Why is Manu Chao’s Clandestino on my best 1,000 albums ever list?
I’m the king of bongo baby, I’m the king of bongo.
Some stats & info about Manu Chao – Clandestino
- What kind of musical stylings does this album represent? World Music, Rock Music
- Rolling Stone’s greatest 500 albums ranking – #469
- All Music’s rating – 4 out of 5 stars
- When was Clandestino released? 1998
- My ranking, the one you’re reading right now – #692 out of 1,000
Manu Chao’s Clandestino on Spotify
What does the “best 1,000 albums ever” mean and why are you doing this?
Yeah, I know it’s audacious, a little crazy (okay, maybe a lot cray cray), bordering on criminal nerdery.
But here’s what it’s NOT: a definitive list of the Greatest Albums of All-Time. This is 100% my own personal super biased, incredibly subjective review of what my top 1,000 albums are, ranked in painstaking order over the course of doing research for nearly a year, Rob from High Fidelity style. Find out more about why I embarked on a best 1,000 albums ever project.
What does Manu Chao’s Clandestino mean to me? What does it make me feel? Why is it exciting or compelling?
While doing research for this here best 1,000 albums ever project, I noted that Manu Chao’s music is “endlessly playable.” “Clandestino,” the title track on Clandestino, is a perfect example. It’s tranquil yet exciting, catchy without being annoying. It works as “background music” just as well as over brunch or wine on the front porch on a summer afternoon.
Even without fully understanding the lyrics – Manu Chao effortlessly switches up between Spanish, French, and English – what’s also critical to understand about him is that he has a very playful energy and spirit. And this is best evidenced for we native English speakers on the super fun “Bongo Bong,” where we learn, among other things, that, “I’m the king of bongo baby, I’m the king of bongo.”
“Je ne t’aime plus” has an almost hypnotic, lullaby quality while somehow being just as catchy and fun as the rest of Clandestino.
“Mentira” has kind of a cinematic quality to it, the kind where you wouldn’t be shocked to find it sliding into a quiet moment or interlude in a Quentin Tarantino movie.