1001 Albums Summary

Thought less of it than I remembered. A few of the songs combined psychedelic sounds, melody and child-like sentiment that can be poignant. Too many of them fell short musically. Prefer other records of they've made.

I tried to think of an "all-time classic" where the ballads are by far the best songs. I guess Blue comes to my mind. "Caroline, No" and especially "God Only Knows", plus the experimentation with percussion sounds make it worthy of a classic. However, I cannot say I am moved by the other songs. It is chamber pop as for me, nothing swings, grooves or rocks to my ears.

King Kunta and i, not surprisingly, were my top tracks. Absolutely killer grooves, although the latter snags its riff from the Isley Brothers "Who's That Lady." Multi-tasking for much of the album, but other tracks did not grab me that much. I missed the joke and commentary, because I am old and white, but is it original to offer lyrics in two songs, at least, about your dick? One day I will listen with a lyric sheet, which might help me get the album's classic status.

Of all the bands to become megastars, Pink Floyd has to be the oddest. Long songs, often dealing with mental anguish, cold delivery from singers and little roll to their rock. I have to tip my cap to 1970s listeners, their drugs and/or stereo systems for making Pink Floyd a massive band despite its experimental and adventuresome approach to music. Some of the coldness and lack of a groove leads parts fo "Wish You Were Here" to become ponderous, most notably "Welcome to the Machine." I find that song to be chilling in many ways, even though like "Have a Cigar" it focuses on getting caught in the maws of the record industry. That theme pales in comparison to the heartbreak lyrically and sonically of the title track and the epic two part suite "Shine on You Crazy Diamond." The numerous graceful touches of multiple players makes the instrumental passages to "Diamond" quite effective. Having listened to a few Floyd albums recently, I am realizing their great use of guest back-up vocalists. They always add a needed note of soul to the technical sheen. And in closing, I always find the "two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl in "Wish You Were Here" moving.

What keeps this album from perfection? Like many soul records of the 1960s, Franklin was compelled to throw in cover of R&B standards like "Good Times", which while pleasing are far from the high stakes battles in the ballads, and lack the rocket fuel of the albums justly famous upbeat numbers. When the oft-recorded "standards" match Franklin's talent , such as "Drown in My Own Tears" and "A Change Is Gonna Come", she excels at carving out unique and personalized versions. With small criticism out of the way, this album falls squarely in my top 20 of all-time, and given the day cracks the top 10. Praising Aretha's singing is a waste of space as you will just end up stating that she was the greatest of all-time; case closed. Having just praised the use of back-up vocals on other records, it must be said that Franklin's sisters, Erma and Carolyn, and Cissy Houston provide the most famous support in pop music history. It takes a singer of Aretha's caliber to match, let alone, outshine them. The band has too many stellar moments to name here. First, and foremost, Aretha's piano playing looms large, pushing the tracks in a harder direction, which allows Spooner Oldham's electric piano to become the groovy, dark element that the songs require. The arrangements keep the horns from becoming too intrusive as they color rather than overwhelm most tunes, with King Curtis' solo on "Respect" being another reason it ranks among the greatest songs ever recorded. Like all superb records, the deeper cuts raise "I Never Loved a Man" to its exalted status. While not completely unknown, the title track and "Dr. Feelgood" best exhibit the combination of Franklin's piano playing and singing, boosted by Oldham's and the back-up singers' contributions. "Save Me" somehow never got the attention it deserved. Nearly as funky as Franklin's later monster groove song, "Rock Steady", it is a quintessential piece of stripped down R&B. The rhythm section sticks to the simple chords in relentless fashion pushing Franklin, and just her, no back-up singers, to epic heights. The lyrics lack the poetry of "Respect" and "Natural Woman," but Franklin sends them soaring as she pulls out her full arsenal of vocal skills to challenge the gritty instrumental underneath her.

It would be harsh to call my two recent listens to Aladdin Sane disappointing, but the album did not stand out as much as I remembered. Part of the problem is that I love the versions on Davide Live at the Tower for many of these songs. Some people malign that records, but to me tracks like "Cracked Actor" and "Watch That Man" leap off the record whereas they are merely good on "Aladdin Sane." Also, except for the closing track "Lady Grinning Soul", I do not find the ballads and mid-tempo songs up to Bowie's usual standards. Lack the heart rendering, theatrical and tenderness of his best work. But it is still a damn fine record. "Jean Genie" can compete with the best of Bowie's hard rock stompers. I might actually prefer his version of "Let's Spend the Night Together" to the Stones. The title song seems like a cross between Ziggy and the Sigma Sound era Bowie about to happen. The band excels on "Panic in Detroit" as the bass pulses while the drums reach into a more expressive direction than the straight rock of the rest of the record. It's tough being great. Bar set high, and this record almost cleared it.

A bit surprising and disappointing that as a rock fan who was 26 when this album first came out that I do not think I gave it a full listen until now. Unfair to develop views based on a few listens of hit songs and bits of what I read. Will I go back and play "Dookie" on my own; probably not. This type of rock does not hold interest for me now. Of the three big hits, I genuinely enjoy "Longview," but find "Basket Case" and "When I Come Around" unappealing. That fact alone might limit further plays. Some of the unfamiliar tracks were solid, such as the first three songs and "Welcome to Paradise." They slammed power chords in a tuneful manner. "Pulling Teeth" and "She" featured some variety in vocal, and putting the bass more in the front than Billie Joe Armstrong's Who-Ramones-Jam guitar. Armstrong certainly has a way with melody, which allows the bass and quite often the drums to flourish. Or do the bass and drums lift up his songs? Maybe with more listens (I expect American Idiot will make an appearance on this list), I will be able to move past my dislike of Armstrong's vocals. One day, Thom Yorke's vocals stopped bothering me, and Radiohead became a great band to my ears. It never happened with Morrissey. Like The Foo Fighters and White Stripes, Green Day has helped breath a little life into the decrepit 30 year decline of the rock and roll corpse. I respect them for that contribution.

Jeff Beck “Truth” THREE AND A HALF STARS I have had an up and down relationship with this album. Started out as unimpressed, but then felt like Beck’s guitar and the hard rock template it established made the album worthy of the hefty reappraisal it has received over the last decade. With this last listen and others recently, I find myself leaning towards my original rating of the album. Like early Led Zeppelin, “Truth” is often at the mercy of its cover selections. Personally, I do not find even the original blues versions of “Rock Me Baby” and “You Shook Me” all that interesting. As songs they scratch the surface of best blues earthiness, and do not come close to the menace, bawdy rebel fun and declaratory power of better songs. In the hands of countless rock bands who covered them, they border on dull. The same can be said for “Greensleeves” and “Ol Man River.” The Rod Stewart who was about to appear on The Faces records and his own solo albums is not here on this record. He has a pleasing rasp, but can’t seem to quite get to the heart of songs like he would just a few years later. Ronnie Wood on bass and Micky Waller on drums are capable, but there was not a single moment where they stood out. I am sure other listeners will disagree. A swirling cover of “Shapes of Things”, the endless fascinating, what might have been sounds of “Beck’s Bolero” and the demon snarl of “Ain’t Superstitious” save the record. Beck’s guitar on the latter may be the rudest belch on any rock record. Few instrumentalists in rock can create a sound that burrows into your brain. Notice a sound, not a riff. Unlike the large pantheon of great British 1960s guitar players, Beck lacked the ability to compose riffs that carried songs. This album and its follow-up exposed those limitations. With Rod and Woody not yet writing endearing tracks that they brought to the Faces, The Jeff Beck Group comes up short in my eyes.

This album has earned high praise for 60 years from a variety of critics. It is a pleasing album with even the downtrodden songs featuring a humorous take on the character's plight. When a song deals with immoral behavior, King offers jovial advice to the audience. Adding some grit, King tosses off some stinging, precise single-note runs that helped to put his name at the top of many bluesman lists. Having heard this album, a later live one at "Cook County Jail" and seeing King in person, the above features are all too familiar. King played show after show, and the routine barely seems to have altered, at least in this period, if ever. Like a blues Louis Armstrong, King played a role, perhaps his true persona, over and over for literally 1,000s of shows. It has some fine qualities, but is middle of the road. Sam Cooke took similar criticism for this bland pop when he issued a "Live at the Copa." After his death, "Live at the Harlem Square" came out featuring Cooke cutting loose to show true soul and gospel powers. Maybe a recording exists of King in similar fashion, and I have missed it. It could be that King's slightly less urban take on the jump blues of Louis Jordan and T-Bone Walker is not my cup of tea. The "Cook County" album has more moving moments in it compared to the nightclub stylings and banter here. My apologies to a legend, but thumbs down.

The Beatles - “Abbey Road” FIVE STARS After hearing this record literally my entire life, the most recent listen brought two firsts as I used headphones and streamed it. Both may have helped bring out some new qualities on my 726th listen to “Abbey Road.” I have always felt it is the most produced Beatles’ record. It sounds like a different era of recording compared to their last two records, let alone “Meet the Beatles.” At times it drifts into overproduction as the songs become too manufactured and depersonalized. However, the headphones also brought out their greatness as studio musicians and craftsmen. The more obvious ones like Ringo’s drumming on “Come Together” and “The End,” as well as how he keeps “Here Comes the Sun” from becoming too wimpy. As usual in my more recent Beatles’ listening, Paul stands out with slinky electric piano on “Come Together” and numerous songs with his bass counterpoints. The latter almost became too busy as I honed in on it. Lastly, I always had to flip the record after the abrupt end to “I Want You.” I enjoyed how “Here Comes the Sun” quickly appeared, well, kind of like its title. Hard to give it anything, but the highest rating when an album starts with “Come Together” and “Something.” The medley section has so many moments that stand out. One last “yeah, yeah, yeah” in “Polythene Pam.” John harkens back to a bit of psychedelia with “Because” and “Sun King.” The amazing segue from “Pam” to “She Came in Through the Bathroom Window”, with similar seemlessness between the final four songs of the medley. Nearly every song on the album could be a children’s song. Lessons abound about behavior, carrying burden and positivity. Mr. Mustard, Pam, Maxwell and all of “Octopus Garden” could come from Roald Dahl or Maurice Sendak. The child-like aspect can be both endearing and annoying, helping to make “Abbey Road” only my 6th-7th favorite Beatles album. The first side drops quite a bit after the opening two songs. Paring down both “Oh, Darling” and “She’s So Heavy” would help. For all the doom/stoner rock forerunner of “Heavy” it usually leaves me like many of Led Zeppelin’s 7-10 minutes blues numbers: let’s get this over with boys. It is an album made by the greatest band in the world when they had honed all of their skills to the highest professional level. Those skills make it a near perfect masterpiece.

Justice: “The Cross” THREE STARS * I wonder why out of the 1,000s of electronic albums this one made the list. Only the 11th album on our listening expedition, perhaps another two dozen of the genre await. Since I am not an expert on the subject, and I did not explore any background to the group or record, there could be groundbreaking qualities that I missed. This 2007 effort is certainly a fine one with an interesting mix of qualities. “Phantom Part I and II” have a disco funk quality that livens up the record. Those two give way to “Valentine”, which has a great piano part. The opening track, “Genesis”, immediately grabbed my attention with an insistent bass line. The record also included some noise elements that seized my attention, although not always in the best manner. At times they tossed vocal urging and messages like the beginning of “Tthhee Ppaarrttyy” that I found more distracting than useful. It is easy to gloss over impressive segments of instrumental music. Without vocals, and often clear definitions of different songs, I can fade in and out as a listener. Is there enough to this record and others to keep me listening for an entire record? File away to come back for another session? This one definitely qualifies, but would it have done so without the artificial requirements of the 1,001 albums project?

It took three disjointed listens of this album for it to land with me. Drum loops and bass lines would grab me. Next, Dr. Octagon (Kool Keith) would be reviewing his latest patient in gross out fashion as he seems to specialize in medical issues that are not discussed in polite company. He shifts gears to visit the outer planets in an updated/forerunner version of Afrofuturism. The snippets were amusing and striking, and after bearing down a bit my pleasure rose. The rollicking organ driven “Earth People” licks off a three song streak that sent me bouncing through my empty classroom on a Monday morning. His Tracy Morgan style raps and vocals were endearing in a drunk, crazy Uncle manner. Aside from the anatomy lessons, Kool Keith references a bevy of fellow musicians ranging from the Grateful Dead to Kurt Cobain to repeating the chorus of Christopher Cross’ “Sailing.” Those links are immediately followed with lyrics about enzymes, eggs, LA nights and robots. It reminds me of R.E.M.’s “It’s the End of the World.” Definitely a word salad to enjoy. Unlike a comedy record, I believe Dr. Octagonecolgyst will get better with future listens. I’ll pick up on more of the jokes and musical references. Kool Keith has created an enormous collage that will reward multiple looks.

There are multiple ways I could assess this legendary record. The drug-filled circumstances of its creation that led to Sly Stone’s one-man band effort. The combination of a murky production and technological firsts with Sly’s use of drum machines. I’ll go with the stark turn of attitude that marked the album. If people know the band it is from their endearingly upbeat, huge beat filled songs that represented the apex of late 1960s hopefulness and oneness through music. Lyrics carried a message that would suit wokefulness of any generation. They would not seem out of place on “Sesame Street.” And then this record. Bruce Springsteen’s “Nebraska” came to mind while listening. The master of Wall of Sound rock who found hope in pulling out of dead end towns in a series of American muscle cars, dropped a record of murderers, ne'er-do-wells and their kin. Set to only an acoustic guitar and harmonica on a tape recorder, “Nebraska” offered a bleak assessment of the familiar characters in Springsteen’s world. But even that album closed with “Reason to Believe.” This record neither plunges to depths of “Nebraska”, lyrically or musically, but nor does it offer the bonds and shreds of hope that occasionally make their way through Bruce’s darkness. “Luv” must meet “Haight.” The two brothers in “Family Affair”, well at least they both love Mom. It’s all murky and unclear as Sly can barely raise his voice. He is reduced to sore throat whispers and croaking. When he attempts an actual vocal, the high notes crack. Only rarely do we get the enchanting back and forth vocals between the band members that marked their earlier work. Sly twice slows the album to an extended crawl with "Africa Talks to You 'The Asphalt Jungle'" and “Thank You For Talking to Me Africa.” The keyboards jab in and out. The guitars refuse to play hard rock and James Brown style scratching. It is a challenging record. Like “Nebraska” and “Astral Weeks” from Van Morrison, “There’s a Riot Goin’ On” gains greatness in subtle fashion. Its originality and daringness do not jump out due to the loss of blockbuster songs, but repeated listens bring out those qualities. Sly can still write a groove, he’s just turned the knob down. His lyrics are forthright, self-lacerating and all too accurate for the era. It is an unbearably sad record as Sly and whatever hope one associates with the 1960s disappear in a desperate, bedroom album.

When I saw “Wild Gift” as the X album I was a bit surprised as I am more familiar with “Los Angeles” and “Under the Big Black Sun.” I thought those two were seen as the “classics” for X. Who knows maybe all three will end up on this list, but I wholeheartedly support including “Wild Gift.” The songs seem tighter and more varied than my memory of other X records. (I reserve the right to change my opinion with relisten of the two albums above.) The classic X combination of punk-a-billy mixed with the Exene and John Doe combo voices stands out on “White Girl”, “Once Over Twice” and my favorite track “In This House I Call Home.” They have the familiarity of the best duet teams, which helps their short story observations stand out. The unexpected small touches raised the bar for the album. Even a straight rockabilly tune “Beyond and Back” gets pushed forward due to D.J. Bonebrake’s drumming. The same holds true for straight ahead punk smashers like “We’re Desperate.” Better still was the Talking Heads rhythms and Byrne style vocals that opened “Adult Books” that caught me off guard almost as much as the pure heavy metal riffs in “Adult Bookstore.” I will bet that John Doe and Exene’s singing comes up short for many people. It requires multiple listens to get used to the shouting, not quite perfect pitch shouting. They are not a pleasing sound to my ears, or stereotypically “fun”, but like the rest of the groups they fit the songs. For supposed punks, X knew how to compose, play and record great tunes.

Going to admit that it was difficult to assess this record. I could only find a series of videos on YouTube, which meant I needed to check for the song titles. Shame on me: I failed to seek out the names in my two listens. One other failure on my part was not listening close enough to understand if there was a theme to "Tank Battles." I assumed that the title and her German background meant some sort of commentary on war, but I cannot cite a lyric to point in any direction. My simplistic take is that the album echoes the German cabaret singers as well as Marianne Faithful's updated version of that style from "Broken English." Unlike that record, I did not hear anything too radical in Krause's take on the traditional approach. Her voice had enough gravel in it, and the music itself had the swing menace, or menacing swing of the Brecht-Weill catalog. My apologies, Fraulein Krause.

I gave this album three listens hoping I would fall under its sway, but it never happened. Bossa nova, samba and other Brazilian styles have yet to click with me. It has no bite, boogie or oddball features to hold my attention. A few acoustic guitar records have made my list of records to own. This one was dull to my ears. I suppose a subtle romantic tide is supposed to wash over me, but I came away with little. The record also has late 1970s jazz fusion sounds. The methods of recording, and effects musicians used at the time border on Muzak. They have a brittle artificial sound that hits my high register in an annoying fashion. While countless reviews tout the skills of these players, both American and Brazilian, I cannot get into the instrumental passages. Regina did not bother me as much as the music, however she could not transcend it either. I will await further Brazilian style records on the list, and hope for the better.

An editor’s note to start the review: I listened to the American version of this record, because it is the one I have owned for decades. I miss three outstanding tracks from the British one: “Nowhere Man”, “If I Needed Someone” and “Drive My Car.” The major gain is “I’ve Just Seen a Face.” I would rate the non-North American one even higher due to the extra songs. “Girl”, "Norwegian Wood” and “In My Life” showed that John could write ballads just as well as Paul. (It seems stereotypical to state that the John's are superior because they never fall into the sentimentality of a Paul song like “Michelle”, but it is true.) In the U.S. release, George only gets one song, “Think for Yourself”, which is the best rocker on the record. A buzzsaw fuzzed out bass and guitar, plus a touch of John/Dylan’s disdainful lyrics. Ringo gets a solid version with country tinged “What Goes On.” No slighting Paul as “You Won’t See Me” and “I’m Looking Through You” are first-rate pop songs that match the surprisingly forlorn lyrical theme of the album. The latter quality lifts the album into new heights for the group. Weariness and love’s near misses prevail throughout the record. “Drive My Car” would throw off the balance in many ways for me. I suppose “The Word” foreshadows “All You Need Is Love”, but otherwise the group brought a bittersweet tone to the record that echoed 1965’s other massive British hit “Satisfaction” in a downbeat manner. Hard to imagine that this record was about to be topped by the next ones.

I will be generous towards this record’s ranking since I fell deeply for Mann’s songs in the film Magnolia. Earlier Mann released the excellent I’m with Stupid, which this album preceded. I am hoping Stupid ends up on this list, or it will be a puzzling choice as Mann’s lone representative on this list. The album does not get to its best material until the second half, perhaps the B side. “Put Me on Top” had Mann’s special quality of pop rock. “Jacob Marley’s Chain” made me wish I knew more about the literary reference. “Mr. Harris” with its tale of a May-December romance had characters that were flawed and endearing. Those highlights lifted the record. On too many occasions something kept the songs from finding their way to my heart and mind. I felt like this was an artist who was not quite ready to let it all out. She seemed on the verge of cutting or moving lyrics, huge pop sounds, a personal acoustic ballad, yet she could not get there. I read an interview years ago where Bob Dylan said Chrissie Hynde needed to listen to more country music. He did not explain his advice, but I might offer the same to Mann 30 years ago. The pathos of country would have pushed these songs into a more powerful heart on the sleeve recording. I am not sure what exactly allowed Mann to pull that off on future albums, but not here. I found the musicianship particularly bland. The guitar solos actually worsened several songs, which seems nearly impossible to do. I could point fingers at her musical collaborator and producer Jon Brion. After all, he played the bulk of the instruments on the album. Ultimately, it is Mann’s record. She was no novice having been in the business for a decade. Having left ‘Til Tuesday to go out on her own, Mann receives lavish praise from me for her other work, so she is on the hook for this less than stellar album.

Huge fan of Smith’s XO, which ranks close to Nick Drake’s work in the heartbreaking sad pop-singer-songwriter canon. Figure Eight contains many of the qualities I loved about XO amidst a more majestic production. The insular quality of the earlier work that drew me in, is met with prominent string arrangements and electric guitar parts that contain sizable riffs. Considering Smith’s eventual suicide, these songs are filled with more life than XO’s sadness, which came out a few years earlier. Smith’s voice appeals to me. There seems to be some production effect to give it a wobbly, vibrating quality that adds an effect I enjoy. The bigger sound takes away from the direct connection of XO. I feel less of Smith’s situation, and how I might feel similar as the music swells. It is a tall order, but the orchestration does not push the songs to new heights like it did on the seminal works of Big Star and Love’s Forever Changes. Making that comparison as well as my first one to Nick Drake seems unfair to Smith who has made a strong record here. I will look forward to other Smith albums on this list.

I approached this album with less weight than listening to Pet Sounds. The latter has greatest of all time expectations that I have never quite gotten, while this reworking of its ill-fated follow up had far less of a burden to overcome. I found Smile far more pleasurable than Pet Sounds. Whimsical, child-like and imaginative are a few descriptions that come to mind. The use of innovative multi-part harmony singing as the lead instrument gave the record a strong dose of originality and fun. Maybe the absence of Mike Love’s grating nasal vocals boosted these songs as I found the singing wonderful. At times the vocals and elementary music class lyrics got in the way of the terrific bass and piano parts that supported the songs. For the most part I found everything complimented each other, and the numerous percussion instruments Wilson and his collaborators used were as interesting as the vocal parts. The more famed songs stuck out. Other stand-outs like “On a Holiday” were strong enough to make up for questionable tracks such as “Vega-tables” and the lyrics to “Roll Plymouth Rock.” Nice to see Brian Wilson overcome the obstacles that originally got in the way of this album

Great historical artifact and a nice record. Elliot’s love for the music carries the album as he exudes genuine affection for the songs and the performers associated with them. From a 21st Century perspective, Elliott taking on southern farmer folk tunes like “Boll Weevil Blues” seems like a mismatch, but that’s revisionist history. Elliott brings an energy to the material that has a genuine quality even if he was a doctor’s son from Brooklyn, not the cowboy troubadour character he became. Some of the material does not land with me. “Salty Dog”, “Bed Bug Blues” and “San Francisco Bay Blues” have charm, but seem more like campfire tunes than ones to put on an album. Elliott does not quite have the skills as a singer and guitarist to create versions of these songs that will stick in the mind. Give him credit for keeping the folk flame alive as Woody Guthrie was slowly dying and the Red Scare had gutted the careers of many performers. I am glad the list offered me the chance to actually listen to him after knowing his name for years.

I came with ears looking for aspects of The Eagles that I grudgingly admit to liking, but left finding this album quite dull. Certainly the title track deserves its status as a standard matching, say, The Doors "L.A. Woman" and "Riders on the Storm" for its vignettes about the seductive and destructive appeal of Los Angeles. While the reggae aspect of the song has the potential to drag it down, the band wisely limits it in favor of flamenco touches and the blazing guitar duel to close the track. Guitar work also allows another tale of L.A. excess, "Life in the Fast Lane" to grab hold of the listener. While not as compelling as ‘Hotel California”, it livens up the album. Lastly, most of the time I credit Don Henley as a singer. His voice seems limited in range, however its flatness serves the songs on many occasions. As the narrator, or at least a third party observer, Henley can stand back with his take on the disastrous foibles of the song’s characters. Aside from those songs and qualities, a recording that was bland. Glenn Frey’s lone lead vocal on “New Kid in Town” is at best Jimmy Buffet does a sad song. The whole second side of the record is lousy. “Victim of Love” has hard rock guitar chords that fail to add anything interesting. The band did make a wise decision by limiting Joe Walsh and Randy Meisner to one song each, because their vocals and tunes are particularly uninspiring. The Eagles had a chance to pull off a strong record with a typical 1970s epic final song. “The Last Resort” tells a straightforward story of Southern California, maybe much of the U.S.’, falling under suburban consumerism’s spell, and in the process robbing the land from the Indians. Henley and the musical arrangement, which includes orchestration, fail to bring any sort of poignancy or insight to the topic. Compare this song to the near simultaneous “Cortez the Killer” from Neil Young, which pared down the music to a wrenching guitar figure and then mixed in lyrics that gave the colonial exploitation tale a much wider perspective of pain. Perhaps Henley et. al. saw “The Last Resort” in the same vein as their friend Randy Newman’s “Sail Away” with its strings and anthem-like qualities. Newman brought a twisted view to tragedy as he stepped into the role of a slave trader trying to sell Africans on the wonders of America. Nothing remotely that original appears in this song, and I would argue on most of this album.

The star of this record remains Jimmy Page-producer. Even more than the debut album, Led Zeppelin II sounds ten years ahead of other recordings at the time. Only Abbey Road comes to mind as an album that stretched well beyond the 4-8track, mono recordings of the mid-late 1960s. Other factors were certainly at work to help separate this record from Cream, Jeff Beck’s Truth and the Yardbirds, but the booming sound leaps off the turntable. Page, and engineer Eddie Kramer, deserve the credit as the band used multiple studios to make this record, which means we cannot credit the special sound of any one place. Led Zeppelin II jumps to a new level from their excellent first album. Maybe creating the songs while playing an intense touring schedule got the band into the habit of speeding their music up. There is nothing plodding here such as “You Shook Me” and “I Can’t Quit You, Baby.” Even its most derivative song, “Bring It on Home”, eventually marshalls the power of the band. Led Zeppelin II’s massive influence could come off as a caricature to someone whose listening leans towards the 1990s onward. I liken it to the same fate as The Godfather from a movie goer familiar with the mob genre only from Goodfellas and The Sopranos. Familiar patterns might seem like tropes, instead of groundbreaking. The quiet-loud sequence of “Ramble On”, “What Is and What Should Never Be” and “Thank You” may sound like they are drawn from a palette rather than fairly well-crafted songs. Few later bands could pull this sweep off as majestically as Zeppelin does. The enormous leap in production undoubtedly gets aided by Page, Bonham and Jones. They bring subtle touches to the quiet-loud songs while locking into the stunning grooves that define the band. Some may call Plant the weak link as he falls back on an interpreter’s version of the blues in both his singing and lyrical ad-libs; the Tolkien lines of “Ramble On” were also fodder for Spinal Tap ridicule. However, his vocals often acted as another instrument matching the high-powered instrumentals. It takes a quality singer to keep up with this backing trio, and Plant was more than equal to the task. While the band never issued songs with the social-political commentary of The Who, they know how to lay down a groove second only to the Rolling Stones. This album, for better and worse, lacked the operatic blockbuster qualities of later records like Led Zeppelin IV and Physical Graffiti. It is less self-confident than those albums, but its looser playing makes Led Zeppelin II a more appealing record in terms of sheer fun. To knock this record out after only a year or so as a group speaks to their greatness.

I definitely got something out of this record. Iron Maiden gets high praise from the metal acts of the 1980s onward, and this album showed their influence as well as what influenced the group. Like the major bands of the 1970s (Yes, Rush and Led Zeppelin come to mind), two-three styles appear in the same song. The first three showed the influence of Zeppelin’s soft-loud shifts with instrumentals that show prog rock style playing. To their credit, Iron Maiden rips through their guitar parts in double time, which gave them a kick lacking in most progressive rock of the decade. The latter quality showed up enough that I could hear why Metallica and Megadeth cite them as a favorite band. Great to hear speed metal phrasing to give these longer songs a dose of kinetic energy. Unfortunately, I also heard the future of hair metal. The last three songs featured clear signs of the power ballad that became a horrible trait of late 1980s hair metal. This element appeared frequently, surprising me with their pop song quality. There was less operatic singing than what I have experienced in my brief listenings to Maiden, but less bombast did not make “Strange World” and “Charlotte the Harlot” any more palatable. On a closing side note, I know Iron Maiden got caught up in the “don’t listen because these guys are preaching Satanism” frenzy of the 1980s. Maybe there is heavy devil worshiping in the lyrics, but I did not hear anything approaching the “evil” of Black Sabbath or even Judas Priest. In fact more evil and more speed would have boosted the record.

I quite enjoyed this record when Primal Scream fully utilized certain elements. The band effectively and exuberantly tapped into gospel, dance and psychedelic styles on the best songs. The first three tunes, including an inventive reimagining of the Thirteen Floor Elevators “Slip Inside This House”, were great fun. Later “Come Together” came close to The Verve’s “Bittersweet Symphony” as a hand-waving anthem. I was surprised to see it was one of the less streamed songs on the album. Maybe it did not come as close as I suggested. Conversely, its second biggest streamer, “Loaded”, had pleasing elements that did not combine into a strong track. I felt the same about other songs when the band was more straightforward in its musical approach. A song like “Damaged” lacked the singing, playing and lyrics to equal Brit pop stalwarts Oasis. That style relies on strong melodies and choruses to pull my heartstrings. I did not hear those traits in my three listens to the record. When Primal Scream shot for a less straightforward and standard approach it made interesting and lively music.

An album that can be moving, annoying, puzzling and on the border of sappy. With the latter, Young’s phrasing and voice save songs like “Till the Morning Comes”, and “Only Love Can Break Your Heart” from schmaltz. Slightly different arrangements or Graham Nash singing would make the songs pablum. That same voice can grate at times. The high pitch vocals do not always land in a pleasing manner. I have grown accustomed to his voice, but close listening this time made me wonder how many people he might turn off. However, Young’s vocals stand out in the best way on “I Believe in You”, “Oh, Lonesome Me” and the enigmatic title track. He stands atop the Laurel Canyon crew in his ability to impart soul to his songs, which can lift basic lyrics to wonderful levels of pain and tenderness. Musically the album relies a great deal on the piano, which is surprising considering Young’s status as a singular guitarist. The piano helps make “After the Gold Rush” and “When You Dance I Can Really Love.” It sinks “Till the Morning Comes” and “Cripple Creek Ferry.” Neil adds to the mix with songs featuring Crazy Horse in all of their distorted glory. The aforementioned “When You Dance I Can Really Love” greatly benefits from the band's approach as its electric stomping covers up fairly pedestrian lyrics. We get a dose of Neil’s didacticism with “Southern Man.” Young often has songs like this one with emphatic moral lessons for his audience. I cannot disagree with his position, however it can lean towards hectoring. The theme seems completely out of step with the rest of the album’s focus. Perhaps it was included because it featured some of Neil’s patented guitar work. After the Gold Rush has three highs, 4-5 solids and two-three medicocres, which keeps it from classic status.

If the entire album was as captivating as the title track, this record would earn top status. “Savane” boils Toure down to his essence of an acoustic guitar and vocals. The guitar provides layers by itself that pulled me in with its hypnotic figures. I could hear the magical qualities of Toure’s playing in “Savane” and the two closing tracks, “Banga” and “N’jarou.” However, other tunes either had never landed, particularly those using a great deal of other singers. To go back to an earlier comment from my Led Zeppelin review, Toure may suffer from groups that came after his rise. The desert rock “craze” for North African bands has dimmed Toure’s originality. I knew of him earlier, and enjoyed his collaboration with Ry Cooder. After a decade of Tinariwen, Mdou Moctar and others, Toure’s blues meets the desert style no longer seems quite as compelling. This album features his acoustic playing which differs from the roaring distortion of later bands. It makes for a more contemplative set of songs, but with less rock oriented appeal. Obviously, language limits my ability to fully assess Toure, but I do not find him too interesting as a singer. Neither as sweet sounding as Central African rhumba-style artists, nor the declarative power of his fellow drone groove guitarist, John Lee Hooker. I am glad that this record may represent a more authentic version of Toure and Malian music, but aside from a few great highlights, it falls under, good, but not great, status.

Odd that Bragg’s political folk seems less anachronistic today than it did in the 1980s. The rest of the world had moved on from his Guthriesque look into the plight of the working man in the Thatcher-Reagan era. Now, his commentary seems more in line with how more artists look at inequality. Musically this record offers a bit more muscle than Bragg’s usual guitar and vocals set up. Even when pared down to the basics, he created more appealing songs, such as the Buddy Holly like “The Warmest Room” and the near pop of “Levi Stubbs’Tears” In “Ideology” Bragg nicks the guitar lines from Bob Dylan’s “Chimes of Freedom.” Of course, Dylan likely got his picking from Dave Van Ronk, who got it from his mother. No crime for Bragg to continue the folk tradition. Frequently for me, art with political statements elicits an “I agree with you, but the song/film/painting has no interesting angles” response. Usually this appears in a straightforward tale or with an issue that is so black and white there is little room for nuance. This problem appeared as Bragg put on his teacher's hat to wag his finger at the audience in “Help Save the Youth of America” and “There is Power in the Union.” The latter would work well if belting it out during a coal strike, but is not particularly interesting as a piece of music. More interesting, but perhaps outdated is “The Marriage.” In the song, the young Bragg rejects the concept of marriage as conventional, and siding with, God forbid, “their parents.” He wants to avoid commitment in typical male fashion, and thumbs his nose at bourgeoisie values to avoid his lover’s desire for deeper ties. Wonder if today’s Bragg, in his 60s, feels the same. The world needs Billy Braggs, but not necessarily frequently on my turntable.

What a delightful mix of deep opinions, humor and fun music. I came to this band years ago, not even knowing Kathleen Hanna was a member. While not a complete left-turn from Bikini Kill, Le Tigre certainly brings a significantly lighter musical approach. It makes for better listening, and therefore probably stronger propaganda/messaging for Hanna’s agenda. I was stunned to see “Deceptacon”’s level of popularity, but deservedly so for its infectious quality. The closing song “Les and Ray” tapped into a similar 1960s girl group liveliness, while “Eau D’ Bedroom Dancing” and “Dude Yr So Crazy!!” incorporated Pere Ubu, Public Image Ltd and early EDM to make for danceable and sinister songs. The best marriage of politics and pop was “My Metrocard” as the band hit its best groove, while the lyrics took a tour of 1990s NYC in humorous fashion. There were a few clunkers. “What Yr Take on Cassavettes?” boiled the choices down for the listener by shouting out his genius and terrible personal qualities. Both stereotypes were not interesting. “Hot Topic” was not a bad tune, but the flashcard list of overlooked women may have been impressive at times (Shirley Muldowney was a cool reference), however it took away from the rest of the song. Those are minor critiques as this record was an impressive debut album.

Any album that starts with “Tiny Dancer” has nowhere to go but down. While not a straight downward plunge, Madman Across the Water does decline as it proceeds. Something worthwhile appears in most songs, but the theme of life on the road in America stumbles much like Elton must have felt touring constantly through the U.S. early in his career. The portraits of traipsing from town to town always have Elton’s gift for melody and piano flourishes. However, Bernie Taupin’s lyrics are strained in lesser known songs like “Holiday Inn” and “Rotten Peaches.” They include the worn out theme of America wronging Native Americans in “Indian Sunset.” For such a noble subject, it is hard to think of a great song related to the topic. The non-road songs, “Levon” and “Razor” are quality works that develop fairly vivid pictures of their characters. The title track is a tour de force as Elton’s singing and piano match Paul Buckmaster’s powerhouse strings. The great title track and legendary “Tiny Dancer” allow the album to hit great heights, but the uneven quality of the other seven songs keeps the record below best works.

Pulp: Different Class FOUR STARS I wish I had given Different Class a closer listen, because I found it to be universally excellent. I cannot be certain if my casualness may have overlooked flaws in the record, or perhaps missed elements to make this record a classic. It came out of the gate with the piano fueled “Mis-Shapes.” The big hits “Common People” and “Disco 2000” deserve their popularity as both charge ahead, then add soaring choruses that must have been perfect for stadium shows in the era. Except for spoken word passages for “I Spy”, I found the slower tunes to be terrific pop. My favorite was “Something Changed” which utilized strings quite effectively. Nowhere on the album did I find whining or cheeky sarcasm. I might be a poor listener, and overlooked these traits, but I enjoyed the confident and direct style that I heard in the lyrics as well as the music. Even when lamenting a situation, Jarvis Cocker never drifted into self-pity. I felt I was on a ride with an interesting observer rather than a forlorn Gen Xer. Kudos to Pulp. I will definitely play this one in the future.

At times Yes can bring all of their talents together to produce music that is exciting and inspiring. When they indulge themselves individually or go on some sort of Beach Boys harmony expedition, the album becomes annoying. Chris Squire’s bass sounds like a rubber band being stretched and bounced around like a basketball. His huge sound on the big hits “Long Distance Runaround” and “Roundabout” go a long way towards making up for Jon Anderson’s vocals and overly earnest fantasy lyrics. Bill Buford contributes a similar energy as Squire in allowing the band to thrive instrumentally. I find Steve Howe’s and Rick Wakeman’s playing interesting when they can harness their classical bent into the flow of a song. The instrumental passage of “Fish” displays an interesting discipline compared to the rest of the album as for once the musicians do not overplay; at least until Anderson has to multitrack his voice halfway through the song. Too often this is not a band, but individuals seeking to outdo one another. The interludes scattered throughout the album add little, other than wow, “Steve Howe can play classical guitar. Rick Wakeman knows Brahms.” The same can be said for many songs as incredible passages of interweaving sounds then fall prey to an overdone soloist or vocalist. The closing track “Heart of the Sunrise” epitomizes this mix as its King Crimson opening jacks up the listener, but then the faux classical-fable elements cause the song to crash. A band of members who may be too good for their own good.