You’ve surely seen the “records that changed my life” lists that are currently circulating on Facebook. I’ve resisted partaking in that exercise, because: 1) I hate the process-of-elimination effort it takes to narrow a list of that ilk to just 15 or 20 entries (although I’ve now seen one that is 50 in length). Inevitably, the list ends up feeling shallow, half-assed, or just plain inaccurate when one truly thinks on the subject for a while; and 2) I’m not sure that I’ve actually listened to 15 or more albums that have honestly, truly, “changed my life.” C’mon. I like music more than most, and I’m not sure I can point to more than five albums that have really “changed” my life in a meaningful, long-lasting fashion. I’d rather not be prone to hyperbole.
So, as a substitute, please accept this long-winded list of 150 (!) albums that made a significant initial (and in some cases long-lasting) impression on me. (If you’re wondering how I ended up at that number, I simply flipped through all my records and compiled a list, and I ended up with 149 albums. Instead of cutting the list down to 100, I just upped it by one.) Shades of gray, you may say. What’s the difference between “significant impression” and “changed my life”? Plenty, I’d argue. First, I can honestly say that only a few of the records on this list are of the life-altering sort. Many are far from my favorite albums. Instead, the entries on this list arrived by circumstance. Whatever the reasons, these records sunk in and grabbed hold for a good while. They impacted my musical journey, but not my life journey. I’ve tried to rid the list of all historical revision; I haven’t tried to plug in cooler records when it was a worse album that originally did the trick. So you get to see the warts and all. This is sort of how I got from point A to point B in 150 steps.
This list goes back to my pre-teen years and I’m going to present it in random, non-alphabetical, non-weighted order. If the album in question was purchased on vinyl or cassette, I’ve indicated such (mostly because it’s fun to note my preferred format purchasing patterns; I was a late adopter to CD, for example). I’ve tried to largely keep the emphasis on albums, not songs. In some cases, I included seven-inch singles, because for a period of my life I purchased a lot of 45s, and through them I was introduced to much good music. But in general to make this list the record in question had to wow me as a whole.
A majority of this list wouldn’t make my Desert Island list. Regardless, these offerings rocked my world for a long time or a particularly intense while. Enjoy, and remember: the numbering system is not significant.
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150 John Cale — Fear (1974, year released) CD
I purchased Fear at the same as Paris 1919. While the latter is Cale’s more critically-heralded album, Fear has always been my favorite of the two. It is one of my Desert Island Discs, a truly stunning effort from start to finish. This was one of the first albums that I purchased, listened to, and without hesitation categorized as “adult music.” That’s not to say that this record isn’t quirky or rockin’ (how could it not be with half of Roxy Music backing him?); rather, in theme, it’s a mature record. Sure enough, while certain records that I purchased around this same time and really enjoyed no longer hold much relevance for me, Fear only gets better as I age. An essential album.
“Barracuda”
149 My Morning Jacket — It Still Moves (2003) CD
The folks who dig Z and hate on It Still Moves are, in my book, fools. This is one of my favorite albums of this decade, a rootsy, rocking affair with fabulous melody and intensity throughout. I understand why Jim James departed from this “sound” on his follow-up albums, but to me that was a career-defining mistake. He’s simply well suited to sing southern rock songs from the middle of a silo (that’s how he got all the reverb on his vocals on this album). I recall fondly the long, aimless drive out of town I took after work one night when I picked this album up. I threw it in the CD player, pushed play, and was compelled to keep driving until the album was over. Then I drove back home and, on the way, listened to it again.
“One Big Holiday”
148 Quiet Riot — Metal Health (1983) LP
I purchased this record a long time after it made its mark on me. When I was a kid, probably eight or nine, I was scared shitless by this album’s cover art. One of my friend’s older brothers had this on vinyl. He listened to a lot of metal and hard rock; I’m sure I was probably bothered by his Iron Maiden records, too. But this album sticks out as the one that really creeped me out. I was scared of and intimidated by its owner, too, especially when he cranked the title track through his enormous stereo speakers. I actually do like this album now, but back then, man, no way. SATAN!
“Breathless”
147 Stereolab — “Ping Pong” single (1994) 7″
This lovely slab of upbeat, mellotron-driven pop was my introduction to the space-age sounds and Kraut-rock stylings of Stereolab. I fell in love with Laetitia Sadier’s voice instantly. The sticker on the single says I bought this from Reckless Records, where I know I purchased a lot of seven inches back in the day.
“Ping Pong”
146 PJ Harvey — 4-Track Demos (1993) cassette
I preferred the rawness of 4-Track Demos to its still raw predecessor, the Albini-produced Rid of Me. I listened to “Driving” over and over and over again. And the cover art was so fucking hot.
“Driving”
145 Dead Boys — Young, Loud, and Snotty (1977) LP
I was already well-versed in The Sex Pistols by the time I picked up this punk gem, so the fact that I made an instant connection between Stiv Bators of the Dead Boys and Johnny Rotten of The Sex Pistols is no surprise. They were both over the top in a similar way. But this record blew me away more than the Pistols, and I think that’s largely due to the fact that I was more knowledgeable about punk when I got into the Dead Boys. That seems sort of counter-intuitive, as most people were blown away by punk because they had never heard anything like it before. But I fell in love with the Dead Boys because they sounded better than what I had heard before. Their punk was fucking tougher — see: “Sonic Reducer” — and more romantic — see: the anthem “All This and More” — and more rooted in the Iggy/Detroit sound that I was head over heels in love with — see: “Not Anymore” — and less political and more raunchy fun — see: “I Need Lunch.” Plus Cheetah Chrome was a killer guitarist!
“All This and More”
144 XTC — White Music (1978) cassette
The first time Jon played White Music for me a sort of cosmic shift happened in my skull where all these disparate parts realigned into a whole. Things starting making sense. There were other white bands prior to the Red Hot Chili Peppers who were funky and crazy and spastic. “I’ll Set Myself on Fire” was my anthem for the next few months. This is still one of my favorite records of the early New Wave era. I understand why people love Andy Partridge’s later XTC work, but it’s largely a fucking bore compared to this whacked-out shit.
“I’ll Set Myself on Fire”
143 Marty Robbins — Gunfighter Ballads and Trail Songs (1959) LP
This will not be the last album that makes this list largely due to its correlation to a girl. In this particular case, said girlfriend introduced me to Robbins and I associate him with the dissolving of our relationship. As such, “They’re Hanging Me Tonight” is a fitting (and fabulous) song. Then there’s “El Paso,” which you’ve probably heard before.
“They’re Hanging Me Tonight”
142 Led Zeppelin — Led Zeppelin I (1969) LP
When I was a freshman in high school I inherited my older brothers’ record collections. My eldest brother provided me with my classic rock soundtrack via his 1970s albums. As much of a cliché as it is, this record was the cornerstone of my early awareness of hard rock.
“Communication Breakdown”
141 Drive Like Jehu — Yank Crime (1994) cassette
Just a few years later, I would find a whole new avenue of hard rock to explore. This record still floors me to this day. The opening drum beat to “Luau” will probably forever be floating around in my head. Just an imaginative noise-rock album that you can totally head bang to.
“Luau”
140 Sam Cooke — Night Beat (1963) CD
This list is too white, eh? Cooke’s Night Beat is one of his few releases that actually feels like a studio album. It’s also just splendid. I’d like to take his rendition of “Nobody Knows the Trouble I’ve Seen” with me to my grave, please. Another record that I wouldn’t have stumbled across as soon as I did without a good tip from Jon.
“Nobody Knows the Trouble I’ve Seen”
139 The Rolling Stones — Through the Past, Darkly (1969) LP
I also inherited this from my big brother and it served as my formal introduction to the Stones. Of course, I had heard them on the radio, but that meant I had heard more “Start Me Up” than “Paint It Black,” and, let’s be honest, the latter slays the former. I’m glad my more in-depth introduction to Jagger and Co. came via the group’s 1966-68 period, when the band was really coming into its own.
“Mother’s Little Helper”
138 Tindersticks — Tindersticks II (1995) LP
I bought this on double-LP from Record Swap and instantly fell in love with the rustic songwriting, the melodramatic, haunting mood, and Stuart Staples’ deep voice. This record will always be linked in my head to my first serious girlfriend, who also loved this album. The reason this record, which I don’t really listen to anymore, made such an impact on me is that it was so different from the indie rock I was devouring at the time. I had yet to really discover Leonard Cohen or Serge Gainsbourg or Lee Hazlewood or Scott Walker, so Tindersticks just blew my mind.
“A Night In”
137 The Clash — Give ’em Enough Rope (1978) LP
My inheritance from the younger of my older brothers guided me toward New Wave and, to a lesser degree, punk. No one ever talks about this record when they discuss The Clash, but it was what I was given to work with and it served as an ample meet-and-greet. If you can imagine a 15-year-old me jumping up and down on his bed while “Tommy Gun” and “Safe European Home” blared from the speakers, then you can imagine the hell my mom gave me on a regular basis.
“Tommy Gun”
136 V/A — Singles soundtrack (1992) cassette
When Singles came out, I, like most people infatuated with grunge music, fell head over heals for the soundtrack. I was probably a bit too young to really “get” the movie — I don’t think I appreciated Campbell Scott’s mid-life-crisis character the way I do now — but I sure got the songs. There’s a lot of good stuff on here, but I always came back to Paul Westerberg’s cheeseball songs “Waiting for Somebody” and “Dyslexic Heart.”
“Waiting for Somebody”
135 The Walkmen — Everyone Who Pretended to Like Me Is Gone (2002) CD
Thanks to my prior love of Jonathan Fire Eater, it’s no big surprise that I fell for The Walkmen. At first, I didn’t like Hamilton Leithauser’s throaty vocals, but they grew on me after repeated listens to their debut EP. By the time this came out, I was hooked. Something about the loose rhythm section and the trippy piano always gets me going.
“Wake Up”
134 Sly & the Family Stone — Greatest Hits (1970) LP
Greatest hits records are so easy to fall in love with, because often times they channel out all the excess crap. Whatever. My virginity was vanquished one fine summer day while listening to Sly, and for that reason alone he would make my list. Of course, his songs are also tremendous and, come to think of it, some damn good music to lose one’s virginity to.
“Stand!”
133 John Lennon — John Lennon/Plastic Ono Band (1970) LP
Admittedly, I came to appreciate Lennon’s solo work much later in life. I only first heard this record in its entirety about five years ago. Growing up, I of course collected Beatles records. However, I think I wanted to like them less than I did because I felt that maybe they were too hyped, too popular, too common. So I probably resisted Lennon’s solo work for much the same reason. Man, I was an idiot. When I finally dove in with this album, I was shocked silly by what I had been missing. The drums/piano combo on “Mother” makes me melt into a puddle of mush every time.
“Mother”
132 Small Factory — “So What About Love” single (1993) 7″
Pop Narcotic released this 45, an acoustic rocker that I listened to about 700 times in a row when I was a freshman in college. Best indie-pop drummer’s name EVER: Phoebe Summersquash! I wish I would have seen them live.
“So What About Love”
131 Milli Vanilli — “Girl You Know It’s True” single (1989) cassingle
I was in love with this Milli Vanilli song. I even saw Rob & Fab in concert. This was that weird time when the cassingle was briefly in fashion, and I had a few. (I recall some Aerosmith and Motley Crue, Phil Collins, and I think Go West’s “King of Wishful Thinking.”) Anyway, I wore this cassette out so quickly that I replaced it within a few weeks with the entire album (on cassette). It’s odd to think back on this time and consider that in my musical universe Milli Vanilli and Motley Crue got along. Hmmm.
“Girl You Know It’s True”
130 Everything But the Girl — Amplified Heart (1994) CD
While we’re on the subject of slightly embarrassing records that I once listened to, I give you Everything But the Girl. This was right before they got all clubby and charted with their single, “Wrong.” I spent one brief summer during college living off campus and for that time period I felt, well, grown up. So I listened to grown up music. And it doesn’t get much more grown up (in a sappy, sentimental way) than Amplified Heart. (Oddly enough, now that I am grown up, I don’t listen to this album.) This moody little sucker largely described how I felt about my relationship with my longterm girlfriend at the time, and I think that’s why it was stuck in the CD player for an entire summer.
“We Walk the Same Line”
129 Aphex Twin — Selected Ambient Works Vol. II (1994) CD
Dustin and I listened to a lot of Aphex Twin. Word on the street was that Richard D. James had recorded his brain patterns while he slept and then attempted to recreate those patterns through music. Regardless of whether that is actually true, this is some of the oddest, at times off-putting music I have ever heard. I was instantly drawn to it.
“Cliffs”
128 LL Cool J — Mama Said Knock You Out (1990) cassette
I liked his previous record, Walking with a Panther, which had a slew of hits on it. But this record stayed glued to my Walkman for much of my freshman year of high school. In some ways, it seems odd to think that I went from listening to this to jamming out to the Chili Peppers. Or, maybe it doesn’t. Anyway, “Around the Way Girl” is a great song. Admit it.
“Around the Way Girl”
127 T. Rex — Electric Warrior (1971) CD
When I finally discovered T. Rex about eight years ago, it was like discovering I had a separated-at-birth twin. Marc Bolan just fits into my musical universe with such ease and in such a complimentary fashion to my personality. I can’t believe I went through a significant portion of my life having never heard him. One of my absolutely essential records.
“Life’s a Gas”
126 Can — Monster Movie (1969) CD
“Yoo Doo Right” is one of the most criminally-overlooked masterpieces of the psychedelic era. Not only is it the perfect song (at 20 minutes long) to play when you need to exit the DJ booth to get a beer and say hello to some friends, but it has got such an addictive interlocking drum/bass rhythm that no one in attendance will even complain about its length. And I love that Malcom Mooney sounds like a wounded animal. This song shifted my interest in Krautrock from mild to unflappable.
“Yoo Doo Right”
Coming up next, Nos. 125–101.
with the weight of their claims.
I’ve been listening to the 6ths a LOT lately. And Magnetic Fields, and Gothic Archies, even Future Bible Heroes. All Stephin Merritt, all day. Somewhere, I have on cassette the Stuart Moxham 6ths song from the first album, which was on the ultra rare 7″ box version of the record. (Lynn has the actual now.) I wish I could hear that song right now.
The 6ths – “Aging Spinsters”
The 6ths – “You Can’t Break a Broken Heart” (w/Jeffrey Underhill of Honeybunch)
The 6ths – “Lindy Lou” (w/Miho Hatori of Cibo Matto)
See ya later. You stunk.
Well, not entirely. There was that one incredibly healthy note struck in July when M said, “Yes.”
But as far as my professional life goes, you were a craptastic year. And as for my health, 2008 pulled me forcefully into “middle age.”
Maybe it’s no surprise that I’ve been listening to a lot of pensive music as of late. It compliments my mood. While at Amoeba Records, I picked up a copy of Rodan’s Rusty on CD for $3. I don’t recall when I got rid of my copy — maybe several years ago? — but when I saw it sitting on the shelf I was immediately stricken by the desire to listen to “Shiner.” It sounds dated, but in a way that reminds me of my angry youth. Of headbanging to Lifetime. Of stomping around while listening to Shellac and Yona Kit. Of the first time I listened to Bleach.
And that’s a good thing.
Rodan – “Shiner”
In case you’re wondering, the whole record still sounds good as well, especially “The Everyday World of Bodies.” Maybe some day I’ll feel like breaking out June of 44 again.
While in DC, I picked up a vinyl copy of Silverhead’s 1972 self-titled debut. I was expecting something a bit more quirky, but it’s really not as wild as the recommendation I had read a couple years ago. You can draw a straight line from Silverhead to Ratt, which is really just to say it’s more or less just good old-fashioned pop-rock. Sure, there are some T. Rex moments, to be expected as the two groups were peers and fellow countrymen. But this really falls closer to the Slade/New York Dolls side of the glam coin than the T. Rex/David Bowie side. Hear for yourself.
Silverhead — “Ace Supreme”
Silverhead — “Long-Legged Lisa”
Silverhead — “Sold Me Down the River”
A new header (above), for one of my favorite bands.
I didn’t truly fall in love with The Kinks until about four years ago. I’m not sure why I had never fully dug through their catalog, but it was a reviewer who had lauded Face to Face as an equal to Sgt. Peppers and Pet Sounds that peaked my interest. Up until then, my experience with The Kinks was primarily tied to their first two records and a smattering of their other hits, like “David Watts” and “Victoria.” (The first time I ever heard “David Watts” was via The Jam.) I used to spin The Kinks regularly at DJ gigs, but at the time I honestly wouldn’t have said that — as a band — they were one of my faves. That changed when I finally purchased Face to Face. I won’t say that the album is as good as The Beatles or Beach Boys’ pinnacle releases, but it’s certainly an essential album. “Rosie Won’t You Please Come Home,” a love letter to a departed sister, is just outstanding. And “House in the Country” and “Sunny Afternoon” are Top of My Pops.
Face to Face led me to fully investigate the rest of The Kinks late-Sixties, early-Seventies catalog, where I finally gave Arthur a chance. (I used to detest and dismiss “concept albums.”) Village Green, Lola (which was used to good affect in The Darjeeling Unlimited), Something Else, Muswell Hillbillies … what a truly stunning stretch of records. So, why aren’t more people in love with Ray Davies and The Kinks on a level equal to The Beatles or The Stones or The Who? I suppose The Kinks never indulged in the psychedelic era on par with The Beatles, but that’s no excuse in and of itself as The Stones quickly flopped in their attempts (Their Satanic Majesties Request). And it can’t be solely because The Kinks favored concept albums, because The Who and The Beatles both tampered with the genre as well. I suppose the problem may be that, lyrically, Ray Davies is far more esoteric than his peers. But then again, plenty of his songs are also about the average working man, or are written from the perspective of The Outsider who finds himself on The Inside (his rants against the music industry come to mind). Or maybe the reason for The Kinks’ lack of relative, longstanding superstardom is due to the fact that they often favored more baroque, delicate arrangements. While The Beatles were rocking out on Let It Be, The Stones were releasing rock albums like Let It Bleed and Sticky Fingers, and The Who and Led Zeppelin were ushering in a new era of arena rock, The Kinks were recording oddball chamber pop like “Phenomenal Cat.” Still, Arthur and especially Lola certainly have their rocking moments to rival their peers.
Maybe The Kinks just lost out because they failed to successfully maintain stride in a musical era (the 1970s) that was all about progression and refinement. Soon, David Bowie and T. Rex and The New York Dolls would be hip. Progressive rock hit its stride. Funk began to splinter traditional R&B. Later, punk, disco, rap, reggae, and new wave all blossomed. Where did The Kinks fit in? They didn’t, really.
The Kinks — “Rosie, Won’t You Please Come Home?”
The Kinks — “Phenomenal Cat”
The Kinks — “Waterloo Sunset”
The Kinks — “I’m Not Like Everybody Else”
The Kinks — “Village Green”
The Kinks — “Powerman”
Update: Check out this video about a guy who feels much as I do, and is trying to get The Kinks to reunite.
Without a job to wake up for, I stay up until two in the morning, slip on the comfortable pair of headphones, peruse the ass end of my iTunes catalog (Ys, Zs, and numeral bands), and get to work.
00:00 Introduction
00:19 3’s a Crowd — “I Don’t Wanna Drive You Away” (excerpt)
01:42 Zoo — “Hard Times, Good Times”
05:03 Yo La Tengo — “False Ending”
05:49 Young-Holt Trio — “Wack Wack”
08:44 Young Jacques — “Jacques Cousteau”
11:05 The 6ths — “Falling out of Love with You”
13:47 Yoko Ono — “I Felt Like Smashing My Face in a Clear Glass Window”
17:46 Yuya Uchida & The Flowers — “Combination of the Two” (excerpt)
20:59 Yabby U — “Version Dub”
23:29 24-Carat Black — “Poverty’s Paradise” (excerpt)
25:30 6ix — “I’m Just Like You”
28:07 The Yellow Jackets — “So What”
30:48 The Yardbirds — “Hot House of Omagararshid”
33:23 The 5th Dimension — “Let the Sunshine In (Reprise)”
Filed under: mp3s, music | Tags: Allen Ginsberg, Jay Reatard, Mudhoney, N.W.A., The Black Lips, The Louvin Brothers
Well, my health insurance from the old job runs out soon, and I haven’t bought any new insurance yet. Here’s to hoping I don’t have any sickness headed my way.
Allen Ginsberg — “Sickness Blues”
Mudhoney — “Here Comes Sickness”
Jay Reatard — “Death Is Forming”
The Louvin Brothers — “Are You Afraid To Die?”
The Black Lips — “How Do You Tell A Child That Someone Has Died?”
N.W.A. — “Real Niggaz Don’t Die”
Filed under: cold blooded old times, mp3s, music | Tags: Magnolia Electric Co.
I was just thinking about the two times (or is it three?) that I’ve seen Jason Molina/Songs Ohia/Magnolia Electric Co. in concert here in Champaign. I know I saw Ohia at the upstairs of Mike ‘n’ Molly’s many years ago. I recall him standing on a small wooden box so he could be seen by more of the audience (Molina is a short dude, like Springsteen), and I know that Gabe was at that show with me. And then I saw Magnolia at Caffe Paradiso three or so years ago. As a full band they are the consumate “bar band,” and I mean that in the best of ways. They can bounce between rocking originals and Warren Zevon covers without losing a beat. I want to say that I’ve also seen Magnolia at The Highdive or Cowboy Monkey, too, but maybe I’m thinking of Will Oldham or Smog, both of whom I have seen at The Highdive. Or maybe I saw them in another city?
Anyway, I absolutely love the first Magnolia Electric Co. record, which is self-titled and sometimes referred to as the last Songs Ohia record. There is a song on the album called “Peoria Lunch Box Blues,” which I’m certain is titled in reference to Peoria, Illinois (despite never coming up in the lyrics). Then there is the stupendous “Farewell Transmission,” which for my buck is the best Neil Young song not authored by Neil Young. (How’s that for a teaser?) And there’s “I’ve Been Riding with The Ghost,” also a spectacular song best enjoyed in the wee hours.
I suppose I’m focusing on “night music” as of late because I’ve been staying up until 2 a.m. most nights. The old Doug wouldn’t have been able to hack this crap. But the new, unemployed Doug just can’t get to sleep at a decent hour. The older Doug used to lie in bed in the dark and listen to this record via headphones as he prepared to conk out. And this song, the album’s closer, was often the song that I skipped to when I realized I was fading fast.
Magnolia Electric Co. — “Hold On Magnolia”
Pick up this record, cause it’s fucking great.
If you haven’t invited Sam Cooke into your life yet, then you are being foolish. This is, in my humble opinion, his best album and a departure from the pop music he hitched his wagon to early in his recording career. Recorded over the course of three nights in February 1963, Night Beat is a return to Sam’s roots. It is also, not surprisingly, one of the best late-night albums available to mankind. Check out Sam’s version of this standard. When the piano comes in, I get weak in the knees.
Sam Cooke — “Nobody Knows the Trouble I’ve Seen”
I’m a little (okay a lotta) late to Bruce Springsteen’s new record, Magic, which came out a year ago. But better late than never. On first listen, I like it better than either of his last two studio records (excepting the Seeger album). It’s a mostly bright album and a nice hodgepodge of his career styles. In that sense, Magic reminds me of The River. I especially dig this tune, “Girls in Their Summer Clothes,” which on first listen struck me dumb: “Hey, this could be a Magnetic Fields song!” I suppose that’s as much Bruce dipping into the Phil Spector well as anything else, but it’s also the synthetic strings and the simple acoustic guitar coupled with reverbed electric, and most importantly Springsteen’s vocal melody on both the verse and chorus, which to me just oozes Stephin Merritt (different register, but same approach). Of course, Merritt would never go for the la-la-las at the close of the song, but still — good stuff.
Bruce Springsteen — “Girls in Their Summer Clothes”
The Noiseboy Online 
