There are certain albums which no one dares to disgrace or reappraise.
You know the ones: records that are revered by practically everyone and which every self-respecting music fan is expected to cherish. But are these albums truly untouchable, or are we blindly regurgitating accepted wisdom?
The Euronews Culture team bares all and takes a hard listen at 12 so-called ‘masterpieces’ and asks: ‘Isn’t it about time we admitted that these aren’t the sacrosanct triumphs they’re made out to be?’
Different strokes for different folks, of course – we wouldn’t want to break any levees. Speaking of which, we start with…
Led Zeppelin – IV (1971)
It’s the album that gave us ‘Stairway to Heaven’, perhaps the greatest rock song ever made. It’s widely considered Led Zeppelin’s pinnacle of achievement. It’s essential listening, a rock’n’roll classic. And yet… Look, Led Zeppelin’s fourth album opens like a firehose on a scorching summer day. ‘Black Dog’ and ‘Rock and Roll’ knock you off your feet. It’s incredible. Later, you get the transcendent ‘Stairway to Heaven’ and smooth ‘Going to California’. But is it as complete an experience as we’re supposed to believe it is? I’m not so sure.The highs do the heavy lifting, and it’s fair to wonder if they distort our view of the work in its entirety – if the band’s greater mythology hasn’t generated some revisionism. The problem is that once an album is declared the masterpiece, everything else gets measured against it. But Zeppelin made more adventurous records. ‘Led Zeppelin III’ is restless and eclectic, and ‘Physical Graffiti’ takes bigger swings across a kaleidoscopic double LP. For all its brilliance, ‘IV’ shouldn’t have a monopoly on Led Zeppelin’s legacy. CS
Eagles – Hotel California (1976)
Remember that scene in The Big Lebowski when The Dude gets into an altercation with a cab driver when he asks him to change the radio station? “I’ve had a rough night, and I hate the fucking Eagles, man!” says our favourite stoner. Well, I loudly cheer for The Dude every single time. The Eagles are rubbish, and their most famous album proves it. Not that many would agree, as ‘Hotel California’ is the sixth-most sold record of all time, with reported global sales of around 44 million copies. To add insult to injury, their greatest hits album remains the best-selling album of all time in the US. Makes you think, don’t it? The band’s so-called 1976 “rock classic” is chockablock with thoroughly mediocre songs about being good looking in the desert, good looking driving around LA, good looking on the street, and good looking while asking questions like “Should I stay or go? I really want to know / Would I lose or win if I try and love again?” I don’t know about the latter part of your inquiry, that’s your business and good luck to you. As for the second part, go. Please go away. DM
Fleetwood Mac – Rumours (1977)
I was on a five-hour road trip with two of my best mates, and we decided to spend it doing something that felt vaguely productive: listening, front to back, to albums considered some of the greatest ever made. We started with MJ’s ‘Thriller’ – brilliant, pretty much faultless, bar perhaps that eye-rollingly saccharine McCartney duet. Then ‘The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill’: beautiful, soulful, genuinely sublime. So when we arrived at Fleetwood Mac’s ‘Rumours’ we were expecting our lives to be changed. They sadly weren’t. That isn’t to say ‘Rumours’ is bad. It’s often excellent. ‘Dreams’ is arguably one of the greatest songs ever recorded; ‘Go Your Own Way’ remains an absolute bop; and the iconic bassline and euphoric release of ‘The Chain’ is top notch. But taken as a whole, the album left all three of us strangely unmoved. Remove all the relationship drama and mythology attached to it and what remains is often remarkably safe, polished, and occasionally beige. ‘Second Hand News’ is a strangely forgettable opener; ‘Don’t Stop’ is irritatingly chirpy; and ‘Oh Daddy’ is frankly a bit of a snooze. In the days after I listened to ‘Tusk’ and ‘Tango in the Night’, two of the band’s later albums, and both struck me as more adventurous and interesting. _’_Rumours’has a handful of perfect songs, but it’s by no means a perfect album. TF
Pink Floyd – The Wall (1979)
God help me, I love a concept album and Pink Floyd rarely disappointed in this regard. However, their 1979 rock opera – while a towering achievement narratively speaking – is a listening experience that never resonated with me. Put bluntly: it bored me to death whilst depressing me at the same time. Granted, the double-album is meant to be punishing, mirroring the themes of abandonment and isolation wished for by chief architect and gloom meister general Roger Waters. However, ‘The Wall’ always felt bloated, replete with heavy-handed metaphors and more filler than any other album they’d released until then. ‘Another Brick in the Wall, Part 2’, ‘Hey You’ and ‘Comfortably Numb’ are gems, there’s no doubt about that – but that’s three standouts in a comfortably plump 26-song slog of a tracklist. And when you look back at the band’s discography, every concept album that preceded ‘The Wall’ continues to surpass it. Give me ‘The Dark Side of the Moon’ (the original, not that trash version Waters put out three years ago), ‘Wish You Were Here’ and ‘Animals’ any day of the week over this one. DM
AC/DC – Back In Black (1980)
Here’s the thing with AC/DC… Every tedious riff in their repetive song collection sticks to the same ear-bleedingly naff blue-collar rock formula – so much so that each “hit” sounds completely indistinguishable from the one that preceded it. You could play me tracks from ‘Back In Black’, ‘Highway To Hell’ or any of their other 16 albums (yes, I counted), and I’d stare at you blankly like a deflated basset hound yearning for the sweet release of variety. Or tinnitus. Either will do. The defense rests. Your witness. DM
Prince – Purple Rain (1984)
An Oscar. Two Grammys. A No. 1 album that spent 24 weeks atop the Billboard 200. More than 25 million copies sold worldwide. ‘Purple Rain’ has been canonised as one of the defining albums of the 1980s. And I understand why. Prince was an absurdly talented musician – guitarist, pianist, producer, songwriter, vocalist – and the sheer amount of creativity and craft on display is difficult to deny. But perhaps that’s the problem: ‘Purple Rain’ sometimes feels like Prince desperately trying to prove he can do everything at once. Guitar solos, key changes, falsetto runs – every song seems determined to throw the entire Prince toolbox at you. The result can be exhilarating like the ending of ‘The Beautiful Ones’, but it can also feel wildly overcooked, overly-theatrical and exhausting. And lyrically, the album can be surprisingly… thin. For all the hype surrounding Prince as a genius songwriter, some of his stuff like on ‘Take Me With U’ is pretty disposable. And as for the title track, yes, it’s a classic, no argument there. But does it really need to run for 8 minutes and 41 seconds? I’ve got places to be, Prince. Things to do! TF
The Smiths – The Queen Is Dead (1986)
I’ll preface this by saying that, unlike Zooey Deschanel in (500) Days of Summer, I personally do not “love The Smiths.” In fact, I think the “For Britain” badge-wearing Morrissey is a whiny, pitchless, pompous moron, so don’t expect neutrality here. ‘The Queen Is Dead’ is one of those albums that seems contractually obliged to appear on every “Greatest Albums of All Time” list, and is regularly hailed as The Smiths’ masterpiece. And I get some of the hype. Johnny Marr’s guitar work is immaculate, the band sounds sharp throughout, the opening track is electric and ‘There Is a Light That Never Goes Out’ is, dare I say, charmingly catchy. But there are also some absolute stinkers on this thing. ‘Frankly, Mr. Shankly’ is a twee, irritating novelty song that I cannot understand anyone willingly putting on twice, while ‘Vicar in a Tutu’ is an even more baffling detour. Even ‘Some Girls Are Bigger Than Others’ feels like an oddly limp way to close what is supposedly a classic. Maybe I’m missing something. Or maybe Morrissey’s voice and ego have just worn me down. Either way – masterpiece? Not convinced. TF
Oasis – Definitely Maybe (1994)
While I wouldn’t brazenly affirm that Oasis as a whole is overrated, I will die on the following hill: their debut album is held to unreasonably high regard. Yes, ‘Definitely Maybe’ was the soundtrack to a new grunge-ending / Britpop striggering era, but the hype around it ever since its release has been exhausting. The singles are catchy, and no one is denying Noel Gallagher’s knack for a singalong chorus; but the rest is filler, with lyrics which are either uninspired or the work of someone operating on a full nappy. As for Liam’s efforts, there’s a reason why his delivery of lines “Toniiiiiiiight I’m a rock ‘n’ roll staaaar” and “Sun-sheeeee-iiiiiii-ne” have been memed to death. Far from biblical, r’kid. Ultimately, Oasis is a terrific singles band; but when it comes to cohesive albums, the only LP which truly works as a consistent whole was – somewhat ironically – their B-side compilation ‘The Masterplan’, which remains their best release. As much as I’m aware of my own hang-ups when it comes to the parodical swagger of certain ‘Madferit’ Oasis fans, you can deify them all you want but two things remain true: 1) As good as they can be, they weren’t the saviours of British rock’n’roll; and 2) Their contemporaries Blur, Pulp and Super Furry Animals were significantly more innovative. Fight me. DM
Kanye West – Graduation (2007)
It’s easy to dunk on Ye these days. The man has said some heinous things – so heinous that he was banned from performing in most of Europe. Now, of course, he’s set to take the stage in Russia, which only reinforces his painful spiral into pariah status. Separate the art from the artist, though, and we can appreciate that West’s run of albums is almost unrivalled in contemporary hip-hop. His first six albums were groundbreaking in their own ways. But ‘Graduation’ isn’t the pop-rap masterpiece it’s hailed to be. Released in 2007, it was engineered for arenas, with huge hooks, gleaming synths and U2-level production. Yes, it helped move mainstream hip-hop toward a more melodic and experimental realm, but ‘Graduation’ seems shallow and meaningless in comparison to the grander statements Ye made with ‘My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy’ or ‘Yeezus’. It’s more a triumph of commercial instinct than artistic revelation. For an artist who has always been at his best when he’s being unpredictable – even, perhaps unfortunately, now – ‘Graduation’ is surprisingly conventional. CS
Arcade Fire – The Suburbs (2010)
A decade before frontman Win Butler was outed as a manipulative creep, Arcade Fire reached previously unreached heights for an indie band. In 2011, The Suburbs scored a surprise Grammy win for Album of the Year. Arcade Fire had made it. The album is a 64-minute paean to lost youth and white-bread suburban ennui, full of smooth hooks, mid-tempo guitars and open-road anthems. It’s not a bad listen, if you’re able to divorce Butler’s allegations of sexual misconduct from the experience. In fact, it’s largely enjoyable. But Album of the Year was a stretch then and more of one now. Lyrics like “Rococo, rococo, rococo / Oh, they’re breaking my heart” and “I feel like I’ve been living in / A city with no children in it” are comically overwritten (or underwritten, depending on your perspective). And compared with today’s ambient despair, the schlocky air of suburban angst and coming-of-age theme seem ridiculous in retrospect. CS
Daft Punk – Random Access Memories (2013)
Hailed as a triumphant comeback album after the disappointing ‘Human After All’ (2005), Daft Punk’s fourth and final LP paid tribute to 70s and 80s music – specifically disco and funk. The line-up of collaborators was impressive, with the French electro pioneers recruiting Giorgio Moroder, Pharrell Williams, Nile Rodgers and Julian Casablancas for what was to be their swansong. While it came out to universal acclaim, I’d argue that even if the sonic nostalgia blast was welcome in the moment and their ubiquitous single ‘Get Lucky’ was inescapably good, ‘Random Access Memories’ still gets far too much praise. When listening to the Grammy winning LP from start to finish, its pacing isn’t as great as you remember, a lot of tracks feel indulgent, and it’s… well, clumsy. I suspect the marketing team in charge of the album’s rollout is partly responsible for its lingering acclaim, as fans will remember a teaser campaign which worked wonders. But when push comes to shove, ‘RAM’ may not be le plus faible in the robotic duo’s discography, but it is far from their chef-d’oeuvre. Don’t get me started on that dire drumless 2023 re-release, which was a complete waste of time. DM
Taylor Swift – Folklore (2020)
When Taylor Swift released ‘folklore’, I was editing a plucky city magazine in Bangkok and not having a great time of it. About five songs into the swirling 16-track album, I remember telling myself: “This is why the editing profession exists.” Look, Swift doesn’t need my praise for her prowess as a songwriter. She has 14 Grammys and about a billion US dollars to prove her merits. Her canon is largely great. But ‘folklore’ was the first sign that the ego was perhaps outgrowing the artist. The pivot to piano-driven sweater-weather music was a welcome change and hardly a surprise, considering Swift worked with The National’s Aaron Dessner. But was Dessner the editor she needed? Could anyone edit her? When the album is good (‘this is me trying’), it’s very good. When it’s not (‘betty’, ‘illicit affairs’), you wish someone had stepped in to propose some surgical cuts. Looking back on it, ‘folklore’ marked a turning point for Swift. Since then, her once sharp lyricism has become head-scratching (see: ‘Fortnight’ and ‘epiphany’), and her albums have become increasingly self-indulgent and bloated. CS
There we have it. Heroic takedowns or utter blasphemy? Feel free to get in touch. Just don’t bother if you’re defending the Eagles. Life’s too short.