Reviews by infidsp90

Really liked this one. Elvis in Memphis feels like Elvis getting back to what he does best after some of the less interesting stuff he’d been putting out in the years before. The whole album has a really warm, soulful sound, and you can tell he’s much more invested in the material.
I especially liked how it mixes country, soul, gospel, and rock without feeling all over the place. “Long Black Limousine” is probably my favorite, but “Any Day Now,” “Wearin’ That Loved On Look,” and of course “In the Ghetto” all stand out. Elvis sounds great throughout — his voice is deeper and more mature here, and there’s a lot more emotion in his performances.
The Memphis setting also feels important. Recorded at American Sound Studio in 1969, the album has a much more relaxed and organic feel than some of his more heavily produced records. It feels like a real band playing together rather than Elvis just being placed over a backing track.
Definitely one of the better Elvis records I’ve heard so far. Not everything completely blew me away, but there’s a lot to like here, and I can see myself coming back to it.

I went into Duck Rock expecting to find something interesting, especially considering how experimental and influential the album is supposed to be, but I honestly didn’t enjoy it that much. There are a lot of different influences throughout the album, including hip-hop, African and Caribbean music, electronic sounds, and various samples. While I can appreciate the ambition behind mixing all of these styles together, I found the result quite messy and difficult to follow.
The biggest problem for me was that the album didn’t feel very coherent. It constantly moves between different sounds and ideas, and instead of making the album feel exciting, I often found it distracting and a little annoying. Some of the spoken sections and samples especially became tiring after a while. McLaren’s vocals also took some getting used to. His detached and almost awkward delivery is clearly intentional, but it didn’t really work for me.I found it too chaotic and irritating to really connect with. There are some good ideas throughout the album, but they didn’t come together in a way that worked for me.

I really wanted to like Blue, especially considering how highly regarded it is, but Joni Mitchell’s music still doesn’t quite work for me. This is only the second album of hers I’ve listened to, after The Hissing of Summer Lawns, and while I found Blue slightly more enjoyable, I’m still far from becoming a fan.
What I can appreciate is how personal and emotionally exposed the album feels. Mitchell puts a remarkable amount of herself into these songs, and there’s very little sense of emotional distance. Tracks like “River” and “A Case of You” have a genuine intimacy to them, and the sparse arrangements give her lyrics plenty of room to take center stage. There’s also something impressive about the way the album can sound so delicate while dealing with fairly heavy emotions.
That said, the same qualities that make Blue so acclaimed are also what make it difficult for me to connect with. Mitchell’s voice and vocal phrasing are simply not very appealing to my ears, and I often find her delivery more distracting than expressive. The album’s introspective, confessional nature can also feel a little overwhelming after a while. I can recognize the craft and sincerity without necessarily enjoying the experience of listening to it.
Compared with The Hissing of Summer Lawns, though, I definitely prefer Blue. It feels more focused, direct, and emotionally coherent, whereas Hissing left me even more detached. Blue at least gave me a few moments where I could understand why people consider Mitchell such an important songwriter.
So, while I can respect Blue more than I can genuinely enjoy it, I’m still not convinced that Joni Mitchell is an artist for me. There’s no denying the songwriting, musicianship, or emotional honesty here, but admiration and enjoyment are two different things. For me, Blue lands somewhere in between: a very well-crafted and influential album that I can appreciate more than I actually want to listen to.

I See You feels almost colorless to me. There’s a certain elegance in its restraint, but after a while that restraint starts to feel more like emotional distance. The sparse arrangements, hushed vocals, and understated rhythms create the familiar xx atmosphere, yet the album rarely surprises or pulls me in deeply enough.
It’s not a bad record by any means—it’s carefully made, atmospheric, and occasionally beautiful—but I found myself admiring it more than actually feeling it. The mood stays so consistent that, for me, it becomes a little monotonous and even slightly boring. Almost everything is in its right place, but there’s not enough contrast, tension, or messiness to give the songs much color.
Maybe that cool, minimalist quality is exactly what makes I See You appealing to some listeners. For me, though, it left very little behind once the music stopped.

Kraftwerk’s Trans-Europe Express is one of those albums I feel I’m supposed to admire more than I actually enjoy.
Yes, it’s historically important. Yes, it influenced half the electronic music made after it. Yes, the title track is iconic. And yes, Kraftwerk were miles ahead of their time.
But listening to this album in 2026, I mostly found myself wondering whether being ahead of your time is still impressive when your time finally catches up and leaves you standing at the station.
The music is so rigid, repetitive and emotionally vacant that it occasionally feels less like an album and more like an elaborate demonstration of what happens when you remove every trace of human excitement from music. The rhythms plod along with the enthusiasm of a train conductor who has just been told there are 47 more stops.
Trans-Europe Express is particularly difficult for me. I understand the hypnotic intent. I understand the minimalist aesthetic. I understand the concept. I simply don’t understand why I’m still listening.
There are moments when the repetition becomes genuinely hypnotic — mostly because I’m hypnotised into staring at the track timer, wondering how much longer I have to endure it.
And then there’s Metall auf Metall, which sounds like someone discovered a piece of sheet metal, plugged in a synthesiser, and decided that absolutely no further development was necessary.
The irony is that Kraftwerk’s influence is enormous. You can hear their DNA everywhere: techno, synth-pop, electro, hip-hop and countless electronic artists owe them a debt. But sometimes hearing where something came from makes you appreciate how far everyone else managed to take it.
I can respect Trans-Europe Express enormously as a piece of musical history while finding it almost completely unbearable as an album.
It’s cold. It’s repetitive. It’s sterile. It occasionally feels like music designed by people who had read about rhythm and emotion in a technical manual but had never actually encountered either.
Perhaps that’s the point.

A lot of the songs seem to circle around the same ideas without developing them much, and the constant repetition started to wear me down pretty quickly. White’s vocal style also doesn’t help. His distinctive, strained delivery can work in the right setting, but across an entire album I found it grating and, at times, genuinely annoying.
There are some interesting guitar parts and moments of creativity, but they weren't enough to overcome how repetitive and irritating I found the overall sound. I can see why Blunderbuss gets praise for its energy and character, but personally, it felt more obnoxious than compelling.

Blood on the Tracks was a pretty easy listen for me. I enjoyed the overall sound and the acoustic, laid-back style, and there are some really nice melodies throughout the album. The songwriting is obviously a big part of its appeal, with a lot of the songs dealing with relationships, heartbreak, and personal reflection.
That said, I didn’t completely fall in love with it. Dylan’s voice is definitely an acquired taste for me — there’s something slightly strange and rough about the way he sings that sometimes takes me out of the songs. It does fit the emotional and intimate feeling of the album, though.
Overall, I’d say it’s a solid album and I can understand why it’s considered one of Dylan’s best, but it didn’t blow me away. It’s relaxed, thoughtful, and easy to listen to, with some great songwriting, even if Dylan’s voice isn’t entirely my thing.

Atomizer is one of those albums where I can understand the appeal without actually enjoying the listening experience. Big Black’s abrasive, mechanical sound, distorted guitars, pounding rhythms, and deliberately harsh atmosphere are clearly intentional, but unfortunately, this particular style of music just isn’t for me.
I found the whole thing pretty unpleasant to listen to, and rather than growing on me with repeated listens, the aggressive and industrial feel mostly pushed me further away. There’s a certain rawness and intensity here that fans of noise rock and post-hardcore will probably appreciate, but I personally found it more exhausting than engaging.
I can recognize that Atomizer has a distinctive sound and that Big Black were doing something quite different for their time. There’s definitely an uncompromising quality to it. But ultimately, this is a case where I can appreciate what the band was going for while still having absolutely no desire to listen to it again.
Not for me at all.

Jorge Ben Jor’s Africa Brasil is an interesting and energetic album that blends samba, funk, soul, and Brazilian popular music into something that feels distinctly its own. I liked it overall, especially the way Ben Jor brings African influences and themes of Black identity and heritage into his music without sacrificing the warmth and groove of his sound.
There are some really engaging moments here, with the rhythm section and guitar work giving the album a strong sense of movement. At its best, the music feels lively, loose, and infectious, and there’s a lot to appreciate in the way Ben Jor combines different traditions.
That said, I did find the album a little tiring at times. The consistent rhythmic intensity and relatively similar atmosphere across some of the tracks made it feel somewhat long, and I occasionally found my attention drifting. Still, there’s enough character and originality here to make it an interesting listen, particularly for anyone interested in the connections between Brazilian and African musical traditions.
Overall, Africa Brasil is a fascinating and groove-heavy record with a strong cultural identity. It didn’t completely hold my attention throughout, but I enjoyed exploring it and can definitely see why it’s regarded as an important album.

Definitely Maybe is one of those albums where I can understand why it became such a big deal, even if I didn’t completely fall in love with it. There are definitely songs here that I really enjoyed, especially the ones with that loud, confident guitar sound and catchy choruses. When Oasis are on, they have a great ability to make a song feel bigger than it actually is.
That said, the album was a bit inconsistent for me. Some tracks really clicked, while others felt fairly repetitive and didn’t leave much of an impression. Liam Gallagher’s vocals and the overall swagger are part of the album’s charm, but I can also see why that style might not work for everyone.
Overall, I’d say Definitely Maybe was good rather than amazing for me. I liked enough of it to understand its reputation, but I probably wouldn’t listen to the whole album from start to finish very often. There are definitely a few tracks I’ll be coming back to, though.

I wanted to like The Hissing of Summer Lawns more than I did. There’s no denying that it’s an interesting album, and Joni Mitchell was clearly moving in a more experimental direction here, blending jazz, pop, folk, and unconventional arrangements. But for me, it never quite came together in a way that held my attention.
A lot of the songs feel atmospheric and carefully constructed, but that atmosphere sometimes came at the expense of immediacy. I found myself appreciating the musicianship and Mitchell’s songwriting more from a distance than actually getting pulled into the music. Even when the arrangements became more interesting, I rarely felt the urge to go back and hear a song again.
There are certainly moments that stand out, particularly “The Jungle Line” with its unusual rhythms and percussion, and “Edith and the Kingpin,” which has a darker, more subdued quality. I can understand why the album is regarded as an important part of Mitchell’s transition into her more jazz-oriented period. Still, knowing its reputation probably made me expect something more compelling than what I ultimately heard.
It’s not a bad album by any means. It’s thoughtful, ambitious, and musically distinctive, but it just didn’t grab me. Maybe it’s one of those albums that rewards repeated listens, but after this one, I was left more impressed by what Mitchell was attempting than genuinely moved by the result.

Music From Big Pink is one of those albums I can appreciate more in theory than I actually enjoy listening to. I understand why it’s considered an important record, and there’s something appealing about its loose, earthy sound, but it never really grabbed my attention.
The songs have a warm, almost lived-in quality, with that blend of folk, country, blues, and rock that The Band became known for. There are some genuinely nice moments, particularly in the vocals and the understated instrumentation, but for me it all felt a little too restrained. Nothing really demanded my attention.
In fact, the album was so easy to leave playing in the background that I didn’t even realise it had ended. It just seemed to blend into the room, which probably says more about my reaction to it than anything else. I wasn’t bored exactly, but I also wasn’t particularly engaged.
I can see why Music From Big Pink has such a strong reputation and why it was influential, but personally, I found it more pleasant than memorable. It’s an album I can respect without feeling much desire to return to it.

I don’t usually listen to metal, so I wasn’t sure what to expect going into Iron Maiden’s self-titled debut. Surprisingly, I found it pretty interesting. It’s definitely heavy, but there’s more going on than just loud guitars and aggressive vocals. The songs have a strong sense of melody, and the guitar work gives the album a lot of character.
What stood out to me most was the energy. The album feels raw and a little rough around the edges, which I think works in its favor. It doesn’t have the polished sound of some later metal records, but that gives it a certain personality. Songs like “Running Free” and “Remember Tomorrow” show different sides of the band, from straightforward rock energy to something more atmospheric and melodic.
As someone who isn’t particularly into metal, I probably wouldn’t say that every song was immediately accessible to me. Bruce Dickinson wasn’t even the vocalist on this album, with Paul Di’Anno handling the vocals, and his grittier style gives the record a very different feel from the Iron Maiden sound I was more familiar with.
Still, I can understand why this album is considered important. Released in 1980, it helped establish Iron Maiden as one of the major bands of the emerging New Wave of British Heavy Metal. Even if metal isn’t normally my thing, I can appreciate how much personality and ambition the band already had on their first record.
Overall, Iron Maiden was an interesting listen. It didn’t suddenly turn me into a metal fan, but it gave me a better appreciation for the genre and for what Iron Maiden were doing early in their career.

I think Brothers in Arms is one of those albums that works particularly well when you’re not looking for something demanding. It has a relaxed, spacious quality that makes it very easy to put on in the background and simply let it wash over you. I found it atmospheric and surprisingly good for decompressing.
A lot of that comes from Mark Knopfler’s guitar playing. It’s restrained rather than flashy, with those clean, lingering notes that give the songs plenty of room to breathe. The production is also a big part of the experience: polished, spacious and distinctly 1980s, but without making the album feel overly busy.
The obvious highlights are “So Far Away,” “Your Latest Trick,” “Why Worry,” and especially “Brothers in Arms.” The latter has an almost cinematic melancholy to it. It’s slow and reflective without becoming overwhelmingly sad. “Your Latest Trick,” meanwhile, has that late-night, slightly dreamy quality that makes it particularly effective as a stress-relief track.
There are moments when the album’s polished production and relatively gentle pace can make it feel a little too smooth, and some of the songs don’t hit as strongly as the best ones. But I think that actually contributes to its usefulness as a relaxed listening experience. It doesn’t constantly demand your attention.
What I particularly liked is that Brothers in Arms feels calm without being bland. There’s enough emotion, atmosphere and musicianship underneath the surface to reward actually listening, but you can also put it on after a long day and not have to work for the experience.
Overall: a beautifully produced, atmospheric album with a mellow, reflective character. Not necessarily something I'd reach for when I want excitement or intensity, but for unwinding, driving at night, or simply clearing your head, it works remarkably well.

Dolly Parton’s Coat of Many Colors has such a warm, nostalgic feeling that it feels less like simply listening to an album and more like stepping into a collection of memories. I really loved how heartfelt and comforting the songs felt, with stories about family, childhood, love, hardship, and finding beauty in simple things.
This was actually my first time listening to a full Dolly Parton album, and I honestly regret discovering her music so late. There’s something incredibly genuine about her voice and storytelling that makes even the simplest songs feel deeply personal. The album has a wonderful balance of tenderness, humor, sadness, and hope, and you can really feel the importance of her Appalachian roots and upbringing throughout it.
The title track, “Coat of Many Colors,” especially stood out to me. Its story is simple but incredibly moving, turning something born out of poverty into a symbol of love, pride, and family. That ability to find warmth and meaning in ordinary experiences is probably what I appreciated most about the album.
I’m really glad I finally gave Dolly Parton a chance. Coat of Many Colors feels timeless, sincere, and deeply human—and now I’m definitely curious to explore more of her music.

Peter Gabriel’s Melt was an interesting listen, but ultimately not an album I’d probably return to. It has a very distinctive and experimental sound, with dark atmospheres, unusual percussion, and Gabriel’s unique vocals. Tracks like “Games Without Frontiers” and “Biko” stood out to me, but overall the album didn’t completely connect with me.
I can appreciate what Gabriel was trying to do with the record, especially its production and rhythmic focus, but it felt more interesting from an artistic perspective than something I genuinely enjoyed listening to. There are definitely some memorable moments, but not enough for me to want to revisit the album.
Overall, Melt was worth hearing once, and I can understand why it’s considered an important album, but I probably wouldn’t listen to it again.

I really wanted to like Live at the Harlem Square Club more than I did. Sam Cooke is clearly incredible here—his voice is rougher and more energetic than on his studio recordings, and the whole performance has this feeling that makes you feel like you're actually in the room.
But strangely, I didn't find myself that invested. The songs blend together a little, and despite the energy, nothing really grabbed me emotionally. I actually didn't even realize the album had ended until it was over, which probably says a lot.
I can appreciate why it's considered such an important live recording, especially because it captures a much rawer side of Cooke than his polished studio work. I just wish I had connected with it more.

Turbonegro’s Apocalypse Dudes is an exhausting mess that mistakes obnoxiousness for personality. The songs feel repetitive, the shock value wears thin almost immediately, and the whole thing comes across as forced rather than genuinely dangerous or funny. It may have its cult following, but for me, this was a miserable listen from start to finish.

Orbital 2 is one of those albums that left me wondering what everyone else was hearing. I went into it expecting something interesting from Orbital, but I found the whole experience painfully dull and, at times, downright irritating.
The biggest problem for me is that the tracks feel like they go on forever without actually going anywhere. There are plenty of layers, bleeps, loops, and electronic textures, but instead of building into something compelling, they often feel repetitive and directionless. What might be hypnotic to some listeners came across to me as monotonous.
I also found the album strangely lacking in atmosphere. Electronic music can be incredibly immersive when the sounds create a sense of movement or tension, but Orbital 2 rarely pulled me into its world. Too often, I was simply waiting for a track to end.
I can appreciate that this album was influential and that Orbital helped shape the development of electronic music, but historical importance doesn't automatically make something enjoyable to listen to. For me, this was a tedious, uninspiring listen from beginning to end.
Maybe it's a case of appreciating the significance without appreciating the music, but Orbital 2 just didn't work for me. I found it awful, and I have absolutely no desire to return to it.

I honestly didn’t expect to like The Stone Roses as much as I did. Going into it, I wasn’t particularly convinced that this was going to be my thing, but it turned out to be a really pleasant discovery.
What surprised me most is how effortlessly the album balances catchy, almost dreamy melodies with the loose, understated energy of the band. There’s something very relaxed about it, but it never feels boring or directionless. Songs like “I Wanna Be Adored,” “She Bangs the Drums,” and “Waterfall” have this hazy, effortlessly cool quality that makes the album easy to get lost in.

The album also has a great sense of atmosphere. It feels distinctly British and late-’80s, but not in a way that makes it sound dated. There’s a warmth and openness to the guitars, while Ian Brown’s vocals give everything a slightly detached, almost hypnotic character. At times, the songs feel like they’re just drifting along—and somehow that’s exactly what makes them work.

I can see why the album became so influential, especially for the wave of British bands that followed. It has that rare quality of sounding both casual and important, like the band stumbled onto something special without needing to overcomplicate it.

It’s definitely one of those albums where I went in with low expectations and came out thinking, okay, I get it now. Not every song completely blew me away, but as a whole, The Stone Roses was a much better experience than I expected. A genuinely nice discovery, and one I’ll probably be coming back to.