Bruce Springsteen, 1973

Bruce Springsteen’s sophomore album is an interesting view into the evolution of legend he would become. Though it shows the greatness that is ahead, it sounds not quite fully formed. This album is youth and vigour and some great songwriting and mainly great performances; it is also his first with the E Street Band, though not yet featuring Max Weinberg, Roy Bittan or Little Steven. As the title of the album suggests, it’s high on the dramatic: Springsteen has always been a great storyteller, and it’s on display here as well. But there is something missing from the songs, and specifically from Bruce’s voice itself. It has none of the world weariness of Born to Run or Darkness on the Edge of Town, none of the frustration and disillusionment that would come from ongoing disputes with managers and record labels. Born to Run was formed out of an intense desire for perfection, nearly burning him and everyone else out. By contrast, The Wild, The Innocent & The E Street Shuffle seems joyous, a bar band playing its best show, a group of musicians not yet sick of each other.

“Rosalita (Come Out Tonight)” is a classic song and I suspect that if it wasn’t on the album the rest of the tracks wouldn’t be enough to bring this album up to “Greatest” territory. “4^th of July, Asbury Park (Sandy)” is a classic Bruce story song but the performance is a little naïve compared to its successors. Later songs would incorporate existential crises within each narrator’s voice alongside any romantic complications, but there’s none of that here.

This isn’t one of my favourite Springsteen albums. It dropped from #103 between 2003, the first time the list of “500 Greatest Albums of All Time” appeared, and 2020, which I think is correct. I am curious to see where it will land on future versions of this list. “Rosalita” has endured due to its ongoing presence in his live shows, as has “Sandy,” for the most part, but the others become a little more obscure with each passing tour. A good selection for this list, for now, though I would have preferred to see it in the mid-400s, and something like Pretty Hate Machine, #453, or Elephant, #449, a little higher up.

Arctic Monkeys, 2013

The 1-2 punch of “Do I Wanna Know?” and “R U Mine?,” both featuring Sabbath-like riffs, to open the album is a bold move and demonstrates the shift from their earlier dance-rock sound. At a vintage runtime of 42 mins, this album manages to breeze together, maintaining a thread of sound and concept throughout, from the low-key “On For the Road” to the four on the floor beat of “I Want it All,” finishing with a slower jam called “I Wanna Be Yours,” showing either personal growth from the earlier power jam “R U Mine?” or acknowledging the game of his object of desire.

It’s a classic British rock album, giving me a sense that they were listening to a lot of TRex and Blur at the time, with a dash of Zeppelin and the aforementioned Black Sabbath for the Blues sludge. The resulting radio rock seems more global than their earlier very British albums. It’s certainly their biggest commercial hit, and probably their most popular Stateside. It’s got muscle and great riffs, yet I don’t think it surpasses their debut, 2006’s Whatever People Say I Am, That’s What I’m Not.

Arctic Monkeys, 2006

The Monkeys’ debut is a power pop masterpiece, sounding fresh 20 years later. It’s upbeat and dare I say cheeky. Alex Turner’s vocals are appropriately British, his northern accent proudly on display, something that has been a feature of Arctic Monkeys since. Each track sustains the energy of the album, dance-rock and underground. Turner’s lyrics are fast and furious, novella-length verses filled with tales of the club and missed connections. “I Bet You Look Good on the Dancefloor,” “Mardy Bum,” and “When the Sun Goes Down” are the highlights but there’s no low point here; the album finishes with “A Certain Romance,” another killer closer.

This is a great album and a great listen start to finish. AM is also a great listen, and while there are great songs on there too, I just don’t think it’s their best.

Animal Collective, 2009

When Rolling Stone released their “500 Greatest Albums of All Time” issue in October of 2020, I noticed that there were a few omissions that were fairly egregious, in my mind, while others perhaps were more personal. As I went through the list and listened to all of the albums, I began to add to that list, especially with the twenty-three compilations that were included; surely there were twenty-three other albums that deserved attention over the likes of Back to Mono (1958-1969) (#489), not to mention the albums that don’t have the quality to be on the list despite the fame surrounding it; they’re just not as good as others left off.

My informal list became, in part, my list of The Next 500 albums, like Run The Jewels, Superunknown, Kick, or A Ghost is Born. And there are others that won a reprieve with an inclusion on the “250 Greatest Albums of the 21^st Century So Far,” such as Illinois (#133) and Merriweather Post Pavilion. While less well-known, it is absolutely among the greatest albums of all time.

I have been stuck on this album for a few days now. How do I describe this album? It’s indie pop but it’s also EDM, art-rock without guitars, dance music without the hooks, experimental pop but with harmonizing vocals. That’s the challenge of Animal Collective: individually, Avey Tare and Panda Bear are unique indie rock stalwarts, but together they blur genres. On this album, they use samplers and synthesizers exclusively, and the repetitive nature of each track channels house music dj sets. The loops and repetition creates a base for the vocals, which also loop and repeat throughout. The harmony between the two lead vocalists is magical, sending the songs into another sphere, above mere club hits or rave tracks. But to describe it?

It’s one of my all-time favourites, an album I can listen to any time, and there’s a song on here for any occasion. “Summertime Clothes” and “My Girls” have been running playlist constants, while “Taste” and “Lion in a Coma” are regular listens. And then there’s “Brother Sport,” the closer, which packs a whole lot into six minutes. It seems to go on forever, and probably could without diminishing.

The sheer joy I feel when playing these songs is overwhelming at times. This week, I had to purposely stop playing it as I would have happily hit repeat for a few more weeks; however, I have other albums ahead and need to listen to other music. Is that a subjective measure? Absolutely. The other thing about sharing your favourite albums or bands is that you can’t control how everyone else experiences it. You want to share this music with everyone and want them to love it as much as you do; but that’s just not how music works, and not how people work. This album hits me deep to the core. It will affect others differently, something I can’t predict. What I can do is suggest that people give it a listen if they’re not familiar with it and let it go.

The hardest thing one can do is avoid the follow up conversation once you’ve recommended a band - it could be good, but it could also be not as good, and you’ve got to have the confidence in your recommendations. They’ve got to be put out there for someone else to receive as they may, and if it develops into a shared experience because at least one other person feels the way you do, that’s a bonus. They’ll keep coming back to you for more recommendations and there may be more success stories, someone liking a band or album thanks to your recommendation. There will be misses - I’ve learned the hard way not to recommend Radiohead to anyone, as that’s a band best discovered organically, independently. Some you can just put out there in a neutral way and let it drift into whatever comes of it, and some you’ve got to insist on, at least pushing for someone to keep an open mind to new things, but it’s risky. Better to throw it out there and walk away, your extreme confidence being the best argument.

Animal Collective has released 12 studio albums and this is their magnum opus. I can’t vouch for the entire Animal Collective catalogue, as there are some definitely more experimental ventures, but this album is always perfect to me, in any situation, at any time.

GZA, 1995

This is one of the first solo albums from the Wu-Tang Clan crew, after 1993’s masterful Enter the Wu-Tang (36 Chambers). GZA is a low-key rapper, less flamboyant than his colleagues but precise; each track is dense, lyrically, and his featured collaborators - most of the Wu-Tang group show up at some point - provide a suitable counterbalance to his style. The production from RZA is key, too - there’s a continuity from track to track that makes a difference. It’s considered one of the best solo albums from the Wu-Tang Clan clan.

GZA continues the samurai and chess metaphors found on The Wu-Tang Clan’s debut, and features dialogue clips from a number of Japanese samurai films. “4^th Chamber,” “Shadowboxin’” and the title track are all highlights, and my favourite lately is “The Swordsman,” where GZA and guest Killah Priest recite confident lyrics over relatively sparse beats.

The language here, though not not explicit, is not as offensive to my ears as other rappers of this era - GZA and his associates are more concerned about their rep as the toughest crew or something. This album is highly listenable and one of my favourite 90s rap albums, alongside The Roots, Blackalicious, and A Tribe Called Quest.

Wolf Parade, 2005

Initially, the Wolf Parade album on my list was 2010’s Expo ‘86, their third full-length, with incredible songs like “Oh, You Old Thing” and “Little Golden Age.” It’s a fantastic listen start to finish. But I kept coming back to Apologies to the Queen Mary.

Spencer Krug and Dan Boeckner are the co-lead vocalists and songwriters for Wolf Parade, but they are very different artists, with Krug venturing more into art-rock and Boeckner coming closer to indie-dance rock. Together, they make some of the most interesting music in Canadian history, and are still weirdly underrated - that is, perhaps, until “I’ll Believe in Anything,” another track from Apologies to the Queen Mary, was featured in TV smash hit Heated Rivalry. In April, Rob Harvilla, the keeper of secrets for 90s and 2000s hit music, released an episode on “I’ll Believe in Anything” on his podcast 60 Songs That Explain the 90s: the 2000s, based on its key moment in 2025 tv smash hit Heated Rivalry. I have not watched Heated Rivalry but I understand the buzz and the importance music plays in each episode. Harvilla’s take on “I’ll Believe in Anything” and other songs and bands from the mid-2000s is fantastic, as always; it got me listening to Wolf Parade and writing about the album on my list.

Apologies to the Queen Mary is a unique album, unlike anything else at the time, yet occupying a dance-rock-adjacent role. Their first EP, self-titled from 2005, released by Sub Pop and produced by Modest Mouse’s Isaac Brock, featured two songs that would also appear on Apologies to the Queen Mary. I remember this EP when it came out and listened to “Shine a Light” and “You Are a Runner and I Am My Father’s Son” extensively. “Shine a Light” is an excellent song, and an excellent song to run to; ironically, “You Are a Runner,” while also an excellent song, is not an excellent song to run to: it has a slower cadence, and heavy themes.

Apologies to the Queen Mary has a distinct indie vibe to it. It’s more varied and minimal compared to Expo ‘86; the percussion is less prominent and the guitars and vocals take the lead. Krug and Boeckner sound very similar on this album, each with an intensity of live performance. The majority of the tracks were also produced by Isaac Brock and there is a familiarity there, in some instances sounding like his own band, Modest Mouse: there’s a touch of resistance in the production, like they’re purposely shaking off the expected, and the guitars and drums are pretty loose.

The opener is “You Are a Runner and I Am My Father’s Son.” The slower tempo almost feels like they are being restricted from breaking out into uptempo dance-rock we’re used to from this band by now. But it’s a heavier song, thematically, and so the restraint adds to that weight. “Modern World” starts immediately as “You Are a Runner” ends, the acoustic guitar rhythm propelling the song forward behind Boeckner’s vocals. The first side continues in this vein, uptempo and a dance-rock beat behind art-rock vocals and indie-rock guitars. The other highlight of the first side is “Shine a Light.” The chugging guitar and percussion are fantastic on this one; it’s one of my favourites on this album.

But listening to it now, the highlight is clearly “I’ll Believe in Anything.” Apologies to the Queen Mary is sequenced incredibly well, with ebbs and flows in tempo and themes throughout. But when “I’ll Believe in Anything” comes on, with its staggered intro of synth, then drum, then guitar, then vocal, you’re immediately aware something else is happening. Spencer Krug’s lyrics are typically opaque but these lyrics are haunting and romantic, heartbreaking and affirming all at the same time: “Give me your eyes, I need sunshine” and “I’d take you where nobody knows you and / Nobody gives a damn.”

And I could take another hit for you
And I could take away your trips from you
And I could take away the salt from your eyes
Take away what’s been assaulting you

Now, there’s a very real chance Krug is also singing about ghosts, but it’s clear there are two of them, together, and this is a love song, so full of emotion it nearly collapses under its own weight but they pull it out with constant repetition, circling, from “We’ve both been very brave /… Fight the scary day” to “We’ve both been very brave / … Wait for the scary day.”

The album closes with three deep songs, and finally with “This Heart’s on Fire.” It’s a remarkable album to listen to, then and now. Wolf Parade continues to be a band that stands apart in the indie rock milieu.

Turns out that while Expo ’86 has brilliant tracks like “Little Golden Age,” “Oh, You, Old Thing,” “Ghost Pressure” and “What Did My Lover Say? (It Always Had to Go This Way),” Apologies to the Queen Mary is the one closest to me, emotionally. Spencer Krug’s visceral vocal style and staccato rhythms emulate the visceral and erratic rhythms of life, creating a listening experience that mirrors your own life at times. Expo ’86 is arguably a more complete album, overall, but the emotional gut punch of Queen Mary is hard to ignore, and is the one that has stayed with me all of these years.

Top 5 Ghost Songs:

1. “Ghost Pressure” - Wolf Parade

2. “The Ghost of Tom Joad” - Rage Against the Machine (Springsteen cover)

3. “Welcome, Ghosts” - Explosions in the Sky

4. “Ghost Mountain” - The Unicorns

5. “The Ghost Song” - Jim Morrison & The Doors

Kanye West, 2013

Nope.

Gillian Welch, 2001

This album is a modern masterpiece. Gillian Welch and David Rawlings, partners in music as well as in life, channel American folk music as though she was there from the beginning, creating an amazing album that is timeless and classic. Welch has this sadness in her voice that is befitting the narrators, mimicking folk singers of old detailing tragedies of history.

Just as in the title, where “time” reveals the will of God, she reveals a certain history with each track, past and future in one album. The inevitable march of time is laid bare in this album, sounding ancient, but of course it had only been 70 years since the Carter Family played folk tales back to the folks that lived them. The harmony between Welch and Rawlings bring to mind the Carters and other foundational musicians, at least those captured on tape; who knows how long these songs were sung before technology revealed them to others.

Her tales are sparse and devastating. Accompanied only by Rawlings’s voice and guitar, her voice reveals more than the words; it’s how they’re told that’s telling. The wandering ballads of the first three tracks, “The Revelator,” “My First Lover,” and “Dear Someone,” tell these stories with plenty of space between the lines. “Red Clay Halo” is a tale of a poor farmer, wondering if he’ll get to heaven with the dirt of poverty so prominent. “April the 14^th Part 1” is about a tragic date in history, tying together Lincoln’s death, the sinking of the Titanic, and a ravaging dust storm in Oklahoma; death upon death upon death.

There is a brief interlude with the next two: “I Want to Sing that Rock and Roll” and “Elvis Presley Blues” are songs about music - “I want to sing that rock and roll / I want to ‘lectrify my soul” and then about Elvis:

That he took it out of the black and white
Grabbed it in one and then the other hand
And he held on tight
And he shook it like a hurricane
He shook it like to make it break
And he shook it like a holy roller baby
With his soul at stake

These two songs are prominent in placing music as a key to heaven, that one’s soul can be moved by music in revelatory ways. “I Want to Sing that Rock and Roll” was recorded live in Ryman Auditorium, the church of country music, and “Elvis Presley Blues” is more about the “day that he died” than how he lived. Welch seems to be asking if, after using music to shake up the world, he made it to heaven despite “the long decline” leading to his early death. It’s almost a prayer for Elvis’s soul, a plea for mercy.

The last three songs are varied. “Ruination Day Part 2” is more rumination on death, and is a devastating song. “Everything is Free” is a lament about the state of music in the 21^st century, where everyone’s songs are free to anyone, endangering the way of life for singers who rely on music as their livelihood: “Everything I ever done / Gonna give it away” and then “I can get a tip jar / Gas up the car / And try to make a little change / Down at the bar.” The finale, the 14+ minute “I Dream a Highway,” is a heartbreaking piece, full of longing and regret.

Each of these songs could be a novel in themselves - Welch tells of characters on the margins: modern, but also timeless, connecting characters from today to their ancestors centuries ago. Or, at least a century ago, when A.P. Carter sung songs of the those same characters. Welch’s voice and Rawlings’s lonesome and sparse guitar, the only accompaniment, give the songs a haunted quality, full of sadness tinged with hope, but just a slight amount, if only to keep your head just above the surface.

Tame Impala, 2015

I reviewed this one back in November, as it is #382 on the “500 Greatest Albums of All Time.” This album still holds up, especially against other 21st century albums, bridging the dance-pop trend of the mid-2010s with an indie rock vibe; this one appeals to fans of both.

Here is my review:

MC5, 1969

Kick Out The Jams is often cited as the first punk album, and MC5 is the first punk band. Certainly, their credentials are legit, being active in the political scene in the late 60s and encouraging “revolution” at their shows. Some might accuse the band of being political activists first and musicians second. Musically, they are fast and loose and loud - all things that sound like the punk bands that were to come. This album is a selection of live tracks, recorded to capture the frenetic energy of their live performance. Interestingly, these songs do not have a proper studio release; this is the primary version of these songs, making it unlike other live albums in that respect.

At first, I felt like it was a strange art-rock piece, a band trying to sound bad on purpose but playing the shit out of the songs anyway, making it a spectacle and a performance to generate hype for their political activism. After a few listens, I realized that it wasn’t an art piece, and these aren’t art students: this is an act of defiance, rejecting the status quo and disrupting the norm; music happens to be their medium. It doesn’t quite translate as a recording, however: its revolutionary spirit is delivered, but only minimally. Their riotous live shows cannot hope to be captured on tape faithfully.

Don McLeese’s 33⅓ entry on this album, from 2005, is required reading if you are intrigued by any of the ideas above. The band’s story is electric, their prominence and then disappearance equally dramatic and incredulous. McLeese captures it all in his small volume, including a sense of danger as this band got perilously close to political bad actors in the 60s Detroit radical underground.

The other aspect to this band is its famous lead duo, Fred “Sonic” Smith and Wayne Kramer. Smith married another famous Smith in 1980, Patti, and died in 1994 of heart failure. After the MC5 disbanded in 1972, Kramer was imprisoned for selling drugs, released in 1979. The band and its members lived fantastical lives, literary and tragic.

The influences and impact this album had can be heard from The Stooges and Ramones to Beastie Boys to Rage Against The Machine and The White Stripes. But without knowledge of their politics and live performance brilliance to provide context, it’s not a great recording, unless you are looking for some noise rock to antagonize the older people in the room. In that case, it succeeds wildly.

We’ve already established that I’m too old for some of these bands, and even though this came out nine years before I was born, its youthful, anarchic energy is everlasting, antagonizing repeated generations.

Bob Dylan, 2020

Alright. Now, I am a Bob Dylan fan, bigger than some, not as big as others, but I enjoy the majority of his studio albums across his nearly 60-year recording career. His 21^st century output is a bit of a mixed bag, but I generally enjoy it as well: “Love & Theft” is one of his best; I play his Christmas album each and every year, much to the chagrin of my family; I enjoyed 2012’s Tempest, though I am disappointed in the quality of the vinyl I picked up at the merch table during his tour stop in my town; “When the Deal Goes Down,” from 2006’s Modern Times, was played during my wedding ceremony (instrumental piano version played brilliantly by my brilliant aunt); 2009’s Together Through Life had some gems, like “I Feel a Change Comin’ On,” co-written with Grateful Dead lyricist Robert Hunter, as was most of the album. But his trio of albums covering standards from the mid-20th century American songbook released between 2015-2017 did not fill me with confidence about any new material that came afterward. I was sure he was done with new work and instead following his muse elsewhere.

But then came “Murder Most Foul,” a surprise 16+ minute epic about the death of John F. Kennedy, in 2020. Recorded just before the pandemic and released at just the right time, it hit #1 on the Billboard chart, the first song of his to reach that pinnacle. Rough and Rowdy Ways followed in June and it felt like the previous 8 years of touring and recording other peoples’ songs had prepared him for this. Lyrically, he’s near his best, witty and sharp and funny and poignant; his singing voice is ravaged and by no means turning back the clock - he was 78 when this was recorded, and he modified his style accordingly to match the music and the lyrics and his own diminished ability. His band, as always, is superb: Charlie Sexton, Tony Garnier, Matt Chamberlain, Donnie Herron, and Bob Britt. They sound fantastic, custodians of his legacy in the studio as in concert on his Never Ending Tour.

On vinyl, this album is a double LP, with “Murder Most Foul,” the closing track, by itself on side 4. The previous 9 songs are split evenly with three apiece, creating mini-suites, no song shorter than 4 minutes. The first section, with “I Contain Multitudes,” “False Prophet,” and “My Own Version of You,” feels like 60s Dylan, with playful, cryptic lyrics. On “False Prophet” he claims “I ain’t no false prophet - I just said what I said” and then, later,

I ain’t no false prophet - I’m nobody’s bride
Can’t remember when I was born and I forgot when I died

One thing you notice right away about this album is the sheer number of words. Dylan is constantly singing - there are very few musical breaks and no choruses, creating monologues that reminded me of Blonde on Blonde or Time Out of Mind, his tales almost too full for the music. As always, the rhymes come in surprising ways, often arriving at the last moment, nearly too late. On “I Contain Multitudes,” the title refrain comes in every time, but just barely: “I rollick and I frolic with all the young dudes . . . I contain multitudes.”

The second section is “I’ve Made Up My Mind to Give Myself to You,” “Black Rider,” and “Goodbye Jimmy Reed.” The first track is a moving torch ballad, professing love and devotion in a way only Dylan can. “Black Rider” is a minimal Cash-like tune, American Recordings-style, and “Goodbye Jimmy Reed” is a rocking blues track, reminiscent of “Leopard Skin Pill-box Hat.”

The third section is the most varied and the most poignant. “Mother of Muses” is another minimal ballad, hymn-like; “Crossing the Rubicon” is another blues rocker; and “Key West (Philosopher Pirate)” is the gem of the album, an emotional ode to a place and, seemingly, to himself, contemplating fading into the sunset, Key West becoming symbolic of something else, something beyond what we currently know: “Key West is the place to be / If you’re looking for immortality.”

It’s a meditative ballad, nearly a dirge the way Dylan sings it, heavy with, I’m not sure, some feeling, maybe regret? Maybe resignation, as though he is realizing his age, the time he has left and the time he’s spent so far:

Key West is under the sun
Under the radar - under the gun
You stay to the left and then you lean to the right
Feel the sunlight on your skin
And the healing virtues of the wind
Key West - Key West is the land of light

We don’t get Dylan like this very often. He always speaks truth but usually it’s veiled, with a degree of deniability, in case he changes his mind about what he means. In “Key West,” he sings more directly: there’s no wink of the eye, no mischievous smile, no misdirection. This song tells me more about Bob Dylan as he is than any other song I can think of, moreso even than “To Ramona” or “Buckets of Rain” or “What Good Am I?” And for 9 minutes and 34 seconds, we seem to peer into his peerless soul.

Rough and Rowdy Ways surprised me. I didn’t think I would learn more about Dylan than I already knew; I didn’t think he had more to say than I had already heard. It’s a masterful record, from an artist still reaching that pinnacle that others strive for, even after 58 years and 38 studio albums. His 39^th is one of his best.

Stevie Wonder, 1972

This was the first album of Stevie’s new Motown Records deal, which gave him a significant amount of independent artistic control. As a result, this album kicks off his “classic” period, and the next 4 albums would all be all-time greats, including 3 straight Grammy wins for album of the year.

The songs on Music of My Mind, though not all winners, are remarkable. Stevie Wonder is an amazing vocalist, not just the strength of his voice but in the phrasing and other ways he uses his voice to build the track. Lyrically, he’s an extremely optimistic writer, focusing on the positive more often than not; “I Love Every Little Thing About You” and “Happier Than the Morning Sun” are prime examples.

The closing track, however, is called “Evil,” and demonstrates his social consciousness and how important he would become in the 70s and 80s. Great album, and great introduction to Stevie Wonder.

I would be remiss if I didn’t invite to comment on his favourite Stevie Wonder album and the namesake of his Substack, Music of My Mind:

This record didn’t become my favorite of Stevie’s until a few years ago. I knew of “Superwoman,” but didn’t really go listen to the record until after watching an episode of Atlanta that featured a couple of other songs off of the tracklist. I just love the complexity of nearly every song on this album. When I listen to it, it feels like an outlier in Stevie’s discography, but it also seems like it’s truly him opening up his soul.

Stevie Wonder, who turned 76 just yesterday, will appear on this list 3 more times, as Talking Book (#59), Innervisions (#34), and Songs in the Key of Life (#4) are all in the top 100. Well deserved.

Pink Floyd, 1994

Pink Floyd is like two bands to me, one with Roger Waters and the one without. “Learning to Fly” from 1987’s A Momentary Lapse of Reason is a great song, but marks this transition pretty clearly. There are still the distinct guitar solos and synths/keyboards that are hallmarks of Pink Floyd songs, but there are also backing vocalists and a little slower tempo. The album overall is a mixed bag, trying to create some of the edginess of The Wall or Animals but without the bite that Waters brought. 1994’s The Division Bell resolves this conflict by leaning hard into David Gilmour’s version of Pink Floyd, sans Waters and a slightly more adult contemporary vibe. It works very well in that respect - the aging rockers Gilmour, Nick Mason and Richard Wright created an album that is reflective of their respective ages and experience, nearly 30 years after their debut.

As part of the Pink Floyd’s second act, The Division Bell has surprising flashes of their earlier incarnation. “Marooned” is a spacey instrumental, fitting in with “Shine On You Crazy Diamond;” “Keep Talking,” despite its wistful lyrics, is in the same vein as “One of These Days.” Yet the majority of the album is a new concoction of optimism and sobriety. Overall, it’s a relatively relaxed album. Gone is the tension and defiance of the Roger Waters-era songs, replaced by resilience and acceptance. Gilmour can still shred on the guitar solos but Wright and Mason are less noticeable, for the most part, joining a forceful rhythm section dutifully supporting Gilmour’s songs. But the album works well from start to finish, with weird “Cluster 1” leading the album to the anthemic “High Hopes” (which contains lyrics “the division bell” and “the endless river”).

My favourite recently is “Wearing The Inside Out.” There’s a lonely sax intro with light synth effects in the background, until Wright’s voice fades in along with the bass and drums, and backing vocalists join for the chorus. Throughout, Gilmour’s guitar noodling and sax float in and out of focus. On this one, Wright does have prominent presence in keyboards ringing in the background, reminding one of “Us and Them.” This is one of Wright’s two songwriting credits on the album, and it’s a gorgeous, subdued piece.

But the highlight is always “High Hopes.” This 8+ minute opus features a constant church bell ringing in time with the beat, an orchestral background and a top ten Gilmour guitar solo to close out the last 3 minutes.

“High Hopes” is indicative of the positivity of this album throughout. If this song were on The Wall, it would almost certainly be ironic; here, it’s not. The Division Bell is an optimistic album. Its themes are generally positive, the major chords and muted production lead to a pleasant listening experience. I keep thinking now that it’s a product of their age. Gilmour and co were in their late 40s writing this album and the music seems to match their age. I’ve written about this before - Joni Mitchell’s later career gems, Paul McCartney’s surprising 21^st century album, and Bob Dylan’s resurgence in his 60s - now that I am also in my late 40s, I can see this world view. You never stop fighting for what’s important to you, but you also realize you don’t have to fight all the time. You can be happy, reflective, appreciative, and accepting without giving any of the fire away.

Maybe I am projecting too much, and Pink Floyd had just progressed as a band and as individuals that this, musically, is their logical evolution. Roger Waters keeps fighting everything and anything around him, while Gilmour, Mason and Wright were happy to come together to make this music, and it shows.

In 1994, I was deep into my grunge era, having moved past pop groups and candy-coated hip-hop. I was past Guns ’N’ Roses but starting to come around to classic rock, understanding that while Kurt Cobain and company rejected the flash and dazzle of the late 80s MTV rock, they gave deep respect to their influences, from punk and hardcore to the singer-songwriters of the 70s and the innovators of the 60s. My own discovery was Neil Young, CCR, Hendrix, and Pink Floyd. My parents had an extensive collection of Neil Young - Rust Never Sleeps was quickly becoming my favourite Young album, and his recent Harvest Moon and Mirror Ball were keeping his name in the spotlight, reappropriated by Pearl Jam for a new generation. But there was also Pink Floyd, with Dark Side of the Moon and Animals frequently played in our house. There was also 1981’s A Collection of Great Dance Songs, one of the first cds we had after getting our first cd player in the late 80s. The track listing was as follows:

“One of These Days”
“Money”
“Sheep”
“Shine on You Crazy Diamond”
“Wish You Were Here”
“Another Brick in the Wall (Part II)”

The odd thing was that only three of the six were the album tracks: “Money” was rerecorded for legal purposes, and “Diamond” and “Another Brick in the Wall” were edited for length. Still, it was these versions that I knew well and still know best.

It was my mom that put this one on more often than not, and then it was me who would put it on, waiting for the turn in “Sheep” or the dance beats of “Another Brick in the Wall.” My mom loves Pink Floyd and I, in turn, have a different experience with the band - it’s something I can share with her, whereas I shared John Lennon, Bob Dylan and Joni Mitchell with my dad. When The Division Bell came out in 1994, though I was listening to angry young person rock and roll mainly and soon mourning Cobain and the death of grunge, I suddenly had a soft spot for this album, despite it being nearly opposite of all that. It was expansive, symphonic, and welcoming. I didn’t understand the connection at the time, but I enjoyed this album when my mom put it on. I have a key memory of listening to this while on vacation, at a cabin at the lake, and the small portable cd player seemed to send the sound across to the other side, past the loons and atop the shimmering, cold water, even though it was August. It’s such a strange memory for me, as a 16-year-old, connecting with this 30-year-old band. It was a similar to my engagement with Joni Mitchell and 1991’s Night Ride Home, or Dylan’s Oh Mercy, late career genius from generational artists that should have not piqued my interest in between Beastie Boys, Red Hot Chili Peppers, and Nirvana.

But it was because my mom loved this album that I loved it too. 30 years later, I still enjoy this album, though in my mind it’s distinct from Animals, Wish You Were Here and Dark Side of the Moon - it’s more mature, settled. While I can’t claim that I am more mature I am certainly more settled, having found the things that I will fight for. I understand this album a little more with each year, now being the age at which Gilmour wrote “High Hopes.” I am also the age at which my mom first encountered this album, and I feel I understand her more, too. How she fought for what was important to her, and accepted things around her, more mature, more settled, and, above all, resilient. She is all of those things today, too, as I hope someday to be, following her example.

Destiny’s Child, 2001

Destiny’s Child’s penultimate album is a relic of a lost era, and sounds like it. 2001 was particularly rough for Pop music - the vocal groups of the late 90s were starting to age poorly in the midst of a transition, rock was reinventing itself, R&B and Hip-Hop were merging, and dance music was coming back to the fore. It wouldn’t be long before Pop music became all of these things. MTV was waning in influence but still tried to assert itself in the era of file sharing and digital downloads - even though fans could hear their music any time they wanted, MTV tried to create “must see” moments, giving rise to what would become viral clips from Eminem, Britney, JT, and more. But, like another empire, the more they squeezed, the more slipped through their fingers, and indie rock was creating another industry, DIY and easily accessible to listeners.

Still, Destiny’s Child was at the top of charts in 2001, with “Independent Women, Pt.1” leading the way on the Charlie’s Angels soundtrack (another relic of a lost era) in August of 2000, and landing as the lead track on Survivor in April 2001. It was a massive hit, breaking records and staying on the charts for months. “Survivor” followed in March 2001 as the lead single from the album, and then “Bootylicious,” featuring a sample from “The Edge of Seventeen,” became their final Billboard #1 hit. Sadly, the word “bootylicious” made it to the Oxford English Dictionary in 2004 as a result.

With all the drama surrounding Destiny’s Child leading to this album, it’s remarkable that it was made at all. But it wouldn’t have been made without Beyoncé, who co-wrote nearly all of the tracks (the lone exception being “Emotion,” a cover of a BeeGees-penned track). It’s Beyoncé’s rise to prominence that’s the story here - she became a modern Diana Ross leading her group by taking it over, intentionally or not. Her debut solo album was released in 2003, and the rest is history.

But for Survivor, it’s a mishmash of pop & R&B styles entrenched in 2000s production typical of MTV hits of the time. The hits are massive events, but the rest is mainly filler. It’s one of those albums that’s too big to be ignored on a list of 21^st century albums, but it doesn’t sound fresh in 2026 like some of the other albums on this list do. Maybe that’s okay, though; it’s as reminiscent of 2001 as anything else of that time, and documents Beyoncé’s rise to the top with songs like “Dangerously in Love,” which becomes the title of her album.

Hard pass for me, but props to the pop music machine that worked the system perfectly and created a gargantuan hit for this group (and the Knowles family).

Stephen Malkmus and The Jicks, 2011

Fifteen years after its release, I realize now that this is the album that I was hoping would have been made by Stephen Malkmus’s former band; I eschewed The Jicks as inferior at the time, but it’s Malkmus all along who was making the appropriate follow ups to Pavement after their initial dissolution in 2000.

Mirror Traffic brings everything together. Malkmus seems loose and free, his lyrical wanderings going much farther than even Pavement’s last studio album Terror Twilight. Vocally, he’s at his most Malkmus-like; his range is limited but he’s best when he employs an almost conversational approach, inviting Velvet Underground comparisons on more than one occasion.

The guitar licks on the best songs are memorable: lead track “Tigers” kicks off the track with an uptempo jam, jangly guitar and singalong chorus. “Senator” is a brilliant high-octane indictment of (maybe) political corruption. This track also showcases Jicks drummer Janet Weiss at her best, capturing her best performance of the album and showing flashes of Sleater-Kinney brilliance (on the rest of the album, the percussion is a little more serviceable, in my opinion, instead of taking advantage of Weiss’s punk chops).

The rest of the album settles into Malkmus’s preferred mid-tempo, contemplative style. “Brain Gallup” is fantastic, and “Asking Price” and “Stick Figures In Love” are excellent indie power pop songs. Later on, “Forever 28” is another highlight.

Overall, Mirror Traffic is Generation X magic. Malkmus was 45 at the time and makes an album that ages well, capturing the indie spirit of his youth but also the sophistication gained from experience, pushing against the norms while also not alienating anyone. The production work by Beck is an indicator, keeping Malkmus within an indie pop range without betraying his roots. 15 years later, it’s a perfectly reasonable album for former indie punks to enjoy while picking up kids or grandkids from school. As Malkmus would say, “I rip into my lemon trifle / I’m too old to play capture the flag”

I thoroughly enjoyed this album. It’s catchy and delightful, and reminds me enough of Pavement to imagine what they might have sounded like had they continued unfettered.

Lana Del Rey, 2023

Why do I like Lana Del Rey so much? It seems strange to me that amid the pop hegemony of the 2010s this artist stands out. I think the moment was when I first listened to Norman Fucking Rockwell! in August 2021 - it’s #321 on Rolling Stone’s “500 Greatest Albums of All-Time.” Released in 2019, it was an audacious choice to put on the list only a year after its release, but, unlike Fine Line, it has proven its worth as an all-time album (I’ll get to that one in a couple of months). In the four years between NFR! and Did You Know That There’s a Tunnel Under Ocean Blvd she released two other albums, Chemtrails Over the Country Club and Blue Bannisters - both released in 2021. They are intriguing, creative albums, taking the next steps from the leap that was NFR!. But it’s Ocean Blvd where everything seems to come together from start to finish. Her songs have a vocal style with complex melodies over layered instrumentation, mixed equally with acoustic and electronic elements. Her low voice ranges three octaves and is powerful whether whisper-soft or aggressive or soaring above the instrumentation.

What it comes down to, I think, is the emotion. Lana Del Rey leans into the emotion of the moment, of her songs, making them feel immediate and real, even though lyrically I am not sure what she is singing about much of the time. Many critics will select lines here and there to apply to her own personal life, like she is pulling from diary entries with each of her songs. It’s a time-honoured tradition to find meaning in lyrics connecting to the writer in music, though the seriousness is a more recent trend - the mystifying effect Bob Dylan’s Blood On the Tracks has on critics, for instance, or Joni Mitchell’s “Hejira,” or any of Taylor Swift’s songs. They’re so powerful, they must be channelling something deeply personal and true. These artists are indeed channelling something personal and true, but it’s the emotion that’s true, not necessarily the words. This is the same with Lana Del Rey, but I suspect the emotion within her songs and her voice, specifically, creates that emotional connection and it doesn’t matter what she’s actually singing, it feels like she’s singing about herself.

Ocean Blvd starts with “The Grants,” immediate disqualifying my argument. Lana Del Rey was born Elizabeth Grant, and this song is very much about her family. It’s a gospel-ish track with backing vocals provided by some of the greatest backing vocalists in history, creating a catchy song that becomes a bit of an outlier at the start of the album. The title track follows, which is probably my fourth favourite track on the album, and then “Sweet” and “A&W,” my third favourite.

The vinyl edition is two LPs and the first side ends there. Even though the track listing was not set with vinyl in mind, at least, I don’t think it was, the breaks are logical, creating 4 distinct sections of the album. Side 2 starts with an interlude from celebrity evangelist Judah Smith, and it’s up to you to determine whether it’s ironic or not, especially as there’s a little laugh from Del Rey toward the end - it’s as though you’re in the congregation witnessing his homily in real time, among the other enthralled listeners. “Candy Necklace” featuring Jon Batiste follows, and it’s a more typical Del Rey track with an amazing piano hook, as you would expect. From there, there’s another interlude, this time from Jon Batiste in the studio, capturing his own enthused reaction to the recording process, also accompanied by Del Rey’s laughter; this time it’s less ironic. Side 2 ends with “Kintsugi,” and more introspective track, creating a side that’s overall more introspective.

Side 3 starts with “Fingertips” and “Paris, Texas,” two fantastic tracks that are among her most daring, creatively. Next, there’s “Grandfather Please Stand on the Shoulders of My Father While He’s Deep-Sea Fishing” and then “Let the Light In,” a duet with Father John Misty that is my second favourite song on the album.

Side 4 begins with “Margaret,” featuring Bleachers (producer Jack Antonoff), and it’s my favourite. The vocal phrasing by Del Rey is remarkable, as in one line she’s racing to complete the phrase before the verse ends and in the next she’s leading a singalong of “If you know, you know.” It’s a fantastic track that is endlessly playable.

The album ends with three club-adjacent tracks, with more electronic production and club beats. The final song is “Taco Truck x VB.” The “VB” is a sample of a demo of “Venice Bitch,” the standout track from “NFR!” It’s a great interpolation of one of her signature tracks and its inclusion on this album reminds the listener that her work is interconnected, the albums flowing together like chapters in a book, musically.

There isn’t anyone like Lana Del Rey. She’s one of the most divisive artists in the pop music sphere currently, as some critics cannot stand her style, which, while impressive, is still theatrical and reinforced. If you don’t like her vocal style, it’s going to become tiresome very quickly. She creates a character within her persona on each album that still contains parts of herself and so it’s hard to know if you’re listening to something manufactured or genuine. But that’s only if you think too much about it, too much about the artist rather than the art. And I think that’s why I like it so much - the art is a performance and it’s unique, interesting, challenging, and memorable. The emotion of the album is doubly remarkable since her persona is often one with apathy and, at times, icy disassociation, making the connection to her music all the more surprising.

I’ve thought about this one a lot over the last few years, and it’s these songs that make me a fan of Lana Del Rey rather than a fan of her albums. NFR! is one of my favourite albums of all time, and it’s well represented at #321 on the 500 Greatest Albums of All-Time,” and #15 on the “250 Greatest Albums of the 21^st Century So Far.” Her second album, Born To Die, is also remarkable, and singularly spectacular in its uniqueness 14 years after its release. Her catalogue is far-ranging and impressive, with 9 studio albums during that time, each with their own atmosphere while not reinventing herself completely.

Ocean Blvd stands out, so far, as her epic work, taking greater risks and asking more of her listeners. It serves as the key to her catalogue, revealing the connections between each of her recordings and showing that all of her songs are of one installation, growing and evolving with each entry but still of one piece. At least, that’s how I experience it. I have no connection to the artist or any of her lyrics, really, but the music carries an emotional weight that connects, however unlikely. While her other albums might stand out to a larger pop audience, Did You Know That There’s a Tunnel Under Ocean Blvd stands out to me.

Top 10 Lana Del Rey Songs

1. Venice Bitch

2. Margaret

3. Video Games

4. Mariners Apartment Complex

5. Art Deco

6. Let The Light In

7. In My Feelings

8. Thunder

9. Summertime Sadness

10. White Mustang

Rich Gang, 2014

Okay, this hip-hop mega collaboration isn’t technically an album, it’s a mixtape, and unlike Drake’s “mixtapes” it truly does not have a physical release in North America: Discogs identifies a “mp3” release, or a “CDr” (but a CD release in the UK). It’s a rarity digitally as well, as I could not find it easily; Spotify playlists and YouTube were the eventual spots. I was able to find singles of “Lifestyle,” which is not on the mixtape, and “Milk Marie,” from the mixtape, which has its moments.

Listening to this mixtape in its entirety is overwhelming, as there are a lot of elements jammed in there, blips and bloops and the near-constant refrain of “Rich Gang!” There are some melodic moments on the mixtape and the contrast between Young Thug and Rich Homie Quan works when they play off each other.

Young Thug was recently celebrated on NYT’s “30 Greatest Living American Songwriters.” They acknowledge that his style involved various “howls and chirps,” and, I have to say, it’s not selling me on his songwriting chops. I will have to wait until I reach his 2019 debut solo album So Much Fun, #97 on this list, for more evidence.

It’s obviously highly regarded and both Young Thug and Rich Homie Quan have highly successful solo careers. But it’s not for me.

In 2023, Rolling Stone released a refresh of the “500 Greatest Albums of All-Time:”

Editor’s note, December 2023: In the three years since Rolling Stone rolled out the all-new, fully revamped version of our 500 Greatest Albums list, artists like Beyonce, Bad Bunny, and Taylor Swift have all released undeniable classics. So we’ve updated the list, adding those albums while making a few other tweaks.

I will review the additional albums alongside those included in the 2020 list, looking at their merits individually as well as unfairly judging them against the albums they replaced.

SZA, 2022

On the 2023 digital refresh of the list, Roxy Music’s For Your Pleasure was dropped in favour of SZA’s brilliant SOS. Once again I am led to compare these two albums specifically, but, once again, it’s a fool’s errand. Roxy Music will appear again at #336 with Avalon, and I will enjoy listening to and writing about that album. But by 1983 the band is significantly different than in 1972 - “More Than This” is a fantastic track but miles away from “Do The Strand.” I still feel that For Your Pleasure deserves a place on this list, but I won’t dwell on why SZA is replacing it; SOS was an inevitable entry for this list and would have appeared in any such updated version. It’s not personal, Bryan Ferry.

This album is epic in scale and in drama. SZA’s songs are seemingly connected by heartbreak and resentment, from the revenge fantasy of “Kill Bill” to the mournful “Nobody Gets Me.” Nearly every track is a memorable moment of the album. The production is pristine, and SZA’s vocals, R&B paired with hip-hop intensity, are fantastic.

To me, the highlights are “F2F,” which could be a Taylor Swift track except for the extremely unTaylor-like language of the chorus, and “Seek & Destroy,” where she laments “I had to do it to you / do it to you, oh / Don’t make me do it to you” and then “Now that I’ve ruined everything, I cannot complain / Now that I’ve ruined everything, I’m so fuckin’ free.” She’s exploding the relationship before her partner has a chance to do the same; mutual destruction as an act of self-preservation.

This album indeed deserves a place on this list, and will endure in the years to come. The intensity, the emotion, the perfect production, and, above all, SZA’s fantastic vocal performance lock this one in. It’s also #7 on the “250 Greatest Albums of the 21st Century So Far,” which makes its ranking at #351 on the “500 Greatest Albums of All Time” seem far too low.

Roxy Music, 1973

Roxy Music stands out from their peers specifically because it doesn’t seem to age. For Your Pleasure, released over 50 years ago, the same year as Aladdin Sane, Goodbye Yellow Brick Road, and Dark Side of the Moon, sounds like all of these and none of them at the same time. And while these three are immediately reminiscent of early 70s rock, Roxy Music doesn’t sound like that - maybe Bryan Ferry’s classical vocals takes it out of the common production of the time, or the ever-present saxophone, used for effect rather than as part of any particular style, messes with the mind’s datestamp. Then there’s Brian Eno, adding electronic ambience with youthful vigour.

I suppose it would classify as glam rock, but it’s hard to pinpoint where it lands. Because of its timelessness, it might not seem out of place if released today. “Editions of You,” in particular, could be a Wolf Alice song and “The Bogus Man” is straight up Geese. “Do The Strand” is the standout bonkers pop hit, and “Grey Lagoons” is an unlikely rocker. Ferry and Eno make magic on this album, and it’s indeed a pleasure to listen to.

Fountains of Wayne, 2003

Until this album showed up on this list, the only song I knew from Fountains of Wayne was “Stacy’s Mom.” I remember seeing this video so much when it came out, and I learned to avoid it when I could. But it turns out I was missing the best part of this band - they are funny, write catchy hooks, and this album is a solid work of early 2000s power pop.

There are several gems on this album: “Hackensack,” “All Kinds of Time,” “Bought For a Song,” “Supercollider,” “Mexican Wine,” and, obviously, “Stacy’s Mom.” “Stacy’s Mom” is a work of pure power pop, even sounding like The Cars, specifically “Just What I Needed.”

My favourite on the album is “Halley’s Waitress.” It’s an ode to a distracted coffee-shop waitress:

Halley’s Waitress
Never comes around
She’s hiding in the kitchen
She’s nowhere to be found
I just want some coffee
Is that too much to ask?
Halley’s waitress
Is not up to the task
And when she finally appears
It’s like she’s been away for years

And then the refrain of “It’s been so long / … / We miss you when you’re gone.” The song paints a familiar picture of a group of young people being ignored in a coffee shop - you can imagine this song coming together pretty quickly in between refills.

“Hackensack” is a great, somewhat melancholy song about moving on after high school: “ But I will wait for you / As long as I need to / And if you ever get back / to Hackensack / I’ll be here for you.” This song exemplifies why this band connected back in the early 2000s amid the emo explosion. It’s all major chords and witticisms but each song tells a real story in a few short words that sound familiar to early 20s kids worried about the future.

This album has a tinge of sadness overall as songwriter and bassist Adam Schlesinger passed away due to complications from COVID-19, in April 2020, at age 52. Beyond Fountains of Wayne, Schlesinger wrote music extensively for tv, film and theatre, earning several award nominations, including an Academy Award nomination for his work on That Thing You Do! in the late 90s.

In 2026, this album sounds more like the dad rock of Dawes or Sloan (actually, a lot like Sloan) and endures beyond the early 2000s sound, beyond the sad nostalgia for one’s angry youth. This is not Dashboard Confessional; this is Weezer lite, power chords without the low self-esteem. 20 years later, “Stacy’s Mom” still has it going on.

Eminem, 1999

This is his major label debut, it was produced by Dr. Dre and made Eminem a star. “My Name Is” alone set things in motion for Eminem’s entire career, winning him Grammys and lawsuits. In that song, one of the lyrics is “God sent me here to piss people off” and that’s as fair a review of his rap style and this album as I can provide.

Eminem himself doesn’t argue against the cartoonish violent and controversial lyrical content and the extreme black “comedy” of his alter ego, Slim Shady, on this album; but where Eminem might see it as a character and fictional, it’s harder to separate creator from character than in books or movies. Do I wish that there were fewer skits? Absolutely. There are 20 tracks and 6 of them are skits.

But you can’t deny that this is a landmark album and, all things considered, makes sense in this list. He’s a generational artist and an ambitious businessman, and both are on display here, even if it isn’t my cup of tea.