1001 Albums Summary

It's an amazing album and quite an achievement; the first four Sabbath records are all 5/5 star records. I am not even sure what could be written about this record, the simple reality is the first four albums are essential, and the fifth record as well. Incredible run.

I prefer Bruce on the Tacky Souvenirs of Post Revolutionary America and I argue that record should be on 1001 Albums Before you Die over this album which is token Boss. Tacky Souvenirs of Post Revolutionary America takes Born in the USA; I am certain that turd is also on this list, and uses the music with terrible singling and keyboard effects over the actual recording and it is infinitely superior to anything Bruce has done outside of Nebraska. Bruce is T Top rock to its core, you need a Camaro or a Trans-Am to really enjoy this cheesy commercial trash. The sad reality is Bruce has one good record, Nebraska; the rest of the catalog is grossly overrated to include this overrated record. I could have died without this one. The man who sang about rich and poor felt he was too much of a king for a DUI in a National Park, The Boss is the The Butthole at this point. I knew he would make it, he is a commercial music god, but this record is not essential. Not even close to essential, its kinda poop. Here are some much better albums that are not considered 1001 Before you Die from 1978: - Blondie Parallel Lines 4.5 out of 5 - The Cars - Self Titled - The Rolling Stones - Some Girls - Wire - Chairs Missing - Bob Seger - Stranger in Town - Patti Smith - Easter The reality is simple, this is a commercially successful from '78 and in '85 was on the charts for 15 weeks. Its commercial pop music, nothing too special honestly and its on the list because you just cant leave out The Butthole Bruce Springsteen.

Steely Dan produces no emotion, feeling, engagement, or enjoyment. Musically, it is just there, like Milton in Office Space—an incredibly overrated band.

It's okay, but the album is grossly overstated, and multiple albums from 1968 are better. Cream - Wheels of Fire Dr. John - Gris Gris Jeff Beck - Truth Otis Redding - The Dock of the Bay Miles Davis - Nefertiti Ennio Morricone - Once Upon Time in the West These are just a few examples; this Zombies album is another example of a record critics have always fawned over, and therefore, it's amazing. It is average at best.

Undeniable classic. It's a great record and a token album for anyone who collects physical media. I would say 4.5, I rounded up for this review.

I first heard this when I was about seven years old. My brother had a tape, and I saw the Tipper Gore naughty lyrics sticker and could not resist. What was inside this that made it so risky, dangerous, and taboo to have that magical sticker? The cover was strange. Why are these dudes in a cell? Why is the album name a paragraph? It's loud, filled with sirens, bass, and amazing samples. The samples on this disc are amazing: Angel of Death on She Watch Channel Zero!?, that's just rad. It Takes a Nation of Millions to Hold Us Back is one of the most innovative and listenable hip-hop records ever recorded. The first four PE records are essential, and everyone should own them, except those who wish to limit speech; you can go fuck yourself; that includes the PMRV ringmaster Tipper Gore and all who wish to tell us how our freedom of speech should work.

It's decent enough, but I will remove it from my personal 1001 and sub in Herbie Hancock Empyrean Isles, which is not on this list, which is crazy. Its record is a 3/5. Some folks argue it is understated, but I get confused when Hancock's seminal hard bop record is snubbed for this. Google best of '64 lists. The author of this list seriously dropped the ball. There are only seven records from '64, yet Steely Dan makes the list twice. So Can't Buy a Thrill is a more critical record than Herbie Hancock's Empyrean Isles; sure thing, pal.

A grossly overrated you will like this album, album. I have heard songs from this over the years, well, since 94 and never knew who it was. Now I know why, the record scratches are banal and the vocalist is annoying. This is SHIT.

"If Alex Jones pays for lying, shouldn't every celebrity pushing vaccine pay too?" "If I have to choose the vaccine or chip, I'm gonna choose death." The best part of M.I.A. is watching how upset people are; she doesn't think the approved thoughts and your feeble authoritarian minds are mad because the other people are fascists. Strange, you are free to think what you want, as long as it is what I think; yup, that's how fascists do things. Pot meet kettle. As far as this album, meh.

It's a great album, and it belongs on the list. It's in my collection, and I would argue it is essential. They did something amazing on this record. Oddly, at least for me, it's a timely record to return to in 2025; I think I will spin this one for a few more days. My only issue with this album is how much it falters with Fireplace and Lightning Hopkins, thus making it a 3.5 at best. Posted a 4-star as the system does not permit half-stars.

Meh.

Meh, peak meh. It's not even essential for the year it was released, let alone 1001 albums before you die. Yet it is here because it is another album you are supposed to like. I must be honest, most electronic music does nothing for me. I will sub an album from a genre that gets no love with this poppy list and I suggest you do as well...Death - Human.

Oasis was originally The Shitty Beatles in Wayne's World. I cannot get into this record, and the production is terrible. I tried to listen with my stereo and headphone rig, but it sounded terrible all the way around. Oasis is another band that is praised for various reasons but at the end of the day; it is trite shite; Oasis blows ass because they suck, it is that simple. 1995 had three records not on the list, and all three are essential. Death - Symbolic, Neil Young - Mirror Ball, Three 6 Mafia - Mystic Stylez Dissection - Storm of the Lights Bane Primus - Tales from the Punchbowl Sonic Youth - Washing Machine Mobb Deep - The Infamous Ruins - Hyderomastgroningem

The cynicism of Newman in this album is a strong suit. His horrible cartoonish singing with uplifting, happy sounds combined with the venom of his tongue scathing many sacred things; that's the magic here, and it's exactly why it's a wonderful record that says fuck you to Americana.

When this record dropped in '92, it was something that anyone who liked hip hop or wanted people to think they liked hip hop had. Especially the Nuthin' But a "G" Thang single, everyone seemed to have it. The album is fair, even for its time. It was fair, except for that one amazing single previously mentioned. However, if you peel back the layers on '92 hip hop, this record will fall apart quickly when considering lyrical content. What makes this album special is the amazing production; the production is perfection. Lyrically, it's quite banal. It's a solid album, but I am on the fence about it being essential listening, especially with how other genres were expanding into uncharted territory at the time. In terms of the list, 1992 is quite heavily leaned on with 26 albums, going to quite a few removed on my end, and this will likely be one of them.

Arcade Fire is a group I knew by name only. I had some assumptions about the band in general. The name and the people who are typically fans are the token Coachella hipster; you know, skinny jeans, brown shoes, plaid or checkered shirt, also skinny, and that weird thing they do with their hands, you know, the behind the back hipster arm clasp thing. I imagined Arcade Fire was mumble-pop, white people who can't mumble rap, but they play instruments. The other issue for Arcade Fire is how pretentious reviews of their music are typically. Just read the Pitchfork review; Christ, are you serious..." I found the recording to be less politically pedantic than previous work."...dude, stop. The Suburbs is a great listen and an album that will hold up to the test of time. Arcade Fire put out a record that is a great cover to cover. Sure, a couple of tracks are not as good as the others, but in this case, the others are great tracks compared to similar music. People often compare this album to their direct experience with it, but I am unsure. The record is a collection of tracks that reflect where the members are from, what it was then, and how it changes when you return, which is the beauty of this album. Everything changes when you return, as the only constant is change, and change is the only constant. The album delivers, and it should be included in any collection.

I would say I was shocked to see this turd on the list. If Kenny G had made porno disco music, it would have been this record. It's not good, and it edged out some greats from 1978, assuming 1978 is not over-represented on the list. It is not an essential record in any way, shape, or form. If anything, it's a nostalgia piece, and that is about it.

It's a good record, well produced, and KD can certainly sing, but I have one major issue: it sounds like Patsy Cline. I love Patsy Cline, but if I want to listen to Patsy Cline, I listen to Patsy Cline. KD convinced Pasty's producer to come on board for this recording, and not only did he oblige; he did what he knew to do: make a Patsy Cline album. I enjoyed the recording much more than I admittedly wanted to, but I struggle with this album being on the list. If I were to commit to buying 1001 albums, although I think I already own that many, anyway, if I had 1001 You Must Hear Before You Die in my room, would I have this and not Patsy Cline, as the list suggests? Should it be the way Patsy is not on it, or do I have this great album, but without Patsy Cline, this album does not exist? See, it's conflicting, considering Patsy did help pave the way for female country singers in a very big way. Some may argue that Patsy is a hits artist, given how music was sold and produced, but her second record, Showcase with the Jordanaires, is an amazing album. I highly suggest you visit that record and listen to this album. Both have the same backing singers; although they are only on three tracks with Shadowlands, both have the same producer and feature multiple musicians from the Cline record. The tracks have a feel to them, familiar, so remarkably familiar. See, I knew who KD Lang was and was familiar with her existence at the time, the 1988 time when Shadowland was released, but I have never listened to it until now, and it grows on you due to the familiarity of the music. If you appreciate country music, especially the classics, and have never listened to this, I assure you will see what she has done; all the tracks are familiar. They all sound like many other songs and yet have an individual feel. It's pure homage and is done extremely well, from the production to the Jordanaires doing the backing vocals. It reminds me of a Tarantino film where he utilizes actors from classic exploitation films to redux their roles in a sense, and she nailed it. After all that rambling, maybe it does belong. I have two more years to work through this list, so that that time will tell. Shadowland is a fantastic record with only a few weak tracks, but it is not one thing. No matter how hard it tries, it isn't Patsy Cline's most successful record because, without Showcase, you cannot have Shadowland—or perhaps it's Showcase Shadowland. Note: Showcase dropped in 1961, and two albums from that year are on the list. If you look at the best albums from 1961, you will find Coltrane's My Favorite Things. I assure you, you need to hear it unless you hate jazz.

Cohen's lyricism is quite existential. He often presents views that, upon examination, may be opposed to each other; consider the title, Songs of Love and Hate. To say Songs of Love and Hate is sad or depressing is misguided; if anything, it's reality, and that is nothing to be sad about. Accepting the world as it is presented Cohen wrote lyrics from a position that embraced the ideology of Western existential philosophy and the philosophy of Buddhism: life is suffering. Songs of Love and Hate is eight tracks that will hit differently depending on where you are and perhaps who or what you choose to share it with. Love it or hate it, you cannot deny the potent and often at odds with itself tucked into the esoteric lyricism accompanied by simple background music that provides emotion as conflicted as the man singing the words he wrote. These words identify a soul being pulled in multiple directions in a world filled with conflicting stimuli - Love and Hate. Songs of Love and Hate is not a depressing album; it should make you smile and cry tears of joy, as Cohen stated - "It's the notion that there is no perfection - that there is a broken world and we live with broken hearts and broken lives but still there is no alibi for anything. On the contrary, you must stand up and say hallelujah under those circumstances." Cohen's quote arguably sums up the record as best as anyone could.

I’m like the critic who writes in the night, in the night night night Tracing these verses in soft candlelight, light light light Evermore whispers, a forest of sound, But is it enchantment or lost to the ground? One for the playlist, one for the skip, Folk-tinted blandness, a nighty night grip Bridge after bridge, water is wet Singing of heartbreak, eating a raisen. I sit at this table, I write write with a pen pen Of metaphors metaphorming meta music You call it your magnum, a raincoat of big big But darling, I’ve heard this heartbreak before. I think I’ve seen this theme before, Poptart following along along Cottagecore dreams in a long wool coat, Album is poo poo doo doo

It has its moments even after finishing, but I don't connect with it as a whole. It feels long and drawn out, and I don't feel engaged with the record throughout the listen. It has moments that bring so much of it together, but those moments don't connect with songs for me. This must be that bliss hidden in another review for another day for the hard four and hard five crowds. Interestingly, an engineer on this record did work on the Judas Priest record Stained Class, which is a record I truly connect with, and Halford, well, he is another time. I would give this a 2.75 out of 3. So, for the list, it's a 3, but it does feel uneven; I will return and update, but I don't see myself calling this essential unless it hits that bliss throughout.

It's an ok album.

Classic. Plus it has a Zappa reference.

It's a solid album, but I would argue that better jazz records were left off the list.

Does not happen often, but I literally despise this record. I cannot even explain how much I cannot stand this album. It is legitimately not a good record, and the praise it has received is a sin against music. The rhymes are silly, lazy, uninteresting, and worthless. The beats are repetitive, with hardly anything to maintain interest. Cee-Lo Green... is the Annoyance Machine. Not since Linkin Park, who is from the same era, has someone been this annoying. Everything about this record is built upon the backs of others, and it completely fails to deliver. It might be the most American thing ever.

In the cuckold night, the White Stripes Elephant has moments, but it also fundamentally invented modern hipster-dumb. The Record has its moments, and I suppose it was an interesting throwback to Detroit garage rock days, but I don't know why I would listen to this rather than The Stooges ' self-titled record from 1969, where they did it better and originally, with a full band.

"Lemmy was kicked out of Hawkwind in 1975 due to tensions arising from his drug use, particularly after he was caught with amphetamines while crossing the US-Canada border, which led to his arrest and the cancellation of several shows. This incident ultimately resulted in the band deciding to fire him, despite his significant contributions to their music." Space Ritual is painfully repetitive and wears you down to the point where you wonder if you can continue listening or abandon the record altogether. Naturally, I stuck with it as I am a sadist; I played it on repeat while slicing my nipples with paper and Salo on the old tele—a delightful time. 1973 did yield a worthy space rock album, Carmen—Fandangos in Space. It is not repetitive, has no spoken word nonsense, and is enjoyable. Sadly, it does not have Lemmy on bass. Seriously, Lemmy rules, Hawkwind, not so much. One star for Lemmy on bass, glad he was into meth and sent packing because Motorhead, well, its Motorhead and thank God for that, or thank Lemmy, same person.

Gold, the album that was or is a social media algorithm before the algorithm became The Algorithm, the Gold Standard in pulling from all you enjoy on the social media hellscape to influence everything you consume. In the case of Gold by Ryan Adams, he manufactured a record that sounds like everyone else without sounding like original music. I'd say Bob Dylan, Bruce Springsteen, Van Morrison, Niel Young, and essentially any musician from the late 70s who also used their name to identify their music or band, not Ryan Adams. Not Ryan Adams, because the litany of musicians he sounds like created quality, if not essential, music long before him. Sadly, this record is on the list because it felt necessary given the love the critics had for Ryan Adams, and this is in some way an unsung hero of an album that sounds like hundreds of records that came before. And that cover- I've seen it or a version before. I can't seem to place it, and the other missing thing is my mind following the listen, missplaced emotion... Ryan Algorithm.

A manufactured pop band that had enough of being controlled and made pop that sounds like everyone else at the time, Zappa loved these guys because pop music is almost always terrible, and The Monkees proved it for their time. It's quite hilarious, but the album is meh. Sure, it's an important album, but it's not something I return to very often.

Great jazz album, but essential, nope.

I love many things Eno was part of, but The Warm Jets is not one of those things. It's pretentious babbly art pop that can't finish. It's four in the morning, you had too much whiskey, and you don't have any Isaac Hayes to make it over the finish line. Here and there, you get it right, while elsewhere, things just go a little dry. In no way does the music on this record relate to me or evoke an emotion; it's one night in Paris for me. Sure, I will return here and there as I have over the years but not sure it will ever click, then again sometimes I just prefer to cum on and feel the noize.

Meh, I don't even know what to write, bleh cafe.

Something, something classic; something, something masterpiece. Something words about something and saying new somethings. Words and things about places and actions that must be taken to listen because matters much something. First time story with anecdote something something. Wizard something works words and words try something and do. Best something so something on the words yea.

As a whole, it's bad, but the hit singles are fantastic. The peak pop formula is to write a couple of hits, slap whatever's on to the media in the studio, release, play the same show of hits night after night, and profit. That's Bad, like touching kids, mmmkay.

Better than Ryan Adams?

David Bowie is meh, the whole scene he was a part of is mostly meh. Art pop and glam, meh

Traditional ethnic music is kind of a dick move in some ways, I have zero background on how to form an opinion as I know nothing about Pakistani music, and I am not sure I have the time or desire to learn more about it.

Meh, pop, peak pop. Couple of fun 80's classics, but the title track is I Believe Buzz's Girlfriend, whoof.

It's not Mick Jaggers' ex-old lady and not an album; it's not good, interesting, or musical. The music on this record, you know, the instruments and shit, sounds like canned keyboard backing tracks from one of those keyboards with all the preprogrammed music. Then the voice, not Mick's ex, get out of here, sounding like one of Marge Simpson's sisters. Its a objectively terrible record and has not place on the list or in a personal collection, its broken poop record.

Even for its own time, the album was a novelty.

I dont know, shit, its an exceptional record from start to finish; the end.

Meh, peak meh. This album has never been good.

My jeans are not skinny enough, my shoes are not brown, I don't have a new wave pompadour and this album is one of the most annoyingly fucking terrible pieces of music I have heard. Rejoicing in Hands is unadoltorated hipster dog shit, now excuse, I want to finish my avocado toast and monkey cum coffee.

Drive By Trucking means you sound like every other southern rock band combined. Their Southern Rock Opera is a short form of everyone's work on one record spanning 20 tracks unless you listen to the even longer version of this record. I heard a track from these southern rockers who evoke Skynrd nearly at a constant. Album is more of an annoyance than anything else, its shit.

High pitched mumble hipster pop is a genre of its own. Either/or is the dark Jack Johnson singing about Curious George having addiction issues that lead to depression and a desire for death whilst wearing brown shoes and high water pants.

It's a one-man band record that checks all the boxes, and it's honestly quite original and not intensely derivative like other records on the list. Grohl never intended for it to continue his career; he made it to cope with the loss of a close friend and bandmate. Writing and recording this record is what kept Grohl in the music industry, and the album is honestly quite the achievement, and it is essential.

Bruce sucks, lets admit it and move on with our lives.

Doggystyle is a much more entertaining sexual position than a record. Anyone with a phallus-form appendage or attachment can enjoy the position. I suppose one could use a fist or arm, but that's, well, not doggystyle. The record seems to fall short of the position, but I suppose it's the artist's doggystyle approach rather than the position. Yet, the cover features a quite explicit bestiality pun; I'm not going to like it, but I want to do that cartoon dog, doggystyle. The record has its moments, and the majority of them start at the beginning. Much like doggystyle with a lady who has that "badussy" coming on, at first, this is great, but then you smell it. In the case of the album, you hear it with your ears. I discovered, as I listened with my ears, that the record is repetitive. It's like being in the Corps and going to a chow hall in Okinawa. You tell each person behind the sacred glass shield what you would like, and it's easy because it's all "same." At each step, you tell the man with a spoon "same" because each day, for each meal, you eat "same." With music, this phenom is typically, regarding the previous record; this is Snoop's "first" as Snoop as there was less "Doggystyle" on The Chronic from that fine PHD which coincientally suffers from the same issue as The Chronic: a few incredible singles, followed by the same, same, and more of the same or, Whisky Tracks, you know, you go and go and go and it wont go. I suppose, in a way, I am implying that it is a boring record that lacks consistent energy or additional depth. It has a few solid tracks, but it just keeps doing more of the same and this is usually with a soph...oh shit, I done did it, wiggy waggy wack strappy tap ritty tat tit bat shat on da gat mock mocky snoop doop a loop boom bam doopy woopy hoopy poop poop.

Bowie blows...

Some records, quite literally some, offer something that you cannot get anywhere else. Stand is one such record. Consider the age of the performers and the year this record was released, five years after the Civil Rights Act, a sad piece of legislation. To be clear, it is sad that a nation built on principles of freedom required such an act; I digress. The tracks, the initial tracks in particular, are, it would seem, lyrically opposed to one another. Stand!, calling on us all to stand for liberty, track 2 (don't cancel me bro), calling out how we treat one another because we fail to realize everyone is human. Sly realizes, in response, I want to take you higher, I could get cynical, but let's assume it's to feel good after the second track. Somebody's Watching You is exactly that, and in the context of 1969, the culmination of the 60s, it is also so much more. Hell, today it must ring true: you have no privacy. Shortly, Sly reminds us again that we are human with "Everyday People," and they close the record on a powerful note: "You Can Make It If You Try." Naturally, a brilliant marathon precedes this with nearly fourteen minutes of funky "lasting power" that is quite obviously a bedroom track, one I have played a few times. Give this a listen, but also visit the strife of 1969 and the strife that preceded it; without it, we would not have this record, this voice from the past that is trying to tell us all something: be human and remember that person with the bad ideas, too, is a human; in remembering, we will all stand as we were meant to stand, together as one, humans.

Genres will naturally expand, evolve, and become something different from the original creation, a phenomenon witnessed across the entire spectrum of music. A progression that is sometimes natural, but often derivative, cashing in on the trend. Take a look at genres that blew up over the years, and you find this phenomenon occurring across the board. Whether it's hard bop, rebel country, death metal, black metal, or grunge, you can find derivative music that is mostly parts of something else, something worse, the perpetuation of a trend, or bands breaking out with truly unique sounds that capture the entire world. Vine, I am certain that much to their own satisfaction, was called the next Nirvana, or perhaps a resurrected Nirvana, laughable at best. How does one consider a band like the Vines as being out of the ashes of Nirvana? Vines: Highly Evolved is just that —a highly evolved distillation of first-wave American Grunge with Britpop added to the mix, featuring an abundance of "yeah, yeah, yeah" and "oh, oh, oh," along with highly repetitive guitar work and one track that sounds like a smooth brain version of the Clash. Highly Evolved is, if anything, highly manufactured music with pristine production and influence from every song they liked as a child, shoehorned into 43 minutes of unmemorable distillation from far more creative minds. 2002 held some incredible releases, but Highly Derivative is not one of them. A record where the correct music journalists wrote down the correct things to help establish a band that had zero business at that level, demonstrating quite clearly that when the correct keyboard and pen say the correct things, you will find success because you are being arbitrarily pushed to the top. You get the most Nirvana-sounding track on the radio, and the rest is history, obviously. Here we are, twenty-three years later, discussing an album that belongs in Walmart bargain bins. I suggest two records off the top of my head that would be fine substitutes for the Vines album, or a cleansing of the ears through listening to something that holds your interest and is unique. Sonic Youth - Murray St.: Seems sensible to listen to a brilliant return to form and a progenitor of grunge itself. Interpol - Turn on the Bright Lights: Completely original and unique, and also imitated to no end.

Hardly a magic carpet ride as the cover suggests, it's more or less confined to token folk pop. The folkies of the '60s were musical elitists who demanded a puritanical level of adherence to a notional set of rules that included arbitrary and shifting goalposts; in this instance, they were rightfully annoyed. But let's be honest about The Byrds, even when they were respected, they played mostly covers, at least on their first two records. On their third album, "Fifth Dimension," The Byrds wrote their own music and incorporated electricity; the outcome was meh. The record has its moments, but there is hardly anything here that dictates an essential listen or a return to listen. The Byrds are another bunch of dudes with instruments who didn't write the material that made them famous. It's no surprise that when they do write their own music, a fifth dimension on the third spinny disc would occur. Assuming the substitution for the list must be another folk record, the album that should be added instead is S/t Jackson C. Frank. David Van Ronk's Folksinger would also be a fair substitution for Mississippi John Hurt's Folk Songs and Blues.

"As much as possible, and this as quickly as possible: that is what the great mental and emotional illness craves, which is variously called 'present' or 'culture,' but that is actually a symptom of consumption." Imagine a world without The Beatles, a world without 'Imagine,' a world where a record was never released, a world where we were not given a tongue-lashing for thinking for $10. Imagine making $10,290 a year, driving to the record store, and naturally, imagine this record is on a big, giant, shiny display. You buy the Imagine record, race home in one of three popular automobiles: 1. Chrysler New Yorker 2. Chevrolet Vega 3. VW Beetle You get home, hang your keys to avoid losing them, and head to your home entertainment system. You imagine what Imagine will contain as you peel back the vinyl wrapping enshrouding your disc. Complete your turntable ritual, dear future listener, you are about to Imagine. You drop the needle, there is a slight crackle, you walk back to your couch across the shag carpet, and take a seat. The four bars play, and then you are asked to imagine. Imagine your religion is nonsense, imagine everyone living for today, no countries, so easy, no wars, no death, again your religion, imagine I type the same thing again; Imagine, owning nothing, I am a rock star that is taking you into my chapel for the next thirty-seven minutes - only two minutes in folks. The Album of John continues, Crippled Inside, listen closely to that one, I picture a band playing in a dive somewhere in the mid-south region of the U.S to a perplexed crowd, wondering just exactly what is being said, following Imagining there is nothing but sheep. It would seem that we need to imagine what Beatle John would imagine and then recognize the need to embrace his beliefs to fix our spiritually crippled selves. John admits he is flawed and jealous, which in turn gives him the blues, because you have to eat, drink, and feel things. However, it's really hard to be Father John, and he has to keep the world satisfied; it's so hard, and life is going down. Fear not, Protest John is about to tell you what a rich dude from Britannia does not want to be: a soldier in America! The fifth track suggests that if 'Imagine' is about anything, it is about imagining John Lennon being awesome. Imagine pulling up the old tone arm and tossing on something a little different or an album that encourages the listener to think and consider rather than "trust me, man, I'm Father John Lennon". Or continue forward, enjoy the remaining five tracks; John's rants about wanting truth, a soulful ballad with nice piano, I am gonna throw a wobbly at my ex mate Paul, another whiney ballad, and closes with the " I love my wife song; I dunno, it's a self-centered preachy record with unfinished thoughts and half-baked philosophy. At the end of the day, the music on the album sounds like manufactured pop music, created in a factory of confusion, depression, and struggles that come with fame, only to have it evaporate due to the complexities of relationships; cough, Yoko. Admittingly, I don't know a lot about The Beatles; they were never something I was into, it was just too damn Sesame Street sounding to me; at least the early material, I recognize what their pop phenomenon did for music, they proved that if you marketed right and did the right things, well, mansions.

Kind of Blue I feel like Billy Crystal's character in the 1987 comedy film "Throw Momma from the Train", you see, the film opens with Crystal at a typewriter, and he has no clue what to write, or he is too consumed with what he is about to write. The scene goes on for a bit, and he attempts to work through an opening sentence for his new novel, or at least an attempt. A sentence that is nothing more than "the night was...." and he adds hot, humid, sticky, etc. Writing a review for one of the most praised, loved, and heralded recordings of all time has that effect. What exactly should be said about this album, at this point? Does one go on a long diatribe about the importance of the record? Seems like a common approach. One could evaluate some of the greatest performances ever committed to tape. Or discuss modal jazz in exhaustive detail to come across as an expert in the matter; naturally, I choose none of the above. Kind of Blue is perhaps the original cool. Up to this point, Bop had become Hard Bop; it created a musician arms race of sorts, play fast, make your drummer's palms bleed, make the saxophone player have a near seizure, but above all else, fast, hard, rapid jazz. Kind of Blue kind of turned it on its head with absolute cool. Miles birthed cool a few years prior with a compilation album, titled "The Birth of Cool", but this, it's the Jesus Christ, Buddha, Mohamad, and if you are richer than most, Lord Xenu level cool. Rather than a breakneck pace, the sextet provides a record that feels so natural, listenable, metronomic rhythm that isn't always perfection, and the results speak for themselves, cooler than cool, "Kind of Blue", I suppose. The tonality on this disc is unsurpassed; again, it is cool, chill, relaxed, and nothing short of incredible. I recognize that jazz is not the easiest genre to approach, admittedly there is an air of pretentionsness with jazz; a certain level of musical intellect that one assumes is needed, a culture for the affluent and yet, its a record comprised of musicians that were marginalized by society for not only the color of their skin but the lifestyle they led, hardly pretentious music. Kind of Blue is fifty-five minutes of a musical genre being expanded in the most natural way possible, through improvisation. Miles Davis and his bandmates provided a record that influenced not only jazz but music across the spectrum. Listen and appreciate its cool, the ease with which the notes pass through your speakers like stones skipping across a calm body of water, culminating in absolute cool through the sum of all its parts.

Britpop: I would prefer to listen to the sum of the Charlatans' parts; surprise, it's hyper-derivative Britpop.