Reviews by abrisskull

Originally, I was excited to get Snoop Dogg's debut album at some point on this journey, especially since earlier this year I enjoyed Snoop's featuring on Dr. Dre's solo debut, The Chronic. But I'll admit my overall enjoyment of Snoop has waned in the past couple of months with the antics he's gotten himself into, to the point where he put out a surprise album last week that delves into a defense for his recent actions. I'm not going to say any further on this matter, as it should not be relevant to the discussion around his debut from over twenty years ago. If anything, I will try and do my best to meet the man where he was back in the day.

With all that said, let's spin it back to the beginning. Calvin Cordozar Broadus Jr. grew up in Long Beach, California, with a Baptist background. He started rapping as early as sixth grade, frequently doing it at school. It wouldn't be long though before Calvin got caught in the middle of Cali's persistent gang violence environment, ending up as a member of the Crips. He was incarcerated for a few years for cocaine possession, but once out was able to put that life to the side and rekindle his joy of rapping. He ended up recording mixtapes with his cousins, Nate Dogg and Lil' 1/2 Dead, and his friend Warren G. The tapes were sent out to labels, and one in particular caught the interest of Dr. Dre. He was so impressed that he called for Calvin to audition for his label, Future Shock, which would later become Death Row Records. Through Dr. Dre's opening the door, and N.W.A. affiliate The D.O.C.'s lecturing on lyrical structure and theming, Calvin began his rapping career under the stage name of Snoop Doggy Dogg.

Snoop got quick to work with Dr. Dre, first for the theme song for the film Deep Cover, then featuring on The Chronic, as I mentioned earlier. The intense exposure in such a short window paved the way for interest in Snoop recording his solo debut. Thus, Doggystyle was born.

Now, it makes sense that Doggystyle and The Chronic go hand-in-hand when discussing the former. After all, both albums feature Snoop, were produced by Dr. Dre, follow the newfound G-funk styling that would help reshape West Coast hip hop to be more melodious with groovin' beats, and lyrically deal with the gang violence and harsh reality that persisted in California at the time. As I've established, Snoop was a Crip, and as such, he's been in some shit with the street life. He certainly ain't praising that lifestyle if the lyrics to "Murder Was the Case" and "Serial Killa" are to go by, but rather offering cautious tales to sway young kids in the ghettos away from that grift. In that regard, Snoop's pretty effective in that lane with his laid-back cadence that emphasizes pronunciation so the listener understands every word he's saying. Of course, there are plenty of other bangers throughout this record, and not always about gang violence, as Snoop also shares his love for his vices on "Gin and Juice", and establishing his identity on "Who Am I (What's My Name)?" over phat beats and layered arrangements. Not to mention, the amount of talent that Snoop and Dre brought into the fold, including the furious bars of The Lady of Rage opposite George Clinton on "G Funk Intro", Jewell's infectious hook on "Who Am I (What's My Name)?", and the posse cut run from "For All My N----z and Bitches" through "Doggy Dogg World".

My one gripe with this album is simply how dated it all feels. Much like with The Chronic, there's a certain attitude toward women for sex that left a sour taste for me. The "bitches" and "hoes" get bragged about a lot through this record, to the point where the skit at the beginning of closer "Pump Pump" involves a woman ditching her man for Snoop. I don't consider it as bad as The Chronic was, as Snoop's cadence allows for a more sensual nature that can be carried effectively on cuts like "Lodi Dodi" and "Ain't No Fun (If the Homies Can't Have None)". But it is a persistent subject matter that's hard to ignore. At least the skits are shorter and better integrated into their respective songs, which is also an improvement from The Chronic.

Overall, Doggystyle is a solid debut for Snoop. Even if I am currently experiencing a fallout in interest with the man, he has already established himself decades ago, with a record that is fundamental in the evolution of West Coast hip hop.

After getting Music for the Jilted Generation as album #11 on my journey, I was curious about the follow-up, The Fat of the Land. After listening to it, I'd say they're about the same quality.

There are notable differences between both albums. In the case of Fat of the Land, it's brighter in tone such that more of the songs are danceable in structure. From the get-go with "Smack My Bitch Up" into "Breathe" the rave party vibe is very much present. Adding to that atmosphere is a more varied vocal presence. Whereas before Jilted had the one song "Poison" with vocal contributions, now nearly every track has a notable performer behind the mic, with the big presences here being the returning Maxim Reality and Keith Flint. Both the vocals and the tone contribute to a more palatable experience for newcomers to the big beat scene, compared to the darker and manic nature of Jilted.

That said, Fat of the Land is still longer than it should be. For sure, it's less than the runtime of Jilted, but the pacing bogs down toward the middle with the nine-minute "Narayan". That song tried to add ambiance with the drone and chants but was hampered by its drawn-out buildup and Crispian Mills' flimsy vocal presence. Also not helping matters is that this album ends on a cover song, in this case, a techno version of L7's "Fuel My Fire". It's not bad, but "Climbatize" felt like the proper ending in focusing on Liam Howlett's programming chops.

Overall, I still had a good enough time with Fat of the Land. Between this and Jilted, The Prodigy cemented themselves in the pantheon of 90s electronic music, that much is evident.

I will base my review on the track list of the original release of this album. Normally, I make a statement like this for an album review on this journey without any hesitation. The problem here is that I am excluding what could be considered the gateway track for this particular band.

I heard about the Lemonheads because of their cover of Simon & Garfunkel's "Mrs. Robinson", which was added to subsequent re-releases of their breakthrough record, It's a Shame About Ray. I can imagine that for many people, this is the one song they will recognize from the group, much to the chagrin of frontman Evan Dando and original songwriter Paul Simon. It's a shame, pun intended, because the album this cover is retroactively associated with is pretty solid.

This is an intriguing blend of jangle pop and grunge, where the guitar tones are bright and crunchy at the same time, as Evan and company blaze through a rich slice of bouncing tunes about finding bliss that ebb from character stories to strifes for bliss amidst the drug-riddled reckless abandon. There's a lot of Evan's personality that shined through in his performance and abstract lyrics, as bassist Juliana Hatfield and drummer David Ryan provided a strong foundation for these songs to be built upon. Opener "Rockin' Stroll", the title track, "Rudderless", and "Alison's Starting to Happen" were personal highlights that showcased the cheery angst this record employed throughout.

If anything, my only complaint is that this record is rather short. Clocking in at under a half-hour, there were multiple instances where songs could have been expanded. I can see why people would favor inclusion of the "Mrs. Robinson" cover in later releases, yet I feel that "Frank Mills" still works as a closer. Perhaps more time in the studio would have helped in fleshing out some of these tracks.

Still, I consider It's a Shame About Ray to be quite a pleasant outing for The Lemonheads. It's good to know that they are worth more than the one cover song.

Here's a fun story: I took a "coding music" class during my senior year of college, where I learned how to make my own electronic music and the history of the genre. One of the artists talked about in that class was Kraftwerk, and I heard "The Robots" off this album, The Man Machine. I enjoy that song for its driving beat, the minimalist vocoder vocals, and the mixture of synthesizer loops and electronic keyboard strokes that interweave to create a mechanical atmosphere indicative of the titular robots.

That sentiment of the electronically driven atmosphere is carried throughout the rest of the album. The song compositions expand upon various loops and rhythms to generate a sound and style that invokes the given lyrical theme, oft divided between the advancement of machinery on the title track and "Spacelab" and the glitz and glamour of city life on "Metropolis", "The Model" and "Neon Lights".

I don't think I have much to complain about with The Man Machine. It's well-produced and well-executed in its intent like you would expect a machine to do, and it does not overstay its welcome at 36 minutes of runtime. Perhaps not everyone is on board with the minimalist nature of this album and electronic music in general, but I cannot deny the enjoyment I have in what it accomplishes with so little.

Okay, here’s the thing - I anticipated that there were going to be a few Rolling Stones albums on this list. With this debut album, each member is technically efficient in their respective right from the get-go, and on some level as a Stones fan it was cool to hear the humble beginnings of this group.

But that leads us to an undeniable truth - that this is a debut album consisting mostly of cover songs of the blues artists they were influenced by early on in their career, broken up by two original songs that admittedly aren’t well remembered. Technically good and flattering, but not something worth listening to before you die given what the Stones have accomplished in the latter half of the 60s onward.

I’d say this album is definitely for the diehard Stones fans - the ones who know what this band are capable of and want to further explore their roots. I know we got some true classics from them coming up on this journey, and this debut unfortunately doesn’t hold a candle to them.

I've heard the title track to this debut album from Booker T. & the MG's, as "Green Onions" is one of those songs that's become an American ballpark stable. I've gone to baseball games where this song gets blared out of the speakers between pitches, and it's always a nice addition to the ambiance.

As for the rest of the album, it follows suit of the title track as an instrumental R&B album. Most of the tracks are covers of blues and R&B staples with the vocal duties taken over by Booker T. on the Hammond M3 organ. Is it a decent album where all the instruments play well to capture the vibes? Yes, with the organ playing, the minimalist rhythm section accompaniment, and Steve Cropper's rollicking guitar licks. But it doesn't transcend past its "decent" quality. It is still another debut album from the 1960s mostly comprising cover songs. Green Onions the album is enjoyable for the moment, but outside of the title track, it's not as necessary to seek out.

On this journey, I already enjoyed The Man Machine from Kraftwerk, and it is no surprise that I adored the preceding record. Trans Europe Express is an album that saw the group further depart from their krautrock beginnings and dive into melodic electronic compositions while taking inspiration from the Weimar era folk music they grew up with.

From the get-go on "Europe Endless", we are treated with glistening synthesizer lines from Ralf Hütter, mixed-in vocoder echoes from Florian Schneider, and the accented electronic percussion from Karl Bantos and Wolfgang Flür that balance each other out into a well-oiled machine. The meaningful repetition paves the way for the synths to oscillate and find new playful motifs.

It doesn't take long for this album to get dark, as "The Hall of Mirrors" begins with a rather haunting synth line leading to the spare beat and piano, as Ralf gives a chilling deadpan delivery about one's hollow reflections. It serves as a nice thematical transition into "Showroom Dummies", where the hollowness illicit this feeling as if the people were store mannequins wanting to break out of their department store window to go out, dance, and live. That sentiment is captured excellently with the bouncy yet haunting melody as the vocoder echoes in the background.

Then we get to the title track, as the beat bounces along with a melodic chugging that does feel like going on a futuristic train. Considering this song has gotten sampled a lot in hip-hop over the years, it's no wonder this is one of Kraftwerk's biggest hits. But we're not even done yet, as the beat continues in the transition to "Metal on Metal" with the clanging of metal pans, to the tinny keyboard line of "Abzug" as the tension of the train ride builds, before the train stops. At this point, the destination has been reached, with the welcome of a beautifully complex melody played on an analog sequencer on "Franz Schubert" with the vocoder modulating in the background. The album closes with a reprise of "Europe Endless" called "Endless Endless", bringing the experience full circle.

Trans Europe Express was an excellent journey all the way through, striking a balance of catchiness and quirkiness that Kraftwerk mastered at this point in their career. I can see how this would be a very influential record across multiple genres.

I will not include the reissue bonus tracks and interview segments in this review.

I am familiar with the Isley Brothers, having started as a cross between gospel and doo-wop before expanding their member roster and transitioning into a hybrid of funk rock and psychedelic soul. Alongside original compositions, the brothers would also funkify rock songs and other existing tracks. In fact, the big single off this record I already know, "That Lady", is a reworking of their earlier track "Who's That Lady". That re-recording continues to be an absolute banger, which made me curious how the rest of 3 + 3 sounded.

Boy, I figured I was in for a fun treat, but this album impressed me. Younger brothers Ernie and Marvin Isley were officially brought into the fold as guitarist and bassist for the group, and they knock it out of the park. The infectious bass lines and guitar stabs made for such a delightful listen, alongside the brothers' harmonious vocals, George Morland's steady beat, and Truman Thomas's light organ finesse. Not only were the original songs of love and life exploration effective funk rock tunes, but I was genuinely floored by how they reworked other people's songs. The R&B waltz of James Taylor's "Don't Let Me Be Lonely Tonight", the absolute chicken-scratch guitar work and bounce of the Doobie Brothers' "Listen to the Music", and the thumping bass-led groove of Jonathan Edwards's "Sunshine" were all amazingly realized. But the crown jewel of this record ended up being their cover of Seals & Crofts' "Summer Breeze", transforming a laid-back soft-rock tune into a full-on extended jam complete with a soaring guitar solo from Ernie. I cannot deny how strong reinterpretations like these match the quality of their original work.

3 + 3 proved to be such an amazing record, completing the Isley Brothers' metamorphosis into such an electrifying funk group with raw, genuine passion.

This is it. The last David Bowie album on my journey. It's only fitting that it's the final album released in his lifetime. After going through all his other albums included in the books, plus a few other albums and songs from his catalog along the way, I come here as a witness to his final offering to his fans to say... I don't consider Blackstar to be as good as The Next Day.

It hurts me to say that; it truly does. I will dive into how much of an emotional whirlwind Blackstar was for me in a moment, but a few issues need to be addressed. First, I have to admit that Bowie's performance on here is uneven. Don't get me wrong; I know why that was the case, given his physical condition, and it does work at points in context with the lyrics and themes, which I will get to. But by the same token, he wrote the vocal lines for this record, and on cuts like the title track and "Girl Loves Me", there are cracks and breaks in his voice that are pretty noticeable. That's not to say those imperfections can't accentuate a certain world-weariness; I certainly gave Marianne Faithfull that lenience with Broken English. But on here, I can't help but feel distracted by them from an otherwise fragile yet impressive, soulful performance, especially with the final two tracks.

The second issue I have with the album is with Tony Visconti's production here. Given how bleak the atmosphere is here - the ghostly backing vocals, sparse percussion, heavenly swells of strings, jittery flutes, liquid basswork, and the cushion of hazy synth and free-flowing saxophone that leaps across the mix with reckless abandon - I found myself wishing there was a bit more bite to this record, especially when those ragged guitar lines sneak in. Granted, it is damn impressive that Bowie could still compose music this simultaneously unsettling and approachable without relying on darker textures, but I can't help but wonder what might have been. Of course, that doesn't take anything away from the compositions themselves, filled with such beautiful subtleties that add a ton to the mix: the gleaming synth motif that accents "'Tis a Pity She Was a Whore", the thudding bass of "Lazarus" with its fuzzed-out riff that the horns then mirror, the industrial touches that intensify the feverish panic of "Sue (Or in a Season of Crime)", the gorgeous backing piano and other such acoustic textures running through "Dollar Days", and that pillowy cloud of effervescent keys, brittle hi-hats, and eerie horns merging with the guitars on "I Can't Give Everything Away", complete with that wonderous harmonica fragmentation from Bowie himself.

At this point, I am having a hard time keeping myself composed, cause now we do need to address the lyrics and themes. More specifically, how much weight and power does this album hold as Bowie's swansong? Every artist has considered what their swansong project would be at some point, though it's not often that you can see the end coming and plan it out as meticulously. After all, David Bowie was privately fighting cancer for a year and a half; he knew that it was coming.

It's through that confrontation with death that his influences this time around snap into focus. Musically, this album does borrow from the worn-down electronic stylings of Boards of Canada, which is readily apparent. But from what I understand, Bowie also drew inspiration from two hip-hop acts. The first is Kendrick Lamar, which makes sense, given the parallels to To Pimp a Butterfly: internal struggles with fame, being held up as a savior while losing contact with the world beneath him. Hell, the very notion of Bowie calling himself a "blackstar" can be viewed as an antithesis to the modern disposable icon that isn't shy about piling on the Antichrist imagery around him. That's before we get to "Lazarus", where the distance from his audience is made all the more stark; this is not him caving into cancer, but rather relishing in the potential release of death, no longer the dead man walking.

That nihilism also invites parallels to the other hip-hop act that influenced this album: Death Grips. At first glance, this seemed like a bizarre choice; I was never expecting Bowie's voice to match the howling viscerality of MC Ride. Yet there's a certain self-flagellating savagery on display here that wouldn't feel out of place on, say, the Jenny Death side of The Problems That B. Of course, given it's Bowie, his brand of savagery has a certain refined transgression to it. Probably the most notable case on here is with "Girl Loves Me", using the Nadsat and Polari languages, derived from A Clockwork Orange and 1970s gay clubs, respectively, to comment on a woman who might bring great pleasures but damnation along the way. This sentiment is echoed earlier in "'Tis a Pity She Was a Whore" and "Sue (Or in a Season of Crime)", both repurposed from the compilation Nothing Has Changed. In the case of the former, inspired by the John Ford tragedy of the same name, the track is loaded with its own transgressions in sex, lies, betrayal, and murder. It certainly made for some graphic indulgence, though given Bowie's penchant for gender bending, perhaps he viewed himself as the whore in question to an audience that disregarded the deeper connection they secretly craved. It gets even more twisted with the near-direct retelling in "Sue (Or in a Season of Crime)", as Bowie wrote from the perspective of two men wooing this girl, one being her brother and main lover who kills her in the end. I wouldn't say these moments demonize sex; hell, given "Dollar Days" speaks about sex as "survival", it seems that these fleshy pursuits are among the elements that kept him most alive, which is yet another Death Grips parallel. All the while, he continued spitting in the face of establishment and legacy, even as his life slipped away.

It all leads to that final track, "I Can't Give Everything Away", where even on death's knell, Bowie tried to refine his words down to a single stanza: "Seeing more and feeling less/Saying no but meaning yes/This is all I ever meant/That's the message that I sent". Detaching to find that transcendence, yet never giving up the feelings that you dare not speak, as this album found its greatest humanity in putting forth the rawest of it all before the very end. It takes Bowie's hyper-awareness of his legacy and his audience to the nth degree for one last farewell.

At this point, I come back to that question I posed earlier: how much weight and power does Blackstar hold as David Bowie's swansong? I can't deny that a lot of the emotional resonance listening to this album came from my familiarity with Bowie's work. That's not to invalidate everything said in this review - we're only human in experiencing art, and ignoring that human context devalues the raw humanity behind the most visceral moments of this album as a whole. But it does make me wonder for the individual who gets this album early on from this generator website, without that familiarity with David Bowie. Hell, I certainly felt that way with You Want It Darker after hearing only two Leonard Cohen albums beforehand. That's where I bring this back to you, dear reader; if you find yourself with this album and haven't heard much David Bowie before, I implore you to put this record aside and hit that "Did not listen" button. Give yourself that time to become familiar with the man, be it through the 70s records chosen for the books, greatest hits compilations, or even live performances wherever you can find them. Because no matter what, this is where his story ends. It certainly makes me wonder how our stories end, and what legacies we leave behind.

I will not include the bonus 45 rpm versions of "The Girl from Impanema" and "Corvocado (Quiet Nights of Quiet Stars)" in this review.

I feel like a lineage of albums came together in my journey. About a year and a half ago, I listened to Jazz Samba from American saxophonist Stan Getz, a collaboration he did with American guitarist Charlie Byrd that signaled the beginning of the bossa nova craze in America. Then there's Brazilian guitarist, singer, and composer João Gilberto, whom I may not have heard before. But I certainly listened to his daughter Bebel on her acclaimed album Tanto Tempo, produced by Suba, before his untimely passing. I found it fascinating that these records, decades apart, are linked by this collaboration record between Getz and Gilberto.

However, there is one other key player in this collaboration, someone who may not have had top billing, but was nevertheless integral. That would be Brazilian pianist and composer Antônio Carlos Jobim. Not only did he compose two of the songs on Jazz Samba, including the returning "Desafinado", but he would compose most of the songs on the album, assume piano duties, and act as a mediator between Getz and Gilberto as tensions flared between them over their different playing styles. It's amazing how all parties worked it out for this record, which ended up being a landmark in bossa nova, and for good reason.

The defining characteristic of this album is how well the piano, saxophone, and vocals were synchronized, building on an established melody or hook with such controlled restraint that these songs could breathe. Jobim and Getz on their instruments matched the whispery vocal leads of João and his then-wife, Astrud, in a masterful call-and-response that transcended linguistic boundaries. It's a sublime, minimalist performance throughout, paired with lyrics of yearning passion, deep reflections on one's surroundings and the passage of time, and even a few jabs at the genre's critics. I especially dug the geographical references brought in, like the neighborhood of Impanema and the view of Corcovado Mountain from a window, painting a beautiful scenery of Brazil. It certainly helped that this record wasn't reliant on standards, save for some polished renditions of Antônio Almeida's "Doralice" and Ary Barroso's "Para Machucar Meu Coração".

Getz/Gilberto was a pleasant listen. A meeting of the minds that proved to be truly enriching.

I will not include the bonus tracks in this review.

Hell yeah, I get to talk about X-Ray Spex. They were one of the more distinct punk bands to come out of the UK, with all their good elements coming together on their debut, Germfree Adolescents. Jak Airport's electrifying guitar riffs, Paul Dean and B. P. Hurding's punchy rhythm section, the prominent saxophone playing from Rudi Thompson and company, and, best for last, the eccentric, powerhouse vocalist that was Poly Styrene. It's blistering, kinetic fun that doesn't hit the brakes, save for the admittedly pretty, spacious reggae fusion with the title track. Plus, the lyrics are strikingly poignant, as Poly targeted mass consumerism, celebrity worship, punk culture, technological advancement, and how easily society impacts people's personalities.

Honestly, I ain't got much else to say. Germfree Adolescents is just a kickass debut from such a formidable punk group. X-Ray Spex would split up a year after this album's release, as Poly Styrene left the band from exhaustion while touring. The group would reunite multiple times over the years until Poly Styrene's passing in 2011 from metastatic breast cancer at the age of 53. Gone way too soon.

Joe Ely was a singer-songwriter at the forefront of Austin's eclectic country-rock scene. He started his music career in the country band The Flatlanders with Jimmie Dale Gilmore and Butch Hancock, though they broke up after one year and wouldn't reunite until decades later. But Joe carried on, releasing two solo albums, including this one, Honky Tonk Masquerade. While playing in London, Joe befriended The Clash of all bands. They were so impressed with each other that Joe Ely wound up opening for The Clash during their London Calling tour. This partnership would last through the rest of The Clash's career, including Joe Ely's appearance in the gang vocals on "Should I Stay or Should I Go".

So yeah, Joe Ely got a lot of notoriety and inclusion in the 1001 Albums books because of his connection to The Clash. Does it once again feed into the UK bias that Robert Dimery and his editorial team lean on? Yes, and it's hard to deny that. But here's the thing - I do recognize the artistic merit of Joe Ely and his backing band, between Joe's smooth vocal delivery, Lloyd Maines's prominent steel guitar flourishes, Ponty Bone's emphatic accordion playing, and Shane Keister's Moog synth nestled into the mix without overwhelming the other instruments, all while the band played around with complex song structures. It's more progressive than your average honky-tonk music, which I dig. Sure, some songs and lyrics get cheesy, such as Joe comparing the moon to cornbread, using the biblical fall of the Walls of Jericho as a metaphor for a woman to enjoy the moment, and wanting to keep his fingernails long so they click when he plays the piano. Not to mention, there's an admittedly on-the-nose cover of an old Hank Williams tune in "Honky Tonkin'". But these songs are delivered with such earnestness and unassuming nature that I can't help but be smitten, especially with the more pensive deep cuts like "Tonight I Think I'm Gonna Go Downtown" and "Boxcars, the latter opposite that warm synth motif.

So yeah, I had a good time at this Honky Tonk Masquerade that Joe Ely held. Joe enjoyed a long, successful music career until his passing last year from a bout with Parkinson's, dementia, and pneumonia. Rest in peace.

I had to go to YouTube for this album.

I hadn't heard of Ramblin' Jack Elliott before, but he's got quite the story. Raised by a well-known, respected doctor in Brooklyn, Jack wanted to be a cowboy after seeing the rodeos at Madison Square Garden. However, his parents wanted him to follow his father's footsteps and become a surgeon. So, at age 15, Jack ran away from home to join a traveling rodeo. His parents found him a couple of months later, but by that point, Jack had already seen his first singing cowboy. Once back home, Jack taught himself guitar and performed on the streets for a living. Eventually, Jack got together with Woody Guthrie, of all people, and Guthrie took him under his wing. This connection eventually led to Jack touring the UK and recording folk records for the UK label Topic Records, including this one, Jack Takes the Floor.

Yes, that last statement feeds into the UK bias that Robert Dimery and his editorial team tend to lean on for inclusions in the 1001 Albums book, but I do see the merit in including Jack Elliott. The lengths to which he went to pursue his dreams, disavowing his wealthy upbringing, are admirable and lend credibility to Elliott developing as a singer-songwriter in his own right. Make no mistake, Jack could yelp and holler with such fervor through his songs of roughing it out and trying to make ends meet, alongside some humorous storytelling. Sure, this album's a bit cheesy, the lyrics are admittedly underdeveloped for his original compositions, half of the songs are covers, and the production is grainy. But I do recognize the grit and good performance from a man with his guitar, and I'm willing to be a little lenient, given that this is a folk record released in 1958.

In short, I respect Ramblin' Jack Elliott for what he accomplished by going against the grain, culminating in an album like this that made for a nice listen, albeit abbreviated and dated. I'm not surprised that the likes of Johnny Cash, Bob Dylan, and even Woody Guthrie's son Arlo were happy to have Elliott in their company.

Okay, I had to go on to YouTube for this one, as LL Cool J's first four albums have disappeared from streaming services for some unknown reason.

I'm not surprised to see LL Cool J on this album journey, as one of the first rappers to achieve crossover success. I enjoyed his debut record, Radio, a rich concoction of samples and minimal beats that preceded the golden age of hip hop. That said, I get why Robert Dimery and his editorial team chose Mama Said Knock You Out instead, as the hardcore reinvention of LL's image after the very ballad-heavy Walking With a Panther. It's not a "comeback", as LL wanted to make known on the title track, but it's a much-needed shot in the arm for his career.

Speaking of that title track, yeah, it's the obvious big hit, as the inspired blowback against LL's critics that became an enduring jock jam. But there's plenty of other tracks where LL kept a good flow amidst some phat beats, between the opening re-establishment on "The Boomin' System" and "Eat 'Em Up L Chill", his shots against rap rival Kool Moe Dee on "Murdergram", and further refining his jabs at Moe Dee, MC Hammer, and Ice-T on "To da Break of Dawn". But he also took the time to pay tribute to the neighborhood he grew up in on "Farmers' Blvd. (Our Anthem)", showing awareness of the continued racial disparity despite the advances he's made on "Illegal Search", addressing those who took advantage of him for his fame on "Cheesy Rat Blues", and illustrating the importance of his religious beliefs in his life without coming off too preachy on "The Power of God". LL certainly did his best to come across as well-rounded and measured.

Yet, as much as LL tried to revitalize his image, some of the cheesiness carried over. Case in point: "Jingling Baby" from Walking Like a Panther reappears here, remixed with a slightly better vocal sample in the background, but the lyrics are still the same thinly veiled request for oral sex between more dissing of other rappers. We also still have the easy-listening R&B tracks in "Around the Way Girl" and "6 Minutes of Pleasure", though at least the beats are still snappy and I generally don't mind them even if they come off incongruent with the rest of the record. But no, my ire is with the two tracks with clear-cut brand-name porn: "Milky Cereal" with its baffling array of breakfast metaphors, and "Mr. Goodbar" where LL used the candy name to highlight his sexual prowess, which certainly went down the drain with the line "And I can't make you, I sure wouldn't rape you". Charming.

So yeah, I generally vibed alright with Mama Said Knock You Out, even with its occasional wack moments. LL Cool J revitalized his rap career, though even that would take a backseat to his acting career. Eh, what can you do?

It's been well over a year and a half since I listened to Skylarking, and I thought it was a good orchestral pop record that showed XTC taking influence from late '60s psychedelia. The group experimented further with psychedelic flourishes, though they had to deal with a five-year squabble with their label, Virgin Records. XTC ended up breaking free from their contract with Virgin and got to work on a new record on Cooking Vinyl. The band would divide this new project into two parts: one full of rock songs, the other full of "orchustic" songs accompanied by a 40-piece symphony. Along the way, sessions grew troubled, and mid-recording, guitarist and keyboardist Dave Gregory left the band, frustrated with Partridge. After all that turmoil, Apple Venus Volume 1 saw the light of day. How does it hold up?

Well, I will say "orchustic" is quite the portmanteau to describe this first volume, because it is a collection of acoustic songs with orchestral accompaniment. Partridge paid close attention to how well these compositions needed to pop and bounce from his intricate acoustic guitar melodies, with soft accompaniment from Colin Moulding's bass. That said, Moulding penned the most uptempo tracks, between the grandiose showtune "Frivolous Tonight" and the adventurous Beatles-esque "Fruit Nut". Along the way, the London Symphony Orchestra, under the direction of Gavyn Wright, provided much-needed whimsy with their arrangements, evoking the psychedelic influence the group craved.

Adding to that whimsicality are the lyrics, where Partridge and Moulding split the difference between exploring paganism and the former's life events. "Easter Theme", "Knights in Shining Karma", "Greenman", and "Harvest Festival" are particularly effective in indulging the mythology and fantasicism of pagan culture, with a certain romanticism for the Middle Ages. "Harvest Festival" also blends into Andy's life, as he participated in harvest festivals in his youth. Though probably the most revealing for Andy were the songs he penned about his dissolved marriage with his first wife on "Your Dictionary" and "I Can't Own Her", where he clearly wanted to move on. At the very least, there is some optimism expressed about Andy's future, with the love song for his future wife, Erica Wrexler, on "I'd Like That", and closing on "The Last Balloon" with the hope that brighter days are ahead for him and his children.

All that said, I don't consider this a perfect record. The opening track "River of Orchids" was a stretched-out buildup to "I'd Like That" and the subsequent pagan exploration, but the song itself didn't stand well on its own. Also, for as much as Moulding's contributions added to the overall whimsy, they felt incongruent with Andy's tracks, especially with "Fruit Nut" placed between the two tracks exploring Andy's dissolved marriage.

Overall, Apple Venus Volume 1 delivered on the "orchustic" arrangements and continued fantastical nature of XTC. The second volume of the project, the collection of rock songs, was released the following year as Wasp Star, and then XTC would be no more as Partridge dissolved his creative partnership with Moulding. Everyone who had been in the band is still musically active, which is the best that could have happened out of such an ending.

I have occasionally listened to Manic Street Preachers, mainly from their album Critical Thinking, released last year. They're a Welsh alternative rock band influenced by punk, post-punk, and glam rock. They were originally a four-piece group. However, after lyricist and rhythm guitarist Richey Edwards disappeared, the group became a trio, with Everything Must Go as their first release as such.

Let me make this clear: I haven't listened to anything off The Holy Bible yet. It's gonna be really intriguing when I do, because, from what I gather, Everything Must Go went in a different direction from that record, embracing synths and strings for an anthemic rock style that felt in line with the Britpop movement at the time. Also, because Edwards was no longer with the band, Nicky Wire became the band's de facto lyricist, focusing on historical and political themes throughout. While songs address Edwards's disappearance and its impact on the band, drawing parallels to other artists who have suffered, like South African photojournalist Kevin Carter and Dutch abstract artist Willem de Kooning, this album is also surprisingly optimistic. It comes across as a strident celebration of life and expression to keep the band moving forward, despite the tragedy and unfortunate media coverage, while also pleading for fans to stick with them through this shift on the title track. The album is wonderful in that regard, and it certainly helped that the band took full advantage of the streamlined approach in their music, incorporating sweeping hooks, ornate strings, and a production style that certainly harkened back to the Wall of Sound.

Honestly, I couldn't find much to complain about, as Everything Must Go is an amazing record that showcased a band overcoming the empty void left by their long-gone bandmate. I very much look forward to the other Manic Street Preachers record to find out what was left behind.

So Ministry's final studio album is coming out next week. Maybe. I'm not exactly sure, because Ministry has had multiple "final studio albums" over the past two decades. It's certainly been a long road for singer/songwriter/producer/multi-instrumentalist Al Jourgensen and his ever-changing lineups, moving away from synth-pop early on to become a pioneering industrial metal act. In that pivot, the band's artistic peak came from the mid-1980s through the early 1990s, namely The Land of Rape and Honey, The Mind is a Terrible Thing to Taste, and this one, Psalm 69, the band's most commercially successful record. With that in mind, I sat down, listened to this album, and... it's okay, I guess?

It's not like I hate Ministry, and I certainly recognize how integral they were to industrial metal as a whole. At the very least, I generally enjoyed the first half of this record. I will stick up for "N.W.O.", "Just One Fix", "Hero", and "Jesus Built My Hotrod" with Butthole Surfers vocalist Gibby Haynes as the highlights, showcasing the open embrace of hedonism that Ministry can effectively indulge in at their best amidst the crunchy, downtuned guitars and punchy rhythm section. I even liked the intensity in the frenetic guitar-picking and Al's filtered vocals of "TV II", even if I feel that the whiplash stop-and-go nature of the composition doesn't quite do the track justice.

Unfortunately, the pacing of this record drops significantly in the second half, with songs that tend to drag and go on for longer than they need to. Across the eight-minute "Scare Crow", the five-and-a-half-minute title track, and bassist/producer Paul Barker's instrumental compositions "Corrosion" and "Grace", the focus is squarely placed on a double-edged sword of Ministry's music - the reliance on sampled dialogue, mainly from movies, save for then U.S. President George H.W. Bush's speeches during the onset of the Gulf War for "N.W.O." I didn't mind the use of samples in the first half of the album, as they were meaningfully used to help add context without slowing down the momentum. But with the songs in the second half, the pace is actively slowed down just to put the samples in focus, and it doesn't work as effectively. At least the sample usage here is not as bad as later Ministry records, but it does stick out in an uncanny light.

At the end of the day, Psalm 69 is a fine-ish record that certainly started strong. It did its job in helping cement Ministry as a household name, which is about as much as could be hoped for. Now I wait for that final record from them and see if it is truly the last record from them.

So, Fun Lovin' Criminals are a group known for their laid-back fusion of blues, hip-hop, rock, and soul. But here's the thing - I used that same description already for G. Love & Special Sauce. At first, I wondered why both debut records from these two groups with very similar style fusions were included in the 1001 Albums book. But as I was listening to Come Find Yourself, my question changed to why G. Love & Special Sauce was even included to begin with, because Fun Lovin' Criminals do this schtick better from the get-go.

While the general tempo of these songs is kept slow, the overall presentation is hard-hitting, between Huey Morgan's crunchy guitar riffs, Brian Leiser's low-end bass, and Steve Borgovini's punchy drumwork. In fact, Brian did a lot for this group, between the keyboard and trumpet lines and occasional harmonica embellishments. Not to mention, the occasional sample incorporation felt inspired, like combining the riff from Deep Purple's "Smoke on the Water" with Ronnie Van Zant's line "Lord, I can't change" from Lynyrd Skynyrd's "Free Bird" on "Bombin' the L".

Sure, the lyrical content can be largely chalked up to getting high and committing crimes, which was pretty typical given the prevalence of gangsta rap in the 1990s. But Huey delivered his words with such an effortless flow and detail that it was engaging. If anything, some of the stories told were presented with such exaggeration, like the bank robbers causing mayhem while high on valium on "Scooby Snacks", or the story of a gangster who tried to free American mobster John Gotti from prison on "King of New York". Even their weirdly earnest rendition of Louis Armstrong's "We Got All the Time in the World" felt at home with all the comical lunacy on display.

So yeah, I dug Come Find Yourself and Fun Lovin' Criminals' take on this particular style fusion. Again, why did we bother with G. Love & Special Sauce to begin with here?

So a little over a year ago, I talked about frontman Ian MacKaye in the context of his time with Fugazi. Now I get to talk about him again, this time with his other notable band, Minor Threat. They were a short-lived hardcore punk band that wound up being fundamental in the beginnings of straight edge, an abstinence movement started to avoid alcohol and drugs, though later expanded to other perceived vices like meat and sex. They put out a handful of EPs, including the one we're gonna talk about today, though other sources will argue it's a full-length record; I digress. Without further ado, let's get Out of Step.

Right out of the gate, I'm gonna say this right now - I very much adore this record. It's incredibly lean, tight, and well-played, with a level of refinement and nuance in the content that I can respect, even if the straight edge movement only comes into focus on the penultimate title track. I think what works in favor of this record is its universality. It's not linked to the specific politics of the day, instead infusing populism and relatability, balanced by brutal pragmatism and maturity. Take, for example, the opening song "Betray", where it seemed like Ian expected the double-cross, but instead of playing into the blame game, he confronts the issue and ends things. When that thread is continued with "It Follows," highlighting the drama that has stuck around within the scene, his raw exasperation becomes palpable. Hell, check out the closing track "Cashing In", where Ian focused his rage on those who thought Minor Threat in 1982 to "sell out", when in reality A) a lot of these complaints seemed rooted in local jealousy that really made little sense at the time, B) hardcore punk wasn't selling huge numbers in the 1980s anyway, and C) those complaining were still going to the shows anyway.

But what really helps is that Ian is fully aware that some of this may be his own fault. He knows something changed with those friends left behind on "Look Back and Laugh", and he hoped they could resolve things, but he's willing to own it if it's him. Later on "No Reason", he may hold that stubborn pride in the indecipherable conflict, but he does realize how immature and stupid it all seems. Then, when you pair that sentiment with how hardcore punk was looked down on for having "all been done before" on "Think Again", Ian may accept some of the blame, but he was sure as hell not going to take those who dump on the scene and give them an air of credibility. Now it does lead into the one slightly weaker track with "Sob Story", basically calling out someone whining about never getting that lucky break and telling them to pull their shit together, but it makes sense given how ruthlessly pragmatic this record feels, even if that can be an isolating feeling as noted on "Little Friend" and the title track. Speaking of which, boy, that title track hits particularly well in the context of straight edge, even if it's more of an acknowledgement of the confusion that, somehow, by not indulging, Ian can't keep up with the larger world, but at least he can still think, and for him, that's good enough.

Oh, and lest I forget, the music kicks ass all the way through! For a record running around twenty minutes, not a moment is spared as Minor Threat made the most of it: killer kick drum rhythms from Jeff Nelson, chugging, borderline thrash riffs from Brian Baker, and Lyle Peslar's lead guitar that may flex on solos but often opened these songs with a sweet melody that ensures the majority of these tunes had an anchor point. That sense of melody is not overlooked across the likes of "Think Again", "Cashing In", and "Look Back and Laugh", but there's also that jagged, rattling riff leading into "Little Friend", the breakneck kinetics between the chorus and verse on "It Follows", and the tonal shift on "Betray" that somehow still keeps it together. Though if I had to highlight someone in particular, it would be Steve Hansgen with his meaty basslines prevalent throughout the runtime, from punching up beneath the melody on "Betray" and "It Follows" to the surging energy given on "Think Again" and "No Reason", and even how he's anchored behind Ian's vocals on the title track.

Really, I found nothing to complain about here, as Out of Step is the kind of hardcore record deserving to be called a classic. It may be just over twenty minutes, but it did not waste a moment, with insanely catchy hooks, terrific playing, solid production, and writing that hit the balance between fervor and nuance. This record is absolutely essential to hear if you're into hardcore punk, straight edge, or otherwise.

Yeah, this is another live album where the tracks were rearranged from the original setlist, likely because of vinyl limitations at the time. This is especially noticeable with "Folsom Prison Blues" placed at the end of the album, where I can audibly hear the track cut short. It's also just as egregious that other hits like "Jackson" and "Ring of Fire" were not included. On top of that, we have censorship bleeps, which is very odd to hear on record, in some of Johnny Cash's banter between songs and especially with the "son of a bitch" line on "A Boy Named Sue". I know later releases of At San Quentin are uncensored and include more of the concert. But I wanted to evaluate the original release because that's the version that got all the acclaim and notoriety, and I wanted to assess the album for what it is, warts and all.

That said... yeah, this is still a good record. It's a Johnny Cash live-from-prison record; you really can't go wrong with that, even with its own quirks. Having "Walk the Line" and an abbreviated "Folsom Prison Blues" as the two songs people would have recognized beforehand is certainly a statement, if only to accentuate the well-done covers and new songs that Johnny Cash and others have brought to San Quentin State Prison. "Wanted Man", as written by Bob Dylan for him, is a good ol' fugitive song. "Wreck of the Old 97" is a raucous rendition of G. B. Greyson and Henry Whittler's ballad chronicling the Southern Railway mail train disaster. "Darling Companion" is a cool take on the Lovin' Spoonful song, done as a duet with his wife, June Carter Cash. Mahalia Jackson's gospel number "(There'll Be) Peace in the Valley" is treated earnestly with backup from The Carter Family. "Starkville City Jail" was a fun, endearing recount of how Johnny got arrested in Mississippi for public drunkenness. Of course, the big highlights were the two songs that made At San Quentin truly unique: "San Quentin," which was intended as the big new song, hence why it got performed twice, and "A Boy Named Sue", an unexpected addition to the set that proved to be a timeless tale of damnation and later forgiveness over a father who abandoned his son. Along the way, the audience was really into the show, especially for "San Quentin". Plus, as the cherry on top, Johnny paid a heartfelt tribute to his longtime lead guitarist and Tennessee Two founder, Luther Perkins, who passed away months earlier.

So yeah, At San Quentin is a good record, even with its limitations. I certainly look forward to the other Johnny Cash live-from-prison record.