Reviews by mondo-kun

The album cover should set the tone and give a hint of what we're about to hear. Everything here clearly hints at epic, disturbing melodies with pointed social commentary. Right?

Not so. The result is an hour-long cacophony of samples, where every track sounds identical, like background music at an amusement park. As for the rap, Public Enemy has two people in charge: Chuck D and Flavor Flav. The former raps like a sportscaster with a pillow over his face, while the latter's purpose is unclear — he only occasionally repeats a few words and shouts his signature "Yeah, boyeee!". It feels like you're listening to a Pinky and the Brain album.

As for the lyrics, the messages about the might of the black race that seemed so powerful in the '80s and '90s now read like typical nagging comments on Twitter. Weak!

It turns out that besides the chubby Khalid, who performs contemporary American R&B, and the plump DJ Khaled, to whom, for some unknown reason, the entire US rap elite flocks to bow, there's another Khaled.

Also new to him? And yet, the guy has sold nearly eighty million records in his forty-year career!

He sings in a style called "rai." The internet describes it as a blend of Arabic, Spanish, and African traditional music, but I still haven't figured out how this differs fundamentally from other songs you typically hear in European taxis.

The album occasionally features some interesting forays into reggae and funk, but overall, it's typical 90s pop, just from the Eastern world. A light 2, overall. No, the authors of this list are certainly great for not focusing solely on Anglo-Saxon music, but it's immediately obvious they didn't go on holiday to Antalya in the early to mid-2000s.

I saw a video where the author rated 2000s bands on the Strokes scale. For example, The Hives are the Swedish The Strokes, The Rapture are the dance The Strokes, and so on.

So, Kings of Leon are The Strokes from KFC. And that's literally the best description of the band: on their first album, they play just as raw, simple, and incredibly energetic, but with a hint of the Southern American sun. This is how Lynyrd Skynyrd or The Allman Brothers Band would have sounded if they had emerged in the 2000s.

Also, it's important to remember that the band consists of four brothers who grew up in a strict preacher's family, and so as soon as they got their hands on alcohol, cigarettes, rock 'n' roll, and women, it immediately resulted in incredibly blatant lyrics. Any prudes, please pass.

The band will then tour with U2, adopt their stadium sound, and make a ton of money, but that's still a long way off.

De La Soul are known to the general public primarily for their verses on Gorillaz's "Feel Good Inc." Not so many can name another song by them.

And that's a shame, because their first album is literally a textbook example of sampling. Three twenty-somethings took their parents' old records and chopped up everything they could: melodies by Otis Redding, Steely Dan, and The Turtles are mixed with TV-show jingles and French advertising slogans. They didn't bother clearing copyright, so the album wasn't available on streaming services until 2023.

The result is positive and pumping hip-hop, quite provocative for the time — back then, it was common to rap about social injustice and gunfights, but here we have some funny stuff, friendly banter...

In short, De La Soul is like the Weezer of rap. A great album!

I remember the first time I listened to this album, I didn't get it at all. It seemed long, somehow convoluted compared to Blur's other albums; for a long time, it was my least favorite album in the band's discography.

Now I've listened to it again, and I'm thinking, "What a fool you are. This is Blur's best album!"

It's not as experimental as their self-titled, although there are some flirtations with trendy American grunge. It's not as primly English as Parklife, although both the lyrics and the melodies still convey the band's adoration of their homeland, with all its flaws, in the style of the caustic mood of The Kinks.

Blur seem to be already exploring the sound that would later make them famous, but very thoughtfully, without abandoning their old foundations. The word "Britpop" doesn't fully capture the mood of the record; it's more like a majestic, melodic, and silly punk-grunge.

Albarn is a genius, guys!

In the late '70s, when punk rock was being actively made and listened to on both sides of the Atlantic, The Cars...

Well, technically they were making punk rock, too, but an intellectual kind (intellectual punk rock, as we know, would later be called new wave). I'd describe their sound as "Roy Orbison playing The Clash." There's a huge mix of layers and genres: classic rock from the early '70s, '60s vocal harmonies, blues motifs, avant-garde electronics, and, of course, synthesizers that sound very cheerful yet unobtrusive. Plus, two lead vocalists — a classic move of the past, but forgotten by the time the album was released.

The Cars would later realize that the possibilities of electronic keyboards were limitless, and guitars could be relegated to a more secluded place. So their remaining albums, while occasionally more hit-making, were rather banal and drowned in a sea of ​​synth-pop.

But the first one was magnificent.

I heard about this album for the first time today and initially thought it was a solo effort.

That's not actually the case. Although the vocalist later adopted the pseudonym Grant-Lee, Grant Lee Buffalo is the band's name, and the name is interesting in that it captures the essence of their music. Ulysses S. Grant and Robert E. Lee were American generals on opposing sides during the Civil War, and buffalo is, of course, a local breed of bull.

So, right from the start, everything hints at the music being imbued with the spirit of America. It's hard to explain, but it's true: the crisp acoustic twelve-string evokes classic country, yet everything sounds harsh, very close to the grunge that was fashionable at the time. The result is a very eclectic mix of Americana, blues, folk, and alternative rock, sometimes with a slightly eerie edge.

A highly underrated record that simply came out at the wrong time.

And here, in fact, is the album that first made gangsta rap wither! Got it back to back with Get Rich Or Die Tryin'.

It was Kanye West who pushed stories about the plight of black villains out of fashion, giving way to calm and even instructive stories about family, religion, choosing one's path, and conscious consumption. This was superimposed on sped-up samples of old soul.

The problem is that the album is overloaded with fillers. Instead of three skits mocking achiever syndrome, they could have used just one. The last song is a twelve-minute mash-up of the artist's career history and thank-you notes to friends; it feels like a cartoon added onto the rest of a VHS tape.

Yes, the dude has been going downhill lately, but that's no reason to dismiss his older works. We're not — pun intended — westoids, are we?

"- Kanye West?! You're my hero!
- Do you like my music?
- You're a musician?.."

"- I myself came to Paris with four crowns in my purse, and would have fought with anyone who dared to tell me I was not in a condition to purchase the Louvre.
- I have eight crowns!"

That's how it was in 2000s hip-hop: a good show-off is worth more than money. 50 Cent embodies the charismatic, daring vagabond, who flexed himself to such a level that Dr. Dre and Eminem signed on to produce his first album.

And the producers perfectly conveyed the atmosphere of criminal America with a dark, oppressive sound. There are almost no samples, but there are interesting touches, like a beat made from the sounds of a shutter and gunshot, or Eminem rapping against a heart monitor. And most importantly, the record has stood the test of time; "In Da Club" still plays on radios, in cars, in those clubs, and as a phone ringtone.

A rousing, hard-hitting, dynamic album that brought gangsta rap to the masses. Surprisingly, it also was the genre-killing one — may it rest in peace.

Fela Kuti, the creator of Afrobeat and a man of difficult circumstances, is just beginning his experiments on this record; the music here sounds more jazzy and funky and less authentic.

This is unsurprising, as the album was recorded, firstly, in London, secondly, at Abbey Road Studios (its title is misleading; although it was recorded live, it was still a studio work), and thirdly, with the participation of one of the most masterful English drummers of the era, Ginger Baker of Cream. Baker had been obsessed with African music for several years by then (which makes sense, considering that it's 90% percussion), so he felt right at home here.

Four lengthy jams, mixing everything at hand: Afro drums, organ, trumpet solo. It's thrown together on the fly, but weaves together very organically.

A nice album for a Saturday morning!

Queen are hit-making machines; there's no arguing about that; two official best-of compilations are proof of that.

The paradox is that, compared to these compilations, listening to their albums in their entirety is quite difficult, especially with this second record. This is the band's most progressive-sounding, most art-rocking album; they've never reached such a level of pomposity, bordering on buffoonery, since. Not only are the songs long and multi-layered, with constantly shifting rhythms and fantasy lyrics about princes, queens, and ogres, but there are practically no pauses between them to catch your breath and take in what you've just heard.

The foundations and sound of the much-loved Queen are already here, but it's a good thing they later turned down the epic faucet a little.

In short, this is the best-selling album of classical Indian music, recorded by three local masters. Traditional Indian santoor and bansoori are mixed here with flute and slide guitar.

In the mid-1960s, many Western rock musicians began experimenting with Eastern music, which eventually led to psychedelia. For the thus-warmed American and European public, this sound, on the one hand, was nothing new; on the other, only Indians could play their music so authentically. Word of mouth about the album was also helped by reviews from "advanced users": David Crosby, Bob Dylan, and, of course, George Harrison.

Pleasant, contemplative melodies, equally suitable for work, for starting the day, or simply for gazing at the sunset. After listening to it once, I automatically turned it on again.

Whatever one may say, at the very end of the 20th century, Britney Spears revolutionized teen pop music, which at the time relied on male and female dance groups, and returned it to the state of the '80s, when fans cared about a specific idol and listened to them through their eyes.

The driving force here, naturally, is the track of the same name, which now a pop-industry staple, then failed glam-rocker and aspiring producer Max Martin accidentally came up with after a sleepless night. Surprisingly, there are also several upbeat hits with elements of funk and dancehall. And, of course, love ballads that resonate so deeply with young female fans.

Yes, it's late-90s pop, where the song had more songwriters than you have coworkers in your coworking space, but if someone around sings "my loneliness is killing me," won't you yell back "AAAND I"? No? Swear to me! That's it. It's Britney, bitch!

There are albums that many consider great, but you just don't understand them.

This Love record is one of those for me. As often happens, it was a sales flop at the time and even led to the band's disbandment, but decades later, music lovers have remembered it and elevated it to cult status.

I heard a late-'60s hippie sound here — yes, interesting orchestral arrangements, sometimes an unusual mix of Western folk rock and Eastern influences, a hint of flamenco, but seems like many people were making similar music better at the time. Although, off the top of my head, I can't think of anyone whose acoustics sounded so psychedelic.

Good, but not brilliant.

Everyone knows that Lennon and McCartney were the Beatles' primary songwriting duo. George Harrison also wrote songs, but either the duo simply aggravated him, or they didn't want to share the credit — in short, only one, or at most two, of his songs made it onto each album. Eventually, George grew tired of this and stopped pitching his songs to the band, instead writing them for the drawer.

And when, after the Beatles' breakup, it was time to open this drawer up, everyone gasped. As his first full-fledged solo effort, Harrison released a triple (yes!) album whose hit-making potential is astounding. All the melodies here are calm, sometimes a little sad, yet bright, sunny, and warming. The lyrics are pleasant monologues about friendship, God, and love, accompanied by the signature sound of slide guitar. Two hours fly by.

One could, of course, deduct a point for the third, essentially bonus, disc, consisting of half an hour of instrumental jams... But why?

Does the album cover remind you of anything? We've seen something similar somewhere...

That's right, The Stooges' debut was also recorded at Elektra, the same label behind The Doors (pun intended), which was in dire need of fresh blood because Jim Morrison was starting to act up. The label hoped the newcomers would continue the band's psychedelic blues lineage; in a sense, that's what happened, but the management didn't take into account the band's wild concerts, where the noise reached an unbearable level, and vocalist Iggy (then) Stooge would dive off the stage, smear himself with peanut butter, and cut himself with glass.

They managed to calm things down a bit in the studio, but no one else had ever produced a sound like that back then. While the blues motifs remained, they were augmented by fuzz guitars and primal drums. The band would later be dubbed proto-punks, which is debatable: there are no political manifestos, and the lyrics are at times banal and silly.

I'd give it five stars if not for the drone-like ten-minute "We Will Fall." If you're making a song which takes a third of an album you're better be sure it's a good one.

As the wise man once said, "If you want to impress an alt-girl, tell her your favorite band is The Cure; if you want to impress a lofty alt-girl, tell her your favorite band is Echo & The Bunnymen."

Their dark lyrics get even darker, their cold sound gets even colder. The band's manager also promoted the band strictly according to the rules of his occult ritual; the band was unaware of this, but spiritually, it couldn't help but weigh heavily on them.

As for the album, it's classic '80s English post-punk, but with a frosty blizzard feel. It's not very impressive at first, but the album opens up on the second side: they haven't come up with anything new, but practically repeat the first, only done better.

The bonus version includes the final track, "Never Stop," released as a single but not included on the main tracklist. Ironically, it's the most enjoyable song on the album.

The Ramones' music is best described by guitarist Johnny: "We stripped away all the unnecessary parts and left only the essentials."

That's right. After the release of this album, all the guitar solos, complex chord progressions, eight-minute songs, and abstruse lyrics that were so overused in the '70s were consigned to the closet. All that remained was a hurricane of energy and vocal melodies straight out of the '50s. Rock 'n' roll had returned to its true essence.

At the time of its release, the album sold almost nothing; critics panned it, saying it was "noise, not music." Basically, it's like giving glasses to the monkeys, but when they realized they had to put them on and saw the light, they saw a wave washing away everything in its path. Thousands of guys (and girls!) with no musical education realized they could just pick up a guitar and rock for fun!

Without the Ramones, there would be no punk rock, no thrash metal, no hardcore, no emo, no any modern guitar music. And life would be decidedly more boring!

I was surprised to discover that Bobby Womack's voice was familiar to me — that fashionable man in a lavender suit staring at us from the cover sings on one of Gorillaz's most popular songs, "Stylo." And he's on there because "The Poet" is Damon Albarn's favorite album.

Bobby had a very uneven career: everything was fine in the early '70s, then there was a strange phase of experimenting with country music, three albums in a row that flopped, problems with drugs, and it's sheer luck that this record, released on an indie label about which you can barely find any information these days, became a hit.

Why this is so is a mystery. The songs are good, well-played, some danceable funk, some romantic soul, enjoyable to listen to, but nothing special. He was never able to replicate this success again; perhaps it was just providence.

If you need to explain Britpop to someone in simple terms, you don't need to. Just play this album, because Supergrass has captured everything the genre has to offer: both the good and the bad.

At the beginning of the record, you think you've been sold some Blur substitute, but things get more complicated later. The band not only utilizes the hallmarks of the genre at the time, but also draws on their homeland's past achievements: there's punchy mod rock à la The Who, punk (more like pop punk), a touch of psychedelia, a touch of funk, and melodic Beatlesque. By the end, everything completely goes wild, turning into some kind of drunk, rollicking cabaret — much like the one on the cover. There's even a Wonderwall equivalent here.

A hilarious, diverse album, but it still falls short of a four star mark.