Reviews by krill_42

This must be one of the most unique concept albums ever made. I mean, yeah, it's about love. But then again, when you have 69 songs to spread it across, you end up with a song about nearly every facet of it. And of course, like any triple album (or whatever you want to call it), it has its flaws. So what? Love has its downsides, too. That's the very essence of the concept and its subject matter.

It's moody, it's euphoric, it's lo-fi, it's disgusting, it's sugarcoated, it's down-to-earth, it's playful, it's horny, it's heartbroken. And... if you open your album with Absolutely Cuckoo (!) and follow it up with out-of-this-world great bangers such as Nothing Matters When We're Dancing (!!) and Long-Forgotten Fairytale (!!!), you've got all the arguments you need to consider this one of the finest works of music created in the '90s (or, frankly, any decade of the 20th or 21st century).

Fuck it. I would defend 69 Love Songs against anything. An incredible, undeniable, immortal piece of art. Big time!

Ahh, this had to be it, right? I mean, it 100% doesn’t fit any of the categories (Genre Highlight, inventive, influential, …) that would make it eligible, and it absolutely shouldn’t be on this list. No way. That being said, it does bring a smile to my face listening to it today. Not because the lyrics are great or anything (God forbid), but because it’s a solid garage rocker with a distinctive vocalist. And most importantly: memories.

See, I love the first three The Strokes records, and coming from a very rural small town (in Europe), I probably wouldn’t have known about The Strokes for a long time if it weren’t for the liner notes of the Youth & Young Manhood CD. Miraculously, there was a tiny record store “downtown” with an even tinier “rock” section. Most of the CDs in that crate I could easily attribute to my father’s collection. But, you know, youth… I wanted to find my own gems.

Kings of Leon’s debut sat in that crate for a good year before the owner lost patience and marked it down to bargain-bin price. And then, my time had come. I didn’t know who the band were, I didn’t know anything about the record, but I was intrigued by the cover art and it wasn’t already in my dad’s collection, so I bought it. And I loved it; listened to it over and over again. Occasionally, I’d take a look at the booklet, and there I found the band thanking another band who had recorded their album in the studio next door while Kings of Leon were making their debut: The Strokes.

When it finally became time to make a trip to the nearest major city, I went to a “real” record store, bought the first two Strokes records, and promptly (well, sort of) forgot about Youth & Young Manhood. Their subsequent albums didn’t do much to win me back as a fan. But in the end, I’m left with those fond memories of listening to this album over the course of one particularly hot and otherwise utterly boring summer in a small town.

Long and pointless review? I guess, you could say similar things about Youth & Young Manhood, but if you have memories attached to it, well, why not admit you kinda like it.

An album whose message resonates just as deeply today as it did 55 (!) years ago, when it was first released. What’s Going On is a defining statement - not only Marvin Gaye’s finest work, but one of the greatest albums ever to grace our ears. A healing transmission for our troubled times, created by a troubled artist. And what a towering, life-affirming, love-affirming achievement he gave us. Transcendence. Bliss!

Some exquisite songs (or, more precisely, sounds) on here - that’s for sure. It’s amazing how Depeche Mode once again made use of the intriguing rhythmic backdrop and the layering of instruments to create the very dynamics that make their best songs so instantly memorable. I mean, these pulsating synth/bass lines hardly ever miss, do they?

That being said, apart from the obvious highlight, opener ‘Never Let Me Down Again”, Music for the Masses somehow never manages to step out of the shadows of its predecessor (Black Celebration) and its towering follow-up (Violator). I’d say that Music for the Masses is at its best when it either reaches for the rougher, industrial edge that defined Black Celebration (“To Have and to Hold”) or foreshadows the brilliant melange of post-industrial new wave and pop sensibilities that would eventually make Violator a stone-cold classic (“Strangelove”).

I know it’s not a common opinion, but I see Music for the Masses as a purely transitional record, with some meandering duds (“Behind the Wheel”, “Sacred”) and some experiments with mixed results, such as the Kraftwerk-esque ballad “The Things You Said” or the operatically tinged closer “Pimpf”. Depeche Mode weren’t quite ready to embrace a more fully realised pop approach yet; they were caught somewhere between what lay behind them and what lay ahead.

I guess you had to be there, huh? I’m still not quite sure what to make of this. What alternately amuses and frustrates me, though, is the odd sequencing of this record, especially its second half: a classic power-pop-meets-early-new-wave era incarnation (Fame Is), followed by a string-backed pseudo-crooner ballad (All I Ask), which gives way to psychedelically tinged Beatles worship (Italian Plastic), before transitioning into a warped Australian take on country/Americana (She Goes On), only to culminate in a swirly, Zappa-esque rumination (I’m Still Here). It’s that wild. You wouldn’t guess it from the cover art.

You’ve got to give it to them, though: Crowded House have some genuinely clever songwriting tricks up their sleeves. It’s really the power pop moments where the music shines brightest. My main gripe would be that Crowded House never quite manage to sound like their own band. They wear their influences so openly on their sleeves that you’re sometimes left wondering whether you’re not actually listening to some lost Elvis Costello song (It’s Only Natural, Tall Trees), say. But then again, you could read that criticism also as testament to the quality of their songwriting.

I’ll be coming back to this one. There’s a lot to like.

Just as with the previous album for me (Ladies and Gentlemen We Are Floating in Space), Bandwagonesque makes a strong case that shoegaze is less a genre in itself than a blend of many influences, but primarily coated and disguised in reverb, gain, and swirling guitar feedback. Teenage Fanclub are probably one of my most beloved incarnations of ’60s pop, blues, and folk-tinged tunes - but make it noise - outside their respective genre’s heyday. Their third album sounds remarkably untouched by time, even 25 years after its initial release. Love it or hate it, but these Scots had a real knack for crafting engaging melodies and they, thankfully, incorporated some of their country’s idiosyncrasies along the way (the strings on “December”), to great effect. This is peak jangling noise pop/power pop. Highly, highly addictive.

J Spacemen managed to lay bare the blues and krautrock undercurrents that make up shoegaze’s extraterrestrial dimension, all wrapped up in a big, beautiful and endlessly fascinating swirl of reverb and gain. Impeccable flow included - just as the original CD packaging suggested: sedating.

I enjoyed this quite a bit (I knew some of Cope’s stuff, but hadn’t heard Peggy Suicide before). I like the art-rock-meets-neo-psychedelia vibe, the sprawling arrangements, and some of the lyrics are ace, too. It’s a (very) good album, but honestly, I don’t see why it should be on this particular list…

Sorry, bathroom’s taken!

Can’t Buy a Thrill = ultimate slickness! The egocentric and eccentric times Steely Dan evokes are long gone, but the music remains a testament to the near-pathological studio-production bourgeoisie of the mid-to-late ’70s, paired with an almost ridiculous abundance of thoughtful, instantly memorable songwriting. No one cared about money or time; all that mattered was the perfect sound of the snare. And lo and behold, out came an instant classic.

I love the dynamics of the album - Gary Numan’s voice against its mechanical backdrop is just perfect. An incredible synthesis of early electronic experimentalism paired with art rock sensibilities.

How can you possibly create a maelstrom of noise with something so elegantly named Jazzmaster? From the opening seconds, you’re sucked into this grinding, well-oiled machine that leaks feedback and pounding blasts. And oh, what fun that is!

‘Bliss’ is the word you were looking for.

Bought this the day it came out, and I still spin it regularly. That being said, I don't think it's either flawless or particularly groundbreaking. It's a prismatic kaleidoscope of Django Django's influences, channelled into brief, concise psychedlic-pop marvels. Well, if that sounds intriguing, that's because it is. This is a record well worth your time and absolutely worth revisiting. Honestly, though, it probably shouldn't be on this list (nostalgia factor notwithstanding). And still, it would break my heart to rate it lower than a solid 4.

Like most ’80s synth-pop / new wave records, this one took a while to grow on me. The Bryan Ferry-esque vocal delivery and the icy instrumental backbone are a great match. Having been (musically) raised in an era when Editors were hailed as the next big thing, it’s hard not to hear the lingering influence of Simple Minds on the rather pop-oriented, sonically unadorned bands of the early 2000s. Oddly enough, this album really takes its time, at least to my ears, and the songs themselves unfold at a fairly leisurely pace. Call me ignorant, but I’d label this a mood record: it settles into laid-back yet tight grooves and lets the production flourishes shine (with the obvious exception of the uptempo banger “Promised You a Miracle”, whose synth line stayed in my head for days). Unfortunately, though, it loses a lot of momentum in the middle section, which, pardon my French, is (…) boring.

Don't we all have a bad day once in a while, and haven't we all lived through a painful breakup at some point? Consider yourself a very lucky person if you have friends who don't hit mute on you if you deliver lines such as “I'd join the wild birds in their crying, thinking of [him] and [his] sweet face” or “I will go down to the cold dark waters, and there I'll lay me down and weep” for 40+ minutes straight. I mean, if they did, rightfully so. It's just too much.

The obvious highlight here is “Wildflower,” mainly because it's way more empowering than this devotional, near-religious, all-cosuming understanding of failed man-woman relationships, which takes up most of this record. Great musicianship all around, but lyrically, Trio feels just like a loose collection of one-dimensional metaphors on misery.

Wild ride, this one. The energy of this live recording is physically palpable even when listening to the digital files on some crappy headphones on an overcrowded train during your daily commute, surrounded by all the smells and background noise that come with it. This proto-punk beast yells and screams at you relentlessly, and I love every second of it. Ever since having my inner peace shattered by having children, I've come to appreciate the raucous side of early, no-frills guitar music from the late '60s more and more (I used to prefer the more "polished" punk incarnations with an outright knack for hummable melodies, such as the Clash or the Ramones). The songwriting (and the lyrics) on Kick out the Jams isn't (yet) particularly inventive, nor are the musicians exactly brilliant. But that's neither why it was so influential, nor why Kick out the Jams is considered a landmark recording. I mean, all this lo-fi, fuck-it-let's-go aesthetic is just the perfect basis for a real musical gem. MC5 reduced "the blues" elements to their barest bones but increased the speed and gain to make the most fun out of it. Even with its mere 40-minute runtime, Kick Out The Jams still has some of the "flaws" that proto-punk and early garage rock records tend to have, especially the repetitiveness – not the good kind you get in classical minimalism or the trance-inducing motif shredding of Krautrock. But somehow, mind you, it all works in its favor, adding to its all-in character. MC5, I regret having underappreciated you before. I'll cherish this one all the more from now on.

I tried, I really tried. But I cannot help but dislike the aesthetics of peak mainstream Grunge. This muscular, testosterone-laden power riffing meets "expressionistic singer bragging about how miserable and vulnerable he is"-style; it is just another testament to what was, music-wise, terrible about the 90s. For me, most mainstream Grunge records stray too far from the uncompromising intensity of metal. They are neither as emotionally charged nor as musically enhanced as the best Post-Hardcore records. Albums such as Dirt just sit between the chairs, ready to be digested by a voyeuristic crowd that likes its music hard, but not too hard. Dirt might be a good album; I simply cannot judge because I can't manage to get past the overall concept of Grunge as a type of consummate music. It simply annoys the hell out of me. Sorry, Alice in Chains, but I guess you're not lacking fans.

*looks up "mellow" in a dictionary, only to find an image of (one of) the (four) cover(s) of Beck's cultishly beloved 2002 post-divorce record, Sea Change.*
Man, is Beck leaking heartbreak and desolation on this one… But I mean, I did that before as well, and that sure as hell didn't enable me to create something this profoundly beautiful and… well… mellow. Beck pulls off the rare feat of making one's misery glow. The textures of the sound are just amazing; and Paper Tiger does have one of the most captivating rhythmic and instrumental backdrops among the bunch. Whether it's accurate or not, Sea Change reminds me of an "aughts-on-the-internet", benzodiazepine-infused version of Dusty in Memphis. Which is a good thing, mind you. "Guess I'm Doing Fine", huh?

Haha, the opening drum salvo could be ripped right off a mbv record. But after the first few seconds, Life Thru a Lens evolves in a very different direction (still, a lot of it is firmly rooted in the polished shoegaze sound of late-90s Britpop), of course. But I mean, Robbie's solo debut is… fine? Yeah, yup, it's fine (that is, if you manage to look past the schmock of the two singles, Angels and Let Me Entertain You). Ok, I just said that: The *deep cuts* are absolutely fine. Just take Old Before I Die. Wouldn't be out of place on "Definitely Maybe" or "What's the Story Morning Glory?" Noel, did you have a hand in this record? Decent pop songwriting, the instrumentals are catchy, with some well-cooked-up chord progressions. The lyrics… well. The record has lyrics. Let's leave it at that. Still, despite my initial skepticism, I had a "jolly good time" listening to this.