Reviews by mondo-kun

This is pure Irish spirit. While listening to it, I had a strong urge to go to a pub on a Saturday night, get drunk on Guinness, and punch someone in the face.

I think everyone knows what Irish folk punk sounds like — that's exactly what this album sounds like. Occasionally, there are small hints of Eastern or Spanish influences, but they quickly fade away.

I'll give special mention to vocalist Shane MacGowan — he was a real gem, the guy looked like a pure proletarian (his teeth were absolutely dazzling) and wrote incredibly proletarian lyrics, which won him over despite his almost complete inability to sing. This vocal style would later be borrowed by Rancid and Social Distortion. And getting kicked out of an Irish (!) band for drunkenness (!!) — that's something special.

A hilarious folk album, which later spawned Dropkick Murphys, Flogging Molly, and all their friends.

I've already come across a David Bowie's Low, produced by Brian Eno, and the album's structure was as follows: the first half is the artist's usual glam rock, the second half is experimental ambient.

On his album, released a little later that year, Eno didn't fix what wasn't broken. Side one is soft rock with elements of funk and glam (logical, considering Brian was one of the founders of Roxy Music), while Side two is melodies for watching the Windows boot screen. Judging by the title, before science there were guitars, and after science came ambient. What science itself is, then, is unclear.

An average album. The second half, surprisingly, didn't put me to sleep, so I can't give it anything lower than a three; I wouldn't give it a higher grade either, since the first half is completely lackluster. These songs should have been given to Bowie too, he probably would have perfected them.

For a long time, I couldn't figure out what was on the album cover. Some kind of barrier, with either a cloud or hay flying above it... Considering I was listening to the music on an iPod, where the covers were quite small, it didn't make it any clearer.

Only later did I realize it was a Hungarian Komondor dog, and once you see that, you can't unsee it. It's the same with music: you can go a long time without getting Beck, not understanding this chaos of country, hip-hop, electronica, folk, psychedelia, and everything else, how he made this music, why he made it...

But then something clicks in your head, and you realize — wow! A unique kaleidoscope album, where everything is simultaneously pieced together from a variety of pieces and yet organized. Embracing the immensity and cramming in the uncrowded, so to speak.

A good album, just shy of a four star mark.

If Blonde on Blonde is considered Bob Dylan's most important album, then this is his most significant comeback album. In the '80s, the artist vacillated between genres, and from the early '90s onward, he didn't record a single original song, contenting himself with covers.

And the album is actually quite good, if you enjoy classic American blues. The genre's familiar melancholic lyrics about fate and women are spot on, along with the overall foggy, overcast atmosphere. Dylan's aged voice, surprisingly, isn't all that bad, and its raspy sound is even suitable for the genre.

The album also features the artist's traditional ending: sixteen minutes of the lyricist trying to fend off the advances of a waitress who asks him to draw her portrait. There was probably more to the lyrics, but I didn't remember it because the song quickly faded into background music. Just like the entire record, by the way.

When I saw this album drop, I thought, "Finally! Four minutes and thirty-three seconds of silence!"

But no, this composition was written by John Cage, and John Cale is the keyboardist for The Velvet Underground, whose abstract ideas even Lou Reed was stunned by, and, in fact, he parted ways with him due to "creative incompatibility."

So, a solo album by such an artist should have something mind-boggling? And again, no, it's orchestral baroque pop. All the genre's hallmarks are there — references to Scottish poets, abundant use of strings, and a general airiness and pomposity.

A record for wandering around a European palace, basically. How should I rate it? Well, overall, it's a decent album; I didn't feel like turning it off; but if it had been fifteen minutes longer, maybe I would have.

Lets call a spade a spade — this is the most Black album.

Dr. Dre is a very good producer, having launched the careers of Eminem, 50 Cent, Snoop Dogg, and many other artists. He's a good rapper, too, but the thing is, while 50 Cent's debut album was a hit with every white kid on the planet, Dre's debut album would only be relatable to a white kid living in the US.

The album starts off pretty well, feeling like you're leisurely driving through Vice City in a lowrider, listening to G-funk, but the genre's traditional insults to enemies in the scene (in this case, former N.W.A. bandmates and the label) quickly become tiresome. And then there are the lyrics: "A digga rode through a digga, a digga sees a digga in a digga." (you know which exact word I'm talking about)

Overall, I didn't like it, but I'll give an extra star for the young Snoop, who really helps on this record.

I'm generally a big fan of all sorts of American country folk, but I just didn't get this album.

It probably worked well given the context of the time — three vocalists from three big 60s bands teaming up to form a new band? Well, I'd give it a shot! However, the album ultimately felt very boring.

That said, it's not bad, with pleasant acoustic strumming, an almost Beatlesque three-part harmonica. It's a normal, laid-back acoustic folk album from the hippie era.

Alright, but boring. For me, David Crosby's solo album was much more interesting. Although, those who miss Woodstock 69 vibes should enjoy this album; however, such people have probably known it by heart for decades.

If you read the short biography of Dennis Wilson, drummer and one of the founding brothers of The Beach Boys, who eventually abandoned him for a drum machine, a jokester who drank and snorted absolutely everything, and a friend of Charles Manson, it's hard to believe he recorded such an album.

It's a calm, melancholy record that seems to drift along (Dennis, surprisingly, was the only one in the band who actually surfed). There are some Pink Floyd-esque experiments, Phil Collins-like drums, and vocal harmonies, all of which culminate in emotionally relieving music from a tired man.

An extended version of 33 tracks is available for streaming, most of which are demos from the unreleased second album. Listening to them isn't essential, but it's worth checking out the last song, featuring vocals by Taylor Hawkins, a man with a very similar fate.

The wildest thing for me about Alex Harvey's sensational band is that it took off when he was almost forty, and the other members were fifteen years younger. The main thing, guys, is to stay young at heart!

As for the album — well, it's glam rock, glam rock. With a few cabaret elements and the bright costumes and clown makeup used in concert, but overall, nothing fancy. Alex's voice isn't very pleasant, but this is compensated for by the overall upbeat nature of the songs. I especially liked the way the keyboards sound, as if a young Elton John had been placed at the piano. I suggest you ignore the lyrics; almost all of them are typical of the genre — "Going to a woman's for a gangbang" and all that. The groundwork for the hairy glam metal of the '80s was already being laid here.

I also suspect that this band heavily inspired AC/DC and, specifically, Bon Scott.

Before this, I'd only listened to Fiona Apple's latest album, which I didn't particularly like — it was rather overwrought art-pop, plus her voice is an acquired taste. So, I wasn't expecting much from her debut.

But it turned out to be a decent jazz-pop album, perfect for starting the morning. The piano arrangements are slightly complex, yet pleasantly listenable, and the vocals are emotional, sometimes reminiscent of those of her 90s female alternative counterparts, like Courtney Love or PJ Harvey. And considering Fiona was only eighteen when the album was released, the record scores even more points.

I'm unlikely to re-listen to Tidal, but if you need a beautiful audio background for breakfast or work, this is a wonderful option.

Despite the cover, which looks incredibly hilarious for our time, featuring singer and actor Marty Robbins, resembling a young Nicolas Cage, in a Pedobear pose, this turned out to be a very good album!

Classic ballads of old American cowboydom, sung in a pleasant voice over an acoustic guitar. Among the plots are "I was looking for a better fate, but a bandit shot me," "They started a showdown over a woman," and "I forgive everything, but need to finish you" Rappers were telling similar stories for modern Americans fifteen years ago.

And while listening to this record, since the music here isn't the most diverse, it turned out to be really important to listen to the lyrics and read them. More than once during those half-hours, I caught myself thinking that I have some other things to do, but I was so curious about how each story would end.

Polly Jean Harvey is a very controversial artist.

First of all, I don't know a single person who has a negative attitude toward her music — either people call her "Legend" or they simply don't understand her work. As I've already said at SFTSx2 review, I'm one of the latter.

I liked PJ's debut album much more than the 2000 album — it's much rawer, a little wild in some ways, but not aggressive. It all sounds rather grungey (and of course, it was hard to do otherwise in the 90s), but it's also melodic. True, the second half sags in places — the cello appears prominently there, making the songs seem sharply played on out-of-tune instruments.

And yet, the record constantly feels like something's missing! It's exactly the same situation as with the artist herself — I can't say anything bad about her, but I feel like she's just a little bit missing for the album to be truly outstanding. But I don't understand what's missing.

I honestly don't quite know how to rate this album, because they're essentially two different albums mashed into one.

Outkast is basically a rap duo of Big Boi (who's responsible for the first disc, Southern hip-hop with a very strong blend of funk and soul) and André 3000 (who made the second disc, the genre of which is very difficult to describe – it's some kind of psychedelic soul-jazz-rap). It would have been logical if they'd each released a single album and been like that, but the label said, "Nah, either the public will buy a double Outkast album or they won't buy anything."

The result is a black-and-white mash-up lasting almost two and a half hours. Are these good albums? They're okay; the first half sounds lively and rich. André overdid it in places on the second, but there are far more interesting discoveries, plus the band's main hit.

But two hours was too much, it had to be cut.

Some argue that this album is the weakest of the Jimi Hendrix band's works, at least during his lifetime. They say it was recorded only because of the onerous terms of the contract, which required the artists to release two records a year.

Guys, weak works by musicians like these are simply impossible. Jimi Hendrix is ​​one of (if not the) greatest guitarists of the 20th century. What he performed with the instrument throughout his short but illustrious career, both in general and specifically here, defies description. The backward solo, the wah-wah sound when playing muted strings, the sound shifting between channels...

None of this, of course, would have worked without the rhythm support of bassist Noel Redding and drummer Mitch Mitchell, who was probably so overcome during the recording of If 6 Was 9 that he delivered one of the most brutal drum solos in history.

Classic psychedelia with a funk twist!

What should you do if your band has recorded two albums, both of which sold poorly? Should you change something about the sound? Maybe the production? Or give up music altogether? Of course not, you need to record a live album immediately, then things will really take off.

This approach worked in the 70s! I've encountered a similar case with Peter Frampton, but this is a bit different, since the Allman brothers always viewed their studio recordings as polished versions of their songs, which truly blossomed in concert.

And here it must be said that blues is generally an acquired taste, but even not all blues lovers can appreciate the technically powerful, yet extremely lengthy instrumental jams that the band (obviously heavily stoned) stretched out for dozens of minutes live.

But if you enjoy that kind of thing, this album is for you!

Everything but the Girl has quite an interesting history: formed in the early '80s, they spent fifteen years making soft pop music with jazz elements (like Sting or Seal). One of these themes was remixed by Todd Terry for a house remix, which became more popular than any of their songs before.

It's no surprise that the duo decided to rethink their approach to writing music. It's not as if they've forced it: the vocalist's voice still sounds soft and slightly melancholy, like something out of a James Bond film soundtrack, but now it's set to a blend of bossa nova, trip-hop, and techno. While the music of trip-hop masters Portishead might make you want to look out the window at a rainy street, here you get the feeling of a taxi ride through a night-time metropolis.

A decent record that's suitable for listening to both in a crowded nightclub and in the privacy of a small apartment.

Fast guitar riffs and razor-sharp solos? Check! A multi-octave vocalist? Check! Drum solos? Check too! There are even epic organ parts.

"Classic hairy rock clichés," some might say, but the fact is that this album was one of the reasons for those clichés. Before this, Deep Purple had been making all sorts of art-psychedelia and even veered toward orchestral sounds, but then Ritchie Blackmore heard Led Zeppelin and said, "That's how we should play!"

In the end, Deep Purple picked up a few interesting tricks from their colleagues, hired a new vocalist and bassist, and delivered classic 70s rock — seven epic songs that are perfectly enjoyable to headbang to.

True, the album isn't mixed very well, and none of the numerous reissues have improved its sound much, but that's not so important, since for me personally, this music already works on a reflex level.

Aretha Franklin is now rightfully considered, and will forever remain, the queen of soul music, but to achieve this status, she had to release eight mediocre albums and go into massive debt to break into radio play with her ninth album.

With ninth! I probably would have given up and gone to work in a factory by the third. "Yes, there were people in our time..."

The album truly deserves every praise; everything comes together in just the right proportions: several well-known hits by other artists, a few new ones, an excellent backing band, and, of course, Aretha's powerful voice. Yes, it's a bit monotonous, but the album is short and doesn't get boring.

If soul music isn't your thing, like me, give this album a listen — it's truly impressive. Well, if you like soul music, then it’s unclear why you’re still reading this, because this is your go-to record!

History knows of several cases where an artist's death, above all else, makes their final work a cult classic.

This second and final Joy Division album is one of them. Objectively, it's truly more cohesive than the debut, with more interesting sonic and production innovations. Subjectively, it's incredibly difficult to listen to; it's not just mournful, but Ian Curtis's oppressive, cold voice, from beginning to end, speaks of the impenetrable darkness of the universe, moral decay, and death.

Not only do the vocals sound eerie, but they're made even more mystical, buried deep in the mix, and the mechanical, albeit powerful, bass lines and guitar, which in the first song could easily be mistaken for a chainsaw, are brought to the forefront.

Some see decadent beauty in Closer, but after listening to it I had the feeling of "Death is vile from post-punk, coffin, coffin, cemetery..." and so on down the list.

The Smiths' final album, considered by many to be their best, saw guitarist Johnny Marr leave the band just a couple of months before its release. The remaining members decided not to kick a dead cat, and the band peacefully disbanded.

And that's a good thing, because in my opinion, there's very little left of The Smiths here. The musicians fell for the journalists' accusations of monotony, and instead threw in a bunch of new stuff. There's not much of Marr's signature guitar here, but there's a saxophone, strings, and even a drum machine (even though the band's drums had always sounded rather artificial). The songs are good, but they sound like a different band, except for Morrissey's melancholy lyrics and his voice, which are reminiscent of what's happening now.

However, the album doesn't drag on; it's genuinely varied, and most importantly, the band knew when to call it a day.