Reviews by cmhess98

This is Neil Young leaning fully into the ragged, distorted Crazy Horse sound, and it works. The record balances acoustic vulnerability with electric grit in a way that feels intentional rather than indulgent. There are real bangers here, and I didn’t notice any true duds. Even the longer, fuzzed-out guitar passages feel earned rather than self-important.

It’s not polished, and it’s not trying to be. The sloppiness is part of the point. There’s a rawness and urgency that keeps it from feeling nostalgic or safe. That said, while I respect it a lot and would absolutely listen again, it doesn’t quite cross into five-star emotional territory for me. It’s a strong, confident four—gritty, honest, and very solid front to back.

Fred Neil has an undeniably interesting voice—deep, worn-in, and distinctive. “Everybody’s Talkin’” is a genuinely great song and stands tall even decades later. Beyond that, though, the record feels solid but unspectacular. There’s mood and atmosphere, but not a ton of emotional resonance for me. I respect it more than I love it. A thoughtful listen, but not one I’m likely to return to often. Strong three.

I understand why a lot of people roll their eyes at “country music,” but if this record gets lumped in with the glossy, algorithm-chasing pop-with-a-fiddle that dominates today, that’s just lazy. This is something else entirely.

This feels closer in spirit to punk or protest music than to modern radio country. There’s grit here. Restraint. Actual storytelling. The songs aren’t trying to charm you—they’re telling you something, whether you’re comfortable with it or not.

Merle’s voice is the real anchor. It’s an incredible mix of pure and pained—clear, controlled, but carrying weight. It sounds lived in. Nothing feels theatrical or overcooked. The harmonies are tight without being slick, and the guitar picking is staccato and sharp, almost percussive at times. Economical, precise, and full of character.

This isn’t a five for me—not because it lacks quality, but because it doesn’t quite hit that emotional-transcendent level I reserve for the absolute top tier. But it’s a strong four plus without hesitation. Deeply respected. Absolutely worth returning to. And miles away from the caricature people often reduce country music to.

If this is what country can be, I’m in.

This record is weird in the best way. Within a few bars you know exactly who it is—no other band sounds like this. The grooves are tight, layered, and hypnotic without feeling indulgent. It’s experimental, but thoughtful. Nothing feels like art-for-art’s-sake posturing.

The front half is especially strong—funky, tense, alive. The back half loses a little steam for me, which keeps it out of five-star territory. Still, it’s impressive how fully formed and confident it feels. Not necessarily “my thing,” but undeniably cool, and I’d happily spin it again.

his is clearly an ambitious record. Big production, big themes, big emotions. It wants to confront politics, culture, and decay head-on, and I respect the scope of what it’s trying to do.

But for me, the pageantry got in the way.

The arrangements are dramatic and layered, sometimes to the point of feeling theatrical rather than urgent. I found myself slightly put off by the self-seriousness of it all, which made it harder to connect emotionally. I suspect there’s depth in the lyrics that rewards closer attention, but I never quite felt compelled to dig in because the presentation kept pushing me at arm’s length.

There’s craft here. There’s intention. But I didn’t feel moved by it. Instead, it often felt self-indulgent, like the statement was more important than the songs themselves.

I can admire the ambition without enjoying the experience. For me, that lands this closer to a 2 than a 3.

Coldplay is one of those bands people either roll their eyes at or secretly defend. I get both reactions. On this record, though, it’s hard to deny the craft. The melodies are strong, the arrangements are thoughtful, and the songs actually build instead of just floating.

This feels like Coldplay before they became a stadium algorithm. There’s still a band here. The piano lines are simple but effective, the dynamics are earned, and the emotional tone—while sometimes flirting with saccharine—mostly lands.

Chris Martin’s voice comes and goes for me. At times it carries genuine vulnerability; at others it leans a little too sweet. But even when it tips toward sentimental, the songwriting underneath is sturdy enough to hold up.

Not transcendent. Not life-altering. But undeniably solid. A very strong four.

This is a smart, well-crafted record that knows exactly what it’s doing. The songwriting is solid, the production is tasteful, and there’s a clear point of view throughout. Nothing feels lazy or accidental. You can hear the care in the arrangements and the precision in how the songs unfold.

That said, it never really hooks me emotionally. I respect it more than I feel it. The restraint, which is clearly part of the appeal, also keeps it at arm’s length for me. I’m glad I heard it, glad to understand why people hold it in high regard, but it’s not something I’m itching to revisit or dig deeper into.

Exposure appreciated. Canon placement understood. Personal rotation unlikely.

Rating: solid 3

This record is absurdly good. Not just because the hits land like all-time classics, but because the deep cuts refuse to play backup. Aretha moves through gospel, soul, and pop with total command, sounding both joyous and unshakably assured. There’s power here, but it’s never forced. There’s confidence, but it’s earned, not projected.

What really stands out is how she balances energy and control. She can bring the house down while sounding like she’s barely trying. On songs like People Get Ready, she doesn’t overwrite the material; she elevates it, turning reverence into resolve. The band grooves hard, the arrangements breathe, and every note feels intentional.

This isn’t just a great soul album. It’s a masterclass in presence. You hear it and immediately understand why the bar for singers moved permanently upward afterward. Five stars, no debate.

Morrison Hotel feels like The Doors deciding to make a straight-up blues record—and doing it well. The band sounds locked in and confident, leaning less on psychedelia and more on groove, feel, and classic rock foundations. It’s tighter, more restrained, and more conventional than their debut.

That’s both its strength and its limitation.

Songs like “Roadhouse Blues” and “Peace Frog” are undeniable, and the musicianship throughout is strong. Morrison reins things in just enough to let the songs breathe, and the band sounds cohesive rather than chaotic. This is The Doors as craftsmen, not provocateurs.

But while it’s well executed, it doesn’t feel as groundbreaking or dangerous as their self-titled debut. There’s less sense of discovery here, less of that “how did this exist at the time?” energy. It’s a record I like and respect more than I love.

In the context of their catalog, Morrison Hotel earns its place as a strong, blues-driven entry—just not one that redefines the band or moves me emotionally in the same way. A solid, confident album that I’m glad to know, even if it’s not one I’ll reach for first.

Shaft is an easy five for me.

This record lands squarely in my sweet spot. The instrumentation alone would be enough: deep bass, lush strings, tight rhythm section, and a sense of space that rewards sitting with the music rather than skipping around. It’s cinematic without being corny, groovy without being flashy, and confident enough to let long instrumental passages do the heavy lifting.

I know some people ding this record because much of it is instrumental, but that’s a feature, not a flaw. The band is locked in, the arrangements are rich, and the mood is so well defined that lyrics would almost get in the way. This is music that sets a scene and then trusts the listener to live in it.

The title track is iconic for a reason, but the deeper cuts are what really seal it. This feels like a record designed for vinyl. Drop the needle, let the side play, don’t overthink it. I can absolutely see myself reaching for this regularly if I had it on wax.

Stylish, patient, groove-driven, and endlessly replayable. Five stars, no hesitation.

’ve always loved Steely Dan, though I’m more familiar with their later, ultra-polished records like Aja and Gaucho. This debut reminds me why they stand apart. These are great songs first and foremost, but they’re also deceptively complex, played with confidence and clarity rather than showmanship.

The singles are deserved classics, but what really stands out is how strong the rest of the album is. There’s no filler here. Every track feels intentional, well-crafted, and musically interesting without being smug about it. The band still sounds like a band at this point, and there’s a looseness and immediacy that later Dan would sand down into perfection.

I don’t like this more than Aja, but that’s not the point. This album earns its place as a five on its own terms: memorable, smart, and endlessly listenable. A fantastic start to one of the most consistently interesting catalogs in popular music.

Lazer Guided Melodies is clearly made with care and musicianship, but it largely functions as atmosphere rather than expression. There are moments of beauty and texture, yet the album rarely asserts itself emotionally or structurally. Much of it fades into the background, not because it’s bad, but because it seems more interested in sustaining a mood than creating memorable or resonant moments. Admirable in craft, restrained in ambition, and ultimately distant. Respectable, but not engaging enough to demand a return visit.

This album feels far more invested in being noticed than in saying anything meaningful. The Burundi-influenced drum patterns are genuinely strong and give the record its most compelling moments, but they’re mostly in service of a highly stylized persona rather than emotional or musical depth. The songs lean heavily on attitude, theatrics, and image, which can come off as self-indulgent rather than engaging.

There’s nothing technically incompetent here, and the rhythmic ideas are historically interesting, but the overall effect feels hollow. The record rarely earns sustained attention, and instead of drawing you in, it often provokes an eye-roll reaction. This is post-punk as pageantry: bold, performative, and loud, but ultimately shallow if you’re listening for resonance rather than spectacle.

Rating: ★★☆☆☆

This was a pleasant surprise. I went in expecting something closer to spoken word over bare-bones accompaniment, but the record is consistently musical and thoughtfully arranged. The production is restrained and a bit raw, especially compared to later, more polished tracks like “Luka” or “Tom’s Diner,” but you can clearly hear the spark already there.

Nothing here jumps out as a definitive centerpiece, yet the album works well as a complete statement. Strong songwriting, careful pacing, and a clear point of view carry it front to back. It doesn’t demand attention, but it rewards it. Solid throughout, and an impressive foundation for what came next.

Rating vibe: solid, respectable, quietly confident. Not flashy, not disposable.

Dirt is heavy in a way that feels earned, not performative. This isn’t just loud guitars and misery cosplay. The band locks into that sludgy, oppressive grunge sound with real discipline, and the secret weapon is the harmonies. Those stacked vocals are unsettling, almost beautiful, and they elevate the material far beyond standard grunge rage.

Not every track needs to be a single, and some of the deeper cuts don’t fully justify their runtime, but when this record hits, it hits hard. The dynamic contrast matters here. The quieter passages aren’t filler, they create tension so the heavy moments actually land instead of just bludgeoning you nonstop. That push and pull gives the album dimension and keeps it from collapsing into monotony.

This is a band fully in control of its sound, capturing that thick, grimy early-90s heaviness while still showing restraint and variation. Dark, punishing, and strangely precise. A cornerstone of the genre, even if not every track is chasing perfection.

If grunge had a weight class, Dirt would be fighting at the top, no question.

This is an immediately recognizable record, and that alone puts it in rare company. A few bars in, even without vocals, you know exactly who this is. The rhythms, the clipped guitar parts, the tense-but-controlled bass lines. It all moves with a distinct gait that no other band quite matches.

What’s striking is how fully formed this feels for a debut. There’s no sense of a group still finding its voice. The aesthetic, the restraint, the nervous energy. It’s all already there. The music is smart, angular, and carefully assembled without feeling academic or showy.

David Byrne’s voice will never be mistaken for a traditional strength, but it doesn’t need to be. It works because it’s precise and singular, fitting the songs rather than trying to elevate them through power or emotion. The result is something more observational than expressive, which keeps the album slightly at arm’s length emotionally.

There’s plenty to admire here, and moments that truly stand out, none more than “Psycho Killer,” which distills the band’s tension and control into a perfect statement. While this doesn’t quite move me emotionally enough to reach five-star territory, it’s undeniably impressive. A confident, distinctive debut that earns its place through identity and execution rather than emotional force.

I was surprised by how much negativity surrounds this record, especially accusations of cultural appropriation. Some of that criticism feels fair around imagery and presentation, but musically it feels overly harsh. What I hear here is homage rather than theft. This sounds like musicians deeply in love with funk, soul, and jazz traditions and trying to carry that language forward, not exploit it.

More importantly, the music really works. The grooves are deep, the bass is irresistible, and the band plays with a looseness that makes everything feel alive rather than studied. This is one of those albums where it’s hard not to want to physically engage with it. It made me want to grab an instrument and play along, which is usually a good sign.

There’s a strong sense of joy and motion here. Even when the record leans into its message-driven moments, it never forgets that the groove comes first. It feels communal and embodied, not preachy. That quality alone sets it apart from a lot of more self-serious records that aim at similar themes.

Listening to this also reinforced something I’ve been circling for a while: there’s real value in picking a single song and just playing along by ear, even imperfectly. Albums like this practically invite that kind of interaction. You don’t just listen to them, you feel pulled into the rhythm.

For me, this is a genuinely enjoyable and engaging record that earns its place through feel and musicianship. Whatever debates exist around its framing, the music itself is alive, generous, and hard to resist.

This record really is great. Beyond the genre labels and the baggage that pop-punk picked up later, the core thing that stands out here is just how good this band is. The songwriting is sharp, the hooks are undeniable, and the performances are tighter than a lot of their peers. These songs move fast, but they aren’t sloppy or disposable.

What impresses me most is how many of these tracks feel sturdy enough to translate beyond the style itself. Even stripped of speed and distortion, there’s real songcraft underneath. That’s not something you can say about a lot of albums that live in this lane. The melodies stick, the structures work, and the band knows exactly how to balance attitude with accessibility.

I don’t think this quite reaches five-star territory for me, but that’s less a knock on Dookie than an acknowledgment of what comes later. In some ways, it feels like the foundation for what Green Day would fully realize on American Idiot, especially when it comes to emotional range and the ballads that really stretch their songwriting.

Still, judged on its own terms, this is a classic for a reason. It’s energetic, confident, and far better than the genre’s reputation would suggest. Even now, it holds up as a reminder that great pop instincts and punk energy don’t have to be mutually exclusive.

This is a pretty great record, even if it doesn’t hit perfectly all the way through. What carries it for me is the sheer musicality. Questlove’s drumming alone gives the album a physical presence that a lot of hip-hop records don’t have, and the live-band feel makes even the more experimental moments feel intentional rather than indulgent.

Not everything works equally well. “Water,” for example, wears out its welcome and starts to feel tedious rather than hypnotic. There are a few stretches where the album feels more interested in pushing ideas than delivering songs. I respect that impulse, but it does cost the record a bit of momentum.

Where Phrenology really shines is when it locks into something soulful and direct. The standout for me is the Cody Chesnutt collaboration, The Seed (2.0), which is an absolute hit. It’s catchy, warm, and grounded, and it’s hard not to wish there were more moments like that across the album. It’s also a reminder of how striking Chesnutt’s voice and songwriting are, and it’s a little disappointing that I never really encountered much more of his work beyond this track.

Overall, this feels like a bold, ambitious album that mostly succeeds. Even when it stumbles, it’s doing so in pursuit of something interesting. It’s not flawless, but the highs are high enough, and the musicianship strong enough, that it earns its place as one of the more compelling records in this stretch of hip-hop history.

This is one of the few records in this whole project that actively made me not want to keep listening. I understand what it’s doing, and I understand why it matters historically, but that understanding doesn’t translate into enjoyment for me at all.

The sound is deliberately abrasive and confrontational, and while I can respect that intent, it feels like ideology first and music a very distant second. The repetition, the hostility, and the lack of any real groove or melodic payoff make the experience feel punishing rather than provocative. It’s not challenging in a way that pulls me in. It’s challenging in a way that dares me to stick around, and I don’t feel compelled to accept that dare.

I’ve been pretty generous throughout this list, even with albums that didn’t resonate deeply, but this is one of the rare cases where I actively disliked the experience. I can acknowledge its influence and its place in post-punk history, but that doesn’t obligate me to enjoy it.

This lands firmly in the 1–2 range for me, and it joins a very short list of albums here that I genuinely wouldn’t want to revisit under any circumstances. Respect for the impact, but zero connection on a listening level.