Reviews by mondo-kun

In my opinion, The Black Keys' greatest achievement, and this album in particular, is that they made blues accessible to a wider audience.

Orthodox fans of the genre criticize the band for this — they say real blues should only be played by illiterate black men from the Mississippi Delta on homemade guitars. That's probably why "real blues" is often technically poor.

But here, two guys have recorded an album whose blues foundation blends indie rock, soul, funk, and even hip-hop. This is one of those works worth listening to on vinyl — you wouldn't guess that the album is from the 21st century; everything sounds very analog, rough, viscous, and dirty. You get the feeling you're sitting by a Louisiana swamp; tune the guitar down, and it's not far from sludge metal.

I wanted to write that the band's next album is even better, but then I thought that this one perfectly conveys their bluesy mood and roots.

In short, this album is a cross between the soundtrack to the cartoon "Hey Arnold!" and the opening screen music from the game "Neighbours from Hell."

More seriously, it's still classic jazz with a lot of brass sections, but more energetic and expansive, as if created for dance clubs and restaurants. It's elevated to a respectable level by the final, dance-inducing fifteen-minute improvisation, which was already in vogue at the time — you can clearly hear the audience's frenzy on the recording.

Despite the album's title and the fact that Duke Ellington and his orchestra actually performed at the Newport Jazz Festival, much of the live recording was poor quality, so the album primarily features a studio re-recording. However, the full concert, nearly two hours long, was later restored for fans, but that's definitely not my cup of tea.

If Fleetwood Mac frontman Stevie Nicks is to be believed, saying that the worse their state, the better their music, it's no wonder Rumours turned out great.

The band's relationships could be the subject of a whole article, and the love stories could be woven into a vast tangle: at the time of the album's creation, nearly everyone had fallen in love, broken up, slept with, and gotten back together (all of this, in keeping with the spirit of the times, under the influence of drugs).

And the musicians magically conveyed this atmosphere in every song. This is arguably the best album about love and all its destroyers: jealousy, betrayal, breakups... The live performances simply resembled a young couple arguing. And considering the band embraced the best of both the then-dominant soft rock and the sweeping arena rock genres, total sales of forty million copies isn't surprising.

An incredible work that, at a certain age, is sure to resonate with everyone.

A conceptual techno album! How about that? Did you even think those three words could be combined in one phrase?

Actually, I'm not entirely sure what the concept is. While the first few songs do indeed evoke a haunted dancehall, the rest evolves into the soundtrack to an action movie, the backdrop for a nighttime stroll through a factory with conveyor belts, and even some truly strange sounds, like the slapping of foil, orchestral bells, or a whining dog.

At the same time, these intricate seven- and eight-minute electronic themes somehow manage not only not to get boring, but sometimes even make you want to play them again!

The head of BBC Radio 1 once said that music similar to the track of the same name on this album should be played on pop radio to prepare audiences before cutting to an announcement of major news such as the death of the Queen. There's something to that.

I saw jazz as the primary genre of this record, and at first, as usual, I was shocked — again, those complex musical passages weighing on my mind...

But it turned out not to be so bad, in fact, it was actually quite good, since if there is jazz here, it's primarily vocal, performed by Nina Simone's deep, sometimes not always perfect, but always piercing voice.

Some of the songs here are upbeat, even danceable gospel, others are sad love ballads, and some seem to transport you to an old bar, where the night rain is washed by the streetlights outside the window.

In short, regardless of genre, this is simply beautiful music!

When I was younger, I thought Buddy Holly was just a character in a Weezer song of the same name, but only later realized he was a real musician (he's third from the left on the album cover). He was the driving force behind The Crickets, released their debut album with them, and died in a plane crash a year and a half later.

Evaluating records like these is difficult. On the one hand, it's classic rock 'n' roll, not much different from its counterparts of the genre at the time; it probably made a splash in its day, but now it feels like parody. On the other hand, it all sounds pretty good — sweet and slightly naive love songs that don't get boring after twenty-five minutes. Buddy Holly himself already showed by his appearance that it was possible to play rock and roll without being a handsome, gigantic man, and this inspired many guys (including that other "insect" band).

Not bad, but I won't listen to it again.

John Lennon and Paul McCartney are known to have named Harry Nilsson as their favorite American musician.

It's unclear whether this reflects their vanity or whether the Beatles were simply poking fun at the artist, as this most famous album of his sounds identical to the late Beatles, from the melodies and arrangements to the overall mood. Previously, audio pirates would take obscure songs that sounded like the work of some famous band, burn them onto a disc, and sell them as lost album or rarities — that would have worked here.

Frankly, the copy turned out poorly. The artist doesn't understand what he wants; half the album sounds like songs from children's shows, then whiny ballads begin, then some bad hard rock, and most importantly, none of it is memorable.

I don't argue that Harry was apparently a humorous guy, judging by the album title and its cover, but he didn't quite succeed with music.

The whole essence of this album is literally in its title — rock and soul! So to speak, it plays both sides.

Solomon Burke, a former preacher and mortician, a burly man (which proved his undoing in his old age), and the father of twenty-one pil... I mean, twenty-one children, sings here with a velvety, melodic voice, accompanied by a big band, and occasionally breaks into a rock 'n' roll roar. The instrumental is at times reminiscent of the blues of The Rolling Stones, and this is not surprising; the Stones are big fans of Burke and have covered his songs many times. They did it as best they could, though, with all of their roughness, sometimes out of tune; but Solomon himself plays and sings everything precisely — these songs could easily be on the soundtrack of a Hollywood film. Which is often the case.

Surprisingly, this album isn't boring for the genre, though it is a bit monotonous. So, as is now the custom for soul albums for me, I give it three stars — but strong ones!

This debut album by Nas is considered by many not just to be a great album, but the greatest rap album of all time. In theory, it should be great in every way: it sold well, it consistently ranks high on various best-of lists, other venerable rappers sing its praises; Wikipedia has an article on "Impact and legacy of Illmatic" — how many similar records do you know?

Basically, by all accounts, it's a gem. I listened to this gem, and... is it just a typical '90s rap album? No, maybe it seemed incredibly innovative for the time, with nice beats and decent lyrics (sleep is the cousin of death!), but I still haven't figured out how it's fundamentally different from the records of his peers in the genre at the time.

Although, no, there's one thing: unlike hour-long rap opuses, this album is just under forty minutes long, never gets boring, and that's definitely a plus.

New wave emerged in the mid-'70s, and by the end of the decade, it had become so commercial that hipsters of the time coined no-wave in response. It sounded atonal and broken, and the underground scene was delighted.

Sonic Youth had just emerged from no-wave, and although this album marked their almost complete transition to alternative rock, its roots are still evident. The music became slightly more melodic, but still not radio-friendly (no singles were released to support the album). A song here might initially sound like typical post-punk, but the thing is, you never know what's coming ten seconds later — a slower tempo, the muting of certain instruments, or even total noise. Surprisingly, the album manages to simultaneously keep you on edge and soothe you.

Later, the band's music became easier to understand, and it's good — underground is underground, but in some places it seemed like the musicians simply didn't know how to play.

Once again, I'm convinced that jazz isn't my thing.

Even vocal jazz without any complex mathematical rhythms tired me out, although everything sounds completely effortless: a trio of piano, double bass, and drums, and Sarah Vaughan's velvety voice, which is the main instrument here. And considering that the album was recorded live, twenty years before in-ear monitors were used, and forty before the invention of auto-tune, her powerful vocal control is even more impressive.

The atmosphere of a 1950s Chicago bar lingers throughout the entire half hour; the problem is, for me, that half hour felt like an hour and a half. These turn-of-the-century jazz standards are incredibly repetitive; at some point, they fade into the background, the Chicago bar begins to resemble a bad musical, and listening to it all becomes boring.

But if jazz is your thing, the full version of this concert, almost an hour and a half long, is available on streaming services.

You may love The Beatles or not, but it's impossible not to acknowledge their contribution to rock music (and especially to the British genre) — those "ears" still stick out twenty years after their breakthrough, forty years later, and I think they'll continue to do so for another fifty years.

What can I say? Their second album, recorded four months after their first, is pure Britpop. The melodies, the vocal harmonies — somehow, the Beatles almost immediately made these moves timeless.

As was tradition at the time, half the album is cover versions of rock 'n' roll standards of the time; frankly, the readings aren't the most engaging. But the original songs are mostly quite good, and each member shines — even Ringo Starr manages to sing on the almost punk-rock "I Wanna Be Your Man." K-pop bands will later take note of this pattern.

A good start to a short, but legendary journey!

Sometimes you see another live album on the list and think, "Why did they add this? The artist has plenty of studio work." Then you listen to it and understand why.

Jerry Lee Lewis delivers wild, almost primal rockabilly here. The artist leads a backing band, which can't always keep up, and no wonder — at that speed of the piano parts and the voice breaking into a scream. The tracklist is nothing but action-packed songs, punctuated by one ballad.

No, this isn't rock 'n' roll anymore, this is the great-grandfather of punk rock! The main drawback is the same as with punk rock: the record gets a bit monotonous toward the end. And the album is recorded in a dull manner, with microphones placed next to the instruments, but that actually gives it a bit more rawness and energy.

There's a version on streaming services with the correct title and cover art, but for some reason it's half the length, so search for "The Killer Live - 1964 To 1970" instead. The first thirteen songs there are what you need.

It was 2008, and Arctic Monkeys were the UK's biggest band, headlining the Glastonbury Festival with just two (roughly identical) albums. Young Englishmen adored them; it couldn't get any better, it seemed — strike while the iron was hot.

And then Alex Turner takes the best of his sound and, with the help of Miles Kane and the London Metropolitan Orchestra, delivers this short but incredibly emotional album. The hooligan indie rock of the 2000s blends with the pop romances of Scott Walker, the vocals are recorded as if the artists were singing in front of you in an empty ballroom, and it all sounds like the soundtrack to a movie about a bygone era — whether the Russian Empire, America during the Wild West, or France in the 1950s.

Yes, many people dislike this album because of the way Arctic Monkeys later sounded. But then again, that's exactly why many people love it!

There are genres of music that are, let's say, an acquired taste. And if blues is an acquired taste, and metal is an acquired taste, then reggae is a distinctly acquired taste.

Even a figure like Bob Marley, whose portraits still stare at us from t-shirt stalls at resort beaches and the signs of European coffeeshops, couldn't make reggae a mainstream phenomenon. I think everyone imagines what reggae sounds like — calm, measured melodies at a mid-tempo, relaxed and sunny, yet often lyrically poignant. This album, considered one of the artist's and the genre's most important, sounds exactly like that.

Personally, I prefer it when reggae is mixed with alternative, like Sublime or 311, but I'm not averse to it in its purest form either. So, for me, this album is quite good. However, it's likely that for you, it will sound like one long, forty-minute song.

Like Dr. Dre, Ice Cube is an N.W.A. alumnus, but while Dre's first solo album relied on gangster bravado and insults against former bandmates, The Predator is quite different.

This is a socially charged album, made against the backdrop of mass unrest in Los Angeles following the acquittal of police officers who beat a black man. But what does it offer if you're non-American, and especially non-black? A nicely angry, heavy rap that sounds just as good at a party as it does in a mosh pit (it's no surprise that Ice Cube is a frequent guest at rock festivals). This sound is occasionally diluted with reggae and funk motifs. Against the dark beats, the instructive lyrics don't come off as comical, as they sometimes do with bands like Public Enemy. The artist's flow is pleasant, and his voice is stern but not aggressive, like a school gym teacher's.

If you like Cypress Hill or House of Pain, you need to listen to this!

There's a story that Kurt Cobain wrote almost all the songs on this album to help his wife (a bit of mystique is added by the fact that Kurt shot himself four days before the album's release). Both Courtney Love and the rest of the band responded evasively to these claims — saying he stopped by the studio a couple of times, maybe gave advice, maybe sang a little, but nothing more.

Of course, we'll never know who actually wrote the album, but after listening to it, the reason for such speculation becomes clear — it literally sounds like Nevermind for women. The melodies, simultaneously grunge and punk rock, their structure, the calm vocals in the verses that turn into screams in the choruses, the lengthy lyrics — everything here is reminiscent of Nirvana.

If an album is inspired by another great album, it can't be bad, at the very least, but the question of why I should listen to Live Through This when I can listen to Nevermind remains open.

If you ever feel like your favorite band hasn't released new songs in ages, remember that The Sisters of Mercy have only three albums, the last of which came out in 1990.

And Floodland, released three years earlier, is a perfect distillation of all the decade's trends: post-punk, drum-machine-driven electronic music, and gothic sounds. Andrew Eldritch sings (or rather, speaks) with the voice of a man in a long black coat, like someone who might ask an alt-girl out on a date in a cemetery (and any self-respecting alt-girl would obviously fall for that). The long, atmospheric songs also convey this brooding, dark mood; that's also the album's downfall — they're rather monotonous.

Ten years later, The 69 Eyes would start making similar, but slightly more guitar-driven music, and if you added some distortion, you'd get something like Deathstars or Paradise Lost.

What do you picture when you hear the word "funk"? I imagine sunny dance music based on interesting basslines with loose guitars in the background.

Well, on Maggot Brain, one of the genre's defining albums, there's almost none of that. Or rather, there is, but not to the extent you'd expect. It begins with what you'd least expect from funk — a ten-minute bluesy guitar solo. After that, the music becomes more like funk in the traditional sense, but that funk is dark, brooding, and lingering. Mystical and psychedelic lyrics about death and inequality are underscored by hurricane-like guitars in the style of Jimi Hendrix. The record ends with a nine-minute groove, the kind the Red Hot Chili Peppers clearly relied on on their first albums.

So, imagine that everything is bad, but you somehow even enjoy it — that's the kind of album this is.

In humorous glam punk, it's crucial to maintain a delicate balance — not making songs that are too bleak, like Royal Republic, but also not descending into obscene clowning, like Steel Panther.

And Turbonegro nailed it. Their dense punk sound is reminiscent of a mix of Ramones riffs, Mötley Crüe hooks, and the overall rowdy atmosphere of The Stooges, complete with lyrics that border on the offensive. The band's image is completed by its members, who look like they've stepped out of Tom of Finland's drawings, in defiance of the imagery of their famous black metal fellow countrymen. Listening to this album might make you want to put on a denim jacket and jump on a skateboard.

The streaming version of the album includes an extra track — a cover of David Bowie's "Suffragette City." To further cement the band's sound in your mind, I'll add that it sounds right at home on the album.