Another 10 Records That Changed My Life
Committing to update this blog while in the midst of completing a novel (in-addition another stage play) at-times can feel a bit daunting, however, I find that when I let myself write about what it is that I want, the task doesn’t feel quite as intimidating. Yes, Top 10’s are a beloved pastime of mine, however indulgent or trivial they may be empirically, though I think it’s important (in some way, be it small or otherwise) to recognize which inspirational/influential artists have lent/comprised a part of our own makeup. To this end, Top 10’s can be akin to a sort of personal, atomized shrine—like an altar littered of curio, relics, effigies, artifacts relating to some (assumedly) beneficial experience we’ve had as a result of engaging with said works. Mind you, this is all (probably) my way of quantifying the logistical ‘pro’s’ if you will, regarding why I think anyone might be interested to read whatever it is that you, I, or anyone else finds interesting…I mean, there’s been an entire industry built on selling critique and opinions, so…I guess what I meant to say is that, I personally find Top 10’s interesting (excuse my diatribe/circumlocution/rambling).
It was hard to whittle down 10 albums for my first list, however, throughout these recent weeks – while working on the aforementioned novel and stage play - I found myself revisiting some of the following albums. Some are here simply for the sake of re-listen-ability™, while others because at one point or another, they gave profundity to me. For instance, listening to Disintegration for the first time in my life, and hearing that opening track, I was a teenager in the back of a truck, smoking cigarettes—talking—laughing with a-then (though today, sadly no longer) friend of mine amidst the wee hours of morning, and it felt like that album found me. Maybe not all the albums we hear during formative moments in our lives make the cut, but to me, that delineation of favorite-versus-special are so closely related. On that sentimentality, sometimes it feels like what becomes our favorite is heavily contingent, hinged upon circumstance, chance, time and other factors of the like. I guess what I’m thinking is: if maybe I hadn’t heard Disintegration at that exact, precise moment I did, but heard it at another mundane, humdrum time…would it still be as special for me? (I don’t know, but just felt like asking.)
#1. Daydream Nation (1989) - Sonic Youth
What hasn’t been written/said about this special cut of late-1980’s and mash of punk, noise, ‘art-rock’, tour de force? I suppose if you know about this record you’ve probably either A) listened to it a ba-jillion times like I have, or B) have at-least some knowledge about as to why this album was so prophetic and influential. Maybe it’s the atonal dissonance throughout the hazy meld of dreamy, fuzzy-static-y noise and ambient-esque punk that feels as if its permeating out of your speakers rather than playing—maybe it’s the syncretic meld of power and uniqueness as to its aural sensibilities that still resonates decades later—there’s nothing but endless praise here. What might have also contributed to my liking of this record was that I happened to have found it while as an angsty teen (though I feel is absolutely not some kind of prerequisite), and just the vibe of it spoke to my already-preexistent proclivity for punk and avant-garde. Daydream Nation is innate, true to creative soul both carnal and discordantly spiritual, something like a prophecy but rebellious proclamation and dejection of the status quo. Sure, Sonic Youth had some great contemporaries already knee-deep in that similar sort of sonic aura (i.e. Hüsker Dü’s amazing Zen Arcade, Wire’s emblematic Pink Flag, etc.), but there’s this aliveness™ that continues to haunt and seek retribution whenever I hear those opening chords to Teen Age Riot. Though for sure it’s not everyone’s cup of tea, this will forever be important to me. Plus, this album inspired a pretty fun, albeit somewhat Lynchian-derived, shlocky-cult film named after it (one of which I happen to love, but that’s neither here nor there).
#2. Stereotype A (1999) - Cibo Matto
Oh, man—how many people have I tried to give this album a listen. Another one of those, “if you know, you know” sort of records, but for vastly different reasons than my first pick. The endlessly talented duo of Miho Hatori and Yuka Honda comprise the duo we know as Cibo Matto, and in-addition their talents, were assisted on Stereotype A by Sean Lennon (yes, of Beatles lineage), making their collaboration wholly self-evident, for the entire album casts quite a diversity of sound. Electronica, space-age-y rhythms, jazzy-fusion funk to bossa nova, trip-hop; Stereotype A has this natural eclectic-ness™ of genre that perhaps wouldn’t work normally, but not only do they (somehow) pull it off, but do so satisfyingly well. Yuka also doubled as the producer of this album, and the level of which it’s produced – arrangements, mixing, sound, etc. – lends well to repeated listening. This one of those kinds of records you can either put on the background or actively listen, overall a vibe through and through. My favorite track is probably Spoon, though the rapping about Union Square in Sci-Fi Wasabi brings to me a special nostalgia about my time blasting this throughout NYC streets.
#3. The Velvet Underground & Nico (1967) - The Velvet Underground & Nico
Probably a no-brainer to those well-versed in rock history and/or arthouse/avant-garde, but no matter how many times I try to ‘get over’ this record, I can’t. For the longest time in my life, this was my go-to, default Favorite Album of All Time™, though as my tastes evolved, it was only inevitable that one day I’d drop this influential album down a peg (my, imagine!)—but, that doesn’t mean The Velvet Underground & Nico is-as any less special…in-fact, quite the opposite, for what still lands for me here is illuminatory™ to what I’ve always valued about music: uniqueness, truthfulness, creative, built from emotion. In my teen years discovering/exploring punk rock, I was recommended this album for being a sort of ‘proto-punk’ predecessor to what became a bonafide movement/genre, and while I don’t disagree necessarily with those sentiments, I will say there’s also a lot more than that which comprises just why this album is so good (excluding whatever creative influence[s] the late-great Andy Warhol either had or didn’t have on this record—outside its symbolic cover). There’s this mix of droning, avant-garde noise—texture ala’ John Cale intermixed against the nuts-and-bolts songwriting of the-late Lou Reed (who, I must say tangentially, I had the pleasure of running into twice in New York—albeit, highly impersonally, nothing beyond a passing ‘hello’ the second time) that creates this aural tension (something that paralleled their creative differences and eventual split). I mean, the iconoclast of Sunday Morning’s beautiful melody contrasted against its dark, somber lyrics—I haven’t even mentioned the amazing guitarwork by Sterling Morrison; the excellent, minimalist-ambient drums of Maureen Tucker; and of-course, the incredibly talented Nico herself. So much can be (and has been) said about this album, and I’ll continue to love it.
#4. Illmatic (1994) - Nas
In the running for perhaps the greatest hip-hop album ever made, Illmatic’s continuing, dynastic legacy precedes it for good reason. Since I’ve already posted a blurb about this record in a previous list here, I’ll drop what I wrote about it once more. “Maybe the best hip-hop album ever. A personal favorite, rivaled only by Kendrick Lamar’s 2017, DAMN. Illmatic is the feature-length debut by Queensborough-based rapper, Nas. This is a tour de force, a marvel of not only poetry through lyricism, but production. A Tribe Called Quest’s Q-Tip serves as one of the many producers who gave this album life, and the production’s attention to detail only shines with repeated listens. It’s hard to put a specific genre to Illmatic, because each track stylistically drifts; New York State of Mind could quantifiably be labeled gangsta rap, but the sondering One Love feels more associate to generalized East Coast rap. Nas flies out the gates here, kicking down a sonic portal and into your ears with a jazz musician’s dexterous finesse (a parallel perhaps keen, for his dad loans instrumentation on the anti-ballad, Life’s A Bitch). Dreams soaked of ambition, gangster flicks, guns, death, cannabis, paranoia, hopelessness and more, Illmatic encompasses a unique though familiar palette of subject matter, varied from grandiose to self-effacious. Of course, the beats alone are of noteworthiness, transcendent of genre and time, moving to not only your stereo’s bass, but rhythm of your heart. This is obligatory hearing, not just for a hip-hop enthusiast, but anyone who’s a fan of music, storytelling and art.”
#5. In Blue (2000) - The Corrs
Just as Stories From The City, Stories From The Sea, this album is another I save for specific moods/vibes and/or occasions where I wouldn’t normally otherwise, say a cloudy morning or sunshower. Nominated for 2 Grammys, In Blue – beyond the nostalgia – remains special to me on the merit and strength of its songwriting, production, and overall feel that kind of escapes what I could define it as; something to the wandering guitar of All in a Day speaks to me even now—the harmonizing, layered notes preceding Give Me a Reason resonates emotionally—the straightforwardness of the album’s barebones, earnest lyricism has a special place in my heart, despite however saccharine it might come across, and although In Blue perhaps lacks any textual themes, to me there’s definitely an ambiance to it, like some lost echo of Y2K, bubblegum mall-pop™—capturing an nondescript feeling of temperamental catchiness, an underlying somber beneath a contagious aesthetic of pop for pop’s sake. I don’t really know how to explain what this record means, represents, captures for me, but I feel like it’s important nonetheless.
#6. Apartment Life (1997) - Ivy
Apartment Life sounds and feels like it could both be a sister album to In Blue and also be included on some kind of indie sampler circa the late 1990’s (though obviously, the label Atlantic is by no means indie whatsoever). I guess if I had to describe the genre for Apartment Life (I don’t), I’d probably label it as pop, but at the same time, also say it has shoe-gazey elements, parts post-punk-ish if-new wave meets jazzy muzak (think: Prefab Sprout, Aztec Camera, Johnny Hates Jazz, the House of Love, etc.), a dash of alternative meets dance…or in other words, perfectly Hidden City™. Singer Dominique Durand’s vocals shine especially here, invoking a persona similar to that of Nico (i.e. heavy accent), and her strange-yet-natural progression of monotoned hum harmonized to arpeggiating melodies still feels intentionally juxtapositioned. Alleged a-then exchange student from Paris without any experience prior to joining Ivy via NYC classifieds, Durand has this palpably non-rockstar vibe, cadence to what and how she sings—for listening to Apartment Life feels intimate yet distant, poignant without context nor reason, like this album was made for somebody other than you (if that makes any sense). Not to get woo-woo, but Ivy has an apparent mood here, immediate though obscure, insomuch that what it doesn’t try to do perhaps says more than what it does.
#7. Antics (2004) - Interpol
It’s hard to imagine that this album turns 20 this year, for it seemed just yesterday I was listening to this endlessly on repeat, soaking up every crescendo-ing™-post-punk, looming, reverb-tinged guitar evocative of Bauhaus-meets-Nick Cave-meets-the-Chameleons, What Does Anything Mean? Basically-meets Echo and the Bunnymen-sounding of an atmospheric yet romantic clash, something so uniquely refreshing, yet strangely familiar. This album was on, was there for me during a particularly stormy and rocky point of my life, and even though it has its own negative correlations to my past, something about Antics feels so transcendent of its time period. I’d be apt to even say the album is genreless™, despite sounding like a hodgepodge of other things before it, because of the innate oneness of its sound—like 4 people who are invoking songs from their heart or subconscious, as opposed to being crafted by bottom-line producers. Reading about the band’s formation (in-addition to having had a short-lived stint on their now-defunct message board) helped solidify my own beliefs about art, music, creativity—for the-then members (now without Carlos) formed Interpol not on the basis of musical aptitude per se, but rather, sought another out based on aesthetics, ideals, a general if-subconscious understanding of artistic commonalities. I had the pleasure to see them at The Curiosa festival alongside the Cure, Mogwai and the Rapture, and it was every bit enthralling as when I first heard the words, “Rosemary, heaven restores you in life.”
#8. Spiceworld (1997) - Spice Girls
Okay, so in what world does this exist alongside the same list as Illmatic and Daydream Nation? Well, I can’t say for certain, but I’m going to go out on a limb here and state that I might have a taste bordering on random (to put it one way). I both unironically and ironically love this record, for everything it represents and what it meant to me as a very young person. Do I think this is the pound-for-pound better record than Spice? I’m not sure of that either, but I find myself listening to Spiceworld just a bit more (okay, so maybe they’re even and I’m just picking one instead of both). I mean…Too Much isn’t so much a song as it is the soundtrack to my as of yet fictitious, Hollywoodized™ flashback-montage of my life. Denying captures the late 1990’s je ne sais quoi of what I still love about being alive, everything to what I find irresistible about The End of History nostalgia and its subsequent aesthetics and sensibilities—Spiceworld is the album to put on when I need a pick me up. Of-course not everyone will ‘get it’, but who cares?! Girl Power! Also, this album pairs with one of The Greatest Films of All Time™ and no, I’m not just saying that either.
#9. I Know I’m Funny Haha (2021) - Faye Webster
For certain generations in our timeline, some of us have the ability to say, “this [insert here] got me through the pandemic/quarantine,” and to speak to that, Faye Webster’s incredibly crafted I Know I’m Funny Haha circa 2021 got me through the latter of yet another unprecedented, remarkable historical event. I love the chill, laidback jazzy instrumentations—Faye’s vibe here is akin to say, something Twin Peaks or Mac DeMarco in the sense of wandering escapism, crude yet humorous tinges of self-effacing-ness™, reverb-twangs of depressive self-introspection. She reminds me of contemporary Lizzy McAlpine, in that the exploratory journey of songwriting meets unenthusiastic, beyond-mellowed-out Gen-Z diary unearthing feels natural without becoming a mockery of itself. In A Good Way is something so relatable that I quote to this day. Cheers feels like an anthem for my life from the lips of a stranger. A Dream With a Baseball Player speaks directly to my soul, both musically and lyrically. The insight between the lines is where I think I Know I’m Funny Haha transcends many of its contemporaries—for it feels like every line, note was carefully curated out of an exorcised soul, enough that I’d say this album meets the criteria for the phrase, ‘criminally underrated’. I love her lyrics; they feel like poetry to me. One of my favorite, heart-wrenching sections I’ll put here, from Both All The Time:
“There's a difference between lonely and lonesome/But I'm both all the time…I don't get the point of leaving my house/Cause I always come back…And I'm too scared to look/I never know what happens/So I keep rereading the same book/Cause I know how it ends/Yeah‚ I know how it ends.”
#10. Mist (2016) - Chihei Hatakeyama
Some albums don’t need words to get their point across, and some don’t even need what we recognize as a “song” to move our soul. Hailing from the suburbs of Fujisawa, Japan, Chihei Hatakeyama is a newer electronica artist who (I’d say) specializes/excels in the use of aural, sonic landscapes via what we refer to as “ambient” music (think: Brian Eno, Cliff Martinez, some Aphex Twins, etc.). Mist is a particularly noteworthy (teehee) album, as it captures so perfectly, surmises so eloquently without the use of words, this distinct, instinctual harmonic resonance and connection between memory and consciousness. I’d guess one could say this is the proverbial equivalent to Akira Yamaoka’s Silent Hill ethereal dreamscapes, moments of introspection mixed upon sondering recollectiveness™. I feel this record in me, something that doesn’t speak to my brain as much as my entire body and soul—not to sound too sensational mind you, but there is something very special here that’s hard to put into words, like an aural canvas, a very intimate page ripped from somebody’s sketchbook that you weren’t supposed to see but did, an old reel of film footage in the basement of your grandmother’s house, that one photo you kept for some reason and don’t know why—there’s a million ways (I feel) to describe just what this album invokes in me. The last time I had a time with this album was in February of 2023, wandering the lonely and snow-dusted beach of Coney Island, and let me tell you, this is pretty close to what I hear in my head whenever I’m thinking about thinking. Perhaps not the most uplifting per se, but strangely enough, Hatakeyama’s sound is exactly what I love whenever questioning the nature of things, remembering, or handing oneself to the moment on a long walk, remembering what it is you find special to your soul, and why.
