This feels like a restrained version of The Flaming Lips. While “Yoshimi” is a cleverly dynamic and shorter follow-up to The Soft Bulletin. Even though despite its shorter run time, it cannot be labelled concise.
The album somewhat struggles to uphold the quality of its first songs in the second half and overall has some lengthier moments (In the Morning of the Magicians, Are You A Hypnotist?, It’s Summertime).
Yet, for every slight dud, there is a clear standout moment: One More Robot/Symphony 3000-21, Ego Tripping At the Gates of Hell, Do You Realise?? and the overall sound and feeling of the record is cohesive and oddly upbeat psychedelic with pulsating drums and bass front and centre (cf. Are You A Hypnotist?).
The production is punchy but sometimes ideas get buried in the mix (the flute and trumpet in Ego Tripping […]) and you will miss them if you’re not paying utmost attention.
The lyrics cryptically evolve around motifs such as Karate, robotics/machine learning and - how could it be any different - death. It seems, however, that Wayne Coyne did not aim to make this a concept album strictu sensu, which is a good thing in this case.
Pleasant and well-executed mid-tempo songs; organ, guitar and drums sound overly lush. Album drags a bit towards the end. If you’re neither familiar with nor into the American songbook, the songs probably don’t reveal their societal and political meaning as well as the undercurrent that revels beneath their saccharine execution. Best when Nelson leaves the comfort zone and turns to more interesting vocal melodies (unchained melody). In sum, I lack to the understanding of the originals to appreciate the value of this collection of covers.
Intriguing lyrics with obscure religious motives. Music itself lacks punch; sits comfortably somewhere between Siouxsie and a post-punk tinged version of the college rock of R.E.M. (The Killing Moon, Seven Seas) - way more interesting when it gets more arty and dissonant (cf. Thorn of Crowns). Creative (and to some degree weird) string flourishes add a pleasant and a memorable touch to the melodies but let the songs seem a bit tame here and there. Superb vocal performance on the closing track.
Stevie Wonder is not hiding his message(s). Undoubtedly skilful and passionate execution. The mid tempo soul ballads (You and I, Lookin’ for Another Pure Love, …) leave me somewhat underwhelmed - partly because of their “on the nose” lyrics. Album sounds vibrant, but has too less edges for my taste; esp. those aforementioned ballads. Maybe Your Baby and Superstition have a killer, driving backbeat. While there are superb melodies and harmonies elsewhere (keys/synth on You’ve Got it Bad Girl or the vocals on Blame it on the Sun and I Believe), the record would have benefitted from some more “gut punching” uptempo sections making it a more varied, dynamic collection of songs. Sadly, the amazing final section of the album (prog-soul outro of I Believe) ends abruptly and the style isn’t spelled out over these 10 tracks very often.
Classic rock cliché monstrosity. Mostly, it’s pleasant and occasionally fun to listen to but the lyrics just fall so flat. Obviously there are guitar solos galore. Sometimes they even make up a centre motive of a song - see Hitch a Ride’s simultaneous lead guitar solo. Foreplay has got to be one of the most annoying intros ever. The one thing that is actually charming to the record is its proto power pop character in some of the songs (cf. Peace of Mind). Hitch a Ride is a song where the genres (classic rock and power pop elements) come together quite well. Overall, better to stomp your feet than to pay close attention to the tunes. Sometimes (of course, that’s my retrospective impression) the songs are just so boilerplate, it hurts (esp. rock’n’Roll Band). I feel like that the band didn’t have much to say at all. With 38 minutes, the record is still too long - it could have been trimmed and it would have probably ended up being a more concise and enjoyable experience - that holds especially true for the B-side.
Knotty and witty social commentary and musical gem. More messy than the Beatles, less bougie and pretentious than the Stones (amazing middle ground). Blueprint for so many Bands I love (GBV for example). Sprawling psychedelic pop marvels that don’t shy away from gritty textures. Nods to the bygone Victorian age - not only by virtue of the lyrics (perks and fall of the Empire and post-war England) but also when it comes to the feathery instrumentation (cembalo). Fades in urgency towards the end of the record; maybe it would have benefitted from a different sequencing (such as a somewhat more uptempo song to close the collection). Incredible and versatile record.
Undoubtedly iconic in every way. Even though a centrepiece, I am not particularly crazy about the It Ain’t Easy cover or Mooanage Daydream. The latter has got a great feeling to it and was probably an amazing live show staple, but I am slightly underwhelmed from a songwriting perspective given Bowie’s generational talent. It will probably grow on me… However, that’s nitpicking and the highs of this record (basically every other song), elevate this project to the top of Bowie’s - and mostly everyone else’s - oeuvre.
Yes, I get it. This was huge when it came out, and System of a Down were right there, riding the alt-/progressive-/nu-metal wave that Korn had initiated five years prior, at its apex. Thanks to the interplay between Daron Malakian’s guitar playing and Serj Tankian’s idiosyncratic vocal style (his staccato delivery with occasional growling outbursts), System of a Down created a unique sound, unmistakably their own. The thrash-metal-influenced riffing is mostly unforgiving and brutal; the lyrics, while often dadaistic or opaque, contain strong political statements — in short: the basics are killer. At its most weird, the record sounds like Frank Zappa fronting a hardcore band (Sugar).
However, even considering the relatively short run time (40-something minutes) for a late-1990s major-label release, one gets the feeling that they pull their signature feat just a little too often. Take Mezmerize, where System of a Down managed to fully diversify their songwriting palette - and were all the better for it. A solid debut (with a quality many bands would kill for), but still lacking that little something that makes a record truly special from front to back.
Damon Albarn knows how to write a song - and then to embellish it. This time, though, it’s a rather understated affair, with a close look into the rear-view mirror and a nostalgic touch. You would be forgiven for not realising that it’s Tony Allen behind the kit (but then again there are songs like Nature Springs and Three Changes. These ornate, folky dub-pop marvels take their fair share of time to blossom. There is much to disassemble while listening: for example, in Kingdom of Doom, a soaring guitar cuts through the feeling of yonder times. Or the amazing drum work. Everything sounds analogue, warm, and a bit dusty - in the most positive sense (my favorite of said sounding bunch would be Green Fields).
There are beautiful songs beneath the gleaming sunlight. This is a masterpiece of textural art - layer upon layer. Much has already been said about these ghoulish guitars; the drumming is equally intense. Brilliant with every fibre of its being.
Only By the Night starts off kinda OK – Closer is a decent opener (yes, I know… haha). But what follows is… the rest of the album. One mediocre tune follows another until it’s finally over. The production seems to be aiming for the sweeping, echo-drenched grandeur of U2, while the whole musical/lyrical approach is apparently meant to be elusive, maybe even seductive. But especially with lyrics this clumsy (frankly, bad), the result sounds equivalent to browsing for lingerie in the clearance bin at Walmart.
A set of folky blues-rock tunes with a laid-back charm. The album is anchored by the classic Bad Moon Rising, which is the undeniable - and, to be honest: sole - standout. While nothing else quite reaches that level, the rest of the album has its moments - some tasteful bluesy guitar work and a warm, rootsy vibe throughout. If you grew up in the US during the late ’60s or ’70s, this probably feels like a piece of your cultural fabric. For listeners born elsewhere, it’s an interesting snapshot of its time - maybe not essential, but worth a listen.
This is… obnoxious.
I tried, I really did and squinted at it like maybe I was missing some deeper meaning. But nope: The only word that fits is pretentious. Yes, it’s well produced. And yes, it’s probably technically “well executed.” But none of that helps when the whole thing sounds like someone tried to make soul music, albeit with less soul.
And then there’s the phallic Free Form Guitar - a track so aggressively annoying, it physically hurts to listen to. if you’re releasing a debut album that clocks in at around 80 minutes, you should definitely have a lot to say. These guys didn’t. Unless “we’re horny, we own pedals and we brought a brass section” counts as a message.
You kind of have to admire their confidence though.
While undoubtly a transitional record, this is still Dylan at his best.
Imagine Simon & Garfunkel stripped down to their basic chords, throw in some gain, add bass and drums, and replace the angelic voice of Garfunkel with a weary, drug-addled, morning-after rasp - more Gram Parsons than Art Garfunkel’s angelic choirboy tenor - and you’ve got the sound of It’s a Shame About Ray. It’s Simon & Garfunkel via The Replacements or Big Star. Wondering if I mean that in a positive way? Hell yeah.
Sometimes all you need are great, hooky tunes, an electric guitar, and lyrics about human relationships, alienation, or drugs. If it were that simple to stir up an album that works as well as this one, why don’t we have more of them?
Just listen to: Confetti, the title track, Alison’s Starting to Happen, Kitchen, My Drug Buddy. The melodies are saccharine - in the best possible way. It’s A Shame About Ray is mostly pristine early-’90s Boston jangle/alt-rock/underground pop bangers, with L.A.’s sublight baked into the fabric.
The tunes are insanely catchy, the runtime is concise, and it’s rough around the edges. In short: it’s pretty close to perfect.
This is one where Björk takes you to the club.
It’s astonishing how fully formed Björk’s artistic vision was already on Debut. While she would go on to elevate her craft to sublime heights on the following three albums, this one - even though not as stylistically cohesive as Post, Homogenic, or Vespertine - contains some standout tracks: Human Behaviour, Venus as a Boy, Big Time Sensuality, Violently Happy or the closer, The Anchor Song.
With Debut, Björk laid the foundation for one of the most inventive and unique bodies of work in Western pop music. Over these 11 tracks, Björk channels genres and styles (Acid House, Drum and Bass, Trip Hop and Jazz included) as if it were the easiest thing to do and her vocal performance is simply out of this world.
Nellee Hooper, Björk’s producer on Debut, built her a fitting and brilliant hybrid of analog warmth and digital crunch (Roland TR 909 and sample based percussion/processed beats) to deliver her idiosyncratic vocals on top.
Oh so brilliant.
Yes, Dare was hugely influential at the time of its release and helped pave the way for synth-pop to come (you can hear the Kraftwerk and Cabaret Voltaire aesthetic all over it). It’s undeniably a crucial document of the 1980s and contains some great ideas: The pulsating The Sound of the Crowd, the ska‑beat‑driven Do or Die, the dark, Krautrock‑influenced I Am the Law.
However, the album as a whole doesn’t really stand the test of time (ironically, Open Your Heart deals with just that topic: “But if you can stand the test, you know your worst is better than their best”). The production sounds mostly outdated - even compared to other synth/dance/new wave records from the early ’80s - and the songwriting isn’t as sharp as some want you to believe. Maybe it’s the overuse of use of contrast (high v. low frequencies) or the Linn drum machine that occasionally annoys the hell out of me. Some of the synth sounds are outright annoying too (like the high/shrill flute imitating tones in Open Your Heart, Darkness and Seconds).
And then there’s the ultra creepy Don’t You Want Me. I’m glad we now live in a time where toxic masculinity and stalking are no longer mistaken for romance.
On the bright side: the Ramones name-dropping line in the opener, The Things That Dreams Are Made Of, made me chuckle.
Phew. A apparently rotten personality making a hellishly dull and obnoxious album. Every original track Clapton covers is better - and that’s by a long shot. Did he even adapt a single thing in the arrangement of his Bob Marley cover? And yet here we are, 50 years later, still pretending that white musicians “borrowing” (read: looting) from Black music are breaking some kind of artistic ground. Seriously? Looking at you too, Chicago and Blood, Sweat & Tears. Eric Clapton, though? Next-level shite: Not everyone has the audacity to ride to fame on the backs of others and be outright racist while culturally appropriating.
Just two years after the maestro himself peaked in his experimental late-career phase with The Drift, two British boys (barely adults and still one of them already spearheaded the new British wave of post-punk-ish indie in the mid-2000s), decided to make a Scott Walker (circa Scott 2-4) pastiche record. It wasn’t something that won me over when it was initially released. Maybe it was because I was still a teen, and anything that sounded vaguely like grandeur drenched in Morricone-style string arrangements seemed automatically like the product of some pseudo-intellectual bourgeois. But now that I’m older and wiser, I can finally correct my ignorant past self and say: this is a pretty decent record and proof of just that would be My Mistakes Were Made For You. Plus, the line “Declaring war on the underclass / Public enemy, I guess / But we’ll find out in the end” in the album opener actually speaks against my initial “bourgeoisie” suspicion, haha.
Alex Turner has always been a great lyricist, and his texts work quite well in their orchestral incantation on The Age of the Understatement. The album sounded far more ambitious than his prior work with Arctic Monkeys, and in retrospect, you can tell that - rather unusual for a side project - the writing and recording of this album influenced the trajectory of Turner’s “main” career. Just play this back to back to Tranquility Base Hotel & Casino…
Unlike Scott Walker’s career, I don’t love the “later” Arctic Monkeys albums. This is why The Age of the Understatement is a rare example where I think Turner’s artistic vision and crooner-style really shine in such a highly embellished musical setting. So it’s a blessing that this collection exists. By the way, Miles Kane: his voice blends well with Turner’s - especially the vocal interplay is great but it reeks like Alex Turner must be the brainchild of most of these songs. But sometimes to add vibe is just as important.
Much like Dylan’s Bringing It All Back Home, Rust Never Sleeps has both an acoustic and an electric side - and it’s all the better for it. The latter even proved formative for the sound of grunge that would blossom in the ’90s.
Partly tracked live and later overdubbed, these recordings sound raw and yet fantastic. Plus, the collection features some of Neil Young’s absolute finest songs (Thrasher, Pocahontas, Powderfinger, Hey Hey, My My (Into the Black)). Man, does he shred on the B-side with his Les Paul.
I’m not particularly crazy about Ride My Llama, Welfare Mothers and Sedan Delivery, as they pale in comparison to the other towering songs on the album. But that’s really just nitpicking.
Neil Young reportedly included “rust” in the title of the previous tour as a metaphor to avoid artistic stagnation - however, if you’ve got these songs sitting around, one does wonder what exactly he thought he was rusting into.
On Foxbase Alpha, Saint Etienne manage to walk the fine line between pleasant, house-based sound washes and carefully orchestrated bliss. Don’t mistake it for mere easy listening, though — it’s not. Whether you fall for its modest, 60’s-tinged pop approach is a question of perspective. It’s club-rooted music for the after-hours and the comedowns; music for those who find beauty in the cracks of society at dawn, when most of us are still asleep.
Best digested while waiting at rural bus stations in the wee hours of the morning, as dust slowly drifts in the shy sunlight across fields waiting to be plowed. But there is more than just a soft indie music/alternative dance element to it. Saint Etienne know how to write an instantly memorable melody and a catchy hook — and this is why it stands out from the pack.
What’s truly engrossing about the album, however, is Saint Etienne’s playful handling of their source material. Be it the profound re-arrangement of the Neil Young classic Only Love Can Break Your Heart (ever wondered how it would sound in 4/4 with a dubby backbeat?), the looping of a Hey Jude cover (Wilson), or the Dusty Springfield sample in Nothing Can Stop Us. The scatter of odd and brief movie or audio samples strewn across the release only adds to its timeless yet melancholic feel.
I was sad to learn that, after more than three decades, Saint Etienne have announced that their upcoming release will be their final studio album. They’ve been around so long that I’ve somehow taken new music from them for granted. While certainly not reinventing the wheel on their latest records, they have always managed to refine the formula they crafted on Foxbase Alpha. And that’s a feat far from common.
As much as I like The Doors’ first outing, I detest this one. Where their debut was raw, wild, inventive, and fun to listen to, L.A. Woman drags; it’s bloated, self-indulgent, and at times an uninspired blues-rock cliché (especially Been Down So Long, Crawling King Snake, and The WASP). L’America, which follows after L.A. Woman, is an extraordinarily annoying song („Change the weather, change your luck / And then he’ll teach ya how to… find yourself” - ahem, wow).
Of course, there is still quality songwriting: in the moody Cars Hiss By My Window, Morrison conjures up vivid images of estrangement, longing, and ennui. However, that a largely improvised, fragmentary track stands as one of the album’s strongest is telling.
In other songs, Morrison’s songwriting craft has waned significantly (he actually sounds tried), which is a pity, because he was the one who elevated The Doors from a good band to a special one. It’s also unfortunate that the group weren’t able to meet the standard set by the opener The Changeling in the following tracks. I can understand why people judge the quality of L.A. Woman based on the strength of the title track and Riders on the Storm, but this overlooks the record’s filler-heavy reality. Their producer even went so far as to call parts of the recordings “cocktail music.” He wasn’t entirely wrong…
This is (maybe) not a five-star album in the classical sense. It’s neither all killers, nor is it wildly inventive or groundbreaking. But here is the thing: my judgement is clouded. Because from a subjective perspective, this is where it all started for me personally. As a teenager growing up in a rural town, this album was hu(uuuu)ge for me. Fake Tales of San Francisco is an all-time favorite, and even today it transports me back to the cold winter of 2006, when my brain was rewired after actively hearing this melange of indie and post-punk for the first time - made by someone roughly from my own generation.
Over the years, I’ve listened to thousands of different albums, genres (and of course to the godmothers and godfathers of this style) but this one still feels special. Unlike many other releases from that era, I think it has aged remarkably well (with the debuts from Franz Ferdinand, Bloc Party, and Maxïmo Park also standing the test of time). Alex Turner is a great lyricist, the drumming is sharp, and the whole thing carries an amazingly raw energy - youthful yet timeless.
This was a fun listen. Back in the day, a few friends of mine were obsessed with it, so for me this record works a bit like a memory machine. It doesn’t quite have the wit, the sharp political edge, the dazzling rhythms, or the mind-bending production of, say, Stereolab. But then again, who can match their brilliance? Still, Microshift is definitely worth revisiting: its neo-psychedelic, krauty vibe feels (positively) familiar/nostalgic and the well-placed bursts of noise (Hookworms wearing their Stereolab fandom pretty openly here) give the whole thing enough punch to keep you hooked (haha, no pun intended) right up to the last track. Some lengthier synth-y interludes create a sense of seamless sequencing and give your mind some room to drift (see first section of Opener, which is oddly enough, situated at the centre of the album), before the krautrock-style repetition pulls you back to earth. Checks a lot of boxes of what you’d expect from a nostalgically tinged music project.
A whole bunch of excellent punk songs here. It’s basically impossible not to love “I’m So Bored with the U.S.A.”, “White Riot” or “Career Opportunities” - these are absolute bangers, as is the rest of the album. Unless, of course, you prefer your music (and your private life) as boogie as hell… haha.
And already, you can hear the Clash planting little seeds for their genre-hopping exeperimentations to come (see “Remote Control”, “London’s Burning” or the „Police & Thieves“ cover). You can tell that they always had a London Calling in them (even though, imho, their self titled one is a lot better in terms of consistency and sequencing). Musically, the Clash outsmarted most of their peers from day one - and this debut still kicks… like a steel-capped boot. Period.
Mark Perry, punk publisher and writer, nailed it: “The Clash album is like a mirror. It reflects all the shit.” Hell yeah; what an apt description. And sadly, a lot of that very shit is still hanging around today, just as urgent as back then.
This is it. The finest band in hardcore punk - the most important the very least. And yeah, I get it - the website is technically an album generator. But everyone knows this spot really belongs to Minor Threat’s complete discography (which is still shorter and crisper than most bloated ’90s records, from a time when labels pushed artists to cram as much music - be it good or be it terrible - possible onto a CD).
Minor Threat might not have the swagger of Bad Brains or a frontman with the raw charisma of Henry Rollins (of course, Ian MacKaye is an icon in his own right), but they wear their hearts on their sleeves and they’ve got these sharp f@*king hooks and riffs. I mean, if you don’t instantly wanna yell along to lyrics such as „we don’t care, we don’t pose, we’ll steal your money, we’ll steal your shows” (Cashing In) it’s your bad.
This record still hits hard and hasn’t lost any of its magic in those nearly 45 years. If you listen to just one hardcore punk band, make it this one. And if you think this iteration of hardcore punk isn’t your cup: “Think again, think again … ignorance, it sets your standards“ (Think Again).
Man, I wish I’d been in D.C. during the heyday of Dischord Records.
Confession time: I am a sucker for the ’90s Pacific Northwest music scene. In a way, it was raw, unhinged and at the same time as beautiful as the Oregon coastline. The number of great musicians and bands from that time and place is just mind-blowing. And yet, Elliott Smith managed to stand out from the highly gifted and wildly creative pack.
So much has been said about Either/Or, and I don’t really have anything new to add. Only this: when I look at the cover now, I’m reminded that I loved this album so much back in the day that my adoration for Either/Or overshadowed his entire discography.
Today, I’ve finally come to terms that Figure 8 at least matches (if not surpasses) the brilliance of Either/Or. Elliott Smith was a truly unique songwriter: Someone whose kind doesn’t roam the earth or grace our ears and hearts very often. Even though many of his recordings come from dark places, the songs on Either/Or bring an unlikely sense of comfort; the lush, restrained arrangements can really lull you in.
I’m so glad we had Elliott Smith among us, and that he chose to lay his idiosyncratic songwriting and angelic melodies to tape. Too bad his life ended so abruptly and far too early. We miss you, Elliott - and there are hardly any better voices to turn to in the search for solace than yours.
A mostly strong collection of well-crafted songs on this one. You can tell that Michael Kiwanuka is a versatile (and by the time of his 2019 self-titled release, also a veteran) songwriter. Kiwanuka is as cohesive and mature an outing as it is “retro”-sounding. However, even with it’s analogue buzz and glow it doesn’t sounds like it’s coming from and living in the past. Topics such as anxieties, racism, and police brutality are, sadly, as pressing as they have ever been. And the record itself works like a prism, channeling a myriad of artists and styles. In doing just that, Kiwanuka manages to deliver a condensed version of his record collection and - this is no easy feat - makes it feel somehow timeless. So mind you, it’s far more than cheap pastiche.
Take Living in Denial, which partly sounds like an uptempo soul classic, borrowing some of the vocal processing elements that also defined Portugal. The Man’s Evil Friends (which, just like Kiwanuka, was produced by the retro enabler and maximizer himself, Danger Mouse).
I can’t help but think that this list spot might be better suited for Sault’s 2020 twin outings Untitled (Black Is) and Untitled (Rise), helmed by none other than Kiwanuka’s co–sound alchemist, Inflo. On Black Is and Rise, the political message is just a tad sharper, and the songwriting more adventurous and uptight.
Kiwanuka, on the other hand, is a much more mellow affair — a real crowd-pleaser, if you will. It’s easy to see why people were spinning this heavily in the weird and upsetting early months of 2020.
All this could speak for - and at the same time against - the quality and lasting impact of Kiwanuka. It certainly helps that there are some amazing tunes on it, such as the opener “You Ain’t the Problem,” “Hero,” and “Rolling.” Unfortunately, the interludes don’t do much for me aside from slowing the record down.
Sometimes I’m left wondering whether this album, with a shorter runtime, might have maximized its effect even more.
The Eagles accomplish a rare feat on their debut. Despite being among the early figures in L.A. country-rock, they somehow managed to create its most generic iteration right out of the gate. Chapeau. You’ve got to give it to them. While not everything here is actually bad (if you’re under the impression that the “better” parts sound a lot like Jackson Browne, it’s because he (co-)wrote two songs and seemingly was a strong influence), all in all it’s just boilerplate, utterly boring songwriting and downright awful lyrics. A well-deserved 1.
Yesterday, I was having a rather obnoxious listen to the Eagles’ debut (absolutely hated the record). And I know, this generator is an algorithm - but honestly, it couldn’t have done it better if it had deliberately “chosen” to follow the Eagles up with the Grateful Dead. American Beauty is country rock done right, dear Eagles. It’s a blessing to have the grace of this genre restored in an instant. Still not really my thing (a genre that often feels like denim set to music), but at least American Beauty explains why people could possibly love this kind of music. Cannot really get into the opener but the following “Friend of the Devil” (what a tune) and “Sugar Magnolia” are both amazing songs.
Whoa, this was a wildly mixed-bag, rollercoaster listening experience. Some of Arrival’s production choices and songwriting turns are absolutely brilliant (the soaring chorus of “Knowing Me, Knowing You,” the build-and-release tension of “That’s Me”); others are downright annoying (the synth squiggles of “Dum Dum Diddle” - especially post-chorus - or that deeply questionable sax line in “Why Did It Have to Be Me?”, not to mention the flanger-soaked vocals on “Tiger”). And what’s up with the title track? That one feels completely out of place after the previous glam rock excursion in “Tiger”.
Plus, a lot of the topics seem like they’ve fallen out of time, and sometimes the lyrics are just overly cringey (“When I Kissed the Teacher” and “Dum Dum Diddle” being the most obvious examples). Actually, if I think about it… most of the lyrics are simply terrible.
Still, regardless of how you feel about ABBA, it’s impossible to deny that Benny and Björn sure as hell knew exactly how to write instantly memorable pop songs.
To add to my opening statement: to some degree, listening to Arrival felt like hearing some tracks for the first time again: Foe example, paying close attention to the brick-wall-like wall of sound on “Dancing Queen”… I still have a hard time coming to terms with it.
I never loved ABBA (quite the contrary), but giving it some time and deliberate attention, I can now see more clearly why Sid Vicious and Joe Strummer were kind of into this Swedish Eurodance powerhouse. Leaning heavily into the disco sensibilities of the early ’70s, ABBA took some risks - and a lot of them paid off (while just as many didn’t). Too bad the record is such a mess and tries to be all over the place.
Unlike other comments, I don’t think Frusciante or Smith are doing anything particularly special here. Both are undoubtly gifted, professional musicians, but what they do mostly serves as a tight but boilerplate backdrop for the songs. Aside from a few intriguing solos maybe (at the end of “I Could Have Lied” for example)… But what keeps this record from being a completely dull funk rip-off disaster is Kiedis’s idiosyncratic singing and the - undoubtedly - brilliant Flea. Of course, Kiedis lyrics are hit or miss (with far more miss than hit - just listen to „Suck My Kiss”, ouch), but at least his delivery is distinctive and charismatic. His full stylistic range - good and bad alike - is on display on “Mellowship Slinky in B Major”. I wouldn’t call anything on Blood Sugar Sex Magik (the Chili Peppers never fail to come up with stupid album titles) genius, or even particularly good, aside from Flea’s bass playing. However, with so many actually great funk (adjacent) records out there, there’s no compelling reason to ever sit through this one again.
If the word sprawling hadn’t existed before, it would have been invented to describe this 1993 outing by The Boo Radleys. Giant Steps is one of the best albums to emerge from under the broad – and itself not easily defined – umbrella of the Britpop-interwoven-with-Shoegaze era. Giant Steps is one of the best of the Brunch because it nearly bursts at the seams. Instead of choosing to focus solely on melody or texture, The Boo Radleys combined both.
And that makes sense, because Britpop and shoegaze were never cleanly separated categories to begin with; both are porous, overlapping, and stylistically fluid. Where Slowdive aimed for a cohesive, enveloping sonic world, and Blur and Oasis leaned into more straightforward pop ambition, The Boo Radleys wore their influences in jazz, noise rock, and even hints of ragga/reggae openly for everyone to hear (as in the brass-tinged exuberance of “Lazarus” or the genre-blending shifts in “I Hang Suspended”). It’s a nod to their heroes, and yet they created something unmistakably their own.
The record is opulent, it’s beautiful, it’s intentionally stacked - in the best possible sense - and it’s kaleidoscopic. I was skeptical at first about diving into the record again, because the recent shoegaze and dream-pop revival of the 2020s has begun to wear on me. But the abundance of ideas, the marvelous sound design, the inventive production, and the buoyancy of their multi-genre blend make it stand out even after all these years. A record to behold. Period.
There is a bonmot to describe albums like these: SEMINAL. Also, the songwriting is catchy as hell. I mean, the Lo-Fi predecessor recordings are even more seminal (if that's even possible), but once you get over the "Hi-Fi" shock, there is no reason to love Exile in Guyville just the same.
When I put on Who’s Next, my first thought is: How is he doing this? Of course, I am referring to the intense drumset witchcraft of Keith Moon. His playing really propels this album and elevates it to higher spheres. But then it can also be tiring when you realize that his modus operandi is: "One fill after another (repeat endlessly)". Regardless, masterclass, Mr. Moon. Sometimes it's just too much for simple-minded me.
Overall, I have to say that the occasional mid-tempo tracks (Getting in Tune, Going Mobile) don’t do much for me songwriting-wise, but that's really no big deal if you have a song such as “The Song Is Over” under your belt. The Who go prog rock? Well, if you have a songwriter as skilled as Pete Townshend and a drummer like Keith Moon in your ranks, what can go wrong? In short: nothing. In my book, this is the best song The Who have ever put on tape. In a way, I like the thought that "The Song Is Over" foreshadowed the more “conventional” passages of Fragile and Close to the Edge by Yes, which were released just a few months after Who’s Next. Even if that thought is probably bollocks, I feel the urge to spin Close to the Edge immediately after Who's Next concluding notes vanish into the aether. Since Who's Next ends on such a strong note (Won't Get Fooled Again), these albums compliment each other quite well, I'd say.
You gotta give it to Slipknot: their vision and sound came already cohesively formed on their 1995 debut.
To start with the good: Slipknot’s musical influences are impressively diverse. Besides drawing from the then-omnipresent alt-rock wave, they brought death and thrash metal galore to the table and even some tasty hardcore riffing - all wrapped in a layer of industrial grit. The lyrics, though, even when I first heard them as a teenager, failed to impress. To put it mildly, they’re pretty one-dimensional: Alright, you’re sick of everything. Cool. You hate people. Fair. But did it really have to be fifteen songs about exactly that?
Unfortunately, the production is extremely fatiguing. The drumming for example is absolutely insane, but then the mix leaves zero room for any instrument to breathe (plus, the triggered drums-sound-like-tin style is absolutely overused and apparently they literally banged on oil cans). I assume this was meant to intensify the effect of the claustrophobic, misanthropic vibe, but in practice the recording just ends up sounding like a brick. Too bad… but very much in line with a lot of mainstream alt-rock production trends of the 90s. Even though I definitely heard worse.
All that said, it’s still one of the better nu-metal records (after all, this is not Limp Bizkit… haha), largely because it leans into the metal side of the formula. But honestly, though: is it just me, or do the turntable parts sound oddly out of place and occasionally ridiculous? That doesn’t do the trick for me at all. Maybe that (along with the mushy sound) is the reason why the shock value of these tracks is rather low for me.
Beyond being a massively influential band back then, Slipknot’s sound even found new disciples in the 2020s (Code Orange, Jesus Piece and Vein instantly pop in mind) - acts that pushed the more metallic hardcore aspects of the genre and for the most part (musically and lyrically) outsmarted their musical parents. Honestly, that’s a development I never thought we’d see.
And yet, here we are, and I’m thinking: well, Slipknot… not even half as bad as I remembered.
Last night I drifted into a dream that carried me to a past I’ve never lived in. I found myself standing in my little neighborhood record store, flipping through the bins. When suddenly, a melody rose into the air: warm, shimmering and enchanting. The tune made me stop mid-motion. “What’s playing?” I asked. The shop owner smiled, knowingly, and told me it was a song by Dire Straits, from the self-titled debut of a young and aspiring band from London, UK.
Apparently my dream took place in the 70s, and not only had I never heard of the Mark-Knopfler-led band before, I also didn’t have any pre-formed, unshakable opinion about their quality. So when I woke up, I decided it was time to give the record another shot. And believe me, I really tried to find something I enjoyed.
But no chance - I still hate everything (or at least most of it) about it, but primarily it’s Mark Knopfler’s guitar work that annoys me. It’s 45 minutes of: Look, I’m the guy with the Fender and I’m playing guitar AT you. Seriously, what is he aiming at - a good song, or is it simply attention-seeking for his (undeniable) skills? Over the course of this debut record, he borrows heavily from others and ruminates on lyrics that aspire to a Dylan-level depth they never reach. Granted, it’s not Clapton-level obnoxious, but nonetheless, it was hard to sit through.
A lovely record buzzing with subtly psychedelic flourished arrangements and intricate rhythmic layers. The flute in “Clara” would be a prime example, as would the sitar in “Eleanor” or the organ in “Soy Loco por Ti, América.”
The record starts right off on a strong note: the jazzy bossa-psych gem “Tropicália” is a clear highlight of Caetano Veloso’s self-titled full-length. Elsewhere, opaque and swirling string arrangements serve as a backdrop for the laid-back tracks that follow. The strings definitely add an intriguing and frankly beautiful touch to the songs, which are rooted in traditional Brazilian styles and African rhythms (again, “Soy Loco por Ti, América” has to be mentioned as a standout) - an art and musical movement that bears the same name as the aforementioned opening tune.
Caetano apparently called his debut outing “amateurish and confused.” Well, maybe that only adds to its charm, because it’s a beautiful little marvel. I’d rather say it sounds adventurous and is buzzing with playfulness.
By the way, just as strong as it opened, the record closes with the sitar-assisted, psychedelic, surf-rock-infused “Eles.” Nice.
Mixed Bag… A somewhat uneven, dare I say Prog-Pop (?), collection by Mr. Simon. Mixed in terms of sonics as well as quality. Let's start with the obvious: there are serious duds on here. The first of these, unfortunately, is the opener, largely due to its silly lyrics (same flaw goes for Cars Are Cars (aaaaargh!), which is luckily buried in the second half). But then we can witness some of Paul Simon's finest compositions. Take the marvellous title track with its elegant Bossa touches, the refined phrasing, and the stunning chord progressions. And whoa, Rene and Georgette Magritte with Their Dog After the War makes you simply stop in your tracks: what a marvel (I melted when he sang "après la guerre" so nonchalantly).
But then some songs simply don’t really stick - though not for lack of ambition. In When Numbers Get Serious Paul throws in so many ideas that the song seems overstuffed with ideas: the slap bass and the synth in the first part of the song don’t really match the backing vox/the choir. All in all, while showing remarkable songwriting craft, the result sounds forced.
Elsewhere, the ambition somewhat drains the fun from other tunes: the laconically stomping Song About the Moon is bookended by the themselves (over-)ambitious Think Too Much (b and a). In contrast, Song About the Moon pulls such a “simple” effect (melodic changes towards the chorus(es)) that it stands out as somewhat understated. Even though, taken for itself, this would probably be a fan favorite were it included in his earlier output. Elsewhere songs foreshadow his Graceland era; Train in the Distance and Think Too Much (a) would probably count as bona fide outtakes from his magnum opus, if we didn’t know better.
For all my criticism, I have to admit that I enjoy the hell out of the album, simply for Paul Simon's overwhelmingly beautiful harmonics and in general because of the strikingly “experimental” character of the record with all the LinnDrum elements as well as killer musical contributions (Anthony Jackson, Marcus Miller, Philip Glass among others … crazy). There are so many bits in pieces to pay attention to (Think Too Much (b) would be my favorite in this regard). Sadly, his undeniable ability as a songwriter jangling with all kinds of styles and seamlessly blending them together wasn’t (yet) on full display on Hearts and Bones. I'd call it a great prequel to Graceland, but for it being so transitional, I would not include it in a list such as this.
Edit: Does anyone else think of Warren Zevon's Night Time in the Switching Yard when listening to Think Too Much (a)?
I love the theatrics of this (“too emotional?” Nah, just about perfect). Its percussion focus, the rolling guitar. The songwriting is dense, surprisingly versatile, and always a handful to digest - but never too much. A careful act of balance on the tightrope. Adam's voice is great because he has swagger while still sounding grounded, fitting perfectly into his band's sound. Even if, in retrospect, some of the new-wave-y art-punk touches feel a bit goofy (the baritone “hey ho” shanty-style chorus in Feed Me to the Lions, the bullet sounds in the intentionally silly Los Rancheros, or the seaman-like whistle in Jolly Roger).
The Ants Invasion is a nice little mood piece in the middle of the record and showcases much of the collection’s strength. Shame that the B-side Press Darlings wasn’t included - I think it's a superb blend of punk and distinctly individual “antsyness.”
Does anyone still talk about Adam & the Ants? Not sure… Haven’t heard the name in ages. Too bad… this animal-themed sophomore outing is, while never truly brilliant, highly entertaining. You can practically hear the mark he left on the British music landscape for years to come.
I wouldn’t have listened to it were it not for this generator (glad I gave it a spin). Not entirely sure it belongs on this list, though; this spot should absolutely belong to Siouxsie.
While always an immaculate lyricist, able to build the most stunning narrative arcs, I have to admit that Leonard Cohen, in his primary folk streak, did not manage to replicate the magic he conjured up on his debut. Mostly because his debut came across as a poet’s humble excursion into music, and the understated nature of the recording only added to the fascinating world his characters live in. The slight embellishments of the songs on his subsequent albums, including his sophomore record cannot cover the fact that he still pretty much relies on the same songwriting formula. Which, mind you, is not a bad thing when your first record was Songs of Leonard Cohen. But he just doesn’t deliver the same goods; the songs feel reheated. Also, I really don’t like the sound of the Jew’s harp that accompanies him on the first songs (the soft organ touches on “Story of Isaac,” on the other hand, are amazing). “The Partisan” is, of course, masterclass. But unfortunaley it is the only song on this collection that meets the "masterclass"-threshold.
I love the manic, bratty energy of this album. It's the rightly lauded precursor for so many incredible (and important) riot grrrl–affiliated records that broke onto the scene in the 80s and 90s. The lyrics are occasionally funny - also: what a brilliant title for an album - but mostly incredibly smart. And so are the hooks and riffs. The whole thing is infectious as hell, never slows down, and has killer sax melodies on it. Plus, the songs are all bangers. Singer Poly Styrene delivers one stunning performance after another. A true classic and one of the holy grails of punk music.
I liked this better than I thought I would (read about it often but I never gave it a full spin before, it seems). It's a surprisingly versatile and highly infectious debut. I came to think of labeling it a very ambitious garage rock record. Supergrass have the ferocious energy that made a lot of their predecessors landmarks of the British Music Scene (oftentimes, the Jam and Buzzcocks come to mind). But there is also a psychedelic side to things on the flipside: “Sofa of my Lethargy” is such a nice little meandering suite of swirling guitar and a beautifully fuzzy build-up that I even get Elephant 6 vibes. I Should Coco doesn’t waste time — the four musicians let you know their ambition right out of the gate with their mod- and punk-infused opening triplet “I’d Like to Know”, “Caught by the Fuzz” (what an apt title) and “Mansize Rooster.” What makes the record stand out for me, however, is Supergrass’ ability to write instantly memorable choruses, which they perfected in the mid-section of the record — “Strange Ones” and “Sitting Up Straight.” There, their influences come together seamlessly and complement each other the best; the blend just works perfectly. A minus point for the utterly obnoxious “We’re Not Supposed To” (is it supposed to be an interlude?) Oh man… and it's not even a hidden track or sth. Just placed smack in the middle of the second half.
By the opening seconds, you know this is a Wilson/Beach Boys–related recording. The Wilsons’ angelic voices never fail to touch your heartstrings. However, Dennis Wilson can sound like a fallen angel (akin to Robbie Roberston of The Band), when his voice is on the verge of breaking (esp. in the middle section of the album comprising Thought of You & Time). What was surprising to me when I heard this album for the first time was how often one stumbles upon straightforward Rock elements (see What's Wrong, second half of Time). Dennis Wilson took the formula of the main band and opened it to more conventional structures here and there, which, as it turns out, was a smart move. Sometimes, the sound is extremely punchy, and that fits Dennis’ voice just great. As one can expect, the songwriting is versatile and - in the most positive sense - unpredictable. The (reissue) opener, The River, shape-shifts so much that it takes a few listens to get a hold of it. Regardless, you can simply approach Pacific Ocean Blue for a quick dopamine rush, too, because the hooks and choruses are simply beautiful. Also, the sprawling, opulent Thoughts of You caught me completely off guard: the way the whimsical, fragile piano led ballad transitions to the psychedelic, nearly drone-like arrangement is nothing short of stunning. Released eleven years after Pet Sounds, this ranks among the finest works in the Beach Boys cosmos - even if the slow-paced tracks in the second half do not manage to hold up the initial excitement one feels when listening to the A-side.
It’s staggering how influential the sound of The Jam has been – and still is. To get a sense of just how far their reach extends, listen to Set the House Ablaze and then switch to Helicopter, the second track on Bloc Party’s seminal debut. The lineage is impossible to miss. Then again, in Start! The Jam heavily borrowed from the Beatles (Taxman). Well, tit for tat.
Usually, I am critical of “hit singles”, because they are often overplayed, but not That’s Entertainment – I will never get tired of this beautiful tune. It’s one of those rare tracks that never seems to lose its glow.
With Sound Affects, The Jam delivered their most lasting output and – at least in my books – their career-defining highlight. What strikes me most about the album is how you can hear their influences (Wire, Joy Division, Gang of Four) everywhere, and yet The Jam somehow managed to make the album sound distinctly their own: timeless and, of course, impeccably punchy.
The psychedelic and funk flourishes (apparently, Michael Jackson’s Off the Wall was a huge inspiration too… OK, I wouldn’t have guessed, to be honest, except for maybe the drums) blend in seamlessly and elevate the already great songwriting to greater heights. Also, the cover is just great. A true staple of (post-)(mod-)punk.
I went in expecting to hate the record. Why? Because I usually don’t care for albums whose sound deliberately evokes a bygone era - one that is often heavily romanticised. And that certainly seems to be the case with Sinatra’s swing and jazz vignettes.
Well, I didn’t exactly become a believer, but it was far more entertaining than I had anticipated. Of course, Frank Sinatra was an entertainer - that’s not what I’m questioning. What I mean is that, musically speaking, the record turned out to be quite engaging and compositionally interesting… at least at first. I still struggle, however, with the apparent similarity between the tracks. With each passing tune, they tend to blend and blur into one another. That said, You Are Getting to Be a Habit with Me stood out for its great interplay between flutes and bass. Very nice.
A very good two-star record! If that makes any sense…
It's hard to believe that this list wasn't just compiled a few weeks ago. Given the selections that I have had so far (about one fifth in), you could come to the conclusion that Britpop must be the greatest and most influential genre of all. I've had so many Britpop records over the previous month (and the “obvious” genre highlights were not even among them) that you could be forgiven for assuming that the editors were riding high on the ongoing (and mainly nostalgic) Britpop revival wave.
A whole bunch of the 1001 list was apparently assembled in the early 2000s - a fact which itself only partly helps to explain the number of Britpop artists included here. At that time, British music on continental Europe was a massive phenomenon (Arctic Monkeys, Franz Ferdinand, Bloc Party, …). But then again, these bands were primarily drawing from post-punk and less so from Britpop. Britpop was, if my memory serves me well, as dead as a doornail at the time. I saw Oasis touring Europe around 2008/2009 in a medium-sized concert venue (give or take 4,000 people), and the only thing that I can recall is that Liam left the stage after a handful of songs.
So there must be another reason for the disproportionate amount of Britpop records in this 1001 pile. And the more I think about it, the more I come to the conclusion that the love for Britpop depends on your understanding of - and listening habits towards - music. To me, Britpop is not so much a clearly defined genre category, but rather a kaleidoscopic excursion into music history. Britpop has always been about nostalgia, and if that is your thing, you probably enjoy a good Britpop record too.
For one, every Britpop band unabashedly and unashamedly borrowed from their predecessors (certainly, most - if not all - artists do that, but not as openly as, say, Oasis). Second, they did not take one influence, but a whole bunch of artists and, like a prism, channeled their sound. Oftentimes it was ’60s psychedelic pop mixed with the recent resurgence of heavy guitar-based music (grunge, shoegaze). Combined with charismatic (and occasionally obnoxious) frontmen and the ability to write irresistible pop hooks, Britpop managed to serve as a bridge between generations and music genres that, before Britpop, existed more in (separate) niches. And by combining them into an arena-suited sound, they blew everything up.
Not a small feat by itself, especially considering how cohesive the results tended to sound. Now that’s my understanding of the enduring success of Britpop - and, to be honest, the reason why I enjoy a lot of Britpop records myself.
But… influential and groundbreaking? I don’t know. I have difficulty pinning Britpop albums down as such. Because as much as I love Britpop, I have to say that it feels - and has always felt - like a dead end to me. As you can see when looking at the Oasis reunion, people needed their heroes to return because the well had run dry. No one is doing Britpop anymore (at least not successfully), because as it stands now, the story has been told. That is the fate of a genre that was always busy looking in the rear-view mirror.
In the early ’90s, it must have been great to have one good-to-amazing album after another on the market. But is it justified to put more than, let’s say, five Britpop records on a list like this? Nah; don’t think so. And Supergrass are a great example for discussing this question. I think that with their first two records, they were the ones who managed to merge punk/mod energy with the psychedelic sound aesthetic of the ’60s most successfully. They were great songwriters with a real talent for writing choruses and hooks.
Take In It for the Money, which is not only versatile; it also manages to even out the duds from their debut. Unfortunately, though, the highs are not as high anymore, lacking truly standout tracks that elevate the album to another level. I think you would be just fine if you had never listened to this record. But if you do, you will probably have a good 40-plus minutes of solid songwriting ahead of you.
A word of warning, though: the initial excitement may slow down in parallel with the decreasing BPM of the tunes towards the end of the record - that is, unless you like your psychedelic pop smoldering rather than igniting. And then, unfortunately, comes the closer. Urgh. That one hurt.
This is one of the greatest post-punk albums ever released. It is brilliant mainly because of John Lydon’s near-manic and unpredictable performance. He sounds as if he is constantly on the tipping point of sanity, shifting from bellowing to whispering, from stammering to screaming. The band (especially Wobble's hypnotic bass) creates the perfect, repetitive backdrop, sounding like Can performing from inside a metal box (forgive the comparison), with the dissonance turned up to eleven. It is a staggering document of its time: a smudged version of post-punk, fronted by a genius "actor" who tries to tame the chaos just enough for the songs to remain discernible beneath all the misery. A true piece of art. Inimitable, astounding and unique.
One of the genre-defining psychedelic records, this one. Starting from the cover art to the music itself. The performance is inherently experimental: it’s bubbling, it’s warbling, it’s spellbinding, it’s hypnotic, it’s sprawling, and it’s constantly shape-shifting. Roky Erickson does an amazing job of bringing in an additional odd element. A far cry from the similarly groundbreaking Piper at the Gates of Dawn’s academic approach, the 13th Floor Elevators primarily draw from rock ’n’ roll’s primal intensity and passion. As a result, it’s one of the rawest staples of the genre. Occasionally the band ventures into more melodic and laid-back territory on the third track, which invites comparisons to the later released Jefferson debut. Thhe 13th Floor Elevators were truly ahead of their time.
I have long not enjoyed an album that I didn’t know before as much as I enjoyed this one. Never was a big Elvis fan, and this won’t change much overall, but man, From Elvis in Memphis is 90% nothing short of stunning. The performances and the arrangements are absolutely ace. All of the musicians are brilliant; Elvis’ singing is super expressive; the selection of songs makes for an impeccable flow. I fully understand why this is seen as a classic. It has stood the test of time - and it has a great cover. Where the country influences take over too much (“I’ll Hold You in My Heart,” “It Keeps Right On A-Hurtin’”), those are the songs which I’m not particularly crazy about. But overall, this was an incredible listen (or rather, three listens). The melody in “Long Black Limousine” - ah, it just hits the right spots. I can’t stop listening to it for now.
I never once (in person) crossed paths with a single passionate fan and frequent listener of music - of any genre - who genuinely likes this album. And I worked in a record store for nearly a decade. This persistent absence has led me to a simple conclusion: This record is for those who prioritize spectacle over music, and who possess both the patience and the willingness to endure The Wall’s visual bombast long enough to wait for the two decent songs by the „other genius,” rewarding themselves, at last, with something to tap a foot or hum along to.
The concept of The Wall is… well, in principle, it is always good to call out authoritarianism. Yet the album’s immense success; both as a record and as a stage show; appears to have done nothing to prevent the very dynamics it claims to criticize. Beyond its concept, however, the album is very difficult to sit through. For the most part, the lyrics and music are utterly boring.
This is one of those rare moments where critical consensus deserves to be taken at face value: Pink Floyd were past their apex. What a massive letdown after Animals.
The world, it seems, wanted The Wall - but I have yet to encounter anyone who wholeheartedly says, “I dig The Wall.”
From the iconic cover to the songs: a unique and highly entertaining offering from Bowie at the top of his game. Masterful. Bowie struck gold in Berlin.
