it builds upon the foundations of their previous three albums, showcasing a band on the ascendancy while retaining the raw energy that defined their early work. The combination of complex song structures, thematic depth, and powerful instrumentation solidified Metallica as the biggest of the "Big Four" of thrash metal. You can't discuss this album without highlighting the impact of "One." At its peak, you couldn't turn on MTV without seeing its haunting music video—a striking contrast to the song's harrowing subject matter. "One" hinted at the sonic evolution Metallica would explore, even if few understood its implications at the time. Thanks in part to this single, ...And Justice for All sold an estimated 15 million copies worldwide—an astounding feat, especially given the album's genre and overall intensity. Ridiculously titled tracks like "Harvester of Sorrow," "The Shortest Straw," and "Blackened" have become staples of Metallica's live shows, showcasing the trademark duelling guitars of James Hetfield and Kirk Hammett in a ferocious blend of melody and aggression. However, with just nine tracks spanning over an hour, the ambitious songwriting can lead to an exhausting listen—one might even accuse the band of overindulgence at times. The title track, while powerful, can feel excessively lengthy, and "To Live Is to Die" stretches the limits of patience with its instrumental sections. Even "The Frayed Ends of Sanity" meanders a bit too long. Listening to the album decades later, it's hard to ignore some glaring production flaws. New bassist Jason Newsted's contributions are nearly inaudible, leaving fans yearning for Cliff Burton's rich bass lines. Some drum sounds are so overproduced that it feels as if Lars Ulrich is banging on beer cans—or worse, recorded inside them. Hetfield's powerful voice, while spirited, can feel rough around the edges—adding to the album's raw feel that may deter those who aren't fans of the genre. It may be heresy to some, but Metallica truly perfected their sound on The Black Album. While there was a push for mainstream success, it resulted in a more streamlined collection of songs with varied themes and energies. I am even prepared to admit I didn't mind Load and Reload, but St. Anger is where I draw the line. Metallica enjoyed an incredible run with their first five albums, each holding a special place for fans for different reasons. ...And Justice for All captures late '80s Metallica at their peak—doing what they did best before infighting and corporate pressures took hold. Despite its flaws, it remains a significant chapter in Metallica's storied legacy. Did/Do I own this release? Someone copied it on tape, but I only had 7 and a half songs. Does this release belong on the list? There are arguments for each of the first five albums; I personally feel The Black Album or Master of Puppets are more representative releases. Would this release make my personal list? While I enjoy it, there are other albums by the band that I prefer. Will I be listening to it again? Occasionally.

Duran Duran's prime came before my time—I wasn’t born or was barely in nappies when they released their iconic albums. Still, thanks to heavy rotation of "Rio" and "Hungry Like the Wolf" on MTV and VH1, I thought I was familiar with the band and their brand. Somehow I had them pegged as a pop act like Wham!, all about boyish looks, chiselled cheekbones and catchy hooks. I couldn’t have been more wrong. Despite the synth-heavy sound, Rio rocks. The pacing is tight, with barely a dull moment, and the songwriting is consistently strong. The band sounds incredibly cohesive from start to finish. John Taylor’s bass work is the album’s true star. His blend of melody and rhythm, infused with funk and disco influences, gives Rio its infectious groove. The bass lines drive the album as much as the vocals or synths, adding depth and punch to every track. Simon Le Bon’s vocals are dramatic and expressive, perfectly complementing the band’s glamorous image. He’s not overly technical, but his charisma brings both elegance and emotional weight to the music. Andy Taylor’s guitar work keeps the album grounded, preventing it from becoming too electronic. Whether pulling back on "The Chauffeur" or laying down a funky groove on "My Own Way," he adds a rock edge that balances the synths. Drummer Roger Taylor’s tight, precise playing is crucial to the album’s danceable, energetic feel. He doesn’t show off, but his disciplined drumming provides the perfect rhythm foundation. Of all the ‘80s New Wave albums, I didn’t expect Rio to win me over so easily. But with a back half that’s arguably stronger than the start, it’s an album that rewards listening all the way through. Did/Do I own this release? My mother may have owned it on cassette. Does this release belong on the list? Absolutely. Would this release make my personal list? If you’d asked me before today, I’d have said no, but I’ve had it on loop and I’m not getting bored. Will I be listening again? Definitely.

Part of the reason I started this exercise was to uncover key releases in genres I knew little about. I have to admit, when it comes to Latin jazz, Afro-Cuban fusion, and big band music, I’m pretty unenlightened. That’s on me—I should do better. So, discovering Kenya by Machito felt like stepping into uncharted territory. My first reaction? What in the Pink Panther Soundtrack is this?! The album is a whirlwind of upbeat, high-energy compositions, performed by a collective of virtuosos. With track titles like “Frenzy” and “Wild Jungle,” it captures the controlled chaos of Afro-Cuban jazz perfectly. Under the musical direction of his brother-in-law, Mario Bauzá, Machito delivers each track with fire and precision. It’s a full-throttle showcase of the genre’s intensity. Critics have noted that, while the musicianship is top-notch, the structure—particularly in the trumpet sections—leaves little room for the freewheeling improvisation expected in jazz. But honestly, that control makes the album more approachable for someone like me, who’s new to the genre. The tight arrangements give listeners something to latch onto, even amid the flurry of horns and percussion. From my limited perspective, the African and Cuban influences feel mostly confined to the percussion, with jazz dominating the compositions. That said, I think the balance works in the album’s favour. If the Afro-Cuban elements were more dominant, it might lose some of its punch and clarity. Overall, Kenya was a fun, refreshing listen—and I can totally picture Austin Powers unwinding to it after a long day of espionage. Did/Do I own this release? No Does this release belong on the list? Yes Would this release make my personal list? Given my admitted ignorance, I’d probably choose a few of the "classics" first. Will I be listening to it again? In the right mood, absolutely. It’s the perfect soundtrack for a dinner party!

After waiting through over 50 albums to finally encounter a non-Western release on this list, two hit back-to-back. Once again, I have to admit I’m far from an expert in the genre at hand, let alone its African roots (or more accurately, its forefathers). Indeed, I’m ashamed to admit that, with a few notable exceptions, my knowledge of African music as a whole leaves much to be desired. But when someone is labelled "the king of desert blues singers" right on their album cover, you can’t help but pay attention. Speaking of the cover: Ali Farka Touré reclines in a wooden deck chair, beige chinos, a white t-shirt, shiny black shoes, shades on, cigarette in mouth, and a black guitar across his lap. Few people manage to look this effortlessly cool. Even without knowing much about Touré, I felt an immediate connection to Savane, despite understanding little of the lyrics. Maybe it’s because Touré passed away just weeks before the album was released, but the music feels like a quiet celebration—Touré’s final message to his fans and the world. There’s a deep intimacy here, like you’ve dropped by to hear Touré and his band play just for you. Don’t mistake the laid-back vibe for amateurism, though—the musicianship is incredible. The repetitive grooves of songs like "Erdi" and "Soya" are hypnotic rather than tiring. The call-and-response vocals pull you in as they dig into a groove and build something remarkable from it. I found myself especially drawn to tracks like "Beto," "Savane," and "Ledi Coumbe," where the West African influences shine brightest. Did/Do I own this release? No. Does this release belong on the list? Tentatively yes, though, considering his vast discography, one could argue for other releases in his catalogue. Would this release make my personal list? I really enjoyed it and will likely revisit it to fully grasp its depth. Will I be listening to it again? Definitely—I’m eager to explore more of Touré’s music.

Even the briefest biographies of the band 'THE BAND' cannot overlook their origins as the Hawks, Bob Dylan's backing band. For most groups, emerging from the shadow of such a towering figure in music and pop culture would seem nearly impossible. Just consider Crazy Horse's enduring association with Neil Young, despite their body of work apart from him. Yet, the band 'THE BAND' brilliantly transcended this challenge with Music From Big Pink, a great debut that masterfully blends rock, folk, country, and soul, enriched by their harmonious vocals. Dylan's influence on Music From Big Pink is undeniable; he co-wrote three tracks: "Tears of Rage," "I Shall Be Released," and "This Wheel's on Fire." He also painted the surprisingly captivating album cover, further intertwining his legacy with theirs. However, the band 'THE BAND' manages to carve out their own identity. The album opens with "Tears of Rage," a poignant track that establishes a reflective mood with its emotive lyrics, featuring Richard Manuel's soulful lead vocals complemented by the rich harmonies of the band 'THE BAND'. Following this is "I Shall Be Released," where Manuel's expressive voice shines again, paired with Robbie Robertson’s lyrical guitar work and Garth Hudson’s evocative organ, creating a powerful sense of longing and freedom that highlights the band 'THE BAND'’s collaborative spirit. "This Wheel's on Fire" injects urgency with its dynamic arrangement and compelling lyrics, showcasing the interplay of Hudson’s organ and Robertson’s guitar, deepening the album's narrative. Standout tracks include "To Kingdom Come," which showcases the band 'THE BAND'’s energetic rock-oriented sound. Helm’s driving drumming, coupled with Danko’s bass, forms a solid backbone for this track, which blends rock, gospel, and folk with cryptic lyrics about sin and judgment. "In a Station" reveals the band 'THE BAND'’s dreamlike side, featuring Manuel’s haunting vocals against a hazy, psychedelic backdrop, further enriched by Hudson’s atmospheric keyboard work, adding layers to the overall narrative. The album’s pinnacle, and arguably the best track in the band 'THE BAND'’s discography, is Robbie Robertson's "The Weight." This iconic song features cryptic lyrics and a warm, steady groove anchored by Levon Helm’s drumming. Robertson’s guitar work seamlessly weaves throughout the arrangement, while Hudson’s soulful organ adds depth to the instrumentation. The interplay between Danko’s bass and Helm’s drums creates a solid foundation, allowing the band 'THE BAND''s harmonies to shine. Music From Big Pink is often credited with kickstarting the Americana and roots rock genres, steering music away from the excesses of psychedelic rock toward a more authentic sound. the band 'THE BAND''s ability to ground their music in rootsy Americana has inspired countless artists in folk, country rock, and Southern rock. This album not only marks the band 'THE BAND'’s emergence from Dylan's shadow but also establishes them as a band capable of crafting unforgettable, genre-blending songs filled with rich narratives and emotional depth. Did/Do I own this release? No Does this release belong on the list? Yes Would this release make my personal list? the band 'THE BAND' would go on to perfect their sound on the follow-up self-titled album. If push comes to shove I would probably select that one first. Will I be listening to it again? I have immense respect for several of the leading artists of the late '60s, and the band 'THE BAND' are arguably one of the top proponents of the era.

There are few artists so ubiquitous that they are instantly associated with an entire genre, a nation-state, and a faith movement. Bob Marley is one such figure—his image alone evokes thoughts of reggae, Jamaica, and Rastafarianism. Released in 1974, Natty Dread is particularly significant as it is the first album credited solely to Bob Marley & The Wailers, following the departure of Peter Tosh and Bunny Wailer. This album also features some of Marley's best-known early hits, marking a key moment in his solo ascension. Like many of his 1970s contemporaries—Queen, The Eagles, Elton John, and Stevie Wonder, to name a few—Marley is often regarded as a “greatest hits” artist. Indeed, Rolling Stone Magazine even included the Legend compilation on its 500 Greatest Albums of All Time list. Given that Marley released 13 albums between 1970 and 1980, it’s understandable that some might reduce his legacy to his hits. However, albums like Natty Dread reveal how much more there is to explore within Marley’s body of work. The album kicks off with "Lively Up Yourself," a prime example of reggae’s inherently uplifting vibe. The song's groovy rhythm and positive message encourage self-confidence, positivity, and unity, inviting listeners to relax and feel joyful. Tracks like "Them Belly Full (But We Hungry)" and "Rebel Music (3 O'Clock Roadblock)" serve as powerful social commentaries, addressing pressing issues of inequality, oppression, and political resistance. Marley’s ability to weave these themes into accessible, rhythmic music helped raise awareness of struggles beyond Jamaica, resonating deeply with marginalized communities around the globe. The title track, "Natty Dread," celebrates Marley’s Rastafarian faith, introducing spiritual and cultural elements that would become central to his work. Most notably, the album features "No Woman, No Cry," which, while its live version from Live! would gain mass popularity, offers a quieter, more intimate glimpse into the song’s origins in its studio form. Reggae as a genre sometimes faces criticism for its slower tempo, offbeat rhythm, and repetitive chord progressions, which some may find simplistic. Additionally, the association with marijuana culture has led to unfair stereotyping. Marley himself is often reduced to a commodified image, destined to adorn t-shirts and posters worldwide, rather than being appreciated as a true artist—a disservice to his immersive legacy. Marley’s voice stands as one of his greatest assets. His passionate, emotive delivery on Natty Dread enhances the album's messages, whether he’s singing about personal struggles in "No Woman, No Cry" or issuing a call to action in "Rebel Music." His charisma and sincerity make the music feel deeply personal and resonate powerfully with listeners. The addition of the I-Threes, with their rich vocal harmonies, adds a new dimension to the sound, making it more dynamic and textured. Notably, the drum and percussion work throughout the album is utterly joyous, enriching the compositions with vibrant texture. Ultimately, with such a vast discography, it’s challenging to pinpoint a single definitive Bob Marley album. However, Natty Dread is indicative of Marley’s artistic vision coming into full focus, as he steps into the forefront without Peter Tosh and Bunny Wailer. This album marks a pivotal moment where Marley’s own voice and message begin to take center stage—a trajectory he would continue to develop until his untimely death. Did I own this release? No, I likely owned Legend. Does this release belong on my list? Yes. Would this release make my personal list? From start to finish, this was a compelling listen. As I prefer to have one album per artist on my list, I would like to listen to a few more deep cuts before making a final selection. Will I be listening to it again? There is always a right time and place for reggae.

Cupid & Psyche 85 by Scritti Politti is often praised for its groundbreaking production, but when the polish outshines the songs, that’s a red flag. Once a band with post-punk roots, this album cemented Green Gartside’s solo takeover, erasing their earlier sound in favour of slick, radio-friendly pop. Partnering with producer Arif Mardin and keyboardist David Gamson, Gartside crafted a pristine sonic landscape, drawing inspiration from Thriller. Indeed, the album is a marvel of digital sampling and MIDI sequencing, arguably one of the most finely-tuned pop records of its time. But is that a compliment? While the production is pristine, the songs mostly range from average to merely good, but they’re hardly memorable. The hyper-produced sheen feels cold and emotionally distant, and despite all the technical brilliance, there’s little hint of heart. Session musicians fill the album, adding a “clock-in, clock-out” feeling that drains the tracks of further energy. Gartside’s philosophical musings are often touted, but if postmodernism or Marxism exist here, they're buried too deep to matter. Furthermore, it’s cheeky to claim Marxist ideals while ousting your original bandmates and chasing a purely commercial sound. Many of these songs sound like leftovers of Prince’s leftovers—tracks that wouldn’t even make his vault. In a decade full of timeless synth-pop and new wave, Cupid & Psyche 85 feels stuck in its own era, offering little to listeners beyond a slick and vapid snapshot of 1985. Did/Do I own this release? God no! Does this release belong on the list? God no! Would this release make my personal list? God no! Will I be listening to it again? God no!

It was the summer of '97, a time etched in my memory, filled with mischief and the thrill of youth. My best friend and I revelled in the art of waking my younger brother in the middle of the night, timing our antics so that when he burst into my room, furious and bewildered, we would blast the iconic “Woo-hoo!!!!” chorus of "Song 2." Looking back, I realize how intertwined this album is with my teenage experiences—a cherished relic of my formative years. Blur stands as a pivotal moment in the band's evolution, and despite its radical departure from earlier sounds, it remains a highlight of their discography. So how does it compare to those hazy memories, especially following the wicked one-two punch of Parklife and The Great Escape? First things first: while Blur may have won the battle with "Country House," it was Oasis who won the war in terms of sales and international success. So, despite the shock at the time, it is perhaps not so unexpected that Blur represents a radical shift in aesthetic for the band. Truth be told, while I enjoy those earlier albums, the self-titled album better fits the sound I was listening to at the time and still holds a special place in my heart today. While these songs share a common grunge-lite aesthetic, Blur offered 14 distinct tracks, and the consistently strong quality is surprising upon revisiting the album. "Beetlebum" is as good a song as the band has ever released, blending lush melodies with a dirty, distorted sound that reflects Blur's move toward a heavier, more experimental style. It may lack the pop chops of "Girls & Boys" or "Parklife", but it boasts one of Graham Coxon's best riffs and a chorus that feels cathartic. As an album opener and lead single, it is quite the declaration of intent. What can I say about "Song 2"? A track that is as ridiculous (by the band's admission) as it is fun! With just five chords played to exhaustion, Blur figured out the quiet-loud formula and took it supernova. This song helped the band finally crack America and was used in more games, films, and commercials than I can fathom. Its simplicity is part of its brilliance, running at just over two minutes with straightforward lyrics, repetitive riffs, and a punchy structure. At its root, it still sounds just as fun as the first time I heard it, standing as one of the most instantly recognizable songs of the '90s. "Country Sad Ballad Man" marks the first detour on the album; its blend of lo-fi aesthetics, acoustic instrumentation, and raw sound reflects Blur's shift away from the energetic optimism of their earlier work, moving toward a more introspective and darker content. It’s marked by a loose, almost lazy rhythm, distorted guitars, and dissonant production, giving it an intentionally rough around the edges sound. "M.O.R." is a high-energy, fun track that showcases Blur’s ability to mix straightforward rock with a clever, ironic edge. Its Bowie and Eno influences help tie it to the glam-rock tradition, making it technically better than "Song 2," driven by a catchy guitar riff, pounding drums, and Damon Albarn's assertive vocals. "On Your Own" features a blend of lo-fi rock with electronic elements, driven by a looped drum machine beat and featuring synth textures alongside garage rock-style guitars. Notably, "On Your Own" was the first Blur song to be self-produced by the band, representing their shift towards further creative independence. Following the eerie detour of "Theme From Retro," with its minimal sound, we are gifted "You’re So Great," a hidden gem fronted by Coxon that combines acoustic and electric elements for a dynamic texture. The verses are mellow, driven by gentle strummed chords, while the chorus features a more energetic sound. The catchy melody hides an underlying sense of melancholy in the lyrics and delivery. "Death Of A Party" offers a poignant moment, sounding almost like eavesdropping on a circus act from outside the tent. Here, the melancholy is heightened, with layered instrumentation and vintage synth sounds creating a dreamy, surreal quality, marked by a hypnotic rhythm. "Chinese Bombs" represents the most aggressive moment of the album, drawing on punk influences. The tight, punchy instrumentation delivers a fast tempo, driving guitar riffs, and infectious energy, making it one of the more upbeat tracks. Somewhere beneath the noise, the track boasts catchy hooks. "Killer For Your Love" continues the noisy detour, offering a bluesy, funky sound combined with introspective lyrics about desire and obsession. It feels more like a vibe than a traditional song, but within the album's context, it doesn't feel out of place. "Look Inside America" is a standout moment with its energetic sound and cultural commentary, perhaps the closest Blur comes to the Britpop anthems of old. Catchy melodies and relatable themes create a timeless feel, enhanced by fabulous orchestral touches that elevate the arrangement. Among the non-single tracks in the band's discography, this is a strong contender for my favourite, showcasing Blur’s ability to blend infectious hooks with thoughtful lyrics. "Strange News from Another Star" is characterized by its dreamy sound and abstract themes. Its sparse sound and clever instrumentation give it an ethereal quality before it descends into prog-adjacent territory in its epic final third. "Moving On" closely walks the line between the Blur of the past and the "new" Blur. With slightly different production, this track could fit well on any of their previous albums. It’s a slight return to the clear-eyed cheeky chappies who dominated Britpop, albeit with a shiny new box of effects and toys to experiment with. The album closes with "Essex Dogs," a gritty portrayal of suburban life and quite possibly the weirdest track Blur has ever produced. That is a compliment. The song is dominated by a minimalist, industrial-like soundscape, with distorted guitars, electronic effects, and repetitive beats. It feels cinematic and deliberately unsettling, drawing heavily from post-punk and krautrock influences with its dystopian vibe and brooding spoken-word delivery. More than any other track, this hints most at the work Albarn would go on to do with the Gorillaz. While Blur may not be the most indicative album in the band's discography, sounding nothing like what came before and little like what came after, it contains some of the band's best-known singles and some of their most daring album tracks. Given my prior experience with this album, I admit I can't be totally objective when rating it. However, for a release that runs close to an hour, there are few, if any, lulls in the track listing, marking this, at the very least, as the band's most consistent work. Did/Do I own this release? Yes, on compact disc. Does this release belong on the list? Yes, but I am biased. Would this release make my personal list? Strong contender, although the previous two albums may have something to say. Will I be listening to it again? Frequently.

I have to admit, until about five minutes ago, I had no idea The Thrills were Irish. Years ago, an ex-girlfriend loaded a bunch of their tracks from the first two albums onto my iPod, and despite being familiar with their music, I always assumed they were from the U.S.—likely the West Coast, maybe even California. Can you blame me? Just look at the track titles, listen to the music, or glance at the album cover—they've nailed the look and sound of a California dream. The only clue to their Irish roots is their names. Conor Deasy’s voice is unmistakable—wistful, plaintive, and instantly the focal point. His range isn’t vast, but his vocal tone perfectly complements the themes of longing and escapism that run through So Much for the City. And curiously, there’s hardly a trace of an Irish accent, further adding to the band’s sun-soaked illusion. The guitars shimmer and jangle with clear nods to The Byrds, The Beach Boys, and maybe R.E.M.—bright, clean, and dripping with reverb. The sound is pure nostalgia, drenched in sunshine. The bass playing is tight and subtle, while the drumming is precise, serving the songs without drawing attention to itself. Taken at face value, this is a solid collection of songs—good but not quite stellar. "Santa Cruz (You’re Not That Far)" and "Big Sur" set the tone, offering breezy melodies and a carefree vibe, while tracks like "One Horse Town" and "Hollywood Kids" round out the album’s stronger moments. To the album’s credit, you can breeze through the 11 tracks with ease. But here's the catch—it all feels like an impersonation. The Thrills name-drop Santa Cruz, Big Sur, Hollywood, and Las Vegas in the song titles alone, transporting themselves to a place and era they don’t belong to. It feels like they’re trying on a Californian persona, and while the songs are entertaining, the whole package comes off as a costume—an aesthetic they’ve borrowed rather than lived. Tony Hoffer’s production, known for his work with Beck and Air, is sun-soaked and polished to perfection. But maybe a little too perfect. As the album progresses, it starts to fizzle out—the same polished sheen that works in the beginning contributes to a sense of emotional distance as it goes on. The lack of grit or spontaneity keeps it from leaving a lasting impact. So Much for the City had its moment, but The Thrills couldn’t sustain the success. It’s no surprise the album was eventually dropped from the 1001 Albums list. It’s a pleasant, well-crafted listen, but in the end, it lacks the authenticity and staying power to hold a place in music history. Do I own this release? Most of it on an iPod. Does this release belong on the list? No. Would this release make my personal list? No. Will I be listening to it again? I enjoyed this, but it shouldn’t be anywhere near the list. I won’t mind if it comes on, but I won’t seek it out.

First of all, what a fucking album! 1994 was an infamously tumultuous year for Courtney Love, compounded by the suicide of her grunge-icon husband just days before her commercial and artistic breakthrough. While some might crumble under such scrutiny and tragedy, Love channelled her fury, grief, and apprehension into an incredibly cathartic collection of songs. Don’t let Love’s outspoken, often antagonistic, public persona overshadow her artistry or colour your perception of her work on 'Live Through This'—this is an album with phenomenal songwriting from start to finish. This album is a powerful exploration of the messy complexities of human emotion, delivered with all the fury you could hope for. Lyrically, it addresses themes of body image, identity, loss, empowerment, and trauma from a deeply personal perspective, with Love’s visceral lyrics cutting right to the bone. In "Doll Parts", for instance, her haunting refrain—“I want to be your doll”—articulates profound longing and insecurity, encapsulating the struggle for self-worth in an objectifying world. Musically, the album is a potent mix of grunge, punk, and alt-rock, dripping with intensity and emotional depth. Distorted guitars, catchy yet chaotic melodies, and loud-quiet-loud dynamics create a constant push and pull of tension and release. Eric Erlandson’s jagged riffs perfectly complement Love’s raw vocals, whether in the blistering "Violet" or the melancholic strumming of "Doll Parts". The rhythmic complexity shines in tracks like "Asking For It", where Patty Schemel’s relentless drumming builds urgency that underscores themes of consent and control. Kristen Pfaff’s contributions on bass are essential to the album’s sonic depth, as exemplified in "Jennifer’s Body", where her brooding, pulsating bassline adds a sinister undercurrent to the song’s already dark energy. Her playing grounds the track, providing a heavy, foreboding atmosphere that complements Love’s biting vocals. Love’s vocal performance is crucial to the album’s impact. She shifts seamlessly from guttural screams to fragile whispers, capturing the emotional peaks and valleys of the music. Her unpolished voice encapsulates both rage and vulnerability, making the music aggressively cathartic and emotionally powerful. The raw production from Paul Q. Kolderie and Sean Slade allows the album to maintain its heart and hooks while sounding visceral. The album opens with "Violet", an anthem of defiance marked by blistering rage and fierce guitars. "Miss World" delivers sharp commentary on beauty standards, its haunting melody underscoring Love’s biting lyrics. "Plump" follows with fierce, punk-infused energy, exploring sexuality and body image through aggressive instrumentation. The anthemic "Asking For It" addresses consent and control with a chilling mix of vulnerability and aggression. "Jennifer’s Body" offers unsettling energy, driven by dark, provocative lyrics that challenge perceptions of female desire. The previously mentioned "Doll Parts" stands out for its melancholic chord sequence and aching vocals, perfectly capturing feelings of insecurity and longing. "Credit in the Straight World" reflects on societal expectations, while "Softer, Softest" explores love and longing with delicate instrumentation, providing a softer counterpoint to the album’s aggressive tracks. "She Walks on Me" blends aggression and vulnerability, showcasing tumultuous relationship dynamics. "I Think That I Would Die" hits with raw emotional intensity, merging desperation with a melodic hook that lingers. "Gutless" returns to an abrasive sound, embodying anger and frustration. The biting sarcasm of "Rock Star" closes the album with a scathing critique of the music industry, fueled by blistering guitars and Love’s fierce delivery. The contrast between the opener "Violet" and "Rock Star" illustrates the album’s emotional complexity, with vulnerability and defiance coexisting powerfully. Tragically, Kristen Pfaff’s overdose just months after the album’s release deepened the sense of loss and personal tragedy surrounding 'Live Through This'. Coming so soon after Kurt Cobain’s suicide, her death casts an even darker shadow over the album, intensifying its haunting themes of grief, trauma, and survival. Today, 'Live Through This' stands as a pivotal moment in both Love’s career and the broader alternative rock movement, where female artists began to challenge a male-dominated MTV landscape. This album showcases the raw power of women reclaiming their voices in music and paves the way for countless female-fronted bands. Quite simply, 'Live Through This' is not just a milestone for grunge; it’s one of the best albums of the '90s. Courtney Love would never quite match this high point, even though Celebrity Skin had its standout moments. But after pouring so much of herself into Live Through This, maybe surviving was the real victory. Honestly, I can’t blame her for kicking back now and enjoying those Nirvana royalty cheques. After all, she does sing in Violet: "I told you from the start just how this would end. When I get what I want, then I never want it again" Did/Do I own this release? On CD Does this release belong on the list? Definitely Would this release make my personal list? Definitely Will I be listening to it again? I’ve listened to this album more times than I can remember.

1991 was a watershed moment in music. Grunge exploded, hip-hop broke into the mainstream, and genres from jazz to electronic evolved in unprecedented ways. This was also a pivotal year for hip-hop: The Low End Theory by A Tribe Called Quest pushed jazz-rap forward, while De La Soul, Public Enemy, and the underground sounds of Cypress Hill infused the genre with creative, politically charged, and darker Latin influences. In this landscape, Ice-T’s O.G. Original Gangster serves as a fascinating bridge between late ‘80s and early ‘90s rap, standing as a high point for gangsta rap. The album solidifies Ice-T’s reputation as a candid storyteller of street life, violence, systemic issues, and police brutality. His portrayal is raw and rooted in survival, often reflecting gritty reality rather than glorification. Musically, the album dives into funk, rock, and jazz influences, all laid over hardcore beats with relentless yet catchy intensity. Ice-T’s rapping is gritty and conversational, defined by vivid, almost journalistic storytelling rather than lyrical complexity. His style is foundational—direct, no-frills, and packed with authenticity. His delivery commands attention, offering raw, straightforward narratives without metaphor or introspection. Compared to the intricate flows of artists like Nas, the introspective style of Tupac or the conversational style of Jay-Z, Ice-T’s approach remains uncompromisingly blunt. Every line hits with purpose, and his voice carries a power that's hard to ignore. Considering how many times Ice-T curses the police on this album, I can't help but chuckle that he would later go on to play a cop on Law & Order. Talk about becoming that which you hate! Did/Do I own this release? No. Does this release belong on the list? It exemplifies gangsta rap well, though other albums from the same period may represent the genre more fully. Would this release make my personal list? I find myself more drawn to the intricate rhyme schemes and flow changes of later rap. Will I be listening to it again? It was an enjoyable listen and made me feel vaguely menacing while driving, so sure.

On the surface, Otis Blue: Otis Redding Sings Soul appears an odd entry in the pantheon of soul’s defining albums. While hailed as one of Redding’s most acclaimed records, much of it consists of covers of songs already immortalized by his contemporaries. The original versions of A Change Is Gonna Come and My Girl are deeply ingrained in popular memory, and Redding’s Respect has been recast as Aretha Franklin’s signature anthem. In an age where any song is just a click away, there’s little reason not to default to the originals—or so it might seem. What Otis Blue proves is that Redding’s voice and delivery make all the difference. His three original songs sit seamlessly among the covers, and his unfiltered, impassioned vocal style transforms each track into something deeply personal. In A Change Is Gonna Come, he amplifies the song’s gospel roots with a rough-edged vulnerability, while his take on My Girl trades sweetness for a deeper, aching warmth. With Satisfaction, he replaces the Rolling Stones’ swagger with pure, frustrated soul, stretching his voice to its limit and giving the song a visceral intensity. Recorded in 1965—amid the Civil Rights Movement—Otis Blue captures the spirit of a turbulent era when soul music became an outlet for Black America’s struggles. The album’s emotional depth and raw delivery resonate with audiences grappling with their own battles for change. Redding’s own I’ve Been Loving You Too Long stands out as the album's true masterpiece and perhaps its most enduring song, alongside (Sittin’ On) The Dock of the Bay. This slow burn of longing and desperation showcases Redding’s extraordinary vocal control, as he shifts from tenderness to anguish. Through this track, Redding bares his soul, encapsulating the timeless agony of unrequited love and solidifying his place as a pillar of soul music. Did/Do I own this release? No Does this release belong on the list? There’s a reason why this album appears in practically every "best album ever" list. Would this release make my personal list? Unsure, unlikely. Will I be listening to it again? Redding's voice is amazing; I'll be glad to hear these songs again.

It’s easy to overlook the importance of Abbey Road. After all, it’s a record that has been dissected and analyzed countless times. Its iconic cover and groundbreaking music have become synonymous with the Beatles’ legacy. Yet, upon revisiting this masterpiece, I couldn't help but be struck by its enduring power. The album’s second side is a particular highlight that invites repeated listens. The sprawling, psychedelic suite of songs seamlessly blends together to showcase McCartney’s ambitious vision, coupled with Harrison’s melodic brilliance and Lennon’s raw energy. The final track, “The End,” with its iconic line, “And in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make,” serves as a fitting conclusion to the Beatles’ career. Abbey Road is a testament to the Beatles’ innovative approach to recording. The album’s production, helmed by George Martin and Geoff Emerick, is groundbreaking. Techniques like tape manipulation and sound layering were revolutionary then and can still be heard in music today. While McCartney’s influence is undeniable, it’s the contributions of Harrison and Lennon that truly elevate Abbey Road. Harrison’s “Here Comes the Sun” and “Something” are timeless classics, showcasing his melodic gift and spiritual depth. Lennon’s “Come Together” and “I Want You (She’s So Heavy)” bring a raw energy and experimental edge to the album. Did I own this release? My dad owned it on vinyl but rarely played it. Does this release belong on the list? Absolutely. Would this release make my personal list? It’s tough to pick just one Beatles album. Will I be listening to it again? For sure.

While my familiarity with Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds leans heavily on their work since the turn of the century, I can't help but respect Cave’s dedication to his craft. He is an obvious inclusion on any list of best albums ever. With that in mind, I was surprised to discover a mid-career album which the artist himself suggested didn’t fully achieve his intended vision, especially with over 20 releases under the Bad Seeds banner. This made me a bit hesitant about going into Henry’s Dream, but I found it surprisingly accessible despite David Briggs's lamented raw production style. There’s something deeply unsettling yet contagious about these songs. Cave channels a possessed church pastor, leading his congregation off a perilous cliff. Tracks like "Papa Won't Leave You, Henry" and "I Had a Dream, Joe" display organized chaos, reminiscent of a jacket splitting at the seams yet still stylish. The wild frenzy builds like a group of drunkards at a pub lock-in, accidentally hitting all the right notes. Cave also knows when to relent from the full-on assault, offering moments of respite with tracks like "Straight to You," "Christina the Astonishing," and "Brother, My Cup Is Empty." These softer interludes fit seamlessly into the dark aesthetic, their almost improvisational delivery and slightly chaotic nature tying them to the project’s core. You can love or hate Cave's music, but he is nothing if not interesting. Henry’s Dream captures this essence, revealing the chaos and beauty of his songwriting. Did/Do I own this release? No Does this release belong on the list? Unsure Would this release make my personal list? Never say never Will I be listening to it again? I enjoyed this far more than I expected; the album has a hypnotic quality that kept me coming back.

Robert Dimery: "We really ought to include a Black Sabbath album. The people want Sabbath." Assistant: "Makes sense. I assume we’re thinking Paranoid? Maybe their debut too?" Robert: "Yeah, those are essential. But add Vol. 4 too." Assistant: "Vol. 4? Why that one?" Robert: "Because they were so coked up recording it! Total chaos. It’s brilliant." Assistant: "Sure, but is it really their signature sound? Vol. 4 is when they started shifting away from that dark, doom-laden vibe for something a bit more... upbeat." Robert: "Exactly! It'll rile people up, spark debate—more discussion, more sales." Assistant: "True, it does show Sabbath experimenting and evolving. But three Sabbath albums on the list?" Robert: "Let Ozzy answer that: ‘I feel something taking me high’." And so Vol. 4 lands on the list—an album of reckless, drug-fueled ambition. It’s not as tight as Paranoid or as dark as their debut; instead, it’s Sabbath off their nut and at their most unpredictable. This isn’t one for casual listeners. Vol. 4 is rough around the edges and veers off the rails at times. It’s good—enjoyable, even—but best left for true fans. Did/Do I own this release? No Does this release belong on the list? No Would this release make my personal list? No Will I be listening to it again? Unlikely

Well, Rum, Sodomy & the Lash ain’t aimed at me, With reels and the chaos and MacGowan’s decree, I see the appeal of their rowdy ol’ charm, But it’s like a fair on a faraway farm. There’s noise and there’s drink and a fair bit of cheer, But it’s tangled and jangled and rough on the ear, In the quiet, some melody tries to come through, But it’s swamped by the fiddles and pipes barely in tune. MacGowan’s a voice you won’t soon forget, It’s a howl, it’s a wail, it’s a whisky-fueled threat, While Bassist Cait O'Riordan, bless her, sings it right, A cool drink of water in a brawl late at night. So raise ‘em a toast, if it’s your type of roar, But I’ll stick with their “Fairytale” carol once more, A salute to the lads and their riotous show, But on my own list? It’s a loud, rowdy no. Did I own this release? No Does it belong on the list? No Would it make my personal list? No Will I be listening to it again? I’d rather listen to "Fairytale Of New York" on loop.

When I saw the recommendation for the fifth album by yet another storied British rock band, I braced myself; mid-career albums often lack the fire of earlier releases. With Who's Next, I needn't have worried. This album features two if not three of The Who’s best-ever songs. Who's Next showcases The Who at the pinnacle of their creative powers, with each member shining. Listening to Keith Moon is an utter joy; his frenetic drumming injects explosive energy into every track. His innovative blend of power and nuance is evident on "Baba O'Riley" and "Won't Get Fooled Again," where his unpredictable style becomes integral to the album's dynamic shifts. Roger Daltrey's powerful, emotive vocals define the record. His performance displays his remarkable range and ability to convey deep emotion. The iconic scream in "Won't Get Fooled Again" is one of rock’s most unforgettable moments. Pete Townshend, the driving force behind Who's Next, wrote most of the songs and themes. His groundbreaking use of electric guitar and ARP synthesizers crafts a rich sonic landscape. John Entwistle’s intricate bass work adds complexity and drive, enhancing tracks like "My Wife" and contributing to the album’s intensity. While it's difficult to criticize such a seminal album, the middle tracks feel a bit homogenized, blending into a sound that might not captivate casual listeners. It is not badly delivered, but these tracks lack the woah factor of the band's key moments. Yet, with an album that opens with "Baba O'Riley" and closes with "Won't Get Fooled Again," all other tracks could sound like smashed bottles, and it would still be better than a lot of other selections. . Did/Do I own this release? No. Does this release belong on the list? The Who belong on this list, and this is the album that made them go supernova. Would this release make my personal list? I feel I don't have enough of a sentimental attachment beyond "Baba O'Riley," "Won't Get Fooled Again," and "Behind Blue Eyes." Will I be listening to it again? Definitely to those three tracks.

The Velvet Underground & Nico—a seminal album that has inspired endless analysis. From Warhol’s iconic banana cover to its raw, experimental sound and boundary-breaking lyrics, it has secured its place as one of rock’s most influential works. Initially baffling with its unconventional structures and minimalist sound, the album’s tracks have since become woven into the fabric of popular culture. Warhol’s hands-off production helped it transcend its era, allowing the band’s gritty, unpolished style to breathe; the rawness and imperfections are now part of its enduring charm. Nico’s inclusion—Warhol’s move to attract the New York scene—added a cool, mysterious aesthetic, though her detached vocals on “Femme Fatale” and “All Tomorrow’s Parties” sometimes feel disconnected from the album’s gritty heart. Her role was more strategic than musical and ultimately didn’t aid sales, rather pushing a peripheral figure into a shared spotlight. That said, Lou Reed’s deadpan delivery brings incredible depth to these sordid tales, while John Cale’s avant-garde edge elevates the sound into new territory, making each track compelling even 50+ years on. Special mention goes to Maureen Tucker’s minimalist drumming, which defines the album’s primal energy, grounding its experimental edges. Whether it’s the jittery energy of “I’m Waiting for the Man,” the dreamy quality of “Sunday Morning,” Nico’s detachment, or the more experimental tracks on the tail end, this feels like a cohesive set of songs that rewards multiple listens. The sum of its parts is greater than any individual moment. As Brian Eno famously noted, “everyone who bought one of those 30,000 copies started a band.” For a record that sold little but spoke volumes, its legacy says it all. • Do I own this release? On CD • Does it belong on the list? Undoubtedly • Would it make my personal list? Yes • Will I be listening to it again? Yes

Brothers in Arms earned a unique place in music history as the first album to sell a million copies on CD, marking the dawn of the digital music era. Fortunately, this milestone went to an album of real substance. Packed with tracks that feel deeply ingrained in my subconscious, Brothers in Arms reflects Dire Straits' commitment to songcraft, with every note polished and purposeful. Mark Knopfler, the band’s unassuming leader, brought an extraordinary touch to every track. Known for his unique fingerpicking style, Knopfler's playing is both technical and expressive, allowing each track to breathe and resonate. From the punchy riff of the satirical “Money for Nothing” to the haunting, almost cinematic elegance of the title track, the jazzy interplay of “Your Latest Trick,” and the reflective melancholy of “So Far Away,” his guitar work inevitably elevates each song. The meticulous production, achieved through countless hours of work in the studio, gives the album its enduring sound quality and feel. This dedication to the craft likely ensured the album’s longevity, challenging any notion I had of '80s music as disposable or gimmicky. Brothers in Arms remains a high-water mark in rock history—timeless, powerful, and a true testament to Knopfler's songwriting. Did/Do I own this release? My mother owned it on CD. Does this release belong on the list? Yes. Would this release make my personal list? Yes. Will I be listening to it again? Yes.

Catch a Fire is the second Bob Marley album I’ve encountered on this list, and it’s pushing me to reconsider every cheeky jab I’ve taken at reggae over the years. This album is where Marley and the Wailers took their sound to the world, fusing reggae’s raw rhythm with rock’s edge to reach listeners far beyond Jamaica. It’s a genre-defining release, capturing the struggle and passion Marley would soon be famous for. Tracks like “Stir It Up” and “Concrete Jungle” are among his best, showcasing his early songwriting power and magnetic presence. While Marley would go on to refine and deepen his sound, Catch a Fire feels like an essential stepping stone—a moment when reggae’s voice first truly began to resonate globally. And that original Zippo-lighter album cover that flips open sideways? Pure genius and easily one of the coolest album designs ever made. Did/Do I own this release? No. Does this release belong on the list? Foundational. Would this release make my personal list? You have to have at least one Bob Marley album. Which one I would add is yet to be determined. Will I be listening to it again? I will be glad to.

Remain in Light is lightning in a bottle, an album so unique that I've seen at least fifty bands in the past 10 years try—and fail—to replicate it. For Talking Heads to release something this audacious in 1980, a year after Fear of Music, is remarkable. Drawing heavily from Fela Kuti’s Afrobeat, the album breaks rock conventions with looping polyrhythms, layered instrumentals, and Brian Eno’s experimental production, which gave the music a strange hypnotic pull. The band’s approach—building instrumental tracks first and improvising lyrics later—gave them a new creative spark. The opening trio—“Born Under Punches,” “Crosseyed and Painless,” and “The Great Curve”—is relentless, each track intensifying the listener's pulse. “Born Under Punches” bursts out of the gates with a frenetic groove, while “Crosseyed and Painless” dives into paranoia with a pounding funk bassline. “The Great Curve” cranks up the tempo further, layering sharp guitar and rapid percussion to dizzying effect. It’s an explosive start to the album. Then comes “Once in a Lifetime,” the album’s crown jewel and one of the band's, and indeed rock’s, most iconic songs. Its unforgettable bassline and surreal, existential lyrics on identity and alienation make it both of it's time and sharply contemporary, a song that resonates as much today as it did over forty years ago. The album’s intensity dips slightly in the final few tracks, revisiting earlier concepts with a touch less punch. Still, Remain in Light remains a genre-shattering gem—a singular fusion of rock, funk, and global rhythms. - Did/Do I own this release? No - Does this release belong on the list? Unique for its time, it fits well on a list like this. - Would this release make my personal list? I genuinely love Talking Heads, but with such a rich discography I may be inclined to pick one of their other brilliant albums instead - Will I be listening to it again? There is always room for more Talking Heads.

Mr. Tambourine Man, released just months after Dylan’s original, took his folk masterpiece and electrified it, introducing the Byrds’ signature jangly 12-string sound. The title track became an iconic hit, marking a pivotal shift in American music by blending folk lyricism with rock energy, and providing inspiration for acts like The Beatles, Simon & Garfunkel, and Tom Petty. Naming an album after a cover song feels odd today—almost like releasing an album called Stairway to Heaven, Bohemian Rhapsody, or Sweet Child O' Mine. But in 1965, this approach didn’t hinder The Byrds; if anything, it amplified their impact. And yet, the original material, despite making up just 1/3 of the album, represents some of the highlights of Mr. Tambourine Man. Gene Clark’s "I'll Feel a Whole Lot Better" is undeniably catchy and showcases the band’s potential beyond covers, while "You Won't Have to Cry" and "Here Without You" offer a softer, introspective side that hinted at the Byrds’ coming growth. Lyrically, these originals may lack the depth of Dylan’s work, but they form a strong foundation for the band. Later albums would see deeper, more ambitious lyrics as Chris Hillman and David Crosby contributed more, but these early tracks are solid and enjoyable, if somewhat formulaic in their sound. While the jangly sound can be repetitive, it helps maintain the album's cohesion. Today, Mr. Tambourine Man might seem a bit quaint or one-dimensional to listeners accustomed to more experimental folk rock. Still, it’s impossible to overlook the impact of Mr. Tambourine Man, even if it’s more a starting point than the Byrds’ creative peak. Did/Do I own this release? No Does this release belong on the list? Historically yes, musically The Byrds made better records Would this release make my personal list? No Will I be listening to it again? Sure, occasionally.

I’ll admit, I’d never heard of American Music Club until today. With that name, I might have overlooked them entirely if California hadn’t been included in the 1001 Albums You Must Hear Before You Die. Though missing from most streaming services, the album is available on Bandcamp—so there’s no excuse not to give it a listen. Once I finally pressed play, I was gripped by AMC’s haunting, spacious sound. These tracks feel delicate yet temperamental with an almost cinematic quality. Mark Eitzel’s vocals have an intimate, confessional edge, shifting from a weary whisper to a cathartic wail that perfectly complements the album’s sombre themes. The arrangements mirror his emotional intensity, creating a slow, reflective experience where melancholic melodies dominate, allowing the emotional weight of the lyrics to sink in. Guitarist Vudi’s reverb-soaked riffs and subtle strumming lend texture without stealing focus, letting Eitzel’s voice and introspective lyrics shine. Highlights like “Firefly” and the gorgeous “Western Sky” capture the album’s sense of longing and disillusionment, while “Blue and Grey Shirt” digs into themes of love and regret. The closer, “Last Harbor,” leaves a lingering sense of melancholy. At times, this feels like the sound R.E.M. might have pursued without major-label polish, though Eitzel’s lyrical approach is far darker than Michael Stipes'. Recorded with minimal production, California is intentionally sparse, capturing heartbreak and self-reflection against the ghostly backdrop of a fading California dream. In a parallel universe, this band are probably huge, but conversely, their underdog status makes them more appealing to me. Did/Do I own this release? No Does this release belong on the list? Sure Would this release make my personal list? I'm still processing it, but I've enjoyed listening to it. Will I be listening to it again? For sure

In 2011, when Poly Styrene—arguably punk’s best stage name—lost her battle with breast cancer, there was an overdue surge of appreciation for her solo work and Germfree Adolescents, the only proper X-Ray Spex album. That was my first real encounter with her music, and now, years later, these tracks still have the same magnetic pull. Let’s make no mistakes: this is one of the most messily delivered albums on the list (in the best way possible). The musicianship is scrappy at best, but that’s punk rock for you. Melodies and message took the front seat, while nailing a tricky Fmaj7#11 or G13sus4 was, let’s say, optional. Germfree Adolescents has both punch and plenty of hooks, its raw energy infused with a sharp sense of alienation and a swipe at mindless consumerism and plastic conformity. The saxophone is an unexpected and essential twist—more ska territory than punk but here it adds a playful roughness. It is always almost on the beat and more or less in tune, giving the whole album its chaotic charm. At the core of it all is Poly Styrene herself, defying expectations with her bold image and delivery. Back in 1978, seeing a woman lead guitar-driven music, confrontational yet playful, was rare—arguably, it still is. Her cry against artificiality and rampant commercialism feels as relevant now as it did then. And yes, I get the irony of streaming this album with Amazon open in another tab. I should do better. Did/Do I own this release? No. Does this release belong on the list? Yes. Would this release make my personal list? Unlikely. Will I be listening to it again? Occasionally.

[Note: the album linked here is not the album referenced in Wikipedia, for the full show/album search for the French titled "Au Star-Club De Hambourg" 🤷] Live at the Star Club, Hamburg is a testament to Jerry Lee Lewis's raw talent and a stark reminder of his deeply problematic past. Marrying his 13-year-old cousin, holding despicable views, and allegedly being involved in multiple suspicious deaths, Lewis is a prime example of an artist whose art and life are irreconcilable. (For a detailed exploration of the murder allegations, check out the Disgraceland podcast episode on Jerry Lee Lewis.) Despite his troubling legacy, Lewis's performance on this album is undeniable. His playing is a furious, almost unhinged display of power, showcasing his absolute piano mastery. The Nashville Teens, his British backing band, struggle to keep up with his relentless tempo shifts and impromptu choices. From the opening note, Lewis is on the attack, pounding the keys with a ferocity that's both thrilling and terrifying. Normally, live albums fall short of capturing the thrill of a show. But this is the exception. Listening to it feels like you’re right there, sweating in the room, as Jerry Lee delivers his intense, near-demonic sermon. Few live albums from any era match the unhinged rock-and-roll ferocity of Live at the Star Club

Imagine it’s 1966, and it’s finally your birthday. You’ve spent months dropping hints, practically begging your parents for that sleek LP player with a couple of records so you can finally stop hearing Pet Sounds and Revolver secondhand. You’re convinced that, any day now, you’ll be joining the ranks of cool in the privacy of your room, under the watchful eye of your Bob Dylan poster. And there it is: a square-shaped package in colorful wrapping, your parents beaming with pride as you tear it open. Only, instead of Pet Sounds or Revolver, out pops Midnight Ride by Paul Revere & The Raiders. So, not exactly what you were hoping for. You try to smile, but let’s be real—the day’s taken a slight turn. Midnight Ride is classic garage rock: loud, fun, and packed with catchy, rebellious energy. Kicks is a standout, with its anti-drug message and infectious groove, and I’m Not Your Stepping Stone packs attitude—a tune The Monkees would later make iconic. But the rest? Some fun, some filler. Where albums like Revolver are shifting into psychedelic and introspective territory, Midnight Ride sticks to simpler rock and roll vibes, the sound of teens looking for trouble without quite crossing the line. While Midnight Ride may not have reached the same heights as its more experimental contemporaries, it remains a significant artefact of the garage rock era. It captures the raw energy and youthful rebellion of a generation on the cusp of change. Entertaining, yes—but not a game changer. Did/Do I own this release? No Does this release belong on the list? No Would this release make my personal list? No Will I be listening to it again? Kicks is pretty cool.

American IV is Johnny Cash's swan song, his sixty-seventh album and the last released during his lifetime. With his health rapidly fading, Cash’s voice is frail yet fiercely determined, as if he knew these could be his final words to the world. Supported by an all-star lineup, including John Frusciante, Fiona Apple, Nick Cave, and Don Henley, Cash and Rubin create an intimate sound that sometimes feels haunting, a fitting soundtrack for a man approaching the final pages in his book. The album opens with "The Man Comes Around," his last original composition—a haunting meditation on judgment and faith, fitting for a man near the end of his journey. The track’s apocalyptic verses—“there’s a man going around taking names”—juxtapose a dark and reflective tone with a dose of his customary wit that flows throughout the album. Galvanized by the success of covering unexpected artists previously (Soundgarden, Beck), Cash again tackles an eclectic setlist, bringing his own raw take to these songs. The darkest tracks, like “Personal Jesus” and “Hurt,” come across as the most profound, with Cash transforming the lyrics into deeply personal confessions. His take on the Nine Inch Nails classic is so powerful that even Trent Reznor felt the song now belonged to Cash, who turned the lines “I will let you down, I will make you hurt” into reflections of a life marred by regret and resilience. Rubin’s trademark stripped-down production, with just a touch of guitar, sombre pianos, and occasional organ, allows Cash’s weathered vocals to take centre stage. On “Personal Jesus,” the snake-like acoustic rhythm lends a brooding energy that suits the song’s gospel undertones, while on “Hurt,” Rubin allows Cash’s fragile vocals to carry the song alone at the start, building slowly with subtle piano and string accents until it feels almost unbearably personal. Not every track reaches this level. Takes on The Beatles' “In My Life” and Simon & Garfunkel’s “Bridge Over Troubled Water” fall somewhat flat, with Cash’s voice unable to carry them in the same transformative way. The weathered renditions, while well-meaning, don’t add the fresh perspective he conveyed in other songs. The closing track, “We’ll Meet Again,” is worth mentioning. It acts as a bittersweet farewell, its disarming optimism offering a faint glimmer of hope amid the darkness—a farewell to his listeners, as well as to life itself. With so many albums under his belt, it is inevitable to observe that American IV does not fully represent Cash's incredible career. Arguably taking the best moments from the American series as a whole would be more a more representative and cohesive showcase of his late-career revival. Yet the album—especially through the song and video for “Hurt”—cemented Cash’s relevance for a new generation, ensuring his music endures. Ultimately, American IV stands as Cash's farewell—a stark, honest, if not entirely unforgettable goodbye to the world. Did/Do I own this release? No Does this release belong on the list? Unsure Would this release make my personal list? No Will I be listening to it again? Hurt and Personal Jesus are elite-level covers, some of the rest I could do without.

Over the years, I've had my fair share of struggles connecting with Joni Mitchell’s music. I've spun Blue and Court and Spark countless times, trying to fall in love with her as some of my friends have. I have immense respect for her as a lyricist, songwriter, and vocalist, but something about her delivery and even her choice of subject matter hasn't fully clicked for me. It’s a personal disconnect, and I’m sure Joni isn’t losing any sleep over it! Hejira, however, was new territory for me, and knowing it marked her deeper exploration into jazz, I was eager to give it a shot. At first listen, it sounds like a natural extension of her earlier sound; the compositions are looser, and her vocal tone feels a little deeper and more grounded, yet it’s still unmistakably Joni. But if anything, this album’s restrained delivery speaks to me more. She’s less focused on pitch-perfect moments and more on letting the raw emotional undertones of her words shine through. There’s a natural flow, a sense of just letting the words and music breathe. Subject-wise, Hejira is a true road trip album, drenched in solitude, introspection, and freedom. Inspired by Mitchell’s 1975 solo drive from Maine to California, the songs are shaped by the long stretches of highway and open landscapes she travelled alone. This album feels like a series of snapshots—moments of clarity, passing thoughts, deep reflections. In tracks like "Coyote" with its flirtatious spontaneity, "Furry Sings the Blues" with its haunting portrayal of Beale Street’s lost past, and "Song for Sharon," where she contemplates the paths not taken, she captures the exhilaration and isolation of the journey. Hejira has been a revelation to me, upending my preconceived notions of Joni Mitchell and her music. Its understated beauty, raw emotion, and introspective lyrics have drawn me in like never before. The album’s cinematic feel, rich with evocative imagery and stripped arrangements, creates the impression that you are riding shotgun with her on the highway. Did/Do I own this release? No Does this release belong on the list? Sure, although 'The Hissing of Summer Lawns', 'Blue' and 'Court and Spark' are more closely recognised with the artist Would this release make my personal list? I'm surprised by just how much I enjoyed this album. It may not have made me a die-hard fan just yet, but it definitely brought me closer to appreciating her world. Will I be listening to it again? For sure.

Adding meaningful praise for a man whose nickname was The Genius is no easy task. On Modern Sounds in Country and Western Music, Ray Charles transforms country classics with such soulful conviction that the “country” label feels almost secondary. Charles’ piano playing is subtle yet masterful, grounding each track with blues-inflected left-hand bass and adding light syncopation and swing with his right hand. Instead of flashy solos, he offers precise riffs and brief flourishes that enhance the emotional weight of each song, complementing his soulful vocals. Charles redefines each genre by seamlessly blending country, blues, jazz, and R&B. His piano weaves bluesy bass lines, jazz-inspired swing, and gospel-rooted harmonies, while the lush orchestration borrows from big-band traditions, all while maintaining the simplicity of country melodies. The result is a sound uniquely his—soulful, expansive, and genre-defying. Compared to the originals, his versions are more immersive and emotionally charged, turning simple country storytelling into layered, soul-infused performances. Where the originals are crisp and direct, Charles’ interpretations are expansive and bold, blending genres and reimagining each song. This album exceeded my expectations, cementing Ray Charles as a master interpreter and boundary-breaker. Modern Sounds reaffirms his genius, proving he transcends genres making every song unmistakably his own. Did/Do I own this release? No Does this release belong on the list? Sure. Would this release make my personal list? Every respectable list has to have some Ray Charles. This album is as good a point to start as any. Will I be listening to it again? Definitely.

S&M is that rare Metallica album you can play with your parents—and yes, I once convinced my dad to sit through the full two hours on a road trip (He kept asking if we were listening to "Kashmir"). But to the band's die-hard fans and thrash purists, this album is likely the ultimate sacrilege: an intentional departure from the band’s raw, aggressive roots, softened with lush orchestral backing that almost feels like a bid for a broader audience. They’re not entirely wrong. With a tracklist leaning heavily on Load and Reload, it’s fair to say no one needed six songs from those albums. Yet somehow, despite the contrived concept, S&M works. The orchestration isn’t just window dressing; Michael Kamen’s arrangements deepen each track, transforming them into something more ambitious. There are undeniable highlights: in "Master of Puppets," the orchestra’s surges add epic scale, while the strings in "Nothing Else Matters" heighten its melancholy. "One" gains a dramatic tension that makes its climactic riff hit with massive intensity, and "For Whom the Bell Tolls" becomes an absolute powerhouse, with brass and percussion amplifying its ominous weight. No Leaf Clover, one of two original tracks, showcases the potential of this collaboration, with brooding orchestration and heavy riffing blending seamlessly into a live staple for the band. I’ve long maintained that live albums don’t necessarily belong on “best of” lists. Too often they’re excessively overdubbed or too rough around the edges, leaving you with something that doesn’t truly represent the live experience. This doesn’t apply to S&M, which succeeds in presenting familiar material in a new light—you can feel the audience’s excitement each time a new section unfolds. And yet, with a runtime exceeding two hours, there is a considerable amount of fat that could have been trimmed—if not during the performance, then at least for the album release. Like much of what the band has done since the mid-’90s when S&M succeeds, the tracks soar to unexpected heights, but too often it sounds dialled in, more like an afterthought than a fully realized vision. Did/Do I own this release? On CD. Does this release belong on the list? The band has other albums more indicative of their sound. Would this release make my personal list? I hadn’t thought of this album much until it popped up on the list, but I'd always pick The Black Album over this. Will I be listening to it again? Never say never.

Let the record show, I’m a fan of The Black Keys, but even they’d likely scoff at 'Brothers' landing on any “best of all time” list. The album marked a shift from their raw, garage-rock roots, with Danger Mouse’s production giving it a slicker feel at the cost of some of the gritty charm found in earlier work. The decision clearly paid off, earning them their first Grammy and going platinum. 'Brothers' has undeniable highlights—“Tighten Up” is an infectious hit, and “Howlin’ for You” delivers a driving rhythm with a catchy chorus. “Next Girl” stands out for its bluesy riff and tension. However, other tracks are solid in isolation but suffer from a lack of distinctive identity, blending into each other. The result is an unsettling dip in energy, leaving you wondering which track you’re even listening to. At over an hour, the album starts to drag, with some moments feeling repetitive. Brothers is a good album, but far from “best of” material. While its hits still resonate, the overall experience is weighed down by pacing issues. The Black Keys would perfect this sound on El Camino, making Brothers, despite its success, feel more like a stepping stone than a defining moment. Did/Do I own this release? No Does this release belong on the list? Even The Black Keys would say no. Would this release make my personal list? No. Will I be listening to it again? Unlikely.

In 1994, while Britpop was throwing one endless party across the UK, a four-piece from Wales dropped a Molotov cocktail into the festivities. The Holy Bible is a raw, unflinching exploration of darkness and despair, a stark contrast to the boisterous highs of the time. Six months later, Richey Edwards disappeared, leaving behind an album that feels as prophetic as it is painfully personal. Richey’s lyrics are the beating heart of The Holy Bible. His words are as devastating as they are intelligent, capturing everything from political decay to body image issues to self-destruction. On “4st 7lb,” Edwards confronts anorexia with chilling precision, while “Archives of Pain” delivers a scathing critique of historical atrocities. The man behind these lyrics was spiralling, and the voyeuristic nature of the album—listened to in hindsight—makes it feel like an intimate, unsettling glimpse into his psyche. Musically, the band shed their earlier Guns N’ Roses-inspired bombast, opting for a more concise and claustrophobic sound that drew heavily from post-punk, goth, and echoes of The Clash. The guitars are jagged, the drums industrial, and Bradfield’s voice cuts through it all with unrelenting ferocity. Tracks like “Yes” and “Faster” are unyielding, while “The Intense Humming of Evil” suffocates you with its bleak atmosphere. The sound mirrors the album’s content—nothing is comforting here, there are no soft edges to cushion the blow. In the years after Edwards’ disappearance, the Manics embraced a more polished, anthemic sound on albums like Everything Must Go and This Is My Truth Tell Me Yours. These records brought commercial success but left behind the visceral, confrontational energy that defines The Holy Bible. Where those albums offered catharsis, this one opts for discomfort. For a fleeting moment in 1994, the Manics captured a scathing snapshot of the world’s injustices in a way few others dared. The Holy Bible stands as one of the most uncompromising albums of its era. While not an easy listen, its brutal honesty and thematic depth make it essential for those who rejected the polished veneer of Cool Britannia. It’s an album that never sought to comfort—it sought only to confront. Did/Do I own this release? No Does this release belong on the list? Maybe Would this release make my personal list? Had I lived in Britain at the time, I feel I would have had a bigger connection to this band and album. Will I be listening to it again? For sure.

Ladies and Gentlemen We Are Floating in Space is a sprawling and (arguably overly) ambitious album that took nearly two years to complete. On their third release, Spiritualized moves away from the repetitious guitar patterns and droning soundscapes of earlier works, with Jason Pierce making a conscious decision to forsake genre boundaries and focus on emotional depth. The result is a kaleidoscope of lush orchestrations, gospel vocals, and blues riffs, often presented back-to-back in a way that feels daring and at times overwhelming. At over 70 minutes, the album occasionally teeters into self-indulgence but repeated listens reveal universal themes of love, addiction, and melancholy, executed with remarkable intensity. While leaning heavily on familiar emotional tropes, Ladies and Gentlemen marked a significant leap in the band’s ambition and emotional resonance, even if it sacrificed some of their earlier abstract minimalism. - Did/Do I own this release? As an intern at "Major Label X" my boss gifted me a vinyl copy of this album from a heap they found in a stock cupboard. - Does this release belong on the list? It's a rewarding listen for fans of the band, but casual listeners may not have the patience to fully appreciate its depth. - Would this release make my personal list? On a whim, I have to say no. - Will I be listening to it again? It is an album I enjoy, albeit occasionally. 

L.A. Woman, The Doors’ final album with Jim Morrison, sees the band leaning fully into the blues-rock direction hinted at on Morrison Hotel, shedding the surreal psychedelia of their early work for a raw, soulful, and mature sound. Morrison delivers one of his most compelling performances, his grittier, world-weary baritone lending emotional depth to tracks like "Riders on the Storm" and swaggering bravado to the bluesy "Been Down So Long." His electrifying delivery on "L.A. Woman," especially the iconic "Mr. Mojo Risin’" refrain, and his haunting whispers on "Riders on the Storm" showcase an artist both defiant and reflective, blending personal musings with mythic Americana. The rest of the band—Robby Krieger, Ray Manzarek, and John Densmore—are at their best, with Krieger’s versatile guitar, Manzarek’s atmospheric keyboards, and Densmore’s jazz-inspired drumming creating a perfect foundation. While some straight blues tracks feel less remarkable, they’re elevated by the band’s musicianship and Morrison’s charisma. The haunting "Riders on the Storm" closes the album and Morrison’s career with poetic brilliance, a fitting farewell to one of rock’s most enigmatic figures. Less than three months after its release, Morrison was gone, leaving L.A. Woman as a powerful swan song to his legendary career. Did/Do I own this release? For some reason, we had this in our family car. Does this release belong on the list? The Doors' prolific output in just four years cements their legacy, but choosing which album best represents their brilliance is no easy task. Would this release make my personal list? Probably, but narrowing it down to one Doors album is tough. Will I be listening to it again? Absolutely—a timeless road companion.

Thrash metal isn’t my usual go-to, though I’ve spent plenty of time with Metallica and Slayer. Of the remaining Big 4, Megadeth, while undeniably powerful, never fully clicked with me—possibly due to Dave Mustaine’s voice. Anthrax, however, has always been more of a mystery. Despite their presence in old Kerrang! and Metal Hammer magazines I read and a hazy memory of seeing them on a festival bill, 'Among the Living' was my first proper deep dive into their music. I approached it with little context but high expectations. Sadly, this wasn’t the 'aha' moment I had hoped for. Don't get me wrong, Scott Ian’s riffing is ace—dynamic, intricate, and more than just fast for the sake of speed. Charlie Benante’s drumming is equally impressive, providing tight, inventive rhythms that anchor the album with precision and energy. Compared to their peers, Anthrax leans more melodic and accessible, giving them a distinct edge within the thrash scene. But Joey Belladonna’s vocals left me cold. He’s a capable singer, but his delivery on this album often feels rushed, like he’s cramming too many words into a phrase. The lyrics, packed with pop culture references and humour, don’t help either. While thrash doesn’t need to be overly profound, the throwaway feel of these themes lacks the timelessness I’ve come to associate with the genre’s best work. Among the Living undoubtedly showcases Anthrax’s skill and energy, but I struggled to connect. I can see why fans hold it in such high regard, but for me, it falls short of being truly memorable. Did/Do I own this release? No. Does this release belong on the list? Questionable. Would this release make my personal list? No. Will I be listening to it again? While enjoyable, there are other albums in this lane I’d reach for first—it’s arguably the best album from the least interesting band in the Big Four.