Reviews by abrisskull

It’s been a year and a half since I listened to good kid, m.A.A.d city as album #56 on my journey. Heck, it's been a long time since I first listened to the follow-up, To Pimp a Butterfly, back in 2018. Since then, these two records have been regarded among the classics, not just for conscious hip-hop, but music in general. There have been academic studies about these two albums that will capture more intricacy and layered details than I could possibly muster up in my reviews for this album generator website. All that said, there's still the matter of how these records hold up in my personal opinion. I enjoyed good kid before, and I will say right now that I ended up enjoying To Pimp a Butterfly once again, but let me see if I can dive into why.

I think the first aspect of this record that has to be established is that Kendrick went for something ambitious here. After going for a more West Coast hip-hop broad appeal with good kid, he opted for the next record to be a little more challenging in the presentation. A progressive jazz rap album that touches upon multiple genres, running through the history of African-American music through a personal, introspective lens. Opening the record on "Wesley's Theory" with Thundercat's bubbling bassline and fragments of horns and synths, before giving way to a skittering free flow over frenetic saxophone play on "For Free?", followed by the early-80s funk stomp of "King Kunta", there's a certain mastery in flowing across these various musical styles. It also helps that this record maintains a crisp, organic production, while also taking cues from G-funk such as the chime and keyboard pairing of "These Walls" with the chorus vocals that has such a bounce to it. From the dancehall-inspired ferocity of "The Blacker The Berry" to the live performance of "i" with the sample of the Isley Brothers' "That Lady", to the dusty boom-bap of "Momma", the unsettling gang vocals and alto saxophone over the hard-hitting beat of "Alright" that give way to the glittering keyboards of "For Sale?", the dreary piano line over the cracking beat of "How Much a Dollar Cost", the subtle record-scratching over the hook of "Complexion (A Zulu Love)", even touches of spoken word throughout the album that culminates in the ending of "Mortal Man", there's not a single compositional idea here that Kendrick and the session personnel aren't able to execute effectively. Not to mention, there's the cavalde of guest musicians brought into the fold for some of their best moments, from Snoop Dogg's narration on "Institutionalized", to Anna Wise's hooks on the same track and "These Walls", to Rapsody's positive affirmations for blackness on "Complexion (A Zulu Love)", to even freaking George Clinton on the choruses of "Wesley's Theory".

Of course, production and composition are only half the battle for a hip-rop record. Let's talk about lyrics and themes, as in mirroring the stylistic variety on display, To Pimp a Butterfly is not a full concept record so much as a series of vignettes, conveyed through Kendrick's multisyllable rhyming that's impeccably layered, to the point where even rapping over a busy jazz beat such as on "For Free?" becomes a cakewalk for him. On the surface, Kendrick does go for more sociopolitical content, openly critical of an exploitative record industry and the predominantly white audience that simulatoneously swallows the shallow crap and strikes down anything that steps out of line, or even succumb to the extremities of greed and lust. He's not even shy to drag the obvious comparisons to slavery to the forefront with language provocative enough to draw ire from across the board. But here's the thing with the framing - Kendrick paints himself as the main culprit, showing how enticing "Lucy" can be with her gifts, especially when the realization sinks in that he has to face the demons he released.

That leads to the ultimate dramatic arc of this record, where Kendrick is not afraid to call himself a hypocrite. He talked about the distance he put between himself and his family, highlighting his own failures for not doing more and the temptation of taking the easy way out, be it through wealth, sex or a Glock. From there, he ventured home to try and reconnect with his roots, only to find himself further isolated in his own community due to his newfound success, a kind of survivor's guilt placed upon himself compared to those who face a broken system every day. The feeling of guilt reaches a tipping point in "How Much a Dollar Cost", where he refuses to help a homeless junkie who turned out to be God himself. That moment symbolized one of the primary metaphors of this album, that giving back or giving from yourself might bear no fruit or change to a larger system, but it can change lives on a smaller scale and that can make all the difference. It's a call not only to Kendrick himself, but to the larger whole to reject petty squabbles that can divide a community, to instead seek real enlightenment and passion within. What's super neat about this kind of messaging is that Kendrick is not being preachy about it, merely offering the options for people to choose on their own accord to better themselves. It's a strategy that works here, alongside the address to shallow rappers on "You Ain't Gonna Lie", or the positive call to action on "i", without fully giving up on contronting racial injustice on a visceral cut like "The Blacker The Berry".

That brings us to the final track, "Mortal Man", where Kendrick makes a final call to his audience, to see if they are willing to follow him, even if the road ahead can be a tough one with all the temptations and challenges ahead. The refrain of "When shit hit the fan, is you still a fan" hits hard at this point in the album, knowing full well that Kendrick is a flawed man trying to rise above it all. Upon conclusion, Kendrick gets to recite the poem he'd been rehearsing throughout this record, each verse serving as a key thematical point for the various tracks throughout in highlighting his personal journey. It's a rather poignant poem that he reads out loud to - and I shit thee not - the late Tupac Shakur. In a rather transformative sample of an interview conducted back in 1994, Kendrick has a psuedo-conversation with his fallen idol, asking him questions to understand what the latter's come up was like and what he saw for future generations of black people. Kendrick then precedes to recite a second poem he had written, wherein he sums up the title of the album; the butterfly is the enlightened soul, the caterpillar represents those who would exploit it, and the cocoon is the system that perpetuates the exploitation, confined behind the walls. It's only when one breaks out of the system that they can be considered free, inspire other caterpillars to transform... yet at the same time the caterpillar and the butterfly can be considered the same person. Transcendence only truly matters when pitted against humanity, and it brings a message of universality that we can all get there, echoing what Tupac talked about with spirits, where "we ain't really rappin', we just lettin' our dead homies tell stories for us." It's only when Kendrick asks Tupac whether he agrees that he gets no answer. He's left alone, questioning whether his fallen legend would have agreed or thought the system can't be broken. There's no solace or clarity at the end, as it's really up to Kendrick, the audience, and the world at large to figure that answer out.

My hope is that I've laid out, to the best of my abilities, why I consider To Pimp a Butterfly to be an amazing record that still holds up over a decade later. It's the kind of transformative record that pushed the envelope for how intellectual and layered conscious hip-hop can be, without needing to compromise itself to play to the very system it critiques. Kendrick himself would continue to innovate and carry the torch, and the bar was set pretty high here.

I will not include the bonus tracks from the deluxe edition in this review.

I hadn't heard of Faust before, but as soon as I saw that they were another krautrock band, certain expectations came to my mind. I already listened to the likes of Kraftwerk, Can, and NEU! on my album journey thus far, so naturally, I imagined these gentlemen would have performed in a similar vein. Though a little more reading revealed that Faust's work revolved around controlled dissonance, improvisation, and experimental electronic approaches. As such, they are often cited as influential on the ambient and industrial genres. This fourth album of theirs would prove to be the last of the original lineup, as their label dropped them shortly afterwards, leading to the initial disbandment. With all that said, what did we get on Faust IV?

Well, it's certainly German experimental rock without much in the way of cohesion to tie these tracks together. There's the persistent feeling of being pushed from one sonic palette to the next. Starting with the hypnotic guitar-drone of the opener "Krautrock", disrupted by the holler over the borderline-ska thumping rollick of "The Sad Skinhead", giving way to the mellow haze with supple bass on "Jennifer". Just as things felt safe and serene, the listener comes crashing back down to Earth with the blaring, dissonant guitar wails over a stomping groove on "Just a Second" that quickly evaporates into field recordings and chopped-up synthesizers on "Picnic on a Frozen River", before the ensuing chaos is swallowed in a cavalcade of guitar and organ noise on "Deuxieme Tableaux", all in one 3-minute medley mind you. Then, just as you start getting into a pocket with the maniacal sax-led jazz rock groove of "Giggy Smile", the whole rhythm abruptly stops with the in-studio banter that opens "Läuft...Heisst Das Es Läuft Oder Es Kommt Bald....Läuft" which offers a different cadence with its repeating acoustic guitar line over sharp organ key swipes. But even that pleasant cadence doesn't last, as the mechanical winding of gears wipes the slate clean, and then the music rebuilds itself over a lowly synth and organ harmonic melody. The end is finally signaled with the occasional blaring noise over the simple acoustic tune of "It's a Bit of a Pain", leaving me in awe at the controlled madness I just listened to.

There's no rhyme or reason why this album is structured this way, and maybe that's the point. As for whatever spare lyrics there were, they could be largely chalked up to provocative imagery that's played up for laughs, such as the burning red hair in "Jennifer", the ironic lifestyle of "The Sad Skinhead", and the observations on body hair at the end of "It's a Bit of a Pain". There's no deeper meaning to any of this, and that's probably for the best. They're an experimental band that's down for having a good laugh, and not trying to go up their own ass, which I can respect.

For what it's worth, Faust IV is an intriguing slice of German experimental rock that felt fresh and engaging. Perhaps not every attempt made on this record was successful, but there's a beauty in being daring enough to try.

III sits in an interesting spot in the Zeppelin discography, serving as the bridge between the straightforward blues rock of II and the ambitious redefinition of the genre on IV. The group started aiming for a higher watermark in their songcraft, as all members contributed compositional ideas for this record, and that approach paid off in dividends.

Nearly every song worked flawlessly here, as these more ambitious songs embodied a wider scope of inspirations while remaining anchored to Jimmy Page's crisp production. From the heavy staccato riffs of "Immigrant Song", to the Indian style orchestral arrangement of "Friends", to the methodical slow jam of "Since I've Been Loving You", to more straightforward rockers in "Celebration Day" and "Out on the Tiles", to the crescendoing instrumentation around the traditional folk arrangement in "Gallows Pole", to the warm guitar and mandolin tones on "Tangerine" and "That's the Way", to the country-inspired hoedown of "Bron-Y-Aur Stomp", these tracks felt fresh for the time and well-executed. Only towards the end, with "Hats Off to (Roy) Harper," did the arrangement feel weird, as Robert Plant sang over a vibrato vocal filter while Jimmy sprawled over a slide guitar. However, even that song was done competently enough not to hinder the overall experience.

There's not much else to add, as Led Zeppelin III was the sort of innovative breakthrough for the band that viewed them as being more than simply indebted to their blues rock forefathers.

On some level, I can understand why someone would want to include Hanoi Rocks as an artist to listen to before you die. The Finnish group is often considered one of the pioneering acts of glam metal. Several bands copied their style and attitude, so it would make sense to take a look at the original article. As for the album of choice, it probably makes sense to have one that charted in the UK and featured drummer Razzle before his untimely death. With all that said, what did we get from Back to Mystery City?

I'll admit, despite my affinity for cheesy glam rock music, even I can recognize that the album's quality is sporadic. Ignoring the intentionally off-putting intro piece "Strange Boys Play Weird Openings", this album is strongly bookended with "Malibu Beach Nightmare" and the title track, with the high-octane guitar riffing, punching percussion, and Michael Monroe's rowdy vocals that one would come to expect from the genre. But the rest of the tracks are stuck in the mid-tempo doldrums, even towards the ballad territory with "Until I Get You", and it becomes hard to ignore how undercooked the songwriting is, instrumentally and lyrically. Andy McCoy may be a decent guitarist, but as a songwriter, I've heard better.

That kind of leads to what I consider to be the ultimate indictment for Hanoi Rocks and why they are at best relegated to having a cult following - the glam metal bands that came out around their time and after boast more significant musicianship and better production in addition to the style and attitude. For as much as I generally had an okay time with this record, I probably would have had an even better time spinning some Guns N' Roses or Skid Row. Even back in 1983, this album came out a couple of months after Def Leppard's Pyromania, which has managed to maintain cultural relevance for much longer. Hell, Finland as a country would produce better music within the next decade with acts like Nightwish and Children of Bodom.

All of this to say that Back to Mystery City is a solid enough record that holds some historical significance in the pantheon of heavy music, and that's about it.

Much like with Metallica's Master of Puppets, Anthrax's breakthrough record Among the Living was in regular rotation on my iPod when I mowed my neighbors' lawns as a teenager. This album had such an impact on me when I was getting into metal music at a young age, and without much surprise, it still holds up.

This album has such an aggressive sound courtesy of all participating members. There's the twin guitar attack of Scott Ian and Dan Spitz, the distorted bass galloping of Frank Bello, the double-bass-pedal rapid-fire drumming of Charlie Benante, and the soaring, melodic vocals of Joey Belladonna, complemented by the gang vocals on choruses. The thrash metal they employed was equally simple and complex, as the changing rhythms and melodies made for such memorable compositions, from more straightforward head-banging chugging riffs of "I Am the Law" into the fast-paced final assault of "Imitation of Life". All the while, the production is kept as cut-dry as needed to emulate as close to their live-performance sound, no polish or reverb needed.

As for the lyrical content, the band toed the line between serious and silly, drawing from literary sources, real-world issues, and antics encountered in the music business. From recounting Stephen King's The Stand in the opening title track, to showcasing the might and aggression of comic book character Judge Dredd on "I Am the Law", to the drug abuse that took comedian John Belushi's life on "Efilnikufesin (N.F.L.)", to the fear of nuclear holocaust present in "One World", to the plight of the Native American during the invasion of Euopean settlers in "Indians", to being with ignorants and snobs in the music industry on "Caught in a Mosh" and "Imitation of Life", there is no shortage of subject matter they couldn't handle. I often found myself singing along to Joey's vocals and the gang choruses, while air drumming and miming Scott Ian's guitar playing; a testament to how catchy and poignant this record still is to me.

Among the Living is an amazing record that holds up to this day. Anthrax helped bring thrash metal to the East Coast, and metal in general has benefited from these fun dudes.

I will not include the bonus tracks from the 2007 remastered edition in this review.

I had at least heard of the English post-punk group Magazine before; their single "The Light Pours Out on Me" from their debut album was later covered by Ministry. Formed by frontman Howard Devoto after he left Buzzcocks, and also featuring a young Barry Adamson on bass in the original lineup, the band would become highly influential, and Real Life would be considered one of the first British post-punk records. How does it hold up decades later?

I can certainly say this is a real kooky record, complete with squelching synthesizers, John McGeogh's crunchy guitar riffs, Barry's thick bass lines, Martin Jackson's tight percussive beats, and Howard's rowdy talk-singing vocals. The tracks here are stacked with distinct and memorable hooks, all the while Howard described the seedy underbelly of his view of society with such dark, twisted lyrical imagery. Songs like "Shot by Both Sides", "Motorcade", "My Tulpa", and the aforementioned "The Light Pours Out on Me" effectively captured the lingering danger in this world.

That said, I'm not sure every track fully gripped me. I wasn't into the carnival-esque waltz that opens "The Great Beautician in the Sky", or how slurred Howard's delivery was on "Recoil", even if the fast-paced instrumental composition was stellar save for the stilted outro.

Still, I enjoyed Real Life and can recognize how instrumental Magazine was for the post-punk genre and the acts that would follow.

I will not include disc two of the Collector's Edition in this review.

I started checking out The Waterboys within the past year. They're a folk rock group that transcends Scottish and Irish music, fronted by singer-songwriter Mike Scott. I was surprised to find not only an album of theirs in the 1001 Albums series, but it does not have their arguably biggest hit, "The Whole of the Moon". Apparently, The Fisherman's Blues is noteworthy for a stylistic shift in the band, foregoing the more grandiose anthem rock sound of their earlier efforts in favor of a mixture of traditional music, country, and rock and roll. But by jove, they cooked up a delicious melting pot of sounds for this one.

From the get-go, with the prominent violin and bouzouki, it's clear that the band sought to incorporate more traditional instruments into their folk rock sound, complete with Trevor Hutchinson's supple bass, the well-accented percussion, and Mike Scott's wistful delivery. There's such an impeccable bounce to the compositions on this record, while the production sounds so crisp and full that I can distinctly hear the individual instruments played. It's this kind of care towards the sound that makes even longer arrangements like "We Will Not Be Lovers", "And a Bang on the Ear", and the adaptation of the William Butler Yeats poem "The Stolen Child" engaging all the way through. There is genuine passion on display here, as Mike paid tribute in his lyrics and choices of covers to his Scottish and Irish roots alongside Western greats like Woody Guthrie and Hank Williams. This album maintains the feel of going to see a Celtic pub band that keeps the patrons' spirits up without overstaying their welcome. Even the instrumental interludes, "Jimmy Hickey's Waltz" and "Dunford's Fancy," felt like they belonged in this celebration of heritage and whimsy.

Honestly, I have nothing else to say, as Fisherman's Blues was the heartfelt harkening towards The Waterboys' roots that felt timeless in its performance and songwriting. Their sound would continue to evolve over the years, but for this, it all just worked.

I will not include the CD reissue bonus tracks in this review, especially the opening bonus track, "Blast Off."

Funny enough, I have been familiar with Nick Cave's first group, The Birthday Party, for a couple of years now. Who would have thought that one of the most prolific singer-songwriters out there would've come from a demented punk-blues hybrid? That said, I only heard a few songs from them before, notably "Release the Bats," which would become a very influential track on the gothic rock movement. I was curious what a full listen of this group's material would be like, especially with Junkyard being their last full-length record before they broke up. So, how did they go out?

I'll admit, at first, I was mildly intrigued by the first half of this record. The distorted guitars from Mick Harvey and Rowland S. Howard, the murky bass from Tracy Pew, the pulse-pounding drums from Phill Calvert, and Nick Cave's mangled, borderline caterwauling vocals made for one of the most perverse sonic palettes I've heard in some time, as compositions ranged from lowly dirges like on "She's Hit" and "Several Sins", to full-on speed-driven, near-loss-of-control blazers like on "Dead Joe" and "Hamlet (Pow Pow)". All the while, Nick sang twisted tales of death, assault, and abuse, making liberal use of American Southern Gothic imagery to lean into the underlying violent tendencies and societal trauma. It was certainly enough to grip me at the start.

The problem is that there was little throughline to keep me engaged all the way through, as the momentum of the album slowed down in the second half. That's not to say there wasn't some level of enjoyment with Nick's horrifying vignettes, but at some point, the shock value diminishes, and what remains is a hybridization of genres and ideas that blend with little way to connect them all into something meaningful.

I still think Junkard was an okay record that showcased the bleak and noisy beginnings of some of the most notable songwriters out there. Nick Cave and Mick Harvey would go on to form the Bad Seeds, and Rowland S. Howard would go on to launch a successful solo career. In that regard, The Birthday Party can be considered a cornerstone for the gothic rock and post-punk acts to come.

Here's an admittedly interesting story. Finley Quaye, a Scottish musician of half-Celtic and half-Ghanian heritage, grew up inspired by jazz musicians and The Ramones, struck his first successful hit as a feature on a song with electronic producer A Guy Called Gerald, and then, for his debut record here, employed a reggae sound that combined elements of trip hop and progressive soul. If that ain't a melting pot story, I don't know what is.

Maverick a Strike truly does sound unique in the reggae pantheon, as Finley and co-producers Kevin Bacon and Jonathan Quamby utilized various stylistic changes while still maintaining that positive energy throughout. From the bright horns, slick guitar line, and thick drums on "Sunday Shining", to the more laid-back trip-hop cadence with reverbed guitar and delectable bass of "Even After All", to the shifting electronic rhythm section of "Ride On and Turn the People On", they had a lot of fun with experimenting on this record, and I certainly enjoyed Finley's optimistic lyrics and jovial vocal cadence along the way. Even when they go for a more traditional reggae composition on a song like "Your Love Gets Sweeter", it's still a pleasant listen.

I just wish the pacing of the record didn't start to drag towards the end. Even though there is a good deal of experimentation with the reggae sound on this album, the overall tempo is slow, as is typical of the genre, and it feels even slower for the last five songs. Also, I admittedly felt creeped out by the penultimate track "I Need a Lover", as the spacious guitar textures and supple bass give way to Finley singing about touching this girl through a vocal filter. It's instrumentally serene, but these lyrics did not sit right with me.

I was still pleasantly surprised by Maverick a Strike, as Finley Quaye proved to be a very unique individual in a tried-and-true genre that welcomed such innovations.

I know I started listening to Pere Ubu within the past year. They were a long-running avant-garde rock band that went through several lineup changes, with singer-songwriter David Thomas as the lone constant member until his death earlier this year. They proved to be highly influential to several underground and alternative rock artists, to the point where their first two records appear in the 1001 Albums series. Dub Housing is the latter of those two, written and recorded with the intent of having a cohesive set of tracks, as opposed to standalone songs. Did it work?

Well, I'm not sure about the cohesiveness, considering this album is weird to begin with. There were a lot of strange compositional choices and elements added to this record - the Morse code in the background of "On the Surface", the howling saxophone on the title track, the demented sea shanty on "Caligari's Mirror", the dilapidated noise instrumentals "Thriller!" and "Big Daddy-O", and especially David's caterwauling vocals throughout. What Pere Ubu managed to do could be described as intentionally obtuse, without fully sacrificing the fundamental understandings of song structure or only half-committing to ideas. Most of the songs here stand well enough on their own that not only do I respect the experimental musicianship, but I came around to liking this album. Not every track worked for me, notably "Thriller!" with the slowed-down warbly slide guitar and liberal use of filtered audio recordings. But more often than not, I reveled in the madness these lads thrived in, probably a lot closer to my enjoyment of krautrock acts like NEU! and Can.

Honestly, I'm amazed at how much I enjoyed Dub Housing in all its controlled insanity. This has me looking forward to the other Pere Ubu record.

Much like Kraftwerk, I was first exposed to Fever Ray during a "coding music" class I took my senior year of college, where I learned the history of electronic music and how to perform it. In fact, I distinctly remember performing the lead single "If I Had a Heart" as part of an ensemble piece for that class. Now, all these years later, I come back to the self-titled debut where that track came from. How does it hold up?

Let me start by saying that the vibes are immaculate with this record. The spare and thoughtful use of analog synthesizers and electronic percussion made for a very ethereal experience throughout, as if I were being immersed in the dark and murky waters. There's most certainly a Kate Bush influence in this sound, and credit to the producers for capturing such a hollow yet whimsical nature to match Karin Dreijer's shrill yet deep vocal tones.

As for the lyrics, Karin seems to draw upon an almost child-like wonderment at the world around them, while dealing with internal struggles to continue living. From the restlessness in raising a child on their own on "Concrete Walls", to the desire to seek adventure in "When I Grow Up", to the sought reprieve from the constant flurry of thoughts on "Triangle Walks", a lot is weighing on Karin's mind. All the while, winter is used as a recurring metaphor for the harshness of the real world and what it takes to endure the coldness of reality. Only towards the end of the album do these wild thoughts quell on "Coconut", as they take the time to rest and reflect on the day. It's truly amazing how Karin's strife was captured in such an ethereal journey, almost nomadic in the storytelling.

There's not much else to say, as Fever Ray's debut proved to be such a haunting yet thought-provoking listen. Great songwriting combined with otherworldly production resulted in a very captivating listen that's inviting in its pondering of the world and what it takes to survive.

I will not include the 1987 live performance from the Phantasy Theater in Cleveland, featured on the 25th anniversary deluxe edition, for this review.

It feels weird to say that the final album from Megadeth will be released next month, and within a few years, the band will come to an end. Formed by songwriter Dave Mustaine after his dismissal from Metallica early on, the group would become one of the most prominent names in thrash metal. Few bands would have had as long and successful an album run as Megadeth had from the mid-1980s through the mid-1990s, and it's to the credit of the 1001 Albums series that two of the best records in that run are featured.

Peace Sells... But Who's Buying came out of a rather tumultuous time, as band members faced both homelessness and substance abuse. That darkness was channeled into this record, as Dave focused his lyrics on socially conscious issues and occultism. The title track spoke of a desire for a new societal structure, as the American way was losing its lust. "The Conjuring" and "Bad Omen" reflect on Satanic ceremonies, "Devil's Island" and "My Last Words" delve into crude means of torture and imprisonment, and "Wake Up Dead" and "Black Friday" are full-on killing fantasies. These are some of the most gruesomely detailed words that Dave would pen in his career.

Alongside the lyrical content, Dave and his band would step up their game with more galloping riffs, shredding solos, infectious basslines from David Ellefson, and pulse-pounding drums from Gar Samuelson. It all sounded crisp, thanks in part to the high-quality production the band got from their deal with Capitol Records. Paul Lani did a superb job following up on Randy Burns' work behind the mix, affording the cleanness and balance needed to hear each distinct note and lick. It's one of the more polished metal releases to come out at the time, and it still holds up to this day.

Really, my only nitpick with this record is the cover of Willie Dixon's "I Ain't Superstitious". While it is amazing how the song composition translated into a full-on thrasher, Dave's choice to rewrite the lyrics with more expletives ended up admittedly cringeworthy. I wasn't much into this lyrical approach when they covered Nancy Sinatra's "These Boots are Made for Walkin'" on their debut, and it's unfortunately not much different here.

Overall, Peace Sells surprisingly holds up as a thrash metal record that catapulted Megadeth into stardom alongside Dave's former band, Metallica. Again, it feels weird that the band is coming to an end soon, but at least the music will live on.

I will refer to the original 1980 UK release and not include any bonus tracks from the 2000 CD reissue in this review.

This looks to be another case of a group that proved influential for a musical movement after their time in the limelight. In this case, The Teardrop Explodes were a key band in the emerging post-punk scene in late 1970s Liverpool, bringing back psychedelic elements to British pop music. That much is evident on their debut record, Kilimanjaro.

The tight percussion, the supple bass lines, the jangly guitar strums, the organs and synthesizers nestled in the back of the mix, and Julian Cope's wailing accented vocals epitomize this sound. These songs had a bounce to them as Julian rattled on with such surrealist imagery in the lyrics. Even the occasional blaring trumpets on tracks like "Ha Ha I'm Drowning" and "Went Crazy" were a welcome addition to their style.

That said, this album is rather short, clocking in at barely over 37 minutes. This wouldn't be as much of an issue if most songs weren't sonically structured similarly to each other. There's a very familiar cadence with each passing composition that the feeling of repetition started kicking around "Bouncing Babies" and "Books". I'd also be remiss if I couldn't help but compare The Teardrop Explodes to their contemporaries like Echo & the Bunnymen, who proved to have a more vibrant sound.

Still, I enjoyed Kilimanjaro as a solid record that would foresee the neo-psychedelia movement to come.

I will not include the bonus tracks in this review.

I have listened to Elbow before, particularly with their 2021 album Flying Dream 1. They're an art rock group that wears their influences on their sleeves, most notably from Radiohead and early Genesis. That much should be evident from listening to The Seldom Seen Kid.

Guy Garvey's unique vocal tones and intricate lyricism draw comparisons to Peter Gabriel in a good way, as he elevates the mundane with such prose. Whether it's the pursuit of love that becomes more important than having "An Audience With the Pope", the reflections on being overworked and looking for the simpler things in life on "The Bones of You", or even the confidence in rigging a horse race on "The Fix", there's a certain air of elegance with the descriptiveness Guy brought to these songs. Adding to that sentiment is the experimental pomp throughout this record, with the orchestral instrumentation from the session personnel complementing the sharp guitar and piano melodies, Pete Turner's nervy basslines, and Richard Jupp's strident percussion.

If I had to complain, this album is generally stuck at a slower tempo, which can make the listening feel longer than it is. Also, as much as I will commend Guy's vocal cadence, the falsetto that opens "Weather to Fly" does not work, even if I think it has a nice sentiment about the beginnings of the band.

Overall, The Seldom Seen Kid is a remarkable album that helped cement Elbow as a band worth checking out.

This is the first time I have ever heard of and listened to Ryan Adams. He started in the alternative country group Whiskeytown before launching a successful solo career at the turn of the millennium. In fact, his first two solo albums would appear in the 1001 Albums series, and this album in particular had cultural relevance at the height of post-9/11 America upon its release. Does Gold still hold up decades later? Well, not exactly.

For all intents and purposes, this is a rather safe record. The general cadence of "white guy with guitar" throughout these songs lends itself to the easy-listening country-rock hybrid that would have been all over adult alternative radio at the time. Couple that sentiment with Ryan's limited vocal range, and the lyrical content that makes use of New York iconography without much in the way of depth or stakes in the songwriting, and the scope feels rather narrow. That's not to say I hate it; if anything, I'm largely ambivalent towards it. It's fine enough to have played in the background, but without any rich textures or raw emotion, most of these tracks end up coming across as toothless. For me, the only standouts were the opening burst of energy on "New York, New York" and "Firecracker", the admittedly striking ballad "When the Stars Go Blue", the nine-minute multi-movement country-rock of "Nobody Girl", and the passable guitar soloing on "Enemy Fire". The rest ended up going in one ear and out the other, and considering this album is 70 minutes long, the experience ultimately drags.

At the end of the day, Gold is a safe record, for better and worse. It just happened to come out at the right time, continuing Ryan Adams' success as a solo artist and later producer. He would also go on to tarnish his own reputation through public antics and other such controversies that I will spare the details of. For now, cherry-pick your favorites and go from there.

This is the third Radiohead album on my journey, and it gets a fair bit of notoriety. In Rainbows was one of the first albums from a major label act to be both a surprise release and available at a pay-what-you-want price for the fans. Both practices would see further use over the years, more so the former. Still, there is one more notable thing about this record - it is pretty damn good.

In Rainbows is a very intimate record, full of intricate melodies with warm, sublime production courtesy of Nigel Godrich. Some of Radiohead's best hooks and sonic moments come from this record alone. The complex handclap rhythm of "15 Step", the fuzzed-out guitar riff from "Bodysnatchers", the spare bass and acoustic guitar finger-picking that form the somber waltz of "Nude", the intermingled guitar and orchestral strings on "Weird Fishes / Arpeggi" and "Faust Arp", the lowly synthesizer capturing the feel of white noise on the haunting "All I Need", the grooving rhythm section of "Reckoner", the mellow guitar hook on "House of Cards", the shimmering piano ballad of "Videotape", this album is loaded with all sorts of distinct and well-executed compositions.

All along the way, Thom Yorke delivered a rather earnest, frail vocal delivery as he reflected on his own mortality and what it meant to be human. There isn't anger so much as fear and discontent with living a mundane life, knowing that death will come one day and that choices must be made to break from the monotony. This desperation to fulfill one's livelihood becomes especially prudent on the closing track "Videotape", where a VHS tape of memories is left behind as the narrator passes on, with the hope that a part of him will be remembered fondly. It's a very universal desire to want to be remembered well by those lives we have touched upon, and I think Thom and company did an excellent job of capturing that sentiment.

It does not come as a surprise to say that I love In Rainbows. It's a very passionate record that colorfully explores the human condition.

I know I was introduced to Bill Callahan at some point, because I remember listening to his 2022 album YTI⅃AƎЯ and ended up liking it. He had been around the edges of the indie acoustic scene since the 1990s, often performing under the name of Smog. Only in the mid-2000s did he begin performing under his own name. Sometimes I Wish We Were an Eagle is his second solo album under his own name, and I'll admit this is the kind of record that leaves me in awe with its simplicity.

The songs on this record tend to involve very simplistic structures, simple chord progressions, Bill's conversational baritone delivery, and the complementary string and horn arrangements courtesy of Brian Beattie. There's this quiet, soothing energy present throughout, as the image of the eagle flying alone among the birds in the sky is used to reflect Bill's feelings of isolation, depression, and fragility. It speaks to more than just "white guy with acoustic guitar", as most of the guitars are nestled back in the mix in favor of the rich string arrangements, all the while invoking this comforting, non-confrontational earnestness. Not a moment felt wasted, as the tension builds toward the end on "All Thoughts Are Prey to Some Beast" with the greater thoughts and disconnection lurking in the mind becoming such inescapable driving forces. Then, the tension is cut with the howling processed vocals of the instrumental "Invocation of Ratiocination", leaving the mind to wonder where its flight will land before those wild thoughts are suppressed in the closer "Faith/Void". Perhaps the last track could have been better woven into the narrative of the eagle, even if it was done as a light tribute to the Faith/Void hardcore split LP, but that's a minor nitpick in the grand scheme of things.

Sometimes I Wish We Were an Eagle is a fantastic record, showcasing the strengths of Bill Callahan as a singer-songwriter with striking imagery and wonder. It's an emotionally exuberant experience, and I could not get enough of it.

It's been a long time since I got New Order's Low-Life as album #10 on my journey. So long in fact that I ended up revisiting that album earlier this year and updating my review, and then received both Joy Division records. I've grown fond of the group's mesh of synth-pop and post-punk stylings to the point where I was curious what the other New Order album in the 1001 Albums series would sound like. It turns out they went in a completely different direction for Technique, more towards alternative dance with influence from acid house and Balearic club music.

The programmed four-on-the-floor beat and squelching synthesizers are prominent throughout this record, but not to the point of overpowering the trademark elements of New Order's sound. The infectious bass hooks, punching drums, and reverb-drenched guitar lines are all still present behind Bernard Sumner's effortless delivery, alongside more hard-hitting guitar soloing on "Run" and "Dream Attack". If anything, the more noticeable electronic elements help elevate their sound to a new high. Meanwhile, the lyrics are a lot more blunt this time around, as Bernard appears confrontational towards these faltering relationships with self-agency. It's a look that suits him well with this more vibrant, bouncing sound.

Honestly, I couldn't find much to complain about with Technique. It was a bold direction for New Order to go in, and it paid off in dividends.

I started listening to Tom Waits last year. He's a singer, songwriter, composer, and actor known for his deep, gravelly voice and lyrics that focus on the seedy underbelly of society. He started his career as a folk singer in the vein of Bob Dylan, while also taking influence from spoken word and beat poetry. However, Heartattack and Vine proved to be a stylistic shift, taking a direction that's more in line with Delta blues.

The fuzzy guitar, the sharp percussive beat, and Ronnie Barron's playing on the Hammond organ are all featured elements on half of this record that give a more aggressive edge to Tom's compositions. The title track, the instrumental "In Shades", "Downtown", and "Mr. Siegal" all sonically cut deep in the standard blues format, as Tom viscerally delivers these delightfully grotesque sceneries. Meanwhile, the rest of the tracks offer more orchestrally arranged ballads like on "Saving All My Love For You", "Jersey Girl", and the closer "Ruby's Arms", where the anguish and raw passion come through in Tom's vocals as he sang about his relationships with women who weren't the most upstanding, without ever talking down about them. There's an earnest acknowledgement of people's flaws, including his own, that shines well in his lyrics.

Still, I have to acknowledge that this is a transitional record. I essentially described two different-sounding halves to this album. While the track list arrangement does its best to mask that fact, I can't deny that Tom could have gone wholeheartedly in one direction or the other, with a slight personal preference for the more aggressive Delta blues styling. Even Tom himself acknowledged that this record was a turning point that would help inform his later musical experimentation, and I have to agree with him.

I still liked Heartattack and Vine at the end of the day, and accept that this is an important record in Tom Waits's career. If anything, it made me look forward to what was next.

Alright, this is the second Steely Dan record, both in the context of albums released by the group and on my album journey. I was already familiar with the opening track, "Bodhisattva," with its borderline bebop, uptempo vamping, and freestyle guitar soloing that made for quite the challenge in the video game Rock Band 2. Now, does the rest of Countdown to Ecstasy stack up?

Well, after that initial high, the album drops into the more laid-back, mid-tempo, easy-listening jazz-rock affair that is standard for this group. It's not bad by any means, as Walter Becker and Donald Fagen lyrically explore themes of class struggle and drug abuse. There's some impressive guitar playing on cuts like "The Boston Rag" and "Show Biz Kids", and the momentum eventually picks back up toward the end between the upbeat prominent horns over the misadventure in "My Old School" and the more funk-influenced post-apocalyptic hellscape of "King of the World." But man, there are some sonic lulls in the middle of the record, particularly in "Razor Boy" and "Your Gold Teeth", that end up dragging down the pace, which is a shame, as these arrangements are otherwise well-arranged and produced. Perhaps a restructuring of the track list would have benefited the listening experience.

Otherwise, I consider Countdown to Ecstasy to be another solid record from Steely Dan. It's a largely agreeable listen that sounds well-polished with enough engaging musical ideas to make it worthwhile.