QotD: Timeless Albums
What are some of your favorite, forgotten albums that have stood the test of time?
Submitted by PeterGibbons.
Åssümp†iøns: I take "forgotten" to mean that the question isn't referring to, say, London Calling or OK Computer. Since they are favorites that have "stood the test of time," I gather this means forgotten by others, though not me. I also don't take this to mean "obscure," but rather things that once were popular but now no longer are on the radar. I could include lots of albums by Pavement and Dinosaur Jr. and the Pixies and Jane's Addiction, my favorite bands of the 80s and early-to-mid 90s, but I rarely listen to them anymore. So I'm just going to include the albums that I have kept in heavy rotation for years. The ones that are both "forgotten" and remain oft-played. And as my Mac Mini is in full-on melt down mode this morning, refusing to start into anything other than Darwin/BSD, leaving me with lots of time as I push, pull, and beat it into providing me with some sort of clickable interface, I shall endeavor to take this seriously. Okay? Okay.
Bobbi Humphrey - Blacks and Blues
I've forgotten how I discovered this album, but damn am I glad that I did. Before I heard it, had you told me that an album by a smooth jazz-pop-soul flautist would be one of my favorite albums of the last ten years, I wouldn't have believed you. Yet. There it is. Harlem River Drive. Rock over London, yall.
N.W.A. -- Straight Outta Compton
Okay, so perhaps this isn't completely "forgotten," but I forgot about it. At least for a while. In 11th grade, this was perhaps my favorite album. I used to drive around in white boy gangsta mode, stoned out of my noodle, shouting out every word to every song. I went to see them play live, supporting this album, on the Nitro Tour--De La Soul opened, followed by Slick Rick, then N.W.A. and Easy-E, with L.L. Cool J headlining. It was motherfucking awesome. N.W.A. came out to the wail of police sirens, shooting fake uzis or mac-10's, or whatever. There's nothing in the world like seeing a black rap band from Los Angeles perform "Fuck the Police" in a venue swarming with agitated cops. White cops. White cops from Montgomery, Alabama. It was punk as fuck.
There was some sort of anniversary album that came out several years back that my then-roommate bought, and they had fucked up all the songs with horrible re-mixes. I hated it. Detested it. Thought it was sacrilege. But it made me want to hear the original again. And after a few years of listening to my favorite tracks, pirated, I bought it on iTunes not long ago, but for the most part have just had it in the mix, rather than listening to it as a long play. This weekend I played it in full while we were driving. I still knew every word. Also: when I hear that silly, twee disrespectful cover of the title track, it makes me want to forcibly relocate Nina Gordon to a Compton housing project.
Minutemen -- Double Nickels on the Dime
This is one of those albums that I play over, and over, and over and over again, and then don't listen to for eight months, and then drop back into repeat until it makes me vomit. I don't really know what you call it. Punk? Rock? Jazz? Folk? Country? I don't know. But it's fucking amazing. Their band could be your life.
R.E.M. -- Murmur
I've owned this album in one form or another--cassette, CD, vinyl, digital--for nearly as long as I can remember. I always had issues with post-Document R.E.M., because they quit sounding the same. Now, don't get me wrong, I think it's great for bands to evolve, and Automatic for the People is one of the best albums of the 90s, but there's nothing like listening to four kids who live in an abandoned church in a backwater college town in the South create their own reality and put it on wax. This album haunts me.
Belle and Sebastian -- If you're feeling sinister
I've forgotten how I discovered this album, but damn am I glad that I did. Before I heard it, had you told me that an album by a smooth jazz-pop-soul flautist would be one of my favorite albums of the last ten years, I wouldn't have believed you. Yet. There it is. Harlem River Drive. Rock over London, yall.
Okay, so perhaps this isn't completely "forgotten," but I forgot about it. At least for a while. In 11th grade, this was perhaps my favorite album. I used to drive around in white boy gangsta mode, stoned out of my noodle, shouting out every word to every song. I went to see them play live, supporting this album, on the Nitro Tour--De La Soul opened, followed by Slick Rick, then N.W.A. and Easy-E, with L.L. Cool J headlining. It was motherfucking awesome. N.W.A. came out to the wail of police sirens, shooting fake uzis or mac-10's, or whatever. There's nothing in the world like seeing a black rap band from Los Angeles perform "Fuck the Police" in a venue swarming with agitated cops. White cops. White cops from Montgomery, Alabama. It was punk as fuck.
There was some sort of anniversary album that came out several years back that my then-roommate bought, and they had fucked up all the songs with horrible re-mixes. I hated it. Detested it. Thought it was sacrilege. But it made me want to hear the original again. And after a few years of listening to my favorite tracks, pirated, I bought it on iTunes not long ago, but for the most part have just had it in the mix, rather than listening to it as a long play. This weekend I played it in full while we were driving. I still knew every word. Also: when I hear that silly, twee disrespectful cover of the title track, it makes me want to forcibly relocate Nina Gordon to a Compton housing project.
This is one of those albums that I play over, and over, and over and over again, and then don't listen to for eight months, and then drop back into repeat until it makes me vomit. I don't really know what you call it. Punk? Rock? Jazz? Folk? Country? I don't know. But it's fucking amazing. Their band could be your life.
I've owned this album in one form or another--cassette, CD, vinyl, digital--for nearly as long as I can remember. I always had issues with post-Document R.E.M., because they quit sounding the same. Now, don't get me wrong, I think it's great for bands to evolve, and Automatic for the People is one of the best albums of the 90s, but there's nothing like listening to four kids who live in an abandoned church in a backwater college town in the South create their own reality and put it on wax. This album haunts me.
Again, perhaps this album isn't forgotten, but it is the one that has remained in my HR list more than any other over the past however many years. Although several of my favorite B&S singles are on other albums or EPs, as a whole, there's no topping Sinister. It's gorgeous and sad and happy and beautiful. It's also the album that Harper and I first really clicked over. We listened to it again and again when we were dating--everywhere we went, in everything we did. And whenever I hear it now, it takes me back to that place in time.
Beastie Boys -- Paul's Boutique
A phenomenal sonic assault. You always hear that this album could never be made today, due to copyright issues, etc. But is also couldn't be made again simply because it was so of the moment, and of the band's experience. A retreat from the swinging-dick approach of License to Ill, though it is certainly sample-laden, it's also lyrics-intensive and signaled that the Beasties would be what they eventually became: artists. It's easy to forget that before this album the band was more or less a novelty act. But all that is beside the point--this album is nothing but great music from start to finish.
Uncle Tupelo -- No Depression
I like Wilco. Scratch that. I love Wilco. I bought A.M. right when it came out, and have purchased (or, um, at least "owned") every album since. Being There was one of my favorite albums of the 90s. So, too, was Summerteeth. Yet I have never truly adored them (or Sun Volt), I've never really been passionate about them, as I've never completely gotten over my bitterness about Uncle Tupelo's break up. It's probably like having an amazingly cool step-parent who treats you incredibly kindly and is generous and loving and wise and all those things--yet who you can't quit resenting on some level because you're still bitter about the divorce. You're still bitter because, at one point, your parents had such a great relationship, and they were like no other couple, and they made you feel like you were the. most. special. person. ever. And then. Then. I don't know. And you wish you could go back to that place in time, when nobody your age had heard of A.P. Carter. And nobody listened to "roots" music. And there wasn't an eponymous zine. And the Internet hadn't taken off yet. And it was just you, in a lonely room in a lonely world, wondering what the future held, if anything at all. And then there was this love letter that appeared at your doorstep, 13 perfect songs. 13 hymns. 13 ways to say you may be alone, but we all are. Together.
Fugazi -- 13 Songs
Indeed, albums of 13 songs, for some reason, seem to have a special appeal to me. (And that, my friends, is what you call a segue.) Like Murmur, this is one of those albums that I've owned in many formats over many eras. Quite frankly there are Fugazi albums that I've liked better than this. (Argument, oddly enough, is probably my favorite.) But just the Murakami book that had the most impact on me was neither Norweigan Wood nor The Wind Up Bird Chronicle, but rather was South of the Border, West of the Sun because it was the one I read first, so, too will 13 Songs always be my Fugazi stand-out. It also, like Straight Outta Compton, will forever remind me of high school. (Or at least several tracks will.) More to the point, however, whenever I listen, I feel young, alive, and ready to take on the world.
And now, Mac Mini restored, it's time for me to get to work. And fire up iTunes.
A phenomenal sonic assault. You always hear that this album could never be made today, due to copyright issues, etc. But is also couldn't be made again simply because it was so of the moment, and of the band's experience. A retreat from the swinging-dick approach of License to Ill, though it is certainly sample-laden, it's also lyrics-intensive and signaled that the Beasties would be what they eventually became: artists. It's easy to forget that before this album the band was more or less a novelty act. But all that is beside the point--this album is nothing but great music from start to finish.
I like Wilco. Scratch that. I love Wilco. I bought A.M. right when it came out, and have purchased (or, um, at least "owned") every album since. Being There was one of my favorite albums of the 90s. So, too, was Summerteeth. Yet I have never truly adored them (or Sun Volt), I've never really been passionate about them, as I've never completely gotten over my bitterness about Uncle Tupelo's break up. It's probably like having an amazingly cool step-parent who treats you incredibly kindly and is generous and loving and wise and all those things--yet who you can't quit resenting on some level because you're still bitter about the divorce. You're still bitter because, at one point, your parents had such a great relationship, and they were like no other couple, and they made you feel like you were the. most. special. person. ever. And then. Then. I don't know. And you wish you could go back to that place in time, when nobody your age had heard of A.P. Carter. And nobody listened to "roots" music. And there wasn't an eponymous zine. And the Internet hadn't taken off yet. And it was just you, in a lonely room in a lonely world, wondering what the future held, if anything at all. And then there was this love letter that appeared at your doorstep, 13 perfect songs. 13 hymns. 13 ways to say you may be alone, but we all are. Together.
Indeed, albums of 13 songs, for some reason, seem to have a special appeal to me. (And that, my friends, is what you call a segue.) Like Murmur, this is one of those albums that I've owned in many formats over many eras. Quite frankly there are Fugazi albums that I've liked better than this. (Argument, oddly enough, is probably my favorite.) But just the Murakami book that had the most impact on me was neither Norweigan Wood nor The Wind Up Bird Chronicle, but rather was South of the Border, West of the Sun because it was the one I read first, so, too will 13 Songs always be my Fugazi stand-out. It also, like Straight Outta Compton, will forever remind me of high school. (Or at least several tracks will.) More to the point, however, whenever I listen, I feel young, alive, and ready to take on the world.
And now, Mac Mini restored, it's time for me to get to work. And fire up iTunes.
