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.

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.

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?

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.