1001 Albums Summary

Beautifully produced Lett me roll it to you is McCartney doing Lennon. Lyrics are nonsense. Paul probably needed someone to tell him "no" and John George and Ringo weren't around. Bluebird is probably the best thing on the album.

Sits somewhere between folk and 70s sci fi soundtrack. Like Cat Stevens had a baby with Barbarella

About as good as albums get. Not a weak song on it and not a moment when her level of performance dips below brilliant. What a tragedy we lost her.

Absolute gold. Darlen Love singing Baby Please Come Home is a powerhouse of Yuletide heartbreak. Silent Night, however, where Spector himself gives us a little cosy chat is a step too far into kitsch.

Has all the 90s grunge cliches with Metal cliches thrown in. Huge if you like that sort of thing and seemingly designed for disaffected young men.

Wildly pretentious (thankyou Sting). A film of this being recorded would make Let It Be seem tame. They recorded their tracks in separate rooms "for social reasons". When it's good it's amazing, but there's also a lot of dross. And then there's "Mother", Andy Summers "Lets give Ringo a song" moment. And just to point out, Stewart Copeland goes hard on this.

The body count on this is incredible. Death bed confessions; a brother promising to marry the dying other brother's girl, who turns out to be unfaithful anyway; a seven year old has his heart broken when his girl - his one true love - leaves town; young lovers commit suicide because the girl's parents won't let them marry; a man murders a girl for no discernible reason and throws her body in the river, then regrets it because she was "the gal I loved". I mean... what the actual fark?

If you took a New Wave / Post Punk band like, say Talking Heads or Psychedelic Furs, then sanded off all the edges and applied a high gloss polish, you'd end up with something like The Cars. They're the Post Punk Monkees. Perfectly crafted for FM radio and they're still being played today. If you want depth then head to "More Songs About Buildings and Food". If you want a party soundtrack then this is the one.

Just looking at the names of the songwriters on the album cover and you get a sense of what you're in for. None of them are "less is more" kind of people Ute Lemper has a wonderful voice and The Divine Comedy is an all right band. But the whole thing seems overwrought and a bit self-indulgent. When Joni Mitchell did "Both Sides Now" - a similar "Diva sings with a big backing" collection of songs - she knew how to hold back enough to keep it tasteful. This doesn't hold back at all and the result is overwhelming. And not entirely in a good way.

A lot of testosterone produces thr opposite of complex music. Simple harmonies in 4/4 time and nothing much melodic, but the hook is that it's played fast and loud. They can play, but they fall back on a regular bunch of tricks- the chugging bass, the guitar triplets and so on. They talk about "socially aware lyrics", but then put the vocals so far back in the mix and the singer is so unclear that you wouldn't know. I can see the appeal, but it's not really deep. And it's amusing that this gets labelled "extreme metal" when real extreme music like Throbbing Gristle or John Zorn languishes at the bottom of the rankings.

To most the 60s mean the Beatles, the British Invasion, The Summer of Love, protest songs, Psychedelia, long guitar jams and ever so groovy drum solos. But this stuff - the male crooner - was huge. Sinatra was still having hits; Andy Williams and Tom Jones had their own TV shows; there were Engelbert Humperdink, Matt Monroe, Rod McKuen, Roger Whittaker and lots of others who all rode high on the charts at one time or another. It's all desperately unfashionable today, but the people who say this sounds like unused Bond themes are right - but only because the Bond Producers knew what was huge and used it because people liked it. Scott Walker is a bit different from the others. First, he was a big fan of Jaques Brel, a man who never met a simile he didn't like. Brel wrote songs that make Jimmy Webb and Jim Steinman seem like models of restraint. Second, he wrote his own songs that were heavily influenced - oh all right, copies - of Brel. Only he was not quite as good at it as Brel and songs like "Plastic Palace People" are so over written as to be unbelievable. As an artefact of its time and of a forgotten corner of sixties music it's valuable. 4 Stars. But as a listening pleasure - not really. 2 stars.

Skates close to pastiche, while remaining being something new. A touch of Dylan, some Aladdin Sane, some country music flourishes, some roots and blues, a genuine R&B cover, maybe some Tom Waits, some big riffs, all played by a cracking band who steam along like a runaway train. The lyrics contain some fairly lacerating stuff, directed against others (especially women) and particularly against himself. How much off this is due to his recent divorce is anyone's guess, but clearly it's not an album filled with happiness.

If you look up "awesome" in a dictionary there's a picture of this album. These guys are the band the Sex Pistols wanted to be - literally so, since The Saints had a record deal and the Pistols didn't. This is purest punk. The sneering snarl of Chris Bailey's vocals; the power of Ed Kuepper's guitar riffing; the solid wall of the drum and bass driving everything on. It's like the fiercest of angry animals coming at you. And they add a horn section. At the time that horn section caused some angst because "real punks don't use horns". The Saints, who WERE real punks (and Australian punks at that) just told them to stick their heads up a dead bear's bum and did it anyway. This is real punk and if you've grown up with bands who claim to be punk rockers (looking at you Blink-182) then listen and learn. Also, their first album - (I'm) Stranded -goes even harder.

On the first track they come on like Neil Young's noisier cousin, all discordant screaming and weird anger. Then they settle down into the sort of thing punk psychobilly cowboys might line dance to. The album is peppered with instrumentals, a bit of gospel, some Nashville, some flat out rock. It's all over the place like a madwoman's undies and exactly how well known they'd be if Kurt Cobain hadn't announced them on the Unplugged album is up for discussion, but they're kind of fascinating in a strange "can't look away" kind of manner

One of the foundational documents of Hip Hop and the first Hip Hop album to enter the mainstream The rapping is razor sharp and the rhymes are brilliant. Tricky is the absolute, indispensable masterpiece, but there is a flow of bangers, one after the other. Okay, Dumb Girl hasn't aged well and Walk This Way, while great fun, is cheesier than Nonna's lasagne, but these two aside, you'd be hard to find a dud track on the album. Essential

Funk so funky you could eat it with a spoon. A beautiful voice so charged with feeling. But the lyrics. From the man who wrote "People Get Ready" and "Move on Up" we get things like: Can't be no fun To be shot with a hand gun Or When cupboards are bare Our love we can share Truth is not the whole question What is the answer you hide? Or Every time we kiss It's such a pleasant taste Or this pearler Our love is your confession That we're in love. It's just not very good. 4 for the music 1 for the songs

So it comes with a Public Service Announcement at the beginning saying Children Should Not Listen and Don't Try This at Home and proceeds to 90 minutes of songs that are so extreme in their homophobia, misogyny, social dislocation and violence that toy wonder what exactly was the intention of it all. Is it some sort of Randy Newman satirical character study? Is it meant to be taken seriously? (A lot did) Is it a jet black humour performance in the vein of The Naked Lunch? Whatever it is, it's hardly the most mature album ever, and some of the songs sound like the demo versions of songs from a better album. Another reviewer here said that it was like being trapped in a room with a 13 year old obnoxious brat and they're not wrong.

Police Albums are weird beasts. All of them have one or two songs that are so well known that they're part of the DNA of popular culture. Outlandos D'Amour has Roxanne and So Lonely Zenyatta Mondatta has Don't Stand So Close to Me and Do Do Do Do Da Da Da Da Ghost in the Machine has Every Little Thing And of course Synchronicity has Every Breathe You Take. But once you get past the songs everyone knows you get songs that no-one ever thinks about. When was the last time you heard Peanuts or Born in the 50s or Man in a Suitcase or Darkness or Tea in the Sahara? Regatta de Blanc is the same. Any album with Walking on the Moon and Message in a Bottle can't be all bad and Deathwish, Bring on the Night and The Bed's Too Big Without You aren't far behind. But then you've got things like a strange semi instrumental, the bizarre On Any Other Day, a bit of wannabe punk and whatever Does Everyone Stare is. The musicianship is outstanding. Andy Summers knows no bounds in inventing guitar sounds and Stewart Copeland pounds the drums like a man possessed. Sting is... well... Sting and I'll leave it up to you to decide for yourself. When it's good it's brilliant and it's brilliant for four or five tracks. But there are eleven tracks on the album

Probably could have been recorded at no other time than the 80s. Production that glows, it's so highly polished. Linn drums and synth along with a male voice that's filled with emotion to the point of melodrama. On the surface these are bangers. Shout is a magnificent opener and there are tracks that sound amazing - Head Over Heels and Everybody Wants to Rule the World in particular. The problem is, once you get past the surface, they're not really a lot of fun. Deadly serious young men talking about pop psychology and the troubles of the world. And as deadly serious young men do they expect to be taken seriously, without a whiff of irony or humour. Best enjoyed as a sort of darker Human League and don't think about it too much.

This seems to sit somewhere between one of Alan Lomax's Smithsonian field recordings and the Velvet Undeground's White Light / White Heat. It seems to have been recorded in a barn with the artists standing around a single microphone. If you're looking for slick, shining, perfectly produced, Brian Eno sound then go somewhere else immediately. Guitars scream, voices howl, drums thunder. It's all just a bit glorious. Exactly what those voices are howling ABOUT is open to discussion, but in this sort of thing it's the thought that counts. 40 minutes of pleasure.

People saying that the Eurhythmics sound "so 80s" are kind of missing the point that not only did they dominate the 80s with single after single, but the dark, sequenced bass lines; the programmed drum machines; the obsessional lyrics; the hi-gloss production all set the template for a whole genre of 80s pop. The two singles - Love is a Strange and Sweet Dreams Are Made of This - are so strong that they carry the rest of the songs which are, let's be honest, not nearly as good. Several aren't so much songs as extended jams, but with the power of Lennox's voice and the invention of Stewart's production they just about get away with it. Essential for an understanding of 80s pop.

When this came out in the UK in 78, Disco was at its peak with the release of the Saturday Night Fever soundtrack, ABBA were dominating the charts and first wave punk was in full cry. So imagine having the confidence to release this as your debut album. A collection of fairly wordy lyrics with a bit of a Dylan edge to them, set to spare and restrained backing with a guitarist whose finger picking style is completely different from anything else on the scene. The centrepiece is, of course, Sultans of Swing, but every song on the album is a winner. Knopfler is at odds with the power chords and jangle of much of late 70s guitar. His playing is clear and spare with not too many notes and every note in the right place. He doesn't seem to be doing much, but that's the beauty of it. He makes it seem simple. Dire Straits would go on to be the biggest band in the world and never really deviated from the template of this album.

If ever there was a recording of its time and place this is it. Summer of Love, west coast California. There's Vietnam, Drugs, Psychedelia, Tribal Love, Visions, Aliens, All of us Coming Together and all the hippy accoutrements. It's sung in the sort of lush vocal harmonies that were big at the time (see also The Mammas and The Pappas and The 5th Dimension) and combines folk, jazz, rock and pop and drenches it all in more phasing and flanging and production tricks than seems possible. Imagine "Revolver" but dial it up to 11. It's all very trippy and of the moment, but I think its moment us well past. Also: "I'm coming down off amphetamine I'm in jail coz I killed a queen." Really??

I have never felt so out of place as I did listening to this. I am completely not the audience for this. I can appreciate it as an album. But I just don't connect with it

Just when you thought the 60s couldn't get more self indulgent along comes Love with what appears to be a 17 minute song about oral sex. The rest, which is, for a mercy, a further 19 minutes, is full of mind expanding poetry and music that goes from flute driven folk to garage grunge. Not very good now and I suspect not very good back in the day.

We hardly need reminding that when this came out it was "the new Rolling Stones", "the new Velvet Underground" and a revolutionary new direction in rock and roll. Of course it's nothing of the sort. It's a cool pop album that's recorded like a throwback to the sixties with a set of songs that, to be honest, all start to sound a bit the same after a while. There are certainly worse ways to spend 40 minutes, but it's not going to change your life.

If ever there was an album that could be described as "awesome in parts" this is it. The band is virtuosic tight, inventive and pretty much unlike anything else. Fripp's guitar playing is impeccable. 21st Century Schizoid Man is astonishing. Epitaph and the title track are equally brilliant. But two problems exist. One is the lyrics. The band had a member whose sole job was to write the words to the songs. And what a set of self consciousnessly arty, pretentious nonsense they are. YOU HAD ONE JOB!!! (Sinfield went on to write lyrics for Emerson Lake and Palmer and didn't get any better.) And then there's the.band's fixation on pastoral, fey, mellotron love ins that, at the time, probably seemed like the music of tomorrow but now seem like unlistenable excess. So 5/5 when they're good. 2/5 when they're being "artistes".

After listening to The Notorious Byrd Brothers last week I was not excited to listen to this. Instead I was charmed from the first notes of Dylan's You Ain't Going Nowhere and held to the end. Without an ounce of insincerity, The Byrds go to church on I am a Pilgrim and The Christian Life, suffer heartbreak, get nostalgic, go to jail and, on One Hundred Years from Now, even manage to sound like The Byrds. Of course the Rock and Roll people didn't like it (Too Country!) and Nashville hated it (Hippies making fun of us) but at this distance it's clear that it's an utterly charming piece of Americana.

The highest selling jazz album of all time, so pretty much bullet proof as far as criticism is concerned. Whether it actually is a jazz album is up for discussion. Some people say that its complete lack of jazz rhythm, jazz harmony or ... you know ... jazz kind of rule it out. If a solid hour of improvised solo piano in a kind of "70s modern" style sounds like something you'd run a mile from, then it probably is. But you might find that on another day, in another mood, at another time this is the most sublime thing you've ever heard and might just change your life.

I was told, "It sounds like the cover looks" and it's true. The first thing you notice are the washes and waved of noise that seem to cover everything. But underneath those clouds of sound is a solid sense of melody supported by some great harmony choices. The vocals are set way back in the mix but since the lyrics seem unimportant anyway, seemingly being there to add to the texture, this doesn't matter. Comparison with Sonic Youth or Jesus and Mary Chain or even White Light/White Heat era Velvet Underground seems appropriate, but this is something lusher and richer. Call it shoegaze if you want, but what wonderful shoes.

If you gave up on U2 because you found them too humble and self-deprecating, then this is the album for you! Radiohead wannabes who seem to have genetically engineered VERY IMPORTANT anthemic songs for 90,000 people to sing along with at Wembley. Not a single spark of life or energy anywhere, the songs just lie there, waiting to be played under the credits of a b-grade American police procedural. Coldplay rode the inoffensive train straight down the middle of the road to become, for one brief shining plastic moment, the biggest band in the world, so clearly they knew what they were doing. But there's no excuse for it.

Every boy who has ever picked up a guitar and sang about his girl dumping him in the last 60 years has owed something to The Everlys and the template they laid down. It's a bit country, it's a bit rock and roll, a bit Johnny Cash, a bit Elvis. They harmonise like angels about teen heartbreak and adolescent lust. These boys are horny! Girls are made for lovin' (apparently), but most of them break your heart and make you their clown. You can imagine this playing on the jukebox in the corner of a diner in a David Lynch movie. Not as angst driven as someone like Roy Orbison, but still filled with drama. Cathy's Clown is the best known song here, but there's the whitest version known to man of Little Richard's Lucille and Love Hurts, later recorded by a string of others. The whole thing is over and done with in less than half an hour and it's pleasant enough.

Hits the sweet spot between "just another rockband" and "avante garde tosser" Full of experimental moments that don't overwhelm the basic listenability of the music. There is something genuinely magnificent about it.

I have to admit that Arcade Fire are a band whose name I recognise, but whose music has passed me by. Having listened to this I see no reason to alter that situation. I'm sure this all sounded original and exciting in 2010, especially if you hadn't listened to a lot of older, better bands. The Cars, Radiohead, Exile on Main Street era Stones, U2, Bjork all put in an appearance. But I was surprised at how often it reminder me of Neil Young. And if I want to listen to a second rate Neil Young album, well, Neil has recorded several already.

There was a time when Madonna was of universal significance, where everyone knew her, listened to her, bought her records. Even your Nanna knew "Material Girl" In more recent years, everyone still knows her, but less as an artist and more as a punchline. This album comes about half way between these two extremes. She was still selling records, still getting critical praise, but the days when a new Madonna Video was an event were long behind her. She was coming off the success of "Ray of Light" and seemingly could do no wrong. But Music is nowhere near as strong as that album. Ray of Light had similar studio production antics, but had them applied to actual songs, with Verses, Choruses and Bridges. The tracks on Music don't seem like songs. They're more like beats with words over the top. I imagine that Music is quite the influential album. If Ray of Light was a bit like Madonna catching up with what was happening at the time. Bjork had released Homogenic, Kylie Minogue had released Impossible Princess, Missy Elliot had released Super Duper Fly, all highly produced electronica. But Music was Madonna pushing the things she tried on Ray of Light further into the future. It's not as strong as Ray of Light, but it's probably more significant.

Makes you appreciate how important Kurt Cobain was to Nirvana as a creative force. This is perfectly servicable, if fairly generic, 90s grunge. But it seem to be to Nevermind or In Utero what one of Ringo or George's solo albums was to Revolver.

Minimalist Avant folk pop not quite ambient music from another world. Utterly charming and never quite heading in the direction you expect, this is full of beautiful surprises.

Like the best night you ever had at a pub. There's rowdy dance music, a song that'll break your heart, some politics, someone is reciting poetry and everyone is as happy and full of the joys of life as is possible. And then, when things can't get better, someone puts on Fairytale of New York and it DOES get better. And maybe it does outstay its welcome and maybe Shane McGowan's voice makes Joe Strummer sound like Doris Day, but this is obviously a master work.

Well, no-one pops fragile on so thry can specially listen to Tin Cans and Brahms or Five Percent for Nothing. The album really consists of four songs - Roundabout, South Side of the Sky, Long Distance Runaround, and Heart of the Sunrise - with the solo bits and bobs thrown in as, well, not padding, but bonuses. So then; the bonuses. Tin Cans and Brahms is a surprisingly accurate transcription for keyboards of the third movement of Brahms 4th Symphony and, to be honest, is the sort of thing Wendy Carlos did better. We Have Heaven is Jon Anderson being all hippy and cosmic, if you like that sort of thing. The slamming door and footsteps seem a bit Atom Heart Mother to be honest. Five Percent for Nothing is a Bill Bruford drum solo that the band play along with: all tricky time changes and rhythm tricks. The Fish is Chris Squire overdubbing unfeasible numbers of bass riffs. Mood for a Day is a sort of folk flamenco guitar piece.by Steve Howe. They're all short, they're all palatable and they're apparently there to save money on studio time. The other tracks are group songs. This was Wakeman's first outing and he brings a level of virtuosity and classically trained skills that push the band into a new level of playing. Bruford and Squire have two of the most distinctive sounds in rock music, Anderson has a voice like no other (you may think this good or bad) and Howe is a guitar dynamo. Of course the band songs are over the top and the lyrics are pretty dopey and it goes on too long and has pretensions to symphonic grandeur. But these songs rock like Grandma's chair. I put down my hard earned pocket money when i was 14 to buy the vinyl and never regretted it. 4 stars, but only because you need somewhere to go when you get to Close to the Edge.

Let's get this out the way first. This might call itself punk, but do yourself a favour and listen to Wire: Pink Flag The Clash: Live at Shea Stadium Gang of Four: Entertainment and see what punk can really be. This is polished, slick and commercial. The political message is a bit obvious and tries to be angry, but doesn't bear comparison with Jello Biafra singing "Kill the Poor" And then it decides to be "Rock Opera" and, boys, this is no Quadrophenia. It's solid, well played, enjoyable rock posing as something that other people did better. Perfectly fine on its own terms, but with aspirations beyond its grasp.

Like The Slits meet Tom Tom Club. In a good way. I had no knowledge of this band, but read Riot Grrl and was expecting harsh guitars and angry screaming. Instead this is unexpectedly sprightly and lively. Actually, if the Slits and Tom Tom Club partied with DEVO and B52s. That's what it's like.

The very definition of "Cult album" Intense ragged, noisy with a Gome made aesthetic. An acquired taste.

Even if you don't know these songs, you know these songs. Having said that, Ubiquity isn't Excellence. The songs are fine, even if the backing is overblown, but in the pantheon of male singer songwriters you'd have to put Paul Simon, Randy Newman, Stevie Wonder, and Elton John (particularly the early Elton) well ahead of him. And the songs that remind you of other, better songs (She's Always a Woman and Dylan's Just Like a Woman or Don't Go Changing and Stevie Wonder's All in Love is Fair) just show up his limitations. You'll have a good time, but whether you'll be totally satisfied is up for debate.

Okay then. Once more out of my comfort zone. Skittering beats that seem to be on the verge of falling apart under a UK rapper. Held my interest.

Yesterday I was assigned Dizzee Rascal's Boy in the Corner to listen to and its invention and originality make this a hard listen. The production on this is of the "More is more" variety. No kitchen sink could have been safe within a 5km radius of the studio, so many were thrown in. At times it sounds like a MOR sixties album there's so many strings and choirs happening. It's the Bert Kaempfert of rap. And then the lyrics. Sincere, but awkward, hearing them is like finding a sensitive16 year old's secret diary under his mattress and when you read it it's full of serious thoughts about the world and all if it expressed in a self-important naivity that lands with a thud. Lust, sometimes can override trust So death might not let me live. You're the starry skies above me Won't you please come down and hug me Are examples of the sort of thing. Put it on while you're ironing your shirt and it'll be a fair background. Listen to it as I think it was intended - as an important statement about the world - and its just ... not...

Time was when Dylan was a prophet, writing songs that immediately became part of the language. By the time this album came about it was 20 years since Desire - the last gasp of greatness. Then came a long string of mediocre albums that were notable more for how divisive they were. But from the first notes of this you know you're back in the hands of a master. Is it another Blonde on Blonde or Highway 61 Revisited? Well, no. But albums like that are few and far between Here, a crack band slithers through blues riffs while Dylan sings about lost love. Highlights are Love Sick, Standing in the Doorway and Cold Irons Bound, but everything is good. The last track - Highlands - is 16 minutes of certified Dylan oddness, but it's kind of magnificent. It would be another 20 years until he produced an album anywhere near this good - Rough and Rowdy Ways.

One of the pinnacles of Miles Davis's career (and therefore, of 20th century music) this was both the birth and the peak of fusion music. The idea that it was "experimental" or that it came out of nowhere is wrong. The process of Miles giving the players a few chords or scales, saying what he wanted and then letting them improvise goes back 10 years to "Kind of Blue". He'd been increasingly electrifying his band over his previous two or three albums and the editing together of several takes first appears on the studio album before this, "In a Silent Way". The word "experimental" suggests that he was just putting things together to see what he got. The band recorded hours of material over three days and then this was edited down to form the final 90 minutes of music. Tapes were looped, effects were applied, takes were cut and spliced. "Pharaohs Dance" has 19 edits in its 20 minute run time, which cause quite the backlash amongst the jazz crowd. Only one track ("Miles Runs the Voodoo Down") appears on the album as it was played in the studio. Far from being improvised accidents, these things were meant to sound - were built to sound - exactly that way. When the album appeared it received mixed reviews. It topped some Record of the Year polls and was sneered at by jazz purists. "Too jazz for rock, too rock for jazz." Really, it's best to think of it as neither, but rather as a thing all to itself: expansive and twisting on the first two, long form, tracks and becoming tighter and more rhythmically focussed in the second half. Expansive, explosive, one of the albums that changed music. Give it ALL the 5s.

What a box of treasures. Perhaps not an album to play from start to finish. Better to dip into it and see what comes up. But as a library of Americana greatness its irreplaceable.

Guys who just wanted to play loud. They were loud, rough, drugged and nasty. And in 67 they went to the Monterey Festival. They say they saw Hendrix so they probably also would have seen rhe bands playing on the same day: The Who and Big Brother and The Holding Company. The fact that those bands could play them into the ground without raising a sweat didn't matter. Blue Cheer wanted to outdo them. Their sound was louder, dirtier and more chemically enhanced. It was like a kick in the head. Forget the Summer of Love. This was challenging, vicious music. Is it the start of heavy metal? Well, no-one had played this hard before, so why not? The trouble was that this came out in 68. In 69 another band that could play them into the ground came along. Led Zeppelin. Blue Cheer faded into memory. But you can't imagine Grand Funk Railroad or Black Sabbath or MC5 or The Stooges without them clearing the path.

If you told the kids these days that the biggest selling album of the 1970s was by a folk duo they wouldn't believe you! Of course this is bullet proof and anything anyone says at this point is hardly going to change its classic (mythic) status. Fortunately it manages to live up to hype. One amazing song after another. Superb. The Only Living Boy in New York is gorgeous

Immediate 5. The fact is that without Low there'd be no Post-Punk - no Joy Division, no Smiths, no Cure - and no electropop - no Human League, no Gary Numan, no Ultravox, no OMD. This album of brief songs and instrumentals was greeted by the Record Company, who were looking for another Young Americans - with dismay. The story goes that they thought it was unfinished. Where were the vocal? Where was the second verse? The critics were divided, calling it either "pretentious shit" or "the ONLY contemporary record". In the years since its reputation has grown to have it regarded as one of Bowie's very best. "Ziggy.Stardust", "Low" and "Blackstar" are the three where he amazed the world. Iconic, influential, ahead of its time, and still as fresh as it was when it was released.

Let's be clear. If you're not moving while this plays then have your doctor check that you are alive. The sort of hot salsa music that is made for swinging hips, or ballads that lovers slow dance to while the waiters put chairs up and lean on brooms. Puerto Rico shows up and shows us how.

This started out as two solo albums and then got released as a double CD under the Outkast name. To be honest, it outstays its welcome. It's not short of ideas, but I don't think all of the ideas are strong enough to sustain a 2¼ hr runtime. What with "interludes" and silent tracks, and recordings of babies and spoken word sections, theres quite a bit of self indulgent faffing about. Probably would have been stronger if someone had said, "Give me your best 30 minutes of material and we'll make a single CD." When it's good, it's excellent, but editing is always a good thing.

No notes No arguments Give it a 5 and straight on to the next one.

Like a last dispeptic burp from.the rich food of the 60's. Anyone going into this expecting another "Dance to the Music" are in for a shock. By this point Sly Stone was drugged and angry. The promise of Woodstock had given way to Watergate and the Race Riots of the early 70s. The personal and political darkness combined to make this an album of unparalleled cynicism and rage. Long sinuous funk workouts move slowly while half heard vocals say things like "They say time is the answer, but I don't believe it" or "The deeper in debt the harder you bet" through a production of such murkiness that nothing would rival it until "Exile on Main St" or Bowie's "Watch that Man". It's hard to say it's an enjoyable album, but did set the scene for the sort of angry, political black music that led to Grand Master Flash and Public Enemy.

These guys can play up a storm and the idea of thrash grindcore jazz is fascinating. The tracks are short and are all individually brilliant. But because they're so relentlessly aggressive, listening to the album straight produces diminishing returns. But include this in a playlist set to random and it will certainly add a little piquancy. But now go and listen to Ornette Coleman's "Free Jazz", which is the album that should have been on this list, and see why these guys are paying tribute to him. (Spoiler: Because Ornette is better)

How much of this was reality in 1980s Compton and how much is young bloke's chest thumping, peacocking boast is not for this 69yo White, middle class Australian to say. But it does seem to be the sort of record you might expect from a minority that's had enough of being discriminated against, profiled, disenfranchised and scapegoated. "TIME TO PUT COMPTON ON THE MAP" and they're going to make you listen until you know the truth. (Or at least, their version of it) And if the level of violence, misogyny and drug use is pretty confronting, perhaps life in Compton was just as confrontational. Public Enemy is probably more sophisticated in their ideas, but this is pretty raw and angry. Obviously important, if problematic.

I understand that many think that this is the ducks guts, but it didn't do it for me. There were several songs that were great - Drive, Nightswimming, Find the River. But at least two of the songs - Man on the Moon and Everybody Hurts - have become such overplayed FM radio staples that if I never hear them again it will be too soon. And a couple of songs - The Sidewinder Sleeps Tonight in particular - are weak to the point of filler. So, good in parts

Anyone not giving this a 5 doesn't deserve music. By the time Muddy and the band hit Tiger in Your Tank they are smoking hot and cooking. Then they going into Mojo Working and you can hear the crowd go wild. You should too.

If the jazz you like is Miles Davis's Dark Magus or Ornette Coleman or Sun Ra, then this is not going to attract you. But if you like Chuck Mangione or Spyro Gyra then this is the album for you. Smooth with a touch of African rhythm this would grace any department store background music playlist. As an early example of a pervasive sound that eventually devolved into muzak this is, I guess, influential.

It's probably not for me, but I can see how this would appeal to a lot of people. Enigmatic, sad songs sung by a almost whispered voice, set against minimal backing. And made all the sadder by the knowledge that this isn't an act. His life really was that sad. Glad I heard it although I'll probably never ostentatiously to it again.