Sorry, a few groovy beats don't absolve this album be a quite a tortuous listen of misogyny and violence. Perhaps...have tuneage without this - how hard can it be? Made much better by imagining literal dogs bow-wowing.
Wonderful bleeps and bloops and, whilst biased because I can see what music it led to, felt fresh and exciting
Probably not unoriginal, but it sure sounds it. Even the deep cuts I've heard in the music they've inspired.
Supreme talent, but doesn't get away from it saying....very little.
Sorry jazz, it's just not me - music should take you places, and this doesn't.
Yep, this is more like it - instrumentation and soul. And so much better than just being the son of a preacher, man.
As ever, made so much more with a bit of context. Ah, Jamaican influence, early punk! So much more than the hits, and a real time capsule. Shame the vocals grate mine lugholes.
So hard to hear fresh, and separate it from the conversations of America - it's use at rallies etc. But I can see why it's been coopted - it feels biiiiiig, approachable.....American. Odd - considering how much I love Sam's Town - but that doesn't sit well with me. Perhaps the 80s bombast, the prototypical American stories, but there wasn't enough ambiguity, mystery for me to get excited, or want to listen again.
Some lovely dark vibes; a true standout!
With the exception of a bit of movement at the end, felt very loungey, with scarce excitement - is this country adjacent nonsense what a whole swathe of America listens to? An hour of my life I'll never get back.
Sorry, a few groovy beats don't absolve this album be a quite a tortuous listen of misogyny and violence. Perhaps...have tuneage without this - how hard can it be? Made much better by imagining literal dogs bow-wowing.
Much better than a lot of jazz, with some actual narrative in the piano driving things forward. But then some noodling saxophony that did nothing for me,
Quality vibes and at times a lovely atmosphere, but let down by all that whisperpopping about - why the need?
It's got some bops; huge, and those would elevate it to a perfect album. But in the midst of that, there's a Born to Run cover, some really needless filler....what is going on? How can an album with Two Tribes, Relax, the Power of Love be....boring?
At times sounded like Simlish elevator music, and despite some very smooth production, it all felt a bit uncanny valley with what sounded like all those programmed beats. (Perhaps this distracted from Maxwell's voice, which is clearly good)
Clearly a product of its time with samples being in their infancy. But a lot to like, and makes me want to return
Wonderful bleeps and bloops and, whilst biased because I can see what music it led to, felt fresh and exciting
Would need to listen to it again, and again and again, but the texture, the feeling of specificity that cut through this provided an escape to south London that was really welcome.
Didn't get through this all, but I'm afraid another jazz album with little motivation, drive, or interest. Clearly talented, but amounting to nowt.
Threw everything at the wall, and whilst it wasn't bad, why? Not sure about the random barking, and a suffusion of excessive instrumentation meant any singular sense got rapidly lost. But then, he did, so kudos. (Also can't distance it from the overwhelming sense of prog ie. aging out of touch middle England who are there to fawn sycophantically over a drumstick from 1970, and are the types leaving comments on YouTube videos saying "isn't it great the youth can make music" - but I accept this is my own prejudice!)
Needs to be taken in context, but it nevertheless feels like these raw sounding guitars saved us from loads of overproduced mediocrity.
Much better vibes than Born in the USA; it seems the introduction to a vast swathes of America (well, New Jersey) and novel experience. Surely something to return to again and again. A very strong four, escaping five because I'm me - there's only so much you can do without some truly exciting sonic titillation (saxophones don't count) and just some great songwriting.
Fine, agree with the top review that it seems a bit filler in the context of best albums of all time. Odd, considering some standouts on the record.
Something novel, wonderful bassy crunchy vibes throughout , and a breath of fresh air.
Rather wonderful - nasty, dirty anger, but never to the point of noise. Felt unclean listening to some of it, but I still returned. Even the programmed drums grew on me, a tantalising look forward to NIN and the like.
Top quality sound, and - to its detriment or not - didn't notice listening to it three times on the trot. One of these things that is impossible to truly love not knowing more of the context in which it was produced. It just....'was' - a good spirngboard for finding some more things.
Didn't get through this, puerile and mysoginist nonsense, made with a load of skits that just seem..... juvenile in the worst way. Barely any musicality in it to redeem it
What more to say about this; a pop punk concept album that was a hugely popular across my early teens. Trying to listen to it now; well - of course some parts feel a bit a hackneyed, or on the nose political commentary. But who can write satire that stands the test of time, and Jesus of Suburbia remains a wonderful slice of excitement. Gas stations, parking lots, and romance - it's got a real sense of place. Of course I still listened to it all, and enjoyed nearly all.
It's gatorin' time! With all the noodling that drags on, turning a short album into something that feels far longer, this risks being self indulgent. However, with guitars that sound this swampy it's hard not to feel the vibes, even if all a bit one note.
One note, and a very subjective five stars (but what is this list for if not being subjective). An overlong opus of knotty, crashy noises and the sort of lyrics that would be trite if not situated in the dense and layered industrial world that Reznor builds. An utterly absorbing listen that feels exciting. And of course, ending on Hurt; for me vastly superior to any cover, loops teasing themselves in the background over increasingly tortured vocals. They rise, our single singer overtaken by the machines, melodies collapsing into metal on metal, noise, machinery. Shivers.