Great lyrics and beats. Let down by violence and misogyny.

3/5

3/5

4/5

5/5 - harmonicatastique

3/5 - it was good in parts

Solid 5 - beautiful. The bonus of Art Garfunkel’s moustache on the cover photo just adds to the experience.

“$h1tehawks at the Diner” I want to buy the vinyl version and melt it into an ashtray apposite for this gravelly-voiced, unfunny and dull effort. Would make it onto my list of 1000001 best albums. I suppose you had to be there.

Loved this. Have heard it so many times. Moody, lovingly crafted and delivered.

Great lyrics and beats. Let down by violence and misogyny.

4/5 - great album, enjoyed it. A bit derivative at times, and the falsetto grates at times.

He was no Maya Angelou. He had some derivative tunes and some ability to rap. He rose above mediocrity by dying young. I have dropped a point for the use of gunfire as music, but more unacceptable is the glorification of the thug life and warping minds (intro to Outlaw). The backing music sounds so dated, which never is the case with great music. It could have been worse, if the Fresh Prince had been killed in a drive by shooting we would have idolised Jazzy Jeff.

Little known fact: Louis Prima invented the gen Z phrase “skibidi rizz” in 1960 as part of a scatological delivery. I love the album, it is a joy, but very much of its time. If you like trumpets and scat, this is for you.

Madonna did the cowgirl thing before Beyoncé.

Easy listening

Impressive, but I tired of this album about 2/3 of the way in.

Enjoyed this. Time will tell if it is really worthy of a place on this list.

Enjoyed this. Time will tell if it is really worthy of a place on this list.

Loved this! I wouldn’t ordinarily have gone for this album, but really enjoyed it.

Fantastic well-written songs, sung amazingly. The album hangs together well and bears repetition. Easily deserved of a place in this list.

Insipid, a bit dul in parts.

Insipid, a bit dul in parts.

Great album - a classic.

GaRlEbAuTm

You can follow, or lead like Commander Picard etc. I loved the love below, would listen again.

New to me, I liked some of this.

Imogen needs less bossa nova.

In the tender tapestry of existence, Mentalist Moomin blooms as Björk, a shimmering soul, weaving colours into the fabric of the mundane world, where joy would dwindle like a fading star without her ethereal light. The sugar cubes, those delightful morsels of sound, weaving magic in my heart's tapestry! In the kaleidoscope of my late 80s youth, they were the whimsical whispers that danced through my Walkman’s dreams. In my shimmering sanctuary, a bare spirit descends from the celestial zenith, and like sweet whispers, we feast on the luscious ruby delights of strawberry cake. In my glistening cocoon, a bare essence cascades from the starlit peak, and like tender murmurs, we savour the succulent crimson treasures of strawberry dreams.

I liked some of the lyrics, just not my cup of tea.

Quaint, quirky, quick. Quintessential.

Interesting ideas liked the vocals and novel lyrical approach. Never heard of this.

It’s a funk phenomenon! Didgeridon’t. Nonsense spoken about cultural appropriation has minimal relevance here - almost all popular music is derivative in some sense. Arguments that everyone has to remain in their cultural zone limits freedom of expression, curiosity, and creativity. So long as it is respectful and progressive is much more important. Stevie Wonder did not arrive fully formed de novo, he was influenced by Marvin Gaye and a host of others. What matters is putting your own stamp on it. That aside, while I enjoyed the musicianship, it was a bit dull at times.

Okay, next…

Enjoyed a trip down memory lane to University days.

Fabulous album - inventive and bold.

Never listened to this before. I struggle with Neil Young. Little stood out, but pleasant enough.

Enjoyable, enjoyable to her the singles, the rest is a bit same-y.

Interesting, but more challenging than normal to get hold of.

Some gems, but a curate’s egg.

Beautiful album - that I had never heard before. Great stuff.

Innovative and different / would listen again

I asked Slayer to write a little ditty about reviewers of metal: Title: “Verdict of the Damned” [Intro – Thunderous Riff] Verse 1 In the void where riffs scream out, I prowl the wasteland of brutal sound. Distorted carnage, chaos unbound— Death metal albums bleed their truth profound. Pre-Chorus My pen’s a blade, slicing through decay, Exposing venom in every vicious play. Chorus I am the reviewer, judge of the damned, Unleashing verdicts with a merciless hand. In the forge of metal, my words ring clear— Only the unrelenting survive the sear. Verse 2 In the slaughterhouse of sound, each track ignites, Guttural roars and shattered riffs fuel the nights. I rip apart pretenders, carve every scar, Forging legacies in chaos where legends are. [Bridge] Shredding silence with echoes of demise, My words tear the veil from blinded eyes. [Outro] As the void swallows the fading noise, True metal stands, forged in unyielding poise.

Third, Soft Machine’s sprawling 1970 double LP that essentially asks, “What if jazz fusion but also calculus?” It starts with the 19-minute Facelift, which sounds like a tape machine being drop-kicked down a flight of stairs before recombobulating into something resembling music. It’s equal parts exhilarating and exhausting, like being cornered at a party by a guy who really wants to explain why John Coltrane was basically the first punk. Third fully commits to labyrinthine compositions and modal spelunking. Slightly All the Time and Out-Bloody-Rageous move with the grace of jazz but the intensity of something much stranger, like they’re perpetually a few notes away from turning into a hostage situation. Robert Wyatt’s drumming is frantic yet fluid, Mike Ratledge’s keyboards sound like they’re actively conspiring against the listener, and Hugh Hopper’s fuzz bass could be classified as a controlled substance. Then there’s Wyatt’s rare vocal moment on Moon in June, a ghostly reminder that this band once wrote actual songs before deciding that chord progressions were bourgeois. For all its cerebral bravado, though, Third is one of those albums that rewards the foolishly persistent. There’s a hypnotic quality to its repetition, a perverse beauty in its refusal to resolve in expected ways. It is, in many ways, the ur-text for every jam band and experimental jazz unit that ever decided to turn one idea into a side-long odyssey. If you can handle the fact that it occasionally sounds like a high-speed chase through a music theory textbook, there’s real magic here. Just don’t expect an easy ride—Soft Machine isn’t here to hold your hand, and if you get lost, well, that’s kind of the point.

Nothing wrong with this.

Innovative and fresh.

Rather liked this.

Innovative and fresh.

R.E.M. is the kind of band that made you wonder if that cryptic fortune cookie was actually written by Michael Stipe himself. With jangly guitars that sounded like they were plucked from the secret stash of a forgotten record store and lyrics that danced between profound philosophy and “What on earth did he just say?”, they became the unsung heroes of alternative rock—like that cool cousin who never quite reveals all his secrets at family gatherings.