It’s Consequence’s 15th anniversary, and all September long we’ll be publishing a series of retrospective pieces encompassing our publication’s own history — and the entertainment landscape in general. Today, we’re kicking it off with our new and improved 100 Greatest Albums of All Time list.
Dig the artwork on this list? You can grab a 100 Greatest Albums of All Time poster here, and a framed version here. We’ve also printed the design on T-shirts and tote bags.
Oh my God, we’re back again. It’s been over a decade since we first took a shot at boiling down all of popular music history into the 100 greatest albums of all time. Forget about how opinions have changed over those 12 years — the entire culture has shifted. Even the people taking part in this exercise are different, as only two staff members who were part of the OG list, published in 2010, remain with Consequence today.
Understandably, things are going to be different this time. Tastes have been reshaped, genres have been born and died away, and the way we divvy up importance through history has been altered by the very nature of the present. All of this factors into putting together a behemoth like this, which means records that weren’t considered — or even released — the last time we undertook this challenge now have prominent placement. In turn, other great works have been bumped off, or down, or up.
One thing remains the same, however: You’re going to disagree about as much as you agree with what we’ve done here. You’re going to wonder how album X didn’t warrant mention, or why album Y is higher than album Z. Or where the heck is artist W?! We’re not even going to argue with you. Believe us, we wondered that too, and talked about them, and made hard choices, often against personal convictions.
Now, maybe that doesn’t impress you much. Maybe you, dear reader, believe there is a definitive, eternal, unimpeachable ranking of records that could be pulled from the ether with just the right methodology. Who knows, maybe you’re right. This isn’t that list.
This is a list compiled through hours of debate, frustration, laughter, acquiescence, and epiphany. It’s one that assessed the mercurial value attached to art, from perceptions at the moment of creation, to retrospective consideration, to the impact on ever-evolving fashions. It’s also one that allowed joy to be a factor of greatness.
So, go ahead, lob your criticisms. Voice your feelings about how your favorite artists were left off, or how we skipped over that iconic LP. We welcome it! And when the dust settles, the staff of Consequence will stand proud behind our list of the 100 greatest albums of all time. Until the next time.
— Ben Kaye
Editorial Director
Ed. note: Select blurbs from the original list held up; whenever they’re included here, they are denoted with (2010).
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100. Jane’s Addiction – Nothing’s Shocking
With 1988’s Nothing’s Shocking, Jane’s Addiction helped lay the foundation for what would eventually become the alternative rock revolution of the ‘90s. Equal parts heavy and ethereal, it’s fitting that the album contains song titles like “Up the Beach” and “Ocean Size,” as the tracks play like waves crashing into the sea. Perry Farrell’s celestial voice, along with the dynamic playing of guitarist Dave Navarro, bassist Eric Avery and drummer Stephen Perkins, makes Nothing’s Shocking a truly unique album.
Combining the power of Led Zeppelin with the art-rock of The Velvet Underground on tracks like the explosive “Mountain Song” with its magnificent bass line, or the acoustic “Jane’s Says” with its heart-wrenching lyrics, Nothing’s Shocking represents a defining moment in what was soon to be a seismic shift in rock music. — Spencer Kaufman
99. Kamasi Washington – Heaven and Earth
In 2015, saxophonist Kamasi Washington announced his arrival to mainstream audiences on Kendrick Lamar’s To Pimp a Butterfly. Only months later, he cemented his place at the front of jazz’s vanguard with his equally expansive major label debut, The Epic, largely developed with his compatriots in Los Angeles’ West Coast Get Down jazz collective. But it was the follow-up, 2018’s Heaven & Earth, that more accurately reflects the heights he can reach from his ascended headspace.
Heaven & Earth evokes the grand scale of its title with an all-encompassing view of the past, present, and future of this world and beyond. Whether Washington is resurrecting the past with his take on Freddie Hubbard’s “Hub-Tones,” refurbishing the theme from the Bruce Lee film Fists of Fury with a modern context, or pushing jazz in a completely new direction on the dark groove jam “Street Fighter Mas,” he is constantly in conversation with a higher power; the divinity just varies from the Almighty to his all-star group of musician friends.
In regards to the growing presence of spirituality in his music, Consequence’s A-grade review asserted that “if more churches played songs like ‘Journey’ and ‘Will You Sing’ on Sundays, those sanctuaries might be standing room only.” — Bryan Kress
98. Lucinda Williams – Car Wheels on a Gravel Road
There have been no shortage of Lucinda Williams imitators over the years — artists hoping to nick even an ounce of her grit, grace, and gumption and make it their own. But there is only one Lucinda Williams, and on her 1998 Grammy-winning masterpiece Car Wheels on a Gravel Road, she demonstrates why she’s an unrivaled talent.
The Lake Charles, Louisiana native has a sprawling discography, kicking off in 1979 with Ramblin’ on My Mind and most recently with the acerbic Good Souls Better Angels, which makes selecting just one of her albums as the “best” a bit of a fool’s errand. However, Car Wheels on a Gravel Road stands out as a hallmark of hard-worn Americana, a Southern swirl of country, blues, folk, and rock ‘n’ roll.
It’s a riff-laden record with a laundry list of lyrics tailor-made for tattooing on your body, doubling as a roadmap to the soul of a complicated nation. Across 13 tracks, from the sexy “2 Kool 2 Be 4-Gotten” to the middle-fingers-up kiss-off of “Joy,” you learn a few things about the record’s central narrator, but there’s one lesson that stands out in particular: You don’t fuck with Lucinda Williams. If Williams is Americana’s poet laureate, Car Wheels on a Gravel Road is a high watermark of the form. — Spencer Dukoff
97. Fugazi – Repeater
While Repeater is considered Fugazi’s full-length debut, it had the daunting task of following the band’s legendary first two EPs (compiled together as 13 Songs). With Repeater, though, the D.C. band not only raised their own bar, but blew the entire hardcore punk genre wide open.
With a nod to the precision of post-punkers Gang of Four, Repeater is evidence of a band playing without restrictions. Fugazi never had to answer to suits when it came to the music they recorded, thanks to their entire discography being released via singer-guitarist Ian MacKaye’s own Dischord Records. Their chemistry is obvious, with MacKaye and Guy Picciotto trading vocals over dissonant chords, and bassist Joe Lally and drummer Brendan Canty providing a steady backbone. Those facts together affirm that the commercial success of Repeater is a byproduct of the artists themselves, not a label’s cash-grabby plan.
Featuring powerhouse anthems like “Turnover” and “Blueprint,” as well as standout cuts like the title track and “Sieve-Fisted Find,” Repeater is a seminal work by the ultimate DIY band. — S.K.
96. N.W.A. – Straight Outta Compton
Although they owe Schoolly D and the Park Side Killas some credit for pioneering gangsta rap, N.W.A. can proudly say that they brought this style of uber-catchy, ultra-violent hip-hop to the mainstream. Released in 1988, Straight Outta Compton featured what would eventually become some of the genre’s biggest names — Ice Cube, Eazy-E, Dr. Dre, and MC Ren — spinning tales of life in one of LA’s roughest neighborhoods over minimalist beats and scratching provided by DJ Yella and Arabian Prince.
Cuts like “Fuck Tha Police” and the title track came to epitomize the West Coast sound, and paved a road that led to rap music infiltrating every household in America. Even if you were from the most tranquil corners of suburbia, you tensed up, clenched your fists, and pretended you were ready for a fight when you listened to Ice Cube open the record by declaring, “When I’m called off/ I get a sawed off/ Squeeze the trigger/ And bodies are hauled off.” N.W.A. made you feel hard, even though you still had to turn the volume down when your mom was home. — Ray Roa (2010)
95. System of a Down – Toxicity
After making a name for themselves with their self-titled debut, System of a Down reached new heights with their sophomore album, 2001’s Toxicity. Melodic, chaotic, and downright hypnotic, the album expanded the boundaries of heavy music. The frenetic “Chop Suey!” became one of the most bizarre hits of all-time on rock radio (even with Clear Channel temporarily removing it from airwaves after the September 11 attacks), while songs like the crushing title track and the haunting “Aerials” also served to propel the album to multi-platinum status.
Sounding like no other band before them, Serj Tankian’s operatic vocals soar over Daron Malakian’s complex musical compositions, with Shavo Odadjian and John Dolmayan forming a relentless rhythm section. All told, Toxicity stands as one of the finest works of heavy music in the 21st century, if not all time. — S.K.
94. Wilco – Yankee Hotel Foxtrot
There is an alternate universe that exists where Wilco never releases Yankee Hotel Foxtrot, an album that would not only secure the band’s place in rock history, but would fundamentally alter the landscape of the music industry at the turn of the new millennium. Yes, this record is awash in mythology and backstory, best encapsulated in Sam Jones’ I Am Trying to Break Your Heart, which just so happens to be one of the best music documentaries of all-time.
But YHF endures as a classic over 20 years later less because of that lore and more because it’s a collection of songs that’s so damn strong. Jeff Tweedy channels all his anxiety and self-consciousness into songs like “Ashes of American Flags” and “I Am Trying to Break Your Heart,” complementing those heavier tracks with the warm nostalgia of “Heavy Metal Drummer” and heart-on-your-sleeve romance of “Reservations,” which features a lyric that’s devastatingly direct: “I’ve got reservations about so many things, but not about you.”
The genius of Yankee Hotel Foxtrot is the decision to add layers of feedback and field recordings and noise and distortion on top of Tweedy’s folk and country and indie rock songs, leaning into the experimental to such an extent that the record dispatched the “alt-country” label that had dogged the band since its founding. From start to finish, Yankee Hotel Foxtrot mesmerizes and beguiles, and somehow manages to sound like both falling in love and the end of the world. It’s untouchable. — S.D.
93. TLC – CrazySexyCool
With new jack swing falling out of favor by the mid-’90s and Lisa “Left-Eye” Lopez dealing with personal struggles that kept her away from the group for extended periods, TLC found ways to mature their sound on their sophomore album. Reuniting with Babyface, Jermain Dupri, and Dallas Austin while adding contributions from Sean “Puffy” Combs, Organized Noize, and Chucky Thompson, they bumped up the hip-hop and soul vibes to utter R&B perfection on CrazySexyCool.
At the same time, they helped spur a sex positivity movement that still evolves today by tackling romance from numerous angles: the tryst of “Creep,” the sweetness of “Diggin’ on You,” the XXX of “Red Light Special.” In between, they delivered one of the most enduring cautionary tales of all time in “Waterfalls.” CrazySexyCool was the R&B album of the decade. Today, it stands as a testament to confident womanhood, a statement sealed in the record books as the best-selling album by an American girl group ever and the first to reach Diamond status. — B. Kaye
92. The Replacements – Let It Be
Who would have thought four twenty-somethings from Minneapolis could produce something so timeless, so vital, and so vivid? Back in 1984, when The Replacements dished out their magnum opus, Let It Be, nobody did. While all eyes were on Prince at the time, Paul Westerberg, Tommy Stinson, Chris Mars, and Bob Stinson were creating pure, unadulterated rock and roll. With his heart on his sleeve, Westerberg poured his love, his loss, and his inhibitions into each and every lyric, note, chord, and yelp.
On “Androgynous,” the first hit of the piano strikes your nerves, tugging at your eyes, and by the time Westerberg sings, “Future outcasts, they don’t last,” you’re right there beside him — in the dusty bar, within the late hours of a week night, and with nobody to hold onto but the music. That’s everything The Replacements were meant to be; here they do that in every note, over 11 tracks, and for 33 minutes and 31 seconds. It’s not an album, it’s a life preserver. — Michael Roffman (2010)
91. The Who – Who’s Next?
Out of all the legendary albums on this list, I doubt many of them had their origins as an abandoned rock opera. Many arrangements and scraps of Pete Townshend’s abandoned Lifehouse project became the basis for Who’s Next, an album that has no underlying theme or storyline. This sense of freedom allowed The Who to focus on making great individual songs rather than an overarching story.
The result is The Who growing up in public. The songs combine the hard-hitting energy of the band in their youth with the more experimental elements explored on Tommy. The most noticeable improvement is Roger Daltrey’s voice, reaching heights that were only hinted at in the past. Keith Moon’s drum solo followed by Daltrey’s scream at the end of “Won’t Get Fooled Again” remains as one of rock’s greatest moments.
While everyone knows about the singles, from the opening keyboard of “Baba O’Riley” to the building acoustics of “Behind Blue Eyes,” every song on this record is a potential hit. Listen to the explosive chorus of “Bargain.” Check out a rare lead vocal from bassist John Entwistle on “My Wife.” With tracks like these, it’s easy to see why Who’s Next moved The Who from a great band of the ’60s to a rock superpower in the ’70s. — Joe Marvilli (2010)
90. Alanis Morissette – Jagged Little Pill
The very first seconds of Alanis Morissette’s breakout record feature a blend of electric guitar and harmonica, signaling right from the beginning that a new voice in alt-rock had something to say. And an entire generation was listening: If you were young, female, and alive in the 1990s, there’s a strong chance you didn’t just own this album, but had it memorized from beginning to end, as Morisette’s incredible vocals and Glen Ballard’s stellar production work combine to scream about the anger and confusion that comes with being alive.
Decades before Taylor Swift got lyrically mad at Jake Gyllenhaal over a scarf, Alanis was reminding her ex about the mess that he left when he went away, but Jagged Little Pill isn’t just about rage: “Hand in My Pocket” actually delivers a somewhat optimistic message of literally “everything’s gonna be fine fine fine,” and while “Ironic” ironically failed to use the word properly, it still managed to talk about bleak scenarios in a “well, everyone’s been there” way.
It’s an album packed with difficult-to-unpack emotions, and one which helped at least one teenage girl, listening to it on repeat, feel a little less alone. — Liz Shannon Miller
89. Green Day – Dookie
Green Day broke into the mainstream with Dookie, perfectly timed to arrive hot on the Doc Martens-clad heels of the grunge scene. The California-based band fronted by Billie Joe Armstrong and rounded out by bassist Mike Dirnt and drummer Tre Cool found success by fusing the anti-establishment nature of its punk rock roots with a grunge appearance, backed by catchy pop melodies and hooks. Exploring everything from panic attacks to masturbation to bisexuality, the lyrics struck a chord with fans of all ages and positioned Green Day as the modern punk band for the masses.
Released in 1994, the band’s third and best-selling album found commercial success, reaching No. 2 on the Billboard 200 chart and scoring a Grammy for Best Alternative Music Album. The band was accused of “selling out” by previous followers of the underground punk scene, but Dookie found a way to reinvigorate interest in the original punk legends by serving as an entry-level record and giving a voice to rebellious teens who didn’t actually have a lot to rebel against in the relatively placid mid-1990s. — Kelly Quintanilla (2010)
88. Alice Coltrane – Journey in Satchidananda
Try as one might, it’s all but impossible to discuss Alice Coltrane without bringing up her late husband. Although John Coltrane had an undeniable influence on her and her work, she was already an accomplished artist long before they met and fell in love. As Coltrane once said, “John not only taught me to explore, but to play thoroughly and completely.”
Though not the first album Coltrane released as a solo artist following her husband’s death, Journey in Satchidananda is arguably her most venerated one. It’s a work informed by spirituality that feels both ethereal and raw, taking you through the soft poetic majesty of clouds via Coltrane’s harp and piano, and the fine grit of earth via Pharoah Sanders’ soprano saxophone.
Some elements, like the droning tanpura and Coltrane’s crystalline harp on the opening title track, stand out prominently. Others, like Rashied Ali’s drums and Cecil McBee’s bass, are subtler. Coltrane was by no means the first Western jazz artist to bring Eastern sounds into her fold, but these pieces never feel as though they’re calling attention to their contrasts. As with all accomplished ensemble works, each part shines individually and cohesively.
Just listen to the conversational interplay between the piano and bass on “Stopover Bombay” or how Vishnu Wood’s frantic strumming of the oud mixes with Sanders’ cosmic sax on live closer “Isis and Osiris.” The pieces all fit together, yet much of its greatness lies in how they refuse to congeal, with Coltrane and her collaborators embracing generosity while maintaining autonomy. Journey in Satchidananda is an otherworldly album that never feels like it’s too far outside our realm. — Mimi Kenny
87. Slayer – Reign in Blood
While other ’80s thrash metal bands began to expand their sound with technical and progressive flourishes, Slayer sought to distill it to its essence. Released in 1986, Reign in Blood was lean and mean: Only two of its 10 tracks break the three-minute mark — a testament to the precision and speed at which they were played.
With producer and dedicated metalhead Rick Rubin behind the boards, the somewhat frail sound of the band’s early ’80s work was gone, presenting the pouding double kick of drummer Dave Lombardo and the twin guitar attack of Jeff Hanneman and Kerry King in pure hi-fi (sans the reverbs and effects that date many metal albums of the era).
From Tom Araya’s ear-piercing shriek that kicks off “Angel of Death” to the final drops of “Raining Blood,” Slayer keep an unrelenting pace that turns into a nightmarish blur. Sinister subject matter, such as the former song’s lyrical musings on Nazi physician Josef Mengele and other gory topics, only add to the atmosphere of evil that exudes from Reign in Blood once you drop the needle.
Hanneman’s trademark atonal riffs beget the spastic, improvisational guitar solos of Kerry King, conjuring a sense of chaos and morbidity. A credit to Rubin’s raw production, the album sounds brutally intense to this day, unmarred by time — a sacred artifact of extreme metal in its earliest form. — Jon Hadusek
86. Pearl Jam – Ten
Labeled by grunge godfather Kurt Cobain as a “commercial sellout” effort, Ten ended up as the launching pad for ‘90s alternative rock. Arising from the ashes of the tragically short-lived Mother Love Bone, guitarist Stone Gossard and bassist Jeff Ament added classic rock textures to the Seattle sound with the help of guitarist Mike McCready (and a handful of temporary drummers, including Matt Cameron). Their five-track Stone Gossard Demos ‘91 would eventually grow into Ten – they just needed someone to put voice to their compositions.
Enter Eddie Vedder. The frontman’s emotive growls and howls (“Why Go,” “Black”) and earnestly heartbreaking lyricism (“Jeremy,” “Release”) mirror the ferocity of the music, multiplying its power. Combining that distinctly passionate vocal presence with the catchy riffs and soaring solos of Gossard and Ament’s songwriting established a fresh standard for what rock meant in the new decade. It had all the angst and darkness that grunge was known for – both in its lyrics and its heavy sound – but with stadium-ready expansiveness and a vocalist destined for icon status.
Pearl Jam themselves have rarely matched the intensity of their debut, let alone most rock in the three decades since. — B. Kaye
85. Tupac – All Eyez on Me
From the social commentary of the still-relevant “Brenda’s Got a Baby” to the unbridled rage of “Hit ‘Em Up” and everything in between, Tupac’s range as a rapper remains unparalleled. While hitting the studio for All Eyez on Me, however, Pac unleashed all his pent-up frustrations into creating a larger-than-life gangsta rap persona after being freed from Rikers Island by his new Death Row boss Suge Knight.
Nobody was going to rep the West Coast harder than he was, as demonstrated by the unadulterated aggression of “Ambitionz Az a Ridah” and collaborations with labelmates Dr. Dre (“California Love”) and Snoop Dogg (“2 of Amerikaz Most Wanted”). However, the double album also afforded Pac ample room for club hits like “How Do U Want It” and the introspection of “I Ain’t Mad at Cha” — not to mention showcases for his group The Outlawz like “Thug Passion.”
The production of Dre, DJ Pooh, DJ Quik, and Johnny J round out All Eyez on Me by finally offering Pac a soundtrack that could fully match his talents. Though the 27-song, 133-minute ode to the gangsta lifestyle isn’t without its warts, Pac’s burning passion elevates the album to another level. A masterpiece need not be perfect in order to stand the test of time, and All Eyez on Me has done exactly that. — Eddie Fu
84. Smashing Pumpkins – Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness
With due respect to “1979,” which exudes a nostalgic stardust felt deeply by much of Generation X, it’s maybe the dozenth best song on Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness. Firmly in the mold of The Wall or the White Album (hello, “Farewell and Goodnight”), the Smashing Pumpkins’ third album represented their unquestionable apogee before a drug– and ego-induced flameout (although Adore and Machina have their apologists).
The point of the Pumpkins all along had been the representation of the whole of femininity and masculinity, of a gossamer whimsicality into aggro brutality — and much like the Beatles’ famous double album, Mellon Collie contains virtually the entire spectrum of the human experience in its 28 tracks. Even the infamously muffled mastering job can’t smother its beauty: Has another album sounded quieter the more you turn up the volume?
From the bittersweet fireworks of “Here is No Why” to the hangdog and punchy “To Forgive,” or the sad, loping “Thirty-Three” and the snarling, animalistic meltdown of “X.Y.U.,” Mellon Collie boasts everything this once-a-generation rock band could do — and those are just the deep cuts. If you’re just here for a little throwback time a la ”Homerpalooza,” the hits more than hold up: We all remember the first time we heard that scream in “Bullet with Butterfly Wings.”
Best of all? The tracklisting doesn’t even cover everything that happened during those sessions; seek out the boxed set The Aeroplane Flies High if you want even more magic — a unique strain that only these four people could conjure. — Morgan Enos
83. Pretenders – Pretenders
Chrissie Hynde, an American expat living in London, had been trying to find her place, both in the music industry and in the world. But impressive demos led to her being positioned as a star in the making. Just four days before the ‘70s would end for good, Hynde and the Pretenders released their self-titled debut. Curious scheduling aside, it was an album too impressive to get lost in the post-holiday shuffle. And sure enough, the band was packing clubs soon after.
Profiling Hynde and co. for Rolling Stone in 1980, Kurt Loder described Pretenders as “subtly startling.” That’s apt for an album that seems to wear the trappings of punk (straightforward album artwork, fuzzy riffs) but soon reveals just how much more it has going for it, both artistically and emotionally. Even in a crowded field, there’s something about the first few bars of opener “Precious” that tells us something special is going on here.
Although those riffs and fills could be replicated with enough practice, there’s no copying Hynde and the feeling she conveys. Expressing triumph, rage, tenderness, fear, and more, Hynde puts you inside her head, recalling painful memories and detailing incredible narratives as if she’s made an ad hoc audiobook. You might know “Brass in Pocket” best, but Pretenders is, from beginning to end, a genuine masterpiece. — M.K.
82. Peter Gabriel – So
Peter Gabriel’s two releases before So, both called Peter Gabriel, were landmark prog rock albums. On those efforts, Gabriel used the latest recording hardware to compose with sampled sounds as well as music and rhythms from cultures that had never before been integrated into Western music. Gabriel was breaking breathtaking new ground, and with So, he brought his sonic discoveries to the mainstream.
So is a landmark pop album that overwhelms listeners with emotional and rhythmic songs drawing from the heart of the human spirit. Case in point, the No. 1 song to play outside someone’s window, “In Your Eyes”: Gabriel’s voice and lyrics are raw and passionate with simple but overwhelmingly powerful imagery. African rhythms keep the song alive and away from the sappy path so many love songs tread, and the soaring vocals of Senegalese singer Youssou N’Dour transcend language with pure celebration.
This theme of emotional, boundary-breaking, human communication permeates all of Gabriel’s works, but is strongest in So, where it continues to touch the most people. When Gabriel screams “only love can make love” in “That Voice Again,” even the most cynical listener can’t help but feel some tingle of truth.
Tracks like “Red Rain,” “Mercy Street,” and “Don’t Give Up” (a duet with Kate Bush) operate on the opposite end of the spectrum, discussing vulnerability, weakness, and the chance to carry on. So even accommodates a couple avant garde tracks such as the unnerving “We Do What We’re Told (Milgram’s 37)” and the moody “This is the Picture (Excellent Birds),” which was written and performed with Laurie Anderson.
And of course, everybody knows “Sledgehammer” and its outstanding music video. No heady concept there, just pure fun and a brilliant re-envisioning of Motown soul. Depending on your state of mind going into listening to it, So will either leave you charged or worn-out. Either way, it’s a good feeling. — Cat Blackard (2010)
81. Adele – 21
The term “cultural reset” became overused at a certain point, but if it applies anywhere in this conversation, it’s to Adele’s 21. Despite the singer’s existing achievements prior to the album’s release, the world-dominating success of 21 was something of a surprise; it was as rare then as it would be now for an emotional, sometimes dark, bluesy, melancholy album to not just do well on the charts, but remain the best-selling album for two consecutive years. The LP is credited with helping revitalize physical sales for an industry that was shifting to streaming; topping sales charts in more than 30 countries, it’s clear that 21 was something we all needed to hold in our hands.
The album is bookended with what can now be considered two of the century’s most recognizable songs: “Rolling in the Deep” and “Someone Like You.” Two extremes, production-wise, but what they have in common, vitally, is that Adele’s incredible voice is front and center. Add in the sharp “Rumour Has It,” the cathartic “Set Fire to the Rain,” and the piercing “Turning Tables,” and Adele proved herself as a songwriter strong enough to match her undeniable vocals. The songs immortalized in 21 are so present, so urgent and human, because Adele Adkins cracked her heart open and shared everything with us.
The album is haunted, both by the ghosts of a failed love and by memories that seem to disappear as soon as they appear. Despite the personal details peppered throughout 21, it’s a heartbreak album that has the capacity to be universally understood. — Mary Siroky
80. Erykah Badu – Baduizm
The title of Erykah Badu’s impeccable debut album sounds as though she’s trying to start a movement. And in a way, she was. Speaking to MTV News, Badu specified that “Baduizm was designed to get you high.” Not a passing, artificial buzz, but an all-encompassing journey of mind and self that we likely could never begin to imagine, and “not a religion…an experience.”
That might seem rather hyperbolic for a collection of songs from an artist who was just releasing her first album. But Badu doesn’t promise paradise or divine truth, just “an experience.” And Baduizm is an intoxicating one. One of, if not the most, revered albums in the neo-soul subgenre, it’s undeniably indicative of its era while still feeling fresh. From the shivering rattle of Questlove’s drums on the melodramatic “Other Side of the Game” to the strutting bass on the defiant “Certainly,” the sounds and Badu support each other beautifully.
Support is also offered to the listener. Badu is too good of a writer to spoon-feed her message; her struggles and how she relates them are so very understandable without falling into empty, generic platitudes. Not all the feelings are sorted out by the end of it, but Baduizm makes the case that the journey to answers to life’s biggest questions is just as important as the answers themselves. — M.K.
79. The Police – Synchronicity
For any group wondering how to make an exit, look no further than Synchronicity. The Police’s final group album dropped in 1983 and, in a way, ushered in the sound of the decade. The album’s heavy reliance on synth showed the world the future, as the group created music truly as big as their reputations. “Every Breath You Take.” “Wrapped Around Your Finger.” “King of Pain.” “Synchronicity II.” Those are songs made for stadiums that foreshadowed Sting’s future.
Rather than just sticking to their playbook of reggae, jazz, and punk, Synchronicity finds the group creating their own path and telling everyone else to come along if they can. It’s a bold move for the biggest band in the world to not only end their run while on top of the mountain, but to change everything people knew about them in the process.
The only reason it worked is because the music was, and still is, undeniable. It’s funny how a group that started as part of Britain’s new wave and punk scene became synonymous with pop music. The lyrics aren’t more accessible than normal, the topics aren’t lighter (check out “Every Breath…”), and the production isn’t less complicated. Yet, somehow, Synchronicity just sounds like it was made for MTV.
Sting’s vocals show more depth here as well, almost like he was warming up for his solo career. This wasn’t planned as the group’s last album, but the frontman – along with a host of other life factors that got in the way of group harmony – made it so. In Sting’s mind, this album was their pinnacle and there was no way to ever top it. Not for nothing, but he was right. — Marcus Shorter
78. Billy Joel – The Stranger
With a fair amount of frequency, you can find an artist’s defining song on their best album. But that’s not the case for the “Piano Man,” Billy Joel. That track came on his sophomore LP, which he followed up with a pair of records that so underperformed, Columbia threatened to drop him. Perhaps that danger gave Joel a “nothing less to lose” attitude; he was so adamant that his new touring band record with him on his next album that when his first choice for producer, George Martin, wanted to use studio musicians, Joel turned him down.
And that turned out to be the right move. Joined by producer Phil Ramone, Joel and his band put together The Stranger, which stands as the best collection of tracks in the hitmaker’s career. “Scenes from an Italian Restaurant” has become as signature as “Piano Man,” despite never being released as a single. “Just the Way You Are” took home Record and Song of the Year Grammys, “Movin’ Out (Anthony’s Song)” is a certified classic of American dream rebellion, and “Only the Good Die Young” remains as rife for yearbook send-off quotes as it did when Christian groups demanded it be banned from the radio.
There may not be a more divisive pop icon in music, but I challenge you to listen to “Vienna” or “She’s Always a Woman” and say Joel wasn’t at the height of his powers on The Stranger. — B. Kaye
77. JAY-Z – The Black Album
Stop us if you’ve heard this before: JAY-Z was retiring. Hip-hop devotees know Shawn Carter’s had always had an exit in mind since his first album in 1996. But like he says on 2003’s The Black Album, the allure of the game was too much to ignore.
For most of the seven years between ‘96-’03, he was one of the genre’s dominant figures. Even on his “last” album, that competitive hunger is still palpable. “PSA,” “What More Can I Say,” “Threats,” and “99 Problems” showcase his fine-tuned lyrical prowess. “December 4th” and “Moment of Clarity” provide personal and professional insights (“Truthfully I want to rhyme like Common Sense/ but I did 5 Mil, I ain’t been rhyming like Common since”), while “Change Clothes” and “Dirt Off Your Shoulder” illustrate an evolution in making hit records.
“Change Clothes” isn’t a song Jay could make in ‘98 or ‘99. The content alone shows how much he grew personally from the days of “Big Pimpin.” Despite whispers of shallowness at the time, those who truly listened charted Jay’s changes through his career, with The Black Album standing as the pinnacle of that metamorphosis. Sure, we got more albums since and we’ll probably get one more by the time you finish reading this. But in 2003, when a younger crop of rappers led by 50 Cent was making waves and Jay was fulfilling his contractual obligations to Def Jam while finishing his career narrative, it truly was the perfect time to say goodbye. — M. Shorter
76. The Smiths – The Queen Is Dead
If you weren’t already aware, Morrissey invented being sad. Okay, not really. But the man born Steven Patrick Morrissey and his ragtag gang of working-class men from the gloomiest and greyest parts of Manchester called The Smiths long cultivated such a specific brand of being sad and lonely with their music that it’s almost impossible to remember that sorrow existed before The Queen Is Dead.
The combination of Morrissey’s wry and witty lyrics about love (and also the eternal absence of it), the feeling of an unending loneliness but the lack of want to ever rectify it, and Johnny Marr’s signature guitar playing makes this record an enduring classic. The songwriting, ever melodic with Morrissey’s instantly recognizable baritone voice, is clever and dark and mournful and self-deprecating — something that all post-Morrissey lyricists have tried and failed to emulate.
Moz calls out the band’s critics in “The Boy with the Thorn in His Side” and “Cemetry Gates,” while “Never Had No One Ever” and “I Know It’s Over” are nihilistic odes to perpetual loneliness. Then, of course, comes the album’s crown jewel: “There Is a Light That Never Goes Out,” where Morrissey dares experiment with a rare optimistic approach to love — but which, inevitably, still ends in death.
Still, it is the ultimate romantic anthem: “And if a double-decker bus/ Crashes into us/ To die by your side/ Is such a heavenly way to die.” Don’t we all dream of a love so all-encompassing that we’d rather be hit by a bus instead of continuing to live without them? Maybe. — Cady Siregar
75. Janelle Monáe – Dirty Computer
How can we reasonably say an album that’s only four years old — that didn’t even top our best-of list the year it was released; it ranked at No. 2 — is one of the best ever? Better question: How do you consider an album so rich with pop mastery and so authentic in its identity anything but one of the best ever?
Not only does Dirty Computer pull in sounds and guests (Brian Wilson, Pharrell Williams, Stevie Wonder, Grimes, Zoë Kravitz) from across pop history, but it partially came together under the mentorship of the late, great Prince. Janelle Monáe has made no secret of wanting to be the heir to the Purple Throne, and she makes an impeccable case for it by crafting a record that has studied the past, forces the future, and affirms the present – and is fully her.
The concept record takes us through a rebuffing of external standards (“Dirty Computer”) to a fierce assertion of self (“Django Jane”) to a dance of cultural critique (“Americans”), making assured statements of sexuality along the way (centerpiece “Make Me Feel,” “I Like That”). Something so perfectly realized, so revealing in its depth, so wholly enjoyable has to be one of the best albums of all time. Otherwise, what are we doing here? — B. Kaye
74. Bob Dylan – Highway 61 Revisited
The sneering put-down “Like a Rolling Stone” is arguably rock and roll’s greatest revelation, but Highway 61 Revisited is perhaps best described by a lyric from the album’s “Ballad of a Thin Man,” on which Bob Dylan sings, “Because something is happening here, but you don’t know what it is.”
This record is nearly an hour of mostly electrified blues that places the listener in a room with Jack the Ripper, Lady Jane Grey, and Einstein disguised as Robin Hood. From the surreal romp of the title track to the delicate strumming of the record’s epic closer, “Desolation Row,” precise meaning always seems just out of reach, and yet a nerve is somehow always touched.
The language, both musically and lyrically, of Highway 61 Revisited is poetic, sarcastic, and ironic — tongues that have always spoken to some essential part in the human makeup. And while listeners may never quite get Dylan, everyone comes away with something worthwhile. — Matt Melis (2010)
73. Parliament – The Mothership Connection
After taking over Washington D.C. on 1975’s Chocolate City, where else could George Clinton take his funk collective? How about outer space? Mothership Connection puts the largely interchangeable Parliament-Funkadelic gang in a spaceship and blasts off to other galaxies, where it musically interacts with societies that surely found the collective as whacked-out as we did back here on Earth.
As good as Chocolate City was, it was on Mothership Connection that Clinton’s many afrofuturistic visions were most fully realized, knitting together concept and sound into a 38-minute throwdown that became a definitive statement for the genre and a template that was subsequently sourced by jazz, hip-hop, and EDM artists.
Mothership Connection was, importantly, the first Parliament album to feature Maceo Parker and Fred Wesley from James Brown’s bands, who brought with them a mojo that impacted beyond the music. Clinton was on top of his game in the studio, and the ranks were stocked with the very best of his collaborators: Bootsy Collins on bass, drums and guitar; guitarists Garry Shider, Michael Hampton, and Glenn Goins; Bernie Worrall on keyboards; Randy Brecker on trumpet; and a vocal army that included Parliaments doo-wop alumni Grady Thomas, Calvin Simon, Fuzzy Haskins, and Ray Davis.
“Give Up the Funk (Tear the Roof Off the Sucker)” alone makes the album classic, but “P. Funk (Wants to Get Funked Up)” and “Mothership Connection (Star Child)” are equally essential, and if “Supergroovalisticprosifunkstication” doesn’t get you moving, we advise urgent medical attention. — Gary Graff
72. My Bloody Valentine – Loveless
Loveless is so synonymous with shoegaze that it’s difficult to believe its creators ever made anything outside the subgenre. My Bloody Valentine gave their best whack at both Joy Division-esque goth rock and C86-indebted jangle pop before they finally landed on shoegaze in the late ‘80s, eventually perfecting it in 1991 with their sophomore album.
Loveless may have taken the Irish-British band over two years to make and caused a rift with their label Creation, but the trials paid off: Not only would the record set the benchmark for all shoegaze that followed (and spawn a fleet of meme pages decades later), it would ignite a rock revolution.
Opener “Only Shallow” goes from 0 to 60 in mere seconds as it bursts in like a revving engine; Loveless hardly calms down from there. From the shuffle of “Soon” to the scintillating arpeggios of “To Here Knows When” and, of course, the sweeping, bombastic riff of “When You Sleep,” My Bloody Valentine’s magnum opus seamlessly blends their mysteriously abrasive instrumentals with some of the most gorgeous, unforgettable melodies of indie rock’s history. It almost feels like being startled awake from a dream. — Abby Jones
71. U2 – The Joshua Tree
A recent tweet put it best: “It’s so funny that Bono was so annoying that everyone kind of collectively decided to forget that U2 has like 5 all-timer albums.” (I’d submit that it’s more like two or three, given the definition of “all-timer” — but I digress.) But no number of narcissistic political statements or forced-listening torture sessions can reverse the truth: U2 is one of the greatest rock bands of all time.
The Joshua Tree has been canonized over and over as their love letter to America and blah, blah, blah; but the true essence of its power lies in a supernova of love — the whole spectrum from agape to eros. “I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For” is the embattled former, where Bono throws himself at the feet of Christ (“You broke the bonds and loosed the chains/ Carried the cross of my shame”) while confessing to his doubts as an unscratchable itch. “Running to Stand Still,” an equal to Neil Young’s “The Needle and the Damage Done” in the songbook of slow junkie suicides, lies in the philia middle, teeming with concern and hurt.
And The Joshua Tree’s greatest song, “With or Without You,” blends both agape and eros until they’re indistinguishable, Christ and a lover twinned and intertwined. Ultimately, the song captures a feeling beyond words: Try to extinguish all memory of hearing this amazing song in a thousand CVSes, and let Bono’s wordless wail at 3:03 raise goosebumps on your arms. (To say nothing of The Edge’s still utterly original guitar work, and the perennially underrated rhythm section of Adam Clayton and Larry Mullen Jr.)
All of this is to reinforce that The Joshua Tree is an all-timer in every sense of its meaning, an open vein from which ecstasy, longing, gratitude and lust still rush. — M.E.
