1001 Albums Summary

Firstly, you can choose to separate the art from the artist or you can choose not to. That’s your choice. I’ll review the album. Not the person. Once you get past the ‘legendary’ name, the music can stand alone and, on its rockabilly roots and caustic attack, it is very strong. The problem with the album is its lack of continuity and Lewis’ stylistic inflexibility when the material requires it. He performs full of energy and passion, which comes out as an explosion, not with control or in measured doses. This is what makes him so great at ehat he does. But it is all that he does. His style is rightfully fierce and historic on “Great Balls of Fire” and “Good Golly, Miss Mollly”. But on a track like, “Your Cheating Heart”, the delivery is terribly misfit to the sentiment of the lyrics and Lewis’ poor attempt at a honeyed tone is abandoned before long. His vocal style is not a good fit for any sort of reflective material or anything approaching a ballad. I mean, why take the sports car to the supermarket? Finally, as an album, this doesn’t work. You feel “in the room” but this is just a guy playing his (and others) hits well, but without any sense of cohesion or reason that these songs should be together. To say this is one of the 1000 best albums is to bow to tradition without really hearing it for what it is. One Line Twitter Review: Your least favorite power punk bands’ favorite rapper.

In the top 3 air guitar albums of all time. Try to listen to it without pretending you can play like Eddie… it’s impossible.

Addiction is bad - it makes you desperate, destructive, leads to an untimely death and robs you of your remarkable potential. Somewhere along the path of ruin, it left this remarkable collection of soulful songs.

Back in the day, me and Tahgs used to go to the all-you-can-eat Chinese buffet in the Bristol Center Mall. This album is like that buffet - ridiculous quantities of intense, powerful nuggets that are all really delicious even if they basically taste the same. Everything is hardened and crispy, and covered with spicy sauce that will kill you if you have too much in one sitting. You feel amazing when you’re in there, even though you know you shouldn’t really be here … you don’t belong here - you’re far too delicate and don’t really have the fortitude for what is being done to your body. You’re way too soft to exist in this world for more than a short time. As you get deeper and deeper into the album … err… buffet, it all starts to taste the same and you know you’ve had enough, but you’ve paid the entrance fee and you can’t quit now, so you stick with it. Thank God that you do, because dessert is the best part … the last few tracks bring it all together, like that delicious soft serve machine at the make-your-own sundae bar in the back corner. The Buffet in the Bristol Center Mall is long gone, but Wu-Tang is forever. Protect Ya Neck and check you cholesterol.

Anyone who says they love this album is lying. It was made to be hated. It’s noise rock, anti-music, built to be destroyed. It’s music about people on drugs searching for more drugs and Lou Reed and I … we don’t do the same drugs. I’ll never be high enough to get this album. But I like bananas, so there you go.

Didn’t like it then - don’t like it now. Give me a “neighborhood concert” in Central Park over this every day of the week.

The quintessential 70s rock album, ubiquitous and eternal. Was there ever a more appropriately named band and album? Boston … we’re loud and in your face but you know there are better versions out there. This is rock music and it’s good … but as much as it wants to shred, it doesn’t. The songs are ephemeral and sound like what might happen if the Doobie Brothers were on cocaine instead of weed. The tunes are familiar and I know my way around these grooves because I owned a radio for the last 30 years, but it doesn’t leave a memory or any desire to hear more. I mean, how many songs can you name from any other Boston album? Did they even make another one (wait, they made 5 more… wtf?) That said, I look forward to the next time I’ll enjoy one of these songs, probably while waiting for my order at Five Guys or picking up some antifreeze at Auto Zone.

I hope this is the right place to submit an IT ticket? Anyway, love this whole 1001 album generator thing and everything has been going great until today. My “album” was something called “every good boy deserves fudge” by a band called Mudhoney. At first, I was suspicious, given the artwork looks like it was done by a middle schooler, but I gave it a listen. As suspected, it appears like these crafty kids have hacked into your system, and uploaded a recording of one of their garage band rehearsals, replacing your real album. You can tell from the very beginning when you hear them warming up. All of the songs are screamed over instruments that have just been learned, based on the basic notes and melodies that repeat over and over. For a minute, I thought it might be post-punk music, but nope, it’s clearly pre-teens. But, good news! They may not have been fully successful in their hack, because it looks like one song from the real album, into the drink, is still there. They missed that one but I think they got all the rest. Please take a look and reset the servers or whatever you have to do. Just send a reply when everything is up and running again. Hope this info helps. Keep up the great work. Looking forward to tomorrow’s album. Thanks!

I spent a lot of time with the early U2 albums when I was younger. War shows the promise of greatness that the band would later find but also clear evidence of their greatest faults: the inability to know when to enough is enough and their undeniable love of themselves in the music. On tracks like Sunday, New Years, Two Hearts and 40, you hear the evocative lyrics supported by powerful yet simple compositions, a formula they would perfect on The Joshua Tree and Rattle and Hum (both significantly better and more successful albums). But you also hear the indulgent, unedited bullshit that plagued Zooropa and Atomic Bomb all over songs like Red Light and The Refugee (which I swear must be a Bow Wow Wow song). Some of this bravado can be written off to 1983, but these guys were aficionados of the style and carried it far into their future. Stick with the singles on this one.

Frampton comes alive … Dutch Point falls asleep. Muffy, wake me when this noisy yacht rock docks in Cos Cob harbor….

Do we have albums like this because everyone was on drugs in the 60s … or was everyone on drugs in the 60s because we have albums like this? I’m pretty sure if you play “Sold to the Highest Bidder” backwards, it will open a direct portal to hell.

It’s folksy, with some interesting rock-tinged tracks sprinkled amid the less successful dirges and art songs. Ultimately a miss, but with much more listenable moments than I expected. Matty Groves slaps!

The compositions and instrumentals are amazing. But these guys can’t write lyrics or sing. They are band geeks who never got past that. Care to disagree? “East St. Louis Toodle-Oo”. Now, shut the fuck up. Hey Steely Dan, me and Geddy Lee, Thomas Dolby, Ben Folds and the guys from Weezer are gonna steal a case of Miller Lites from Cumberland Farms and go to the football game later. Wanna skip band practice and come? Nah, I didn’t think so.

This is way too much and all at once. What exactly was stripped… other than her cover photo? They say a true artist knows what to leave out … well, not the case here. The majority of the album is vocal cacophony and over-mixing, although the slower songs are more enjoyable. And there’s just no excuse for 20 tracks at all. Ever. Like in the whole career. Looks like she needed that producer she fired on this one, after all. But, good news, she is beautiful no matter what I say because my words can’t bring her down.

I hope this sounds better in German…

This is typical 90s indie rock that doesn’t really go anywhere. Highlights like Bittersweet, Sonnet and The Drugs Don’t Work show the best tendencies of the band’s sound, but this album drones on and on and never really hits the level of those tracks again. This album would be better if it was 25 minutes shorter and the band had never listened to a Beatles album, as it seems they are trying to re-create a dreamy, ethereal quality reminiscent of the Liverpudlians’ best work. But all of their music is, ultimately, derivative of something, whether directly or stylistically and, therefore, forgettable.

Harris’ powerful voice is the feature of this album: hauntingly melodic or remarkably intense. It’s an epic vocal display, one that rightly lead to a legendary career. The actual material, almost exclusively covers of country standards, is where my appreciation ends. The straightforward nature of traditional country music, the lack of lyrical nuance and the ceaseless use of repetition that hallmarks the style betray the subtleties and variety that Harris is capable of and should be delivering. Personally, I wish she had leaned much more into her folk tendencies on this album and less into the country styles that she did. But I’m just an anonymous guy with enough free time to review 1001 albums for fun, so wtf do I know?

An important album stylistically, though admittedly not his best. Arriving between the peak of the punk movement of the 70s and New Wave that is about to burgeon in the 80s, Armed Forces presages the trends and sounds that would dominate the next decade. Costello seemlessly moves from style to style, hitting the early alternative notes of Green Shirt, the pop-rock ballad of Big Boys and the hard rock style of Goon Squad with ease. His voice is not the most tuneful or melodic you’ve ever heard, but the delivery is so filled conviction and passion, it works. And he writes great songs, lyrically and musically, even if both are a bit quirky. He doesn’t sound like anyone or anything else out there and that is what makes him so iconic. There are better albums that show the depth of his work and more growth and maturity, but this early stuff is still a pretty engaging listen.

A near-perfect Latin Jazz album. Drop off Holiday and Tururato and you’ve got a winner on every track. Incredible musicianship throughout. And I hate jazz.

Rob: Hey man, let’s put this album in the book. Tony: Another Elvis Costello album? C’mon mate. That makes 5 now. Have you ever even listened to this one? Rob: No, but the publisher says we will never sell a book called 278 Albums You Must Hear Before You Die! So we need a thousand. Just put it in and quit bitchin’. Tony: Why a thousand? Why not 500? Rob: More albums means more pages and more pages means we can charge more money. Stop arguing or we’ll never finish this list. This will take forever if we think about every album we put on it. Just add that Elvis record. Tony: Ok, but what if someone actually listens to it? Won’t they know we just put it on the list to reach a thousand? Rob: You’re a full-on wanker, then, huh? Are you daft? Who the hell would ever listen to all these albums? We’re writing a book, Tony, a book. You read books, Tony, you don’t listen to them. Tony: Yeah, I guess you’re right. Rob: Plus, they don’t read the book before they buy it. By the time they read this, we’ll already have their money. Tony: Yeah, you’re right, mate. I’ll put all those Nico albums back on the list then. Rob: Plus, if anybody asks, we can say it had Pump it Up on it. That’s a great song. People will believe that. Tony: Yeah, I guess, and I sort of liked Radio, Radio, too … and maybe even I Don’t Want to Go Back to Chelsea. Rob: Whatever, brov, we just need to reach a thousand. So put this on the list and keep thinking… what comes after Costello? Tony: Um … Counting Crows. Rob: Nope, no one would believe that one! [They laugh as the lights fade]

This is the soundtrack to the perfect unreleased 1980s movie. It has both kinds of 80s movie songs: 1) the kind that plays in the background while the girl, a social misfit who would be cute if she styled her hair differently, who had her heart broken cries alone in her room and 2) the kind that plays in the background while the bad boy drives around in his car after breaking something, like a window or a guy’s arm or that misfit girl’s heart. There’s also some bonus tracks for when the bad boy drops into a bar to drink his troubles away and a shitty band is playing some indecipherable song in the background included at the end of the album. God, this would be a great 80s movie. Too bad it’s just a terrible album.

A good blues album that turned into rockabilly. Elvis’ vocal tone is super weird on lots of these covered (read as stolen) songs. Nice to hear some simplicity in the phrasing and styles before he gets high on his own supply. As a person, Elvis sucks. But I try to review the album not the artist.

This is an amazing album. You can hear every instrument perfectly and you feel like you are in the room for every moment of every song. Yes, it gets repetitive, but it’s the blues and that’s the style. Sit back and let it fill your soul. Muddy Waters is a master and this album is a must listen.

This is clearly punk, or more precisely post-punk and it’s probably good. If I ever need to break a cabal of militant feminists out of prison, this is definitely the album I’ll put on to pump me up before the deed. Otherwise, I doubt I’ll listen to this crap again.

This is what a real rock album actually sounds like. The first time I heard Search and Destroy, some 35 years ago now, I was hooked. These songs are a controlled demolition, visceral and implosive. Iggy scared me then and he damn sure still scares me now. This music is dangerous and I get to live vicariously through it every time I turn it up and roll down the windows. It doesn’t matter that I’m driving an eco-friendly car and obeying the posted speed limit, I’m still the world’s forgotten boy in that moment and the rush hour traffic better be ready, because I’m about to penetrate it! I think some music is great because it doesn’t sound like anything else. When I listen to Iggy and the Stooges, and especially here on the more ‘mainstream’ stylings of Raw Power, I hear most of my favorite rock bands for the next 50 years lurking in the background. Without this, what happens to punk and its ‘mainstreamed’ derivatives, to grunge, to garage rock, to alternative and modern rock? Hard to Imagine what it sounds like without influences like this …a historically important album that is actually still a great listen.

Alright, Jen, the 1001 randomizer machine heard your peace and love request and served up this peach of an album. For most of the songs, I kept waiting for a jarring voice to interrupt mid-track and say, “all of our agents are busy right now, but your call is important to us. Please stay on the line and your call will be answered by the next available agent.” Yes, this is just on-hold music, if it was more progressive and had a lead singer. Exhibit B in what is becoming a true question for me with this list: Do we have albums like this because everyone was on drugs in the 60s … or was everyone on drugs in the 60s because we have albums like this?

To truly understand the depth of their sound, you must to look closer at the band’s name: MGMT. Clearly short for Management, the moniker is a deliberate abbreviation, leaving a remainder of the missing letters anaeen. This is not a coincidence. “Anaeen" is a well-known name in traditional Arabic folklore, and it refers to a girl who, “possesses a desire for self-expression and social contact”. The story follows the girl as she tries to find her unique voice in the world. The name has become synonymous with seeking freedom from monotony and restrictions. This should offer insight into why MGMT chose their name and what they seek to achieve in their music. The struggle between creativity and conformity is clearly the influential driving force behind the band’s unique sound experimentations … Okay, I’m just fucking with you. This is just 2 catchy singles surrounded by a dumpster fire of hipster bullshit. Crystal meth synth pop.

Having gone to college for the arts in New York City in the early 90s, I was surrounded by people curating the coolest music from every style. I was exposed to great punk, hip hop, jazz, blues and alternative rock. Of course, Hüsker Dü made it through the speakers, although this album was not in the rotation - the earlier stuff was much more alive and much more influential. This album is their divorce album - the couple has already broken up but they are trying to show us kids how much they both still love us so we get excess: two Christmases, two Hanukkahs and two New Years. Twice as much stuff, when we’d rather have just half of it, but with things back to the way it used to be. The album sounds like R.E.M. if Michael and Peter had a better drug dealer and went to jail more often than classes. It’s actually a good road trip album, you can put it on and let the energy of the music guide your drive. Not terrible, but definitely not their best.

A true classic. Probably makes my top 25 albums of all time. This is vintage Marley, and the soulfulness and ease of his tone here is unmatched except by some of the finest R&B singers. He commands every moment and lulls you into his groove of relaxation. How many children were conceived to the songs on the B side of this album? This is peak baby-making music. I mean, I think I need a pregnancy test after listening to Turn Your Lights Down Low twice in a row. RIP Mr. Marley. May you be Forever Lovin Jah.

Yes it’s an important album and the first few songs are undeniable jams. But then it all falls apart. It starts slipping away with Polly and goes downhill from there. It becomes excessive and indulgent and, if that’s the point, well there you go. But a few great songs does not a great album make and it’s just not a good listen all the way through. If I’m being honest, this music hasn’t aged as well as, say, Soundgarden or Pearl Jam’s work has, at least for me. This feels trite, or juvenile now, whereas the others still feel connected to something deeper. Maybe I’ve changed, and maybe that’s partly because of music like this, but it doesn’t really speak to me anymore. Maybe it never really did and I was pretending it did at a time when I still cared about being cool. Anyway, that’s all I got this week, doc. Thanks again for listening. You sure do have a comfy couch.

I’ve been thinking about this for a while, but this album solidified an idea for me. This list is not meant to be 1001 Five Star Albums - it’s 1001 Albums You Must Hear Before You Die- it’s a bucket list, not a greatest hits. They’re not all gonna be amazing or perfect, but things everyone should EXPERIENCE - like skydiving or swimming with dolphins or eating tofu - things you should do just to say you did them, right? This list is akin to that. Some are going to be exhilarating, like nude tabogganing, and others are going to suck, like nude tabogganing. But they will all make you better because you experienced them. So, I listened to this album and there is no way I would have done so if not for this project. To me, most of the songs sound the same, they are all too long and they don’t speak to me. But, I experienced it, I’ve rated it and I can cross it off my list. So, bring on the next one, you algorithmic cultural overlords.

Sounds like a club DJ and an Oasis cover band were both hired to play the same wedding by mistake, but instead of sending one away, they forced them to play together on the same stage at the same time. Atrocious. Also, what the fuck is with “Bob’s Yer Uncle”? That is a blatant sex crime and I someone needs to be arrested for recording that.

This is not good. Bowie is far too heavy-handed with production and overall control, cramping Iggy to shirk away from what makes him great. The result is the tepid vocals, which lack all of the melodic runs you want from Bowie and virtually none of the rasp and edge you want from Iggy. It sounds like either a boring Bowie or a toothless Iggy, neither of which works. All of this layered on top of overindulgent instrumentals. Then I discovered that they recorded this in the Paris studio that popped out the classic Bee Gee’s tracks from the Saturday Night Fever album directly after this album. So, to sum up, although I’m glad they ended up Stayin Alive’, I definitely will not be getting out my Boogie Shoes for this airball.

Great guitar driven sound that blends 70s classic rock with a tunefulness that makes it sound new and progressive, truly ahead of its time. Collectively, these tracks shows off real range and I can hear many other bands drawing influence from the music here: The Talking Heads, The Pixies, Echo and the Bunnymen, R.E.M. So glad I got to hear this … not sure how I had missed it for so long.

More like, “So Dated with The Everly Brothers”! But, spectacular Dad jokes aside, I kept waiting for Patti Smith to bust into the middle of the man-splaining in these songs and kick these whitebread bitches right out of their cardigans. I would have been fine dying without hearing this album actually.

This might be the worst album we have encountered in our journey, hidden beneath the umbrella of a ‘concept’ and the melodic hooks of 1960s pop. “Oh, how innovative,” say the critics. But, this is really just a banal collection of utterly forgettable songs. How the hell did this come out in the same month as Hendrix’s Electric Ladyland?

It’s been a long time since I listened to this album … now I remember why. This is soulless, white boy blues. It’s a miss from an otherwise good band. The musicianship is tight and the clean blues hooks mixed with rock bravado catch the ear, but the lyrics here are my trouble; in fact, they are laughably poor; a collection of simplistic rhymes - “My next girl will be nothing like my ex girl” - littered amongst a pointless dribble of ideas - Howlin’ for You has a first ‘verse’ about actors, the next one talking to a bird and the third one about baseball. I mean, Bob Dylan is rolling over in his soon-to-be grave. I’d much rather listen to them lean into a full-on rock out, like on their next album (El Camino). I’ll flush this album.

Great punk album with variety that kept it funky and fun without that usual drone that makes you need to stop listening to most punk after one or two songs. Really felt exploratory and timeless in nature. Great listen.

Music for the 30-somethings in the bachelorette party while they drive between their cosmo-fueled lunch and the Chippies Strip Club on the outskirts of Birmingham.

Ahh, Tori … how I’ve missed you. Listening to this was like opening an old love letter to look back at something special from so long ago. I’m still struck by the brilliant songwriting, the piano-tinged edginess which landed perfectly between my love of Billy Joel and Ben Folds and the fierce independence of her voice. Admitting this bias, the album is full of powerful songs to me, which seem to have gotten better with time. Crucify, Girl, Silent All These Years, Winter, Happy Phantom, China, Leather - I’ve known and loved these songs for decades. I’m fine without the final third of the album, which drones and gets self indulgent, as Tori does, but the opening run is so solid I can forgive it. This is a great debut and core to the explosion of 90s folk rock and the wave of female singer/songwriters.

Forget about Layla - who wants to listen to some heroin addicts play the ‘classic rock’ that will one day make fans of Phish and other jam bands bounce around the room? Everyone, apparently. Well, not me. I hear unimaginative blues covers and formulaic rock structures existing just to unleash indulgent, extended solos that do nothing but make the album boring and repetitious. Some say this album is “hit after hit.” I’d agree - if they were talking about the skip button.

The album of choice for CIA black sites when it comes to blaring music all night at an unreasonable volume until the enemy breaks and gives up the information. “Make the man with the creepy pedo-stache stop singing like an Asian chick and I’ll tell you whatever you want.” The scariest part is that this clusterfuck of an album is nowhere near the list of the 10 worst in this project, according to those who have finished. What the hell did I get myself into?

This feels more psychedelic than rock for most of the tracks. Seems they put way too much patchouli in the peace pipe on this one. The two singles (aka the Grace Slick songs) still slap and stand out as anomalies on an otherwise rather dated album.

Let me tell you why I like Arby’s. When you go to the Arby’s, you know exactly why you’re there. Their slogan tells you everything you need to know. A cool guy with a deep voice says, “We’ve got the meats!” So, you go to the Arby’s, you’re gonna get meat. Roast beef, French dip, a chicken, whatever. Now, do you know what you can’t get at the Arby’s? A fucking salad - because salads got lettuce and lettuce ain’t meats. Just like at Arby’s, this album says what it is and then unapologetically over-delivers. When you title something Bayou Country with a fuzzy psychedelic cover photo of a band in the woods, you are promising something very specific - Swamp Rock at its finest - and this delivers. The massive hits carry this noticeably short album. This sweaty, dirty, bluesy classic rock is precisely what it should be - no gimmicks, no synthesizers, and no fat-free champagne vinaigrettes to be found in Bayou Country.

Nothing I write in this review is going to change your mind on the music you just heard. Radiohead is one of the most polarizing bands in modern memory and this album in particular makes it easy to take sides. I have no interest in trying to convince you one way or the other. I’d simply like to tell you why I think this is one of the best albums ever made. From start to finish, OK Computer creates something sonically that shaped the kind of music I wanted to listen to for the next 30 years. There is a palpable energy and a power pushing against the melody and lyricism. As far as I was concerned, this was the first ‘rock’ album to do this well and that’s why it’s an important snapshot in time to me. Now, to be clear, yes, Thom Yorke is a pretentious prick and way too full of himself and yes, there are plenty of failed Radiohead musical experiments soon to follow, but this album is a group of desperate, searching songs which invite me to dig into them. What brings me back so often is the depth and layering that exists on each carefully crafted track. Maybe I’m full of shit, as all critics are, but when I listen to this album, I hear 12 attempts at trying to create something unique or beautiful musically, but then each is overwhelmed or distorted by the drone or din of the world around us, of automation and the sound of forces that control us. The simple melodies and phrases, signifying this attempt at individuality, return in each track, sometimes only as catches or distorted versions of themselves, but are never able to fully reorganize in this world of homogeneity and conformity. Ultimately, every song devolves and ends up sounding incredibly similar to all of the others on the album, but I think that’s the point. It is definitely not because the band can only play in one style, or doesn’t have chops. It is a conscious artistic choice to make a statement through the arrangement and composition of forced monotony in the face of individuality. It’s also why the last song, The Tourist, sounds and feels so different - they’re not real - they’re just a visitor, someone passing through, outside of the usual order of things. Understanding that the organizing principle in the songs was part of the overall meaning invited me to look at things in a different light. Going further along these lines, the overall sound is distorted by the use of traditional instruments in nontraditional ways (for example, the main guitar part of Lucky is purposefully played on the strings above the fret nut, near the tuning pegs) and all of the little bits of distortion and layering of tracks, which create abrasive sound clashes and mechanize the natural sounds. The attention to detail on the whole album is truly an operatic undertaking that still has me hearing new things in the complex arrangements to this day. This mix is still what I’m drawn to - a tension between melodic vocal phrasing or perhaps the lyrics themselves being poetic (not that Yorke’s lyrics are all that well crafted) and a palpable tension building through the instrumentation. I’ve enjoyed the same dynamics in rock, rap, alternative and folk over the last 30 years. I can point to this album, second only to perhaps Public Enemy’s Fear of a Black Planet, as that which helped me best understand how the relationship and interplay of music and instrmentation can help shape a songs gravity. Interesting final note - this is definitely not my favorite Radiohead album. But it’s still hot fire.

How can the inclusion of this album be anything other than cultural tokenism? Let’s put in a middle eastern album to make the list more global? Distasteful at best. Who am I to say if this is any good? What do I know about music of this culture? I may as well be ranking Mongolian Throat Singing or a Scottish Bagpipe album. If I knew anything at all, I’d chime in. But I’m just a tourist in these parts and I’m not going to apply my musical standards and tastes to a something from a place with completely different expectations, styles or standards. I’ll stay in my lane here, keeping right down the middle because I don’t know any better and neither do you, if you’re being honest. I also won’t award points, overpraise or grade on a curve because it “sounds different”. I doubt that this is an album I needed to hear before I died. At least it’s not another Nico album.

This keeps to the predictable patterns of 90s alternative. I like Juliana Hatfield’s other work fine, but there’s really nothing exciting or exceptional here. And, for the love of whatever you consider holy, why give us multiple versions of the same songs? I know it’s the ‘deluxe edition’, but do I really need multiple shots at a song like My Drug Buddy? Was there a deeper level to the story about waking up and calling your dealer to get the same drugs you got yesterday that I missed the first time? I didn’t think so. I would humbly offer that, no, we didn’t need multiple versions of that song on this album and probably not the other eight either. It’s a shame about ego.

Yeah sure, it’s a solid 5. But it’s not a 7. It’s not the best album of all time. It’s not “no skips”. It may be the most popular album on this list, but that doesn’t make it the best, now does it - or did high school teach you nothing? Save all of your hyperbolic bullshit. It is quintessential 70s and filled with songs that everyone knows and loves. Overal, it’s great and soars in places, filled with moments that make you feel good. So, yeah. 5 it up. But, really, why are Mick’s balls hanging out on the album cover?

This is the kind of album that plays on the overhead speakers while you get a root canal. 🦷

This album changed music. Not just rap music, but music overall. What we hear, what we expect from an album, how we experience it. David Bowie was listening to it a lot when it came out and tried to make Blackstar, his final album, sound like it. And that’s David-fucking-Bowie. Packed with moments of profound, deep thought delivered through funky, in your face rhyme, this album was a big step forward in rap being seen as a more intellectual voice in music. And Kendrick will always be next level with his lyrics. He is ready to throw down with anyone and it won’t end well for them … just ask Drake. This is not M.A.A.D. City and it’s not Damn., although both of those albums are also outstanding (in purposefully different ways) and are filled with better tracks for most folks, but neither is as important musically and culturally as To Pimp a Butterfly was.

I take back every time I said an album sounded repetitive in every other review I’ve ever written. If I wanted a man yelling at me over electronic beats all day, I would have kept my high school job at Radio Shack.

I had a tinge of irony today when I listened to ‘Bank Holiday’ on a Bank Holiday. Unfortunately, that’s the closest I came to any sort of feeling other than complete disbelief and boredom at this pisspoor excuse of an album. The dogs on the cover are running away from a Blur live show, no doubt. This is absolutely awful, kitschy pop.

Nope. Can’t do it. Please understand that this album is actually closer in age right now to the year 1895 than it is to the year 2025. Let that sink in. This is too far afield to be anything other than old and dated. She clearly has a great voice … but so did Connie Francis and The Andrews Sisters and I don’t expect to be listening to them anytime soon.

An entertaining set of songs where the soundtrack format keeps it focused and moving. Mayfield’s falsetto vocals get tiresome after a bit and the overall album has some moments that are uneventful and others that feel repetitive, but there are also slapping moments of funkiness which make it great to get down to. Mostly, this album made me miss the terrible porn music of my teenage years!

Do you know what I hate about Queen? Pretty much all of this. I like that it rocks and that it is whimsical, but those never really come together well. It’s a buffet of bold choices that don’t blend. When it aligns, it’s transcendent. But it doesn’t really happen much on this album. If you love Queen, you’ll love this. But if your indifferent, as I am, there is much more that you’ll be looking for from the overall experience.

The album might be Jay-Z at his finest, and that leaves a lot to be desired. His lyrics achieve basic at best and Jay will never be accused of being smooth or flexible in his delivery. The Blueprint reveals how he revels in cheesiness with his wordplay. Some of these rhymes are downright embarrassing: Gnarly dude I puff Bob Marley dude All day, like Rastafaris do Or I’m packing heat like an oven door - um, no. And, If Beyoncé ever heard Girls, Girls, Girls he’d definitely be sleeping on the couch. The second half picks up musically, driven by more intricate beats, although Renegade shows just how out of his league he is when put up against someone that can craft intricate lyrics and use variety and energy in their delivery. His rhymes feel juvenile at times and underwhelming on the regular. Lyrical Exercise is the one track where he shows promise as a writer, but the rest of the ‘ I sold drugs. I bribed the DA, I’m better than Nas, Girls love me’ rap wears thin at best.

Hey, hey we’re the Monkees! I remember coming home from middle school and for some reason MTV would show episodes of the Monkees TV show every afternoon. I think it was kind of like a live action Scooby-doo where they went around solving problems every week or something and then they’d break into song. Maybe I’m making that up… I didn’t really understand what was going on or why it was on back then and I guess I still don’t now. So, this is saccharine sweet pop music and nothing more. Not much to dig into here.

Music for divorcees to enjoy while they sip overpriced lattes at Starbucks.

First 30 seconds of this album slay. But then, what the actual fuck? Why does the “I’m going under” chick keep saying the N-word? This is a no. Not even close. How did this get on vinyl, much less on this list? Hard pass.

This is what Tipper Gore was trying to warn us all about! But seriously, there’s a thin line between the background battle music for Call of Duty and School Shooter-core. This album blurs that line a little too uncomfortably for me. Maybe that makes me overly judgemental, but I’m okay with that. You keep the terrible vocalist’s whisper-screaming his violent lyrics - I’ll be outside listening to some Kenny G if you need anything. And I’ll never ‘appreciate’ or give extra credit to the musicianship in a metal band like this because, as musicians, you choose how to present your music - it’s a package. The choice here was to serve up a screaming shitburger … so, I award no points for the skill with which you do it. Yes, you slap a mean bass, but you ply your trade in a bad genre and a better musician makes a better choice.

I mean, it’s fine. Nothing unique or remarkable. For me, It’s hard to get past the way everything sounds the same and the vocal delivery that lacks nuance. Courtney Love will always believe her music and her thoughts are much more important than the rest of us do. She cites her poetic inspirations as T.S. Eliot and Shakespeare for this album, and compares the musical style here as a deconstructed Beach Boys or the Doors. I’ll suggest this might be loftier company than Hole should ever be mentioned amongst. And I guarantee that bringing Billy Corgan into the mix on any album will DEFINITELY NOT make things less pretentious. So, yeah, it’s just whatever… nevermind.

This was the beginning and the end of U2. The “new” beginning where they succeeded in reinventing themselves without destroying what was unique to themselves. I don’t think the reinvention was anywhere near as compelling as their earlier incarnation, but I understand that there’s only so many times you can write a song to Jesus (thinly veiled as being sung to a woman) while playing the same three chords until you need to try something new. But it’s also the end of U2. This is the first album where they start to parody rock stardom and the last before they lose themselves in the joke. The album itself is actually quite strong, with lots of familiar songs, and other interesting compositions (which sway a bit too far into the pop lane for my personal taste) that are good. Listen, any album that has One and Even Better Than the Real Thing has got to chart just on those, right? The rest of the album holds up and works well.

Just rock enough to make country fans dislike it. Just country enough to make rock fans dislike it. Just Eagles enough to make me dislike it. This is waiting room music. Nobody likes that.

Nice soulful reggae that lulls you with its rhythms and chills you out, while still holding lyrics with strong messages. Fun listen, especially the second half of the album. Brand New Second Hand is 🔥🔥🔥…. oooooo-oooooo-oooooo-oo!

Damn that shit was dope! This is the quintessential gangster rap album. In most respects, it is exactly what you’d expect, rife with misogyny, homophobia, degrading expletives and boasts about the size of their dicks and their guns. But there is also a much more complex element at work, with smart rhymes, great metaphors and wordplay, and an assaulting verbal delivery that will come to define this genre and shape all of rap for the future. It’s easy to pass over this on the basis of its crassness, its subject matter and a seemingly one note ideology. But as someone who still knows every word on this album from the days when I lived vicariously through it as a window into a world I’ll never know, I see it as a formative and important album that defined music more significantly than most of the others on this list. On a personal note, I’ll be pouring a little O.E. out of my 40 for the Dirty Bird, Nellie, the Countie Marlo, the Couch, the Piss Fence, the Elm Theater, Teddy Ted, Sheenu, R.A.D.A.R., Tom Toner, Penetrating, and those guys who stole Sousa’s stereo.

The Fun Lovin’Criminals. I don’t think so. Their only crime was this album. It was terrible - like a bad Sublime cover band playing musical Scatergories at an adult contemporary party. But all is not lost! I’ve decided to take this opportunity to rank my Top 10 Real Life Fun Loving Criminals. While their public lives were defined by violence, many notorious criminals pursued surprisingly mundane or strange hobbies in their downtime and I’d like to rank those. To be clear, I’m ranking the uniqueness of the fun activity they used to relieve the stresses of murder, embezzlement, theft or whatever. The criminal and the crime bear no weight in the rankings. Here we go! Numbet 10. Country Music Video Mogul Joe Exotic “The "Tiger King" loved to make country music videos. He saw himself as a serious country music star. He released several albums and filmed dozens of music videos (often featuring his tigers and body doubles). Although it was later revealed that he lip-synced most of his songs, his dedication to the persona of a video country star was a full-time hobby. Number 9. Die-Hard Sports Fan John Dillinger, the infamous robber of 24 banks in the 1930s, was a talented baseball player and a die-hard Chicago Cubs fan. He famously attended Cubs games at Wrigley Field, even after breaking out of prison (twice) and while he was on the FBI’s "Most Wanted" list, trusting that his disguises, his sunglasses and the other die-hard fans in the crowd would hide him. He was never captured at a game. Number 8. Painting Clowns. John Wayne Gacy: The infamous serial killer, while on death row, took up painting. He was prolific, creating thousands of pieces. His most infamous works were self-portraits of his alter ego, "Pogo the Clown," but he also painted Disney characters and landscapes. Seriously, a painting of Goofy by John Wayne Gacy? Creepy AF. Number 7. Making Jewelry. Another serial killer, Albert DeSalvo, better known as the "Boston Strangler", had a surprisingly delicate hobby while incarcerated for killing 13 women. He became skilled at making necklaces and costume jewelry. He even sold his handmade jewelry from prison, and this is one absolutely true fact: his most popular style of necklaces were “chokers”. Sick people, those consumers. Number 6. Impersonating Elvis. Rod Blagojevich, the disgraced former Governor of Illinois who went to prison for trying sell Barack Obama’s senate seat to the highest bidder, was a die-hard Elvis Presley fan. This went beyond casual listening; he was known for performing full Elvis impersonations. While in prison, he even fronted a band called "The Jailhouse Rockers," performing hits for fellow inmates. Number 5. Banjo Picker. While incarcerated at Alcatraz, the infamous mob boss Al Capone fought boredom by joining the prison band, the "Rock Islanders." He learned to play the banjo and the mandolin and wrote many sappy ballads and a love songs. Quite a change of heart from the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre that got him sent to prison. Turns out, he loved to pick that banjo.🪕 Number 4. Hot Chocolate Magnate. Bernie Madoff, the man behind the largest Ponzi scheme in history, didn't stop wheeling and dealing once he got to federal prison. He just switched commodities. Madoff reportedly cornered the market on Swiss Miss hot chocolate packets in the prison commissary. He bought every single packet available and sold them to other inmates at a markup for a profit. Even behind bars, he couldn't resist running a monopoly. Number 3. (Tie) Private Soccer and Volleyball Games. Pablo Escobar and Osama bin Laden: The Colombian drug lord was a huge soccer fan. He built soccer fields in impoverished neighborhoods and frequently flew in professional players for private matches at his estate. It’s a safe bet you always let Pablo win this one! Bin Laden, the founder of Al-Qaeda, was known to be an avid volleyball player. Being 6'5", he was a formidable presence at the net and frequently organized games with his followers. That is something I want infrared video of. Osama in his beard, wearing his tunic (or even better, short shorts) going up for a spike! Number 2. Pigeonry A true criminal after serving time for rape, Mike Tyson is primarily known as a violent boxer and a casual cannibal. His lifelong passion, however, was raising pigeons. He has owned thousands of birds throughout his life and claims that his first ever fight happened when a bully killed one of his pigeons. He finds the hobby deeply therapeutic and maintains a pigeon coop to this day. And the Number 1 Fun Lovin’ Criminal pursuit- Writing Romance Novels. Saddam Hussein loved to write romance novels. Not shitting you. The Iraqi dictator, who was convicted of International Crimes Against Humanity and used poison gas on at least 10,000 of his own people, wrote multiple love stories, including a romance novel titled Zabibah and the King. He also had a passion for gardening and especially loved to grow sunflowers. Who knew the vicious dictator was such a big softee? These are the true fun lovin’ criminals.

The one thing I’ve never thought while listening to any reggae music was, “Boy, I wish this was just a little bit whiter.” Also. getting this album on the day Jimmy Cliff died only makes it sound even worse. This is too formulaic as white boy reggae and their sound has not yet morphed into the more fully integrated reggae tinged rock that will make albums like Synchronicity stand out as unique. When it works, like on the singles we all know, it works well. But it misses much more than it hits here. That said, it’s still a fun listen. Lastly, It’s good to hear the growing pains Sting had to go through to gain his legendary tantric powers. Ultimately, I think M.C. Ren said it best on track 2 of Straight Outta Compton ( and he said it with authority).

This is a one trick pony and it’s not a great trick. The Byrds have a unique sound but it’s very dated and this collection does nothing but reiterate that over and over again. I mean, why make an album if every single song is going to sound exactly the same?

The British sure love their Oasis. I however, am not British. I mean, before we take their word on this, let’s look at some other things that the British think are really great - Colonialism, beans on toast, saying no to fluoride, corn as a pizza topping …. So, I think we’re going to have to form our own opinion here. And it’s fine. It has well known songs and some mega-hits. But the rest is bland, dad rock. It’s trying way too hard to be the Beatles and, while it comes close in places, which is notable, the rest is hollow and performative, trite and veinglorious. Gallagher’s lyrics are neither deep nor moving. They are like a purchase made at a drive thru - fine for the moment but not really going last much longer than the present. (I hitched a ride with my soul by the side of the road/ Just as the sky turned black./ I took a walk with my fame down memory lane./ I never did find my way back./) Um, say what, bro? WTF is that drivel? The instrumentals are strong and the sonic experiments create interesting hooks and grooves that work well and stick with you. It’s a good pop rock record with some great songs but not much else.

Faith No More … more like For the Love of God No More! I’m pleased to report that their A & R guy got it right on this one and found the only song that could have possibly been a single. Let’s face it, if that fish didn’t suffocate and that piano didn’t explode, we never would have heard of this band and the world would have been a simpler, more tuneful place. The vocals are grating, the instrumentals are boring and the overall effect is more annoying than anything else. I mean they even screwed up the cover of War Pigs by losing the rhythm and pushing the tempo in the first chorus… it’s a near perfect song and they did nothing to it except play it poorly. ‘Da fuck? This sounds like taking all the bad Red Hot Chili Peppers’ albums and then removing any actual funkiness - and nobody needs to hear that. I would have been fine on my long parade to the grave without needing to hear this one in full.

A strong voice but not much else here. Afro jazz that Is very dated. It is not traditional African music, as many have mistakenly written, though it is certainly influenced by it, but Makeba sang jazz from an early age and her music bears this influence most prominently. Yes, there are elements of her cultural upbringing, and some of those traditional elements appear, but that is no different than Springsteen singing about cars and the boardwalk with a Jersey accent. To treat it differently is to tokenize it. If we get past the ‘uniqueness’ of her ‘point of view’, its actually pretty boring and uninspiring in its arrangements and its instrumentations. Great woman, meh album.

The church youth pastor’s favorite rapper. Never quite got the hype around Common. This is basic, clean unadorned rap. At least the Grammy Awards will always have a mainstream rap act to feature and honor without needing to dig too deeply below the surface.

And this, kids, is the real reason why you should say no to drugs …. you’ll end up making a fucking terrible album. Unconscionably bad.

I’m glad I got past the first few songs, because I think the album improved after a rough start. But maybe I just became desensitized to the vibe. Overall, it had some cool moments, but it was way too long and very unfocused. Sugar Cane and JC created interesting grooves. Everything else just kind of blended together in a kind of sonic stew that resulted in everything tasting and feeling pretty much the same.

Like a vasectomy through the ears. You can literally feel the testosterone leaving your body song by song.

The Smiths are one of my favorite bands from the 80s and I’ll gladly tell you this album sucks. It misses wholly on most every level. Marr’s guitar is quite good on most tracks, but that’s the only standout on an album filled with forgettable songs and off key, moaning vocals from the legendary douche that is Morissey. Probably the worst Smiths album by far.

This definitely started out as video game music and I was very worried. But it mellowed nicely mid-album and finished with some strong chill-out tracks. The instrumental vibes were a solid foundation with nice grooves and soundscapes but the vocals add nothing but annoyance. A good album for driving long distances or having on in the background while working around the house. If your paying attention to it, it will disappoint, but if you let it wash over you gently, there’s something to be said for it, especially the second half.

It’s fine, if trying too hard. No need to come back to anything on here, as it all sounds the same - just stripped down hard rock, no harm, no foul … except for that Born to be Wild shitburger… ooof.

Look, Billy Corgan is a douche, but this is a great album. Killer sounds, great lyrics, awesome hooks, music that makes you want to rock out hard at one minute and then switch easily back to chill out and get introspective the next. Even if it is all sung by a giant douche of a man that sounds as if he hasn’t passed a solid shit in two weeks and all that pushing is starting to take a toll on his voice. But damn if he can’t write a great song … and then tell all his bandmates how terrible they are as musicians and lock himself in the control room and overdub their parts with his own playing instead during the mix down because he’s a self-important narcissist and a tremendous douche of a person. Cherub Rock and Mayonnaise are two of my favorite songs from the 90s and I’ve probably listened to them at least a hundred times a piece. They still sound fresh to me. Put those on an album with hits like Today, Disarm, and Luna and I’ll show up for that all day. It forgives the misses like Spaceboy and the almost 9-minute long Silverfuck (err… Silver WTF?). Honestly this album is so good, I almost forget that it was created by the human douche chill that is Billy Corgan. It’s too bad he and Courtney Love never got back together again - I’m fairly certain their spawn would have been the anti-Christ and we could have watched it set the world to burn while listening to Rocket 🚀 on a loop.

Yacht rock without the rock all heard while overdosing on Ambien.

I could make a better album with a sample of the demo mode song from the 1980s Casio keyboard using garage band on your iPhone during an airport layover … this is just utter nonsense. And, I literally have no words for all you asshats that have given this a 4 or a 5. Are you serious? What the fuck are you even doing here? Go back to your room and let the adults do the talking from now on.

Is this the moment when music ran out of ideas? This is just a guy whispering indecipherable words over what seems to be the background music from an erectile dysfunction tv commercial. Unfortunately, nothing at all rose from this generic.

This is the baddest in your neighborhood. Not bad meaning bad but bad meaning good. A goddamn classic in every sense of the word.

Unique, guitar-driven noise rock with a much more tuneful construction than most other music in this genre. The album jumps from style to style, changing rhythm and tempo but still bringing the same energy and attitude. It’s playful and limber and this makes it stand out. Yes, the vocals grate and it gets repetitive, but there are a lot more positives here to enjoy than most other offerings in this style.

Well, I can’t quite put my finger on it, but I think the lead singer might be upset about something. What do you think Zack de la Rocha does to unwind? Yoga, gardening, sudoku? May I suggest that Rage Against the Machine and Florence and the Machine switch lead singers for an album - I would certainly buy that shit and I bet you would, too. This is a pretty f’ing solid debut effort but their downfall is that, by virtue of their incredibly unique sound, they have horribly pigeonholed themselves - you immediately know a Rage song because they are so iconic … and they never shake off that style so it all starts to sound like the same magic trick. It’s a great trick, but you’ve heard it so many times before that it wears thin before too long.

If this is the sort of thing that you like, then I bet you’ll really like this sort of thing. To me, it sounds like a bunch of long-legged birds being slowly murdered in a swamp. And I don’t like that sort of thing.

Well, they’ve done it again! Fairport Convention serve up another all skips album! To be fair, this is more listenable and the guitar work is more tuneful and intricate than on Liege & Lief. But it’s still a massive airball that seeks but never finds.

What am I supposed to do with this? A foxtrot?

The name says it all. When it comes to pasta, the elbow is never the shape you are looking for. Elbow is neither your top choice nor a timeless classic. The elbow is something you’ve settled for - you definitely wanted something else but this is what you ended up with. Human elbows don’t make any sense. They are impractical, hard to navigate, easy to bump, impossible to beautify. Nobody is “into” elbows - they are wrinkled, bony protrudances that are so common, we completely ignore them except when they are broken or used as weapons. Likewise, this is how we should regard this band. It is undesirable, commonplace and wholly uninspiring. Maybe If you cover it in cheese and bake the hell out of it for an hour, you might forget how mediocre it is - but I doubt it.

They say if you have nothing good to say about something … so, the one positive thing I can say about this is that when I hear Time After Time, I remember it playing when Napoleon and Deb were slow dancing in the gym ( “I like your sleeves. They’re real big.”) and then Pedro goes to get a drink, sees the poster and decides to run for class president. So, maybe there is hope for humanity yet … but probably not. https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=y4aCZcVvLdE

117 minutes of bongo music? Get the fuck outta here.

There’s too much 60s on this list already, and now we get a mediocre 00s band trying to sound like the 60s. Ooff. This is not very compelling, rather overproduced and very indulgent. Honestly, the album has no soul, no guts, no truth behind it. It’s musical posturing and it’s transparent. It’s clear that this mistake was not made for me.

This is a bridge album for R.E.M. and it shows high points of two styles they are between: the tuneful, folk rock of their early music (like So. Central Rain, Driver 8, and Fall On Me) and the more raw, rock-driven edge of songs like The One I Love. This album works that line, albeit clumsily at times, with Stipe vacillating between kitschy sing song and passionate lyrical delivery. The instrumentation is strong, and overall, the full package holds up well. This album is definitely uneven but features a lot of great moments and hints at the big things to come.

At the supermarket, there is one aisle I never go down. It has the dog food and the baby food - admittedly a strange pairing - but since I don’t own either, I don’t visit. Plus, it smells unclean. Listening to this album is like walking down that aisle. There is nothing there I want or need - everything they have here is for made for others. I understand what it is and what it’s there for, but I don’t have any use for it. This project is clarifying that there are so many styles of music out there and I simply don’t give two shits about some of them. This is one of those.

As a man of a certain age, I’ve reached the point where I now recognize the opening side of this album as one of the greatest runs of the entire 70s. The intricacies and unique blend of instruments, the soulful and passionate vocals and the unadorned lyrics make this a timeless classic. Yes, it’s folk rock and the vanguard of the easy listening genre, but that’s okay because these are also 5 amazing songs. Unfortunately, like most gifted artists, he doesn’t know when to stop and has trouble editing his own “genius”. The second side of this album needed trimming or, at least, refining and it’s lack of the same crisp focus detracts from the amazing front side. Lastly, while, I review the music and not the person, I have to note that Morrison is famous for being a complete prick and a rude, arrogant bastard. Google the time he tried to widen his driveway and took the legal case all the way to the Irish Supreme Court. Or, to get really annoyed, check out his anti-vax album featuring 4 tracks about how Covid-19 was a government initiated attempt to control the population. Maybe 45 albums is enough, Ivan. I think we’ve got your point of view now. Thanks for playing.

Ahh, the Christmas spirit! What could be more pure and innocent than an album of timeless holiday classics? Can’t you just picture it? Recorded in the sweltering heat of a Los Angeles August by a domineering megalomaniac who yelled, screamed and cursed his way through the sessions, making everyone involved completely miserable. When he wasn’t screaming orders, this married man was trying to shag one of the female vocalists, so he gave her all the solos and best songs, which pissed all the other artists off. By the way, he was also Jewish, so perhaps he was not the obvious choice for a quintessential Christmas album. Ah, Phil Spector… the man, the myth, the murderer of a woman that he shot in the face because she wouldn’t have sex with him. It’s like a holiday carol come to life! The result of this Yuletide madness is a buffet of force-fed Christmas standards. Much like the holidays themselves, this amounts to a thinly veiled respite from the reality of what is really important and meaningful to real people in their daily lives. Enjoy the mirage and roast those chestnuts, bioch.

When I was in high school, I was a theater kid. This one weekend, I was in a new play festival at a local university, where I spent 3 days on campus with other high school kids. There was one kid in my group (I definitely don’t remember his name, so let’s call him Noah) who was decidedly the coolest kid on campus. He had a brother who went to the college so he knew all the cool things - where to hang out after rehearsal, how to get into the secret tunnels beneath the dorms and how to interact with actual college students. Anyway, on the second day, Noah showed up wearing a Talking Heads Remain in Light t-shirt. Seeing this shirt on the cool kid was like finding a cheat code revealing how to be cool. I needed to get this album! Now, this being the late 80s, I couldn’t jump on the internet to listen, much less download it, so I had to wait until the weekend was over and I got my parents to drive me to the local Strawberry’s Music and Tapes to pick it up. When I popped the tape into my Walkman, I was completely confused. What was this shit? I didn’t get it. It was weird. It didn’t make sense. I didn’t like it. I guess It turns out Noah actually was cooler than me because he liked this and I honestly didn’t understand it at all. I was lost. I filed the cassette alphabetically in my wooden tape rack and didn’t really ever listen to it again - until today. Now, 40 years on from that weekend, I understand this album much better. It is world music, or at least Talking Heads’ version of world music. Having a much broader musical and cultural knowledge these days, I can recognize the African influences and the circular hocket patterns at work. I read about the inspiration from Fela Kuti and the band’s desire to include roots and reggae patterns. All of this makes everything make much more sense to me sonically. I still don’t like it all that much. But I appreciate it more. It’s a good musical exploration from a good band. I just don’t care for the results of the experiment all that much.

I woke up this morning to 8 inches of snow and this album. This might be the only time that a Slipknot album would be useful. I strapped on my boots and my AirPods and headed out. Let’s just say that that snow did not get shoveled… It got annihilated. While there are some interesting moments on this very long offering, overall I find this kind of music to be foolish. I feel like it has to be tongue in cheek even though I’m not sure that it is. I know nothing about the musicians, but I imagine that these are the kinds of people that would shop at Spirit of Halloween all year long. Yes, they can play their instruments, but they make poor choices as musicians. Being technically good and musically gifted are two very different things. As I’ve said before, I’ll never ‘appreciate’ or give extra credit to the musicianship in a metal band like this because, as musicians, you choose how to deliver your music. The simple fact that your choice of style is screaming and growling makes me question your overall artistic integrity. A better musician makes a better choice. Next snowstorm, I’ll stick to a podcast.

Classic Shoegaze. It is perfectly ignorable. There is literally no statement, no musical point of view, no reason for existing. Album cover is perfect … almost there but not really … if you take the time to look closer, you’ll just be disappointed.

Even Radiohead hates this Radiohead album. Why should we disagree?

Cultural Ethnocentrism is the belief that one's own culture is the standard by which all others should be judged, often leading to viewing other cultures as inferior, strange, or wrong. It manifests as judging others through one's cultural lens, causing prejudice, discrimination, misunderstanding, and reinforcing power imbalances. Example: Take a flop of a Bollywood movie, but since it’s one of the only ones that they put Western actors in, treat it like a masterpiece and put the soundtrack on a list of 1000 Albums You Must Hear Before You Die. Never mind that the music sucks and the kitschy collection of styles is overblown and demonstrative. This is a ridiculous album, a pandering attempt at diversity and a pointless inclusion to this list. It’s not great, Dan.

Significantly better than Parklife, so the corner that they turned on this album from BritPop to Indie Rock was a very welcome change. That said, this does little more than prove that they can sound as good as one of those interchangeable 90s bands like Better than Ezra or The Verve Pipe. But, we don’t need another Vertical Horizon or 3 Doors Down, do we? The 90s gave us enough of The Toadies and Hoobastank to cover us for a lifetime, so we don’t need Blur coming late to the party like some long lost Dishwalla. They can hang out with Harvey Danger, Eagle Eye Cherry, Tonic and Deep Blue Something over in the corner. I’ll go listen to something less derivative.

Lauryn Hill is one of the best rappers ever. Period Full stop. Not one of the best female rappers, one of the best rappers ever. Not a single wasted bar here, where her brilliance is commonplace and taken for granted throughout this album. Her verse on How Many Mics is deadly … dropping ColecoVision and Deuteronomy in back to back lines, rhyming licorice with syphylis and callous with Dallas - intricacies and knowledge that make other rappers look foolish. Wyclef’s creative and layered approach is a perfect complement to Pras’s clean technical edginess in the production elements. While there are great songs throughout, the skits and interludes don’t really hold up 30 years later. Between that and the legendary douches that Wyclef and ‘Ms. Hill’ have developed into, I’m tempted to ‘score’ this album a 4. But it is too good to let those things pull it down. I can’t deny how amazing and unique these tracks are amongst the sea of sameness that was 90s rap.

It’s Lynard Skynard. It’s Southern Rock. It’s got Free Bird. Any questions?

The man in black commanding the stage and the audience in a way few performers ever could. Both Cash and the band were a little out of tune and out of sync in places but the overall effect was a fun, rollicking good time for all of the murders and rapists in the audience. Great sense of being there with this album.

As suggested via another review, this feels like the soundtrack to an unmade Police Academy movie. I would much rather have listened to an hour of the Police Academy guy making cool sounds than this soft-core sonic sodomy.

In order to make a great hard rock album, there’s a very simple trick - pull together a band and make sure that one person is named Ian. Don’t believe me? Ask Judas Priest, The Cult, Fugazi, Jethro Tull, Minor Threat, hell even Joy Division, Europe and The Stone Roses used the Ian trick to take their styles of ‘rock’ to the charts with an Ian on board. The Rolling Stones original lineup featured an Ian. True story. But, with the release of this album, Deep Purple took it too far and broke the rule - you can never have MORE than one Ian in the band. On this album, there’s one Ian singing and another Ian on drums. This can ever work. The Ians cancel each other out. In fact, this is the only time in the history of rock where two Ians have attempted to exist in the same band at the same time. King Crimson had an Ian who left the band and was replaced with another Ian. Jen’s favorite troubadours, Fairport Convention, did the same, no doubt because they were aware of the need to keep an Ian in the band. These facts demonstrate what should be abundantly clear by now - Deep Purple went one Ian too far with this album and the result is an uneven, screamy mess - organ riffs galore, guitar screeches to the tune of a manatee in the middle of an unnatural birth, and an Ian viciously howling for no apparent reason throughout most of this noise fetish. Please learn from their mistake. Never gather with more than one Ian at a time. Nothing good can come of it.

Music for drag queens to unwind to after a long night in their heels.👠 This might be the longest feeling album in the history of the compact disc.

This is the funkiest elevator I’ve ever been trapped in.

I’ve always found it hard to take Alice Cooper seriously. The whole image is so much schtick and always felt juvenile. Now, having listened to an album in full, I can confirm that the lyrics are basic and painfully obvious and the simplistic, sophomoric musical compositions are not performed by anyone that could be called a virtuoso on their instrument. Like a bad night at a high school Battle of the Bands.

The temptation here would be to overrate this album based on the famous band name. The truth, however, is that this is a far cry from the legendary songs we know The Temptations for. This is repetitive in most cases and the formula grows tiresome very quickly. There is no groove that lets a song stand apart from the rest. There are some hallmark elements but nothing comes together here at all. Mostly a forgettable wash of generic soulless soul.

Ah, Boy George singing about wanting to put “a love deep within you” on a track called ‘Mystery Boy’, which shows up directly after a track called ‘Man-Shake’. The 80s were so subtle. This was a slog to get through and not a fun listen. The faux reggae-tinged dance music was monotonous and droning. This is a museum piece of the parts of the 80s most would prefer to forget.

When I was a kid at Christmas in the 70s, there was no shortage of holiday specials to choose from on television. Understand that this was prior to today’s classic fare of Elf, Polar Express and the live-action Grinch. The finest of them all,in my opinion, and the one I looked forward to watching on repeat each December was a movie made with puppets called Emmet Otter’s Jug Band Christmas. The story follows a poor family of otters that are trying to make ends meet and still find a way to buy presents for each other at Christmas. Salvation comes in the form of a talent competition where first prize is $50. Emmet Otter decides to enter so he can win enough money to buy his mother a piano for Christmas. He grabs a muskrat, a beaver and some other river animals and together they make a band. They practice hard and are ready to win it all, and they would have except that, at the last minute, an unexpected entry at the talent show upends everything: The Riverbottom Nightmare Band. Comprised of a weasel on guitar, a snake on bass,a mink on keyboards,and a lizard on drums, The Riverbottom Nightmare Band shows up and slays with predictable heavy metal thrashing. They win the competition and the $50 and Emmet and the boys go home with nothing. Now, if you’ve never seen the movie, or if it’s been so long that you don’t really remember it, you’re in luck. The Flamin’ Groovies sound exactly like The Riverbottom Nightmare Band, which is to say puppet animals playing campy hard rock. The shriekingly humorous vocals splayed out over simplistic single note runs are lifted almost directly from the Riverbottom catalogue. That said, I don’t think the Flamin’ Groovies would beat either TRBNMB or Emmet Otter and his jug band in a talent show. I’d put my money on the puppets every time.

Musically, this is an amazing album - a caravan through psychedelia with a procession that is decades ahead of its time. Hendrix does things with a guitar that no one else can and his ease and comfort wandering through the grooves is fearless, joyful and infectious. It makes listening to these songs a pleasure, even though they can get repetitive and the lyrics are a bit flighty and aloof. The band is tight, the sound is seminal. This album is truly a 9 out of 10. But, after 3 full listens today, I feel it’s missing that last something that gets it to the very top level. I’m not sure what it needs, but whatever that something is, it doesn’t really matter and I’ve gotta round up because it’s MF’ing Jimi. Plus, he plays the recorder on one track. The recorder. Name another guitar god who solos on the recorder. Yeah, I couldn’t either…

If you like this sort of thing, then this is the sort of thing you’ll probably like. It didn’t do much for me, mostly because of the constraints of the country style, but Boxcars really slaps though. That song would work well in any genre.

Fine, uninspiring British Reggae. Too chill for its own good. Like a sedative with a backbeat.

Stephen Stills is a very talented musician and no one knows that more than Stephen Stills. Here, he takes a very long 71 minutes to prove it to us through a variety of styles, al of which wind up sounding pretty much the same in his hands. Manassas comes from the Hebrew meaning, “that which makes us forget.” Exactly. A perfectly titled piece of work.

The fighters of foo are born. This is a difficult album to like … it’s Grohl as a member of Nirvana trying to find his own voice. But the is so little room for others when Cobain is around, and he was around when most of the songs were written and was a huge posthumous presence for the other 4. There are signs of the promising future on the recognizable hits, but the rest is just extended versions of Territorial Pissings, Grohl trying to stretch the skin of Nirvana to make it fit his heavier rock and roll tendencies. He will learn to blend the two styles better, write better songs and collaborate with better musicians soon. Foo will start to soar on the next album, The Colour and The Shape. But it doesn’t really happen here just yet.

I remember this album from the Beavis and Butthead show. Every time they watched a video on the show and went, “huh huh huh huh huh huh …. These guys suck…huh huh,” the song they were listening to was definitely from this album.

These folks are amazing. No, definitely not the dirty, talentless hippies in this “band” - I mean all of the great people who wrote one star reviews of this album. While I usually love skewering terrible albums on my own, the community did such a great job, I’m not sure I have anything new to add. So, I curated some of my favorite quotes from the reviews, collected while dutifully listening to the entirety of this soundtrack from purgatory. I hope you enjoy them as much as I did, because there will be nothing enjoyable about your listening experience. • I wish I could go back to when I never knew this album existed. • It's a good thing they didn't tune the instruments, so it matches the vocals. • I’d rather listen to the meth head at the bus stop down the road beatbox and fart. • So many people on the album cover but not one of them stopped to think that maybe this was shit. • Like a Monty Python spoof of an early Genesis album. • This is "The Velvet Underground and Nico" for folkies. • Why did someone think that a recording of a bunch of off-key drunkards in a country pub is something I should listen to before I die? • No tengo de los champiñones adecuados para escuchar esto. (“ I do not have an adequate amount of mushrooms to listen to this.”) • Even if you're not a big fan of the kazoo, these fuckers have you covered with panpipes and harpsichords. • Holy hell..... somebody put the wounded animal singing out of its misery already. • Like hearing a cancer diagnosis. • I feel like I’m tied to a post hanging over a fire whilst they dance around in circles singing these songs in their weird cult. • This is the music folks would listen to before a dragon would come and burn down their thatch roof village. • I want the creator of the 1001 list of albums to go to jail for this. • I can’t sing and I can’t play a music instrument so save my life. However, neither would prevent me from being a member of this band. • I am growing weary of white people. • Have you ever known you're going to hate an album within the first 10 seconds? No? Try this one. • You’re in a cult, call your dad. • Scottish psychedelic folk is exactly as good as it sounds. • I want to fight everyone on this album cover, including the small children and the dog. • I regret electricity was wasted to play this in my home. • No situation really calls for this type of music, unless you're like some magical swamp creature. • This album should be in the other book: 1001 albums you should avoid at all costs.

About as classic as classic rock gets. Bluesy, roots rock that is full of energy and feeling. Can’t go 5 because it relies on too many covers to get it to iconic status, but as solid and rocking an album as this era produced.

This album reminded me a lot of country music. I know, but go with me on this one. There are some really good musicians here that are very limited by the style that they choose to play in. Because they play shred metal or “shredal”, which I’m copywriting as a new genre name, it all has to be loud and hard and fast. The lyrics become secondary and almost pointless, which is certainly the case here. In the same way, country music must follow a formula of constant repetition with simplistic melodies and lyrical structures. So, although they sound very different, both styles discourage individual expression, and make it harder for unique voices to emerge. It’s why so much shredal sounds the same to me. It’s why so much country sounds the same to me. It’s why so much contemporary pop sounds the same to me. The style outweighs the speaker. I admit, I’m uninitiated to thrash, death and other intricate genres of heavy metal. Maybe if they sounded a little different from each other or offered more nuance, I’d find interest in one of them and something would catch my ear. Unfortunately, this just sounds like all the rest of them to me. I do wonder which mascot between this dude and the iron maiden guy would win in a fight though…

If the Incredible String Band wandered out of their woods and stumbled upon a cabin, where they found some folks who had instruments that looked like theirs, but had wires attached that somehow plugged into the wall to make them louder, then they all sat down and jammed on the most pompous, ridiculous songs they could dream up, you would get this album. Maybe I missed something when I listen to this, but I doubt it. Hot garbage.

This isn’t the classic that is promised. Truthfully, it is a pretty boring listen if you remove the 2 hits. Stevie has never been one for editing himself, and this album is great proof of that fact. His experiments and sonic explorations don’t strike me as the work of “a m*therfuckin’ musical genius” but as excessive material that would have been better served to be kept in house. It is undeniable that he makes great music (Superstition) but it is surrounded by too much mediocrity here, and in so many other places in his catalogue.

A rare album to be sure. Her vocal talent is undeniable - she could outsing anyone on this list. But she doesn’t just sing these songs - she inhabits them and you can’t escape without feeling them deeply. This album shaped the direction of music in so many genres for decades to come. It is remarkable. You don’t need to love every note to recognize that it is of the highest level.

Simone has an incredibly unique voice and a powerful delivery that is all her own. But the songs and the style don’t age well here. Terrific songstress, but the material is lacking.

Great musicians from a dead genre. Like visiting an exhibit at a museum - fine if you want to learn some history or see “how it used to be” but nothing much with a pulse left there now. Of course Big Band was influential, but so were showtunes and religious hymns, and I hope not to see those on this list anytime soon. Ellington was one of the most important figures in 20th century Western music, but this album does not figure into that distinction in any conceivable way. The only Duke we need in the 1001 albums list is the Thin White Duke.