Reviews by krill_42

A lovely record buzzing with subtly psychedelic flourished arrangements and intricate rhythmic layers. The flute in “Clara” would be a prime example, as would the sitar in “Eleanor” or the organ in “Soy Loco por Ti, América.”

The record starts right off on a strong note: the jazzy bossa-psych gem “Tropicália” is a clear highlight of Caetano Veloso’s self-titled full-length. Elsewhere, opaque and swirling string arrangements serve as a backdrop for the laid-back tracks that follow. The strings definitely add an intriguing and frankly beautiful touch to the songs, which are rooted in traditional Brazilian styles and African rhythms (again, “Soy Loco por Ti, América” has to be mentioned as a standout) - an art and musical movement that bears the same name as the aforementioned opening tune.

Caetano apparently called his debut outing “amateurish and confused.” Well, maybe that only adds to its charm, because it’s a beautiful little marvel. I’d rather say it sounds adventurous and is buzzing with playfulness.

By the way, just as strong as it opened, the record closes with the sitar-assisted, psychedelic, surf-rock-infused “Eles.” Nice.

Last night I drifted into a dream that carried me to a past I’ve never lived in. I found myself standing in my little neighborhood record store, flipping through the bins. When suddenly, a melody rose into the air: warm, shimmering and enchanting. The tune made me stop mid-motion. “What’s playing?” I asked. The shop owner smiled, knowingly, and told me it was a song by Dire Straits, from the self-titled debut of a young and aspiring band from London, UK.

Apparently my dream took place in the 70s, and not only had I never heard of the Mark-Knopfler-led band before, I also didn’t have any pre-formed, unshakable opinion about their quality. So when I woke up, I decided it was time to give the record another shot. And believe me, I really tried to find something I enjoyed.

But no chance - I still hate everything (or at least most of it) about it, but primarily it’s Mark Knopfler’s guitar work that annoys me. It’s 45 minutes of: Look, I’m the guy with the Fender and I’m playing guitar AT you. Seriously, what is he aiming at - a good song, or is it simply attention-seeking for his (undeniable) skills? Over the course of this debut record, he borrows heavily from others and ruminates on lyrics that aspire to a Dylan-level depth they never reach. Granted, it’s not Clapton-level obnoxious, but nonetheless, it was hard to sit through.

You gotta give it to Slipknot: their vision and sound came already cohesively formed on their 1995 debut.

To start with the good: Slipknot’s musical influences are impressively diverse. Besides drawing from the then-omnipresent alt-rock wave, they brought death and thrash metal galore to the table and even some tasty hardcore riffing - all wrapped in a layer of industrial grit. The lyrics, though, even when I first heard them as a teenager, failed to impress. To put it mildly, they’re pretty one-dimensional: Alright, you’re sick of everything. Cool. You hate people. Fair. But did it really have to be fifteen songs about exactly that?

Unfortunately, the production is extremely fatiguing. The drumming for example is absolutely insane, but then the mix leaves zero room for any instrument to breathe (plus, the triggered drums-sound-like-tin style is absolutely overused and apparently they literally banged on oil cans). I assume this was meant to intensify the effect of the claustrophobic, misanthropic vibe, but in practice the recording just ends up sounding like a brick. Too bad… but very much in line with a lot of mainstream alt-rock production trends of the 90s. Even though I definitely heard worse.

All that said, it’s still one of the better nu-metal records (after all, this is not Limp Bizkit… haha), largely because it leans into the metal side of the formula. But honestly, though: is it just me, or do the turntable parts sound oddly out of place and occasionally ridiculous? That doesn’t do the trick for me at all. Maybe that (along with the mushy sound) is the reason why the shock value of these tracks is rather low for me.

Beyond being a massively influential band back then, Slipknot’s sound even found new disciples in the 2020s (Code Orange, Jesus Piece and Vein instantly pop in mind) - acts that pushed the more metallic hardcore aspects of the genre and for the most part (musically and lyrically) outsmarted their musical parents. Honestly, that’s a development I never thought we’d see.

And yet, here we are, and I’m thinking: well, Slipknot… not even half as bad as I remembered.

When I put on Who’s Next, my first thought is: How is he doing this? Of course, I am referring to the intense drumset witchcraft of Keith Moon. His playing really propels this album and elevates it to higher spheres. But then it can also be tiring when you realize that his modus operandi is: "One fill after another (repeat endlessly)". Regardless, masterclass, Mr. Moon. Sometimes it's just too much for simple-minded me.

Overall, I have to say that the occasional mid-tempo tracks (Getting in Tune, Going Mobile) don’t do much for me songwriting-wise, but that's really no big deal if you have a song such as “The Song Is Over” under your belt. The Who go prog rock? Well, if you have a songwriter as skilled as Pete Townshend and a drummer like Keith Moon in your ranks, what can go wrong? In short: nothing. In my book, this is the best song The Who have ever put on tape. In a way, I like the thought that "The Song Is Over" foreshadowed the more “conventional” passages of Fragile and Close to the Edge by Yes, which were released just a few months after Who’s Next. Even if that thought is probably bollocks, I feel the urge to spin Close to the Edge immediately after Who's Next concluding notes vanish into the aether. Since Who's Next ends on such a strong note (Won't Get Fooled Again), these albums compliment each other quite well, I'd say.

There is a bonmot to describe albums like these: SEMINAL. Also, the songwriting is catchy as hell. I mean, the Lo-Fi predecessor recordings are even more seminal (if that's even possible), but once you get over the "Hi-Fi" shock, there is no reason to love Exile in Guyville just the same.

If the word sprawling hadn’t existed before, it would have been invented to describe this 1993 outing by The Boo Radleys. Giant Steps is one of the best albums to emerge from under the broad – and itself not easily defined – umbrella of the Britpop-interwoven-with-Shoegaze era. Giant Steps is one of the best of the Brunch because it nearly bursts at the seams. Instead of choosing to focus solely on melody or texture, The Boo Radleys combined both.

And that makes sense, because Britpop and shoegaze were never cleanly separated categories to begin with; both are porous, overlapping, and stylistically fluid. Where Slowdive aimed for a cohesive, enveloping sonic world, and Blur and Oasis leaned into more straightforward pop ambition, The Boo Radleys wore their influences in jazz, noise rock, and even hints of ragga/reggae openly for everyone to hear (as in the brass-tinged exuberance of “Lazarus” or the genre-blending shifts in “I Hang Suspended”). It’s a nod to their heroes, and yet they created something unmistakably their own.

The record is opulent, it’s beautiful, it’s intentionally stacked - in the best possible sense - and it’s kaleidoscopic. I was skeptical at first about diving into the record again, because the recent shoegaze and dream-pop revival of the 2020s has begun to wear on me. But the abundance of ideas, the marvelous sound design, the inventive production, and the buoyancy of their multi-genre blend make it stand out even after all these years. A record to behold. Period.

On paper, I should love this more. But even though it's a sprawling affair with tons of brilliant ideas (confession time: I have a knack for opulent and imperfect concept and double albums), it's hard to immerserve myself into the occasionally meandering execution. Also, the storyline… It feels undercooked.

Unlike other comments, I don’t think Frusciante or Smith are doing anything particularly special here. Both are undoubtly gifted, professional musicians, but what they do mostly serves as a tight but boilerplate backdrop for the songs. Aside from a few intriguing solos maybe (at the end of “I Could Have Lied” for example)… But what keeps this record from being a completely dull funk rip-off disaster is Kiedis’s idiosyncratic singing and the - undoubtedly - brilliant Flea. Of course, Kiedis lyrics are hit or miss (with far more miss than hit - just listen to „Suck My Kiss”, ouch), but at least his delivery is distinctive and charismatic. His full stylistic range - good and bad alike - is on display on “Mellowship Slinky in B Major”. I wouldn’t call anything on Blood Sugar Sex Magik (the Chili Peppers never fail to come up with stupid album titles) genius, or even particularly good, aside from Flea’s bass playing. However, with so many actually great funk (adjacent) records out there, there’s no compelling reason to ever sit through this one again.

Whoa, this was a wildly mixed-bag, rollercoaster listening experience. Some of Arrival’s production choices and songwriting turns are absolutely brilliant (the soaring chorus of “Knowing Me, Knowing You,” the build-and-release tension of “That’s Me”); others are downright annoying (the synth squiggles of “Dum Dum Diddle” - especially post-chorus - or that deeply questionable sax line in “Why Did It Have to Be Me?”, not to mention the flanger-soaked vocals on “Tiger”). And what’s up with the title track? That one feels completely out of place after the previous glam rock excursion in “Tiger”.

Plus, a lot of the topics seem like they’ve fallen out of time, and sometimes the lyrics are just overly cringey (“When I Kissed the Teacher” and “Dum Dum Diddle” being the most obvious examples). Actually, if I think about it… most of the lyrics are simply terrible.

Still, regardless of how you feel about ABBA, it’s impossible to deny that Benny and Björn sure as hell knew exactly how to write instantly memorable pop songs.

To add to my opening statement: to some degree, listening to Arrival felt like hearing some tracks for the first time again: Foe example, paying close attention to the brick-wall-like wall of sound on “Dancing Queen”… I still have a hard time coming to terms with it.

I never loved ABBA (quite the contrary), but giving it some time and deliberate attention, I can now see more clearly why Sid Vicious and Joe Strummer were kind of into this Swedish Eurodance powerhouse. Leaning heavily into the disco sensibilities of the early ’70s, ABBA took some risks - and a lot of them paid off (while just as many didn’t). Too bad the record is such a mess and tries to be all over the place.

Yesterday, I was having a rather obnoxious listen to the Eagles’ debut (absolutely hated the record). And I know, this generator is an algorithm - but honestly, it couldn’t have done it better if it had deliberately “chosen” to follow the Eagles up with the Grateful Dead. American Beauty is country rock done right, dear Eagles. It’s a blessing to have the grace of this genre restored in an instant. Still not really my thing (a genre that often feels like denim set to music), but at least American Beauty explains why people could possibly love this kind of music. Cannot really get into the opener but the following “Friend of the Devil” (what a tune) and “Sugar Magnolia” are both amazing songs.

The Eagles accomplish a rare feat on their debut. Despite being among the early figures in L.A. country-rock, they somehow managed to create its most generic iteration right out of the gate. Chapeau. You’ve got to give it to them. While not everything here is actually bad (if you’re under the impression that the “better” parts sound a lot like Jackson Browne, it’s because he (co-)wrote two songs and seemingly was a strong influence), all in all it’s just boilerplate, utterly boring songwriting and downright awful lyrics. A well-deserved 1.

A mostly strong collection of well-crafted songs on this one. You can tell that Michael Kiwanuka is a versatile (and by the time of his 2019 self-titled release, also a veteran) songwriter. Kiwanuka is as cohesive and mature an outing as it is “retro”-sounding. However, even with it’s analogue buzz and glow it doesn’t sounds like it’s coming from and living in the past. Topics such as anxieties, racism, and police brutality are, sadly, as pressing as they have ever been. And the record itself works like a prism, channeling a myriad of artists and styles. In doing just that, Kiwanuka manages to deliver a condensed version of his record collection and - this is no easy feat - makes it feel somehow timeless. So mind you, it’s far more than cheap pastiche.

Take Living in Denial, which partly sounds like an uptempo soul classic, borrowing some of the vocal processing elements that also defined Portugal. The Man’s Evil Friends (which, just like Kiwanuka, was produced by the retro enabler and maximizer himself, Danger Mouse).

I can’t help but think that this list spot might be better suited for Sault’s 2020 twin outings Untitled (Black Is) and Untitled (Rise), helmed by none other than Kiwanuka’s co–sound alchemist, Inflo. On Black Is and Rise, the political message is just a tad sharper, and the songwriting more adventurous and uptight.

Kiwanuka, on the other hand, is a much more mellow affair — a real crowd-pleaser, if you will. It’s easy to see why people were spinning this heavily in the weird and upsetting early months of 2020.

All this could speak for - and at the same time against - the quality and lasting impact of Kiwanuka. It certainly helps that there are some amazing tunes on it, such as the opener “You Ain’t the Problem,” “Hero,” and “Rolling.” Unfortunately, the interludes don’t do much for me aside from slowing the record down.

Sometimes I’m left wondering whether this album, with a shorter runtime, might have maximized its effect even more.

Confession time: I am a sucker for the ’90s Pacific Northwest music scene. In a way, it was raw, unhinged and at the same time as beautiful as the Oregon coastline. The number of great musicians and bands from that time and place is just mind-blowing. And yet, Elliott Smith managed to stand out from the highly gifted and wildly creative pack.

So much has been said about Either/Or, and I don’t really have anything new to add. Only this: when I look at the cover now, I’m reminded that I loved this album so much back in the day that my adoration for Either/Or overshadowed his entire discography.

Today, I’ve finally come to terms that Figure 8 at least matches (if not surpasses) the brilliance of Either/Or. Elliott Smith was a truly unique songwriter: Someone whose kind doesn’t roam the earth or grace our ears and hearts very often. Even though many of his recordings come from dark places, the songs on Either/Or bring an unlikely sense of comfort; the lush, restrained arrangements can really lull you in.

I’m so glad we had Elliott Smith among us, and that he chose to lay his idiosyncratic songwriting and angelic melodies to tape. Too bad his life ended so abruptly and far too early. We miss you, Elliott - and there are hardly any better voices to turn to in the search for solace than yours.

This is it. The finest band in hardcore punk - the most important the very least. And yeah, I get it - the website is technically an album generator. But everyone knows this spot really belongs to Minor Threat’s complete discography (which is still shorter and crisper than most bloated ’90s records, from a time when labels pushed artists to cram as much music - be it good or be it terrible - possible onto a CD).

Minor Threat might not have the swagger of Bad Brains or a frontman with the raw charisma of Henry Rollins (of course, Ian MacKaye is an icon in his own right), but they wear their hearts on their sleeves and they’ve got these sharp f@*king hooks and riffs. I mean, if you don’t instantly wanna yell along to lyrics such as „we don’t care, we don’t pose, we’ll steal your money, we’ll steal your shows” (Cashing In) it’s your bad.

This record still hits hard and hasn’t lost any of its magic in those nearly 45 years. If you listen to just one hardcore punk band, make it this one. And if you think this iteration of hardcore punk isn’t your cup: “Think again, think again … ignorance, it sets your standards“ (Think Again).

Man, I wish I’d been in D.C. during the heyday of Dischord Records.

A whole bunch of excellent punk songs here. It’s basically impossible not to love “I’m So Bored with the U.S.A.”, “White Riot” or “Career Opportunities” - these are absolute bangers, as is the rest of the album. Unless, of course, you prefer your music (and your private life) as boogie as hell… haha.

And already, you can hear the Clash planting little seeds for their genre-hopping exeperimentations to come (see “Remote Control”, “London’s Burning” or the „Police & Thieves“ cover). You can tell that they always had a London Calling in them (even though, imho, their self titled one is a lot better in terms of consistency and sequencing). Musically, the Clash outsmarted most of their peers from day one - and this debut still kicks… like a steel-capped boot. Period.

Mark Perry, punk publisher and writer, nailed it: “The Clash album is like a mirror. It reflects all the shit.” Hell yeah; what an apt description. And sadly, a lot of that very shit is still hanging around today, just as urgent as back then.

This was a fun listen. Back in the day, a few friends of mine were obsessed with it, so for me this record works a bit like a memory machine. It doesn’t quite have the wit, the sharp political edge, the dazzling rhythms, or the mind-bending production of, say, Stereolab. But then again, who can match their brilliance? Still, Microshift is definitely worth revisiting: its neo-psychedelic, krauty vibe feels (positively) familiar/nostalgic and the well-placed bursts of noise (Hookworms wearing their Stereolab fandom pretty openly here) give the whole thing enough punch to keep you hooked (haha, no pun intended) right up to the last track. Some lengthier synth-y interludes create a sense of seamless sequencing and give your mind some room to drift (see first section of Opener, which is oddly enough, situated at the centre of the album), before the krautrock-style repetition pulls you back to earth. Checks a lot of boxes of what you’d expect from a nostalgically tinged music project.

Leonard Cohen expands his stylistic palette with a sure sense of measure, avoiding the “cardinal sin” of trying to replicate his immaculate debut once again, like he did on his second album. Not all of the experiments work equally well: the live version of Sing Another Song, Boys doesn’t quite fit the album’s flow, mainly due to its noticeably different recording quality; and the somewhat more „aggressive“ vocal delivery on the otherwise excellent Diamonds in the Mine can be a little irritating. But most importantly, the songwriting is very much intact, consistently back to the level of his debut. And with The Avalanche, and Famous Blue Raincoat, the album even holds two of his finest songs. Wonderful!

Is it Richard Ashcroft’s voice that makes this album eligible for the list (a singing style that was mimicked by myriads of mediocre bands that followed — looking at you, Mando Diao and co.)? Because other than that, I really can’t get my head around why this is considered a classic. It’s sprawling, it’s meandering — but Spiritualized did this far better (“The Rolling People” really doesn’t get to the point). When it gets anthemic, it borders on an annoying mess (“Bitter Sweet Symphony”) — Oasis did that better. And when it gets experimental, it doesn’t consequentially follow through on that direction (“Catching the Butterfly”) — Primal Scream and Spiritualized did that better, too. Neither is the songwriting particularly interesting, nor do the lyrics have much merit on their own. Was it solely the momentum of Britpop that propelled The Verve to the top? Perhaps I’ll understand it one day, but for now, I have no desire to sit through Urban Hymns again.

When I was a kid, my father still kept his vinyl collection in our living room. And, as you might expect, his ZZ Top records were at the very end of the row. At the bottom of the shelf, you could see the cover of Eliminator sticking out. Its spine was heavily creased because everyone was fascinated by the artwork and kept pulling it out to have a look. However, I can’t recall it ever making it onto the turntable very often. And for good reason, it seems.

Maybe I’m wrong, and my dad played it more often than I remember. But then again, you kinda have to choose which memories to hold on to, and apparently, I decided to erase those associated with ZZ Top. It’s certainly well-crafted hard rock, complete with all its classic ’80s trappings. But if there’s one genre I truly despise, it’s precisely that. At least — and I cannot stress this enough — the lyrics aren’t misogynistic garbage, which makes Eliminator one of the more tolerable representatives of the genre.

If "Guiding Light" doesn’t melt you from the inside, consult a doctor immediately.