1001 Albums Summary

Had never heard before. ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ Excellent and thoroughly enjoyable. Contains a certain quirk in places, that breaks up what otherwise could become a dull overall listen. Quite serious in others. A sea shanty popped up third. The approach of the album made me think of someone like Harry Nilsson, except with little more theatrics and/or Americana storytelling.

A classic. Have loved this one for a long time.

Pretty good. I thought it would be better, given its status as a classic. The title track is obviously iconic, the others are kinda wallpaper.

No words. The best album ever!

Not for me, personally. I can hear it’s solid, well written and executed. I’m not a fan of fiddles or weird alt-country by former punks, but here we are.

Look, I get it. It’s a classic. The musicianship is nuts — Navarro in particular is off his rocker in the best way. But Perry’s vocals never quite hit for me; too much theatre, not enough nuance. Still, this album oozes sweaty, chaotic, late-‘80s LA energy. It’s a mood — just not always mine. Feels like the official soundtrack for American dudes who quote Fight Club and still call it “my truth.”

This is the very definition of “classic” — not just because it’s old and revered, but because it still kicks like thunder. Every track is iconic in its own way, from the blues swagger of ‘Black Dog’ to the god-tier apocalypse of ‘When the Levee Breaks’. Even ‘Stairway’ — overplayed as it is — still towers. This isn’t just a band at their peak, it’s rock itself crystallising into legend.

I’ll be honest — I went into this expecting “Come On Eileen” cosplay and came out feeling attacked by brass. I’d written Dexys off as one-hit wonders, but this debut? It’s an entirely different beast: loud, frantic, and wildly committed to being very horny (musically). Kevin Rowland delivers every line like he’s either being exorcised or urgently trying to clear his throat. Spotify doesn't even know the lyrics — probably because no one’s ever managed to decipher them. Did this influence The Mighty Mighty Bosstones? Feels spiritually adjacent. But for me? Bit much. Way too much horn, not enough harmony.

Never heard this one before, and honestly? Loved it. It’s twitchy, atmospheric, and full of that irresistible gothic drama — all smoke, shadow, and slow panic. The production is murky as hell (like the band set up a studio in a crawlspace), but it works. It’s cold and stylish and just weird enough to stay interesting. A gloomy little gem that connects the dots between Ian Curtis and every black-clad post-punk band that followed.

Have never liked her — but maybe I’m beginning to start. Weird thing, taste. Björk’s always been a bit much for me — too squeaky, too kooky, too… Icelandic goblin queen. But Debut caught me off guard. It’s gentle, glitchy, and not nearly as impenetrable as I remembered. Tracks like ‘Human Behaviour’ and ‘Venus as a Boy’ have a curious charm, like someone whispering riddles through a lava lamp. I’m not all in yet, but I’m peeking through the curtain — and it’s starting to make sense.

Another one that’s not for me, in fact bu the time it got to ‘Naked Man’ (track 9), it started to properly irritate me.

God, this is good. Damon was in his “between things” era — Blur on pause, Gorillaz riding high — but The Good, The Bad & The Queen doesn’t feel like a side project. It feels like a mood. Floating, reflective, faintly haunted. A little punk, a little dubby, a little London ghost story. Backed by an actual supergroup and produced by Danger Mouse, it could’ve been a Gorillaz record… but it isn’t. It’s something slower, sadder, and deeper. Quietly brilliant.

This is blues at its absolute best. Raw, alive, and smooth as fuck. Live at the Regal captures B.B. King in full command — not just of his band, but of the entire damn room. It’s the kind of record that makes you understand why Clapton, Mayer, and Knopfler all bowed at his feet. Lucille sings, the crowd roars, and you’re right there in the thick of it. Not a wasted note can be heard here.

This was a surprise. Pelican West is pure escapist joy — all complex bass, nimble guitars, and brass flourishes that scream “hey, we really love black music, okay?” It’s got that unmistakable ‘80s vocal tone — all breathy earnestness from guys who probably owned at least two pairs of boat shoes. The songwriting’s surprisingly clever, and for a debut (and only) album, it holds up. They were never going to be sexy or dangerous, but that was kind of the point. Just a warm, funky breeze from the friendliest corner of the yacht.

xx still hits like a stolen glance across a dark nightclub. Hefty bass, bare arrangements, and that uncanny intimacy between Romy and Oliver — vocal chemistry that transcends orientation and turns vulnerability into tension. Jamie xx would go on to be the MVP, but this debut is lightning in a soft-spoken bottle. Minimalist and magnetic, it’s aged like smoke and good perfume — barely there, but unforgettable. As essential as the day it arrived.

It’s hard to revisit this one without all the baggage, but damn… The College Dropout is hands down one of the greatest debut albums of all time. ‘Jesus Walks’ alone is a revelation — bold, spiritual, revolutionary. And then there’s ‘All Falls Down’, ‘Through The Wire’, ‘Spaceship’ — classics, front to back. The songs are there, the features are there, his ego’s already there, but it’s fuelled by hunger — not yet warped by fame or delusion. There’s humility in the delivery, even when he’s flexing. It’s self-aware, soulful, and sonically rich. Whatever came later, this album still stands. A stand-up classic that changed hip hop, and I hope Ye listens a bit closer to this stuff again.

I’m not across Everly Brothers’ records, only familiar with the hits — and might I say, damn fond of them. They say no one can harmonise as well as siblings, and Don and Phil just might be the strongest arguement of that. This one’s smooth as satin and sharp as a blade. Every track is drenched in that unmistakable sibling blend — tight, angelic, and slightly haunted. The songwriting’s clean, the production pristine, and yet there’s something just beneath the surface: longing, ache, restraint. It’s easy to write them off as pre-Beatles bubblegum, but there’s real craft here. A date worth keeping.

Confession : as a kid, Billy Corgan’s nasally whine and messiah complex sent me running. Adult me? Eating my hat. The guy was hurting, and Siamese Dream is a howl through the static — suicidal depression and all. Butch Vig’s fingerprints are all over it (Nevermind says hi), and Jimmy Chamberlin’s drumming? Like a jazz-trained war machine on a heroin timer. Songs! Songs! Songs! ‘Today’ is the sunniest song about feeling like ending it all you’ll ever hear, ‘Disarm’ is a gut-punch wrapped in strings, and ‘Mayonaise’? 🤌🏻 This album is guitars on guitars on guitars — shimmering, suffocating, sweet and searing all at once. “The next Nirvana,” they said. Nah. This was its own monster: ornate, ambitious, and still capable of levelling you 30 years later.

Those who know me, know I often lead with my adoration of Prince, so this one is a bit of a lol. But seriously — Purple Rain is perfect. No skips. It’s funky, it’s horny, it’s hip, and it’s still utterly mind-blowing 40 years later. The only artist ever to hold the #1 album, song and movie simultaneously? Prince. And this album is why. Songs! ‘Let’s Go Crazy’ kicks the doors off the hinges, ‘When Doves Cry’ still sounds like nothing else on earth, and the title track? It’s a stadium-sized hymn that will outlive us all. And everything in between, is perfectly placed and flawlessly executed. This isn’t just a record, it’s a cultural phenomenon.

The sound of a new Miles Davis being born — very, very quietly. Miles goes electric. Causes controversy. Eventually hailed a masterpiece. All true. This isn’t jazz to tap your foot to — it’s jazz to lose yourself inside of. In a Silent Way ebbs and flows and the host himself invites you in, sits you down to indulge his world. Long, hypnotic movements. Trumpet lines barely there — more like a signal from somewhere far off. Electric piano, ambient textures, and the birth of something new. It floats, it breathes, it waits. This is a turning point in jazz and a gentle revolution.

🗯 Beyond essential, if possible — transformational. Well, here’s a no-brainer. I’ve had a few during this project, but this one truly changed how I hear music. OK Computer shifted the culture and rewired listeners. Dystopian and human, intimate and alien, it predicted the anxiety of the digital age while sounding completely untethered to it. It felt like a line in the sand the first time I heard it — a clear before and after. It took the guts of alternative rock, fed them through a broken modem, and somehow emerged with something symphonic. It’s cold and intimate, mechanical and emotional — like a robot mourning its own circuitry. ‘Airbag’ opens like a car crash in slow motion. ‘Paranoid Android’ is a prog-rock masterclass for the disillusioned. ‘Let Down’ Is still one of the most devastating songs ever written about modern life. It predicted culture. That mix of isolation, overload, and quiet collapse? 1997 could’ve easily missed it, but we got it and, maybe we didn’t deserve it at the time, but we caught up and it remains one of the finest ever!

Another band I feel like I know well, even though I really only know the hits. Sitting with the full record puts them in clearer focus — and yep, it’s folk and mostly Dylan covers everywhere. But The Byrds made them shimmer. Roger McGuinn’s jangly 12-string Rickenbacker is legendary — bright, chirpy, and now synonymous with this thing called folk rock that The Byrds helped popularise. There’s a sweetness to the sound, but a quiet confidence underneath. These weren’t just Dylan acolytes in matching jackets — they were the first truly effective American band to challenge the British Invasion on the charts. The Beatles might’ve kicked the door down, but The Byrds walked through with shades on. And the influence? Actually insane. You can trace a straight line from here to everyone like The Turtles, Simon & Garfunkel, the Smiths, The Stone Roses, Big Star, R.E.M., Tom Petty, Wilco… even early Jayhawks. The ripple effect is everywhere. Verdict: Very very excellent (not *quite* essential — I’ve lived most of my life without hearing it) For fans of: Dylan covers, The Beatles, Big Star, harmonies on highways and post-acid clarity

🗯 Starts on the porch, ends in the garage — both sides glorious. I’ve seen this around heaps, but was never excited by Young so didn’t bother. Joke’s on me! Side A is acoustic and intimate, Neil in storyteller mode with the kind of songs that feel timeless. Side B? He straps in with Crazy Horse and basically sketches the blueprint for grunge a decade early. ‘Powderfinger’ is a scorcher and one of his finest ever — and the namesake for the Aussie band — while ‘My My, Hey Hey (Out Of The Blue)’ drops that immortal line: “It’s better to burn out than to fade away.” Here’s the kicker — most of it was recorded live on tour, but with the crowd noise stripped out, making it feel like a studio album with an untamed edge. I enjoyed this way more than I expected — raw, fearless, and bloody excellent from start to finish. Proof that Neil could be delicate and devastating in the same breath. This album fucking slaps!!

🗯 Still an absolute blinder. 19 years on and it hasn’t lost a drop of its pint-splattered brilliance. It’s sonic crack. This album meant something to me at the time — still does. One of the finest of that mid-aughts wave. They seemed to arrive fully formed, all energy and elbows, like they’d been waiting their whole lives for this exact moment. The drums are ferocious — up there with Matt Tong on Silent Alarm — and the guitars punch with purpose. And then there’s Alex Turner: barely 20 and already dropping lines like he’s seen the whole world through a taxi window at 3am. It’s lad culture dressed in poetry, small-town stories with stadium-sized charisma. And songs, well, it’s an embarrassment of riches. It was the fastest-selling debut in UK history — and somehow, it’s even better than we gave it credit for.

🎵 Day 27 / Belle & Sebastian – Tigermilk (1996) 🗯 A cult favourite, but this one didn’t hit me where it counts. I know it’s a lauded debut, but for me Tigermilk felt like little more than sonic wallpaper. Pleasant, nice, well-written, inoffensive — all the things Belle & Sebastian do well — but here, nothing really stands out to my ears. I like Belle & Sebastian a lot (I’ve got a few of their albums on vinyl), but this one pales next to what they’d go on to do later. It’s the shy first step — delicate and diary-like — but missing the sparkle, wit or standout songwriting that would come to define them. Respect it? Yes. Return to it? I’m not rushing to. Verdict: Good, not essential For fans of: The Smiths, Camera Obscura, art school crushes and soft-spoken sadness on a Sunday

🗯 Teenage angst, industrial polish, and hooks for days — you couldn’t escape it, and honestly, why would you want to? Hybrid Theory was everywhere. Blaring from cars, in bedrooms, in burned CD stacks with “DO NOT TOUCH” scribbled in black Sharpie. And while nu-metal hasn’t aged gracefully, this debut still slaps harder than it probably should. Chester Bennington and Mike Shinoda’s one-two vocal punch was lightning in a bottle — anguish and aggression trading off with clinical precision. The production is clean and cutting, with distorted guitars rubbing up against icy electronics. It’s like Rage Against the Machine if they spent more time with Pro Tools and their journals. It’s easy to write off music like this as adolescent fury, but there’s real catharsis here — and melodies that never quit. For a lot of us, this was a first brush with heavy. And it stuck.

🗯 Not Britpop — but the Big Bang that made it possible. One of the great debut albums! The Stone Roses’ debut is a perfect album. The songwriting’s off the chain, the guitars are delightfully jangly, the musicality is gorgeous. It precursed Britpop entirely — Oasis, Blur, Pulp all owe them a debt, and they’ve been honest about it. But this is its own beast: psychedelic swagger, Madchester groove, and a singer who could make arrogance sound like gospel. Songs! Songs! Songs!: ‘I Wanna Be Adored’ (slow-burn swagger), ‘She Bangs the Drums’ (pure dopamine), ‘Waterfall’ (that riff!), ‘Made of Stone’ (swagger + shimmer), ‘I Am the Resurrection’ (god-tier closer — one of my all-time favourite songs, full stop). Verdict: Essential For fans of: The La’s, Happy Mondays, Primal Scream, and feeling like you’ve just discovered the centre of the universe in a sweaty club.

What a Can co-founder sounds like with a synth, a stack of VHS tapes, and no curfew! Holger Czukay — bassist, sonic tinkerer, and founding member of Can — spent months channel-surfing and taping whatever caught his ear. The result is Movies: a collage of layered synths, rubbery basslines, African drums, and media snippets woven into something equal parts funky, surreal, and strangely cinematic. It’s more “art installation” than “needle-drop party starter” — I’m not sure how often I’d spin it if I owned it on vinyl, but as a first listen it’s fascinating. You can hear the restless curiosity, the playfulness, the thrill of finding unexpected beauty in the static between stations. Verdict: Excellent (as an experience) For fans of: Can, Brian Eno, Talking Heads, crate-digging for TV soundbites you don’t yet understand.

🗯 Before they were, well, legends, Jack and Meg were just two people in red, white, and black making the coolest garage rock around. White Blood Cells is the moment The White Stripes broke out of Detroit and directly into the world’s bloodstream. It’s raw but confident, brimming with scrappy hooks, stomping riffs, and that unpolished charm that made them feel dangerous and inviting at the same time. ‘Fell in Love with a Girl’ is a shot of pure adrenaline, ‘Dead Leaves and the Dirty Ground’ a perfect opener, and ‘We’re Going to Be Friends’ a rare moment of gentleness amid the fuzz. ‘Hotel Yorba’, ‘I Smell A Rat’ — it all plays like an early greatest hits. The magic here is in its simplicity — Jack’s guitar and Meg’s drumming, nothing more, nothing less. It’s proof you don’t need much to sound massive, just chemistry and conviction. Was astonishing then, remains astonishing now! Verdict: Essential For fans of: The Strokes, The Black Keys, garage rock revival, and strict colour codes.

🗯 If rock ’n’ roll has a Big Bang, this is one of the loudest. A lot of people owe Little Richard a lot — Otis Redding, James Brown, Etta James, Richard Berry, Big Al Downing, Thurston Harris — and that’s before you even get to the ones who re-recorded these very songs: The Beatles, Elvis, Buddy Holly, The Everly Brothers, John Lennon, Paul McCartney, John Fogerty, Mitch Ryder, the Rolling Stones. The very definition of immeasurable influence (seriously, read his Wiki). This debut was billed as “six of Little Richard’s hits and six brand new songs of hit calibre,” and they weren’t lying. You’ve got ‘Tutti Frutti,’ ‘Long Tall Sally,’ ‘Slippin’ and Slidin’,’ ‘Rip It Up,’ ‘Jenny, Jenny,’ plus R&B Best-Sellers like ‘Ready Teddy,’ ‘She’s Got It,’ and ‘Miss Ann.’ I don’t always gravitate to the old-school rock ’n’ roll sound, but when I do, I love it — and this is pure Saturday-night energy. Takes me right back to being a kid, dancing with Mum to the Jukebox Saturday Night playlist on local radio. 🗯 If rock ’n’ roll has a Big Bang, this is one of the loudest. A lot of people owe Little Richard a lot — Otis Redding, James Brown, Etta James, Richard Berry, Big Al Downing, Thurston Harris — and that’s before you even get to the ones who re-recorded these very songs: The Beatles, Elvis, Buddy Holly, The Everly Brothers, John Lennon, Paul McCartney, John Fogerty, Mitch Ryder, the Rolling Stones. The very definition of immeasurable influence (seriously, read his Wiki). This debut was billed as “six of Little Richard’s hits and six brand new songs of hit calibre,” and they weren’t lying. You’ve got ‘Tutti Frutti,’ ‘Long Tall Sally,’ ‘Slippin’ and Slidin’,’ ‘Rip It Up,’ ‘Jenny, Jenny,’ plus R&B Best-Sellers like ‘Ready Teddy,’ ‘She’s Got It,’ and ‘Miss Ann.’ I don’t always gravitate to the old-school rock ’n’ roll sound, but when I do, I love it — and this is pure Saturday-night energy. Takes me right back to being a kid, dancing with Mum to the Jukebox Saturday Night playlist on local radio. Experiencing the emergence of Little Richard in 1957 must’ve been like getting hit by a bolt of lightning in the dark. He’s everything that time wasn’t, and the next time would be. The album’s chaotic, joyful, and still has the power to blow the roof off. Verdict: Essential (in context) For fans of: Chuck Berry, Fats Domino, Jerry Lee Lewis, and the roots of rock in its purest, wildest form Experiencing the emergence of Little Richard in 1957 must’ve been like getting hit by a bolt of lightning in the dark. He’s everything that time wasn’t, and the next time would be. The album’s chaotic, joyful, and still has the power to blow the roof off. Verdict: Essential (in context) For fans of: Chuck Berry, Fats Domino, Jerry Lee Lewis, and the roots of rock in its purest, wildest form

🎵 Day 32 / Kelela – Take Me Apart (2017) 🗯 Unsure why this is on the “must hear before you die” list, it’s sonic wallpaper for H&M and the like. I can see why this was lauded in 2017 — sleek, futuristic R&B production that felt fresh at the time. But time moves fast, and now it just drifts by without much grip. It isn’t bad but it slides by in a haze, all style and little that sticks. Verdict: Not essential For fans of: FKA twigs (on a coffee break), Solange’s A Seat at the Table but with the edges sanded off

🎵 Day 33 / Digital Underground – Sex Packets (1990) 🗯 Old-school funk, absurdist skits, and a dash of social satire — Sex Packets is a trip. Literally. This was the crew that discovered 2Pac, but here the spotlight belongs to Shock G and his alter ego Humpty Hump. “The Humpty Dance” was the breakout hit, a party anthem that’s still instantly recognisable — though not everyone got the joke. Shock G copped flak for leaning into Humpty’s cartoonish voice and fake nose, with some critics dismissing it as a gimmick. But the humour was intentional, a way of satirising hip hop personas while still dropping serious grooves. The album blends Parliament-Funkadelic-style bass lines with Golden Age hip hop playfulness. Live drums pop up alongside drum machines, giving the beats a looseness you don’t always hear from that era. The concept — a fictional pill that simulates sex — is absurd in the best way, with storytelling that swerves from sly to surreal. Innovative for its day, and still a blast now. Funky, freaky, and full of personality — Sex Packets is proof that hip hop can be weird and still hit hard. Verdict: Essential (for funk-rap history, fearless concept work, and pure weird joy) For fans of: Parliament, De La Soul, early 2Pac, and not taking yourself too seriously.

🎵 Day 34 / Elvis Costello & The Attractions – Armed Forces (1979) 🗯 New wave with post-punk edges, sharpened into something shinier — Armed Forces was Costello’s most commercial-leaning record to date. You can hear the ambition in every tightly-wound verse, every hook polished to a dangerous edge. He sounds hungry, like a man chasing the big time without letting go of his bite. The songs are consistently strong, even if the outright “hits” aren’t everywhere — though it does contain “Oliver’s Army,” a melody so breezy it could play in a shopping mall without anyone noticing it’s about imperialism. The Attractions are in lethal form here, blending wiry guitars with wiry nerves, organs buzzing in the corners like fluorescent lights about to pop. There’s a precision to the playing that makes even the jauntiest moments feel tense. It’s music that wants to charm you, but it’s still watching you and your every move. Verdict: Excellent (ambitious and lean — not quite a gateway album, but close) For fans of: The Jam, Graham Parker, Joe Jackson, sharp suits with sharper tongues

🎵 Day 36 / Beck – Odelay (1996) 🗯 Beck was never supposed to be more than the ‘Loser’ guy. Instead, his outing with The Dust Brothers blew that and the whole idea of genre in general to pieces. Already a huge fan of this record, it’s a junkyard carnival — hip hop loops, dusty folk, fuzzed-out garage riffs, mariachi horns, and whatever else he felt like throwing in. And somehow, it works. Songs like ‘Where It’s At’, ‘Devils Haircut’, and ‘The New Pollution’ are stitched together from samples and scraps, but they swagger like fully-formed anthems. It’s messy, absurd, and deeply, deeply cool. When someone asks, “How do I get into Beck!” I tell them to listen to this and ‘Sea Change’. One moment you’re in a thrift-store rap, the next you’re knee-deep in psychedelic blues. Credit to the Dust Brothers (also behind Paul’s Boutique) for turning Beck’s eccentric vision into a landmark of 90s postmodern pop. This isn’t just eclecticism for its own sake — it’s a snapshot of a decade drunk on possibility. Still feels refreshing almost 30 years later. Play it loud! Verdict: Essential For fans of: Beastie Boys, Pavement, Blur, sampledelia at its peak

🎵 Day 36 / Ray Charles – Modern Sounds in Country and Western Music (1962) 🗯 In 1962, Ray Charles pulled off something unthinkable. He shifted from rhythm & blues into the sacred white space of country & western — and in the process, cracked it wide open for everyone. Think Beyoncé in the early 60s: uniting audiences, rewriting expectations, and sounding effortless. The record itself? Less cowboy boots, more big-band swing — lush arrangements, strings, brass, gospel-inflected backing vocals. It might not sound all that “country” to modern ears, but it’s all covers delivered with such conviction that they become Ray’s. ‘I Can’t Stop Loving You’ alone is a towering crossover moment — R&B phrasing set against syrupy Nashville strings, turned into a #1 hit. It’s not just a record, it’s a cultural earthquake. Proof that country and soul — black and white, uptown and downhome — could not only coexist but thrive together. Verdict: Essential For fans of: Sam Cooke, Patsy Cline, Solomon Burke, the bridges Beyoncé and Lil Nas X would later build.

🎵 Day 37 / Blood, Sweat & Tears – Blood, Sweat & Tears (1968) 🗯 Look, I get it — the chops are good, the horn arrangements are airtight, and for some listeners this is going to feel like stepping into a jazz-rock cathedral. But to me? It’s like getting trapped in the extended soundtrack to an old cowboy film that never ends. All hats, horses, and brass flourishes. That’s not to say it isn’t impressive. These guys could play well compared to most bands of the era, and the fusion of jazz, pop, and rock here was groundbreaking. ‘Spinning Wheel’ and ‘You’ve Made Me So Very Happy’ were big hits for a reason. But personally, it’s a record I admire more than enjoy. Verdict: Not my jam For fans of: Chicago, Steely Dan, horn sections with something to prove

🗯 Already one of my all-time favourites, but hearing it in the context of this project only deepens it. If Abbey Road was George peeking out from Lennon/McCartney’s shadow, All Things Must Pass is him stepping fully into the light — sprawling, spiritual, and absolutely overflowing with songs that prove he’d been underestimated for far too long. It’s a presence. I often think I can feel his energy here, and it projects the same onto me: calmness, openness, connectedness. For an album produced by Phil Spector and featuring moments of his trademark “wall of sound” and being so monumental in scope, it somehow remains deeply intimate, almost spiritual. It just gets better with time. ‘My Sweet Lord’ glows with devotion, ‘What Is Life’ races with pure joy, ‘Isn’t It a Pity’ aches with resigned beauty, and the title track feels like universal truth set to melody. Deep cuts shine just as brightly: the intimacy of ‘I’d Have You Anytime,’ the wall of sound on ‘Wah-Wah,’ the weary wisdom of ‘Beware of Darkness,’ and the quiet resignation of ‘Run of the Mill.’ Even the sprawling Apple Jam disc, indulgent as it may seem, feels like George celebrating his newfound freedom in his own way. This isn’t just the best Beatles solo album, it is George fully realised — a moment where his quiet grace became towering greatness. It’s also one of the greatest testaments to what music can be: a transmission of spirit, something that steadies you, lifts you, and stays with you long after the needle lifts. Verdict: Essential — the finest solo Beatles statement For fans of: The Beatles (post-breakup), Bob Dylan, Leon Russell, cosmic introspection set to melody

🗯 The Cramps warped rock ’n’ roll into something gloriously trashy, sleazy, and undead. Their debut is a supernatural jukebox coughing up B-movie grease and garage-punk grit. It’s kitsch, it’s camp, it’s controlled chaos. ‘I Was a Teenage Werewolf’ and ‘Garbageman’ are the school disco/car drive at night bangers you need, while Lux Interior howls like Elvis trapped in a horror flick. Poison Ivy’s guitar twang drips with menace and humour in equal measure. It’s novelty, sure — but novelty turned into art by sheer conviction and attitude. The whole intoxicating novelty wears a bit over the course of a whole album, but that might just my poor kitsch tolerance levels. Verdict: Essential (if only to remind yourself that rock can still be fun, filthy, and feral) For fans of: The Stooges, The B-52’s at their weirdest, Screamin’ Jay Hawkins, horror movie matinees and John Waters’ VHS shelf

🗯 Salsa’s biggest-selling record ever — essential for certain dance floors, less so for my turntable. There’s no denying the influence here: a landmark in Latin music, packed with brass firepower, stories that balance politics and poetry, and enough rhythm to keep a salsa class spinning all night. But for me, as much as I can admire it and I really did enjoy the play through today, I’d probably never reach for it again outside of this context. Still, Siembra is the sound of a movement — and that’s what makes it unskippable in a project like this. Verdict: Essential (for salsa heads, not for me) For fans of: Héctor Lavoe, Celia Cruz, Buena Vista Social Club, socially conscious Latin grooves

🗯 From annoying the shit outta me to reluctant props. Growing up and especially as a DJ in party bars and clubs for 20 years, I couldn’t care less about Adam & The Ants if I tried, and always avoided playing them. There were always better campy videos and pantomime posturing that needed airtime, theirs just grated. But revisiting this? I’ve got to admit: ‘Dog Eat Dog’ slaps, and ‘Antmusic’ is undeniable when it comes to hooks. I still feel like it’s all very transparent, but there is something clever happening here — a novelty sheen masking some real chops in arrangement and vision. It’s glam remnants dressed up in new wave threads, stitched together with post-punk grit and a bit of straight rock’n’roll strut. Not much sounds like it, and it turns out Adam knew what he was doing after all: marrying kitsch commercialism with a strange kind of credibility. In 2025, I hear it differently. Verdict: Better than I ever thought I’d say For fans of: Bow Wow Wow, Roxy Music, Siouxsie & the Banshees

The culmination of one of the greatest stretches of albums in rock history: Beggars Banquet → Let It Bleed → Sticky Fingers → Exile on Main St.. No band has ever sounded more badass, more decadent, or more dangerously untouchable. Exile isn’t just a Stones record — it’s one of the greatest rock ’n’ roll albums of all time. Recorded while the band were dodging England’s tax laws, holed up in a villa in France, it’s the stuff of folklore (seriously, Google it — debauchery, decadence, and genius all in one smoky basement). The sound is raw, swampy, and sprawling — gospel, blues, country, and straight-up rock stitched together into a glorious mess. It’s chaotic, imperfect, and that’s exactly why it’s perfect. Tracks like Rocks Off, Rip This Joint, Sweet Virginia, and Happy feel like the Stones at their most alive, stumbling but electric. And then there’s Tumbling Dice — on some days, my favourite Stones song of all. Loose, groovy, transcendent. Verdict: Essential (peak Stones, peak rock ’n’ roll) For fans of: Faces, The Band, Black Crowes, blues-soaked basement jams

🗯 It’s exactly what the title suggests — lush, witty, and romantic, but maybe a little too polite for me to return to. The production is mint: strings sweep, arrangements sparkle, and Neil Hannon’s croon has a theatrical charm that carries the whole record. It’s clever and beautifully made, but on my listen nothing really hooked deep enough to demand a return visit. Not bad, not unlistenable — just a pleasant listen that passes without leaving much of a dent. Verdict: Fine but not essential For fans of: Pulp, Scott Walker, chamber pop with a wink and a tuxedo

🎵 Album #45 / Frank Sinatra & Antonio Carlos Jobim – Francis Albert Sinatra & Antonio Carlos Jobim (1967) 🗯 When Ol’ Blue Eyes met the father of bossa nova, the result was pure elegance — a whisper of jazz, a sway of samba, and a whole lot of restraint. Sinatra reins in the bravado, phrasing with a smoothness that perfectly complements Jobim’s nylon-string guitar, brushed percussion, and subtle orchestration. It’s still Sinatra, clear and commanding, but softened at the edges to let the bossa nova breeze carry the mood. The Girl from Ipanema seduces without trying, Dindi feels like a candlelit slow dance, and Quiet Nights of Quiet Stars is exactly what the title promises. The whole record glows with late-night warmth — gentle, romantic, and timelessly classy. For me? It’s not fireworks or drama, but a record of pure atmosphere. Music to set a room, a mood, or a moment. Verdict: Essential (romance, cocktails, after-dark) For fans of: João Gilberto, Astrud Gilberto, Stan Getz, mood-setting bossa nova

🗯 Still a stone cold killet album, even if ‘Mr Brightside’ has hit self-parody status from sheer overexposure. I actually met and chatted with the band in a café in Hollywood just as this album was breaking. At the time, I’d only heard ‘Somebody Told Me’ (still a banger) — which I was regularly spinning in my DJ sets — so it was a kick to meet them before the rocket really launched. The singles here remain undeniable: Somebody Told Me, All These Things That I’ve Done, Smile Like You Mean It, and yes, Mr Brightside — the sort of debut run most bands would sell their souls for. I never fully indulged The Killers beyond this debut — the blatant Springsteen mimicry of their second album put me off — but I’ve always dipped back into the singles when they’ve tickled my fancy. Hot Fuss, though, remains a sharp reminder of when they sounded lean, neon-lit, and ready to take on the world. When dancing to guitars reigned again for a bit — what a glorious time!! Verdict: Essential (a modern classic for catching lightning in a bottle) For fans of: Interpol, certain Bowie cues, Franz Ferdinand, Brandon Flowers’ eyeliner

🎵 Album #48 / Megadeth – Rust in Peace (1990) 🗯 A shredder’s dream — musicianship so ridiculous it borders on inhuman. I haven’t listened to this since I was a kid bashing away on drums, desperately trying to keep up. No chance. The playing on here is next-level: Dave Mustaine’s riffs, Marty Friedman’s solos, Nick Menza’s machine-precise drumming — it’s all fucking insane. Spinning it in the car reminded me how much this stuff thrives at volume. It’s thrash at its most technical and ambitious, a full-on showcase of what metal could do when you pushed speed, precision, and complexity to the limit. Is it essential? Depends who you ask. It’s very of its time — pure early-90s thrash aesthetics — but it still has diehards who worship it for good reason. For me, I just enjoyed the hell out of it. Verdict: Killer (whether or not it’s “essential,” it’s undeniable) For fans of: Metallica, Slayer, Testament, playing way beyond your grade on guitar

🎵 Album #49 / Dolly Parton, Linda Ronstadt & Emmylou Harris – Trio (1987) 🗯 Country’s Avengers? A female Highwaymen? But instead of capes and hectic testosterone, it’s cowboy boots, hair bigger than Texas, and harmonies that could part clouds. I didn’t even know this existed before now, but wow. Three icons at the peak of their powers, trading verses and locking into harmonies so tight you’d think they were born singing together. Dolly twangs like sunlight, Emmylou keeps it grounded, Linda soars like she’s got a jetpack hidden in her throat. The material leans traditional — gospel, bluegrass, and rootsy ballads — but in their hands, even the oldest standards feel timeless. To Know Him Is To Love Him shimmers, Those Memories of You aches, Wildflowers beams pure meadow joy. It’s not just a “supergroup” — it’s three giants having fun, and somehow making it sound effortless. Passing this one onto Mum! Verdict: Excellent (a harmony masterclass with extra hairspray) For fans of: Patsy Cline, Alison Krauss, Dolly wigs, voices that sound like home

🎵 Album #50 / The Streets – A Grand Don’t Come for Free 🗯 A concept album about a missing £1,000 shouldn’t work this well — but Mike Skinner turned it into a captivating story that plays like a film. Skinner’s gift here isn’t just in the beats or the hooks (though Dry Your Eyes, Fit But You Know It, and Blinded by the Lights are all killer singles). It’s the way he narrates — half-rap, half-conversation — like you’re sat next to him in a pub while he unspools the drama. Lost money, lost love, heartbreak, and the tiny victories of everyday life. It’s proof he could write a screenplay if he wanted — the detail, pacing, and character work are that sharp. And as much as it’s rooted in early-2000s UK life, it still hits with honesty and humour now. Verdict: Excellent (storytelling that still slaps) For fans of: Dizzee Rascal, Arctic Monkeys’ kitchen-sink realism, spoken-word diaries with a beat

🎵 Album #51 / Willie Nelson – Red Headed Stranger (1975) 🗯 Two concept albums in two days — yesterday’s was a screenplay, today’s is a ghost story. Where Mike Skinner packed A Grand Don’t Come for Free with chatter and detail, Willie strips everything back to the bone. Red Headed Stranger is as sparse as country ever got: voice, guitar, piano, the occasional brush of drums. Columbia thought it sounded like a demo — turns out it became one of the greatest outlaw country statements ever pressed. The story’s bleak — a preacher-gunslinger wandering after killing his wife and her lover — but the delivery is haunting in its understatement. Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain is the obvious classic, and the rest feels like parables told at closing time, half-whispered over an empty glass. Verdict: Respectable (a classic in country lore, but not essential for me personally) For fans of: Townes Van Zandt, Johnny Cash, Kris Kristofferson, storytelling with all the edges showing

🎵 Album #52 / The Smiths – Meat Is Murder (1985) 🗯 Yeah… dunno. I like The Smiths, but this one doesn’t do it for me — never has. For all of Morrissey’s wit, this feels more like passive-aggressive moaning set to Johnny Marr’s jangly but strangely flat backdrops. It’s not unlistenable — far from it — but compared to the sharper edges of their debut or the brilliance of The Queen Is Dead, Meat Is Murder just comes off a bit toneless and uninteresting. Sure, That Joke Isn’t Funny Anymore lands, and How Soon Is Now? is a classic (though technically tacked on later in some versions). But as a whole, it doesn’t bite the way it should. Verdict: Meh / Not for me (I love The Smiths, but not this one) For fans of: The Cure at their moodiest, Echo & The Bunnymen, Morrissey in martyr mode

🗯 Before Led Zeppelin there was Truth — and if you think Jimmy Page wasn’t taking notes, you’re kidding yourself. Fresh out of the Yardbirds, Jeff Beck assembled a young Rod Stewart, Ronnie Wood, and a rhythm section ready to burn, then dropped one of the heaviest, most swaggering records of ’68. The blueprint for British hard rock is right here — blues stretched, electrified, and snarling. The overlaps with early Zep are almost comical: You Shook Me and Shapes of Things are practically dry runs for what Page and Plant would do months later. Rod’s unpolished howl foreshadows Robert Plant’s banshee wail, and Beck’s filthy, restless tone could go toe-to-toe with anyone. It’s raw, imperfect, and very much of its time — but the DNA is undeniable. Without Truth, Led Zeppelin don’t sound the way they do. Full stop. Verdict: Respect the Hustle (the missing link between the Yardbirds and Zeppelin, a record hiding in plain sight) For fans of: Led Zeppelin, The Yardbirds, Cream, Rod Stewart before the satin jackets

🗯 Not a Britpop album — but somehow still the best Britpop album. This was the Radiohead record I picked for my own record club, and it still feels like a leap from “that Creep band” into something with depth, ambition, and bruised beauty. It also, unfortunately, created Coldplay and Muse — proof that even brilliant things can leave messy legacies. But while their imitators turned into stadium schmaltz and prog cosplay, The Bends itself remains a wonder. The singles are bulletproof: High and Dry, Fake Plastic Trees, Just, Street Spirit (Fade Out). Those songs alone could’ve carried most bands for a career. Instead, this record caught Radiohead on the up and out of the Britpop lane even as they accidentally perfected it. It’s the record where Nigel Godrich enters the story, the record that changed Thom Yorke’s vocal after seeing Jeff Buckley and finishing Fake Plastic Trees, Jonny Greenwood flexed and owned, and a generation of soft lads took notes and reinterpreted it badly. Verdict: Essential (it spawned Coldplay and Muse, but somehow stayed amazing while they didn’t) For fans of: Jeff Buckley, Britpop kids with bigger dreams, Coldplay before they discovered confetti cannons

🗯 Prog largely leaves me cold — to my ears, it often feels like personality-free middle-aged men playing Dungeons & Dragons with their guitars and box of tissues close by. Not really my vibe. 🙄 Aqualung is the band’s most famous record, and I get why. It is impressive. Ian Anderson’s flute flourishes, the shifts between delicate folk and thundering riffs, the ambition to make rock more “serious” — it’s all here. The title track has bite, Cross-Eyed Mary struts, and Locomotive Breath is undeniably iconic. But the further it sprawls, the more I feel the “prog problem”: the virtuosity and concept outweigh the emotional pull. I respect it, and I know why it’s canon, but it’s not something I’m rushing back to spin. Verdict: Respectable (important, but not for me) For fans of: King Crimson, Yes, middle-aged men in capes rolling dice to riffs. ✊🏻💦

🗯 Sometimes selling out means levelling up. And who cares when it’s a monster like this? After a decade of thrash dominance, Metallica stripped things back, slowed things down, and made an album designed to conquer arenas — and it worked. Enter Sandman, Sad But True, The Unforgiven, Wherever I May Roam, Nothing Else Matters — these are songs so woven into the fabric of rock radio that even people who don’t know Metallica know Metallica. That’s an achievement! It’s divisive for diehards: too polished, too mainstream, too much Bob Rock gloss. But in hindsight, it’s the record that made them the biggest metal band on earth. The riffs are still heavy, the grooves punishing, and James Hetfield’s bark had never sounded bigger. Driving with this cranked still feels dangerous in the best way. Love it or loathe it, The Black Album is the moment Metallica bent metal to their will and dragged the genre into the mainstream. For this guy, it meant a little dude behind big drums trying to master these songs, thinking Lars was the consummate drummer. That was then….. 🤣 Verdict: Essential (not just for metal, but for rock as a whole) For fans of: Megadeth, Pantera, Guns N’ Roses, shouting “YEAH!” in a Hetfield growl

🗯 Cracked sunshine, innocence gone — but still gorgeous. This isn’t the same Beach Boys of Surfin’ Safari or even Pet Sounds. By 1971, the counterculture had burned bright and begun to collapse, and so had Brian Wilson. Surf’s Up feels like the wreckage and the beauty intertwined — lush harmonies, but with an unmistakable melancholy running through them. Tracks like ’Til I Die and A Day in the Life of a Tree ache with existential weight, while the title track (rescued from the abandoned Smile sessions) is nothing short of breathtaking, a hymn to lost utopias. Even the lighter cuts (Disney Girls, Long Promised Road) carry a wistfulness that makes the whole album feel haunted. It’s a late-era triumph, proof that The Beach Boys could still conjure magic while standing in the shadows of what they’d already done. Verdict: Excellent (a bruised beauty, less iconic than Pet Sounds but still deeply moving) For fans of: Brian Wilson, Smile-era fragments, melancholy wrapped in perfect harmony

🗯 Two Metallica albums in as many days — sheesh! I don’t really purposely play Metallica these days — that was 10-year-old hungry Benny with a drum kit — but I can’t lie, I frigging love them when I do hear them these days. And if The Black Album was the band levelling up for the mainstream, Master of Puppets is a proper crowning jewel of thrash. The title track is a perfect monster — sprawling, precise, devastatingly tight. Battery rips, Welcome Home (Sanitarium) broods, Disposable Heroes crushes. Every track feels like it’s there to prove a point: thrash could be intricate, ambitious, and still utterly feral. It’s also Cliff Burton’s swan song, and you can feel his fingerprints all over it. That makes it not just a closing chapter for the band, but a peak for the genre itself. Verdict: Essential (thrash perfection, full stop) For fans of: Slayer, Megadeth, Anthrax, kids with drum kits who still dream of keeping up

🗯 The King quits Hollywood crud and reminds everyone why he mattered in the first place. After years of increasingly corny films and throwaway soundtracks, Elvis returned to the studio in Memphis and cut the best album of his career. From Elvis in Memphis is a resurrection — gritty, soulful, and charged with the energy of a man who still had something to prove. He’s quite extraordinary in this, easily a me of the most soulful white boys ever! The production leans into southern soul and country, with the crack session players of the American Sound Studio bringing fire to every track. Suspicious Minds (non-album single) and In the Ghetto were the big hits, but cuts like Only the Strong Survive and Long Black Limousine hit just as hard. Loved the build of the opener Wearin’ That Loved On Look too. It’s Elvis at his most human — bruised, hungry, and absolutely alive again. Verdict: Essential (his greatest studio album, no contest) For fans of: Otis Redding, Dusty Springfield, soul-country crossroads

🗯 Despite the felonies of their future output, Parachutes remains a singularly beautiful record. Yes, it owes a heavy debt to The Bends and U2, but that doesn’t dull its impact. These songs are smashing — earnest, melodic, and heartfelt in a way that landed perfectly at the turn of the millennium. Chris Martin shines throughout, his voice fragile but insistent, while the guitars land right in the feels. It’s also kind of funny to think about: how did this shimmering little record inform such glorious sonic mistakes later on? The seeds of stadium bombast were here, but in miniature — more candlelight than fireworks. Yellow, Shiver, Trouble — tracks that made Coldplay feel like they were going to be our new Radiohead, not… whatever they became. Still, judged on its own, Parachutes is a lovely time capsule of soft-focus emotion before the confetti cannons took over. Can we exclude everything beyond from Coldplay cannon and begin again? Verdict: Excellent (a fragile beauty, even if it spawned future crimes) For fans of: Radiohead (The Bends), U2, Travis, Keane, yearning in lowercase

🗯 The perfect rap record. Maybe the best rap record ever. And the wildest part? Nas was just 20 years old when this dropped. Illmatic is a time capsule of New York in the early ’90s — gritty, poetic, cinematic. Nas’s storytelling is vivid enough to put you on the park bench, the corner, the train ride, the stairwell. His flow is effortless, his pen sharp well beyond his years. The production lineup alone is legendary: DJ Premier, Pete Rock, Large Professor, Q-Tip. Each track is boom bap perfection, and together they frame Nas as the heir apparent to the East Coast throne. N.Y. State of Mind, The World Is Yours, Life’s a Bitch, One Love — all untouchable. It’s astonishing to think of an artist hitting this level on a debut. The weight of influence is immeasurable — whole generations of MCs still trace their lines back here. Verdict: Masterpiece (the gold standard of hip-hop) For fans of: Jay-Z, Biggie, Wu-Tang Clan, the sound of New York streets in rhyme

🗯 I know it’s a classic, I know people who like it. I don’t. The so-called “rock opera” that turned The Who into stadium giants just doesn’t land with me. The production is thin (frankly, shit), and the whole thing hasn’t aged well — very much “of its time.” I haven’t seen the movie, but I know the live versions fare better. Pinball Wizard is a banger, sure, but who’s sitting through all this to get there? I get that it’s a landmark, and I get that you had to be there. But me? The Who just don’t sit right — they’re the only live band I’ve ever walked out on mid-show. Sorry, Pete. Verdict: Overrated (landmark for some, slog for me) For fans of: Rock operas, prog excess, pinball wizards, being there in ’69

🗯 In a world without Hunky Dory, this might be my favourite Bowie. Side A rocks, Side B floats. After the excess and near-collapse of mid-’70s LA, Bowie fled to Europe to clean up, recalibrate, and reinvent himself. Low was the first chapter of the Berlin Trilogy — recorded partly in France, partly in West Berlin — and it sounds like someone rebuilding from the ground up. The hedonism of Ziggy and Diamond Dogs is gone; in its place, fractured pop songs on one side and expansive ambient instrumentals on the other. Side A is jagged, twitchy brilliance (Sound and Vision, Breaking Glass, Be My Wife), miniature bursts that distil Bowie’s art-rock instincts into sharp shocks. Side B dissolves into widescreen soundscapes (Warszawa, Subterraneans) — abstract, melancholy, cinematic. It’s not just Bowie experimenting, it’s Bowie rediscovering possibility, with Brian Eno at his side. You can hear its influence everywhere: post-punk, synth-pop, industrial, Radiohead’s Kid A. Low isn’t just an album — it’s Bowie detonating the past and sketching out whole new futures. Verdict: Essential (the reinvention that kept Bowie immortal) For fans of: Brian Eno, Joy Division, Radiohead, drifting through alien cities at 3 a.m.

🗯 Despite most songs written about Princess Leia, the force isn’t really with this one. This was supposed to be the big reunion with Art Garfunkel — until Paul pulled the plug and claimed the songs were too personal. That was enough to piss Art off for good, and they never reunited again. The muse at the heart of it all? Carrie Fisher, Simon’s on-again, off-again partner, and the inspiration behind much of the record. Musically, it’s subtle to the point of being a little beige, but there are glimmers where it spikes: Allergies, When Numbers Get Serious, and Think Too Much (a) all add some bite (thanks to Nile Rodgers’ fingerprints on the latter). The rest drifts by in delicate shades of melancholy, almost too polite for its own good. It’s a fascinating record, though — a breakup diary set to restrained pop, forever caught between reconciliation and reinvention. And the best part? What came next. Graceland would arrive just a few years later, blowing the doors open and fixing all of Simon’s prior mistakes in one glorious stroke. Verdict: it’s fine the Hustle (minor Simon, but fascinating — and the misstep that set up a masterpiece) For fans of: Paul Simon’s craft, breakup diaries, Carrie Fisher lore

🗯 By this point, Stevie wasn’t making records — he was showing off. From 1972’s Music of My Mind through to this double-album masterpiece, Stevie Wonder went on arguably the greatest creative run in music history. Talking Book, Innervisions, Fulfillingness’ First Finale — and then this: sprawling, fearless, bursting with ideas. It’s Stevie writing the encyclopedia of human feeling, set to funk, soul, gospel, and jazz. The hits are untouchable: Sir Duke’s joy is infectious, I Wish grooves like pure sunshine, and Knocks Me Off My Feet melts hearts instantly. But it’s the depth that makes it staggering. Pastime Paradise reimagines gospel for the future (hello, Coolio), Village Ghetto Land skewers inequality over a deceptively pretty string arrangement, As spirals into infinite devotion, and Ordinary Pain flips halfway through into a whole other song — classic Stevie mischief. Even deep cuts like Another Star and Ngiculela – Es Una Historia – I Am Singing show how wide his palette stretched. And yeah, as it turned out, he did prove he was human after all by following this with Journey Through the Secret Life of Plants — Whyyyyyy? — but that only makes Songs in the Key of Life shine brighter as the consummate peak! Verdict: Essential (depending on the day of the week, this might just be the greatest album ever made) For fans of: Marvin Gaye, Curtis Mayfield, Prince, encyclopedias written in groove

🗯 The sound of ex-Byrd goes solo and leans into lush country rock — bit beige at first, but gathers some steam as it progresses. Ex-Byrd Gene Clark threw everything he had into No Other: lavish production, sprawling arrangements, and songs that some critics later called “godlike pop.” At first it drifted by like country rock wallpaper to me, but when it leaned into gospel and soul colours, I found myself warming up. That’s where the record breathes — in the swelling choruses and spiritual flourishes that lift it above its beige beginnings. Flop on arrival, the record bombed so badly in 1974 that Clark never really recovered, a career-defining swing that went wide. Decades later it’s been reevaluated as a cult classic, and I get it — even if I’d probably file it under “appreciate, not adore.” Verdict: Good (a lost classic that shines brightest when it leans gospel/soul, but not one I’m frothing to replay) For fans of: The Byrds, Gram Parsons, lush country rock epics that history eventually forgave

🗯 The sugary synth-pop fix you, like me, might’ve forever overlooked due to the ubiquity of its lead single. This debut and breakthrough album, of course, spawned the Mr. Brightside of the 80’s, Take On Me— career-defining, too massive for its own good, almost tipping into parody by sheer saturation. Funny thing is, it wasn’t even a hit in the States until MTV rinsed that iconic video. And truth be told, the rest of the record needs to be remembered with more overall attention. There’s a surprising amount of swagger here — something in the delivery that I reckon Brandon Flowers and the boys built upon the foundation of this widescreen synth-pop. Train of Thought is another proper banger, the title track is gorgeously huge and dramatic, and the sequencing across the whole album keeps it from being just sugar rush hits strung together. There’s a repeatable quality that stretches well beyond the insane success of lead single. Would Coldplay sound the way they do without Hunting High and Low? Hard to say. But A-ha proved here that synth-pop could be both glossy and cohesive, theatrical and human. Verdict: Excellent (Coldplay learned a trick or two here — blame them, not A-ha) For fans of: The Killers, Duran Duran, Coldplay (yep), anyone chasing the high of big ’80s hooks

🗯 The Stones’ first all-original album — their raw edge rubbing up against hunger and new ambition, the moment they became an albums band. My entry point into the Stones was Hot Rocks on my parents’ stereo, and maybe that’s why I’ve always adored early Stones. There’s an innocence and hunger in those years as they fought to find their place and learn the craft of songwriting. Aftermath is where that effort crystallised — their first LP of all Jagger/Richards compositions, buoyed by the confidence of hits like ‘Satisfaction’, ‘Get Off of My Cloud’ and ‘19th Nervous Breakdown’. Brian Jones reentered as a vital collaborator here, colouring the songs with sitar, dulcimer, marimbas — textures that pushed the band forward. It’s also stacked with classics: ‘Under My Thumb’ and ‘Out of Time’ (two of my all-time Stones favourites), ‘Mother’s Little Helper’, ‘Stupid Girl’, ‘Lady Jane’, and the US version famously kicks off with ‘Paint It Black’ (replacing ‘Mother’s Little Helper’ from the UK). Released in the thick of the “album era,” Aftermath was the Stones’ answer to Rubber Soul — a record proving they weren’t just a singles band. For me, it’s their finest to date at that point, and crucial in their growth from bluesy raunch merchants to ambitious album artists. Verdict: Essential (the moment the Stones levelled up) For fans of: Rubber Soul respondents, The Kinks, sneering swagger with a side of sitar

🗯 Dirgey and glorious — post-punk, shoegaze, and trip-hop all tangled into one killer cult record. The second album from Death in Vegas pushed them beyond cult electro status, thanks to live instrumentation, big guest spots, and the sheer moodiness of its sound. Dirge is the obvious highlight — that brooding opener became a Levi’s ad, landed in The Blair Witch Project, and basically soundtracked an entire era of sync culture. Mercury nomination? Earned. What makes this one sing is the blend: buzzing electronics, tripped-out guitars, and guest voices ranging from Dot Allison to Bobby Gillespie, Iggy Pop, and Jim Reid. It’s gritty, hypnotic, cinematic — the kind of record that makes you want to chain-smoke in slow motion. Did it also lead to Oasis tapping them as producers later on? Maybe. Either way, The Contino Sessions buzzes and pops in all the right places. Not just a period piece, but a reminder of how intoxicating that late-’90s fusion of rock and electronics could be. Verdict: Excellent (cult, cinematic, and dirgey in the best way) For fans of: Massive Attack, Primal Scream, Spiritualized, tripping into neon at 2 a.m.

🗯 My ears began to change in 1991. By 1994, they were ready for this grunge masterpiece. Superunknown is where Chris Cornell became a vox god and Matt Cameron proved himself one of the all-time drum heroes. It’s not just heavy — it’s strange, ambitious, and sprawling, the record that lifted Soundgarden above the pack and cemented their place as one of the era’s true giants. I first met it through ‘Black Hole Sun’ on rage — weird, unsettling, and strangely alluring to a young Benny. That song became inescapable, but it still glows as the centrepiece here: a pop single wrapped in a dreamlike, psychedelic shadow. And the rest of the album? Just as strong. Spoonman is jagged and muscular, Fell on Black Days is pure existential ache, The Day I Tried to Live is stadium doubt disguised as defiance, and 4th of July is molten doom psychedelia. Cornell’s voice could do it all — banshee wails, soulful croons, whispers that still cut. Cameron’s drumming is restless and precise, jazz brain powering thunder. Together they made a record that feels alive, urgent, and 30 years later, untouchable. Verdict: Essential (a crown jewel of grunge that transcends the tag) For fans of: Alice in Chains, Led Zeppelin, Queens of the Stone Age, screaming into the cosmos with a wah pedal

🗯 Never heard this, mind blown. Is this the first bedroom album? Feels like it. It would be dubbed a mixtape nowadays. Todd locks himself away, clearly high as a kite, and delivers a dizzying, batshit insane collage of styles stitched into one hallucinogenic “flight plan.” Songs crash into each other regardless of mood, like flipping radio stations with a fever in a lucid dream. No singles, just one long trip — the longest single LP ever released at the time. Critics dug it, but fans didn’t buy it. Too weird, too messy. But from today’s distance, it sounds like prophecy: harmonically richer and more ambitiously deranged than The White Album, and — as some have claimed — a decade ahead of Purple Rain. It’s a fascinating, captivating listen that rewires your brain while it plays. I’ve never heard this before, but it’s instantly my kind of unusual. Dizzying, captivating, unforgettable. Off to hunt down a vinyl copy. Verdict: Essential (a psychedelic masterpiece of chaos and vision) For fans of: Prince, The White Album, Frank Zappa, music that feels like drugs without the drugs

🗯 Music for people who iron their jeans and alphabetise their vinyl a bit too closely Steely Dan’s third album, and the last before Becker & Fagen locked themselves away as full-time studio scientists, is basically flawless. They take their jazz fixation and polish it into something radio-friendly without dumbing it down. ‘Rikki Don’t Lose That Number’ is the obvious entry point, but the real magic is all over: the title track’s sly piano sway, harmonies layered like a smug grin, songs so sharp they make you double-check your hi-fi setup. Fifty years on, this still sounds crisp and modern — meticulous without being sterile, nerdy without being dull. It’s like they coded grooves in Fortran but somehow made them funky. That’s the Dan paradox: dad rock that’s somehow still aspirational. Verdict: Essential (for the musos, the hipsters, and the dads ironing their Levi’s on Sunday) For fans of: Doobie Brothers, Toto, Hall & Oates, music that makes you want to buy a better turntable

🗯 An embarrassment of all-time riches from a band firing on all cylinders — fearless for its time, and influential forever. Stand! marked Sly & The Family Stone’s artistic peak and their biggest commercial breakthrough, landing just before their game-changing Woodstock performance. It’s stacked: ‘Stand’, ‘Don’t Call Me Whitey, N****r’, ‘Everyday People’, ‘Sing a Simple Song’, ‘You Can Make It If You Try’ — each one a cornerstone of funk, soul, and social consciousness. It’s funky, psychedelic, radical, and joyful — a kaleidoscope of grooves with a revolutionary streak. Few albums of its era captured both the optimism and tension of the late ’60s as vividly. The mix of black and white musicians, male and female voices, and an unapologetic call for unity made it not just music, but a movement. The Library of Congress called it “culturally, historically, or aesthetically significant,” which undersells it — Stand! is where funk found its conscience and its swagger. Verdict: Essential (a fearless, era-defining funk revolution) For fans of: Parliament-Funkadelic, Curtis Mayfield, Prince, protest you can dance to

🗯 Tori’s debut and she arrives fully formed — a whole world, not just an album. Little Earthquakes isn’t just a set of songs, it’s a Tori-flavoured universe: raw, sensual, smart, and beautifully devastating. Like Kate Bush before her, Amos balances intimacy and theatricality with a rare gift for making the personal sound mythic. The piano isn’t just accompaniment, it’s weapon, shield, and confessional all at once, but surprisingly, I don’t feel she overuses it to the point of polarising. It’s compelling from start to finish — confessional without indulgence, vulnerable but razor-sharp. You don’t just listen to Little Earthquakes; you step inside it and let it rearrange you. Verdict: Essential (a universe conjured, fully formed) For fans of: Kate Bush, PJ Harvey, Fiona Apple, piano confessions that cut deep but not of the legion of over-eccentric singer/songwriters it spurred forward.

🗯 A noisy-as-fuck masterpiece. It kicks off with ‘Teen Age Riot’ — not only one of the best opening tracks on any record, but arguably the best Sonic Youth song, period. From there, Daydream Nation sprawls out like a double-vinyl fever dream: noise, melody, dissonance, and beauty smashed together until you’re not sure if your speakers are breaking or being reborn. Kim Gordon, Thurston Moore, Lee Ranaldo, and Steve Shelley put everything they had into this one, enough brilliance to justify the sprawl of a double album. It’s the moment where their downtown art-noise instincts met actual rock ambition — still messy, still wild, but undeniable. Sonic Youth are like good scotch: an acquired taste, but once you’re in, you’re all in. It’s easy to see why Kurt Cobain and an entire generation of alt-rock bands worshipped at this altar. Daydream Nation is the blueprint — restless, uncompromising, and still a mind-melter decades later. Just say yes. Verdict: Essential (the alternative nation’s constitution, etched in fuzz and feedback) For fans of: Nirvana, Pavement, My Bloody Valentine, sprawling guitar symphonies that feel like the end and beginning of the world

🗯 Important. Revolutionary. Cheesy as fuck. This is one of those albums you have to respect even if you don’t entirely enjoy the ride. It changed the course of hip-hop — the title track is a stone-cold classic, still one of the most important rap songs ever cut to wax. ‘Scorpio’ is my personal highlight: a polished chrome man-machine groove, maybe the greatest early electro track and hands-down the best vocodered robot-rap of all time. But let’s be real: the rest of the record hasn’t aged well. A lot of it is a slog, the samples work but the sheen feels brittle now. And those ballads? Good lord. ‘Dreamin’’ is a cringey tribute to Stevie Wonder that plays like a comedy sketch, and ‘You Are’ sounds like it was pulled straight from a Mr. Show parody. Painful. Still, the essentials are truly essential. The title track and ‘Scorpio’ alone justify this album’s place in history. Without them, hip-hop doesn’t evolve the same way. With them, you hear the DNA of everything that came after. Verdict: Essential (for history and two perfect tracks — but not exactly a pleasure listen) For fans of: Afrika Bambaataa, Kurtis Blow, early electro-rap, robot voices with actual groove

🗯 Testosterone-fuelled electro mayhem — glowsticks, ecstasy, breakbeats, and danger in every drop. The Prodigy’s third album was their world-conquering moment, the first with Keith Flint up front in full firestarter mode. Three utterly perfect singles (‘Firestarter’, ‘Breathe’, ‘Smack My Bitch Up’) turned them from rave outsiders into global icons — the dangerous face of turn-of-the-century electronica. Listening now, it’s like stepping into a skanky London nightclub circa 1997: sweat dripping off the walls, dancers still going after a days-long trip, the air thick with drugs and big beat bravado. It’s one part Kool Keith’s scatological genius, one part Rage Against the Machine-style intensity, all funnelled through beloved samplers and Liam Howlett’s brain-melting beats. Sure, it sounds of its era — but honestly, not much holds a glow stick to a massive big beat banger in full flight and this record mostly holds up. Dangerous then, nostalgic now, still pretty damn irresistible. Verdict: Essential (if only for remembering when dance music terrified your mum) For fans of: The Chemical Brothers, Underworld, Rage Against the Machine, sweaty basements and strobe lights.

🗯 French cool meets suburban melancholy — the perfect setup for Sofia Coppola’s dreamy cinema. I’ve never seen the film, but this soundtrack still plays beautifully on its own. Air were already masters of atmosphere after Moon Safari, and here they distil that elegance into something more spectral and cinematic. It’s less a collection of songs than a mood — gauzy synths, woozy strings, and shadows of guitar drifting like smoke. ‘Playground Love’ is the stunner — languid, sensual, haunting — easily one of Air’s best moments. The rest of the score is more ambient, but never boring: it hums along with a kind of weightless sadness that feels strangely universal. Even without the visuals, you get why Coppola’s films are known for this kind of vibe: intimate, detached, strangely glamorous melancholy. It might not demand constant replays, but when you let it run, it casts a spell. One of those albums that proves a soundtrack can stand as its own complete world. Verdict: Excellent (cinematic mood piece, anchored by one undeniable classic) For fans of: Air’s Moon Safari, moody Moby, Boards of Canada, soundtracks that create more mood than movement

🗯 Take a shot every time Kiedis sings “California.” You’ll need an ambulance by track eight. They’re a bit cringe these days, but something about Californication still works. I’ve always loved the players — the extraordinary John Frusciante, Flea, and Chad Smith are an unstoppable trio — almost enough to overlook Kiedis. Almost. As a kid, I inhaled Blood Sugar Sex Magik, so everything after felt like a comedown. This album nearly recaptures some of that spark — smoother, more melodic, surprisingly introspective in parts@and a step further into commercial kingdom. The front half is stacked: Around the World, Parallel Universe, Scar Tissue, and the title track still hit. The back half? Bit of a slog. Otherside in particular has been murdered by a thousand pub covers — I can barely hear it without tasting cheap beer. It’s too long, too polished, and too in love with its own myth — but damn if it doesn’t still carry some California sun. Verdict: Excellent (bloated but blissful; the last time the magic truly felt real) For fans of: Jane’s Addiction, Pearl Jam, funk-rock redemption arcs, and hearing “California” 37 times in 56 minutes

🗯 Immersive, captivating, noisy, glorious, and influential as hell — like The Beach Boys shoved sideways through a jet engine. Psychocandy did more than bend the rules; it sandblasted them. The Reid brothers took ’60s pop melodies and rinsed them in distortion to the point of drowning, creating a sound both hostile and hypnotic. It’s feedback as philosophy — sweet harmonies hiding beneath pure chaos. It opens with Just Like Honey, one of the greatest album openers ever, and from there it’s a wall of fuzzed-out euphoria. The noise and melody fight for dominance, and somehow both win. This was punk growing up, shoegaze being born, and pop learning to get weird. Messy, romantic, and completely alive — the kind of record that sounds like it might fall apart any second, but never does. Verdict: Essential (feedback and feeling in perfect collision) For fans of: My Bloody Valentine, The Velvet Underground, Ride, dirty pop wrapped in reverb

🗯 My life doesn’t exactly align with early-’90s Compton — but I still know how to get down to The Chronic. The second I hit play, I’m in a ’64 rolling through Long Beach. It is pure world-building: a stone-cold masterpiece that paints its picture perfectly. G-funk grooves, laid-back menace, and the sense that Dre was inventing a whole new universe of West Coast sound. It’s a cultural document as much as an album, one that turned the lowrider, the blunt, and the synth whine into icons. Sure, the woke world might not vibe with the gangsta posturing now — and yeah, some of the lyrical content feels of its time, problematic and all. But separating the message from the medium, the production is timeless. Dre flipped P-Funk into hip-hop’s backbone, introduced Snoop Dogg to the world, and shifted the centre of rap away from New York. I don’t buy into the lifestyle it portrays, but as music? It’s undeniable. Dangerous, definitive, and still addictive. Verdict: Essential (a masterclass in world-building and groove) For fans of: Snoop Dogg, 2Pac, Ice Cube, cruising soundtracks that still knock hard

🗯 The sound of Parachutes taking a boardroom meeting with U2. Could’ve been an email. After the quiet brilliance of Parachutes, this feels like the stadium reach — all the right moves, all the right notes, but too calculated. ‘Clocks’ still hits — crystalline, undeniable — but other tracks (In My Place, God Put A Smile…) feel tired now, polished to within an inch of their lives. ‘The Scientist’ tips into Lennon cosplay, and ‘Daylight’ waves the U2 flag a little too proudly. Sure, everyone copies, but I can’t cop it from Coldplay. The diehards inhale it, and honestly, I’m so happy for them — someone has to keep the beige industry alive. For me though, it just never shakes the sheen of strategy over soul, missing the hunger, the sheer burn of their debut. Verdict: Not Essential (a stadium stretch that trades intimacy for ambition) For fans of: U2, Travis, Keane, the idea of music as a perfect festival singalong

🗯 One of those albums that slips in quietly and suddenly feels like it’s been with you forever. I’d never heard this one before, but it hit me at exactly the right time. Steve McQueen (titled Two Wheels Good in the US because… lawyers) is a beautifully understated record — that sweet spot between indie pop and adult sophistication. Paddy McAloon’s songwriting is sharp and literate, but it’s delivered with such warmth you almost don’t notice how clever it is until the second listen. Produced by Thomas Dolby, it’s drenched in soft synths, rich guitar tones, and a kind of gentle melancholy that never tips into gloom. Songs like When Love Breaks Down and Appetite shimmer with that perfect ‘80s balance of polish and emotion — accessible, but far from disposable. It’s the sort of record that sneaks under your skin rather than smacks you over the head — quietly brilliant, quietly timeless. Verdict: Excellent (the thinking person’s pop album, perfectly balanced) For fans of: Aztec Camera, The Blue Nile, The Smiths, rainy windows and quiet 🎵 Album #94 / Prefab Sprout – Steve McQueen (1985) 🗯 One of those albums that slips in quietly and suddenly feels like it’s been with you forever. I’d never heard this one before, but it hit me at exactly the right time. Steve McQueen (titled Two Wheels Good in the US because… lawyers) is a beautifully understated record — that sweet spot between indie pop and adult sophistication. Paddy McAloon’s songwriting is sharp and literate, but it’s delivered with such warmth you almost don’t notice how clever it is until the second listen. Produced by Thomas Dolby, it’s drenched in soft synths, rich guitar tones, and a kind of gentle melancholy that never tips into gloom. Songs like When Love Breaks Down and Appetite shimmer with that perfect ‘80s balance of polish and emotion — accessible, but far from disposable. It’s the sort of record that sneaks under your skin rather than smacks you over the head — quietly brilliant, quietly timeless. Verdict: Excellent (the thinking person’s pop album, perfectly balanced) For fans of: Aztec Camera, The Blue Nile, The Smiths, rainy windows and quiet revelations.

🗯 A live album so good it might be too good — but when it sounds this electric, who cares? Thin Lizzy finally hit a stable lineup here (before Brian Robertson inevitably cleared off), and you can hear the chemistry in every note. Produced by Tony Visconti — yes, Bowie’s man — it’s stitched together from three gigs between ’76 and ’77, whittled down from over 30 hours of recordings. It had to be good… and it is. This thing is massive — big, bold, and beautifully captured. Phil Lynott leads like a poet pirate, the dual guitars roar, and the crowd energy is infectious. Some performances here actually eclipse the studio cuts: Cowboy Song sliding seamlessly into The Boys Are Back in Town is sheer perfection, and Still in Love with You — slowed down and rearranged — becomes pure heartbreak. Of course, there’s that lingering question: how live is it, really? Rumours swirl about overdubs, touch-ups, and studio polish. But does it matter when it sounds this damn good? This is a band at their absolute peak, swaggering through the decade with charm, power, and Irish soul. Verdict: Essential (live? half-live? who cares — it’s perfect rock theatre) For fans of: AC/DC, UFO, Led Zeppelin, barroom poetry and twin-guitar glory.

🗯 Dunno what it is about Peter Gabriel — is he clever? Is it his voice? Or does he just speak directly to the right thing in my music-loving brain? To my ears, he doesn’t miss — he could do it all and this one’s flawless pop-leaning. By 1986, Gabriel had already gone full art-rock weirdo — now he seemed keen for the world to actually sing along. So was the breakthrough: sensual, cinematic, and impossibly sophisticated. It’s what happens when a visionary decides to play nice with the mainstream and ends up redefining it. Bowie did it. Prince did it. Gabriel nailed it. There’s Sledgehammer — a funky sermon on lust disguised as pop perfection. Don’t Give Up turns existential despair into gospel with Kate Bush’s ethereal counterpoint — it hits me in the sub-cockle area. In Your Eyes remains one of the most heartfelt ballads ever to score a cinematic boombox moment. Red Rain is huge, biblical catharsis — one glorious opener if ever there was one. And Big Time? That funky, Prince-like guitar and monster hook define Gabriel for me. And those big, dramatic drums? I’m a sucker for them — pure 80s perfection. This record finds the sweet spot between art and pop, with Gabriel’s introspection at one end and Phil Collins’ stadium polish at the other. It’s all a flex. A rare album that threads art and accessibility without compromise — proof you can be deep, danceable, and downright filthy all at once. Verdict: Essential (horny art-pop meets spiritual awakening) For fans of: Talking Heads, Kate Bush, Tears for Fears, anyone who likes their enlightenment with a sax solo

🗯 It’s no Bookends, is it? The sound of two pasty white boys Dutch-ruddering for the final time. You can almost hear the tension under the harmonies — the last, laboured breath of one of pop’s prettiest partnerships. To think this came out in 1970 — the same year as Let It Be, Moondance, After the Gold Rush, Plastic Ono Band, Deja Vu — it’s safe to say Bridge Over Troubled Water wasn’t exactly the era’s edge-pusher. But it did move units, and the hits are still the hits. Cecilia is a proper banger, and the title track does exactly what it’s supposed to: uplifts, uplifts, uplifts (before overstaying its welcome by about 90 seconds). The Boxer sits on the right side of acoustic naff, but Keep the Customer Satisfied tips the other way entirely. They made better, sharper, braver music together — Bookends being the prime example. This one sounds like the breakup it is: grand, earnest, a little over-inflated, and oddly hollow. Verdict: Overrated (beautifully sung, but not beautifully alive) For fans of: Paul Simon, Crosby Stills & Nash, cathedral acoustics, and endings dressed up as triumphs

🗯 Glory be these days of U2, before Bono thought he was Jesus Christ and their unforgivable crimes of sound and tech became unforgivable. I used to like U2. Now I can barely stand the thought of them, let alone own up to liking then, So when this came up, I cringed — and then immediately remembered why their early days were undeniable. War is raw, righteous, and rattles in all the right places with purpose. It kicks off with Sunday Bloody Sunday, one of the greatest openers in rock — that militaristic snare, that rallying cry, that sheer conviction. New Year’s Day still sounds dangerous, The Edge’s guitar shimmering like cold light over the battlefield. Seconds and The Refugee are killer too — urgent, propulsive, the sound of a band with something to prove. There’s even a trumpet cameo on Red Light that hints at the experimentation to come. The drums throughout? Gloriously untreated and real — a reminder that before the gloss, before the sunglasses and self-parody, U2 were a post-punk band with grit in their teeth and fire in their bellies. They mattered. It’s just a bit sad to think an album like War exists in the same discography as Songs of Innocence and the other crap. Verdict: Essential (preaching with passion, not pretension) For fans of: Echo & The Bunnymen, The Clash, early Simple Minds, drums that actually sound like drums

🗯 Fan-fucking-tastic Dylan record — bookended by two of the greatest songs he’s ever committed to tape. By the time he made Highway 61 Revisited, Dylan had already changed folk forever — now he was busy electrifying it. The album kicks off with Like a Rolling Stone, six minutes of sneering poetry and freedom that still towers over half a century of rock music. It closes with Desolation Row, a surreal, sprawling fever dream that reads like a novel and sounds like a prophecy. In between? Chaos, charisma, and wit — from the apocalyptic carnival of Ballad of a Thin Man to the bar-room blues of the title track. This is Dylan at his wildest and most alive, his sneer fully weaponised, his mind firing on every cylinder. Verdict: Essential (the sound of a genius catching fire) For fans of: The Band, Neil Young, Bruce Springsteen, anyone who’s ever wanted to plug folk music into a socket and watch it explode

🗯 Dark, synthtastic, and delightfully strange — pop precision with a pulse of danger. I’d never played this album through before — Mum rinsed the singles so hard growing up that I didn’t feel I needed to listen to whole albums. Mistake! Man… hearing this in full, I really enjoyed it. Seeing them live once was cool, but this? This reminded me why they mattered. Honestly, I wonder what the ’80s synth-pop wave would even sound like without this record. Eurythmics’ second album is sleek and shadowy, built on icy synths and Annie Lennox’s commanding cool. ‘Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This)’ might be overplayed to death, but it’s still the perfect pop single — hypnotic, ambiguous, unbeatable. ‘Love Is a Stranger’ remains a certified banger, ‘The Walk’ jolts you upright with that rogue trumpet, and the horny bass throb of ‘This Is the House’ is pure, pulsing groove. It’s art-pop with heart — a record that made electronic music emotional, sexy, and strange all at once. Verdict: Essential (dark, delicious, and still defining the decade) For fans of: Depeche Mode, Yazoo, Pet Shop Boys, neon noir, and nights that hum with electricity

Pretty interesting actually.

Perfect