1001 Albums Summary

This was the first cassette I ever owned when I was seven, based, I guess on the success of "Karma Chameleon," or whatever the heck got a second-grader to buy music in 1983. I got rid of it as I grew older, probably before I started junior high. I don't regret that. I still could sing along to most of the choruses if I wanted to. This is scratched into my brain. That said, I had no idea how vocal-forward this was until now, and how straight-ahead pop/blue-eyed soul it was. Like, if this wasn't sung by a white guy in drag, essentially pretending to be a Black woman, there'd be no reason to even lump this in with new wave. Clearly positioned to crush early MTV, this was just pop. I'm confident that outside the Hot 100, this wasn't culturally significant or musically relevant. No hip young gunslingers are calling Culture Club an influence, and they never have.

There was so much press surrounding Pete Doherty and his rocky relationship with the rest of the band before this, opening this with "Can't Stand Me Now" was a stroke of genius of its own right. Arguably one of the coolest opening tracks when taken into context of the dialogue at the time. Anyway, just when punk was getting all stuck up on tween-ready bubblegum and tough-guy posturing in the States, the Libertines came through and showed just how much life was still in the old style. Sure, it doesn't sound like The Ramones or Sex Pistols or Black Flag, but neither did "London Calling." (The Clash's Mick Jones produced this, in case you forgot.) So unless you're stuck on skate- or pop-punk formula as the only available flavor for the genre, just embrace that this is a direction that punk went in the early '00s. It's crazy all the contortions listeners and punk-averse critics were about that realization. This isn't indie rock, and was never shooting to be it. I get that it spawned a lot of godawful shamble-rock (remember The Fratellis?), but this is a pretty singular take on British punk - and really punk worldwide - that still stands up a couple decades after it hit shelves.

I’d heard peole talk about Thundercat, but never heard him before this. I didn’t know what to expect, but not this. This is goofy, wacky stuff that seems exactly like what that band on Cartoon Network’s “Adventure Time” would play (another thing I’ve never heard before). Or maybe Meat Wad would be part of it? I don’t know. It’s just so silly and goofy, it’s impossible to hate. It’s also impossible to take very seriously, too. I guess it’d be your jam if you want to hang out with sentient food products who make music or kick out the jams with a magical princess and a talking dog or whatever the fuck that show is supposed to be about.

With more than 20 years of perspective, this really does seem to capture the Pitchfork bro vibe of the early '00s. It's sad and melancholic and easy to listen to. Its use of strings screams sophistication, if you're the kind of person to confuse a large studio budget for sophistication. It was also a transformational record - something those hipsters really got on board with - as Hansen seemed to stop fucking around with the party sound and get down to serious biz. It captured the timber of the self-important early aughts, but, man, it's just another folk-thing chronicling the unbearable pain of being white and boring. These songs are fine enough, but are they worth making room in your life for? Not really.

Bob Dylan is the Boomers' ultimate scourge on all later generations. Had his name (and Daniel Lanois) not be attached to this, this is just some dork-assed, coffee-shop dad playing blues that nobody wants to hear.