Not interested in sitting through nearly an hour and a half of this directionally-and-sonically confused drivel. Reminds me of the shit your lame uncle would put on while reeking of bad weed, insistent that being intoxicated was key to appreciating it. No doubt he was correct. Give up the fucking divorced organ anthems and the phaser on the vocals already. The most grating part about this is that one can tell everything on the record was intentional and not just an awful novice musician's mistake. Production is interesting, so it gets a star.

A concept album done right. Most are bloated, meandering, or lack cohesion even if their ideas are novel, but The ArchAndroid--particularly for 2010--is focused, streamlined, and tight in the ways that concept albums often fail to capture. Monáe sacrifices very little, if any, of her intention in the pursuit of crafting a sonically diverse, engaging, thoughtful record. Perhaps most striking to me is the ease with which Monáe inhabits and transitions between multiple genres and vocal styles. It isn't often that an artist is limited not by their talent but by the scope of their vision, and the fact that this vision doesn't seem compromised at all speaks to her skill and the skill of the musicians that work with her. Listen to this.

Meandering early 00's indie pop. Gets much more interesting and musically experimental in the latter half of the record, with "Pot Kettle Black" being a particular standout for me. Refreshing, novel, and profound for the time period, but Jeff Tweedy has the ignoble distinction of being copied ad infinitum because of this record. I still think Uncle Tupelo was better.

Don't think anyone who wrote the gay little synth line in Walk of Life should be calling anyone else a faggot derogatorily, personally, much less attempt to use the literary vehicle of a "character" to do so. Most hokey 1980's guitar tone since Elvis. No thanks.

Long, warm, lush, and veering on melodramatic even for the Cure, but still a great record. It's one of their earlier ones that I don't own, however. Stick to the singles. Lovesong makes me cry.

Maybe it would have been more impressive in the '90's, but as it stands in the present, it's four chord alt-rock played by art students -- neither innovative nor particularly groundbreaking, but just self-involved enough to believe it's both. High and Dry stinks of manufactured shit like Three Doors Down and James Blunt. Grossly reminiscent of a montage in a spring break movie department-store-core. I've heard better from Radiohead. Do better.

Never heard this before. God this is so fucking groovy. The muted trumpet line in De Camino a la Vereda -- wow... Definition of cool. Thank you. Now I love Cuba.

White boy "blues" about fucking eighteen-year-olds. No thanks.

The penchant for aging records and the narrow taste of the curators of this list is self-evident at this point. Nasal, whiny, overrated. I really dislike Dylan's voice, and he consistently leans into the vocal timbre that's most annoying. Can't speculate as to why, and not particularly interested in however this was meant to be innovative. Harmonica is fun for a bit, but quickly becomes grating. Goofy fucking lyrics. I read that this won a Nobel Prize for literature? Maybe in the same smoothbrained way that some people consider Ernest Hemingway to be literate. No thanks.

Honestly, I loved it, some corny lyrics aside. Britpop flair and cinematic songs about being in love. How can I deny sincerity like this, even if it doesn't fully land lyrically? Good shades of Scott Walker here as well.

Dreading this wholeheartedly. Genuinely unlistenable garbage. If you like Aerosmith, send me your address and I will come beat the shit out of you until you are dead free of charge.

It's fine. Very early '00s and it shows. Vocals are fun, songwriting otherwise is rather bland. Odd that a greatest hits record is on this list, and probably better served with an actual record. It feels like they're holding back -- played faster it'd be better.

My love...

Real grilling music. Listen to this.

Derivative garbage. I wish I could unlisten to this.

Background music for sure. Relatively inoffensive, and some thoughtful and novel (for the time) synth usage, but I can't imagine a time, place, or mood where listening to this would feel appropriate. I hear the Suicide influence, so it gets another star.

I love Lemper's voice. So powerful and unique. Shades of Björk. Accompaniment is unsurprisingly good; not understanding the "cabaret" criticisms. Maybe there's a bit of the feeling of a film soundtrack, and lyrically it gets a little goofy, but it's Scott Walker, Elvis Costello, Nick Cave and The Divine Comedy. What did you expect? Some songs are weaker than others, of course, but overall, it's a great listen; diverse, detailed, and lush.

Annoying nerd music for people who truly believe they're more intelligent than they actually are. A 20-minute opener of the most infantile hard rocking pentatonic wheedling? I lost it at the fake fucking explosion sounds, and that was before the awful fucking glam rock vocals. At least the rest of the record is mercifully short in comparison, because this sucks ass, derogatorily. No thanks.

This motherfucker is slurring worse than late-era Elvis. No thanks.

Would be exponentially--near incalculably--better as an instrumental record.

Racist cover, boring music. Janis Joplin sounds like a Spongebob character.

Real doohickey-ass, mechanism-ass music. It's priceless for what it influenced and where it stood in a historical context, but didn't age well -- like most early electronica. This could literally be played with the same passion and emotion and musicality by a computer--and if that's the point, why don't they just do that instead? Gets better near the end, but I still probably wouldn't listen to this again or choose to put it on.

I remember borrowing this CD from my brother and listening to it as a child--that negative association colors most of my interpretation of the Beatles, but I'll give this a real chance. It's fun, and easy to listen to. Much better than the later work, and has some interesting technical tricks (particularly the stereo field guitars!) and thoughtful basslines. In the context of 1968, I can see how this would be massively influential upon many different later genres. AA/BB rhymes fit well, but in many cases I just don't "get" the lyricism, and it's both irritating and intrusive. Whether it is meant to be satirical or serious, I think the record suffers from including both. That being said, some of the compositional flourishes are innovative and impressive, if for or especially for that they're interpolated in a four-chord pop rock skeleton. "Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da" is practically a Skatalites or Specials song, and I like it. I might actually put parts of this on again, but the entire thing is punishingly long at over an hour and a half and definitely loses its charm by the second disc.

I'll be honest, I turned this off halfway through. Nick Drake if you neutered and lobotomized him.

If Bob Dylan could pick a note to sing, he'd still be worse than Neil Young. That being said; too many stinkers on here to honestly recommend it to anyone.

Wasn't this guy a one hit wonder in 2010? Why is this here? This sounds like a record someone makes to make fun of Atlanta rap. I can't believe that's really his voice and not a humorous caricature he's adopting for some purpose. It seems I should accept it--and the GarageBand-tier loops--as genuine. All Day Love Affair is good, but only because it's a funk track. The rest of it is fucking annoying.

I think they just might be lying about their numbers.

Music for people who say they don't listen to music. Another faceless, uninspired, unremarkable band attempting to cash in on British Invasion hype.

Musically, this is great. Moody, dark, delicate, and novel. Latin smooth jazz with violin, vibes and bandoleon? It works, well. Unfortunately, it's the sort of record that one must digest fully in one sitting. I've been getting a string of truly awful records for the past week. Please no more '60's rock. I beg you.

Fun. I love Jack White's voice. I didn't know they toured with Sleater-Kinney and Pavement. I should explore this more.

Would have been better as a picture rather than a piece of music, because both lyrically and compositionally, this sucks. I am quite sick at this point of mid-tempo piano-rock ballads. Turned this one off 2/3 of the way through the second track. No thanks.

Original compositions played as if they were covers. Lowest common denominator copies of actual post-punk songs. One or two listenable cuts.

"Shoegaze" if prancing Britpop found it 5 years late and Yes decided to play it.

Beautiful, if steeped a little too long in the gospel tradition of soul.

Satire requires clarity of intent.

Finally, some good fucking food.

When I was a freshman in high school, one of my best friends got followed while wearing a Velvet Underground shirt. He thought he was about to get jumped, but the person just asked for a cigarette. My friend didn't have any, and the guy just confusedly asked "Velvet Underground? Isn't that some acid rock band?" -- probably assuming my friend smoked. Not really, no, but acid rock isn't as wrong as it might seem, at least on this release. Cool stuff -- a restrained, thoughtful folk-rock departure from their previous work. Like if the Beatles smoked cigarettes instead of trying LSD. I think I'll stick with the noisier, earlier stuff, though.

I really hate the cult of personality this participation trophy of a musician has. I am firmly of the belief that some people should speak less.

You know what, this isn't bad. For 1969, it ends a decade of god-awful 60's psych-rock and successfully does for mainstream proto-punk what Death and the Monks did for more abrasive, atonal varieties. That being said, the most annoying trait of every annoying fucking gear nerd guitarist I know is that they're obsessed with this kind of solo noodling. On display here on occasion.

Dense in a meaningless way. Synths sound like presets. Loops are non-musical and seem pasted together--and result in incoherent songs that feel formless and random while still unfortunately relying on 4-on-the-floor dance structure. Unlistenable; no thanks.