My first time listening to Franz Ferdinand. They reminded me of Big Country. I enjoyed it.
I haven't listened to this album in many years, it's as good as I remember.
Missed the album when it was first released, I was living in Italy. I discovered it while visiting the USA in 1984, several tracks were in heavy rotation on rock radio. It became, and still is one of my favorite Rush albums.
I've never been a huge fan of Santana and I think this is my first listen to the album. I knew Black Magic Woman & Oye Cómo Va, they are both OK songs. The rest of the album did not excite me. This album offered nothing compelling enough to warrant a second listen.
Honestly, the album left me cold. It basically sounds like the music Desi Arnaz and his orchestra played on I Love Lucy in the 1950s.
I've never really understood the hype around Simon & Garfunkel and had never bothered to listen to any of their albums before. To my surprise, I actually knew five of the tracks on this one—must have heard them constantly on AM radio in the '70s. The familiar songs were perfectly fine and didn't bother me, but the rest left me cold. The low point was definitely their cover of "Bye Bye Love"; it felt completely out of place. I can't see myself ever putting this on again.
Creedence Clearwater Revival is one of my all-time favorite bands from the late '60s/early '70s era. John Fogerty’s voice and guitar work are instantly recognizable—raw, soulful, and completely unmistakable. Every time I spin one of their albums, it still sounds incredible. Absolute classics!
This was a rough listen. There isn’t a single track here I’d ever willingly play again. The music feels like a half-hearted, low-budget knockoff of R&B, and the lyrics somehow manage to be even weaker. At points it sounded like he was freestyling nonsense straight into the microphone.
An instant classic… in the genre of ‘records specifically engineered to clear a room.’ Bland, derivative Indian spa-lounge drivel that somehow manages to be both irritating and completely forgettable.
AC/DC’s sound is instantly recognizable and damn near bulletproof. Even their weakest album still kicks the doors off most bands’ best efforts. Spinning one of their records feels like running into an old mate you haven’t seen in years—everything clicks right back into place, and you suddenly remember how much garbage you’ve been wasting your time on when you could’ve just been blasting AC/DC the whole damn time.
It was listenable, just not memorable at all. One-and-done for me.
I began listening with no expectations—my only exposure to African music had been National Geographic soundtracks. Instead of “tribal” clichés, I got hypnotic jam-band grooves and music that instantly reminding me of early-’80s King Crimson (the Adrian Belew era).
Felt like one endless track dragged on for the whole album. The only thing that saved it was that Sanford & Son sample.
Jazz isn’t really my thing. This album felt way too mellow for my taste, and for a live recording it came across oddly flat—like the crowd was more into chatting and clinking glasses than actually listening to the band. That said, I really enjoyed her take on “Just a Gigolo”—that one track alone almost made it worth the spin.
Abbey Road is a great album, the side B medley is a brilliant, seamless suite that feels like a grand farewell. Yet, it remains overshadowed by three earlier albums: Revolver, Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, and The “White” Album. Abbey Road is a listenable and beautifully produced Beatles record. Essential, masterful, and deeply satisfying, just not quite the pinnacle.
While not quite matching the brilliance of Elvis’s pre-Hollywood recordings, From Elvis in Memphis stands out for including “In the Ghetto,” arguably one of his finest songs from the post-movie era. Listening to this album always brings back warm memories of my grandmother, who was a devoted Elvis fan.
Aside from the two standout hits, “Tiny Dancer” and “Levon,” I wasn’t very familiar with this album before listening. It has some strong moments—particularly the brooding title track—but overall, it’s not Elton John’s finest work. In my view, his career truly peaked with the three brilliant albums that followed.
Given the album title Club Classics Vol. One, I naturally expected vibrant, upbeat dance music. What I got instead was disappointingly watered-down soul. If this were playing in an actual club, I’d probably head for the exit. It’s passable as low-key background music, but that’s about it.
I first fell in love with Jane's Addiction nearly 40 years ago when this album hit my ears. Perry Farrell's unmistakable vocals and Dave Navarro's killer guitar work hooked me instantly. Even after all this time, the record still feels as fresh and exciting as ever—it never gets old.
Same as when it launched: wasn’t impressed then, still not impressed now.
Kate Bush possesses a truly unique and mesmerizing voice. It instantly captivated me the moment I first heard “Wuthering Heights.” Her album Hounds of Love is an absolute masterpiece—I’ve listened to it countless times already, and I know I’ll return to it many more times in the years to come.
It’s a pale, watered-down imitation of reggae—utterly uninspired and lacking any spark. I have no intention of listening to it again.
The standout feature of the Circle Jerks' Group Sex is that its 14 tracks clock in at just over 15 minutes total. Every song is so brief that none of them overstay their welcome or risk getting boring. On the flip side, none are substantial enough to truly sink into and enjoy. I can imagine it might hit differently in a chaotic mosh pit—sweating, slamming, and losing your mind—but listening at home, I just don't get the appeal of hardcore punk. The only reason I'd spin this album again is purely to piss off the neighbors.
What a complete waste of time. I’m not well-versed in virtual bands, but if Gorillaz—the most successful one—are anything to go by, commercial dominance doesn’t equate to being entertaining or even good. I vaguely recognized “Clint Eastwood,” likely from back when MTV actually played music videos. If it came on today, I’d switch the channel without a second thought.
I’m usually all about weird and distinctive voices, but Björk’s vocals on this one straight-up annoyed me.
I signed up for this site hoping to uncover new music and artists, and honestly, I’d been pretty disappointed—until now. I’d never heard of this band or their album before, but I absolutely loved it. Just when I thought it couldn’t get any better, John Lydon’s unmistakable voice kicked in. This is hands-down my favorite discovery so far.
A perfect album for Christmas Day. This was one of my favorite records growing up—my family played it on repeat every holiday season when I was a child. It's a shame about Phil Spector and his crimes, but I'm able to separate the artist from the art and still enjoy the music. Regardless of your feelings about Spector, this record is absolutely worth listening to.
My main issue with this album is the relentless repetition of explicit profanity—it often feels like little more than swearing layered over a drum beat. The juvenile, shock-value lyrics may actually explain its commercial success, giving immature listeners something crude to snicker at. If you removed or censored all the explicit content, the record would undoubtedly be shorter, though hardly improved in quality.
At last, an album I truly love—this is easily my favorite from the early Rolling Stones era. Listening to it felt like reuniting with an old friend you haven’t seen in years: instantly familiar and comforting, as if no time had passed at all. My only real complaint has nothing to do with the misogynistic lyrics that some critics point out. Rather, this version on Spotify is hampered by the awkward stereo separation typical of many mid-1960s recordings, which unfortunately detracts from the overall experience.
Pairing loosely grunge-tinged sounds with lyrics that border on gibberish yields exactly this kind of mess. I listened intently, desperately hunting for one song worth praising, but came up empty. Were this blaring in a pub, I’d make an immediate exit.
Hip-hop isn’t usually my thing, and listening to this album hasn’t changed my mind.
Take bargain-bin Bryan Ferry vocals, sprinkle on a little Bowie glamour, and you’ve got ABC. They peaked early with The Lexicon of Love—after that, it was all downhill. The real tragedy? Even their best wasn’t anything to write home about.
I was far from excited when I was assigned to review this album—I’d never heard of the artist or the record before. I started listening and actually enjoyed the opening track for the first few minutes, but then it dragged on for a full 20 minutes. When I realized the entire album clocked in at almost two hours of essentially the same repetitive sound, with no discernible difference between tracks, my enthusiasm quickly faded. This might be more enjoyable under the influence, but sober, it felt like an endurance test.
A lo-fi mess of an album—most of the songs are weak musically, and the lyrics are even weaker. Lines like “water doesn’t give a damn” (from “Horseleg Swastikas”) and the punny “you’re the only ten I see” (in “Tennessee”) come off as corny and forced rather than witty. The one bright spot is the instrumental “Transylvania Blues”—no lyrics meant it couldn’t drag the track down.
I’ve been a Brian Eno fan ever since his Roxy Music era, and his involvement in a project is pretty much a guarantee of something extraordinary. This album lives up to that standard—it’s outstanding. Easily my favorite U2 record, from back when Bono hadn’t yet turned into an insufferable pretentious prick.
How did so much electronic music sneak its way into this book? It feels like every single person who ever received a Casio keyboard as a gift was handed a recording deal and guaranteed a spot on the list. Hands down, this was the most painful one I’ve had to slog through.
N.E.R.D.—I’d never even heard of them before. Went in bracing for disappointment, but wow, those catchy pop vibes completely won me over. I genuinely enjoyed it. Not sure how it’ll hold up to repeated spins yet, but I’m eager to find out.
I distinctly recall the release of Back in Black in 1980. After Bon Scott’s tragic death, I had low expectations for AC/DC’s future. But Brian Johnson’s raw, powerhouse vocals stepped in and not only rescued the band but arguably defined their sound for decades to come. I’ve spun this album many times over the years, and listening to it again recently was an absolute thrill.
When this album came up, I was genuinely excited to revisit it—it’s probably been over 30 years since I last played it through. What a letdown it turned out to be. “Freedom! ’90” remains an absolute standout and I still love it, but the rest of the tracks feel surprisingly uninspired and lack the spark I remembered.
Yet another masterpiece from an incredible band. I love every single track on this album. I could put it on repeat and never tire of it. Even though it came out nearly 60 years ago, it still absolutely rocks.
A rather underwhelming album. There’s nothing outright bad about it—in fact, I quite enjoyed Romy Madley Croft’s vocals. Unfortunately, the songs themselves just lack spark and fail to hold my interest.
When Born in the U.S.A. came out in 1984, it was absolutely everywhere. You couldn’t turn on the radio without hearing one of its singles. The album didn’t have a single weak track—every song was strong. That said, its massive commercial success may have hurt Bruce Springsteen as a recording artist in the long run. After that peak, his career felt like it went downhill. Off the top of my head, I struggle to name any truly memorable songs he released afterward.
Shame Neil Young wasn't around—this album could've used his spark. Only track I really like is 'Love the One You're With,' probably thanks to Crosby & Nash's backing vocals (or just because it's so familiar).
