Reviews by abrisskull

I remember having a challenging time listening to Robert Wyatt's Shleep a year and a half ago. It was tough because I was deeply moved by Robert's devotion to continue writing music after breaking his spine. In fact, this album, Rock Bottom, was being worked on when he had that accidental fall, and he would continue working on the songs from his wheelchair in the hospital. From what I can tell, it was a serendipitous time for Robert to continue his writing in that state, and I certainly respect that. Though, like my time with Shleep, I found listening to Rock Bottom challenging, albeit with more tempered expectations now.

With Rock Bottom, Robert Wyatt sought to take a more atypical jazz fusion approach, taking the loose improvisations of jazz with folk rock song structures. It's hard not to notice the aching performance he puts in behind the vocal and whistling keyboard synths alongside a variety of personnel. The album starts warmly, as Robert was inspired by his time with his future wife, Alfreda Benge, to provide the deeply profound "Sea Song" and equally harrowing "A Last Straw", imagining themselves as sea creatures finding their way home together in the depths of the ocean. It's a lovely opening sentiment before the album metamorphoses into something largely obtuse and cryptic. The absolute gibberish across "Alifib" and "Alife", as well as the bizarre confrontations on "Little Red Riding Hood Hit the Road" and "Little Red Robin Hood Hit the Road", are sold with such deep conviction from Robert, even as I can't quite understand what's going on amidst the squonking horns, complex drumming patterns, and occasional backmasking. The album is deliberate in its obfuscation, which is something I can admire, even as I'm left distant but not as badly this time around.

The more I think about it, the more I feel rewarded in untangling the work on Rock Bottom. Perhaps this album will grow on me and inspire me to revisit Shleep with a better understanding. But for now, I'm glad that my admiration for Robert Wyatt has grown.

I will not include the bonus tracks from the 2002 CD reissue in this review.

Ahh, yes, Venom. The band that would influence an entire new subgenre with the name of this here album, Black Metal, alongside the likes of thrash metal and extreme metal as a whole. I've been enjoying the band's music for nearly a decade now, so it comes as no surprise that I had a good time with this record, for the most part.

The trademarks of Venom's sound are well represented here, with Cronos's gravelly vocals and thick bass riffs, Mantas's killer guitar riffs and soloing, and Abaddon's pummelling drumwork. The grainy production doesn't stop this band from unleashing unbridled fury across the title track, "Raise the Dead", "Leave Me in Hell", "Sacrifice", "Heaven's On Fire", and "Don't Burn the Witch", reveling in the Satanic imagery for the pure entertainment factor. It's fun and admittedly tongue-in-cheek in the presentation for a lot of these tunes.

That said, for as much as I am accepting of the band's use of Satanism as a gimmick for their music, even I can't stomach the lyrics for the faux blues rock homage of "Teacher's Pet". The song, detailing a teenage boy's sexual encounter with his teacher, is not only grotesque but also just incongruent with the rest of this album. Now, some people will argue that Van Halen got away with similar subject matter on "Hot for Teacher" a few years later. To those people, I'm inclined to agree, because "Hot for Teacher" is fun, lighthearted, and nowhere near as graphically detailed as "Teacher's Pet".

Finally, I wasn't as into closing out the album with a preview of the title track for the band's next record, At War With Satan. Apparently, Cronos thought it would be interesting to put a teaser for that album at the end of this one, as a "warning" to their fans of what was to come. Personally, if I enjoyed this album, I'm likely to pick up the next one; you don't need to resort to this marketing tactic, especially if it's going to cheapen the experience.

All in all, despite a few glaring missteps, I had a good time with Black Metal. I'm sure there's a better record in Venom's catalog; their debut, Welcome to Hell, certainly comes to mind. But I get this album was likely included because its namesake was used in an entirely new subgenre of heavy music, and I can't argue with that.

The last Nick Drake album on my journey, and it's oddly enough his first. After giving it a listen, I feel like I am due to revisit his other albums at some point, because man, this was really good.

Five Leaves Left is such a warm-sounding record, characterized largely by Nick's hushed vocals, his intricate acoustic guitar fingerstyle playing, Danny Thompson's equally complex double bass plucking, and the myriad of instrumental embellishments from the session personnel, all enhanced by Joe Boyd's spacious production. There's an almost jazz-like quality to the way Nick and Danny played off each other for the majority of the runtime, particularly on a track like "Three Hours," where the two are given plenty of room to go off. I likewise enjoyed the breathtaking airy moments when the string arrangements take command, like on "Way to Blue" and "Day Is Done." There are other markedly characteristic tunes, such as "'Cello Song" with Clare Lowther's lowly playing on the titular instrument next to Rocky Dzidzornu's hazy percussion, Lyn Dobson's whimsical flute on "The Thoughts of Mary Jane", Paul Harris's jaunty piano tickling on "Man in a Shed", the myriad of wind instruments ebbing and flowing across "Fruit Tree", and Tristan Fry's light vibraphone in the background of "Saturday Sun".

Of course, Nick Drake remains the album's focal point, with his melancholic lyrics that never shy away from the troubles, yet there's ever the glimmer of hope. Perhaps it's in the way I interpret his persistence for brighter days ahead on "Time has Told Me", the impressionistic picture of a summertime stroll on "River Man", the desperation in finding guidance in life on "Way to Blue", the pondering over someone else's enjoyment in "The Thoughts of Mary Jane", or the desire to find that loved one who would bring joy and positivity to him on "Man in a Shed", but there are the briefest of moments where Nick was aiming towards a better outlook. Obviously, it's not enough to stop him from thinking about the relentless passage of time, certainly not on "Fruit Tree" when he considers that true art becomes appreciated after the artist is long gone. Nevertheless, the effort was there to wonder for greater things.

All in all, Five Leaves Left is an astounding record, with Nick Drake pondering with such weathered eyes while still having the music sound so vibrant. Again, I am tempted to revisit those other records of his, but what a way to close out my time with him on this journey.

On some level, I get the inclusion here. The Monkees were one of the most successful pop-rock bands of the 1960s, so including them in the 1001 Albums book makes sense on paper. Plus, if there were an album to include from them for historical significance, it would be the one in which the band fought for creative control. Before this record, the actual songwriting and instrument playing were largely handled by session musicians under the strict supervision of Don Kirshner. This reached a breaking point when Kirshner released a completely different single than the one the band requested, ultimately leading to his dismissal. It's an inspiring story for the band, and it certainly helps that the resulting album, Headquarters, is pretty solid.

This album is a decent slice of early 1960s pop-rock, with the Monkees flexing their creative chops a bit. There are genuinely good bops written by the band members on here, including the likes of "You Told Me", "You May Just Be the One", "For Pete's Sake (Closing Theme)", and "Sunny Girlfriend", where I dug the bouncing rhythm section of Mickey Dolenz and Chip Douglas paired with the bright guitar rollicks of Michael Nesmith and Peter Tork. It seemed that everyone had the chance to play a variety of instruments and share in both lead and harmonized backing vocals, with notable examples including the tympani and woodblock during the verses of "Randy Scouse Git" and the tack pianos that provide a vaudeville-esque jaunt to "I Can't Get Her Off of My Mind". Of course, this record still features songs from outside songwriters, but I do feel they genuinely fit well, especially with the sentimental "Shades of Gray" that incorporates the warm pedal steel and French horn.

That said, notice how I considered this "early 1960s"? Yeah, I do have to remind myself that this album came out in 1967, because it sounds like it came from 1964. For as much as the Monkees were free to be as creative as they could be, they instinctively made a record that's a few years behind other bands at the time, especially The Beatles. Headquarters does have the feel of pre-Rubber Soul Beatles, within a week before Sgt. Pepper's was released. Certainly doesn't help matters when the Beatles get referenced in the likes of "Randy Scouse Git" and "No Time". Don't get me wrong; I didn't hate this record, as the only songs I didn't care for were the short experimental tracks "Band 6" and "Zilch". But the record as a whole does admittedly feel derivative by the time it came out, in comparison to what other bands were doing at the time. Maybe it's because the Monkees themselves were originally conceived as if the Beatles starred in their own TV show, and the band hadn't quite set themselves apart from the original concept? It makes me wonder if they took more time to workshop themselves, as I do see they eventually went in a psychedelic rock direction with the next album.

For now, I do recognize the historical significance of Headquarters in the Monkees' catalog, and I did have a good time with it. I wouldn't consider it mindblowing, but there are enough tracks to cherry-pick from here.

I will not include the CD bonus track "B.I.B.L.E. (Basic Instructions Before Leaving Earth)" in this review.

Okay, so I figured this album journey would touch upon other Wu-Tang member solo releases besides Raekwon's Only Built 4 Cuban Linx. Sure enough, we got the big one from GZA, the perceived "spiritual leader" of the group. I feel I got a good sense of GZA's intricate wordplay and referential depth from cuts like "Clan in Da Front" on Enter the Wu-Tang (36 Chambers), as well as his closing verse for "Guillotine (Swordz)" off of Only Built 4 Cuban Linx. But even then, I don't think I was fully prepared for how good Liquid Swords turned out.

Right from the get-go, with the audio excerpt from the opening of martial arts movie Shogun Assassin, into the bouncing Willie Mitchell sample on the braggadocious title track, the mood of this album is established as equal parts catchy and sinister. RZA's production goes hard for his cousin's record, boasting some bona fide beats and sample incorporation while maintaining that unsettling tone, especially with the deeper integration of karate film excerpts.

The production paired well with GZA's confrontational rapping, unrelentless in his bars, while showing control in his run-on sentences that seemed unmatched for the time. That said, he still takes the time to add some biting social commentary, including the examination of drug-dealing from multiple angles on "Gold", the first-hand account of struggling ghetto communities on "Cold World", and the problems he ran into in dealing with record labels for his debut on "Labels". Probably the most inspiring track on this album for me was "Swordsman", in which GZA makes the case for educating oneself rather than hanging on the word of someone else, showcasing the care and self-dignity he possessed. Of course, the rest of the album is laced with delectable guest member verses from his fellow clansmen and cousins, such as the hard-hitting posse cuts "4th Chamber" and "Investigative Reports", as well as the tight verse exchange he had with Method Man on "Shadowboxin'". Even the skits, while few and far between, are some of the most well-inspired the Wu had at this point, in particular the "Hell's Wind Staff" scene that neatly references "C.R.E.A.M. (Cash Rules Everything Around Me)' during the drug deal before giving way to the eloquent mafioso rap of "Killah Hills 10304".

Honestly, there's not much to say here, as Liquid Swords was a focused effort from GZA and RZA. They committed to the unsettling sound they were going for since the clan's foundation.

I don't think I've ever listened to Basement Jaxx before. From what I gather, they're an electronic music duo that rose to prominence in the London underground house scene during the mid-1990s. In fact, their popularity and connections grew to the point where they opened for Daft Punk for their first concert tour. Off the back of that and their successful single "Fly Life", Basement Jaxx landed a record deal with XL, which led to this debut record, Remedy.

The work of Felix Burton and Simon Ratcliffe on this debut is very much akin to what Daft Punk and other house groups were doing at the time, characterized by snappy four-on-the-floor beats, electronic flourishes, simplistic vocal phrases, and elements borrowed from European disco. Yet, the vocal cadences and production tend to be more aggressive in their approach to getting someone on the dance floor. The way I hear someone like Slarta John with his rap flow while hyped on by Madman Swyli over the busy chopped-up beats of "Jump N' Shout" or Yvonne John Lewis's braggadocious delivery over the stop-and-go breakbeats on "U Can't Stop Me" or even Blue James's agency in urging listeners not to panic and keep the good times going on "Red Alert" all carry this aggro, rebellious energy to them in alignment with the hard-hitting music that fits the sweaty rave club vibes. There is some reprieve in the middle with Monday Michiru's subtle affectations over the Ibiza-esque chill whirs on "Always Be There", and it's moments like that, the buildup with the minimal repeated vocal phrases on "Same Old Show", Ugo Delminari's keyboard playing against the prominent horns of "Bingo Bango", and the instrumental clashes of "Stop 4 Love" that give this record a great deal of depth and variety. Granted, I didn't care much for the interludes as they didn't offer much to the overall experience, and "Yo-Yo" towards the beginning definitely overstayed its welcome. But more often than not, I was genuinely impressed with the soundscapes found on here.

Overall, Basement Jaxx made quite the splash with Remedy. The duo employed enough artistic merit to elevate their particular style of house music.

Alright, third Sonic Youth record on my album journey, and it's a big one. Daydream Nation is often considered the band's magnum opus, and I can see why.

This is, by and large, Sonic Youth's most accessible record in their catalog. It's not like the band had abandoned experimenting with noise; rather, they embraced poppier melodies alongside the noise. This album has such a defiantly bright sound, characterized by the unorthodox guitar tunings, Kim Gordon's hard-hitting basslines, Steve Shelley's hardcore-inspired drumming, and crisp production from the band and Nick Sansano. All the while, Gordon, Thurston Moore, and Lee Ronaldo traded lyrics of disillusionment and rebellion, from the rally call for the underground movement on "Teen Age Riot", heroin addiction on "Silver Rocket", the seething disdain for commercialization on "The Sprawl", the crack epidemic that plagued New York City on "Total Trash", and the exploitation of women in the music industry on "Kissability". They even incorporated cultural references in their drug-riddled narratives, like how "Eric's Trip" takes inspiration from Eric Emerson's LSD-fueled monologue in the Andy Warhol film Chelsea Girls. Even more surprisingly gripping was "Providence", with Moore's piano solo accompanied by the sound of an amp overheating and overdubbed voicemail messages from Minutemen's Mike Watt, resulting in this hauntingly dense atmospheric piece that cuts deep.

That said, the obvious big hurdle with this record is its length. Compared to the trimmed-down songs on their earlier records, Daydream Nation saw the band allow their tracks to sprawl (pun half-intended) into long, improvised jams, mirroring their live performances. They even get a bit cheeky with the notion of longer jams by ending on a "Trilogy", putting different song ideas together into one multi-part suite. On paper, I get it; you don't want to feel like you're being short-changed with your artistic vision, and the band was encouraged by friends to go this route. But in execution, there are moments I feel like songs could have been trimmed down a smidge, especially where the band's vocal deliveries and guitar tones aren't as biting as elsewhere in their catalog. The style they went for here isn't bad by any means, but I don't find myself as attentive for the whole runtime.

I'm still glad to have listened to Daydream Nation, and recognize why people herald it as Sonic Youth's best work. Perhaps this album will grow on me over time, but for now, it's still worth a listen through.

I will base this review on the 1980 UK cassette version, as the original LP version excluded two tracks by accident.

It's been almost a year since I enjoyed Ocean Rain during my album journey, so I was curious how Echo & the Bunnymen's debut record turned out. After listening, I can say that I liked Crocodiles, but admittedly not as much as Ocean Rain.

It hurts to say because this is a stellar debut in its own right. The core identity of the band's sound is established here, between the striking guitar melodies, the tight rhythm section of Les Pattinson and Pete de Freitas, and Ian McCulloch's haunting vocals with touches of reverb, as he sang such abstract lyrics. The elements are there to help them stand out amongst a sea of post-punk and new wave acts, further bolstered by reasonably well done production from Bill Drummond, David Balfie and Ian Boudie. The problem for me is that I'm listening to this after Ocean Rain, with its lush string arrangements, and I'm left feeling that this debut isn't quite the peak of their sound. It's frustrating to me to go back to a band's debut, knowing full well what they're capable of, and it's hard not to compare. For what it's worth, there are some genuinely banging tunes on here like the title track, "Rescue", and "All That Jazz" that stand well in the band's discography, making this album more than worth the price of admission.

Again, I didn't want to come off as a downer here, because I do think Echo & the Bunnymen made an amazing first impression with Crocodiles. It's just that I heard where this band would go with Ocean Rain, that's all.

I will not include the bonus tracks for the 2004 CD reissue in this review.

Alright, this is the last Paul Simon solo record for my album journey. Weirdly, I haven't gotten any Simon & Garfunkel records yet. Funny enough, Hearts and Bones was intended to be a Simon & Garfunkel album, following the success of their first live album, The Concert in Central Park. But in the end, Paul decided the material being written was too personal, and turned it into a solo album. This annoyed Art to the point where he never wanted to work on another album with Paul again. So, was it worth it for Paul to make this into a solo record? Well....

Let me start by saying there are moments on this record that truly reflect the deep introspection Paul was going for. It is rather apparent in the text that Paul was affected by his past relationships. The reference to Kathleen Mary Chitty on "The Late Great Johnny Ace" in relation to what was going on in 1964, the detailed fallout with his first wife, Peggy Harper, as laid bare in "Train in the Distance", the on-and-off relationship he had with actress Carrie Fisher, chronicled in the title track, his musings on the photographed couple outlined in "René and Georgette Magritte with Their Dog after the War". Even when there isn't a romantic angle, as with the tributes to R&B singer Johnny Ace, president John F. Kennedy, and singer-songwriter John Lennon on "The Late Johnny Ace", there are some profoundly poetic observations Paul makes on the people he either knew or was inspired by, with such a vibrant quiet-storm intimacy as he strummed away on his guitar. He even gets away with being self-referential on "Think Too Much" and "Song About the Moon", highlighting the struggles with songwriting that he endured in trying to get his words across. It's moments like these that make me think this album was on the cusp of greatness.

Yet, there are missteps throughout this record that don't mesh well with the deeply personal moments. The opening track, "Allergies," does touch upon his relationship with Carrie Fisher, but it's admittedly hokey in using allergies as a metaphor for his hesitations to commit to his partner, even if that song does have an impressive guitar solo from Al Di Meola amidst the sweeping synthetic drums. Then there's "When Numbers Get Serious", with Paul showcasing an obsession with numbers that comes off too vague in its messaging. Circling back to "Think Too Much", there are two different versions on the original album, where part A is notable for being a funk romp with Nile Rodgers on guitar. I would have preferred if they had just kept the gentler marimba-driven part B, though admittedly without what sounded like the sampled recording of a bleating sheep in the background. Finally, the racism metaphor on "Cars Are Cars" was genuinely ham-fisted without making much of a point.

Overall, there's enough merit with Hearts and Bones to say it was worth making into a Paul Simon solo record. The styling on this record certainly predates what would come with Graceland, while still having a few gems worth digging up.

Okay, I get the need to include the Carpenters in the book. The duo of Karen and Richard Carpenter was one of the most prolific groups in the pantheon of easy-listening music. That much is evident on their second record, Close to You, with songs characterized by Richard's classically trained keyboard playing, Karen's subtle percussion, and the two of them harmonizing their vocals impeccably well. I was genuinely amused by how nuanced Karen's vocal performance was close to the mic, which is likely why she sang most of the tunes. Though not to be outshone by her sister, Richard did a superb job taking the lead on the jaunty harpsichord-driven "I Kept on Loving You". Not to mention, there are a few well-inspired renditions, such as their takes on The Beatles' "Help" and Dionne Warwick's "I'll Never Fall in Love Again".

Granted, this album is cheesy to a fault, as many songs follow a pattern to the Carpenters' brand of breezy soft pop, largely centered around the ins and outs of relationships, with few exceptions. Those exceptions would be The Beatles' "Help", about the band's rise to success, and Richard's original tune "Mr. Guder" about the grind of everyday work life, inspired by the siblings' old boss at Disneyland who fired them for playing contemporary songs when they worked at the park. It's certainly a poignant song with a cool background story, but that's a rarity on here.

I wouldn't say this record was mindblowing overall. But, I can comfortably say I had a good time with the Carpenters' Close to You. Of course, it sucks to say that the Carpenters' story would end tragically, with the death of Karen due to anorexia, spurred on by the pressures of fame. It's not a pleasant note to go out on, but at the very least, she and her brother left their mark on history with these songs together.

I listened to a few singles from Goldfrapp within the past two years. The general sense I got from the duo of vocalist Alison Goldfrapp and keyboardist Will Gregory was that they're an electroclash group, combining elements of electronic dance, synth-pop, techno, and performance art into their style. However, with their debut record, Felt Mountain, the better descriptor I got from their early start was electro-cabaret.

Yeah, this record is an eerily ambient mixture of electronic, folk, and cabaret music, taking cues from cinematic scores to weave out a collection of songs that explore feelings of isolation, obsession, deception, and unrelenting animalistic tendencies. Alison paints a perverse scene with her sultry vocals, using evocative imagery and metaphors to describe these complex emotions amidst the swelling strings, ebbing synthesizers, and occasional electronic glitches. No two songs sound alike, such as the heavily processed vocals and whistling on the album opener "Lovely Head", the demented Latin groove with striking percussion on "Human", the futuristic ballad "Pilots", the cracking whip sounds paired with the light yodeling on the title track, the demented brass-filled waltz with abstract singing on "Oompah Radar", or the trip-hop operatic confrontation against perfectionism on "Utopia". This album does genuinely feel unique.

I might not like all the tinkering on this record, such as the filtering effects applied to Alison's vocals on "Deer Stop" as she described this trapped relationship, or the off-kilter tremolo guitar motif opposite the filtered organ on the closing track "Horse Tears". But more often than not, I was awe-struck by this bizarre, cinematic collection of vignettes that Goldfrapp assembled for their debut record. The duo may not sound like this with their later material, but what they accomplished with Felt Mountain is worth beholding.

I've heard a few singles here and there from Love, but I never listened to a full album of theirs until now. Boy, is there a story with this one. The making of Forever Changes was wrought with so many conflicts, both within the band as members fought each other for songwriting credit and contributions, and with their label Elektra Records, which wanted them to get one more album done, go in a folk direction, and keep it to a single album only so as not to pay too much for the strings and horns. With the help of the Wrecking Crew session musicians, known for their work on many top hits of the 1960s, Love were able to eke out this album. It's a miracle this record sounds as good as it does.

In trying for that folk direction, Love ended up making an orchestral pop album. The rich guitars blend with the string arrangements in striking and twisting turns, alongside the solid rhythm section. There are some genuinely amusing compositions here and there, such as the flamenco styling of "Alone Again Or", the ripping improvised guitar solo on "A House is Not a Motel", those elegant strings swirling around the vocals on "Old Man", the subtle harpsichord motif on "The Red Telephone", the Latin-esque shuffle beat and blaring horns on "Maybe the People Would Be the Times or Between Clark and Hilldale", and the shifting tempos on "You Set the Scene". All the while, Arthur Lee and Bryan MacLean took turns singing about the world's decadence, in full disillusionment with the counterculture of the time. The isolation felt in "Alone Again Or", the war-torn veteran's diatribe on "A House is Not a Motel", the state of confusion on "Andmoreagain", the monotony of everyday work life on "The Daily Planet", the dissociation of self through the use of psychedelics on "The Red Telephone", the full-blown outright questioning of actions taken during the flower power movement on "You Set the Scene" as the inevitability of death loomed large. It's a lyrically depressing record with such brimming instrumentation, akin to another cult classic album, The Zombies' Odyssey and Oracle.

However, I think what keeps me from outright loving this record is its incongruency. This album goes from one sonic idea to the next without a throughline connecting them, making for an uneven listen that's at least bookended well. It does feel like it was a double album cut down due to budget constraints. Also not helping matters are shortcomings in the lyrics, such as how underwritten "The Good Humor Man He Sees Everything Like This" is, and "Live and Let Live" with its admittedly cringeworthy description of the protagonist's gun-toting defensive posture.

Still, I enjoyed Forever Changes with its grandiose orchestral pop sensibilities. Unfortunately, once this album was completed, Bryan MacLean would leave the band, and Arthur Lee would dismiss the other members. Love would continue with Lee and a revolving door of musicians, and reformed later with guitarist Johnny Echols. The band would never be the same again after this record.

Finally, after enough cursory mentions on my album journey, I get to talk about Nine Inch Nails properly. I've been a long-time fan of the brainchild of singer, songwriter, multi-instrumentalist, and producer Trent Reznor, so I was looking forward to checking out his band's magnum opus, The Downward Spiral. After a listen, I feel I got perhaps a bit more than what I expected going in.

In contrast to the synth-pop styling of the band's debut, Pretty Hate Machine, or even the more direct gut-punch of the Broken EP, The Downward Spiral showcased Trent's desire to command atmosphere. Each song builds with dense electronic textures before seamlessly transitioning to the next, across this cinematic depiction of a man working his way down a path of self-destruction. It is uncanny how Trent and the rest of the session personnel worked these catchy melodies with grotesque, industrial sounds. The brooding drop-D tuned guitar line and pummeling drums on "Heresy", the breakneck alternating meters mixed with the piano breakdowns on "March of the Pigs", that pulsating beat sampled from Iggy Pop's "Nightclubbing" with the whirring synths and bass squelches on "Closer", the sharply chopped synthwork on "Ruiner", the cavalcade of sampled screams behind the rhythmic clanks of "The Becoming", the quiet-loud dynamics centered around that haunting piano line on "I Do Not Want This", the full-blown stomping rager of "Big Man with a Gun", the menacing buildup of drum loops and synth patches on "Eraser", the slow, agonizing mechanical sounds that form the foundation of "Reptile"; it's amazing how punishing yet alluring these compositions are, even with the hindsight of how industrial metal has evolved over the years. Even the fewest of instrumental reprieves, such as on "Piggy", "A Warm Place", and "Hurt," feature some sinister elements that linger. Plus, it is kind of rewarding to connect multiple songs on this record through the same musical phrase, giving a bizarrely cohesive feel.

But getting back to that narrative of the protagonist's self-destruction, no punches are pulled with the lyrics. I understand that this record can get uncomfortable for people, given that Trent drew from his own struggles at the time with isolation, depression, and drug addiction, while touching upon other dark corners of the world. The loss of faith in "Heresy", the pushback against superficiality in "March of the Pigs", the obsession and self-hatred in "Closer", the loss of feeling on "The Becoming", the inner turmoil and anguish on "I Do Not Want This". Probably the most contentious song on the record is "Big Man with a Gun", where the main character has finally caved in to full-on madness. Except this isn't where it ends, as for a moment on "A Warm Place", his fleeting humanity starts to snap back into focus before battling for control on "Ruiner", followed by comprehension of the emotional damage taken on "Reptile". It all culminates in the contemplation of suicide on the title track, with "Hurt" offered as an end-credits song, laying bare that this man went through such excruciating pain but came out on the other side. I get it - this album gets vulgar, and really dark in places, but I feel that's kind of the point. This record is a thorough examination of one's psyche, should they choose to go down a harrowing path. It was never meant to be pretty, and I think that Trent realized that and channeled that darker energy while maintaining strong storytelling and melodic sensibilities.

The Downward Spiral is a truly menacing record, and I don't blame someone if they get scared or put off by it. But I do feel it's important, in not only cementing such a generational talent in Trent Reznor, but also in examining what it takes to process one's demons and still pull through at the end.

Okay, this was an intriguing find. For those who don't know, Django Django are an art rock band formed by four gents who met at Edinburgh College of Art. Sure, drummer and producer David Maclean had some artistic connections, but for the most part, these dudes got together and formed a band at college, not expecting the overnight success they got with their self-titled debut. It's humbling to read about such a simple beginning for a band, and it certainly helped that the album they first put out is pretty solid.

Their debut is pretty hypnotic, with the band's mix of neo-psychedelia and surf rock. The well-accented percussion from Maclean, the twisting keyboards and sampling from Tommy Grace, the low-end bass from Jimmy Dixon, and Vincent Neff's warm guitar licks made for such an impeccable sound, aided by Vincent's effortless vocal delivery and the backing harmonies. Maclean's production is top-notch, making these compositions feel as expansive as the desert they invoke in their imagery. The vibes are immaculate from an instrumental standpoint.

As for the lyrics, they do seem undercooked in places. I will commend the band for trying to cover a wide range of topics, including the euphoria of trying to see a comet on "Hail Bop", the night out drinking gone wrong in "Firewater", the sensations and nostalgia invoked from music in "Waveforms", the aching desperation in finding a woman on "Love's Dart", the strife to defy a fated end on "Life's a Beach", and the castaway's futile attempt at escape from the island on "Silver Rays". But now and then, I find the lyrics to be sparing in detail, as with the generalized notions of imagination and conflict on "Hand of Man" and "WOR" respectively, or noticeably repetitive as with the vocal loop on "Zumm Zumm". Either these songs needed additional work, or perhaps they could've gotten away with more pure instrumental compositions; it certainly worked for "Skies Over Clairo" with that commanding percussive beat and Egyptian-esque keyboard motif.

Then again, I don't think the guys in Django Django were expecting such an overnight success from their debut album. Maclean himself thought it would be just another underground release that sold a few copies. Even if it's not perfect, I do think Django Django put out a promising debut. It's certainly got me interested in hearing more from them.

I don't think I actually listened to The Rascals before, or at least what they're called after this record. They're another one of those blue-eyed soul groups that combined elements of pop and rock into their sound, with primary songwriter duties handled by lead vocalist and keyboardist Felix Cavaliere and percussionist Eddie Brigati. From what I gather, Groovin' compiled most of the singles they had written between 1966 and 1967, showing the band following the at-the-time trend of incorporating psychedelia into their sound alongside some Latin and jazz arrangements, and... it's okay, I guess?

The compositions are decent enough and reasonably played, the vocal harmonies are solid, and there are at least a few good ideas here, such as the main riff of "Find Somebody", the Latin-infused guitar rollicks of "Sueño", and that flute embellishment that opens the closing track "It's Love". In particular, I really dug the swaggering "You Better Run," which would later be given a hard rock treatment by Pat Benatar.

But that said, the album can be summed up as a compilation of singles largely themed around teenage melodrama. I get why, because Cavaliere was dating a high school student at the time, which inspired him to write most of these songs. First, it should be made apparent that he was at least 24 at the time, so... eww. Second, it's not like I'm against teenage melodrama; I've enjoyed the likes of what Olivia Rodrigo and Sombr offered in this decade. But I do feel that their records had the benefit of detail and nuance in describing their relationships, and I don't get that here in the songwriting. Also not helping matters is how muted the production is. I've tried listening to this album in both mono and stereo, and I'm just not getting the necessary oomph that really elevated their sound. Though there are some jarring mix decisions left in, like the alternating panning of the guitar line in the opening of "Find Somebody". Finally, as far as psychedelic acts in 1967 go, there were plenty of better options to choose from. I mentioned this in my review of Pink Floyd's The Piper at the Gates of Dawn two weeks ago, but even that record was trying to be innovative in all its experimenting. This, on the other hand, feels like it was following a trend.

At the end of the day, Groovin' is just an okay record for its time. I would be curious how The Rascals turned out after this, when they started writing albums rather than just compiling singles. But as it is, this is just fine.

It's been nine months since I listened to Fugees' The Score, which I remember enjoying, and I recognize how Lauryn Hill stood out in that group for her ability to seamlessly switch from rapping to singing on top of songwriting. So, with her solo debut spurred on by her first pregnancy and other such life events at the time, I was curious to hear how it panned out for her. Suffice it to say, The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill blew whatever expectations I had out of the water.

I think the keyword in describing this record is versatility. Like I already mentioned, Lauryn already proved she can rap and sing well, and it's only expanded upon here on her own. But in addition, the production on this album, which she did alongside Che Pope and Vada Nobles, was just as varied. Hopping across soul, R&B, hip hop, and reggae, the genre blending is impeccable, without ever overwhelming any single element. The hard-hitting snares and record scratching on the backdrop of the reggae and hip-hop mix of "Lost Ones", the elegant piano keys over the Wu-Tang Clan sample on "Ex-Factor", the rollicking acoustic guitar licks from Carlos Santana on "To Zion", that phat beat paired with the blaring horns and vocal harmonies on "Doo Wop (That Thing)", the harpsichord incorporation on an interpolation of The Doors' "Light My Fire" with "Superstar", the elegant harp strings in the background of "When It Hurts So Bad", the Stevie Wonder-esque funk romp of "Every Ghetto, Every City", the spare electric piano and finger snapping of "Nothing Even Matters", the emphatic string arrangements that punctuate the beat on "Everything Is Everything", the sprawling jazz piece of the title track; it's amazing how all these different styles and soundscapes come together without coming off as jarring at any point. Even the hidden tracks were well done, with the beatboxing rendition of Frankie Valli's "Can't Take My Eyes Off of You" and the fingerstyle guitar playing over a wooden block beat on "Tell Him".

Along the way, Lauryn interweaves a personal narrative about re-educating herself on love and its many facets. Whether it's reconciling with a broken relationship on "Ex-Factor", avoiding the exploitation for sex on "Doo Wop (That Thing)", cherishing her newborn son on "To Zion", dealing with the ramifications of newfound success on "Superstar", reminiscing on her childhood in "Every Ghetto, Every City", or seeking forgiveness from God on "Forgive Them Father" and subsequently finding strength through her devotion to Him on the title track, Lauryn does some meaningful reflecting on how she got here and how she can move on with her partner and their child. Sure, it can get a tad preachy with the multiple Biblical references throughout the record. Not to mention, several tracks throughout can be interpreted as shots aimed at her ex-lover and Fugees mate Wyclef Jean, and she can lay the contempt toward him pretty thick. But I do feel that it all comes off genuinely earnest, and she did manage to keep it as self-empowering and optimistic as possible given her circumstances, alongside the upbeat and varied compositions. This is especially true with that wonderful duet opposite D'Angelo on "Nothing Even Matters" in laying out her devotion to her partner, and "Everything Is Everything" with the full-on acceptance of all that has come before for her, with the stride to look ahead. Plus, it was a nice gesture for her to bring on poet and educator Ras Baraka to provide an impromptu lecture on love to a group of children, making for some pleasantly incorporated interludes throughout.

Overall, I was genuinely surprised by The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill. It was a bona fide neo soul record that showcased a talented woman who went through so much change in life and tried to reconcile with it all. Of course, if you know the story of Lauryn Hill, her overnight success with this album would be short. The pressure of fame overwhelmed her, and she would largely seclude herself from the spotlight. Her appearances solo and with Fugees would be sporadic at best, and she has yet to properly follow up Miseducation. It sucks, given how promising that record was. I can only pray that she finds peace.

I consider myself to be a fan of Bob Mould. I've enjoyed his work across Hüsker Dü, his solo output, and this particular group. Sugar was formed out of Mould building working relations with ex-Mercyland bassist David Barbe and ex-Human Sexual Response drummer Malcolm Travis. By that point, Mould had already released two solo records, eschewing the hardcore style of Hüsker Dü in favor of a more melodic folk sound. With Sugar's debut, Copper Blue, Mould managed to bridge the gap between the two.

There is a balance struck between the thick, distorted guitars of punk and more accessible melodies on this record. Barbe and Travis form this tight rhythm section that builds each composition for such bright flurries of guitar riffs to go off, bolstered by decent production from Mould and Lou Giordano. There's an almost defiant brightness to these tunes, which serve as a nice contrast to the rather dark lyrics that Mould came up with. The opening track, "The Act We Act," centers on the harsher emotions we thinly veil behind facades. "A Good Idea" is about drowning a woman, with the man trying to justify those actions in his mind. "Hoover Dam" involves the protagonist contemplating suicide and wondering if they're going to hell. Even on the lighter tracks, we explore themes such as dissolved relationships on "If I Can't Change Your Mind" and isolation on "Man on the Moon". It can get rather grim in places, especially with "The Slim", where the lyrics and instrumental tone match for once, as we witness the death of a beloved one from AIDS while those haunting keyboards creep in the mix. It is a deeply profound centerpiece for this album.

That said, I wouldn't say I was blown away by this record overall, given the output of other alternative rock bands around this time. Not to mention, I started feeling this album was overstaying its welcome a bit around "Slick". Still, I enjoyed Copper Blue as a delightfully decadent slice of that sound from an underrated singer-songwriter and company. It is cool to see Sugar reform towards the end of last year, as I appreciate what they offered.

Well, the day has come for me. Today, I got the lowest-rated album of the generator at the time of this recording. I'm not surprised with how it got here. Throbbing Gristle are considered pioneers of industrial music, which by its nature is very unconventional in the use of tape editing, distorted loops, and homemade instruments instead of the typical guitar, bass, and drums. In fact, Throbbing Gristle were very much opposed to the traditional rock music structures, as they sought to challenge their audience to explore the darker side of humanity rather than make attractive music to placate the masses. In a way, I respect their intentions, and I don't expect the music to immediately connect with me like what I usually listen to.

With all that in mind, I gave D.o.A: The Third and Final Report of Throbbing Gristle a listen, and it took me a bit to acclimate to their style, but I got there eventually. There's an almost ambient quality at times with the group's approach to combining tape loops, spoken word, oscillating synthesizers, and other such atypical electronic effects. Whether it's taking their previous single "United" and speeding it up to only 16 seconds long, reconstructing a conversation heard in passing with background noise on "Valley Through the Shadow of Death", or the filtered vocals over the electronic whirs on "Hamburger Lady", there's quite a variety in song deconstructions on this record. I found myself intrigued with some of the spoken word pieces like "Weeping" and "Hometime", leaving me curious as to why these particular tapes are arranged over such strange soundscapes. Of course, my personal favorites were the few tracks that feature steady clanking beats, like on "Dead on Arrival" with the buzzing and squelching noise effects, "AB/7A" with the grandiose synth flourishes, and the absolutely pummeling dirge that is "Walls of Sound". I personally don't consider every experiment to be worthwhile, particularly some of the shortened tracks like "Death Threats" and "Blood on the Floor". But more often than not, I was engaged with this album.

Again, I don't typically listen to this kind of music. Even compared to later offshoots like industrial rock and industrial metal that return to more conventional song structures while still embracing the distortion and tape manipulation, what Throbbing Gristle did on D.o.A: The Third and Final Report sounds foreign by comparison, and I think that's the point. It was a respectable challenge that certainly got me to appreciate the overall genre more with its abrasive DIY approach.

It's been almost a year since I listened to Stand with its empowering psychedelic funk jams. However, that optimism in Sly & the Family Stone's sound did not last long. Relationships within the band deteriorated as members partook in copious amounts of drugs and partying. Sly Stone himself became erratic and reclusive, leading to a rift between him and the rest of the band. In a way, the band's inner turmoil reflected the dark times that America was experiencing at the start of the 1970s, as the civil rights movement declined, police brutality was on the rise, and people were becoming increasingly disillusioned. Sly saw all this shit going down and decided to take matters into his own hands, recording a new album mostly alone to address that darkness. That album would be called There's a Riot Goin' On, in response to the rhetorical question Marvin Gaye posed with What's Going On.

From the start with "Luv n' Haight", there's already an unsettling tone creeping in, as the instruments are layered thick from extensive overdubbing alongside a steady drum machine, while Sly and the backing vocalists sang emphatically about their inability to move from being so high on drugs. In fact, Sly himself recorded most of his vocals while lying on his bed, a reflection of his physical and mental state at the time. The fact that this song sounds as good as it does under these conditions is astounding. This sort of low-energy funk continued into "Just Like a Baby" and "Poet", as Sly desperately clung to some semblance of songwriting ability and performance over these edgy jams. They even managed to eke out some bona fide hits in "Family Affair" with Billy Preston's electric piano prominent in the mix, the surprisingly upbeat "(You Caught Me) Smilin'" as Sly tries to force some positivity in his situation, and Cynthia Robinson's strident horns opposite the chicken-scratching guitar on "Runnin' Away".

Of course, with this embraced hedonism comes some genuinely striking confrontation. "Africa Talks to You ('The Asphalt Jungle')" is a nine-minute jam that Sly wrote in response to the negative backlash from estranged fans, record industry associates, and the media. The way in which he calls out these people who want to see his downfall because he's not falling in line is something to behold. This frank statement is immediately followed by another, as the title track is a brief moment of slice because Sly felt that there shouldn't be any more riots. Considering that civil unrest continues to occur to this day, amidst the injustices perpetuated by this country, I can sympathize with Sly's plight here.

Finally, there's the absolute batshit on this record that Sly somehow gets away with. This includes the lowly ballad "Time", with the drum machine being noticeably prominent here as Sly wistfully remarks about how everything seems to rely on needing more time, yet he feels that's not enough. It's weirdly tender in the execution. Though it's also a bit tame compared to the outright yodeling and harmonica soloing over a drum machine on the country-funk mashup of "Spaced Cowboy", where the drug use is blatantly apparent. Closing out the album is "Thank You for Talkin' to Me Africa", a slowed-down, tonally murky re-recording of their hit "Thank You (Falettinme Be Mice Elf Agin)", reflective on how much had changed within the span of two years. There's no hiding from the lyrics that detail the strife made through this hellscape, as clear as day.

There's a Riot Goin' On managed to work wonders despite Sly Stone's addictions and inner turmoil at the time. It gave us a snapshot of what America was like at the turn of this decade, the ugly side that most people didn't want to look at, yet served as a necessary reminder of how bad shit can be and how to persevere through it.

I don't think I listened to George Jones before now. Apparently, he was revered as one of the greatest country singers out there, and The Grand Tour certainly gave me a taste of that.

George Jones had such an impressive baritone voice. Whether he sang about longing for someone on the title track, avoiding the temptation of one-night stands on "Pass Me By (If You're Only Passing Through)", pining for someone's affection on "She'll Love the One She's With", or the sweet embrace of a lover on "Once You've Had the Best", George delivered with such an emotive crooning delivery that evoke such sweet sensibilities. His voice worked wonders alongside the gentle acoustic guitar, warm pedal steel, and background vocals nestled in the mix.

That said, for as much as I got an idea of George Jones as a singer, I wish I got more of an idea of him as a songwriter. His only writing credit on here was on the closing track "Our Private Life" with Tammy Wynette, railing against the tabloid-driven celebrity lifestyle. It's a decent song, albeit tonally different from the rest of the record. I certainly wish I had gotten more of his storytelling on here, because for as much as George could sell whatever song other writers in the room had for him, it likely didn't fully speak to what could have been on his mind.

Still, I enjoyed The Grand Tour for what it's worth. It was a nice slice of country music cut by a truly amazing singer. Hard to complain about that.