I appreciate their anti-establishment positioning but I do not like the music of Rage Against the Machine. I just find it obnoxious and seek to turn it off whenever I hear it.

X was one of the first punk rock bands I discovered, thanks to a friend I made in fifth grade who had just moved from SoCal and introduced me to his older brothers' record collection, and I love them to this day. They combine raw aggression with highly adept musicality, an appreciation of American roots music, dark poetic lyrics and tight songwriting chops, and they might be the only punk band that does vocal harmonies. This album is a visceral tour of the seedy underbelly of early-80s Los Angeles. Highlights include "Adult Books," "White Girl," "Universal Corner" (that riff is so good) and "Beyond and Back."

As if the deliberately misspelled name wasn’t enough warning. This has all the tropes of the era and milieu: screamy-anthemic choruses, James Hetfield tough-guy vocals, unfocused white male rage, hip-hop/funk breakbeats and a ridiculous sense of drama that veers into parody. It sounds like emo for incel internet chat-room trolls. Awful.

TIL The Youngbloods wrote "Darkness, Darkness," which is an excellent song (though truth be told, there are cover versions of it that I prefer to the original). But after that leadoff track, I quickly grew bored, and I am picking up a serious "OK Boomer" stench to this entire exercise.

This was the first time in several decades I have listened to Wish You Were Here, an album that was foundational to high-school me. Yet while the odes to erstwhile bandleader Syd Barrett are poignant — the song "Wish You Were Here" is a classic — this has never been one of my favorite Floyd releases. To me, it marks the point where Roger Waters’ various obsessions and unresolved manias began eclipsing the band and he exerted an increasingly heavy hand over Pink Floyd’s musical and lyrical direction. Things from here would get increasingly heavy, and less fun, conceptually. Musically, I also feel like WYWH personifies the mid-70s rock bloat, with lethargic tempos, fat synths and a reliance on studio wizardry over songcraft. It's kind of a depressing listen.

I just noticed that the guitar intro to “Rape Me” sounds a lot like the riff to “Teen Spirit.” Much of this album sounds like a reaction to the life-altering success of Nevermind and the weight of expectations (“I miss the comfort in being sad,” Kurt sings). There’s a stark contrast on this album between bitter and brutal tracks that seem almost purposely designed to alienate large segments of Nirvana bandwagon fans and tender, melodic songs that betray a growing maturity and songwriting sensibility.

This album exists somewhere in the nexus of pop, new wave and punk. It launches with uptempo energy and mostly keeps it going. It’s got its share of hits — and a great disco crossover in “Heart of Glass” — but also some lesser-known quality songs like “Picture This”, “Fade Away and Radiate” and “Sunday Girl” that showcase a band capable of writing compelling, evocative songs.

"Walk On By" is just a stone jam and easily one of the greatest leadoff tracks on an album, period. The Bar-Kays provide excellent playing throughout. Great album.

Like a lot of good music of the time (Talking Heads, anyone?), I ignored The Boss in his ‘80s heyday because his music was everywhere on the radio and MTV, and my interests were elsewhere. So this is the first time I’ve listened to Born in the U.S.A. in full, and it’s quite good. His songs are soulful, with interesting lyrics that focus on the struggles of everyday people and a cracking backing band — though the keyboards sound a little dated. Highlights include “I’m Goin’ Down,” “Bobby Jean,” “I’m on Fire” and “Downbound Train.”

This album gets off to a strong start with the powerfully slow and dense "Svefn-g-englar" but lets up a bit, dissolving into fragments that sometimes sound more like a film score than a collection of songs. No accident these guys opened for Radiohead. I'm listening to it on a warm spring day and it's making me want to take a nap. But I could see putting this on in a certain nocturnal, creative, dark-night-of-the-soul mood.

A musician friend of mine introduced me to The Coral years ago, and while I was immediately attracted to their blend of psychedelia, garage and Merseybeat, and listened to more than one album, I did not listen especially closely. This, their debut, has a varied feel. Singer James Skelly isn’t one for nuance, often evoking the over-the-top bluster of Tom Jones, and the album has a kind of lysergic carnival feel — especially on the hit “Dreaming of You” and the woozy “Skeleton Key.” The songwriting is great. “Shadows Fall” comes off like a reggae sea shanty, “Goodbye” rides a potent riff and Merseybeat rhythm, and “Waiting for the Heartaches” unfolds gradually from its spooky vibes-and-organ intro to become a fierce garage rocker. It’s a reminder I need to spend more time with this band.

There’s a sophistication and calmness about this album that are appealing. The rhythm section is relaxed and, along with Mark Knopfler’s skilled and colorful finger picking, brings textural flourishes. It sounds Grateful Dead adjacent in its rootsiness and Jerry Garcia-esque guitar playing. The last two songs kind of go soft for me, however. I’d give it 3.5/5 stars if I could.

Per Stereogum, this album recently turned 20 — which makes me feel old, and also reminded me that I missed this one when we started this exercise. Anyway, it’s fantastic, a triumph of composition, arrangement and songwriting. And it makes me remember why I felt a sense of disappointment when I learned that Sufjan would not, in fact, be completing his overly ambitious 50-state album project. (How far along do you think he’d be now, if he had kept at it? What states would he have covered so far?) Illinoise is eccentric and indulgent and obsessive and overly ambitious in the best possible ways, a mix of folklore, history and the deeply personal. “Prairie Fire” is lovely, as is the deeply spiritual “Seer’s Tower.” And I still get the chills when he sings, in “John Wayne Gacy, Jr.,” “They were boys / with their cars, summer jobs / Oh my God.”

A wonderful and seamless blend of funk, swing and African styles. I really need to check out more HM.

Not much of a pop fan, but I admire TS as a successful musician and strong woman who has charted her own path and serves as a great role model for her fans. This is well-done pop that mostly avoids the genre's predilection for bombast and overproduction (with the possible exception of 'I Wish You Would"). "Shake It Off" and "Bad Blood" are genuine bangers, while the anthemic "I Know Places" is infused with doomed romance. Listening to the "Taylor's Version" of this release now as my Gen X curiosity has been piqued.

This album was and continues to be massively influential in defining the sound of post-punk.

Prog is just not my thing, and I could only make it a few tracks in before losing interest. This album sounds like a not-fully-formed version of the band. Weird choice.

I've been an admirer of Dolly Parton since my boys were very young and unsolicited children's books started arriving each month in the mail, courtesy of her and the United Way. She is a saint, yet I've never really delved into her music. Also, and I'm not an expert on country music by any stretch, but I always felt like Dolly Parton was considered more of a novelty and overlooked in favor of a mostly male cohort (Willie Nelson, Merle Haggard, George Jones, etc.) but also Loretta Lynn and Patsy Cline. Coat of Many Colors is a wonderful listen front to back, fully of life and heartache. Early Morning Breeze lilts on a pretty melody, the harmonizing on My Blue Tears is lovely and the storytelling on songs like Traveling Man and She Never Met a Man (She Didn't Like) embody what makes this era of country music so great. Also, the musicianship and production on this album are first rate.

TIL The Youngbloods wrote "Darkness, Darkness," which is an excellent song (though truth be told, there are cover versions of it that I prefer to the original). But after that leadoff track, I quickly grew bored, and I am picking up a serious "OK Boomer" stench to this entire exercise.

A classic. The Stones at the height of their powers.

Hip hop was definitely in a golden era in the early '90s, yet I've always preferred the East Coast style, from the claustrophobic paranoia of Wu Tang to the fearless creativity of De La, the jazzy cool of A Tribe Called Quest and the clear-eyed storytelling of Nas. On one hand, this is a fun listen, bouncy, funky as hell and full of colorful samples, if sometimes cartoonish. Yet like a lot of the Death Row stuff from this era, it's hard to get past the caustic misogyny and violence. I remain, at age 54, uninterested in how many bitches Snoop will be bangin' in 94.

I appreciate their anti-establishment positioning but I do not like the music of Rage Against the Machine. I just find it obnoxious and seek to turn it off whenever I hear it.

Gotta love Texas psychedelia.

It's albums like this that make me so confused about what Britpop means. To me, it's post-punk, with echoes of bands that came before (Adam and the Ants, T-Rex, The Smiths, Bowie) and after (The Horrors). Nice diverse set of songs.

This album is slammin.

A milestone of my adolescence, this album overlaps my skateboarding years and my first-ever job at a Domino's Pizza store, making for some colorful interaction with the latter's corporate sensibilities. Anyway, while it was fun to hear a few of these songs again, I sold my vinyl copy of this album long ago and hadn't listened to this album in decades until now. I found that Raising Hell by Run-DMC, which mines similar sonic territory, feels more relevant to me today than Licensed to Ill. I also found the Beastie Boys inescapably annoying through the '90s FWIW.

I probably prefer their debut LP Lost Souls, but this is good and I'm glad Doves are represented on this list.

I will acknowledge that "Shout" is a great song, but outside of that, the album lacks bite. While the songwriting is generally good, this album sounds very much like an artifact of its era. Just not my cup of tea.

Grateful for the prompt to listen to Sade, which is never a bad idea. She's a class act, so effortlessly sexy and sophisticated, capturing an 80s version of glamour that manages to sound timeless.

Absolutely love this, and had never heard it before — though I am familiar with MDou Moctar, whose style is similar. They call it desert blues, and I definitely hear the influence of Delta blues in their guitar stylings. Hell of a backstory, too. Really happy to discover this.

Holy fuck, I can't believe I am just now discovering this slinky loveliness. Reminds me a little of the English Beat. Going into my regular rotation.

Her talent as a songwriter — remember, she began working in the Brill Building writing famous songs like "Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow" as a teenager — is undeniable. This is obviously a major touchstone of the 70s singer-songwriter genre, and it helped define the sound of that decade. Also, I'll take her version of "You've Got a Friend" any day over James Taylor, who makes me cringe.

This is a fantastic album, pretty unrecognizable from the stuff the band had done before this and often credited as the first country-rock album. "The Christian Life" is a great song, and I can't help but think about how it was received by their fans in 1968. Other highlights are "One Hundred Years From Now," one of just three songs written by new band member Gram Parsons, and Woody Guthrie's "Pretty Boy Floyd." For a bunch of country novices, the playing on this is first-rate.

Rhythm Nation starts off with a bang with the title track and keeps it up through the first few songs, especially "State of the World." I mostly ignored this release when it came out, mostly because I (unfairly) associated Janet Jackson with her older and more-famous brother, who by that point was thoroughly creeping me out and putting me off with super high-gloss pop music and his increasingly questionable antics. By the time RN gets to the bubbly "Love Will Never Do (Without You)" and the ballad "Livin' In a World (They Didn't Make)" I'm losing interest, fast. But then it hits its stride again with "Alright" and closes out strong with "Someday is Tonight." Overall, this is a strong example of late-80s sequenced pop-funk with some genuine bangers but some songs weighed down by dated production.

To peruse his back catalog, with its interpretations of Shakespearean sonnets and even opera (Prima Donna, 2009), Rufus Wainwright seems like a man born in the wrong era. I had that sense while listening to Want Two, that he should really focus his energies on writing musicals (which is what sent me looking through his discography). Listening to him makes me wish that my mom, a classically trained soprano who was never short of opinions about contemporary vocalists, were still alive, because I find his voice to be my primary sticking point. While he's clearly not shy about belting it out, to me it's not quite up to the primary billing he gives it in his music. That said, Wainwright is clearly capable of creating lush stirring music — check out "April Fool's" from an earlier release, one of my favorite songs from the early aughts, or Prima Donna (he merely composed the music but doesn't sing). These are strong compositions with good arrangements. "Gay Messiah" is a great song.

Huge amount of respect to this band, but this album feels stuffed with filler and non-essentials aside some very good instrumental pieces.

Bowie albums are always a group effort, as he was a highly selective and demanding band leader and composer who surrounded himself with top talent (Mick Ronson, Carlos Alomar, Robert Fripp, Donny McCaslin, etc.). Here, he enlists Brian Eno to explore krautrock and ambient, with other sonic and aesthetic contributions from longtime producer Tony Visconti, to brilliant effect. Bowie by this point in the '70s was on another level artistically, coming off the effortless-sounding (and cocaine-fueled) art pop of Station to Station to produce what always sounds to me like the future. Low reminds me of a science fiction movie soundtrack, only with fully realized songs and compositions. Brilliant and still ahead of its time.

Ick. What's next, R. Kelly? Puff Daddy?

This album is a banger that never fails to put a smile on my face. In a turbulent era, Sly managed to make protest music that made you feel good: Affirmative, funky as hell, and a band comprised of Black, white and female musicians. It's a joyous revolution.

I remember my initial impressions of the Pixies when I first heard them in 1989, how their songs carried this incredible catchiness balanced by so much weirdness. There’s Kim Deal’s bouncy bass and sexy breathy vocals, Joey Santiago’s ferocious guitar lines and then this lead singer named Black Francis who sounds crazy as fuck, with childlike yelps and growls and lyrics that mask something terrifying. Songs like “I Bleed” legitimately frightened me, while “Here Comes Your Man,” “Mr. Grieves” and “Dead” evoked in me skewed cinematic western vibes. While “Doolittle” had nowhere near the (immediate) cultural impact of Nirvana’s “Nevermind,” it felt like a satisfying way to slam the lid shut on hair metal and all the other tired ‘80s music trends of the day and usher in an exciting new musical decade.

It's fun to imagine how this album must've landed in its time — 1971, my birth year. It was kind of a stylistic shift from Tyrannosaurus Rex's early hippy stuff, yet the mystical flourishes to Marc Bolan's songs may have appealed to the more adventurous-minded members of that waning scene. Plus, rock and roll was evolving into new forms. And it's *just* tough enough to appeal to fans of Zeppelin, Black Sabbath and other hard rock and heavy metal acts of that era (though his wearing of makeup and high heels probably made a lot of those burnouts reluctant to admit it). Fun fact: Longtime Bowie collaborator Tony Visconti produced this album, which I did not previously know but definitely tracks.

Since we're all critics here, I would have nominated Catch a Fire as the best Bob Marley and the Wailers album, and listening to this, it's clear why. This was the first BMW album without Peter Tosh or Bunny Livingston, and they are missed (especially the former, who lent the band a toughness and a second skilled songwriter and singer). But this is still a fine release. "Rebel Music" is one of Marley's best anthems, "Revolution" locks into a stirring vibe and the addition of the I-Threes as backing vocals is wonderful. Sadly, I think the song "No Woman, No Cry" is in danger of joining my list of songs I never need to hear again, thanks to the cassette version of Legend that played every day in drawing class during my senior year in high school.

This strained my patience right off the bat and granted, it's hard to commit to a Big Dumb Rock record like this in the middle of a work day. I warmed to it slightly as it went on. Wonderin Y is a legit good song and Look at Last Nite and I Won't Let it 'Appen Agen both managed to pique some interest, despite the tiresome, deliberately misspelled song titles. I don't love the singer at all. Mostly I hear in this the roots of many lamentable things: AC/DC, Twisted Sister, Motley Crue, etc. I could have easily died without listening to this, turns out.

Once upon a time I was a fan of the Beasties. I went hard for Licensed to Ill when it came out, and I stuck with them through Check Your Head. And then suddenly ... I was done. Chalk it up to the nasal delivery and overuse of vocal effects, the lingering echoes of their past juvenilia, and especially their commercial and cultural ubiquity as the '90s wore on. It felt like you couldn't get away from these guys for a while there. As for Ill Communication, I like the instrumentals, their sampling and mixing reflect skill, and it's always cool to hear Q-Tip and Biz Markee guest rap. I think I just really don't like them as rappers. IIRC we've so far had just three (?) hip hop releases on this list, and the Beastie Boys are worthy of two slots?

This is nice. I read that this performance was 100% improvised, which is impressive. I'm also guessing from the crowd noise that the Part II c/the fourth movement/whatever you want to call it was an encore.

I listened to this album on a channel called Classic Rock. The top comment is from a guy who talks about the custom hi-fi setup in his 1965 Pontiac GTO. “Cars were blaring along with meatloaf, Styx, Edgar Winter Group, Warren Zevon, Kansas…” and so forth. So that pretty well grounds this recording in time, place and cultural zeitgeist. Like a lot of music of its ilk, I feel no need to revisit some of these megahits, which are probably playing right now on your local Boomer FM album-oriented rock stations. But past the first few tracks, I hear a tension within the band between the vaguely retro bubblegum pop hits of “Good Times Roll” and “My Best Friend’s Girlfriend” that made this band famous and more adventurous fare like “Moving in Stereo” and “Don’t Cha Stop.” Suspecting there may have been multiple songwriters, I checked, and they’re all credited to Ric Ocasek. Which I supposed figures: In addition to marrying Paulina Porizkova, he went on to become a sought-after producer, with credits on albums from the likes of Bad Brains, Weezer and Guided by Voices.

Enjoyed this one more than I expected to, and it turns out I already knew most of the songs. Dave Grohl clearly picked up a lot of songwriting cues from Kurt Cobain — "Alone + Easy Target" sounds like a Nirvana B-side. His talent at marrying loud, distorted guitars with catchy melodies recalls his former band, Husker Du and Weezer's Green Album. And the riffing on "Weenie Beanie" (what is it with these song titles tho) foreshadows his later collaboration with Queens of the Stone Age. But as the song titles suggest, it's probably best not to focus on the lyrical content.

The history of popular music is vast enough that there are few acts deserving of multiple entries in a list of 1,001 albums to listen to before you die. So it goes for the Beastie Boys, and so it goes with this album by the Pixies. Hadn't listened to this one in many years. It's a fine album, but it lacks some of the spontaneity and playfulness of previous albums like Doolittle or Surfer Rosa. And perhaps most importantly, it lacks Kim Deal, who was a key ingredient in this band.

This is one of those hyper-evocative albums for me: It brings me right back to my college dorm, where I first heard it and listened to this album most often. To me, this album would be worth it for the reprise of the lovely “Waterfall” into “Don’t Stop” alone. It’s sonic magic, with its trippy tape loops and hypnotic rhythm. “Elizabeth My Dear” clearly cops its melody from Simon & Garfunkel. “Shoot You Down” is effortless cool and "Fool's Gold" feels like being on drugs at a rave. Too bad they fizzled out after a mediocre sophomore release, but at least they gifted us with this brilliance.

Alongside other artifacts of humanity, this is one of the albums I'd pick to place inside a probe that gets launched deep into space in the hopes it's one day discovered by an alien civilization — and not just because of the cover or extraterrestrial theme (though maybe that helps). It's just strange and funky, it might make the aliens shake it, and it makes humanity sound queer and fun. More terrestrially, it's the sound of peak '70s Me Decade drug-induced hedonism freak flaggery, an album that would echo through so much hip hop decades later.

TIL the song "Dirty Work" was performed by Steely Dan, and I think it says something that I was never curious to learn more about it despite being fed a steady diet from FM rock radio while growing up. "Do It Again" evokes some nostalgia for whittling away hours in video game arcades. The rest of this album is just an occasionally depressing document of the soft middle of the '70s: The hippie idealism of the '60s has been dead and buried, everyone's numbed on quaaludes and TV dinners, and punk rock can't arrive soon enough.

The song "Come Together" is like pop cultural canon at this point, with its iconic and inscrutable lyrics ("He got monkey finger / he shoot Coca-Cola"), and then there's the killer medley on side 2 (this is the first album in this project that I listened to as an LP, not streaming). There's even a murder ballad ("Maxwell's Silver Hammer"). I think I'd give it 5 stars except that I feel like "Something" is out of place on this album and sounds more of a piece with the material they'd release later on Let It Be, an album they actually recorded before Abbey Road.

I'd heard of this band but never listened to them, and I'm sure I appreciate this much more today than I would have in 1985, when my tastes generally didn't lean in this direction. Shades of Sade and Orange Juice, whom we've already covered on this list, and even The Smiths. It has a certain elegance. Produced by Thomas Dolby, I read.

Lauryn Hill is an incredible talent and this is a diverse and heartfelt album full of top-notch bangers. You can definitely hear how its influence reverberates decades later. But the interstitial chatter gets tiresome.

As many of you have noted, this is a difficult assignment not least because of its length, spread out across the equivalent of four discs worth of music. It's also a weird fit stylistically with the typical fare of this project. Nearly 3/4 of the way through it, I can confidently say that this is no better or worse than any of Ella Fitzgerald's recordings tackling the Great American Songbook composers. I own copies of Ella singing the Cole Porter songbook and the Rodgers and Hart LP, and honestly, pick any of 'em, they're all great (and yet, this is the only album cover of the three that eschews an image of the singer for one of a white woman's face, WTF). Ella Fitzgerald has a voice like a bell on a clear, cold winter night. What a treasure.

Selections like this one make me wonder whether my review should be about the album itself or the choice to include it in the list of 1,001 albums. Back when this album was released, it felt like Radiohead was starting to get high on its own supply, like the band was convinced of its own importance, and hearing it today bears that out. While there are some nice moments, this is a dreary listen. A slog. Nowhere near Radiohead's best work, before or since.

Like longtime critical and cult favorites including Big Star, the MC5 and the Mekons, who I failed to appreciate or fully understand when I was younger, I'm just now getting around to Patti Smith. This is a terrific album from an artist who must've sounded like a breath of fresh air in 1975. A highlight is "Birdland," which works like an audio poem, buffeted by evocative guitar feedback and piano refrains. I hear her influence in the later work of Nick Cave, another highly literate and multitalented singer-songwriter who brings a strong storytelling element to his work. I need to own this album.

I don’t remember thinking this about them back in the day, but The Beta Band has some really pretty songs, like "Gone" and "Quiet." Maybe it has to do with frontman Steve Mason’s soothing and calming vocal style, like a quietly confident man in no hurry to convince you of anything and content to let his songs speak for him. But there's actually a lot to the music: slammin’ trip-hop beats, motorik rhythms, tasty basslines, cool electronic flourishes, nice harmonies and earworm refrains, all contained within engaging songs. It all adds up to a highly pleasant and enjoyable listening experience. FYI Allmusic calls this band “post-Britpop.”

I have to include this amazing quote from the late Wayne Kramer, via Wikipedia, on how James Brown influenced the MC5's live debut LP, Kick Out the Jams: "Our whole thing was based on James Brown. We listened to Live at the Apollo endlessly on acid. We would listen to that in the van in the early days of 8-tracks on the way to the gigs to get us up for the gig." Musically, this album captures pre-funk era JB. But it's still the call-and-response emcee-bandleader format for which he is known, and the screams from the audience reinforce its place in time and cultural importance. "I Don't Mind" and "Try Me" sound like 1950s torch songs, a side of him I hadn't heard before. The backing band is top notch, as you'd expect. Also have to give props to the excellent design incorporating a watercolor (I think?) on the cover.

This is nice, like a mix of trip-hop and cabaret. Alison Goldfrapp has a lovely voice that occasionally recalls Portishead's Beth Gibbons (especially on tracks like "Pilots") and has great range. It's spooky and enchanting and makes me want to check out more of their albums.

I'm a little torn by the inclusion of this, an album of well-known standards, from the artist who wrote songs as good as "Angel Flying Too Close to the Ground," "Whiskey River" and "My Heroes Have Always Been Cowboys." It was even controversial in its day, coming from the figurehead of Outlaw Country. And yet, I cannot deny this is very good — especially "September Song."

It's hard to separate this album from all the controversy and mythology that surrounded its release, yet the amazing thing is how vital and current the most incendiary tracks sound in 2025. "Straight Outta Compton" makes me want to march and burn shit down. Ice Cube, who wrote most of the lines (even for the others), is a skilled rap lyricist. The album definitely wanes in energy and relevance as it wears on ("I Ain't Tha 1" is a low point), but there's no denying its cultural impact or its influence on hip hop. Also, I love the last track, "Something 2 Dance 2," an old-school electro tack-on that seems to almost undermine the group's gangsta credentials. It's like a hip-hop Nuggets entry, great for a mix tape full of obscurities.

XTC has always seemed to me an acquired taste, and I've simply never acquired the taste (due partly to Andy Partridge's voice). This album of lushly arranged chamber pop is clearly well done, yet like everything else I've heard from the band, I simply fail to connect with their very off-kilter British vibe. This album draws comparisons to Sgt. Pepper's and the Beach Boys' "Pet Sounds," and I can see why. But I don't see how this one really advances on their sonic or cultural accomplishments.

Even though he totally ripped off David Lee Roth, this album is a real hoot.

This is a quirky album of rank-and-file post-punk that dropped out of left field — a place called Iceland — at a time when this brand of angular guitars and charging rhythms were no longer in vogue. That's entirely my jam. It features a charismatic and big-piped chanteuse named Bjork, whose lack of vocal restraint sometimes chafes. "Birthday" remains a great song, wholly distinctive in its sound, while other highlights include "Mama," "Blue Eyed Pop" and "Coldsweat." Unfortunately, "Motorcrash," one of the early singles from the album, and "Delicious Demon" are serious duds that suffer from ridiculous lyrics. What is this about taking a bath and being squeaky clean? I'd probably give this an extra half star if I could.

A strong distillation of Funkadelic's melding of funk and rock. Mike Hampton picks up where Eddie Hazel left off in delivering Hendrix-like guitar virtuosity. But if this album makes the list, are we also in store for Maggot Brain or the band's excellent self-titled debut?

The Cure are originators of a trove of great post-punk, goth, dirge, dance and even pop songs that are foundational to an entire generation. Yet outside of the classic “A Forest” and maybe “M,” you’d be hard-pressed to find any on this early, brooding Cure album. It gets off to a slow start, a thought I had while listening to the third song “Secrets” and then a few songs later on the funereal “The Final Sound,” before getting a lift for, well, most of the second side until the depressing title track. It’s not a bad album, per se, but it’s an odd choice for an intro to The Cure, all sparse, minimalist beats, abstractions and repetitive melodies. I’m sure there will be more Cure on this list.

Woof, that's over. Going to put on some soothing vibraphone lullabies or ambient music now.

What makes this posthumous release especially interesting to listen to is how it bridges continents and musical styles. There are fiddles and other traditional West African instruments throughout, but also saxophones ("N'jarou," "Beto") and harmonica ("Ledi Coumbe"), and he sings "Savane" in French. Ali Farka Toure was often compared to John Lee Hooker, and while he has his own distinctive sound, he often veers into a similarly droning Delta blues vein. It all makes for a highly captivating, meditative listen.

Cocteau Twins are one of those bands who were practically made for listening to with headphones. The music is dreamy and ethereal and lush, and well produced. Elizabeth Fraser has a lovely voice, yet I sometimes wonder what these songs would be like if she sang real lyrics.

I'd have liked to listen to my CD copy of Either/Or, but the drawer won't open on my player. Which has led me to wonder whether I should either part with my sizable collection of CDs, which I rarely listen to anymore, fix my CD player or buy a replacement on eBay. Anyway, this is a wonderful album of quietude, incense, candlelight and dark nights. Its mood and outlook — and indeed, Smith's tragic life story — feel decidedly Gen X. Smith was a real talent, gone too soon.

The Yeah Yeah Yeahs' third album announces itself with a powerful trio of songs, starting with the infectious disco of "Zero," continuing with the driving rock of 'Heads Will Roll" and concluding with four-on-the-floor synths ("Soft Shock"). “Dull Life” displays the dynamics this band were by now becoming known for, building from a slow, moody intro to a galloping rock rhythm. "Hysteric" is a gorgeous meditation on love. Four and a 1/2 stars. Overall, It's Blitz trades some of the band's guitar-forward rough edges for nuance, more sophisticated production (in part from Dave Sitek of TV On the Radio, who I really hope are on this list), softer and more electronic textures, and space in the songs, which are often about love. It’s the sound of a band growing.

Siouxsie gets pigeonholed as being goth, and this is indeed probably her darkest album. Juju offers a pervasive sense of danger and menace, such as on the slow-burn screech of "Night Shift" or the spine-tingling guitar cascades of "Voodoo Dolly." I never really think of her as goth — and certainly not in a dismissive or limiting way — simply because she's such a skilled songwriter, with a great ear for distinctive, unusual sounds. Juju is filled with bangers, like the single "Arabian Knights," which could (and certainly did) hold its own on the dancefloor, the motorik chug of "Monitor" and the caustic and urgent pace set by "Halloween." It's a potent witch's brew of tribal drums and percussion (I hear tambourines!), jagged guitars, claustrophobic melodies and Siouxsie's commanding presence.

While he spent much of his life in exile from the brutal apartheid government, Abdullah Ibrahim was born and raised in South Africa, where he absorbed much of the local traditional and gospel sounds. I don't hear much of that in this release, which sounds like a much more contemporary take on swing jazz. "Tuang Guru" and "Song for Sathima" are highlights. The rest is pleasant if unremarkable.

I know Ry Cooder mainly from his work producing the blockbuster project Buena Vista Social Club, which was essentially a supergroup of mostly retired legendary Cuban musicians. This album predates that by a couple years and sees him lending his guitar playing in addition to producing. That's one of the main differences I hear between this and Savane, the Ali Farka Touré album we reviewed last week. As was the case with Buena Vista, the production is crisp and clean and showcases the musicianship and unique textures of Touré's desert blues. I also notice the influence of Delta blues, especially on "Amandrai" and "Ai Du," which adds some nice fiddle accents.

This was the first time in several decades I have listened to Wish You Were Here, an album that was foundational to high-school me. Yet while the odes to erstwhile bandleader Syd Barrett are poignant — the song "Wish You Were Here" is a classic — this has never been one of my favorite Floyd releases. To me, it marks the point where Roger Waters’ various obsessions and unresolved manias began eclipsing the band and he exerted an increasingly heavy hand over Pink Floyd’s musical and lyrical direction. Things from here would get increasingly heavy, and less fun, conceptually. Musically, I also feel like WYWH personifies the mid-70s rock bloat, with lethargic tempos, fat synths and a reliance on studio wizardry over songcraft. It's kind of a depressing listen.

This is a great showcase for B.B. King as vocalist, bandleader, entertainer and especially guitarist. The drummer is tight and the band is funky. Live recordings to me are always hit or miss, but this one captures what sounds like a hell of a night, with a top-notch band and an enthusiastic audience. I for one would be happy to see more blues on this list.

In 1979 or '80, before I had turned 10 years old, the hit song "Cars" was responsible for my first-ever live rock concert. My friend's mom drove us to an outdoor concert amphitheater, yet once the headlining act started playing, we knew something was not right. The band was playing a mostly conventional guitar-bass-drums setup, with only one synthesizer used in a background role, and neither the singer nor the songs sounded anything like that weird, left-field staple of commercial radio. Turns out we had assumed the song "Cars" was performed by The Cars. Oh, well. Anyway, this album slaps, fusing emotional depth and resonance with alien electronic textures and icy sci-fi lyrical themes. It helped usher in the futurism and technological advances of the '80s with some excitement, and it was foundational in shaping my own musical appetite for life. I think I still own the cassette copy that was a fixture of my Walkman.

Ideally I could devote enough time to give each of these 1,001 selections (well, maybe not *all* of them) more than one listen, as things often reveal themselves on subsequent listens that you missed the first time, fondness grows, etc. Alas. I respect Aimee Mann and like her work on the Magnolia soundtrack and with Til Tuesday. And I recognize her skill as a lyricist and songwriter. But this album comes off as a little too “adult contemporary” sounding to me, lacking a sonic edge. It certainly didn’t sound like what you might expect from the very Gen X album cover and title or the era (1993) in which it was released.

From the opening keyboard riff of leadoff track “I.G.Y.” I immediately thought of marshmallows — soft, white, squishy, uniformly without blemish and ultraprocessed as hell. Totally not my thing but I recognize its qualities. Not surprisingly it has been sampled extensively.

It’s pretty wild to consider this was the vanguard of popular rock and roll, considering that the Beatles, Stones and the rest of the British Invasion were less than a decade away and within two decades of its release, the genre had blossomed into a kaleidoscope of musical styles, subgenres and sounds. It’s proof that rock and roll had an incredibly fertile early growth spurt. Anyway, Fats Domino deserves a ton of respect as a trailblazer, both musically and culturally, for popularizing a new form of music in an era of suffocating conformity and racial segregation. Musically, this album feels a little like a tale of two sides, and most interesting to me are the more overtly blues-influenced numbers that dominate the second side, such as the instrumental “The Fat Man’s Hop,” which features a guitar solo, and the hard-driving “You Done Me Wrong,” where Fats opens up a bit more vocally. Also feel obligated to call out the lovely sax solo on “So Long.”

I used to own this album, shortly after it came out. I liked how the leadoff track thrusts a bass riff and synth to the fore and I enjoyed the song "Smile Like You Mean It," which has a cool '80s new wave vibe. The rest never really grew on me, and I traded in my CD. The end.

I count myself as a fan of The Jon Spencer Blues Explosion's brand of grimy garage punk and gutter blues music. My copy of Orange was on heavy rotation in the mid-90s, yet I never got around to the rest of the band's catalog. Now I Got Worry plays differently than its predecessor, which presented like a variety hour of musical sketches and sleazy, funky charm emceed by Spencer. It's more varied in style, raunchier but equally combustible. I love the 1-minute hardcore throwback "Identify," while "Love All of Me" sounds like Elvis on a bender in the pre-gentrification Lower East Side. Is this the best JSBE album? I cannot say, but I'm fine with it being on this list as an example of how the blues established a foundation for so many diverse rock subgenres.

It’s hard for me to objectively assess this band and album. There was a time when I listened to Jane’s Addiction obsessively: I saw them live on this tour, and listening to this certainly brings back good memories (fun fact: I stole this CD, the final act of my short-lived klepto phase). On the other hand, Jane’s hasn’t aged all that well for me. Part of it is that I have mostly moved on from the whole funk/cock rock sound of the era, of which I consider them an exemplar (Red Hot Chili Peppers being another; God I hope we don’t get any of their albums). But also, Perry Farrell has shown himself to be an insufferable douchebag in the 30-plus years since this release — which makes it hard not to listen for evidence of him as a self-centered, drug-addled empty vessel in older work like this. TL;DR version: I don’t love Jane’s Addiction anymore. The second side was always the real strength of this release, but if I had to pick one Jane’s album it’d probably be Nothing’s Shocking.

I never took The Lemonheads seriously back in the day, owing I think to the band's name, which I thought was a joke, and their devastatingly handsome, goofy lead singer. Which is too bad, because holy crap Evan Dando can write songs! I hear lots of good echoes here, including The Replacements, The Smithereens, R.E.M., Elvis Costello and Big Star. The update of "Mrs. Robinson" is great but so are "My Drug Buddy," "Rudderless" and "Hannah & Gabi."

A stone classic and the best baby-making music on the other side of D'Angelo's "Voodoo."

Sanata's neat trick was marrying traditional Latin songs, structures and percussion to a contemporary, early-70s rock idiom and somehow making it sound timeless. It's an enjoyable listen.

I long ago moved past my Doors obsession but acknowledge this as an important milestone in American psychedelia. Time hasn't exactly endeared me to Jim Morrison's flat, affectless voice, nor to the bombast of "The End" (I think "When the Music's Over" and "Riders on the Storm" are superior long-jam album closers). But there are some solid jams here and Manzarek's keyboards lend a kind of dark carnival vibe to the proceedings.

This was a nice, meditative listen, perfect for working. Loved the tracks with the House music vocals and the loon-call samples. Wonder what other electronic music we'll get on this list.

If you wanted to distill what the ‘80s were like musically to someone who never experienced them, you could do worse than nominate Peter Gabriel’s “So.” The album was obviously huge, for starters, with several songs that received heavy rotation on radio and MTV. But it also encompasses a good span of the sounds and styles that defined the decade. There’s the anthemic, strident “Red Rain,” the tender ballads (“In Your Eyes” and “Don’t Give Up”), the blue-eyed soul of “Sledgehammer” and its pioneering video, and the Talking Heads-esque funk of “Big Time.” The synths, backing singers and glossy production are hallmarks of the era and keep everything on this side of accessible to wide audiences, even as Gabriel, like his peers Paul Simon and Sting, is indulging plenty of African and other global music styles and developing an interest in political and social activism. Regarding the non-hits, “We Do What We’re Told” brings some great aural textures but seems out of place on this album with its authoritarian subject matter, while “That Voice Again” is a dud and “This Is The Picture” sounds like a throwback to his prog-phase Genesis days.

Like the underappreciated "High Time" by the MC5, The Stooges' hometown cohorts, "Raw Power" is essentially the dying gasp of a band that would cease to be a going concern within a year of the album's release. (Technically, The Stooges had already broken up and been reformed to cut and tour this album.) It's fascinating to think that neither American nor British audiences in 1973 took to this album despite punk rock being just a few more years away and the cultural cachet the band enjoys today. I could quibble over whether this or "Fun House" belongs on this list (maybe both?), and there's been loads written about the poor audio quality of Bowie's mix (it's frustrating to hear a band with such a formidable rhythm section subjected to such a tinny mix). But this remains a masterclass in economical songwriting, sleaze and aggression that single-handedly made Iggy Pop's reputation. If you're into this, check out the "Kill City" release Iggy cut with Stooges guitarist James Williamson and a bunch of studio musicians a couple of years after this. The album has a fascinating backstory and features tight, soulful songs and plenty of saxophone.

People tend to pigeonhole Jimi Hendrix as acid rock, but this album, along with his later releases, demonstrates he was capable of so much more than that. There's the electric blues of "Hey Joe," the tender reflection of "May This Be Love" the lovely poetry of "The Wind Cries Mary" and the psychedelic churn of the title cut. Of all the rock stars who left us too early, he may be the one I most regret losing because I can't help but wonder where his muse may have led him if he'd had more time.

I'm not the biggest Dylan fan, but this is really good. Good songs, great lyrics, stirring emotional vibes.

X was one of the first punk rock bands I discovered, thanks to a friend I made in fifth grade who had just moved from SoCal and introduced me to his older brothers' record collection, and I love them to this day. They combine raw aggression with highly adept musicality, an appreciation of American roots music, dark poetic lyrics and tight songwriting chops, and they might be the only punk band that does vocal harmonies. This album is a visceral tour of the seedy underbelly of early-80s Los Angeles. Highlights include "Adult Books," "White Girl," "Universal Corner" (that riff is so good) and "Beyond and Back."

Turns out I like Kate Bush more today than when I first heard her around the time this album came out. I'm drawn to the taut urgency of songs like "Running Up That Hill" and "Cloudbusting," and "Waking the Witch" has some nice spooky atmospherics but sounds like the recording went haywire after the 1-minute mark. But there's a theatrical, show tune-y quality to a lot of these songs — Ren-fest prog? — that is just not my jam. As for "Jig For Life," Irish fiddle music just drives me batshit.

Watching the official video again for “Man in the Mirror,” it dawns on me that this is one of the clumsiest protest anthems/self-affirmation songs extant. And it illustrates my main complaint about this album — that it lacks strong songs. “Bad” is defined by airtight production and, in its first half, some interesting electronic percussion flourishes. But those technological innovations sometimes make an odd fit for the actual songs, such as “Liberian Girl,” which might work better with more organic instrumentation. The hits, like the title track and “The Way You Make Me Feel,” just don’t land with the same force as “Billie Jean” or “Don’t Stop ’Til You Get Enough,” which feel timeless. Much of “Bad” just feels like non-essential, dated and over-produced mid-80s pop and sappy love songs. It marks a kind of demarcation from his legacy as a brilliant hitmaker to a rather creepy and tragic cautionary tale.

This is a decent album with solid performances, but I find Sinatra hard to take in large doses like this. It's all uniformly uptempo and chirpy, and it lacks variety and emotional nuance (to illustrate, the algorithm is now serving me "It Was a Very Good Year" from another album, and it's a reminder that Sinatra did, in fact, have some range). I'd much rather listen to the versions of these songs offered by the likes of Ella Fitzgerald or Sarah Vaughn, both of whom add much more feel to the American songbook than Ol' Blue Eyes.

My first thought, since it was the first sounds in the first song: The bass player deserves a raise. His playing throughout is stellar. This is a solid New Romantic release, with echoes of Duran Duran and Roxy Music. I liked a lot of the bonus tracks, but I'm not sure this belongs on this list.

This is a solid collection of melodic psychedelia that varies from the trippy "Orange" to the dirge-like "Whipping Tree" and the four-on-the-floor disco thrum of "Every Day Should Be a Holiday." These lads and lady do a good job synthesizing inspiration from power pop, British Invasion and indie rock.

Everybody knows the twin hits, but the strength of this album lay in its deep cuts — the icy new wave of "Automatic," the surf rock of 'Skidmarks On My Heart," the uptempo post-punk of "Tonite," the wistful "Lust to Love," etc. I find most of them more interesting than the hits, but there's really not a bad tune to be found. The band is peppy, energetic and fully in command. I'm left trying to remember why I ever parted with my copy of this LP back in the day.

I’m not the biggest Rush fan, but this seems like the album where they put their collective talents together and curbed their excesses in service (mostly) of tight and condensed and very good songs that would shape their status as FM rock radio titans. This album also appears in a dorky Venn diagram of two related personal interests: the incursion of the synthesizer into classic rock (see also: Baba O’Riley) and the soundtrack of the heyday of video game arcades. Last observation: “Vital Signs” sounds like Rush’s take on The Police.

An ambitious, provocative and groundbreaking release, A Nation of Millions hasn’t lost an ounce of its sonic or cultural import. Tracks like the trippy “Show ‘Em Whatcha Got” demonstrate that PE was early to the jazz-sampling trend, while they capitalized on the nascent rap-rock trend by sampling Slayer on “She Watch Channel Zero?!” (one of 20 samples on the track). Terminator X is in top form with his scratching and trademark tea kettle/horse-whinny refrain, Flavor Flav plays the role of hype man/street jester (except when he raps, such as on “Cold Lampin’”) with aplomb and Chuck D is like a whole weather system on the mic. There’s so much going on in this seminal release, and I haven’t even gotten to the pointed social and political commentary. Le plus ca change…

Here is a band I had never heard of, and lo the album kicks off with a song called “Up Against the Wall Motherfuckers.” I am primed to be a fan despite an element of surprise: Based on a quick glance at their name, album title and cover art, I was expecting, I dunno…icy North Sea ambient? Chamber folk electronica? (When this album came out, I was fully immersed in the early-aughts rock revival, which leads me to wonder how I missed it, given the critical accolades it earned.) Anyway, I like but am not blown away by this. There is a ramshackle quality that appeals, but the band occasionally veers into the studied iPod-ad rock territory of The Jets or Wolfmother, two forgettable acts from this era who had their moments in the spotlight. I also don’t discern a strong individual identity from this band, rather a carefully coiffed collective sneer.

I’m already a fan of Rocket From the Crypt and Hot Snakes, two bands in the same family tree as Drive Like Jehu, and was way overdue to listen to this band. Between the complex, multi-part compositions and song lengths, this feels like operatic post-hardcore. I’d call it progcore, but it never feels especially fussy, indulgent or done simply to demonstrate musical virtuosity. Instead, the songs, from the pummeling noise freakout of “Luau” to the meditative “Sinews,” feel entirely unfettered and free, in service of conveying complex emotions. This album is rooted in the sonic fury of hardcore but expands by orders of magnitude on the genre’s restrictive musical palette.

I imagine the disorientation I felt when approaching this album — it’s called “Surf’s Up,” in typical Beach Boys fashion, yet it bears pretty dark cover art, and it’s filled with songs addressing social and environmental issues — was shared by many when this came out in 1971. This album is thick with AM radio vibes, and there are some really good songs, like “Disney Girls” and the title track, but also some bizarre and heavy-handed ones (“Student Demonstration Time” is the weirdest protest song I’ve ever heard). It seems like a reflection of how the group was fracturing into distinct and warring personalities.

Peak Floyd. I have nothing novel to add, but will note that this was one of the first CDs (along with Piper At the Gates of Dawn) my parents bought me to go along with the CD player they bought me for Christmas one year back in the 80s. My dad would probably detest this album, but he was enough of an audiophile to recognize its quality.

It’s orchestral, alright. And it’s heavily informed by soft rock, synths, the vocoder, and prog, and even by The Beatles’ whimsical senses of harmony and melody and The Bee Gees’ take on disco. A quintessentially 70s mix to be sure. Then there’s the cinematic sci-fi of “Believe Me Now,” which sounds like a precursor to the band Air. But the whole thing sounds a little overstuffed, like a soundtrack of bloated show tunes, and the vibes just don’t hit for me. Neither do the lyrics, which seem to celebrate good weather (“Mr Blue Sky”) or other mushy subject matter. Also, were ELO and Boston in direct competition over the right to commandeer flying saucers that resemble jukeboxes for their bands’ respective brands or something? Just asking.

This is a brilliant artifact of LSD-soaked counterculture, a mess in the best possible way. Songs like “Afterglow of Your Love” and “Rollin’ Over” ride on heavy rhythmic churns, “Song of a Baker” presages 70s hard rock and “Mad John” is a brilliant folk tune. Drummer Kenney Jones’ playing is phenomenal. It all sounds like a hell of a good time. Glad I had the opportunity to listen to it.

Joey Burns and John Convertino are incredibly talented musicians who soaked up inspiration from their many years living in Tucson, aka the Old Pueblo, forming the rhythm section for Giant Sand and later playing lounge music in the Hotel Congress lobby with the excellent Friends of Dean Martin (later Martinez). This is a good illustration of the dynamic range of their band, Calexico. Songs like “Black Heart” and “Close Behind” lend a dramatic, cinematic feel to the album — the latter is like the soundtrack to a Western call-to-arms sequence with its string-and-horn chorus refrain. There’s the jazz-inflected “Crumble” and the Mexican swing of “Guero Canelo.” My only real critique is that the album loses focus in its second half and could’ve benefited from editing.

It’s empowering, relevant to the times, boasts rich sonic arrangements and production, and features appearances from both Cleo Sol and Michael Kiwanuka. Little Simz comes off like the cool smart girl who couldn’t give a fuck about the tune of your exhaust or your hard-earned lifting gains. What’s not to like?

A great example of literate mid-80s jangle-pop filled with killer hooks and melodies. You can hear the influence of the band’s Athens peers like The B-52s and Pylon, but also the Talking Heads. Occasionally Michael Stipe’s nasal vocal delivery grates, such as on “Lightnin’ Hopkins.” But “Oddfellows Local 151” and “Finest Worksong” are great tracks, and “It’s the End of the World (And I Feel Fine)” and “The One I Love” are generational touchstones.

I love to rock but I hate AC/DC, a one-note band that just bores me. They remind me of the feeling of being stuck at a party you want desperately to escape, but you can’t leave because your ride is off shotgunning beers or hooking up with someone behind closed doors (this covers much of my high school experience). This is slightly better than I expected — I think I prefer Bon Scott as vocalist to his successor, who just evokes chain-smoking — but I still couldn’t wait for it to end. Songs like “Get It Hot” and “Touch Too Much” are just ridiculous — heavy petting anthems that would turn me off faster than “Pour Some Sugar On Me.” The production is clean, the guitar tone is quality, the drumbeat never varies, and yet rather than being exhilarating, it all feels like a slog.

It sounds like an album by a Eurovision band that’s been listening to DEVO, Kate Bush, Kraftwerk, Madonna, show tunes and dinner cabaret, which might well have been the case. I hear the seeds of K-Pop in a song like “The Day Before You Came.” Not my cup of tea but it has its moments. Also: Did the album cover inspire the Cardigans’ own art on “Long Gone Before Daylight” two decades later?

Silky, soulful and rockin. Timeless.

It's a fun amalgamation of Chicago House and Detroit Techno with a generous helping of electronic noise. Daft Punk helped deliver electronic dance music to the masses, which makes me wonder whether or how many other highly deserving albums of this ilk are on this list.

Is there a better album intro than “Running’ With the Devil” in all of rock and roll? I doubt it. This album evokes comparisons with fellow hard rockers AC/DC, whom I recently trashed in a review. I think the difference lay in Van Halen’s dynamism: David Lee Roth is a fantastic, expressive rock vocalist with crazy range, Eddie Van Halen was at the top of his game here (the riff on “Ain’t Talkin’ ‘bout Love” alone is enough to seal any deal), the rhythm section is powerful (Alex Van Halen can drum circles around AC/DC), and Ted Templeman knows the right way to treat this juggernaut is by making them sound huge and spacious. The whole thing feels like a party you’d actually like to attend, a runaway train you can’t not watch to see if it can stay on the tracks. VH never sounded quite this good again.

Listening to Stankonia offers a window into the evolution of hip-hop as it entered its third full decade. By this point sampling was too expensive or legally risky to rely on, so in its place is rich and diverse instrumentation and metallic-sounding programmed beats. Andre 3000 alternates dexterous rapping with more melodic singing snippets that hint at his later evolution as a well-rounded musician. The musical styles are kaleidoscopic, ranging from the expected (P-funk, soul) to the entirely unexpected (psychedelia, especially). OutKast deep-fried a musical form and came up with something that sounded entirely fresh and fun.

The backstory to this album was that Young was grieving the OD deaths of his former roadie, Bruce Berry (the “workin’ man, he used to load that Econoline van”), and Crazy Horse guitarist Danny Whitten, who is heard singing and playing on “Come On Baby Let’s Go Downtown.” But to me, Tonight’s the Night plays like a long hangover—from stardom, drugs, the rigors of touring and the death of 60s idealism. It sounds like it was recorded in a juke joint where the band was being paid in ice buckets of longnecks. The playing is loose and sometimes ramshackle, and the songs are genuine and stirring.

This is a bold choice in that I feel like the J-Beez are overlooked yet were really the first out of the gate of the Native Tongues collective and were pretty innovative. They brought an Afrocentric perspective that was simultaneously affirming, humorous and intellectual, they expanded the palette of sampling to jazz and even Latin music (as on "Good Newz Comin'") and it is funky. This album absolutely holds up.

What strikes me about this album is how much of it sounds so little like Radiohead as we know them today. Case in point: the guitar riff that opens the title track, which transports me back to the mid-90s and sounds like any number of guitar-driven alt-rock bands from the era. “Black Star” is an excellent song that foreshadows what they would do next on the vastly superior OK Computer, but to me this is not among Radiohead’s best albums and doesn’t need to be on this list.

Many years ago my dad and I were talking about his coming of age in the ’60s, and while he was no hippie, he explained that part of what made that decade so exciting was that the ’50 were so boring. I kept thinking about that as I listened to this album, recorded in 1956, and how it seems to encapsulate what I like to imagine was a lovely day by the seaside and how this terrific performance must have been so thrilling. Never mind that the final recording was supposedly augmented with studio performances and piped-in crowd noise, this feels like a bridge between jazz’s big-band past and its more freeform future. “Jeep’s Blues” is sultry and sexy. It’s not hard to imagine how this performance must have scandalized conservative 1950s America and help set the stage for the cultural revolution to follow as much as any rock and roll artist.

I listened to the wrong Deep Purple album (Machine Head)—out of order, as it turns out. I vastly prefer this one. It’s more raw and dangerous-sounding, where Machine Head is basic to the point of being dull. There’s more sonic variety and exploration here, and the songs are more consistently good. The screams and theatricality of “Child in Time” evokes Arthur Brown (“Fire”), while I also hear echoes of Alice Cooper, Black Sabbath and Blue Cheer. Ritchie Blackmore’s guitar playing and tone are fire. I would definitely play this album when the mood strikes.

Tom Tom Club sounds like the ultimate early 80s Lower East Side art-punk side project, heavily influenced by the nascent hip hop coming out of the Bronx. Which it essentially is. It’s weird, spindly and funky. Some tracks (“Genius of Love” and the dubby “L’Elephant”) sound more finished than others (“Booming and Zooming”). But in the end it’s a fun listen and is aligned with my personal musical interests.

The Grateful Dead are a polarizing band (mostly I think because people either hate Deadheads, the band’s long, noodly jams, or both), and the knock on them has always been that their huge catalog of studio releases is highly uneven. This album is maybe the strongest exception. It’s a strong, focused set of great songs and performances that span the Haight Ashbury sound from which they sprouted, adding bluegrass, folk and country. It also comes the closest of any of their albums to being a greatest hits collection, with several tracks that would become staples of their live sets. Love ‘em or hate ‘em, the Dead were a quintessentially American phenomenon

The Erik Satie opener/closer is nice, “Smiling Phases” sounds like a musical number and “Sometimes in Winter” just sounds dated, like the guy serenading the coeds on the staircase in Animal House before John Belushi snatches his guitar and smashes it to bits. “Spinning Wheel” is a good song that brings the group’s jazz chops to the fore. There is some good stuff here but overall it sounds a little show tune-y, thanks in part to the singer, who sounds a little like Tom Jones.

CCR’s mix of southern-tinged rock, blues and country, married to John Fogerty’s crack songwriting, lends them a quintessentially American sound, rooted in the counterculture of their era but accessible enough for the masses. I realize I’ve never listened to any of their albums in full, but this one seems relatively straightforward and less freewheeling than many of the classic CCR songs I know and love. “Sinister Purpose” brings a welcome element of psychedelia, and I enjoy their swampy take on “The Night Time is the Right Time.” Elsewhere, there are a smattering of hits but also a few songs that don’t do much for me.

On paper I shouldn’t like this: It’s theatrical, proggy, overly fussy at times, odd and completely over the top. But it’s actually pretty great. Jim Steinman’s songs and compositions are strong, and Meat Loaf seals the deal, singing like a man trying to break free of possession by his own impulses. A couple slow clunkers, but “Paradise by the Dashboard Light” is maybe the best song ever written about teenage lust. It sounds like something that could have only come out of 1970s America.

Slim Shady is the sound of a talented, incredibly juvenile and self-loathing teenage-adjacent young man struggling with mental health problems borne of bleak circumstances — as a Detroiter, I recognize its very Eastside underclass grounding and aesthetic. It alternates between sounding like a much darker and bitter version of the first Beastie Boys album (minus the free-for-all sampling ethos) and being relatable, occasionally poignant. In addressing his toddler son, “’97 Bonnie & Clyde” is an astonishing mix of tender and horrifying. Scathing and ugly, it nevertheless holds plenty of relevance in 2025.

Big, loud and (intentionally) dumb, The Dictators are an interesting document of the proto-punk sound, slotting alongside the New York Dolls and Detroit’s obscure Death in bridging the gap between the Stooges/MC5 and The Ramones. “Master Race Rock” is a classic, and other highlights are the cover of “California Sun” and “Two Tub Man.” I don’t need to revisit their cover of Sony Bono, however. The guitar player is occasionally exciting, but I often wish they’d speed up the tempo, and I’m not sure I’d choose to highlight this band above any of the others I mentioned.

Killer album. “Love Song” is a perfect punk tune, and there are several other examples of high-octane bangers that flirt with hardcore while being married to killer melodies and tight playing. The band’s bag of tricks is expansive, ranging from the gothic swirl of “I Just Can’t Be Happy Today” to garage and psychedelia. Piano lines and backing keyboards are masterfully deployed. There are so many astonishing moments on this record, including the ripping MC5 cover, the loveliness of the intro (Part 1) to “Smash It Up” and “Plan 9 Channel 7,” which sounds like a lost classic from the early Misfits. What a band.

As if the deliberately misspelled name wasn’t enough warning. This has all the tropes of the era and milieu: screamy-anthemic choruses, James Hetfield tough-guy vocals, unfocused white male rage, hip-hop/funk breakbeats and a ridiculous sense of drama that veers into parody. It sounds like emo for incel internet chat-room trolls. Awful.

Massive Attack dragged the late-80s dance music of Soul II Soul, Janet Jackson and the like into a new era, adding elements of dub, hip hop and spooky effects to make something that sounded dark, sinister and cinematic. “Unfinished Symphony” gives me all the feels about life in the 90s that I cannot put into words. There are plenty of bangers but the momentum lags at a couple points. Still, Blue Lines did essentially invent the trip-hop genre.

Led by that campy, eye-catching album cover, the B-52’s emerged onto the scene blending older sounds (surf rock and sci-fi flourishes, especially) with newer (synths and jagged post-punk guitars) and made something that manages to still sound fresh and futuristic. That they came out of the same Athens, Georgia scene that also gave us R.E.M. and Pylon definitely didn’t hurt (“Hero Worship” comes closest to sounding like the latter). Nor did lyrics that name-drop volcanos, made up names of sea creatures or delivered lines like “There’s a moon in the sky / It’s called the Moon.” One of my favorite stories about the band from this era is that the track “Mesopotamia,” which came out a couple years later, became a big hit in the Black dance clubs in Detroit, thanks to heavy rotation by an influential local DJ.

Talk about timing! The intro on “Wheels of Confusion” is one of my favorite album opener anywhere. It feels like a soundtrack to an epic, chamber-clearing bong hit, going straight to the brain and transporting you to a different plane where time and perception shift. Vol. 4 is book-ended by the absolutely filthy riff-fest of “Under the Sun/Every Day Comes and Goes.” In between is plenty of dark and doomy playing, adventurous songs and excellent vocal performances by Ozzy. “Laguna Sunrise” is a gorgeous palette cleanser of classical guitar, but the sentimental “Changes” misses the mark, portending sappy 80s hair metal ballads (Charles Bradley completely reinvigorated the song with his wrenching, soulful cover; look it up if you’re not familiar). There are some stone-cold classic Toni Iommi riffs here.

The production is fine and there are some interesting guest rappers, but Fitty’s flow and lyrics about gangbangin’ (sample: “I’m into having sex, I ain’t into making love / So come give me a hug if you into gettin’ rubbed”) leave me pretty flat. Neither the pedestrian beats nor the backing electronic loops create enough interest to compensate. Other than his associations with big names like Dr. Dre and Eminem, and his backstory about surviving being shot, I’m not sure what makes this noteworthy.

“What’s my drug of choice? / Well, what have you got?” Dirt is a powerful album that is tough to listen to. It’s easily the bleakest breakout from a fairly bleak genre, but it’s a great showcase for Layne Staley’s vocal talents before he snuffed himself out. I also think “Would” is the best song on the “Singles” soundtrack, which has no shortage of bangers.

As you’d expect from Nile Rodgers, who’d go on to a decorated career as songwriter and producer, C'est Chic sounds exquisite, with incredible bass playing from fellow producer Bernard Edwards in particular and lush strings. Rodgers also flexes his guitar chops on the instrumental “Savoir Faire.” I like AllMusic’s description of this album as containing “at-the-disco dancefloor mania and after-the-disco bedroom balladry.” “I Want Your Love” is a total banger, one of the classic disco cuts, and now I’m probably gonna go down a disco rabbit hole the rest of the day.

Dummy sounds as beautiful and innovative today as it did when it was released (and I still remember the first time I heard it: waiting tables at a late-night candlelit bar in SoHo where the bartender played it on cassette). Beth Gibbons’ voice conveys hauntingly rich emotion, while the production reinforces the inner gloom with chilling cinematic flair, sparse instrumentation, some turntable wizardry, and perfectly curated and executed hip-hop beats. I can’t not be utterly captivated listening to it; the saddest, slowest-tempo dance party imaginable.

TIL that this album originated as a contractual obligation to the record label after Traffic had temporarily broken up. It was intended to be Steve Winwood’s first solo album until he started calling in his former bandmates to help flesh out the studio session and come up with more tracks. Seen through that lens, it sounds remarkably successful, even if I might quibble that this isn’t the *best* Traffic LP. “Empty Pages” hints at Winwood’s 80s pop trajectory but wins with the heavy organ on the chorus. The title track is a fine entry in the British folk canon, with Winwood and drummer Jim Capaldi harmonizing in the spirit of Fairport Convention. “Every Mother’s Son” brings a heady 70s vibe. Proof that rock and roll needs more flute. 3.5 stars if I could.

An fantastic document of the grunge-adjacent ‘90s indie-rock underground, with excellent guitar playing from Rick McCollum and lyrics from Greg Dulli: The line “Think I’m scared of girls, well maybe, but I’m not afraid of you / You wanna scare me then you’ll cling to me no matter what I do” hits every time. Special shout-out to the guest vocals on “My Curse” from the singer of Scrawl, a fellow Ohio outfit and hidden gem. The album lulls a little on side one, but from “Fountain and Fairfax” on, it finds a deeper, rarer groove, and it’s a 5.

If I walk into a record store and see this album, I’m buying it even if I’ve never heard the adulation surrounding it based solely on the heavy-hitter, all-star lineup: Coltrane and Cannonball Adderley on the horns, Everybody Digs Bill Evans on the keys, Paul Chambers on bass. Despite that collection of virtuoso talent (and egos, probably), the group displays incredible restraint and discipline. It’s as smooth as a placid summer lake, uncluttered and full of space. “All Blues” rides a mischievous, simple shuffle to a remarkably quiet, contemplative end. What a composition. The whole album feels like a long tone poem. Fantastic.

With The Beatles starts off with the urgent “It Won’t Be Long” and rarely lets up. It showcases uptempo rockers, great harmonies, Lennon’s chiming Rickenbacker and clean production, which lets you hear each instrument and the vocal harmonies. The covers are all well chosen and performed, though a few of the originals, while good, stick to a formula and pale against the kaleidoscopic development of songwriting chops to come. It’s not hard to imagine how exciting this must’ve sounded to a postwar generation starting to come of age, fueling their the fizzy optimism and overactive sex drives.

Love the backstory, concept and execution. Billy Bragg is an heir apparent to Woody Guthrie’s socially conscious folk, while in Wilco the project finds a rootsy, musically adventurous band and arranger. A few songs are less successful than others, but I’m glad these boxes of unsung lyrics finally saw the light of day. Put the carpenter in!

Not as bad as I anticipated, but not great, either. Some of the songs start fairly strong but just fade inoffensively into the background, like in-store music during a late-night run to CVS for cold medicine. They’re in the vein of Doves but lack that band’s dramatic tension, resonance and sonic dexteriity. They’re also sentimental AF, with club-you-over-the-head lyrics aiming like a guided missile straight for the hearts and groins of a very specific demographic target: white female recent college graduates living in places like Bed-Stuy and working entry-level jobs in fields such as digital marketing, PR and e-commerce.