No. 311: MTV Unplugged in New York

Band: Nirvana
Album: MTV Unplugged in New York
Why Rolling Stone gets it right: Released more than six months after the Kurt Cobain's death, Nirvana's date with the "Unplugged" audience was recorded nearly a year before. The album's 14 tracks contain six cover songs and feature such non-single tracks as "Dumb," "Polly" and "Something in the Way." If nothing, it showed the Nirvana wasn't all Pixies ripoffs and big drums.
Why Rolling Stone gets it wrong: I imagine this could be ranked higher, as it essentially sucked the "Unplugged" franchise (thankfully, by the way). No one was going to beat Nirvana on this sort of stage.
Best song: Is there a best song? Aren't they all perfect or near-perfect? Personally, I love Nirvana's version of "Oh, Me" as much as or more than the original versions from the Meat Puppets. This version of "About A Girl" is better than the original.
Worst song: The worst thing you can say about any of these songs is that they sound perfectly like the great album versions. "Something in the Way" and "Polly" both fit this description.
Is it awesome?: Yes, absolutely.

Thinking about this album makes me tremendously sad, not just for the untimely passing of Kurt Donald Cobain (I wore black to my junior high for four days after his death), but for what could have been for the band. Nirvana wasn't in the middle of recording like Jeff Buckley was at the time of his death.

We'll never know what Nirvana might have been. Would the band have been able to produce a somber effort like this set? Would the band have been able to branch out and work more Meat Puppets- and Bowie-esque songs into their next album?

That's the sadness of the record? What could the band might have done? Is this a shape of things to come?

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But, really, this is why Nirvana was the best of the era's bands. Nirvana was able to be more sensitive and anguished than even Pearl Jam, the era's standard-bearers. The band showed it could genre hop with the closing number being an old blue standard while the third track on the record was an accordion-driven Vaselines cover.

Cobain, as he is with all things Nirvana, is the star. His anguished howl is dotted with vulnerability that is nearly impossible to find in a singer's voice. To compare Cobain to more conventional singers like Chris Cornell or Glenn Danzig is foolish; Cobain was, like Ozzy Osbourne, born to do a certain thing. Like a battered child, Cobain has a story to tell in looks, cries and those puppy dog eyes.

The album has been called "a message from beyond the grave" and an "accidental testament." I can't say that either is incorrect. Unplugging a punk band is something, but punk rock doesn't translate when a band's songwriting isn't up to the task of unplugging.

Nirvana, of course, is the band that wanted, if only for a moment, to be R.E.M. Cobain's need to illuminate his influences made it such that he brought the Kirkwood brothers on stage for the set's three Meat Puppets songs, layering the simple guitar parts to make the ramshackle songs complete. The re-arrangement of the Vaselines' "Jesus Doesn't Want Me for a Sunbeam" is inventive and cool, while the safe reproduction of David Bowie's "The Man Who Sold The World" is tidy and far superior to Bowie's original. And, of course, the story of infidelity that closes out the album sounds perfect in Cobain's hands.

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Of course, the Nirvana songs are perfect for the format. "Come As You Are," "All Apologies," and "On A Plain" would sound great on toy instruments, while "Dumb" translates well to acoustic guitars. "Polly" and "Something In The Way" are basically acoustic songs in the first place.

"About a Girl" was the album's only single, but it is about a thousand times superior to the version from "Bleach." The album version is a little abrasive and, while great, wonderfully catchy. But, the acoustic version soften up the distraught love songs and takes the guitar production aspect out of the song's R.E.M. jangle. All that's left is pure pop -- the song allegedly was written after Cobain spent an afternoon listening to "Meet the Beatles!" -- and Cobain's voice. The edge in his vocals, coupled with that perfect solo make "About A Girl" one of Nirvana's classic tracks.

Moreover, the set shows Nirvana's talent without any of the traps of their famous producers. Stripped of Albini or Vig, Nirvana still shines.

No. 310: Blood Sugar Sex Magik

Band: The Red Hot Chili Peppers
Album: Blood Sugar Sex Magik
Why Rolling Stone gets it right: The Red Hot Chili Peppers sell a lot of goddamned records. Like, a lot of records. This is the first of those chart-smashing albums about lust, drugs and, uh, something. I don't know. Rocking.
Why Rolling Stone gets it wrong: If you want a straight definition of dumb, frat-boy rock, here it is. The music has the smallest tinge of funk while relying on rock guitar riffs and easy sing/shout vocals.
Best song: "Breaking the Girl" is probably the most interesting song on the record, though it's still a facsimile of a real song.
Worst song: "Sir Psycho Sexy" is basically Stone Temple Pilot's "Sex Type Thing," only worse.
Is it awesome?: I don't think so.

Before we get into this, let me say something about the Chili Peppers: I have no problem with Flea, Chad Smith and John Frusciante as musicians. They are all talented, if not hugely so. I love the work Flea did with Jane's Addiction when that band reformed in the late 1990s and find Frusciante's guitar work to be, at least, pretty inventive. Chad Smith is solid, if nothing.

(Anthony Kiedis isn't a singer, but he plays one in this band. His ability as a "front man" is seemingly more important to the band than his actual voice, but a lot of singers are cursed with the same affliction. He's handsome, ripped and mildly charismatic. That's enough for rock and roll. We can't all be Danzig, after all.)

Having decent players in your band does not automatically guarantee great music. I always look to Phish for an example of a band that can clearly play (listen to their musical costume stuff), but can't write a song to save their lives. In the case of the Chili Peppers, this is all too evident. The songs they write are either middle-of-the-road nonsense ("Breaking The Girl," "Under the Bridge," etc.) or white-guy funk nonsense ("Give It Away" and "Suck My Kiss").

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Mike Judge's film "Idiocracy" posits that our culture is on a decline towards a desolate existence, framed by language entirely built on grunts and violence. I don't think you really need to look too far from television to see this. Football remains the most popular sport in the United States with NASCAR coming quickly behind. Both sports feature short bursts of loudness and the most one can hope for in either game is violence.

Our films, a lot of the time, rely entirely on dick jokes and fat suits. TV has gotten better, but the most talked-about jokes on some of the best TV shows seem to often be jokes about homosexuality or nudity. We oversexualize our youth (See the Spears girls for examples) and we watch news stories about lost blonde women as people in Darfur are shot for simply being an Arab or a Dinka.

With all of that said, I am not trying to be Bill Bennett here. I don't love these aspects of our culture. To be honest, I don't know if I can even judge these things or even what to compare them to. I've been watching old episodes of "The Muppet Show" recently and I can't say that a society of puns and stupid sight gags would really mean a better world. This is where our culture is and this is where our culture is going.

I'm not sure I know how to transition this to the Chili Peppers, but, this record reminds me of that culture. I imagine some of this association has to do with the rapid-fire singing that Anthony Kiedis tries. "Give It Away" is like getting hit by a vocal machine gun, while the chorus of "Suck My Kiss" has sporadic, but hard hits. On some level, I think it's because the people I meet who love the Chili Peppers aren't necessarily the Joe Francises of the world, but rather your regular frat guy who loves football, his pastel-shirted girlfriend and calling his friends "fag" when joking. He doesn't mean anything homophobic with it, but he is just too lazy to think up a good insult ("needle-dicked bug fucker" always works).

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With that said, it's hard to overexplain how popular this record was when it came out. The band's conversion from metal metal funksters to pop music curiosity was nearly overnight thanks to "Blood Sugar Sex Magik." Admittedly, I was just a young kid, but it seemed like one minute their cover of "Higher Ground" was on MTV and the next, they were headlining Lollapalooza.

The draw, I think, is of the kiddie pool shallowness and bang-bang short attention span of the lead two singles, "Give It Away" and "Under the Bridge." The frat guy crowd presumably went nuts for "Give It Away," if only because each line of the song's non-sequitor lyrics could be presumed to be about something. Often, the lines were -- the bit about a river is about River Phoenix -- and often, the lines about "fertility" and "giving it" were simply about sex. Like the rest of the goddamned album.

"Under the Bridge" has more of a somber one, being about (of course) drug use. The band's attempt at being Queen doesn't really work on a large level, though it's a valiant effort towards time changes, singing about something other than sex and a real breakdown. Is it a great song? Hardly, but it's better than "Give It Away."

By the way, here's one of the images from the sleeve artwork:


Honestly, this is made for meatheads. Tribal tattoos and muscles.

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While talented, I can't see the Chili Peppers for much other than a cheap ripoff of Faith No More. Both had mercurial singers, funk tendencies and a genre-mix style. Faith No More, of course, was harder edged and not radio-friendly. The Chili Peppers? Basically, a neutered Faith No MOre.

Honestly, it's hard for me to really take seriously a band whose entire oeuvre deals with the cliche of sex, drugs and rock and roll. Really, what else is on this album other than a few lines of half-witted philosophy in "Give It Away?" Not much, if you ask me.

No. 309: Nothing's Shocking

Band: Jane's Addiction
Album: Nothing's Shocking
Why Rolling Stone gets it right: The debut full-length from Los Angeles' alternative rock gods, "Nothing's Shocking" hits many of the same places other alternative bands did at the time, only Jane's fully developed those ideas.
Why Rolling Stone gets it wrong: The record has an air of experimentation on it and is hard to enjoy, save for a couple of songs.
Best song: The hits, "Jane Says" and "Mountain Song," are the best songs. "Ted, Just Admit It..." is also great.
Worst song: "Up The Beach" isn't wonderful.
Is it awesome?: It's not as good as their other record, but it's a lot of fun.

Jane's Addiction is a band that simultaneously gets under- and overrated. On one hand, the band only released two records and their sound wasn't cohesive enough to influence anyone other than the dreadful Red Hot Chili Peppers. On the other, the outside things the band was involved in (Lollapalooza and Dave Navarro's bizarre fame) made them something of a force during their time.

The weirdness of the band is hard to comprehend. Lollapalooza was the brainchild of Perry Farrell and mostly gave a home to the "alternative" crowd, a group of youngsters who wore jester hats and resided somewhere between hippies and punk rockers.

It's incredibly odd to think about it now, but it was perfectly acceptable in 1991 to wear a velvet top hat, a tuxedo jacket, no shirt and parachute pants. Lollapalooza provided for this and Jane's Addiction was that crowd's band. With their psychedelic funk metal, Jane's catered to a lot of strange, strange people. "Mountain Song" was their calling and "Jane Says" -- a song about a heroin addict who'd never been in love and dreamed of running away to Europe -- was the song to which they made love.

Needless to say, it was a troubling time for the youth of America.

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A few random thoughts on the band:

• Though it sounds nothing like the rest of the album, "Jane Says" is the best on the album. The mide-tempo guitar, rolling bass line and steel drums keep the song moving while Perry Farrell's lyric about his ex-roommate heroin addict who'd was abused by her boyfriend fit his voice perfectly. It's a cool update on Lou Reed's old themes and works perfectly within the band's strengths.


• Perry Farrell might be the least talented person who has done cool stuff. He's bounced around as a house DJ since his days in the Jane's reunion that happened about 10 years ago. He's not really good for much, save for the glitter and makeup industries. He's now doing one of the intros for NBC's Sunday Night Football. Figure that out.


• The cover is just strange, I think, for the sake of being strange.


• The title comes from the song "Ted, Just Admit It...," a song about Ted Bundy. The song contains snippets from Bundy's statement in court. It's creepy, but also very, very cool.

Basically, this isn't a fantastic album, but one that marks a place in alternative rock history. This was when alternative was a catch-all, during a more innocent time.

No. 308: The Sun Records Collection

Band: Various Artists
Album: The Sun Records Collection
Why Rolling Stone gets it right: Possibly the most important record label of all-time, this three-disc set compiles all the early songs from Sam Phillips' legendary label.
Why Rolling Stone gets it wrong: Well, compilations are generally sketchy (they're not really albums), but necessary for an era like early rock and roll. This being the documents of that period makes me think it should be higher.
Best song: Many of the old blues records on here were pleasant surprises, but, of course, Elvis' first single ("That's All Right") is the best thing on here.
Worst song: The Five Tinos' "Sitting by My Window" isn't very good.
Is it awesome?: Yes.

What surprised me about this collection is the amount of blues on it. I didn't know that Sam Phillips was so involved in getting blues out there on Sun. We all think of Sun as the label of Elvis and Jerry Lee Lewis, but Howlin' Wolf, B.B. King and Rufus Thomas all have songs on here.

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Sun Records, of course, is the label that brought rock and roll to white people. This was Sam Phillips' stated goal and for that, Sun is one of the cornerstones of rock and roll. When Phillips wanted to switch more towards the new genre of rockabilly and signed legendary songwriter (before he was that) Sam Perkins, crazed Jerry Lee Lewis, Roy Orbison and an eyeliner-wearing truck driver from Tupelo named Presley, the label exploded. Rock and roll was here.

Many of the records sound dated -- they are dated as these songs are more than 50 years old -- but they're great just the same. This set is a little much as three discs is overkill in my eyes. But, everyone should have at least one of the many Sun compilations out there.

No. 307: Avalon

Band: Roxy Music
Album: Avalon
Why Rolling Stone gets it right: Roxy Music's final album brought more synths, more brooding and more subtlety than previous records. Bryan Ferry's voice soars over a very background-y rest of the record.
Why Rolling Stone gets it wrong: Maybe I just don't get Roxy Music, but the post-Eno work is too slow for my taste.
Best song: The title track is pretty good.
Worst song: I don't care for "To Turn You On."
Is it awesome?: Not really.

Apropos of nothing, but the people at our college radio station who liked Roxy Music also were the people who really liked My Bloody Valentine. I cannot, for the life of me, figure out the connection between the two bands, if there is any.

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I'm not a Roxy Music aficionado. I like some of the band's earlier songs ("Love is the Drug" being the big one), but I owned all of zero of their records before this project. I've never been a big fan of dance music, so I'm not qualified to give a long dissertation on Roxy Music.

With that said, I do prefer the band's earlier work. Bryan Ferry's studio work is almost overwhelming in its grandeur; he appears to fall in love with needle-tweaking as the band progressed. I suspect this is why Eno left, as Eno is notoriously meticulous, as well.

Still, with "Avalon," Gone are the danceable disco strains of the band's previous albums and in its place are the somber, melancholy tones of Ferry's mumbling, dated synth work and slower beats. It's not impressive to my ears.

No. 306: Songs for Swingin' Lovers

Band: Frank Sinatra
Album: Songs for Swingin' Lovers
Why Rolling Stone gets it right: One of the top albums of 1956 had Old Blue Eyes taking old pop standards and jazzing them up for a younger audience.
Why Rolling Stone gets it wrong: Considering the vast majority of these songs are C&W, hip hop or rock and roll, Sinatra's classic vocal style is totally misplaced on this list. Even without that, Sinatra's vocal style is so ambivalent, he might as well have a stamp on his forehead. He's mailing it in.
Best song: "I've Got You Under My Skin" is decent.
Worst song: Boo to Sinatra. I don't like any of these songs, really.
Is it awesome?: No.

Cultural-wide nostalgia is a weird thing. There are entire political movements based on the idea that progress is bad and the past was better than the present or future. I find this patently ridiculous, but it remains just the same.

It's different from a paradigm shift. I understand when people have problems with paradigm shifts; When you stop being useful, what's the point? I can understand when someone wants to keep the status quo going; That's self-preservation.

But, the sort of Pat Buchanan-style "we need to get back to this and that" feeling doesn't resonate with me. Frank Sinatra, while not as popular as he used to be, sometimes represents this feeling in music.

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A brief example. I recently posted something on my friend Lo's Facebook wall touting the Pharaoh Monch album, "Desire." It's one of my favorite records of the year. People who are friends with both Lo and I

(An aside about Facebook: It is a wonderful tool for voyeurism. Not the creepy voyeurism of Peeping Toms, but the oddball curiosity of wondering what acquaintances are up to. As such, nearly a third of my friends on Facebook are people with whom I have not spoken in 8-10 years. These are people I knew in early high school and stumbled upon my name and friended me. I have an open-door policy simply, so I end up learning about people -- in a pre-Facebook world -- I would not have given two shits about. The Internet is so wonderful.)

Anyway, someone with whom I haven't spoken in 10 years saw what I wrote on Lo's wall, agreed with me about the Monch record and finished his comment (to me) with this line:
"you just don't hear good music like that anymore."

That's a line that I have some trouble with. Great music is constantly coming out. The Monch record is awesome, but so is the Ghostface Killah album that came out six months later. The Iron & Wine record -- certainly not hip hop -- is great. I just got the Band of Horses album and have completely fallen in love with it. My point is this: I do hear good music like that. All the time.

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There are people out there -- thankfully, not a lot -- who believe Sinatra to be the pinnacle of music and I always wonder what the appeal is. The music isn't as milquetoast as the '70s California country/folk thing, but it's similarly received. It's more boring, lyrically, but more interesting, musically. Nevertheless, I think there are two things at play here. The first is the natural conservatism and want for authority. People want to be told what to think and what to like, on some level, and these people's parents told them that Sinatra was great.

(Hey, we all do this. Our parents have told my generation that classic rock is the best music recorded and, in some cases, they're right. Still, our generation loves all of it, largely out of instruction from our parents.)

The other is the Pat Buchanan style of thinking. People look at Sinatra and they envision themselves in a tux or a beautiful dress, going to a theater with a big dance floor, in a sepia-toned memory (that doesn't exist). The world in 2007 is complex and scary. Not much is wholesome for adults and Sinatra's world was considerably more Ozzie and Harriet than even the most boring music out there today (I'm looking at you, Norah Jones).

Look, I can't lie. I don't know if that time was better than today. I wasn't alive. Certainly, that does seem attractive in a lot of ways. My friend and I are planning a formal cocktail party largely on the idea that formal cocktail parties don't happen enough for 20-somethings. The difference? No Sinatra on the stereo. The Sea and Cake will be our cocktail party music.

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You know my feelings on Sinatra. It's just not my thing. Sinatra sounds like he hates the songs he sings and there's absolutely no romance in anything he sings. That, to me, is a very, very bad thing when you're doing an album of love songs.

No. 305: Odelay

Band: Beck
Album: Odelay
Why Rolling Stone gets it right: After Beck's initial success as a one-hit wonder, he headed back into the studio to make a bizarrely post-modern work. Shaking off the slacker label, Mr. Hansen fused aspects of dancehouse, disco, hip hop, indie rock and the like on tracks like "Devil's Haircut," "Where It's At" and "Minus."
Why Rolling Stone gets it wrong: The album sounds more dated than I remember it being, probably because it was a favorite of mine when it came out in 1996. Still, it's a remarkable record and I'd forgotten how much I enjoy it.
Best song: "Devil's Haircut" is probably the record's highlight, though "The New Pollution" is great.
Worst song: "Readymade" isn't great.
Is it awesome?: Yes, it is awesome.

"Odelay" came out just after my sister graduated from high school and my greatest memory of it remains listening while we drove her out to college. I imagine a lot of people have the experience of driving more than a day out to some college for someone's first year, but Boston is a long fucking way from Chicago. I remember having one of those clunky Discman-style CD players that skipped all the time and only two CDs with me at the time: "Odelay" and Nirvana's "In Utero."

I listened to "Odelay" easily 10 times on that trip, almost never skipping a song. I don't know why, but that record just fit in my head at the time. I was in the process of delving deeper into classic rock, hating hip hop and country (ironic considering Beck's influences) and discovering independent stuff. "Odelay" fused and opened my mind, on some level, and for that, I'm hugely in debt to the album.

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The Dust Brothers have a certain sound, that's for sure, and "Odelay" is covered in Dust Brothers, uh, dust. The quick-step drums on "Devil's Haircut" and "The New Pollution" pretty much sum up the Dusts.

Nevertheless, "Odelay" is delightfully 1996. From what I remember, the culture at the time was dominated by post-modernism and Beck is about as post-modern as they come. Taking cures from hip hop (a post-modern art form in and of itself) and country, Beck's ability to spit out the art that is lodged in all of our brains is remarkable. It gave white kids reason to dance, if nothing.

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You want an endorsement? How about from Bob Dylan? This is from his XM show:

'We're talkin' about the Devil here on Theme Time Radio Hour. And the Devil always looks sharp. One of the reasons he looks sharp is that he had a good haircut. Here's Beck to tell you all about it. This is from his hit album Odelay, produced by the Dust Brothers. Beck says "This song is a really simplistic metaphor for the evil of vanity." I just thought you could dance to it.'

No. 304: Car Wheels on a Gravel Road

Band: Lucinda Williams
Album: Car Wheels on a Gravel Road
Why Rolling Stone gets it right: It won about a thousand Grammies and it became the sound of alt country for a while. William's opus is the sound of Williams as a real songwriter while also showing her voice.
Why Rolling Stone gets it wrong: Twang and such don't float my boat. I do enjoy this album, though.
Best song: "Right in Time" and "Car Wheels on a Gravel Road" are great.
Worst song: "Metal Firecracker" is not so great.
Is it awesome?: Sure...

I have to apologize, but I was in Chicago for the last five days and, like a moron, forgot to put this record on my iPod before I left. Therefore, I didn't get a great listen to the album. So, as I've done twice before, I have outsourced the writing of the review to a friend. This time, it's Motley Fool editor and Springsteen fan Ellen Bowman:

You don't need me to tell you that Lucinda Williams is a great songwriter, that her vocals are heartfelt and raw and beautiful, or that "Car Wheels on a Gravel Road" is widely recognized as an amazing album. But what I will tell you is that I didn't know anything about Lucinda Williams when I got this record, not long after it came out in 1998; my mother and I were driving from Michigan, where my family lives, to Texas, where I went to college. The tape (yeah, it was that long ago) was prominently displayed at some gas station or other, and we took a chance on it.

On that trip, we stopped at Graceland; we went to Hope, Ark., to see Bill Clinton's birthplace (it was not very exciting). We dug for diamonds in a national park and had chicken-fried steak in Mississippi. My old Chevy didn't have air conditioning, so we did it all in the August heat of the South. And we didn't have a ton of mutually agreeable music with us (my mom having vetoed the Dead Kennedys immediately), so "Car Wheels" got a lot of play.

I fell in love with it. The melodies were sinuous and addictive and her voice was haunting and warm at once. The lyrics were often funny, often heartbreaking, and the South was alive everywhere in her writing. At the time, I was dating a guy from Lake Charles, Louisiana, and the song "Lake Charles" was dead-on perfect: "We used to drive to Lafayette and Baton Rouge/in a yellow El Camino/ listenin' to Howlin' Wolf." You'd have to hear it to know why it encapsulated that place, sticky heat and pickup trucks and Dixie beer. But it did. It was perfect.

After three days, when we finally got to Texas, I asked my mom if she minded if I kept "Car Wheels." "Not at all," she said. "To be honest, I didn't really care for it that much."

I hadn't noticed. And in the end I think that's the real genius of this album: that listening to it, you can't conceive that anyone might hear less than the brilliance you're hearing.

I still don't know a ton about Lucinda, though of course I've found out more as the years went on. Turns out she's a high priestess of new country -- who knew? But the other albums of hers I've heard, while they're all good, just don't crystallize into perfect the way "Car Wheels" does. There's not a misstep on this album, as far as I'm concerned. And I can't imagine why you wouldn't agree.

No. 303: Grace

Band: Jeff Buckley
Album: Grace
Why Rolling Stone gets it right: There are and were few rock and roll singers with the ability of Jeff Buckley. His voice has been compared to that of an angel's with little irony attached and I can't say I totally disagree. The son of songwriter Tim Buckley (though the two only met a few times, as Tim Buckley died when Jeff was all of nine), Buckley's songs with Gary Lucas remain some of the most heartfelt love songs ever written.
Why Rolling Stone gets it wrong: It's hard to classify this record. It's sometimes uneven and is the type of record you may not love if you're not in the right move.
Best song: "The Real Slim Shady" is problematic, but decidedly catchy.
Worst song: "The Way I Am" is classic narcissism nonsense.
Is it awesome?: Yes.

There was a period in my life where this album was among my favorites and I've lashed back against it in recent years. I sold my copy on eBay and would tell anyone who'd listen about how it's just melodramatic nonsense. The lack of a unifying musical theme really annoyed me.

On listening to the album again, hating "Grace" is foolish. Almost all music is melodramatic, as one can't get conflict out of understatement. The differing sounds on the record work for Buckley's nimble voice and I can appreciate his ability to work with different sounds. Listening this week has reminded me why I love that album.

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I was introduced to "Grace" by one of the only friends I had in high school whose musical taste I truly respected, Ali. Ali was a grade ahead of me and was my co-music director at my high school radio station. In addition to "Grace," she introduced me to Elliott Smith and helped nurture my love of bands like Yo La Tengo. She swore by "Grace" and fancied Buckley as one of her favorite artists.

After getting the album, I saw what she was talking about.

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When "Grace" was reissued in 2004, the album gained some level of re-recognition. In its review, Pitchfork explained Buckley's place in music:

He really wasn't built for the strand of rock music borne of rebellion or release; he was a songbird, like the kind that used to receive roses and blown kisses from the debutantes in the balcony after performances.

I don't know that I could disagree with this. Buckley's chanteuse style is not of rock and roll, though he certainly could rock out. The title track's swing and "So Real's" breakdown both show Buckley's vocal ability in the genre. Buckley's version of Nina Simone's "Lilac Wine" shows his ability to work within a quiet dynamic while "Lover, You Should've Come Over" has gospel-like qualities.

The album is strange in that it makes people fall into hyperbole. It's hardly the stereotype of a record that Pitchfork would give 9.0/10 to, but that's exactly what Pitchfork did. The reviewer from Drownedinsound.com went even further, giving it a 10/10:

This is the only proper studio album that Jeff Buckley completed in his lifetime but listening to it now makes me feel like I’ve just listened to three or four albums in one sitting, such is the depth and range of this album. From the opening whiskery drum intro of ‘Mojo Pin’ to the last reverberant chord of ‘Dream Brother’, you’re subjected to an incredible journey that seamlessly straddles a devastating range of emotions and styles.

Hyperbolic? Um, yes. But that's the type of feelings this albums evokes in people, for better or worse.

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At the risk of sounding like some sleazy greasy disgusting old dude, I would give this advice to any young high school boys out there: Buy this album. Find a high school girl who is a little punk rock, but still attractive. Mention to her that you like this album. Burn her a mix CD with "So Real" on it. Tell her that "Grace" is one of your favorite albums. Tell her that "So Real" reminds you of her.

You can thank me later.

No. 302: The Slim Shady LP

Band: Eminem
Album: The Marshall Mathers LP
Why Rolling Stone gets it right: On Eminem's second record, the Detroit rapper produced a considerably more personal record. The record lost a lot of the humor of the first album, but the record became smarter.
Why Rolling Stone gets it wrong: The anger is a little off-putting to me, especially when he acts like he's being persecuted. Eminem, I'm sorry to mention this to you, but you're treated with kid gloves because of your skin color.
Best song: "The Real Slim Shady" is problematic, but decidedly catchy.
Worst song: "The Way I Am" is classic narcissism nonsense.
Is it awesome?: I don't think so.

I've said most of what I wanted to say about Emimem already, but there are a few notable things about his second record. For one, this is the album that took Em from being a dude with a huge record to being the biggest star in rap music. This occurrence came largely out of "Stan," a huge crossover hit that finally had everyone listening to him. The Dido song "Thank You" provides the sample that Em raps over, as he goes with a somber lyric about an obsessive fan.

"Stan" is interesting if only because it created the mass impression of Eminem as thoughtful introspective dude. That's not a bad thing and not totally inaccurate, but it's immediately shot down in "The Way I Am," a song that's easily Eminem's worse popular single. The song is Em's idea of self-definition and it pulsates with adolescent anger. The song's hook has the line "Radio won't even play my jam," a proposition to ludicrous, it's hard to even mention it.

And that's the thing. The level of humor on the record is less than "The Slim Shady LP." "Kill You" has the humor that dotted Em's first record, but also bubbles with real anger that he probably wasn't able to include on his first record. It's hyperbolically angry (which is clever in and of itself), but also troubling in its sincerity.

(That's one of my overriding problems with Eminem. I worry that his recent work is more indicative of the type of artist he is. His first record was his first work with a major label; I'm sure he had a lot of guidance and advice and probably wanted to please them. He probably changed his style a fair amount. I like that Emimen better.)

The highlight of the album is, once again, the lead single, "The Real Slim Shady." Brimming with pop culture references, Em mocks Tom Green, Carson Daly, Will Smith, Britney Spears, nursing homes, and just about everything else under the sun. With his signature snark, he recounts his self-definition in a way that's far more humorous and clever than "The Way I Am."

Because I nitpick, there are two problematic lines in the song. The first is "Half of you critics can't even stomach me, let alone stand me," another of Em's delusions of persecution. The idea that critics don't like Eminem has been patently ludicrous since his second single was released (just as the idea that radio won't play his jam is idiotic). The other is the faux populism of "The only difference is I got the balls to say it," a notion that attacks "political correctness."

Now, the concept of "political correctness" is something that bothers the hell out of me. There is no such thing as "political correctness." It is simply being correct. So, when you say "fag," you aren't being correct. You're being offensive. When you call a Korean-American "Chinese," you're being incorrect. It's as simple as that.

So, when Eminem implies that he's being the voice of the anti-political correct world and he's being persecuted because of his bravery, I find that to be patently ridiculous. It's idiotic.

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Because I find each Eminem record to be of deteriorating quality from the one before, "The Slim Shady LP" is not a terrible record, but it's not nearly as good as his first record.