Mandatory Music and CD

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.]

Misplaced Childhood Review by John Franck After the album-tour-album cycle of Script for a Jester's Tear, Fugazi, and the subsequent Euro-only release of Real to Reel, Marillion retreated to Berlin's Hansa Ton Studios with Rolling Stones producer Chris Kimsey to work on their next opus. Armed with a handful of lyrics born out of a self-confessed acid trip, Fish came up with the elaborate concept for 1985's Misplaced Childhood. Touching upon his early childhood experiences and his inability to deal with a slew of bad breakups exacerbated by a never-ending series of rock star-type "indulgences," Misplaced Childhood would prove to be not only the band's most accomplished release to date, but also its most streamlined. Initial record company skepticism over the band's decision to forge ahead with a '70s-style prog rock opus split into two halves (sides one and two) quickly evaporated as Marillion delivered its two most commercial singles ever: "Kayleigh" and "Lavender." With its lush production and punchy mix, the album went on to become the band's greatest commercial triumph, especially in Europe where they would rise from theater attraction to bona fide stadium royalty. The subsequent U.S. success of "Kayleigh" would also see Marillion returning to the States for a difficult tour as Rush's support act.  [-]

The Real Thing Review  by Ned Raggett Starting with the careening "From Out of Nowhere" driven by Roddy Bottum's doomy, energetic keyboards, Faith No More rebounded excellently on The Real Thing after Chuck Mosley's was fired. Given that the band had nearly finished recording the music and Mike Patton was a last minute recruit, he adjusts to the proceedings well. His insane, wide-ranging musical interests would have to wait for the next album for their proper integration, but the band already showed enough of that to make it an inspired combination. Bottum, in particular, remains the wild card, coloring Jim Martin's nuclear-strength riffs and the Bill Gould/Mike Bordin rhythm slams with everything from quirky hooks to pristine synth sheen. It's not quite early Brian Eno-joins-Led Zeppelin-and-Funkadelic, but it's closer than one might think, based on the nutty lounge vibes of "Edge of the World" and the Arabic melodies and feedback of "Woodpeckers from Mars." "Falling to Pieces," a fractured anthem with a delicious delivery from Patton, should have been a bigger single that it was, while "Surprise! You're Dead!" and the title track stuff riffs down the listener's throat. The best-known song remains the appropriately titled "Epic," which lives up to its name, from the bombastic opening to the concluding piano and the crunching, stomping funk metal in between. The inclusion of a cover of Black Sabbath's "War Pigs" amusingly backfired on the band -- at the time, Sabbath's hipness level was nonexistent, making it a great screw-you to the supposed cutting-edge types. However, all the metalheads took the song to heart so much that, as a result, the quintet dropped it from their sets to play "Easy" by the Commodores instead!   [-]

Appetite for Destruction Review  by Stephen Thomas Erlewine Guns N' Roses' debut, Appetite for Destruction was a turning point for hard rock in the late '80s -- it was a dirty, dangerous, and mean record in a time when heavy metal meant nothing but a good time. On the surface, Guns N' Roses may appear to celebrate the same things as their peers -- namely, sex, liquor, drugs, and rock & roll -- but there is a nasty edge to their songs, since Axl Rose doesn't see much fun in the urban sprawl of L.A. and its parade of heavy metal thugs, cheap women, booze, and crime. The music is as nasty as the lyrics, wallowing in a bluesy, metallic hard rock borrowed from Aerosmith, AC/DC, and countless faceless hard rock bands of the early '80s. It's a primal, sleazy sound that adds grit to already grim tales. It also makes Rose's misogyny, fear, and anger hard to dismiss as merely an artistic statement; this is music that sounds lived-in. And that's exactly why Appetite for Destruction is such a powerful record -- not only does Rose have fears, but he also is vulnerable, particularly on the power ballad "Sweet Child O' Mine." He also has a talent for conveying the fears and horrors of the decaying inner city, whether it's on the charging "Welcome to the Jungle," the heroin ode "Mr. Brownstone," or "Paradise City," which simply wants out. But as good as Rose's lyrics and screeching vocals are, they wouldn't be nearly as effective without the twin-guitar interplay of Slash and Izzy Stradlin, who spit out riffs and solos better than any band since the Rolling Stones, and that's what makes Appetite for Destruction the best metal record of the late '80s.   [-]

Hotel California Review by William Ruhlmann The Eagles took 18 months between their fourth and fifth albums, reportedly spending eight months in the studio recording Hotel California. The album was also their first to be made without Bernie Leadon, who had given the band much of its country flavor, and with rock guitarist Joe Walsh. As a result, the album marks a major leap for the Eagles from their earlier work, as well as a stylistic shift toward mainstream rock. An even more important aspect, however, is the emergence of Don Henley as the band's dominant voice, both as a singer and a lyricist. On the six songs to which he contributes, Henley sketches a thematic statement that begins by using California as a metaphor for a dark, surreal world of dissipation; comments on the ephemeral nature of success and the attraction of excess; branches out into romantic disappointment; and finally sketches a broad, pessimistic history of America that borders on nihilism. Of course, the lyrics kick in some time after one has appreciated the album's music, which marks a peak in the Eagles' playing. Early on, the group couldn't rock convincingly, but the rhythm section of Henley and Meisner has finally solidified, and the electric guitar work of Don Felder and Joe Walsh has arena-rock heft. In the early part of their career, the Eagles never seemed to get a sound big enough for their ambitions; after changes in producer and personnel, as well as a noticeable growth in creativity, Hotel California unveiled what seemed almost like a whole new band. It was a band that could be bombastic, but also one that made music worthy of the later tag of "classic rock," music appropriate for the arenas and stadiums the band was playing. The result was the Eagles' biggest-selling regular album release, and one of the most successful rock albums ever.

Paranoid Review by Steve Huey Paranoid was not only Black Sabbath's most popular record (it was a number one smash in the U.K., and "Paranoid" and "Iron Man" both scraped the U.S. charts despite virtually nonexistent radio play), it also stands as one of the greatest and most influential heavy metal albums of all time. Paranoid refined Black Sabbath's signature sound -- crushingly loud, minor-key dirges loosely based on heavy blues-rock -- and applied it to a newly consistent set of songs with utterly memorable riffs, most of which now rank as all-time metal classics. Where the extended, multi-sectioned songs on the debut sometimes felt like aimless jams, their counterparts on Paranoid have been given focus and direction, lending an epic drama to now-standards like "War Pigs" and "Iron Man" (which sports one of the most immediately identifiable riffs in metal history). The subject matter is unrelentingly, obsessively dark, covering both supernatural/sci-fi horrors and the real-life traumas of death, war, nuclear annihilation, mental illness, drug hallucinations, and narcotic abuse. Yet Sabbath make it totally convincing, thanks to the crawling, muddled bleakness and bad-trip depression evoked so frighteningly well by their music. Even the qualities that made critics deplore the album (and the group) for years increase the overall effect -- the technical simplicity of Ozzy Osbourne's vocals and Tony Iommi's lead guitar vocabulary, the spots when the lyrics sink into melodrama or awkwardness, the lack of subtlety, and the infrequent dynamic contrast. Everything adds up to more than the sum of its parts, as though the anxieties behind the music simply demanded that the band achieve catharsis by steamrolling everything in their path, including their own limitations. Monolithic and primally powerful, Paranoid defined the sound and style of heavy metal more than any other record in rock history.

The Lost Boys [Original Soundtrack] Review by Theresa E. LaVeck Joel Schumacher's 1987 film The Lost Boys capitalized on a temporary lull in horror movies in the late '80s and created a heavily music-video-influenced vampire homage with enough campy humor, heavy metal costumes, and hunky stars to put a fresh spin on the genre. An amusing piece of eye candy spiked by a few creepy moments, the movie, in typical '80s style, relies heavily on the soundtrack to bolster its emotional core. The soundtrack, like the film, works great on the surface -- but don't go much deeper. A mix of covers and bombastic '80s pop originals, the songs work best when they concentrate on the horror factor. Echo & the Bunnymen turn in an excellent cover of the Doors' "People Are Strange" that has a bouncier, more melodic touch than the original. Jimmy Barnes and INXS' "Good Times" is an energetic rocker used to personify the party-hardy SoCal atmosphere of the film. The strongest song is the movie's theme, "Cry Little Sister," a goth-influenced midtempo ballad. Singer Gerald McMann's pained phrasing and creepy lyrics, and a chilling chorus sung by what sounds like disembodied children, exemplify the best parts of the movie and the soundtrack.

All Killer, No Filler Review by Jason Birchmeier It would be a mistake to view Sum 41 as just another second-rate band cashing in on the early-'00s punk-pop boom, even if it did recruit Jerry Finn to produce All Killer No Filler. Just as Finn had done for both blink-182 and Green Day, he charges Sum 41's punk-pop with a razor-sharp edge, the sort of dynamic in-your-face sound that helps this music cross over to MTV and radio so well. Besides the notable production, a lot of credit should go to the band as well. Its songwriting is obviously more diverse here than it was a year earlier on its debut album, Half Hour of Power; for example, the group's rap and '80s metal influences rise to the surface more frequently here than on that first album and instill a fun sense of camp. "Fatlip" is perhaps the best example of how Sum 41 has made an effort to diversify the music with more than just power chords and melodic punk vocals. Judging from this album, Sum 41 still isn't quite on the same level as alt-rock peers such as Weezer or Green Day, but the band is obviously headed in the right direction. In the meantime, it's difficult not to enjoy this album for what it is, even if it's a bit derivative.

Review by Steve Huey of All Music Even though Master of Puppets didn't take as gigantic a leap forward as Ride the Lightning, it was the band's greatest achievement, hailed as a masterpiece by critics far outside heavy metal's core audience. It was also a substantial hit, reaching the Top 30 and selling three million copies despite absolutely nonexistent airplay. Instead of a radical reinvention, Master of Puppets is a refinement of past innovations. In fact, it's possible to compare Ride the Lightning and Master of Puppets song for song and note striking similarities between corresponding track positions on each record (although Lightning's closing instrumental has been bumped up to next-to-last in Master's running order). That hint of conservatism is really the only conceivable flaw here. Though it isn't as startling as Ride the Lightning, Master of Puppets feels more unified, both thematically and musically. Everything about it feels blown up to epic proportions (indeed, the songs are much longer on average), and the band feels more in control of its direction. You'd never know it by the lyrics, though -- in one way or another, nearly every song on Master of Puppets deals with the fear of powerlessness. Sometimes they're about hypocritical authority (military and religious leaders), sometimes primal, uncontrollable human urges (drugs, insanity, rage), and, in true H.P. Lovecraft fashion, sometimes monsters. Yet by bookending the album with two slices of thrash mayhem ("Battery" and "Damage, Inc."), the band reigns triumphant through sheer force -- of sound, of will, of malice. The arrangements are thick and muscular, and the material varies enough in texture and tempo to hold interest through all its twists and turns. Some critics have called Master of Puppets the best heavy metal album ever recorded; if it isn't, it certainly comes close. [In 2017 the band released a massive expanded edition of the album with a variety of physical package options, the most ambitious of which was an exhaustive box set that included a hardcover book, outtakes and previously unreleased interviews, three LPs, ten CDs, a cassette, two DVDs, a lithograph, a folder with handwritten lyrics, and a set of six buttons.]

One by One Review by Stephen Thomas Erlewine One by One is the most accomplished album Foo Fighters have made, which isn't necessarily the same as the best. Picking up the clean, focused sound and attitude of There Is Nothing Left to Lose, One by One is gleaming hard rock: it may have a shiny production, but hits hard in its rhythm and its impeccably distorted guitars. Dave Grohl's songs often express (or at least suggest) tortured emotions in their lyrics, but the album doesn't hit at a gut-level; it's too polished for that. It's not a bad thing, since the band is damn good and the production is more focused than any of the Foos' previous albums. The problem is, Grohl's songwriting has slipped slightly. It's still sturdy and melodic, yet not as immediate or memorable. Nothing is as majestic as "Learn To Fly," haunting as "Everlong," gut-crunching as "Monkey Wrench," or even as boneheadedly irresistible as their contribution to the Orange County soundtrack, "The One". Instead, it all fits together and sounds good as a piece, without offering individual moments to savor. Not the worst tradeoff, of course, but it's hard not to wish that the songs stuck in your head the way they used to, even if the album is still enjoyable as a whole. Please follow the show on Twitter. If you want to email the show we can be reached at MandatoryMusicAndCD@gmail.com. If it is the best album you've ever heard, it goes to Paradise City If it is really good, but not perfect, it spends time with Dr. Feelgood If it is solid, but not perfect, it goes to the Crossroads If it is mostly crap with a hidden gem or two, it goes to Skid Row If it is the worst album ever, it goes directly to Hotel California for all eternity where you can check out any time you like, but you can never leave. #mandatorymusicandcd

Review by Steve Huey from All Music: Extreme came into its own on the concept album Pornograffitti, with the  band's strongest set of songs and an intellectual theme revolving around  the struggle for genuine love and romance in a sleazy, decadent society  full of greed and corruption. The band shows a strong desire to  experiment and push the boundaries of the pop-metal format, adding a  funky horn section on "Get the Funk Out" and displaying progressive  compositional leanings throughout, and virtuoso Nuno Bettencourt puts down his guitar for the enjoyable pseudo-lounge piano ballad of  "When I First Kissed You." But of course, the album is best known for  its two acoustic-guitar-only hits, the number one ballad "More Than  Words" and the equally fine full-band rocker "Hole Hearted." Other  highlights include "Decadence Dance" and "Song for Love. Please follow the show on Twitter. If you want to email the show we can be reached at MandatoryMusicAndCD@gmail.com. Let us know how you rate Physical Graffiti If it is the best album you've ever heard, it goes to Paradise City If it is really good, but not perfect, it spends time with Dr. Feelgood If it is solid, but not perfect, it goes to the Crossroads If it is mostly crap with a hidden gem or two, it goes to Skid Row If it is the worst album ever, it goes directly to Hotel California for all eternity where you can check out any time you like, but you can never leave. #mandatorymusicandcd

Physical Graffiti Review by Stephen Thomas Erlewine Led Zeppelin returned from a nearly two-year hiatus in 1975 with the double-album Physical Graffiti, their most sprawling and ambitious work. Where Led Zeppelin IV and Houses of the Holy integrated influences on each song, the majority of the tracks on Physical Graffiti are individual stylistic workouts. The highlights are when Zeppelin incorporate influences and stretch out into new stylistic territory, most notably on the tense, Eastern-influenced "Kashmir." "Trampled Underfoot," with John Paul Jones' galloping keyboard, is their best funk-metal workout, while "Houses of the Holy" is their best attempt at pop, and "Down by the Seaside" is the closest they've come to country. Even the heavier blues -- the 11-minute "In My Time of Dying," the tightly wound "Custard Pie," and the monstrous epic "The Rover" -- are louder and more extended and textured than their previous work. Also, all of the heavy songs are on the first record, leaving the rest of the album to explore more adventurous territory, whether it's acoustic tracks or grandiose but quiet epics like the affecting "Ten Years Gone." The second half of Physical Graffiti feels like the group is cleaning the vaults out, issuing every little scrap of music they set to tape in the past few years. That means that the album is filled with songs that aren't quite filler, but don't quite match the peaks of the album, either. Still, even these songs have their merits -- "Sick Again" is the meanest, most decadent rocker they ever recorded, and the folky acoustic rock & roll of "Boogie with Stu" and "Black Country Woman" may be tossed off, but they have a relaxed, off-hand charm that Zeppelin never matched. It takes a while to sort out all of the music on the album, but Physical Graffiti captures the whole experience of Led Zeppelin at the top of their game better than any of their other albums. If you missed our first show on Skid Row, you can listen to it here. Please follow the show on Twitter. If you want to email the show we can be reached at MandatoryMusicAndCD@gmail.com. Let us know how you rate Physical Graffiti If it is the best album you've ever heard, it goes to Paradise City If it is really good, but not perfect, it spends time with Dr. Feelgood If it is solid, but not perfect, it goes to the Crossroads If it is mostly crap with a hidden gem or two, it goes to Skid Row If it is the worst album ever, it goes directly to Hotel California for all eternity where you can check out any time you like, but you can never leave. #mandatorymusicandcd

Max, Tony, and Dave take a trip down memory lane to go back and reminisce about the self-titled debut album from Skid Row! Twitter: https://twitter.com/MandatoryCD Email: MandatoryMusicAndCD@gmail.com