Reviews by kuvien

Jefferson Airplane was one of the bands that directed the American musical spotlight to San Francisco, what with their uninhibited, extroverted stage personality. Of course this album contains their smash hit "Somebody to Love", featuring Grace Slick's glorious vocals, but the short, powerful "White Rabbit" is the track that most directly connects the listener to the drug experiences of the late 60s. This is an overt reference to Alice in Wonderland, a kind of weird, psychedelic roadmap detailing a world of strange experiences. (I recommend reading the book aloud if you haven't before.) The lyrics of this song contain only part of the importance, though, since the music itself was inspired by an LSD experience while listening to jazz. The gradual crescendo makes the final line sound like a call to action, exhorting everyone to drop acid at least once.

Björk is the little spoon in a bed set outside amid an ice garden filled with night-blossoming flowers, and there she sleeps and dreams and sighs beneath the wispy green undulating arms of the Aurora.

For a couple years, this album was my go-to soother after a long day of work. Amy healed me, her voice like a good massage. She's still got that touch, and every sporadic return to this album is stepping back into my favorite R&B lounge to spend another night smoking and grooving.

Glorious glam solos and echoing glam vocals. Multi-sectional, opera-like, theatrical rock. So beautiful, sometimes soaring, sometimes playful. The common metaphor employed is that we're in the hands of God (the gods), but not with Queen. It's the lap, not the hands.

How many beer cans do you have to crush on your head before you're dumb enough to like this album? This is the kind of album listened to by dudes who go to the gym to get noticed by women but are baffled as to why only other dudes comment on their muscles.

Even "Don't Go Chasing Waterfalls" isn't that good.

The footing of the world is often treacherous, so on your stroll through life, it’d be best if you were able to take someone else’s arm. Anything to protect against the cold winds blowing. Well, the world didn’t end in 1963, but it will someday, so the lyrics will punch as hard then as they do now. Besides, the world is made and unmade every day thousands of times, so just hold on to someone until your world disintegrates around you and your own personal apocalypse envelops you.

Is he eating a banana? wtf

This album kicks off with some fun piano work, setting a not-too-serious prog mood. It’s like they’re telling the listener, “We’re here to play, not show off.” Not to say that showing off is bad. I know some people hate it, but I don’t mind it. Anyway, the reason I mention this is because so much prog shows off, so it’s nice to hear something a bit more straightforward for a change. “Freedom Rider” is the centerpiece here, but being a folkhead, I prefer “John Barleycorn”.

I've had a lot of disheartening moments in my music journey, but Norah Jones singing "Cold Cold Heart" might be the nadir.

This is one of my favorite albums, mostly because of the centerpiece, “Indian Sunset”, and the deep cuts. “Madman” and “Tiny Dancer” are great songs, but “Indian Sunset” rises above the rest of this already perfect album. It’s not really what you think of when you think of an Elton song. It’s expansive, serious, and bittersweet, kind of like a grander “Skyline Pigeon” or “Mona Lisas and Mad Hatters”. The delicate piano parts giving way to the orchestral finale perfectly evokes not only the sadness and solitude of the Native American warrior but his inevitable and glorious demise. Side B has the deep cuts worth every moment of your time, from “Holiday Inn” through the appropriately-titled final track, “Goodbye”. I just wrap up in this album like it’s a warm blanket.

I'll never forget that random YouTube comment I once read about the man whose wife was dying in hospital. Her name was Marianne, and he would sit by her bedside every day and hold her hand. One day he was just too tired to stay awake, so he closed his eyes for a nap, and during that time, Marianne slipped away. Fiction or no, that's a beautiful, heartbreaking story.

The rest of the album is pedestrian get-down rock-out af. Looks like they accidentally criticalled on their songwriting check with the first track. I went and took a dump in the middle of the last song. Not sure if it was just coincidence or if the song filled me with the urge to defecate.

This is an old favorite. Such a fun, bright album. Mbaqanga, Mbube, Zydeco, and Soukous are the four African-based musical traditions featured here, two of them finding their origins in South Africa, whereas the other two developed more in the Americas as African immigrants and slaves brought their music with them. I’m not going to get political here, but I can’t help but wonder how much this album helped Western (white) ears tune into sounds beyond their borders. Clearly music aficionados are always listening outside their cultural experience, but this album seemed to bring African music to the forefront in the popular American consciousness. It was a big thing to do in the 80s.

I enjoy the lo-fi psychedelic feel of this more than I thought I would. This kind of thing can get boring pretty quick for me, but this album holds my interest. It’s got a strong introspective atmosphere communicated mainly through the sparse instrumentation. This kind of sounds like Syd Barrett if he wasn’t English and he brought a country vibe to his music.

A heartbreaking album, this. There aren't many albums like this for me, ones that I both love and fear. This is one of those albums I listen to and am grateful for my Lady's mantle to hide in while listening. This album is basically the chronicle of a couple falling in love over drugs and falling apart through the abuse of said drugs, the abuse of each other, prostitution, the disintegration of their family, and eventually suicide by one partner, while the surviving partner, though sad, sees the suicide as a necessary escape and relief.

oh oh oh oh oh oh oh what a feeling!

Sweet love make you righteous, make you whole. And that’s the kind of love people call “crazy”. Returning to this album is like slipping into the world’s most comfortable chair, just a welcoming, warm, relaxing album. I know this gets mentioned a lot about this album, but it’s really lopsided. Side A is so good I just want to punch someone in the face. Side B isn’t bad, but compared to Side A…well, what five songs in a row on an album can compare with that? Very few, I reckon.

Hey, 1001 albums guy, kys.

This album is bookended by two giant teenage anthems, and the listener is stuck between a wasteland and a system that doesn't change no matter how many revolutions you have. Live fast, die young, and don't trust anyone over the age of 30. Oh, and the portable synthesizer debuted in 1971. Don't this cutting-edge technology just sound great?

The entry fee to this album is your promise. Your promise to both give and surrender to the funk, the whole funk, and nothing but the funk. And that promise leads to unity, and unity leads to your mind being freed. And most likely your ass, too, of course, but we already knew that. We are, after all, in Funkadelic Nation. So reprint the fiat currency. As good as this album is, whenever I hear those raunchy guitar solos, I feel Eddie Hazel's absence. I'm not really criticizing the album for that... it's just. Yeah. Hazel is such a presence that he is missed in the music when he's not part of it. That's just me, though. The strength of Funkadelic is in its numbers, and Mike Hampton does a fine job here. How you respond to the fact that fried ice cream is a reality is probably a good indicator of how you respond to life on a daily basis. It's either wonderful or a horror show. By the way, this is the album that has the live version of "Maggot Brain", so do yourself a favor if you've never heard this track. Pour yourself a drink, sit back, turn off your phone and your lights, and be transported.

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