Snoop’s debut album introduces his unique flow and steeze to the world (‘Gs up, hoes down’), as well as classic rap anthems. Dre’s production is also notable, this being a year after The Chronic was released, which established Dre’s signature west coast sound of that era, and introduced the world to Snoop who was featured extensively in that record as a key collaborator. Revisiting it in 2024, a lot of tracks feel unmemorable, and while the features lift up LA icons like Nate Dogg, D.O.C., Kurupt and Tha Dogg Pound, much of the others fall short of Snoop’s iconic voice and verses. And while Snoop’s lyricism shines from a stylistic standpoint, he repeats a ton of the same things from song to song, giving the album a half-baked feeling when taken as a whole. The lyrical content is also a product of the misogyny-steeped stance of early 90s rap. Viewed through today’s lens it almost feels like satire given how prevalent these themes are on the record, but they were dead serious about those demeaning lyrics at the time. Now Snoop is a spokesperson for T-Mobile lol.

This is my fav Bob Marley record. Peter Tosh left the band the year this came out, and while Bob was the McCartney of The Wailers — having firm control over the creative decision making — Tosh was more dedicated to the rawer sound of reggae steeped in the sparser, dryer dub subgenre that was in full swing around this time, and his lyrical lens was sharply focused on the political. Without Tosh around their sound shifted drastically towards a more global, polished reggae sound Bob pioneered. One big reason I love this Wailers record is it’s their grooviest record. The heavy influence of soul, r&b, gospel, and folk music present throughout the record is unlike any other Wailers record before or after. This is really evident in the opening 4-8 bar sections of most songs, just before the iconic reggae back-beat settles in. The band is also air-tight. Their unity and collective rhythm is so satisfyingly smooth. They established a pocket on this record somewhere between a traditional swing and reggae’s shifted, lurching pulse. Bob launched The Wailers into the stratosphere around this time too. Their now-ubiquitous catalog of hits started piling up on the record before this with ‘Get Up, Stand Up’ and ‘I Shot The Sheriff’, and this record contributes its fair share to that legacy. And for what it’s worth, ‘Them Belly Full’ is hands-down my fav Wailers song.

Lauper wills a debut album made up mostly of covers of songs written by men into a record that established her as a powerful voice for the independence and nuance of womanhood in an era where women were asserting themselves more and more in all facets of society. In the hands of an artist lacking her confidence and vision, this approach would surely come off corny or pedestrian or just plain bad. Not being familiar with her catalog outside of the hits, it’s the lesser known tracks that really showcase her talent on this album — she tries on lots of musical styles, fitting them into her mold and approach, one that helped usher in a more electronic pop-rock style that dominated the rest of the 80s. She sounds comfortable on pure ballads, synthy pop tunes, pub rock anthems, and songs that draw influence from punk, ska, and the NYC dance scene. Her infectious energy merges all of these styles into a record that is fun and danceable nearly throughout. Musically speaking, I love the female-male harmonies featured on most of the tracks. The sequencing makes it an enjoyable record to listen all the way through, and oddball moments like the second to last track that serves as a coda interlude before the final track is lovely. And she successfully pulls off a great Prince cover — honestly her and Prince could’ve made some great music together especially given they were good friends, but he served more as a mentor in the music biz than a collaborator in her career. Her influence on so many contemporary artists I love is self-evident too. Her unique vocal delivery and punk sensibility surely influenced the wave of women-centric indie rock, synth pop, and dance punk from the early aughts on. It’s hard not to mention Madonna here. They’re both living in NYC at the time, and this debut record dropped a few months after Madonna’s eponymous debut. Lauper is the rock/synth pop/singer songwriter counterpart to Madonna’s Danceteria club girl disco fueled record. Before these debut records of theirs in 1983, Lauper was in a prolific cover band while Madonna was clubbing in Manhattan. Madonna’s influence was always purely aesthetic imo: she had an incredible personal style and curated powerhouse trend setters to guide her music stylistically her whole career, but her vocal talents, song writing, and musicality by comparison was lacking. Lauper’s strengths were much more musical: she sits squarely in the singer/songwriter category, and her vocal range and delivery is one of her greatest assets. Exploring and researching this record sparked a huge interest in the synth pop of the time that I’m really enjoying at the moment. I’ve listened to this record a bunch over the last few days, and I’ve come to really admire her music.

When I started making music in my late teens I started collecting records. Stevie was by no means unknown to me at that age, but I had never listened to any of his albums in full, and I was only really familiar with the hits. The immense popularity he held during his entire career meant that his albums were literally a dime a dozen. This was the first of his records I purchased on my own — a copy I still have today — and it sparked a deep love for an artist I find to be one of the best to ever make music, easily in my top five artists, someone I listened to very regularly. Why do I love the man and the music so much, and this album? His musicality is prolific: like many of his records he plays nearly everything heard here. Like other musicians with such immense talent, Stevie creates a sonic palate all his own, literally. When a musician records music with themselves, tracked over many takes playing each instrument in succession, what emerges are songs that pulse with a sharply-defined melodic and rhythmic signature. To me, his sonic signature is first characterized by expert songwriting, a skill he mastered as one of Motown’s star craftsman, having written countless hits for their legendary roster over the first 15 years of his career that preceded this record — alongside other greats including the Holland Brothers, Smokey Robinson, Ashford and Simpson, Lamont Dozier, and Gordy himself to name a few. Stevie was only 22 when this album came out, a mind-blowing fact that cements him alongside wunderkinds like Beethoven; they both started writing music around age 10. Alongside his writing chops, the rhythmic pocket he creates playing alongside himself undulates like a living being. His sense of rhythm fluctuates from bar to bar and note to note with such creativity and diversity. While he is known primarily as a harmonic musician through his mastery of keyboards and the harmonica, he was a prolific rhythmic musician — I count him as one of my favorite drum players. He takes simple patterns and infuses them with a melodic voice that elevates the instrument to something greater. He fills every bar with color and texture like a jazz drummer, but he strips the pretension and seriousness away and commercializes that approach, fitting it into his expertly crafted songs. Stevie’s now iconic sound is also defined by his use of various keyboard instruments, a facet he developed around the time of this record. He pioneered the use of electronic sounds from the emerging synth landscape of the late 60s and early 70s, including instruments from Hohner, Korg, and Moog, the most definitive of which was the Hohner Clavinet: this is the instrument featured on megahits like “Superstition” from this album, and the one most ppl associate with him. He also pioneered the use of synth bass lines that anchored his sound firmly in the electronic age. My favorite Stevie album is hands-down Innervision, the record that follows this one. It’s a masterpiece. But it’s hard to separate this record from that subsequent release, as well as the record that preceded it, Music of My Mind. Many of the songs across these three albums, popularly known as his classic period, were recorded in the same sessions. Through the progression of these three records he builds incredible thematic and stylistic steam — all of which lead to Songs in the Key of Life, a sprawling collection of songs that ends his classic period in spectacular fashion. In this classic period we hear Stevie finding his voice as an artist. As he entered his late teens the controlling command of Berry Gordy at Motown was stifling his creative growth. The saccharine sound he helped cultivate no longer aligned with his interest in the growing chaotic music landscape of the late 60s, of which the most influential trends for Stevie were steeped in psychedelia, funk, and electronica. He renegotiated his contract with Motown starting with Music of My Mind that gave him full artistic control, unleashing his true creative potential and propelling him to create his finest works. Musicality aside, Stevie’s work during this period introduces us to the side of him deeply interested in equality and existentialism. Inspired by Marvin Gaye’s What’s Going On, he blossoms as one of music’s greatest social and political activists during his long career, using his platform to expose injustices and propose an alternate reality of love and compassion. And the threads of naturalist and existential themes are a perfect pairing to his electronic-tinged sound; there are countless references to outer space and the natural world in his work that gives his music a deeply human vein. This album is great from start to finish. No notes whatsoever. All the songs shine like supernovas. I have easily listened to this album hundreds of times, and I listened to it at least ten times since it showed up here on this generator, and I will surely listen to it a hundred times more before I die.

Iconic sophomore record that established Bob as the voice of his generation. It’s authentically-steeped in the American folk, blues, and spirituals traditions, as well as traditional English folk — and these considered head-nods to the past create a rock-solid platform for his strongest talent, storytelling. He tells raw, critical tales about the anxieties and melancholy that defined the early 60s. I really identify with his insistent otherness, his commitment to the socialist-leaning morality of Pete Seeger-esque folk (who I adore), and his critical view of current events on this record — all of which is tinged with his personal brand of skewed melancholy that my soul really gravitates toward as I get older. Historically cited as one of the best albums of all time, Bob’s arguably greatest record is a quintessential example of the outsized importance given to white male artists during the rise of the pop music critic culture we know today, the vestiges of which we’ve only started shedding in the last decade or so as western anglo hetero cultural dominance is being leveled out for a more inclusive landscape to flourish. Is it worthy of all that notoriety? For sure. But with 60 years between its release and today, the cult of Bob feels archaic. He always hated the ‘voice of a generation’ monicker anyway, and viewed himself more as an opportunistic conduit more than anything. He summed this up himself in an interview around this record’s release: “The songs are there. They exist all by themselves just waiting for someone to write them down. I just put them down on paper. If I didn't do it, somebody else would.” If he was up-and-coming today with the same spirit he had then, he would def align with the liberal stances that dominate today’s pop culture, and the stories defining our times would be filtered through that same world-weary kid from Minnesota to similar ends. What would a contemporary bb Dylan have to say about transgender rights, the culture of inclusivity, the rise of technology, and the continued injustice in the world today?

The singles from The Killers debut were an inescapable part of the musical landscape during my final years in high school. I didn’t really like the album then, and that hasn’t changed 20 years later. While the hooks on the singles are catchy, having lived through the release of this album it’s hard to say whether that’s an objective quality or one based on those songs’ ubiquity during that period of my life. If I had to pick a song that I liked, “Smile Like You Mean It” is the best song on the album, tho I def won’t listen to it again voluntarily. I was pleasantly surprised by the soul-infused rock on the second half of “All These Things That I’ve Done”, and I appreciate the stylistic and production choices on “Everything Will Be Alright”, but like all of The Killers music it is cancelled out by Brandon Flowers mediocre songwriting and a voice that, while technically sound, lacks anything of interest for me, and feels vacant of any effective emotional character. And that delay chorus effect that defined his vocals performances on this album is a bold choice, its used to excess on nearly every track rendering it exhausting. As a big fan of the long arcs of dance punk and post punk, the influence those genres have on their sound is obvious, but their execution falls flat when compared to other bands around this time that successfully build on those same aesthetics — the most striking of which were debut records by The Strokes, The Rapture, Frank Ferdinand, and LCD Soundsytem to name a few, all of which I still love to this day.

Revisiting this album today in the wake of their epic about-face into electronic music that is now their definitive sound, their first two records (and half of the third Ok Computer) leading up to Kid A feel like anomalies in their discography — almost functioning like demos and earlier incarnations for any other band. But Radiohead was an excellent alterntaive band, and their first three records produced their megahits and are to this day their most streamed albums by a shockingly wide margin. It’s clear and well known that their foray into electronic music turned off a huge swath of their original fanbase. They synthesized many aspects of the genres of the era and tinged it with their enjoyable pretentious stance. This is my favorite of their alt rock releases, and really demonstrates the musicianship and budding experimental and textural nature of their band members. I absolutely love Johnny Greenwood, and his dynamic with Thom reminds me of the dynamic between Nick Cave and Warren Ellis, a true creative partnership divided along the lyric/music divide that makes up songwriting. The brother dynamic between Johnny and Colin surely provided cohesion that, paired with Phil Selway’s precise unassuming drumming make for a band that moves as one. And of course their longtime producer Nigel Godrich is basically the band’s sixth member, a huge propelling force behind their dedication to experimentation. The bipolar nature of their output over their first decade of music making taken together lays-bare an incredible commitment to evolution as a core facet of their dna; Radiohead is a band that always sounds like they’re searching for a new identity with each and every song they create — a manic precocious teen in a dressing room never fully satisfied with what they see in the mirror but resoundingly self-assured in their identity. Kid A turned me into a Radiohead-head. In my eyes they can do no wrong, and they have crafted some of my favorite songs and albums that sit firmly in the catalog of music I continuously return to over and over again. I’ve invested so much emotional energy and life memories into their music and this album is no exception. They’ve soundtracked many tumultuous growth periods in my life, in no small part due to the fact that they are neurotic and melancholic and tragic to their core, especially with a fearless leader as nuanced and idiosyncratic as Thom. The future band they will become can be heard in these songs, but it’s buried under the stylistic forces that defined the era. And that’s not a bad thing. In hindsight it’s apparent that their most popular music on their first three albums, this one included, showcase an immensely talented band not quite sure who they want to be, all the while producing groundbreaking music with mass appeal that afforded them the time and space to explore uncharted territory, ultimately opening up new frontiers for countless bands in their wake to further explore.

I had no clue who Elvis Costello was when I found this album digging in my early 20s. As collectors are want to do, the cover immediately spoke to me so I bought it, an instinct that never fails to deliver interesting music — and evidence of the integral relationship between visuals and sound in contemporary popular music. The now iconic sleeve art was designed by Barney Bubbles, the influential resident designer at Stiff records who helped pioneer artistic-driven album artwork through his work in the independent music coming out of England during the mid to late 70s. I hauled my records home that day, threw This Year’s Model on first and was so taken by its sound. It sparked a longtime love for label mates Elvis Costello and Nick Lowe, who produced the entire album and whose debut Jesus of Cool came out the same month in 1978, another record I adore. Over the next couple of years I filled my collection with many of Costello and Lowe’s early works, and they remain some of my all time favs. These two bespectacled british guys exuded a coolness I had never encountered before. They were close collaborators, and they both cultivated a distinctive blend of two burgeoning styles of the time, punk and new wave. Other notable UK bands working in the same vein included The Clash, the Buzzcocks, The Jam, Siouxsie and the Banshees, The English Beat, and The Specials to name a few, the last of which Costello produced their debut, and whose release was only a few months after this record. Sheesh so many “The”s lol, and so many great bands coming on the scene! That period from 1976-1980 was such an energetic moment in rock and pop music, from which those two genres punk and new wave were sprouting from. In America bands like Devo, Talking Heads, and Blondie were channeling similar energy, and on the international stage Fela’s afrobeat and Marley’s reggae were huge influences on this scene’s sound. One key aspect of was the importance of powerful rhythm sections paired with catchy riffs and songwriting, and Costello’s mastery of both aspects is on full display. The trio backing Costello, The Attractions, also played a huge part in the record’s sound, sonically and literally the driving force behind Costello’s songwriting. What’s so striking about the instrumentation is how de-prioritized the guitar is in the arrangements and mixes, and just how good they are. “(I Don’t Want To Go To) Chelsea” is easily my favorite song on this record, and it’s a perfect example of what incredible musicians they are. They are regarded as one of the best backing rhythm sections of all time — the music speaks for itself. Pete Thomas’ drumming is so iconic and technically perfect, and Bruce and Steve’s bass and keys, respectively, are locked into such pleasing grooves the entire time. The keyboards are also stylistically distinct: the constant organ throughout is arguably one of the most recognizable parts of this record, always funky and insistent and sounding so much like electronic synths, at times even resembling yet-invented video game sounds, as heard on “Living in Paradise”. And of course Costello’s vocals are so energetic and insistent — iconic. Elvis Costello is such a singular voice. The hallmark of great artists is their ability to rise above trends and styles. His influences are clearly on display, but he merges and synthesizes them into something greater, something all his own. He straddles the precarious line between mainstream success and artistic authenticity with such style and grace. What a legend!

Albums like these are what I’m most excited about during this project. Hearing amazing art by artists you love for other amazing works elicits such joy. Like catching glimpses of people you love before you knew them, falling in love with their past selves, recognizing and admiring that they all sprouted from the same person you find so endearing. They were always themselves. Bjork is the empress of contemporary experimental independent music. Her unique phrasing and rhythm, keen musical sense, and broad stylistic palette consistently produces eccentric, ground-breaking music. There are few artist that have an instantly recognizable sound all their own, and Bjork sits high on that council. Her debut to the world on Debut is breathtaking. I was always aware of who Bjork was, aware of her distinct voice, aware of her pretense as a real artist among artists. But I had never really listened to any of her records before 2007’s Volta. Her genius is fresh and raw on every track on Debut. Bjork notably distills the spirit and aesthetic of UK electronic and dance music of that time and fuses it with her traditional musical training and idiosyncratic, navel-gazing persona, creating a novel hybrid pop music that sounds nothing like the inspirations it draws from. She sounds as natural and spontaneous atop a thumping, trance house track (Violently Happy — that echo’d vocal and build mid song!!) as she does within a traditional jazz standard (‘Like Someone In Love’) or on the brass-only finale that is a dead-ringer for the wobbly, off-kilter style of contemporary jazzman Sam Gendel. This is a new favorite of mine, and I’ve been listening to it constantly since it popped up here. Coming in just over 48 minutes across 11 tracks, Bjork traverses an impressive amount of musical territory, and despite her nomadic instincts she effortlessly adorns her stylistic and subjective muses with her trademark, forever-foreign Bjork-ness. Few artist exist who are a genre unto themselves. Bjork may be one of the sharpest examples of this in contemporary music.

People used to dance to jazz. At the start of the twentieth century the nascent genre was born, and by the 1930s jazz was dominating airwaves and dance floors during the swing era, so called for the music’s rhythmic trait and the dance style it inspired. Jazz abruptly shifted out of the spotlight as popular music moved on to other budding genres including R&B and rock, and it was around this time that jazz permanently shifted its gaze inward, becoming less focused on inspiring corporeal reactions from its listeners on a dance floor and instead setting its sights on cerebral pursuits including technical expertise, experimentation, and improvisational prowess, making the music more complex and intentionally unpredictable — ultimately making it less approachable as it aged. By the early 70s Herbie Hancock was over a decade into his career, and he was determined to return jazz to the dance floor. During those first ten years Herbie made significant contributions to the growing catalog of jazz standards, scored, conducted, and performed three major motion picture soundtracks, and spent years as an integral member in a few of Miles Davis’ consequential bands of the late 60s. But the headier territory jazz was entrenched in frustrated Herbie. The three albums leading up to Head Hunters made with his Mwandishi band from ‘70-‘73 were arguably in this vein: while the music of that period was the most visceral and raw of his career (Sextant is another classic album of his), and the virtuosity and synchronicity of the band was undeniably on display during live shows at the time — these albums built on the spaced-out fusion aesthetic that bloomed after Miles Davis’ landmark fusion records Bitches Brew (1970) and In A Silent Way (1969), the latter of which featured Herbie on the Fender Rhodes. Jazz had become pretentiously self-indulgent during fusion’s rise, and was in desperate need of a fresh approach. The late 60s/early 70s was a revolutionary time for most musical genres. Herbie was a fan of all kinds of music, and Sly & The Family Stone was a particularly favorite band of his. Sly’s psychedelic spin on James Brown’s funk expanded that genre, and Herbie wondered whether he could intertwine jazz and funk in a similar fashion — and by doing so bring jazz back into the popular music fold, something young hip folks put on at parties and danced to, and that DJs played on popular radio. And so Herbie conceived an approach and assembled a band, the Headhunters. Their eponymous debut record changed jazz forever. It reached No. 13 on the Billboard charts and eventually went platinum, and it is the second-best selling jazz record of all time — it’s also worth noting that Herbie and Miles hold 5 places on that top 10 best seller list. The forty minute, four-track Head Hunters is stylistically and technically impressive, bursting with joyful funky energy every second of its run time. Every member of the Headhunters is firing on all cylinders, all aces on their respective instruments. The album is dominated by the rhythm section, and the grooves that come out of their collective pocket are so infectious. The record is propelled by Harvey Mason’s incredibly funky patterns. James Brown’s drummers Clyde Stubbeldield and John Starks are rightfully considered the greatest funk drummers of all time, but had Mason dedicated to playing how he did on this record his whole career he would’ve easily snatched that title from their deserving, time-keeping heads. Most of the record Mason is restrained, deceptively simple in his execution, but firmly locked into patterns that are so pleasantly off beat, a skill he honed playing a wide array of genres as one of the standout session drummers in the entire music business who backed countless jazz and rock stars during that era. With support from Paul Jackson on bass and Bill Summers on percussion (and famously on half-full beer bottle for the whistling riff that opens ‘Watermelon Man’), the rhythm section was firmly rooted in place allowing Hancock to express his unique sense of modalities and melodies using an assortment of electronic keys and synths. Head Hunters overachieved its aims, energizing a genre that had grown stuffy and intellectual, and propelling him even further ahead of his peers; Herbie was a jazz virtuoso with enough accolades to fill multiple careers at the time this album was released, and Head Hunters turned him into a pop star. Herbie remained fixed on that upward trajectory and continued to merge jazz with popular music trends decade after decade, consistently chipping away at the exterior of jazz music until a new form is born.

I admire Yusef’s dedication to his beliefs — and for his willingness to leave his music career behind to staunchly uphold that dedication — but I’ve always struggled with his music. Cat Stevens was not an artist I grew up on whatsoever. I was introduced to his music through digging in the crates in my early 20s, and at one point I owned the quartet of albums he released at the height of his creativity, from 1970-1973. The artistry of his songwriting and singing is self-evident. His dynamic arrangements and vocal performances oscillate between quiet and raucous, expertly creating and releasing tension to accentuate the emotional core of his storytelling. And the recordings are pleasantly crisp and dry, engineered to sound as natural as possible. I also agree with the dominant themes woven into his music and activism. But after re-visiting Tea for The Tillerman uninterrupted a handful of times, I was reminded of why I never latched on to his art despite its positive qualities: the music is dainty, full of corny tenderness and didactic narratives, and as is the case with many folksy singer-songwriters, the tracks lack stylistic distinction and all start sounding the same when heard in succession. His quiet-to-loud song structure becomes annoyingly predictable, and when his voice reaches those higher registers of emotion I find the growly, strained quality grating. With all that said, the power of his mega hits is not lost on me, nearly all of which are from this record and the release that followed it the year after, Teaser and The Firecat. I can appreciate their greatness, but only from a distance. No matter how many times I hear them they never seem to penetrate my taste on a deeper level.

In the age of DAWs and smartphone studios, music created using physical, analog tools and techniques seems so archaic and cumbersome by comparison. Bridge Over Troubled Water was meticulously engineered and crafted before those convenient, time-saving innovations, and Roy Halee was the mastermind behind most of that sonic wizardry. He conjured intriguing, mysterious dynamics from knobs and dials and microphone arrays on all of Simon and Garfunkel’s records during their five album affair over as many years. His efforts created an immersive and expansive soundscape that carved out ample space for the strength of their vocal performances to shine through. To exemplify the trios dedication to novel recording techniques — and subsequently to the unique sonic qualities those efforts produce — the enormous, delayed gated reverb that trails the snare on the chorus of ‘The Boxer’ (a definitive aspect of one of their biggest songs) was famously recorded in an open Columbia Studios elevator shaft, simultaneously tracked alongside the rest of the band in a nearby studio, connected by cables snaking down the hallway. On previous albums there are notable inclusions of audio Art recorded with portable equipment while talking to and interviewing strangers — quirky, real-life moments that imbue the songs and records with an ethereal quality. This technique brought the outside world into the studio, and would be further employed and developed by artists that followed. We are now familiar with many examples of this across all genres of music — movie quotes, answering machines and voice memos, elaborate skits, and ambient environmental field recordings are commonplace today, but this was a novel, nascent innovation at the time. Despite the success of their collaboration, Paul and Art were already on the outs and set to break up when this record was released in 1970. The album’s last track ‘Song for the Asking’ is an on-the-nose ending, the final song on their final album — two friends book-ending an immensely successful creative and commercial partnership with dignity and grace. IMO this is not the greatest Simon and Garfunkel record. They had a legendary run of albums from ’66-’69 included Sounds of Silence, Parsley Sage, Rosemary, and Thyme, The Graduate OST, and Bookends, of which my favorites are Bookends and PSR&T. Those two records found the duo at their most creative and exploratory as they formed their definitive sound that’s on full, effortless display on Bridge. And while the songwriting and vocals are impressive in their own right, the duos musicianship was amplified by a crucial partnership with members of The Wrecking Crew. This legendary collection of musicians literally played on every consequential album during their reign in the 60s and 70s, and they were essential to the sound of all five Simon and Garfunkel records. Their origin as a backing band is important to note here, as they started as Phil Spector’s band and helped him create what would be coined as the “wall of sound” — an approach that stacked many instruments on top of each other, replicating chords, melodies, and rhythms that propelled even mediocre songs toward infectious grooviness. This approach is palpable on all five of Paul and Art’s records. When you incorporate Paul Simon’s fascination with the rhythmic and sonic qualities of world music, what results is a bold, adventurous execution of pop music that feels timelessly fresh.

Let’s set the stage: it’s 1973, and it’s been three years since the Beatles split. Paul quickly releases solo material under his own name, and then as RAM with his wife Linda. ‘McCartney’ (1970) — Paul’s first solo release that actually preceded the Beatles final release ‘Let It Be’ — is brimming with unexpressed energy. He plays everything on the album, apart from supporting vocals from Linda, and it shows. The results reframed this living-legend’s songwriting and production in stark, definitely (and exclusively) McCartney strokes. Remember he is at the top of his game at this point in his career, and ‘McCartney’ is a defiant claim for creative autonomy. The fact that ‘Kreen-Akore’ — a track comprised of different drum breaks, rhythmic breathing, and disparate instrumental ideas all performed by Paul — caps an album full of so many now-classic McCartney songs sheds light on a musician who is eager to make a statement, but is uncertain what it is they want to say — and more importantly — how to say it. Paul’s overflowing post-Beatles creativity produced 5 albums with a rotating cast of collaborators that collectively cast a wide stylistic net in the three years between the Beatles end and this record. Band On The Run sits atop that impressive output as a singular piece of exceptional art made (mostly) by one human being. A majority of the music heard on this record is played by Paul himself. Through his groundbreaking engineering work with the Beatles, McCartney became not only a virtuoso on every instrument in his own band, but became an expert multi-track recording artist capable of making multiple, individually recorded takes of his own performances sound like an entire band of Paul’s playing in one harmonious, glorious effort. The Paul’s rhythm section has a solid grip on grooves that the other Pauls then take and fill with harmonic and thematic ideas, all orchestrated by the head Paul, the ace songwriter and musician. The Beatles are truly great. I love nearly everything they’ve ever made. But Paul’s solo career reaches such greater heights in my mind because he was a true genius with the technical know how and an obsessive, perfectionist tendency that when unleashed on itself propelled him to manical, madly brilliant work.

There are lots of examples of groundbreaking bands/albums whose impact and influence only grow after their disbandment/release. The Stone Roses were somewhere in the middle; their eponymous debut would eventually became popular later in the year it was released, 1989, but because they were a new band that had a tumultuous relationship with their label, that popularity was not immediate or longstanding. To my ears, it is immediately apparent how forward-thinking this record is, and why it is so-widely revered by musicians and critics alike. They merged the ancient psychedelia and aging punk eras with the burgeoning dance and alternative scenes, both of which were becoming mainstream during the late 80s/early 90s, especially in the UK. They executed that fusion so effortlessly, and despite the band feeling like the album did not adequately live up to their intentions its impact is undeniable to our contemporary ears. They established and pioneered a stylistic DNA that would be leveraged by so many consequential bands from the late 90s up to today. Even if their influence on those bands was not direct, there’s no doubt that The Stone Roses opened that door. I had never heard of the band or this record prior to this project. While the lyrics and thematic concepts might leave a little more to be desired, their innovative sound more than makes up for it. And this record is an absolute joy to listen to. Undeniable, well-executed pop radio hits sit alongside sprawling, nearly 10-minute tracks that merge extended dance floor-ready break beats and grooves with playfully funky, decorative guitar playing and vocals — and it’s this dichotomy that is essential to the greatness on display here. Rarely are such bipolar debuts considered classics, primarily because bands in their infancy often swerve all over the place in exciting, but ultimately unfocused directions as they figure out their identity and approach. The Stone Roses are doing just that, but they do it with the confidence and coolness of seasoned pros, ultimately presenting a sound that is fully realized. The cards were stacked against this band continuing their success beyond this debut record. Difficulties with their label from the outset — and the frustrated, angry dynamic that it injected into their chemistry as a band — mired their ascent to well-deserved greatness. They were never able to establish firm footing in the music industry to capitalize on their resounding critical success, and that stumbling, primarily caused by label mismanagement, quickly eroded their ability to continue creating amazing music. This is an absolute classic, and I can’t stop listening to ‘Fools Gold’!

There’s a lot going on on this album. The most endearing quality is the wreckless abandon with which they dedicate their sound to experimentation. Ultimately the unfocused spirit of the record renders it an enjoyable listen that fades out of focus seconds after the music stops. Pleasant, admirable, unmemorable. Fatboy Slim flipped the single ‘Brimful of Asha’ into a global pop hit. His remix is identified with his actual name, Norman Cook; his debut record as Fatboy Slim had dropped less than a year before this Cornershop release in 1997. Rob Swift, founding member of the ground-breaking turntableist crew the X-Cutioners, remixes a track fresh off the release of his scratching group’s debut as well. This is all to say that time and place are key ingredients influencing the music on this record. There’s a lot happening musically in ’97: Hip Hop producers are emerging as artists in their own right (DJs Qbert, Krush, and Shadow, Prince Paul, Mix Master Mike), trip-hop has a stronghold on UK electronic music (Massive Attack, Portishead, UNKLE — Ninja Tune!) and of course Britpop (Blur, Oasis, et. al.). From that stewing scene Cornershop bubbles up. There’s extensive use of sounds, effects, and production techniques becoming popular at the time, and which were already become hallmarks defining the growing branches of electronic music (mix of organic/sampled, vocoders, sub-bass textures, dub use of delay, non-western samples). These techniques and styles are not always expertly executed, but their collective, consistent experimentation is admirable: they are committed to creating tracks that sit outside the bounds of expected pop song structures of any genre. I hear a strong connection between the soundscape Cornershop etched out on this record and the 2010s world-expanding phase Madlib is still immersed in — break beats, samples sourced from unexpected nooks and crannies of the world, sporadic vocals, voices from pop culture artifacts like documentaries, movies, and found footage — unexpected and undeniably groovy. A few things really stick out to me after listening to this record a few times. They employ a lot of classic break beats known at the time, a reflection of the expanding electronic music scene outlined above. The instrumental tracks are by-far the best parts of the album. And when vocals show up they’re unaffected, referential, posturing, slouching toward coolness — and the first thing that came to mind was James Murphy (lol). It sounds like there are two records fighting each other in this one release, and both suffer as a result; many of the songs feel like unfinished sketches, demos at best. I actually like this record. It grows on me with every listen, but it succeeds most as background music: inoffensively groovy, mid tempo’d, and varying enough to set a nice upbeat vibe that neither distracts nor entices. Familiar and foreign in the same hand. And when you do decide to listen closer you’ll discover stylistic nods to the music they were undoubtedly influenced by at the time, a half-hearted pastiche of the contemporary electronic music trends all around them — and today a fascinating time capsule of musical notes from a bygone era.