And I don’t understand why I sleep all day, and I start to complain that there’s no rain.

And I don’t understand why I sleep all day, and I start to complain that there’s no rain.
So why is The Breeders’ Pod on this best 1,000 albums ever thing? I’m pretty sure the first time I heard a song by The Breeders was by way of 120 Minutes, MTV’s great Sunday […]
Now it’s Istanbul, not Constantinople, been a long time gone, Constantinople, now it’s Turkish delight on a moonlit night.
This is our decision to live fast and die young. We’ve got the vision, now let’s have some fun. Yeah, it’s overwhelming, but what else can we do? Get jobs in offices and wake up for the morning commute?
Well, you know I look like a woman, but I cut like a buffalo.
It starts out easy, something simple, something sleazy, something inching past the edge of reserve. Now through the lines of the cheap venetian blinds, your car is pulling off of the curb.
I’ve kissed mermaids, rode the El Niño, walked the sand with the crustaceans. Could find my way to Mariana on a wave of mutilation.
Time to take a ride, time to take it in a midnight eye. And if you want to go, get on below.
Shut up, kiss me, hold me tight.
There is no morphine, I’m only sleeping. There is no crime to dreams like this.
I’ve been crowned the King of Id, and Id is all we have, so wait to hear my words and they’re diamond sharp.
We sail tonight for Singapore. Don’t fall asleep while you’re ashore. Cross your heart and hope to die, when you hear the children cry.
The city breathing, the people churning, the conversating. The price is what?
He told you he loved you, well that’s just a lie. I don’t need possession to satisfy my mind.
If I die tomorrow, what did I do today? You want fresh air? You won’t find it this way.
I hear a voice calling, calling out for me. These shackles I’ve made in an attempt to be free.
Anyone can tell you there’s no more road to ride. Everyone will tell you there’s no place to hide.
As the day grows dim, I hear you sing a golden hymn.
Maybe these maps and legends have been misunderstood.
Come on and get the minimum, before you open up your eyes.
Heed what this wise man says: stay away from redheads.
Yeah, you got the weight of the world coming down like a mother’s eye.
Coffee breaks and lamb’s tail shakes aren’t arbitrary marks.
Keep my real light shining.
One part evil, three-fifths blind.
The Jack White Experience produces another successful experiment.
We got the money! We got the money now!
You can find her screaming along with the ghosts, reminds you she’s the one that you need the most.
The band that I feel I should really like more but… erases the but.
Easily one of my favorite “new” finds of this decade.
I’d tell you, but you need to understand the new slang to get it.
This is love, this is love that I’m feeling.
Sticks and stones may break my bones, but I still turned out to be a huge Babyshambles fan, didn’t I?
The humans of Parquet Courts have banged out yet another remarkably consistent performance.
Highly unique yet strangely comforting? Just ask the king of the carrot flowers.
An early ‘80s gem with a super unique sound from the gloom of the Pacific Northwest.
Garage rock with the perfect concoction of indie, moody, and psychedelic influences.
Intelligently lucid hook-driven, guitar rock. But, you know, also fun.
Record scratches, catchy pop hooks, and Indian influences that will butter the soul.
It grooves and clicks and jumps like a fanciful anxious thought, beautiful and foreboding.
Listen to this on a battered cassette player for maximum effect.
The magic of the live and acoustic setting shines through for Natalie Merchant and crew.
It’s gorgeous and piercing and moving all at once.
Do you believe in this sweet sensation? You should.
This one trucks (vans?), hammers and stomps.
A highly pleasurable mix of mid-‘90s tuned and one absolute stunner.
What eludes easy definition becomes a core strength.
Even upon a midnight eerie, you’re not gonna want to give this album a run-around.
Heads will rock n’ roll to this one.
Much more than a standard issue album handed out at my undergrad college dorms.
Hits that perfect sweet spot between alt rock and garage rock.
Fantastic, aggressive, riot grrrl punk rock.
Inviting, energetic, and catchy pop punk.
A pop grunge vibe that completely works.
Lots of AiC in slower-paced grunge mode? Yes please.
Mellow, optimistic roots rock with perfect vocals from Darius Rucker.
I’ll call it up when I’m… in any number of states.
What’s difficult to define and describe becomes essential to why I’m drawn to it.
They keep it low, they keep it hot, they keep heads covered.
Legit excellent world music, alt rock, funk, and pop from an eclectic group of bands and musicians.
Meshes traditional Irish sounds with a propulsive punk sensibility. In short, a bottle of smoke.
A supergroup with real chemistry. An album that’s deeply affecting and melancholy and cool.
Conjures hyper specific sound collages and creates songs that immediately feel essential.
Whether this is country or rock or blues or whatever, it’ll make you say, “Hell yeah.”
Sure, it’s the “Nothing Compares 2 You” album, but there’s a range of Celtic-influenced rock and gorgeous pure pop to enjoy besides.
Folk rock that bridges the gap from the 1960s for the Lilith Fair generation.
It’s rangy and genre bend-y. It’s electronic and lounge-y and rock and dance-y and then it’s an ethereal kind of something else.
For when you’re ready to feel relaxed and swanky at the same time.
It gets under your skin, holding a dark, rocking, and compelling power.
It’s delicate (grunge?), but it all clicks.
Because sometimes music can save your life, and sometimes music can save a best 1,000 albums ever list (or both?).
Melancholy yet upbeat, accessible yet deeply indie.
Variety and range, from hardcore punk to an acoustic jam that you could almost imagine being on a 1980s era Midnight Oil record.
An unusual musical locale that’s hard to nail down, but well worth the journey.
Quintessential mid-1990s alternative rock.
An unusual but ultimately pleasing combination of traditional Irish music and modern American rock.
Aggressive yet upbeat, fast paced super fun power poppy punk by way of Seattle, Washington.
If you’re not yet hip to it, suddenly you shall see that super satisfying sounds abound.
Mia Zapata’s vocals matched with urgent raucous punky Seattle grunge energy.
Top notch early ‘90s alt/indie rock with fantastic vocals and a knack for poppy hooks.
Smart, catchy, arty new wave-y punk that gets under skin in the best kind of way.
Incredible songcraft, wild variety, and the magical odd couple mesh of Campbell’s whispery delightful voice and Lanegan’s world weary soft growl.
Wildly eclectic and inventive music that pings between punk to indie with many inviting ports of call in between.
If you’re in the mood for a melancholy, quiet, pretty album with a Beatles-y vibe (and with literal Beatles-y lineage), Friendly Fire fits the bill.
“Scott Pilgrim” and many others are a fantastic blend of garage, poppy punk, and indie rock that are addictively ear pleasing.
It’s fresh, indie, passionate, and punk, all the more remarkable for an album produced some four decades ago