The Human League- Dare (1981): 73%

Just as Iggy Pop’s The Idiot (1977) has the unique distinction of being the album Ian Curtis of Joy Division listened to when he decided to end his life by hanging himself in 1981, the Human League’s most acclaimed work, Dare, has a distinction of being the last album rock critic Lester Bangs listened to before dying of an overdose of Darvon (a sort of tranquilizer), Valium, and Nyquil. People who make a living out of music usually tend to die by it as well, thus making music a religion in of itself, complete with martyrs and vehement disagreements about highly regarded ‘rock-deities.’

But as far as what Lester Bangs could have chosen to overdose to, he could have done a lot worse. Of course, maybe it would better of me to say that he shouldn’t have overdosed at all. However, I don’t have a time machine to stop him from getting fucked on pharmaceuticals and cough medicine. Nor do I have the ability to determine if Bangs listened to this album strictly for writing a review or pleasure. I tend to lean more toward the latter because this album was released about six months before Bangs’ fatal overdose, so if he was planning on writing a review for it, he would have been disappointingly late. But it does baffle me a bit when I think about how he preferred traditional rock n’ roll music, with Lou Reed being his favorite artist. So, consider this my review in honor of a fallen rock critic who passed 30 years ago, and an answer as to whether this would be a good album to die to.

Another aspect to the Human League’s career I found particularly interesting is that out of all their 9 studio releases, this album is the only one that was given above the 3-star average rating from Allmusic (this one got the classic 5-star rating). This says to me that the Human League is at least a consistently mediocre band who happened to perfect their formula for just one album. Curiously enough, their latest studio work, released last spring, still earned average reviews, but still carried their synthpop methodology. Which brings me to my next point: while Dare wasn’t exactly groundbreaking for 1981 (considering that was also the year David Byrne and Brian Eno released My Life in the Bush of Ghosts, which was one of the earliest albums to feature sampling), their music definitely holds little to no relevance in the 2010’s. To prove my point, if you are not my parents, Bob Roets, or Jonathan Pulse, and you are reading this because you have a genuine interest in Human League (like David Bowie, Trent Reznor, or the members of the Human League themselves, for example), you deserve a five-spot from me. But if you are one of the many who don’t usually read my reviews anyway, and especially don’t know about the Human League, then viola! You are the vast majority.

You see, synthpop was a marvel back in the late 70’s and for most of the 80’s as well, but the only traces of it can still be found in some modern rap albums (Drake’s Take Care, and especially Kanye West’s 808’s & Heartbreak), and the occasional indie band that incorporates cheap Casio or Sony synth keyboards. If anything, I believe the Human League are employing the same equipment that Gary Numan used for 1979’s The Pleasure Principal (famous for his one hit wonder tune, “Cars”). In fact, the whole album sounds much more like a poppier version of The Pleasure Principal, almost to the point where my ears want to convince me that Dare is a plagiarized version of that album. However, for being a superficially unoriginal album for 1981, with experienced ears, you would find it does have the advantage of existing before most of the bands this album probably inspired. The opening track, “The Things That Dreams Are Made Of,” sounds like an early demo version of Depeche Mode’s “World in My Eyes,” a song that was released about a full decade after Dare. “The Sound of the Crowd” has a beat in the similar groove vein as “I Ran,” by A Flock of Seagulls, who wouldn’t make it big with that one-hit wonder until about a year later.

For all the pop sounds you would expect to find on this album, you wouldn’t expect it to get as dark as it does. Take, “Darkness,” for instance; not a profoundly original track title, but consider this lyric: “I hesitate but it's too late/I scream and scream again/I hear colours black and red/I see sounds that fill my head/I'll never read those books again/In darkness/Where my dreams are all too clear.” The following track, “Do or Die,” despite sounding upbeat, deals with a troublesome relationship where the singer feels compelled to, “Run all day, run all night/Do or die, do or die/Got to run for your life/Do or die, do or die.” It’s repeated often enough to make you realize that the Human League is more than just another forgettable synthpop experiment.

As the album closes on “Don’t You Want Me,” perhaps their best known song and one-hit wonder, as it fades out, some of the hairs on the back of my neck stand up to know that Lester Bangs was no longer living when the needle skipped on the last groove of the album. Just like how the ending to Iggy Pop’s “China Girl” hauntingly reminds me that Ian Curtis was undoubtedly dangling from the ceiling of his kitchen by the time the needle of his record player hit the final groove of side one of the record. It is rather unfair to be the creators of a fine album, only to have part or the whole scope of its legacy be overshadowed by the fact that someone prominent or obscure alike chose to listen to it when they died. It almost creates this stigma for the album, but admittedly, if I had mentioned nothing about it, you’d be none the wiser. Maybe even pumped to listen. But do me a favor though: go on Wikipedia and look up Iggy Pop’s The Idiot (and/or read Pitchfork Media’s paragraph about why it is one of the best albums of the 70’s) and then the article for this album. Notice how Ian Curtis’ death is synonymous with The Idiot, and how there’s almost no mention of Lester Bangs’ death tied to this album. In this album’s case, it’s probably better to be a one-album wonder than an album linked with foolish and unfortunate decisions.

Music: 7

Lyrics: 7

Length: 8

Meaning: 7

Significance: 8

Overall Impression: 7

Insane Clown Posse The Amazing Jeckel Brothers (1999): 36%

Somehow I wonder if this is Stephen King’s fault for unintentionally creating ICP. His 1986 novel, IT, managed to create an entity that effectively personified any and everything that we ever were afraid of. IT, or Pennywise the Dancing Clown, mutilates and devours children, kills anybody who gets in its way, and the mere mention of IT drives one of the supporting characters to suicide. It makes sense that a story like this would appeal to the likes of horrorcore rappers from Detroit who call themselves Violent J and Shaggy 2 Dope. Only instead of being everything we ever were afraid of, they’ve unintentionally turned themselves into everything any music lover despises.

It’s not like clowns have ever had that much respect to begin with. Usually whenever a kid has a birthday party where the parents feel compelled to hire a party clown, the birthday kid, as well as the guests, usually look bored or unimpressed as the clown tries like hell to entertain a bunch of children by telling bad jokes, and making herds of balloon animals. ICP, on the other hand, are clowns who love to party, and consider themselves responsible for entertaining an audience of adults; most of whom presumably live in trailer parks, and ride mopeds due to DUI/DWI busts. Throughout every one of their 11 official studio releases, J and Shaggy try like hell to entertain us with carnival mythology, and make bad jokes about psychopathic behavior. For the majority of us adults, ICP has failed to make an intimidating impact, even though the minority, who likes their music has been deemed “a loosely organized hybrid gang” by the FBI. And why ICP is putting up the funds and courage to sue the FBI over this obvious claim, I do not know. Violent J and Shaggy 2 Dope may not agree that “Juggalos” are a gang, but when they’ve created cult appeal for those who are fans, doesn’t anybody who willingly puts clown paint on their faces submit themselves to becoming a member of this cult, or gang, even ridicule? To the Juggalos themselves, it’s merely a ‘free-thinking’ way of life, but it would be dangerously naïve of us to think that. In some places in America, there are Juggalos out there who do consider themselves gang members, and conduct their business accordingly.

The album itself is dubbed the fifth “Joker Card” in the Dark Carnival series of ICP studio releases, or in more accurate terms, just the fifth album. We start out with the introduction of Jake Jeckel (supposedly representing righteousness), whose character is immediately shrugged off so that J and Shaggy can take centerstage and spit their childish raps. Same goes for Jack Jeckel, who more or less represents pure evil and is introduced near the end of the album. These characters are only central to the album title, because they are only mentioned in their respective tracks, and never referenced again. This leads me to believe that ICP wanted a theme, but probably about halfway during the production, decided that it was probably more difficult to pull off than what they realized. But since J and Shaggy would rather take over the album themselves, these characters are meaningless. And supposedly, this is considered their best album.

The problem I noticed within the first 10 minutes of the album is how unfocused it is. “Bring It On” has difficulty in deciding which beat it should carry on with for five minutes. Nor are there actual raps either; more like couplet poems that happen to have a haphazard flow.

My theory as to why ICP is so hated is not necessarily the music (handled by longtime producer Mike E. Clark), but pretending to have a worthy message (yet another battle between good and evil, but if this album was called anything else, I wouldn’t have picked up on that), and undermining it with useless and frustratingly endless hardcore rap schticks. This use of messages and how they convey them to an audience is what separates ICP from fellow Detroit horrorcore rapper Eminem. Eminem tells horrifying stories and uses vulgarity as emphatic catharsis. ICP is pretty much the other way around where they don’t really tell stories at all and employs vulgarity simply because they believe that’s what makes them hardcore. It’s an endless stream perpetuated by songs like “I Want My Shit,” “Bitches” (featuring a dissociative verse from Ol’ Dirty Bastard), “Another Love Song,” “I Stab People,” and probably the worst track on here, “The Shaggy Show,” where ICP members endlessly hype an appearance by Snoop Dogg, who at this point in his career was also using his image to sell Girls Gone Wild tapes, and putting out tacky fucking albums and album covers like “Da Game is to Be Sold, Not to Be Told.” Also, dissing the Beastie Boys and the Dalai-Lama in “Fuck the World” is a move that pretty much begs your persona to be ridiculed and disrespected.

All in all, I don’t believe ICP represents the absolute nadir of what music is capable of; believe me, I’ve heard worse rhymes and beats from respectable and widely dissed artists alike. The problem is these clowns believe they are so hardcore, they don’t come across as such. They just exist to entertain and justify legions of trailer park inhabitants, and endorse the only drink they can afford, Faygo. What baffles me about Juggalos is how they claim to adopt a free-thinking way of life, but the ideologies ICP seem to endorse are myopic and involves malicious violence towards anybody, especially women, or those who aren’t “down with the clown.” The misogyny is so overwhelming, it makes me wonder how a female Juggalo interprets their music. So in their world, you are a free-thinker, but only if you paint your face, listen to artists on the Psychopathic label, and consume endless amounts of Faygo. Sorry guys, but a clown is still just a clown.

Music: 5

Lyrics: 3

Meaning: 2

Length: 4

Significance: 3

Overall Impression: 4

Danzig Blackacidevil (1996): 25%

Today I learned about a phenomenon called the “Streisand effect.” It means that whenever some juicy piece of gossip or controversial happening is intentionally downplayed by the person it concerns, that action usually results in the media and public at large wanting to know more about it. In simpler economic terms, when the supply of details are taken away or are few to begin with, the demand for knowledge about it increases. And I’m guessing what lured you here in the first place is the prominent display of this album’s incredibly low percentage. I also just realized that in my attempt to discourage you, the audience, from pursuing this album, I may be inadvertently arousing your curiosity for just how bad it is. The reason this review totals over 1000 words is so that I will cover the entire spectrum of this album so you won’t have any desire to listen to it. Ultimately, can I prove the Streisand effect wrong?

After the dissolution of his old band that featured talented musicians, Glenn Danzig sought a different musical direction with his next album after the somewhat ho-hum heavy metal songs of 4p. But when I put this in my CD player and started listening to Danzig’s attempt at an industrial metal album, 4p now sounds like a god-given swan song to the good times that was the old Danzig band.

On Blackacidevil, Danzig is reinventing himself in the most literal sense; so much so that it doesn’t sound like a Danzig album at all. Metalheads the world over can recognize his voice in an instant, but Danzig’s distinct vocal style hardly rises at all, and is instead drowned down below the swamp of viscous industrial fuzz that coats the album. In fact, it would make more sense to have a band called Blackacidevil release a tribute album titled Danzig. At least then we’d have an explanation as to why this album sounds so underdeveloped and poorly executed. You also know this album is in trouble when the tracks are about two minutes too long a piece, and most of them begin with the same electronic stuttering.

I’m not sure why Disney (ironically, the parent company of Hollywood Records, who financed and distributed this album) bothered putting up a stink with Danzig’s liking towards satanic imagery and other death-related themes in the first place. It’s not as if we can understand what Danzig is saying on this album anyway, but it doesn’t help that we have a lyric sheet to guide us through the songs anyway (lyrical detail later). This is another classic case of the Streisand effect where if Disney didn’t lift a finger to publically denounce it and drop Danzig from the Hollywood Records label, I’m sure it would have gone totally unnoticed to the point where even Wikipedia wouldn’t know about this album. From there, I wouldn’t know about the album, and you wouldn’t know about the album either. See how this works?

As we skim through the credits, we can be assured that this is all Danzig’s fault. He is credited as the sole producer of the album as well as the performer for most of the so-called instruments that are featured within. As always, the lyrics detail Danzig’s ongoing obsession with the occult and all of the death, demons, sex and satanic allegories that come with it. This time, it would have been for the best if Danzig decided to not include a lyric sheet. Here’s why:

“Girl I’m gonna make you come/ Free your body with my gun” (repeated about 5 times throughout “7^th House”)

“Your heart stops dead/ you have no pulse” (Yep, that’s how the heart works, all right)

“Like your floating on a river of pain” (Apparently people were making these grammatical errors long before the advent of texting)

“Rape the garden of infernal delights/ Wrap the snake in between your legs” (I can’t tell if this is a biblical criticism or another one of Danzig’s fantasies about the eating of the forbidden fruit with sexual overtones).

And it just goes on from there.

However, if there is one note of praise I have to offer this album is that at least Danzig himself is willing to defend it. Too many awesome bands and artists have released works that even they aren’t proud of, and when they go on record acknowledging just that, then the public removes all doubt that it’s a crappy album or decreases their sentimental value for it. From what I understand of the information I’ve read on this album, Danzig created it mostly to test who his core audience is. But to take some of that praise away, he shrugged off the “Mother” fans who would rather hear more heavy metal from Danzig than an album like this. Even at the lowest points of the first era of the Danzig band, they had actual songs and structure working for them. Here, everything seems slapped together in the most careless sense. Of course the best track here is the Black Sabbath cover of “Hand of Doom,” where we can actually hear Jerry Cantrell’s guitar contributions (he’s featured on two other tracks, but where his signature guitar sounds come in, I do not know).

My musical weakness has always been for industrial music, mostly because I have always expressed interest whenever musicians and machines compete with each other to make inhuman sounding records that have human qualities shining through the cracks. Now, my interest in this genre has been shaken thanks to this lowly piece of “art.” Hopefully by now you have resisted the Streisand effect, and will forget you even read this review.

Music: 2

Lyrics: 3

Length: 2

Meaning: 2

Significance: 3

Overall Impression: 3 

Wire Chairs Missing (1978): 84%

Lately I’ve been hitting a dry spell where I haven’t been writing as much as I normally do. I’d come across an album I’ve read about somewhere, listen to it with budding curiosity, but by the time I finish, I can’t get myself to write a review for it. It’s not the albums’ fault, it’s mine. Or perhaps subconsciously I just wanted to sit down and listen to an album without having to write about it. But still, practicing one’s writing is like a body-builder who exercises regularly: you have to keep doing it or else your muscles start to regress and what once was easy and pleasurable becomes yet another chore. For the past couple of days I’ve been asking myself if I’m becoming lazy with my critical duties. Then I came across this album, and any concerns I had about my apathetic tendencies dived right out of the window. Until now, I only had so much interest in post-punk albums, but now this one has opened the floodgates for me.

I should explain: generally there are three main categories of punk. The first being hardcore punk where you have bands like Black Flag, Crass, Dead Kennedys, Misfits, Bad Brains, and early Suicidal Tendencies where sonic transparency doesn’t exist. All they seem to care about is playing loud, fast, hard, and usually come with varying degrees of polarizing nihilism and/or anarchy. The rhetoric employed by the singer seems to employ a lot of pathos in the form of sometimes incoherent shouting. Next, we have bands that tone down the distortion so we can actually hear notes, but can still be fast and furious. This is general punk rock, and Green Day seems to dominate this category the most. I also tend to place the Sex Pistols in this category because listening to Never Mind the Bollocks, I can tell they care about notes and structure. Even protopunk bands like the Stooges and the MC5 have a lot of noise, but it is relatively organized noise. And finally, there’s post-punk, where bands slow their tempos, use hardly any distortion at all, favor more experimental methods, but still carry that same punkish attitude. This is where bands like Public Image Ltd. (also fronted by Sex Pistols leader, Johnny Rotten), Siouxsie and the Banshees, Bauhaus, and Wire come into music history.

Some can argue that post-punk is essentially synonymous with gothic rock, but Wire does not fit that description entirely. While their music has gothic overtones, it is not blatantly a goth record. Wire’s 1977 debut classic, Pink Flag, was a great example of minimalist post-punk that had a specific punk sound they wanted to convey. With their follow-up, Chairs Missing, they broadened their sound to incorporate more electronics and synthesizers that perhaps other punk bands were adverse to doing, maybe even afraid of trying. In a nutshell, the title of this album reflects the music perfectly. The title, Chairs Missing, is in reference to a British slang phrase that is meant to describe someone who is mentally compromised. For example, “Man, that Lydon bloke has a few chairs missing in his front room.”

However, Wire proves beyond a doubt that punk can utilize synthesizers without sounding anything like the sell-out synthpop bands in the years following. More importantly, they can also use clean guitar tones without sounding like noise-phobic pansies. To bring up the subject of goth again, the opener, “Practice Makes Perfect,” starts out punk, but ends with a goth sound thanks to the use of electronically manipulated sounds. “French Film Blurred,” almost has a surf rock feel to it, which adds to its experimental quality. Experimentation praise is also due to tracks like “Being Sucked in Again,” “From the Nursery,” “I Feel Mysterious Today,” and “I Am the Fly.”

Essentially, Wire wants to explore with what they can do to a punk record without sounding like commercial-bait. Because mind you, given the year of this release, there weren’t many, if any, records that sounded like this at all. Side one’s closer, “Heartbeat,” doesn’t have much business being on a punk record, but its building tension conveys a sense of restlessness. Then you slap on side two, which begins with “Mercy,” which is one of the most vital post-punk songs I’ve heard. Every time I play it, I can’t help but think of its hardcore punk appeal, and Jeremy Clarkson from Top Gear shouting, “POWER!” along with Wire. I imagine Jack White probably shit himself then was inspired to form the White Stripes upon listening to that song; it’s definitely the highlight and centerpiece of the album.

I can’t even say that the shortest songs don’t have a place or could be left out. Each of the 15 songs have their own appeal. Listening to this album, I became aware of its influence on bands to come as well as what bands influenced Wire themselves. I doubt bands like Blur, the Cure, Sonic Youth, Gorillaz or even Green Day would even exist. Just like how I doubt Wire would sound the same without bands like Suicide, the Stooges, and just about every punk band that existed before 1977.

While writing this review, I tried to think about what I don’t like about this album, and to be honest, I’m struggling to come up with any legitimate complaints. If anything, “Outdoor Miner,” is probably the track I like the least, but I believe it still has a place on the album. Other than that, this album is essential listening. After all, if this album has the ability to shake the apathy from a person who regards himself as highly apathetic to begin with, you know it has to be good.

Music: 9

Length: 9

Lyrics: 8

Meaning: 8

Significance: 8

Overall Impression: 9 

The Top 7 Beatles Albums (Part 2)

4. The Beatles

The cover is not just white, it’s clean. Except for the band’s name in plain gray text on the lower right hand corner with a unique serial number (on original pressings). But apart from that, what else do you see? What does it remind you of? Blank space? Is it about using an eraser to start all over again? If that’s so, that’s a great idea for the follow up to Sgt. Pepper. To begin anew…

But if you are going to start over fresh, where do you go from there? Apparently, the Beatles’ answer to that question is everywhere I reckon. It is such an eclectic album with everything for everyone and even some songs reaching out to some who may have scoffed at them previously for mainly writing love songs. At a loud enough volume, “Helter Skelter,” becomes a head banging heavy metal song that was around before Black Sabbath, and quite shocking to hear in ‘68. “Revolution #9” is the longest Beatle track ever released, and when applied to your imagination, becomes a trip inside John Lennon’s mind. Perhaps this song is the musical equivalent of what an LSD-ridden mind is like. “While My Guitar Gently Weeps” is an evolutionary step up for Harrison, and even Ringo has a self-penned tune on here, “Don’t Pass Me By.”

The first quarter of the album finds the Beatles on relatively familiar ground, but like with any double album (especially one running 93 minutes), it isn’t without some studio experiment sounds that could have been trimmed or left out completely. For instance, I doubt “Wild Honey Pie” or “Savory Truffle” are keepers. Sorry. But among otherwise questionable tracks, we also get gifts in the form of “Julia,” “Blackbird,” “Revolution #1,” “Yer Blues,” “Long, Long, Long,” and one of my personal favorites, the orchestraic conclusion, “Good Night.” Ringo was whispering “Good night, everybody. Everybody, everywhere. Good night,” to the world in 1968, as one of the most hellish years in world history was also mirrored in the Beatles’ relationship with each other. I cannot begin to describe the conditions of 1968, nor could I ever do so accurately since I wasn’t born then, but to think, at the end of another day, at least these guys could put aside their differences, and come together to tuck the world into bed every night.

3. Rubber Soul

To think that Bob Dylan is going to be performing at our very own Parkview Field in less than a month is awe-worthy. I’m not sure if his voice has held up well over the years, but to have that very man who released music that got the Beatles worked-up into a frenzied obsession, should be lauded as a historic event for Fort Wayne. That, and having Dylan introduce pot to the Beatles was as monumentally influential. Point being, nothing and no one can guess what the Beatles music would have sounded like if history had not taken place, and Bob Dylan had not intervened. But I do know it would be a very different, possibly sadder world. Lennon perhaps had the biggest obsession with Dylan, as he even molded his voice to sound like a British Bob Dylan on, “Norwegian Wood (This Bird Has Flown).” He even had a cap and harmonica like Dylan’s too.

There is nothing but great music on this album, but I admit that I am annoyed by the U.S. version for two reasons: 1) the British hogged all 14 original tracks for themselves, even great rockers like “Drive My Car,” and 2) The U.S. version gets a leftover from Help!, “I’ve Just Seen a Face.” Sure, it’s a great song and a great opener, but I don’t understand why Europe and U.S. versions have to be different.

Wait, what am I saying? Hell, I’m extremely grateful that I have a mom who was cool enough to give me her old Beatles albums, this one of which was included. To have this on the original pressing vinyl is quite special to me. I’m also incredibly thankful my U.S. version at least has, “Michele,” “In My Life,” Harrison’s “Think For Yourself,” and “Run For Your Life.”

2. Revolver

I have this idea in my head that somehow Rubber Soul and Revolver are twin albums. Whenever I listen to the two back to back, I am curious by how similar they are in structure. Only, Revolver definitely has one edge over Soul: a more adventurous feel that is made possible by fresher ideas for sound manipulation.

I cannot imagine the amount of dedication that was required from Harrison when he spent close to 9 hours in the studio just to record a brief guitar solo that was prompted by a mistake from engineer, Geoff Emerick. I am referring to “I’m Only Sleeping,” where that trippy solo we hear in the middle was inspired by Emerick’s accident when the tape ran backwards, creating a sound similar to what is on the record (with Paul saying, “My God, that’s fantastic! Can we do that for real?”). The notes for the original solo was then transcribed in reverse by Martin, and Harrison, as I mentioned earlier, spent 9 hours with headphones clamped on his head, as well as being hypnotized by his own concentration and desire to pull this fantastic stunt.

Back to my ‘twin’ theory, I invite you to listen to the two albums back to back. I think you’ll find that the folk rock we get on Rubber Soul is translated to a psychedelic feel with Revolver. It is also on this album where Harrison gains the coveted first track slot for “Taxman,” and Lennon closes the album with “Tomorrow Never Knows,” another malapropism inspired by Ringo, which sounds like the excitement one feels when undertaking something exciting, yet dangerous. We also receive gems like “Eleanor Rigby,” “Doctor Robert,” “And Your Bird Can Sing,” “Here, There and Everywhere,” and a kiddie favorite sung by Ringo, “Yellow Submarine.”

Likewise with Rubber Soul, I’m not sure why the U.S. and European versions have to be different, but again, I’m happy to have this one on original vinyl as well. To think that an album this radical was produced in 1966, is remarkable considering it knows what decade it belongs to, but still seems as fresh as when it was first being written.  

1. Abbey Road

This album is the reason why I insist on having all of the Beatles’ work on vinyl. In fact, this album is one of the reasons why I insist on having vinyl at all. This ranks among my favorite albums of all time because while there may be just one or two songs on the other Beatle albums I could probably skip over without much regret, here, I cannot afford myself the opportunity. This is their last hurrah before John decided he was fed up with Paul’s dominance over the group, and quit in 1969. Not Let it Be, which may have been released in 1970, but was recorded concurrently with The Beatles. No, this is the last official testament to the Beatles’ staggering legacy.

Given all the in-fighting and knowing that this was going to be the last album, there’s no way it should sound like the Beatles’ masterpiece album, but it is. Ironically, it is also on this album where each member realizes their full potential. George even puts out two of the best songs of his entire career with “Something,” and “Here Comes the Sun.” Ringo’s best known song, “Octopus’ Garden,” is also on here. There’s also a medley, which has only been done once before on Beatles for Sale. Only, instead of using two songs from other artists, the Beatles use 8 of their own compositions in this grand finale.

Overall, I consider it their best work because of how the production of the album itself ended. The last song all four Beatles cut together was the opener, “Come Together,” and displays the embers of a once burning kinship between four wonderful musicians. Lennon invites us to come together as members of the human race, Paul provides a grooving low-end, Ringo provides the framework for said groove, and George delivers a faintly screaming guitar solo. Listening to the song end is bittersweet because while it merely introduces the album, the fact that the Beatles would never again gather in a studio to play, is undeniably sad. The album itself ends with the upbeat and triumphant, “The End,” where John, Paul and George play tag-team with guitar solos in one of their last displays of brotherhood.

Despite the already-crumbled relationships between the Beatles, it is unquestionably special that they managed to put out an album like this. Usually bad communication, bad tempers, and bad collaborations result in horrible albums. For me, this is the music equivalent of The Shawshank Redemption, where all four Beatles had to crawl through a half-mile pipeline of raw sewage, only to come out clean on the other side.

Just because I’m feeling especially generous, here are the remaining albums ranked:

13. Yellow Submarine

12. Help!

11. With the Beatles

10. Beatles for Sale

9. Let it Be

8. A Hard Day’s Night

The Top 7 Beatles Albums (Part 1)

Introduction

For me to sit here in my comfy chair and write on a MacBook Pro, painstakingly well-written reviews for each of the 13 official studio releases of the Beatles, would be the most pretentious and exhausting thing I could ever think of to do for you, the kind audience. Rather than spending an unthinkable amount of time dictating the finer and faultier points of all 13 albums, when really we all know that nearly all of them are classics anyway, I instead invite you to take a walk through my psyche as I write you a list of what I believe are the 7 best albums the world’s greatest rock band had to offer to the universe, and descriptions as to why.

But why only seven, you ask? Why can’t you arrange all 13 into a list? Aren’t they all outstanding in their own individual ways? Well, yes and no. While some of their best works rank among my personal favorite albums of all time, the rest perhaps (and bear with me here) may just be slightly above average. Call me crazy, but one person’s treasured underdog Beatle album may be my overrated indulgence Beatle album. And as much as love the Beatles, I am not well versed on every single song they ever released on these 13 official studio releases. For instance, if you were to randomly ask me in passing what album has the song, “You’re Going to Lose That Girl,” the best I would have to offer is a haphazard guess and probably get it wrong anyway (it’s Help!, by the way). Also, guessing which of the seven I’ve chosen as the best is a mystery in of itself. I’ve also chosen seven to demonstrate the better half of what the Beatles were capable of. So, with all of those explanations aside, let’s come together over me…

The 13 Official Beatles Releases Eligible for This List

Please Please Me (1963)

With the Beatles (1963)

A Hard Day’s Night (1964)

Beatles for Sale (1964)

Help! (1965)

Rubber Soul (1965)

Revolver (1966)

Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band (1967)

Magical Mystery Tour (1967)

The Beatles (1968)

Yellow Submarine (1969)

Abbey Road (1969)

Let it Be (1970)

7. Magical Mystery Tour

Despite the prominent display of the band members looking excited in polyester animal costumes, as well as bright and cheerful looking primary colors on the cover, this album’s origins were much more depressing. At the tail end of the summer of love and less than two months after the release of Sgt. Pepper, the behind-the-scenes man, who, as Paul McCartney once claimed, “If anybody was the fifth Beatle, it was [Brian Epstein].” And that couldn’t be closer to the truth. Epstein is credited for having discovered the Beatles when they were playing in dingy watering holes, wearing leather jackets, and had greasy, flammable hair back in the dawning of the 60’s. Considering his tight-knit relationship with the Beatles, as well as his role of managing the business affairs so the boys could focus on playing, his death has been known to be the instigator of the long downward spiral the Beatles would suffer in the late 60’s. Out of all the misery his death caused, Paul had the idea to gather the band and do what the Beatles did best all along: make music.

This attempt to bring the Beatles out of their emotional slump was certainly admirable, but it wasn’t without its strings. Out of all the films the Beatles made in their career, perhaps Magical Mystery Tour is by far their most nonsensical and lazy, but when the album itself is played on a turntable, you could tell they were headed for something bigger and more ambitious than their best-selling predecessor. Given that this is essentially Paul’s brainchild, it comes as no surprise that this is probably their wackiest, whimsical, most colorful, and weirdest release they have. Lennon’s, “I am the Walrus” is certainly the best example of that description (even long-time producer, George Martin, upon hearing the demo said, “What the hell am I supposed to do with that?”). Perhaps an even better example is Harrison’s “Blue Jay Way,” a darkly trippy ode. But among the other tracks on this album, the more famous, and best cuts, would be “Strawberry Fields Forever,” “All You Need is Love,” and “Hello Goodbye.” And it certainly was a goodbye for their high times, as the next couple over years would precipitate their break-up.

6. Please Please Me

I’ve never paid much attention to the Beatles earlier works because that was back when they were just as guilty of ripping off black artists from their original works as Elvis was. This was also released at the time of the phenomena known as “Beatlemania,” where teenaged girls the world over created mass chaos and destruction. Where the Beatles went, this army of madly obsessive adolescents followed but not without leaving a trail of wreckage behind. It’s much like today with Bieber fever, only the Beatles (and maybe even Elvis) caused this sort of phenomenon to happen first. Bob Dylan said that even back when the Beatles were first starting out, their chords were outrageous. I put on Please Please Me expecting nothing more than a traditional rock n’ roll album. For the most part, I got what I wanted, but I wasn’t expecting this one to give me more.

Upon first listen, I was amused by how simple and short these songs were. But more than anything, as the album kept going, so did my attention span. You see, the only era I’ve ever known is the modern one where everything cool-sounding has already been done, we all gaze into phones that are almost conscious entities, we have small Starbucks buildings on damn near every corner, and the highlight of our days is usually when we check our Facebook to find that someone has liked or commented on our 10-word psychological peanuts that people happen to find clever. As I listened, I tried to envision early 1963, where everything seemed to be old fashioned, plain, simple, content, and relatively quiet. Then these four guys from Liverpool come along and fuck all of that up. For 1963, these were indeed outrageously played chords. While Elvis had riled up people all over the world with his voice, gyrating hips, and hillbilly alley-cat persona, the Beatles had the aesthetic power of rock n’ roll on their side. And it paid off in spades. Even though only 8 of the 14 songs are credited to “McCartney-Lennon,” every song on the album became theirs, whether it was their original compositions or not. For songs so short (14 tracks in 32 minutes), they waste no time getting right to the point and sounding fantastic in the process. Tracks like “Misery,” “Anna (Go to Him),” “Chains,” and “Do You Want to Know a Secret?” are great examples of their fresh talents. Given that the whole record was made in one grueling 12-hour session, the energy amazingly never wavered, even though Lennon, on that particular day, was obviously suffering from a nasty cold. But that’s why his voice on “Twist and Shout” is so potent: Lennon purposely blows out what little was left of his voice for this staggering finale track, that for 1963, was revolutionary. We wouldn’t hear screaming like that until the white album. But little did the world know, they would be putting out albums much better than this for several years to come.

5. Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band

Besides potentially receiving numerous angry comments, this list without Sgt. Pepper’s, would only be a mockery of what I hope to share with you all. It is considered to be the granddaddy masterpiece of the Beatles’ roughly 10 year career, as it was a hot seller back when it was released, and these days has sales figures running up in the 30 million range (32, to be exact). It also had the edge in critic reviews, except for maybe one or two critics calling it overblown, but they were probably followed by die-hard Beatles fans, and randomly pelted with rotting vegetables on the streets. To say that its impact was far-reaching doesn’t come close to describing its true influence.

And speaking of which, likewise with any great rock album, it was influenced by two important factors: the need to escape the staggering pressures of ubiquitous fame, and pot. According to Paul, the rest of the Beatles were extremely high, mostly on marijuana through all its production, and what a way to act as an endorsement for drugs (from what I’ve read in Bob Spitz’s biography, cocaine was present too). Actually I lied, there is a third factor: a mission to top the production quality of Brain Wilson and the Beach Boys’ Pet Sounds, just like Brian was inspired to top the Beatles when they released Rubber Soul.

Lennon may swear to “God, Mao, whomever you like, I had no idea [“Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds”] spelled L-S-D,” but also admitted years later that in the 60’s, he tripped acid at least a thousand times. Even though Paul wasn’t completely sold on acid, he tripped on a few occasions, mainly during this period. However, Harrison was experimenting more with Indian culture and practicing his sitar, just in time to make his epic, “Within You or Without You.” Lennon also finds peaks of his own with “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds,” and “A Day in the Life.” McCartney brilliantly fills in the rest with: the title opener and reprise, “With a Little Help From My Friends” (where a nervous and exhausted Ringo delivered his trademark quirky voice with the support of his fellow Beatles), and even his Lennon-deemed “granny music,” “When I’m Sixty-Four.”

I’ll stop here because we already know why it is regarded so highly; that it is the album that's universally accepted as the greatest album of all time, and never fails to earn the top grade of every critic. But where I differ is just that: why is it their ‘best?’ The next four, to me, deserve that accolade just as much as this album does.