Reviews by cmhess98

A glam-punk romp with big attitude and even bigger hair. The energy’s undeniable and the sax cameo is a delight, but the songs blur together and it never quite transcends its genre trappings. Fun, not great.

I actually liked this a lot more than I expected. I’d somehow forgotten that “Cars” was Gary Numan, and it’s just as cool in the context of the full record. The synth tones are fantastic—icy, futuristic, and surprisingly varied across the album. He’s not winning any vocal awards, but that’s not really the point here. This feels like the blueprint for a whole era of electronic music, and it still holds up.

A perfectly pleasant listen — polished, mellow, and surprisingly restrained. I respect what Urban Hymns is going for, but “Bitter Sweet Symphony” towers over everything else here. The rest fades into a kind of agreeable background hum — nice, but not especially memorable.

I want to like this more than I do. There are moments where the bass grooves hard and the call-and-response female vocals almost edge toward a B-52s vibe, but the mix feels heavy and claustrophobic. I respect the attitude and the off-kilter energy, but it never quite grabs me. Interesting, occasionally fun, but more curiosity than connection.

As someone who plays the Hammond, this record hits me right in the soul. The tone, the phrasing, the interplay — it’s everything I love about the instrument. Jimmy Smith and company settle into a pocket so deep it’s impossible not to feel it, whether you’re a jazz fan or not. Back at the Chicken Shack just has a vibe — late night, low lights, a beverage of your choice. It’s warm, unpretentious, and alive.

I respect what Kate Bush is doing here — the production is lush and thoughtful — but it mostly washes over me. It’s artful and layered, yet feels detached, more like atmosphere than something I emotionally connect with. I know I’m supposed to be swept away, but it just never quite grabs me.

What a blast. The energy, the humor, the imagination — it all feels alive. The beats are fresh even decades later, and the interludes actually enhance the concept rather than bog it down. 3 Feet High and Rising pulls off something rare: it’s both playful and technically sharp. I’m not always drawn to hip-hop concept records, but this one works start to finish.

There’s no denying the influence or the conviction behind Horses. Patti Smith sounds fearless, defiant, and fully in control of her art. But for all its power and poetry, it’s not something I connect with deeply. Some tracks land beautifully, others feel more like endurance tests. I respect it more than I love it — a touchstone album, but not one I’ll return to often.

Joni sounds completely at ease here — her melodies flow so naturally it’s hard to tell where she stops and the music begins. Jaco’s fretless bass tone is the perfect counterpart: fluid, conversational, and endlessly expressive. There’s a real beauty in how unforced the whole thing feels. That said, it’s easy to see why some listeners find this cold or self-indulgent — it’s more about subtle mood than emotional catharsis. Still, it’s hard not to admire how effortlessly Joni makes complexity sound simpl

There’s no question Bitches Brew is a landmark. The musicianship is staggering — Miles leading this controlled chaos of groove, texture, and experimentation — but it’s not an easy listen. Some sections are brilliant, others feel like a fever dream in sound form. It’s definitely not the Miles record to throw on in the background or to unwind with, but when it clicks, it’s electric. I respect the sheer audacity and the talent on display too much to go lower than a four, even if I can’t see myself reaching for it often.

I understand why Goo is important — it’s noisy, experimental, and helped shape an era — but it’s really not for me. There are a few moments of energy that break through (“Kool Thing” and “Dirty Boots”), but too much of it feels self-indulgent, like noise for its own sake. The two-minute feedback stretch at the end of “Mote” was my breaking point. I respect what they were going for, but I won’t be revisiting this one.

A beautifully fragile record. Either/Or unfolds like a late-night confessional — hushed, melodic, and disarmingly honest. Even though this isn’t my usual lane, I found myself really drawn in by the songwriting and atmosphere. The little instrumental touches — especially the subtle organ moments — add warmth beneath the melancholy. It’s understated in all the right ways, and easy to see why it’s so revered.

Listening takeaway: Sometimes restraint says more than grandeur.

There’s no denying the sheer musicianship on Tarkus — the playing is phenomenal, the organ tones are wild, and the opening suite is ambitious in every sense. But somewhere between the dazzling runs and conceptual excess, the soul gets lost. It often feels more like “because we can” than “because we must.” I respect the scale and execution, but it’s not something I’ll reach for often.

There’s a reason this record feels eternal. Everyone knows the title track — one of the most perfect soul songs ever recorded — but what makes the album great is how effortlessly the rest of it glides around that centerpiece. The grooves are deep but unhurried, the arrangements are immaculate, and Al Green’s phrasing turns every line into something lived-in and human.

It’s an album built on restraint and taste — the kind of mastery that doesn’t need to announce itself. Even the deep cuts have that Hi-Records warmth, all pocket and emotion.

This isn’t just background music or nostalgia; it’s a master class in feel. Sometimes greatness doesn’t shout — it just sings.

This record feels like walking through a quiet landscape at dusk — beautifully arranged, deliberate, and heavy with mood. The instrumentation is rich and restrained, the kind of understated sophistication that draws you in without showing off.
But while I really appreciate the atmosphere and the songwriting, Callahan’s voice never quite lands for me. It’s more spoken word than sung, which keeps me at a distance emotionally even as I admire the craft.
I’m glad I spent time with it — there’s something undeniably artful here — but it’s more a record I respect than one I feel.

A landmark album that blends soul, hip-hop, and R&B with real purpose and conviction. Lauryn Hill’s voice and writing are undeniable, and several tracks hit classic status. Still, the interlude “classroom” moments broke the spell for me a bit—they add concept but cost some momentum. A record I deeply respect and admire, even if it stops just short of that personal five-star connection.

This was a solid listen with some memorable moments, particularly the Springsteen-like urgency that creeps into a few tracks and the organ textures that add real depth. But overall, it leans a little too self-indulgent for my taste. While I can respect the ambition and understand why the album has its admirers, it doesn’t quite reach the level of connection that earns a replay spot for me. A good record, but ultimately more of an appreciation than a love.

Talking Timbuktu is a really solid record — fluid, earthy, and easy to get lost in. It’s full of subtle interplay and atmosphere, the kind of thing that works beautifully as background music for working or just letting your mind drift. That said, it doesn’t fully grab me the way some other records do, so while I’d call it a 3.5 in spirit, I’m landing on a 3 here for clarity. A cool collaboration and a great listen, but not something I’ll return to often.

This one surprised me. Almost every track is an earworm, and that’s not just pop sheen — the songwriting holds up, as proven by Ryan Adams covering the entire album. It’s bright, polished, and maybe a little too sleek to feel like a 5 for me, but I can’t deny how strong it is start to finish. Definitely a 4, and part of me wonders if it deserves more.

This is Van Morrison at full power, and it’s hard not to get swept up in it. The Caledonia Soul Orchestra brings horns, swing, and fire, and Van leans all the way in — from delicate phrasing to full-throated shouts. It pushes a ton of my buttons: soulful, grooving, and played with real commitment. Sure, it’s a long double live album, but the energy rarely dips, and it’s easy to hear why this is considered one of the great live records. I don’t always appreciate Van the person, but this is Van the artist at his best, and it’s undeniable.