Global Statistics

Brings back vivid memories of when me and my mate Ray went on a trip to Dresden. We met this rotund goth in a bar, head to toe with tattoos and piercings, real filth and after a while took her into the disabled bogs for a spit roast. We were both pumping away in her with Napalm Death on in the background and her wailing "MEIN GOTT" at the top of her lungs. I remember spaffing all over her back just as Siege of Power kicked in. As i shoot over her, she takes Ray's cock out of her gob and says "do you want fries with that?" in a faux American accent. Anyway, we go outside and there's this gammy little geezer in a wheelchair sitting there furious, giving me daggers, because he's had to wait so long, so I lean into him and I go "I hope you have as much fun in there as we just did you little cunt".

Hehehe balls

I mean, it's Imagine by Julian Lennon's dad, it's a bit 'meh'. Jealous Guy is a good song....towards the end it made me punch a wall...but at least it wasn't my wife, eh John?

Aujourd'hui aurait du être un jour historique. En effet, en cette matinée du 20 juillet 2021 le générateur dévoilait son chouchou, la coqueluche de l'audimat générateurien, Abbey Road des Beatles. Ce review aurait pu permettre de dire tout le bien que je pense de cet album classique, mais malheureusement aujourd'hui l'essentiel n'est pas là. En effet, aujourd'hui, robpaupière a definitivement passé un cap dans le mauvais goût et la provocation, il a franchi la ligne irreversible qui va me pousser a devoir lui regler son compte. Pour vous remettre un peu dans le contexte, rob est mon "camarade" d'écoute. Nous avons effectué nos classes au sein de notre établissement scolaire ensemble, et dès son plus jeune âge, rob démontrait de sacrées dispositions a la musique de merde. En effet, son lecteur mp3 de l'epoque laissait échapper des sonorités nauséabondes de James Arthur, auquel rob vouait un culte total, malgré mon incompréhension la plus totale. Un beau jour de mars, je faisait suscintement mention de ce générateur à rob, qui fut de suite alerté et s'incrusta de force dans cette aventure, me forçant, et ce malgré mon consentement, à creer un groupe afin que nous puissions écouter les mêmes albums en simultané. C'est alors que les véritables problèmes débutèrent. Chaque jour depuis mars, je subis les commentaires musicaux catastrophiques de rob. Il les étale absolument partout: du Cruisaders au petit déjeuner, du Sonic Youth au gouter, du Finley Quaye pour terminer la journée. C'est une ribambelle de groupes tous plus moyens/mauvais les uns que les autres que rob prend en admiration, et dont il me rabache les mérites chaque jour que dieu fait. Mais alors même que cette situation est déjà extremement difficile a vivre vous en conviendrez, aujourd'hui marque un tournant. En effet, en plus de cet album des Beatles, que comme vous l'avez compris nous ne commenteront pas aujourd'hui, nous avions un album de retardà rattraper: Freak Out!, de la bande de l'ignoble Frank Zappa. Cet album absolument affreux - que j'ai déjà ouvertement critiqué dans ma désormais célèbre review dont on vient regulierement me parler (merci à vous pour cela) - a été hautement apprécié par l'effarant robtunnel. Il apprecie en effet son côté "experimental". Il est de notoriété public que rob cherche depuis toujours à se donner un genre de connaisseur un peu snob qui ne prend pas avec moi, mais considérer 15mn de cris d'animaux et de bruits de cuisine comme de la musique experimentale, c'est un peu fort de Roquefort. En plus de cela, alors que je commencais a liberer un flot d'insultes à l'egard de rob pour cette opinion desastreuse, comme beaucoup trop souvent, j'eu le malheur de faire reference a une artiste que j'apprecie enormement, la déesse Lana del Rey, regrettant sa non presence dans la liste au profit de tels albums de merde (je fais ici bien reference a l'album de la troupe de l'handicapé Frank Zappa). Rob, en fin non connaisseur musical, me retorquera que Lana del Rey n'a pas sa place dans cette liste des 1001, et surtout pas a la place du zoo de Zappa. C'en était trop pour moi, et j'ai donc décidé de menacer physiquement rob, que j'affornterai à mon retour en France dans un combat a mains nues. Je suis plutôt serein, rob ayant le physique de ses idées, il ne ferait pas de mal a une mouche, hormis peut etre en lui presentant sa playlist Spotify. Je vous tiendrai au courant du déroulé de comba très prochainement, à bientôt chers lecteurs.

L'album est excellent mais je n'ai pas envie de m'éterniser là-dessus. Non, ce dont j'ai envie de parler aujourd'hui, c'est le sentiment de pitié que j'éprouve envers l'enfance de mon compagnon d'écoute que vous commencez à connaître ; je veux bien entendu parler du dénommé ltrapeze. Voyez-vous, pendant que mes parents jouaient très régulièrement les Beatles dans mon salon, ltrapeze n'avait pas le droit au même traitement. Pour lui, l'ambiance au domcile familiale était quelque peu différente. Tantôt ce sont les reprises de Michal sur le plateau de la Star Ac 3 qui inondaient l'espace sonores de la maison, tantôt le single Premier Love de Tony Parker que ses parents avaient l'habitude de laisser tourner en boucle tout l'après-midi. Pour le petit ltrapeze, interdiction formelle de montrer tout signe d'intérêt pour une chanson qui n'entrait pas dans le champ des artistes précités. Un événement survenu en 2009 aurait pourtant pu changer la donne. Alors que la famille était réunie autour d'un poulet au caramel préparé par un traiteur thaïlandais du bas de la rue et que le poste radio chantait ♫ on s'est connus on était gosses t'étais mon premier love, bien avant le basket, mon premier titre, toujours ensemble, à l'epoque on était croques l'un de l'autre♫, ltrapeze se leva discrètement et appuya sur un bouton de ce même poste, faisant passer celui-ci de l'option CD à l'option FM. La famille se tut en cœur et ses parents cessèrent de frapper leurs cuisses pour marquer le rythme. Tous les regards se dirigeaient bientôt vers ltrapeze qui affichait un visage des plus crispés. La radio nasilla soudain ♫ come together right now over me ♫. L'atmosphère était irrespirable. "Retouche le bouton" lança alors le père Trapeze à son fils. Ce dernier maintint l'expression crispée qu'il arborait depuis maintenant un moment. "Oui, retouche le bouton s'il te plaît" intervint la mère Trapeze à son même fils. Ce dernier s'exécuta et le poste s'écria soudain ♫ on était jeunes on était fous à qui la faute on n'était rien sans l'autre ♫. La vie avait repris son cours.

This album broke my heart. Tracy has a strong, unique voice, and a gift for storytelling. The problem is, the stories she weaves are often about people experiencing domestic violence and poverty. I spend my days talking to murderers, pedophiles, people experiencing homelessness and extreme poverty, and domestic violence sufferers; when I punch out at the end of the day and throw on some jams, I want something that helps me escape the real world for awhile, not give me poignant reminders of its ugliness (to be fair, it wasn't all doom and gloom, and there were healthy doses of hope as well in the lyrics). All that being said, these stories do need to be told, and Tracy tells them brilliantly. Music isn't just about escapism, it is often about activism and speaking truth to power as well. This album is brims with that energy, and its value can't be overstated. My personal enjoyment: 2.5/5 Did it belong on this list: 5/5

I mean, it's a masterpiece. It's just so good I don't even care that there's a saxophone solo in it. Three monster hits (Welcome to the Machine, Have a Cigar, and Wish You Were Here) bookeneded by two 12+ minute pieces of some of the best prog-rock music ever written. No complaints, only positive vibes for this one.

“Sticky Fingers” by The Rolling Stones (1971) Since this is one of the greatest albums of all time, I’ll take a different approach here. This album is one with which I’m very familiar. I know it by heart. My older sister bought it for me when it first came out in 1971, and, since my record collection was quite limited at the time, I listened to it thousands of times. It became a very important part of my musical, cultural, and spiritual formation, although I didn’t realize it at the time. For those who have never listened to this music as an album, it might only be familiar through the tracks that became hits, such as “Brown Sugar” and “Bitch”. Or those who are keenly attentive to music may be familiar with other songs such as “Can’t You Hear Me Knocking”, or “Sister Morphine “, which have entered the cultural consciousness of the 21st century. But as an indicator of the influence of this album, one should observe that every song on the album has a separate Wikipedia article of its own. That’s saying something. This album qua album should be listened to from start to finish. Rock ‘n Roll. Decadent and dirty. Crystallized toxic masculinity with only a hint of redemption. Now, to understand this album, let me take you back in history (1970): Meredith Hunter was dead. An 18 year old African American, he was killed by Hells Angels member Alan Passaro on December 6, 1969 in front of the stage at the “Altamont Free Concert”, featuring The Rolling Stones. Hunter had pulled a gun, and Passaro stabbed him five times in the back (later acquitted of murder on the grounds of self-defense). The Stones were performing the misogynistic “Under My Thumb” at the time. How would The Rolling Stones respond to this terrible event in their next studio album? Artistic humility and lamentation or supercharged indifference? You be the judge. Brian Jones was dead. The quirky, talented, inventive, and unstable founder and multi-instrumentalist for The Rolling Stones had died in July 1969 (at the age of 27). Lead guitarist Mick Taylor took his place. That is the number one reason why this album is great. Lead singer Mick Jagger, drummer Charlie Watts, and bassist Bill Wyman knew that the replacement of Jones would make or break the band, so they were highly motivated to excel on this first studio album with the new lineup. How to integrate Mick Taylor to a well-established rock ‘n roll band? It was an artistic and existential challenge, and the Stones were up to it. Now Keith Richards, rhythm guitarist, worked with Taylor to ‘roll’ him into The Rolling Stones’ unique sound of ‘weaving’ lead and rhythm. The chemistry between these two became magical. I probably listened to this album several hundred times before I began to get an inkling of this. Listen closely and you’ll hear it. Richards/Taylor. Rhythm/Lead. That’s the music of this album. The rhythm section (Charlie Watts on drums and Bill Wyman on bass) provides quintessentially steady, if inelaborate tempos and grounding throughout. Keith Richards provides suitable chord structure and underpinning of the melodies in his execution of rhythm guitar. Vocally, Mick Jagger is a mess. But that’s the point. His deliberately exaggerated flaws in his vocal stylings, chaotic diction and tone, loose approach to pitch, and sometimes random exclamations are all calculated to produce the intended effect—adolescent male angst (however far out of touch he is with his own). In “Brown Sugar”, misogyny and racism are wrapped into one hard driven musical wallow with a rollicking beat. In the lyrics, the Anglo narrator reflects on the cultural roots of his present day sexual infatuation with a young Black woman, connecting it back to the sexual liberties of white male slave owners, and further back to the violent sexual domination by white slave traders over their helpless victims. It was the musical answer to the question, “Why is sex with black women so appealing to white men?” (Answer: the screams). It was recorded December 2-4, 1969. Then the Stones were ‘off to Altamont’ where they performed this song live, musically presiding (not incidentally) over the scene where a white man killed a gun-toting black man in front of the black man’s white girlfriend. Now put all that together, bro. The message of “Sway” is that evil, even demonic attacks of depression can only be conquered by love. Set in a bluesy environment, the music is accentuated by the weaving of two guitar lines: bottleneck slide (Taylor) and electric rhythm (this time by Jagger instead of Richards). The song ends with a masterful slide guitar solo by Mick Taylor and an effective string background as it fades. A beautiful and under-appreciated anthem. On “Wild Horses” a serious listener (with headphones) can get a sense of Taylor and Richards ‘weaving’, especially in the first verse, with Richards on twelve string acoustic in the right channel, while Taylor provides blended lead and licks on slide acoustic in the center of the stereo mix, adding overdubbed color (with the lower four strings tuned an octave higher) in the right channel. It becomes a tender setting for the message of devotion a man to his woman in the midst of her suffering. Notice the emotional progression from the insensitively nasty in “Brown Sugar” to hopefulness in “Sway”, and then on to deep compassion in “Wild Horses”. On “Can’t You Hear Me Knocking”, we hear more ‘weaving’. Listen for Richards on the right channel and Taylor on the left channel. At 2:42, Taylor drops out for Richards to set up the remarkable Bobby Keys tenor sax solo. Taylor and Richards both provide underlying colorings to the sax, followed (at 4:40) by an iconic Taylor guitar solo, with Richards providing rhythm support, until Keys rejoins (at 6:00) for a fine jazz romp to the final splash cymbal by Watts. (If you wanted background music to a collage of scenes of mob violence, this would do nicely. And that is exactly what Martin Scorsese did with it in “Casino”. Chilling.) The last two minutes of the track, it is reported, were unplanned. The musicians were unaware the tape was still rolling. God exists. With “Bitch”, we have uninhibited nasty rock, enriched by a sassy horn section over more ‘weaving’ by Richards and Taylor. The musical setting and lustful lyric provide a suitable vehicle for Jagger’s raw vocals. These words depict a driving passion for the beloved that is reduced to autonomic reflex (“like a Pavlov dog”). For God’s sake, woman, throw the dog a bone. “I Got the Blues” is a dirge-like blues ballad, guaranteed to lower your blood pressure after “Bitch”. Again, with beautiful horns, and some exquisite Hammond organ soloing by Billy Preston. And speaking of blood pressure, “Sister Morphine” is a track that could send you to the hospital. A haunting minor key lament of a drug addict’s agonizing withdrawal, addressed to his longed-for but absent Sister Morphine. Mournful tone on the Richards’ strummed acoustic, with accompanying electric slide, this time by the incomparable Ry Cooder. In his delirium, the song’s protagonist is possessed of a sudden terror (“What am I doing in this place? / Why does the doctor have no face?”). If this song doesn’t produce a shudder, you’re already dead. And speaking of dead, the next track, “Dead Flowers” is a piece of lazy passive aggression, presented in a funked up country mood. Jagger’s narrator can’t contain a mocking disdain for his former girl who has apparently moved up the better life, leaving him in some basement “with needle and a spoon”. Vocals with an exaggerated affected southern accent highlight the mockery. The only hint of redemption here is his (vain) hope to someday put roses on her grave. Why am I skeptical? The final song on “Sticky Fingers” is “Moonlight Mile”. Painfully slow, a man living “on the road” longs to be home with his beloved. Fine acoustic and electric guitar work by Taylor. The expansive string arrangement over a gut wrenching piano brings his hope to an almost victorious conclusion, punctuating the powerful bridge before softening at the very end, bringing this song, and this album, to a melancholy conclusion. In its creative conception, the lyrics (as well as the cover art, dangling tongue logo, and other marketing strategies) are unabashedly lascivious and drug-centered. But they are tempered by reflections of darker and even dangerous moods—a perfect concoction for exciting the libido of most every 16-year old American male (like me at the time), who imagined that it was his own picture on the cover. “Sticky Fingers” by The Rolling Stones is, of course, a classic. 5/5

Dry was shockingly frank in its subject and sound, as PJ Harvey delivered post-feminist manifestos with a punkish force. PJ Harvey's second album, Rid of Me, finds the trio, and Harvey in particular, pushing themselves to extremes. This is partially due to producer Steve Albini, who gives the album a bloodless, abrasive edge with his exacting production; each dynamic is pushed to the limit, leaving absolutely no subtleties in the music. Harvey's songs, in decided contrast to Albini's approach, are filled with gray areas and uncertainties, and are considerably more personal than those on Dry. Furthermore, they are lyrically and melodically superior to the songs on the debut, but their merits are obscured by Albini's black-and-white production, which is polarizing. It may be the aural embodiment of the tortured lyrics, and therefore a supremely effective piece of performance art, but it also makes Rid of Me a difficult record to meet halfway. But anyone willing to accept its sonic extremities will find Rid of Me to be a record of unusual power and purpose, one with few peers in its unsettling emotional honesty.

I felt like a humanised piece of sperm floating in eternity.

3.8 - Sounds like flipping through AM radio in a dream. A really enjoyable listen that I’ll probably need to return to fully appreciate.

This is pre-disco Bee Gees which means it's not even interesting in an annoying way. This was just bleh. Insipid lyrics, music that's trying SO HARD to sound like other bands, and mediocre production combine to create a completely forgettable experience.

A whole lot of investment for a maximum of 15 minutes pay-off. You can certainly die before listening to this one, and in all honesty, at 1 hour 6 mins in length, there is a good chance that you might.

A dumb thing done in an interesting way can still be a dumb thing.

Day 21 of Albums you must hear.. And I’ve got an album that took me a couple of days to digest, in order to give it its well deserved attention. 1979’s release from The Clash, London Calling. Described by Rolling Stone magazine as the best album of the 1980’s, and by many others as the greatest album of all time, London Calling was a real treat to listen to over and over again. I have never listened to London Calling before, and most of the songs that I recognize from The Clash would come out in later years. The Clash didn’t invent the wheel when it comes to British Punk Rock, they just put the GoodYear rubber on that bitch and got the most commercial tread from it. London Calling is considered a Punk album but when you really give it a listen, it’s a potpourri of many different styles and genres. I felt no listening fatigue, as each song is well, different. It’s all tied together with one of the most unique vocalists in Rock music, Joe Strummer. Even when his voice breaks and strains, it is pure Punk and melodic. I couldn’t get enough. There are so many different instruments used on this album that it’s a call back to The Beatles famous experimentation in the studio in their twilight years. London Calling is an album that deserves to be listened to on either a high-end stereo or headphones. If not you will miss out on much of the charm sprinkled throughout. My favorite songs are the title track London Calling (the lyric “phony Beatlemania has bitten the dust” gave me a good chuckle), Hateful has a great breakdown every few bars that I love and the chorus is addictive. Rudie Can’t Fail has a lot of reggae influence and has a call back, or forward, to I Fought The Law. The Guns of Brixton is pretty gangster for 1979 and is catchy as hell. Lovers Rock is smoother than a baby’s powdered bottom. My favorite song, Train In Vain, wasn’t even listed on the original album artwork in 1979, as it was added last minute and might as well be considered a secret track back then. Sure, it’s the most poppy track, but it makes me feel really good. Green Day must have taken a lot from this band, I see so many similarities in style and willingness to cross genre jurisdictions. London Calling is a large album, it was released as a double album, even though it cost the same as a regular album to the consumers, much to the chagrin of the record label. I’m sure the kids back then were super happy about the savings! When I first learned about how highly regarded London Calling is worldwide, I didn’t want to rush through it, and I’m glad I didn’t. This is a five star listening experience and deserves more attention from the average listeners of today. Please share your thoughts, memories and opinions!