Nice enough album, having been subjected to Rage Against The Machine prior to this, it felt like I had just been released from Guantanamo Bay and been sent to live with a nice elderly grandmother in sheltered housing. For the most part it was calm and gentle, despite her having a weird voice, I still felt safe.. albeit bored at times (she only really wants to play backgammon and watch a Miss Marple omnibus). The saving grace at points like that though, was knowing that she'd be gone soon.. and I found peace in that, as the album was only about half an hour long. Preferred this to the last Neil Young album on here.. hopefully the inevitable 50 others that come up here will be alright too.

Listened to it with my ears, enjoyed it, although the skit of him getting sucked off by a couple of blokes was a problem, I was so turned on it distracted me from the rest of the album a bit. 8.5/10.. 9 without the erection interference.

The maniac that shot John Lennon should have finished the job and got the rest of them.

Didn't know who Neil Young was, still not sure. Album was okay, some great guitar riffs throughout, but just felt like it lacked something that made the album stand out.

60% of it was the same song over and over again, enjoyed the less miserable stuff

At some points throughout the album it felt like I'd just kicked Agent Smith's head in. At other points I felt like I'd been left at home again with another frozen TV dinner, with only the teleshopping channel and my prozac to keep me company.. because Dads always home late and Moms at the bingo hall seemingly 24 hours a day. Luckily Dad always leaves his rifle in an unlocked cabinet, so when I finally snap I can head down to the nearest campus and let off some steam. 2 stars because some of the guitar playing was great.. and the TV dinner was chicken parmesan, which actually isn't THAT bad.

Nice enough album, having been subjected to Rage Against The Machine prior to this, it felt like I had just been released from Guantanamo Bay and been sent to live with a nice elderly grandmother in sheltered housing. For the most part it was calm and gentle, despite her having a weird voice, I still felt safe.. albeit bored at times (she only really wants to play backgammon and watch a Miss Marple omnibus). The saving grace at points like that though, was knowing that she'd be gone soon.. and I found peace in that, as the album was only about half an hour long. Preferred this to the last Neil Young album on here.. hopefully the inevitable 50 others that come up here will be alright too.

A delectable hodge podge of absolute bollocks and nonsense. I can only assume this album wasn't recorded in a studio, but in the bowels of some bizarre Saw/Dr Seuss hybrid hellhole. Knocked a star off because I don't like bagpipes. I cant blame Tom Waits for this, seeing as he's obviously used not only every instrument on earth to make this album, but every object he can get his hands on and violently bang together.. bagpipes were bound to make an appearance. It's no wonder the Scottish hate everybody, including themselves - if I had to stand in a wintry field, wearing a woolly skirt, whilst the cold air clawed at my bollocks, and the only relief I had whilst waiting for the English to march over the hill, was listening to Mel Gibson blow air into a dead, inside out animal, I'd be pretty fed up too. I'd much rather be in a field listening to Swordfishtrombones, music that would truly strike fear into the enemy. 4/5

Clearly of it's time, and can imagine it was all the rage back in the 50s when better music hadn't been invented yet. Enjoyed the few familiar songs on there and quickly realised because of that I'd already heard about 50% of the album because they started to sound the exact same. Little Richard by name, but could have done with even smaller amounts of Richard, as after a few songs the hootin' and hollerin' was just a bit too much. Too much Dick for my liking.. and in the words of the great Ice Cube, big dicks is bad for your health.. and in this instance, my ears too.

E.V.O.L - Excessive, Vapid and 'Orribly Loud. What I thought would be a run of the mill heavy metal album turned into something far worse, as I was suddenly roundhouse kicked into a soundtrack from an overly complicated 90s slasher movie. Heavy metal is still quite an apt description for what I can only describe as 'fingers in the plug socket' style music, because 90% of it made me feel like I was being hunted by Leatherface and his heavy, metal chainsaw. The album was akin to what was initially, quite a novel ghost train ride. I sat there and pretended it hadn't give me the willies (I'd had enough of them listening to little Richard's album yesterday). My bravery soon turned to boredom, screams turned to yawns, and the bird I'd taken on the ride to try and cop a cheeky feel of in the dark, steadily got uglier.. as the ghost train went on, and on, and on. Occasionally something would pop out that piqued my interest, but I was otherwise trapped on the janky, dated masturbatathon that was this shite fairground 'attraction'.. forever edging itself towards hell. Someone tell the miserable gypo running the show I want to get off. 2 stars, only because I listened to a lot of it whilst driving and it was fun to pretend I was the one chasing people down country lanes in the middle of the night.

For me, not bad- not great. The album felt a little samey as it went on- with most songs just transitioning into wild guitar solos and then nondescript thrashing.. At points it felt like the track was going to overheat and catch fire.. which might have been cool back in the 60s, but in today's world, not so much.. I mean look at what an unassuming fridge started at Grenfell. I appreciate Hendrix was known for his guitar playing skills, and if you have a penchant for that sort of thing you'd probably enjoy this a lot more.. however I lacked the audial dexterity to tell the difference between the guitar solos. To me, it was a bit like a footballer who's really good at doing keepie uppies.. it's good for a bit, then you're cant help but wish they'd pack it in for a minute pass just pass the ball around. In fairness to Jimi Hendrix and the album, I dont believe listening to this on spotify does the music much justice. Hearing this live in the full swing of the sixties would have undoubtedly been more captivating, and if nothing else, something to help take your mind off the inevitable genital herpes you were going to get lumbered with.. instead of sitting at home, not on drugs, arsing about with a tax return. 3 out of 5, good in parts, but not really for me- got too full up on guitar, too quickly.

Cool, fun and predictably horny. Enjoyed the album, will definitely listen again. Recognised some of the music and was good to put a face (or beard) to it. Album covers a wide range of subject matter, from shagging, banging, 69ing and screwing, to TV dinners... which incidentally felt more like a 'Who's line is it anyway' style challenge, than a real rock song. I can only assume this was put on the album to check people were still paying attention, like when Matt Damon and Ben Affleck added a raunchy gay sex scene in the middle of the Good Will Hunting script, again to check the producers were reading it properly. 4 out of 5. If they'd have made a song about takeaway pizza and scissoring it probably would have been perfect.

Pleasant, jovial and a bit boring Listening to this album felt like I'd been strong-armed into going to a mates family function, and I was too polite to say no.. as he didn't want to go either. I recognised a few faces I hadn't seen in a long time, and it will probably be a long time before I see most of them again. There were a lot of pleasantries, small talk and everybody seemed nice, but it was a strain to keep having these empty conversations with people I knew I didn't want to see again. By the end of the night, which felt like forever I just wanted a mucky kebab, a shit pint of lager and for someone to start a row and make a bit of a scene. Instead I had to make do with funky vegan finger food, spritzers.. and having to sit there whilst someone I didn't know just talked at me for too long. At one point early on I did think things were shaking up a tad when it sounded like the DJ was going to whack a bit of Coolio on, but I soon realised it wasn't even Weird Al's Amish Paradise that was being played. Despite me looking at my watch too often, to see if I'd been at the party long enough to justify me leaving, I did find myself thinking, 'this is alright' a lot of the time. The vegan tempura was a bit funky, but I warmed to it as the evening went on and the second half of the night was a bit livelier. Some of the tracks were a faster tempo and I much preferred those.. it was like someone's roguish Uncle had turned up half cut and injected a bit more life into what otherwise felt like quite a steady evening. I wanted to spend more time with that guy- but seeing as he'd already turned up pissed, he was passed out behind the smoking shelter before too long and it was time to go home. All in all 3/5 stars for me. Some meh songs, some were okay but went on too long, however some of the more up-tempo stuff like 'Black Man' and 'All Day Sucker' I really enjoyed. Thought about giving an extra star because it's amazing that Stevie was able to sing along the whole way through without being able to read any of the lyrics.. and for the fact that Randy Marsh clearly makes an appearance at the end of 'Black Man' (6:54).

I can safely say never have I felt more like a strong, empowered, black woman.. with a formidable attitude and an equally formidable puss. (And in this day and age, it is completely fine for me to say, identify and revel in that feeling.. so, before you scoff, go and check your white privilege). Jokes aside, I liked a lot of this album. The production was good, the features were solid and the reworking of 'Bring the Pain' with Method Man was almost as smooth as the original. I appreciate this is going back over 20 years- and is a far cry from some of the work you'd hear put out today- which tend to be much more crass, unapologetic muff-first vagathons from female 'Rappers'. This album, whilst not perfect, felt like a genuine attempt to pay homage to rap and throwback to a golden era that preceded it. Whilst I'm not a huge Missy Elliott fan, being forced to listen to the album made me appreciate her flow more than I have before. 4/5 for me. A fun album built on the top of some more serious undertones. It was also nice to finally learn I wasn't going insane when I couldn't understand half of the apparent gibberish she says in 'Work it', and have since learned she's reversing one of the lines, which weirdly feels quite cool and stupid at the same time.

Give it a rest, Robert. (I feel like Bob is a name he would like fans, warm acquaintances and friends to use, I am quite literally none of those things) I'm struggling to find anything positive to say about this album, other than the fact it did eventually end. Robert's voice is something of an acquired taste, in the same way that mercury probably is- and it felt like it was being dripped into my system, one inane tune at a time. Despite sounding like a cross between a human groan tube and a plastic bag that was having the air squeezed out of it, you might think there was some solace to be had in the lyricism, for which I understand Robert is supposedly renowned. No. The lyrics for the most part were diffuse and without any obvious meaning.. and I'm not buying into this deeper meaning, or reading between the lines bollocks. I'm not listening to a man squeezing air out of his face for an hour and a half, to then be expected to do some DIY and build my own meaning out of the cheap, flat pack audible horseshit that has been slopped into my ears. Every now and then Robert, pick up your end of the couch and tell me what you're waffling on about. You'd think that was it.. but wait there's more! The final nail in the coffin for me, was the incessant use of the harmonica. There's a time and place for the harmonica, which for Robert would appear to be everywhere and all of the time on this album. There's a reason tramps, prisoners and those weird bumpkins that hang around in train carriages in the old west use the harmonica, it's not because it sounds fantastic, it's because it's easy to carry. Use a different instrument from time to time, Robert.. instead of just blowing air into a piece of shrapnel and setting my dog off howling for the best part of two hours. All in all I enjoyed the album and can't wait to not listen to it again. 1/5 stars

Sick of Robert Dylan. At least the quality of this one was slightly better than the live album... which meant I could hear those incoherent lyrics, whiny harmonica and even whinier voice even better. In fairness, this was more tolerable than the last album on here and has lead me to believe Bob was probably pissed during the live performance. I was quite pleased to just be bored at points during this album, instead of irritated. Hopefully today's music will be Bob turning up at my house to force me to listen to his music even more. Maybe I'll get some form of audial Stockholm syndrome.. or maybe I'll just commit some heinous harmonica related crime. Stay tuned for tomorrow's inevitable Bob Dylan update.

I was initially concerned I'd let nostalgic bias interfere with this review, as Bowie was one of the first artists I was introduced to as a child. Luckily, listening to a bootleg cassette tape in my Dad's rusty van whilst he drove around trying to sell poppadoms didn't have much sway in today's review, as 1) I've never heard this album before, and 2) me and my old man, never got on. The album is exactly what I think you'd end up with if you left an alien with a synthesizer, some pan pipes and a wah wah pedal for 6 months. Trying to look at the album objectively for what it would have been back in the 70's I can completely see this being something ahead of the curve and quite pioneering. It was, for the most part, an acid trip of extra-terrestrial proportions.. and better still, it wasn't Bob Dylan. The album is fucking nuts. Not Tom Waits nuts, but more like "Where am I? Where's David gone? Why is this Alien trying to grab my arse.. and why do I kind of like it" Sort of nuts. Funnily enough, like my old man, Bowie turns up late and at points just fucks off completely throughout large parts of the album, vocally at least. I spent a bit of time initially waiting around, abandoned in this bustling intergalactic circus I'd been thrust into, hoping for David to come back.. like some mad, androgynous father figure, who was supposed to help guide me through whatever this escalating bedlam was. Catching Bowie's vocals on this was like trying to catch acid-laced smoke as he was a much more diffuse and mercurial figure, ultimately attempting to tell interpretative stories through the instrumentals more so than objective lyrics. Sometimes it really worked and sometimes I felt like I was in the middle of a Doctor Who episode. I thought 'Sound and Vision' was great, 'Be My Wife' was fun and probably the last real exposure you have to Bowie's voice on the album.. and then, like any meaningful trip, it takes a much more sombre tone as 'A New Career in a New Town' is the last beacon of optimism, before 4 strikingly different and darker songs kick in. Whatever journey you are on with Bowie prior to this point, and the novelty you find along with it, comes to a jarring end. 'Warszawa' hits you hard and unexpectedly because of this.. and jolts you into realising that you've been sold a one way ticket, to whatever dystopian world you've now been abandoned on, with only this effeminate lunatic for company. I appreciate the journey, but now I'm trapped here I'm not sure I signed up for, or wanted any of this. With a bit of luck I can maybe squint and pretend David looks just enough like a woman that we can try and colonise this new planet.. although I have a feeling it will be more colon, and less nice.. if you catch my drift. I wanted to rate this album higher than 3 stars, but couldn't bring myself to rate it 4 stars, not whilst I was sober at least. What I have learned is that my old man really learnt a lot from Bowie and that I probably need therapy. 3 stars and I need a drink.

I didn't realise I was familiar with some of Chic's work prior to putting this album on... then I hit play, and felt like I'd been catapulted straight into a furniture advert. I don't know why I know the song so well, I can only imagine it's because of one of those never-ending DFS sales from back in the day. A fact I immediately learned upon listening to 'Good times' is that it's impossible to walk normally whilst playing it. I found myself bounding against my will to the rhythm.. and by the time I'd finished walking the dog I felt like my moustache had grown thicker and my hair had slowly started to perm itself. No word of a lie, when I returned home having just finished the first song, my Mrs turned to me and asked if I was okay. I responded, "Why'd you ask, sugar?" She then says, "Because you're looking like one jive motherfucker right about now, ya dig?" I span on my heels, peered over the top of my star shaped sunglasses and quipped, "Listen sister, this soul train ain't got no off ramp", and then I bounded out of the room, one cuban heel at a time. My new found groove was short lived anyway, as the next song felt a little too much like softcore porno music. It was too early in the morning for that.. I hadn't had my weetabix and my joints needed a rest after being goaded into action by the bass guitar on the previous track. All in all I enjoyed the album, and felt it was bookended by its best two songs. A lot of it felt quite samey and it meant some of the tracks just melded into background music. Luckily the album was nowhere near long enough for that to become a major issue. For me it sits between 3 and 4 stars. I'll keep it at 3 just because it was a little repetitive, there were a few too many comedowns in terms of tempo/mood and frankly, my knees can't deal with that level of funk on a sustained basis anymore.

I don't for the life of me understand why or how this album made it into this list. To use a term coined by the late great Ryan "Mullet to the head" Coyne, it was, in a word.. "Shite". I appreciate this was experimental rock, but some experiments are better left to the imagination. The human centipede was an experiment.. you don't need a Japanese man stitched face-first to your anus to know it's not a good idea. This album was that human centipede. Using the human centipede as a comparison, the album just consisted of blends, styles and noises that just didn't need to be thrown together. You looked at the mad scientist and asked, almost constantly, what's the actual point of this? As the lyrics were so irritatingly without meaning for pretty much every single track. Finally, and again like the human centipede.. you could not predict the lead singers movements at all.. the constant drawn out words, poor half rhymes, and the sort of excessive vocal flourishes that should be reserved for when a C list RNB singer does the American national anthem meant it was next to impossible to gauge the rhythm of the music and nod your head along to it. Instead my head was stitched to the arse of each track and just dragged mindlessly and erratically around until one of us eventually died. 1 star. Baffled this album made this list, and I'm furious I now count towards Dirty Projectors monthly Spotify listeners.. I imagine the other 46 of them feel the same.

Not a huge fan of the Smiths, listening to Morrissey sing makes me feel like I'm stood in the middle of Snobs, my shoes sticking to the beer and chylamdia soaked floor, trying not to look as pissed as I absolutely feel. Some of the music was okay, I've just never been a fan of that indie/gothic style. Ummed and arred about whether to rate this a 2 or 3, solely on the last track. It was horrendous- but it's supposed to be horrendous, so job well done on that front.. it's unlike anything I've heard before. That being said, I'd pulled up at a McDonalds drive-thru, at around 4 in the morning just before listening. I was told to wait in bay 4 for my food, and decided to play this last remaining song. Now I can't think of anything worse to do than hear this song, whilst sitting in a cold dark car, waiting for someone to hand me 9 chicken selects at some ungodly hour of the morning. I hated every bit of my delicious murder-food, and despised myself for licking my fingers after. So I've settled on 2 stars, because I didn't need Morrissey or the rest of the Smiths judging me when I was already at a low point, eating chicken in a frosty car, at the arsehole of dawn.

I'm rating this a 4, which is a number less the 5 but greater than 3. 4 (spelled F O U R) is an even number, and interestingly, it is twice as many as the number 2. It is also the only number, in English, to be spelled with the same number of letters as the number itself. Further to this, it is the fourth number to follow the number zero... wait, is zero a number? Or is it the absence of numbers?.. like the colour black.. which is the absence of colour, instead of actually being a colour. Does that mean black people don't exist? Contrary to what you might read on some far-right forums, this isn't true and Aretha has done wonders to dispel this myth, with an album bursting with more soul than you could shake a white stick at.. a white stick, incidentally would be a stick made up of all colours.. ironically blind people use them. But then again, who needs sight, when you can listen to Aretha.

Bruce almighty, coming in hot, bandana and tight denim crotch first, with an ode to the working American man. This is pinnacle Springsteen making albums great again. Cool heartland rock, when Bruce used his voice to make music, and not act as mouthpiece for Obama's ring piece. Putting Bruce's apparent wokeism and present day political retardation to one side I thought the album was great. Enjoyed it from end to end. "The boss" went to work on this one, and just as well.. because in today's world I'd imagine he'd step down and hand his leadership role over to some useless DEI pudding and absolute 'Girl Boss', with no talent.. but to be fair, an excellent subscriber base on only fans. 5/5.

Listening to an album this dated obviously requires you to try and appreciate it a little bit for what it would have been 70 or so years ago. I also have to factor in that my appreciation or understanding of jazz and blues music, is probably a bit stunted to say the least. All that being said, and I'm talking about this album specifically now, but Billie Holiday quite clearly had dementia. Every single song on the album was about the same thing, Billie, in whatever fossilsed form she was in when recording this album, just sang in simple circles for over an hour, basically saying the same things, over and over and over. I just hope you can't catch this version of dementia, but time will tell. The music in parts in undeniably nice, the yawning, gentle violins, the wind instruments and initially, the croaky, smokey voice that accompanied them. The novelty does wear off quite quickly however- and you're left with essentially the same tune for basically the whole album, trapped in this early Disney sounding loop, with this slow, sleepy, often melancholic, alzheimic singing to accompany it. It's what I would imagine Louis Armstrong's hemorrhoids would have sounded like if they could sing. You can immediately hear the influence Billie had on the likes of Amy Winehouse, and it's probably fair to say someone like Billie as a musician had to walk (around in circles), so someone like Amy could run (right over a cliff and off the rails). All in all a 2/5, it's not for me, and outside of not liking or understanding jazz to any great depth, I still thought it was quite shit. I just hope you can't catch this version of dementia, but time will tell.

Thoroughly enjoyed the music throughout this album. The guitar riffs, powerful kick drums and just out and out cool gothic rock, in terms of the instrumentals, was great to listen to. I appreciate though, as far as this sort of music goes, the music and the vocals come as a package deal. You can't enjoy Roller Coasters and complain about the heights.. or bang Katie Price and then complain about the syphilis that inevitably comes with it. But that's exactly what I'm going to do, I want my cake and I want to eat it too.. and I want to eat it without having to listen to the bleak, ethereal tones of Ian Curtis. It's not even that bad necessarily, it's just a style of music that has never resonated with me. I do get that having these slower vocals juxtaposed against the heavier rock is part of the charm.. but to me, I can't help but hear a Scooby Doo type ghoul or swamp monster, talking in a wobbly, spooky voice to me, whilst I just try and listen to a nice bit of rock music.. I find it boring and interfering (It always turns out to be the janitor anyway). 3 stars, could have been 4 or 5.. and they'd have gotten away with that rating too, if it hadn't been for that meddling vocalist.

Bookends has been my favourite album on this list so far, a brilliantly crafted album that encapsulates Simon and Garfunkel's unique ability to nibble playfully on your ears with their charming, folkish rock (not to mention how much Art Garfunkel's hair tickles). Whilst at the same time they slap you around the chops with lyricism, metaphors and imagery far more introspective and poignant than you expected at first glance. A bit of audial slap and tickle, that I'm absolutely on board with. From the effervescent youth and hopefulness you feel in "America", to the inescapable nostalgia and reflections that come with old age in "Old Friends"... to the abstractly whimsical and drug filled turmoil Punky is in, in "Punky's Dilemma", caught between having to decide to go to war.. or try and dodge the draft... and ultimately just wishing he could escape into the cereal bowl in front of him. The album, aptly named 'bookends', covers the inevitable good/bad, light/dark, youth/ageing that 'bookends' life. This to me felt a little bit like listening to the Beatles if they'd grown up a bit and packed some of the acid in.. the music and messaging is far more cohesive and yet still delivered in a way that I really enjoyed. The Beatles by comparison, make music akin to anal sex, novel.. experimentative maybe.. but ultimately a bit of a mess and frankly, not worth the hassle. S&G is by no means plain missionary... but I didn't get to the end of it and find myself thinking.. "This is shit". 5/5 will listen to this again.

If lemon Fanta was an album, this would be it. Light, fun and almost sickeningly pleasant to listen to.. and before I knew it, I'd drank the whole 2 litre bottle. I went into this album without any prior knowledge or expectation.. but happily basked in the audible warmth of this sunshine pop.. almost to the point my skin started to crisp, and I wanted to get in the shade for a little bit. You can absolutely tell this album was made in the 60s, a more carefree and liberating time.. before Tom Hanks brought MAGA caps and AIDs to America decades later. This album felt like the musical equivalent to Fuaadh. In the unlikely event anybody reading this doesn't know who Fuaadh is, I'll briefly explain. Fuaadh is someone who has won the lottery of life, in the sense that he genuinely and sincerely, always seems happy. He's a boy born with a puppy's brain.. and I mean that in a totally complimentary fashion, and not as the title of a failed Channel 4 documentary. He likes humping stuff, chasing balls and is always happy. This album, is akin to just that. Now admittedly I'm too self-deprecating and predictably miserable by comparison to appreciate an album that is this objectively happy, in its absolute totality. From time to time I like a more sombre or introspective change of pace. More of a me problem than The Mamas and Papas.. although, it is just easier to blame your parents for your inherent shortcomings, and so, I'm rating them 4/5 stars.. they just cuddled and high-fived me a little too much throughout this album.

The Ignacio Papadopoulos was initially thought to be a creature of Greek-Mexican mythology. Despite the belief that the Ignacio Papadopoulos (which loosely translated means "noisy hermaphrodite with a guitar") was a being of fiction and fairy-tale, sightings for decades have been reported.. with accounts of this leathery-skinned, weather-beaten humanoid consistently cropping up. "Iggy" as it is more affectionately known is apparently native to the USA, and Swift Cover insurance adverts. Its thick, leathery skin helps protect it from the harshness of the elements, the projectiles I have no doubt are thrown at it, and—hopefully—the criticism I'm about to unload on it. I’ll admit, I’ve never listened to Iggy Pop before. My first real introduction to him was, unfortunately, through those rancid Swift cover adverts. The ones where he’d prance around on the screen, predictably shirtless, with his trousers practically down by his ankles- telling me to get insured and act like a rockstar... whilst his fossilised pubis throbbed at me. He must have been in his late sixties, early seventies at this point.. and he looked like something cobbled together from the chicken skin left on the bones at the bottom of a KFC bucket. Going back through the years to this album, I have to admit, he hasn’t really changed much. I suppose there’s a kind of admirable consistency to that, but I can’t shake the feeling that, whilst he may have pioneered the bad-boy rockstar persona, a lot of it comes across as crude, crass, and garish— and a way to cover for the fact that he’s a bit of a shit singer. Now in fairness, I’ve only listened to Raw Power, so I might be speaking out of turn. Some of the music was okay- I might even be starting to enjoy some rock music. But Ignacio's voice left me wanting a lot more. Ironically, for an album called Raw Power, I felt Iggy’s voice was actually quite weak. It sounded like he was standing miles away from the microphone. Maybe it was poorly remastered?.. or maybe it’s just the chronic pneumonia he almost definitely has from never getting dressed properly. Music aside, I can’t shake my unease for his image/style. He looks like a Barbie doll that Sid from Toy Story has taken a blowtorch to, namely the face and torso. Face weathered and barely hanging on... with the tits completely melted off and slopped into a nasty mammary puddle on the floor.. leaving this bizarrely ragged, gaunt, and effeminate husk to feebly shout lyrics at me for thirty minutes. That’s not my idea of music. So, while I might appreciate some of the guitar playing, I don’t think I’m a fan of Iggy Pop in any sense. Do yourself a favour, Iggy: grow up, put a shirt on, and pull your fucking trousers up. (2 stars because to be fair, I did get a decent deal on car insurance.)

Again another album by a group/artist that I've never heard before. I'm starting to realise what a sheltered life I've lived... what a poultry set of notches on my musical bedpost. This album was a fine notch to add however. I enjoyed it a lot. I enjoy a bit of the hip and a bit of the hop anyway, put them together with some funky jazz instrumentals and I'll gladly open my apparently barely deflowered (ear)holes. The album was balanced, unpredictable and changed course enough throughout to remain interesting. Some parts were a little too experimental for me (like the instrumental on water which takes somewhere between 5 and 10 business days to end), but I could appreciate them to an extent with the rest of the album being as good as it was. I haven't heard much from Black Thought but after this album I'd consider myself a fan. For me, a well deserved 4 stars.