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.
Undeniably a landmark in vocal jazz and pop balladry, but listening to it straight through can feel like being trapped in a smoky lounge where time stands still—and not always in a good way.
The album’s mood is consistent to a fault: melancholy, introspective, and drenched in late-night loneliness. While that emotional cohesion is often praised, it also means that many of the tracks blur together. The arrangements, though lush and tasteful, rarely deviate from the slow, string-heavy formula. After a few songs, you start to wonder if the needle’s stuck.
Sinatra’s voice, of course, is pure croon—smooth, intimate, and technically flawless. But that same velvet tone becomes almost soporific over the course of 16 tracks. There’s little dynamic range, either emotionally or musically, which makes the album feel more like a mood piece than a collection of distinct songs.
It’s a masterclass in atmosphere, but one that risks monotony. If you’re not already nursing a heartbreak or sipping bourbon in the dark, it might not hit quite as hard.
Maybe I'm not hardcore enough but I've always struggled to get into Slayer. Have to agree with a few others about the repetitive nature of most of the songs. I certainly couldn't pick out any individual track from another one. I recognise that it's a considered a classic of it's genre but I'll admire it from afar!
Released in 2006, this debut feels like a lightning bolt captured in a pint glass. It’s raw, witty, and brimming with youthful energy. Alex Turner’s lyrics are observational gold—sharp, sardonic, and deeply rooted in British nightlife and working-class culture. Tracks like “I Bet You Look Good on the Dancefloor” and “When the Sun Goes Down” are instant anthems, but it’s the lesser-known cuts like “Riot Van” and “Mardy Bum” that show the band’s knack for storytelling and mood.
Musically, it’s tight and punchy—garage rock with a post-punk edge, driven by Matt Helders’ frenetic drumming and Turner’s charismatic delivery. It’s not just a great debut; it’s a cultural snapshot of mid-2000s Britain, and it still holds up remarkably well.
71 albums in and this is the first album unfamiliar to me to earn a full five stars—and it absolutely deserves it. I went in cold, with no nostalgic attachment or prior listens, except for Hallelujah, and came out stunned by its emotional depth and musical ambition.
From the opening notes of the title track, Buckley’s voice commands attention. It’s delicate and soaring, often unpredictable, and at times eerily reminiscent of Thom Yorke—especially in the way he lets emotion guide the melody. But Buckley’s range is even more operatic, with a theatrical intensity that never feels forced.
There’s a clear Led Zeppelin influence running through the album—not just in the guitar work and dynamic shifts, but in the mystical, almost spiritual atmosphere of tracks like “Mojo Pin” and “Dream Brother.” It’s like Buckley took the Zeppelin blueprint and infused it with vulnerability and grace.
“Last Goodbye” and “Lover, You Should’ve Come Over” are the emotional core of the album—aching, poetic, and timeless. These songs feel like they’ve always existed, waiting to be discovered.
The only track that doesn’t quite fit is “Corpus Christi Carol.” It’s beautifully performed, but feels like a detour into a different world—more like a medieval interlude than part of the album’s emotional journey. It breaks the flow and feels slightly out of place.
Still, that’s a minor flaw in an otherwise breathtaking debut. Grace is more than just a collection of songs—it’s a transmission of feeling, a deeply personal and spiritual experience. And for an album I’d never heard before, that’s a rare and powerful thing.
Elephant by The White Stripes is a raw, bluesy garage rock album that’s often hailed as a modern classic—but it doesn’t click for everyone. While it’s packed with gritty riffs and vintage swagger, it can feel more style than substance if you’re not into the lo-fi aesthetic. And Seven Nation Army, once an anthem, now feels overplayed to the point of exhaustion. If you were expecting something more emotionally resonant or sonically fresh, this might leave you cold.
Never Mind the Bollocks felt less like an album and more like a cultural detonation. I was 10 when it was released, and even then I remember the chaos—banned posters, outraged headlines, parents clutching pearls. The Sex Pistols weren’t just a band; they were a marketing experiment in weaponizing rebellion. The music itself? Loud, brash, and deliberately crude. It’s punk boiled down to sneer and spit.
Looking back, it’s hard not to see it as style over substance. The shock tactics, the slogans, the sneering interviews—they were engineered to provoke, and they succeeded. But beneath the noise, the songs blur together, more attitude than artistry. It’s iconic, sure, but mostly for what it represented rather than what it delivered musically.
A strong and confident debut that lays the groundwork for one of rock’s most consistent careers. While not quite a masterpiece, it’s packed with promise and unmistakable charm. Petty’s knack for melody and storytelling is already evident, and the Heartbreakers sound tight and hungry.
“Breakdown” and “Fooled Again (I Don’t Like It)” are standout tracks, but it’s “American Girl” that steals the show — arguably one of the greatest album closers of all time. That chiming guitar riff and restless energy hint at the brilliance to come in later albums.
It’s a shame this is the only Tom Petty album on the 1001 Albums list, as it only scratches the surface of what he would go on to achieve.
A pleasant surprise. Sandy Denny’s voice is the standout—elegant, emotive, and elevating even the more traditional tracks. The Dylan covers are fine but not essential. Overall, a solid listen that hints at the band’s future greatness, even if it didn’t fully convert me.
This feels like it was recorded in a smoky corner of a London bedsit—which, in many ways, it was. With just voice and guitar, Jansch crafts a mood that’s introspective and quietly intense.
Tracks like “Needle of Death” showcase his lyrical depth and emotional weight, tackling heroin addiction with stark honesty. His guitar work is undeniably impressive.
There’s beauty here, but it’s not always easy to access. For fans of stripped-back folk and fingerstyle guitar, this is a foundational listen. For me, it felt more like a historical artifact than a fully immersive experience.
Trevor Horn’s production is so slick it could sell you a timeshare in the actual Pleasuredome!
The hits (Relax, Two Tribes, The Power of Love) are iconic — bold, brash, and gloriously over-the-top.
But then come the cover versions, which feel like the band got lost in a record shop and started recording whatever they touched. It’s ambitious, chaotic, and occasionally brilliant — but also a bit bloated.
Three stars for the classics and the sonic wizardry. One deducted for the karaoke detours.
A polished pop album with undeniable charm, Arrival showcases ABBA at their commercial peak. The hits are instantly recognisable and still sparkle with melodic brilliance. However, the album occasionally drifts into easy listening territory, with tracks like My Love, My Life and That's Me feeling a bit too smooth and safe. Then there's Dum Dum Diddle, which, while catchy, borders on the absurd with its lyrics and tone. Overall, it's a well-crafted record with standout moments, but not without its quirks.
Cliche country. Another album to remind why I don't like country music.
As a first-time listener, Bug felt like a raw and noisy introduction to Dinosaur Jr’s world. “Freak Scene” stood out with its catchy hooks and emotional punch, but the rest of the album didn’t quite grab me in the same way. There’s energy and attitude here, but it didn’t fully click for me overall.
Loud, and a little repetitive. While the album delivers a solid dose of punk-infused rock, it can feel a bit one-note over time.
Another bloody country album!! Admittedly, not quite as clichéd as the others. Was hoping for something more like Copperhead Road, which at least has an edge to it. Not for me.
A musically intense and progressive post-hardcore album with complex guitar work and unpredictable song structures that kept me engaged. The instrumental side is inventive and full of energy, but the vocals didn’t connect—they felt more like noise than expression, which dulled the impact for me. Impressive musically, but not quite a standout overall.
A lively, infectious debut that helped kickstart rock 'n' roll. Yes, it sounds dated—but considering it dropped just 12 years after WWII, it’s a remarkable burst of youthful energy and innovation. Buddy Holly’s charm still shines through.
Packed with iconic hits—“Sharp Dressed Man” and “Legs” are pure rock swagger. But the energy fades in the final tracks, leaving the album slightly uneven. Still, a classic.
Thought it’d be soulful and engaging — but it was so mellow I actually fell asleep!!
I gave it a go, I really did. But somewhere along the line, my ears quietly packed their bags and left the room. The musicianship? Impeccable. The vibe? Sunny and nostalgic. Me? Checking how many tracks were left like I was stuck in a salsa-themed escape room.
Not my thing but I actually enjoyed a good chunk of this—it's got a slick, early-2000s electronic vibe with some clever sampling and catchy grooves. But yeah, some tracks definitely drift into that "hold music" zone—pleasant but a bit too polished and passive. Still, it’s a fun listen.
Didn’t mind this one at all. While it didn’t blow me away, it was an easy listen. My daughter owns at least one of their albums, so there’s a bit of familiarity there. The female vocals stood out—felt familiar somehow, though I couldn’t quite place who they reminded me of. Overall, a decent album, but not one I’d rush back to.
Lyrically, it’s 40 minutes of oversharing and anatomical references. Not aimed at a 58-year-old white bloke, and that’s absolutely fine. I just wish it came with a warning: “May contain more ‘p*ssy’ than a cat shelter.”
A welcome relief after a string of less engaging albums in the 1001 challenge. This one felt like a breath of fresh air—charming, witty, and musically satisfying. Having mostly known The Kinks through their singles, this album was a pleasant surprise, offering more depth and character than expected. Compared to Arthur, which didn’t quite click, Village Green stands out as a more cohesive and enjoyable listen. It’s playful yet poignant, and overall, a fun record that’s easy to appreciate.
Surprisingly proggy and atmospheric—this one really clicked. Enjoyed it far more than expected and went back for a second listen. Great stuff.
Not what I expected. More cold, mechanical, and Bowie-esque than raw punk. Dark, hypnotic, and surprisingly restrained. A moody detour that grows on you.
I’ve tried to get into Aja, I really have. Knowing its reputation among audiophiles and music critics, I even picked up a second-hand vinyl copy to give it a proper spin—only to find it too warped to play. Maybe that was a sign.
While I quite like Can’t Buy a Thrill and appreciate Steely Dan’s musicianship in theory, Aja just leaves me cold. The pristine production and jazz-fusion polish feel more clinical than compelling. With the exception of “Home at Last,” which has a nice groove and some emotional weight, the rest of the album slips by without leaving much of an impression. It’s technically impressive, sure—but emotionally? Forgettable.
Grungy, fuzzy, and full of attitude—but like actual fudge, it’s sweet for a moment and then forgotten. Enjoyable while it’s on, but don’t expect to hum anything later.
Even in its condensed 22-minute form on Spotify, Live at the Star Club is a wild ride. Lewis barrels through the set with raw energy and reckless abandon, backed by the Nashville Teens who do their best to keep up with his manic pace. The performance feels chaotic—but in a good way. It’s loud, fast, and unrelenting, capturing the spirit of early rock 'n' roll in its most primal form. You have to put aside any personal feelings about Lewis to appreciate the sheer intensity and showmanship here. It’s not polished, but that’s the point—it’s rock 'n' roll at its most feral.
This is the second White Stripes album I’ve encountered on the 1001 Albums list, and I’m finding them increasingly hard to enjoy. Overall, Get Behind Me Satan feels fairly boring, lacking the energy or inventiveness I’d hoped for. “My Doorbell” stands out as a fun, catchy moment, but it’s not enough to lift the album as a whole.
What I’ve realised is that my main issue with the White Stripes is Jack White’s voice—it grates on me in a way I didn’t expect, especially considering I’m a fan of Opeth, whose vocals are far more extreme. It’s not the rawness or pitch, but something about the delivery that just doesn’t sit right.
Was hoping for something exciting for my 100th album. This was just dull.
A surprisingly strong late-era Elvis Costello album,delivering sharp, witty lyrics and punchy arrangements. The storytelling is top-notch, and while it’s not quite classic Costello, it’s a solid, engaging listen that earns its spot on the list.
Third time’s not the charm for me with The White Stripes. 102 albums in and the third White Stripes album!! While White Blood Cells might be the strongest of the trio so far, I still struggle to connect with their raw, garage-rock aesthetic. Jack White’s voice continues to grate, and I find it hard to get past that to enjoy the songwriting. There’s energy and attitude here, sure—but I’m not convinced I needed to hear one White Stripes album, let alone three. At this point, I’m just hoping the list moves on soon!
Most of it felt like a warm-up act for something better. That said, “Seven and Seven Is” absolutely rips—an explosive, proto-punk banger that stands head and shoulders above the rest.
Another album that I've owned, listened to once and never played again. It's safe, bland and beige! Everyone has heard Layla and probably never needs to hear it again.
Expected rock. Got fiddles. Stayed for the soul. Fisherman's Blues is like stumbling into a pub session in rural Ireland and realizing you never want to leave. Who knew Celtic folk rock could be this good? Apparently, I do now.
A towering achievement in concept album storytelling, The Wall remains one of the most emotionally resonant and musically ambitious records ever made. From the haunting isolation of “Comfortably Numb” to the theatrical rage of “In the Flesh,” it’s a journey through alienation, trauma, and the psychological cost of fame. The album’s cinematic scope, Roger Waters’ deeply personal lyrics, and David Gilmour’s soaring guitar work combine to create a masterpiece that transcends genre and era. For me, it’s not just one of my favourite albums—it’s a cornerstone of rock music, endlessly compelling and profoundly moving.
This is what I hoped I'd get from this app. Albums that I would have dismissed as a youth because it wasn't 'rock'! This is a very good album if you can get past Lloyd Cole's singing style. Some great guitar work on show and maybe would have been a 5 if Cole's voice didn’t occasionally stray out of his natural range.
First time hearing this and absolutely loved it. Moody, melodic, and beautifully atmospheric. A perfect blend of melancholy and pop sensibility—an excellent album.
I went into this double album expecting some filler—after all, it's a sprawling 16-track set—but was pleasantly surprised to find that every track holds its own. The title track is a stone-cold classic, setting the tone with its stark social commentary and minimalist groove. U Got The Look, featuring Sheena Easton, is an infectious blast of pop-funk energy that’s impossible not to love. What really impressed me was the consistency—there wasn’t a single track I felt like skipping. Prince’s versatility and creativity shine throughout, making this not just a great double album, but one of his finest works.
How did this pass me by in '86? Probably dismissed them as just another punk band—but I Against I is so much more than hardcore. It's a genre-defying blast of energy, fusing punk aggression with metal precision, funk grooves, and even touches of soul. Imagine if Megadeth and Living Colour had a lovechild raised on DC hardcore and Rastafarian spirit—this would be it.
The title track hits like a freight train, “Re-Ignition” is pure fire, and “Sacred Love” (recorded over the phone from jail!) adds a surreal edge. The musicianship is off the charts—tight, inventive, and fearless. It’s raw but refined, chaotic yet controlled.
It’s great. And I’m glad I finally caught up with it.
One of the stronger rap albums I've come across in the 1001 Albums list. Ice-T’s lyrical delivery is sharp, and the production holds up well, blending classic hip-hop beats with a touch of rock influence—which I appreciated. His crossover appeal is evident, and it adds a bit of edge to the album. That said, the skits (as with many rap albums) felt unnecessary and broke the flow more than they added to it. Overall, it’s a solid listen, but not one I’d find myself returning to.
Two rap albums in a row? What did I do to deserve this—accidentally insult the algorithm? Musically, Ready to Die is polished and punchy, and Biggie’s flow is undeniably slick. But lyrically? It’s like being trapped in a pub with a bloke who’s had five pints and won’t stop telling you about his imaginary sex life. Constant brags, crude references, and a general vibe of “look how hard I am” that just doesn’t land when you’re a middle-aged Englishman whose idea of rebellion is buying the posh biscuits!!
I get that it’s a landmark album, and I can respect the artistry—but I spent most of it wondering if I’d accidentally tuned into a teenage diary read aloud over beats. Not for me, thanks.
The ultimate 'lager rock' album—brash, bold, and unapologetically British.
While Wonderwall has long overstayed its welcome in public consciousness (arguably one of the most overrated songs of the era), the album still packs a punch. Roll With It is undeniably catchy, and Don't Look Back in Anger remains a belting anthem, especially with Noel Gallagher on vocals—he really should have sung more of the record.
It’s very much of its time, soaked in mid-90s swagger and lad culture, but its impact on British music and pop culture is undeniable. Whether you love it or loathe it, it’s hard to ignore.
Can someone enlighten me on what the hell this was and why I needed to hear it before I die!!
Though I’ve always been familiar with Purple Rain—it’s one of my wife’s favourites—I’d never actually sat down with it on headphones until now. What a revelation. The layers in the production are incredible; there’s so much going on beneath the surface that I’d never fully appreciated before. Prince’s guitar work is electric, his vocals are raw and emotive, and the genre-blending—from rock to funk to pop to soul—is seamless. Tracks like “When Doves Cry” and the title track hit harder than ever, while “The Beautiful Ones” and “Computer Blue” reveal new textures with every listen. It’s a masterclass in musical ambition and emotional intensity. I finally get why this album means so much to so many—including my wife. It’s a stone-cold classic.
Ella’s voice? Pure velvet. No complaints there—she could sing the phone book and make it sound classy.
But after an hour of this sprawling box set, I started to feel like I’d wandered into a never-ending 1930s cocktail party where every song was about a woman either chasing a man, losing a man, or dramatically declaring she’ll never love again (until the next track).
The orchestration is lush, but also a bit like musical wallpaper—elegant, but it all blends together after a while. By track five, I was half expecting Fred Astaire to tap-dance through my living room. Gershwin’s melodies are iconic, sure, but the lyrical themes feel like they were written by someone who thought emotional stability was a sign of weakness.
In short: Ella’s voice is a gem, but the material feels like it’s stuck in a loop of romantic despair and orchestral déjà vu. Oh, and nobody has ever pronounced 'potato' as po-tah-to!
The musicianship is solid, the vibes are peaceful, but the excitement level hovers somewhere between “watching paint dry” and “listening to someone describe their sourdough starter.” All in all, a bit meh—but at least it didn’t offend my ears. Just gently bored them.
This album doesn’t just play—it sashays in wearing glitter and whispering, “You’ll never be this cool.” Bolan turns every riff into a pickup line, and honestly, you’d fall for it. Forty minutes of pure swagger that makes you want to buy platform boots and a boa. Oh, to be that cool!
This was a blast from start to finish! The album is packed with quirky, upbeat tracks that feel like a time capsule of pure Bollywood funk. It’s not something I'll ever revisit, but I couldn’t help smiling all the way through. The playful energy, groovy arrangements, and the unforgettable “One Two Cha Cha Cha!" makes it a fun, lighthearted listen.
The title track is incredible—one of Bowie’s best, full of emotion and power. But beyond that, the album feels uneven. “Beauty and the Beast” and “Blackout” have some bite, but once it hits “V-2 Schneider” through “Neuköln,” it loses me completely. Those instrumentals feel like filler, not music I’d return to. For me, Heroes is carried almost entirely by its namesake song.
This stands out compared to most of the other hip-hop albums I’ve encountered so far. The lyrics feel more socially conscious and avoid the usual misogynistic tropes, which is refreshing. The rhythms and beats are solid—nothing groundbreaking, but definitely enjoyable. Overall, I appreciated the listen, but it’s not something I’d revisit again.
I enjoyed this one more than I expected. It’s a vibrant slice of late-’60s psychedelia, full of swirling organ lines and free-spirited energy. At times, it reminded me of The Doors with its moody, hypnotic grooves and extended jams. The album feels raw and exploratory, capturing that era’s sense of musical adventure without being too self-indulgent. Pass the incense and turn up the volume!!
The title track is pure pop perfection—dramatic, daring, and still electrifying. The rest? A mixed bag weighed down by filler that doesn’t come close to matching its brilliance. One iconic song propping up an uneven album.
I was absolutely blown away by this album. I’ve long admired his haunting version of Hurt, but hearing it in the context of the full record makes it even more powerful. The rest of the album is mesmerising—raw, intimate, and deeply human. Cash’s voice carries a weight of experience that turns every track into a reflection on life, mortality, and redemption. It’s not just music; it feels like a final conversation with an old friend. A masterpiece
It's okay. Decent first track but fades a bit from then on. Was quite optimistic when it came up, as Aimee Mann sang on Rush's Time Stand Still, but i can't fathom the reason for it being on the list. Feels generic.
A striking mix of acoustic vulnerability and electric grit. The album feels like a meditation on rock’s past and future, with “My My, Hey Hey” bookending the journey. Not flawless, but bold and timeless.
This is my favourite of the Berlin trilogy. I love how it feels like Bowie breaking everything apart and starting again—raw, fractured songs up front, then those eerie, beautiful instrumentals that pull you into another world. It’s so inventive and atmospheric that I almost gave it five stars, but something about its starkness keeps it just shy. Still, an incredible album that never stops fascinating me.
Way better than the David Crosby album I had to listen to earlier in the year! Great guitar work throughout, and Love The One You’re With was the only track I recognised going in. A strong, enjoyable listen.
If you’ve ever wondered what it sounds like when a man wrestles with his own soul in front of a cheering crowd, this is it. Eight songs, 28 minutes, and enough emotional intensity to power a small French village. Brel doesn’t just sing—he attacks every lyric like it owes him money.
The audience? Absolutely loving it. Me? Mostly wondering why my O Level French didn’t prepare me for this linguistic hurricane. I managed to spot “window” and “fish,” which I’m fairly sure weren’t central themes, but hey—small victories.
Not a patch on Quadrophenia.
Interesting. Part Sparks, part Elbow, part post-rock. Enjoyed it.
The World: “There’s no such thing as perfection.”
Blondie: “Hold my beer.”
It’s been ages since I last heard Parallel Lines, and I’d forgotten just how flawless this record is. Every track is a masterclass in pop-rock craftsmanship—hooks for days, attitude in spades, and Debbie Harry commanding the spotlight like few others ever could.
And then there’s “11:59”—what a tune!! That driving rhythm, the urgency in the lyrics, the way it bridges punk energy with pop sensibility… it’s pure magic. Honestly, this album doesn’t just define an era; it transcends it.
For me, this album feels like a mixed bag. While Knights of Cydonia is undeniably a standout track—bold, cinematic, and full of energy—the rest of the record doesn’t quite hit the same heights.
Compared to Origin of Symmetry, which is raw, inventive, and packed with intensity, this leans too heavily into polished production and pop sensibilities.
It’s not a bad album by any means, but overall, it feels pretty average and lacks the edge that made Muse so compelling earlier in their career. Honestly, it’s surprising that Origin of Symmetry didn’t make the list, because that’s the one that truly defines Muse at their peak.
This album is pure class from start to finish. Burke’s voice is a force of nature—rich, commanding, and full of soul. Every track feels like it’s carved out of the foundations of modern R&B and rock, yet it still sounds timeless. The arrangements are tight, the grooves are irresistible, and the emotion in his delivery is undeniable. Would love to hear it on vinyl.
Very chilled and atmospheric, with a smooth blend of folk and jazz. Mostly enjoyable, but I listened very early and may have nodded off—so it definitely deserves another spin when I’m more alert!
Update! Wide awake this time—and wow, what a belter! The chilled vibe now feels rich and immersive, with Martyn’s voice and guitar work weaving pure magic. A stunning blend of folk and jazz that rewards full attention. Absolutely brilliant.
If rock music ever had a blueprint for power and precision, Who’s Next would be it. This album isn’t just a collection of songs—it’s a statement of dominance. From the opening synth-driven surge of “Baba O’Riley”, which alone could justify a five-star rating, to the thunderous climax of “Won’t Get Fooled Again”, The Who deliver a masterclass in energy and ambition.
The record captures the band at their creative peak—only Quadrophenia rivals it for sheer scope and artistry. Every track feels essential, balancing raw aggression with melodic sophistication.
Pete Townshend’s visionary songwriting and guitar work set the tone, but it’s the chemistry of the whole band that makes this record soar. Roger Daltrey’s commanding vocals, Keith Moon’s explosive drumming, and John Entwistle’s thunderous, melodic bass lines give the music its muscular backbone. Entwistle doesn’t just hold down the low end—he drives the songs forward with a force that’s as distinctive as Townshend’s riffs.
Simply put: Who’s Next isn’t just one of The Who’s greatest albums—it’s one of rock’s greatest albums, period.
Take Big Sur out and the rest is instantly forgettable. Pleasant enough, but does it really merit a place on 1001 Albums You Must Hear Before You Die? Probably not.
This one’s a mixed bag. At its core, it feels like a solid early-’70s singer-songwriter record, but that’s also the problem—it doesn’t always stand out. The piano-led tracks could easily pass for Billy Joel, and honestly, it’s hard to shake the feeling that its inclusion on the list owes a lot to Without You rather than the album as a whole.
That said, there are flashes of brilliance: Jump Into the Fire is a swaggering, bass-driven monster that feels way ahead of its time, while Coconut is… well, ridiculous—but undeniably memorable. The rest? Competent, pleasant, but rarely transcendent.
A couple of iconic moments surrounded by fairly standard fare. Worth hearing for the highs, but not essential beyond that.
A band new to me. By no means a poor album — it’s competently put together — but it left very little impression on me. Not a single track stood out, and the whole thing rather faded into the background as it went on.
The real irony came afterwards: when Spotify slipped into random mode, the next Girls Against Boys song it served up was far more striking than anything on the album itself.
In short, perfectly listenable, but instantly forgettable.
This was a slog. A fusion of drum & bass, Indian classical, and ambient textures that sounds intriguing on paper but collapses under its own weight. The album feels disjointed, overly long, and often meanders without purpose. Instead of hypnotic, it’s monotonous; instead of groundbreaking, it’s grating. Quite possibly the worst album I’ve encountered so far in this challenge.
This is an album that leaves me scratching my head over Coldplay’s massive appeal. Chris Martin’s lyrics are thoughtful and well-crafted, but the music feels safe to the point of blandness, and the vocals never rise above serviceable. It’s polished, yes, but ultimately background music—pleasant enough without demanding attention. Clocks is the one track that stands out, offering a glimpse of the energy and urgency the rest of the record lacks. For me, it’s more wallpaper than wonder.
Not your typical hip-hop record. While a lot of the lyrical themes don’t hit home for me personally, the album feels like a breath of fresh air compared to much of the genre I’ve encountered so far. The mix of soulful melodies, reggae-infused grooves, and sharp rhymes gives it a unique character. And Lauryn Hill? Absolute standout—her voice elevates every track she touches and I might be a little bit in love with it!
When this came up, I was genuinely excited. At first, it didn’t hit me straight away—its hazy layers and swirling guitars felt elusive. But with time, it unfolded beautifully. The shimmering textures, the way melodies peek through the noise, and that sense of vastness make it a true shoegaze landmark. It’s not just an album; it’s an atmosphere you sink into. A slow-burn that reveals its brilliance with every listen. A masterpiece.
At times it feels like you’ve wandered into a Renaissance fair by mistake. Light Flight is a okay, but overall, a bit too “hey nonny nonny” for my taste.
First time hearing this Bowie album—and it’s superb! A sleek, mysterious classic with the monumental title track and irresistible “Golden Years.” Transitional and daring
When the 2-Tone movement exploded, I was 11 and hungry for something new. Punk had passed me by, but this album was my awakening. The raw energy, the ska rhythms, the sharp social commentary—it was electrifying. I couldn’t afford albums back then, so I lived on singles until Christmas brought the full record home. It didn’t just soundtrack my youth; it made me politically aware and shaped the person I became. The Specials wasn’t just music—it was a manifesto, and I ate up every note.
An enjoyable listen overall, but it doesn’t leave a lasting impression. A few tracks lean too far into soft jazz territory for my taste, which dulled the experience a bit. While the album has its moments, it lacks the depth and warmth that made Solid Air so compelling. For me, Solid Air remains the stronger and more memorable record.
I seem to have hit a rich vein lately!
Forgotten how great this is—an album full of understated emotion and folktronica charm. It was a big part of life when our youngest was born, and my wife loved it. Babylon and This Year’s Love still shine, but the real standout now is his haunting cover of Say Hello, Wave Goodbye—a perfect, bittersweet closer.
Not really my thing overall, but I can appreciate why it’s so revered. The production is tight—those jazzy, boom-bap beats have a cool, laid-back vibe that stands out. Lyrically, it’s sharp and gritty, but the style didn’t fully click for me. Great backing tracks, though.
21 songs in 35 minutes—blink and you’ll miss half the album. It’s punk boiled down to quick jabs and odd angles, like someone speed-running music theory. Not every track sticks, but the audacity does. A decent listen, even if it feels like the band was paid by the song, not the hour.
There’s no denying the musicianship here—Mayall’s band is tight, and Clapton’s guitar work is technically flawless. But for me, that’s where the excitement ends. The album feels more like a showcase than a journey, and I found myself checking the clock rather than getting lost in the blues. Maybe my personal bias against Clapton is creeping in, but even setting that aside, this one just didn’t spark. Competent? Absolutely. Captivating? Not for me.
I first discovered this album after hearing my daughter play “Red Eyes,” and I was hooked enough that she bought me the vinyl. The whole record has a very laid-back, dreamy vibe—perfect for sinking into on a quiet evening. It’s spacious and textured, with layers that feel almost hypnotic at times. People often mention Springsteen comparisons, but I don’t really hear that here; it’s more about atmosphere than anthems. A beautiful, immersive listen that rewards patience.
This one just didn’t click for me. I didn’t hate it, but I couldn’t find a way in. The mix of art-rock, electronic textures, and experimental edges felt more cerebral than emotional, and it left me cold. I can appreciate the ambition, but it’s not something I’d revisit.
How can you not enjoy this on Christmas day?! Perfect.
Absolutely brilliant. Cash at his most defiant, with grit and charm in front of a captive audience. Raw, real, and unforgettable.
If you’re after the earthy charm of Traffic, this isn’t it. Winwood goes full synth and drum machine here, and the result feels a bit sterile. Strong voice, decent tunes, but those keyboards dominate everything. Leaves you wondering what he was aiming for.
Springsteen swaps the widescreen drama of Born to Run for something grittier—songs about hard graft, dashed hopes, and clinging on by your fingernails. The E Street Band sounds like they’ve been living on black coffee and broken promises, and it suits the mood perfectly. The lyrics? Brilliant. The voice? Well… let’s just say if gravel could shout, this would be it. Still, there’s a raw honesty that makes you forgive him—at least on a good day.
One of the most iconic hard rock records ever. From the opening toll of “Hells Bells” to the swagger of “Shoot to Thrill” and the immortal title track, this is pure riff-driven power. Angus Young’s guitar work is razor-sharp, the grooves are relentless, and Johnson’s vocals sound like gravel soaked in whiskey—perfect for the band’s raw energy. It’s lean, loud, and unapologetically heavy. An absolute monster that defined an era and still shakes walls today.
Was on a good streak until this!! Absolute carnage!
A bold double album split into two distinct personalities. Speakerboxxx delivers solid Southern hip-hop with Big Boi’s confident flow, but it feels more “okay” than groundbreaking. The Love Below, on the other hand, aims for eccentric funk-pop but often comes across as a diluted Prince pastiche—ambitious yet uneven. The saving grace? “Hey Ya,” a timeless burst of energy that outshines the rest.
This is an album that rewards patience. On first listen, it can feel fragmented and elusive, but after a couple of spins, its strange beauty starts to surface. Amnesiac isn’t designed for mass appeal—Radiohead deliberately sidestep the mainstream here, leaning into abstraction and mood over hooks. It’s unsettling, experimental, and at times disorienting, yet that’s exactly what makes it compelling. If Kid A was the revolution, Amnesiac is the echo—haunting, cerebral, and defiantly uncommercial.
Chill-out vibes with rich Indian samples and smooth electronic textures. Relaxing and culturally layered—easy to enjoy without demanding attention.
Smooth, soulful, and inventive, if a little too sickly sweet in places. Superstition is a funk classic.
First listen, and wow—this is better than expected! Infectious, sun-soaked new wave pop energy with a raw edge that keeps it from feeling too polished. The hooks are irresistible, the rhythm section drives hard, and Belinda Carlisle’s vocals have that perfect mix of sweetness and attitude. It’s fun, rebellious, and surprisingly tight for a debut. A pure slice of early-’80s cool.
Posh, clever, and a bit pleased with itself. Like turning up at a dinner party where everyone’s quoting French philosophers while you’re just after a decent glass of red. Some gorgeous moments, but mostly feels like homework set by someone who owns too many scatter cushions.
Bleak as midwinter, but beautiful with it. The opener’s a slow start, yet stick around—Antony’s voice will floor you. Fragile, haunting, and deeply human. I'm used to Steven Wilson-levels of gloom, so the extreme melancholy didn't bother me!!
Crikey, this was dull. The whole album feels like background noise for a smug middle-class dinner party—polished, safe, and utterly uninspiring. Nothing grabs you, nothing surprises you. It’s pleasant in the way wallpaper is pleasant, but if you’re looking for soul or spark, you won’t find it here.
