1001 Albums Summary

Absolute banger. I bounced so hard this morning, I spilt my Earl Grey.

Yes please, this is exactly the kind of chilled and sunny, quirky and funny, 90s indie pop that ensures my boat is comprehensively floated.

Cheer up Boy George, your album is a glorious slice of 80s pop and soul!

Fun fact: The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars is also 39 minutes long.

Yep, pretty good. It’s no 3 Feet High and Rising but it’s got some great samples, bass, and rhymes. I played it twice and enjoyed it even more the second time.

Oops, I spilt my Earl Grey again, dammit.

I’ve never been a fan of Radiohead’s moody navel-gazing sound, but this album was way more upbeat and enjoyable than I expected.

Blinking flip. I was shredding my air guitar, screaming into the void (aka my garden) and giving some full Este Haim bass face for pretty much the entire album. Honestly, it terrified the sparrows and my Earl Grey didn’t stand a chance.

Ah yes, that slightly psychedelic, slightly woozy, cookie-cutter Madchester sound from the mid-90s. I have fond memories of being completely underwhelmed by this the first time round.

I really liked the shouty bits.

Well this is the 50s Cuban rumba I didn’t know I needed. It occasionally threatens to dip into free jazz, but then sees sense and settles back into hot and sweaty hypnotic rhythms.

Way more accessible than I expected it to be, but I’m not sure I have the angst needed to really appreciate Radiohead’s more mournful sounds.

I had forgotten how unique Lloyd Cole’s voice was. Good in small doses, a whole album is something of a challenge.

Yep, good solid toe-tapping Indie rock. An extra star for the Terry Wogan line.

Well, it got so that every piss-ant prairie punk who thought he could shoot a gun would ride into town to try out the Waco Kid. I must have killed more men than Cecil B. DeMille. It got pretty gritty. I started to hear the word "draw" in my sleep. Then one day, I was just walking down the street when I heard a voice behind me say, "Reach for it, mister!" I spun around... and there I was, face to face with a six-year old kid. Well, I just threw my guns down and walked away. Little bastard shot me in the ass. So I limped to the nearest saloon, crawled inside a whiskey bottle... and I've been there ever since.

Superficially bright and breezy, subtly psychedelic, and occasionally sad and sombre, this is an absolutely spangly banger of mid 1960s west coast pop.

Well, it was a game of two halves, Brian. The lads were a bit all over the place in the first half, they had lots of great ideas but they didn’t all work, even though it was a non-stop and energetic performance. Anyway, the boss must have given them a right bollocking in the changing room because they came out focused and fighting in the second half and were properly back on form. At the end of the day Brian, I think they can be proud of their performance, especially from the three big lads up front, they put in a great shift and gave it 110%. Let’s see if they can repeat this form in the semis on a rainy night in Stoke.

The soporific virtues of Hollywood sadcore. If you like this sort of thing then this is exactly the sort of thing you’ll like.

Not entirely my thing, but there are a few nuggets I really like.

Yeah, pretty good. A few bangers in amongst the otherwise solid tracks. Not an album I’ll choose to listen to in full, but the hits are in my favourites playlist.

Wowsers, where did that come from? Ashamed to say I’d never heard of Songhoy Blues. This album is terrific, full of foot stompers and mellow tunes, and an instant addition to my library.

A pretty darn tasty techno filling sandwiched between two fairly indigestible and incredibly annoying tracks. Yum yum, yes please.

It’s… fine? To be honest, I didn’t really pay attention on the first play which perhaps says something about its impact? I forced myself to listen the second time round but it still resisted, wanting to be more background sound than a proper in-your-face in-your-ears album.

Crikey, the first three songs are amazing. Loved the opening track, was completely blindsided and shocked by Run Charlie Run, then totally absorbed by all 12 minutes of the gloriously funky Papa Was a Rollin’ Stone. The last 18 minutes were much more chilled but that was fine, I was still recovering.

For me, PJ Harvey constantly shifts along an axis between moody introverted poetry and visceral extroverted lyricism. Each album challenges me to re-establish my relationship with her lyrics and music, although my preference continues to be for her more dynamic performances, and… …and yeah, what a load of pretentious twaddle. What I’m trying to say is, I still really like the shouty bits.

Norah Jones’ voice is like a soft sweet cheesecake; a thin slice is wonderful but after a whole album I felt slightly sick and borderline diabetic and in desperate need of a large (sorry Alice) glass of water.

RIP Dolly. 100% not my music but I appreciate the talent.

Look at me, I’m a little dancing robot. *beep-boop* I said LOOK AT ME. *bidi-bidi-bidi* (Yeah, it’s been a long week)

Still the biggest, cheesiest, daftest, maddest slice of rock alchemy ever, and I fucking love it.

Stonking opening tracks, with more noodly music later, I can see how this marked their transition from Britpop to a more experimental sound.

We’re not at home to Mr Potty Mouth.

Felt like a gangly spandex sporting Justin Hawkins was needed to ramp up the cheese. Nothing’s Shocking? Yep, they got that right.

An amazing album from a 26-year-old with the voice of a gravel-chewing chain-smoking angel.

Ooh those cheeky Monkeys

something something “more personal and political” something something “scathing Maccattack” something something [hilarious “imagine” joke]

Interviewer: Can you explain jazz? Yogi Berra: I can’t, but I will. 90% of all jazz is half improvisation. The other half is the part people play while others are playing something they never played with anyone who played that part. So if you play the wrong part, it’s right. If you play the right part, it might be right if you play it wrong enough. But if you play it too right, it’s wrong.

A wild blend of global electronica. A tad on the long side but some cracking sounds.

Oh Nick, you’re so dark and moody and cool, with your unconventional performance and foul mouthed lyrics. I love how you totally leaned into your bloodthirsty and macabre stories of mass murderers. I think it’s a really brave and groundbreaking thematic album. Huh? No I’m not taking the piss.

xtonabike I’ve seen shorter films

Wibble. I am not afraid to say what we’re all thinking.

Enjoyably bonkers

It’s a heck of an experiment, Dave.

Now that’s how you do a live album

We’re not at home to Mr Potty Mouth

An icë-cöld bjänger

Ah yes, the distinctive guitar-distorting soundscape of angst-ridden shoegazers.

I am a sucker for fun, quirky, punky, indie, girl bands. Panic Shack. The Last Dinner Party. Le Tigre. Marvellous.

Is it just me or does the end of Surgeon’s Girl sound exactly - and I mean EXACTLY - like the Ying Tong Song: “Ying tong ying tong ying tong ying tong ying tong iddle I po!” (etc.) Yes, I am very old. Shut up. Now get off my lawn!