One can say this album is well-produced, full of fluent performances and excellent craftsmanship. But the sonic edges on Parachutes are so well sanded out that what emerges for all of this optimization is a soporific unit of music, cooked down until one could expect to take it in pill form. The guitar lines, lacking the edge one might like from the instrument, crash like distant waves into one another with none of the soothing quality. I have no particular animosity towards Coldplay and I appreciate the unique quality of Chris Martin's voice, but in this album he never strays from the safe confines of any capable pop singer. This album is emblematic for the empty sonic field of 2000s alt-rock radio music whose individual agents have collapsed in a pudding-like substrate of uninteresting sonic fare. It all meanders through one ear and falls right out the other, leaving no particular impression. Maybe you heard one of the singles at a baseball game, or maybe it was "Rockstar" by Nickleback, or was it the Creed song, who can say? I might be a bit ungenerous with the two stars, since this is album is mostly inoffensive and not genuinely unpleasant, but I did find myself frustrated enough with how bored I was to make the call.
The pleasure of listening to Elliot Smith eluded me for a long time. This album was thrilling, though. There are theoretically only so many things you can do with one guy and an acoustic guitar, but I was on the edge of my seat with each new track. Smith's voice sounds as if he is screaming through a whisper, every utterance feels urgent and important. The low-fidelity recording charms and imparts a sense of familiarity and warmth, as if you had taken a mixtape from a stranger off a bus and found a masterwork. I think it is missing some gravitas to elevate it to a true masterpiece—in spite of how impressive this album is there is just something missing—but nonetheless this is a delightful listen and an important part of American music.
I feel like Cisco Kid is also a friend of mine, too. Really fun, competent funk album with a lot of groove. Extremely solid all around.
If one were to hear this album without any context, they could easily believe that this was an album of Nirvana B-sides. This album is one of the many that emerged at the apogee of the grunge wave and has all of the building blocks. It is a fine album, absolutely nothing wrong with it, but it is not enough to break away from the shadow of Kurt Cobain.
I hate to report that I was thrilled with Meat is Murder, and I am absolutely furious to concede that, while I was ready to dismiss him as a self-important bum being carried by virtuostic performances of his bandmates, that Morrissey is a critical piece of the Smiths' sound. The vocals float atop the swiftly moving instrumentation in the mix in a way that delights in a new way every time one encounters it. Speaking of instrumentation, this album redefined what one could do with a bass guitar. I wish I could bathe in the bassline to "Barbarism Begins at Home."
That's not to say this is a perfect, no-notes, easy five-star album. Morrissey's preachy, on-the-nose lyricism is leady enough to drag it down from that level. How could you award five stars to an album with such a dreadful title track?
When this album stuck to safer waters, it was inoffensive, pleasant even. Gilberto has a lovely velvet voice that fits so well to relaxed bossa nova style instrumentation. In that way you can consider part of this album definitive of the genre, but still nothing feels earth shattering or even archetypal. At most, the highs are competent and fine to listen to. Unfortunately this came packaged with a few tracks that were frankly awful. I really wanted to skip "Parade (A Banda)" and "You Didn't Have to Be So Nice," and there was nothing so positive to ease the displeasure in this case.
There's a lot of good music here, with the characteristic two-chord beats of reggae supported by some excellent backing music. Burning Spear's vocals are typical for reggae but well above replacement level. You could be fooled by the softly swaying beats into thinking that this is just for easy listening, but the intensely political overtones will disabuse you of that notion quickly. This album opened my eyes to reggae as a medium for political expression and I found its environmental overtures to be fascinating as well. I enjoyed the challenge this album presents.
I had to do a double take when I saw this album came out in 1987. Had I not known better, I would have placed this album in the latter years of glam rock. It really sounds a bit like something one would have heard after Detroit Rock City on the radio, tapped their foot to, and then promptly forgotten after the radio host moved to commercials. Electric, unfortunately, takes a detour through post punk to arrive at the sound of late 70s glam rock in a most unsatisfying way. I have seen some comparisons to Led Zeppelin and their ilk but it strikes me as well downstream of any of those influences. With that said, I did notice my head bobbing to "King Contrary Man" and "Outlaw" but did not feel anything for the big single tracks.
