Reviews by uergsel

At the start of the Nineties, amidst the burgeoning wave of alternative rock and grunge, the Black Crowes established themselves as mavericks. Their sound was deliberately old-fashioned, making unmistakable references to the 1970s and bands like Led Zeppelin. In 1999, it was no coincidence that they played concerts with Jimmy Page, during which they mainly covered Led Zeppelin tracks. Nine years earlier, they had laid the foundations of their career with "Shake Your Money Maker". When they first took off, I found them dreadful — downright blasphemous. Today, drawing on 'old heroes' has long since become the norm, and I have grown accustomed to bands sounding as if they're from the Seventies. My problem with the Black Crowes is something else entirely: They celebrate a musical style that I find incredibly tiresome after just two or three tracks: Blues rock. When this style is copied without any innovation, I find it even more boring than the originals. I’m certainly in the minority on this. Fans of blues rock, hard rock and Southern rock love the Black Crowes and hold their albums in high regard. I prefer to listen to other things.

‘Here Are the Sonics’ is the debut album by American garage rock band The Sonics, released in 1965. It features original tracks such as “The Witch” (a minor regional hit), “Psycho”, “Boss Hoss” and “Strychnine”, as well as covers of rock ’n’ roll and R&B classics, including a very raw version of the Beatles’ “Money”. It's fascinating how many bands remained virtually unknown in the underground scene at the time, only to be discovered by later generations. In a sense, The Sonics anticipated musical styles that would not emerge for another 10–20 years: punk and grunge. It's no surprise that Kurt Cobain was a fan of their music. As someone with little time for grunge and punk, I find this album intriguing in that it shows that the 1960s were much wilder and more diverse than one might assume. However, snotty rock ’n’ roll with a punk attitude ultimately proves too simplistic to entertain me in the long run.

Imagine a cover band that loves playing covers of Queen, T. Rex and AC/DC, hires a boy soprano, and starts composing tracks that sound suspiciously similar to the bands they’ve been covering with such ease for years. Voilà – you’re listening to the debut album "Permission to Land" by The Darkness. When it was released in the early 2000s, it was a huge hit with younger music fans, who thought it was the most brilliant idea since sliced bread. However, if you know anything about music history, the references to mainstream rock in the 1970s are so obvious that they're almost cringe-worthy. It's all very well done and catchy, and Justin Hawkins’ yodelling – sorry, singing – is impressive, but to me it's just old hat. And over the course of a whole album, it's rather tiring and annoying. When I do want to listen to music like this, I prefer the originals.

Until today, I don’t think it had ever really dawned on me that ‘Funkadelic’ is a portmanteau of ‘funk’ and ‘psychedelic rock’. However, the third album by George Clinton’s band, "Maggot Brain", clearly establishes the link between psychedelic rock, as it was popular in the late 1960s and early 1970s, and funk. That said, the two genres coexist almost entirely separately. The opener, the title track 'Maggot Brain', is pure psychedelic rock, much like that celebrated by bands such as Vanilla Fudge, early Pink Floyd and Iron Butterfly. The rest of the album focuses more on funk tracks: a rock-infused variant of soul music that emphasises the bass and drums. The final track, “Wars of Armageddon”, blends funk, psychedelic rock and other elements into a jam session. It’s almost as if Jimi Hendrix were improvising with the band from Miles Davis' "Bitches Brew" band. Despite its inconsistency, the album is remarkably cohesive. Considering it was released as early as 1971, it's easy to see why it has influenced generations of musicians across a wide range of genres. I’m not sure if I like everything about the album, but it sure is fascinating from the very first to the very last second. A milestone for sure.

‘Double Nickels on the Dime’ is the third studio album by the American punk band Minutemen. Until now, I had never heard of the album or the band. Surprisingly, although it is a punk album, it is fortunately not punk rock. From the very first track, it's clear that the trio are exceptional musicians. Bassist Mike Watt stands out in particular with his original and technically demanding bass lines, but singer and guitarist D. Boon and drummer George Hurley are also masters of their craft. The double album consists of over 40 short tracks in a variety of styles, ranging from etude-like acoustic guitar solos to post-punk, hardcore and a kind of anti-funk. It even includes bizarre cover versions of songs by Van Halen, CCR and Steely Dan. The result is a furious blend of the raw energy of Talking Heads' 1977 debut and the style of hardcore punk icon Henry Rollins, who incidentally contributed lyrics to one of the album's tracks. While I haven't understood or liked everything on the album, the originality of the music and their fearless exploration of different genres commands my utmost respect. This exceptional album is made even better by its three highly talented musicians and songwriters. The average rating is therefore an accurate reflection of the brilliant five-star tracks and the filler that you can safely skip. It's one of the best albums with a 'punk label' that I've discovered recently (i.e. not at the time of its release or shortly afterwards).

I know I'm a man full of contradictions. For weeks, I’ve been disparaging anything that even remotely resembles alternative, indie or punk rock at every opportunity during the 1001 Albums Challenge. Today, however, I’m celebrating the self-titled debut of the American trio Violent Femmes. However, I wouldn't be myself if I didn't have a reason for this paean of praise. Firstly, I discovered the Violent Femmes when their snotty folk-punk, led by the band's songwriter and singer Gordon Gano, matched my outlook on life perfectly – one of depression, hopelessness, self-doubt and post-adolescent crises. Secondly, it's the originality with which the Violent Femmes perform their songs. All they need is an acoustic guitar, drums, bass and Gano’s nasal, whiny voice. Back in 1983, this was the antithesis of perfect eighties pop and a huge departure from noisy political punk rock (or even light-hearted pub-punk). Gano’s songs, written when he was 18 and 19, precisely and sarcastically summarise the major and minor dramas of a young man coming of age. They are anthems for losers with which I could strongly identify back then. Presumably, from a purely musical perspective, the album wouldn’t resonate with me in the same way today as it did back then. Some music is timeless, and some you have to discover at the right stage in your life. Everything’s different now, but there was a time when I would have loved to write songs like Gordon Gano’s.

"My Aim Is True" is Elvis Costello’s debut album, released in 1977. A mix of rock ’n’ roll, punk, pub rock, power pop, ska and, on the bonus tracks, country rock, it showcases Costello’s talent for perfect three-minute rock ’n’ roll songs with a punk attitude and clever lyrics. The album showcases Costello’s talent for writing perfect three-minute rock ’n’ roll songs with a punk attitude and clever lyrics. It marked the start of his meteoric rise as a critic's favourite and indie pop star. However: I’m not at all interested in old-fashioned rock ’n’ roll songs with a punk attitude. Musically, nothing on the album appeals to me except perhaps "Watching the Detectives" with its gritty white reggae sound similar to that played by the early Police. There’s no doubt that this debut made rock history. But I don’t have to like every historically significant rock album. Elvis Costello won't care, just as I don't care about his petty-bourgeois rock rebellion.

At the WOMAD Festival in 1985, Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan and his ensemble, Party, gave one of their finest performances outside Pakistan. It marked the beginning of one of the most remarkable international careers not only in world music, but in the world of music as a whole.

Qawwali is the devotional music of the Sufis, the mystical tradition within Islam. Its purpose is to elevate the spirit by bringing both performers and listeners closer to God. Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan was the undisputed master of this art form and, in my opinion, possessed one of the three greatest male voices I have ever heard (the other two being Tim Buckley and Demetrio Stratos).

"Devotional Songs" was one of Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan's earliest releases on Peter Gabriel's Realworld label. Originally issued alongside "Love Songs", the two albums neatly separate the central themes of Sufism: faith and love. Both are approached through ecstasy, and this music is genuinely ecstatic. It needs no translation to convey its profound spirituality, but also its joy of life, of music, and of love. It speaks a universal language.

Almost thirty years after Khan's death, this music has lost none of its beauty or its power to captivate.

I’m no expert on R&B and soul, and I’d never presume to offer a detailed analysis of this music. However, Amy Winehouse’s extraordinary talent as a songwriter and singer is clear for all to see. Her skill was immediately apparent. Her debut album "Frank" presented a hopelessly old-fashioned sound that was delivered with such conviction that it effortlessly cut through the perfect, artificial world of the boy and girl bands of the early 2000s. Finally, class and personality were back. The big hit singles were still two or three years away, but her true talent was already fully formed. What a tragedy to have lost her so soon.

It's hard not to like Neil Young if you love rock music, but it's almost impossible to keep track of his vast catalogue. As of July 2026, he has released 45 studio albums, along with 22 live albums, soundtracks, EPs, box sets and much more. I know perhaps a dozen of his records, mostly from the 1970s and 1990s, but even when it comes to the classic Neil Young albums, there are still plenty of gaps in my listening.

Today I learned that his fifth album "On the Beach" forms part of the so-called Ditch Trilogy, recorded after the huge mainstream success of "Harvest", at a time when Young was going through a profound personal and artistic crisis. It's rougher, simpler and more downbeat than "Harvest", and it takes a few listens to reveal itself. Once it does, though, it says a great deal about the essence of Young's music, which has always been political in the broadest sense and deeply sympathetic towards outsiders and those left behind. It's as authentic, principled, uncompromising and unconventional as Neil Young himself.

It's not his best album—because with Neil Young, such a thing probably doesn't exist—but it is certainly one of his finest. And the album is worth hearing for the tender, haunting intensity of "Ambulance Blues" alone.

The bossa nova craze in the US during the 1960s was a curious phenomenon. While John Coltrane, Charles Mingus and Miles Davis were redefining, expanding and revolutionising jazz, Americans in the midst of an economic boom were dancing to the swinging sounds of Copacabana. It was the white US-American guitarist Charlie Byrd and his friend, the white US-American saxophonist Stan Getz, who sparked a wave of enthusiasm with their album "Jazz Samba", featuring music from Latin America, from Brazil, a multi-ethnic nation whose people and culture blend African, European and indigenous influences. It was music that defied the poverty of a Third World country, exuding a zest for life with a touch of melancholy. Even before the true protagonists of bossa nova — João Gilberto, Astrud Gilberto, Antonio Carlos Jobim, Baden Powell and Sergio Mendes — became known abroad, two white US-Americans had paved the way. Was this cultural appropriation or a passion for a new sound? That’s for everyone to decide for themselves. In any case, it all began with this album. I prefer later albums in the genre, though. Perhaps it's because they're more sensual, more melancholic and less polished than this first version. Nevertheless, it is certainly a milestone.

Everything I hate about indie rock in one album. I didn't like the Pixies when all my friends started to listen to this boring post punk crap, I really disliked revisiting them yesterday. Definitely not for me.

Better than I feared, but not good enough to become a lasting favourite. A few individual tracks work well in a playlist, but over the course of a full album I find it all a little too monotonous.

Leftfield are yet another one of those '90s bands that you either discovered and fell in love with at the time, or simply can't connect with today, because this kind of mind-altering music no longer feels in tune with the times. Or perhaps it's just no longer in tune with my age.

My first reaction whenever I think of Jimi Hendrix is always the same: phenomenal guitar playing, but mostly rather uninspiring songwriting. "Electric Ladyland" undoubtedly features some outstanding tracks—the funky "Crosstown Traffic," the two extended pieces "Voodoo Chile" (with Steve Winwood on Hammond organ) and the epic "1983... (A Merman I Should Turn to Be)," as well as the legendary cover of "All Along the Watchtower." But it also contains a great deal of fairly ordinary blues numbers.

"Electric Ladyland" is, of course, a landmark album in rock history. It offers a glimpse of where Hendrix might have taken his songwriting had he not tragically died at such a young age. But if we're being honest, the album also contains plenty of filler that is simply quite average.

In my view, Hendrix never made a consistently great studio album. His guitar playing revolutionized rock music, but his formulaic blues jams quickly became something of a dead end as rock evolved at a rapid pace.

So my final rating is best understood as an average between the album's two-star moments and its five-star highlights.

What made Can’s music special was that it seemed both carefully structured and thoroughly composed, yet improvised at the same time. "Future Days" is Can’s fourth studio album (and fifth overall because of the compilation "Soundtracks"), the third and final one to feature their legendary frontman Damo Suzuki, and the last of the band’s 'classic albums'. The title “Future Days” is almost prophetic, as the music on the album foreshadows the ambient sound of the future, breaking away from the rock style of previous albums. I’m surprised to see it featured in the '1001 Albums You Must Hear Before You Die', as it isn’t Can’s strongest or most accessible record. The album is dominated by a dialogue between Irmin Schmidt’s experimental keyboards and Jaki Liebezeit’s shimmering, pulsating drumming. Even Michael Karoli’s guitar is woven into a dense rhythmic tapestry. The result is self-contained and self-sufficient, even within the Can universe.

I should be a huge Rufus Wainwright fan. He's an excellent singer with poetic lyrics and he often embellishes his artful pop music with classical elements and instrumentation. But something bothers me; something's missing. Or rather, listening to what is probably his best album, "Want One", I realise that something is just too much for me. It's too beautiful, too ornate and too playful. The result often comes across as overly sweetened, to the point where I switch it off. It's a brilliant idea to quote Ravel's 'Boléro' in 'Oh What a World' in a heavily slowed-down sequence, and of course a song like 'Natasha' is so beautiful it makes you want to cry. But over the course of a whole album, Rufus Wainwright is too much for me – too pretentious, too good to be true. The glycaemic index of his music is simply too high for my taste. It's lovely, but I have to consume it in very small doses.

Even though the Sex Pistols (and punk rock in general) had nothing to offer musically, the band inspired numerous other musicians to form their own bands. Attending the Sex Pistols’ concert in San Francisco in 1978 was what prompted Belinda Carlisle and Jane Wiedlin to pick up an instrument themselves and form a band. Three years later, Belinda Carlisle (vocals) and Jane Wiedlin (rhythm guitar), together with three fellow bandmates (Gina Schock – drums, Kathy Valentine – bass and Charlotte Caffey – lead guitar), released their debut album "Beauty and the Beat" as The Go-Go's, featuring a blend of pop, punk and new wave that was extremely contemporary for its time. Unlike Belinda Carlisle later on as a solo artist, The Go-Go's were less successful in Europe, so I’ve actually only listened to this album for the first time today. And that’s perhaps my problem: the momentum for this kind of music has passed. If you didn’t get to know and love them back then, it remains superficial and sounds just like countless other pop-oriented American new wave bands – perhaps even a touch more commercial than would have been good for it. The historical significance of the Go-Go's is, at least in the US, undisputed, but musically they simply offer well-crafted – and at times merely well-intentioned – new wave pop music.

When Sade's debut album, "Diamond Life", was released, it fit perfectly with the British pop music zeitgeist. At the time, bands such as Working Week and Matt Bianco were blending jazz and pop. Sade was the most commercially successful figurehead of this 'new wave of pop jazz'. Everything about their image was perfect: the sensuous yet cool contralto voice of former model Sade Adu and the dominant saxophone of Stuart Matthewman reflected the fashion and approach to pop music of the time. 'Sophisti-pop' was elegant and sensual, yet also somewhat old-fashioned and melancholic. Admittedly, Sade never had anything to do with real jazz. This album features two of their most successful singles: 'Smooth Operator' and 'Your Love Is King'. It was the most commercially successful album of Sade’s career, although all their albums remained successful right into the nineties. "Diamond Life" may not be their best album, but it has a classic 1980s vibe and has aged remarkably well, offering polished, perfectly produced pop. Sade's last studio album, "Soldier of Love", was released in 2010, and the band continued to perform to enthusiastic audiences worldwide until 2011. Despite long intervals between performances, the line-up remained virtually unchanged. Repeated rumours that a new album is in the works have emerged, but so far, only some singles for soundtracks and charity have been released. Sade Adu now lives a secluded life in England.

I deeply fucking regret including the hip-hop genre in my *1001 Albums* list. To be honest, I didn't realise it could be this motherfucking bad. I figured there had to be *something* I was missing, but nope—the so-called greatest fucking albums in the genre have done nothing but confirm, reinforce, and somehow even exceed every goddamn preconception I ever had about rap music.

"Straight Outta Compton" by N.W.A. is constantly hailed as one of the most influential motherfucking albums ever made, especially in gangsta rap. Fair enough—it was hugely fucking influential. But influence alone doesn't make something enjoyable. To my ears, it's a relentless barrage of motherfucking profanity, shouted threats, and endless fucking aggression, as though a room full of extremely angry guys decided that every third word had to be "motherfucker" and every second sentence had to end in someone getting told to fuck off. The energy is undeniable, but so is the monotony.

Listening to it feels less like hearing music and more like being trapped inside an endless, adrenaline-fuelled screaming match where the volume keeps rising and every other word is "fucking" something or someone. If that's the appeal, then this motherfucker simply isn't for me.

Completely, utterly, absolutely fucking unlistenable.

As I see it, there are two Springsteens: the loud, angry, highly political rocker who fills stadiums, and the melancholic, melomanic who composes sad loser ballads in the solitude of a hotel room. Either way, Springsteen is probably the greatest storyteller in the singer-songwriter guild. My problem is this: the loud, angry, screaming Springsteen doesn’t interest me; I prefer the melancholic Springsteen of “Nebraska”, the poetic “The Ghost of Tom Joad”, or the romantic of “I’m on Fire”. "Darkness on the Edge of Town" is regarded by many fans and connoisseurs as one of the Boss’s finest albums, one that paved the way for the global success of "Born in the USA". But for me, there’s little here that appeals to me. Sure, for the first time Springsteen sounds like Springsteen (I always found the ‘Wall of Sound’ on the predecessor “Born to Run” a bit too much), but for my selective taste in Springsteen, this album isn’t quite right. Sorry, boss.