An album that had some massive hits. Probably not heard it in full for 20 years or more. The hits are great songs, but there is also a lot of filler

A Timeless Masterpiece OK Computer is a landmark album that redefined alternative rock in the late '90s, blending haunting melodies, cryptic lyrics, and experimental soundscapes into a deeply immersive experience. Its themes of alienation, technology, and modern anxiety resonate as strongly today as they did upon release. I am a big fan of The Pineapple Thief and OK Computer is a clear influence—its atmospheric depth, emotional intensity, and progressive leanings laid the groundwork for the kind of introspective, layered music that The Pineapple Thief excels at. You can hear echoes of Radiohead’s sonic ambition in their use of dynamic shifts, melancholic tones, and textured arrangements. A visionary album that continues to inspire generations of musicians and listeners alike.

As someone who’s much more of a fan of Bowie’s 70s work, Blackstar initially felt like a challenging listen. The opening title track didn’t grab me—it’s abstract and sprawling, and that’s usually a turn-off. But once I got past it, the album revealed a deeply emotional and artistically rich experience. The highlight for me is “Dollar Days”—a stunning, melancholic piece that echoes the melodic sensibility of his classic era while embracing the vulnerability of his final work. It’s a powerful farewell, even if not everything here hits the mark.

Not what I was expecting

An album that had some massive hits. Probably not heard it in full for 20 years or more. The hits are great songs, but there is also a lot of filler

The only PJ Harvey song that I'm familiar with is The Mess We're In, which is on this album. Really enjoyed the whole album. Will definitely be listening to more of Polly Jane!

Classic album. Neil Young at his finest.

Masterpiece. Randomly chosen by the app the day after Ozzy's death making a very poignant listen. A genre defining record with some absolutely fantastic tracks. The Wizard has long been a favourite. Will make this my first 5 star rating since starting on this journey.

Didn't hate it, but not my cup of tea at all. I'm not totally dismissive of hip-hop but apart from her one big hit, she didn't seem to have much else to offer. Not very original.

Saw Sparks in Manchester recently and they were amazing. This album remains a landmark moment not only in Sparks’ eclectic catalog but in the evolution of glam and experimental pop. It’s no surprise it continues to influence artists who admire theatrical flair and fearless originality. If you haven't heard it yet, it’s like stepping into a surreal cabaret performed by geniuses in vintage tuxedos and ironic expressions. A glam rock essential!

Coming into Ritual de lo Habitual without much of an attachment to Jane’s Addiction, I wasn't quite sure what to expect.Tracks like “Stop!” and “Been Caught Stealing” were instant attention-grabbers—catchy and punchy. Overall, the album felt more like an interesting ride than a deeply resonant one. I didn’t dislike it—there’s a lot to admire—but I wasn't completely pulled in either. It’s one of those albums I could see growing on me after a few more listens. For now, though, I’d call it intriguing but not essential.

The overall listening experience falters as tracks begin to blur into one another. Despite its artistry and polish, the album’s pacing and recurring musical motifs make it feel repetitive by the halfway mark. While undeniably stylish and heartfelt, Kiwanuka lacks the dynamism to sustain its impact. A beautiful voice in a beautifully crafted setting—but one that could use a little more variety.

A pleasant but ultimately underwhelming entry in the rich tapestry of 1967’s musical landscape. You Better Run stands head and shoulders above anything else on the album.

Despite owning several U2 albums, I hadn’t ventured past the band’s earlier material—“The Fly” didn’t exactly win me over. So I was genuinely surprised by how much I enjoyed Achtung Baby. Where “The Fly” once felt alienating, the full album reveals a more complex and compelling landscape. Songs like “One” and “Mysterious Ways” showcase U2’s ability to evolve without losing their soul. It’s raw, stylish, and unexpectedly resonant—a reminder that sometimes the albums we overlook end up surprising us.

Bob Dylan’s Blonde on Blonde is undeniably groundbreaking, but it's not flawless—and that’s part of its charm. As the final piece in his “electric trilogy,” it brims with lyrical ambition and sonic experimentation. But in its sprawling format (nearly 72 minutes across two LPs), not every track hits with the same resonance.

I hadn’t listened to American Idiot in nearly two decades, and I’d honestly forgotten just how good it is. Coming back to it now, what really stands out is how bold and theatrical it feels—less like a typical punk album and more like a punk rock opera with flashes of prog rock ambition. Tracks like “Jesus of Suburbia” and “Homecoming” are sprawling, multi-part epics that wouldn’t feel out of place on a classic prog record. There’s a clear narrative arc, recurring motifs, and a sense of conceptual unity that elevates it beyond Green Day’s earlier work. It’s not prog in the traditional sense—there are no odd time signatures or extended instrumental solos—but it’s definitely progressive in spirit. Politically charged, emotionally raw, and musically adventurous, American Idiot still hits hard and feels surprisingly timeless.

Nobody needs to hear this before they die!! Awful album! Even sought out the proper one on YouTube but still couldn't listen to it. First one since starting this journey that I have given up on. The only logical progression here might be toward skipping tracks faster than you can say “jungle renaissance.” A curious relic of its time that somehow managed to be both nostalgic and exhausting.

While Leonard Cohen’s lyrical prowess remains unquestionable, Songs from a Room feels like a subdued and repetitive journey through minimalistic folk. The sparse arrangements, dominated by acoustic guitar and understated production, may appeal to purists but can come across as monotonous to others. Cohen’s voice—more spoken than sung—lacks the dynamism needed to lift the album’s emotional weight. Tracks like “Bird on the Wire” showcase his poetic brilliance, but overall, the album struggles to maintain momentum, making it a challenging listen for those seeking variety or vocal richness.

The Bends marked a pivotal moment in Radiohead's evolution from alt-rock newcomers to one of the most influential bands of their generation. The album blends introspective lyrics with soaring guitar work and haunting melodies, showcasing Thom Yorke's emotive vocals and the band's growing sonic ambition. Standout tracks like "Fake Plastic Trees", "High and Dry", and "Street Spirit (Fade Out)" highlight the band's ability to balance vulnerability with grandeur. The production is crisp, the songwriting is mature, and the emotional depth is undeniable. A five-star classic, The Bends remains a cornerstone of 90s rock and a precursor to the experimental brilliance that would define Radiohead's later work.

As someone who doesn’t typically gravitate toward rap music, Fishscale was an intriguing listen, though not entirely enjoyable for me. Ghostface Killah’s lyrical prowess is undeniable—his storytelling is vivid and often cinematic, painting gritty urban scenes with impressive detail. However, the rapid-fire delivery and dense slang made it hard to follow at times, leaving me feeling more overwhelmed than engaged. The production is eclectic, with soulful samples and hard-hitting beats that occasionally caught my ear, especially on tracks like “Shakey Dog.” Still, the overall sound felt chaotic and disjointed to my tastes. I can appreciate the artistry and passion behind the album, but it didn’t resonate with me emotionally or musically. For fans of the genre, I imagine Fishscale is a standout. For a middle-aged white male, it’s more of a challenging experience than an enjoyable one.

A Timeless Masterpiece OK Computer is a landmark album that redefined alternative rock in the late '90s, blending haunting melodies, cryptic lyrics, and experimental soundscapes into a deeply immersive experience. Its themes of alienation, technology, and modern anxiety resonate as strongly today as they did upon release. I am a big fan of The Pineapple Thief and OK Computer is a clear influence—its atmospheric depth, emotional intensity, and progressive leanings laid the groundwork for the kind of introspective, layered music that The Pineapple Thief excels at. You can hear echoes of Radiohead’s sonic ambition in their use of dynamic shifts, melancholic tones, and textured arrangements. A visionary album that continues to inspire generations of musicians and listeners alike.

Often hailed as a jazz-funk masterpiece, but strip away the legacy and what you’re left with is a repetitive, self-indulgent jam session masquerading as innovation. The grooves are slick but shallow, the solos meander without purpose, and the whole thing feels more like background filler than a focused musical statement. It’s technically impressive, sure — but so is a calculator. If you’ve got a taste for structured, idea-driven music like 70s prog, this album might come off as directionless and bloated. Historically significant? Maybe. Musically engaging? Not really. Verdict: More vibe than vision.

30 minutes of pure pop perfection. From the iconic opening chord to the final track, The Beatles deliver an infectious blend of energy, melody, and charm. Every song is a gem, showcasing their early songwriting brilliance and tight musicianship. It’s impossible not to like—this album is a joyful sprint through the golden age of British pop.

War was the album where U2 stopped being just another band and became a movement. It laid the foundation for their dominance throughout the '80s and beyond.

Lester Bangs famously dismissed it as indulgent, and frankly, he had a point. The songs often drift without direction, and unless you’re in a particularly mellow, altered state of mind, it’s hard to latch onto anything concrete. There are moments of beauty, sure, but they’re buried under a fog of cosmic noodling. If you’re looking for structure, hooks, or lyrical clarity, you might find yourself wondering—as the title suggests—what exactly you’re supposed to remember.

It's Rumours. Everyone knows it. Most people own it. Still a classic.

I’m not a fan of hip-hop, but this album genuinely surprised me. Arrested Development’s debut blends thoughtful lyrics with soulful, organic instrumentation that feels more like storytelling than typical rap. Tracks like “Tennessee” and “Mr. Wendal” stood out—not just for their catchy rhythms, but for the depth behind the words. There’s a warmth and sincerity throughout that makes it easy to connect with, even if hip-hop isn’t your usual genre. I didn’t expect to enjoy it as much as I did, and honestly, I’ll probably give it another listen soon.

It's The Beatles. Good, but far from hitting their peak.

The album’s rough production and occasionally one-dimensional songwriting can feel more like a manifesto than a fully realized musical statement. Its relentless pace sometimes sacrifices nuance for noise. Still, its impact is undeniable—it’s punk with purpose, even if not always with polish.

Planet Rock is a cold, mechanical mess that mistakes repetition for rhythm and noise for innovation.Despite its reputation, the album offers no emotional depth, no musical warmth, and no redeeming features.

Out of the Blue is a dazzling double album that effortlessly blends rock, pop, and progressive elements into one ambitious, theatrical package. The album’s diversity and cohesion make it a standout in ELO’s discography and a landmark of 70s music.

A smooth, bluesy jazz album with a laid-back groove, ideal for background listening. The Hammond organ gives it a warm, mellow vibe, and the instrumental solos are tasteful without being distracting. Even if you're not into jazz, which I'm not, it's easy to enjoy passively.

A competent but ultimately forgettable collection of songs that rely heavily on vocal charisma to carry otherwise dull material. Won't actively seek it out to listen again.

Often hailed as a cornerstone of 1970s hard rock, and for good reason. The album bursts with energy, swagger, and a rawness that captures the band’s early fire. The hits—“Walk This Way” and “Sweet Emotion”—are undeniable classics, showcasing Aerosmith’s knack for riff-driven hooks and Tyler’s charismatic vocals. The title track opens the album with manic intensity, and “Walk This Way” still feels fresh thanks to its tight groove and lyrical flair. “Sweet Emotion” is a standout, with its layered production and moody atmosphere. However, not every track hits the same high. “Uncle Salty” attempts a darker narrative but feels musically underdeveloped, lacking the punch of the album’s stronger cuts. “Adam’s Apple,” while catchy, leans heavily on blues-rock clichés and doesn’t quite evolve beyond its initial riff. “Round and Round” is perhaps the weakest link—its heavy, plodding structure feels out of place and lacks the finesse found elsewhere on the record. Toys in the Attic is a vital album in Aerosmith’s catalogue, brimming with attitude and innovation. While not every track is a knockout, the highs are high enough to make it a defining moment in classic rock history.

Listening to Close to You feels like stepping into my mum’s living room in the '70s — floral curtains, a cup of tea on the go, and this album playing softly in the background. It’s the kind of music that brings back memories, but not necessarily ones I want to relive. Karen Carpenter’s voice is undeniably smooth — there’s a calming, almost hypnotic quality to it — but the whole thing leans way too far into the sentimental, easy-listening zone for my taste. It’s polished, it’s sweet, and it’s just... not for me. Feels like musical wallpaper — pleasant enough, but I wouldn’t choose to put it on. If you like your music with a bit more grit or edge, this probably won’t hit the mark.

Honestly, I enjoyed this album way more than I expected. I went in thinking it’d be all acoustic folk, but it kicks off with electric guitars and a real punch—totally caught me off guard in the best way. Dylan’s lyrics are sharp, weird, and poetic, and I realized I actually knew more of the songs than I thought. “Subterranean Homesick Blues” and “Mr. Tambourine Man” hit differently when you hear them in the full album context. There’s a cool split between the electric first half and the acoustic second half, and it works. It’s like two sides of Dylan’s brain—one wild and rebellious, the other dreamy and introspective. It’s not just music; it’s a vibe, a mood, a snapshot of a moment when Dylan was changing everything. If you’ve never given it a proper listen, do it. It’s clever, catchy, and way more familiar than you’d expect.

Personally, it didn’t leave much of an impression beyond Part IV, which was okay. I remember someone in the family owning the single. The rest of the album felt ambient to the point of forgettable. What stuck with me more was the cover art that hinted at a drama the music never quite delivered.

Decent but not remarkable

39 albums in to this project and I'm yet to discover anything that I wasn't already aware of or own that has blown me away. A couple of surprises but nothing that has made me go out and seek to buy a physical copy. After listening to this album, that quest continues..

This was just tedious. Can't connect with anything contained in this album.

Ten isn’t just an album—it’s a memory. My CD belonged to my brother, who passed away in 1994, and every listen feels like a quiet reunion. The raw emotion in Eddie Vedder’s voice, especially on tracks like “Black” and “Alive,” speaks directly to grief and resilience. It’s a poignant, powerful record that helped shape a generation—and for me, it holds the echo of someone I loved.

Listening to Slanted and Enchanted felt like stumbling into a smoky basement gig where Lou Reed decided to front The Pixies for a night. There’s a raw, off-kilter charm to it—jangly guitars, cryptic lyrics, and that lo-fi aesthetic that screams early '90s indie. It’s got attitude, sure, but it’s also kind of like a musical shrug: cool, detached, and not particularly interested in winning you over. Some tracks had moments that caught my ear—the singer's drawl occasionally hits that sweet spot between ironic and sincere—but overall, it felt more like a vibe than a collection of songs I’d revisit. It’s the kind of album that probably grows on you if you’re steeped in the scene or nostalgic for that era. For me, though, it was an interesting listen... once. Not a bad album by any stretch, just not one that clicked.

I first came across Sea Change after reading an interview with Bruce Soord, frontman of The Pineapple Thief, who spoke highly of it. Given Soord’s knack for emotionally resonant songwriting and atmospheric production, his recommendation carried weight. I was curious to hear what kind of album could leave such an impression on a fellow artist known for introspective music. From the very first track, Golden Age, I was struck by the album’s mood—melancholic yet strangely comforting. Beck, often known for his genre-hopping and ironic detachment, completely sheds that persona here. Sea Change is raw, vulnerable, and beautifully restrained. It feels like a quiet confession whispered through lush arrangements and aching melodies. Listening to Sea Change after Bruce Soord’s recommendation felt like being let in on a secret—a quiet masterpiece that rewards patience and introspection. It’s not an album for every mood, but when you’re in the right headspace, it’s transformative. It’s Beck at his most honest, and for me, that’s what makes it timeless.

Yeah, it’s dated. But it’s also fun, fearless, and full of attitude. Not every track hits, and some could’ve used a trim, but 1999 is still a blast to revisit—especially if you’re in the mood to dance!!

My experience of mambo prior to this was courtesy of Lou Bega's Mambo No.5!! This album contains all the other mambos!! Not for me.

A towering achievement in rock history, A Night at the Opera is Queen at their most ambitious, theatrical, and sonically adventurous. From the operatic grandeur of “Bohemian Rhapsody” to the raw power of “Death on Two Legs,” the album showcases the band’s virtuosity and flair for drama. The production is lush, the songwriting bold, and Freddie Mercury’s vocals are nothing short of iconic. However, the album’s occasional detours into jazzy pastiche—like “Seaside Rendezvous” and “Lazing on a Sunday Afternoon”—while charming to some, for me they dilute the emotional and musical intensity for those who prefer Queen’s rockier edge. They feel more like whimsical sketches than essential statements. Still, it’s a near-masterpiece—just shy of five stars due to those indulgences.

This is the kind of thing I was hoping for from this challenge!! I know Talking Heads from their singles, but this was my first full album experience—and it blew me away. The quirky energy, tight grooves, and Brian Eno’s production make every track feel fresh and inventive. “Take Me to the River” is a standout, along with "I'm Not In Love" and " The Big Country" (all added to my liked songs on Spotify!), but the whole album is a weirdly joyful ride through Byrne’s anxious, architectural world. It's not ll about David Byrne though. The band’s interplay is razor-sharp, with Tina Weymouth’s basslines and Chris Frantz’s drumming locking into grooves that are deceptively funky beneath the post-punk surface. After 46 albums, this is the first one that I don't already own that I now need to own on vinyl.

This album is camp in the best possible way. It’s tongue-in-cheek but never lazy, with riffs that punch harder than they have any right to and lyrics that wink at you while doing high kicks in platform boots. “I Believe in a Thing Called Love” is the anthem of anyone who’s ever air-guitared in the mirror with zero shame. And if you can’t smile while listening to it, you might want to check your pulse—you could be legally dead inside. Every track feels like it was written with a smirk and a raised eyebrow, but the musicianship is no joke. Dan Hawkins is no slouch on the guitar and his solos shred. The drums are thunderous and you've got the inimitable Frankie Poullain on bass. To cap it all, Justin Hawkins’ vocals soar like a glam-rock phoenix. It’s theatrical, ridiculous, and completely irresistible. It kicks down the door, struts in, and demands you have fun. And honestly? You will.

While not quite in my usual musical lane, this turned out to be a surprisingly enjoyable listen. What really hooked me was the clever use of samples—spotting Black Sabbath’s “The Wizard” and The Who’s “Can’t Explain” added an extra layer of fun and appreciation. It’s a record that feels both chaotic and calculated, with infectious grooves and a cheeky sense of rhythm. Not something I’d listen to again, but I’m glad it came up.

This felt like hard work. While critics praise its emotional depth and genre-blending, the album’s slow pace, hazy production, and introspective lyrics come off as dull and uninspiring. Tracks meander without much payoff, and the overall vibe leans too heavily on mood over melody. If you’re looking for energy, hooks, or sonic variety, this album likely won’t deliver. It’s a critical darling, but for me, it’s simply not engaging.

Enjoyed this more than I thought i would. Put aside any personal thoughts of what Jackson may or may not have been. Quincy Jones’ production is immaculate—tight grooves, lush arrangements, and infectious energy, especially in the first half with hits like “Don’t Stop ’Til You Get Enough” and “Rock With You.” The second half softens, with ballads and lighter fare that don’t quite match the opening punch. Still, it’s a milestone in pop history, even if it doesn’t sustain its momentum all the way through.

Lenny Valentino was my only point of reference with The Auteurs —sharp, catchy, and full of swagger. I expected more of that energy, but this album didn’t quite deliver. The album felt more like a slow burn than a spark—interesting in concept, but lacking the punch I was hoping for. I didn’t hate it, but I found myself drifting. Maybe it’s one of those records that rewards repeat listens, but on first pass, it left me cold.

As someone who’s much more of a fan of Bowie’s 70s work, Blackstar initially felt like a challenging listen. The opening title track didn’t grab me—it’s abstract and sprawling, and that’s usually a turn-off. But once I got past it, the album revealed a deeply emotional and artistically rich experience. The highlight for me is “Dollar Days”—a stunning, melancholic piece that echoes the melodic sensibility of his classic era while embracing the vulnerability of his final work. It’s a powerful farewell, even if not everything here hits the mark.

I didn’t expect to enjoy this one—Bobby Womack isn’t someone I’d normally go out of my way to listen to, and I probably won’t revisit the album. But The Poet surprised me. There’s some genuinely great playing throughout, with rich instrumentation and grooves that really carry the songs. While a few of the backing vocals veer into cheesy territory, they don’t overshadow the overall vibe. It’s a smooth, soulful record that managed to win me over despite my reservations.

A gloriously messy, high-energy blast of proto-punk swagger. The Dolls sound like they’re having the time of their lives—equal parts sleazy glam and streetwise chaos. It’s raw, loud, and unapologetically fun, with a sneer that feels part Mott the Hoople, part garage band on the verge of collapse. Tracks like “Personality Crisis” and “Trash” are pure attitude, delivered with lipstick, leather, and a wink. Not polished, but that’s the point!

I was only four when Led Zeppelin IV first thundered into the world in 1971, but it found its way into my life through a reissue in 1981—one of the very first rock albums I ever bought. From the moment I dropped the needle on Black Dog, I was hooked. That slithering riff, Plant’s call-and-response vocals, and Bonham’s punchy groove felt like a jolt of electricity. It wasn’t just music—it was a revelation. Then came The Battle of Evermore, and Sandy Denny’s ethereal voice cast a spell. Her duet with Plant felt like stepping into a mythic world, ancient and mysterious. I remember being captivated by the contrast between the delicate mandolin and the haunting vocal interplay—it was unlike anything I’d heard before. Of course, Stairway to Heaven was the centerpiece. I pawed over the lyrics, line by line, determined to learn them by heart. It wasn’t just about memorizing words—it was about understanding the journey, the imagery, the emotion. That slow build to the explosive solo still gives me chills. And then When the Levee Breaks. Bonham’s drum sound—massive, cavernous, elemental—was like the heartbeat of the apocalypse. It’s still one of the most iconic drum recordings ever captured, and it closes the album with a sense of weight and finality that’s hard to shake. Even now, decades later, Led Zeppelin IV remains a cornerstone of my musical life. It’s not just a classic—it’s a part of my story. The album didn’t just introduce me to Led Zeppelin; it introduced me to the power of rock music as art, mythology, and raw emotion.

Deep Purple at their peak—tight, energetic, and brimming with confidence. From the blistering opener “Highway Star” to the immortal riff of “Smoke on the Water,” the album is a masterclass in hard rock. The band’s chemistry is undeniable, especially in the way Jon Lord’s organ and Ritchie Blackmore’s guitar weave around each other with both aggression and finesse.

Ash’s 1977 is a punchy, nostalgic blast of '90s teen spirit—gritty guitars, catchy hooks, and zero pretension. Girl From Mars and Kung Fu still hit like adrenaline shots. If you were into Ash back then, this album feels like a wild summer you never quite got over.

Found this easier to listen to in 2 parts, as was getting slightly bored. Much prefer Sticky Fingers or Beggars Banquet, but it’s still a decent album on the whole.

I’ve been aware of Arcade Fire for some time—my daughters are big fans and have seen them live a few times—but I hadn’t really sat down with their music until now. Listening to Funeral was a bit of a revelation. There’s a raw emotional energy running through the album that’s hard to ignore, and it’s matched by a kind of orchestral grandeur that never feels overblown. Neighbourhood #3 (Power Out) stood out immediately—urgent, driving, and full of tension. It’s got that perfect balance of chaos and control. Wake Up is anthemic in the best way, with its soaring chorus and communal feel; I can see why it’s a live favourite. And Rebellion (Lies) was hypnotic, defiant, and strangely uplifting. What surprised me most was how much Funeral appealed to my prog rock sensibilities. While it’s not prog in the traditional sense, there’s a clear ambition in the song structures, thematic cohesion, and layered instrumentation that echoes the spirit of progressive music. The emotional intensity and dramatic builds reminded me of what I love about bands who aim for something bigger than just a catchy tune. It’s theatrical without being pretentious, and emotionally resonant without being overwrought. I can see why it made such an impact—and why my daughters are so passionate about them.

I picked this up for a quid from a charity shop back when vinyl was gathering dust and nobody cared. I remembered it cropping up in Almost Famous, that scene where music feels like salvation. But I didn’t give it the time it deserved back then. Listening now, Bookends feels like a quiet revelation. It’s nostalgic without being sentimental, poetic without being pretentious. Tracks like “America” and “Old Friends” hit differently with a bit more life lived. It’s short, but it lingers. Like a photo album you didn’t realise meant so much until years later.

Joel’s knack for storytelling shines brightest on The Stranger, with “Scenes from an Italian Restaurant” standing out as a masterclass in lyrical narrative. The tale of Brenda and Eddie is vivid, nostalgic, and bittersweet—like flipping through a photo album of lives that didn’t quite go as planned. The album’s musical versatility is both a strength and a slight drawback; while tracks like “Movin’ Out” and “Only the Good Die Young” have punch and personality, others drift into easy listening territory. That smoothness makes the album accessible, but occasionally dilutes its emotional edge. Overall, for me, it’s a very good album—just shy of greatness due to those softer moments.

It's okay. The album kicks off strong, with a cinematic flair that grabs your attention early on. The opening couple of tracks set a moody, noir-ish tone that’s intriguing and well-produced. Jarvis Cocker’s cameo on Set the Controls for the Heart of the Pelvis adds a playful, sleazy charm, while Nick Cave’s unmistakable voice on The Sweetest Embrace brings a brooding intensity that’s hard to ignore. Beyond those highlights, though, the rest of the album feels more like a mixed bag. There’s atmosphere, sure, but not always enough substance to keep you hooked. It’s the kind of record that’s interesting in parts, but not essential as a whole.

Album 64 of the challenge and the 14th that I actually own!! A cornerstone of progressive rock, Fragile is a showcase of virtuosity, ambition, and eccentricity. Roundabout kicks off with its iconic acoustic intro, then the album plunges into a kaleidoscope of shifting time signatures, soaring harmonies, and intricate instrumental passages. Each band member gets a spotlight moment—some more compelling than others—but it’s “South Side of the Sky” and “Heart of the Sunrise” that truly shine. While the Spotify link takes you to the Deluxe Edition, the original vinyl’s omission of the Simon & Garfunkel cover “America” is, frankly, a blessing. While the Deluxe Edition adds it for completists, it feels more like a curiosity than a necessity. The album’s strength lies in its original material, where Yes blend classical precision with rock energy in a way that still feels fresh. I can see why Fragile ranks so highly on ProgArchives (#10 all-time)— for old school progheads, it’s a defining statement of the genre.

Did nothing for me. The album felt like a generic slice of country-folk, with predictable melodies, overly sentimental lyrics, and a sound that never strayed from safe territory. Griffith’s voice, while technically fine, lacked emotional depth or grit. The production was polished to the point of blandness, and none of the songs stood out or made me feel anything. If this is considered a classic, it only reinforces why I don’t connect with country music.

The real low point is “Bengali in Platforms,” a song that’s not just uncomfortable but indefensible. Its patronizing tone and assimilationist message—“life is hard enough when you belong here”—reek of xenophobia. Defenders call it satire, but there’s no bite, no irony—just a smug dismissal of immigrant identity. It’s a stain on the album and a warning sign of Morrissey’s increasingly reactionary worldview. Viva Hate tries to be introspective and poetic, but ends up sounding bitter and blinkered. For fans of The Smiths, it’s a sobering reminder that great lyricists aren’t always great solo artists.

This album is definitely good fun—full of funky grooves and laid-back jams that showcase War’s signature style. The musicianship is tight, and there’s a nice, easygoing vibe throughout. While I can appreciate the funkiness and the positive energy, it’s not really my thing overall. I enjoyed the listen, but I’m not sure I’d come back to it again.