1001 Albums Summary

From the first track to the last, this album did a great job of setting and maintaining a distinct atmosphere. I don't think it was something I'll be putting in heavy rotation, but I can't quite place what it is. The vibe of the album definitely has something to do with it, though. It felt like a dark fusion of Latin grooves, psychedelia, and some really solid rock. I've never been too keen on the singles from this album, but this is an album that is meant to be listened to front to back. The instrumental tracks, particularly the opener, were excellent. I have always heard Santana referenced in terms of the guitar, and Carlos Santana clearly knows what he's doing with the instrument. However, I thought the drumwork was most distinctive on this album, and is probably the reason I would come back to it. There was a lot of very intricate hand drum rhythms, and it felt like drum "riffs" rather than guitar riffs were the driving force behind a lot of the songs. Ultimately, I don't think this is the best album for me, but there's a lot to like here.

I love the simplicity and the propulsive energy in the more uptempo songs on this album, such as Radio Free Europe, 9/9, and West of the Fields. Not every song is a winner for me, and I’m still trying to figure out if the lyrics are profound but obscure, or just complete gibberish. But more important than anything else with this album is the sound. It’s striking how ahead of its time this album was. REM released this when Springsteen, Journey and Van Halen were topping the charts, and the difference is incredible. This spiritually paved the way for most of rock music’s evolution in the 90s and aughts.

Maybe I haven’t spent enough time with this album, but I’m struggling to figure out why I should want to return to it. I’ve never loved the highly distorted grunge sound, but I can appreciate what Cobain and Nirvana were doing artistically. In that case, there’s a point to the ugliness of the music. Here it feels like that point gets lost in too much of the album. There are certainly highlights in the first few songs, but this album generally retains the low points of grunge and discards a lot of what makes it worth listening to. The album is at its best when Grohl is working through the demons that remained after Cobain's suicide. This Is a Call, I'll Stick Around, and Good Grief offer hints of the anthemic power rock that Foo Fighters would grow into. While it might be more pop-forward than anything Nirvana would have put out, Big Me serves as a nice reprieve from the relentless distortion we get through most of the remaining tracks. The album takes a downward turn on the second side, lacking the standout tracks that keep the first side interesting. The only true point of departure from uptempo power chords are the verses of For All the Cows, which makes for one of the more interesting songs on the album, despite the puzzling lyrics. The rest of the side falls into a pattern of uptempo, highly distorted power chords that become fatiguing, at least to my ear. Weenie Beenie and Wattershed were particularly difficult listens for me, and by the time I came to the album's closer, "Exhausted" was how I felt. This is by no means a bad output from someone trying to right the ship after tragedy struck, but it doesn't have the qualities I usually look for in great albums. The best songs don't hit the same highs, and the deeper cuts aren't interesting enough either musically or lyrically to keep me engaged. While a technically impressive achievement for Grohl to produce this by himself, the album just doesn’t stand out to me relative to what Nirvana had released previously or what Foo Fighters ended up becoming. It's certainly noteworthy as a response to Cobain's death and in light of what Foo Fighters would become, but I'd almost always rather be listening to something else.

With the start of the first track on this album, I thought Unknown Pleasures was a winner. The sound was stripped back and minimal, energetic without the overt anger and distortion of punk, and cohered into an awesome atmosphere that you just wouldn't have heard at the time the record was released. The instrumentation was repetitive, nearly hypnotic, and it felt like a pattern that could suck me in for hours. And yet, this sound - the same, exact sound - continued to such an extent throughout the rest of the album that by the end, I found it had gone stale for me. A cohesive sound is a characteristic that distinguishes great albums from a compilation of songs, and there's no doubt that Joy Division introduced a sound that came to be incredibly influential in the following decade. The sound and atmosphere really makes this album what it is. But it's also important to strike a balance between this cohesive sound and some level of variety in the track list, and this is where this album comes up short for me. Too many songs stay in the same lane of sparse drum and guitar arrangements, with melody driven by the bass and Ian Curtis's emotional but monotonous vocals. This is an arrangement that sounds great for a few songs (Disorder, New Dawn Fades, and She's Lost Control are highlights), but it wasn't enough to carry a full album. Curtis's limitations as a vocalist also became more evident as the album progressed. His distinctive, haunting vocal style hangs over the music like a disembodied voice, fitting the sound the band is going for wonderfully, and at moments he compares to Jim Morrison's deep, booming voice. But too often the songs became stuck with 3-note vocal melodies, and his wavering when holding higher or more powerful notes makes me question whether the band would be able to expand their range. I found Curtis's contributions much more valuable as a lyricist. I look forward to spending more time with the messages in the songs, but on a first listen the themes approached in some of the songs are alarming and touching, especially in light of his death the year following this album's release. Several songs, including Disorder, New Dawn Fades, and I Remember Nothing, paint a picture of someone isolated and pushed to the brink, while others take a more explicitly political bent. The influence of the sound Joy Division established in this album on the post-punk scene can't be overstated. However, like first iterations of so many innovations, there are issues to be improved upon. With the benefit of 45 years having passed, I can find a lot of what I like in this album in more polished form from other bands like the Cure. Despite the downsides, though, there is a lot to like here. Just based on atmosphere and lyrics alone I plan to return to it.

What an absolute delight to listen to! My prior experience with Elvis Costello was with some of his more popular hits - Alison off his debut album, and Pump It Up from this follow-up. Thought those are excellent songs in their own right, two songs simply can't give a complete picture of what an artist as varied as Costello has to offer. Listening through this album started to fill in that picture. I loved how Costello blended influences and ideas so seamlessly. He incorporates punk, blues and reggae, along with vocal stylings that seem to be drawn from Springsteen and Dylan, all while cohering wonderfully into a greater whole. Somehow, especially given the lyrical content of many of the songs, Costello is able to blend the punk sensibility with music that sounds almost infectiously happy at certain points. There are certain points of outright experimentation with production, but these moments are tasteful and don't distract from the larger picture of music that does not rely too heavily on studio effects. The Attractions - particularly the bass and drums - take center stage on many of the tracks, creating a driving energy that propels the listener through the album. While Costello's guitar feels relatively muted in the mix on most tracks, his vocals and clever lyrics shine throughout. Costello addresses the personal, societal and political with biting sarcasm throughout the album, but these messages were leavened by wordplay and double entendres laced in. It seemed that Costello's vocals were quite influenced by Dylan, but he came off more snarky than sneering. This album is eclectic, clearly influential, and above all entertaining. I'll likely have it in heavy rotation for the next few weeks and I look forward to exploring more of Costello's work.

I've been a fan of Bowie's for some time now, and this album stands as one of his finest. It was released at a fascinating point in Bowie's life, as he had recently gained mainstream popularity and was experimenting radically with his public personality as well as his sound. Much as he would toy with different personas throughout his career, this album sees him "trying on" the musical styles of his influences at the time with tributes to Andy Warhol, Bob Dylan, Lou Reed, and Neil Young. The lyrics throughout blend the personal and universal, with references to change and transition (Changes, Oh! You Pretty Things) and greater existential questions (Life on Mars?, Quicksand). Kooks is a wonderfully vulnerable song written to his newborn son that, in today's context, could easily speak to the insecurities of those raising kids in nontraditional family structures. The true highlight of the album for me is Life on Mars? - cinematic in lyrics and production, it takes the record from a strong showing to a true classic.

If I were to create an album with the specific intent of making it as annoying as possible, this may be what I would make. I have heard worse music, but maybe nothing quite so obnoxious. The first 5 seconds of the opener, Non-Alignment Pact, give a good feel for what went wrong throughout the album. Grating sound effects, specifically played through the right channel for some reason, distract from any music of merit that may be happening beneath and create a miserable listening experience that can’t be compensated for. In the case of some songs, there’s not much to worry about missing. For example, Life Stinks is a track full of shrieking and jabbering without much of interest. In fact, throughout most of the tracks, the vocals were the most notable downside next to the sound effects, often consisting of out of tune screeching. In other songs though, the underlying music has potential which is subsequently snuffed out by the sound effects or vocal style, making the impact all the more frustrating. I’m sure underlying the miseries inflicted upon the listener is a message about the horrors of life in some god-forsaken land. Some critics may find this expression of whatever the underlying message novel and profound. But there can be no ignoring the musical output here in favor of message. This was intended to be an assault on the ears, and it succeeded in that. I just don’t see why I should feel the need to endure it. Experimenting with sound effects and the avant garde are not disqualifying, but the artists who experiment successfully typically use these elements as a contrast to otherwise meaningful music. The approach taken here was tasteless, and I look forward to leaving this album behind.

Along with Rust Never Sleeps, this may be Neil Young's best work outside of his collaboration with Crosby Stills and Nash. The music is nearly uniformly mellow but effectively grapples with such powerful topics that it's hard not to engage. Heart of Gold and Old Man are the clear hits off the album, both featuring Young taking stock of the state of his life as he ages. In particular, he contemplates the lack of love and trust in his life. Notably, we get no answers in the songs - these are just Young's ruminations on the topic. They make for a bit of a strange subject for the major mainstream success they saw, but if there is a signature sound for someone whose work is as varied as Young's this would be it. Two songs stand out sonically among the acoustic, folk-inflected music surrounding them. I've always considered A Man Needs a Maid to be a bit of an oddball song, largely due to the lyrics, which feel retrograde coming from someone like Young. As I've continued listening to it though, the song reads to me as a profound expression of emotional wreckage and insecurity. The dramatic piano and orchestral production adds gravity to this track. The album's closer, Words, is the only real glimpse of electrified rock at any point on the album, highlighting the isolation and frustration he sings about. Other highlights for me on the album include Alabama and The Needle and the Damage Done. A protest song with an opening riff that recalls CSNY's Ohio, Alabama differs from Young's earlier criticism of racism in Southern Man by reaching out a hand to the South, searching for communication and offering to help pull them out of their racist culture. The Needle and the Damage Done features a sparse soundscape, emphasizing a powerful reckoning with addiction. My primary critique of this album is the relative lack of variety in the track list, but the lyrical highs here far outweigh any monotonicity. While I don't think this album bests my favorites of CSNY, it is an indispensable entry in the folk rock genre.

My junior year of high school, my dad took me on a trip to New England to visit colleges. We were late smart phone adopters and didn't pay for satellite radio, so FM radio was our primary entertainment. As we channel-surfed through the Berkshires we stumbled onto a radio show called "Irish Power Hour". It was one of those moments of serendipity that don't seem to happen in today's algorithmically-driven world, and I can only imagine how much the Pogues, and this album, inspired the show. Much like that radio show, this album was a rollicking good time. The Pogues take a traditional Celtic sound and amp it up with what feels like the sort of gleeful irreverence you should expect from a good punk band. They convincingly spin tales of gambling, drinking and all other manners of debauchery (yes, even in their Christmas song!) that make you wonder how they lived long enough to make it through a recording session. Fiesta, a Latin and polka-inflected tune yielding musical blends I never thought to consider, is a particular standout to me. For all the fun, the album isn't perfect in my eyes. The Pogues sound begins to blend by the end of the album, and outside a couple exceptions (Thousands Are Sailing, a touching ode to Irish emigration to the United States, and Streets of Sorrow / Birmingham Six) the lyrics lack much in the way of depth. However, the album makes it very clear that the Pogues aren't too interested in making profound personal discoveries, and you shouldn't be either. For what this album is trying to be, it hit its mark in no uncertain terms.

Much like Johnny Cash's career, this album was marked by the highs and lows. As the fourth installment of his Rick Rubin-produced series of American Recordings, this album stuck to a familiar formula: Cash in his living room, accompanied by his guitar, playing the songs that were meaningful to him. By the time this album was released, this approach was tried, true and, some would say, a bit tired. The key difference here is that this collection of songs was recorded in the years directly before Cash’s death. This fact pervades every song on the album via Cash’s wearied voice, a stark contrast to the energetic baritone of his prime or even the first American Recordings album released 9 years prior. Cash’s vocals are the defining feature of this album, and its songs live and die by the effect they create. At the same time, Rubin adds slightly more extensive production elements in backing instrumentation and vocals. When these elements combine with the right song, the results are near perfect. It is cliché to mention at this point, but Hurt is one of the highlights of Cash’s storied career, and may be one of the most greatest songs of the 21st century. Trent Reznor’s already-powerful lyrics are injected with new life when joined with Cash’s haunting voice and personal history. If this album was included in the list of 1001 due to this song alone, I would understand perfectly. Similarly, Cash is at his best on this album on songs that juxtapose the outlaw image he cultivated throughout his career with his deep faith. The Man Comes Around, complete with Cash’s readings of Revelation, begins the album by stating the stakes of his life’s deeds in no uncertain terms. He wonderfully conveys his anticipation of the Final Day, and you can feel the confidence of his belief that, whatever will come to him, righteousness will be done. I Hung My Head also finds Cash meditating on guilt and accountability, with Sting’s classic Western story full of ambiguity. Not all songs achieve the desired effect. While the increased production was effective in some songs, it detracted from others. Bridge Over Troubled Water, for example, could have done without the strings and backing choir, which obscured the interplay between the primary vocals from Cash and Fiona Apple. However, on the whole the high points of this album far, far outweigh the misses.

I've got to give the Scissor Sisters some credit - they really went for it with their debut album. This was a wide-ranging album of felt like an antidote to the homogenized pop scene we have in 2025. The Scissor Sisters wear their influences on their sleeves, jumping between a dizzying collection of genres - glam rock, disco, dance pop, and others. While this scattershot approach certainly yielded its high points, there were also plenty of misses, and by leaning so heavily into their influences, it feels like Scissor Sisters do not have an identity of their own to speak to. Two songs into this album, I thought it could be a true winner. The swaggering opening track, Laura, and especially the follow-up, Take Your Mama, immediately set a tone. I was even willing to look past the discofied Comfortably Numb that came next, which, despite its popularity, was the first sign of some of the missteps to come. As the album continued, it became clear just how much Scissor Sisters were relying on the sounds of the giants on whose shoulders they stand. While Take Your Mama is the peak of this album, it is undeniably a slightly bluesy take on Elton John. Most of the songs that followed are, generously, heavily indebted to the iconic sounds of the Bee Gees, Prince, Bowie, George Michael, and again, Elton. Those songs that are not ripping off the icons of the 70s don't show a whole lot of great taste either. Filthy/Gorgeous in particular is a song I couldn't imagine listening to outside of a club, and I wouldn't enjoy it very much in that setting either. By the time Return to Oz, a Elton John - Queensryche sort of mashup, was finished I was simply at a loss. The songs taking on the well-known styles of the greats of yesteryear were palatable enough, and Take Your Mama is worth coming back to. But if that's the case, I may as well go listen to the originals, who, despite the Scissor Sisters' best efforts, still pull it off more convincingly. And what about the band's original sound? Does it exist? And if it does, do I trust them enough to build upon it in a fruitful direction? Unfortunately, the answer is a no on both counts - all I get is a relative flair for transgression and flamboyance. The high points on this record show that Scissor Sisters have the chops to make some good music. Originality (and grounding) is the remaining question after this release, and I haven't yet decided if a couple songs is enough to make me track their progress.

I probably don't have anything to say about this album that hasn't already been said, and certainly wouldn't be able to say it in a way that would do this album justice. For my money it's as close as pop music has come to perfection over the scale of an album. The popular narrative is that the Beatles won the arms race between the two bands with the release of Sgt. Pepper's, but while Sgt. Pepper may have been plenty innovative and culturally significant, it doesn't compare to Pet Sounds in terms of beauty, cohesiveness, and emotional heft. Even with the massive carousel-like soundscape the band was playing with on many tracks, there's not a note out of place and everything contributes beautifully to the album's reflections on life and love. Initially, the lyrics come off as a pretty basic, but more melancholy, extension of the girl-chasing songs of the Beach Boys' early records. I've seen some criticism of the album for the "adolescent" emotional range of the songs, but the lyrics here approach the relationship in a much more mature, if ambiguous, way. Maybe what we hear is that adolescent personality growing up and encountering the complicated reality of adulthood for the first time. When you're younger, it's so easy to rush forward, to try to do everything you're not yet able to (Wouldn't It Be Nice). But when you get to the stage where you can call your own shots, you begin to realize that life's not as simple as it used to be, and some part of you, however small, longs to return to those easier times, when you don't need to face those difficulties yet. This mixture of excitement at the prospect of a world wide open to you and mourning at what you've lost in getting to this point, along with the fear you face while you search for your way in this new world - that's what I feel in this album, and that feeling is more powerful to me now than ever. Musically, part of what I love about the album is that, despite the sometimes-odd choices and combinations of instruments and sound-effects, the individual components feel familiar. Unlike something like Sgt. Pepper or the Beatles' later studio trickery, Pet Sounds feels like the logical extension of Brian Wilson's pop symphonies, where he just changed the composition of the orchestra. My only complaint is that my dog likes to add to the end of Caroline, No, which makes it hard to enjoy this masterpiece on my speakers. But if that's my only complaint, we could be doing a heck of a lot worse.

Maybe I’m missing something on a first listen that I’ll pick up on in subsequent runs through this album, but I’m not picking up on what makes this album significant enough to land on this list. It’s not that it’s bad music, and I wouldn’t fault someone for liking it. But to my ears it just feels unremarkable. I knew nothing about this group or album before listening, but could pick up on strong Brit pop influences that made more sense once I saw the makeup of the band. It also explains my ambivalence to the album, since I’ve never grown to love Brit pop the way many others do. I think the concept of the album is has a lot of potential, and I’m hoping that as I revisit the album moving forward I’ll appreciate it more. Unfortunately I’m not hearing enough musically right now to make me want to come back to it immediately.

This album is a bit of a tale of two sides. I found the second side to be interesting at points and dull at others, but the first side - WOW. The first four songs paint an incredible picture of disorientation and disconnection in the modern world, sort of a thematic precursor to OK Computer. More than anything though, the rhythm section, and especially the percussion, create a driving energy to these songs that I absolutely loved. The second half of the album was a detour from the energy that was established in the first half, and for that reason, this isn't a perfect album for me. But I really can't get enough of the first side, hence the 5 star rating.

Now that reasonable people can agree that Kanye is a certifiable dirtbag, it's always been sort of funny to me that it took so many so long to realize this. This is literally his album about that entire topic, with the main difference being that this is about how he treats women rather than a certain ethnic group. The problem of the extent to which we as listeners should entertain the art from "problematic" personalities is one with a long history, but the case of this album is a bit different because Kanye addresses at least part of the issue head-on. The lyrical thread weaving through at least some of this album is the concept of Kanye's "fantasy" of abundant, submissive women waiting to be submitted to various acts of defilement. The opening track suggests that this is truly a fantasy, but given how things have turned out in the intervening years, I can sadly only conclude that it literally is all Kanye's aspirations amount to, and I need to take it more or less at face value. The best songs on the album, read generously, suggest that Kanye has gone through some examination of his personality with some amount of self-loathing, wondering what it is that makes him and his dreams so profoundly messed up. Runaway is the centerpiece of this, painting a sympathetic picture of someone who realizes that their personality is radioactive, and is probably my favorite song that Kanye has released throughout his career. POWER is another effective glimpse into the manic mind underlying his personality, with the "21st Century Schizoid Man" sample changing the way I hear that song. Meanwhile, Gorgeous serves as a searing indictment of racism in America, and Who Will Survive In America served as my introduction to Gil Scott-Heron, which I am grateful for. With lines like, "And what's a black Beatle anyway, a fucking roach? / I guess that's why they got me sitting in fucking coach", what more could you want? Turns out, maybe we need some signs that Kanye actually means what he says in these songs. While we get the sense that Kanye knows that he is a monster in need of reform, we also see that he revels in the twisted character he has devolved into. Hell Of A Life's pathetic glorification of a one night stand with a porn star serves to undermine any credibility built up in the preceding songs. It's a bit tough to imagine that Kanye is doing too much serious introspection when the lyrics are packed with lines about a beef with South Park, bruised esophaguses, and nuns climaxing. And it feels difficult to square Gorgeous with Kanye's actions in recent years without seeing his interpretation of discrimination as self-interested complaining rather than righteous indignation. With that in mind, did he include the Gil Scott-Heron poem because of the message or just because he liked the idea of America as a prostitute? I feel fine giving the benefit of the doubt to most artists, but with Kanye I'm not so sure. All in all that's what is so frustrating about this album to me. Its concept has loads of potential and we see this in glimpses throughout the track list. The production is excellent, and Kanye gathered a superstar lineup to feature on the album. But in the end he doesn't have the self-awareness to properly commit to the act, and that's what keeps the album as a whole from greatness.

This album strikes me as a collection of tolerable songs, with one or two tracks that are decently enjoyable listens. I'll readily admit a pre-existing bias against electronic music coming into this, and this album unfortunately didn't change my perspective on that. Too many of the effects used to break up synth-induced monotony just became annoying more than anything. I would probably appreciate it more if they were used to supplement more traditional instrumentation, or if they were prominent on a more limited set of songs. Some songs, like The Mother We Share, are pretty infectiously catchy. This might be a case of me coming to this genre a decade too late, but some of the vocal intonations (e.g. the oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh hook on The Mother We Share) were inescapable in my college years to the point that they were beaten to death. Points to CHVRCHES if they were the first to do it, though it's not a trend I look back on fondly. As the album continued, I noticed that my attention just started to drift. With the dance oriented nature of the music, I could imagine that the band intended for the songs to have a "groove" that sets in, but to me most of the songs just felt repetitive with the same synth riff(?) repeating ad infinitum. There are plenty of riff-driven songs from other bands that succeed in reaching the looping state that they were going for on this album, but I can't quite put my finger on what prevents these songs from reaching that point. Maybe it's the instrumentation, or lack thereof? I'm pretty unfamiliar with synth pop generally, and while I tried to go in with an open mind, this album just doesn't do much for me. There were some songs, especially early in the album, that had nice energy and the 80s synth feel was fun on some tracks, but this isn't anything that I would want to listen to without someone prompting me.

I'm usually not a huge fan of metal music generally. I enjoy some Black Sabbath and Metallica's more radio-friendly material, but my listening usually stops too far beyond the transition from hard rock to metal. Too often, I find newer metal music especially loses any semblance of melody, with the distorted power chord riffs and growling vocals becoming unlistenable after a while. So I wasn't expecting much from this nu-metal album created by a band with one of the clunkiest names I've seen yet. To System of a Down's credit, there are points they execute what they are trying to do here pretty well. Lead singer Serj Tankian is clearly capable even if I don't personally go for the growling and screeching vocals that are far too prevalent in metal these days. The rest of the band are talented as well, with some interesting drumming and guitar-work. And the band does a nice job of incorporating variety both between and within songs. Sugar is one example of a success from this album, with theatrical verses laid over a rolling bass line and punctuated by sparse guitar work. Peephole is another standout to me, with polka-inflected verses leading into heavy guitar riffs in the chorus. The lyrics of the album initially intrigued me, began to get a bit one-note as the album went on. Common themes are religion (it's the "opiate of the masses" and can make people do bad stuff), drugs are bad (just say no kids!), and mind control (think for yourself!). Sometimes this is done well; Suite-Pee was effective lyrically, and Spiders had an interesting premise. But while the lyrics tackle topics not approached by many other bands, they don't show any sort of nuance. Too often, they just serve as a way to facilitate screeching and roaring and growling. The number of times something is encouraged to "DIE!!!!!!!" is a bit absurd. There's a chance I could've found this edgy and cool if I had found this album as a 14-year-old, but to me now it just comes off a bit goofy. Similarly, though the album has its fair share of musical bright spots, it doesn't break far enough from the metal stereotypes for me. Besides the guitar solos in Soil and lyrics of War?, the sequence of Soil, War?, and Mind musically embodies much of what I dislike about metal. The result for me is a pretty mixed bag. I can certainly see how this was a breath of fresh air when it was first released and I'd probably enjoy it if I were a bit more hardcore. But for the softie that inhabits the real-world right now, the high points on this album don't improve the listening experience enough to bring me back.

I approached this album without much familiarity with Morrissey's work besides a passing familiarity with the sound of the Smiths. Having not had the right combination of melancholy and moderate angst in my teenage years, they never quite clicked with me. But if there's any piece of the Smiths that stands out to me, it is Morrissey's vocals, so I was still ready to give this a shot. On my first listen through this album, most tracks struck me as unremarkable but well-polished, with the lush rhythm guitar standing out to me. About half of the songs wouldn’t draw any eyes as slightly offbeat material for an AOR radio station. With the instrumentation coming across as solid but relatively safe, the focus here is clearly Morrissey's lyrics. Of the album's singles, the standout on this front is Now My Heart Is Full, which opens the album on a touching note about finding belongingness among a group of what I take to be outcasts with fun Dickensian names. Other high points are Lifeguard Sleeping, Girl Drowning and The Lazy Sunbathers, which pair caustic lyrical criticism with Morrissey's most convincing vocals on the record. But some songs missed the mark lyrically. I Am Hated for Loving lacks self-awareness, and points on The More You Ignore Me, the Closer I Get are overwritten and self-absorbed at best, and moreso come across as creepy. To my ears, though, what started to drag the album down was a disconnect between the lyrical content of the songs and Morrissey's vocal delivery. Speedway serves as the best example of this from the album. It’s supposed to be an angry, defiant song. The lyrics are clearly personal, argumentative. The backing instrumentation is as driving as anything on this record. It even has a chainsaw! And yet, Morrissey’s vocals sound the same as any other song on the album - no bite, no anger, just the same soft, floating delivery.  And as I listened through the album again, what ultimately hit me is that Morrissey comes off as a very one dimensional singer. He does very well with ballads, and sometimes these can be beautiful. But he doesn't bring much to anything upbeat or with an emotion other than a moderate depression, and can sometimes detract in those situations. He's the vocal equivalent of a wet blanket, and that's not always what is needed. Ultimately, the lack of emotional range, coupled with the relatively benign instrumentation and production on most of the tracks hinders the album. Gone are the more forward-driving jangle-pop rhythms of the Smiths, which can create a strange dynamic with Morrissey's vocals on some songs, but also helps to balance the emotional palette. Here, the tracks seem to fall into a bit of a rut; many of the songs are melancholy but not outright depressing, a little frustrated but not angry. I imagine it's like walking outside for 15 minutes on a misty, overcast spring day; it's a bit of a bummer, but not very notable. It's just not going to stick with me at all, unfortunately, and even the better songs on the album aren't enough to keep me coming back.

Unless you count Led Zeppelin, I haven't spent too much time listening to metal - it's always just felt a bit too dark, too aggressive for me to want to listen to routinely. But I have mostly enjoyed what I have heard from Metallica to this point, so I was excited to give this album a listen. Coming away from this album now, while I still don't think I'll be turning this on regularly, I can't help but be impressed. One shift I have been trying to make throughout the course of this project is viewing album-based music more like classical music, where there are different "forms", each trying to achieve different aims. And while metal music may not be my preferred form, there is no doubt in my mind that this is one of the best examples of it, certainly the best that I have heard.

More than anything, a live album is a tradeoff between audio fidelity and something intangible that comes from playing for a crowd. In the case of Motorhead's No Sleep 'Til Hammersmith, this dynamic is on full display. To their credit, Motorhead bring an incredible energy to their performances. This is music that demands your attention. It is fast, loud and brash, and critically, you get a sense of character from the live shows that you would never get from Motorhead's studio albums. Throughout the album, Eddie Clarke's aggressive guitar serves as the clear standout. Particular highlights for me include No Class, Motorhead and the aptly named Overkill. Phil Taylor's drumming is also tight and relentless, particularly on Overkill. However, despite the impressive energy that comes through in the live recordings and the fact that the shows must've been incredible to attend, there's no getting around the fact that the album itself doesn't sound very good. To my ears, the bass sounds buried in the mix and the entire album sounds tinny, as though it were recorded using an audience member's bootleg pocket tape recorder. Where some live albums will keep transitions between songs intact, or at least disguise the transitions to maintain an immersive experience, the cuts between songs were handled pretty crudely. It also doesn't necessarily help that Lemmy Kilmister sounds like he's been chain smoking anything that would burn for the previous decade. But even after taking the downsides into account, I can only view this album as a relative success. It gave me a sense of Motorhead's character as a band and had me enjoying plenty of songs from a band that I had largely written off before this listen.

Of the post-punk acts I have been exposed to, Echo and the Bunnymen are without a doubt the most niche of the bunch. So what differentiates them from the better-known post-punk and new wave groups operating at the time, like Joy Division, the Cure, and the Talking Heads? Ultimately, not enough for me. Much like their contemporaries, the sound and feel of this album is defined by a sense of melancholy and anger. In a way, I feel like they struck a nice balance - they avoid digging too deep into the despair of a group like Joy Division, and incorporate more melodic sensibilities, with some psychedelic and Indian flavors added. Singer Ian McCulloch’s vocals are mournful and, in my opinion, offer an upgrade over many other post-punk vocalists. However, by charting a middle path, the Bunnymen also lose some of what makes the other groups stand out. At the time Porcupine was released, the post-punk movement had been running for several years, and not much of what they did here would sound new anymore. To me, some of the songs on this album sounded strikingly like a blend of Bowie and the Talking Heads without hitting the highs of either. Maybe I’m coming up short in an attempt to be even-handed as I’m admittedly starting to tire of the post-punk depression that I’ve been revisiting repeatedly, but I’m sure I would have gotten to this point over the years this sound had been in play by the time this album was released. This feeling of underwhelm pervaded my perception of the album for me. It was a perfectly fine release, but didn’t do anything to stand out in the wake of what had come before it. I doubt I will be returning to it.

It's always been funny to me that such an excellent encapsulation of the history, culture, and above all, sound of the American South came from a group of (mostly) Canadians. Maybe it's that slight degree of separation that allowed them to pull this off - The Band would have the familiarity needed to feel at home in the American folk sound while having the opportunity to view the American project as outsiders relatively unencumbered by the baggage that Americans inherit. What truly stands out to me in this project, particularly when compared to some of the takes on similar subject matter from the same time period, is the empathy that the Band brings to the lyrics and music. Unlike fellow Canadian Neil Young, the Band are primarily interested in understanding the South rather than providing their own commentary. Both musically and lyrically, they do this through an examination of the common man. Though more modern readings have tended to view it as an apologetic take on the Confederacy, "The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down" is a perfect example of this empathy. It mourns the fall of the Confederacy by focusing on the implications and motivations for the poor white man caught up in the wheels of history. We get a picture of someone unconcerned with slavery and secession and without the luxury of considering the morality of the conflict. He thinks in terms of his family, his livelihood, and their connection to the land on which he lives. Yes, the song may help to feed the Lost Cause myth among those inclined to defend it. But standing alone, the song is striking in its ability to relate to someone in a very different place, time, and political climate. Musically, the Band consistently present unorthodox but interesting instrumental combinations. In keeping with the folk feel of the album, many songs sound as though they were played live with whatever instruments the group had on hand. It serves as a stark contrast to the studio experimentation and psychedelic soundscapes so popular in the late '60s. The album doesn't rely on much in the way of virtuoso performances from any one member of the band, but just about every element is dripping with character. What this adds up to is an understated record that gets better with each listen. While it may not be loaded with hit singles, it paradoxically explores the culture and heritage of the South more authentically than just about anything else that has come out since.

The hits from the album have been played to the point of exhaustion for 50 years now, so it’s easy to lose sight of the fact that the Eagles could have felt new when this album was first released. When revisiting their debut album this time, I tried to put myself in the frame of mind that I would have had I first heard this in 1972. This wasn’t the band whose greatest hits record had outsold every album but Thriller; this was a group formed from Linda Ronstadt’s backing band with plenty to prove. And with that being the case, I view this as an uneven but promising introduction to what would become one of the defining bands in American music. More than anything, this album succeeds at creating a sound that captures the essence of a breezy Southern California day. It’s not the surf music of the Beach Boys early days - this has a clear country flavor. They take cues from Crosby Stills Nash and Young and some of the other folk rock groups of the time, but there’s something distinctly Californian about it; you can’t help but picture open road through the desert, the sun beating down. Take It Easy is a classic for good reason - more than any other song on this album or throughout their discography, it is the clearest distillation of this sound and feel. Peaceful Easy Feeling offers a slightly softer take on this sound as well, with Nightingale being a third offering that feels a bit fresher at this point. The other major hit from this record, Witchy Woman, served as an interesting detour sonically, incorporating a darker sound and more accusatory lyrics than many of their other songs. However, while the hits deserve the air time they have received over the years, the album is pulled down somewhat by the throwaway tracks, which make up nearly half the songs. Most Of Us Are Sad and Train Leaves Here This Morning are snoozers that do very little for me. Meanwhile, Chug All Night, one of the band’s attempts at a rocker, is an early indication of a deficiency that would hamper the Eagles in their early years - they have no bite at this stage. Take The Devil, with Randy Meisner on vocals, has the most edge of anything on the album, but it doesn't compensate for the softness of much of the rest of the album, and it was a while before the Eagles returned to anything with that feel. In the end, the Eagles gave us a strong but imperfect debut effort. At its worst, the Eagles gave a tutorial on how to put the "soft" in "soft rock". Musically, there isn't anything revolutionary going on here. But the peaks of the album are career-defining successes that I, along with so many others, will keep coming back to for a very long time.

Listening to this album has me wondering if, in the early 80s, there was just some insatiable appetite for endless variants of the British post-punk/new wave/synth pop formula that had sprung up several years earlier. The The's Soul Mining offers yet another entry in this category, and while it serves as a somewhat fresh take on its subgenre, this album left me feeling like it didn't sufficiently add to the sandbox it played in to stand out. That's not to say that the album was a bore. More than many of the bands operating in the same space at the time, songwriter Matt Johnson varies the sound we hear on the album as he embraces a more radio-friendly tone on several songs than his contemporaries. Distinct instrumentation cuts through the synth and drum machine on several songs, notably the percussion of The Twilight Hour and the fantastic piano solo to close out the album's highlight, Uncertain Smile. I also appreciated the hints of light that appeared at a couple points on the album on the aforementioned Uncertain Smile and This Is The Day, the track that garnered the most air time from this album. Additionally, there are points of lyrical or musical experimentation that work out well. The noise-filled opener, I’ve Been Waiting For Tomorrow, achieved a disorienting effect that effectively communicated the song’s message of self-disgust without forcing me to skip the song - a triumph when compared to plenty of industrial rock. And every now and then Johnson’s lyrics would come across as outlandish in an amusing way (“Peeling the skin back from my eyes”). But the same traits that work out well in some instances fall flat in others. Lyrically, Johnson likes to start his songs by setting a vivid scene before progressing into a repetitive, mantra-like chorus. While this is effective for one or two songs, it became formulaic over the course of the album. Likewise, the grotesque, dissociated feel that helps some lines pop also comes off as overdramatic and overwritten in plenty of other cases. Altogether, some lyrics feel composed by a student in a creative writing class who would benefit from an editor. And, while I’m sure Johnson has faced down his share of demons, I can’t ignore the fact that most of the songs fall back on the tried and true post-punk combination of isolation, disorientation, and the moral bankruptcy of Thatcherite Britain. On Giant, the lyrical pitfalls coalesce with musical shortcomings in an unfortunate way. This is a big (some would say giant), 9 and a half minute song that just misses the mark, with lyrical content that retreads ground covered in the previous songs on the album. The song leans on a synth and drum machine line that was fun to begin with but overstayed its welcome. The drum interlude midway through the song, which called to mind Soft Cell’s transition between Tainted Love and Where Did Our Love Go, had the potential to turn this track into something special - if it had lead somewhere worth going. Instead, we returned to the same beat as before with some added choral chanting, marking a huge missed opportunity that ultimately doomed the song in my eyes. I have been struggling to reconcile with my relative ambivalence toward this album, which objectively is an emotionally charged record that takes some big musical swings. While I would view many parts of this album more favorably had I heard it in isolation, when taken in the context of the music of its time, it doesn’t seem as though it’s breaking as much new ground. This leaves me respecting the approach to the work, but not always loving the end result.

Broadly speaking, there are two categories of artistic failures. The most common these days, especially in risk-averse, commercially-dominated fields like the music industry, is to play things too safe, to produce something tolerable to the broadest possible audience. But every now and then we get an example of the opposite, where a truly intrepid (or delusional) soul indulges their ambitions, throws caution to the wind in pursuit of greatness and goes down in a blaze of glory. American Gothic belongs definitively in this second category. Conceptually, this is an album dripping with potential. A richly orchestrated reflection on the character of America and her children blending the sounds of the folk singer-songwriter with the theater - Ackles was clearly a man looking not just to reserve his spot next to Gershwin in the pantheon of American music, but to be grouped with Twain and Steinbeck as interlocutors with the country’s soul. In the end, the problem that he encountered is that the art needs to be worth viewing, the story worth reading, and the music worth listening to, before it can influence a nation’s view of itself. Strangely enough, the album is at its best in its least distinctive songs. Love’s Enough is a wistful piano ballad with a melody charming enough to have been written expressly for Barry Manilow, and One Night Stand laments the romantic sacrifices of life on the road. Ackles’s lyrics also have some moments that border on compelling. His tales of characters in tough spots provide a template for some of Springsteen's best songs. But the narratives here lack the universality of Springsteen, the humor of John Prine, or even the personal connection that Harry Chapin brings to similar songs. There are also repeated cases where Ackles takes a song that could be thought-provoking, then removes all ambiguity or possibility for interpretation, with the Ballad of the Ship of State being the most cringe-inducing example of this. In plenty of cases I'm willing to look past uneven lyricism if the music is there to make up for it. Unfortunately, this album is quite a mess musically, with most of the traits that distinguish it falling flat. About a third of the songs are generic piano ballads like those mentioned above, with some marking relative success (Love's Enough), and others verging overly sappy territory (Waiting for the Moving Van). They aren't offensive, but they give the feeling of a poor man's Neil Diamond song. Then there are the showtunes, which certainly stand out, but are almost uniformly ill-conceived or poorly executed for one reason or another, whether it is the truly awful choral vocals on Family Band or the offputting jazz backing on Blues for Billy Whitecloud. There are some instances where the orchestral arrangements support a song, but in most cases they feel out of place, and Ackles isn’t a good enough singer to pull off some of the more ambitious vocal attempts on the album. I won't say that it's *complete* unmitigated trash - there are some redeeming points - but American Gothic is definitively not good music. I have quite a bit of patience for the theatrical influences Ackles plays with here. But for this theatrical approach to be successful, it is necessary to pull those pieces together into a cohesive sound, and he doesn't do that here. I have seen quotes from some artists I think highly of suggesting that Ackles was producing brilliant work that just didn't find the right audience. But just like genius and madness can be separated by the finest of lines, this record has potential that Ackles just wasn't able to fulfill. The album may have ended a failure, but I have to give Ackles credit for the attempt.

I've never been the biggest fan of the White Stripes, but I enjoy many of the songs of theirs that I have heard, and I can see why they've been called the last (or at least most recent) great rock band. The sound on many of their hits has leaned a little too much toward garage rock for my preferences, but I took this album to be a pretty substantial shift away from their typical sound. It's no surprise to me that Blue Orchid is the most popular song off the album, as it's really the only track that sticks closely to the propulsive bluesy garage rock formula that made the White Stripes such a big name. Most of the other songs depart from this style and, in my opinion, achieve mixed success. My Doorbell is my favorite song from the album by a pretty wide margin. I also love the use of marimba on The Nurse, though the randomly spaced guitar and drum inserts detract from a great vibe. The album loses some steam on the second side, hence the rating. The band were playing with some interesting ideas, though. I'll be returning to this out sheer curiosity if nothing else.

Nothing horrible, but really nothing that made me pay attention either, or anything that I would particularly want to pay attention to if I were to listen to this again. The combination of the album’s length and the short songs made the whole experience feel disjointed and unfinished to me.

My first impression of this album was that it was on the enjoyable side of bland overall. At the time it was released, it would have provided a sunnier feel than much of the grunge-dominated airwaves of the period, which I would have welcomed. But taken out of that context, it sounds very much of its time in a way that most truly great albums transcend. With that said, though, it's not bad music, and I'll give this another few listens to see what I missed on the first run through.

Following in the wake of Born to Run, which I would argue is Springsteen's greatest album, Darkness on the Edge of Town feels like the angsty twin in a lot of ways. So much of Springsteen's best work explores how people find meaning in difficult circumstances, where a previously good life, or the hope of one in the future, has disappeared. Do you try to escape to something better, do you accept your lot in life, or do you fight? If Born to Run dealt with an attempt to escape to a better life or die trying, Darkness on the Edge of Town was Springsteen’s first extended look at the other two possibilities. While the youthful exuberance of Rosalita and hope laced throughout Born to Run are still here in glimpses (e.g. Badlands and Prove It All Night), it is disappearing, replaced by darker, angrier themes. No song better exemplifies this comparison than Racing in the Street, the story of a young man who races to escape the suffocating drudgery of everyday life, inflicting pain on those around him. What first comes off as youthful rebellion is exposed as avoidance of responsibility once the narrator reveals the story of his girlfriend/wife in the final verse. The car in Born to Run served as Springsteen's universal symbol of freedom and the chance of a better life, but here it is transformed into just another vice trapping the characters in their place. Part of what makes this album so effective is how Springsteen is able to seamlessly blend the personal and societal. In some cases, like Factory, the personal stories he tells have explicitly political implications. But in others, like the title track, he takes the personal and draws universal conclusions. Does the "darkness" Springsteen refers to indicate the personal hardship referenced in the song, the failures of the nation to take care of the working class in the time of stagflation, or a spiritual or moral darkness that is creeping into the narrator's soul? In a way, it could be any of them depending on your focus. Musically, this is a great album but not perfect in the way that Born to Run is. Something in the Night and Streets of Fire, in particular, are plodding and overdrawn, and are the closest things to misses he has in a 5-album run. Vocally, Springsteen is as emotive as ever, but at times his grunts and moans border on unintelligible. At the same time, we don't hit the same peak that we reach on Born to Run. But to get caught up on the fact that the album regresses slightly in the music being played would be to miss the emotional power that shines through at so many points.

Honestly, not much that is very noteworthy here. Their cover of Only Love Can Break Your Heart was ... fine? I found Wilson to be more interesting, with the layered vocal conversations, but this is basically Pink Floyd set to a beat. This music feels like a good substitute for ambient music - it's decent "mood" music for vibing to without giving it too much attention. When I was able to give it some attention, I was pleasantly surprised by some interesting lyrics. But getting to that point was a bit of a chore.

This is an album with two great songs, one good one, and one that turns into a bit of a snoozer. Unfortunately, Vein Melter closes the album off on a down note for me, losing the melodic quality that made the rest of the album so fun. But the bottle sound on Watermelon Man is inventive and man the bass line on Chameleon slaps. Bonus points for the album cover.

Knowing nothing about the Pharcyde coming into this, and having very little exposure to alternative hip hop in general, I was very positively surprised by this album. Yes, the lyrics are sophomoric in the most literal sense of the word, and there are plenty of moments that likely would have come off as offensive upon release in the 90s and certainly do by today’s sensibilities. And yet I really enjoyed it. The overwhelming sense you get as the listener is that this is a group having fun while recording, and you can’t help but join, even if they make a few jokes at your expense along the way. There were plenty of points where they had me laughing out loud, both with some of their goofier lyrics and with production choices, like some loud belches that added to a few songs. I can’t help but wonder how my enjoyment of this record will trend as I listen to it more. It’s possible that the jokes will grow stale, and I could see myself wishing the group took on some more substantial topics lyrically. But for right now, the Pharcyde made a record that I want to hear again because I enjoyed it, not just because it’s “interesting” - and that counts for a lot.

Transcendent highs mixed with some pleasant, if plodding, filler. It's unclear to me whether this feeling is justified or not, but I have become increasingly cynical about the state of the music industry in recent years, particularly since the streaming takeover deepened in the mid 2010s. More and more, music, like the ultraprocessed foods that have been making headlines, has been depleted of any semblance of soul or personality and broken down into its constituent parts, which are then recombined into sonic bites that target some emotion, vibe, or "aesthetic", ready to be algorithmically mixed into a personalized playlist and played when the moment calls for just that sort of sound. Sigur Ros's Agaetis byrjun may have been released well before the advent of Spotify's recommendations, but it is clear to me that it was created with the express goal of touching that part of our brain that registers awe and beauty. I had no hope of understanding what this album’s lyrics mean, so I approached this listen exclusively from a sonic angle. What I heard is a band that, at their best, play with gorgeous lunar soundscapes that I would compare to some of Brian Eno’s ambient work (Apollo in particular comes to mind). The "lunar" comparison is particularly apt given that nearly every song on the album gives the feeling like you are bounding over the moon or swimming through honey. Things move in slow motion - you couldn't speed up even if you wanted to. The band play with vast combinations of some piercing sounds, but there are no strong impacts to speak of, and songs build and recede in swells while somewhat harsh vocals seem to float over the instrumentation. When done properly, the cinematic, transporting effect is fascinating. The highs on this album are positively transcendent, particularly Svefn-g-englar, which achieves that stop-you-in-your-tracks sound that Sigur Ros must have been going for, even if you don't dig into the lyrics describing a newborn baby coming to life. However, if the album is an attempt to stretch this atmosphere over the full 71-minute run time, the results are a bit mixed for me. Given that nearly every song is at least 7 minutes long, Sigur Rós give you plenty of time to absorb the atmosphere they create. When successful this works wonderfully, but when the sounds they experiment with don’t come off quite right the consistently slow tempo can make things plod along. At points, what I'm sure reads as standout beauty to some often comes across to me as overwrought. The strings in Staralfur just *scream* emotion but I find them a bit grating by the end of the song. The layered vocals, strings, piano and guitar feedback toward the end of Hjartao hamast give me similar impressions, reaching for a vast soundscape in a way that wears on me. Other cases are even frustrating to me because the band will have a great concept at the core of a song, only to lose track of it. Viorar vel til loftarasa is a perfect example of this - it has about a minute of beauty buried after 8 minutes of blandness and followed by a minute of more classical string pretensions. But that minute sure makes you think. This is an album that seeks to establish a certain vibe and runs with it. It's successful at that without a doubt. In doing so, though, there are some points where the music itself just loses me. Given how many sounds Sigur Ros play with, they do a nice job of pulling everything together into a coherent sound, at points melding discordant sounds into a gorgeous output. As what I view as an ambient-adjacent album, it feels fitting to me that I'll take only one or two songs with me for active listening. But maybe, just maybe, I'll reach for this the next time the "Ambient Dreamscapes" playlist on Spotify calls to me.

Especially with the benefit of hindsight, it's pretty hard to know what to make of this album. As Amy Winehouse's debut, it's not hard to see why it made such a splash - Amy's talent is undeniable. But wow, what a depressing picture of the self-destruction that we now know was coming. Being only 19 at the time, I don't come away surprised that Amy's songwriting is raw, but I was caught off guard by just how openly unlikable she is. Right from the opener, Stronger Than Me, she declares a dependence on the man in her life while insulting him for not fulfilling this need, gratuitous homophobia and all. As the rest of the album plays out, it's clear that this is just one stage of a vicious cycle of lusting and chasing after bad men, then discarding them when they no longer meet the moment's need, all while insulting the other women who do the same thing and emotionally scarring herself in the process. The whole thing would be heartbreaking to see if she didn't seem so determined to throw away any sympathy we may feel for the situation. There are plenty of successful projects where an artist shines a light on their own personality flaws. But self-awareness is key to success in this type of work, and it is missing far too often in this album. To be fair, there are some glimpses of a deeper understanding here. Amy Amy Amy, in particular, shows her recognition of the repetitive nature of her relationship troubles, with Amy's better influences seemingly trying to pull her out of this cycle. With some willingness to read into the situational humor of the lyrics, I Heard Love Is Blind tries to straddle the boundary between insightful and unapologetically repellent in its excusing of infidelity. In the context of the remaining songs, though, it becomes difficult to give Amy the benefit of the doubt. In spite of it all, the album comes close to succeeding through Amy's sheer raw talent. In its best flashes, she offers a sneering take on Billie Holiday meeting 90s R&B. The jazz-infused vocals and bouncing bass lines laid the framework for her breakthrough with Back to Black. While that newer album allowed Amy to establish a stronger musical identity, the ground covered in her lyrics remained strikingly similar. Where in Frank her antics harmed herself and anyone who got close to her, by Back to Black, it was clear that she was her own primary victim.

An oddball collection of songs, but there are some likable moments here. I'm sure there are audiophiles out there who will love some of the more interesting instrumental backings. But altogether, the album doesn't cohere into any clear musical statement, and too many tracks would make a good fit for a Youtube lo-fi study video. It's a mostly enjoyable listen, but nothing all that noteworthy.

For a band that may be best remembered for helping to define the rock opera form, it has always struck me as a bit funny that perhaps their most important rock opera never came to fruition. For me, the Lifehouse project remains one of rock's great "what-ifs", but if we can judge by Who's Next, which is almost entirely composed of individual tracks from the project, the finished vision would have been incredible. As it stands, Who's Next is one of the great albums of the classic rock era. In a way, diverging from the rock opera format allows a greater focus on the individual tracks of this album, and the Who excel at layered arrangements in several spots. For example, Baba O'Riley builds from it's synth-based intro with guitar, drums, bass, and finally Roger Daltrey's vocals joining to create one of rock's great anthems. This also comes into play on Getting In Tune, which initially sounds like a John Entwistle special, but again builds beautifully. Taken separately, each member of the band could threaten to overtake the others in any given song. But somehow Keith Moon's thundering drums, Entwistle's intricate bass-work, and Daltrey's over-the-top vocals come together without ever getting out of control. It feels like a musical version of the racecar driver careening around the track on the verge of a wreck. Credit goes to Townshend and his aversion to guitar solos. If anything keeps this album from perfection, the lack of the original rock opera structure robs some of the songs of their lyrical impact, with The Song Is Over being one example of this. Some manage to stand on their own though. Behind Blue Eyes, the erstwhile theme for Lifehouse's villain, still comes through as a near-perfect expression of isolation. Meanwhile, the album's closer, Won't Get Fooled Again, thrives outside the thematic strictures of a greater story. The song remains the greatest the Who ever recorded, and for my money the climax of the song - Moon's building drums leading out of the synth solo and into Daltrey's scream - is one of the quintessential rock n roll moments. In songs like these, Who’s Next features The Who at the top of their game musically. Not bad for the remnants of a discarded project.

Time to Pretend and Kids feature some of the most iconic synth riffs this side of 2000. Beyond those hits and the catchy Electric Feel, there's not much that stands out besides lyrics that range from inane (The Youth) to cringeworthy. According to MGMT, childhood consists of picking bugs or worms from their natural habitat, and an attractive girl is best compared to an electric eel. Clearly, we're best off not thinking this through too deeply. The music has some interesting points - the percussion on 4th Dimensional Transition calls Vampire Weekend to mind, and the dreamlike backing instrumentals of The Youth are pleasant, though the song begins to annoy by the finish. However, this is an altogether uneven effort held afloat by the inescapable synth hits.

I can understand the case for this album being influential for the development of metal, but that doesn't make it an enjoyable listen. Maybe this points to its influence, but too many of the songs play like a mashup of the worst stereotypes of metal music (mercifully without the growling that hadn't taken hold yet). Venom comes off as the lovechild of Motorhead and a satanist, but they must have missed out on the musicality genes, which was never too strong with Motorhead to begin with. If the music was any good maybe I could get behind the satanic obsession, but in the absence of much interesting going on musically it just seems goofy. Realistically, what am I supposed to make of the lyrics? Am I supposed to relate to any of this stuff? Of course, the one song of any interest to those committed to the land of the living is Teacher's Pet. The bluesy interlude in this song was a nice departure from what came before and afterwards, but in an album full of bad lyrics this one really stands out. Did they think they were being clever, rhyming "pet" with "wet"? It's horrible. If this song and Hot for Teacher were horny high-schoolers, Hot for Teacher would be the popular class clown, and Teacher's Pet would be the incel lurking in the back row, devoid of any charm or sense of humor. And that lack of charm is ultimately the overarching problem throughout the album - not much of it is outright offensive, but there's also nothing to like. Some songs have good elements to them, but the good is outweighed by the bad in almost every case. And even if I was inclined to go for this kind of sound, or if I was in to human sacrifice, just about every aspect of what Venom did on this album has been done better elsewhere. Maybe this is one of those albums that everyone should hear once, but needless to say, I won't be returning to it.

There were some genuinely great moments on this album. For another one of these relatively niche British bands that I hadn’t heard of, this group was properly dynamic at points. The Whole of the Law makes for a nice opening track, and the higher energy, punk-sounding songs, like Another Girl, Another Planet shine as well. Unfortunately, the vocals start to drag as the album progresses and robs certain songs in particular of any emotional significance. It sounds like they were going for a drawling, British version of Lou Reed, and it just got annoying. With all that said, though, this album did enough well to make me curious to see how this band progressed if they were putting this out today.

To be sure, this isn't Talking Heads best album. But what a great way to introduce yourself to the world. What comes through most is the incredible personality of the band - David Byrne obviously gets a lot of attention, and his vocal theatrics are one-of-a-kind. But the rhythm section also puts in a standout performance throughout, incorporating grooving bass lines with an eclectic mix of percussion, including steel drums and xylophone. At several points during the album, I struggled to figure out just how seriously to take the band, with sunny-sounding instrumentals butting up against lyrics that could only be taken as ironic. They are clearly a smart, art-focused group, but without coming off as overly pretentious. With some lulls on the first side of the record, this album didn't reach the near-perfection of Remain in Light, but it makes a strong template to build from.

This was a perfectly enjoyable listen with plenty of songs I’d probably like getting to know better over time, but I’m not quite convinced this is a “great” album. The influence on Tracy Chapman is unmistakable, but Armatrading’s lyrics lack the bite of Chapman’s social commentary. She comes closer to chasing the intimacy of the best work from Carole King or Joni Mitchell, but it doesn’t have quite the same impact for me. What we end up with is a solid overall effort, but one that I would more likely add to my rotation for variety rather than its own merits.

If I were to compare bands to baseball players, Queen would be the musical Jim Thome - a swing-and-miss power hitter who swung big at every opportunity. And, when all was said and done, an undisputed hall of famer. Queen could never be accused of going halfway on anything, and this record saw them at what was probably the peak of their extravagance, encapsulating all the drama of the album’s namesake. And while not everything here comes off perfectly, I can’t imagine another band attempting what Queen did and achieving this kind of success. As with most things Queen did, Freddy Mercury's vocals are at the center of what makes this work stand out. He had a knack for emphasizing certain notes or words in a way that just brought a smile to my face. In the songs where he wasn't the lead vocalist, there was a notable dropoff, though I can't bring myself to hate I'm In Love With My Car the way others seem to. Brian May's guitar work is also excellent throughout the album, and I love the playing with different tones. That playfulness is taken to an extreme at some points, like Seaside Rendezvous, in a way that is a lot of fun. Where the double album is known as a chance for an artist to include some of their more zany experiments (e.g. the White Album or Goodbye Yellow Brick Road), Queen manages to pack it all into two sides. We have hard rockers (Death On Two Legs, Sweet Lady), vaudeville (Lazing on a Sunday Afternoon), shanty ('39), piano ballad (Love Of My Life), and whatever you'd classify Bohemian Rhapsody as. Even if some of the attempts could be improved in my estimation, like the cool a capella section in The Prophet's Song that goes on a bit long for me, the album ultimately comes together into a wonderfully eclectic picture of what makes Queen great. And of course, Bohemian Rhapsody is like a 6-minute distillation of all the craziness we get throughout the whole album. If Good Vibrations was Brian Wilson's attempt at a "pocket symphony", then Bohemian Rhapsody is a veritable pocket opera. It's over the top in all the best ways and is still underappreciated, perhaps simply because we have been able to get familiar with it over the past 50 years. As for the album as a whole, it won't be to everyone's taste. But, undoubtedly, everyone should hear it at least once.

Leonard Cohen is often mentioned among the great lyricists of the rock era. Unfortunately, to an even greater extent than Dylan, vocal shortcomings overshadow the lyrical abilities to the point that if you’re listening to a Leonard Cohen song, it’s probably being sung by someone else (it’s also probably called Hallelujah). I’d be surprised to see many covers of songs off this album, though. Highly personal and thoroughly religious in a way that you don’t hear too often in popular music, this was Cohen’s confrontation with aging and death. From what I was able to grasp on two listens through, the lyrics are poignant, haunting, and very well executed. But as a piece of music…. Well, let’s just say that this album is not to my taste. Again, to my ears, Cohen has never been a good vocalist, but in this case I actually think the impact of time has helped him. He is obviously trying to stay away from long held notes or anything much in the way of tonality. Funnily, that actually helps to steer him away from the aspects I like least of his previous work. Outside of the lyrics, the album is most interesting from a production standpoint. Cohen’s voice is dominant in the mix, and it sounded almost like what I imagine the voice of God would sound like. His voice is worn and tired in a way that emphasizes the feeling that this is his preparation for death and the next great step. But this album shares those elements with Johnny Cash’s American Recordings albums and David Bowie’s Blackstar, which spiritually feel like this album’s closest points of comparison in recent years. And I find myself enjoying those albums much, much more. In the end, as powerful as the lyrics may be, I don’t see myself returning to Cohen’s project in the way I routinely do with the others.

Perhaps this album was a true pioneer in the hip hop genre, but I found it to be a bit of a mixed bag musically. Being a clear product of the 80s, there are some fun mixes of beats with synths, and I can imagine some of the songs being a good fit for parties (e.g. Who You Funkin' With). But too many of the songs aren't all that well constructed, particularly on the first side of the album. The lyrics are pretty inane, the songs go on far too long without much good reason, and there are some pretty bad production lapses where one or two of the rappers sound like they are several feet away from the mic. Altogether, this feels like a snapshot of a genre in its incubation phase. It's cool to look back on, kind of like the early mass-market cameras, but has clearly been surpassed and doesn't make for the best listening experience now.

The style isn't necessarily to my taste, but there's no denying that Hill brings talent and a cohesive musical vision to the project.

You'd be forgiven for not expecting much from Drive-By Truckers when this album was first released. Their sound is heavy-handed and abrasive, especially when Patterson Hood fills the lead vocal role, and their first two albums, Gangstabilly and Pizza Deliverance, included songs titled Buttholeville and The President's Penis Is Missing. So I could imagine the surprise when they followed these early entries up with a double album reflecting on the South's relationship with its racist past and the Lost Cause narrative, partially told through the lens of Lynyrd Skynyrd's career and demise. As would be expected for a rock opera where the hero follows Ronnie Van Zant's path, the sound of Lynyrd Skynyrd is inescapable throughout this album, while DBT inject their own menacing feel and subject matter. In keeping with the band's typical approach, there are plenty of rough edges that align with the tales of dead-end manufacturing jobs, addiction, and crime that run through the less political tracks. While there are a few musical detours that could have been cut (which double album doesn't have at least one?), the band's take on Southern rock provides an ideal backdrop for the album's exploration of the Southern character. As a concept album, this is an ambitious project that the band pulled off with a maturity of perspective that doesn't come through on their previous work. While the second half of the album retraces the rise and tragic fall of Skynyrd and Ronnie Van Zant in a series of increasingly hectic and funny tracks, a few songs on the first half pull most of the weight for the album as commentary. The most interesting of these is The Southern Thing, an aggressive rocker that attempts to answer the question of what Southern pride or heritage is all about. Taken on their own, lyrics like "It's a little about some rebels but it ain't about the past" could be taken to trade in Lost Cause mythology, resulting in the band not performing the song live anymore. But plenty of other songs on the album reckon with and denounce the racism embraced by those like George Wallace. What we're left with is the "Duality of the Southern Thing" - an overarching internal contradiction that explains how a man’s public critic can serve as his pallbearer, how 90% of black Alabamans voted for the man who embodied segregation, and ultimately, how you can recognize the troubled past and present of a place while also loving it. In more recent years, the more I have seen from politicians on a national scale, exploring and embracing these contradictions has become a prescient example that I may need to become more acquainted with.

Clearly, Doves was one of the swarm of bands trying to capitalize on the popularity of Radiohead by returning to the more radio-friendly sounds of The Bends. But unlike acts like Coldplay, which ultimately provided enough of a departure to achieve some form of mass appeal, this album feels somewhat stuck in a sort of purgatory of moderation. Doves included some experimental elements throughout the album but don't commit to them. As a result, the album doesn't step out from the shadow of the Britpop movement, or achieve anything near as interesting musically as Radiohead. This impression is reinforced by the generic lyrics that run through most (but not all) of the songs. At the same time, this isn't an album that wholeheartedly embraces the pop airwaves. Coming in at almost 7 minutes long, the lead single from the album features a structure and some of those interesting sonic experiments that you don't typically hear on the radio. Meanwhile, the intro to Friday's Dust sounds like it could have been an outtake from Kid A. So, what is this, all things considered? I can't avoid the feeling that this is the sort of album that results when a band and a record label are trying to hit it big but don't quite have their formula nailed down yet. I can imagine the thought process - people love Radiohead, but the new albums at the time (OK Computer, Kid A) are offputting for anyone who doesn't want to listen more than twice through. So they split the difference between Radiohead and Britpop, and here we have it. Ultimately, this was a perfectly fine album. There's nothing offensive here, nothing that would make me turn it off. But by the end, it was also pretty clear that Doves had nothing much to say.

In a lot of ways, I feel like this album is a victim of its own success. So much has been written and said about it and Dylan's shows surrounding it that it has entered into the lore of the 60s and American pop culture. On a first listen, it may be hard to see what all the fuss is about - after all, Highway 61 Revisited comes off as a fairly conventional folk-rock album, distinguished primarily by Dylan's complex lyrics (very good if you dig into them) and his nasal, sneering vocals (usually not so good). But the genre, folk-*rock*, is the key here. On Bringing It All Back Home, Dylan started to distance himself from his popular image of the "voice of a generation" leading the folk movement in its righteous crusade against the powers that be, backing the first side of the album with electric instruments. If Bringing It All Back Home injured Dylan's folk credentials, with Highway 61 Revisited he put them out of their misery. This is an album that comes across as Dylan truly revealing himself - he had made it to the point that he wasn't beholden to the folk scene and was able to break free from the people and connections you can tell he had tolerated, but never truly enjoyed. Dylan himself has some technical shortcomings as a vocalist and guitarist. By this point in his career, though, he was able to harness the idiosyncrasies in his style in service of the overall output. And overwhelmingly, his musical output was cynical, spiteful, and condescending. The more I read about his formative years in the folk movement (check out Positively 4th Street by David Hajdu), I believe that these were the most honest songs he had written to that point. In the end, it's the authenticity of this album that comes through. I may not be proud of it, but I've certainly felt what Dylan gets at in his lyrics (at least the ones I can understand). In a way, I think just about everyone has. So while Bob Dylan may not be my favorite musician or my favorite personality, in this album he expressed truth in a way that I can connect with.

Without having heard much about the Stone Roses, I approached this album very prepared to dislike it. I Wanna Be Adored seemed to confirm my fears of another downtrodden British post-punk-inspired band that can't bring themselves to show a glimmer of anything that may be misconstrued as happiness in their music. But as the album continued, I found my expectations shaken. Throughout the album, there are certainly elements of the Smiths and the Cure, but the Stone Roses don't succumb to the one-note depression of too much of the post-punk movement. Instead, they offer a surprisingly wide variety of sounds rooted in a fusion between 60s psychedelia (Don't Stop) and Smiths-style jangle (Waterfall) while straddling the line between radio-friendly (She Bangs the Drums) and experimental (I Am the Resurrection) . The Stone Roses are not a perfect band. Vocals are generally not strong, though the layering used on some songs made for a cool texture. Lyrics are also anodyne and repetitive (almost mantra-like) at points. Likewise, this isn't a perfect album musically, lacking much flow and coherence. But there are some great moments here as well. I Am the Resurrection is a standout track, combining some of the band’s most pointed lyrics with a fun, jam band-like transition midway through the song. Even the more pop-oriented songs on the album are enjoyable listens, and the album avoids any major missteps. Altogether, this makes for a fun, distinct project that I look forward to returning to.

I've never given Rod Stewart much thought beyond what I heard on soft rock radio growing up before they shifted to recycling the mellower songs from f.u.n. and Kelly Clarkson a few years after the pop stations had thoroughly overplayed them. Forever Young and Rhythm of My Heart were mainstays, along with, of course, Maggie May. Without knowing much about this album, I was expecting similar radio-friendly hooks, but not much more. Needless to say, I was quite pleasantly surprised. The first cymbal hit (ouch) on the high-energy opener gave me an indication that this was not the same Rod Stewart I was used to. A few songs here rocked (within reason) in a way that would be pretty unrecognizable as the same artist if not for his voice. But as the album progressed, it became clear that Stewart was not interested in sticking to rock alone. Rather, he plays in a sandbox of traditional American sounds, with genres from country and folk (Tomorrow Is a Long Time, Mandolin Wind, Amazing Grace) to soul (Seems Like A Long Time) and rockabilly (That's All Right). It's where he diverges most from rock that Stewart is most successful on the album. If there is one standout track on the album, that award would go to Mandolin Wind, an insightful and touching reflection on commitment in a relationship that features wonderful musical ebbs and flows. Other folk-infused moments on the album, including Stewart's cover of Tomorrow Is A Long Time and the closing Reason To Believe, are also high points for me. And in the context of the rest of the record, Maggie May takes remains as infectious a song as ever while highlighting the point that Stewart's best lyrics are able to connect emotionally beyond the stories they tell. I still don't think this is a perfect album - the first side is uneven, lacking the best moments of the second side, and Stewart's vocals wear on me on That's All Right. But the back half of the album showed me a side of Rod Stewart that I didn't know existed, and I can't help but be impressed.I've never given Rod Stewart much thought beyond what I heard on soft rock radio growing up before they shifted to recycling the mellower songs from f.u.n. and Kelly Clarkson a few years after the pop stations had thoroughly overplayed them. Forever Young and Rhythm of My Heart were mainstays, along with, of course, Maggie May. Without knowing much about this album, I was expecting similar radio-friendly hooks, but not much more. Needless to say, I was quite pleasantly surprised. The first cymbal hit (ouch) on the high-energy opener gave me an indication that this was not the same Rod Stewart I was used to. A few songs here rocked (within reason) in a way that would be pretty unrecognizable as the same artist if not for his voice. But as the album progressed, it became clear that Stewart was not interested in sticking to rock alone. Rather, he plays in a sandbox of traditional American sounds, with genres from country and folk (Tomorrow Is a Long Time, Mandolin Wind, Amazing Grace) to soul (Seems Like A Long Time) and rockabilly (That's All Right). It's where he diverges most from rock that Stewart is most successful on the album. If there is one standout track on the album, that award would go to Mandolin Wind, an insightful and touching reflection on commitment in a relationship that features wonderful musical ebbs and flows. Other folk-infused moments on the album, including Stewart's cover of Tomorrow Is A Long Time and the closing Reason To Believe, are also high points for me. And in the context of the rest of the record, Maggie May takes remains as infectious a song as ever while highlighting the point that Stewart's best lyrics are able to connect emotionally beyond the stories they tell. I still don't think this is a perfect album - the first side is uneven, lacking the best moments of the second side, and Stewart's vocals wear on me on That's All Right. But the back half of the album showed me a side of Rod Stewart that I didn't know existed, and I can't help but be impressed.