1001 Albums Summary

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.

Wanted to write a more thorough review for this. Felt a bit like scrooge when he gets dragged about by that big fat ghost, to look at people having a good time. I felt like I half understood the music and kind of liked it at points, but quickly realised it wasn't for me.. I was the ghost at the musical feast. The girl from Ipanema has given me earworms- having been thrust onto the album twice, and now I feel like I'm stuck in some weird elevator/Wii Sports menu loop, with this soft, playful and utterly repetitive jazz music eating away at my brain. It's nice music, like the sort of music you'd hear at a classic Spanish seafood restaurant. A little band of moustachioed men in the corner, playing what sounds like the same song, over and over again- because I'm too musically illiterate and foreign to understand it properly.. and that's not their fault. I'm happy to admit I shouldn't be in this restaurant at all. My blind date (who is absolutely bulkier than her carefully curated Tinder profile would suggest) has delusions of grandeur and wants to pay nearly 90 euros for what I can only assume is a prawns anus on some fig leaves. None of this is for me sadly, el burger and chips for this uncultured slob por favor.

Real funky, alternative 90s Hip Hop. A fun, experimental and off-beat example of what Hip Hop can be- outside of the gangster rap, trousers down by your knees that dominated the era. For the most part I enjoyed the album, it felt vibrant and the incorporation of jazz and soul samples showed how versatile and complimentary rap can be. I'm a fan of The Pharcyde and Slimkid3, Passin me by is a classic and the beat on Soul Flower feels iconic. There is absolutely inspiration taken from artists like Slick Rick on this album, and you can see how this sort of hip hop paved the way for the likes of Outkast. There was too much going on in parts though, with cluttered instruments and chatter.. it reminded me of that era in the late 90s early 2000s when hair gel really became a thing, and lads would drown their barnet in that cheap gloopy blue shit and constantly look soaking wet. Less is more sometimes. "It's Jiggaboo time" pales in comparison to "It's Moprhin Time" by the power rangers too.. And I doubt a megajigga would be any match for the megazord. Other than that I enjoyed the album a lot. 4/5

Joni has an incredible knack of singing in a way that makes it seem like she's unfamiliar with her own songs or lyrics. It's like listening to someone fumble through a song they're not familiar with on karaoke- with almost every song following the same, inane pattern. Squeeze a load of out-of-rhythm syllables into the middle of a line, then drone out the last word. The songs were filled with pointless metaphors, excessive and hollow imagery- more often than not about roads and highways. She should have taken a different career path, something that gets her closer to those highways.. like a taxi driver, or roadkill.. then maybe she'd have satiated her obvious tarmac fetish. Basically it was poncey horseshit. The sort of music you'd expect to hear from a single, middle aged beret clad woman, that writes her music in Starbucks.. when she's not busy telling people she an "artist".. who paints poetry with her lyrics.. when actually what she does is force her friends and family to buy her shit, homemade CDs, and refuses to go and get a proper job because she's an infantile, workshy ponce. Take your beret and your matcha green tea squirrels milk macchiato and fuck off.

A bit souly. A bit boring, A bit samey. A bit shit. A bit out of five.

You know what, I was dreading having to listen to them again- but this wasn't too bad. A few songs I actually liked, namely "In my life" and "Drive my car". Some of the album was a bit samey, but it wasn't all that long so there was nothing intolerable for me this time. All in all a more calm and folkier vibe. I know nothing about the Beatles or the timeline of these albums but I can only assume this was made before John "Is he pointing that thing at me?" Lennon introduced the rest of the band to acid and speed, and started making musical horseshit. A respectable 3 stars.

Bored the tits off me and my turkey.

Had no idea Phil Spector was involved in all of these songs. Clearly a talented guy. There's obviously a time and place for this music- which is obviously December, before the family row and the endless washing up. The fact a few of these versions have stood the festive test of time says something... Either that they're classics or that people were too scared not to play them in case this maniacal birds nest of a man crawled out of the fireplace and blasted you in the face. 3 stars as a Christmas album. Some classics, some covers I'm not a big fan of.. and because of the fact it's now boxing day and I've eaten myself into having gout, I currently have a more apathetic view on this sort of music.

Not really for me, but some of the lighter songs I didn't mind, 'Here comes your man' being one of them- despite feeling like a song someone else had randomly queued midway through the album. I was torn between 2 and 3 stars, decided on 3 purely for the fact the front man somehow has the ability to whisper and shout at the same time, which if nothing else is a bit of a novelty.

A nice, albeit unremarkable album, you get to the end and have immediately forgotten it all, it's the album equivalent of Alzheimer's. As I said, pleasant enough but largely just the same thing from start to finish... apart from the song 'Horn' I should add. The audacity of Nick Drake to have any sort of guitar instrumental on this album is outrageous. At points on the album the shoddy twanging of the guitar was tolerable, when accompanied by the gentle/sleepy/borderline asthmatic tones of Nick Drake.. but on 'Horn', it's full frontal guitar at its worst and I cannot for the life of me shake the image of a well coordinated ape, crudely picking at the guitar strings like he's picking bugs out of his mates arse fur. 2 stars.

I have no idea why, but I really enjoyed this. I think it largely just being an instrumental album meant I could apply my own context.. which meant most of the time whilst I was listening, I was the protagonist in a quirky Parisian spy flick, street fighting with sharpened baguettes and dodging mini croissants some nasty moustachioed baddie was hurling at me like shurikens. This album is hands down the best example of alternative french jazz spy electronica I think I've ever listened to.. the only issue was the length of some of the music. Many of the songs didn't need to be 5/6 minutes plus.. without lyrical accompaniments they didn't develop enough to not feel a bit stale by the end, and it made the imaginary fight scenes in my head absolutely exhausting.

No thanks. Not a fan of songs having to have a spoken prologue before they're sung, it's like someone having to break down a joke and explain to you why it was funny. Also I don't mind a bit of folk, but this was a bit too folky for me.. redneck in a tin bath with some marlboro reds and a banjo sort of vibes. 2 stars because upon looking Ramblin' Jack up on the Google it appears Robert Dylan owes him $12, so naturally I have some sympathy for him.

This is the sort of album I wanted to stumble across on this list. I have had about as much exposure to Pink Floyd as I have the actual dark side of the moon. (The actual moon, not my anus- which I've found I can expose myself to plenty with two vanity mirrors and a strong stomach), and so I didn't have any real expectations going into this. I thought the concept was engaging, and the way the album meandered, flowed and jolted through different emotions was alright by me, and very different to what I expected. Again the absence of lyrics allowed for a more introspective listen- which was made all the more fun with the psychedelic and atmospheric tones running through the album. 4 stars, despite not even knowing if I really enjoyed the album, or just found the novelty weirdly captivating. Anyway, enough stalling, I'm off to have another look at my hemorrhoids and think about where exactly my life is going wrong.

I'll start with the positive, the album does feel well produced- some of the music in terms of the beats, the drops etc I did enjoy. That ends the positive section of this review. I have to start with whatever this singing voice is. I don't know if Lorde started it- but it seems increasingly common in music today. (I can look past it to an extent on this occasion, given that Lorde is Randy Marsh.. so she's probably doing whatever she can to contort her vocal chords and mask that fact), it doesn't however, stop it from annoying me to no end. The voice is borderline infantile at points, a musical baby voice. R's are half pronounced and often sound like W's, all of the words sound like they're being curled, like they're attempting to make some weird, cutesy, and toxic ASMR album. This leads me on to my next point. The album is just a bit juvenile in its subject matter. It's essentially a diary set to music, of that one weirdly attractive but worryingly medicated and erratic bird you made the mistake of knocking boots with when you were a teenager. One minute she's self loathing and guilt tripping you for politely making eye contact with a frumpy middle aged woman at the checkouts in Aldi.. the next minute she's aggressive, bubbly and independent.. and this emotional flip-flop is constantly underpinned by the fear that this person might stab you or themselves at any given moment, for any number of reasons. Well Randy, you're not pulling me in this time, take your toxic pubescent ramblings and damage somebody elses ears.

Really glad I got to sit down and listen to this album. Without it I don't think I'd have been able to get over the heartbreak I felt seeing Chad kissing that skank Brittany over by the bleachers. Well, loser- the jokes on you, because this album has helped me realise that I never needed you, your weirdly right angled mandible, or your bent cock. Plus everybody already knows Brittany has already caught herpes, after she tried noshing Bryce off at that drive-in movie. You know, the one where she coughed and ended up jamming a popcorn kernel in his japs eye. Anyway enought reviewing. I need to head out, treat myself right by making some reckless, drunken mistakes.. and see if can get that foreign exchange hunk with the ridiculous quiff and outrageous V neck to spit in my mouth and call me a bad girl.. or at the very least subscribe to my OnlyFans. Fuck you Chad.

For the most part quite a fun, catchy album. I don't think it's something I'll listen again to in a hurry- but as a one-off listen I didn't mind it. I nearly gave this a 5 stars just for the huge synth fart in the middle of "Blockheads" alone. That and referring to a birds bits as her "rum and ribena" was top notch for me, and I'll absolutely be adopting that term in future when referring to a ladies "bubble and squeak". Some of the music did feel a little cluttered and repetitive in parts... although him spazzing out and shouting "blockheads" non-stop for nearly 40 seconds was actually quite entertaining. All in all it's a respectable 3 stars from me. Some fun songs, some better lyricism hidden amongst the chaos. Also I'm pretty sure in this day and age you're not allowed to pick on anyone that isn't able-bodied.. so picking on someone self-labelled as Spasticus Autisticus is definite faux pas.

Never thought I'd enjoy a heavy rock/grunge album as much as I did this one. The album could not have got off to a more emphatic start, and it helped hide the fact that with every song that passed my hair was getting longer, my black converse all stars grew grubbier and the pointless chain attaching one bit of my massive jeans to another bit of my massive jeans was getting heavier... and you know what, I was fine with it. My dog walk steadily turned into air-band practice, as I wildly air-drummed and air-guitared my way towards the park.. air-walking the dog in the process, as amongst the flailing, I'd let go of his lead. An old woman complained that I shouldn't have the dog loose, and that she was going to call someone in authority to deal with this four-legged misdemeanour. What she failed to realise was that now I hate authority (fuck the system) and was midway through listening to "stay away", so I casually placed my air-drumsticks down, and air-flykicked her in the chest. My only gripe (other than being driven to hoof the tits off an ancient woman), was that some of the music ended up being a little too much for me, the final song on the album being an example of this. I think the familiarity of some of the songs that I already knew individually helped too. Some of Kurt's vocals seemed to get drowned out or were difficult to catch on a few of the tracks.. although if I had a 12 gauge resting in my mouth I'd probably be difficult to understand too. All in all a solid 4/5 for me. Also if anybody has seen a black and white labrador, please let me know. I don't want the dog, but he did run off with one of my drumsticks and I need that back.

Didn't think an album could start as emphatically as "Nevermind" by Nirvana, but this gives it a run for its money.. and the fact I've been corrected on this point immediately with the next album suggests I actually know fuck all about music. For me the good songs were really good, but a few too many tracks just felt a little flat or like filler and I did drift out from time to time.

Nice and gay. Thank you.

A pleasant enuff album wid sum undeniably big enjoyable hits, oweva di muzik does become a likkle bit repetitive an feels somewhat hollow afta a while. Dat coupled wid di fact dis genre of muzik ave neva bin mi cup of tea means a star rating of tree is probably fair. Mi tink mi too cynical fi dis chronically happy an melodic jamming, fi instance, tek "Three likkle Birds" an di example an di repetition of everything unequivocally being alright. Mi cyaa help but respond tuh it inna mi haad inna di same relentlessly grounded realism as Mark from Peep Show, wen confronted wid Jeremy (caught inna anotha inane daze of infatuation) repeating di quote: "We nuh ave nuttin tuh fear, except fear itself" Well Bob.. "What about losing all your money? Or shitting yourself in public? Or the tabloid press mistakenly outing you as a paedo? Or Alzheimer's? Or all of those things, plus you're drowning?" And for anyone sitting there thinking, "Well this review is nice and racist, isn't it", or proclaims this review to be "literary blackface", I'll have you know that it is written in the spirit evoked by the music I have listened to... and also with the help of www.jamaicantranslator.com, so stick dat inna yuh pipe an smoke it, bumbaclart.

Filth

Not a bad album, but I honestly think I'd have enjoyed it a lot more if the whole thing had been instrumentals. It's crazy that a 34 minute album (nearly 12 minutes of which is one song that is mainly just 70's heist music) could feel drawn out and slow. Some of the songs are okay, and instrumentally I enjoyed the music a lot more. The vocals weren't bad on every song, but some of the song writing seemed literally retarded. (We're allowed to say that word again now that Big Daddy Donald is back in the Oval Office). The song I refer to mainly as an example in this case, is "I Ain't Got Nothin", which is a double negative anyway.. a bit like how I'm about to be with the review of this particular track. If you sit and read the lyrics, it quickly starts to turn into a song written by one of those hapless autists from the undateables. You know, the one who writes poems and wears a big ruffled white blouse like he's a playwright from the middle ages. I'm not knocking him or his determination, but lyrics like "Every stove has a fire, every car has a tire... every fish has a bowl, every shoe has a sole"... it's borderline retarded. And for that, this album only gets an average of 3 big gold stars.

This is much closer to the Bowie I remember listening to when I was a kid (unlike the Low album, which was an otherworldly clusterfuck of insanity). Whilst some of the songs (like Jean Genie) I enjoyed with a nostalgic fondness, I did actually enjoy a lot of the album as a whole.. this is probably the limit of absolute bollocks and nonsense I can endure on an album, and still find myself enjoying it. The heavy guitar riffs, the funky piano and the fact that is possibly the earliest legitimate record of a "Nice to meet you" (A lad insane), earns this 4 stars from me.

Good fun and a decent album all round. Not sure this was worth fighting a World War over though.. then again one thing I've learnt having dived?.. dove?.. having belly flopped into this list, is that I know fuck all about music. Despite some of the music on the album occasionally feeling like rejected FIFA 04 tracks, as a whole this was a solid, enjoyable indie rock experience.

Possibly my favourite artist/group named after a body part (maybe after Hand Simmer). I quite liked the album overall, although some bits dragged and felt a bit dull. Now I think about it without "Grounds for Divorce" and "One Day Like This" it would have been quite shit... a bit like the Elbow... one of the shitter joints in the body.

I'll be honest, I've never been a huge James Brown fan.. I respect the fact that he was one of the last people to see Apollo Creed alive, and has some undeniably good songs. None of those tracks were on this album however. This album is exactly the James Brown I think of when his name is mentioned. Not the cool, soulful, and dare I say it semi-coherent artist that showed up to make "The Boss" and "Living in America".. No, instead you get this screeching lunatic that looks more like a Madame Tussauds waxwork of someone's Auntie, than an RnB star. A guy who comes crashing onto tracks with near incomprehensible vocals. At some points it genuinely feels like bad scat music.. at other points he just sounds like an actual spastic. (Listen to him shout "All Aboard" at the start of Night Train and tell me I'm wrong). Going back to the point about scat music, the irony is that had this actually have been scat I'd have probably enjoyed it more, because after several minutes of incoherent jivey squawking, accompanied by the wet pantie brigade in the front row drowning out any remaining chance of a decent listening experience, I couldn't help but think the sound of heavy, wet shit getting carelessly slopped against a concrete wall would have provided a comparatively blissful release from the relentless rectal pebble-dashing this album was for me. 2 stars overall, only because I know I'm in the minority when it comes to James Brown, so there's a chance it's a me problem more than anything else (it's not.) That and the fact the album was probably hampered by the incessant crowd noise.. which again is technically JB's fault for being such a provocative wailing godauntie of soul. Throw the damn towel, I'm done.

It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be, I enjoyed this as a psychedelic type album more than that guff the Beatles farted out. Maybe because I don't speak Portuguese, it was like listening to an album as a Sims character.. no idea what was happening but I was alright with the quirkiness of most of it. I imagine this is the sort of music that played through Jose Aldo's head when Conor McGregor knocked his dick loose all those years ago. A respectable 3 from me.

A nice, boring album. Comparatively short compared to the last album on this list.. maybe he needs a good hour to warm into things. Hopefully the next one is a 5 hour banger.

It feels like there have been a disproportionate amount of this folky style rock on this list.. maybe it just feels disproportionate because it is starting to bore the nipples off me. Some of this album was okay but the lilting, gentle style singing starts to just melt into monotonous noise and a lot of the songs just feel like one long continuation of the same thing, backed by a neverending masturbating tambourine. Wicked Annabella by contrast was more enjoyable, it felt less flaccid as a track and had some meatier drums and felt a little more imposing. If the album had have had a bit more of this, I'd have enjoyed it a lot more.. instead it was like listening to the Beatles, but Colonel Mustard's yellow submarine was stuck in the port for maintenance work. 2/5 an ironically tame, missionary style album from The Kinks.

Not for me. It was like being stuck in an endless computer game that I'm shit at.. or something Jeremy Usbourne made in his bedroom after getting laid off from JLB. The only saving grace is I suppose that Roni Size had to walk (through audial dog shit) so Danny Dyers Chocolate Homunculus, Mamas Cumquat and Russell Orgazoid could run (again through audial dog shit)

Didn't really like this is at all. It felt stuck between trying to be preachy and self-serving.. but funny and self-effacing at the same time.. what that lead to, was a droning, monotonous album, from some scorned, twisted gay bloke that still seems to hate the world. I wasn't familiar with John Grant so after listening I did some googling, to learn a little more about the seemingly self-indulgent and yet self-sympathising 'maverick' behind this album. I get that growing up gay all those years ago, things were understandably difficult and that attitudes back then were inherently different.. but an album that centres around that doesn't really age well for me, because being gay is fine now.. if anything it's too tame. You need to be a prancing feathered, gender-queer, oat milk latte chugging, wheat and oxygen intolerant oddball, in order to try and carve out some forced and worn out victimhood arc to your 'story'. John Grant just being gay, angry and not very funny for an hour and nine minutes, in 2025.. is just a bit boring. Despite the mildly scathing review above, I do have some sympathy for John. Upon reading more about him I found out he's HIV positive.. and he apparently found this out whilst in a shoe shop. I don't know what type of shop this was.. but I'd probably be a little miffed too, if I'd popped out for some new footwear but came back with the same semen stained espadrilles, and an AIDS diagnosis.

Decent enough, a little before my time so I missed the hype train as it pulled into the station- still, I didn't realise I knew any Blur songs and for the most part the album was a fun, quirky and easy listen.

Mike, Meat Loaf. Loaf, meet Mike. What a pleasant surprise it was getting my eardrums blown to shreds by this album. A solid 4 out of 5 for me.

Can't knock the pun used for the album name, and the album itself was an easy enough listen, but felt a bit bland and by the end I couldn't really remember anything significant, it all just melted into one. A middle of the road 3 stars for me.

Can't knock "take on me" That's probably from familiarity and revolting nights spent on the revolving dancefloor of Reflex, which has meant I've developed a skewed fondness for that particular song. The rest of the album I was unfamiliar with, and I still am to a large extent- didn't do much for me, but I do admire the consistency A-Ha have for being able to sound like they're both 3 feet away from your ears.. and miles away at the same time.. a skill probably best left in Norway, for yodelling a conversation across a Fjord, rather than a pop album though.

Enjoyed a lot of this album, although I couldn't shake the feeling I was constantly at the end of a movie.. a lot of it felt like the music you hear at the end of a film, where things haven't gone quite the way the lead protagonist had hoped.. but despite that, he's gained something far more valuable, the thing he'd chased the entire film, was right in front of him the whole time.. pick any song from the first half of the album, and imagine that worn out scenario, as the main character smiles to himself and walks away, stinking of self empowerment, plus there'll probably be a sequel he can change his mind in anyway. Regardless, that's Hollywood's fault, not Fleet Foxes.. I just would have preferred some bigger moments on the album, a bang, some musical climax.. and not so much grand edging. A solid 3 from me overall.

Listening on a Friday made a big difference.. on a Monday this album would have been a flimsy 2, because lyrically it is, in fairness, just bollocks and nonsense.. but I admit I enjoyed it. Backwater was much catchier than it should have been, and being a relatively short album to listen to whilst sleep deprived behind a wheel made for a fun time. The small dog, and the much bigger old woman I hit were a small price to pay.. and in a way just made the nonsense all the more vivid. Hopefully there isn't another Brian Eno album on this list before my suspended sentence is finished.

A true and original artist, and a brilliant album. Only song I wasn't a fan of really was "Darling Nikki", because well, it was shite. I was torn between a 4 and a 5 for this album overall.. but then I remembered I gave Tom Waits a 4.. and it was definitely a better album than the beloved "SwordFishTrombone" (although he did write most of that album whilst chained to a radiator). So 5 out of 5, purple rain with all of its crashing symbols and big guitar riffs was a great end to the album.

Stopped me in my tracks a bit this album. The first track "You want it darker" caught me by surprise and I felt compelled to look into the album and Leonard Cohen a little more. He died a few days after this album was released which explained a lot of the themes that were laced through it. It's not something I'd listen to again in a hurry- but hearing what is essentially this man's final monologue, as he stares down the barrel of his own mortality was quite poignant, and something I really enjoyed. Not in a morbid or sadistic way, like I know being a Zionist Jew in this day and age isn't very fashionable, but I don't mean "enjoyed" like I'm some Hugo Boss clad album Nazi, that listens to perishing Jews on repeat every evening to unwind, I mean it sincerely. The ebbs and flows Cohen provides were superb and profound, as he wrestles with his fate- meandering through acceptance, melancholic reflectance, hope and tinges of regret. The orchestral reprise of treaty at the end felt like a perfect topper to the album, and all in all I personally struggle to find a reason not to give this a 5.

Metallica: Adjective | mə-ˈta-lik-ə | Derived from the Greek words 'métallo' and 'lickos' (loosely translating to 'Metal Licker'). A word coined as a heavy metal adaptation of the phrase 'window-licker'. This was a result of the high number of instances whereby listeners of this thrash metal music would wildly bang their heads back and forth, to the point their brain stem would start to detach. The result of this meant they were left in a vegetative state, endlessly listening to a guitar and microphone get violently mutilated, until someone either found them and put them out of their misery.. or they eventually died.. having been slumped there for days, slavering until the point they dehydrated/drowned. Luckily I managed to get through this album unscathed, despite feeling the compulsion to smash my head against a wall whilst I listened to it.

Winced as I hit play, expecting this to be a continuation of the audio-rape Metallica had inflicted on my eardrums the day before. Luckily, despite being called Primal Scream with an album called Screamadelica, it was actually an okay listen. Nothing incredible, pretty tame. A middle of the road 3 for me.

Some good tracks, naturally alongside some of inescapable nonsense you get with RHCP. As you get older you definitely notice it more. Still, a respectable 3.