Reviews by mikey_nc

Hahahaha British people can’t be serious

I liked this OK, though I prefer whatever their sound is on Come On Eileen. The singer is a little much, and the soul instrumentals try a little too hard.

One of those albums I respect more on paper than in practice. Definitely glad I heard it, at least. Also, “Ry Cooder” sounds like the name of a lost Looney Tunes character.

A legendary voice singing traditional songs. Too stark and spare for some I’m sure, but great to me.

What a bizarre album. I kinda respect its sheer wackiness and its variety of instrumentation, and the melodies aren’t bad either. Definitely not for everyone, though.

There were drums. There was bass. It was not timeless.

I acknowledge that this is legendary, titanic, chart-topping, baby-making butt rock. It is butt rock nonetheless.

Chill, moody, polished music with some dark depths. Worth re-listening.

While the Ramones will always be my favorite punk rock band, I think the Sex Pistols are much closer to the core identity of the genre. They embody its simple sound, its rebellious spirit, its revolutionary but incoherent politics (as indeed, it’s hard to parse what the Pistols actually believe in beyond hatred of the powers that be), and its spiky-haired torn-clothes safety-pinned image. Image was very important to the punks, maybe more than the way the music actually sounded.

Of course, this album survives because the music does sound great: raw, nasty, immediate, and furious. The Pistols could have been an actual rock band on the level of the Clash had they survived, but that was probably impossible. They were more of a moment in time than a band, scrapped together by a scheming manager to capitalize on the ascendant punk movement. Their immortal status in rock history is a statement to their talent (save for Sid Vicious, who was just there to look the part), but also to sheer luck and circumstance. I find them really fascinating even if I wouldn’t call this one of my all-time favorite albums.

Best song: Pretty Vacant

The other Wu-Tang solo albums I’ve heard have forgotten a very important element of their sound. You can’t only have drugs and murder; you ALSO need wacky references to kung fu movies, sci-fi, and philosophy. GZA, genius that he is, understands this well.

It might be cool as a movie soundtrack but man, I just don’t really care?

It’s hard to imagine a band more intensely millennial than Arcade Fire. They may not have been a “stomp-clap-hey” band themselves, but they are the intellectual godfathers of that sound. In stark contrast to the dark, grungy, cynical rock bands of the 90s, they made it cool to be big, bright, theatrical, and hopelessly sincere. You listen to these people and you just know they love to talk about their heckin’ doggos and how they just can’t even.

But of course, most of this highly-online mumbo jumbo is irrelevant, and it was completely irrelevant in 2007. Back then these guys were legitimately new and fresh, an innovative band with sharp songwriting and a big indie rock sound that didn’t rely on the guitar. Do I go for it? Not really, but I can see why a lot of people did. Arcade Fire exemplifies an era of youthful optimism and artistry that now feels incredibly naive. But at their best, they make you believe in it.

A very decent album, although kind of a disappointing one relative to White’s best. Rock musicians tend to peak at a lower level of maturity and then become progressively less interesting the further they mature, and unfortunately I think this is true of Jack.

Best song: Freedom at 21

A titanic voice that will be remembered. I’m not really into the arrangements of Joplin’s songs—very white-blues isn’t-this-groovy stuff that sounds really muddy. Still, her talent is enough to elevate this.

Best song: Cry Baby

Bigger, heavier, and more dramatic than Different Class. I like this album a little more, probably because it dispenses with the twee fake optimism and embraces the misery at the core of this band’s music. I respect its honesty, and the songcraft, but something this grim and sleazy isn’t really for me.

A solid punk album, loud, angry, and vaguely catchy.

A fun and catchy pop rock album, if a little insubstantial. Could definitely see how this was a breath of fresh air at the time.

Not really bad, but very boring and occasionally annoying. Like a white guy pulled out a guitar and said hey guys, mind if I get a little funky, uh huh huh.

They don’t really expect me to listen to a song called “Sex Dwarf,” do they? Oh they sure do. And it’s 5 minutes long.

A core gangsta rap album, approaching the very id of the genre. Full of bragadocious boasting, luxurious boom-bap beats, and portraits of crime, sex, and drugs which oscillate between caricature and autobiography. Behind it all, though, is Biggie’s stark fear of his own mortality—it’s right there in the title, and made clear as can be on the final track.

So this album really captures the tension of this entire genre, glorifying a life of crime in the same breath as it despairs over it. This is how it fulfills multiple purposes, providing escapism for the white kids in the suburbs as well as chilly reality for the adults in the slums. And, of course, the album works because Biggie is an all-time great rapper. His flow never cracks.

An important album which will live for a long time, though it is dated (and occasionally cringe-worthy) enough that I wouldn’t call it one of my favorites.

Best song: Juicy