Wax Ecstatic: The 100 Greatest Albums of All Time Part #8

Albums 30-21

and

Oct 02, 2024

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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 8!

A friend I grew up with has been employed by the local school district for some time now. Recently, she switched to a substitute teacher role and was assigned to our junior high. She took some pictures of the interior halls and a few other spots and shared them with a few of us fellow survivors. Dear reader, those halls have not changed in 30+ years. I know the exterior and athletic fields have long been modernized. The mascot’s been updated, too. In our day, we were the Braves. Today’s students are now known as Mountaineers, which, I mean… that’s not bad, really.

I also expected to see those same modern touches on the inside. If nothing else, some new paneling? A little natural daylight wouldn’t have been too much to ask. When I went there, it was overheated, overcrowded, and claustrophobic. Learning? Not a chance. Expanding your mind with the walls closing in is no easy feat.

Seeing it in 2024 did nothing to change those emotions, but having halls so clogged they needed to pad the time in between periods also meant more time to talk to your friends—you were literally stuck together, so you might as well make the most of it, right?

In our case, that often meant shoving tapes into one another’s hands. I came across two of the records below in those same halls (A hall, to be exact). Junior high can be a preview of hell—mine was anyway—but if there were ever a silver lining, it’s the friends and music discoveries I made in those human traffic jams.

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.

Do you need to get caught up? Check out Parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, and 7. All of Sam’s are here. While you're there, be sure to subscribe!

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Enjoy!

KA—

30: Pixies-Doolittle (1989)

I originally wrote about this record earlier this year to mark its 35th birthday. You can check out the full review here.

Doolittle is an exercise in contradictions. Everyone seems to know it, but few can rattle off more than two or three song titles. Everyone seems to own a copy, but it also took a long time to rack up sales. Was it pop? Alternative? And what was going on in Black Francis' mind?

(opening lyrics from ‘Debaser’)

Got me a movie
I want you to know
Slicing up eyeballs
I want you to know
Girly so groovy
I want you to know
Don't know about you
But I am un chien Andalusia (x4)

Show of hands: How many knew these were the actual words (I didn't)?

How many read that in Francis' voice (I most certainly did)?

While "chien" and "Andulusia" might be the oddest call-and-response of our era, they work, and they're an earworm. 'Debaser' sets what would be a typical pattern on the record: It opens with a bass line from Deal and a riff from Santiago (or vice versa), explodes into sound when Lovering joins the fray, and then arrives with whatever version of vocals Francis is in the mood for.

At this point, the record's status as an early alternative benchmark is not in question. I don't know if it's reached the rarified air of "classic"-and if it has, what does that say about how old I am?- but if you look up "early alternative rock," don't be surprised if it's just a picture of this record.

With time, its influence would spread far and wide–there are a lot of bands that "sound like Pixies,"-- but in 1989, they didn't exist yet, And Pixies don't really sound like anyone else, either.

On this record, they didn't even sound like themselves. Doolittle's sound is much more refined and a level up from their previous record, Surfer Rosa.

Kim Deal keeps the groove moving with basslines that are upfront in the mix, and they blend nicely with drummer David Lovering's work, but they work really well with Francis' guitar playing. On top of it all is guitarist Joey Santiago's own guitar work. I'm not sure "intuitive" is the best descriptor here, but his superpower on this record is knowing when to go full throttle & when to hold back, and the perfect time/place to drop in a bendy riff or lick.

On paper those elements shouldn't work together, but they all come together in just the right ways.

And they are all in orbit around the man known to the Massachusetts DMV as Charles Michael Kittridge Thompson IV, later known as Frank Black but introduced to us as Black Francis. Francis couldn't quite decide on a vocal style, so he just went with all of them. From a whisper to a scream (heh), he covers a lot of ground; sometimes, it's earnest, sometimes ferocious. And sometimes in Spanish.

Calling him a singer seems like a misnomer, if not reductive. Calling him a writer seems too simplistic. Doolittle is a 38-minute funhouse ride through his mind. What other record manages to work in a quasi-film review (Debaser), pollution (Monkey Gone To Heaven), and gang culture (No. 13 Baby)?

'Tame' is where we see Francis rip into a roar. It also represents the quiet/loud dichotomy that the band does so well. 'Here Comes Your Man' is an attempt at a straight-up pop song and is on here because producer Gil Norton liked it. It's a good song, but its sheen feels out of place here, not unlike REM's 'Shiny Happy People' on 'Out of Time' a few years later.

This might've been built to be chart-ready, but it didn't see REM's same breakout success, settling for heavy rotation on shows like 120 Minutes instead. Not the worst place to be, but still… ‘No. 13 Baby’ is a field trip to the world of Latino gang culture and has one of my favorite outros of the era.

The record ends with the closing track ‘Gouge Away,’ using the same quiet/loud formula that works so well throughout the record. It's a song about the biblical story of Samson because, of course, it is. This is the Pixies, after all.

All of that to say that Doolittle is an odd record from an odd band. Calling them eclectic would be as reductive as merely calling Francis a singer. But everything works here, and 35 years on, it feels as inspiring and exciting today as it did when I first heard it. Despite its twists and turns, it's all gas & no brakes and a record that still manages to reveal new little bits to me every time I play it. It’s both a hot mess and perfectly put together. It's light and hard-hitting and came along at just the right time.

If the album has a downside, it's that it overshadows Bossanova and Trompe Le Monde—both solid records in their own right.

Classic? Maybe. Influential & iconic? No doubt. Several copies later, it remains one of my favorites.

Sam’s pick & my take: Led Zepplin- Led Zepplin IV (1971)

I don’t think I'm making a risky bet when I say many people would be okay with never hearing “Stairway to Heaven” again. For too long, it’s been the touchstone of what people think rock is and/or should be. Over a billion streams on Spotify for a song over 50 can't be wrong, but there is so much more to this record. For my money, that starts with the palette cleanser right after Stairway, “Misty Mountain Hop”—this is the band at their best; all those best classic rock songs lists be damned.

Led Zepplin IV is, IMO, the most straightforward record the band made. Its influence on rock is without question; each generation seems to find this record, and it immediately influences their listening or playing habits. Just for fun, find your nearest Gen X friend and see if they have a Zoso or similar tattoo. Odds are decent that either they have one themselves or know someone that does. It’s also a lock that most people would recognize 7 of the 8 tracks by sound even if they can't name them (sorry, “Four Sticks!”). Those same Gen Xers can't hear John Bonham’s boom-crash intro to “When the Levee Breaks” and not think of this hip-hop all-timer.

Led Zepplin IV 100% belongs here, and to steal one of Sam’s lines from earlier in the series, I’m lightly punching the air for not including it on my list.

29: Carole King- Tapestry (1971)

Years ago, I worked with a guy on the ramp who would sing, “It’s too late, baby, baby, it’s too late. “We really did try to make it” any time we missed a bag or broke a connection, which I guess is a way to say that even if you’re one of the rare people who hasn’t heard a Carole King song, you likely have.

King and (then) husband Gerry Goffin got their start writing at Brill and penned countless songs for other artists, including hits like “The Loco-Motion (originally for Little Eva and later for our queen Kylie Minogue). A more likely scenario is that you know & love one of those. But it’s also highly likely that you’ve not only heard King’s own songs but love them.

She knows her way around some copy, but the earnestness on a record like Tapestry sets it apart. The record has a realness that belies how polished it all sounds. The melodies are as catchy as any you’ll hear. The lyrics feel as if King anticipated exactly what you needed right then. And she says a lot by saying little- it’s too late...you’ve got a friend... these are entire stories in 3-4 words.

It’s been said that the opening trio of songs trace the life cycle of a relationship- “I Feel the Earth Move” captures the electricity of new romance, “You're So Far Away” is the pain of missing someone, whether separated literally or metaphorically and “It’s Too Late” laments love(s)lost. I don’t know if that’s true, but I want to believe it is.

It’s a record for all seasons- whether you’re weathering a bad breakup, enjoying a quiet Sunday morning, or even enduring a bad joke on an airport ramp in a past lifetime. Tapestry is a songwriting masterclass. It’s never too late to find out for yourself.

Sam’s pick & my take: Miles Davis- Bitches Brew (1970)

In an era of TikTok clips substituting for films, Tweets as news reports, and text messages for letters, sitting down and listening to a 20+ minute track feels subversive. It’s almost like a test of our dopamine-addled minds. It’s the kind of test we should all be taking more often, though.

Bitches Brew isn't something you have on while doing something else; it’s not even something you merely listen to; it’s an experience. Jazz fusion can be an acquired taste, but Davis makes it irresistible. Getting me & Gizmo to sit down through “Pharoah’s Dance?” I can’t think of a tougher ask. Some Kind of Blue is usually the People’s choice, but man, this is a cool record.

28: The Clash- London Calling (1979)

Named after a BBC call signal, London Calling is a 400-level history lesson on late 1970s Britain. Rolling Stone likened it to a free-form radio broadcast from the end of the world, and with good reason—there is a bit of everything here: punk, ska, pop, and rock.

Don’t like what’s playing right now? Just hang on a minute or two- the style’ll change. The title track, with its iconic intro, needs no intro. “Hateful” is a hooky gem (my favorite on the record). “Rudie Can’t Fail” is a delight. “Lost in the Supermarket” is another in what reads like a grocery list of all-timers. It goes on this way for 65 minutes.

Double LPs have a habit of sagging in the middle or spurring comments like “This would be better if they'd done some trimming.” Here, the bough doesn't break; it doesn't even bend. “Wrong ‘Em Boyo,” and “Death or Glory” hold the middle perfectly.

It’s urgent, energetic, and raw— it’s one of the defining moments of punk and sets the bar for countless records that came after it. A lot of punk is performative- noise, shouting, and spit. The Clash just rocked up, did their thing, and left us to take it or leave it. If that’s not punk, I don’t know what is. I could go on and on, but I’ll just say this- London Calling is one of those records everyone should own.

Sam’s pick & my take: King Crimson- In The Court of the Crimson King (1969)

I must’ve seen this album cover a million times- or at least enough to recognize it on sight. But until this week, I’m not sure I’d ever heard it. Does Robert Fripp cover any King Crimson in the clips he posts with his wife? If not, then I’m SOL.

I don't usually gravitate to prog, but it’s fair to say that this is ground zero for the genre and massively influential. It’s also a wild ride—chaotic in some moments, sedate in others. I may not have heard In the Court of the Crimson King before, but I most definitely have heard the records it influenced and inspired.

27: George Benson- Give Me the Night (1980)

Fun fact: I own more George Benson records than any other artist. No, not even New Order. The score is 15-9 (just don’t ask me about tapes, CDs, etc.). I have been listening to Benson my entire life. I didn’t know what pop (or rock) music was until I started school. That picture of me as a little kid on my About page? There's likely a George Benson record on the other end of the headphones. He was my dad’s favorite, and you get to control the dial when your audience is a toddler.

Give Me the Night was produced by Quincy Jones (who also worked with New Order) and was the first release on his Qwest label (which also released work by…you guessed it).

Most of his early releases are jazz in the traditional sense. Starting with 1976’s Breezin’, Benson slowly began moving towards a pop sound, running (more or less) through 1985’s 20/20. Having Jones behind the boards was like rocket fuel for that transition. If that wasn’t enough, Benson is joined for this release by a murderer’s row of artists, including Herbie Hancock, Lee Rittenour, and Patti Austin. Even Patrice Rushen makes an appearance.

Give Me the Night is perhaps the peak of that transition to pop (jazz-pop?)- it's a record with a foot solidly in each camp, and that blend works well. The emphasis is on pop, but the other elements also can’t help but shine through. The title track is a sublime dose of funk. “Love x Love” is pop sugar. Benson is the perfect artist to redo the 1949 song “Moody’s Mood” (which some may remember was used in a Gap commercial in the 90s), giving the record just the right level of class.

Sam’s pick & my take: Rolling Stones- Let it Bleed (1969)

What can I say about the Stones that hasn’t already been said? Let It Bleed is one of six records to make their namesake top 100 and comes in #2 (#41 overall) behind Exile on Main Street. “Gimme Shelter” is probably the most known, and in my mind, its unsettling sound is forever intertwined with the tension of the era it came out in. That’s followed up with the languid “Love In Vain.”

Take opener “Gimme Shelter” and Closer “You Can’t Always Get What You Want” off the record, and you have yourself one heckuva a country/blues record. You could knock the record for that inconsistency—and I will knock it for the indulgent choral opening of “You Can’t…” but this is an essential record, with tracks that sound as novel today as they did 55 years ago.

26: Nine Inch Nails- Pretty Hate Machine (1989)

As noted above, my junior high school was a hothouse. It had low ceilings and few windows (this was intentional- it was intended as a security measure). The few that did exist were of the reinforced variety.

It didn’t feel safe, it felt like we were in County. And it was overcrowded. So crowded in fact, that they had to add 2 extra minutes of passing time between periods because of the human gridlock.

My friends and I used that time in traffic to swap mixtapes, talk about bands, and whatever else 14-year-olds do.

And so it was in A-hall that I had a copy of this record pressed into my hands. I waited until the bus ride home to put it in my Walkman (related: I’m old).

It didn’t take long for Pretty Hate Machine to rearrange my mind.

“Sin” is far and away my favorite track on the record. The beat is relentless and never lets you catch your breath. It’s desperate and danceable all at once. “Head Like a Hole” has some of the most visceral lyrics on an album full of them. When Reznor screams, “I’d rather die than give you control,” you feel it. Slower tracks like “Something I Can Never Have” are solid, even if they sound like how driving on a surface street feels right after getting off the freeway.

Nine Inch Nails’ sound is dominated by clanging synths and sardonic, shrieking vocals. But Reznor stretches that industrial-strength noise over a pop framework, and his harrowing but catchy music has taken the college charts by storm.

In 1989, the music world was as crowded space as those halls. Even in the alternative and/or industrial genres, it was hard to stand out. But this record did and does. It took the college charts by storm, and my group of friends were along for the ride.

Sam’s pick & my take: Alice Coltrane- Journey In Satchidananda (1971)

Another record I had never heard of. I’m not sure Alice Coltrane rang a bell, other than a quick thought she and John Coltrane might be related (they were married). Pulling this up, I had no idea what I was in for, but all bets were off after seeing Pharoah Sanders co-listed under most of the tracks. What I got was an exotic ride into Hinduism and the far corners of experimental jazz. That’s my kind of tour. Sign me up.

25: Otis Redding- Complete & Unbelievable: The Otis Redding Dictionary of Soul (1966)

Redding’s fifth record and his last before the waters of Lake Monona took him from us, Otis Redding- Complete & Unbelievable: The Otis Redding Dictionary of Soul is a tour-de-force, with Redding looking to push the boundaries of R&B and soul. This would take him to unexpected places, including a Beatles cover (“Day Tripper”). Indeed, the record is a mix of covers, some hits, and some deep cuts. It takes a solid foundation to support a voice as potent as Redding’s, and the crew at Stax (mainly Booker T & the MGs and the Memphis Horns) fill the bill admirably. “Try a Little Tenderness” is a highlight (and another cover), but the record is one gem after another.

In sum, for those of us too young to have been there (if your on-ramp to Redding was Ducky lip-synching in Pretty in Pink, I’m looking at you), this is a great peek into what a vibrant transcendent force he was. It’s a glimpse at the future we never got to experience together.

Sam’s pick & my take: Jimi Hendrix Experience- Electric Ladyland (1969)

Few songs literally make me say “fuck yes” when I hear them come on the radio. “Crosstown Traffic” is one of them. In an alternate universe, this replaces “Purple Haze” as his signature song. Electric Ladyland is sprawling; it has a cover (“All Along the Watchtower”) and is a gumbo of rock, psychedelia, and blues. Like Redding, it’s a hint of what might’ve been. In that same alternate universe, Hendrix is still here, dazzling us all with the ground he can't help but keep on breaking with his guitar.

24: The Cars- S/T (1978)

(I’ve covered the cars a few times, most recently in early 2023, when we looked at “Just What I Needed " from the band’s 1978 self-titled debut. )

There aren’t many records that have stood the test of time as well as The Cars’ 1978 self-titled debut. The record turned 46 in June, and at least (by my own admittedly subjective count) six of the nine tracks from the original release still see a decent amount of airplay.

"We used to joke that the first album should be called The Cars' Greatest Hits. We knew that a lot of great bands fall through the cracks. But we were getting enough feedback from people we respected to know that we were on the right track."
~The Cars guitarist Elliot Easton

Along the way, the band sold millions of records, had a string of hits, and landed a spot in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. The Cars had a knack for blending new wave and power pop. This was a band—and record— groups of all stripes could enjoy. After hearing them, numerous bands can claim to have been inspired to start.

And it almost didn’t happen.

Ric Ocasek and Benjamin Orr (who sings lead here) started out in Columbus, Ohio, before moving east and settling in Boston. There, they met keyboardist Greg Hawkes and cut a record that went absolutely nowhere. They were still playing shows and getting decent traction, but nothing that could dislodge them from “local favorites” status.

But Boston DJ Maxanne Sartori started working a demo of “Just What I Needed” into her sets and into heavy rotation.

"I began playing the demos of 'Just What I Needed' and 'My Best Friend's Girl' in March 1977 during my weekday slot, from 2 to 6 p.m. Calls poured in with positive comments," Boston radio DJ Maxanne Satori recalled. "The Cars' sound was fresh. It wasn't punk, hard rock or folk rock. I thought of it as pure pop for now people, the title of a Nick Lowe album."

Soon, A&R reps descended on Boston to see what all the fuss was about. They found a band that took the best of traditional rock and burgeoning technology and rolled it all up into a novel pop sound unlike anything else at the time.

And the rest is history. “Just What I Needed” spent the summer all over the airwaves as the first of three singles, followed by “My Best Friend’s Girl” and “Good Times Roll.” It reached #27 on Billboard’s Hot 100 in June of 1978. If you are a male of a “certain age,” “Moving In Stereo” is inextricably attached to Phoebe Cates. In all, it’s a no-skips record. Not bad for a record that we almost never heard.

Sam’s pick and my take: Madvillain (MF Doom & Madlib)-Madvillainy (2004)

This feels like the sort of record that is sold out of a trunk. I’m saying that as high praise. The songs don't follow the typical bars/chorus/bars pattern. They’re short. Hooks are in short supply. But there’s no shortage of flow. Madvillainy is the kind of record that lies in wait, waiting to reward people who work to find it. Commercial radio doesn’t deserve this. RIP MF DOOM

23: Prince- Purple Rain (1984)

Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to talk about a seminal record in this thing called our lives.

At one point in 1984, Prince was in the #1 movie, had the top single on the charts, and was the number 1 record. So, of course, Purple Rain was the one record my dad explicitly banned from the house. To this day, I genuinely have no idea why he picked this over any number of equally racy records—it's not like he was super uptight or anything. It’s never made any sense to me, and he’s not around to ask.

What makes perfect sense is the appeal of this album. It’s the American dream set to music. Boy comes up in a blue-collar city with nothing more in his pocket than a shit ton of talent and dream. It’s loosely his origin story (or at least that’s loosely the movie’s plotline- I don't know; I wasn’t allowed to see that, either). It’s a tale of rock, glitter, and grit. Of barely restrained lust and uncontrolled grooves. “Let’s Go Crazy” kicks things off in fine fashion and is so ingrained in our collective imagination that you likely read that opening sentence in his voice.

Purple Rain is a record awash with so much good that even some lesser cuts can’t help but be elevated. “Take Me With U” is the sort of perfect pop song many artists would kill to have once in their career. Here, it only manages minor hit status. I’ll take all of the tom-toms you got; this song has them coming from every corner.

“Darling Nikki” is a little wonky, but sums up Prince in just over 4 minutes: slinky, sexy, and slathered with a thick helping of guitar.

“When Doves Cry” kicks off the second half and was the album's #1 hit. Subjectively, this is my least favorite song on the record. Objectively, it’s one of his best and a track that a lesser artist would’ve totally messed up.

Having overcome the dad issues, the femme females, and every other hurdle, it's time to kick off our shoes and party—and “I Would Die 4 U” is just the track—even if the lyrics don't quite fit the mood. If I had to pick one Prince song to take with me to a desert island, this is it.

“Baby I’m a Star” is as much a declarative statement as it is a jam. And what a jam it is!

As noted below, every artist’s opus needs an epic closer. We get that with the title track. If the opening lines of “Let’s Go Crazy” are the start of the sermon, this is the closing word. It’s freeing, opulent, and cathartic all at once. Few tracks can energize you while also making you need a nap. “Purple Rain” does it.

Having this record banned in my house meant hearing it in bits and pieces as singles were released and filling in the blanks at the homes of friends whose parents either didn't know they had it or owned it themselves. Had I been caught with it, I’m sure it wouldn't have ended well, but I’m also sure it would’ve been worth it.

Sam’s pick and my take: Aretha Franklin- I Never Loved A Man the Way I Loved You (1967)

With a voice like manna from heaven, Aretha was one of the best to ever do it. She could sing a jingle for a mattress store and make it sound gorgeous. Incredible talent. I love her voice and have a ton of r-e-s-p-e-c-t for what she did for women in music.

22: Talking Heads- ‘77 (1977)

The first time we hear David Byrne is on the bop “Uh Oh Love Comes to Town,” where he implores us to “Wait, wait for the moment to come.” I came into each part of the band's discography out of order. With the benefit of hindsight (and hearing all of them countless times), it’s easy to see why this was overlooked.

One, it came out of the same late 70s NYC Primordial Soup that gave us The Ramones (the band’s first gig was opening for Joey & Co.), Television, etc. It also might be the least Talking Heads-sounding record of the lot. It’s tight. The riffs are economical. It’d be a few years before Eno and his grab bag of influences would join them in the studio and create that signature intricate sound.

Instead, this feels like a band thrilled at the newness of it all. They’re most wide-eyed and innocent. It revels in quirky without ever becoming twee. Tracks like “Happy Day” come close but never cross the line. That “Psycho Killer” isn’t even the best song on the record tells you all you need to know (take a bow, “Pulled Up”).

1977 was an era dominated by the likes of Fleetwood Mac and arena rockers. Talking Heads showed us something else was possible. With ‘77, their moment had come.

Sam’s pick & my take: Talking Heads- Remain In Light (1980)

This is the closest Sam and I have come to a bingo yet. And it was “this” close. I ultimately mapped out my lists with pencil and paper, but if it were a Google doc, the margins would show about 50 iterations where I and Remain in Light were swapped in/out. Like a Tarantino movie, my onramp to his band was anything but linear— everything’s out of sequence before coming back around to draw a straight line.

Stop Making Sense was first, and then this. Remain In Light is their fourth record, the second one of theirs I heard, and it was one of the first records I bought with my own money… if I’m honest, for a while, the LP's biggest appeal was cover. I loved Once In A Lifetime, and Stop Making Sense introduced me to a couple more tracks, but my love for the rest would have to wait a few years. But when it happened, it was like a thunderbolt. One day, this record came alive for me. The funk, the African-influenced rhythm, Byrne being Byrne- it was like a light switch was flipped.

21: The Beatles- Revolver (1966)

There is a scene in Mad Men where Don Draper puts on Revolver, and “Tomorrow Never Knows” begins to play. With the song as a backdrop, we see a montage of Draper’s younger coworkers contrasted with the older ones. The former are tuned in and dropping out. The older ones— Draper in particular— seem bewildered and a little off balance. It’s a fitting analogy for the larger societal changes at the time. Everything is changing, and the old guard isn’t sure what to make of it all. The world they know is the Fab Four and “Love Me Do.”

By this point, the band was in a place where they could do no wrong, but nothing felt right. They were stuck in the box pop culture had put them in. They had a ton to say but needed to escape the maddening hordes and hear themselves think.

In her piece covering the record1, Beatles scholar

Faith Current

described it as:

…all about the madness of confinement. It’s The Beatles tearing at their perfectly tailored Pierre Cardin straitjackets, scraping their bloodied fingernails over the steel walls of their armored truck after performing behind a wire barricade for 50,000 shrieking fans. It’s The Beatles, ready and willing to gnaw their limbs off to escape from the trap.
You want to drive us mad? You want to confine us? Fuck you, here’s what confinement feels like. See how you like it for a change.
Track by track, they try every escape available to them. John tries to sleep and argue his way out. George tries philosophizing. Ringo tries disappearing into an alternate universe, making the best of being trapped in an enclosed space with a bunch of lunatics (as he’ll do again on Abbey Road). Doctor Robert and his cocktail of oblivion can’t help. Neither can fame, fortune or green birds, whatever those are. Even a forced march into the blinding sunshine of the asylum's exercise yard offers but a temporary reprieve and only results in scorched feet. And were there ever two people more trapped in the madness of confinement than Eleanor Rigby and Father McKenzie? Paul almost makes it out -- for a heady moment, he thinks romantic obsession will set him free or at least offer a more comfortable kind of confinement, but love (or lust, it’s so hard to tell with Paul) turns out to be as claustrophobic as the cell he’s trying to escape. It’s one of those horror movie mazes where no matter what they try, they end up back where they started. They’re The Beatles and there is no escape. No one will be saved.

Revolver is a seminal record. One of the greatest in the modern music era. And it’s worth noting that it got to this stage despite having a poor mix for most of its life.

That’s all well and good, but what really takes Revolver to the next level is how different it all sounded. The experimentation, the themes, all of it. It wasn’t a rebellion so much as it was a revolution (no pun intended). There are still love songs here, but darker themes like taxes, too. There are also drug references and songs about loving drugs, but I digress.

In a second article, Faith argues that Revolver and follow-up Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club are two halves of a larger whole. It’s a valid point, and at the risk of tacking on an obvious statement, I would note that without Revolver, Sgt. Pepper’s never happens.

Maybe a better way to frame the LP is that of a transition. In my family, there is a split even between Boomers, with the older camp preferring the band’s earlier work and the younger ones preferring the later records.

Revolver is the dividing line, the tape between squares that are content to be confined and those that are hip to the new ways of things and aren’t interested. I think it’s safe to extrapolate that from my family and the crew at Sterling Cooper to society as a whole.

Revolver is a metanarrative, a vehicle that takes the band and us to the next stage. You either turned off your mind, relaxed, and floated downstream, or you looked askance at the record as Draper did. Change was coming either way.

Sam’s pick & my take: David Bowie- The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars (1972)

Any concept record worth its salt needs something glorious, a couple of solid hits to hold the middle, and a proper ending number to bring it all to a close. This record’s got all of the above for days. Opener “Five Years” kicks things off in grand style, if a bit overwrought. “Starman” and “Moonage Daydream” are classics, as is the penultimate track Suffragette City, which is not for nothing one of my all-time favorite Bowie tracks.

Bowie’s alter ego is equal parts ambition and androgyny, and he’s on a mission to save the world with glam, glitter, and guitar. Fifty-two years later, it’s safe to say mission accomplished. Bowie was already a star at this point; Ziggy launched him into the rarified air of rock god status.

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That’s it for Round 8! Be sure to share your thoughts in the comments, check out Sam’s thoughts on his picks, and stay tuned for Part 9 as we keep rolling toward the top spot!

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