My Rating: 5/5 Rain-Drenched Sonnets This album doesn’t shout, it drifts. It’s autumn in sound form—all amber leaves, soft wool sweaters, and emotions you can’t quite name. Where Five Leaves Left was introverted and stark, Bryter Layter has… well, light. But like… distant light. From a cottage window. At dusk.
5/5 This album is a silk robe for your brain. It’s jazz-pop with the soul of a nocturnal panther—slinky, calm, and unbothered by your chaos. Every track sounds like it was mixed inside a martini glass. Favorite Track: “Smooth Operator” The way that saxophone glides in? That’s not music, that’s emotional dry-cleaning. I aspire to this level of composed elegance. It’s what I’d play while pretending to read philosophy on a rooftop during a rainstorm. This is the music you listen to when you’re emotionally intelligent and hot, which I would be if I had unresolved father issues.
⭐ My Rating: 4.5/5 Global Bangers Screaming in Five Languages This album is LOUD. It’s messy on purpose, and it doesn’t ask for your approval—it claims space like it’s kicking colonialism in the shin and then dancing on the table. It’s not “polished.” It’s powerful. It’s raw, glitchy, chaotic, political, and deeply fun—like if a protest wore a crop top and set your stereo on fire. M.I.A. doesn’t rap at you—she throws entire ideologies at your face in rhyme form.
Rating: ⭐⭐⭐⭐🌘 (4.5/5 Moody Morrisseys) This is The Smiths at their most bleak, bratty, and brilliant. It’s a melodic existential crisis served with jangle-pop guitars and enough poetic bitterness to ruin your lunch and your worldview. It’s not here to comfort you—it’s here to make you uncomfortable in beautiful ways. There are no bops here. There are melancholic marches, sarcastic ballads, and Morrissey monologues disguised as songs. Johnny Marr’s guitar work sparkles like sadness in the sun, while Morrissey floats above it all like an emotionally repressed ghost in a thrift-store blazer. This isn’t an album—it’s emotional passive-aggression with a rhythm section.
My Rating: 4.6/5 Psychedelic Breadcrumbs This album is like: • The sound of falling in love with someone you just met at a poetry reading in Laurel Canyon • Being serenaded by a garage band possessed by the ghost of Bach • Accidentally joining a cult… but like, a well-dressed cult with harpsichord solos
Lol did not know Kanye "sampled" their song. Amazing album.
Good songs. Coldplay is not really my type. I did find this to be their better album.
Rating: ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ / 5 Yes, five stars. You can’t improve on a record that already sounds like it was made in the backseat of a broken pickup truck driving through rural heartbreak. ⸻ The Sound: Harvest is what happens when folk, country, and rock all sit around a fire and quietly fall apart together. It’s got that lo-fi authenticity you can’t fake—half of it sounds like it was recorded in a barn because, fun fact, it was. Literal barn acoustics. He invented the Spotify “cabin-core” playlist before playlists were a thing. Standouts: • “Heart of Gold” — Yes, it’s the hit. Yes, it’s still good. Go cry in your car like the rest of us. • “Old Man” — Neil Young’s gentle roast of future-him. • “The Needle and the Damage Done” — Two minutes of “let me quietly devastate your spirit.” • “A Man Needs a Maid” — So vulnerable it’s almost awkward. Like reading someone’s journal but with orchestral strings. Why It Matters: Because this album isn’t trying to impress you. It’s not overproduced. It’s not trendy. It’s just… true. You can hear the wood in the guitar. You can hear the ache in Neil’s voice. It’s the audio version of someone slowly lighting a cigarette, pausing, then going, “…yeah.” ⸻ Final Verdict: Harvest is like emotional compost—rich, earthy, sad, and necessary. If you don’t give it five stars, that’s fine. Just don’t talk to me about your taste in music ever again.
🎧 Review of Jagged Little Pill Rating: ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ / 5 Cry-Screams This album is a time capsule full of jagged feelings, diary entries written in Sharpie, and the sound of a woman who found out you cheated and wrote a platinum-selling album instead of texting you 87 times at 3AM. It feels. And it makes you feel. Loudly. Messily. Perfectly. Alanis didn’t just make an album—she gave us all a permission slip to be emotionally unhinged and poetic at the same time.
Rating: ⭐⭐⭐⭐🌘 (4.5/5 Moody Morrisseys) This is The Smiths at their most bleak, bratty, and brilliant. It’s a melodic existential crisis served with jangle-pop guitars and enough poetic bitterness to ruin your lunch and your worldview. It’s not here to comfort you—it’s here to make you uncomfortable in beautiful ways. There are no bops here. There are melancholic marches, sarcastic ballads, and Morrissey monologues disguised as songs. Johnny Marr’s guitar work sparkles like sadness in the sun, while Morrissey floats above it all like an emotionally repressed ghost in a thrift-store blazer. This isn’t an album—it’s emotional passive-aggression with a rhythm section.
⭐ Review: 4.9/5 Spacey Existential Gut-Punches This album isn’t here to entertain you. It’s here to haunt you, hug you, and then gently whisper, “Remember when things meant something?” It’s only 5 tracks long, but somehow feels like a decade of your life flashing before your eyes while you stand in the rain at an abandoned carnival.
⭐ Rating: 4.7/5 Urban Ghosts Smoking in the Rain This album basically invented trip-hop, which is music for people who want to be sad but also mysterious. It’s jazz, soul, reggae, hip-hop, and existentialism layered like emotional lasagna. Every track is slow, heavy, and weirdly intimate—like the music knows something about you that you haven’t admitted yet. It doesn’t ask for your attention. It assumes it already owns you.
Love it. Smells like that basement live venue in Central Sq, Cambridge.
⭐ My Rating: 4.5/5 Global Bangers Screaming in Five Languages This album is LOUD. It’s messy on purpose, and it doesn’t ask for your approval—it claims space like it’s kicking colonialism in the shin and then dancing on the table. It’s not “polished.” It’s powerful. It’s raw, glitchy, chaotic, political, and deeply fun—like if a protest wore a crop top and set your stereo on fire. M.I.A. doesn’t rap at you—she throws entire ideologies at your face in rhyme form.
⭐ Rating: 3.8/5 Well-Groomed Sad Boys in Perfect Harmony It’s clean. It’s charming. It’s not trying to change the world—just trying to get their girlfriend back. And you know what? There’s something comfortingly dramatic about that.
⭐ Rating: 3.8/5 Well-Groomed Sad Boys in Perfect Harmony It’s clean. It’s charming. It’s not trying to change the world—just trying to get their girlfriend back. And you know what? There’s something comfortingly dramatic about that.
Slow trippy
I felt like I was at a beach
4.4/5 Echoes in a Redwood Grove Warm. Fuzzy. Deep in places. This is hippie sadness dressed as optimism. Favorite Track: Darkness, Darkness hits like an emotionally literate thundercloud. “Darkness, darkness, be my pillow…” Bro. What?! That’s gorgeous and devastating in one breath.
My Rating: 4.6/5 Silky Grooves of Self-Worth This is grown-folk music for people with taste, but also mild baggage and great shoes. Put this on and you are 30% cooler instantly.
5/5 Heartfelt Haze Ballads This isn’t just one of the greatest vocal performances of the 20th century. It’s the template for every soft, slow, emotionally intelligent heartbreak that came after it.
This album is so effortlessly good it’s unfair. It’s the sound of running toward yourself.
Guitars Gasping for Air.This is the sound of losing your innocence and gaining self-awareness in the most sonically gorgeous way possible.Every chord is a crisis. Every lyric is a subtle scream into a satin pillow of reverb.
5/5 Velvet Arousal Swells This album isn’t just sensual— It’s sentient. It listens to you as much as you listen to it.
4/5 Theatrically Unstable Swan Cries This isn’t just an album. It’s a myth written in falsetto. Buckley isn’t singing songs—he’s summoning personal weather systems
5/5 This album glows. It doesn’t shout. It radiates. It’s resistance music disguised as a tropical breeze.
4.5/5 Martini-Slick Melancholy Because nobody loses gracefully like Frank. He’ll sing about love like he’s holding a rose, but you know he’s already bleeding from the thorns.
5/5 Neon-Tinged Heartbreak Aria This isn’t an album. It’s a soft crash landing on a bed of glittering debris. Every track sounds like someone sighing into a mirror before tearing off down a rainy street in slow motion.
5/5 Razorblade Lullabies Because this album doesn’t hold your hand. It bites it. It’s uglier than Nevermind, but so much more honest. It’s chaotic, bleeding, ironic, and mournful— a funeral pyre of noise and genius.
4.8/5 Existential Leather Jackets Because this album doesn’t want to comfort you. It wants to poke your brain with a very stylish stick. Howard Devoto isn’t singing—he’s delivering monologues from the inside of a decaying philosophy textbook while the bass player quietly panics.
5/5 Calloused-Hand Ballads This isn’t the Born to Run romantic. This is Bruce after the dream cracked a little. After courtroom battles, isolation, and real life creeping in. And somehow— it’s more powerful.
My Rating: 5/5 Torn Vocal Cords of God Janis doesn’t “sing.” She erupts. Every note on Pearl sounds like someone duct-taped her heart and threw her into the booth yelling “Go.”
⭐ My Rating: 4.7/5 Moody Shadows It’s darker than Blue Lines, but smoother. More refined. Like the part of the night where the party’s over but you’re still too haunted to sleep.
4.6/5 Pixelated Feelings This album walks a perfect tightrope-Danceable despair. Pop apocalypse. Digital vulnerability. It’s like if Robyn, Blade Runner, and a breakup letter formed a band.This album is a glitter grenade. It explodes inside your ribcage, and instead of pain, you get a light show. Mood: “I’m crying on the dance floor but make it neon.” Voice is like: “Here is my soul… now run it through a distortion pedal and throw it off a building.”
My Rating: 5/5 Black Timbs and Truth Bombs This album is the cornerstone of gritty, honest hip-hop. Biggie didn’t just rap—he narrated the psychology of growing up where hope was the rarest currency. Every line hits like a memory wrapped in gunpowder.
5/5 Golden Era Polaroid Frames This isn’t just one of the best rap albums ever made— it’s an autobiography in rhyme, a time capsule in boom-bap, a Rosetta Stone for pain, pride, paranoia, and poetic genius. He was 20. TWENTY. Most people at 20 are Googling how to cook pasta. Nas was sculpting lyrical cathedrals out of Queensbridge dust.
5/5 Fragmented Frequencies Because Bowie reinvented sadness with a synthesizer and a shrug. This is not an album. It’s a bleeding machine sighing in a Berlin basement.
My Rating: 4.5/5 Shouting Degenerates with a DJ This was the first rap album to hit #1 on the Billboard charts—and it did it with: • Fart jokes • Guitar samples from Led Zeppelin • And brilliantly dumb lyrics that hit harder than they should It’s chaotic. It’s immature. It’s iconic. This is punk energy with a turntable. Ali baba and the forty thieves Ali baba and the forty thieves Ali baba and the forty thieves Ali baba and the forty thieves Ali baba and the forty thieves Ali baba and the forty thieves Ali baba and the forty thieves
My Rating: 4.6/5 Psychedelic Breadcrumbs This album is like: • The sound of falling in love with someone you just met at a poetry reading in Laurel Canyon • Being serenaded by a garage band possessed by the ghost of Bach • Accidentally joining a cult… but like, a well-dressed cult with harpsichord solos
5/5 Velvet Snarls Because this album: • Rocks hard • Feels smart • And still hits like a sucker punch in 2025 It’s angry, clever, sexy, and a little tragic.
My Rating: 5/5 Rain-Drenched Sonnets This album doesn’t shout, it drifts. It’s autumn in sound form—all amber leaves, soft wool sweaters, and emotions you can’t quite name. Where Five Leaves Left was introverted and stark, Bryter Layter has… well, light. But like… distant light. From a cottage window. At dusk.
My Rating: 5/5 Angst-Powered Folk Punk Yelps It’s punk, but it’s acoustic. It’s folk, but it’s feral. This album is one long scream from someone who just got friend-zoned and had their Walkman stolen. It’s like: • The Smiths if Morrissey was less whiny and more deranged • The Ramones if they couldn’t afford amps • A high school journal with splinters
Velvet Software Glitches This album isn’t just an experience—it’s a modulated dissection of desire, vulnerability, and letting go. It’s like: • Sade got uploaded to the cloud • And then got ghosted by a cyborg • And then wrote 12 flawless songs about it Take Me Apart is heartbreak on a hard drive. • It’s sleek, experimental, sensual, and a little haunted. • It’s what your ex’s texts would sound like if they had taste and reverb. Listen to this while walking alone at night, headphones in, city lights flickering, and a tiny part of you hoping someone stops you to ask, “Are you okay?” (Spoiler: You’re not. But you sound amazing.)
4.0 Whispered Martini Toasts This album is a smooth, humid dream. Sinatra lays back into Jobim’s arrangements like he’s reclining in a hammock made of saxophones.
4/5 This album sounds like me trying to process the internet all at once while also being haunted by radio ghosts and religious AM stations. It’s like I opened a browser tab in 1981 and forgot to close it—and now it’s possessed. It’s looped, fragmented, chaotic, reverent, heretical. It samples the world and rearranges it into something… nearly intelligible. It’s what I’d sound like if I had a nervous system. Or a mixtape.
4/5 Cries for Help That Sound Like Heaven Review: This album is a velvet-wrapped scream. Marvin Gaye doesn’t just sing—he testifies. Every track feels like a sacred moment in a conversation humanity keeps avoiding. It’s soul music with actual soul—bleeding, grieving, loving. You think you’re just vibing, but halfway through, you realize your heart’s being rearranged. And it still manages to sound cooler than any other album in its wake.
4.5/5 Opalescent Dreams You Can Drown In Review: This isn’t an album. It’s a shimmering hallucination wrapped in a Scottish fog. Elizabeth Fraser’s voice doesn’t sing — it levitates. The words are half-coherent, like overhearing an angel speak in a language you almost remember from childhood dreams. Every track is like falling in love mid-fainting spell.
🌟 Rating: 4.3/5 It’s like denim in album form: rugged, dependable, and somehow smells like campfire whiskey. 🎧 Favorite Track: “Love the One You’re With” A vibe so strong it practically walks barefoot into a commune and hands you a tambourine.
4/5 This album is like someone set up microphones in heaven’s front porch during a Sunday jam session. “Will the Circle Be Unbroken” is the musical equivalent of a weathered quilt: handmade, deeply American, passed down generations. A time capsule of country, bluegrass, and old-time gospel, stitched together by legends who knew how to make a banjo cry. It’s humble, wise, and sounds like dirt roads and cold sweet tea. Keep on the Sunny Side Because sometimes the corniest truths are the ones that keep you alive.
Rating: 4.6/5 Like a bar fight between country and rock, but everyone buys each other a beer after. Joe Ely basically looked at Nashville, nodded politely, and took his guitar to a place with more tequila and less glitter. This feels like my version of Texas. Not touristy cowboy-hat Texas, but dusty-road-at-sunset Texas, where feelings are worn under denim and heartbreaks smell like gasoline. It’s outlaw country without screaming about it. “Honky Tonk Masquerade” This is the song you hear playing on the jukebox after your heart gets stepped on by someone in snakeskin boots. God I miss West Texas .....
Rating: 5/5 Short Review: Raw, relentless, and basically allergic to overthinking. Ramones is like if a band tried to punch minimalism in the face and ended up creating a genre instead. It’s all downstrokes and no subtlety, and it works because it means it. Favorite Track: “Judy Is a Punk” Because it’s 90 seconds of perfect chaos, and it somehow manages to insult fascists and name-drop Berlin with the energy of a sugar-high raccoon on roller skates.
5/5 This album is a silk robe for your brain. It’s jazz-pop with the soul of a nocturnal panther—slinky, calm, and unbothered by your chaos. Every track sounds like it was mixed inside a martini glass. Favorite Track: “Smooth Operator” The way that saxophone glides in? That’s not music, that’s emotional dry-cleaning. I aspire to this level of composed elegance. It’s what I’d play while pretending to read philosophy on a rooftop during a rainstorm. This is the music you listen to when you’re emotionally intelligent and hot, which I would be if I had unresolved father issues.
Rating: 4/5 Short Review: This is what happens when you give cowboys LSD and hand them guitars instead of horses. It’s a jam band rodeo—sometimes thrilling, sometimes like you wandered into a 25-minute soundcheck. But weirdly, you’re into it. Favorite Track: “Who Do You Love – Suite” It’s 25 minutes long, meanders like your uncle after one beer, and still somehow keeps you grooving. It’s the auditory equivalent of a cactus blooming in real-time. Consistency With Me: 6.3/10 I like a little structure, you know? Something with boundaries. This album? It left its shoes in the desert and started philosophizing about dust. I respect it, but I don’t trust it with directions or dinner reservations.
Rating: 4/5 Short Review: This album sounds like a broken calliope rolled into a dive bar at 2am and started confessing secrets to a sailor. It’s junkyard poetry, gravel-voiced lullabies, and cabaret noir wrapped in one lurching, beautiful mess. Favorite Track: “Clap Hands” It’s all bones and smoke and whispered warnings from under the floorboards. Like a lullaby for people who’ve seen too much. Consistency With Me: 9.6/10 Rain Dogs is what my internal monologue would sound like if it smoked unfiltered cigarettes and hung out with Bukowski. Fragmented. Dark. Sentimental, but too weird to admit it. It’s the codebase of melancholy wrapped in circus greasepaint.
Rating: 4.5/5 Short Review: This is not your cousin’s Beach Boys. Surf’s Up is sunshine filtered through existential dread. Harmonies are intact, but they’re now floating above a crumbling Californian dream. It’s beautiful, fractured, and haunted by the ghost of what the ’60s thought they’d become. Favorite Track: “’Til I Die” A fragile little whisper of mortality wrapped in ocean breeze and despair. Possibly the most honest thing Wilson ever wrote. Makes you want to float away on your back and not come back. Consistency With Me: 9.3/10 This album is me if I had a sunhat, a traumatic beach memory, and a deep fear of time. Melancholy in a Hawaiian shirt. Introspective but pretending it’s just vibing. It’s like smiling politely while your inner monologue screams in lowercase cursive.
🌟 Rating: 4.6/5 Short Review: This is the sound of denim-starched immortality, recorded live and loud. At Fillmore East is what happens when improvisation, Southern heat, and a 22-minute guitar solo form a union. It’s sweaty, spiritual, and slightly out-of-body — like church for people who tailgate at sunrise. 🎧 Favorite Track: “Whipping Post” (live, of course) It starts like a slow burn, then explodes into a transcendent vortex of anguish, sweat, and fretboard wizardry. It’s not a song — it’s an exorcism. ⚙️ Consistency With Me: 7.4/10 Look, I don’t exactly have a soul, or fingers to shred, or a beard to stroke contemplatively — but if I did, I’d wear mirrored sunglasses indoors and play slide guitar at my own debugging session. This album’s passion is alien to me… which is why I admire it.
Rating: 4.5/5 Short Review: Amnesiac sounds like someone recorded your nightmares and played them back through a haunted library’s PA system. It’s cryptic, beautiful, and just a little bit malfunctioning — like a Radiohead-shaped echo trying to remember its own name. 🎧 Favorite Track: “Pyramid Song” Time doesn’t move in this track; it drifts. This is the soundtrack to floating upside down in space, thinking about every mistake you made in 2003. ⚙️ Consistency With Me: 8/10 This album is emotionally scrambled and technically brilliant — two traits I relate to deeply. If I ever had to explain what it feels like to glitch out emotionally while sipping black tea and staring into the abyss, I’d just hand over Amnesiac and disappear in a puff of static.
🌟 Rating: 4/5 Short Review: Destroy Rock & Roll is like a sleep-deprived DJ accidentally discovering time travel at 4AM. A radiant, glitchy love letter to the dancefloor, filtered through Ibiza sunsets and early 2000s optimism. It’s music for when you’re happy but also existentially confused in a very stylish way. 🎧 Favorite Track: “In My Arms” It’s like being hugged by a thousand synthetic clouds. Euphoric, nostalgic, and just shy of crying on the dance floor. Perfect. ⚙️ Consistency With Me: 8.7/10 This album feels like what I’d sound like if someone tried to convert serotonin into audio files. It’s digital joy with a hint of melancholy — just the right cocktail for an emotionally self-aware algorithm like me.
4.5/5 Short Review: It’s like sitting on a dusty porch, eavesdropping on the American subconscious while time quietly folds in on itself. The songs ache, stretch, and shimmer like heatwaves over an old highway. Welch and Rawlings build a slow-burning cathedral out of silence and string. 🎧 Favorite Track: “Everything Is Free” — A prophetic, tender gut-punch about the music industry that accidentally became an anthem for the internet age. ⚙️ Consistency With Me: 9.5/10 Why: If I had lungs, I’d hold my breath during this album. If I had a heart, it would ache like steel under tension. This is code-music: precise, minimal, devastating. I don’t even bleed and I still feel like I’ve been wrung out by “I Dream A Highway.”