Top 100 Greatest Music Albums by 
babyBlueSedan 
My favorite albums, or "The 100 albums I'd keep if iTunes had a capacity of 100 albums."
The theme of this update, as with the past couple, is upheaval. Every time I update this I claim to be moving new favorite up higher while still stubbornly putting albums I used to love but never listen to anymore near the top. I won't know for sure if I've been more successful this time around until I update this again. But I hope that this current iteration shook things up a bit and added a bit more variety, even if that variety is in the form of albums most people have heard of. I've tried to include as many artists and genres where possible, partially because I want to appear more interesting than I actually am, but in the end this is still very rock and pop oriented. In particular, this iteration makes obvious my current love of plaintive folk/singer-songwriter stuff.
I've also relaxed my artist limits just a bit to highlight the artists I really love, but I still couldn't include everything I wanted because spots are so limited. In some cases I decided what to include based on what I wanted to write about. I recommend checking out my decade charts for more deep cuts.
Also, I appreciate all the kind and generous comments - they're my main motivation for updating this every couple years or so.
- Chart updated: 05/30/2020 02:15
- (Created: 07/31/2013 04:33).
- Chart size: 100 albums.
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Like walking down a long dirt road. You work at a consulting firm in New York but secretly wish you lived in a small town in the rural Midwest
The inspiration for that summary came from a camping trip I took the summer I discovered this album. I took a few days off from my technology-focused job and went camping up north for a long weekend. As we drove around, I threw the Country genre from my iPod on shuffle because I thought it would fit the scenery, and at the time that included this album (lol). There are a lot of songs I associate with that trip years later, from Lucinda Williams to Sturgill Simpson, but this album might have the biggest association. While I enjoyed my job, it was draining to spend that much time in front of a computer, and being in a small town surrounded by people who spent much of their days outside, who lived on the shore of a Great Lake and were only minutes away from being on or in the lake at any moment, filled me with a bit of jealousy.
There's an irony here of course, as The Magnolia Electric Co is not an album about wanting to go back to your roots or find solace in rural life. It's the opposite. Jason Molina's discography around this time period is filled with songs informed by the life and hardships of the Rust Belt, and it's on "Almost Was Good Enough" that this becomes most explicit. In his mournful, barrel-aged voice that sounds like it could be coming out of that old bird on the album cover, he half sings / half scoffs, "Did you really believe that everyone makes it out? Almost no one makes it out." This then isn't an album about connecting with the nature and industry that helped birth you - it's about feel consumed by it, about being surrounded by past reminders of things you've done with no way to move on because you're tied to a single place. But I guess as long as you can relate to that - to wanting to become someone different, someone better - this album will have a lot to relate to regardless of whether you're moving in or against the direction Molina intended.
After all, there's enough here that's left open to interpretation. Molina isn't the kind of songwriter to tie an idea directly to a place or a time. Instead, he fills them with familiar references, stringing together ideas to paint a picture. Some of his favorite tropes make appearances here, such as birds ("I'll streak his blood across my beak. Dust my feathers with his ash"), ghosts ("I was riding with the ghost" / "A tall shadow dressed the way secrets always dress when they want everyone to know that they're around"), and the full moon ("Beneath this full moon heart"). Molina also always had a fascination with American history, particularly the civil war, and American folk tales make an appearance here as well with the references to John Henry; this one bridges eras together as Molina begs Henry to break his heart and "Swing the heaviest hammer you got, knock this one out of the park," therefore connecting legends of one era with America's past time of the modern age (and I doubt this was intentional, but baseball, particularly the Negro Leagues, was known for spawning legends the size of John Henry - look up Satchel Paige, Josh Gibson, or Cool Papa Bell and you'll find any number of legends that rival that of John Henry). These are all fairly broad, or at least commonly used, images, but somehow they speak to something specific, something universal.
It was silly of me to label this "country" back in the day, but it's undoubtedly connected to the folk and country tradition of American music. On the bonus track "The Big Game is Every Night," Molina sings about Hank Williams passing the American music torch to Bob Dylan, who you can only assume passed it to Neil Young and then perhaps directly to Molina, as Neil Young is the easiest comp for the music here. The band's live albums in particular are very indebted to Crazy Horse, and songs like the opener have that feel of a moderately paced rocker that still sounds best when lying spread eagle on the floor. "Riding with the Ghost" is the closest thing to a rocker here, and on the other end of the spectrum you have the nearly slowcore "Peoria Lunchbox Blues," which is the weakest song but has indispensable vocals from Scout Niblett. And of course there's the centerpiece, "Old Black Hen," which features some classic country twang, husky vocals from Lawrence Peters (I love Molina's voice and the fact that he doesn't sing on two songs on this album, and it's better for it, is really something), and lyrics that could make this a classic country tune about the blues. The climax comes near the end of "John Henry," as Molina wails "Boy what you gonna do with your heart in two?" and the song morphs in the outro from "Farewell Transmission." In that way the closer, "Hold On Magnolia," is the comedown, a weary song about feeling like your time is up but being oddly content about it. I don't have any tattoos, but if I ever decide to get one it will be of the owl on this cover. If there was room, which there wouldn't be because they're too lengthy, I'd include a line from this song. There are plenty to choose from:
"Hold on, Magnolia to that great highway moon. No one has to be that strong, but if you're stubborn like me I know what you're trying to be."
"Hold on, Magnolia, I know what a true friend you've been. In my life I have had my doubts, but tonight I think I've worked it out with all of them."
"Hold on, Magnolia, I hear that station bell ring. You might be holding the last light I see before the dark finally gets ahold of me."
I could quote this album for hours. I haven't even mentioned "Just Be Simple," where the first verse + chorus is one of the highlights of the album. Or pointed out that the opening track seals the fate of the album by being named "Farewell Transmission." Or said how "Almost Was Good Enough" speaks for itself. Or commented on Steve Albini's crisp production, or how the album was recorded in his basement with guitars from his early noise rock days. Or how "Farewell Transmission" was recorded in a single take with no rehearsal. It's as if the album was meant to be, a feeling that was floating in the air over an old Lake Erie factory and was finally inhaled and then exhaled again by the man who I really believe is the best songwriter of all time. [First added to this chart: 10/06/2018]
The inspiration for that summary came from a camping trip I took the summer I discovered this album. I took a few days off from my technology-focused job and went camping up north for a long weekend. As we drove around, I threw the Country genre from my iPod on shuffle because I thought it would fit the scenery, and at the time that included this album (lol). There are a lot of songs I associate with that trip years later, from Lucinda Williams to Sturgill Simpson, but this album might have the biggest association. While I enjoyed my job, it was draining to spend that much time in front of a computer, and being in a small town surrounded by people who spent much of their days outside, who lived on the shore of a Great Lake and were only minutes away from being on or in the lake at any moment, filled me with a bit of jealousy.
There's an irony here of course, as The Magnolia Electric Co is not an album about wanting to go back to your roots or find solace in rural life. It's the opposite. Jason Molina's discography around this time period is filled with songs informed by the life and hardships of the Rust Belt, and it's on "Almost Was Good Enough" that this becomes most explicit. In his mournful, barrel-aged voice that sounds like it could be coming out of that old bird on the album cover, he half sings / half scoffs, "Did you really believe that everyone makes it out? Almost no one makes it out." This then isn't an album about connecting with the nature and industry that helped birth you - it's about feel consumed by it, about being surrounded by past reminders of things you've done with no way to move on because you're tied to a single place. But I guess as long as you can relate to that - to wanting to become someone different, someone better - this album will have a lot to relate to regardless of whether you're moving in or against the direction Molina intended.
After all, there's enough here that's left open to interpretation. Molina isn't the kind of songwriter to tie an idea directly to a place or a time. Instead, he fills them with familiar references, stringing together ideas to paint a picture. Some of his favorite tropes make appearances here, such as birds ("I'll streak his blood across my beak. Dust my feathers with his ash"), ghosts ("I was riding with the ghost" / "A tall shadow dressed the way secrets always dress when they want everyone to know that they're around"), and the full moon ("Beneath this full moon heart"). Molina also always had a fascination with American history, particularly the civil war, and American folk tales make an appearance here as well with the references to John Henry; this one bridges eras together as Molina begs Henry to break his heart and "Swing the heaviest hammer you got, knock this one out of the park," therefore connecting legends of one era with America's past time of the modern age (and I doubt this was intentional, but baseball, particularly the Negro Leagues, was known for spawning legends the size of John Henry - look up Satchel Paige, Josh Gibson, or Cool Papa Bell and you'll find any number of legends that rival that of John Henry). These are all fairly broad, or at least commonly used, images, but somehow they speak to something specific, something universal.
It was silly of me to label this "country" back in the day, but it's undoubtedly connected to the folk and country tradition of American music. On the bonus track "The Big Game is Every Night," Molina sings about Hank Williams passing the American music torch to Bob Dylan, who you can only assume passed it to Neil Young and then perhaps directly to Molina, as Neil Young is the easiest comp for the music here. The band's live albums in particular are very indebted to Crazy Horse, and songs like the opener have that feel of a moderately paced rocker that still sounds best when lying spread eagle on the floor. "Riding with the Ghost" is the closest thing to a rocker here, and on the other end of the spectrum you have the nearly slowcore "Peoria Lunchbox Blues," which is the weakest song but has indispensable vocals from Scout Niblett. And of course there's the centerpiece, "Old Black Hen," which features some classic country twang, husky vocals from Lawrence Peters (I love Molina's voice and the fact that he doesn't sing on two songs on this album, and it's better for it, is really something), and lyrics that could make this a classic country tune about the blues. The climax comes near the end of "John Henry," as Molina wails "Boy what you gonna do with your heart in two?" and the song morphs in the outro from "Farewell Transmission." In that way the closer, "Hold On Magnolia," is the comedown, a weary song about feeling like your time is up but being oddly content about it. I don't have any tattoos, but if I ever decide to get one it will be of the owl on this cover. If there was room, which there wouldn't be because they're too lengthy, I'd include a line from this song. There are plenty to choose from:
"Hold on, Magnolia to that great highway moon. No one has to be that strong, but if you're stubborn like me I know what you're trying to be."
"Hold on, Magnolia, I know what a true friend you've been. In my life I have had my doubts, but tonight I think I've worked it out with all of them."
"Hold on, Magnolia, I hear that station bell ring. You might be holding the last light I see before the dark finally gets ahold of me."
I could quote this album for hours. I haven't even mentioned "Just Be Simple," where the first verse + chorus is one of the highlights of the album. Or pointed out that the opening track seals the fate of the album by being named "Farewell Transmission." Or said how "Almost Was Good Enough" speaks for itself. Or commented on Steve Albini's crisp production, or how the album was recorded in his basement with guitars from his early noise rock days. Or how "Farewell Transmission" was recorded in a single take with no rehearsal. It's as if the album was meant to be, a feeling that was floating in the air over an old Lake Erie factory and was finally inhaled and then exhaled again by the man who I really believe is the best songwriter of all time. [First added to this chart: 10/06/2018]
Year of Release:
2003
Appears in:
Rank Score:
3,334
Rank in 2003:
Rank in 2000s:
Overall Rank:
Average Rating:
Comments:
13
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Like walking through the astral plane with a CB radio set to scan
As calculated as this album is, as methodical as every guitar prick and drum beat is, this album still feels incredibly human and effortless. The soft-buildup-crescendo-loud dynamic is fairly formulaic, but it works here because of how they pull them off. In Sleep it's not just a buildup, or a crescendo, but a smorgasbord of horns and all kinds of instruments. It's the beginning of the journey, the sending-off party. In Static things threaten to explode...and they don't. Even after three or four listens I still expected the guitars to get loud at this one point. This is a few months into the journey, where we're deep into the unknown. By the time the final movement roles around it's as if Godspeed know we're onto them; after several minutes of droning and near silence, the music just gets louder, no buildup, no warning. At this point our journeyers are lost and have gone mad in the wilderness.
Some might complain that the spoken word parts and interludes seem pretty random or incongruent, and they'd be right. But why does that matter? You're in a desert of noise, you start to hear voices, and what do they say? They tell you not trust the people offering to wash your windows. There's such a sense of mystery there that it really draws you in. The second spoken word part is genius - as you hear the speaker say "and when you see the face of God you will die" chills run down your spine, no matter how the music previously made you feel. It makes you uneasy - this might be the first time you realize something isn't quite right. Sometimes when bands throw in spoken parts they seems like they're trying too hard to shock you *cough* Swans *cough*. In this case you're flying through an ocean of noise, trying to get back to reality, but all you can catch are little glimpses of people's thoughts as you fly by.
I hate the word epic, because this is not striving to be grand or entrancing, it's striving to make you feel. [First added to this chart: 09/19/2013]
As calculated as this album is, as methodical as every guitar prick and drum beat is, this album still feels incredibly human and effortless. The soft-buildup-crescendo-loud dynamic is fairly formulaic, but it works here because of how they pull them off. In Sleep it's not just a buildup, or a crescendo, but a smorgasbord of horns and all kinds of instruments. It's the beginning of the journey, the sending-off party. In Static things threaten to explode...and they don't. Even after three or four listens I still expected the guitars to get loud at this one point. This is a few months into the journey, where we're deep into the unknown. By the time the final movement roles around it's as if Godspeed know we're onto them; after several minutes of droning and near silence, the music just gets louder, no buildup, no warning. At this point our journeyers are lost and have gone mad in the wilderness.
Some might complain that the spoken word parts and interludes seem pretty random or incongruent, and they'd be right. But why does that matter? You're in a desert of noise, you start to hear voices, and what do they say? They tell you not trust the people offering to wash your windows. There's such a sense of mystery there that it really draws you in. The second spoken word part is genius - as you hear the speaker say "and when you see the face of God you will die" chills run down your spine, no matter how the music previously made you feel. It makes you uneasy - this might be the first time you realize something isn't quite right. Sometimes when bands throw in spoken parts they seems like they're trying too hard to shock you *cough* Swans *cough*. In this case you're flying through an ocean of noise, trying to get back to reality, but all you can catch are little glimpses of people's thoughts as you fly by.
I hate the word epic, because this is not striving to be grand or entrancing, it's striving to make you feel. [First added to this chart: 09/19/2013]
Year of Release:
2000
Appears in:
Rank Score:
14,766
Rank in 2000:
Rank in 2000s:
Overall Rank:
Average Rating:
Comments:
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Like walking down the street on a windy day in autumn, taking the long way to work to avoid seeing your ex
Just from the title of this album, you can probably tell it's a break-up album. But here's the thing: it's not. Sure, there are songs about break ups on here, but they're actually some of the more joyous songs, at least comparatively. No, this album is about Leaving. What does Leaving mean, you ask? Well, it might mean Leaving a room. Or a relationship. Or it may mean dying, maybe by your own hand. But we'll get to that.
I've recently gotten more into the slowcore genre, and I don't want to get all hyperbolic here or anything, but this is the best slowcore album I've heard. And it's not particularly close. I'm skeptical whether this even qualifies as slowcore, since it's not really slow-paced as much as it is quiet and deliberate. It doesn't plod along like a Low or Bedhead album, but the vocals are typically whispered and don't have much energy. What really makes it stand out from other slowcore though is the violin, which appears on every track and is really the foundation of the music here. The result of this, besides making the songs more beautiful, is that it makes the songs sound really peaceful and comforting. There are some albums with lyrical content that I listen to when I'm feeling down, and this is one of them. But this is one of the few albums that actually makes me feel better instead of helping me to wallow. The music feels like a hug that's telling me everything will be alright.
Which is funny, because the lyrics do not. I could go in depth on every one of these songs, but I won't because it would take forever. But I need to touch on a few things. Like I said earlier, the break-up songs are the least heavy songs here, even though they contain lyrics like "I hope that nothing will ever remind you of me." This might be because they're from the perspective of the person doing the breaking up, whether this be because of a toxic relationship ("Sophisticated Fuck Princess") or realizing that the other person deserves better ("September"). Though this makes sense; this is Songs About Leaving, not Song About Being Made to Leave. The same applies to death; there are a few songs that feel like they could be about natural death, including the closer. But when you hear "I might be leaving soon" on "So You Wanna Be a Superhero," you get the idea that the leaving might be permanent. Mostly because of the whole thing earlier in the song with:
"It's 5am I've got no sleep at all
Just thoughts of how I might struggle through tomorrow"
And the title of "They'll Only Miss You When You Leave" kind of speaks for itself. Thankfully the songs aren't always that dark, and sometime Leaving can even be a positive thing. "Farewell To All These Rotten Teeth" opens with a mournful repetition of "farewell..." that eventually expands into the title of the song. But of course here it's positive - shedding the broken parts of yourself in an effort to get better. Proving that there's always some light amidst the dark, so you shouldn't ever give up hope. [First added to this chart: 05/29/2020]
Just from the title of this album, you can probably tell it's a break-up album. But here's the thing: it's not. Sure, there are songs about break ups on here, but they're actually some of the more joyous songs, at least comparatively. No, this album is about Leaving. What does Leaving mean, you ask? Well, it might mean Leaving a room. Or a relationship. Or it may mean dying, maybe by your own hand. But we'll get to that.
I've recently gotten more into the slowcore genre, and I don't want to get all hyperbolic here or anything, but this is the best slowcore album I've heard. And it's not particularly close. I'm skeptical whether this even qualifies as slowcore, since it's not really slow-paced as much as it is quiet and deliberate. It doesn't plod along like a Low or Bedhead album, but the vocals are typically whispered and don't have much energy. What really makes it stand out from other slowcore though is the violin, which appears on every track and is really the foundation of the music here. The result of this, besides making the songs more beautiful, is that it makes the songs sound really peaceful and comforting. There are some albums with lyrical content that I listen to when I'm feeling down, and this is one of them. But this is one of the few albums that actually makes me feel better instead of helping me to wallow. The music feels like a hug that's telling me everything will be alright.
Which is funny, because the lyrics do not. I could go in depth on every one of these songs, but I won't because it would take forever. But I need to touch on a few things. Like I said earlier, the break-up songs are the least heavy songs here, even though they contain lyrics like "I hope that nothing will ever remind you of me." This might be because they're from the perspective of the person doing the breaking up, whether this be because of a toxic relationship ("Sophisticated Fuck Princess") or realizing that the other person deserves better ("September"). Though this makes sense; this is Songs About Leaving, not Song About Being Made to Leave. The same applies to death; there are a few songs that feel like they could be about natural death, including the closer. But when you hear "I might be leaving soon" on "So You Wanna Be a Superhero," you get the idea that the leaving might be permanent. Mostly because of the whole thing earlier in the song with:
"It's 5am I've got no sleep at all
Just thoughts of how I might struggle through tomorrow"
And the title of "They'll Only Miss You When You Leave" kind of speaks for itself. Thankfully the songs aren't always that dark, and sometime Leaving can even be a positive thing. "Farewell To All These Rotten Teeth" opens with a mournful repetition of "farewell..." that eventually expands into the title of the song. But of course here it's positive - shedding the broken parts of yourself in an effort to get better. Proving that there's always some light amidst the dark, so you shouldn't ever give up hope. [First added to this chart: 05/29/2020]
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Like walking into a museum where all of the exhibits are about you
My most moving listen to this album didn't happen in Illinois. It happened in Maine, as my family was driving through the pine forests on a rainy afternoon. At that point I was familiar with all the ins and outs of the album, from the "real" songs to the interludes and the songs that are kind of in between. I knew when I'd feel overwhelming joy and when I'd have to hold back my tears. But as we'd been driving for a while our conversation had died down and I was left to focus on the music perhaps moreso than ever. And for some reason it was on that listen that I realized how deep the instrumental pieces on this album are, and how indebted to minimalism they are. And for some reason, that was the final piece of the puzzle for my enjoyment of Illinois. It's pretty silly really. Illinois already had two of my three favorite Sufjan Stevens songs. It already had enough instruments and beautiful moments to fill up more than a full album of material. But I guess getting moved by even what seems like the mortar that holds the bricks of the album together was what convinced me that the entire thing is perfect.
I can't imagine picking up this album without knowing anything about it and trying to figure out what to expect. I mean, look at those song titles. The second song has three titles that are three times as long as your typical song title. There are song titles that take longer to scroll by on your iPod than for the song to play. And those song titles are only the first hint at the absolute excess of this album. The thing is ridiculously long. It led to Stevens joking that he would make 50 albums, each dedicated to one of the 50 states, which is an impossible project. When you finally do hit play on this, you'll discover that there are not one, not two, but three opening tracks. The first track is really track -1, a short little preview of what's to come, like the trailer to a movie. Track two is really track zero, an instrumental that feels like a fanfare for the play that we're about to see. And then finally comes "Come On Feel the Illinoise," the real opening song. You know it's an opening song because it sounds like an opening song. And it starts like five minutes into the album. And like many of these songs, it's drowned in instruments, in this case horns. The orchestration on this album actually took me a while to get into, because I thought the tracks needed some room to breath. But I was so, so wrong. From the strings on "Predatory Wasp" to the banjo and concertina(?) on "Decatur," these songs need those flourishes and accents to reach greatness. The album needs a four minute closing track that, like the one before it, feels like riffs on variations on a single note. It needs every extra note and backing vocal that was crammed into it.
But more than anything, it needs the quiet moments. The ones that really are just a guitar and Stevens's voice. Because those are the ones that take all the joy, all the celebrating, and make it human. Stevens has always been a very personal writer, and that continues here despite the framing of the album as being about the state of Illinois. These songs sprout up as tidbits of Illinois history, but they grow and flower into so much more. The first tear-jerking moment on the album is "John Wayne Gacy Jr," where Stevens contemplates the horrible things Gacy did while wondering how much of those evil urges are inside of all of us. He sings fairly nonchalantly, not allowing himself to be moved by the horrors within, until he shivers "Oh my God" in a way that will chill your bones. Later on Stevens charts moments of life's journey, recalling his simultaneous feelings of fear and liberation as he grew up on "Chicago" and not knowing what to make of past relationships on "Predatory Wasp" (a song I could write much more about if I let this summary go completely off the rails). And most important of all, there's the album's centerpiece. "Casimir Pulaski Day" is not only the starkest song on the album but also the song that's most disconnected from the Illinois lore that birthed it. I don't find most of Stevens's musings on God and religion too relatable to my own life, but this one is too beautiful to ignore even if you're an atheist to your core. Stevens sings about a childhood friend dying of cancer, recalling how guilty her father felt and how he didn't know how to express his feelings for her given her short time on Earth. He seeks refuge in God, hoping that He will save her, but: "Tuesday night at the Bible study, we lift our hands and pray over your body, but nothing ever happens." This isn't a song about God saving the day. It's a song about God doing nothing and needing to figure out how to keep your faith afterwards. It's the epitome of despair, a song I can't listen to - and can barely think about - without crying. It's completely removed from the joy and hope that fills the rest of the album. But like those instrumentals that communicate both anticipation and uncertainty, it's part of the glue that holds this album together and helps to make it what it is.
It's also one of the only times I've thought an artist was being cruel to their listeners. I mean really: "In the morning in the winter shade, on the 1st of March on the holiday, I thought I saw you breathing." Sufjan, are you trying to hurt us? [First added to this chart: 05/29/2020]
My most moving listen to this album didn't happen in Illinois. It happened in Maine, as my family was driving through the pine forests on a rainy afternoon. At that point I was familiar with all the ins and outs of the album, from the "real" songs to the interludes and the songs that are kind of in between. I knew when I'd feel overwhelming joy and when I'd have to hold back my tears. But as we'd been driving for a while our conversation had died down and I was left to focus on the music perhaps moreso than ever. And for some reason it was on that listen that I realized how deep the instrumental pieces on this album are, and how indebted to minimalism they are. And for some reason, that was the final piece of the puzzle for my enjoyment of Illinois. It's pretty silly really. Illinois already had two of my three favorite Sufjan Stevens songs. It already had enough instruments and beautiful moments to fill up more than a full album of material. But I guess getting moved by even what seems like the mortar that holds the bricks of the album together was what convinced me that the entire thing is perfect.
I can't imagine picking up this album without knowing anything about it and trying to figure out what to expect. I mean, look at those song titles. The second song has three titles that are three times as long as your typical song title. There are song titles that take longer to scroll by on your iPod than for the song to play. And those song titles are only the first hint at the absolute excess of this album. The thing is ridiculously long. It led to Stevens joking that he would make 50 albums, each dedicated to one of the 50 states, which is an impossible project. When you finally do hit play on this, you'll discover that there are not one, not two, but three opening tracks. The first track is really track -1, a short little preview of what's to come, like the trailer to a movie. Track two is really track zero, an instrumental that feels like a fanfare for the play that we're about to see. And then finally comes "Come On Feel the Illinoise," the real opening song. You know it's an opening song because it sounds like an opening song. And it starts like five minutes into the album. And like many of these songs, it's drowned in instruments, in this case horns. The orchestration on this album actually took me a while to get into, because I thought the tracks needed some room to breath. But I was so, so wrong. From the strings on "Predatory Wasp" to the banjo and concertina(?) on "Decatur," these songs need those flourishes and accents to reach greatness. The album needs a four minute closing track that, like the one before it, feels like riffs on variations on a single note. It needs every extra note and backing vocal that was crammed into it.
But more than anything, it needs the quiet moments. The ones that really are just a guitar and Stevens's voice. Because those are the ones that take all the joy, all the celebrating, and make it human. Stevens has always been a very personal writer, and that continues here despite the framing of the album as being about the state of Illinois. These songs sprout up as tidbits of Illinois history, but they grow and flower into so much more. The first tear-jerking moment on the album is "John Wayne Gacy Jr," where Stevens contemplates the horrible things Gacy did while wondering how much of those evil urges are inside of all of us. He sings fairly nonchalantly, not allowing himself to be moved by the horrors within, until he shivers "Oh my God" in a way that will chill your bones. Later on Stevens charts moments of life's journey, recalling his simultaneous feelings of fear and liberation as he grew up on "Chicago" and not knowing what to make of past relationships on "Predatory Wasp" (a song I could write much more about if I let this summary go completely off the rails). And most important of all, there's the album's centerpiece. "Casimir Pulaski Day" is not only the starkest song on the album but also the song that's most disconnected from the Illinois lore that birthed it. I don't find most of Stevens's musings on God and religion too relatable to my own life, but this one is too beautiful to ignore even if you're an atheist to your core. Stevens sings about a childhood friend dying of cancer, recalling how guilty her father felt and how he didn't know how to express his feelings for her given her short time on Earth. He seeks refuge in God, hoping that He will save her, but: "Tuesday night at the Bible study, we lift our hands and pray over your body, but nothing ever happens." This isn't a song about God saving the day. It's a song about God doing nothing and needing to figure out how to keep your faith afterwards. It's the epitome of despair, a song I can't listen to - and can barely think about - without crying. It's completely removed from the joy and hope that fills the rest of the album. But like those instrumentals that communicate both anticipation and uncertainty, it's part of the glue that holds this album together and helps to make it what it is.
It's also one of the only times I've thought an artist was being cruel to their listeners. I mean really: "In the morning in the winter shade, on the 1st of March on the holiday, I thought I saw you breathing." Sufjan, are you trying to hurt us? [First added to this chart: 05/29/2020]
Year of Release:
2005
Appears in:
Rank Score:
23,114
Rank in 2005:
Rank in 2000s:
Overall Rank:
Average Rating:
Comments:
Buy album
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Like walking along a frozen river on the moon (sorry, the title says it all)
For a long time I debated whether The Lonesome Crowded West or The Moon & Antarctica is Modest Mouse's magnum opus. In a lot of ways, the two albums are opposites. LCW is sprawling and unstructured, but MA is tight and planned out, with almost pop song melodies. LCW is emotionally schizophrenic and unhinged, but MA is restrained and reservedly downcast. LCW is an outside album, recalling highways and fields. MA is a cold, desolate album that recalls rainy days and full moons. And for me, both of them knock their atmospheres out of the park. In the end, which one I prefer came down to which version of the band I prefer. While MA was my first love, I eventually grew to love Isaac Brock's drunken early days more, and LCW is my current love. But MA is still an incredibly important album.
One thing that didn't change on this album was the band's penchant for unpredictable and non-traditional song structures. "3rd Planet" is the band's best song for a lot of reasons, not least of which is the incredibly imagery ("You were outside naked, shivering, looking blue from the cold sunlight that's reflected off the moon"). But the circular song structure is also dizzingly. The song starts with an opening verse and chorus, then introduces a middle segment that includes the first chorus. Next it repeats the second verse but without the part from the beginning, as if the song is slowly evolving and casting off the ideas that birthed it. But in the end it repeats the first verse, showing that (appropriate, given the lyrics) it went straight long enough to end up where it was. Elsewhere, "Life Like Weeds" cycles through two or three different verse structures that are progressively more beautiful, and "The Stars Are Projectors" is an extended epic whose strings recall the best Godspeed You! Black Emperor songs. The opening couple tracks are some of the most accessible songs the band had written at this point, but proving that the more things change, the more they stay the same, Brock lets loose on the fiery closer, the drums of which nearly caused me to crash my car the last time it came on because they ignited such passion.
Unlike its predecessor, the mood of The Moon and Antarctica can be hard to pin down. There's a lot of quiet depression here, with songs like "The Cold Part" displaying a kind of resigned sadness. But I like to think there's a lot of optimism here, even if it's framed by all the melancholy. "Gravity Rides Everything" mourns how eventually the weight of our troubles and lives will drag us down, but there's some hope in the idea that this same inertia keeps us united and prevents us from growing too far apart. "Lives" reminds us that in the end no one really cares what becomes of us, but it uses this as a rallying cry to encourage us to live how we want because people will mock us regardless, so we might as well enjoy ourselves. With that in mind, this is a bit of a transitional album between the band that made LCW and the band that made "Float On." I think it's a nice mix of optimism and realism, and beautiful music fits it well. [First added to this chart: 08/04/2013]
For a long time I debated whether The Lonesome Crowded West or The Moon & Antarctica is Modest Mouse's magnum opus. In a lot of ways, the two albums are opposites. LCW is sprawling and unstructured, but MA is tight and planned out, with almost pop song melodies. LCW is emotionally schizophrenic and unhinged, but MA is restrained and reservedly downcast. LCW is an outside album, recalling highways and fields. MA is a cold, desolate album that recalls rainy days and full moons. And for me, both of them knock their atmospheres out of the park. In the end, which one I prefer came down to which version of the band I prefer. While MA was my first love, I eventually grew to love Isaac Brock's drunken early days more, and LCW is my current love. But MA is still an incredibly important album.
One thing that didn't change on this album was the band's penchant for unpredictable and non-traditional song structures. "3rd Planet" is the band's best song for a lot of reasons, not least of which is the incredibly imagery ("You were outside naked, shivering, looking blue from the cold sunlight that's reflected off the moon"). But the circular song structure is also dizzingly. The song starts with an opening verse and chorus, then introduces a middle segment that includes the first chorus. Next it repeats the second verse but without the part from the beginning, as if the song is slowly evolving and casting off the ideas that birthed it. But in the end it repeats the first verse, showing that (appropriate, given the lyrics) it went straight long enough to end up where it was. Elsewhere, "Life Like Weeds" cycles through two or three different verse structures that are progressively more beautiful, and "The Stars Are Projectors" is an extended epic whose strings recall the best Godspeed You! Black Emperor songs. The opening couple tracks are some of the most accessible songs the band had written at this point, but proving that the more things change, the more they stay the same, Brock lets loose on the fiery closer, the drums of which nearly caused me to crash my car the last time it came on because they ignited such passion.
Unlike its predecessor, the mood of The Moon and Antarctica can be hard to pin down. There's a lot of quiet depression here, with songs like "The Cold Part" displaying a kind of resigned sadness. But I like to think there's a lot of optimism here, even if it's framed by all the melancholy. "Gravity Rides Everything" mourns how eventually the weight of our troubles and lives will drag us down, but there's some hope in the idea that this same inertia keeps us united and prevents us from growing too far apart. "Lives" reminds us that in the end no one really cares what becomes of us, but it uses this as a rallying cry to encourage us to live how we want because people will mock us regardless, so we might as well enjoy ourselves. With that in mind, this is a bit of a transitional album between the band that made LCW and the band that made "Float On." I think it's a nice mix of optimism and realism, and beautiful music fits it well. [First added to this chart: 08/04/2013]
Year of Release:
2000
Appears in:
Rank Score:
10,340
Rank in 2000:
Rank in 2000s:
Overall Rank:
Average Rating:
Comments:
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Like walking through a busy city after a tragedy
Wilco are a hard band to categorize. They started off as country, drifted into indie rock, and are now making some pretty boring rock. But for a few albums there, they perfectly blended their country roots into a sound that was layered, melodic, and beautiful. Yankee Hotel Foxtrot is the high point of their discography - a bunch of twangy indie rock songs backed by glitchy electronic noises and mournful strings.
What's most interesting is that though the band couldn't really musically be considered country at this point, their lyrics still communicated the kind of depressed, sorrowful defeatism so often present in country music. In opener "I Am Trying to Break Your Heart" we find the narrator drinking too much, drunk driving to his old girlfriend's house (the verb Jeff Tweedy uses for drunk driving is "assassining", which is amazing), and sleeping with her but instantly regretting it. Each verse is followed by a different segue of weird percussion and blips and a play on the line "What was I thinking when I let go of you". This slowly morphs into "when I said hello" and "when I let you back in" and culminates in the spoken word "I am trying to break your heart, but I'd be lying if I said it wasn't easy". It's a regretful song narrated by someone who can't help themselves, and it is not unique in that regard on this album.
The album touches on a few other subjects, like trying in vain to find self-help and cure-alls ("Radio Cure") and being unable to find any meaning in religion ("Jesus Etc"). It touches on patriotism and disillusionment with one's country in "Ashes of American Flags" (the album was recorded in early 2001 but was released one week after Septemeber 11th, meaning American listeners instantly had a meaning for tracks title like "Ashes..". and "War on War").
The album tries to be hopeful, with the nostalgic "Heavy Metal Drummer" and the most country-sounding song on the album in "I'm The Man Who Loves You." But it can't keep up the act for long. In Poor Places the music slowly fades out to a robotic voice stating the album's title, which then blends back into "Reservations" and the most touching line on the album: "I've got reservations about so many things, but not about you". That's normally where I lose it. The songs slowly fades out to a bunch of static and more bloops, a confusing end to an album about how life is confusing. [First added to this chart: 03/01/2014]
Wilco are a hard band to categorize. They started off as country, drifted into indie rock, and are now making some pretty boring rock. But for a few albums there, they perfectly blended their country roots into a sound that was layered, melodic, and beautiful. Yankee Hotel Foxtrot is the high point of their discography - a bunch of twangy indie rock songs backed by glitchy electronic noises and mournful strings.
What's most interesting is that though the band couldn't really musically be considered country at this point, their lyrics still communicated the kind of depressed, sorrowful defeatism so often present in country music. In opener "I Am Trying to Break Your Heart" we find the narrator drinking too much, drunk driving to his old girlfriend's house (the verb Jeff Tweedy uses for drunk driving is "assassining", which is amazing), and sleeping with her but instantly regretting it. Each verse is followed by a different segue of weird percussion and blips and a play on the line "What was I thinking when I let go of you". This slowly morphs into "when I said hello" and "when I let you back in" and culminates in the spoken word "I am trying to break your heart, but I'd be lying if I said it wasn't easy". It's a regretful song narrated by someone who can't help themselves, and it is not unique in that regard on this album.
The album touches on a few other subjects, like trying in vain to find self-help and cure-alls ("Radio Cure") and being unable to find any meaning in religion ("Jesus Etc"). It touches on patriotism and disillusionment with one's country in "Ashes of American Flags" (the album was recorded in early 2001 but was released one week after Septemeber 11th, meaning American listeners instantly had a meaning for tracks title like "Ashes..". and "War on War").
The album tries to be hopeful, with the nostalgic "Heavy Metal Drummer" and the most country-sounding song on the album in "I'm The Man Who Loves You." But it can't keep up the act for long. In Poor Places the music slowly fades out to a robotic voice stating the album's title, which then blends back into "Reservations" and the most touching line on the album: "I've got reservations about so many things, but not about you". That's normally where I lose it. The songs slowly fades out to a bunch of static and more bloops, a confusing end to an album about how life is confusing. [First added to this chart: 03/01/2014]
Year of Release:
2002
Appears in:
Rank Score:
20,591
Rank in 2002:
Rank in 2000s:
Overall Rank:
Average Rating:
Comments:
Buy album
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Like walking across the stage at your graduation and having your young son watching you
I knew I would like this album after hearing the first sample (for obvious reasons - foreshadowing if you're reading this chart backwards). The production on this album is incredible - it's a lush, sample-filled wonderland that manages to create a few club-worthy bangers. And given that sample-filled wonderland is my favorite style of hip hop production, it's pretty obvious that I would like it.
Which is strange, because as good as the production is it's really the lyrics that take center stage here. Now, Blu is not an expert wordsmith by any means. He's a great rhymer, but his lyrics consist of almost no figurative language, which, for a genre that's often known for clever similes and vivid imagery is a little unique. Instead he stays mostly conversational, talking about his life and the things he's learned. And apparently Blu is a really great storyteller, because this is way more interesting than any clever wordplay rap song could ever be.
Blu mostly tells a coming of age tale of how he got into rapping and wants to prove his doubters wrong. Occasionally, this gets a little old - he mentions that he's 22 approximately 548 times, though I may have miscounted - but overall the messages are pretty interesting. He talks about when he learned he'd be a father, when he started to get bored of rapping, and childhood memories of basketball games in a stream-of-consciousness style that lets him jump from one talking point to another without anything feeling out of place. Overall conscious hip hop doesn't do much for me as it often feels like it's trying too hard, but here Blu is being conscious in the best way possible - by just being honest. Most memorable lines include:
"You can call it hell but bruh, I just say I'm below the heavens"
"Fuck hoes, because in the end I need a wife to love"
"Feeling like you struck a million looking at your kid like shit, this is my son. This n**** came from my nuts" [First added to this chart: 11/18/2014]
I knew I would like this album after hearing the first sample (for obvious reasons - foreshadowing if you're reading this chart backwards). The production on this album is incredible - it's a lush, sample-filled wonderland that manages to create a few club-worthy bangers. And given that sample-filled wonderland is my favorite style of hip hop production, it's pretty obvious that I would like it.
Which is strange, because as good as the production is it's really the lyrics that take center stage here. Now, Blu is not an expert wordsmith by any means. He's a great rhymer, but his lyrics consist of almost no figurative language, which, for a genre that's often known for clever similes and vivid imagery is a little unique. Instead he stays mostly conversational, talking about his life and the things he's learned. And apparently Blu is a really great storyteller, because this is way more interesting than any clever wordplay rap song could ever be.
Blu mostly tells a coming of age tale of how he got into rapping and wants to prove his doubters wrong. Occasionally, this gets a little old - he mentions that he's 22 approximately 548 times, though I may have miscounted - but overall the messages are pretty interesting. He talks about when he learned he'd be a father, when he started to get bored of rapping, and childhood memories of basketball games in a stream-of-consciousness style that lets him jump from one talking point to another without anything feeling out of place. Overall conscious hip hop doesn't do much for me as it often feels like it's trying too hard, but here Blu is being conscious in the best way possible - by just being honest. Most memorable lines include:
"You can call it hell but bruh, I just say I'm below the heavens"
"Fuck hoes, because in the end I need a wife to love"
"Feeling like you struck a million looking at your kid like shit, this is my son. This n**** came from my nuts" [First added to this chart: 11/18/2014]
Year of Release:
2007
Appears in:
Rank Score:
687
Rank in 2007:
Rank in 2000s:
Overall Rank:
Average Rating:
Comments:
Buy album
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Like walking up to a window in your log cabin and watching the falling snow rise up past your waist
The more conversations you have about music the more you have to accept that music makes everybody feel differently. Every song is open to interpretation to everyone who hears it, and it's rare to find songs with a consensus as to what the music evokes. Which is why it's so crazy that every review I've seen for this album talk about how wintery it sounds. But don't believe me, listen to it yourself. From the first few notes you'll probably picture chilly, desolate landscapes and start to shiver. And I think I know why. Folk metal always struck me as a genre that had to be made up. It was like bubblegum thrash or instrumental spoken word - a combination of things that were complete opposites. But actually the two compliment each other perfectly. The folk aspects (read: the acoustic guitars) give the music an earthy feel, while the metal aspects (read: the electric guitars) add a sense of impending doom and a lack of hope. Combine the two and you get the season that conveys death and decay: winter.
But of course there's nothing inherently special about creating that feeling; the impressive thing is how The Mantle maintains that atmosphere for over an hour without every breaking. It opens with a song called A Celebration For The Death Of Man, which gives a pretty good indication of how cheerful the album will be. But the song is almost entirely acoustic; though I would describe the album as metal it's very reluctant to actually cut loose and get loud. Most of the tracks (the opener included) build and build and build only to flatten out without any real metal riffing. The climaxes of songs are not shouted, but rather whispered. I can't get over how well the acoustic guitar works with the heavy bass and drums, probably because it's otherworldly.
Many of the vocals here are growled, which initially turned me off. And in some types of metal I still don't enjoy this, because it either sounds ridiculous or unnecessary. But given the themes of this album, the growled vocals only make the experience even deeper and more immersive. And the singer knows when to ditch them and go clean, such as on the closing track. And most of the time I wouldn't say the growling sounds angry, just sinister more than anything. It's one indication that despite this being an album about death and endings, those things aren't always without beauty. Case in point, a lyric from In The Shadow Of Our Pale Companion: "If this grand panorama before me is what you call God, then God is not dead." [First added to this chart: 05/18/2015]
The more conversations you have about music the more you have to accept that music makes everybody feel differently. Every song is open to interpretation to everyone who hears it, and it's rare to find songs with a consensus as to what the music evokes. Which is why it's so crazy that every review I've seen for this album talk about how wintery it sounds. But don't believe me, listen to it yourself. From the first few notes you'll probably picture chilly, desolate landscapes and start to shiver. And I think I know why. Folk metal always struck me as a genre that had to be made up. It was like bubblegum thrash or instrumental spoken word - a combination of things that were complete opposites. But actually the two compliment each other perfectly. The folk aspects (read: the acoustic guitars) give the music an earthy feel, while the metal aspects (read: the electric guitars) add a sense of impending doom and a lack of hope. Combine the two and you get the season that conveys death and decay: winter.
But of course there's nothing inherently special about creating that feeling; the impressive thing is how The Mantle maintains that atmosphere for over an hour without every breaking. It opens with a song called A Celebration For The Death Of Man, which gives a pretty good indication of how cheerful the album will be. But the song is almost entirely acoustic; though I would describe the album as metal it's very reluctant to actually cut loose and get loud. Most of the tracks (the opener included) build and build and build only to flatten out without any real metal riffing. The climaxes of songs are not shouted, but rather whispered. I can't get over how well the acoustic guitar works with the heavy bass and drums, probably because it's otherworldly.
Many of the vocals here are growled, which initially turned me off. And in some types of metal I still don't enjoy this, because it either sounds ridiculous or unnecessary. But given the themes of this album, the growled vocals only make the experience even deeper and more immersive. And the singer knows when to ditch them and go clean, such as on the closing track. And most of the time I wouldn't say the growling sounds angry, just sinister more than anything. It's one indication that despite this being an album about death and endings, those things aren't always without beauty. Case in point, a lyric from In The Shadow Of Our Pale Companion: "If this grand panorama before me is what you call God, then God is not dead." [First added to this chart: 05/18/2015]
Year of Release:
2002
Appears in:
Rank Score:
1,486
Rank in 2002:
Rank in 2000s:
Overall Rank:
Average Rating:
Comments:
Buy album
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Like walking out of a rowdy bar drunk at 2 AM and realizing you have to be at work in six hours
I'll start this one off with a bit of autobiographical stuff. When I was in college I did not party at all, partially because I was shy and uninterested but also because none of my friends did. Instead I hung out in the dorms on weekend nights playing board games, watching TV, and writing captions for the original version of this list. In fact, I didn't go out drinking at the bars until two nights before I graduated. But I made up for lost time by going out the next night as well and being super hungover at my graduation.
The reason I include that is that this album was not written for me. This album is basically the album-length version of All My Friends, with all of the songs being loud tributes to getting messed up but realizing you're a little too old to still be getting messed up. It's the music version of the curtain being pulled back and realizing there are consequences to all the debauchery of your past, but trying to ignore that by ordering another beer. And these songs absolutely rock; this is a combination of heartland rock and pub rock that sounds like Bruce Springsteen if his music had a bit more edge. There are pianos and horns in just the right places to highlight the enormous riffs. It would be easy to listen to this album and think it was a total frat rock album if you ignored the lyrics. But the lyrics make it so much more.
The Hold Steady have always been a very lyrically dense band, and that has not changed here. Opener Stuck Between Stations includes a lot of fun turns of phrases like "she was a real good kisser but she wasn't all that strict of a Christian" and my favorite:
"There was that night that we thought John Berryman could fly
But he didn't so he died
She said 'you're pretty good with words, but words won't save your life'
And they didn't so he died"
The song is a fun loud song and like I said, if you ignore the lyrics about being hazy and "stuck between stations" from partying too much, you'd think it was a lot of fun. That theme continues throughout the album: a story about a drug habit that "started recreational, ended kind of medical," a story of two dehydrated festival goers making out in the recovery tent, and a mournful story of a friend whose habits made it so she was never the same as when she first met the narrator. My favorite is You Can Make Him Like You, which at first comes off as a really misogynistic song. The narrator tells girls not to worry about things like knowing where your dealer is or knowing how to get home because their boyfriends handle it, at one point even suggesting they just hang in the kitchen with the other women. But the chorus flips this around completely, suggesting that if they find themselves in this situation they should leave and find somebody else. It doesn't hurt that this is the most raucous garage rock song on the album.
Again, I can't personally relate to most of these stories. But the album has the feeling of an epiphany, of dunking your head in cold running water and things finally getting a little clearer. And though most of the album gets your adrenaline going, there's nothing like the second half of First Night. The music stops except for one piano, and the title of the album is quietly repeated. Then it bursts open again with Craig Finn's victorious snarl. Finn isn't a great vocalist, but he's got infinite moxie, and that's really what counts here. [First added to this chart: 05/29/2020]
I'll start this one off with a bit of autobiographical stuff. When I was in college I did not party at all, partially because I was shy and uninterested but also because none of my friends did. Instead I hung out in the dorms on weekend nights playing board games, watching TV, and writing captions for the original version of this list. In fact, I didn't go out drinking at the bars until two nights before I graduated. But I made up for lost time by going out the next night as well and being super hungover at my graduation.
The reason I include that is that this album was not written for me. This album is basically the album-length version of All My Friends, with all of the songs being loud tributes to getting messed up but realizing you're a little too old to still be getting messed up. It's the music version of the curtain being pulled back and realizing there are consequences to all the debauchery of your past, but trying to ignore that by ordering another beer. And these songs absolutely rock; this is a combination of heartland rock and pub rock that sounds like Bruce Springsteen if his music had a bit more edge. There are pianos and horns in just the right places to highlight the enormous riffs. It would be easy to listen to this album and think it was a total frat rock album if you ignored the lyrics. But the lyrics make it so much more.
The Hold Steady have always been a very lyrically dense band, and that has not changed here. Opener Stuck Between Stations includes a lot of fun turns of phrases like "she was a real good kisser but she wasn't all that strict of a Christian" and my favorite:
"There was that night that we thought John Berryman could fly
But he didn't so he died
She said 'you're pretty good with words, but words won't save your life'
And they didn't so he died"
The song is a fun loud song and like I said, if you ignore the lyrics about being hazy and "stuck between stations" from partying too much, you'd think it was a lot of fun. That theme continues throughout the album: a story about a drug habit that "started recreational, ended kind of medical," a story of two dehydrated festival goers making out in the recovery tent, and a mournful story of a friend whose habits made it so she was never the same as when she first met the narrator. My favorite is You Can Make Him Like You, which at first comes off as a really misogynistic song. The narrator tells girls not to worry about things like knowing where your dealer is or knowing how to get home because their boyfriends handle it, at one point even suggesting they just hang in the kitchen with the other women. But the chorus flips this around completely, suggesting that if they find themselves in this situation they should leave and find somebody else. It doesn't hurt that this is the most raucous garage rock song on the album.
Again, I can't personally relate to most of these stories. But the album has the feeling of an epiphany, of dunking your head in cold running water and things finally getting a little clearer. And though most of the album gets your adrenaline going, there's nothing like the second half of First Night. The music stops except for one piano, and the title of the album is quietly repeated. Then it bursts open again with Craig Finn's victorious snarl. Finn isn't a great vocalist, but he's got infinite moxie, and that's really what counts here. [First added to this chart: 05/29/2020]
Year of Release:
2006
Appears in:
Rank Score:
911
Rank in 2006:
Rank in 2000s:
Overall Rank:
Average Rating:
Comments:
Buy album
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Like walking through Death Valley with your headphones turned up to 11
Until a recent update, this chart had a lot of comments talking about the music I used to listen to and how my tastes have changed over the years. At some point though I realized that only really benefits me, so in the interest of making more insightful comments I've gotten rid of those. That said, I'll take a quick opportunity to reminisce a little. I've been going through my music collection and have found that I don't like a lot of the rock I used to listen to. Most of it just sounds the same to me now, either due to changing tastes or having listened to albums too many times. However, the one exception is Queens of the Stone Age. They still sound fresh to my ears, which is weird. In fact, this is probably the album I heard the earliest all the way through that is still on my chart.
Queens of the Stone Age describe themselves as robot rock, and it really is a great descriptor. Like most hard rock bands their music is heavy with riffs, but they're not normal guitar riffs. They're driving, immense, powerful riffs. They largely avoid guitar noodling, but somehow their songs are still so layered that they feel complex. But really there's nothing there besides good old rock and roll. But, better, I guess. Seriously, listen to The Sky Is Fallin, that riff will rip your face off. Lots of people talk about how Dave Grohl played drums on this album and how that's a huge deal, but I honestly don't think it mattered. At the end of the day QOTSA is Josh Homme with a revolving cast of musicians, and as long as the riffs and Homme's voice are there it really comes out the same.
Most QOTSA albums have a theme, and this is the radio one, constructed to sound like a drive through California complete with radio snippets. It doesn't always work, but usually the snippets are pretty entertaining and don't disrupt the flow of the album. The whole album also has a sinister feel to it, which is normal for the band, but Song For The Dead and God Is In The Radio both are a little creepier than their normal work. Add in vocals by Mark Lanegan and you have a real sexy, dirty, creepy no-nonsense rock album. [First added to this chart: 08/04/2013]
Until a recent update, this chart had a lot of comments talking about the music I used to listen to and how my tastes have changed over the years. At some point though I realized that only really benefits me, so in the interest of making more insightful comments I've gotten rid of those. That said, I'll take a quick opportunity to reminisce a little. I've been going through my music collection and have found that I don't like a lot of the rock I used to listen to. Most of it just sounds the same to me now, either due to changing tastes or having listened to albums too many times. However, the one exception is Queens of the Stone Age. They still sound fresh to my ears, which is weird. In fact, this is probably the album I heard the earliest all the way through that is still on my chart.
Queens of the Stone Age describe themselves as robot rock, and it really is a great descriptor. Like most hard rock bands their music is heavy with riffs, but they're not normal guitar riffs. They're driving, immense, powerful riffs. They largely avoid guitar noodling, but somehow their songs are still so layered that they feel complex. But really there's nothing there besides good old rock and roll. But, better, I guess. Seriously, listen to The Sky Is Fallin, that riff will rip your face off. Lots of people talk about how Dave Grohl played drums on this album and how that's a huge deal, but I honestly don't think it mattered. At the end of the day QOTSA is Josh Homme with a revolving cast of musicians, and as long as the riffs and Homme's voice are there it really comes out the same.
Most QOTSA albums have a theme, and this is the radio one, constructed to sound like a drive through California complete with radio snippets. It doesn't always work, but usually the snippets are pretty entertaining and don't disrupt the flow of the album. The whole album also has a sinister feel to it, which is normal for the band, but Song For The Dead and God Is In The Radio both are a little creepier than their normal work. Add in vocals by Mark Lanegan and you have a real sexy, dirty, creepy no-nonsense rock album. [First added to this chart: 08/04/2013]
Year of Release:
2002
Appears in:
Rank Score:
11,593
Rank in 2002:
Rank in 2000s:
Overall Rank:
Average Rating:
Comments:
Total albums: 28. Page 1 of 3
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Top 100 Greatest Music Albums composition
| Decade | Albums | % | |
|---|---|---|---|
 |
 |
|
|
| 1930s | 0 | 0% | |
| 1940s | 0 | 0% | |
| 1950s | 0 | 0% | |
| 1960s | 4 | 4% | |
| 1970s | 9 | 9% | |
| 1980s | 8 | 8% | |
| 1990s | 23 | 23% | |
| 2000s | 28 | 28% | |
| 2010s | 28 | 28% | |
| 2020s | 0 | 0% |
| Artist | Albums | % | |
|---|---|---|---|
|
|
 |
|
|
| Modest Mouse | 3 | 3% | |
| Kanye West | 2 | 2% | |
| Songs: Ohia | 2 | 2% | |
| Sufjan Stevens | 2 | 2% | |
| Kendrick Lamar | 2 | 2% | |
| Nas | 1 | 1% | |
| The Hold Steady | 1 | 1% | |
| Show all | |||
Top 100 Greatest Music Albums chart changes
| Biggest climbers |
|---|
| Up 44 from 79th to 35th E•MO•TION by Carly Rae Jepsen |
| Up 35 from 45th to 10th Songs About Leaving by Carissa's Wierd |
| Up 29 from 76th to 47th The Glow Pt. 2 by The Microphones |
| Biggest fallers |
|---|
| Down 32 from 57th to 89th Dig Me Out by Sleater-Kinney |
| Down 29 from 26th to 55th The Suburbs by Arcade Fire |
| Down 29 from 52nd to 81st Crack The Skye by Mastodon |
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Top 100 Greatest Music Albums ratings
94/100 (from 149 votes)
where:
av = trimmed mean average rating an item has currently received.
n = number of ratings an item has currently received.
m = minimum number of ratings required for an item to appear in a 'top-rated' chart (currently 10).
AV = the site mean average rating.
Showing latest 5 ratings for this chart. | Show all 149 ratings for this chart.
| Rating | Date updated | Member | Chart ratings | Avg. chart rating |
|---|---|---|---|---|
90/100  | 01/16/2023 22:04 | Johnnyo | | 80/100 |
90/100 | 05/21/2022 09:11 |  Timestarter | | 90/100 |
 100/100 | 09/11/2021 15:03 |  AvalancheGrips | | 89/100 |
95/100 | 08/31/2021 21:02 | leniad | | 85/100 |
100/100 | 04/28/2021 09:45 |  DriftingOrpheus | | 91/100 |
Rating metrics:
Outliers can be removed when calculating a mean average to dampen the effects of ratings outside the normal distribution. This figure is provided as the trimmed mean. A high standard deviation can be legitimate, but can sometimes indicate 'gaming' is occurring. Consider a simplified example* of an item receiving ratings of 100, 50, & 0. The mean average rating would be 50. However, ratings of 55, 50 & 45 could also result in the same average. The second average might be more trusted because there is more consensus around a particular rating (a lower deviation).
(*In practice, some charts can have several thousand ratings)
This chart is rated in the top 1% of all charts on BestEverAlbums.com. This chart has a Bayesian average rating of 93.6/100, a mean average of 93.5/100, and a trimmed mean (excluding outliers) of 94.1/100. The standard deviation for this chart is 7.6.
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Top 100 Greatest Music Albums favourites
Showing latest 20 members who have added this chart as a favourite | Show all 43 members
Top 100 Greatest Music Albums comments
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90/100
From Johnnyo 01/16/2023 22:05
Great chart and the work that has gone into each entry. Wow! Brilliant stuff
Helpful? (Log in to vote) | 0 votes (0 helpful | 0 unhelpful)
95/100
From leniad 08/31/2021 21:02
good writing and good taste
Helpful? (Log in to vote) | 0 votes (0 helpful | 0 unhelpful)
From weyesgroove 09/29/2020 16:32
cool chart man. love the descriptions.
Helpful? (Log in to vote) | 0 votes (0 helpful | 0 unhelpful)
100/100
From 
Keatownrodriguez 10/28/2019 21:19
Keatownrodriguez 10/28/2019 21:19
Any chart with this much time put into it is so cool to me
Helpful? (Log in to vote) | +1 votes (1 helpful | 0 unhelpful)
95/100
From pctrooper 10/04/2019 19:23
These notes are so detailed and helpful for advocating your choices. You must really know how to listen to music and listen to it hard. Great albums, too.
Helpful? (Log in to vote) | +1 votes (1 helpful | 0 unhelpful)
100/100
From eharrell 07/24/2019 00:02
Best Chart ever
Helpful? (Log in to vote) | +1 votes (1 helpful | 0 unhelpful)
100/100
From tk421ucopy 07/23/2019 19:24
incredible. you have a different taste in music, but wow these descriptions are prime
Helpful? (Log in to vote) | +1 votes (1 helpful | 0 unhelpful)
100/100
From 
DommeDamian 07/23/2019 12:00
DommeDamian 07/23/2019 12:00
Is there a limit of how much inspiration, this chart can give?
Helpful? (Log in to vote) | 0 votes (0 helpful | 0 unhelpful)
100/100
From xXhermitXx 10/18/2018 04:05
Holy crap what a chart, have a bunch in common with me and a whole list of new ones to check out, i also loved your descriptions.
Helpful? (Log in to vote) | +2 votes (2 helpful | 0 unhelpful)
100/100
From 
jdenny2018 10/18/2018 01:19
jdenny2018 10/18/2018 01:19
This is one of the most amazing things I've ever read
Helpful? (Log in to vote) | +2 votes (2 helpful | 0 unhelpful)
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| Best Ever Artists | |
|---|---|
| 1. The Beatles | |
| 2. Radiohead | |
| 3. Pink Floyd | |
| 4. David Bowie | |
| 5. Bob Dylan | |
| 6. Led Zeppelin | |
| 7. The Rolling Stones | |
| 8. Arcade Fire | |
| 9. The Velvet Underground | |
| 10. Kendrick Lamar | |
| 11. Nirvana | |
| 12. Neil Young | |
| 13. The Smiths | |
| 14. Miles Davis | |
| 15. The Beach Boys | |
| 16. Kanye West | |
| 17. Pixies | |
| 18. R.E.M. | |
| 19. Jimi Hendrix | |
| 20. Bruce Springsteen |