Reviews by abrisskull

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.

Okay, first and foremost, it is nice to see a newer metal release included in the 2026 edition of the 1001 Albums book. It’s been over a decade and a half since the last metal inclusion with Slipknot’s All Hope Is Gone. It’s also nice to see some representation of metalcore, a subgenre that was neglected by the book for decades since its inception, even with the mainstream success seen in the 2000s. Plus, if an artist had to be picked to represent the current swath of metal artists, I’d say Poppy would be a reasonably solid choice. She started out making performance art videos on YouTube that hit the uncanny valley while deconstructing Internet culture and pop celebrity, and her early high-concept art pop music operated in that same vein. But along the way, she started dipping into heavier genres, and after breaking ties with some emotionally abusive people who were involved in her early work, she dove headfirst into the genre swerving, across pop metal, alternative rock, hardcore, and faux-industrial pop, before settling on metalcore and alternative metal with the release of Negative Spaces in 2024.

Now, this is where it gets tricky, because the album chosen to represent Poppy in the 1001 Albums book was Empty Hands. It feels weird to see it included in the book and subsequently added to the album generator here, because A) this came out in January of this year, B) I already listened to it when it came out, and C) its inclusion in the newest edition of 1001 Albums is because, according to editor Brian MacDonald, it “sticks with the winning formula” from Negative Spaces.

C is probably the most damning because it invites unwarranted comparisons to that prior album, when really I do hear some steps Poppy has been taking to push her sound. She is trying to simultaneously balance the metalcore crossover with more pop-accessible textures, even some chunkier sides of deathcore; the closing title track might be the heaviest thing she’s made to date, and I’m here for it. She’s also pushing herself further as a vocalist with some truly visceral screams and growls alongside that pop sensibility in the song structures. Plus, there are some songs with good anthemic hooks to be found, like “Guardian”, “Unravel” and “Time Will Tell”.

That all said, there are some glaring issues here carried over from Negative Spaces. Once again, we have production handled by Jordan Fish, formerly of Bring Me the Horizon. It's clear that Jordan's production style tends to be very overcompressing and oversaturating, between the chugging yet oddly clean-sounding guitar riffs, airless drums, weedy synths, contorted glitching, and occasional gratuitous pitch-correction on the vocals. These elements wind up suffocating the melodies and Poppy's vocal performance in the mix, which feels like a cruel sense of irony; if it's to be accepted that her greatest strengths are her compositional chops and genre-bending, then why make any of the pop elements beyond the programmed percussion sound like pulling teeth? Of course, this could be partially redeemed by the songwriting and lyrics... except this is where I ran into the second issue, because I'm admittedly conflicted here. I do feel that there was a lot of pent-up frustration Poppy had built up over the years from dealing with the aforementioned emotionally abusive people in her life, and there can be something righteous in aiming at those who had controlled and constrained her within an industry framework and avoided consequences or flourished in ignorance; she's completely justified in her anger. I just wish she didn't lean into alternative metal and metalcore clichés of malaise, angst, and conflict, and when those are paired with the limited dynamics and less melodic support, it starts running together.

It sucks to say, because I do like Poppy as an artist and I hope she continues to evolve her sound. But I can't in good conscience say that this album is the best introduction to her music. I might not be left empty-handed, pun intended, but I am left wanting more.

I will not include the bonus tracks from the 2012 expanded edition in this review.

Alright, let's get the nitpicks out of the way. Yes, this is a compilation album with the A-side and B-side tracks from the singles Little Richard released up to this point. Yes, the weaker tracks are some of those B-sides that dial the energy back for something with a little more emotional weight but don't pan out, like "Baby" and "Miss Ann".

But man, when Little Richard got going, he got going. His hard-driving uptempo sound with sexually suggestive lyrics and hollering refrains established the archetype for rock & roll music, where even Elvis Presley and The Beatles took influence from him. I was already familiar with "Tutti Frutti" and "Long Tall Sally", but plenty of tracks on this record, like "Ready Teddy", "True, Fine Mama", "Slippin' and Slidin'", and "Jenny, Jenny" also showcase that firepower and tenacity in the performance with him and his backing band. Plus, it was cool to see that Richard wrote over half the songs on this album, and his words shone in the cheeky playfulness that he employed.

Even with my earlier nitpicks, Here's Little Richard is still a good album that's held up long after making its mark in music history.

For those who don't know, Louis "Sabu" Martinez was an American conga player of Puerto Rican descent and a key figure in the early years of blending jazz and Cuban music. He worked with multiple jazz contemporaries, like Charlie Parker, Duke Ellington, Count Basie, and Thelonious Monk. By 1957, he became a bandleader, and Palo Congo was his debut record for the Blue Note jazz label.

Obviously, the conga playing was the ensemble's most prominent feature, as Sabu led Arsenio Rodríguez, Raúl "Caesar" Travieso, Israel Moisés "Quique" Travieso, and Ray "Mosquito" Romero through a series of fast-paced, hypnotic rhythms that command one's attention. No one player was singled out; instead, they collectively formed a wall of complex yet danceable beats that thankfully doesn't overwhelm Arsenio's tres and guitar flourishes or the call-and-response vocals. It's nothing too flashy, and I admittedly wish I could find any lyrics, but I can't deny I had a good time grooving to this album without it overstaying its welcome.

Yeah, I do consider Palo Congo to be a good record. Sabu continued to be active for the next two decades, until sadly passing away in 1979 at the age of 48 from a gastric ulcer. Gone way too soon.

It's been two years since I last had to deal with Kanye West, when I listened to My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy and saw his demons. In real time, Kanye himself hasn't exactly distanced himself from the fascism and domestic abuse allegations. But we don't need to cover that today, for this album came out before most of Kanye's controversies. That's right, it's his debut record, The College Dropout.

As I've said in the past, Kanye once cared about creating and producing music, and it's very evident on this record. The production is admittedly pristine throughout the whole listen, making effective use of snappy beats and sped-up vocal samples. Yeah, this and Kanye's other early albums popularized the "chipmunk soul" style of hip hop music that would flood the market over the next couple of decades, and can be ear-grating at its worst. But on here, he made it pretty easy to listen to, such as Marvin Gaye's croons from "Distant Lover" nestled into the backdrop of the sing-along chorus of "Spaceship", the second verse of Blackjack's "Maybe It's the Power of Love" used for the hard-hitting "Never Let Me Down", and Chaka Khan's anthemic chorus to "Through the Fire" reinterpreted for "Through the Wire". Plus, not every sample needed to be sped up to be incorporated well, such as Lauryn Hill's "Mystery of Iniquity" used for "All Falls Down," or The ARC Choir's "Walk With Me" over the drums from Lou Donaldson's "Ode to Billie Joe" on "Jesus Walks".

As for the lyrical content... I'm admittedly torn. On some level, I get what he was going for with this record. He was trying to realize his aspirations of becoming a rapper and overcome those who didn't believe in him: his school teachers, the police, record executives at Capitol, and even his former boss at the Gap. Not to mention, he also addressed his own superficiality in the rap game on "Breathe In, Breathe Out", as well as his near-death car accident that fractured his jaw and had his mouth wired shut on "Through the Wire". Hell, even on this record, he's having to overcome the snide bars that Talib Kweli gave him for "Get 'Em High", or the self-posturing Jay-Z made on "Never Let Me Down" as he struggled to acknowledge accepting Kanye on his Roc-A-Fella Records label. There's something palatable about defying the odds to make a name for yourself, especially for a perceived nerd who dropped out of college to pursue a music career and take that risk.

Yet at the same time, man, this album can also come off as very self-centered in places. His reverse psychology ploy to get his songs on the radio in the second verse of "Jesus Walks", his multiple advances toward women on "Get 'Em High" and "The New Workout Plan," with the latter track also boasting a rather cringeworthy incest joke, and, to top it all off, that nearly nine-minute monologue at the end of "Last Call". Given what Kanye would become, the signs were there. That's not even mentioning the multiple skits throughout the record that haven't aged well, or the egregious name-dropping of R&B singers he did with Jamie Foxx and Twista on "Slow Jamz".

All in all, I get the appeal Kanye used to have at the beginning. The College Dropout proved influential in bringing conscious hip-hop to the mainstream at a time when gangsta rap was prevalent, and it certainly showcased the potential this producer-rapper once had, even with some glaring issues. Unfortunately, that potential has long been squandered, as this album nowadays represents a bygone era for the man.

A couple of months ago, I enjoyed Forever Changes as a grandiose orchestral pop record Love put out, despite its unevenness, cut down from a double album. I was curious how their previous record, Da Capo, fared. After all, this was the album where the band started to embrace a wider variety of musical styles. In addition, frontman Arthur Lee smoothed out his vocal tone and adopted more autobiographical lyrics. How did it all work out?

Well... at the very least, the first side panned out pretty well. I already heard the lead single "Seven and Seven Is" beforehand, and it doesn't disappoint as a fast, loose proto-punk song about Arthur's frustrations during his adolescence. But even the other tracks on side one shaped out splendidly - the sprawling harpsichord-led waltz of "Stephanie Knows Who", the whimsical, cool jazz meditation on love at first sight in "Orange Skies", the warm organ present throughout the saccharine Latin rhythmic cadence of "!Que Vida!", and that intricate acoustic guitar melody ever-present through the changing time signatures on "The Castle". Sure, "She Comes in Colors" can come off as a tad kooky with its "whoa-oh-oh-ohs" in the chorus, but even that track boasted Tjay Cantrelli's eloquent flute playing opposite Allen "Snoopy" Pfisterer's harpsichord work. Honestly, if the whole record stayed this good, it'd have been a slam dunk. Of course, if you heard the record, you know exactly what I'm getting at...

Yeah, "Revelation" is a hot mess. A 45-minute-long extended jam cut down to 18 minutes, where it's clear producer Paul Rothchild spliced and rearranged segments from what was originally intended. In retrospect, I get that this had to be done, given the limitations of vinyl at the time. That said, let's say, theoretically, you could have the entire 45 minutes captured on one side of the record, with no studio tinkering. With that in mind, I have to ask... what was the direction of this song? Where was it building toward? I've heard my fair share of long songs, some of which easily eclipse this, and they held my attention because the songwriters knew how to ramp up the momentum, meaningfully change movements, and work toward that final statement in their long song. I don't get a sense of direction from this track. It truly is just noodling about, complete with Arthur's meandering horny lyrics. It's a long song only for the sake of having one, something the band members themselves have admitted. I can see why they would grow to dislike it in retrospect.

It's a shame, because without "Revelation", Da Capo is an otherwise decent record that does anticipate the sonic evolution Love would continue with Forever Changes. But with "Revelation", it's a record hampered by one bad creative decision.

Alright, I've at least heard of The Sensational Alex Harvey Band from one of the many artists who covered "The Faith Healer" on this record. Fronted by singer-songwriter Alex Harvey, this Scottish glam rock act was well known for blending blues, hard rock, and cabaret, and for incorporating theatrical performances into their sets. Hell, the band members themselves dressed up as harlequins and other vaudeville-type folk for their shows.

As for the music on their second record, Next, I can see how it influenced Bon Scott-era AC/DC and early Nick Cave. This is full-on cock rock, between Zal Cleminson's loud guitar riffs, Hugh McKenna's hard-hitting piano work, the tight rhythm section of Chris Glen and Ted McKenna, and Alex Harvey's electrifying, abrasive vocals. That latter element is especially poignant here, as Alex is poised in the center of the mix, offering such crass tales of fervent sexual desire that aren't even thinly veiled, including the rampant euphemisms throughout "Swampsnake" and "The Last of the Teenage Idols" and him putting his hands on someone's body under the pretext of being a supposed religious figure on "The Faith Healer." There's even a song called "Gang Bang", for crying out loud. But for as much as Alex Harvey penned some truly graphic tunes, his choices of covers were just as potent. Freddie Bell's "Giddy Up a Ding Dong" is very much about likening one's penis to a horse, which seemed on brand here. But even more intense was Jacques Brel's "Next", serving as the title track here. That song used the historical context of how the French army ran mobile brothels to supply prostitutes to the soldiers during the World War campaigns to offer an over-the-top story of how a young man lost his innocence on two different fronts: the sex and the war - "All the naked and the dead/Should hold each other's hands/As they watch me scream at night/In a dream no one understands." Can this album be a bit much in its crass humor? Yes, I can freely admit that. But more often than not, I was intrigued by the showmanship and musical technicality of Alex Harvey and his band to sell these tales of debauchery. Again, I can see how this would be influential.

That just leaves me with a few issues I need to bring up. First, for as much as "The Faith Healer" is the iconic song from this record that many have covered, I just feel like the buildup from the monotone electric piano motif took longer than it needed to. That intro could have been trimmed down by at least thirty seconds, and you wouldn't miss out on much. Second, there were some glaring panning issues on the closing track, "The Last of the Teenage Idols", where it started cutting to the left speaker toward the end of the last chorus, then immediately shifted to the right for the switchup to the doo-wop-esque final movement, before the mix was corrected partway through. I don't know why the track was mixed like that.

Nevertheless, I had a good time with Next as a very cocky record. The Sensational Alex Harvey Band continued to put out music until their disbandment in 1978, and Alex himself would die of heart failure four years later. There had been some reunions by the backing band since, but nothing too concrete. Still, at this point, their legacy had been set in the glam rock and even punk scenes.

Yeah, I could go for some TLC, the R&B girl group of Tionne "T-Boz" Watkins, Lisa "Left Eye" Lopes, and Rozonda "Chili" Thomas. They certainly had a successful run during the 1990s, hitting their stride with their second album, CrazySexyCool. Of course, the big hits like "Creep" and "Waterfalls" still work wonders, but even deeper cuts like "Kick Your Game", "Case of the Fake People", and "Switch" are still remarkable in their well-produced, vicious dismissals of backstabbing men, while still looking for that lasting relationship on songs like "Let's Do It Again" and "Take Our Time". Along the way, each member got to shine in addition to the harmonious vocals, with special praise given to Left Eye for her distinctive rap flow on the aforementioned "Kick Your Game" and "Switch", which was amazing given her limited input on the record as a result of her rehab at the time. It all culminates well in the closing track "Sumthin' Wicked This Way Comes", as the three women and André 3000 of OutKast come together amidst the crunchy guitars, looking for that time to heal after being wronged for so long.

I'm not going to say this album's perfect. Besides the unevenness of the three women's involvement on the record and the loss of the androgynous subtext in covering Prince's "If I Was Your Girlfriend", I just didn't care much for the interludes here. Aside from the staged crank call of "Sexy-Interlude", they didn't offer much other than repeating the name of the album and generalized hype coming from the likes of Phife Dawg of A Tribe Called Quest, producer Jermaine Dupri, rapper Busta Rhymes, and... ughhh, Sean "Diddy" Combs. Yeah, he had a hand in writing and producing a few of the interlude tracks and the cover of "If I Was Your Girlfriend", as he was making a name for himself as a producer around this time with the likes of this album, Notorious B.I.G.'s Ready to Die and Mary J. Blige's My Life. At best, his involvement here has made his record age weirdly, given the prevalent sexual themes throughout and what we would later know the man for.

Still, I had a good time with Crazysexycool. I do think the actual songs more than make up for any gripes I had with the interludes. Of course, TLC would enjoy more commercial success with their following record, FanMail, with its lead single, "No Scrubs". But sadly, Lisa "Left Eye" Lopes died tragically in a car crash, and the group would never be the same again.

Robert James Ritchie was born in 1971 in Romeo, Michigan, the son of Susan and William Ritchie, who owned multiple car dealerships. He and his sister Jill were raised on his father's large home property. In the 1980s, he grew interested in hip-hop and breakdancing and taught himself how to rap and DJ while performing at talent shows in and around Detroit. This helped him gain professional associations with producer Mike E. Clark and DJ D-Nice of Boogie Down Productions, who, in turn, helped Robert release a debut album that drew comparisons to Vanilla Ice. Over time, Robert continued to build his output, stage persona, and live performances with assistance from turntablist Uncle Kracker and his backing band Twisted Brown Trucker. Through word of mouth from his management, Robert secured a record deal with Lava Records. By this point, it was clear to Robert what he wanted his stage persona to be - a redneck pimp who claimed to come out of a trailer park and wanted to have all the girls, drugs, and fame that he wanted, operating under the alias of Kid Rock.

Now, you may be wondering why I went out of my way to give the full introduction. After all, Kid Rock is a household name, whether people want to admit it or not. Well, I wanted to make it clear that A) he never came from a trailer park or anywhere in the Southern United States, no matter how hard he tried to appeal to that demographic, and B) in a way, Robert followed in his father's steps, because he is the used car salesman of music, and it is pretty evident on his breakthrough record, Devil Without a Cause.

Every song on this album is just him trying to desperately sell the listener on the idea of him being a cowboy pimp, that he was destined to be famous, get all the girls, and partake in all the drugs and debauchery that come with such a lifestyle, all delivered in his nasal inflection, made even worse with autotune on "Only God Knows Why". It is headache-inducing, and that's before you get into the homophobic slurs, the n-word dropping, the clunky, outdated references ("I'm like the robot from Lost in Space (danger danger)" on "Where U At Rock?"), and the awkward shoehorning of random words to force a rhyme (Why else would he bring up "jumbo shrimp" on "I Am the Bullgod" if not to have a word that rhymes with "swing low like a chimp"). Topping it all off, Robert even gives the full account of him having underage sex and getting a girl pregnant back in 8th grade on "Black Chick, White Guy", based on a true story, no less disgusting and abhorrent. None of the guest appearances come even close to saving this, from hype man Joe C. sounding like a literal child wanting to have sex on the title track, to Robert Bradley contributing at most the one-line hook and a grating vocal crack at the end of "I Got One for Ya", to even Eminem offering a lame duck Slim Shady performance on "Fuck Off". In case you're wondering why Eminem was here, it's because he and Robert are long-time friends and happened to be in the same studio at the same time. In fact, Robert contributed the record-scratching to "Just Don't Give a Fuck" off The Slim Shady LP, one of the more irritable tracks on that album.

Speaking of record-scratching, let's talk about the instrumentation, because Uncle Kracker and the Twisted Brown Trucker band are here to make this record pop by... largely imitating and sampling from other, better artists. Even Robert himself has to take lines from other artists here and there. I understand if the average person normally doesn't pay attention to where samples come from, but as someone who is more than halfway through their album journey and has listened to plenty of music, it becomes all the more apparent. The chorus of "Bawitdaba" taken from Busy Bee's "Makin' Cash Money" with a line from The Sugarhill Gang's "Rapper's Delight", the bassline from Boys Don't Cry's "I Wanna Be a Cowboy" mixed with the harmonica from Ennio Morricone's theme to The Good, the Bad & the Ugly on "Cowboy", the title track with its guitar riff from U2's "Mysterious Ways" and bass from Whodini's "Freaks Come Out at Night", the full-on rip-off of Fleetwood Mac's "Second Hand News" on "Wastin' Time". Even when there isn't an obvious sample, Robert and his band go out of their way to badly ape other artists, whether it's Grandmaster Flash & the Furious Five on "Welcome 2 the Party (Ode 2 the Old School)" or Rage Against the Machine on "Somebody's Gotta Feel This". Now, in fairness, I have enjoyed my fair share of sample-based music from other albums on my journey - Beastie Boys' Paul's Boutique, Public Enemy's Fear of a Black Planet, DJ Shadow's Endtroducing....., The Avalanches' Since I Left You, to name a few. But here's the thing - those records made use of those samples to create something fresh, new, and innovative. Now, Robert might like to think that his fusion of country, rap, and rock fits those characteristics, but in reality, this is mostly nothing more than half-drunken, self-serving diatribes over glorified barroom karaoke music. At best, the only song that could be argued to have something close to an original idea would be "I Am the Bullgod", but even that's just a reworked song from his earlier record, The Polyfuze Method, bashed even further with a pointless, underpowered remix tacked on as a hidden track.

I could go on, but at this point, I think I've made myself clear how much I hate Devil Without a Cause. Instead, I'd rather end with two insights that can at least help explain why it's here, why it might still be included in the 1001 Albums books beyond just Robert Dimery and his crew not bothering to reassess included albums from the 1990s and earlier save for a few. First off, this album was a huge success back around 1999. Commercially, it sold as many copies as Nirvana's Nevermind, which is... shocking, to say the least. But also critically, this album did surprisingly well, with only Pitchfork offering the dissenting review for the time. But even thinking about it, I can see how this album would have been largely appealing to the teenage demographic at the time, as baby's first country-rap-rock fusion full of debauchery that would have catered to that audience. Of course, as someone who was three years old when this album was making its rounds, I don't have the nostalgia for this, but I can understand if someone did.

The other insight I want to offer is that, for as much as I hated it, I cannot deny that Robert can be viewed as influential, and I'm not just talking about the immediate country-rap crossovers in the early 2000s. Even the bro-country of the 2010s and more recent country artists churned out of Music Row today, like Morgan Wallen, Jelly Roll, and HARDY, have trace elements of Robert's style in their music. That doesn't mean that it's inherently good, but there is a certain lineage that can be traced. In a different timeline, Robert Ritchie would have served as an elder statesman in the larger country music landscape. But alas, Robert Ritchie was still a used car salesman in music at the end of the day, for his grift continued to change and evolve, alongside his shift in politics toward the far-right. He would go on to appeal to the Make America Great Again crowd with his music, stage persona, and off-stage antics, and that grift will continue to evolve with the release of his upcoming Christian music record. That's right - the man who built his persona around being a redneck pimp, who's described himself as the "Devil Without a Cause", the "Bullgod", the "Rock 'n' Roll Jesus", and other such self-idolizing names, whose most notable bars are "Young ladies, young ladies/I like 'em underage, see/Some say that's statutory/But I say it's mandatory" - that guy is going to put out a Christian music album, where the first single is a naked crib of Kenny Rogers's "The Gambler" filled with Jesus's name and other religious-pandering lyrics. Never change, Robert Ritchie, you piece of shit.

Honestly, it's kind of cool to see The Pretenders' self-titled debut here. They're another group I was introduced to early on, thanks to "Tattooed Love Boys" being included in the Guitar Hero II soundtrack. Plus, "Brass in Pocket" is still a bop whenever I hear it on FM radio. How does the rest of the album stack up?

Well, it's apparent from the get-go with the opening run of "Precious", "Phone Call", "Up the Neck", and "Tattooed Love Boys" that the band's early sound was defined by kinetic new wave meets power pop music. Chrissie Hynde and James Honeyman-Scott traded delicious guitar riffs while Martin Chambers and Pete Farndon kept the rhythms tight, even with the changing time signatures. Hell, the full band got to show their amazing chops with the instrumental "Space Invader", with its thumping bassline, playful guitar licks, and touching use of sound effects from the titular arcade game. For most of the record, Chrissie delivered her stories of sex, anger, and fervent desires for freedom in her contralto range with an ethereal coolness, while still comfortably offering a vulnerable performance in the middle on cuts like The Kinks' "Stop Sobbing" and "Kid". It's impressive how well she modulated between both sides, to the point that those sides come together beautifully on the strident "Brass in Pocket".

That said, if one aspect of this album is holding me back a bit, it's the pacing. It's apparent in the second half with the whiplash alternation between the longer, sentimental tracks "Private Life" and "Lovers of Today" and the shorter, hard-hitting bops "Brass in Pocket" and "Mystery Achievement", even if I feel that "Mystery Achievement" is an effective closer and "Private Life" is a neat deviation into spacious reggae rock. I'd also be remiss not to mention that the cover of The Kinks' "Stop Sobbing" stuck out like a sore thumb compared to the rest of the tracklist. I usually think Nick Lowe is a solid producer given his work with Elvis Costello & the Attractions, but on this one, the guitar overdubbing was irritating in the mix. Thankfully, Chris Thomas did a much better job for the rest of the record.

Overall, this was a solid debut, showcasing a lot of potential for the band. Unfortunately, tragedy struck not long after its release, as James Honeymoon-Scott and Pete Farndon would both die from their respective drug problems, leaving Chrissie and Martin to essentially rework The Pretenders into a completely different band from Learning to Crawl onward. I can only imagine what could have been had the original iteration of the band continued for just a little more.

I can't say I've heard of The Boo Radleys before. Apparently, they started as another shoegaze band out of England before broadening their musical palette with this record, Giant Steps.

I will say there is something reminiscent of The Beatles and Primal Scream's Screamadelica regarding the band's ambition and scope with their experimentation here. The band managed to cross the lanes between noise pop, reggae, psychedelia, and orchestration in such twisted manners that never seemed dull. The fuzzed-out dub trip of "Upon 9th and Fairchild", the Smiths-esque jangle pop of "Wish I Was Skinny", the hazy, angular guitar effects mixed into the quiet-loud-quiet dynamics of "Leaves and Sand", the abrasive horn that cuts through the noise amidst the changing styles on "Butterfly McQueen", the electronic keyboard clashes paired with the airy vocals from Pale Saints' Meriel Barham opposite Simon "Sice" Rowbottom's on "Rodney King (Song for Lenny Bruce)", the ornate harpsichord with the woodwinds on "Thinking of Ways". Credit to singer-songwriter Martin Carr for making this album as imaginative and creative as can be, while working in some vivid imagery in the lyrics and some big hooks across the board, most notably in the back half with the psychedelic pop of "Barney (...and Me)", the anthemic rock of "If You Want It, Take It", the organ-accompanied ballad of "Best Lose the Fear", and that crescendoing sing-along chorus at the end with "The White Noise Revisited".

I wouldn't say every experiment worked well here. I certainly wasn't into the backmasking and filtered vocals of "Spun Around", even if it was likely done to take the piss off folks who believed in hidden messages when playing records backward. Also, I'll admit that by the time I got to the interlude "One Is For", I was feeling fatigued from this record. It is a little over an hour long, and while I have listened to longer records before with relative ease, I wouldn't say this one was as engaging all the way through.

Still, I had a good time overall with Giant Steps, as an experimental record that really went all out. It's cool to see that The Boo Radleys have reunited recently and continue to put out new material, even without Martin Carr's involvement.

Okay, on some level, Protection seemed like the natural continuation of what Massive Attack employed on Blue Lines. The eclectic mix of electronica, hip-hop, dub, soul, and reggae is apparent, complete with a notable collection of guest features that characterize individual tracks. Of course, Tricky, 3D, and Horace Andy continued their involvement with the group. They also brought into the fold singer-songwriter Nicolette, orchestral composer Craig Armstrong, and, most notably, Tracey Thorn of Everything But the Girl fame. In fact, most of these guests bring something truly unique and wonderful to the mix, including Tracey's sultry delivery over the atmospheric build of the opening title track, Tricky and 3D's subtle, back-and-forth wordy rapping over the ragged danger of "Karmacoma", Craig's glistening piano over the thudding synth bass motif and soft string swell of "Weather Storm", and Nicolette's wistful vocals over the orchestral arrangement on "Sly".

Really, the only guest that I wasn't as into this time around was Horace Andy. It's weird, because I enjoyed his featured tracks on Blue Lines, but that's largely because the compositions for songs like "One Love" and "Hymn of the Big Wheel" complemented Horace's particular reggae delivery. Here, the liquid drop dub beat of "Spying Glass", as much as it would work on paper, doesn't quite suit Horace in execution. But that's a minor issue compared to the haphazard live rendition of The Doors' "Light My Fire", which, at best, should have been a bonus track, but alas. Man, if I had a nickel for every time I had to knock an album down a peg for its jarring inclusion of a "Light My Fire" cover, I'd have two nickels, which isn't a lot, but it's weird that it happened twice.

Despite the bizarre ending, I still had a good time overall with Protection. I look forward to checking out their next album, Mezzanine, much later outside of the book inclusions.

I've heard of Aimee Mann before. She co-founded the Boston-based new wave band 'Til Tuesday with their hit single, "Voices Carry", before disbanding it to pursue a solo career. She was more interested in playing "acoustic guitar music" than the new wave stylings of 'Til Tuesday, and that attitude is apparent on her debut, Whatever.

To be clear upfront, as someone who has listened to numerous female singer-songwriter records before, this album isn't anything new or striking to me. Sure, Aimee is fully capable of writing some decent hooks here, and her singing voice is rather pleasant. Plus, her stories of heartbreak, rejection, and dealings with the music industry aren't as straightforward, making use of some nice imagery; invoking the 1939 New York World's Fair to highlight how things haven't gone well for her and her partner in "Fifty Years After the Fair" is a good example of that. But given how prevalent female singer-songwriter music of this stripe had been at this point - this came out the same year as Sheryl Crow's Tuesday Night Music Club and Liz Phair's Exile in Guyville, both also included in the 1001 Albums books - I can't in good conscience say this album particularly stands out, aside from maybe the Beatles-esque horn and ornate piano accompaniment on the closing track "Way Back When", followed by noodling around with flutes on the brief hidden track. It's at least something different.

I still had a good time with Aimee Mann's solo debut, and I know she continued to develop as a solo singer-songwriter, if the songs off the Magnolia film soundtrack are anything to go by.

This review is based on the US edition of the album, which forgoes the track "Help Yourself".

I remember getting Back to Black as my fourth album from this generator, and I thoroughly enjoyed it. Then earlier this year, I revisited that record for its 20th anniversary, and it holds up. But here's the thing - it feels like Back to Black is the one Amy Winehouse album that comes to mind these days. Most people don't think about her debut, Frank.

Don't get me wrong; Back to Black is clearly better than Frank. What makes Frank's slightly inferior is how unfocused it can be. It comes off as a series of musical vignettes that don't tie together into a cohesive narrative. All the while, she and her producers experimented to find her footing, including jazz standards, medleys, occasional hip-hop cadences, and two hidden tracks after an outro piece that really didn't fit with the rest of the record.

That said, this record is ambitious, planting the seeds that would blossom on Back to Black. I can hear what was to come from bops like "Stronger Than Me", "Know You Now", "Fuck Me Pumps", and "October Song", alongside the smoldering bitterness in recounting the breakup on "Take the Box". But this record also has some intriguing quirks I was really into. I liked the intimacy Amy elicited as she strummed her acoustic guitar while the horns ramped up in the back on "I Heard Love is Blind", followed later by the smooth jazz take on Isham Jones's "(There Is) No Greater Love". I can recognize how earnest she wore the Sarah Vaughan influence on her sleeve with the piano-driven "You Sent Me Flying" and the trip-hop rendition of James Moody's "Moody's Mood for Love", even if the latter's clanking, reverbed percussion got a tad grating. Plus, she absolutely worked that hip-hop cadence on "In the Bed" and the sly funk of "What Is It About Men".

Even without the tight cohesiveness Back to Black had, Frank is still a solid debut that showcased a bright star. It sucks that Amy Winehouse left us so soon, but it's still damn impressive that her brief discography is still this amazing.

Last year, I enjoyed Sound of Silver as my first exposure to LCD Soundsystem. Since that album came out, they released one more record before retiring for a few years, but then they came back with their third release, American Dream, which drew a lot of critical acclaim. So, what did we get this time around?

Honestly, I'm admittedly underwhelmed by this album. It's not bad, but compared to what I previously heard on Sound of Silver, this felt like a step backward. There are traces of their sound here, including the guitar skitters and James Murphy's howls on "change yr mind", the unsteady bite of "emotional haircut", the quick tempo groove of "call the police", and the wailing guitars behind the firm bassline of "other voices". But across the board, there's considerably less nervous energy and tension, with compositions that lean heavily on spacious, buzzy synths and ambient drones that usually run longer than they should. I'm not asking for every song to have that driving bass presence - "how do you sleep?" effectively channeled the groove through the dark skitter of kick drums - but on the flip side, you have the title track with its languid, oily swells and soft, tapping percussion, or those ugly tones that screech across "i used to". Even the closing "black screen", while I recognize it as the ambient homage it's trying to be, runs for twelve minutes and doesn't justify its length, despite the admittedly pretty keys on the outro.

Here's the thing: on some level, I can see that James Murphy understands the styles of music he's trying to create here, cribbing notes from Talking Heads, post-punk, no wave, and New Order. I'm usually on board with that influence-taking approach, as I never expected James to make a "modern" sounding record. At the same time, when he's trying to work his David Byrne impression, or go for a falsetto that doesn't always work for him, it can be frustrating, especially when his vocals are placed deeper in the mix on cuts like "how do you sleep?" and the title track, which don't exactly conceal how underwritten some of these songs are.

On that note, I might as well address the writing here. If you came to an LCD Soundsystem record expecting the overarching struggle between the fearful necessity of age and the anxious exuberance of youth, you're gonna get it, albeit colored by time away from the spotlight and the passing of David Bowie, whom James Murphy had gotten close to before his passing. It's clear that grief and ending haunt this record, as beyond the closing track "black screen" as a pretty solid tribute, Bowie's words of pushing Murphy into uncomfortable places resonate deeply, mostly coming from the realization that despite his inhuman skill, even Bowie faced that uncertainty too.

It certainly makes me wonder why this album spends so much time in its comfort zone, then. Murphy seemed comfortable in his cushion of self-aware detachment that self-flagellates out of habit, an easy justification to aim at the world and music scene around him. To be clear, I understand why a track like "change yr mind" works in highlighting the stagnation of normalcy that can be broken free by reforming the band, but to follow that with the nine-minute screed against a former founder of his label, Death From Above, on "how do you sleep?" feels like a flimsy detour, despite being a solid enough song.

But really, where this album gets obnoxious is with the next three songs, where the penchant for cynical Gen X detachment is evident. Sure, I get the message of "tonite" in rebuking the constant focus on "now" in modern pop culture, which ignores the passage of time, employs dangerous tactics of social alienation, and can be easily exploited by corporate brands. But the overarching answer of "it's all lies" is both lazy and remarkably hypocritical, especially on the corporate front; it's not like I can't look up and find that Nike commissioned 45:33. "call the police" might evoke the David Bowie and U2 comparisons, but it lacks the earnestness as the song steps out of the culture war to scoff at both the frightened and the frightening old men in power and the kids revolting, who are in turn described as triggered, clueless, and easily manipulated, with no idea of the consequences of the systems they're breaking - which there may be truth in that, but it ignores that Murphy has the comfort to make that observation because he benefits from those underlying systems. Then we have the title track, taking the depressed, disillusioned ex-punk from a drug comedown and a one-night stand, putting on a smile and dancing hard to mask any real emotion because, to quote, "You just suck at self-preservation/Versus someone else's pain". Golly gee, acknowledging that it's not all about you and showing empathy is so damn hard, ain't it? In all seriousness, it's just Murphy musing about an American dream that was always a societal construct built to serve him.

Really, it sucks because there is a missed opportunity here. The album is at its best when embracing that uneasy discomfort and taking a chance in a fleeting world, like on "change yr mind", or the "bare all" moment that comes with "emotional haircut", and it's a damn shame that the band never took that next step to push sonically and thematically beyond Murphy's immediate headspace. I mean, if you're going to title your record American Dream and go big for your comeback, there is no reason not to go for broke. Unfortunately, Murphy wrote himself a justification for not doing so and being comfortable in his space, and maybe his haggardness would have prevented that next step, but it does undercut the social commentary, and preemptive justifications can feel all the more thin.

Between that notion, a few less grooves, and more retro synth-heavy soundscapes, this album felt like a regression to me. Who knows, maybe it would have been better if LCD Soundsystem stuck to their retirement and kept their legacy intact.

There's no other way to start this than by acknowledging that the world lost such a kind soul in Dolly Parton last month. She passed away while I was on vacation. I paused the album generator before I went away, which is why I didn't get this sooner after I received Coat of Many Colors early last year. Thankfully, this came not much later, and it is a rather notable entry in Dolly's discography, for it is her first collaboration with two of her singer-songwriter contemporaries, Emmylou Harris and Linda Ronstadt.

Now, all three were longtime friends and admirers of one another. In fact, the prospect of Dolly, Emmylou and Linda recording an album together had been around since the mid-1970s, though scheduling and label conflicts hampered such an earlier release. Eventually, they reconvened in 1986 and finally worked out that collaborative album, titled Trio, which would become a point of career revitalization for each of them. How does it hold up all these decades later?

Well, I do consider this a very pleasant country affair, where the vocal harmonies not being uniform actually works to distinguish each woman's timbre, giving a sense of both unity and distinctive identity. Of course, each of them took turns singing lead vocals on different songs, but it works out for the whole. The warm, country ambience was never something I had to worry about with this record.

Instead, my concern would be how involved the ladies were in songwriting. Unfortunately, I really only got a sense of Dolly's perspective with her two contributions, "The Pain of Loving You" and "Wildflowers", because the rest are covers. Granted, they are well-done covers, especially with the vocal harmonies proving vital for the Teddy Bears' "To Know Him is to Love Him", and I was into the sweet, subtle arrangement Emmylou Harris had a hand in for the traditional "Farther Along". But I do feel like I am missing out on Emmylou and Linda's perspectives, which is a shame because I started to get a sense of Emmylou from "Boulder to Birmingham", and Linda made an appearance on Paul Simon's Graceland, yet she is the one person in this trio who doesn't have a solo album in the 1001 Albums books. I feel that is a bit of an oversight.

At the end of the day, I still really liked Trio. I'm glad Dolly, Emmylou, and Linda were able to get together for a follow-up record. If anything, it's cool to see that they were spiritually succeeded by other female country singer-songwriter supergroups like The Pistol Annies and The Highwomen. I feel that's a nice legacy to leave behind. Rest in peace, Dolly.

On some level, I had a feeling the metal representation in the 1001 Albums books would largely be token records of a few of the many subgenres that are out there. Thus far on my journey, I've seen examples of traditional heavy metal, New Wave of British Heavy Metal, glam metal, thrash metal, industrial metal, alternative metal, and nu metal. While today is no exception to being a token nod to its subgenre, the subgenre itself is something the casual person wouldn't even come across compared to those I've listed. For today, we get to shine a light on grindcore, a fusion of extreme metal and hardcore punk characterized by distorted, down-tuned guitars, high-speed tempo, blast beats, very harsh vocals, and abbreviated song lengths. One of the big names credited with laying the groundwork for grindcore is England's own Napalm Death, with their influential debut album, Scum.

Let me state this right now - this genre is very difficult to approach for the average person. I am not looking to gatekeep here, but I do want to be upfront that this album, and grindcore in general, is a very abrasive type of music. Nicholas Bullen and Lee Dorian's vocals are very hard to decipher through all their growling and shouting. The riffs from Justin Broadrick and Bill Steer go by super-fast, while Mick Harris' drumming is frantic and relentless. I personally became accustomed to this music after familiarizing myself with the genre's stylistic origins, such as hardcore punk and death metal. I can't imagine this would be an easy listen for someone who has never listened to metal before, or whose only familiarity with metal music is whatever got played on FM radio. If this style of music is not for you, I understand. As someone familiar with this style of music, I had a good time with this record. The riffs I can pick out from Justin and Bill are very gnarly alongside Jim Whitely's distorted bass, Mick's blast beats hit hard in a manner that I couldn't help but feel elated by, and I dug the band's penchant for extremely anti-capitalist, pro-environmental sentiment in their lyrics.

Really, my only issues with this album are, oddly enough, characteristics of grindcore as a whole. First, as I mentioned, the song lengths are largely abbreviated. While there are a few tracks that do take a few minutes to build that sinister mood, such as "Instinct of Survival", the title track, and "Siege of Power", most of the songs tend to last no more than a minute and don't allow enough time to sink in and latch onto any particular motifs. Hell, one of the most noteworthy songs on the record, "You Suffer", is only one second long, which is hilarious but also lends itself to being a bit of a novelty.

The other problem with this album that's also indicative of grindcore is the production. Yeah, it's pretty rough, and while I'm certain it is intentional, it is nevertheless a hurdle. I will say that grindcore is better appreciated in a live setting, where the impact is immediate and intense.

At the end of the day, I still consider Scum to be a great record, fundamental in the pantheon of extreme music. Napalm Death is still active after several lineup changes, with none of the people from the two lineups on this album around. In fact, some of the ex-members went on to form other notable extreme metal bands like Godflesh and Carcass, which is cool to see.

Alright, this is the last Radiohead album on my journey. Moving away from the guitar-centric, lyrically introspective style of The Bends, the band self-produced their next album and took a more exploratory approach with their songcraft. Drawing from several influences like Miles Davis's Bitches Brew, the Beach Boys' Pet Sounds, film composer Ennio Morricone, and krautrock band Can, they sought to make something more atmospheric, abstract, and beautiful in its deconstruction. The resulting album would be known as OK Computer.

Okay, let me get this out of the way - yes, this album is overhyped as hell. I will praise it soon, but even I don't feel comfortable calling this the best album ever made. Given how much I enjoyed the other Radiohead records included in the 1001 Albums books, I'm not sure if this is the absolute peak of their discography. But I will say that this is one damn fine hour for them.

The general vibe I would use to describe this record would be "grandiose". The songs on here boast rich, dense layers of the band's spacious alternative rock coupled with electronic experimentation, loaded with such detail and nuance. The sampled drum track paired with the stop-and-go bass and reverberating guitar line on "Airbag"; the multi-part rhapsody of Paranoid Android" with its shifting tempos and quiet-loud-quiet dynamics; the eerie keyboards floating in the background on "Subterranean Homesick Alien"; the crescendo of "Exit Music (For a Film)" that builds with the Mellotron humming to evoke a choral effect until the song reaches the climax with that fuzzed-out bass; the twinkling arpeggiated guitars and electric piano meant to emulate the Wall of Sound recording technque on "Let Down"; the gentle acoustic sway that transitions to an orchestral arrangement on "Karma Police"; the heavily distorted guitar and driving cowbell on "Electioneering"; the metallic percussion with the warbling synth and atonal strings on "Climbing Up the Walls", before falsly comforting with the glockenspiel melody of "No Surprises"; that strange high-pitched noise from strumming on a guitar nut hovering behind the mix on "Lucky"; ending on the gorgeously atmospheric waltz of "The Tourist". It's an album that feels purposely constructed to be heard from front to back, largely tied together by the band's strikingly well-done instrumentation and Thom Yorke's haunting, frail vocal delivery.

You may have noticed a track I skipped over, and that would be the short musique concrète piece, "Fitter Happier". It's a collage of vocal and instrumental samples over a simple piano motif that Thom Yorke came up with while inebriated. There is a main voice narrating through this piece, albeit not human; it is a synthesized voice from the Apple Macintosh SimpleText application called "Fred", and it recited a spoken-word list of slogans and words that Thom gathered during his writer's block. It's admittedly chilling, even more so on a deeper reading, where the album's conceit becomes apparent: how easily we, as humans, can lose our agency and emotional stability as society and technology continue to advance. I wouldn't call OK Computer a concept album, but a continuity runs through these tracks. The recount of a car accident on "Airbag", the violent tendencies observed during an encounter at a bar on "Paranoid Android", the feelings of isolation seeping in on "Subterranean Homesick Alien", the stark narrative strokes taken from Shakespeare's Romeo & Juliet on "Exit Music (For a Film)", the rather effective description of depression on "Let Down", the stress and projected perceptions stemming from an inside joke within the band on "Karma Police", the political unrest rampant on "Electioneering", the fervent paranoia noted from Thom's time as an orderly in a mental hospital on "Climbing Up the Walls", the helpless predicament of someone who can't keep it together on "No Surprises". All these tracks highlight how precarious and fleeting our lives can be amidst the chaos of an ever-changing world. The emotional weight really hits its hardest on the penultimate track "Lucky", capturing the sombre terror of the Bosnian War within the context of an airplane crash. Only with "The Tourist" do we get that emotional release, slowing down to enjoy life, because we only have that one life to live, not get swept up in the chaos.

Even if I recognize that this album is overhyped, OK Computer is still a phenomenal record. It signifies a band not content to stay in one lane, but to continue pushing their musical boundaries. Of course, Radiohead would end up changing their sound yet again, given how influential this album was to a new generation of British alternative rock bands. That's just how this band rolls.

On some level, there may have been expectations set for my listening to this record. After all, I thoroughly enjoyed Everybody Knows This Is Nowhere over a year and a half ago, and Ragged Glory saw Neil and Crazy Horse revisit that record's heavy rock leanings. That comparison proved apt here, as Frank "Poncho" Sampedro's riff-heavy guitar playing and interplay with Neil were just as good as Danny Whitten's. Billy Talbot and Ralph Molina were still as tight a rhythm section as ever, as everyone came together for these exquisite extended jams. I had that feeling going in from checking out "Fuckin' Up" after hearing Pearl Jam cover it live, and the rest of the album was just as fun and infectious. Hell, they even get away with covering Don and Dewey's "Farmer John" and lifting the live guitar recording from a Farm Aid performance for "Mother Earth (Natural Anthem)". That latter track is an especially potent way to send off the record.

All in all, I had as good a time with Ragged Glory as I did with Everybody Knows This Is Nowhere. It's another winning record from the iconic collaboration that is Neil Young and Crazy Horse.

For all intents and purposes, I'm basing this review on the original mix done with David Bowie. I know there have been later attempts to correct this mix, most notably by Iggy Pop himself in 1997, but I have to assume the album in its original form was the one that made it into the books.

In fact, I might as well address it now: the original mix is not good. I do not blame David Bowie; he did the best he could with Iggy Pop in post-production. Instead, I blame Columbia, because the label gave them only one day to clean up the whole record, and clearly that wasn't enough time to do it properly. Ron Asheton's bass and Scott Asheton's drums often got pushed far into the back, while Iggy's vocals and James Williamson's guitar leads take turns being too loud to tolerate. Some elements shine through, such as the echo on the acoustic guitar on "Gimme Danger". But more often than not, the haphazard toggling of instrument levels resulted in such an uneven listen throughout.

It sucks to say that, because the songs as written are pretty damn good. Obviously, it's not a repeat of the decrepit jazz-fusion of Fun House, but the switch-up to a more hard-rock-driven approach with James and Iggy co-writing made for a kinetic record. Songs like "Search and Destroy", "Your Pretty Face is Going to Hell", the title track, and "Death Trip" possess such unabashed energy. Even the acoustic tracks "Gimme Danger" and "I Need Somebody" kick ass, and the sinister mid-tempo rocker "Penetration" has such snarl. Honestly, if the mix weren't so bad, this album easily would have been another slam dunk for The Stooges.

As it is, though, Raw Power is still a good record, just unfortunately hampered by behind-the-scenes issues. The Stooges would break up for a second time and wouldn't reunite until the mid-2000s. Raw Power still left its mark on the early punk rock movement, which is at least commendable.