Reviews by nirutam2

Pure 80s excess, and how could it be anything else? I was born in 1984 and “Jump” was No. 1 on the charts the week of my birthday. (Though Mom preferred Michael Jackson and “The Safety Dance.”) I gave a 2 to another 1984 album, Born in the USA, because I have such a craving for a different kind of Springsteen.

But who could expect Van Halen to be anything but this? It’s sparkling jumpsuits and MTV and the way Marty tortures his dad in Back to the Future. It’s what us alt-punk-indie kids rejected in the 90s, but you can’t pretend you didn’t know about it. It will never be a favorite of mine; but listening to it carefully, I found moments to love, especially “I’ll Wait.”

Might as well JUMP…

I've tried getting into this album a few times over the years and I always end up with a "meh" feeling. I like the sound overall and get that it's a kind of bridge between eras, but in the end I don't find myself returning to any particular song. I'm guessing you had to be there.

This seemed like as good a time as any to try a new experiment. I was curious if Claude AI could analyze my history and predict how I'd respond to an album. It got this one wrong, but this certainly does sound like me and my reviewerly logic:

"
The Stone Roses sit at a peculiar intersection for me. I came of age musically in the 90s, mostly on the American side of the Atlantic, so I absorbed the Stone Roses the way you absorb a lot of British music from that era — through the reverberations it left in everything that came after. I can hear them in every Britpop band I love, in the jangly confidence of Oasis, in the strut of the Dandy Warhols. And "I Wanna Be Adored" and "She Bangs the Drums" are stone cold classics — the kind of songs that make you feel like you discovered something even when they're thirty years old.

But unlike, say, my experience with Wild Gift or Exile in Guyville, I never quite found the emotional portal in. The songwriting is brilliant without being personal in the way I need for a 5. Ian Brown's voice is more of a texture than an instrument, and there are moments where the album floats past me rather than landing. I Should Coco gave me a similar feeling and I gave that a 5, so I went back and forth. But in the end, the Stone Roses feel more like a phenomenon I admire than an album I love with my whole chest. A magnificent 4."

Sorry Claude and Manchester -- it's a 3 for me.

I like Amy Winehouse a lot, but I have to admit I’ve never quite gotten the “voice of a generation” thing.

My read is that she embraced a particular style, owned the fuck out of it, while also adding her own spin. And that spin is my favorite part. You can’t listen to any of her songs without feeling how difficult it must have been to be her. I empathize with that a lot, even if we don’t have the same vices.

But at the same time, the style hits some sort of limit with me. I reacted the same way about a week ago when I got the Marty Robbins album. He understands the task completely — it’s the only cowboy album you’ll ever need. And he also adds a kind of Cold War menace that isn’t there with more nostalgic takes. I’d absolutely assign Marty Robbins to a class learning about American culture in 1959… and I’d assign Amy Winehouse to understand music in the 2010s.

Do I ever want to pick it up now though? I’d be slightly more likely to listen to Amy than Marty, which is what makes this tough. I completely understand how it would be a 5 for someone, but for me it sits with the 4 albums that I greatly admire but don’t love until the end of time.

Bedroom pop from the House of Knowles. What I like best about this album is the juxtaposition between its indie, Casiotone moments; its empowered neo-soul moments; and the deep history of the interlude stories. I think there are so many artists of the subsequent decade we wouldn’t have heard without this album creating that template. That she’s Beyoncé’s little sister just adds to the achievement, because she went so quiet and subtle when the family brand is bodacious.

I might consider it more of a 4.5 than a 5 because no song quite measures up with “Cranes in the Sky” but I’m bumping it up to a 5 for her artistic vision and influence. Even as a suburban white dude, something about this album made me say, “Yes, she did it, now what can I do?”

Some clever soul wrote a review on the generator site explaining how each song on the album is actually about a relationship with a pet. I don’t believe it literally but it was as good a guide to the mysteries of Pet Sounds as any. What I most liked is the idea that “God Only Knows” is about a dog instead of a deity.

Why I loved that: I read somewhere that the beauty of any pet — but dogs especially — is how they allow you be alone without feeling lonely. I think that’s especially necessary for those of us who are extroverts with a heavy dose of introversion, who might need a little help settling into solitude. Dogs do that but so do a dozen Brian Wilson songs. For every “California Girls” there is an “In My Room,” but there is also a “Surfer Girl” or a “Good Vibrations” doing it more subtly.

What’s so interesting about “Pet Sounds” to me is that it does it on the song level and the album level too. There’s a lot of distance between “Wouldn’t It Be Nice” and “You Still Believe In Me.” The teenage ennui of “Sloop John B” feels like it comes from a completely different universe from “God Only Knows.” Yet put them all together and you have this feeling of warmth amid any degree of loneliness and isolation.

This is as good a time as any to introduce my Stevie Wonder Rule. For every possible human emotional state, there is a Stevie Wonder song that will make you feel a little bit better. That includes everything from your lowest lows to your highest highs.

Part of my case for this would include three songs on this album. I first conceived the rule when my father-in-law told me how he fell in love with “Superstition.” He was a young man in Franco’s Spain doing work that was boring, difficult, and somewhat dangerous even in the last days of the regime. He loved Spain but was homesick all the time. But one day in El Corte Inglés (sort of Spain’s Selfridge’s) he heard “Superstition” and he knew everything would be okay.

And I used “You are the Sunshine of My Life” and “I Believe” as part of the video to family we sent to our family announcing we were having a son because I couldn’t find any other songs that would express the way I felt. I’m sure many other people have data points that fit the theory! Anyway I’m running out of steam for tonight but this can’t be anything but a five for me. I love the other songs but it’s really those three sonic monuments are what does it.’

My brother-in-law is a devout Mormon — conservative personally and in some ways politically, though he most avoids the subject. Hates Trump but probably voted for Romney. Anyway, his one detail that doesn’t quite fit the stereotype is that he grew up listening to metal in the 80s and 90s and still loves it (though I think his wife doesn’t let the kids listen to it). We were talking about Rage one day and he said, “You know, their message is still really needed, because there is a lot of injustice and racism in this world.”

I like this story because for every kid that wore Che Guevara T-shirts in Rage’s heyday, there were also may more casual listeners who were trying to figure out what it was all about. And I think even those who wouldn’t espouse socialism received Rage’s message as a kind of inoculation against the casual conformist racism of the late 20th century. Even those who might not support the Zapatistas could see that there is something to “WAKE UP” about.

My son listened to a bit of this while I was playing it in the car. He said “These guys are really mad!” I said “Yeah, this is Rage Against the Machine. They didn’t write songs about love or dancing, they wrote songs about fixing what’s wrong with the world.” He nodded along with the beat, thinking about what that might mean for him.

Anyway, they’re timeless, they’re incendiary, they still rock, they’re still waking people up. And the need is certainly still there.

“the swiftness of the ranger is still talked about today”

So glad this weird old album is on the list and that people are getting to know it. I say “weird,” but in its way it was perfectly mainstream. It is a perfect representation of a time when the Western genre completely dominated American life. And when country music was trying to seem more polished and genteel. No one would be dismissed as a hayseed for playing one of these smooth tunes.

AND YET! As many have noticed, there is a hint of menace in Marty’s voice, and the songs clearly describe a Gothic world of death and tragedy. Like the best Western films (High Noon, The Searchers) the emphasis isn’t on historical accuracy but on using the elements of the genre to tell stories about universal themes. That’s why people still like it, even tho Westerns now seem out of date.

I also like that it really doesn’t sound like any other record (except ones that imitate it). It’s that combination of crooner vocal, understated guitar, and 50s background vocals that doesn’t overwhelm.

It’s not a 5 for me because I honestly wouldn’t want to hear it every day, but I’m so glad it’s a part of the list.

This was wild. Erotic worship music from another world. Sort of a psychedelic midpoint between Revolver and Kid A. The opening song is 5/5 for sure, but as the album went on I got more and more annoyed with the vocals/samples... I would have been happier to just vibe with the keyboards. Still, I'm glad I encountered it and will pick it up again when I just want to think about the sea.

I’m at a point in my generator journey where I am having trouble articulating my thoughts, and that’s doubly true when it comes to these iconic bands like Sonic Youth. I’m just in awe of their achievement, reveling in their influence on everyone, a little drunk on their sound, and don’t feel able to objectively rank anything. Maybe once I’ve heard all their albums on the list I’ll feel differently about this one, but for now it’s another five.

A 2 that became a begrudging 3. I’ve always been kind of irritated by Steely Dan even if I know the hits. The overall sound is just too smooth to me while I also find the vocals grating. But they can clearly write some good songs… and like some others, I actually found more to appreciate on the second side with songs like “With a Gun.” I read more about them and some of their gnarlier lyrics… and I find it hard to hate a band that lets their freak flag fly. Not for me, but I feel like I get what makes people fans of them a little bit better than I did before.

Back in the CD era (and I suppose in the vinyl era too) you might end up with one album by an artist and never come across another. That happened to me with PJ Harvey and Stories from the City, Stories from the Sea. I don’t think I was aware that she was part of the alternative scene, I just thought of her as a cool songwriter that was also friends with Thom Yorke.

Between those days and listening to this album now, I learned a bit more, and I had heard a number of the tracks here. And my experience was sort of the opposite of Stories, because my attention was drawn to Steve Albini’s production and the sound over the songwriting. This really is how I want “alternative” to sound, sludgy and live, and the sound almost made it a 5 for me.

In the end though I think I missed some of that clarity of focus that is there with Stories… like why a cover of Highway 61? I liked both versions of “Man-Sized” but found the repetition distracting. And there were a few other moments that made me think “What is going on here?” Perhaps if I had picked up Rid of Me instead of Stores in the 90s this would be a five for me now, but I think I’ll save it for my old friend.

The Apple Music summary for this album says that everybody has their favorite moment on it, but I’m not sure that’s true for me. I respect her vision and the massive success she achieved, but I never crave it in the way I do with my five star entries.

I do think it is interesting to remember how ubiquitous it was though. I think the only equivalents were albums by Michael Jackson, Beyoncé, or Taylor Swift… all folks who had previous celebrity and huge promotional budgets. Everyone knew all the songs, everyone had opinions about her, and it seemed that everyone owned the album. Just an enormous impact for a female singer-songwriter — she cleared a path for so many others to follow.

“I gotta change harmonicas faster than you can kiss a duck!”

Ani DiFranco sang: “People used to make records as in the record of an event / the event of people making music in a room.” This album is the definition of an event, and it has never really been duplicated or surpassed in that sense. I would understand how someone might give it a 4 for its music alone… I actually prefer the music of the San Quentin album. But the event is a 5 for sure.

I tried to explain to my 5 year old what it was all about and I said that Johnny Cash played music in a prison because even people in prison deserve music. That statement is reproduced in various forms every time the record is played. For that alone it’s a masterpiece.

I was 12 when this album came out and if I had encountered it then, I could imagine maybe giving it a 2 for nostalgia value or all-around attitude. You can hear maybe a trace of a soul in it. But almost everything in it is a watered-down copy of something better. Like you might as well have Bloodhound Gang on the list. Or swap it out with Sublime -- not my favorite group, but I'm sure it's a better representative of whatever this is meant to represent.

My test for giving something a 1 ("no way this should be on the list") is comparing it with Rihanna (who is not on the list). Again, not my favorite artist, but someone who is so accomplished and influential that it's hard to see why she isn't there. Am I offended that this is on the list and not Rihanna? Yes, it's criminal.

The doyens of noise. Love every minute of it. Well except for when Goo says PU, but every brilliant album needs an oddball moment.

I get how if this was constantly playing in every dorm room when you were in school you might get sick of it after a while. But for me Sonic Youth is still the cool older cousins of my musical besties, and no one is ever cooler than that. Unapologetic fanboy.

I was once walking with a friend to a Bowie tribute show and we started talking favorite albums. He’d been a music writer in another life and he said, “This is where I’m supposed to have a whole speech about how it’s so hard to choose, but who am I kidding, it’s Low?” And it is for me too.

There are so many reasons, but the most important one is that it’s the pivot from the many personas of early Bowie to his later career when he could simply be himself (despite occasional costumes and characters). Early Bowie was Major Tom, later Bowie was “we know Major Tom’s a junkie,” but to recover as a junkie, you first have to hit your low.

There are plenty of times when I have wondered why any of the songs on this record have words at all. But “Sound and Vision” aside, they are the texts of the junkie trying to make sense of his scattered experiences. “Always Crashing the Same Car” grew out of a Bowie between Bowie and his dealer. “Breaking Glass” is obvious. “Be My Wife” is pretty clearly the words of someone who is going to be unmarried soon.

Yet somehow none of those songs are about those topics. The words of Low are as ambient as the sounds. I think the first side is better thought of as one long composition made of fragments, like the second side medley of Abbey Road. They are junkie moments broken down and reassembled like a mosaic.

The second side is so transcendent that it’s hard to discuss. It’s a kind of classical music from another reality. I think it’s the final statement of Bowie on being an alien. In “Space Oddity” he imagined being an alien, in Ziggy Stardust and “Starman” and The Man Who Fell to Earth he played an alien, but in the second side of Low he is truly, finally, alien at last. Kraftwerk and Eno inspirations acknowledged, but there is nothing like it. I’ve heard it a hundred times, but giving it the 1001 headphones listen, I still heard sounds I hadn’t heard before.

I don’t know if I believe in the legend of the Berlin Trilogy. Most of this album was made in France. It’s pretty different from “Heroes” and Lodger to me, as much as I love them. I see them as closer to Let’s Dance and Heathen and Blackstar, artistic statements of the finally liberated Bowie. But Low is the process of liberation itself. Like Patti Smith’s Horses and the Radiohead oeuvre, it has always been there when I needed that liberation, and I’ve needed it a lot. There are plenty of times I’ve wondered about the value of my life and where it is going. It is incredibly reassuring to know that Bowie felt those things too, and music this great was the result.

R.E.M. is a difficult band for me to assess critically. I know all their greatest hits by heart and I know the influence they had on a dozen of my favorite bands. But I also can’t say that I am a true fan or listen to them that often. The emotional connection for me just isn’t there except for a few songs. That may eventually make one of their albums on this list a five for me, but it isn’t this one.

Like a lot of people, I found this album somewhat inaccessible when I first heard it years ago. I think it was at the beginning of the streaming era when I was excited about hearing the whole catalogue of artists who I only knew from an album or two. “Blue” was already one of my favorite albums and I knew about some of her later work, but just didn’t connect with this one.

But now it feels indispensable. Joni stories and lyrics and phrasing are always in a class by themselves, but what really makes is so great to me is the back-and-forth between her voice and Jaco Pastorius’s bass. It is weird to me that so many reviewers hear it as discordant when to me it is clearly a conversation between good friends.

Maybe it’s the Emma Thompson of it all, but I feel like Joni Mitchell gives us music to age with. She’s never been without cynicism, but her later albums seem more frank in the need for joyous connections and experiences as an antidote to the world’s awfulness. And to cultivate one’s inner voice even when it sounds really different from what people expect. I’m in my 40s now and would sure love to ride around and hear her tell stories over the fretless bass.

I was just thinking they it was statistically improbable for me to get this deep in the list without encountering Mr. Costello, and here he is. This is an easy one for me because I’ve known all the words for twenty years or more. It wasn’t my first EC album (that was Armed Forces) and I don’t think I knew it was HIS first. But I definitely got that first album vibe of someone coming in off the street and putting down something that’s been bottled up inside of him for years. All the messiness that would later get ironed out with The Attractions is a lot of what I enjoy here.

Others have analyzed every song so I’ll say a bit about EC and what he meant to me as a kid in the 90s. Before Wikipedia answers about your favorite artists were not so straightforward… I knew EC was of the punk era but his image didn’t fit with the hardcore punk I knew. He wore his heart on the sleeve as all the emo kids were about too. Yet at the same time he was an adult and a working artist, not some long-ago legend who had flamed out. After starting with the classics I would buy his new albums too, though those never really stayed with me.

I guess what it all says is that more than just about anyone I’ve encountered on the list so far, Elvis Costello was someone I wanted to be. I haven’t made any music since giving up the saxophone in 10th grade but I wanted his kind of impact as a writer or journalist or whatever I thought I was going to be. I don’t idolize him in the same way now and I certainly don’t get why he has nine albums on the list. But I’m damn glad this one is here, the start of it all and truly a record everyone should encounter