There’s two ways of approaching The Doors. If you go into this album assuming it’s going to be something challenging and PROPERLY dark then it’s an abject failure. This is not 48 minutes of dangerous and satanically euphoric rock ’n’ roll mixed in with unholy wisdom beamed down to us by The Lizard King himself. This is 48 minutes of uneasy organ led oom-pah-pah music lead by a drunken boob reciting doggrel from off his own flaccid cock. This brings us to the second way of approaching The Doors: agreeing with all the above and deciding it’s only the better for it. This album is self evidently ridiculous. Jim Morrison is not even in the vague peripheries of being a good poet; his performance here is like watching someone repeatedly trip over a never ending cavalcade of banana skins. That laughable quality is what makes Morrison so amazing though. There is something about the insane pomposity of Morrison’s unarguable charisma that fully sucks you into the steely eyed psych of The Doors music. The majority of the songs here are amazing; from the mystical fury of ‘Break On Through (To the Other Side)’, the haunted menace of ‘End of the Night’ to the adjectives are entirely unnecessary ‘Light My Fire.’ Admittedly, I’m not sure it hangs together especially well as an album, and I do find the oh-so-iconic ‘The End’ to be unlistenable nonsense. Despite this, it’s still a fun and intriguing listen that both stands up today and so clearly points towards the blueprints for what would become punk and goth music. Now: let us all “ride the snake to the lake” as “the west is the best.”

Considering the title track is one of the best things ever, this album could have plummeted in quality almost immediately. Luckily it doesn't!

Good, interesting album. It reminded me a lot of Pet Sounds in how it's both overflowing with fearless and forward looking ideas that push against the standard form of folk music, yet also sounds really unsure of itself and uneasy. It gave the whole album a low key haunted vibe, which I liked. The slight problems are that I'm not fussed about The 59th Street Bridge Song, the heavy handed Silent Night/contemporary news bulletin juxtaposition hasn't aged well, and I could have done without the jarring Dylan parody. Those miss-fires are all a result of the albums core strength though, so swings and roundabouts.

The huge drop off in Spotify listens between the first 2 songs and the last 2 songs really amused me. Overall, I thought it was a pretty stunning album. Chameleon, Watermelon Man and Sly are all incredible. I was fairly meh on the last song, but came round to it on repeated listens. I'm still not sure how I feel about it as the albums closer though? I both like the way the funk slowly fizzles out of the album as it goes along, but the end isn't representative enough of the album as a whole, so i’m always left in a weird mood when it’s done. I may have preferred it if Sly and Vein Melter were switched round.

Hhm, I think this is an album I respect more than actually enjoy listening to. Objectively, I think this is probably one of the pinnacles of music. Sonically it’s beyond astonishing, and probably the high point of sampling in hip-hop. It’s just such a claustrophobic, dense and violent sounding record that’s a complete sensory overload and absolutely flaws me. Sadly that denseness does mean I get exhausted by it relatively quickly. I think I could probably get myself to enjoy the whole thing if I forced myself to listen to it a load more, as I do ‘get it’ and it’s appeals. It’s just a really singular listen that’s both a braggadocious howl of righteous anger and a deeply confused paranoid mess with all the bleakness, uncomfortableness and remorselessness that comes with that. Rather than being a record with lots of political answers like you’d expect, it’s more a labyrinth of confused, unfocused seething anger that merely throws out questions rather than providing any answers. There’s something about its uniquely suspicious and scary vibe that I find really compelling. It’s like a case study of what desperation can do psychologically to members of marginalised communities, in all of its unpalatable and unrestrained glory. Hopefully it will fully click for me one day, as I would really like it to and I do think it’s amazing.

This album/Bowie period always low key fascinates me as it’s effectively been written out of history. Despite how big and acclaimed this was on release, the subsequent all powerful combo of ‘Blackstar’ and his own death has seemingly made this album completely redundant. As such, this album has seemingly had no lasting cultural legacy, with all the songs largely forgotten. As I suspected, the album is only even in this generator on a technicality (it was included in the 2014 edition of the book and then removed from all subsequent editions once being made obsolete,) and as such it appearing to us is like a ghostly relic from a bygone age. Anyways, has this album always been this good? I’d liked it well enough beforehand, but something really clicked with me yesterday. There’s problems with it: It’s obviously too long, it probably could have done without ‘Boss of Me’ and ‘Dancing Out in Space’, it’s not even in touching distance of ‘Blackstar’ etc etc. My god though, the majority of the songs here are fantastic! Particular highlights for me are the raging and surprisingly virile title track, the menacing and all encompassing ‘Love is Lost’, the incredibly addictive ‘Valentine’s Day’ and the absolute insanity of ‘How Does the Grass Grow?’ I do also the like the way it has the vibe of Bowie taking a victory lap as he audibly has an absolute ball. Maybe my favourite thing about the album, is that it may surprisingly be the most 2013 sounding album ever? It’s deleted from memory standing may go someway in giving me a sort of hauntological pang when listening, but this has ‘2013’ burnt into the absolute core of its being. The reason behind this is probably due to the fact that despite James Murphy not having anything to do with this, the influence of ‘This is Happening’ era LCD Soundsystem hangs large over this album in the same way so many else from that period did. You can safely file this away with other long since forgotten 2013 albums that could only have been released in that specific year, like ‘Comedown Machine’ by The Strokes and ‘Reflecter’ by Arcade Fire (an album that is actually produced by Murphy and even features a cameo from Bowie on it’s one good track.) Good, underrated album though. Thoroughly enjoyed being given a reason to come back to it.

I love AC/DC, but something about this album always leaves me cold. It would be easy to blame this on the lack of their relentlessly deceased frontman Bon Scott, but i’m not sure that’s quite my issue with it. His replacement Brian Johnson is charismatic enough, and all the songs are still about the only 5 things AC/DC songs are ever about (women, the power of rock, electricity, engines and balls) so I don’t think it’s that. It’s more that the production job given to this album manages to sand away the majority of the Bon era’s quirks and idiosyncrasies, including replacing that era’s swing and danceability with a relentless concrete like stomp. This is all fine, like it’s good and it works but there’s also something really joyless and clinical about this whole album. Despite liking everything on here to varying degrees, putting it on always gives me ‘fun time is over’ vibes. The attempts of reacting Scott’s sleazy lyrics also come across as overly unpleasant and mean spirited at times, due to the crushing impersonalness of the music. I dunno, I can recognise that this album does technically rock, but it doesn’t rock me and that ain’t what rock’s about maaaaaaaan. On a more positive note: ‘Hells Bells’ and ‘Shoot to Thrill’ are both great. Obviously the title track is one of the best rock songs ever, although my enjoyment of it is somewhat tampered by the fact it’s so omnipresent in life. My absolute favourite on here though is ‘Rock and Roll Ain't Noise Pollution’, which as well as being an amazing title, is the only time I can really sense the old DC on. It’s just this ridiculous, defiant and kind of moving dirge that serves as both a send off to their fallen frontman, their fan base and rock itself. I wish more songs gave me the buzz I get from it as opposed to just being a technically proficient grind. So yeah: it’s technically one of the best rock albums ever, and better that this is bizarrely the 2nd best selling album of all time than something else, but I really wish it excited me more.

This is a very good album. Doo Wop (That Thing) is obviously outrageous and there’s plenty of other highlights, such as Lost Ones, To Zion and When It Hurts So Bad. I enjoyed listening to this. I don’t really get what’s THAT good about it though. What with the recent push to make this be considered one of the best/if not the best album ever, I kind of expected a bit more than what I got? I think I’m slightly put off the album by its crushing length and the fact I could feel more of my life force drain away with every new skit. I do also find Lauryn Hill kind of annoying as a person, and some of that annoyance infects the album for me. There’s a bit too much of that spiritual faux deep ‘all is love’ type vibe here, which is my literal least favourite thing in the world. That sort of thing often disguises a deep centred preachiness and conservatism, and this album is lyrically no exception. Doo Wop (That Thing) though…

Absolute masterpiece. The combination of Bjork’s wide eyed, first entering Narnia style vocals and restrained techno creates this wonky, sensual, slightly sinister and curious album that sounds both incredibly of it’s time and something too advanced to be released even now. Of the albums many highlights you have the transfixing and tense ‘Human Nature’, the bossaova of ‘Aeroplane’ and the wispy erotic day dream that is ‘Venus as a Boy.’ It’s only weakness is that it doesn’t feature ‘Army of Me’ on it.

Not to put too much of an emphasis on comparing them, but after getting ‘The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill’ a few days ago, I said that I thought it was great, but couldn’t entirely see why it was THAT good. This is very much not the case for ‘Mama’s Gun’, an album that seemingly has ‘SPECIAL’ radiating out of every moment of it. The first thing big strength of the record is the fact it contains one of the best album openers ever in the form of the imperious psychedelic funk assault that is ‘Penitentiary Philosophy’, a song of such humungous scale that it leaves Erykah Badu audibly and spiritually towering above us mere mortals by the end. The majority of the album is performed from a similar height, with one immaculately produced and perfectly controlled dose of sensual neo soul after another, never outstaying their welcome or being anything less than perfect. Badu performs these songs as if floating somewhere above the listeners head in a large translucent bubble, sounding both intimate and just out of reach. Admittedly, the quieter and more acoustic guitar led second half, in which Badu gradually descends back down to earth, probably does drag a bit. This section does still bring with it its own moments of astonishment, and what came before was so good that any moments of vague tedium hardly even matter. There’s just something really pure about this entire album; a perfectly realised outpouring of relentless creativity that seemingly flowed out of Badu on a barely conscious level. No skits either (take note Lauryn Hill, take note!)

Not fully sure what to even say about this. It’s a box set that’s over 3 hours long and wasn’t designed to be listened in one sitting. This isn’t an actual ‘album’ as such, and therefore isn’t attempting to do any of things actual albums try and do. How can one even review this then? From doing the condensed 45 minute version of it though: It’s perfectly pleasant and nicely sung. ‘Someone to Watch Over Me’ is really lovely. I’m amazed that there isn’t a version of Summertime anywhere on it. I’m not sure I have any other thoughts. Kind of unrankable. Botched day.

I was very relieved when this turned out to be an Americana album and not a Country one. It’s still not really my genre, but I still enjoyed this well enough. The first song was very good, and I thought it sounded a lot like Big Thief. Things got very samey quickly though and it went a bit into the background. I don’t have a lot else to say, but thought it was still perfectly good. I may like it a bit more if I did more listens.

So… ‘Figure 8’ is (give or take) a top 20 album for me, and is probably my favourite album of the 00’s. I think it’s pretty good. I obviously have too many thoughts on this, so I’ll try to keep things as brief as possible. To start with: considering this is the last album Elliott Smith completed in his lifetime, it’s a surprisingly happy listen. ‘Figure 8’ sees Smith at his most Beatlesque and fiercely melodic. As ever with Smith, the contrast between the almost childlike and pure vocals with his tough as nails songwriting, leads to an album full of addictive pop nuggets that have the ability to sound hopeful, dignified and melancholic. All the songs are amazing; from the all out rocker of ‘LA’, the orchestral swells of ‘Stupidity Tries’ and the just plain perfect ‘Can’t Make a Sound.’ Best of all is the opener, and my personal favourite Elliott Smith song; the cheerfully ramshackle ‘Son of a Sam’ which may well as be a previously unheard Zombies demo from the ‘Odessey and Oracle’ sessions. Like everything else on here, it’s just a lovely, life affirming and comforting song that is just a nice place to be. And yet… and yet… There’s always the unhelpful habit of viewing the career’s of tragic songwriters only through the prism of their inevitable tragedy and erasing all nuance from their work. Despite thinking this, and putting aside the context for what ‘Figure 8’ actually is; there’s clearly something disturbing bubbling under the surface here. The album is obviously littered with lyrics that (intentionally or not) seem horribly prophetic knowing what we know now would happen to Elliott (most uncomfortably in the naming of the final three songs on his final completed album, ‘I Better Be Quiet Now’, ‘Can't Make a Sound’ and ‘Bye’.) Even outside the lyrics, Smith is clearly trying to create a subtly unsettling atmosphere. Very few of the songs actually end in a normal, confident way. Instead, songs either just fizzle out or are immediately subverted. ‘Son of Sam’ ends on such an uncertain note that it’s as if Smith had suddenly lost faith in the entire concept of the song. Meanwhile, the lovely plinkety plonk of ‘In the Lost and Found’ end’s with the a mournful shoegazey instrumental whilst the genuinely anthemic and feel good ‘Happiness’ is instantly followed by the otherworldly creepy instrumental ‘The Gondola Man.’ With this being such a deliberately nostalgic, warm and almost dreamlike sounding album, these difficult endings are only designed to unnerve and undermine whatever fuzzy stupor the listener may be in. I always see this album as like Smith sitting in his childhood bedroom, trying to escape back to that time mentally, and yet not quite succeeding as everything’s now too corrupted and off. This all eventually results in the genuinely terrifying final song ‘Bye’; an eerie lo-fi piano instrumental that’s completely at odds with everything beforehand and sonically like blinding strip-lighting suddenly being switched on. The wistful daydream is over and in its place only stark reality. The albums final repeated words “Why should you want any other when you're a world within a world?” still swirling round your head… Depending on what mood this album catches me on, it either sounds like a hug from a friend or the most heartbreakingly depressing thing in the world. In either capacity it remains such an intriguing, singular and potent listen, and I love it so much for that. 6/5

I practically wrote a dissertation for the last album, so i’ll keep this one brief: This album slaps. It bangs. It slays. It FUCKS. (Admittedly, it does drop off quite substantially after the first 3 songs but shhhh, details.)

I’ve somewhat surprisingly never listened to Ride before, so was intrigued as to what this would be like. As it turns out; it’s good! It was a lot noisier than I expected, and the frantic drumming helped distract from the fact it’s essentially the same Byrds song repeated over and over again. The version I was listening to was reasonably short, which meant I was able to keep more or less engaged throughout the whole thing.

I’m not entirely sure what to even say, as even thinking of ‘Songs of Love and Hate’ as an ‘album’ seems to undersell and cheapen it a bit. I guess what I can say is that the first fifteen or so minutes is one of the most extreme and remorseless runs of music i’ve ever heard. It’s so suffocatingly tense that even most black metal is outstripped by Cohen’s stark and ultra intimate brutality. Listening to ‘Songs of Love and Hate’ is like being within touching distance of Cohen in a dark candle lit room; his glare never once leaving your eyes as he sings directly at you. Such are the insane degrees of his effortless charisma; Cohen manages to go from sounding menacing and vengeful to like someone who has felt more than any other human being has felt before, without seemingly doing anything. When anyone else attempts this, you can always see the workings out in the margin. That is not the case for Leonard Cohen. I have no idea how he managed it (and at such a comparatively young age as well) and yet somehow he did. He was not like us. Listening to this is a frightening, moving, humbling and quasi-religious experience. It flaws me.

I've tried listening to this numerous times now, but I seemingly always get distracted and it ends up being background noise. It's good and all though.

I find this album weird to think about. I broadly like everything on here, it contains some of my favourite Nick Cave songs and yet it still feels like less than the sum of its parts to me. I think my issue is that it’s such a 2004 sounding album. The influence of the then contemporary garage rock and post punk revivals are very audible in the it’s produced, giving it a sort of pristine quality that would have allowed it to sit comfortably alongside the bands of the day. Whilst this does mean it sounds great, it does also mean that it sounds too great for Nick Cave. The grit of his older records is missing here, making listening to this less like being enveloped into its own world and more like consciously listening to ‘proper music.’ What with the album being THIS long, it does make the whole thing a bit of a slog after a while, despite ultimately enjoying all of it. I sort of think the songs work better when played on their own than inside the album. My particular favourites are the punch to the face that is ‘Get Ready for Love’, the impassioned ‘There She Goes My Beautiful World’, the ominous and broken sounding ‘The Lyre of Orpheus’ and ‘O Children’ which despite being somewhat cheapened by Harry Potter remains an absolutely astonishing piece of music. I dunno, maybe I’d feel more positively if this was just the length of one disc, and therefore less of an undertaking to listen to. As it is though, ehhhhhh.

There’s two ways of approaching The Doors. If you go into this album assuming it’s going to be something challenging and PROPERLY dark then it’s an abject failure. This is not 48 minutes of dangerous and satanically euphoric rock ’n’ roll mixed in with unholy wisdom beamed down to us by The Lizard King himself. This is 48 minutes of uneasy organ led oom-pah-pah music lead by a drunken boob reciting doggrel from off his own flaccid cock. This brings us to the second way of approaching The Doors: agreeing with all the above and deciding it’s only the better for it. This album is self evidently ridiculous. Jim Morrison is not even in the vague peripheries of being a good poet; his performance here is like watching someone repeatedly trip over a never ending cavalcade of banana skins. That laughable quality is what makes Morrison so amazing though. There is something about the insane pomposity of Morrison’s unarguable charisma that fully sucks you into the steely eyed psych of The Doors music. The majority of the songs here are amazing; from the mystical fury of ‘Break On Through (To the Other Side)’, the haunted menace of ‘End of the Night’ to the adjectives are entirely unnecessary ‘Light My Fire.’ Admittedly, I’m not sure it hangs together especially well as an album, and I do find the oh-so-iconic ‘The End’ to be unlistenable nonsense. Despite this, it’s still a fun and intriguing listen that both stands up today and so clearly points towards the blueprints for what would become punk and goth music. Now: let us all “ride the snake to the lake” as “the west is the best.”

I’ve not listened to ‘Heaven of Las Vegas’ for a number of years, and despite always loving it, was still entirely unprepared for just how good it actually is. Jesus Christ. As is always the case with Cocteau Twins; I have no idea what any of this is about. Despite being more lyrically intelligible than they'd previously been, Elizabeth Fraser may as well have been making random noises for as much as you can understand anything she’s saying. None of this matters though, as you still understand everything. This album is like a monument to uncertainty and desperation filtered through dream logic. It’s presumably what the title is referring to; Am I actually in heaven or am I in a gaudy, corrupted Las Vegas recreation of the real thing? This is an album of shifting glances, second guessing and desperate longing. It’s all there in songs like ’I Wear Your Ring’ which almost sound like Fraser engaged in a loosing battle to escape out of the drooping confinement of the songs slushy instrumentation, the record’s pensive power ballad of a title track and of course, ’Cherry-Coloured Funk.’ I can’t think of many more things in music that are as much of an emotional gut punch as the first time Fraser goes into falsetto on that songs chorus. The sheer naked vulnerability and almost naive hope that comes though in that moment… it’s almost too much. I am also amazed by just how ahead of its time ‘Heaven of Las Vegas’ actually is. It does still sound very much like a 90’s record, just not one THIS early from that decade. You can almost hear later released songs like ‘Venus as a Boy’ by Bjork, ‘Missing’ by Everything but the Girl and ‘Confide in Me’ by Kylie bubbling under the surface here, starting to take form. This album is just too good. It’s just an endlessly addictive world this so easy to slide back into. I have no idea why it took me so long to come back to it, and will now reassess all life decisions that led to this.

I have no idea what or who this is. I snuffle this sort of thing up though, so I very much enjoyed. It’s probably too long, but it’s such a vibe that I didn’t really care.

Ten thousand years of nothing, then 'Around the World', and then another ten thousand years of nothing. Pass.

The fact it's so dated is both simultaneously the best and worst thing about it. I thought it started off well, but then became a bit of a slog. I could have done without all the skits and sex sounds. I enjoyed this more than anything I've heard by Tupac, so congrats!

I found this to be a fundamentally pointless listen. If I ever need something to put on when I’m tenderly making love to a moussed mid 80’s babe, then I guess I now have the perfect thing to soundtrack it.

Horrible and depraved music for horrible and depraved people. I rather enjoyed it!

Yeah, this is pretty much impossible to review as music at this moment in time. I'd feel more comfortable giving this an honest appraisal if everyone just agreed he was a piece of shit and his career was over. Instead he's the most popular he's been in ages. The entire concept of ‘separate the art from the artist’ has been entirely weaponised at this point, and what with the insanely bad faith way that Manson responded to the allegations, any sincere analysis of his work does nothing but serve his bottom line. In an age where one of the biggest artists is the world is proclaiming himself to be an out and out nazi, and they’re still people mostly concerned about what will happen to his ‘musical legacy’, the entire concept of good faith musical criticism for these types of people is no longer feasible as it’s what they are cynically counting on. The game’s rigged. So yeah: 5 stars, 3 stars, 1 stars, who gives a shit? Just fuck this guy.

I probably should have spent more time listening to this instead of doing a deep dive into ‘Van Morrison vs. the Northern Irish Department of Health: Trial of the Century’, as I think I’m still a few listens away from fully getting it. I already think it’s very good, but it’s so clearly the type of album that only reveals itself after repeated listens, and I currently find it very hard to get past what a bizarre and bracing experience I find this to be. I think I should theoretically find ‘Astral Weeks’ relaxing, but the combination of quietly all over the place instrumentation and Morrison’s ‘unique’ raspy squawk is such an ill-suited match that it becomes more of a freaky listen. I don’t mean ‘freaky’ in a forced psychedelic Donovan kind of way, as there’s something really pure and almost drug free about this. I mean ‘freaky’ in the sense that I often have no idea what I’m listening to or why any of these choices were ever made. The image I get when listening is less Morrison strumming a guitar under a tree and gazing up at clouds, and more a paralytically drunk man stranded in a wood post midnight, stumbling frenziedly around and yelling at trees, before collapsing into a shrub. I guess come back to me on this in a few weeks, as I do like how flummoxed ‘Astral Weeks’ makes me; something that is usually only a prelude to me falling majorly for an album. It does also help that the songs that have clicked for me (‘The Way Young Lovers Do’ and the title track) are absolutely astonishing. Either way, this practically tuneless pastoral free-form jazz folk album is quite the achievement, and about as uncompromising a listen as you’d expect from all round lovable guy and champion of vaccines: Van Morrison.

I’ve never really gone in on the Flaming Lips outside of the half a dozen songs by them I knew. Upon listening to this album, it turns out that I’ve been quite the silly goose over not going in previously, as this is great! I especially like the obvious influence of uncool 70’s bands like ELO and 10cc on the songs here. Their shadow seeps nicely into the albums poppier moments and contrasts nicely with albums other main vibe: crushing ennui.

In 1977, Roger Waters, the self proclaimed ‘creative genius of Pink Floyd’, was thinking about their next record. Being blessed with such immense musical wizardry; the man who didn’t know how to tune his own bass properly had naturally decided that he, and he alone, should be the leader of Pink Floyd. After taking that position by force, he now only needed an album to prove to the world just how frighteningly talented he really was. Realising that he was approaching the cusp of a new decade, Waters knew he had to push Pink Floyd’s sound along if they were to have any place in the 1980’s. Due to being the ‘creative genius of Pink Floyd’, Waters luckily knew just what had to go; everything that people liked about Pink Floyd. The warm and inviting production, the transfixing vapour like guitar soloing, the nicely sung and mysterious vocals; that could all go. In its place? Constant tuneless droning, courtesy of Waters own pitchy voice, over oppressive and plodding sounding airbrushed instrumentation. Maybe Pink Floyd could occasionally sound like Pink Floyd as a treat, but empty sounding dirges played by people who audibly despised music was the new norm. As well as putting his voice front and centre, Waters also decided that his lyrics should now also be the main focus of the band. Pink Floyd’s lyrics were famously what everyone went to Pink Floyd for, so it’s only right they should now take centre stage. The trouble is what would Waters write about? He’d already given us so much; devising such innovative and original concepts as ‘what if we made political allegories about animals?’ and ‘isn’t money bad?” Where else was there for him to go? If he was to top his previous work, he would have to come up with a concept that was even more adolescent, more solipsistic, more clunky. Fortunately inspiration for Waters finally came. After calling up a fan on stage and then spitting on his face, Waters knew that he had his new concept: ‘what if I expressed how disenfranchised I have become towards my audience by writing a rock opera in which I become a Nazi?” Perfect. Satisfied that this was suitably narcissistic, Waters decided on yet another innovation. Rather than having the album be around 40 minutes in length like all of their previous work, why not have it be 9 hours long? Only then could the album really draaaaaaag. What use is an album in which you don’t loose the will to live multiple times in its first 20 minutes? With his magnum opus both complete and entirely unlistenable, Waters smiled and had a cigar. His life long goal of wanting to the strangle the life out of Pink Floyd had been achieved. He could rest easy. It was just another brick in the wall.

DIdn't give this loads of time, but enjoyed it well enough. It was kind of forgettable, but still had a nice time whilst it was on.

This is just a very nice and pleasant listen, despite it's horrendous album artwork. The Extras theme tune turning up at the end was a bit of a shock.

At some level there’s always a real challenge in trying to separate any musical enjoyment you get with the obviously immensely talented Michael Jackson from the fact he’s America’s answer to Jimmy Saville. Fortunately, there is no such issue of guilty enjoyment to be had with ‘Bad’, as it’s fucking rubbish. This album has aged TERRIBLY. It’s a collection of dated and random noises parping and clattering against each other, whilst an obviously insane maniac wails shamone over the top. It’s a horrible, humourless, tasteless mess. I don’t dislike everything here: I don’t mind the broken male posturing of the title track, and ‘Smooth Criminal’ is legitimately great. The barely concealed paranoia that runs through this album is fully unleashed here, presenting as a sort of Howard Hughes-esque breakdown set to furiously propulsive inhuman funk. Then there’s the rest of it. What is there even to say about the brass rubbing of a cliched C-tier MJ song that is ‘Another Part of the Me’, the lumbering ‘Dirty Diana’ that reveals Jackson to be more terrified of women than anyone who has ever lived, and the ballads… good lord the ballads. There’s the horrible and dreary ‘Liberian Girl’, the tacky pan pipe-tactic ‘Man in the Mirror’ which displays an early outing of the always welcome messianic Michael ‘maybe if I cry enough about elephants then people will forgot that I have constructed an elaborate bell system to alert me ahead of time if someone is approaching my bedroom’ Jackson and the supernovaly creepy ‘I Just Can't Stop Loving You’ who’s jump scare of a ‘sensual’ spoken word intro appears to be missing from Spotify, but was very much there on the version I listened to. I personally would have quite happily gone without hearing the great man breathlessly whimper ‘I just want to touch you’ at me. I physically shuddered. It’s all just really gross this. it sounds gross. It’s lyrically gross. It’s morally gross. It is GROSS; and it’s a grossness that the estate of Michael Jackson and all of his weird, creepy fans are welcome to keep. Hee hee.