'I wouldn't normally do this kind of thing' - also, I wouldn't normally like this kind of thing. But I do. Because it's more than the sum of its heartstrings - and it has lyrics like 'to free in me / the trust I never dared.' It takes balls to feel good - and the music got those in droves. 'Then, when I was lonely / I thought again / and changed my mind.' That's good. 'Looking for love and getting / nothing that's worth regretting.' And so is that. 'Together.' Why not? Whitman's Calamus, I hear it, read it, happily, finally, all over again.

A top-five vocalist of the twentieth century: stably inventive, focused and uncrowded, tho perfectly full, somehow dry w/o drying out, emotive w/o being lachrymose, and a technical mastery that's formidably faultless. She is, simply put, one of only so many crucial artists of her time, and any time.

From start to finish, this is Dylan's greatest achievement. It's his most literary record b/c it's his most confessional, his most sustained, his most motivated and focused. I guess love will do that to you - will exalt a writer to brass tacks. Featuring a vindictive storyteller getting his get back ('Idiot Wind'), and a nearly nine min interlude about Big Jim and the Jack of Hearts, the album tells it like it is by telling his version of it. As much as I revere 'Blowin' in the Wind,' 'Like a Rolling Stone,' and 'A Hard Rain's a-Gonna Fall,' I love those records b/c they speak to something culturally or societally universal. Here, Bob jettisons the cultural and societal for the personal - and he may just be a tad deeper b/c of that.

One of the smartest records of the 20th century, and one of the tastiest to listen to. For me, it ever so slightly edges out Curtis Mayfield's and Marvin Gaye's socially aware masterpieces b/c it incorporates gravity w/ humor, and connects our psychic lives with upfront realities: 'shady as a lady with a mustache'; 'You're in trouble when you find it's hard for you to smile / A simple song might make it better for a little while'; 'I am everyday people.' You gotta etch out a special place for albums that make you feel good like no other. This is one of those informed blisses; groove-daring answers to our problems. You throw it on and may as well have a great day. Why not? You may also pick up a copy of Das Kapital and scold a landlord. Hell yeah.

lyrics are beautiful and suggestive, production is tight, orchestration adds rather than detracts, something uplifting here tho we all know the tragedy of the artist.

Some of the instrumentation is inspired, like the drumming at the end of ‘Space Truckin’,’ but quickly gets repetitive. The songwriting is weak, and Ian Gillan’s voice does not do it for me. This defines generic rock music - without soul, try-hard lyrics that get you nowhere, blues riffs without true blues intensity that the likes of Led Zeppelin and Black Sabbath manage to incorporate into their albums. ‘Lazy’ is the best song here - at least the harmonica has some oomph.

Not often does the idea behind an album or a band affect how much you enjoy the music. It may change your perception/understanding, but not the quality. This is an exception. Once I realized the Ramones were a goofy and violent rewriting of rockabilly, a Buddy Holly in free fall, I could listen freely and enjoy the shit out of them.

It remains a peak of all hip hop, not just the alternative brand. It’s murky and creative and affirmative b/c it is engineered by thinking and is immensely enjoyable to listen to.

Could be an album I like a lot, it’s an album I like some - good voice, bad person. Never felt like it quite got going - the rawest moments don’t endure. It is palpably better than so much pop country, but I don’t feel compelled to return to it. I have to trust this is mostly because the music is ultimately unimpressive and incomplete. ‘Shakedown on 9th Street’ is a believable thing, tho, and the harmonica is there for real. I might return to it…

3.5/5. Underrated. This one has a coherent energy and gives me authentic joy. Have other artists done a better job with this sort of thing? Yes - but it is distinct enough to be an enduring effort.

Sparser and shorter than Bryter Layter, just as poignant and original. I do bemoan who he must have been an influence on - quiet, depressed, and tedious singer-songwriters. But he’s a thing-in-itself. He’s far from boring and wants life as sad as he may have suffered. He wants things to work out. That’s what makes it so sad.

Most people will focus on the lyrics, which makes sense, since they are poetic, oblique, and uniquely literary. Yet they wouldn't function as effectively as they so often do if weren't for the efficient and compelling instrumentation. See 'A Minor Place,' 'I See A Darkness,' 'Death to Everyone,' 'Knockturn,' 'Madeleine-Mary,' 'Today I Was an Evil One.' It's not all sombre piano, but big guitars too. I'm not too down having heard it. Maybe that's b/c 'by dread I'm inspired.' It has sweetness and tenderness, needed components of downcast forms. Possibly he has managed to weaken the attack.

It’s Paul Simon but not the best. This has less to do with the individual songs and more to do with the feel of the album as a whole, which seems a bit scattered. Still some great songs: "Mother and Child Reunion," "Run that Body Down," "Armistice Day," "Peace like a River," "Papa Hobo," "Congratulations." "Me and Julio" is not very good, however, tho it sticks around, and "Paranoid Blues" works as a homage to the American blues but not a fantastic rendition.

The drums stand out, not quite the dynamics of the Pixies, but have power nonetheless. The rest is preachy and hardly vital. Not for me. Is it for anyone? I really can’t tell. ‘Drowning Man,' perhaps, but even this I most likely won't have on rotation.

Honestly, pretty fucking good. It’s overplayed, but I’m happy that I never listened fully when it first came out so I can enjoy it more now. It’s not the songwriting, that’s clear, but I can’t be deaf to the singing. It’s on a level not often heard.

If you find this album too weird, I don’t know what to say. It's ahead of its time in that it manages to brilliantly negotiate languor and energy. ‘Cheree’ is gorgeous while ‘Frankie Teardrop’ predates mucho.

Fantastic - L.A. before its Doors were opened, tho Arthur Miller's voice can be even more rangy and dynamic than Morrison's. It's all and that's everything at once, with flutes too ('Orange Skies,' '¡Que Vida!,’ ‘She Comes in Colors’) and I like that loads. Where'd they hide from me all these years? This one comes in colors.

This album is a four-cornered room, maybe a regiment to be exact, the funk being tight and ordered, tho it’s tapestried with flow too. It’s rich, man, and spatializes itself in its four-angled ghetto, just good enough for moi.

Not remembering this one, I predict, it’s not doing it for me. It’s fine-fine but not enough. ‘Blue and Grey Shirt’ has got something, at least, and, okay, ‘Bad Liquor’ came as a surprise. All the good songs on the backend. It’s the ‘Western Sky’ that I like, and ‘Last Harbor,' too. But not much, honest.

It has bop, but does it have muscle? It may, since the drummer is indeed the MVP (Rolling Stone magazine). It may not, since vocalist Vincent Neff does not have enuff oomff. Production and percussion wise tho, very cool. Check out ‘Firewater,’ Hand of Man,’ ‘WOR’ and ‘Storm.’ The Cairo one, too. Yep.

I've nothing to add. This is a permanent one.

Incredibly nostalgic album for me, and upon listening again, it holds up remarkably well. It's an eerie and uncomfortable foreshadowing of the special brand of opulence and egotism that defines the 2020s, the artist that engineered this album, and several of its featured musicians. Instrumentally and texturally brilliant, but it's the atmospheric and cultural implications the album imparts that give it its uncanny quality. To those who heard it when it first appeared, listen now - it’s even stranger, and far sadder. It has too little innocence.

Production quality is this album's chief statement. How good is it? Listen to "In Dark Trees" and "Everything Merges With The Night," and see for yourself. The whole thing has the simplicity, compactness, and beauty of Pet Sounds, which makes for a rich, complex experience. Somethings are gorgeous, and this is. I'll come running back.

There are ‘smart’ albums you’ll have to be in a heady mood to enjoy (TPAB, Trout Mask Replica) - at the very least they require taking time out of the day to absorb. Then there are albums like this, which are ‘smart’ but don’t in the same way demand an investment. Not the best Talking Heads, but it endures. And what an opener to send it off.

Dusty, surely dusty, her voice is air, gravel, and reality. She does it better than almost everyone. This album, like her, is a book I'll always be reading.

I can’t not like this, so I’ll go ahead and dig it. Reputations aren’t at stake. A great opener, ‘Soda Pop’ is fantastic, the whole thing makes me feel good. Fuck it. The beat goes on…

‘I got another gang story to tell, peep...’ - perhaps like others, I know this from Compton’s Most Wanted and the classic they spawned. This one is soulfully and richly produced. What makes it even better is Hayes’s choice of songs to cover. By the Time I Get to Phoenix - like Bowie doing Wild is the Wind.

Apparently a major influence on Oasis and Britpop, you can hear it, but hear something else too. If this's a revival, it's also a 'hey now, I'm here' sort of thing. And for those seeking a restoration of The Beatles, go back and listen to your Kinks. Yeah, this list is too British, but this is a good find.

'Strangers / Nobody knows we love' (from 'Secrets') is a moving summary of this album's evocation of loneliness. But that triumph doesn't persist. It's not that it's too dark - it's that the darkness is uninteresting and finally w/o the quality of what makes dejected art a buoy for a suffering mind and body. The storytelling is weak, the production feeble. Maybe their other records are more developed, but this stagnates w/ no howl - not for me.

This and Station to Station seem to me to be Bowie's major peaks. This 'hazy cosmic jive' has a lot going for it, but I'd like to think it abides b/c it has the humor and vitality that 'conceptual' projects do not always carry. This never crumbles under its own pretensions - no tedium or inanity here.

This had a much more soulful sound than I expected, and was lighter on its feet than I assumed. The album art and pretentious title didn't excite me, but the instrumentation is often creative and the songs have a sweetness to them. Unfortunately, the lyrics are frequently wanting, and overall there is something unrealized, which other LA groups at the time, like The Doors and Love, didn't suffer from. I'll give it a 4, tho, considering their influence on subsequent artists - again, Americans got there first (sorry Zeppelin...).

This album deserves its critical acclaim, because it's inventive and yielded a new sort of musical experience. Much of it I really enjoy. But I'm not all that convinced by Beth Gibbons's vocals, which sustain a monotony that I find frustrating at times and do not always believe in. And yet, and yet, it so cleverly incorporates Hip Hop (in 1994!) that I'm left unsure what I feel. I guess I kept longing for a spark, and I only got ashes, tho beautiful ones.

This is killing. And Basie plays with so much space, and spacing, so sparse (Midnite Blue) I’m full to the brim with pleasure. Who’s that trumpeter on ‘Duet’? Man, this is good - not quite the last of the big bands (Thad Jones/Mel Lewis, Joe Henderson), but a great selection here - especially for a list so wanting of jazz.

The songs are what they are (and Phil is who he is), but I do love that 'wall of sound' style, especially featured on classics from girl groups like The Ronettes and The Crystals. I'd take Nat King's Christmas album over this - I'm not all that into these jingly Holiday tunes - but this is worth a listen.

Her voice doesn’t merely come from a real place - it takes you there as well, which can’t be said about many ‘real things.’ It wobbles and clouds over, tho it’s also so clear, sound, and solid. Does she push it? Not as much as you may think. So give me Janis. Then I’m good, and in that special way, I can live all over again.

What's cool is this is as much the birth of an idea, an aesthetic, a posture, as it is superb music. Not much to say here - Miles inventing again.

'I wouldn't normally do this kind of thing' - also, I wouldn't normally like this kind of thing. But I do. Because it's more than the sum of its heartstrings - and it has lyrics like 'to free in me / the trust I never dared.' It takes balls to feel good - and the music got those in droves. 'Then, when I was lonely / I thought again / and changed my mind.' That's good. 'Looking for love and getting / nothing that's worth regretting.' And so is that. 'Together.' Why not? Whitman's Calamus, I hear it, read it, happily, finally, all over again.

‘I can’t dance / I guess, I’m just one of the unfortunate few,’ sings Parsons. I guess we’re some of the fortunate many who have discovered this artist. I’m not so sure I care that it’s a fusion of rock and country - big deal - that’s not his (or hers, Emmylou's) genius. It’s that it’s got soul, humor, voice, pluck. And he can sing, just enough, intimately, consistently, quietly. These songs story so much really - for that, it gets my appreciation.

Hard rock/heavy metal seldomly holds my attention for more than, say, thirty seconds, before it falls apart under its pretenses, inanities, tediums. Zeppelin and Sabbath are the formidable exceptions. It must be that the music Bill War, Geezer Butler, and Tony Iommi orchestrate is authentically blues-inspired, regularly funky, always improvisatory. It doesn't even feel particularly 'heavy,' at least no heavier than its progenitors - congrats to them for that. I can listen to Sabbath's enduring riffs often and gratefully.

'No dark sarcasm in the classroom' - that'll stay with me, as will much else. But. This is a sometimes pretentious, not always profound, album with quite a few unpretentious and profound songs. It was conceived ambitiously, so it ought to be judged that way, and I'm not moved by its conceptual frame. It can be puerile, it can be surface, it lacks intellectual stamina. But it has 'The Thin Ice,' 'Mother,' 'Hey You,' 'Comfortably Numb,' and some others ('Goodbye Blue Sky'), that are permanent and real expressions.

'You should hear how we syllogize / You should hear / about how Babel fell and still echoes away.' All of this, and the rest, is very, very good - original, dynamic, not too deep in strange land, and off kilter enuf - but founded on the pleasure principle, I'll not return as often as I do to others. For sure, it's an unforgettable listen, not that demanding, a pleasurable thing in the end. 'Caligari's Mirror' and '(Pa) Ubu Dance Party' prove it's so. Maybe a bit too cool for school. And not as perfect as Marquee Moon.

‘The fairytale was climbing up / A mountain far too steep.’ That's a rare, inspired lyric moment. Musically impressive because lush and adequate but never honest, hardly a big deal. I’ll give it the benefit of the doubt b/c the songs are short and the production is good enough to overcome some of its shortcomings. But not that many of them. 'My Mistakes Were Made For You' is the strongest single - and 'I Don't Like You Anymore' has got punky oomph - but it's all a bit blandish, and the legitimately sexy orchestration ('The Meeting Place') isn’t merited.

I love this album, not because it communicates tension, but b/c nothing feels like it's going to fall apart. This isn't adolescence's final stand, or last day of summer, but a continued expression: 'I wake, I still look, I feel loose.' ‘Still’ is the operative word. Even on 'Made of Stone,' which approaches Tom Verlaine's impressionism, the philosophy is a subdued trust in the process: it's all gonna be okay. And that works for many a night out, or in, or here, or there.

'You made me miss the Slick Rick gig.' This brilliant album (and artist) is a cultural and musical amalgamation you rarely get - a jazz vocalist with r&b perceptiveness laced with footnotes to hip hop. And a voice as seductive and creative as the things she sings about, aspires to. Honest, something special.

'You elevate my soul / I've got no self-control / Been living like a mole now.' That's bad, as is much else here, never quite reaching the heights (and how high are those heights, really?) of 'Beautiful Day.' There appear to be authentic moments of poppy breakthrus, but they persist for even less than a chorus. 'I don't know / which way the wind will blow.' It's difficult to write that and get away with it. U2 doesn't. Their best and most soulful ('In A Little While,' by far) unfortunately can't save this album from itself, which manifests most dreadfully on 'Peace On Earth.'

'Do you really think she'll pull through?' 'And the pain was enough to make / A shy, bald Buddhist reflect / And plan a mass murder.' 'And if you should die / I may feel slightly sad, but I won't cry.' That's Morrissey alright - that's his invention, of which I can't think of a proper imitator/reverential copycat. How'd you do it? I had, for some reason, evaded The Smiths's final album. Shame on me - tho not quite their best, b/c it's not their most definitive, it might be their most consistently colorful and vigorous, even approaching something soulful at times: Morrissey finds his growl ('A Rush and a Push,' 'I Started Something'); I find myself chuffed, snaring this thing that's theirs, that only they've ever done.

'Although our music and our drugs stayed the same.' Sorta how I feel about this one - while I can admire Shaun Ryder's lyrics (at times), and the music has an edge (certainly Stones-influenced, more sixties than you'd initially figure), there's little variety here. If there's a joke, I don't quite get it; if it's about capturing a scene (rave culture), I'm not taken there. And it's weird when I don't know why: 'We're all food, your cake / We're all the food, your weirdo's cream.' I know what to do with impressionism, with the strange and the grotesque, but I don't know what to do with that. Nor do I want to. I do like the more straightforward stuff ('Country Song,' 'Wrote for Luck,' 'Lazyitis') tho - it negotiates The Stones well enough. But mostly, I’m a bit bored, a bit wanting more, or less.

Again, short songs redeem the whole. This is a well-produced album with creative percussiveness, rich, impactful guitars, and a compression to save it from going too far, too dreamy, too heady. The lyrics are the weak point, not difficult or pretentious, but in fact unmemorable, too steady, not wordy enough. But this is a good find, and in the end, I’m down with it. Especially beautiful: 'Onie'; especially tasteful: 'Train for Tomorrow' and 'Luvin''; heavy lifting in LA: 'Try Me on for Size'; not good: 'The Toonerville Trolley.'

His virtuosity aside, I can’t get into this - when it’s quietest, I’m happiest, like at the beginning of ‘Top Jimmy’ or ‘Drop Dead Legs.’ When it’s off, when it’s over, I’m really most pleased. I don’t mind dumb, or even fake, but a dud ‘tis, especially the squandering of ‘Hot for Teacher’ and ‘Girl Gone Bad.’ By the time ‘Jump’ (the best song, by far) starts soloing, there’s nothing left that I can remotely enjoy, it’s all so thin and, like so much hard rock, so soft. If he shreds, well, I can do w/o that verb.

Rush doesn't tell interesting stories, be they fantasy or science fiction, tho Geddy Lee may think he does. This isn't weird, it's boring, and when there is a reprieve of satisfying, even at times superior, instrumentation, you’re reminded of lyrics like: 'I stand atop a spiral stair / An oracle confronts me there.' 'Atop' and its kin are bad for music, unless its The Smiths and the literary is somehow properly negotiated. And when it's more stripped down (e.g. 'Tears'), it's unbearably saccharine, evincing a no-win situation.

If this isn’t excellent, it’s close to it. If it’s the beginnings of heavy metal, it’s early enuf not to be overwrought or to neglect its origins. Unsung heroics: Micky Waller, a put-together of Mitch and Ginger (got the fluidity of the former, uses the toms like the latter). The rendition of Ol’ Man River is more than up to snuff: it’s sincere. And I don’t know much about guitar chops, but Beck sure does seem to live up to the hype. I'll go w/ excellent.

This one starts with two beauties, especially the opening track, which does manage to express the joy and realness of psychedelic experience: 'Oh, how is it that I could come out here / And be still floatin' / And never hit bottom and keep falling through / Just relaxed and paying attention?' That is precise, and superb. But then it drags quite a bit. Tho I admire the austerity of 'I Come and Stand at Every Door,' nothing impresses until the still innovative 'Eight Miles High.' Up next, the speedy and frantic rendition of 'Hey Joe' doesn't do it for me (it's admittedly hard for any to 'do it' after Hendrix), and the rest is good, but not great. When psychedelia snubs melodic variety, it can fall flat - this has that handicap. But it was widely influential and has some greatness in it. For that, I go higher.

All-time voice; not an all-time album. Talent may speak for itself, but so does craft, subtlety, a diversity of sound, and expressive language, all of which this album has only some of the time, and not all that convincingly. But she can sing so damn well that her underachievements are now and then compensated for. She'll go down as an all-time great b/c her vocal abilities are, in fact, incredibly rare, and she has composed some pregnant, memorable songs. On this one: 'I Miss You,' 'River Lea,' 'Love in the Dark,' 'Million Years Ago,' 'Sweetest Devotion.' And yet, the whole gestalt lacks.

Duke's a persuasive composer; there's a preternatural uplift that all of his compositions share, a surety, a swagger, a candid sense of self and others. Nothing breaks down b/c everything's a great run into the center of life and its particularities. This live recording famously attains that sensibility with genius. Quite literally, Duke and Louis (who's unforgivably absent from this list) invented our music. And a special shout-out to Cat Anderson, the best of all muted trumpeters I've heard. Sam Woodyard too on ‘Skin Deep.’

This Morrissey is more sincere than ironic, which is odd tho not necessarily a bad thing. He croons, 'Where the world's ugliest boy / Became what you see / Here I am, the ugliest man,' and I believe him. More often than not, I am in the mood to take things as they are rather than with a grain of salt, but this sincerity fails to hold my attention. Morrissey certainly has his moments here, especially on 'Suedehead,' 'I Don't Mind If You Forget Me,' 'Dial-a-Cliché,' and 'Margaret on the Guillotine,' but for the first time, I'm not all that keen on hearing what he has to say next. Just a bit tired of the pouting and yearning, which is leaned on as a crutch rather than explored and developed. The music, stringy, plucky, and at times acoustically flush, does perdure however, and does vitalize this not-as-effective grumbler.

'Cover my face as the animals die.' Does this mean that Robert Smith has finally gotten over the notion that death and the expiration of flesh can be flippantly sought after? Sure, the whole album commences with 'It doesn't matter if we all die,' but this is far more vital than the gloom-gets-me-nowhere Seventeen Seconds. Perhaps they were so on the verge of falling apart as a band that a will to live implicitly permeated their program. I still struggle to listen to a Cure album all the way thru - it's just not my way of dealing with distress - but this is far from bad. 'My memory in a fire, and someone will listen / At least for a short while.' That has a quiet aspiration in it I admire. And the keeper of the sudden fire: Lol Tolhurst (drummer).

‘All I’ve Got To Do,’ ‘All My Loving,’ ‘Don’t Bother Me,’ Till There Was You,’ ‘Please Mister Postman,’ ‘Hold Me Tight.’ Some great originals, some enduring covers. It’s a copycat league and they copied as emulators and admirers. Do I prefer Chuck’s maiden recording of ‘Roll Over Beethoven’? You bet. Is Smokey’s ‘You Really Got A Hold On Me’ the better one? Uh-huh. Is this still a milestone album and essential listening? I know it is.

This really gets rolling with 'Let the Sad Times Roll On,' tho the title track does hit with humor and joviality, most notably continued on 'Wham Bam,' a hilarious promotion for the rejection of matrimony. In terms of country voices, I prefer the likes of Marty Robbins, Tom T. Hall, Townes Van Zandt, and Blazes Foley, not to say anything of Patsy Cline or Johnny Cash. But even tho I sometimes feel like I'm being slammed with a festivity I'm not exactly invited to be a part of, there are enough wistful songs - 'If You Fall Out of Love With Me,' 'The Band Keeps Playin' On,' 'Streets of Laredo' (an all-time favorite), 'Cryin' Time,' 'A Maiden's Prayer' (instrumental) - to keep this album honest, and to satisfy my penchant for a mournful affect. And in terms of influence (the Bakersfield sound), this is a true topper.

This isn't really metal, and Lemmy doesn't really have a metal voice, more like an explanatory rasp, loud and heavy b/c he wants to talk thru the noise and tell us what's up. Popular among the punks, and self-proclaimed to be nothing more than a rock-n-roll band, Motörhead wore a not-quite-metal aesthetic that isn't exactly news. But it is significant. It even boarders on hardcore sanguinity on 'Live to Win,' venting the noble lines: 'You mustn't shout it out loud / Don't create a scene / Don't indulge in being proud / It only feeds their scheme.' That's excellent and true. (If only other metal acts would listen to this sage and sensible advice, ahem, Marilyn Manson.) What this album lacks is variety, however, and what it unfortunately boasts is the dreadful 'Jailbait.' Mainly tho, it has a palatable and honest aesthetic. I can't say it's entirely my thing, but it sure the hell blows AC/DC out of the water, and I can imagine myself returning to it, if only to feel a bit mucky.

This ain't it. It's so adequate that it's essentially no good. And we already have an excellent country/roots rock act from California (see Creedence). This isn't that mastery, or close to it. 'Most of us are sad / No one let's it show' is about as good as it gets. At least that has a sincerity to boot, not an inauthenticity to bear. But truthfully, this album has no haunting power, and no quiet successes. An all-around blah.

Lyrically, this is a bit conspiratorial and paranoid, all to do with a 'them' one would confront in a Pynchon novel, or a 'we' we don't really know: 'Don't let them see / Don't let them know' (from 'Films'); 'All that we are / Is all that we need to be' (from 'Engineers'). Musically, I get it, but I'm not sure I like it or that it gives me P-L-E-A-S-U-R-E. On principle tho, I can't say it's bad. Some genuine darlings: 'Complex,' 'Tracks.' Numan's voice gets stale, however, and it's all shot thru with a false sense of profundity. 'You are not reg-u-lar' (from 'Conversations'). The problem is this album is reg-u-lar. But not an everyday people kind of regular. That kind, I'm all about.

He rhymes like a rapper: 'Those disco synthesizers / And those daily tranquilizers / Those body building prizes / Those bedroom alibis'; 'We're all going on a summer holiday / Vigilante's coming out to follow me / Heard somebody said they're out to collar me / Anybody wanna swallow me.' He has the courage for half-rhymes, internal rhymes, multisyllabic rhymes, like 'cheek to be' and 'weaken these' ('Little Triggers'), 'silent' and 'hydrant' ('You Belong to Me'), 'cuddle,' 'waddle,' and 'model' ('Chelsea'), and these bangers: 'movements,' 'amusements,' 'choosy,' 'above me,' 'shoes' ('Lip Service'). This is to say nothing of the music, which is authentic pop that tenders a punky dynamism (check out rhythm section on 'Lipstick Vogue'). And the best: 'I wanna bite the hand that feeds me / I wanna bite that hand so badly.' So yeah, I couldn't say enough. This is superb.

Quality Control (2000) is the better release, but this is still a strong record. The production is hard and addictive, the flows and rhymes are effortlessly intricate, especially on 'A Day at the Races,' the harmonized choruses are tasteful, and the partitioning of verses is uniquely lucid. But it also trots out cliché lines like 'My pen drips / As I scribble my thoughts on thin strips of emotion.' It sometimes feels like this album was made for people who never 'got' hip-hop, and needed a record that's blatantly 'conscious' to get over their disapproval of the gangsta genre. But anybody who really understands hip-hop knows there's no De La Soul w/o NWA, no Black Star w/o 8Ball and MJG. Still, this is a classic listen, partly b/c it's great pop, tho Q-tip would resist that dubbing: 'Rap is not pop / if you call that then stop.'

A top-five vocalist of the twentieth century: stably inventive, focused and uncrowded, tho perfectly full, somehow dry w/o drying out, emotive w/o being lachrymose, and a technical mastery that's formidably faultless. She is, simply put, one of only so many crucial artists of her time, and any time.

'Now the preachin' is over / And the lesson's begun'; 'Now the lesson is over / And the killin's begun.' Willie is a pure storyteller, and no moralizer. He lets things be, and like the great painters of precarious minds coming to their ends, he passes no judgement. I'm reminded of Orlando and Don Quijote, Othello and Leontes, and several characters who populate Bruce Springsteen's Nebraska. Structurally, this record is brilliant, no song doing more or less than it needs to: four instrumentals, three tracks less than a minute long, one over five. And his voice, tho high and feeble, carries this album's impressive fire.

'Following charts but the threads would just dissipate / Modern Kosmology let my love resonate.' This album, mainly due to its excellent production, tho also b/c of lyrical moments like that, is an unexpected pleasure. Tho not quite as brilliant as comparable acts such as Julia Holter and Cate Le Bon, this possesses a palpable optimism that I very much enjoy: 'Let's go outside when it doesn't feel right.' It also successfully sustains a Byrd-like psychedelia on tracks like 'Loops in the Secret Society.' She loses me a bit on 'The Architect,' which is neither sonically nor conceptually attained, but wins me back with sweetness on 'The Lightning Back' and 'Valley.' Are the echoey vocals and abstract lyrics entirely irreproachable? No. I can surely do w/o the 'open your eyes' at the end of 'Ravenspoint,' for instance. But I don't want to do w/o: 'there's a rhythm to march to this undisputed mood.'

The best-selling album of all time has most likely become a tough sell to many people, myself included. And yet, its nine songs stick around for good reason. Most ingenious is 'Billie Jean,' which fronts a literacy viz-a-viz creative rhythms and inventive melodies. Even 'Beat It,' which I never loved, is 'funky and strong' enuf to endure. Human nature is real, however, and as much as you'd like to separate the art from the artist, it would seem that appreciation at a distance is the most sustainable approach. But that distance is hard to preserve knowing 'PYT' is out there, a perfect track.

'And so, become yourself / Because the past is just a goodbye' ('Teach Your Children'); 'In my mind, I still need a place to go / All my changes were there' ('Helpless); 'They stop by to die because / It's faster than sinking' ('Country Girl'). Moments like these show just how excellent this album can be, but it's mostly a vague excellence, fleeting, not fully realized. The four seem to know what they are doing but not quite where they are going. Emotionally, 'Helpless' has it, I do enjoy the parodic (or is it sincere?) 'Our House,' and the driving 'Carry On' is a superb entry. But I'm not all that proud to wear my 'freak flag' listening to 'Almost Cut My Hair,' and 'Woodstock' isn't nearly Joni's best. A very good record, but in love with it I am not.

'I'm always a few minutes wrong.' This is indeed a blues explosion, mainly b/c it's an explosion of the uncool. It's not weird, it's not downcast, it's not edgy, it's not at all cool, but it's also not up for debate. The blues can't be itself when it's knowingly chic - it has to have some uncool about it, some awkwardness, some untidiness, some real deal marring and scarring. But, as Albert Murray advocates, the blues is slo dance music, party music, a genre for the clubs and late night believing. Every song on this album doesn't stun, but the whole thing fosters a cool uncool - a mixture of the festive and gawkish - that I admire thoroughly.

When Gaye sings 'Cry cry cry, do you cry about me / Do you every think about the kind of love we had?,' it's so devastatingly beautiful that alone it makes this album an invaluable listen. But it's the raw one-sidedness, the self-serving but somehow generous storytelling, the free-associative honesty and concreteness, having to do not only with flowers, bluebirds, and sparrows but attorneys, child support, and millions of moola, boasting lyrics like 'This is a joke / I need a smoke,' that take this record to a unique place aesthetically. It rambles, but the music doesn't ever tire, and tho you may not be left a fan of Marvin Gaye the person, so deeply rooted is his egoism at times, your appreciation for the singer/writer can only grow. And you gotta relish: 'Let's touch each other / let's feel each other's ass.'

This one 'keeps the customer satisfied.' Any album that proposes 'Bridge Over Troubled Waters,' 'The Boxer,' and 'The Only Living Boy in New York' is a perennial knockout. 'Half of the time we're gone / But we don't know where / And we don't know where.' It's the 'but' and the 'and' that make that a masterful and emotive line. The whole thing exhibits a pensive and cheerful vibe, a simultaneity not easy to attain, but one that's essential to experience. And I love hearing their live cover of the Everly Brothers, the duo's principal influence, at least vocally.

According to Mayfield, yesterday's 'America today' was 'scufflin' times': 'A lot of scars - that kind of scare you to remember.' It's more like collapsin' times in today's 'America today,' but this record remains timeless. Mainly, this is political music that gets going b/c it negotiates the mundane with sweetness and honesty: 'Waking up now in the morning / A little morning sigh / Ready not to get it together.' This is truth music b/c Mayfield is attuned enuf to appreciate that 'Truth is not the whole question.' Musically, this is a funky cry, and a crying funk: 'The way you do it - is to get right to it.' Amen. And even an atheist like me can get down w/ 'Jesus.'

From start to finish, this is Dylan's greatest achievement. It's his most literary record b/c it's his most confessional, his most sustained, his most motivated and focused. I guess love will do that to you - will exalt a writer to brass tacks. Featuring a vindictive storyteller getting his get back ('Idiot Wind'), and a nearly nine min interlude about Big Jim and the Jack of Hearts, the album tells it like it is by telling his version of it. As much as I revere 'Blowin' in the Wind,' 'Like a Rolling Stone,' and 'A Hard Rain's a-Gonna Fall,' I love those records b/c they speak to something culturally or societally universal. Here, Bob jettisons the cultural and societal for the personal - and he may just be a tad deeper b/c of that.

'I will sit right down / Waiting for the gift of sound and vision.' That's how I think about this album: you can sit right down, waiting for its gift of sound and vision. B/c that's what it is - an aural and visual affair, bravely vibrant, firmly in its own world. I've said before that Ziggy Stardust and Station to Station are his peaks, and I still believe that to be true, but this is Bowie's most interior, self-contained, and self-justified album. In many ways, it's also his most beautiful. It's a true conceptual piece to the extent that the 'concept' is the thing-in-itself. It doesn't allegorize or symbolize, it doesn't create a world for the sake of pointing out the ills of ours. It's a world of its own, plain and simple. And one I'd like to (re)enter whenever I can.

While I admire the production to some degree, Trent Reznor's abrasive whisper has a one-dimensional flow, and his flimsy allusions to Nietzsche ('God is dead / and no one cares') don't even excite this hardened atheist. 'Closer' is a miserable ode to rough animal sex: 'I drink the honey / inside your hive / You are the reason / I stay alive.' His junky and unimaginative philosophizing is incredibly tedious, and tho the instrumental moments can sustain an authentic energy, too much of it sours from Reznor's annoying poetry: 'And nothing comes bleeding out of me / Just like the waterfall I'm drowning in.' In Romanticism, the child is revered. Reznor, however, is only childish. There is a huge difference.

One of the smartest records of the 20th century, and one of the tastiest to listen to. For me, it ever so slightly edges out Curtis Mayfield's and Marvin Gaye's socially aware masterpieces b/c it incorporates gravity w/ humor, and connects our psychic lives with upfront realities: 'shady as a lady with a mustache'; 'You're in trouble when you find it's hard for you to smile / A simple song might make it better for a little while'; 'I am everyday people.' You gotta etch out a special place for albums that make you feel good like no other. This is one of those informed blisses; groove-daring answers to our problems. You throw it on and may as well have a great day. Why not? You may also pick up a copy of Das Kapital and scold a landlord. Hell yeah.

The fact that this pairing 'works' doesn't foment in me a new appreciation for a band I don't know particularly well, or a genre of which I'm honestly suspicious. If anything, the orchestral potentialities of Metallica fortify my aversion to a music I already find to be wearyingly epic and conceptually overwrought. Lyrically, it smacks of a bad interpretation of a verse play by Goethe: 'Drain you off your sanity / Face the thing that should not be.' The instrumentation is 'big,' and I guess therefore symphonic, but Wagner gone electric (or is it the other way around?) is not my jam. For fans of the band, this is most likely a treat, and I don't know their music well enough to really judge the collaboration. As an idea - as a project - it certainly succeeds. It doesn't, however, satisfy or convert. With that, I'll go w/ middling.

Santana's performance at Woodstock is all-time stuff. Their studio albums aren't the stuff of the gods, however, and tho this has classic rock staples, I'm no more convinced by it than I am by the Eagles. To be fair, it's better than the Eagles b/c the percussion - the principal Latin import - does give it a rounded and foxy sensibility. But the songwriting is mediocre, and the instrumentation is mostly thin, with the exception of 'Incident at Neshabur,' an effective nonvocal track, and 'Se a Cabó,' which is short and persuasive. But this one doesn’t crescendo when I’d want it to, tenderize when it ought to, or complicate when it needs to. Suffice to say, there's better out there.

'Though nothing, will keep us together / We could steal time, just for one day.' That has the joyous, fall-up-the-stairs desperation of Marquee Moon, the night so young and carefree it may as well be the end of time. Tho not quite as profound as Low, it's just as complete as the trilogy's first, and is structured the same: vocal dance tracks to start, pensive instrumentals to conclude, with the exception of 'The Secret Life of Arabia.' Where it takes me is vaguer than I'd like, but I'm still moved, I'm still awed by the play-it-cool but make-it-strange aesthetic that defines Bowie's output. You could say it's the best of the trilogy - you wouldn't be wrong. I just prefer Low that little bit more.

'And no religion too.' That's a breakthru in pop and rock's political and cultural messaging. It fits right in, you don't gotta say anything more, and I'm relieved someone had the nerve to say it. The song is therefore rightly iconic, but the rest of the album consists of songs that are good but never great, with the exception of 'How Do You Sleep,' which as a putdown track ranks with Dylan's 'Idiot Wind' and 'Positively 4th Street': 'The sound you make is muzak to my ears / You must've learned something in all those years.' 'I Don't Wanna Be A Soldier Mama' is thundering and grand, but also confirms that Lennon is often a better chanter than lyricist. When the chanting gets into my soul, I'll be there for the picketing. Otherwise, it's a bit truthy for no reason.

This record is effectively laidback but I find myself wishing it was more off to no good than it is. The synth takes away from the treble and the vocals diminish what could otherwise be a powerful and urgent experience. 'Air' and 'Moon' are apt descriptors of an album that is too spaced out, too ungrounded, too up in the air, and too over the moon. The production is certainly inventive, and while I admire the coherence of the project as a whole, its suave sensibility, exacerbated by Beth Hirsch's singing, serener and even more full of it than Beth Gibbons's, is not one I naturally gravitate to. Perhaps that's just it - I don't want to gravitate - I want to be pushed and pulled and then made whole again. With this, I only hover, or is it drift?