Reviews by giddy

Well, one thing I can take away from this album is that in a rare case the extended (normal) version of Money for Nothing is actually better than the radio edit, as the additional lyrics and longer outro allows the song to feel far less repetitive. Otherwise, this album feels exactly like what being middle-aged in the 80s probably felt like. It's got some good tracks, but it feels like driving on dirt roads alone whether it be day or night, having good moments and bad moments, and overall being a solid enough life, but overall insignificant. That may seem a little harsh, but save for some of the songs playing in every fast food joint across America, this album feels like a time capsule of music that just isn't all that intriguing right now. I like the droning feel of the B-side, and the hits are catchy, but nothing here is impactful, and I can't justify giving it higher than a middling score.

Well, this was relatively strange, huh? Ahead of its time in some ways, this album has a sound to it that would blend right in with 80s pop radio, but those bits and pieces underneath the surface would surely cause the casual listener to question what they were listening to. The synths here can be bloopy and goofy, just like any 80s pop album, but when it wants to get it in to high gear, it will. Helping things is Matt Johnson's oddly seductive voice that seems to go all over the track, messing with your sense of security. As if the whole album is a collection of 80s pop tunes from a slightly different, but more devious dimension. I think I'm a fan? I like whatever Johnson's got going on in the vocal department, it just felt like the album took a second to kick it into gear, and with each track being pretty hefty, you can find your opinions going all over the place within the span of one track. I think that's the message at play here, which is breaking out of your comfort zone, and this certainly would be a good stepping stone for that. I liked it, but it'll take more time in the oven before I truly have a takeaway from it, but if you love 80s new wave synth-pop, and you haven't heard this yet, give it a whirl. It may just be the thing for you.

This album has been constantly on my mind for the last few days, as with each re-listen I became more and more entranced in what it had set out to do, and if it succeeded in that fact. I've been, what I consider, a fan of XTC for about a year-and-a-half now, and never has an album of theirs made me want to explore their catalog and their lives more than this album. The instrumentals are methodical and calculated, yet oddly rhythmic. Very similar to the sounds of post-punk acts from the late 70s, everything feels off and strange, but the pleasant instrumentals and "running through a field of flowers"-esque vocals allow the once sterile and cold rhythms to instead make me cling to a brighter future. There's an air of sadness throughout the album, but a hope at the end of the tunnel keeps things bouncy and Summer-y, and even the more nocturnal tracks feel like getting ready for the forever sleep, but being satisfied. Of course, Andy Partridge's vocals are still comedic and light, but the melancholic nature of the whole album just makes it, quite contradictory, becalmed and floaty. This album is not a stereotypical slice of Heaven, but it just feels like this is XTC's view take on it, and I'm at peace with the idea. Light-hearted, yet the weight of the world on its shoulders, I can't imagine a better swan song and depiction of the band's situation at the time. Seeing this album as the true finale of the band, and Volume 2 as a bonus encore makes everything just make sense, and while I don't adore every song on this album, I think it is good enough to be considered one of the band's best.

While I can instantly recognize why this is considered Red Hot Chili Peppers' best work, with multiple iconic tracks, amazing, funky instrumentation, and Anthony Kiedis at his zaniest, it only seems natural that this album is their most well regarded. However, I can't shake the feeling throughout the whole album (save for Under the Bridge) that I'm listening to a questionable imitation of many other funk rock greats. They pull it off well, and while many songs feel pretty similar, it still is a solid album, but I'm still uncomfortable choosing this over your Funkadelics of the world, or, Hell, even Faith No More. This album just doesn't feel genuine, as if rather than pulling from their inspirations, they are just appropriating them instead. I doubt that was the intention, as the 90s is rampant with much more explicit acts of stealing from much more solid acts from decades prior, but even on songs I like such as Give It Away, where Flea has created one of the most iconic basslines in alt-rock history, does the album fail to sit right with me. What I do know is that the album is too long, and I don't like it enough to see past the weird energy it gives off, but on the surface this is alright. I'm sure sure many a college frat boy love it.

I understand that at the root of R&B, this album is the epitome of what sets apart the boys from the men. The silly little attempts at sounding sexy versus those who FUCK. This album is 90s soul above all other albums. D'Angelo is smooth, rich, and probably what your mom and dad put on to conceive you. But, frankly, I think it sucks. Now, is this just a situation where I think 90s R&B production is second worst only to late 80s pop rock? Maybe, but save for some jazzy (yet simple) bass lines this album offers nothing to me but sleep inducing ballads where D'Angelo spends a quarter of each song MAX coming up with lyrics that attempt to say something, anything, before devolving into repeating the same five to ten words for the last three to four minutes, which feels more realistically like an eternity. The instrumentation doesn't bother notably changing between any of the ten songs over the course of an hour, and whenever I wasn't groaning for the song to end, I'd instead tune into to find lyrics about sex, sex, I'm sexy, I stabbed my significant other to death, and sex, and I just had enough by the end. I completely and utterly believe D'Angelo is a sex machine who knows his way around a smooth track or two, but I just personally can't be bothered to care. If this is something you adore, whether it be for its hints of funk or for the sheer energy (or lack thereof) more power to you, but this is not for me.

Well, I wasn't expecting to like this. Not because I wasn't hopeful! In fact, I'd say The Mars Volta exude everything I'd want out of a rock band in the 2000s if they aren't going for the Strokes sound. It's prog-y, it's hardcore, and the vocals are just androgynous enough to tickle something in my brain that I'm pretty sure I'm subconsciously trying to keep under wraps. It's just... I remember Frances the Mute, their sophomore album, to be so disappointing when I gave it a whirl, so I thought this would be more of the same. However, it doesn't cause me pain; in fact, I'd say I quite liked it! It still wanders too much for my own liking, leading to a lot of droning moments that only make you say "Get a move on," which isn't helped by the group's general lack of variation, but what is there is great, with some great instrumental and vocal performances, and some moments that truly do rock. The whole thing oozes the art of the "weird," and while bands like this, especially from this era, tend to come off as stuffy, this album is just fun enough with the inclusion of some more out there lyrics, time-signatures, and some instruments not often found in a progressive record, and I come away from this pretty pleased. It isn't my favorite in the world, there is something about the production I dislike that I'm sure only Rick Rubin is to blame, but color me shocked because I'm re-invigorated to give this band another try.

Bjork is not unfamiliar with these haunting, devastating sounds, so on paper if you were to describe this album's sounds it may not sound that different from her other projects, but when actually sitting down and listening to the album, there is something at the core of the musicianship that has changed. The album is sporadic, manic, and sometimes aggressively ugly, but still with her trademark lush instrumental fills and angelic vocals, as if you're listening to a whole album that exemplifies the highs and lows of grief. On the surface the album isn't overtly depressing, but even cracking that thin top layer reveals the pool of sorrow that Bjork is wallowing in, and while the album is still incredibly catchy at times, downright gorgeous in others, it can be like a brick wall to break through to the other side and get through it all. It's a long album, and it feels like it. Each song is a hurdle, and it is very satisfying to triumph over, but within the moment it can sometimes be draining, whether it's just due to Bjork's mood, lyrics, or even the sound of the song. I respect this album heavily, and even a "different" Bjork album such as this one is still an incredibly rock solid four out of five stars, but there is just a barrier here, and I don't know if I'm truly worthy to break it down completely.

Apparently, this recently disappeared from streaming services and has yet to reappear as of the time of this review. Well, that's too bad, as I find this to be my favorite PJ Harvey album from the ones I've heard so far. It's difficult to explain why I like this album more than those, but I think the instrumentation hits a lot harder for me when Harvey slowly builds up to an explosive sound in each song, rather than starting at the climax such as with her earlier albums, or never going anywhere like with her early 2000s albums. It's the same layout she used on her prior (solo) album, White Chalk, and that plus the stripped back production with a unique sound equals something that is up my alley. I can recognize now more than ever that Harvey has a great voice, and it lends itself great to this folk-y yet powerful art rock album. I just wish the final four three or four tracks hit harder, as it doesn't really feel like a finale, especially when compared to the front half. Will assuredly be buying this on vinyl on my next trip out, it deserves better than streaming any way.

Honestly, less dreadful than expected. I am not a fan of Eric Clapton as a person or as a musician, and this does not change that fact, but the first few tracks are solid bluesy 70s rock, and the final two tracks show off the dichotomy of the record beautifully. It is everything in-between that makes me roll my eyes and tune out. It's just half-cooked white guy blues with nothing to stand out, and, man, does every song feel like it goes on forever. The whole album is too long, quite frankly, and it really hurts the album. Just the first three songs and the final two combined would be longer than some blues rock albums, and would make this an all-time, short album great. Instead, the album has to reek of filler treatment, and it is incredibly dull. Not to mention it feels difficult to have any sympathy for the singer whenever he mopes on a song, so that just makes it more difficult to watch. It's fine, I get why people like it, especially classic rock enthusiasts, but this album just feels like an old guy's garage secluded Summer vacation, and that sounds like MY personal Hell.

Well, this is disappointing, but I suppose it should be at least a tad expected. Bjork plays a relatively small role here, feeling like nothing more than being the "female vocals" to a strange, B-52s-like band. Obviously, she is the highlight, and makes tracks like Birthday shine as her own, but Einar Orn really is trying his best to sing over her with the most obnoxious noises he can make, like a child going "nanananana," while a parent is trying to work. It can get annoying, and if it wasn't for some solid hooks and sound changes in the latter half of the album, I think I'd be more upset by this. The album luckily pulls through enough for me to come away somewhat happy, and while I don't think the album even comes close to Bjork's solo work, it still works as a neat little capsule of her work from before. It just isn't all that special, and so I can't really rank it higher.

More pop focused than expected, this album dips in quality quite a bit in the middle, where tracks whiz by the listener in a blur of dated dance tracks that fail to hold a candle to most other dance musicians from the time. However, this album makes up for that in its pop sensibilities. From what I can tell the Shamen used to be a pretty different sounding band, and some of that difference comes together whenever their tracks turn into a homage (rip-off?) of Pet Shop Boys. It's cheap and cheesy, but the formula works, and it allows the first few tracks to be solid dance-pop tunes in an era full of them. I also think the album brings it back around in the end, with a lot of sampling that makes the mix feel busy and cluttered, but can come together to be okay. That's the name of the game here, okay. I don't think it's anything special, certainly not an album to hear before you die, but I've heard worse in the genre, and at least this one TRIES to do something. It's inoffensive, and I came away from it less hateful than albums in this genre generally make me, and that's gotta count for something, personally. Still, just meh.

This is a fun little album, with many quirky moments that shine spectacularly as unique to what everyone else in the rock scene (that The Kinks helped create) was doing, while surprisingly returning to their rock roots more than some of their most recent records at the time with tracks like Brainwashed or the drawn out outro of Australia. A lot of it works with me, such as the vocal inflections of the Davies brothers and their charming styles, or the sudden speed-up/slow-down found throughout the record. It allows for an album with plenty of memorable moments. I do think the album leans a bit too hard into the rock aspects at times, and I, personally, do not like the Kinks for their rock tunes, but the quirky pop tunes such as Drivin' feel like they'd fit right in on their prior album. It's hard to say too much about an album that I see as just unmistakeably "good," but this album will be a pleasure of any fan of the British Invasion, which is funny considering the concept of the album. Could see myself having far more to praise on a future re-listen. Just one more quick tangent; why does Australia, the song, deliver some of the best melodies and harmonies on the entire album, only to sour it with four minutes of random fiddling and rifling? It hurts my soul.

Same old song and dance at this point, as I'm only here because of one Robert Dimery, and that probably goes for most drum and bass albums I sit through. They are, as always, solid background songs with this PS2-esque nostalgia, as if they'd fit perfectly into a racing game that doesn't exist, but, again, I say that about every one of these albums. Maybe this one has more energy than others in the genre? Can't say that for certain, as I'm sure I've said that before, too. The length is utterly insane, though, and its lack of streaming capability makes this a tough to track down, and it is even harder to sit through. It's... fine. It is an album that does exist. Maybe the production is amazing here? Maybe LTJ Bukem and pals are the cream of the crop when it comes to jungle influenced drum and bass? I don't know, I tuned out about twenty minutes in.

Congratulations, Bruce Springsteen! You finally surpassed the three-star boundary! It's by a small margin, I'll admit, but that doesn't mean you didn't do it. Now, if you could please make music that doesn't sound like a backyard BBQ at the whitest guy you know's house, that'd be great. I cannot deny that some of the hits here, specifically the second rate ones, are quite good. However, the deep cuts and the biggest hits both make me land somewhere from rolling my eyes to wanting to hurl. I understand the lyrics of Born in the U.S.A. are not what your racist uncle think they are, but that doesn't excuse the terribly repetitive, dated synth, the awful chorus, and that terrible voice Springsteen is putting on. It's like asking to be lumped in with the same crowd you're criticizing when you're that indecipherable. It just feels like an album that the "middle-class hero" is supposed to live by, but all I hear is what spawned modern country rock. However, there are just enough moments here where I'll admit this is my favorite of his career. It's just mainstream enough that I imagine anyone could find one song here to like (I choose Cover Me), and that has to count for something, I think. This album just feels like the kind of satire that hits the nail on the head so perfectly that it stops being parody, and just being another roots rock album, and I just can't into that; not enough, any way.

At first this album felt like if you took George Harrison's more psychedelic Beatles tracks and replaced all the sitars with guitars, effectively proving George's use of the former instrument correct. The album just became boring, British neo-psych as it went on, however, and the album was all in one ear and out the other, with some mild hearing damage in-between. I'm no shoegaze expert, but this just doesn't stand up to the likes of My Bloody Valentine or even more modern acts like Candy Claws. It just feels like cashing in on a sound. Like a Pearl Jam to grunge. It is quality, it pulls off the sound well, but something is off, and it really feels like it doesn't belong.

God, record scratching is so cool when it isn't shoved into a metal album. If Goldfrapp creates the 007 theme of trip hop, then Portishead makes the soundtrack for the 90s film noir. This album is the heartbeat of everything from the era: the hip-hop influenced beats, the re-introduction of jazz into the mainstream, the soft-spoken vocals of pop, and that use of sampling just subtle enough to be incredibly influential. I mean, look how many artists spawned from this new take on an already established underground style. Bjork, the already mentioned Goldfrapp, Gorillaz, I wouldn't be surprised if Massive Attack themselves took from this album to fuel their albums past this point. Everything is done incredibly, with Beth Gibbons' vocals perfectly steering the heartbeat of this album's engine via the methodical, thumping drum and bass, and that hint of strings and your usual rock instruments allow for an album that perfectly shows off the grimy yet slicked back feel of the 90s, and it is magnificent. It is the dark alleyway, the rain drops falling upon a sunken-in roof, and it is pure, unadulterated, and sinister class.

My last venture with Elvis Costello was Brutal Youth, which was... bad. So, in comparison, this is pretty nice, but it still suffers from the same issues I have with Costello in general. Too often does it sound like he has no clue where the song goes next, as if he is improvising his sung notes, which could be jazzy in a certain way, but just comes off as amateurish, and an orchestral backing can only take you so far. Lyrically it often comes off as just strange, and while it is refreshing to have Costello gently sing to me rather than yell at me for a whole album, it oddly gets old quick. I could see a lot more of these songs clicking with me on a repeat listen, but for now I only continue to see potential, both in Costello himself, but also my possibly enjoyment of one of his albums. One of them has to click with me to a higher degree, right?

I enjoyed Muddy Waters live performances that I heard, and I knew this one was one of his bigger studio releases, so I imagined I'd like this too, but while the energy was certainly there, I think I just have to accept the fact that I do not enjoy the blues. I understand the appeal of it while listening, and this is certainly better due to never feeling empty like many older blues records, but nothing here grabbed me, and with its run time I got sick of the same song and dance relatively quickly. Nothing here is bad, and I get the praise, but it just isn't for me.

This teeters upon the edge of a three and a step up for me, but I think I'm going to give it to the latter purely because of how much of a step up from the debut this is for me. It isn't as predictable, nor as safe, as their self-titled LP, and because of that the final escapade that is the B-side doesn't totally work for me, going for something more ethereal that Eno would do better in his own work over the course of the rest of the decade, but the A-side features some fascinating moments in rock history, with ominous build up and freaky delusions poured into a glam coating, which admittedly feels like an alternate reality Jello Biafra, but it works, and makes nearly every track there at least somewhat worth the listen. I still think Roxy Music comes off as a B-list glam act, but this album did at least pull through and give something that leaves a better taste in my mouth after the disappointing debut.

This is an odd one, huh? It's extremely crass, vulgar, and immature, but I'd say it is all done with so much goofy disinterest in the world that it often comes off as charming even at its weirdest and creepiest. I wouldn't label this as punk, per se, but in some aspects it sticks a middle finger up against all those surrounding, no matter how "against the man" they truly are. Ian Dury will win in a pissing contest against you, every time. The issue, however, is that the music just isn't good. Dury's voice is flat, and not in a charming, foreboding way like many late 70s acts, but in a "you never should've been a singer" sort of way. The instrumentation is solid, but extremely predictable, to the point where even the actual punk closer wasn't a surprise. Lyrically, as I've mentioned, it can be off-putting. It is something you can laugh along with, but I can see many going in and instantly being turned off by the first track's implications. It has cute moments that I enjoy, feel the need to show to others even, but never because the song is good. Actually, it reminds me of the Streets in an over the top, so bad it's good, British sort of way. Except this actually feels like I'm laughing with it, not at it. For that I'll give it credit. However, this album is not good musically, and I do not view it as a positive listening experience, nor do I really want to go through it again. At least, not alone. Perhaps in a road trip with a few mates would this be more of a cracker.

Innit?