Music to drink dry martinis and smoke cigarettes to.
Powerful basslines are coupled with one of the coolest and most ravenous voices in the game.
I was pleasantly surprised by just how immediate this album was. It is fun and playful, and surprisingly concise, with fully fleshed-out songs compared to others in the punk genre.
Is it a sin to say that I think it is just a tad too long?
(Edit: Yes, Zach. Yes it is. Now Repent!)
Great energy. Dynamic instrumentation. Sadly, this isn’t really my jam.
Jack White’s music is a pastiche—a collage of blues, garage rock, and Americana. The songs are cool, and the thick, distorted guitar fuzz never fails. However, his work never moves me to tears, nor does it tug at the strings of my soul.
Jack White is the Quentin Tarantino of rock. And my favorite moments on Blunderbuss arrive when the music goes off the rails and White leans fully into the raspy, idiosyncratic inflections of his voice. Unfortunately, that means that the album is front-heavy.
Perfect for the Summertime
Cat Stevens’ Tea for the Tillerman hits every emotion—heartbreak, melancholia, nostalgia, optimism, and joy. The songwriting is strong, and his voice is gentle and earnest. You cannot tell me that John Frusciante wasn’t ripping it front to back while recording Curtains.
Beautiful voice. Intimate setting. I couldn’t help but smile during the more meta moments.
However, there are parts that are a bit too tired and understated for me. This is a live album that would pair nicely as background music for dinner (for better or worse).
Listening to this album is like biting into the sweetest, most delicious piece of candy imaginable—only to be met, in the very next instant, by an unrelenting series of knife stabs to the abdomen, eyes, and ears.
I am certain that God saw my Sarah Vaughan review, read words like “tired” and “understated,” and delivered this to me. I am also certain that this is what keeps Zach Hill up at night.
While I am leaning positive, I will admit that this is a bit of a one-trick pony. It is amazing how, on a long enough timeline, even chaos becomes repetitive and redundant.
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And if you stare into the abyss long enough, it will stare back at you and cry, “I am a Black Star.”
The jazz band compliments Bowie’s chilling vocals so well.
Yes! No. Maybe so?
There are some sweet moments nestled within the 42-minute runtime (Ex. The guitar panning on Yours is No Disgrace, the first half of I’ve Seen All Good People, etc.), but the songs themselves have little momentum; they just sort of meander. Sometimes the transitions feel a bit abrupt, clumsy or downright silly—I struggle when the music steps into whimsical, rock-opera territory. It doesn’t help that I felt emotionally disconnected from the lyrics, which are predominantly a big nothingburger. There was little to chew on, the harmonies were just alright, and the band’s energy was so-so.
Unfortunately, everything here just kinda ran off of me.
Kid A still sounds like music from the future about the past, made for the present—a low-hanging cloud of competing, dissonant emotions.
It is alienating and anxiety-inducing, yet somehow Thom Yorke and company manage to draw you in with a beautifully ethereal, otherworldly sound.
How to Disappear Completely and Motion Picture Soundtrack are two of my favorite songs of all time.
Reminds me of Nirvana but more pleasant, not as anxious or guttural.
Imagine how surprised I was when I found out this came out 10 years before Nevermind.
This album is a giant spot-light, and I am a tiny bug.
There is something about the sincerity and gentleness of Wayne’s voice that draws me in. While the beeps and bops aren’t technically as proficient as those on Kid A, there’s a warmth, intimacy, and hopefulness that I think I prefer now that I’m older.
An album this mature and sobering demands multiple listens.
Unfortunately, given the nature of the 1001 albums project and the unpredictability of life, I got only one.
All I can say is that I enjoyed every aspect of this album save for the horrendous album cover.
Me hitting play:
https://share.google/eM6stnldNKMJJ7Mng
Me resisting the urge to turn it off and listen to more John Zorn:
https://static01.nyt.com/images/2020/02/21/arts/20rewindpix/merlin_168924228_4e15ef97-9294-4d0b-a5c0-4396a71d033b-superJumbo.jpg
Am I burned out from listening to five albums a week? Am I growing bitter with age?
I respect the sparse instrumentation and enjoy the way the vocals intertwine. However, the songs themselves leave much to be desired. There is something about quirky, millennial music that doesn’t sit right with my soul
This sounds as if a few drunk frat guys had stumbled out of the pub, broken into The Doors’ studio, and recorded an album as quickly as possible (pretty sure the album cover is them striking a pose upon entry).
The playing is sloppy, the hooks pale in comparison to The Clash, and the lyrics are offensively bad.
While I appreciate the grit, it’s gonna be a no from me, dawg.
I didn’t hate it. I certainly didn’t love it. There is a dark, otherworldly quality to the album. I’d be lying if I said I will be listening to it again.
There are much better Fall albums. But, considering how this list likes to spam us with rock albums from the UK, I imagine we will be listening to them too.
The moment I hit play, a smile spread across my face and I let out a long, involuntary exhale of pure contentment.
The album feels refreshing—like sunlight peeking through the clouds after a thunderstorm. It may not be the flashiest or most proactive music out there, but it overflows with irresistible earworms and radiates great chemistry from the band.
I imagine this is exactly the kind of music that stomp-clap-hey millennials think they’re making.
Makes me want to crack open a cold one with my brother Brandon after a long days work.
(Edit: Maybe the recent heat wave is affecting my brain, but I cannot stop listening to this record.)
I’m certain that I am ignorant of the influence that this album has on hip-hop. But, this is bad, and, outside of its historical roots, meaningless.
For a project titled, “Planet Rock”, the songs themselves don’t really go anywhere.
Ghostface Killah’s rapping sounds effortless, smooth as butter. The beats go hard. The album would benefit from a trim.
Brother, ain’t making it out of horny jail.
There is so much talent on display, from the soulful vocals to the luscious band, but R&B is a genre I sometimes struggle to connect with. I prefer, “What’s Going On.” The closer is heavenly.
Anyone who says that Raps Renaissance was in the 90s and not the 2010s is lying to themselves.
Not my jam.
Music that flies.
It doesn’t reinvent the wheel, but it is uplifting and soulful. There are plenty of moments where the band is in a nice groove.
As I’ve gotten older, I’ve come to feel that much lyrical and conscious rap often comes across as preachy and pseudo-intellectual, sometimes at the expense of the music itself. Thankfully, that isn’t the case with The Renaissance. The album is super soulful and skillful, with many parts that remind me of a young Kanye West and Common. I also can’t help but think that this album was a major influence on Open Mike Eagle’s work.
However, despite my praise, there wasn’t really a single song that jumped out at me during my first listen. There’s much to appreciate here, but I’m not sure I’d ever return to it. I’d rather just listen to Tribe Called Quest.
Unapologetic and full of energy!
Like most rap albums of the 90s, I’d happily ditch the skits—especially the ones drenched in coitus. The lyrics are as juvenile as they come: fine in small doses, but they wear thin after a few tracks. Dr. Dre and Snoop Dogg come across like those obnoxious back-of-the-classroom delinquents who flip tables, refuse to do their schoolwork, and live to piss off the teacher. It’s no wonder Luke had such a visceral reaction to this album.
This is what we deserve for giving Q-Tip such a low rating!
Violent, literary, theatrical.
The songs themselves feel more like an anthology of gothic bedtime stories read on a cold winter night than actual songs—each one oozing with deplorable characters and colorful settings.
While this is not Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds most substantial or introspective release, it remains good fun—an old and familiar companion I return to again and again.
Cold. Warm. Cool. Alluring. Alien. Existential. Lynchian. I love how the drum machine is front and center.
This is a masterpiece.
Sounds like someone imitating artists that I like and falling short.
Leaving in the mouth breathing and tongue clicking is certainly a choice.
Way more fun and less annoying than The Chronic.
The group has great chemistry, and the production is raw and dynamic. Sure, the flows get stale and goofy at times, but that’s part of the charm.
Also, listening to Dr. Dre earnestly tell the listener how weed is bad and damages your brain caught me by surprise and is kind of sad in retrospect.
Overall, a good listen, although there were a quite a few skips.
