Wish every Sunday morning went like this music sounds. The bass of Scott LaFaro is a revelation, his propulsive lines undergirding the more placid chordal surfaces Evans offers up here. Give me a Bill Evan’s Trio afterworld.
Fresh and sporty, these economical models really resist depreciation. Got to be one of the most assured debuts in rock history.
Spectacular indeed; I gained new appreciation for the album cuts whose intricacies continue to amaze while the familiar bangers continue to bang. This is a stunning debut that is worthy of the best of Sparks, Love, Spirit or any other earthy-yet-ethereal Psych-pop band you can name. Like so many other classic albums of the time benefited from Dave Fridmann’s knob-twisting, but would’ve been a classic either way.
Named after a principal, these guys offer up a master class in Southern Rock on their debut. Heavily indebted to the blues but less jammy than the Allman’s, this album serves up a heaping helping of mouth-watering boogie (poison whiskey), savory Mountain/sabbath-ish hard rock (simple kind of man), and knife-sharp dual- guitar soloing (Freebird, anyone?). While the scope of this album shows a plethoric panorama of influences, the tone that drips off every word and note is pronouncedly proprietary.
Sounds like a punk guy nursing a bad sinus infection getting the opportunity of a lifetime to showcase his songs when Bette Midler’s touring band’s bus breaks down and they decide to back him up. Some good moments but never quite gels for me. Beasts I think is the highlight.
A breath of fresh air in rap music 1990. Sound is retro and forward-looking at same time; completely innovative. Contains many iconic tracks, overlooked gems, never loses momentum. Sense of humor and fun-loving spirit evident throughout. As an extra the remixes are dope.
Van the man in top form, letting his horn blow. And the expensive sounding yet very loose band gives him and the other exquisite horns on display all the breathing room they need. A fitting testament to the breath of life itself.
A raw and ripping emotional workout. Feels like PJs most personal record; incisive, gutsy and cathartic. Love her shredding on the slide.
Music without an apparent POV places more importance on how it functions to make the listener feel. Moody and reflective, yet lacking the interesting hooks of Caribou, the communal celebratory vibes of Moby/ Fatboy or the toke-inspiring doominess of Tangerine Dream; this is EDM that follows some middle path and for me misses way more than it hits.
Some very accomplished jamming to be sure, but stellar chops and tight grooves alone do not a classic album make.
Loved it: unquestionably arty yet approachable, International/wordly yet immediate with multiplicity of voices uniting to form a common vision. Seamless yet offering a new twist around every corner. Not a particularly short record but came to an end far before I was ready.
Well- intentioned (and often unintentionally humorous when heard today) topical rap with sound that is extremely dated and subject matter that remains sadly relevant.
The Motor City meets Radio City Music Hall. Despite this albums aesthetic being done to death subsequently by other bands (cue my beloved Mott the Hoople), its particular brew of raw rock guitars paired with campy Vaudevillian melodies that seem to call for a kick line sounds quirky if not, well, even a tad insane. Influential for sure, but the fact its best song, the Howlin’ Wolf quoting Jean Genie, is also by far the most basic indicates for me the Thin White Duke was trying too hard on most of these.
Makes the case these guys were operating on a near-Beatles level in 1967. McGuinns shimmering 12-string chords, Crosby’s moody psychedelia, the bands gorgeous harmonies all in top form here. This album along with Buffalo Springfield Again and the Bands first album provide the primer for rock’s folkier side that would be explored later w REM and many subsequent bands. Dylan’s ‘My Back Pages’ may have its definitive version here.
Sound is a bit flat, mate; however the hilarious and poignant narratives do get by on their own momentum.
Dense and detailed journey through the dark obsessions of one white male’s psyche, touching on themes of spiritual abandonment, dehumanization, debasement, loss of meaning, guilt, and emotional/ sensory numbness made somehow into a successful album via Reznor’s throttling yet hooky use of dynamics and sound collage along with an unmistakeable ear for melody. Vanquishes the dark not in the lyrics but rather with the harrowing, brutal and often beautiful soundscapes. Adrian Belen’s guitar work here brings some necessary levity and makes repeat-listenable what is altogether an uncompromising work.
Total departure for Bowie in 1974, embraces the Philly-soul sound w complete devotion, helping define it in the process. Sound is fun, unserious, party-ready. Bookended by two of Bowie’s best-ever tracks and pretty strong throughout. These high points offset only by unnecessary length of some of the album tracks.
Kind of surprised me how little I thought these guys sound like the Beatles anymore and how much they now sound to me like, well, Oasis. On the many stellar (and now overfamiliar) cuts this album offers, radio-readiness and brand reliability still seem to win out over inspiration, and the fashionably cynical, derivative, or non-sequiturish lyrical sentiments generally ring hollow. While I do enjoy a lot of these songs, digging into the full record is about as rewarding as eating a whole tin of Christmas butter cookies (and I am not here admitting I have done this!).
Efficient, heavy-in-their-weightlessness rockers float by on airy mysticism, lust and car and/or beard obsession. Music owes a debt to the 50s rock and girl groups that came before. It’s a good, weird time.
Siren Turner rarely would be less than 5 stars under any circumstances; here sounds frequently like Mick Jagger in high heels (and with much better vocal range and depth). Tinny 80’s synth and drums cannot dilute the impact of the vocal perfection and expert songcraft on offer here. The ‘Futuristic’ 1984 and gripping rocker ‘Steel Claw’ were fun discoveries. ‘Can’t stand the Rain’ and Let’s stay together’ given the full 80s treatment I could’ve probably done without, so this is admittedly a 4 and change round-up
Visceral and rhythmic, with the hooks often chanted or at least chant-ready— this is Fiona at her rawest and least fucks-giving. Still the undeniable musicianship is there, the tunes can stick in your head, and the bravado does not always overshadow the vulnerability. It’s a great work in anybody’s catalog, and the first two tunes serve up a 1-2 punch out the gate like Elton did with funeral for a friend/ love lies bleeding.
Opening up this record and finding beautiful, achingy sung Soul Music is about as surprising as finding oats inside a box with a smiling Quaker on the front, however perfect music is always worthwhile and this record makes the case that Soul not only describes the best type of music but also is the quality that makes any type of music great. The vocals tare perfection and there just couldn’t be a better band to back him up than those Blues Brothers guys. Also with the 3 covers serves as an epitaph to his recently fallen comrade-in-soul Sam Cooke.
Relentlessly innovative, refusing to conform to any preconceived notions and all that guff. I would offer this to skeptical listener: just give it 5 minutes and you will lose yourself in it. You will be reminded of Stevie, OutKast, maybe even Rundgren. Then she will move on, and keep on going deep into outer space. Take the trip
Classic Janis vocals and tunes w some better than competent blues playing.
Attitude and delivery are great, musically eclectic. Neneh has undeniable charisma and fluency from the jump- wish there were more records to follow. Rest of album may suffer a bit from the monumental greatness of ‘Buffalo Stance.’
Though the melodies and playing are quite good, the overall sound of this album to me is like coked-out Alvin and the Chipmunks and it’s hard to table a full listen.
With a jump to a major label, REM opened some new doors on Green, taking chances with both the poppier side (radio song, stand) and harder, U2-style rock (orange crush) with some tasteful mandolin balladry and the losing my religion- prefiguring ‘world leader pretend’ to round things out. It’s an ambitious, perfectly balanced, and relentlessly listenable album- proving it’s possible to sell and yet not sell out.
Nerdy and dense hip hop- there’s a lot to respect here but a bit less to enjoy. Feels like this must have been influential Madvillain and MF Doom, who took that next step.
These guys definitely know their ABC’s- not to mention their ELO’s and XTC’s of post- Beatles Brit-pop but don’t generate anything especially memorable. They often marry it to some expertly crafted yet jarring EDM, a bad trip mixed in with the sunny psychedelic melodies. Overall the effect for me is sensory overload and vague nausea.
An Ode on Aggression Earned. Makes you understand why Dimebag is so revered in the metal community. Notes of Alice In Chains and Helmet show the reach of this band outside that community. Incidentally, just awesome pump-you-up music.
The Blues get the punk treatment with a frontman who wants to be Lou Reed/ Iggy Pop- what could go wrong? Everything, it turns out. Grating and atonal, these dudes seem to want you to hate them and I am taking the bait. Unlike other punk provacateurs like the Sex Pistols, they desecrate their idols but do not create anything worthwhile in its place. Would give it zero stars if I could.
Moody, introspective, and deeply existential; contains many gorgeous melodies with lyrics addressing the pitfalls of pacifism, inertia, and the fact we are all probably doomed. Would have been much more of a downer were it not for Buffalo native David Frischmann’s teeming soundscapes providing limitless vibrancy- replete w bleats, burbles, and even tweeting bird sounds, suggesting life is still all around us despite the dark forebodings of the lyrics.
