Wax Ecstatic: The 100 Greatest Albums of All Time Part #10
Records 10-1
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Good morning!
Here’s an affectionate attempt at ranking their records with the understanding that placing things you love in a rigid hierarchy is objectively insane
~Elizabeth Nelson
Welcome to Part 10!
If you've been enjoying the ride we've been on for the last several weeks, it's safe to say you have Lauryn Hill to thank.
Why her? Hill was indirectly responsible for this project. Apple named her The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill, its top album, and people went berserk.
Sam Colt and I got to talking.
Our chats weren't so much about the record itself but about the pick and what the larger reaction to it said about music, music fans, and lists like this.
The idea that the same 10-15 records should dominate any top 10 list grows more outdated by the day but is still very much alive.
Want to see it? Post a list without the usual suspects and watch a bunch of people lose their minds.
Want to see it in double time? Dare to be a woman and make these lists, or name one as your top artist. Again, those attitudes are slowly changing, but like anything so entrenched, it comes much slower than we'd like.
One of the knocks on Apple's list was that the records were "too new.” Most of those howls came from the predictable gatekeepers- i.e., middle-aged dudes who, for years, decided which classic rock records desired to be at the top. Those complaints ignored one critical fact: this record is already in its late 20s. Calling out recency bias can be fair play, but in this case, it was often used as a cloud cover for other reasons (genre and gender chief among them).
It's tough to remain objective when reviewing any record. Personal taste is one thing, and album strengths and flaws are separate. It's not something everyone always gets right (see: Alexander v. Radiohead), but it's critical to make an effort. You can say you just don't like something, and that's fine. What you don't get to do is make the declarative statement that something doesn't belong in a best-of discussion without including objective criteria.
(exhale)
The genesis of this project wasn't some high-minded ideal or wish to change the world (though both of us are very much fans of this evolution and want to accelerate it). It was born of something more straightforward- two avowed music nerds figured if we were gonna talk shit about any list, we should at least put our money where our mouths were.
At their most cynical, projects like this are a cheap play for clicks, likes, and ad traffic. At their best, they change the musical landscape for those lucky enough to read them.
If nothing else, I hope you've found a new favorite record or two here- as a music writer, that's kind of my job. If we've changed your perception of the music world, we've done what we set out to do.
KA—
Need to catch up? Check out Parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, and 9.
All of Sam’s are here. While you're there, subscribe to This Is A Newsletter!
Be sure to check out the playlist as well! We’re adding selected tracks from the records covered here each week. It’s best enjoyed on shuffle.
Let’s get into it!
10: Public Enemy- It Takes A Nation of Millions to Hold Us Back (1988)
In 1988, hip-hop was slowly evolving. New styles, new flow, new ways of reworking beats. It had also always been a platform for social commentary, but no one was ready for Public Enemy's It Takes a Nation of Millions.
Chuck D. spent an entire record throwing haymakers. Hype man Flava Flav did his thing. Terminator X (and the Bomb Squad) took samples and made them into something urgent. Can a song that elicits the same reaction as an air raid siren also be a banger?
It Takes a Nation showed us the answer was yes.
My abiding memory of this record is my best friend and me playing it for the first time in his room and spending the next hour alternating between rewinding/replaying tracks and staring wide-eyed at each other. If nothing else, Chuck D. & Co. opened the eyes of a couple of 13-year-old kids that day.
Plenty of records used politics as a backdrop, but few drew inspiration directly from their beliefs. It was loud, had swagger, and called you to action. It's edgy and on edge. It's defiant. It agitates. It uses lyrics and bass to speak truth to power and throw (proverbial) bricks through windows. It felt like a stick of dynamite in your hand. This record can play at a BBQ or soundtrack a revolution.
It Takes a Nation of Millions to Hold Us Back is the greatest hip-hop record ever made. Don't believe the hype; listen to it and see for yourself.
Sam’s pick & my take: Radiohead- In Rainbows (2007)
At this point, I am relatively confident that one of Sam's reasons for doing this was to get me to change my mind on Radiohead. This is the second time we've seen the band here, and without looking, they're one of only a couple of repeat bands.
We saw Ok Computer in Part 5, and in the comments, we got a hint of what would come with him describing In Rainbows as a "perfect rock album." I prefer the wide-open style Radiohead over the bleeps and bloops side. This album over-indexed on the former, which is appealing.
Seeing a track like "Weird Fishes/Arpeggi" with 218m plays on Spotify was also revelatory. I'd never heard it, which, if nothing else, is a good example of what happens when you stay closed off to specific bands. It's not terrible. "All I Need" is great. "House of Cards" is even better.
Is In Rainbows perfect? While I wouldn't go that far, I did like "House of Cards" enough to play it a few more times. That's not a big deal in the grand scheme of things, but it is a seismic shift for me.
Baby steps, Sam, baby steps.
9: Jawbreaker- 24 Hour Revenge Therapy (1994)
An account on Twitter called Year’s Progress measures the march of time counting up from zero as the year goes on. As of a few days ago, we’re already 76% of the way through 2024. By the time you read this, we’ll be a few more percentage points further along.
Time marches on, indeed.
This bar goes from 0 to 100, but most of us usually count backward—most often watching our phone batteries drop from 100 to 0. If you're like me, you're reminded of this frequently, either with a tweet or post that a record you love has hit a huge milestone or a coworker who never misses a chance to mention that a record you love is one their parents played while they were growing up. Oof.
The march of times means an accumulation of memories and the realization that large blocks of time are lost somewhere in the hourglass. It is probably for the best that the blur of regular workdays, errands, and the quotidian aren't jamming up our mental hard drives, but what about entire years? I can recall very few things from ‘05-08. Most of that is due to being in the Baby Cave1, but still. For many, the pandemic is a blur. I wish I could join them, but I spent a good chunk of it rehabbing a knee and exploring the brave new world of telehealth.
Go back further, and the memories dwindle down to something of a highlight reel—a snapshot here, a clip there. Like many of you, that high-light reel has clips of shows and records bought that became favorites. One of mine is Jawbreaker’s 24-Hour Revenge Therapy, which turned 30 earlier this year.
One of my concerns going into this round of picks was that I would wind up just fanboying a little too hard over this record and this band. It’s true that they’re one of my favorites, and it’s true that as of today they’re still the only band I followed out onto the road (okay, just a swing of dates up/down I-5, but still). I’ve written about them several times here. I’ve been fortunate to guest post about them on sites like Goatfury.
I recently appeared on the What Am I Making podcast to talk about this very show.
An objective review? I’ll do my best…
My friend Matt and I drove up to Olympia to see the band. An event that will also turn 30 soon enough. At this point in our lives (progress bar at 20% ish), we habitually made these runs up & down I-5. We did it enough that we knew where the speed traps were. How far we had left by mile markers. Which rest area had the best coffee and nicest volunteers (is that even still a thing?). Matt’s car smelled like cigarettes, burning oil, and occasionally coolant. I know this was his car crying out for help. I don’t know why it's such a distinct memory.
For this show, we were backstage—literally. The band was facing backward, with us where props and stagehands would usually be. I can't remember the setlist, but I know they played a few new ones. I’m sure the stage banter was fantastic. I’m 100% sure they tore the roof off.
The entry/exit led to a little square where the band had their van. After they loaded out, they opened the van’s back doors and set up a little merch table. If memory serves, they really just opened a couple of boxes in the back. I bought a shirt and a copy of the CD. They were incredibly kind to us and stuck around to chat long after all the wallets were closed. Meeting your heroes can be fraught, but having it go well is something you never forget.
In 1994, sell-out was still one of the most stinging pejoratives you could hurl at someone. It was kryptonite to many artists and a damning indictment for anyone silly enough to want to be successful. Jawbreaker took a look at it and laughed. They also wrote a song about it (“Boxcar”). You're not punk, and I'm telling everyone? Cool.
24-Hour Revenge Therapy is a tight record, crammed to capacity with hooks and sharp lyrics. It tackles all the themes 20-somethings wrestle with. If there is a better song about the fraught nature of a fracturing relationship than “Do You Still Hate Me,” I’ve yet to see it. “West Bay Invitational” felt like a vignette of every party I went to in those days.
Frontman Blake Schwarzenbach has always been able to bend the English language to his will, never more so than on this record. It is both beautiful and raw —a rare combo. This was Emo before that meant 24-word song titles and forward-combed hair. Before it became a four-letter word. It was an album that inspired 100 of your favorite bands to start playing.
The shirt is long gone, having been one of those I literally wore out. But the CD is still here, and sounds as good playing as I type this as when I unwrapped it in Matt’s car for the trip home. It’s also now been here for ~62% of my life (so far). Through untold life events- some remembered, some lost to the progress bar that never stops moving. For those I can still see in my mind’s eye, nothing represents where I was in life at the time better than this record. good music, bad decisions, and everything in between.
I imagine it’ll still be there when the progress bar on my one wild and precious life hits 100%
Sam’s pick & my take: The Clash- London Calling (1979)
When we started this, I figured we'd have a lot of records in common, and I wanted to see how that presented itself in the data/rankings. It's been fascinating to see them show up and where they are showing up relative to each other. The higher some of mine are, the lower Sam's are, and vice versa. I still need to scrub the data to verify that and am going off of memory here, but seeing this as Sam's #8 and knowing it was my 28th seems to bear that out. I ended my case by saying that London Calling is one of those records everyone should own. And it is.
8: Kate Bush- Hounds of Love (1985)
This was Sam’s #18 last week.
My take:
What can I say about this record? I love that so many people have found it thanks to Stranger Things (at least, I hope they've gone past "Running Up That Hill"). It is an exquisite take on love, life, heartache, and death; it’s a synth record. It's theater in the round. It's an album with millions and millions of listens, and it feels like it was made for you and you alone. It's got a song for the dance floor ("Running Up That Hill"), one for a quiet morning ("The Morning Fog"), and everything in between. Hounds of Love is anthemic. "The Big Sky" is over the top and as ostentatious as anything else you'll see in this series. And I'm here for all of it.
Most everyone knows the story of Kate Bush's "Running up that Hill." For those that might not, the short version is this: the song was initially released in 1985, appearing on her Hounds of Love record.
Thirty-seven years later, it rose again to prominence after being featured in the 4th season of “Stranger Things.” On its first release, it went to number 3 in the UK. It charted a second time in 2012 when it was used as part of the year's Olympics closing ceremony. And in June of 2022, it topped the charts.
As Drew Austin noted at the time:
The recent resurgence of Kate Bush’s “Running Up That Hill,” sparked by its placement in Stranger Things, should not have been too surprising (and maybe it wasn’t) but its particular resonance probably derives from the song’s status as “a shibboleth of good taste in music,” as Foster Kamer wrote. Kate Bush is a bridge connecting the old world—where shibboleths of good taste mattered—to the new world where we wake up as clean slates each morning, primed for algorithmic feeds and streaming platforms’ curation to reprogram us anew.
No gatekeeping here; as a longtime fan, I love that so many people are finding her work for the first time. With ten studio albums, there's a lot to root through. In the meantime, I thought I'd offer up 3 of my favorites off the record as a sort of primer.
Cloudbusting: was the second single off of Hounds of Love. The song is about a man and his physicist father who spend their days "Cloudbusting," a rain-making process. Dance group Utah Saints sampled it heavily for their 1992 track "Something Good," which is, well, good.
The Big Sky: If forced to pick, The Big Sky is probably my favorite song on the record. It's dynamic and over the top. The video is also worth watching; Bush is also a choreographer, and this became quite a production.
The Morning Fog: This is not like the others. It is a beautiful, reflective song, a great listen on an early morning walk.
As far as connecting the old and new worlds, I’ll just say this—I heard this for the first time when a friend played the tape in a Dairy Queen across from our school. It was his dad’s, and he’d grabbed it on a whim a few days prior and now found himself unable to stop listening to it.
Sam’s pick & my take: The Beach Boys- Pet Sounds (1966)
In 2022 I drew a line between Mad Men, Pet Sounds’ “I Just Wasn’t Made For These Times,” and seeing your parents on drugs. That was all square one for commentary on the band's discography. It was a fun exercise, and look, here’s the thing:
…at this point [Pet Sounds] is immune from any sort of criticism. It’s been on everyone’s “best of” list for so long, nobody bothers to see if it’s actually any good anymore (spoiler alert: It totally is).
But setting a bar that high isn’t always a good thing. For the Beach Boys, it became a litmus test against everything else they ever did. It also became a dividing line, where every record that came before is somehow regarded in a higher light, and everything after in a lower one, if not ignored outright.
The truth, of course, is somewhere in the middle.
Not everything that came out prior deserves to be lauded. Don’t believe me? Take a field trip through side 2 of records like “Shut Down Volume 2,” or Today! They’re…something.
And not everything that came after was garbage, though I’ll make a declarative statement that “Kokomo” is insufferable. In fact, most of the band’s post “Pet Sounds” catalog can be best described as overlooked. …Bottom line- “Pet Sounds” is an off-the-charts outlier. The overall quality of their records leading up to Pets and those immediately after is similar; the only difference is no one was listening to the latter.
Pet Sounds is a record that constantly threatens to collapse under its own weight, nearly destroying the band and Brian Wilson both. Along the way, they redefined pop music and created a litmus test for pretty much any record that came afterward. It’s sprawling, gaudy, and glorious. I must’ve been high to leave it off of my list.
7: Pearl Jam- Ten (1991)
The fall of 1991 was a great time to be alive. In the span of (roughly) six weeks, we were gifted Nirvana’s Nevermind, Soundgarden’s Badmotorfinger, and Ten by the band formerly known as Mookie Blaylock.
…and if you had pulled me aside in those days, put each of those records on the table, and asked me which band would still be going strong in 30 years, Pearl Jam would not have been my pick.
Fate had different plans for each of the band’s three frontmen, but part of Ten’s enduring appeal is what it isn’t. This is a band of and from Seattle and was inextricably linked with the grunge sound, but listening to Ten, it's much more of a rock record than anything. Sure, they wore the same flannel and Docs as everyone else, but this was a sound that hewed much closer to classic rock than the fuzzed-out sounds of Nirvana or Soundgarden. There’s more polish. There’s less nihilism.
Pearl Jam songs remain because they resonate. You only need to be at one of their shows once to see this. Fans know every word and sing along to every note. Younger me would find this obnoxious. Older me loves that a band means so much to so many. Wearing your heart on your sleeve and singing about going through it wasn’t exactly common in 1991— at least not in the fashion PJ was doing it.
Likewise, the band didn't shy away from tough topics like mental health and school shootings, which makes sense given the band’s origin story. This is a band borne of tragedy, after all. Had Mother Love Bone’s Andrew Wood not passed away in 1990, odds are good PJ would never have come to pass.
Musically, Ten feels light years ahead of its contemporaries, which makes sense given the CVs of the players (Mother Love Bone, Green River, etc.). Yet when you listen to it, it does not feel like a band that had only been together 6(ish) months at that point. That polish was in deep contrast to a lot of what was out at the time, with the poor sound on many records being a feature, not a bug. The idea that you could be so bad you were good was in vogue, a trend PJ thankfully gave the finger to.
For me, that’s a large part of why Ten endures. Yes, it (eventually) sold a bazillion copies. Yes, the same jocks that threw me into lockers loved it. Distilled down, this is an adventurous record that wasn't afraid to bust through the weird orthodoxies of the early 90s. It wasn't afraid to sound like arena rock in an era where calls to do the opposite were coming from every corner. Close the record with a 9+ minute track? In 1991 that was a ballsy move. Pearl Jam did it anyway. They did everything on their own terms.
And all of that aside, it rocks. The songs sounded as great in small clubs as they do at Wrigley Field. Other albums from that era sound like, well, records from the early 90s—almost as if they're stuck in amber. Many of them are good, and a few are great (some of them are on this list!), but none are as transcendent and influential as Ten.
Sam’s pick & my take: The Velvet Underground & Nico - The Velvet Underground & Nico (1967)
Remember when you were a kid, and your parents would try to get you to try a new dish by saying, "It has everything in it you like?" That might've been true, but there was no way you were taking a bite.
For the longest time, that was me and The Velvet Underground.
All the ingredients were there: a garage rock sound, a bit of new wave, and dark sunglasses—I wore those, too. And yet, I wouldn't bite.
I preferred Lou Reed's solo work. I mixed up John and JJ Cale.
The West Coast had Jerry Garcia, and the East Coast had Lou Reed. Both were prophets of growing subcultures, of what was happening on Haight & Ashbury and at Lexington One Two Five. Both made outstanding records with bands that took me forever to come around to.
Eventually, one day, it all clicked. I got it.
6: Michael Jackson- Thriller (1982)
1982 was a big year for Michael Jackson. It was the year his transformation was complete. Gone was the kid America had watched grow up singing and dancing on TV as part of the Jackson 5. Gone were the interim stages and records like Ben, Music and Me, and Off the Wall.
From Thriller, a new Michael Jackson emerged: the King of Pop.
Going into the studio, Jackson’s goal was to make a record with more than one good song and a bunch of filler. With magician Quincy Jones on the board and help from some friends like Eddie Van Halen (“Beat It”), horror king Vincent Price (“Thriller” and even Paul McCartney (The Girl Is Mine”), Thriller is the perfect blend of Pop, Dance, R&B, and funk. This is a record that left no detail uncovered. Even the sequencing feels just right- with tracks like “Baby Be Mine” and “Beat It” slowing down/speeding up the flow at the right time and in the right amount.
With seven of nine tracks reaching the top 10 and the record being one of the best-selling records ever, it’s safe to say that the plan worked.
(Sidebar: “Baby Be Mine” is probably the shortest line to Off the Wall; IMO, it should’ve been a massive hit. That it wasn’t is a testament to just how towering the songs around it were).
Thriller is an incredible record. But it also had an outsized, lasting impact on the culture. Performing for a Motown Anniversary special, Jackson introduced the moonwalk to the world. This was also still the era when MTV played Videos (yes, really), and Jackson leveraged that to the hilt. Video premieres were an event; few were more significant than the title track’s debut. Watching the uncut version with millions of other people felt electric.
Listening to the Thriller 40 years on, it still does.
Sam’s pick & my take: Prince and The Revolution- Purple Rain (1984)
Another record that made both lists is Purple Rain, which appeared on my chart a couple of weeks ago at #23. Some love Prince’s early work, while others will argue for his later albums. Most everyone can agree that this record is an all-timer.
5: Talking Heads- Stop Making Sense (1984)
I had a chance to see Nada Surf this week, which naturally sent me down a rabbit hole of articles, album reviews, etc.
In an interview with Seattle’s KEXP, frontman Matthew Caws mentions jamais vu, something he describes as when you suddenly feel like you've never seen this before. I've had that a lot. Maybe you have to? You know when all of a sudden you, even in the middle of a conversation with somebody you know really well, it can be like; Oh my God, I'm talking to this person, and they're in the middle of a story, and I'm really I'm here. This is wild, you know…Yeah. It's like you just unplugging and plugging back in, kind of like an accidental restart, which you didn't mean to... you didn't mean it to happen and all of a sudden, like wow, this is weird that I'm sitting right here with you. Like, with you, right here.
What does any of that have to do with Talking Heads’ Stop Making Sense? Well, 40ish years ago, on a field trip to Multnomah Falls, a classmate lent me a copy of it (borrowed from his older brother), and it was like a door to an entirely new universe had opened up. The music felt alive. Everything suddenly felt very present. I didn’t know it then, but I’d been struck with an acute case of jamais vu.
And after all this time, the record continues to reveal itself. I have owned this LP in almost every format—tape, CD, expanded version, vinyl. I have watched the film on everything from sketchy VHS copies to A24’s beautifully remastered version. I’ve heard this record a thousand times if I've heard it once. I always hear something new. A note here, a chord there. It never fails.
At the outset, Sam and I agreed to limit live records, soundtracks, and greatest hits. Stop Making Sense is, of course, all of the above, and rather than three strikes, I think, gives the album just enough leeway to be allowed.
We took great joy in what we were playing on stage and our interactions with each other, but we really wanted the audience to come away and go, "That was one of the best things I ever saw" — like, every night.
In other words, he wanted fans to have a sense of jamais vu. Mission accomplished.
Sam’s pick & my take: Stevie Wonder - Songs in the Key of Life (1976)
There are a few things no one ever deserves to see, including my dancing. And if you know what's best for you, if “Sir Duke” comes on, you’ll be in another area code.
Look, I can't help it. With Songs in the Key of Life, Wonder didn't just give us one incredibly infectious track; he gave us a beautifully weird, wonderful sonic adventure. The 1-2 punch of “Sir Duke” and “I Wish.” A song about God ("Have a Talk With God”), creative fodder for Coolio (“Pastime Paradise”). And he closed it all out with a harmonica solo ("Easy Goin' Evening (My Mama's Call)”). I mean…
Through it all, a rock-solid groove and Wonder's bright vocals never let up. You can feel it all o-o-o-over.
4: The Cure- Disintegration (1989)
Do kids these days still go through their “Cure phase?” Growing up, it just seemed like something you were supposed to do, even if you weren't feeling particularly miserable. There was always a bit of irony there.
Robert Smith was feeling down when recording this began. He felt pressure to follow up on the success Kiss Me Kiss Me Kiss Me had brought, and he was disillusioned with the band’s newfound popularity. He escaped those closing walls by taking a lot of LSD. Disintegration was every bit a group effort, but the result feels like we’re on one of Smith’s trips.
This was Sam’s #38 pick, and he wrote that he “…threw on some headphones and was blown away by how big everything sounded…” I’m not sure when Sam first put this record on, but I can tell you my first impression was almost the same. Even when they wandered a bit, the band’s previous records felt (relatively) compact. This was much more sprawling. Languid in parts, haunting in others. It was—and is—a sonic kaleidoscope, “Plainsong” especially. “Fascination Street” feels like the most on-brand track on the album, and even that sounds like new ground. The title track’s riff is as good as any the band ever recorded. The shattering of a mind never sounded so catchy.
For my part, I described the record as “A masterpiece. Gorgeous, lush music from the elder statesmen of the alternative/goth/whatever world. Reach into the bag and pick whatever superlative you want; they all fit. It was a record so good that one of their best tracks from that era (“2 Late”) was relegated to being a B-side. Kiss Me Kiss Me Kiss Me was one of the first CDs I ever bought. Growing up, I had a poster of Head on the Door in my bedroom. But if the house is on fire, this is the record I’m grabbing.”
In that same issue, I named Marvin Gaye’s What’s Going On my #36 pick, which, according to Sam, was an act of war. It became the yardstick against which every one of my future picks would be compared. I feel the same way with Sam “only” rating this #38. Gaye was looking to heal a splintered world. Smith was looking to heal his splintered mind. Both wound up delivering the best work of their careers.
At any rate, I think it’s pretty clear that we both hold this record in high regard—and rightly so. It remains the band’s magnum opus. Start here if you're looking for a definitive record by The Cure.
Smith was uncomfortable with the band's newfound popularity and wound up making one of their most significant records. Disintegration also had a love letter to Smith’s wife (“Lovesong”) that became one of their biggest hits, peaking at #2 on the Billboard Hot 100. That’s some next-level irony.
As for me? I’m pushing 50 and am still in my “Cure phase.”
Sam’s pick and my take: Kendrick Lamar - To Pimp a Butterfly (2015)
In the beef between Drake and Kendrick Lamar, there was no question: I would always go with K-Dot. Why? Because he represents the West Coast, and that's where I'm from. You never forget your roots, even when they're at opposite ends of an interstate highway.
But I wouldn't have to dig deep enough in the barrel to get to coastal allegiance. I could stop at "talent." I assumed just enough about him to be dangerous. A song here, a beat there. Lots of press. I hadn't listened to this LP all the way through until Sam shared his top 10 with me a few days ago.
All it did was prove that sometimes making assumptions is okay.
Lamar has bars for days. Good MCs are constantly finding new ways to twist language. Great MCs do that so well that you're pulled fully into their world before you know what hit you. Lamar is a hunter- he doesn't fall into traps; he sets them. He doesn't give in to temptation; actively resisting it fuels him.
Like any slice-of-life hip-hop record, there is trauma and tragedy. That's nothing new. But on To Pimp A Butterfly, there is something else: hope & determination. Sometimes, the goal is to be better. Sometimes it's just to make it to tomorrow.
Lamar shares his world with us, but our world is better for having this record in it.
3: Wire- Pink Flag (1977)
As much as I talk about 1991 being a watershed year for GenX and music, I imagine 1977 is the equivalent for younger boomers. So, so many outstanding records were released in such a short span.
And right at the end of that fabled year, Wire released its debut record, Pink Flag.
The record’s sound was as minimal as the artwork on its iconic cover. That’s a bit reductive, but it’s convenient to say the band did a lot with a little. Nothing is wasted here. Everything is urgent. There are 21 songs in just over 35 minutes. Over half clock in at under 90 seconds. They’re fast-paced but don’t feel rushed or sloppy. Nothing is left undone. It’s arty, it’s punk. It’s even a little funk (check out the sleazy groove on “Lowdown.”). “Ex-Lion Tamer” is catchy, with a chorus that dares you not to sing stay glued to your TV set along with the band. That’s not very punk, is it? Maybe squeezing in some pop is the most punk thing one could do. Those sorts of rules tend to become ouroboros anyway. Perhaps it’s best just to stay glued to your stereo and enjoy the ride.
Like a few others on this list, you can hear Pink Flag’s influence in all sorts of bands and genres. Minor Threat covered “I2XU.” R.E.M. does an amazing, if almost unrecognizable, version of “Strange” on their Document record. Elastica pipped the riff from “Three Girl Rhumba” for their hit “Connection.” which led to a trip to court and an eventual change in the song’s credits. It doesn't change the fact that this record’s reach was long.
Wire’s first three records, 1977’s Pink Flag, 78’s Chairs Missing, and 79’s 154, is one of the best three record runs in the modern era. I could make the case for each of these making the list, but Pink Flag does well to show the band where they were at and where they would soon go—and who they would take with them. There are a couple of punk tracks here (i.e., I2XU’), but more importantly, it serves as ground zero for what would become post-punk.
I often joke that “it’s always a good time for Wire.” If you've never heard Pink Flag, there’s no better time than right now.
Sam’s pick and my take: Ms. Lauryn Hill - The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill (1998)
I mentioned Lauryn Hill above, but what about the record Apple deemed worthy of the #1 spot on their 100 Best Albums list?
Look, here's the deal: The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill is powerful. It's full of smooth rhymes and sultry rhythm, and Hill wields both to take a sharp look at the world around her and her place in it. Everyone from Santana to D'Angelo shows up to the party; Hill stands above them all.
In their piece, Apple noted that Artists exhaust long discographies, hoping for a cohesive piece of work resonant enough to reshape culture and inscribe its creator into the pantheon; Lauryn Hill did it in one.
I'm not 100% sold on the claim that this record reshaped the culture. It’s also possible that the corners of society it most reshaped may be ones I don't often encounter. What is indisputable is that Hill belongs in the pantheon
2: New Order- Power, Corruption, and Lies (1983)
When I originally covered this record on Medium, I started by asking, "What’s a band to do when it loses its primary writer/driving force?"
Do they carry on in an altered state? Start over in a new direction? A little of both? That’s what the members of Joy Division faced following the suicide of lead singer Ian Curtis.
They went with option C, adding Gillian Gilbert on keyboards, renaming themselves New Order, and shifting from punk to a more electronic synth-infused sound.
If their first post-Joy Division record, Movement, was a statement of mourning. Power, Corruption, and Lies represents rebirth. It is their Declaration of Independence.
It was like going from black and white to color.
Between the two LPs, the band released three blindingly good singles: Everything’s Gone Green, Temptation, and Blue Monday, which would become the best-selling 12" record of all time.
“Having done those previous singles on our own, that’s when we knew what we really wanted it to sound like…We then wanted to move it along in our own way rather than how a producer might want to. We were left alone and came up with our own sound.”
~Gilian Gilbert
What they came up with was unlike anything else at the time. The record opens with Age of Consent, with its unforgettable riffs and a relentless drumbeat that may or may not have been knicked from a Joy Division song.
5–8–6 previews what House Music would become. Ecstasy sounds as if Giorgio Moroder sat in for a session or two.
Of all the records that I listen to now, in my opinion, Power Corruption and Lies has the best production.
Robert Christgau might’ve been playing cute when he described the album as “nice,” but it truly is an excellent record to listen to and has earned its way onto countless “best of” lists, including Rolling Stone’s Top 500 albums of all time. And while the cover may not have sparked a million t-shirts like Unknown Pleasures did, it was one of ten covers selected by the Royal Mail to be issued as postage stamps in 2010.
Power, Corruption, and Lies. Just eight tracks. But each one a realization of all the ideas, influences, and pass times that New Order were obssessed by….a hybrid of rock and dance music. A band mentality and an electronic aesthethic. Technology and heart.
Power Corruption and Lies blends old (classical )instruments with tech, birthing a unique sound that came to define New Order.
As for “Blue Monday?” The band didn’t even bother including it here. No matter. It’s sublime as it is.
Sam’s pick & my take: Marvin Gaye- What’s Going On (1971)
In Part 7, I slotted this in at #36, and Sam had some, um, "strong thoughts" about that, noting: I know I'm doing a spoiler for a future pick of mine, but this is WAY too low. In fact, I view this as an act of war. With every future pick of Kevin's, when you read my take on it, there will be an implied preface of, You put THIS over What's Going On??
I did, and now his thoughts make complete sense.
My crime against humanity aside, this is (still) an incredible record that long ago earned its rightful place on these sorts of lists and in people's hearts. It is a record that brings people together and makes them think. This record works better as a cohesive whole than almost anything else on either of our lists.
I only wish that the things that bothered Gaye so much in 1971 weren't still plaguing us. If only listening to a record more could change the world.
Oh, wait, it can.
1: Steely Dan- Aja (1977)
An earlier version of this first ran on Medium. It has been lightly edited/updated.
1989: A kid picks up a copy of De La Soul’s “3 Feet High And Rising.” He comes for Me Myself and I but stays for “Eye Know,” in love with the samples used. The kid rarely gets past this track after that. It’s the first of countless play/rewind/play cycles until the tape wears out.
1998: That same kid is now in his 20s and has a car whose most reliable feature is its stereo. He decides to test drive some new speakers by playing Lord Tariq & Peter Gunz’s Deja Vu (Uptown Baby). It, too, has a killer sample and has him singing “Uptown Baby” (a love letter to New York) as he winds his way toward downtown on the opposite coast.
It sounds exquisite.
The sample De La Soul’s Maseo used on “Eye Know” was taken from Steely Dan’s “Peg.” The latter was lifted from the band’s “Black Cow.”
Both are on the band’s 1977 Aja album. It, too, sounds exquisite.
Forty-seven years after its release, Aja rarely needs much introduction anymore.
Even if the title escapes a listener, the sounds do not. “Peg” is still a staple on AOR radio. Tracks like Deacon Blues and Josie are less so, but they still hold their own.
We might not know what blueprint blue is, but we know it looks good on her, and we know the song when we hear it.
Aja is a record that has sold millions of copies and is often held up as the gold standard for production. It’s the end product of two alchemists/obsessive tinkers (“We overdubbed a lot of the overdubs over”) and a murderers row of session players. Players so in the pocket that Walter Becker even took himself out of the mix on both “Black Cow” & “Peg.”
A sprinkling of fairy dust across the top of “Peg” and “I Got The News” in the form of national treasure Michael McDonald makes it all the sweeter.
Look up the phrase “critic’s darling” in the dictionary, and there’s (probably) just a picture of the album cover. It auto-fills on almost every “best of” list.
Writing for Rolling Stone, Barry Walters noted in his review that “the album’s surreal sonic perfection, its melodic and harmonic complexity — music so technically demanding its creators had to call in A-list session players to realize the sounds they heard in their heads but could not play, even on the instruments they had mastered.”
Even mean-girl Pitchfork rated it a 10; a rare feat for a publication whose stock in trade is reveling in hot takes. Not here, though. In a look back, the record is described as …expert — whole stretches are perfect, impenetrable, like the first 31 seconds of “Black Cow,” when that creeping bass line cedes passage to guitar and electric piano, and the backing vocals pipe up for “You were high!” — it’s easy to ignore the sophistication of its architecture.
The musicianship is beyond reproach, but there are all sorts of high-quality records that never see the light of day, let alone sell millions of copies. What made Aja different?
Perhaps some of it was fortuitous timing. By the late 70s, radio listeners were ready for something new. And Aja is as much a rock album as a jazz one — “I Got The News” is there to remind anyone that might forget — giving fans of both genres an on-ramp to the record (and hip hop fans later, of course).
It was smooth enough to warrant air time in your parents' car yet poppy enough that you didn’t begrudge it.
And to Pitchfork’s earlier point, the music is so easily accessible that the massive architecture underpinning it is often overlooked or, at best, an afterthought.
2024: that same kid still drives cars that are sketchy at best. But the stereo’s always working. He’s a lot older and only a little wiser. Aja sounds like it hasn’t aged a day.
Despite being prickly and standoffish, it’s hard not to like Donald Fagen and Walter Becker — two music nerds who, despite their best efforts, somehow “made it.”
They’re fussy enough to obsess over a particular set of notes in “Deacon Blues” but playful enough that it reminds them of FAO Schwartz. Fagen calls it “pheromones for tots.” A pair hip enough to have their music sampled by DJs but savvy enough to demand publishing rights.
At best, a duo that tolerated success even when it looked good on them.
And in Aja, they made a beautiful record. One that’s hard not to love.
Sam’s pick & my take: The Beatles- Abbey Road (1969)
It seems apt to end this list with the last (studio) record by one of the best bands ever.
If each of their other records represents the specific era in which it was made, Abbey Road represents the band writ large. It does as well as anything to showcase not just each of the Fab Four in their element but also the band as a juggernaut and a force for cultural change. They are firing on all cylinders here. It exists in a stratosphere above generational or cultural states. People travel 1000s of miles to Abbey Road just to cross a road trying to recreate the cover. These aren’t trips so much as they’re pilgrimages.
"Here Comes The Sun" was sung to me as a kid in the 70s. I sent it to my kids in the mid/late '00s. Should they choose to start families, I'd guess it'll get sung to those children as well.
The Beatles split up not too long after this. Lennon is frozen in time, and with his untimely death came infamy. Harrison cheated death more than once, but he, too, has now been gone for almost 25 years. Nobody seems to have told McCartney that he's now in his 80s. Ringo is just off doing Ringo things.
But their music—the art they made—endures. And in the end, that's all one can ask for.
If you've made it this far, thank you. Over the last ten weeks, we’ve covered 200 records, countless songs, and used over 100,000 words to do it. This project was equal parts aspiration, ambition, and absurdity. Putting it together was awesome.
At the outset, we said that we were most interested in hearing what these records meant to you in your lives, and you delivered. Thank you to everyone who commented, restacked, and shared these each week. Thank you to those who sent emails and DMs, shared your stories, lauded our good taste, or just showed up to point and laugh.
So tell us: Which of these records are your favorites? Did you find any new artists or albums? Which albums don’t belong? What’d we get right? Where’d we miss the mark?
Share your thoughts in the comments, check out Sam’s Top 10, and stay tuned for a postgame recap next week.
Thanks for being here,
Kevin—
Baby Cave- The period all new parents go through where their lives revolve entirely around the newborn. All other activities, hobbies, etc. are put on hold and life becomes a series of feedings, naps, and Backyardigans reruns.
Wow, congrats, guys! I feel like I achieved something massive as well, simply by reading your detailed lists! I know Kevin's tastes (I think) better than Sam's, so seeing The Cure, New Order, Wire and The Talking Heads in the top 5 wasn't a surprise. But Steely Dan at #1? I didn't expect that at all. The personal story around it gave it great context, but I wanted to wave a pink flag and accuse you of power corruption and lies because this choice stopped making sense the moment I read it.
Nah, it was a bold, inspired choice, I just wanted to try and fit the album titles into a sentence! Yacht rock forever!
My mom named our first dog Aja after that album. It’s not my favorite but it’s ingrained into my life since early childhood.
Now can we address one glaring band omission from this series?? LOL