Garbage's self-titled debut blends gritty alt-rock with electronic flourishes, offering a sleek, radio-friendly sound that helped define mid-90s alternative. Shirley Manson’s cool, commanding vocals shine on standout tracks like “Only Happy When It Rains” and “Stupid Girl.” While the album boasts strong production and memorable hooks, it occasionally leans too heavily on style over substance. A solid, if slightly uneven, debut that hinted at the band’s greater potential.
T. Rex’s Electric Warrior is a cornerstone of glam rock, brimming with swagger, groove, and Marc Bolan’s distinctive mix of mysticism and playful sensuality. Tracks like Bang a Gong (Get It On) showcase the band’s ability to fuse rock riffs with glam flamboyance, while slower cuts such as Cosmic Dancer reveal surprising tenderness beneath the glitter. Though at times a bit repetitive in tone, the album’s charm and influence are undeniable, making it both a product of its era and a timeless listen.
Despite its cult status and influence on indie-folk music, Either/Or falls flat for those seeking variety or sonic innovation. Elliott Smith’s hushed vocals and lo-fi acoustic arrangements blur together across tracks, making it difficult to distinguish one melancholic musing from another. The album’s emotional vulnerability may appeal to some, but for listeners not already tuned into Smith’s introspective wavelength, the experience can feel monotonous and overly self-indulgent. With little dynamic range and a consistently downbeat tone, Either/Or risks becoming background music — and not in a good way.
In short, this album might be a touchstone for a niche audience, but for others, it’s a dreary, one-note affair.
Oasis’s 1995 album (What’s the Story) Morning Glory? is often hailed as a Britpop classic, but beneath its swaggering exterior lies an overhyped and uneven collection of songs that hasn't aged as gracefully as its reputation suggests.
While tracks like “Wonderwall” and “Don’t Look Back in Anger” have become anthems of the era, the album suffers from bloated production and a lack of real variety. Many of the songs blur together in a haze of distorted guitars and recycled chord progressions, revealing the band’s limitations in both songwriting depth and originality.
Liam Gallagher’s vocals, while iconic, are often grating across an entire album listen, and the lyrical content—frequently vague and bordering on nonsensical—fails to offer much emotional or intellectual substance.
For all its cultural significance, (What’s the Story) Morning Glory? ultimately feels like a triumph of attitude over artistry. It’s a record that promised more than it delivered, riding the wave of '90s hype rather than building something timeless.
Despite its reputation as a cornerstone of big band jazz, The Atomic Mr. Basie feels overly repetitive and lacks the emotional depth or variety that might keep modern listeners engaged. The arrangements, while tight, come across as formulaic, and the relentless brass sections can feel more exhausting than exciting. Instead of showcasing innovation, the album sounds stuck in a loop of bombast without much nuance.
Fats Domino’s This Is Fats Domino is a lively showcase of his irresistible blend of New Orleans rhythm and blues with early rock ’n’ roll swagger. Tracks like “Blueberry Hill” and “Blue Monday” highlight his warm vocals and rolling piano style, while the horn arrangements and steady grooves keep the energy high throughout. Though some cuts feel formulaic compared to his biggest hits, the album remains a cornerstone of rock ’n’ roll’s formative years.
At Fillmore East is a masterclass in live rock performance. Captured in 1971, this double album showcases the Allman Brothers Band at their peak, blending Southern rock, blues, and jazz with unmatched improvisational skill. Duane Allman's slide guitar work and the band's tight, soulful chemistry turn extended jams like “Whipping Post” and “In Memory of Elizabeth Reed” into transcendent experiences. Raw, powerful, and timeless—this is live music perfection.
Grant Lee Buffalo’s Fuzzy is often hailed as a cult favorite, but for me, it falls flat. While the band’s blend of folk-rock and alternative textures has atmosphere, the pacing drags, and too many songs blur together without leaving a strong impression. Grant Lee Phillips’ voice is rich, but the songwriting doesn’t consistently deliver hooks or momentum. Overall, Fuzzy feels more like background mood music than a compelling listen.
Massive Attack’s Protection is a subdued follow-up to their groundbreaking debut, but it feels too restrained for its own good. While the title track and “Karmacoma” show flashes of brilliance, much of the album drifts into repetitiveness and lacks the innovation that defined Blue Lines. The moody atmosphere is consistent, but at times it slips into monotony rather than depth.
Million Dollar Babies by Alice Cooper tries hard to shock and impress, but the result feels hollow. The songs lean too heavily on theatrics and lack the depth or consistency to hold up as a strong album. What should feel rebellious instead comes across as gimmicky, leaving little replay value.
Arcade Fire’s Funeral is a sweeping debut full of emotional urgency, lush instrumentation, and cathartic choruses. Its blend of indie rock, baroque pop, and heartfelt lyricism creates a communal sense of both grief and celebration. While a few tracks stretch a bit long, the album’s raw passion and anthemic energy make it a powerful, enduring record that still feels vital.
Hanoi Rocks’ Back to Mystery City shows flashes of the band’s glam-punk energy, but too often feels unfocused and uneven. While tracks like “Until I Get You” hint at their melodic strengths, much of the album suffers from weak production and inconsistent songwriting that fails to fully capture their live charisma. Despite its cult following, the record struggles to stand out in a crowded rock scene.
Suede’s self-titled debut is a bold, swaggering introduction to the band’s glam-tinged Britpop sound. With Brett Anderson’s dramatic vocals and Bernard Butler’s soaring guitar work, the album is equal parts gritty and romantic, capturing a raw energy that feels both decadent and melancholy. Tracks like Animal Nitrate and So Young define its sleazy glamour, while slower moments reveal depth beneath the gloss. It’s not flawless, but its ambition and attitude make it a landmark debut.
Despite moments of the band's trademark weirdness and surf-rock flair, Bossanova feels like a diluted version of what made the Pixies exciting in the first place. The raw energy and tension of earlier albums like Doolittle are largely absent, replaced by a more polished, spacier sound that lacks bite. While there are a few standout tracks, the album as a whole drifts into forgettable territory. A disappointing effort from a band known for pushing boundaries.
Arrested Development's debut album brings a refreshing, conscious alternative to early '90s hip-hop, blending soulful melodies, Afrocentric themes, and socially aware lyrics. Tracks like “Tennessee” and “People Everyday” stand out with their groove and message. However, the album sometimes feels uneven in pacing and production, and a few songs don’t hold up as well over time. While it was groundbreaking in its moment, the impact doesn’t fully translate today. Still, it’s a thoughtful and bold record worth revisiting.
Bill Callahan’s Sometimes I Wish We Were an Eagle is a masterpiece of restraint and emotional depth. His baritone voice moves like a steady current through lush yet understated arrangements, blending folk, country, and orchestral flourishes into something timeless. Each track feels carefully etched, revealing quiet truths about solitude, love, and the natural world. It’s an album that lingers long after listening, both grounding and elevating in equal measure.
John Barleycorn Must Die is a seamless blend of rock, jazz, and folk that showcases the band at their most adventurous and refined. From the soulful improvisations of “Glad” to the haunting reimagining of the English folk ballad “John Barleycorn,” every track is rich in texture and musicianship. Steve Winwood’s vocals and keyboards shine, while the band’s interplay creates an organic, timeless sound. Nearly every moment feels both spontaneous and meticulously crafted. A brilliant, genre-defying classic.
Off The Wall shows Michael Jackson’s early pop star power, but it doesn’t fully deliver. While the big singles are energetic and polished, much of the album feels uneven and overly tied to disco trends of its era. The result is a record with standout moments but little lasting depth.
Despite its reputation as a turning point for the band, Beggars Banquet falls flat when judged on its own merits. The production feels uneven, the songwriting meanders, and the mix of blues and folk influences often drags more than it excites. Even the standout tracks struggle to carry the weight of weaker material, leaving the album feeling more like a rough sketch than a finished statement.
Bob Dylan’s second album cemented his reputation as a voice of a generation. With timeless protest songs like “Blowin’ in the Wind” and “Masters of War,” Dylan blends sharp social commentary with poetic intimacy. His sparse acoustic arrangements allow the lyrics to take center stage, showcasing his gift for turning everyday struggles into universal truths. While some tracks feel less essential compared to the classics, the album remains a landmark in folk music history.
A landmark in pop music history, Pet Sounds is a masterclass in songwriting, harmony, and emotional depth. Brian Wilson’s visionary production blends lush orchestration with heartfelt lyrics, creating timeless tracks like “God Only Knows” and “Wouldn’t It Be Nice.” Over half a century later, its beauty and innovation still resonate. A flawless, transformative album.
With I See You, The xx expand their intimate, minimalist sound into something bolder and more dynamic. The album blends the group’s signature sparse vocals and moody atmospheres with brighter, more rhythmic production, showcasing Jamie xx’s influence. Standout tracks like “On Hold” highlight this evolution, balancing emotional depth with pop accessibility. While not every song hits as hard, the record feels fresh and confident, marking an exciting progression for the trio.
The Scream is a groundbreaking debut that defined post-punk’s darker edge. With jagged guitars, pounding rhythms, and Siouxsie’s commanding vocals, the album creates an atmosphere that’s both unsettling and hypnotic. Over forty years later, it still feels fresh, daring, and utterly essential.
A stunning fusion of Brazilian rhythms and electronic textures, São Paulo Confessions is a timeless masterpiece. Suba masterfully blends bossa nova, samba, and downtempo with modern production, capturing the vibrant, chaotic soul of São Paulo. The album is both deeply emotional and rhythmically rich, with standout vocals from Cibelle adding a haunting beauty. It’s not just an album—it’s an atmosphere. Essential listening.
Nirvana’s MTV Unplugged strips away the distortion and fury that defined their sound, offering a raw, intimate performance. The setlist highlights their versatility, with standout covers like Bowie’s “The Man Who Sold the World” and the haunting closer “Where Did You Sleep Last Night.” While the vulnerability is striking, some moments feel uneven compared to their studio energy, making it less consistent as a whole.
Heartattack and Vine trades smoky cabaret moods for a grittier blues-rock edge. The record opens strong with its jagged title track and finds warmth in the unexpected sweetness of “Jersey Girl,” but the album doesn’t maintain that spark throughout—some cuts feel more like sketches than fully realized songs. Rough-edged and atmospheric, it’s intriguing but uneven.
Tragic Songs of Life is a cornerstone of country and folk music, blending raw storytelling with their haunting, perfectly matched harmonies. The album dives into themes of heartbreak, death, and human frailty with an honesty that feels timeless. Songs like Knoxville Girl and Katie Dear showcase their ability to make traditional ballads feel chilling yet deeply moving. This is not just an album—it’s a definitive statement of how powerful stripped-down arrangements and authentic emotion can be.
If I Should Fall From Grace With God is a raucous, spirited blend of Celtic folk and punk energy. The album brims with character, from the rowdy title track to the bittersweet charm of “Fairytale of New York.” It’s full of grit and poetry, balancing wild energy with moments of aching beauty. While a few tracks don’t hit as hard, the record as a whole captures The Pogues at their most inventive and memorable.
Blue Lines is often hailed as a pioneering trip-hop record, but this debut can feel uneven. While tracks like “Unfinished Sympathy” showcase real innovation and atmosphere, much of the album drifts without the same impact, leaving stretches that feel dated rather than timeless. Ambitious but inconsistent, it doesn’t fully live up to its reputation.
Slipknot’s debut is a raw blast of aggression, blending nu-metal riffs, chaotic percussion, and unrelenting vocals. While songs like Wait and Bleed stand out, the album’s intensity can feel messy and uneven. A powerful but flawed introduction.
Armed Forces is a clever fusion of sharp political bite and irresistible pop melodies. The album balances urgency with polish, showcasing Costello’s knack for both wit and hooks. While not flawless, its mix of energy and intelligence makes it a standout in his catalog.
Thriller is a cultural landmark, blending pop, funk, and R&B into some of the most recognizable songs in music history. While its influence is undeniable and tracks like “Billie Jean” remain iconic, not every moment feels equally compelling today. Still, its legacy is immense.
The Strokes’ debut is a near-perfect distillation of garage rock revival. With raw guitars, sharp rhythms, and Julian Casablancas’ coolly detached vocals, the album captures both grit and effortless swagger. Every track feels lean, punchy, and timeless, making it a defining record of the early 2000s. Two decades later, it still sounds fresh—proof of its enduring influence.
Rio is a stylish blend of new wave and pop, full of glossy production and infectious hooks. While tracks like the title song and “Hungry Like the Wolf” shine as undeniable anthems, the album as a whole can feel uneven, with some filler beneath the polish. It’s a fun snapshot of the ‘80s, but not consistently great.
Coat of Many Colors is heartfelt and deeply personal, blending simple country arrangements with vivid storytelling. The title track stands as one of her finest songs, radiating warmth and resilience. Though not every song reaches the same emotional peak, the album’s sincerity and charm make it a country classic.
A solid showcase of Youssou N'Dour’s soaring vocals and the rich rhythms of Senegalese mbalax. The percussion is vibrant, and the blend of traditional African sounds with modern instrumentation offers moments of brilliance. However, the album feels uneven at times—some tracks soar, others meander. It's a culturally important work with undeniable energy, even if it doesn’t always hit its mark. A good, if not great, introduction to N'Dour’s immense talent.
Elephant Mountain feels like a snapshot of late-60s mellow experimentation. There are some genuinely beautiful, laid-back grooves and a few standout tracks that capture a warm, drifting vibe. But for me, the album sometimes drags and loses focus, making it more of a background listen than a front-to-back experience. I like it, but I don’t love it.
Street Signs is a cultural kaleidoscope - vibrant, messy, and at times, thrillingly chaotic. Ozomatli blends Latin rhythms, hip-hop, Middle Eastern horns, and funk like they’re hosting a global block party. Tracks like “Saturday Night” hit hard with infectious energy, while others feel more like experimental detours than full songs. It’s ambitious, no doubt - but sometimes ambition trips over cohesion. A fun ride, but not always a smooth one.
I don’t know what U2 was thinking. This album sounds like they threw their guitars into a blender and called it “art.” Sure, a few tracks are catchy, but most of it feels like Bono trying too hard to be deep. I miss when they just rocked instead of experimenting. 3 stars for me, and that’s being generous.
Man, I’m exhausted, but I threw this on and suddenly I’m air-guitaring in my socks. Every song’s a banger, especially More Than a Feeling. It’s like caffeine for the soul. No skips, just vibes. Classic rock perfection. Now I can sleep happy.
A fragile, meandering glimpse into a brilliant but fractured mind, The Madcap Laughs mixes haunting lyricism with uneven production. Its raw intimacy and erratic charm are compelling, but the album often teeters between genius and disarray. A cult curiosity more than a cohesive listen.
Man… Raw Power is like, if your brain got punched by lightning in leather pants. Iggy just screams at your soul, and the guitars sound like they're melting the air. It's chaos, but like... beautiful chaos, ya know? Kinda makes you wanna knock over a lamp and then hug it. Wild, messy, perfect for freaking out on the couch.
Listening to Maxinquaye feels like coming down in slow motion - smoke still in the curtains, but the windows are open now. It’s brooding, textured, and strangely intimate. Tricky builds a world out of tension and echo, though some moments wander a bit too deep into the fog. Martina’s voice is the steady hand I kinda needed. Haunting and refined, but maybe better suited for twilight than daylight.
Bridge Over Troubled Water is like being served a tiny side salad when you're starving for bold, rich flavor — delicate, polished, and clearly made with care, but too restrained to satisfy a deep craving. Beautiful harmonies, sure, but where’s the spice, the heat, the life? Leaves you still hungry.
Talking With the Taxman About Poetry hits like a sharp truth told softly - raw, literate, and unshakably human. Every line matters, every chord serves the message. It’s protest and poetry, heart and hammer. A working-class masterpiece.
Look, I put on With the Beatles expecting a cosmic revelation - like, maybe the sky would crack open and Ringo would descend in a glowing egg to teach me the secrets of rhythm. Instead, I got… a bunch of songs that sounded like they were recorded inside a mop bucket while everyone was politely trying not to sneeze. It's like they had one microphone, half a sandwich, and a dream.
Sure, they’re The Beatles, but this album feels like when you're really hungry and you make toast, but the bread is still kind of cold and the butter just sits there looking judgmental. I mean, did they have fun? Probably. Did I? I kept waiting for it to kick in, like maybe the real album was hiding under the first one, like a secret bonus Beatles within the Beatles. Nope. Just more claps, polite guitars, and harmonies that sound like three cousins trying to sing over a fan.
“Roll Over Beethoven”? More like Roll Over and Maybe Take a Nap, Beethoven. And “All My Loving” is nice if you enjoy love letters read aloud by someone who’s thinking about their laundry. There’s no chaos, no grit, just a whole lot of early-sixties musical oatmeal.
I respect the history. I do. But listening to this felt like being trapped in a black-and-white TV where the only show is "British Guys Smile Politely While Singing Fast."
I wuld rather talk to the taxman about poetry.
I really wanted The Poet to fire me up, but it left me stranded. Bobby Womack’s voice is smooth, sure - too smooth. The slow grooves and mellow vibes might work for a late-night drive or a whiskey-on-the-couch moment, but not when you're lacing up for the gym. I needed urgency, energy, something to kick me into gear, but this album just sways and simmers without ever boiling over. It’s soulful, yeah, but it felt more like background music than something I could connect with or feel moved by. Respect to Womack, but this one just didn’t hit where I needed it to.
Just got back from the gym, still buzzing - figured I’d cool down with The Velvet Underground. Honestly? Bit of a letdown. I was expecting raw edge or at least some punch, but this one's all soft tones and quiet introspection. I get that it’s more reflective than their earlier stuff, but it drifted by like a daydream I kept forgetting I was having. Some tracks are tender in a good way (“Pale Blue Eyes” is nice), but most of it just kind of floats - too hushed, too tame, and too samey by the end. After lifting heavy, I needed something with spine. This felt like a shrug.
My Generation, explodes with raw energy and rebellious spirit. The title track remains a defiant anthem of youth, while Pete Townshend’s aggressive guitar work and Keith Moon’s chaotic drumming lay the groundwork for punk and hard rock. Though not polished, its urgency and attitude make it a vital piece of rock history. A bold and noisy entrance from a band destined to shake things up.
R.E.M.’s Automatic for the People is a moody, introspective record that trades the band’s earlier jangly energy for slow tempos and somber reflection. Songs like “Everybody Hurts” and “Nightswimming” aim for emotional resonance but often feel overly sentimental and sluggish. While the production is polished and Michael Stipe’s vocals are distinct, the album lacks the drive and immediacy that made their earlier work engaging. Overall, Automatic for the People feels more like a sleepy meditation than a compelling listen.
Seventeen Seconds marks The Cure’s transformation from post-punk minimalism to a haunting, atmospheric sound that would define their career. Every track feels drenched in mood—cold, spacious, and hypnotic. Songs like “A Forest” and “Play for Today” perfectly balance melancholy with momentum, while the sparse production and echoing guitars create a timeless sense of isolation. It’s a masterclass in restraint and emotional texture—an album that rewards both casual listening and deep immersion.
Marvin Gaye’s Let’s Get It On is undeniably smooth and sensual, a cornerstone of soul music that defined the sound of romantic intimacy. The title track remains iconic—seductive, silky, and effortlessly cool. However, much of the album leans heavily on the same mood and tempo, making it feel repetitive over time. While Gaye’s vocals are outstanding and the grooves are lush, the record lacks the variety and lyrical depth found in his later, more complex works. Still, it’s an influential and enjoyable listen, even if it doesn’t quite reach its full potential across the whole runtime.
Music From Big Pink is often hailed as a landmark in roots rock, but for all its historical importance, it can feel meandering and uneven. The Band’s blend of Americana, folk, and country aims for authenticity, yet many tracks come off as sluggish and murky rather than soulful. Songs like “The Weight” stand out, but the rest of the album struggles to maintain momentum or emotional clarity. While it’s easy to respect its influence, Music From Big Pink lacks the energy and cohesion to make it a compelling listen today.
Machito’s Kenya is often praised as a landmark Afro-Cuban jazz album, blending Latin rhythms with big band arrangements. While it showcases tight musicianship and energetic horn sections, this listen doesn’t fully deliver on its promise. The production feels uneven, and the tracks - though vibrant - tend to blur together without much variation. Despite flashes of brilliance from the percussion and brass, the album can feel more like a historical curiosity than a compelling experience start to finish. Technically solid but ultimately repetitive and dated in its impact.
Sound of Silver by LCD Soundsystem: an album where James Murphy sings about being tired and disappointed, but somehow you’re supposed to dance through it. It’s upbeat enough to make you move, depressing enough to make you question why you’re moving. Perfect soundtrack for feeling slightly miserable in a cool way.
A few decent grooves stretched to eternity, mostly leaving you wondering when anything will actually happen. Smooth enough to nod along, but somehow it never really goes anywhere. Perfect if you enjoy music that feels like it’s taking a nap.
A collection of old-timey songs that somehow manages to make nostalgia feel like a chore. The performances are earnest, sure, but by the third hymn you’re mostly asking yourself why anyone thought this needed revisiting. Comforting? Maybe. Exciting? Not even close.
Listening to At Folsom Prison feels less like a legendary live album and more like being stuck in a room while someone rehearses old hits. The prison setting doesn’t exactly make the songs any more interesting, and the whole thing drags along like it’s trying too hard to feel “real.”
Damaged by Black Flag is a raw outburst of fury, chaos, and disillusionment - a defining artifact of early American hardcore. Its energy is undeniable, and Henry Rollins’ vocals embody pure frustration. But the album’s relentless aggression often overshadows nuance; the songs blur together, and the production’s abrasive roughness can wear thin fast. While its impact on punk history is significant, as a listening experience it can feel more punishing than powerful.
On the Beach is a haunting, beautifully weary reflection on disillusionment and solitude. The album drifts between ragged, loose jams and quietly devastating confessionals, carried by Young’s cracked voice and stark honesty. Its hazy production and melancholic tone create a mood that feels both intimate and desolate. Though it’s not immediate or polished, On the Beach rewards patience with emotional depth and understated brilliance.
Brothers has that fuzzy, bluesy swagger The Black Keys are known for, but here it feels a bit stuck in its own groove. The grit and stomp are there, yet after a few tracks it all starts to blur together - like they found a sound that works and just rode it too long. There’s soul in the mix, sure, but not much spark. It’s fine background noise, just not much more.
Since I Left You is a wild collage of samples and moods - dreamy, funny, and sometimes downright weird. It’s like flipping through radio stations in a half-remembered dream. When it clicks, it’s magical, but other times it drifts a little too far into its own haze. Still, there’s a real charm in its messiness and warmth - a record that feels alive even when it’s uneven.
That's theatrical to the point of exhaustion - a swirl of fantasy lyrics, layered vocals, and guitar heroics that never quite land. It’s ambitious, sure, but it drowns in its own excess, feeling more like a costume rehearsal than a real performance. There’s talent all over it, just not much direction or soul. Big ideas, small payoff.
A strange, talkative, and oddly charming detour for Dexys Midnight Runners. It trades pop hooks for long, conversational songs that feel more like overheard thoughts than radio singles. Sometimes that makes it fascinating - other times, just frustrating. Still, there’s something honest and quietly bold in how unpolished it is. A flawed but intriguing gem.
Maggot Brain aims for cosmic soul and psychedelic freedom, but from this angle it just feels lost in its own haze. The title track’s long guitar solo sets a mood, yet the rest struggles to keep that spark alive - too spaced-out, too self-indulgent. There’s vision here, but it’s buried under excess and drift. A bold idea that never quite connects.
This record feels effortlessly timeless - just a man, a guitar, and songs that sound carved out of old wood and late nights. His playing is sharp but never showy, his voice plain yet full of soul. There’s a quiet confidence here, the kind that doesn’t need polish to hit deep. Simple, honest, and beautifully grounded.
Neon Bible feels like Arcade Fire staring at the world’s chaos and trying to find some light in it. It’s big and stormy, full of church organs, choirs, and that classic sense of drama they love, but it still hits some really human nerves. Songs like “Intervention” and “The Well and the Lighthouse” sound massive, yet weirdly intimate - like shouting into the dark. It’s not as raw as Funeral, but it’s deep, moody, and kinda beautiful in its gloom.
This one’s a dump Lots of marching drums, heavy industrial aesthetic, and bold ideas, but it just comes off as forced and exhausting rather than compelling.
Raw, shocking, historically seismic—and still weirdly sloppy in a way modern rock bands would kill to fake. Not perfect, but dangerously alive.
Big feelings, bigger strings, and lyrics that sound profound until you actually listen to them. One immortal song doing community service for the rest.
Fun riffs, great mascot, lots of running in place musically. Sounds like it was written to scare parents, which honestly worked better than the album itself.
Cold, elegant, influential—and occasionally feels like the band is actively trying not to sound too interested in their own songs. Iconic vibes, emotionally on airplane mode.
Technically astonishing jazz fusion that somehow makes virtuosity feel like background music for a very expensive aquarium. “Birdland” carries a lot of emotional luggage here.
Yes, it’s Britpop maximalism gone slightly feral, but every song sounds like it was written by someone who just discovered joy and refused to stop. Exhausting? Sure. Perfect? Obviously.
Beautifully spaced-out, deeply sincere, and somehow feels like music designed to be overheard from another room while everyone involved is lying on the floor. Respectable, but also mildly narcotic.
Historically monumental and undeniably skilled, yet somehow plays like a very classy museum exhibit where you’re not allowed to touch anything or feel too much. Impressive, not thrilling.
Boldly answers the question “what if funk was joyless, horny, and deeply uncomfortable?” Admirably committed to the bit, but listening feels like being trapped in someone else’s bad decision.
Asks the world to abandon possessions, borders, and religion while being delivered from the softest, safest piano bench imaginable. Nice sentiment, aggressively smug execution.
A thrilling collection of guitar ideas bravely stretched to the length of a workday. Influential, sure—but sometimes feels like the band forgot to stop tuning and accidentally hit record.
Feels like five virtuosos fighting over which genre they’re in while a violin screams in the corner. Clever? Obviously. Enjoyable? Debatable.
Sounds like the inside of a blender having a panic attack, which is exactly what it should sound like. Short, brutal, and way more focused than most albums that last ten times longer.
So relentlessly serious it makes you feel like you’re eavesdropping on a man narrating his own emotional autopsy. Impressive, but spiritually heavy in the worst possible way.
Every song feels like it was written by a nervous teenager who accidentally discovered folk punk and never emotionally recovered. Annoying? Yes. Perfect? Also yes.
Sounds like a glamorous emotional breakdown recorded inside a wind tunnel. Admirably dramatic, but also exhausting in the way only very pretty misery can be.
A middle-aged indie existential crisis set to impeccable beats. Somehow both deeply tired and annoyingly great, like your coolest friend complaining about their knees.
A shiny, overstuffed sci-fi pop opera where every song sounds like it’s desperately trying to be the single. Catchy in theory, exhausting in bulk.
