I found it surprising how many of these songs I've never heard before, and I think of myself as a Beatles fan. I guess I've never thought of this as a "real" Beatles album, given that most of it wasn't written by them. But it contains so much of what's great about them - the arrangements are so fun: the inventive bvs on Please Mr Postman, great lead guitar lines, inventive doowop harmonies, often strange drumming choices (the constant floor tom playing all the way to the climax in Money (That's What I Want)), and Ringo suggesting absolutely delighted to take his turn on I Wanna Be Your Man. Sure, some of it is raw and shambolic - Lennon's double tracks, the thin handclaps on Roll Over Beethoven, and the weird stereo separation (obviously not George Martin's fault) - but it feels live, and captures some of the magic of the Cavern/Hamburg. And it's ace.
I was scared of them at 14 - too loud and emotional - and even now I prefer the reggae versions by Little Roy. The sound of someone screaming isn't ever going to be my favourite sound. But I wasn't on the right side of history - clearly this was the greatest album of 1991, and not 5:30's "Bed" or Blur's "Leisure". And nowadays I do enjoy its melodicism. Maybe one day I'll analyse the prevalence of medial chord changes in this album, in particular the way that it supports chromatic melodies. But for now I'll be "he's the one / who likes an our pretty songs / and he likes to sing along / but he don't know what it means".
This was, I think, the first thing I've ever listened from start to finish. Pretty sure I hadn't heard any of the last five songs before, and it definitely tails off: "Endless Nameless" is too much.
Plus, the stuff that Spotify took me to after this was bloody awful (Jane's Addiction, Fugazi, Pearl Jam) so I think I'm better off having not really been into grunge. Guess I just wasn't an angry enough kid.
Are there too many Beck albums?
These jams are fine, if a bit lazy. I suppose it's classic gen-X - Odelay with the edges sanded down. But it's definitely no "Sea Change"
This is a fascinating crossroads record.
Stylistically, it's definitely not country and western. Ray Charles took in the country canon and treated it like a jazz head - reimagining standards in the "modern style". To contemporary ears it sounds, ironically, more dated than actual country. We are in full easy listening territory: syrupy backing vocals; gorgeous strings; and Ray Charles in full crooner mode - it could be Bing Crosby or Nat King Cole.
Not that that's a bad thing, but it does feel like a long double album, and is lacks variety. I could've done with a few more of the bangers that defined most of his 60s work.
The racial dimension feels radical - a black r&b star taking white-coded songs and transforming them, partly as proto-soul and partly 50s balladry, in a style that was neither black nor white.
Overall, I don't love the songs (I'm not really up on my country standards), but the arrangements are so classy and the piano playing is sublime.
Despite being recorded in exile, basically this is a straight-up joyous jazz record. Some deep swinging numbers "Masuru" absolutely tears it up. There's also - since it's 1972 - some heavy electric fusion ("Inner Crisis"), and some spiritual jazz - "Unhome" is a particularly lovely meditative moment.
That is, until the last track, "Ingoo PowPow (Children's Song)" which is like fusion with African elements, and feels really refreshing. Think Bitches Brew with some chanting. Really good stuff.
There's a moment in "get back" when John Lennon looks straight at the camera and deadpans "a-whabapelooba-a-wha-bap-boo" and is playing the clown pretending to be bored with it. That was 12 years after this album, and the Beatles are struggling trying to recapture what they used to love about music. Their touchstone is this, the first flush of rock and roll, and after everything they've accomplished, this reminds them why they started.
And 60 years on...it's still thrilling.
There's lots of reasons why I should like this: Geordie solidarity; literate pop; and the common consensus is that they're great.
But I find this a hard listen
His thin voice, bad MIDI horns, sub-house piano, obvious jazz-lite chord progressions...it's just bad 90s pop music. I think perhaps I prefer my pet shop boys staying in the 80s.
Is it a coincidence that this pops up the day after she died? Either way, it's cool to hear it.
I find straight-ahead country music annoyingly saccharin and obvious. Unless I'm into the story... In which I love it. This album has about half and half. Sorry Dolly.
What? I have to listen to Robbie fucking Williams?!
I actually don't mind him as a personality. I enjoyed Heat magazine, back in the day. His journey from Take That to Glastonbury was great tabloid story. The monkey film was a cool twist on a biopic. He is clearly a charming man. And Angels is an undeniable modern classic.
But this is absolute shit. Reeks of insincerity and cynicism. Britpop by numbers. Lyrics are absolute bobbins.
Sound like musical theatre troupe doing The Bluetones. Like Northern Uproar on a million pound budget. It reminds the listener that the 90s often crap and oasis weren't necessarily a good thing for Britain.
And the key change in "Hope I'm Old Before I Die" is a fucking war crime.
The drumming is impressively bombastic. But these are nursery rhymes for morons.
Joyful combination of Beatlesque rapid pop with Californian-sized production and rich college chorale harmonies. Wonderful.
A new Neil Young album to me, which I enjoyed, especially the looser soul sound like the outro to "Walk On". Although I like a lot of his songs, I have to admit that I don't find Neil Young's strangulated voice a source of pure joy, particularly in the higher registers, which there's a lot of in this. So, not bad, and I'm sure there'll be better NY albums to come..
And it starts so well - the unsettled pastoralism of "Strange Boys Play Weird Openings" has so much promise. And then the moronic Football chant rhythm of Malibu Beach Nightmare starts, and you realise - that opening was the best thing about it.
Oh man, this is awful. The tastelessness of Hair Metal. The 80s polish on punk. Apparently they're from Finland, so I guess that makes it alright (these are the original Tygörz!). But there's so many cliches, it's like Spinal Tap without any self awareness. Maybe they're actually being ironic. Either way, I found it a difficult listen.
Also, I strongly recommend not reading the lyrics to "Lick Summer Love" if you want to keep your lunch.
Yeesh. Horrible.
Ah this is more like it. An album I am really fond of.
Hard to separate the emotional response to this and be objective - Tracy Thorn singing "you're a girl and I'm a boy" will always feel like the warmest of blankets.
In fact, both of the Tracy Thorn joints are staggeringly good, even 30 years on from their initial teenaged punch. I remember I couldn't actually hear the "Better Things" baseline from the cassette player in my yellow Mini, but I still loved the tune - just Tracy and some skittering percussion.
Ok, it's not ALL great. (It could only ever be down from "Protection") - it's actually rather a cold album in places. And, as you might expect from a load of stoners, it's pretty lazy. Tricky reusing his verses (and then again on Maxinquaye)..then just straight nicking lyrics from the Specials. Weather Storm is a five-minute piano solo over a loop. And could they really not get Horace Andy to sing "Light My Fire" in tune with that monster beat (or the other way round)?
Some of the beats have not aged well - Euro Child particularly. But no wonder - this sound became the template for trip hop and downtempo "chill out" CDs. It's not exactly Massive Attack's fault for being pioneers.
All in all, though, and especially since my eldest is due to head to Bristol for her first term at University in two days, this was almost too emotional. I think I'll always love this album.
I once made a playlist for Stephen featuring Abbey Road with no Maxwell's Silver Hammer. It wasn't as good.
Enjoyed the rough edges of this - more post -punk than I expected. And the tunes are decent. The vocals are so unpleasant though. I tried but I can't get past it.
90s indie kids like me would tell you that Suede, despite being one of the triggers for Britpop ("Yanks Go Home!" and all that) existed outside it all - perfumed poets in a council flat wryly observing the normy coked-up hooligans selling out Knebworth and sighing through a sexy valium haze.
But listening to this record now I'm struck by how much it sounds like mainstream Britpop after all: the handclaps in the Animal Nitrate outro are pure Blur; Bernard Butler's baroque guitar arrangements could be on Be Here Now; some of the mockney turns of phrase ("lavvely little naaahmber") is pure Jamie Oliver; that ridiculous "sweet FA to do today" section in Sleeping Pills could be Menswear. They even kept their best songs as B-sides - how on earth wasn't "My Insatiable One" on this album?
Happily, the first three singles (in particular The Drowners and Metal Mickey) still sound fantastic, and of course the ballads are better than anything Oasis could muster - "Pantomime Horse" sounding especially radiant today. They were Britpop, but just a glamorous and androgynous take on that sound.
There's too much that annoys me about it - and of course Catherine Dobson was right when she said Bowie had already done it all - so it's not quite five stars. But it's close.
Although I can admire and appreciate it, I'm just not an angry enough person (or at least I wasn't an angry enough teenager) to get any enjoyment out of metal. Thanks to 80s skateboard videos I can tolerate some hardcore, but I couldn't do a whole album, and sure enough, I had to break this extended up into more palatable chunks.
I had no real perception about 1988 Metallica - obviously Enter Sandman is ok, plus I've seen "some kind of monster" so I knew roughly what I was letting myself in for, but what did they sound like before that? Well, it turns out that it's early metal - some fast hardcore stuff, some double-pedal semiquaver, athletic guitar solos - the only thing that would indicate it's age is the rather tinny sound of the drums.
I can't dismiss it as total bobbins: it's musically adventurous and very skillfully played. But why does it have to be so abrasive? Why does the vocal have to be so monotonal? Who wants a 10 minute epics about justice being raped? Why does it have to be so earnest? It's ridiculous.
The best bits were the all-too-brief acoustic breaks in "To Live Is To Die" - blessed relief from an hour-plus assault of crunchy overdrive.
Ah, overall an exhausting experience. Time for a cup of tea and some Simon and Garfunkel.
I had no expectations of this, but I really dug this likeable combination of pasty-faced English crooning and tight blue-eyed soul-funk. I can see where some of the funkier Smiths tunes (Barbarism Begins At Home) got their inspiration from - although in all honesty it's probably just a common root in Nile Rogers.
The tight funk of "Favourite Shirts (Boy Meets Girl)" could almost be a Gap Band tune, "Lemon Fire Brigde" is a beautiful, melancholic disco melody, "Kingsize" sounds like Duran Duran + Spandau Ballet (and that's definitely a good thing!), "Snow Girl" for obvious reasons, and "Fantastic Day"'s soaring melody. It's GREAT stuff - like a combination of Orange Juice, Dexy's, The Specials, with straight-up funk and rare groove like Average White Band, The Gap Band and Kool and the Gang. Definitely a keeper.
Make up your mind John - do you want us to float upstream or downstream?
My favourite Beatles album (because it's the one I'm listening to right now).
If there's a criticism, it's unbalanced. The second half is weaker - kicking off with Yellow Submarine how could it not be? - "Doctor Robert" is cool but generic, "I Want Tell You" is a forgettable attempt to derail their own trademark harmonies, and "Got To Get You Into My Life" is a pale British attempt at Motown pastiche - to modern (not Don Draper) ears they act almost like a setup for the monumental, thrilling slice of musical history that is "Tomorrow Never Knows". Such a towering piece of genius that everything else feels incredibly lightweight in comparison.
I recall listening to this in my friend Ed Ross' house and being intrigued by the superb samples and plain odd lyrics. Now, the beats and rhymes will always be second to Tribe, but it's an album I'll always enjoy coming back to.
Compared to pretty much all rap since, it's so wholesome - not much swearing, plenty of Daisy Age aphorisms, a bit of daft humour, and some childish insults about BO. I can just about tolerate the skits now, like annoying old friends, although I could definitely do without the Orgy skit (these guys were supposed to be the conscious ones?!).
There's so much for the sampling trainspotter to enjoy - and if this was a golden age, it was for copyright lawyers retrospectively claiming millions off poor old De La. When they made it the label didn’t think that really had to clear the samples because they only expected the album to sell a couple of thousand anyway! Because of this, for a long time it was unavailable on Spotify - and for some of the songs have been remade to avoid legal issues. Things have gone a bit far when "Eye Know" is partially credited to Otis Redding in the Spotify credits, but I have this record to thank for being a gateway to some great tunes - I can still remember being struck at King's Event by Bob Dorough's original of "Three is The Magic Number" - and to this day I prefer it to the De La Soul remake.
Some of the tunes are just perfect - "Say No Go" is peak hip-hop in 1991.
I'm all for separating the art from the artist, but it's tricky when the art is as creepy and unpleasant as this. At least Michael Jackson wasn't writing songs about sleepovers.
It's so contrived too - he really, really wants the listener to be appalled. The Onion nailed it: "Marilyn Manson Now Going Door To Door To Shock People"
Sonically it's impressive, and there are some amusing turns of phrase ("I wasn't born with enough little fingers") but the general mood and too-adjacent concerns over taking the art too far mean it's a hard listen which I'm not in a hurry to repeat before I die.
After the initial psych opening (the reverse drums got me listening closely) but once the trudging country-blues-rock riff came crashing in, the album more or less completely passed me by.... until the last five minutes of Free Bird's pure guitar heaven.
It's fine. It's servicable meat and potatoes rock. If it was 1973, or I was in a pickup truck in Tennessee, then I'm sure it would sound fantastic. Sadly I'm not.
One day isn't enough to absorb this album. "Bird On A Wire" was the only song I already knew, and Leonard Cohen's quietly loaded lyrics need time to percolate though. I'll definitely come back to it though - I've been listening to "Songs of Love and Hate" for 20 years and I still don't feel like I understand it. Lovely stuff.
A real joy to hear this album for the first time. I had the sensation that I already knew both "I'm Beginning To See The Light" and "Pale Blue Eyes", but I think I only knew them by reputation - since they are part of the template of what became indie rock. There's no Belle and Sebastian without this band. Interesting how even the titles predate the Smiths ("that's the story of my life") and echo the Beatles ("what goes on in your mind?").
In a sense it's a rejection of the motoric experimentation of first couple of albums in favour of the poppier sensibilities of "Loaded". Having lost John Cale they were freer to go for a more commercial angle. And "What Goes On" is a light funk groove - you could imagine this would fit on the radio in 1969.
Experimentation isn't totally suppressed, however - "The Murder Mystery" is a sprawling collage of hypnotic doors-y organ mantras, stereophonic spoken word paranoia, proto-Reichian minimalism, and smashed piano fists. The mood shifts finally in the cutesy closer "After Hours" featuring Moe Tucker's naif-jazz vocal, and order is restored.
Maybe it's not as packed with classics as Loaded, but still great.
More than any other album so far, this tested the rule of listening to an entire record. I tried to keep an open mind, but it's absolute dogshit, and even worse than I anticipated.
The first half of "Under The Bridge" is fine but then the planet-sized snares and horrible shriek choir kick in and everything's awful again.
The rapping is woeful. The bass is impressive but completely soulless. The guitar is trying so hard to be Hendrix but with none of the melody. And the brass neck to namecheck the Meters? They have none of the swing, nuance, and musicality of the meters. They're not fit to clap their hands to the Meters.
And the "sexy" bits? Jeez. Absolutely dry heaving. Presumably they thought it sounded like the freakier bits of George Clinton, but in Keidis hands, it's just straight sexpest. And here there's no room for separating the art from the artist here (certainly according to Miki Berenyi's book, and I know who I trust here).
No. Never again please.
