Definitively wet and poppin'.
The live version of 'Maggot Brain' is an utter disgusting belter.
Ridiculously consistent synth-pop-funk bangers (which is apparently the sound of Minneapolis) from the regally pompadoured slinky twink.
I'd say some of the more ballad-y tracks sound a bit "of their time", but this is more than made up for by how much he sings about his knob.
This album has a nice overall tone. Radio friendly post-grunge blended with interesting electronic elements.
If The Smashing Pumpkins, Morcheeba, and The Matrix had a child but it had a haircut that adhered to an office dress code, it would be this album.
It feels like it leans a bit heavily on the "sultry and brooding female vocalist" idea. But that might've been a new thing in the '90's.
I can see this being used on an advert for hair gel aimed at people who need their ruffled bob cut to keep pace with their energetic lifestyle and Topshop pleather jacket. Or maybe for a particularly radical flavour of Doritos.
Inoffensive but didn't incite me to any specific acts of violence.
Sincere and engaging in a way that some singer-songwriter styles fall short.
Dynamic and lively, sometimes mournful and haunting.
The generally light touch of the production stops it feeling dated. I think a lot of this would translate really well into live performances.
By the end of the album I'd grown suspicious and distrusting because it made my burnt-out husk-brain do some feelings.
This is some of my favourite Beatles music. Post Beatlemania, so they'd stopped being quite so squeaky clean and keen to hold people's hands, but before they'd started rolling around on the floor, frothing at the mouth.
For me, where this album really shines is the tracks on the more coherent end of this spectrum and not yet in the recovery position.
It's getting better, she's leaving home, fixing a hole. The arrangement, production and songwriting is second to none. It's poignant and philosophical without the need for face paint and finger cymbals.
I did have to knock a point off because I had the reprise of the title track as my alarm tone about 15 years ago and it still gives me anxiety when I hear it.
No easily digestible catchy pop hooks, no clear delineation of where one element ends and another begins, no tangible melodies or rhythms.
While it's historic significance in the realms of ambient electronic hooting shouldn't be understated, it's not one to stick on at a party. Or at least, most parties*. It will increase the likelihood of a man named Graham speaking to you about oscillators and/or trains.
Think of it more as performance art.
Less to be 'listened to' in a traditional sense, and more to 'experience'.
A soundscape describing a journey. Bizarre unearthly sounds coalesce, morph and congeal, evolving over the duration of the album like some great lumbering prog-mollusk.
If you can get past the pretension and let yourself be immersed in the gently undulating, primordial sound womb, there are some moments of real beauty. Particularly in the second half of the album where things get a bit more dynamic.
*Take lots of drugs. Wear something with tassels. You'll have a lovely time.
I had no idea what to expect going into this. And when I started the album I still didn't really know what was going on.
It kicks off harshly and intensely. But settles into some really slinky grooves. The auditory equivalent of a dairy milk wrapped in tin foil.
The drums on the first few tracks really stand out. Lovely, crunchy, garage band tones.
I was a little disappointed they didn't stick around. I feel like the electronic drums that usurped them at times took some of the 'cool' away.
There's an absolutely righteous guitar solo at the end of 'Black' that could've been lifted from one of the smackier John Frusciante albums, especially with the jangly organ accompanying.
This album goes everywhere. It's got blues, gospel, jazz, afrobeat, R&B, some unexpected experimental synth stuff.
I initially thought it might be incohesive having almost continually changing scenery throughout, but the one thing that anchors the whole album is the vocals.
Maybe that's something clever about giving the album it's 'identity'? Fuck yeah.
This album was released in 1969. Jimi Hendrix had already released 3 albums at this point.
It might be because even the concept of Elvis is so iconic and familiar, but this sounded like a bad parody. Like a weird jowelly tribute act in a musty working men's club in Burnley.
Uncomfortably uneventful cowboy cosplay for people who drive everywhere at 35mph regardless of the speed limit but insist everyone else on the road is a maniac.
If someone told you this was their favourite album of all time, what would you do? Exactly, you'd hit them.
To be fair to the big Pelvis himself, this was his 9th fucking album. If you've already bashed out 8, you can do whatever you want. Maybe the incredible, groundbreaking, life changing tracks are on the earlier albums.
I won't be finding out.
