1001 Albums Summary

the bass on the dave coulier song cross eyed bear chiming one chord guitar on chickenshit felt like skipping forgiven. christian rock. love an album title taken from a line in a verse. head over feet is the sound of riding in the back of the minivan to buy furniture in amish country

the vaguely middle eastern female vocal on smack my bitch up. running to lose weight for high school wrestling “breeeathe with meh!” lol enjoyed that from start to finish. if five stars means i’m buying it on vinyl, i’ll go 4. i should be on my way to a wendy’s in the back of a sedan someone inherited from their grandma. case logic binder. “crab destructah” (?)

v strong decemberists cover photo and i can’t abide that. no one sounds like grace slick. comin back to me isn’t a type of song i love very often. but i ended up loving it. appreciating this more than the last time i listened. college? white rabbit really is a straight fucking banger isn’t it boys. it’s a good record. i’ve just never bought into them as much as others from the same time. something overwrought about it. the title…

🧅 THE ONION White Man Approaching Middle Age Pours Heart and Soul Into Sad Little Rolling Stones Album Review That Maybe Three Other People Will See TUJUNGA, CA— love “snack time” written over the toilet on album cover. “taco thighs” too. heard sympathy for the devil and street fighting man ten thousand times, but that doesn’t make them any less great songs. fun to try to listen to classic rock radio hits as if for the first time. sympathy adds one element (piano, woo-woos) with every verse. i think the only guitar is the (blistering) solo and subsequent lead phrases. if keith is your only conscious guitarist, you know the other one is in trouble. “anastasia / screamed in vain.” 2 good 4 me. 👻 brian jones’ final flight: the billowing slide guitar on no expectations. the “yep!” on dear doctor. 🤌🤌 gotDAMN these boys knew how to shamble. the electric guitar lying on the floor on parachute woman. bleary. blown out. sick. two harmonicas. harmonicae. the bass on jigsaw puzzle. also gotta love a verse that just goes through the band and provides one line of characterization per member. but if there’s a weak link on the album, this is it. interesting, listenable, and catchy weak link though. by the time you’re on street fighting man, you’re in the thick of it. then the farty one note horn(?) solo. what a gift we’ve been given. i remember getting so stoked to learn open e tuning after hearing prodigal son. entrancing rhythm. love a classic country blues rework. lol. stray cat blues. “i know you’re only 15.” easy, sir michael. two electric guitars! doing that muscular stones weave we all (only i?) know and love. factory girl. tabla! everyone’s favorite irish-appalachian-indian folk song. a really sweet and unique song. just long enough to make you miss it when it’s gone. like its namesake. salt of the earth. keith richards’ little baby bird voice. love it every time they coax him out of his cage to sing a lead. “you got the silver” will forever be the best, but this scratches my itch until let it bleed pops up. yes, let’s bring in the gospel chorus to go out on a high note after 40 minutes of songs about *checks notes* trying to bang underage girls. FIVE and it’s not even their best one. when do the skynyrd albums start popping up?

kids sing, kiids siiing. killer. set this party on fry. sekurrr. remember when he was a class conscious underdog making poignant statements about systemic racism and the empty promise of material wealth? touching song about wanting to transcend your circumstances. militant song about fighting the good fight. always funky, consistently balanced with humor. even if you can see his god complex poking through, at least it’s the good side of christianity he’s conflating himself with. yeah yeah jay z, hand the mic back to the exciting new young upstart. get em high. in the pocket now. not one stutter yet, what a great fuckin album. poor ray ray’s broke ass. “damn baby i can’t do it that fast but i know someone who can” haha. enta twista. party certainly on fry by this point. oh shit i forgot about this ludicrous song. sick guitar sample too. “say my name like candyman and i’ll come fix you up like the handyman.” makes it sound easy. one killer beat after another. and how FUN is this record. propulsive and swaggering. a couple whoos comin on cuz. i’ll be the smartest dead guy lol. excellent from start to finish. the skits always hit and even have a certain rhythm. family business is so earnest and innocent. 5 w/o a doubt

their pastoral folk record lol. a lot of zep hate out there. people despise them. i get why i guess. i don’t listen to them like i'm in high school anymore, but when their records come up in my routine, i always get a bump of excitement. scratches a certain itch. primal stuff. i’ve got room for a slice of overblown self indulgent cock rock. immigrant song like standing on the prow of a viking longship yadda blah yadda. when i put this record on in the house, i always wish they built to this track instead of kicking off with it. but it also kinda reads like getting the last of II out of their systems. worth listening to on headphones to really hear the bass run in the chorus. sick tremolo chords too. give me the transition from friends into celebration day. 🤌 great phaser sound bridging the two, then it snaps into focus and BOOM full tilt boogie. band of gorillas fronted by a horny chimp. i see how “since i been” can be characterized as a boring slog or a texturally complex blues meditation. i tend toward the latter and think it’s the right kind of moody. spooky mansion blues. i think at least the drums were recorded in the giant foyer of an old manor house, and it sounds that way. the organ is haunted; the creaky cricket playing the kick drum is right on time. page will never be on my mount rushmore of guitarists, but his playing is great here, particularly when he hits those arpeggiated chords just after 5:30. plant is a weird shrieking ghoul. it must have been funny to have his screechy ass wailing all the time. out on the tiles. pubfight song. great boneheaded single note riff. guitar and bass playing the same thing. rides roughshod over those big dumb bashy bonham drums. i don’t give a fuck by now. i’m in it and it kicks hard and it feels good. someone break a pint of bitter over my head. gallows pole starts as a funeral dirge and morphs into something dynamic and fun. rolling banjo. tangerine is the last zep song that prompted a 39 year old man to tell me, “i fucking hate led zeppelin. they suck so much ass.” lol ok. it’s also the song in the final scene of almost famous. your choice i guess. pedal steel. nothin wrong w bron y aur stomp. i came here to stomp. good weird blown out finish w the rework of shake em on down (for roy harper (for some reason)). the guitar playing is caustic and stuttering, and the slide sounds like a straight razor. probably influenced by nostalgia and familiarity, but i’m going 5 again. twenty years i’ve been putting this on and feeling better with every track. it ain’t for the poetry—it’s for getting me head bashed in. three records in a row that feel like old friends.

a pivotal point in american music and culture. this is when he lost the baby fat and woody guthrie impression of the first record, turned inward (“girl from”, “don’t think twice”) and outward (“masters”, “hard rain”) to create a work of genius. there’s also fun (“bd’s blues”, "i shall be free") and a glimpse of the full-blown lyrical expressionism of later albums like blonde on blonde. love him or hate him (so much hate out there; typically from dudes), this album and this raspy little jewish dude from north minnesota have shaped your american cultural experience. i feel like a better person every time i listen to this—when i'm forced to go through the range of emotions it evokes. a cathartic listen. they don't give out the nobel prize for literature to just anybody. i welled up on my way to work listening to girl from north country. imagine someone writing that for you. i sang joyfully along to the yips and yeahs and “right nows” on bd’s blues. masters of war. sneering. disgusted. nakedly pointing a finger where it needed to be pointed. righteous shit. hard rain is the post-apocalyptic sequel to masters framed as a question/answer conversation between man and boy. devastating poetic images, decades before cormac mccarthy put it in novel form. newborn babe with wild wolves all around it. ten thousand miles in the mouth of a graveyard. you're welcome to read them symbolically or metaphorically, but you don't have to. face value will get you there. don’t think twice is one of the best songs in the world. there's a reason everyone has covered it in every possible way. oxford town. the jauntiest lil song about institutional racism and its disastrous effects out there. catchy. too short. i usually listen twice. dude performed "only a pawn in their game" before MLK delivered "i have a dream." talkin world war 3 blues. just out there talking to himself. truthful observations pulled out of thin air. "but all the people can't be all right all the time. i think abraham lincoln said that. i'll let you be in my dream if i can be in yours. i said that." cue corinna. simple, gorgeous, and swaying. who doesn't want to fall in love with corinna? dylan's love songs are never trite. where zep tapped into something primal with pounding drums, heavy riffs, and a particularly shrieky man, bob does it with lyrical images woven together that are profound and universal. and listen to that guitar. honey just allow me is the throwback to the first self titled album. it's fun and wacky and he does fun dylan voice stuff. but by no means the strongest song here. i shall be free is titled like a grand gesture protest song, but instead illustrates in little anecdotes an everyman's journey toward a more simple freedom. bridget bardot. anita ekberg. sophia loren. country will grow. boner joke. this album has it all. speaking of boners, a hard 5.

listened to this for the first time at matt clark's house in probably the fifth grade, all sweaty from riding our bmx bikes around the neighborhood. he had a mark brunell jersey on. we were eating those little chalk candy cigarettes, gobbling them like wood chippers. first riff i learned on guitar was "brain stew." not on this record, but of note. grew apart from green day through high school and tuned way out by the time they hit the american idiot/eyeliner phase. not bc of the message; it just read as a lame and desperate attempt at relevance from old dudes. little black outfits and suspenders and ties. punk twee with fauxhawks. the music didn't resonate with me at the time. i was into my classic rock phase, worshipping the who and zeppelin. i liked my dudes long haired and barechested and sepia toned, not looking like my weird awkward cousin at my great aunt's funeral. burnout makes apathy and immaturity fun, something to strive for. chump gets more interesting at the middle of song; the drum and bass bit with the ringing triplet chords and the excellent transition into longview. good bassline and great interaction of all three instruments. a song about apathy, watching tv, and masturbating. a winner. welcome to paradise. i like this song a lot. love how he starts singing the title in the chorus half a second before the instruments come back, the descending backing vocals. bass solo. pulling teeth. 50s style rock n roll singalong. love it. the middle of this record kicks. great guitar tone on the solo. basket case has such a killer chorus. was this on a THPS game? "she" comes dangerously close to boring power chord country until the scream and the guitar tone change. bring that baby forward in the mix boys. sassafras roots. the bass saves it, but not my favorite. it's a song. good question chorus. we still slacking, but real fast. when i come around. god that's a great song. bounces along. a real guitar riff, unlike the last song. bass ducking and weaving around under it. good slow short ringy guitar solo. in the end. drum and bass grab my attention again. FOD. nice acoustic into electric.

it was about time this generator spit out something i can put on during a dinner party. it’s fun to imagine what they’re playing. crescent wrench hitting airplane engine turbine. disc grinder on volkswagen chassis. clawfoot bathtub full of black water. music for steampunk orcs. the post-ww2/cold war years did wild things for german music. actually puts me in a contemplative mood. or anxious at times. so far outside normal popular musical structures that it renders you completely passive. you don’t know what comes next and you can’t sing along, so there’s no point but to sit and wait and think. it’s also undated. this kind of thing can’t really sound “old.” i won’t pretend i was sitting there begging for more, but it’s definitely remarkable for its effect on the listener and its commitment to deconstruction. it prompted genuine thought from me about what makes music good and even what makes music, period. and im curious to come back to it again. for all that, 4.

the band sounds alright at first, then the kinda neutered vocal harmony pipes up over it. woof. it's only natural is the best bad song in a bad bunch. made me think of big star for a second. yearn for big star. why would i listen to this when there's big star? instrumental as backing track for vocals. ladies and gentlemen, the house band for television's "seventh heaven." orchestra. crooning white man singing sentimental lyrics. bad. i'll listen to some pop rock. i'll put on a 10cc record. but this is dreck. this is worse than supertramp. this is a 1.

goodbye brian jones, welcome mick taylor. keith’s best partner i think. some of the best two guitar music out there. guitar heaven, this album. brown sugar certainly wouldn't fly today. but what a song. lyrically, i’d like to think it’s got more in common with randy newman’s “good old boys” than it probably does. these guys weren’t randy newman. sway is never the first song i think of, but it’s great. jagger is great. mick taylor’s slide is perfect for the stones. scuzzier than duane. his solo near the end trills and soars too. wild horses is a great song, like, a really great song, but i usually skip it. part of that is classic rock radio overexposure and part is because i like my stones scuzzy. and also because can’t you hear me knocking is next. and i can’t wait. i’ve got a thing for studio reactions that stay in songs. the stones have a few great ones (after marianne faithful’s voice cracks when she’s going ultra hard in “gimme shelter”, someone loses their shit and yells WHOO!). and here, during keith’s first run through one of the sickest rhythm riffs of all time, there’s a “guh!” halfway through and a back of the studio “yeah!” at the end of it. i swear to god i usually listen to the first seven seconds of this song three or four times in a row. there are a few more peppered in there. you can hear they were feeling this one. this song was built for two guitars. or maybe two guitars were made for this song. worth listening on headphones for the mix. keith in your right ear, mick taylor in your left. perfect counterpoints. you gotta move. you gotta include a faithful blues cover cuz you do it so good. this album's "prodigal son." works great after knocking. keith’s backing vocals. bitch. drivin'. mick jagger really is an excellent frontman. another masterclass in how to use two guitars. the mix stays the same. keith on the right as the engine; mick left as the spitting flames; watts and wyman behind you, clacking on the tracks; jagger in your face, preening and mugging. lots of sax on this record. naming a song "i got the blues" is funny. stones as stax. stones as the mg’s. mick jagger as otis redding. it's great. mick can't do what otis did but otis didn’t do what mick does. or did he? the stones are indebted to him. but he loved them too. satisfaction. sister morphine. this thing is haunted. ry cooder, who plays his best guitar on other people’s records (beefheart, taj mahal), plays slide. his playing is ghoulish and note perfect. i think that’s a third guitar they use to make those haunted house sounds. by the time the drums really kick in at about 2:40, the engine is warm. a dark and very dirty song. murky stones at their best. dead flowers. sunshine after sister morphine. country stones singalong. homies could write a song. hanging w gram parsons. dude was kinda in every band about this time. moonlight mile. that's how to use strings in rock and roll. filthy great record. love the black and white stones records. only thing missing is a keith-sung tune. but that doesn't keep it from a 5.

nice, kind of a blind spot for me. i know the classic rock radio staples, and i know the 30 seconds concert footage ("psycho killer") that i used to watch on microsoft encarta on our family gateway. watched that a few less times than the thirty seconds of “my generation.” the whole campy big suit stop making sense thing didn't appeal to me in my teens or early twenties, then in my later 20s and 30s, every coffee shop seemed to have a pink neon script sign that said "this must be the place." it annoyed me, and being an asshole, i avoided listening mostly based on this. i zimbra. lol it’s so manic. working their asses off. i’m assuming byrne is playing and singing. impressive. an african disco song. mind. sick. agile little riffs. big funky bottom. this is a GUITAR ASS RECORD. i love cities. best disco song i've heard in a long time. the lyrics are funny: "Lot of rich people in Birmingham / Lot of ghosts in a lot of houses / Look over there! Dry ice factory / Good place to get some thinking done." these first three tracks have blown my hair back. energy. i got some GROCERIES some PEANUT BUTTER. always liked it when it came on 97.1 the drive. now i've got the bigger context. memories can’t wait. big thick groove. out there. guitar party rolls on. i'm beginning to love rock and roll. air has that kinda camp retro flair with the backup singers and those wacky instrumental sounds in the pre-chorus. at this point, i'm thinking about how good a vocalist david byrne is. this is impressive. heaven. that's a lovely instrumental intro. love how the bass is still partying. this is a good record. i want this record. animals is weird as hell and haha the lyrics: "I'm mad and that's a fact / I found out animals don't help / Animals think they're pretty smart / Shit on the ground, see in the dark." i want "shit on the ground, see in the dark" on a t shirt. electric guitar is...there. i will say, it's still in my head. drugs kinda builds itself out of its different parts. like a little robot finding its arms and legs. there are birds in the background. shimmery brian eno "treatments." i love the angular guitars around 4:20. this album is like a party for 8.5 tracks, then does the "nuts and berries" thing in animals and kinds gets bummed on itself for the last two songs. maybe that’s the point. that’s kinda how parties are. i still want it. going 4 until i figure out if it’s a 5.

say what you want about clapton (he’s both overly revered and unfairly maligned), but if that first hammer-on note of strange brew doesn’t get you, what’s wrong? too bad the album peaks here. i don’t like jack bruce’s singing. i never have and i likely never will. he certainly thought so. i don’t buy it. give me ginger baker on "blue condition." hell gimme clapton on “outside woman.” gimme: strange brew, blue condition, outside woman blues; play that heavy blooz, white boys. warning: white guy talking about clapton's guitar tone. the formula that works best here is what worked best on mayall's blues breakers record with clapton: put him in the middle of the mix, crank his amp to 12, and let him bleed that sweet, pure overdriven tone all over everything. HOT tubes, baby. with clapton, it's not just what he's playing; it's how it sounds. so i guess it's about the producer or engineer or whatever too. which was the guy from mountain here, who wrote "mississippi queen." which kicks ass. this band sounds best when they sound like mountain. you can keep: world of pain, dance the night away, we're going wrong (jesus); the "psychedelia" the rest is mid. take it back has a fun vocal hook and keeps jack bruce between the lines enough to be tolerable. it's nowhere near as good a traditional blues interpretation as, say, the stones could do though. i sunshine of your loved myself to death in my 95 ford taurus in high school. it's a good song despite jack bruce. the greatest thing jack bruce ever did was play bass on zappa's song "apostrophe." and he didn't even like zappa. pff jack bruce. thought about a 2.

i’ve avoided this record since adolescence mostly based on the album art. she’s so unusual. she’s so random. look how interesting. no shoes wow. what wild hair. i’m also not drawn to pop. we've all heard “girls” and “time after time”, but i've avoided the rest. but now i’m grading essays while this bops along, and i'm enjoying it more than i thought i would. my wife told me she bop is about female masturbation, which is chill. on my way home from work, i remembered i inherited this record from my mom, so my second listen is on wax. money changes everything is excellent. like a springsteen tunnel of love instrumental. when you were mine is also excellent. prince song, but she sounds like female elvis costello. or he sounds like male cyndi lauper. the hits are memorable and as is usually the case, made better in the context of the album. uh oh, i'm into it. all through the night. shimmering synth. quieter instrumental so you can hear her voice better. wicked synth solo with a nobel prize winning bass groove under it. i’m a changed man, cyndi. thank you generator. she’s great. i'm sold. agile and peppy and alternately cartoonishly fun, desperate and aching. dumb apples and oranges recency comparison: so far, this album is everything yesterday's cream album isn’t. self possessed, cohesive, actually fun. a reggae song. good groove. good synth(?)/bass line. not the best tune for her though? the elvis costello comparison comes to mind again, briefly. i’ll kiss you is good. betty boop joke song, k. kept it short. good. last track is fine. stronger start than finish. good album. broadened my 80s synth pop horizons. glad to own it on vinyl and throw it into the mix.

my lil former pothead hip hop wife used to listen to this. she says gza pulled her onstage at a show once and she didn't know what to do. danced around a little. that she likes method man's voice. i do too. this one's new to me though. album art. double smoke blows. dark and druggy mood, got it. title track. off the bat, this is heavy, thick, coarse. wall of bass. i like it. and the real squeaky voice guy asking to pass it over here. good news: this album sounds like the art looks. meth vs. chef is fun. sub crazy mmph. bustin nuts in your wife lol. let me pull ya brain out ya ass with a hanger. ooh ooh do me next. is the "release yo delf" intro "i will survive" parody singing dumb? it seems dumb. settles in after that. pretty relentless. lol i like the skit/audio of all the bees and the guy screaming. i always liked the kung fu movie ones. how many chambers, fellas? i keep forgetting. plo style is no frills great. i get my thang. tribe called quest beat, but murky and menacing. mr. sandman is fuckin weird and better for it. that singing guy. also, “runnin through bitches like emmitt smith”. 1994. enjoyed the whole thing three times. maybe a little same-y throughout. kinda paints with one tone brush. if i saw it for the right price, i'd buy it.

can you grow to like a band whose core sound you've disliked for decades? time to find out. going into these listens looking for merit in artists i’ve doubted, disliked, or ignored while looking for weak points in my old favorites. is this a good record? it has some hallmarks of a good record. michael stipe doesn't really sound like anyone else. the guitar is tasteful, ringing, and nuanced. the rhythm section is tight and pronounced. a bit trebly. the opening track is okay, albeit with that hollow, flimsy feel to it, like it’s played through a pringles can. thin. that’s okay. “jangly” is how R.E.M. is always described, right? the chorus even has a hook. and it sounds like the R.E.M. i already know. okay. and the rest of it hits like a feather. doesn't make me feel a thing, unlike everything else this thing has spit out so far. no urge to dance or play along with it (talking heads; stones). it doesn't make me want to run through a brick wall (zep). i don't want to cry (dylan) or laugh (method man). i'm not having fun (college dropout; cyndi lauper). i'm not singing along (alanis), nor is it triggering any well-earned hooky nostalgia (green day). i'm not on the edge of my seat (german industrial noise). i can't even hate it enough for that to be fun (crowded house). the production is clean, but not comedically steely dan clean, fun-clean, clean taken to its insane illogical end. i’m just sitting here and it comes out of the speakers and nothing is left behind. evaporates like rubbing alcohol. sterile is a good word for it. sterile music. inert music maybe. purgatory rock. nothing rock. since i was a kid, R.E.M. was a band to endure: i'm 16 and when i get in my car, the radio DJ says he has a two-fer from creedence coming up, but first, "losing my religion.” just get through this one, then you can have fun. now, "perfect circle" is playing, and i'm thinking, who likes this? this sounds like a school talent show performance. what am i missing here? did they stand out so much from their contemporaries that this was exciting? it’s 1983. is def leppard so pervasive that this is the savior? christ, i’m glad i wasn’t around for that. is “talk about the passion” good? no, it’s much less than the sum of its parts. “moral kiosk” has an overdriven, bent note riff. the drummer hits the toms in the pre-chorus. does that give it enough to sink my teeth into? not once i know the chorus is just “ooohhhhhhh ooohhhh ohhhhhh.” "sitting still" ironically moves forward with "energy," i guess, but it doesn't translate into anything actually kinetic. not that i need every record to be EXCITING and energizing. there’s more than one way to jump out of the speakers and demand to be heard. this kind of slouches out of the stereo, looks at you and shrugs, mutters some opaque “deep” lyric, cocks a pretentious half smile and falls asleep. concession: the guitar playing is pretty good throughout. i see why people talk about peter buck. and i’ll say this: they nailed the title. generous 2. this offered more than the record i gave a 1 to, i guess.

i got bored. i know this is an innovative record for his beats, less dependent on sampling. but i like sampling. give it to me drowning in old soul, funk, and jazz. give me the scavenger hunt. the bridge from the old to the new, and from verse to bridge to chorus. i love atcq, de la soul. give me king fu movie clips. maybe i'm comparing apples to oranges. being unfair. okay then: the characteristic high squiggly synth on this album has never done it for me. i find it grating. i like the p-funk-esque basslines more though. and the beats and production hit hard. they’re forceful. although, i gotta say, i just don't find any of the beats that infectious. didn't really get the undeniable urge to move. g-funk though, right? sorry, it does a bit to free my mind, but my ass doesn't really follow. i wish it did. love a following ass. lyrically, i ran out of steam with it. snoop announces himself, what, 11 or 12 times by the end of this? almost has enough dog puns to last the whole time, too. he's all over this thing. in fact, everyone keeps announcing themselves. spins its wheels. lots of dicks in lots of mouths; fewer nuts on fewer tonsils, but still enough to overdo it. lots of bodies lying flat. swagger and violence. homosexuality insults, misogyny. i'm not judging this from a moralistic "this didn't age well" place. forget that. please, give me a snapshot of a time and the world. capture something and make a statement. but that doesn't mean i'm not allowed to get bored after 40, 50, 60 minutes of it. and dr. dre's voice and delivery is completely unremarkable. which is why he's mostly a producer, i get it. a few interesting shifts: "the day..." (LA riots and maybe the most interesting song on here) and "lil ghetto boy" (Donny Hathaway sample); the other a feint: "rat-tat-tat-tat" cloaks itself in social reform before taking you back where along familiar lines). i can't pretend to have access to the experience of a young black man in south central LA (or anywhere) in the 70s, 80s, and 90s, the background of frustration and institutional injustice and artistic striving that went into the creation of WC hip-hop/gangsta rap. so can i access this on a personal, autobiographical level? no, and i won't pretend like i can. but then again, am i really "connecting" with the delta blues on a personal level, or with someone like white british john mayall (or any white band who covered it) singing about picking cotton on parchman farm? no. and frankly, he sounds like an asshole on that song. none of that is to detract from the importance this album, musically and culturally. but i felt a bit like malibu's most wanted driving around playing it. which leaves me with the music, which, if i'm honest with myself, won't really bring me back. i'll hear the big and important singles though, in the air, on soundtracks for biopics, etc. listened to it twice. with the benefit of hindsight, i can hear the tectonic shifts in rap history, the landmark sounds and tracks. an important record, world-altering for many.

extraordinary album. like, extra ordinary. like weird. wyrd. death-obsessed and out there. with an all-time guitarist. i'm cuckoo about the first side of this thing, but i've always felt like the second side isn't as strong. softer. not as varied. more dated. funereal at times. the first side is stunning. an intoxicating mix of british folk and thompson's wily raga guitar fills. a great opener in "when i get"; blues rock stomp in "bright lights"; the moody "calvary cross" (thompson's opening guitar solo, holy christ). "withered and died" and "drunkards" slow things down, keep it balanced. beautiful songs. rooted at least half in the past musically, but timeless in their subject matter: death, of course (the border line). but also being sick and goddamn tired of work, living for the weekend, drinking on the weekend, getting hammered on the weekend, looking for love on the weekend, and dreading monday morning (which is also sometimes death). existential workingman's music. side two: "we sing": three string fiddles and "the old fashioned way." a good singalong. i love "has he got a friend for me." that's some good lovelorn achin', linda. great slice of life tune about desperation and dating. sounds current. where "drunkards" could depict any skid row from the 19th or 20th century, "beggar girl" feels older, more dated. the cockles and clams girl from game of thrones or something. that’s good folk though. end of the rainbow. jesus, that's dark. hey little baby, there's nothing to grow up for anymore. but really, what's he gonna do about it? man, "valerio" is a dirge, isn't it? the lyrics are great. that's just a hell of a note to end on. after 6 listens (its a short album!), it’s a 5. the lyrics are so good on side 2 that it merits it, even if i don't prefer it as much as side 1 instrumentally. and every song is a standout in one way or another.

i always get bayou country and green river mixed up bc they’re both just pictures of them in the woods. northern ca boys in the “swamp.” who you fooling? you jokers are in el cerrito. zep knew about myth; sabbath too (and a lot of metal bands); so did creedence. creating a world and living inside it, sending out dispatches from middle earth or the lower circle of hell, or in this case, the humid swamps of an idealized american south. cynics might call it a gimmick, but it gets to the core of something human: we love fantasy. crave it. need it. i love the first creedence record. it's raw and they're still thrashing around trying to perfect the sound. "born on the bayou" is the pivot where it really snaps into focus. establishes the myth not only in sound but in words, too. dead perfect tremolo too. does graveyard train need to be that long? probably not. they could have set the tone in less than 8.5 minutes. good golly. back to the source. fogerty with a fuzz pedal, a wicked combo. "penthouse pauper" is similar to one of my fave tracks from the first record, "the working man." call and response blues song, fogerty talking with his guitar. i love the third verse in particular. after the hacksaw line, his guitar rasps and cuts; after boasting about moving up to the house on top, a scale that builds from low to high. not tricky or fussy, but just what the song calls for. i've heard proud mary too many times, but it's so very good. fogerty plays the right guitar for the moment again. the solo doesn't rip or tear, but laps up against the riverbank. chooglin'. talkin' bout sex, compadre. slightly too long a bit too aimless? probably. but choogle is also the perfect verb to describe creedence's sound. fogerty's guitar tone is nasty. ever hear anyone covering creedence? it's usually bad. tina turner could do it. you need a force of nature to cover a force of nature. not their best or my favorite, but still very good. it's probably on this list because of "bayou" and "proud mary", but if this is here, that means the next three albums are too because those are even better. so i’m saving some creedence headroom with a 4. ooby dooby what a band.

i played this a lot last summer and it never failed. morning, afternoon, evening, night. dinner-tested, bonfire-tested, road-tested, hotel-tested, yardwork-tested, wife-tested. not TOO beach boysy (moodier, no actual surfing or little deuce coupes, and the only girls are a weird idealized disney version), but most definitely beach boysy. one of the best album art/album title/title of first track/messing with people's expectations about the band ever. sometimes i wonder, "are these lyrics full of childlike innocence and wonder or just written by dummies?" then i stop caring because of the sweet hooks, baby. i came for the vibes. i skip “student demonstration time” sometimes because it can feel out of place; it can hit as hokey and kind of a paint-by-numbers activism song. like they’re trying this societal critique thing on for the first time, which is true as far as i know. is it tongue in cheek? is the middle-of-the-road blues and title so bog-standard and generic that the whole thing is a bit of a joke? but also not? either way, they were sticking a thumb in the eye of the authorities, which is righteous. they're the rioters. and i like the sirens they have on there. i thought i was getting pulled over earlier today driving home to this. "feel flows" sounds like its title. it's a smooth lil treat. who played the flute? by far the most played track on spotify. the phaser on the vocals in "lookin at tomorrow." yes plz, you can do that anytime. “a day in the life of a tree" could be a kinks song (which is a very soft spot for me). (but also, the little voice: "childlike innocence or just dummies?") shhhhhhh, we're here for the vibes. it starts a three-track suite that gently kicks ass. i wish they'd joined them up into a true medley though. points off! as an album, it’s catchier and prettier than it is smart. the production is top notch and worth listening to on headphones or very loud. the last tracks are the understated showstoppers. this was the record that opened up the beach boys for me. my wife says it’s a 5, which is probably why it gets so much play around our house. i think it’s a 4 and change.

a juicy slab of scorching yet tender soul funk. i’ve never seen the movie and i feel like i don’t have to. his storytelling, both vocal and instrumental, give me all i need. it’s sequenced perfectly. provides exposition, tension, conflict, and resolution. you want this record. you want to put it on and nestle into its grooves. you want him to tell you how it was, how it is, in his dulcet falsetto. you want to listen close for the harp and bells and bass lines and every wah-wah note. you want the orchestral swells and that damn flute. you wish that was you scraping the guiro on the title track. holy christ, what a title track. if that doesn't make you move, you dead. american music. the kind of musical stew that only could have come out of this imperfect, possibly doomed experiment. multicultural, and born of inequality, struggle, and striving for something better. so cool and unique and funky that it makes the rest of the world wish it was theirs to claim, despite the fact that its subject matter shows the deep imperfections of this place. the lyrics are notable because they're real. the sketches of hustlers and pushermen and heroes and villains aren't caricatures, but sound unforced, natural, true. everything i've ever heard from or read about curtis mayfield indicates he was the best kind of american and a dude. curtis moves people. their hearts, minds, and asses. be honest. he moved at least one of those for you while you listened. don’t overthink it. this is a 5.

album concept: five goobers who look like they work at a pizza parlor dress as tarantino characters and put on a power pop hook clinic while a golden haired demi-goddess (i love you deborah) whirls, sneers, and wails her way through twelve excellent songs. i can remember the exact moment i fell in love with debbie harry as a boy in the back of the minivan listening along to Q104.1 FM: the second chorus of "one way" when she starts letting her voice do that growly thing. probably 7 years old. floored. slack-jawed. what is this weird feeling? who is this lady who's gonna get me? god, i hope she does. i didn't know who she was or what she looked like for another seven years. didn't matter. imprinted. apparently they caught shit for "heart of glass." too commercial or disco, not close enough to what the post-punk art rock world thought was legit. goes to show the value of a dogmatic view of music. any musician who wanted to rob the world of THAT groove (nice one, goobers) deserves to have their card revoked. plus it fits perfectly with the album's sequence. not a dull moment. gets better with every listen. makes me love rock and roll, debbie, and even disco a little more. what more could i ask for?

from an album that doesn't overstay its welcome for one second to this. isn't she lovely? isn't six minutes of the same grating musical phrase repeated ad nauseum with someone else's home movies laid over it lovely? it's produced beautifully, that's for sure. but the other words that come to mind are saccharine, trite, and repetitive. "love's in need of love today"? lol k. how about "if it's magic", a three minute jingle for an unmade coca cola commercial? high points: -the opening harmony on "love's in need." -have a talk with god. that's a good song. stellar sounds in there. -village ghetto land is one synthesizer that sounds like an orchestra. pretty cool. clever, real lyrics too. -contusion. more of that would have gone a long way to breaking up smooth stevie's sugar sweet singalong. -pastime paradise. coolio was right. -i wish. good song. will smith and kevin kline were right. you can keep almost all of side two. isn’t she lovely never ends or changes. "black man" has an intense groove, but just. doesn't. end. or change. right through the question and answer chanting. it's a nice sentiment, but so is the title "love's in need of some love." stevie's never been a go-to for me. his voice has never stuck to my ribs like some others. the grooves have always pulled up short of genuinely infectious. they’re repetitive. it took me five good listens before talking book clicked. but it did click. maybe this will, too. this is a biggie in musical history and universally lauded. i'm curious to get to the bottom as to why. but not today.

"got anything that leans into mccartney's worst instincts? sometimes sounds like the beach boys but bad? maybe a little cute and camp?" buddy, have i got an album for you. tolerable: summer's cauldron/grass big day "elaborate pop arrangements" only go so far. toyed with the idea of a 1.

probably the closest we got to an actual wizard on earth. summoned blood and thunder, water and earth. elemental music. the rhythm section made the whole thing fly even higher, and the times mythologized it. he was just a guy with demons and vices and fears, but he sounded like a god. a song like "manic depression" is always jarring because it's about a human problem. why you singing about this, jimi? aren't you above this, on your own plane? turns out, no. and that's both what made him so great and what robbed the world of more of him. a killer debut and a great record. gimme more jimi.

fun, dynamic album. always has a new sound, fresh hook, or clever turn of phrase in his back pocket.

made me sad. the musical equivalent of being forced to sing happy birthday to a coworker on your lunch break. a lame attempt to manufacture excitement from nothing. unearned and uncalled for. empty. forced. probably fun for a fleeting moment for those who don't know any better. i expected to dislike this, but i didn't expect it to be so boring. the "hooks" don't work. the songs are too long. rot. or if i'm more charitable, music to have a dalliance with at fourteen, but to move on from once you realize there's a big, beautiful, genuine world out there.

fun, crass, clever, funky, raw, funny, weird, culturally rich, dynamic. sew ya asshole closed and keep feedin you and feedin you and feedin you and feedin you. give me more. i can take it.

twice as pissed as london calling, which i prefer for its diversity of styles. but this is raw, powerful, and seminal. it’s a killer album. five for sure. there's no stars higher than five on here, and i'm not rating this down to make some weird star room for lc, so they'll both get full marks. if it didn't sound like a five the first time, turn it up. double nickels on the clash.

love a late career renaissance album. especially when it comes with an evolutionary step that suits their age and the times. i'd be lying if i called myself a nine inch nails fan, but i’m a fan of johnny cash covering nine inch nails from what sounds like a dungeon cell. sounds like a goya painting. music for a mccarthy novel. “the man comes around” is so good it’s like you’ve known it your whole life. perfect song to go out on. most of it works. “i’m so lonesome i could cry” is one of the best songs ever written. personal jesus is great. it’s enthralling to hear his old voice RIGHT THERE. the production is awesome. bridge over troubled water teeters on the edge of not working, but you're rooting for the old timer the whole time, aren't you? damn your eyes!

“all my favorite singers couldn't sing.” — david berman doesn’t strike me as real. so the harder he tries, the harder i cringe. there are a few moments. his guitar playing is good.

i once spent three weeks in ireland. i'm writing a very precious album about it just to get back at these guys. this doesn’t belong here. out of its league. not essential listening by any stretch of the imagination. inconsequential stuff. at least def leppard epitomizes something.

3.5? sometimes sounds uneven rather than varied, but grows in strength as it goes. jackson’s key/piano playing is great throughout, although i prefer the second half with the fuller band. hits its stride with “the bottle.” gil’s poetry also improves in the second half, both in his ability to surprise and the acquisition of a sense of humor. although i get that funny wasn’t necessarily what he wanted in an exploration of black life in america. his rhythmic timing isn’t exactly dead on, but i think that's part of his thing. replace a few names in h2ogate blues and dedicate it to jd vance rather than spiro agnew, and it’s perfect for 2025. even better that it’s live. lively, clever, sharp, true. the flute also pipes up around halfway, flits in and out, and is more than welcome to hang out. feels a bit heavy handed at times, but it’s good. it could grow into a 4 or higher.

my first time through a whole smiths album. i like this more than i thought i would. no one really likes steve morrissey as a guy, but his lyrics are jarring and vivid. plus, the johnny marr hype is worthy. tonally, 80s sadboy/goth has never been my thing, but it's growing on me. marr's guitar helps it along. he kinda does everything here. snarling rhythm, chiming rhythm, dreamy fingerpicking, wailing single notes, bo diddley slapback. autoharp. it's also funnier than i expected. "unhappy birthday." petty as hell. "paint a vulgar picture" has that sweet vocal hook that i crave. and who doesn't love a song shitting on someone's boss? the smiths and johnny paycheck. this one just has a dead guy. a silly death-obsessed blues song and another petty, jealous one to end it. yeah, this is all right.

pretty fun actually. the reggae thing is a platform for some catchy breakdowns. runs the gamut from good (deathwish; the big singles; bring on the night; contact) to inoffensive (regatta; the bed's too big) to cornball (it’s alright for you; on any other day). it's mostly good and tight and low stakes. even the corn made me drum along with it. some surprising atonal guitar stuff and effects use.

nah. "high energy" "punk" "rock". just because you put the words together doesn’t mean it is. puts on the costume and thrashes around, tries to convince you. gnashes its teeth. is fast. has horns. says little. i found myself doing strange things while this was playing. put a monster energy sticker on my truck. stashed my sunglasses on the back of my head. grew a soul patch. sounds like san diego. like french fries in your perfectly good burrito. empty calories. there are impulses here that i appreciate more than on the albums i’ve rated as 1, but not by much. this is empty sound and impotent fury. if this is your thing, i’m sure these guys are coming to a desert or riverboat casino near you soon. keep stingin' em fellas.

did these guys forget that ramones records are 29 minutes long? that if you’re going to take us on an odyssey, you need the clash’s versatility or television’s meandering, exploratory mastery? or, y’know, raw power? we've all either received or given a blowjob by now, guys. fucking get over it and say something. more costumed posturing. lord have mercy we need a good authentic punk album this week.

this is sweet, it really is. lenny loved prince, the beatles, jimi, and stevie so much that he self-produced this loving macaroni art tribute. it's sweet, but it's not good.

occasionally vivid storytelling from a gifted writer. i like his poetry when he lets his guard down. i like his voice best when it cracks and gets wacky, gets a little weird. but this isn't consistently clear, vulnerable, or weird enough for me. it also lacks anything that gets me out of my seat. not surprising: dr. dre was executive producer. "m.a.a.d. city" probably comes closest to something funky when it morphs into a different song at 2:35 (boom boom bap), even with the squiggly high chronic synth that worms its way in near the end. apparently "backseat freestyle" is supposed to be kendrick's teenage self showing off for his buddies after one of them hits record and prompts him to rap, providing the backdrop for the juvenile eiffel tower dick stuff. but i listened to it four times, and i don't know how i'm supposed to get all that context. i also don't give a shit for skits or songs about someone's dick or sexual prowess (dr. dre, repeat offender: doctor's office / pause 4 porno). tryhard shortcut stuff. you're a good writer. find a metaphor. maybe that makes me a puritan, or maybe i just like wordplay when i know the artist is more than capable of it (kendrick, not dre). make it clever, not obvious, not crass, not boring. god it's boring. on the other hand, a song like "the art of peer pressure" is great. drop the posturing, peel back the production, give us something honest and biographical and retrospective. full of little details -- backseats and his boys and super nintendos and close calls. his voice is right there, too. go figure it's one of the least-listened-to songs on the album on spotify. count "good kid" and the aforementioned "maad city" in the same boat. more of that. i like some things about kendrick lamar, mainly tearing drake a new asshole before, during, and after the super bowl halftime show, but this sounds made for the masses. it's an autobiographical album, but the plot isn't clear enough and the beats aren't infectious enough to hold my attention for long enough to tell its story.

third time’s a charm. despair has basically never been my go-to tone, but here i am having added a cure album, a smiths album, and now this to my melancholy quiver, all in the last month. to be fair, it’s not all a dirge. some gear shifts. a fully formed weirdo statement. rough-hewn and raw, and better for it. classic rock songs hacked away at and turned haunted and shot out the other side. also gets better as it goes. 4 for now, but with all the makings of a grower, so this could be a 5, stat.

the "less electric guitar" album. blood cells, elephant, and de stijl may be superior, but this was still realer, weirder, and better than most music coming out at that time, and frankly, most since. they still had the juice, baby. plus, we know what not having the juice sounds like because we have jack’s solo work since, oh, let’s say, lazaretto. his most recent album got some plaudits, but it didn’t stand up to my bullshit detector. the shambling piano, acoustic guitar, vibraphone, and mandolin of side one make the midpoint "instinct blues" hit harder. then these two sisterbrotherhusbandwives put all that innate satanic horniness behind them (“even the strawberries get it, so why don’t you?”) with a side two collection of mostly sweet and mostly acoustic songs, the relapse of "red rain" excepted. i don’t care that this has been dropped from the list because this list is sometimes dog crap, and i don’t care that there are perhaps better white stripes albums on here. this wasn’t some death knell where they outpaced meg’s abilities. every song hits, and it’s nice to have a fully formed change of pace from one of the greatest bands in my lifetime.

it's fine for what it is: a dated disco album with a first track we've heard at every wedding we've ever attended, only faded out after three of its eight minutes. which probably tells you something about it. inoffensive for the most part, a few songs running too close to syrupy smooth for my taste, and a few others running too long. "can't stand to love you" is cool because they let nile rodgers bust a little bit, and he basically invented a style of playing the guitar, which puts him in rarified air. but alas, i want more nile rodgers busting a little bit.

welcome to mass. come, let us worship. war's destruction, human weakness, nuclear winter, the inevitability of death (and what comes after), fairy footwear. sometimes wrapped in biblical, druggy, and fantastical metaphor, sometimes straight up. says more than most other albums and does so in a revolutionarily heavy way. throw in a heady dose of space travel, killer tone shifts, and an all-time sci-fi archetype, and you've got yourself one of the greatest rock albums ever. it came out in 1970 when lots of artists were shaping blues to fit their own visions, and this is no exception. it makes sense that doom was born of a genre obsessed with sadness and death, but also obsessed with expressing it in tones that extend beyond melancholy. the genesis of stoner and doom, and of so much more that has come since. a great record with a phenomenally stupid and absolutely perfect album cover.

first half: mmmm, nice. i'm enjoying this. it's moody but has undeniable grooves and melodies. the lyrics aren't half as smart as i'm always hearing or expected, but still, am i gonna be a radiohead guy? is it happening? "we suck young blood": my wife, who claims to like this album but who i suspect only really listened to "there, there" before seeing them at coachella in high school, walks into the room and says, "what is this. this is terrible." not as big a radiohead guy as she thinks she is, eh? i concur at the time. then i listen to it again and don't hate it. but THEN i read that thom claims it's a "slave ship tune" that satirizes hollywood culture and "is not to be taken seriously." lol okay. i didn't think he could sound like a bigger butthole than he did on the song itself, but he went and outdid himself. now i hate it more than i did the first time. side two is a mixed bag with some good (“there, there”; “myxo”), some inoffensive (“punch up”), and some bad (“i will”, which can go pound salt). maybe i’m like half a radiohead guy now?

you can’t listen to this as you. gotta embody someone else. i’m a high school junior in 1981. i’ve got a face full of zits, a wispy strawberry blonde mustache, a shitload of pent-up sexual frustration, and an IROC Z28. with me, i’ve also got my best friends Scooter and Mud Lungs, a pack of Marlboro lights, and a case of Hamm’s. we’re tearing ass down a county road on our way to Susie Greenfield’s, whose parents are out of town and where there’s a party with so many hot chicks. so there’s hope tonight. “yyz” is playing. Mud Lungs just nailed every bit of Peart’s drum part on the dash. it gives way to the righteous opening chords of “limelight”. and it sounds like a 5, baby. then perhaps i’m transported back to my own body. “more a 4?” i think haughtily as i sip coffee, jet-lagged and up too early in a kitchen not my own in copenhagen. “hooky but shallow? low hanging fruit? did it lose some focus and momentum around ‘witch hunt’? a fantasy, but fun while it lasted, right?” but then, lost in my thoughts, i feel the steering wheel in my hands, the summer air pouring in through the t tops, Geddy’s voice streaming behind us like a flag, a banner. i grin at Scooter in the rearview mirror (he’s always had such fucked up teeth), spark a marlboro, and hit that five star button so hard that everyone at the Greenfield place feels it.

elvis costello is annoying, so without hooks (THIS YEAR’S MODEL, but here: “beyond belief,” “tears before bedtime”) to properly channel that cornball nasal tone, to give it shape and purpose, he wears out his welcome. some of the playing is good here and the arrangements are meticulous, but those only carry so much water. every time i listen to elvis costello, i’m on the edge of not liking it. even the records i do like. this doesn’t tip the right way. and “town cryer” can go pound salt. (i don’t want to) listen to him whine.

i may prefer them later as good-time party boys over the shambling psychedelic village green outfit here (i’ve got the kinks, after all), but pre-rod and still-small faces still kick. and you can hear the party in there thrashing around, ripping it apart at the seams from the inside, especially on the first half. but when it bursts out, it’s more humble pie than “nod to a blind horse.” still good though innit. side two furthers the great old british tradition of psychedelia via full blown fairy tale and/or rock opera. it’s charming and fun, but it’ll keep you from letting side two rip at any social gatherings anytime soon. good, weird, fun record. enter a randy, howling rod stewart.

pff. undeniable. part of me thinks it’s annoying. it consistently shuts that part of me up. has the hooks to have on in the background, and the arrangements for a deeper listen.

they do more with more and don’t lose themselves or me…yet. they’re still my guys on this one.

you hear let’s get it on and it’s great and you wonder if he can keep it up, if he has the stamina to last. he does, and it’s good, but it’s all basically the same song.

a chill, mostly enjoyable ride. the two tracks with earnest love pop vocals are cringe duds (sorry beth) that keep it from a 4. skippers. if you’re going to take me on a magic pillow blanket picnic through sunny skies, don’t bring your trite earthbound treacle.

she wrote sister morphine and apparently inspired wild horses. i want to like it. i even do sometimes (brain drain, guilt, lucy jordan, why’d you do it, most of the keyboards). but some voices resonate, and some go right through you. some are intense; others are exhausting.

any major dude will tell you it’s a five.

sometimes it works, sometimes the wheels spin. sometimes hypnotizing, other times monotonous. gets better as it goes. favorite track is “hold hands.” give me that caustic guitar.

i hope no one saw me listening to this.

a lot of tension, almost enough release. damn near. talking man is better than singing boy, although they’re worthy counterpoints. singing boy is surely an acquired taste, like the album. more listens has made for deeper appreciation.

read in a youtube comment section that the bassist looks like every beatle combined which is true and this is a five.

cosplay rock

the song from clueless (on which the chopsticks piano riff and lounge guitar let the vocal cheese work). goes right through me. no ebb and flow. unearned expenditure of energy. makes me feel like the face on the left. like i know this was intended to be fun and rocking, yet i just ended up constipated. or maybe like the face on the right, exhausted and baggy-eyed from a night of torrential diarrhea. can't decide which. and the more i look at this album art, the more it annoys me. also, weirdly sequenced. they change it up a bit with the last three, but it's too little too late. by then i don't believe them.

makes me want to sit on a porch with a dog or sweat in a basement or run through a brick wall.

no dude, never

can't help it, i love it. one of several essential doors albums with the debut and probably strange days and definitely LA woman... jim becomes the growling blues oaf he was always destined to be. i don't care if his lyrics are hack-poetic or whatever. in fact, i don't give a shit what he says. jim makes the doors sound like the doors, and i love the doors. he sounds like a blustering, untrained drunk, and that's what he was. this is where he tips the scales into "BE[ing] [a] drunken buffoon, which MAKES [him] poetic." thanks almost famous, lester bangs, philip seymour hoffman, and the guess who. robby's playing is spidery and agile. manzarek's circus organ often gives way to boogie keys, but is spooky at times, staccato at others. densmore plays the drums, baby. someone even plays bass. the second half has fewer radio hits, but smolders and flares. fell in love with them in high school, burned myself out on them in college, was too cool for them in my 20s (but always knew i had a youthful love back there), and hit a listening renaissance in my 30s, running back through all of it, collecting it, and appreciating them for what they always were: a great LA band and a great american band who sounded like no other.

nico “tolerable in small doses on the VU debut” warhol hisses and hoots her way through a whole album of orchestral folk. “these days” is all right; the orchestral freakout on “it was a pleasure then” is cool; and “chelsea girls” hits that “all tomorrows parties” sadness, but it’s too long. can’t say i totally understand nico. something tells me if she looked like mama cass, nico wouldn’t have happened. which is no shade on mama cass—if anything, it speaks to her greatness. i guess there’s a certain tragic beauty to this, but i’m not sure it’s for the reasons those involved intended. apparently she didn’t like the flute. listen, nico, the flute ain’t the problem.

not a salsa (music) expert, but this sounds pretty damn good. i like the disco bits too. i also like when the singer shushes up and lets the band work, like on “ojos.” and i like those babies.

“step on” is way better than the other songs, like those were all practice. a lot of it isn't bad though, especially the last three. kinda ham handed with too much corn in some cringe choruses (“yippee yippee ay ye ye ye”; “do what you’re doing…”). it’s all right.

the last two songs stink and wasted time doesn’t need a reprise, but face it: everything else is tight, hooky, and cohesive. this is low hanging hater fruit. kneejerk hate. easy hate. yeah, i’ve heard these songs too many times too, and it ain’t my favorite either, even as a JOE WALSH GUY, but there are waaay worse albums on this list.

excellent noise, excellent bass. gets even more hypnotic as it goes.

i prefer modern songs in country and western music. a little less orchestra? but ray is always great, no matter what’s playing alongside him.

pretty much reflects my experience with u2. sunday bloody sunday is their best song and the one i can leave on when i hear it. they made a cohesive album, but it does basically nothing to move me personally, least of all bono, who rarely shushes up. never understood that dude. it’s not bad, but it doesn’t move me.

listened like 10 times in a row in an airport and on a flight. delivers on its promise. slowly and persistently works its way into your head.

soundtrack to a world ready for rock and roll.

better than the chronic bc it’s more fun. "ain't no fun" is funny. i still got bored around "doggy dogg world." "Gz and hustlas" perked me back up with some new sounds. but it's all still pretty dweeby. bye snoop, go play a trump crypto ball. take martha stewart with you.

the king arrives. we going in reverse chronological order?

expected a kinda pretentious sonic soundscape thing, and it delivered that, with some moments of beauty. but it all wore kind of thin. kind of annoying. it's an hour-plus soundtrack to luxury cars on winding autumnal roads. a soft-focus tribute to the lexus december to remember sales event.

too many jack raps, not enough jack riffs. i’m shakin is great.

enjoyed this like i do most thrash metal: like a bout of diarrhea. it’s loud, propulsive, and a little cathartic. good in an intense way in the moment, but i’m never dying to do it again right after.

pffff

ray charles' voice sticks to my ribs like few can. that’s where the magic is. he reclaims historically black musical forms by fusing them together in a way that reflected contemporary, modern sounds. genius in conception and brilliant in its experimental genre melding execution, even if big band will never be my favorite instrumental accompaniment. there are missteps--who decided "oh lonesome me" should sound like that? and when i put on volume one on a quiet evening, i always wish "bye bye love" was less brassy. but hey, these aren't my modern sounds.

i could not care less.

the singles are very good. the rest is sunshiny, low stakes, kinda bops along. it's well produced. "no one said it would be easy" is good. the jazzy song is bad. bonnie raitt lite. lucinda without the miles on the wheels or the gravel in the voice. if this was playing while i was in a bar on santa monica boulevard some summer tuesday afternoon, i'd be cool with it.

what if The Band were a collection of Beefheart-loving mental patients? chaotic good. good weird. weird i can believe in.

V

pure, primitive, nasty. plays a role but doesn't take itself too seriously. "teacher's pet" could be a van halen song. is that someone laughing during the "buried alive" slo mo invocation intro? think so. loved every second.

review after one listen and a bit of research: the east/west thing is good. the english folk/indian raga "three is a green crown" is good. and i dig that oud and all the other mystery instruments (what's a gimbri?). but as a listen, maybe too twee and tiresome to imagine returning to it very often. listened mostly on motorcycle helmet speakers (not good). review after two listens and a bit more research: think we've got a grower on our hands. goddamn if these strings aren't incredible. i'll take freaky over twee. there's a lot going on here, and it's wonderfully recorded. unorthodox song structures that employ repetition to cover linear ground. was able to take in more of the chants, and the whole thing washes over you nicely if you lie back and let it. the playing is beautiful.

at least a 4

a bit anemic. lacks the muscle of patsy, loretta, emmylou, lucinda. the love that dolly gives to you. nanci saves it for her green eyed man.

whole thing hits

v good, but i’ve never heard another one of theirs that matches “in the court.”

if this didn't have "all mixed up," i'd give it a five. i even could have looked past the other meh moment, "don't cha stop," which doesn't add much, but at least delivers on the promised good times. because when they roll, this album rules.

he had everything i want except for a voice i can take on a consistent basis.

bruh

today i learned the term “landfill indie.”

god i love it. steve howe is a classical maestro, bluesy arena shredder, and avant garde jazz player in one dude. gnarly playing all around. the shorter tracks let each guy show his special thing. i love dudes showing off their special things.

at least a four. we'll see how it magnetizes me over time.

neil.

better than murmur, and better for the inclusion of the two big singles, which are undeniable. always liked "end of the world." my favorite thing about them is still peter buck, but michael stipe isn't my least favorite thing on at least those two tracks. something about their sound still goes through me though.

"love vigilantes" is my favorite track, and it's a really good record. highlights: -the frogs on track 2 -shreddy guitar -the ice dungeon instrumental -closer is fun and joyous

oh no no no. no thank you. just dreadful.

it’s fine, the guitar is funky, and i’ll likely never return to it.

i’ve always found the devotion to dylan, right down to the title, odd and a little lame. but the sound is there, no doubt, even if i like bob’s versions better than theirs. gene’s originals were good, boys. should have filled this up with more of those. he’s always been my favorite byrd.

boring blowhard stuff

it has its moments. when it veers closer to moody blues/sgt pepper/kinks and away from orchestral pomposity.

black, white, whatever. if I was alive in 1956, I would have gobbled this up. sure, maybe chuck was better (and put out "maybellene" in 1955, maybe the best song ever), and maybe little richard was better ("tutti frutti": 1955), but I'd have needed as much rock and roll as I could get to drown out, I don't know, the fucking rat pack and my parents' ragtime jazz or whatever. rock and roll is a perfectly fucked up righteous synthesis of sounds and sources. don't fight it or fight over it. let it consume you. "blue moon" rules.

sounds like radiohead fronted by peter gabriel pretending like he’s in coldplay. sounds like a 2008 i remember avoiding.

v jazzy

missing persons duran duran

less honkin, more tonkin, Emmy.

goodness me, marvin.

is good and is bad.

it's good and doesn't care if it’s good.

yuck!

neil

these guys made generic AI music the hard way: hours and hours of studio time spent on riffless, shapeless power chord slop and vague, opaque lyrics about "Los Angeles and the state of California" (their words). the title track is at least memorable because it has an actual riff. there have been some duds on this list, but none of them have been as anonymous as this.

i’ll take the nine pound hammer. you keep the rest, Beau.

thank you for bravely fighting this necessary and specific war against the insane clown posse, marshall.

😬

at least