Beauty and the Beat Review by Stephen Thomas Erlewine

It’s not quite right to say that the Go-Go’s' 1981 debut, Beauty and the Beat, is where new wave caught hold in the U.S., but it’s not quite wrong, either. Prior to this, there had certainly been new wave hits -- Blondie had been reaching the Top Ten for two years running -- but the Go-Go’s ushered in the era of big, bright stylish pop, spending six weeks at the top of the U.S. charts and generating two singles that defined the era: the cool groove of “Our Lips Are Sealed” and the exuberant “We Got the Beat.” So big were these two hits that they sometimes suggested that Beauty and the Beat was a hits-and-filler record, an impression escalated by the boost the Go-Go’s received from the just-launched MTV, yet that’s hardly the case. Beauty and the Beat is sharp, clever, and catchy, explicitly drawing from the well of pre-Beatles ‘60s pop -- girl group harmonies, to be sure, but surf-rock echoes throughout -- but filtering it through the nervy energy of punk. With the assistance of Rob Freeman, producer Richard Gottehrer -- a veteran of the Strangeloves (“I Want Candy”) who also wrote the girl group standard “My Boyfriend’s Back” -- sanded down the band’s rougher edges, keeping the emphasis on the hooks and harmonies but giving the Go-Go’s enough kick and jangle that at times the group resembles nothing less than early R.E.M., particularly on “How Much More” and “Tonite.” But this isn’t Murmur; there is nothing murky about Beauty and the Beat at all -- this is infectiously cheerful pop, so hooky it’s sometimes easy to overlook how well-written these tunes are, but it’s the sturdiness of the songs that makes Beauty and the Beat a new wave classic.

This week Tony and Max are out fighting the power! And so Dave is joined by Tonya Todd and Mike Burton! And they'll be discussing the iconic, important and influential debut album from Rage Against the Machine!

Rage Against the Machine's self-titled debut album, released in 1992, exploded onto the music scene with its potent blend of rap, metal, and politically charged lyrics. Produced by Garth Richardson and the band themselves, the album is a fierce manifesto against social injustice and political oppression. From the iconic opening track "Bombtrack," which assaults listeners with Tom Morello's innovative guitar riffs and Zack de la Rocha's fiery vocals, to anthems like "Killing in the Name," which confronts systemic racism and police brutality, every song on the album resonates with unbridled anger and defiance. The raw intensity of tracks like "Know Your Enemy" and "Freedom" showcases the band's ability to merge hard-hitting instrumentation with radical political messaging, creating a sound that remains influential in both music and activism.

Rage Against the Machine's debut not only redefined the boundaries of rock and rap but also sparked a movement. Its fusion of heavy metal aggression and hip-hop rhythms, coupled with unabashedly militant lyrics, challenged the status quo and inspired a generation to question authority and fight for social change. The album's success catapulted the band to international acclaim, cementing their reputation as one of the most provocative and influential acts of the 1990s. With its revolutionary spirit and uncompromising message, Rage Against the Machine's debut album continues to resonate with listeners, reminding us of the power of music to provoke thought and ignite passion for justice.

Rumours is the kind of album that transcends its origins and reputation, entering the realm of legend -- it's an album that simply exists outside of criticism and outside of its time, even if it thoroughly captures its era. Prior to this LP, Fleetwood Mac were moderately successful, but here they turned into a full-fledged phenomenon, with Rumours becoming the biggest-selling pop album to date. While its chart success was historic, much of the legend surrounding the record is born from the group's internal turmoil. Unlike most bands, Fleetwood Mac in the mid-'70s were professionally and romantically intertwined, with no less than two couples in the band, but as their professional career took off, the personal side unraveled. Bassist John McVie and his keyboardist/singer wife Christine McVie filed for divorce as guitarist/vocalist Lindsey Buckingham and vocalist Stevie Nicks split, with Stevie running to drummer Mick Fleetwood, unbeknown to the rest of the band. These personal tensions fueled nearly every song on Rumours, which makes listening to the album a nearly voyeuristic experience. You're eavesdropping on the bandmates singing painful truths about each other, spreading nasty lies and rumors and wallowing in their grief, all in the presence of the person who caused the heartache. Everybody loves gawking at a good public breakup, but if that was all that it took to sell a record, Richard and Linda Thompson's Shoot Out the Lights would be multi-platinum. No, what made Rumours an unparalleled blockbuster is the quality of the music. Once again masterminded by producer/songwriter/guitarist Buckingham, Rumours is an exceptionally musical piece of work -- he toughens Christine McVie and softens Nicks, adding weird turns to accessibly melodic works, which gives the universal themes of the songs haunting resonance. It also cloaks the raw emotion of the lyrics in deceptively palatable arrangements that made a tune as wrecked and tortured as "Go Your Own Way" an anthemic hit. But that's what makes Rumours such an enduring achievement -- it turns private pain into something universal. Some of these songs may be too familiar, whether through their repeated exposure on FM radio or their use in presidential campaigns, but in the context of the album, each tune, each phrase regains its raw, immediate emotional power -- which is why Rumours touched a nerve upon its 1977 release, and has since transcended its era to be one of the greatest, most compelling pop albums of all time.

"A Kind of Magic" is a pivotal album in Queen's discography, both for its musical content and its association with the cult classic film "Highlander." Released in 1986, the album captures Queen at a significant moment in their career, showcasing their ability to blend rock, pop, and theatrical elements into a cohesive and engaging sound.

The title track, "A Kind of Magic," serves as the album's anthem, with its triumphant chorus and Brian May's soaring guitar work. It's a song that encapsulates the band's knack for creating larger-than-life, stadium-filling anthems. The energy and grandiosity of this track set the tone for the rest of the album.

"One Vision" kicks off the album with a bang, featuring a driving beat and powerful vocals from Freddie Mercury. The song's lyrics convey a sense of determination and unity, fitting perfectly with the film's themes of destiny and the struggle for immortality.

"Friends Will Be Friends" is another standout track, characterized by its catchy melody and uplifting message about the enduring power of friendship. With its sing-along chorus and lush production, it's a song that resonates with listeners on a personal level.

The album also contains several tracks that delve into deeper, more introspective territory. "Who Wants to Live Forever" is a haunting ballad that explores the timeless question of mortality, while "Princes of the Universe" channels the film's epic scope with its bombastic instrumentation and defiant lyrics.

Throughout "A Kind of Magic," Queen demonstrates their versatility as musicians, seamlessly blending rock, pop, and even elements of opera and classical music. The album's production is slick and polished, yet it retains a raw energy that keeps the listener engaged from start to finish.

In addition to its musical merits, "A Kind of Magic" is notable for its association with "Highlander," a film that has achieved cult status over the years. The album's songs are interspersed with excerpts from the film's score, creating a cohesive listening experience that immerses the listener in the world of the movie.

Overall, "A Kind of Magic" is a testament to Queen's enduring legacy as one of the greatest rock bands of all time. Its memorable songs, powerful performances, and cinematic scope make it a timeless classic that continues to captivate listeners decades after its release.

Siamese Dream Review by Greg Prato

While Gish had placed the Smashing Pumpkins on the "most promising artist" list for many, troubles were threatening to break the band apart. Singer/guitarist/leader Billy Corgan was battling a severe case of writer's block and was in a deep state of depression brought on by a relationship in turmoil; drummer Jimmy Chamberlin was addicted to hard drugs; and bassist D'Arcy and guitarist James Iha severed their romantic relationship. The sessions for their sophomore effort, Siamese Dream, were wrought with friction -- Corgan eventually played almost all the instruments himself (except for percussion). Some say strife and tension produces the best music, and it certainly helped make Siamese Dream one of the finest alt-rock albums of all time. Instead of following Nirvana's punk rock route, Siamese Dream went in the opposite direction -- guitar solos galore, layered walls of sound courtesy of the album's producers (Butch Vig and Corgan), extended compositions that bordered on prog rock, plus often reflective and heartfelt lyrics. The four tracks that were selected as singles became alternative radio standards -- the anthems "Cherub Rock," "Today," and "Rocket," plus the symphonic ballad "Disarm" -- but as a whole, Siamese Dream proved to be an incredibly consistent album. Such compositions as the red-hot rockers "Quiet" and "Geek U.S.A." were standouts, as were the epics "Hummer," "Soma," and "Silverfuck," plus the soothing sounds of "Mayonaise," "Spaceboy," and "Luna." After the difficult recording sessions, Corgan stated publicly that if Siamese Dream didn't achieve breakthrough success, he would end the band. He didn't have to worry for long -- the album debuted in the Billboard Top Ten and sold more than four million copies in three years. Siamese Dream stands alongside Nevermind and Superunknown as one of the decade's finest (and most influential) rock albums.

Everything Will Be Alright in the End Review by Stephen Thomas Erlewine

Two songs into Everything Will Be Alright in the End, Rivers Cuomo sings "we belong in the rock world," a repudiation of the big beat experimentation of Raditude, a 2009 record that found Weezer working with such pop producers as Dr. Luke and Butch Walker. Weezer fans eager for Pinkerton, Pt. 2 are often quick to bristle at Cuomo's experimentations, so when the guitarist sings that they're "rockin' out like it's '94," he's not only not lying -- they went so far as to once again hire Ric Ocasek, the producer of the group's debut, to helm this ninth studio album -- but he's reassuring his audience that he's left all those pounding dance beats behind. The weird thing is, Weezer already shook off the ghost of Raditude via 2010's quickly released indie Hurley, so the emphasis on the group returning to rock feels a little odd, but Everything Will Be Alright in the End does trump its immediate predecessor by being bigger, bolder, slicker, and stickier than Hurley. Some of this is indeed due to the presence of Ocasek. His exacting production, anchored as much in pummeling arena rock as new wave pop, polishes and preserves Cuomo's quirks, but it's also true that Rivers has decided to indulge in his eccentricities once again. Take away the woolly mammoth-sized guitars and "Back to the Shack," with its overt references to "In the Garage," and Everything Will Be Alright in the End doesn't feel especially like early Weezer, not with the dexterous syncopation of "I've Had It Up to Here" providing a midpoint palate-cleanser and a neo-prog rock suite concluding the proceedings. By having the record follow these twisty detours, Cuomo provides a counterpoint to the classicist pop Weezer pursue elsewhere, but even such succinct, sculpted pop as "The British Are Coming," "Ain't Got Nobody," "Cleopatra," and "Go Away" (the latter a duet with Best Coast's Bethany Cosentino) never feels like a desperate scramble back home. Rather, a feeling of acceptance underpins Everything Will Be Alright in the End: there's a sense that Weezer made another record of massive, hooky rock not only because that's what the fans want but because they know it's what they do best.

The Number of the Beast Review by Steve Huey

Routinely ranked among the greatest heavy metal albums of all time, The Number of the Beast is the birth of Iron Maiden as we know it, a relentless metal machine lifted to soaring new heights by the arrival of erstwhile Samson frontman Bruce Dickinson. Dickinson's operatic performance here made him an instant metal icon, challenging even Rob Halford for bragging rights, and helped launch the band into the stratosphere. The Number of the Beast topped the charts in the U.K., but even more crucially -- with Judas Priest having moved into more commercial territory -- it also made Iron Maiden the band of choice for purists who wanted their metal uncompromised. Maiden took the basic blueprint Priest had created in the late '70s -- aggressive tempos, twin-guitar interplay, wide-ranging power vocals -- and cranked everything up faster and louder. The album's intensity never lets up, the musical technique is peerless for its time, and there isn't a truly unmemorable song in the bunch. Blessed with a singer who could drive home a melody in grandiose fashion, Steve Harris' writing gets more ambitious, largely abandoning the street violence of old in favor of fittingly epic themes drawn from history, science fiction, and horror. The exceptions are "22 Acacia Avenue," a sequel to "Charlotte the Harlot" that sounds written for Di'Anno's range, and the street-crime tale "Gangland," which Harris didn't write; though the punk influences largely left with Di'Anno, these two definitely recall the Maiden of old. As for the new, two of the band's (and, for that matter, heavy metal's) all-time signature songs are here. The anthemic "Run to the Hills" dramatized the conquest of the Native Americans and became the band's first Top Ten U.K. single. It features Maiden's trademark galloping rhythm, which in this case serves to underscore the images of warriors on horseback. Meanwhile, the title track's odd-meter time signature keeps the listener just slightly off balance and unsettled, leading into the most blood-curdling Dickinson scream on record; the lyrics, based on nothing more than Harris' nightmare after watching a horror movie, naturally provoked hysterical accusations of Satan worship (which, in turn, naturally provoked sales). "Hallowed Be Thy Name" is perhaps the most celebrated of the band's extended epics; it's the tale of a prisoner about to be hanged, featuring some of Harris' most philosophical lyrics. It opens with a superbly doomy atmosphere before giving way to a succession of memorable instrumental lines and an impassioned performance by Dickinson; despite all the tempo changes, the transitions never feel jarring. Elsewhere, "The Prisoner" is a catchy retelling of the hit British TV series, and "Children of the Damned" is a slower, heavier number patterned after the downtempo moments of Dio-era Black Sabbath. CD remasters integrate "Total Eclipse," first released as the B-side of "Run to the Hills," into the running order. Though some moments on The Number of the Beast are clearly stronger than others, the album as a whole represented a high-water mark for heavy metal, striking a balance between accessible melodicism and challenging technique and intensity. Everything fell into place for Iron Maiden here at exactly the right time, and the result certainly ranks among the top five most essential heavy metal albums ever recorded. A cornerstone of the genre.

Dirt Review by Steve Huey from All Music

Dirt is Alice in Chains' major artistic statement and the closest they ever came to recording a flat-out masterpiece. It's a primal, sickening howl from the depths of Layne Staley's heroin addiction, and one of the most harrowing concept albums ever recorded. Not every song on Dirt is explicitly about heroin, but Jerry Cantrell's solo-written contributions (nearly half the album) effectively maintain the thematic coherence -- nearly every song is imbued with the morbidity, self-disgust, and/or resignation of a self-aware yet powerless addict. Cantrell's technically limited but inventive guitar work is by turns explosive, textured, and queasily disorienting, keeping the listener off balance with atonal riffs and off-kilter time signatures. Staley's stark confessional lyrics are similarly effective, and consistently miserable. Sometimes he's just numb and apathetic, totally desensitized to the outside world; sometimes his self-justifications betray a shockingly casual amorality; his moments of self-recognition are permeated by despair and suicidal self-loathing. Even given its subject matter, Dirt is monstrously bleak, closely resembling the cracked, haunted landscape of its cover art. The album holds out little hope for its protagonists (aside from the much-needed survival story of "Rooster," a tribute to Cantrell's Vietnam-vet father), but in the end, it's redeemed by the honesty of its self-revelation and the sharp focus of its music. [Some versions of Dirt feature "Down in a Hole" as the next-to-last track rather than the fourth.]