The 100 Greatest Albums of All Time

It’s Consequence’s 15th anniversary, and all September long we’ll be publishing a series of retrospective pieces encompassing our publication’s own history — and the entertainment landscape in general. Today, we’re kicking it off with our new and improved 100 Greatest Albums of All Time list.

Dig the artwork on this list? You can grab a 100 Greatest Albums of All Time poster here, and a framed version here. We’ve also printed the design on T-shirts and tote bags.

---

Oh my God, we’re back again. It’s been over a decade since we first took a shot at boiling down all of popular music history into the 100 greatest albums of all time. Forget about how opinions have changed over those 12 years — the entire culture has shifted. Even the people taking part in this exercise are different, as only two staff members who were part of the OG list, published in 2010, remain with Consequence today.

Understandably, things are going to be different this time. Tastes have been reshaped, genres have been born and died away, and the way we divvy up importance through history has been altered by the very nature of the present. All of this factors into putting together a behemoth like this, which means records that weren’t considered — or even released — the last time we undertook this challenge now have prominent placement. In turn, other great works have been bumped off, or down, or up.

One thing remains the same, however: You’re going to disagree about as much as you agree with what we’ve done here. You’re going to wonder how album X didn’t warrant mention, or why album Y is higher than album Z. Or where the heck is artist W?! We’re not even going to argue with you. Believe us, we wondered that too, and talked about them, and made hard choices, often against personal convictions.

Now, maybe that doesn’t impress you much. Maybe you, dear reader, believe there is a definitive, eternal, unimpeachable ranking of records that could be pulled from the ether with just the right methodology. Who knows, maybe you’re right. This isn’t that list.

This is a list compiled through hours of debate, frustration, laughter, acquiescence, and epiphany. It’s one that assessed the mercurial value attached to art, from perceptions at the moment of creation, to retrospective consideration, to the impact on ever-evolving fashions. It’s also one that allowed joy to be a factor of greatness.

So, go ahead, lob your criticisms. Voice your feelings about how your favorite artists were left off, or how we skipped over that iconic LP. We welcome it! And when the dust settles, the staff of Consequence will stand proud behind our list of the 100 greatest albums of all time. Until the next time.

— Ben Kaye
Editorial Director

Ed. note: Select blurbs from the original list held up; whenever they’re included here, they are denoted with (2010).

---

100. Jane’s Addiction – Nothing’s Shocking

With 1988’s Nothing’s Shocking, Jane’s Addiction helped lay the foundation for what would eventually become the alternative rock revolution of the ‘90s. Equal parts heavy and ethereal, it’s fitting that the album contains song titles like “Up the Beach” and “Ocean Size,” as the tracks play like waves crashing into the sea. Perry Farrell’s celestial voice, along with the dynamic playing of guitarist Dave Navarro, bassist Eric Avery and drummer Stephen Perkins, makes Nothing’s Shocking a truly unique album.

Combining the power of Led Zeppelin with the art-rock of The Velvet Underground on tracks like the explosive “Mountain Song” with its magnificent bass line, or the acoustic “Jane’s Says” with its heart-wrenching lyrics, Nothing’s Shocking represents a defining moment in what was soon to be a seismic shift in rock music. — Spencer Kaufman

99. Kamasi Washington – Heaven and Earth

In 2015, saxophonist Kamasi Washington announced his arrival to mainstream audiences on Kendrick Lamar’s To Pimp a Butterfly. Only months later, he cemented his place at the front of jazz’s vanguard with his equally expansive major label debut, The Epic, largely developed with his compatriots in Los Angeles’ West Coast Get Down jazz collective. But it was the follow-up, 2018’s Heaven & Earth, that more accurately reflects the heights he can reach from his ascended headspace.

Heaven & Earth evokes the grand scale of its title with an all-encompassing view of the past, present, and future of this world and beyond. Whether Washington is resurrecting the past with his take on Freddie Hubbard’s “Hub-Tones,” refurbishing the theme from the Bruce Lee film Fists of Fury with a modern context, or pushing jazz in a completely new direction on the dark groove jam “Street Fighter Mas,” he is constantly in conversation with a higher power; the divinity just varies from the Almighty to his all-star group of musician friends.

In regards to the growing presence of spirituality in his music, Consequence’s A-grade review asserted that “if more churches played songs like ‘Journey’ and ‘Will You Sing’ on Sundays, those sanctuaries might be standing room only.” — Bryan Kress

98. Lucinda Williams – Car Wheels on a Gravel Road

There have been no shortage of Lucinda Williams imitators over the years — artists hoping to nick even an ounce of her grit, grace, and gumption and make it their own. But there is only one Lucinda Williams, and on her 1998 Grammy-winning masterpiece Car Wheels on a Gravel Road, she demonstrates why she’s an unrivaled talent.

The Lake Charles, Louisiana native has a sprawling discography, kicking off in 1979 with Ramblin’ on My Mind and most recently with the acerbic Good Souls Better Angels, which makes selecting just one of her albums as the “best” a bit of a fool’s errand. However, Car Wheels on a Gravel Road stands out as a hallmark of hard-worn Americana, a Southern swirl of country, blues, folk, and rock ‘n’ roll.

It’s a riff-laden record with a laundry list of lyrics tailor-made for tattooing on your body, doubling as a roadmap to the soul of a complicated nation. Across 13 tracks, from the sexy “2 Kool 2 Be 4-Gotten” to the middle-fingers-up kiss-off of “Joy,” you learn a few things about the record’s central narrator, but there’s one lesson that stands out in particular: You don’t fuck with Lucinda Williams. If Williams is Americana’s poet laureate, Car Wheels on a Gravel Road is a high watermark of the form. — Spencer Dukoff

97. Fugazi – Repeater

While Repeater is considered Fugazi’s full-length debut, it had the daunting task of following the band’s legendary first two EPs (compiled together as 13 Songs). With Repeater, though, the D.C. band not only raised their own bar, but blew the entire hardcore punk genre wide open.

With a nod to the precision of post-punkers Gang of Four, Repeater is evidence of a band playing without restrictions. Fugazi never had to answer to suits when it came to the music they recorded, thanks to their entire discography being released via singer-guitarist Ian MacKaye’s own Dischord Records. Their chemistry is obvious, with MacKaye and Guy Picciotto trading vocals over dissonant chords, and bassist Joe Lally and drummer Brendan Canty providing a steady backbone. Those facts together affirm that the commercial success of Repeater is a byproduct of the artists themselves, not a label’s cash-grabby plan.

Featuring powerhouse anthems like “Turnover” and “Blueprint,” as well as standout cuts like the title track and “Sieve-Fisted Find,” Repeater is a seminal work by the ultimate DIY band. — S.K.

96. N.W.A. – Straight Outta Compton

Although they owe Schoolly D and the Park Side Killas some credit for pioneering gangsta rap, N.W.A. can proudly say that they brought this style of uber-catchy, ultra-violent hip-hop to the mainstream. Released in 1988, Straight Outta Compton featured what would eventually become some of the genre’s biggest names — Ice Cube, Eazy-E, Dr. Dre, and MC Ren — spinning tales of life in one of LA’s roughest neighborhoods over minimalist beats and scratching provided by DJ Yella and Arabian Prince.

Cuts like “Fuck Tha Police” and the title track came to epitomize the West Coast sound, and paved a road that led to rap music infiltrating every household in America. Even if you were from the most tranquil corners of suburbia, you tensed up, clenched your fists, and pretended you were ready for a fight when you listened to Ice Cube open the record by declaring, “When I’m called off/ I get a sawed off/ Squeeze the trigger/ And bodies are hauled off.” N.W.A. made you feel hard, even though you still had to turn the volume down when your mom was home. — Ray Roa (2010)

95. System of a Down – Toxicity

After making a name for themselves with their self-titled debut, System of a Down reached new heights with their sophomore album, 2001’s Toxicity. Melodic, chaotic, and downright hypnotic, the album expanded the boundaries of heavy music. The frenetic “Chop Suey!” became one of the most bizarre hits of all-time on rock radio (even with Clear Channel temporarily removing it from airwaves after the September 11 attacks), while songs like the crushing title track and the haunting “Aerials” also served to propel the album to multi-platinum status.

Sounding like no other band before them, Serj Tankian’s operatic vocals soar over Daron Malakian’s complex musical compositions, with Shavo Odadjian and John Dolmayan forming a relentless rhythm section. All told, Toxicity stands as one of the finest works of heavy music in the 21st century, if not all time. — S.K.

94. Wilco – Yankee Hotel Foxtrot

There is an alternate universe that exists where Wilco never releases Yankee Hotel Foxtrot, an album that would not only secure the band’s place in rock history, but would fundamentally alter the landscape of the music industry at the turn of the new millennium. Yes, this record is awash in mythology and backstory, best encapsulated in Sam Jones’ I Am Trying to Break Your Heart, which just so happens to be one of the best music documentaries of all-time.

But YHF endures as a classic over 20 years later less because of that lore and more because it’s a collection of songs that’s so damn strong. Jeff Tweedy channels all his anxiety and self-consciousness into songs like “Ashes of American Flags” and “I Am Trying to Break Your Heart,” complementing those heavier tracks with the warm nostalgia of “Heavy Metal Drummer” and heart-on-your-sleeve romance of “Reservations,” which features a lyric that’s devastatingly direct: “I’ve got reservations about so many things, but not about you.”

The genius of Yankee Hotel Foxtrot is the decision to add layers of feedback and field recordings and noise and distortion on top of Tweedy’s folk and country and indie rock songs, leaning into the experimental to such an extent that the record dispatched the “alt-country” label that had dogged the band since its founding. From start to finish, Yankee Hotel Foxtrot mesmerizes and beguiles, and somehow manages to sound like both falling in love and the end of the world. It’s untouchable. — S.D.

93. TLC – CrazySexyCool

With new jack swing falling out of favor by the mid-’90s and Lisa “Left-Eye” Lopez dealing with personal struggles that kept her away from the group for extended periods, TLC found ways to mature their sound on their sophomore album. Reuniting with Babyface, Jermain Dupri, and Dallas Austin while adding contributions from Sean “Puffy” Combs, Organized Noize, and Chucky Thompson, they bumped up the hip-hop and soul vibes to utter R&B perfection on CrazySexyCool.

At the same time, they helped spur a sex positivity movement that still evolves today by tackling romance from numerous angles: the tryst of “Creep,” the sweetness of “Diggin’ on You,” the XXX of “Red Light Special.” In between, they delivered one of the most enduring cautionary tales of all time in “Waterfalls.” CrazySexyCool was the R&B album of the decade. Today, it stands as a testament to confident womanhood, a statement sealed in the record books as the best-selling album by an American girl group ever and the first to reach Diamond status. — B. Kaye

92. The Replacements – Let It Be

Who would have thought four twenty-somethings from Minneapolis could produce something so timeless, so vital, and so vivid? Back in 1984, when The Replacements dished out their magnum opus, Let It Be, nobody did. While all eyes were on Prince at the time, Paul Westerberg, Tommy Stinson, Chris Mars, and Bob Stinson were creating pure, unadulterated rock and roll. With his heart on his sleeve, Westerberg poured his love, his loss, and his inhibitions into each and every lyric, note, chord, and yelp.

On “Androgynous,” the first hit of the piano strikes your nerves, tugging at your eyes, and by the time Westerberg sings, “Future outcasts, they don’t last,” you’re right there beside him — in the dusty bar, within the late hours of a week night, and with nobody to hold onto but the music. That’s everything The Replacements were meant to be; here they do that in every note, over 11 tracks, and for 33 minutes and 31 seconds. It’s not an album, it’s a life preserver. — Michael Roffman (2010)

91. The Who – Who’s Next?

Out of all the legendary albums on this list, I doubt many of them had their origins as an abandoned rock opera. Many arrangements and scraps of Pete Townshend’s abandoned Lifehouse project became the basis for Who’s Next, an album that has no underlying theme or storyline. This sense of freedom allowed The Who to focus on making great individual songs rather than an overarching story.

The result is The Who growing up in public. The songs combine the hard-hitting energy of the band in their youth with the more experimental elements explored on Tommy. The most noticeable improvement is Roger Daltrey’s voice, reaching heights that were only hinted at in the past. Keith Moon’s drum solo followed by Daltrey’s scream at the end of “Won’t Get Fooled Again” remains as one of rock’s greatest moments.

While everyone knows about the singles, from the opening keyboard of “Baba O’Riley” to the building acoustics of “Behind Blue Eyes,” every song on this record is a potential hit. Listen to the explosive chorus of “Bargain.” Check out a rare lead vocal from bassist John Entwistle on “My Wife.” With tracks like these, it’s easy to see why Who’s Next moved The Who from a great band of the ’60s to a rock superpower in the ’70s. — Joe Marvilli (2010)

90. Alanis Morissette – Jagged Little Pill

The very first seconds of Alanis Morissette’s breakout record feature a blend of electric guitar and harmonica, signaling right from the beginning that a new voice in alt-rock had something to say. And an entire generation was listening: If you were young, female, and alive in the 1990s, there’s a strong chance you didn’t just own this album, but had it memorized from beginning to end, as Morisette’s incredible vocals and Glen Ballard’s stellar production work combine to scream about the anger and confusion that comes with being alive.

Decades before Taylor Swift got lyrically mad at Jake Gyllenhaal over a scarf, Alanis was reminding her ex about the mess that he left when he went away, but Jagged Little Pill isn’t just about rage: “Hand in My Pocket” actually delivers a somewhat optimistic message of literally “everything’s gonna be fine fine fine,” and while “Ironic” ironically failed to use the word properly, it still managed to talk about bleak scenarios in a “well, everyone’s been there” way.

It’s an album packed with difficult-to-unpack emotions, and one which helped at least one teenage girl, listening to it on repeat, feel a little less alone. — Liz Shannon Miller

89. Green Day – Dookie

Green Day broke into the mainstream with Dookie, perfectly timed to arrive hot on the Doc Martens-clad heels of the grunge scene. The California-based band fronted by Billie Joe Armstrong and rounded out by bassist Mike Dirnt and drummer Tre Cool found success by fusing the anti-establishment nature of its punk rock roots with a grunge appearance, backed by catchy pop melodies and hooks. Exploring everything from panic attacks to masturbation to bisexuality, the lyrics struck a chord with fans of all ages and positioned Green Day as the modern punk band for the masses.

Released in 1994, the band’s third and best-selling album found commercial success, reaching No. 2 on the Billboard 200 chart and scoring a Grammy for Best Alternative Music Album. The band was accused of “selling out” by previous followers of the underground punk scene, but Dookie found a way to reinvigorate interest in the original punk legends by serving as an entry-level record and giving a voice to rebellious teens who didn’t actually have a lot to rebel against in the relatively placid mid-1990s. — Kelly Quintanilla (2010)

88. Alice Coltrane – Journey in Satchidananda

Try as one might, it’s all but impossible to discuss Alice Coltrane without bringing up her late husband. Although John Coltrane had an undeniable influence on her and her work, she was already an accomplished artist long before they met and fell in love. As Coltrane once said, “John not only taught me to explore, but to play thoroughly and completely.”

Though not the first album Coltrane released as a solo artist following her husband’s death, Journey in Satchidananda is arguably her most venerated one. It’s a work informed by spirituality that feels both ethereal and raw, taking you through the soft poetic majesty of clouds via Coltrane’s harp and piano, and the fine grit of earth via Pharoah Sanders’ soprano saxophone.

Some elements, like the droning tanpura and Coltrane’s crystalline harp on the opening title track, stand out prominently. Others, like Rashied Ali’s drums and Cecil McBee’s bass, are subtler. Coltrane was by no means the first Western jazz artist to bring Eastern sounds into her fold, but these pieces never feel as though they’re calling attention to their contrasts. As with all accomplished ensemble works, each part shines individually and cohesively.

Just listen to the conversational interplay between the piano and bass on “Stopover Bombay” or how Vishnu Wood’s frantic strumming of the oud mixes with Sanders’ cosmic sax on live closer “Isis and Osiris.” The pieces all fit together, yet much of its greatness lies in how they refuse to congeal, with Coltrane and her collaborators embracing generosity while maintaining autonomy. Journey in Satchidananda is an otherworldly album that never feels like it’s too far outside our realm. — Mimi Kenny

87. Slayer – Reign in Blood

While other ’80s thrash metal bands began to expand their sound with technical and progressive flourishes, Slayer sought to distill it to its essence. Released in 1986, Reign in Blood was lean and mean: Only two of its 10 tracks break the three-minute mark — a testament to the precision and speed at which they were played.

With producer and dedicated metalhead Rick Rubin behind the boards, the somewhat frail sound of the band’s early ’80s work was gone, presenting the pouding double kick of drummer Dave Lombardo and the twin guitar attack of Jeff Hanneman and Kerry King in pure hi-fi (sans the reverbs and effects that date many metal albums of the era).

From Tom Araya’s ear-piercing shriek that kicks off “Angel of Death” to the final drops of “Raining Blood,” Slayer keep an unrelenting pace that turns into a nightmarish blur. Sinister subject matter, such as the former song’s lyrical musings on Nazi physician Josef Mengele and other gory topics, only add to the atmosphere of evil that exudes from Reign in Blood once you drop the needle.

Hanneman’s trademark atonal riffs beget the spastic, improvisational guitar solos of Kerry King, conjuring a sense of chaos and morbidity. A credit to Rubin’s raw production, the album sounds brutally intense to this day, unmarred by time — a sacred artifact of extreme metal in its earliest form. — Jon Hadusek

86. Pearl Jam – Ten

Labeled by grunge godfather Kurt Cobain as a “commercial sellout” effort, Ten ended up as the launching pad for ‘90s alternative rock. Arising from the ashes of the tragically short-lived Mother Love Bone, guitarist Stone Gossard and bassist Jeff Ament added classic rock textures to the Seattle sound with the help of guitarist Mike McCready (and a handful of temporary drummers, including Matt Cameron). Their five-track Stone Gossard Demos ‘91 would eventually grow into Ten – they just needed someone to put voice to their compositions.

Enter Eddie Vedder. The frontman’s emotive growls and howls (“Why Go,” “Black”) and earnestly heartbreaking lyricism (“Jeremy,” “Release”) mirror the ferocity of the music, multiplying its power. Combining that distinctly passionate vocal presence with the catchy riffs and soaring solos of Gossard and Ament’s songwriting established a fresh standard for what rock meant in the new decade. It had all the angst and darkness that grunge was known for – both in its lyrics and its heavy sound – but with stadium-ready expansiveness and a vocalist destined for icon status.

Pearl Jam themselves have rarely matched the intensity of their debut, let alone most rock in the three decades since. — B. Kaye

85. Tupac – All Eyez on Me

From the social commentary of the still-relevant “Brenda’s Got a Baby” to the unbridled rage of “Hit ‘Em Up” and everything in between, Tupac’s range as a rapper remains unparalleled. While hitting the studio for All Eyez on Me, however, Pac unleashed all his pent-up frustrations into creating a larger-than-life gangsta rap persona after being freed from Rikers Island by his new Death Row boss Suge Knight.

Nobody was going to rep the West Coast harder than he was, as demonstrated by the unadulterated aggression of “Ambitionz Az a Ridah” and collaborations with labelmates Dr. Dre (“California Love”) and Snoop Dogg (“2 of Amerikaz Most Wanted”). However, the double album also afforded Pac ample room for club hits like “How Do U Want It” and the introspection of “I Ain’t Mad at Cha” — not to mention showcases for his group The Outlawz like “Thug Passion.”

The production of Dre, DJ Pooh, DJ Quik, and Johnny J round out All Eyez on Me by finally offering Pac a soundtrack that could fully match his talents. Though the 27-song, 133-minute ode to the gangsta lifestyle isn’t without its warts, Pac’s burning passion elevates the album to another level. A masterpiece need not be perfect in order to stand the test of time, and All Eyez on Me has done exactly that. — Eddie Fu

84. Smashing Pumpkins – Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness

With due respect to “1979,” which exudes a nostalgic stardust felt deeply by much of Generation X, it’s maybe the dozenth best song on Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness. Firmly in the mold of The Wall or the White Album (hello, “Farewell and Goodnight”), the Smashing Pumpkins’ third album represented their unquestionable apogee before a drug– and ego-induced flameout (although Adore and Machina have their apologists).

The point of the Pumpkins all along had been the representation of the whole of femininity and masculinity, of a gossamer whimsicality into aggro brutality — and much like the Beatles’ famous double album, Mellon Collie contains virtually the entire spectrum of the human experience in its 28 tracks. Even the infamously muffled mastering job can’t smother its beauty: Has another album sounded quieter the more you turn up the volume?

From the bittersweet fireworks of “Here is No Why” to the hangdog and punchy “To Forgive,” or the sad, loping “Thirty-Three” and the snarling, animalistic meltdown of “X.Y.U.,” Mellon Collie boasts everything this once-a-generation rock band could do — and those are just the deep cuts. If you’re just here for a little throwback time a la ”Homerpalooza,” the hits more than hold up: We all remember the first time we heard that scream in “Bullet with Butterfly Wings.”

Best of all? The tracklisting doesn’t even cover everything that happened during those sessions; seek out the boxed set The Aeroplane Flies High if you want even more magic — a unique strain that only these four people could conjure. — Morgan Enos

83. Pretenders – Pretenders

Chrissie Hynde, an American expat living in London, had been trying to find her place, both in the music industry and in the world. But impressive demos led to her being positioned as a star in the making. Just four days before the ‘70s would end for good, Hynde and the Pretenders released their self-titled debut. Curious scheduling aside, it was an album too impressive to get lost in the post-holiday shuffle. And sure enough, the band was packing clubs soon after.

Profiling Hynde and co. for Rolling Stone in 1980, Kurt Loder described Pretenders as “subtly startling.” That’s apt for an album that seems to wear the trappings of punk (straightforward album artwork, fuzzy riffs) but soon reveals just how much more it has going for it, both artistically and emotionally. Even in a crowded field, there’s something about the first few bars of opener “Precious” that tells us something special is going on here.

Although those riffs and fills could be replicated with enough practice, there’s no copying Hynde and the feeling she conveys. Expressing triumph, rage, tenderness, fear, and more, Hynde puts you inside her head, recalling painful memories and detailing incredible narratives as if she’s made an ad hoc audiobook. You might know “Brass in Pocket” best, but Pretenders is, from beginning to end, a genuine masterpiece. — M.K.

82. Peter Gabriel – So

Peter Gabriel’s two releases before So, both called Peter Gabriel, were landmark prog rock albums. On those efforts, Gabriel used the latest recording hardware to compose with sampled sounds as well as music and rhythms from cultures that had never before been integrated into Western music. Gabriel was breaking breathtaking new ground, and with So, he brought his sonic discoveries to the mainstream.

So is a landmark pop album that overwhelms listeners with emotional and rhythmic songs drawing from the heart of the human spirit. Case in point, the No. 1 song to play outside someone’s window, “In Your Eyes”: Gabriel’s voice and lyrics are raw and passionate with simple but overwhelmingly powerful imagery. African rhythms keep the song alive and away from the sappy path so many love songs tread, and the soaring vocals of Senegalese singer Youssou N’Dour transcend language with pure celebration.

This theme of emotional, boundary-breaking, human communication permeates all of Gabriel’s works, but is strongest in So, where it continues to touch the most people. When Gabriel screams “only love can make love” in “That Voice Again,” even the most cynical listener can’t help but feel some tingle of truth.

Tracks like “Red Rain,” “Mercy Street,” and “Don’t Give Up” (a duet with Kate Bush) operate on the opposite end of the spectrum, discussing vulnerability, weakness, and the chance to carry on. So even accommodates a couple avant garde tracks such as the unnerving “We Do What We’re Told (Milgram’s 37)” and the moody “This is the Picture (Excellent Birds),” which was written and performed with Laurie Anderson.

And of course, everybody knows “Sledgehammer” and its outstanding music video. No heady concept there, just pure fun and a brilliant re-envisioning of Motown soul. Depending on your state of mind going into listening to it, So will either leave you charged or worn-out. Either way, it’s a good feeling. — Cat Blackard (2010)

81. Adele – 21

The term “cultural reset” became overused at a certain point, but if it applies anywhere in this conversation, it’s to Adele’s 21. Despite the singer’s existing achievements prior to the album’s release, the world-dominating success of 21 was something of a surprise; it was as rare then as it would be now for an emotional, sometimes dark, bluesy, melancholy album to not just do well on the charts, but remain the best-selling album for two consecutive years. The LP is credited with helping revitalize physical sales for an industry that was shifting to streaming; topping sales charts in more than 30 countries, it’s clear that 21 was something we all needed to hold in our hands.

The album is bookended with what can now be considered two of the century’s most recognizable songs: “Rolling in the Deep” and “Someone Like You.” Two extremes, production-wise, but what they have in common, vitally, is that Adele’s incredible voice is front and center. Add in the sharp “Rumour Has It,” the cathartic “Set Fire to the Rain,” and the piercing “Turning Tables,” and Adele proved herself as a songwriter strong enough to match her undeniable vocals. The songs immortalized in 21 are so present, so urgent and human, because Adele Adkins cracked her heart open and shared everything with us.

The album is haunted, both by the ghosts of a failed love and by memories that seem to disappear as soon as they appear. Despite the personal details peppered throughout 21, it’s a heartbreak album that has the capacity to be universally understood. — Mary Siroky

80. Erykah Badu – Baduizm

The title of Erykah Badu’s impeccable debut album sounds as though she’s trying to start a movement. And in a way, she was. Speaking to MTV News, Badu specified that “Baduizm was designed to get you high.” Not a passing, artificial buzz, but an all-encompassing journey of mind and self that we likely could never begin to imagine, and “not a religion…an experience.”

That might seem rather hyperbolic for a collection of songs from an artist who was just releasing her first album. But Badu doesn’t promise paradise or divine truth, just “an experience.” And Baduizm is an intoxicating one. One of, if not the most, revered albums in the neo-soul subgenre, it’s undeniably indicative of its era while still feeling fresh. From the shivering rattle of Questlove’s drums on the melodramatic “Other Side of the Game” to the strutting bass on the defiant “Certainly,” the sounds and Badu support each other beautifully.

Support is also offered to the listener. Badu is too good of a writer to spoon-feed her message; her struggles and how she relates them are so very understandable without falling into empty, generic platitudes. Not all the feelings are sorted out by the end of it, but Baduizm makes the case that the journey to answers to life’s biggest questions is just as important as the answers themselves. — M.K.

79. The Police – Synchronicity

For any group wondering how to make an exit, look no further than Synchronicity. The Police’s final group album dropped in 1983 and, in a way, ushered in the sound of the decade. The album’s heavy reliance on synth showed the world the future, as the group created music truly as big as their reputations. “Every Breath You Take.” “Wrapped Around Your Finger.” “King of Pain.” “Synchronicity II.” Those are songs made for stadiums that foreshadowed Sting’s future.

Rather than just sticking to their playbook of reggae, jazz, and punk, Synchronicity finds the group creating their own path and telling everyone else to come along if they can. It’s a bold move for the biggest band in the world to not only end their run while on top of the mountain, but to change everything people knew about them in the process.

The only reason it worked is because the music was, and still is, undeniable. It’s funny how a group that started as part of Britain’s new wave and punk scene became synonymous with pop music. The lyrics aren’t more accessible than normal, the topics aren’t lighter (check out “Every Breath…”), and the production isn’t less complicated. Yet, somehow, Synchronicity just sounds like it was made for MTV.

Sting’s vocals show more depth here as well, almost like he was warming up for his solo career. This wasn’t planned as the group’s last album, but the frontman – along with a host of other life factors that got in the way of group harmony – made it so. In Sting’s mind, this album was their pinnacle and there was no way to ever top it. Not for nothing, but he was right. — Marcus Shorter

78. Billy Joel – The Stranger

With a fair amount of frequency, you can find an artist’s defining song on their best album. But that’s not the case for the “Piano Man,” Billy Joel. That track came on his sophomore LP, which he followed up with a pair of records that so underperformed, Columbia threatened to drop him. Perhaps that danger gave Joel a “nothing less to lose” attitude; he was so adamant that his new touring band record with him on his next album that when his first choice for producer, George Martin, wanted to use studio musicians, Joel turned him down.

And that turned out to be the right move. Joined by producer Phil Ramone, Joel and his band put together The Stranger, which stands as the best collection of tracks in the hitmaker’s career. “Scenes from an Italian Restaurant” has become as signature as “Piano Man,” despite never being released as a single. “Just the Way You Are” took home Record and Song of the Year Grammys, “Movin’ Out (Anthony’s Song)” is a certified classic of American dream rebellion, and “Only the Good Die Young” remains as rife for yearbook send-off quotes as it did when Christian groups demanded it be banned from the radio.

There may not be a more divisive pop icon in music, but I challenge you to listen to “Vienna” or “She’s Always a Woman” and say Joel wasn’t at the height of his powers on The Stranger. — B. Kaye

77. JAY-Z – The Black Album

Stop us if you’ve heard this before: JAY-Z was retiring. Hip-hop devotees know Shawn Carter’s had always had an exit in mind since his first album in 1996. But like he says on 2003’s The Black Album, the allure of the game was too much to ignore.

For most of the seven years between ‘96-’03, he was one of the genre’s dominant figures. Even on his “last” album, that competitive hunger is still palpable. “PSA,” “What More Can I Say,” “Threats,” and “99 Problems” showcase his fine-tuned lyrical prowess. “December 4th” and “Moment of Clarity” provide personal and professional insights (“Truthfully I want to rhyme like Common Sense/ but I did 5 Mil, I ain’t been rhyming like Common since”), while “Change Clothes” and “Dirt Off Your Shoulder” illustrate an evolution in making hit records.

“Change Clothes” isn’t a song Jay could make in ‘98 or ‘99. The content alone shows how much he grew personally from the days of “Big Pimpin.” Despite whispers of shallowness at the time, those who truly listened charted Jay’s changes through his career, with The Black Album standing as the pinnacle of that metamorphosis. Sure, we got more albums since and we’ll probably get one more by the time you finish reading this. But in 2003, when a younger crop of rappers led by 50 Cent was making waves and Jay was fulfilling his contractual obligations to Def Jam while finishing his career narrative, it truly was the perfect time to say goodbye. — M. Shorter

76. The Smiths – The Queen Is Dead

If you weren’t already aware, Morrissey invented being sad. Okay, not really. But the man born Steven Patrick Morrissey and his ragtag gang of working-class men from the gloomiest and greyest parts of Manchester called The Smiths long cultivated such a specific brand of being sad and lonely with their music that it’s almost impossible to remember that sorrow existed before The Queen Is Dead.

The combination of Morrissey’s wry and witty lyrics about love (and also the eternal absence of it), the feeling of an unending loneliness but the lack of want to ever rectify it, and Johnny Marr’s signature guitar playing makes this record an enduring classic. The songwriting, ever melodic with Morrissey’s instantly recognizable baritone voice, is clever and dark and mournful and self-deprecating — something that all post-Morrissey lyricists have tried and failed to emulate.

Moz calls out the band’s critics in “The Boy with the Thorn in His Side” and “Cemetry Gates,” while “Never Had No One Ever” and “I Know It’s Over” are nihilistic odes to perpetual loneliness. Then, of course, comes the album’s crown jewel: “There Is a Light That Never Goes Out,” where Morrissey dares experiment with a rare optimistic approach to love — but which, inevitably, still ends in death.

Still, it is the ultimate romantic anthem: “And if a double-decker bus/ Crashes into us/ To die by your side/ Is such a heavenly way to die.” Don’t we all dream of a love so all-encompassing that we’d rather be hit by a bus instead of continuing to live without them? Maybe. — Cady Siregar

75. Janelle Monáe – Dirty Computer

How can we reasonably say an album that’s only four years old — that didn’t even top our best-of list the year it was released; it ranked at No. 2 — is one of the best ever? Better question: How do you consider an album so rich with pop mastery and so authentic in its identity anything but one of the best ever?

Not only does Dirty Computer pull in sounds and guests (Brian Wilson, Pharrell Williams, Stevie Wonder, Grimes, Zoë Kravitz) from across pop history, but it partially came together under the mentorship of the late, great Prince. Janelle Monáe has made no secret of wanting to be the heir to the Purple Throne, and she makes an impeccable case for it by crafting a record that has studied the past, forces the future, and affirms the present – and is fully her.

The concept record takes us through a rebuffing of external standards (“Dirty Computer”) to a fierce assertion of self (“Django Jane”) to a dance of cultural critique (“Americans”), making assured statements of sexuality along the way (centerpiece “Make Me Feel,” “I Like That”). Something so perfectly realized, so revealing in its depth, so wholly enjoyable has to be one of the best albums of all time. Otherwise, what are we doing here? — B. Kaye

74. Bob Dylan – Highway 61 Revisited

The sneering put-down “Like a Rolling Stone” is arguably rock and roll’s greatest revelation, but Highway 61 Revisited is perhaps best described by a lyric from the album’s “Ballad of a Thin Man,” on which Bob Dylan sings, “Because something is happening here, but you don’t know what it is.”

This record is nearly an hour of mostly electrified blues that places the listener in a room with Jack the Ripper, Lady Jane Grey, and Einstein disguised as Robin Hood. From the surreal romp of the title track to the delicate strumming of the record’s epic closer, “Desolation Row,” precise meaning always seems just out of reach, and yet a nerve is somehow always touched.

The language, both musically and lyrically, of Highway 61 Revisited is poetic, sarcastic, and ironic — tongues that have always spoken to some essential part in the human makeup. And while listeners may never quite get Dylan, everyone comes away with something worthwhile. — Matt Melis (2010)

73. Parliament – The Mothership Connection

After taking over Washington D.C. on 1975’s Chocolate City, where else could George Clinton take his funk collective? How about outer space? Mothership Connection puts the largely interchangeable Parliament-Funkadelic gang in a spaceship and blasts off to other galaxies, where it musically interacts with societies that surely found the collective as whacked-out as we did back here on Earth.

As good as Chocolate City was, it was on Mothership Connection that Clinton’s many afrofuturistic visions were most fully realized, knitting together concept and sound into a 38-minute throwdown that became a definitive statement for the genre and a template that was subsequently sourced by jazz, hip-hop, and EDM artists.

Mothership Connection was, importantly, the first Parliament album to feature Maceo Parker and Fred Wesley from James Brown’s bands, who brought with them a mojo that impacted beyond the music. Clinton was on top of his game in the studio, and the ranks were stocked with the very best of his collaborators: Bootsy Collins on bass, drums and guitar; guitarists Garry Shider, Michael Hampton, and Glenn Goins; Bernie Worrall on keyboards; Randy Brecker on trumpet; and a vocal army that included Parliaments doo-wop alumni Grady Thomas, Calvin Simon, Fuzzy Haskins, and Ray Davis.

“Give Up the Funk (Tear the Roof Off the Sucker)” alone makes the album classic, but “P. Funk (Wants to Get Funked Up)” and “Mothership Connection (Star Child)” are equally essential, and if “Supergroovalisticprosifunkstication” doesn’t get you moving, we advise urgent medical attention. — Gary Graff

72. My Bloody Valentine – Loveless

Loveless is so synonymous with shoegaze that it’s difficult to believe its creators ever made anything outside the subgenre. My Bloody Valentine gave their best whack at both Joy Division-esque goth rock and C86-indebted jangle pop before they finally landed on shoegaze in the late ‘80s, eventually perfecting it in 1991 with their sophomore album.

Loveless may have taken the Irish-British band over two years to make and caused a rift with their label Creation, but the trials paid off: Not only would the record set the benchmark for all shoegaze that followed (and spawn a fleet of meme pages decades later), it would ignite a rock revolution.

Opener “Only Shallow” goes from 0 to 60 in mere seconds as it bursts in like a revving engine; Loveless hardly calms down from there. From the shuffle of “Soon” to the scintillating arpeggios of “To Here Knows When” and, of course, the sweeping, bombastic riff of “When You Sleep,” My Bloody Valentine’s magnum opus seamlessly blends their mysteriously abrasive instrumentals with some of the most gorgeous, unforgettable melodies of indie rock’s history. It almost feels like being startled awake from a dream. — Abby Jones

71. U2 – The Joshua Tree

A recent tweet put it best: “It’s so funny that Bono was so annoying that everyone kind of collectively decided to forget that U2 has like 5 all-timer albums.” (I’d submit that it’s more like two or three, given the definition of “all-timer” — but I digress.) But no number of narcissistic political statements or forced-listening torture sessions can reverse the truth: U2 is one of the greatest rock bands of all time.

The Joshua Tree has been canonized over and over as their love letter to America and blah, blah, blah; but the true essence of its power lies in a supernova of love — the whole spectrum from agape to eros. “I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For” is the embattled former, where Bono throws himself at the feet of Christ (“You broke the bonds and loosed the chains/ Carried the cross of my shame”) while confessing to his doubts as an unscratchable itch. “Running to Stand Still,” an equal to Neil Young’s “The Needle and the Damage Done” in the songbook of slow junkie suicides, lies in the philia middle, teeming with concern and hurt.

And The Joshua Tree’s greatest song, “With or Without You,” blends both agape and eros until they’re indistinguishable, Christ and a lover twinned and intertwined. Ultimately, the song captures a feeling beyond words: Try to extinguish all memory of hearing this amazing song in a thousand CVSes, and let Bono’s wordless wail at 3:03 raise goosebumps on your arms. (To say nothing of The Edge’s still utterly original guitar work, and the perennially underrated rhythm section of Adam Clayton and Larry Mullen Jr.)

All of this is to reinforce that The Joshua Tree is an all-timer in every sense of its meaning, an open vein from which ecstasy, longing, gratitude and lust still rush. — M.E.

70. Sonic Youth – Daydream Nation

The farther we get from the ‘80s, the harder it is to explain Sonic Youth. Each generation, the sound loses a bit of its edge while still remaining difficult and, at times, even abrasive. And most kids don’t want a history lesson telling them why Sonic Youth is good and important. They want to simply hear it and like it, as music tends to be one of the most self-explanatory likable things we have.

But not Sonic Youth. They had a lot with which to reconcile. How would you create meaningful music in a hardcore scene while remaining true to what often seemed like polarized leanings? Looking to The Velvet Underground for inspiration as much as Black Flag and Minor Threat, Sonic Youth were in the punk world, yet could dwell on finding beauty in noise rather than just in rebellion.

It’s not easy to use these established musical platforms to create something that can make you uncomfortable, enthralled, excited, and heartbroken within the same improvised jam. And while no one will ever tell you that Sonic Youth is for everyone, no one will deny that maybe their goals for their art were a little loftier than their contemporaries. Appropriately, when their sound became fully realized on Daydream Nation, their lofty goals yielded lofty results.

But don’t let this scare you. If Sonic Youth was that hard to get, we wouldn’t be celebrating them. Daydream Nation was their most listenable record at that point, an album even casual music listeners could approach and enjoy. And with “Teen Age Riot,” they had themselves an honest-to-god anthem. One of the best of all time, perhaps. Could they have just made more tunes like this and pleased a hell of a lot of people? I imagine, but where would the fun be in that?

Doing things their way, Sonic Youth have managed to stay relevant for nearly 30 years. And it’s because of Daydream Nation that the relationships, the public interest, and the continually adventurous sounds have held together. — Philip Cosores (2010)

69. Beastie Boys – Paul’s Boutique

How do you follow a classic album? More to the point, how do you follow a classic debut? If you’re the Beastie Boys, you do the opposite of what you did on Licensed to Ill. Ditch the producer, say farewell to the frat boy image, and make the music you feel truly represents you rather than going down a path that puts you in a box. Combine all of that together and you get the Beastie Boys’ magnum opus, Paul’s Boutique.

Ad-Rock, MCA, and Mike D hooked up with the Dust Brothers for something unheard of in hip-hop at that time. While the lyrics showed growth and their true love of the genre, the album remains a stalwart of lists like this because of its production innovation. While it may not sound mind-blowing in 2022, hip-hop wasn’t done like this in 1989. Production before this album was still very simple and sparse. In fact, just listen to Licensed to Ill for exhibits A-Z.

Paul’s Boutique, on the other hand, layered samples on top of samples and looked beyond the typical sources of jazz, rock, and gospel. It’s one of the first hip-hop albums where “lush” is not only an apt description, but probably the best one. It’s one of the best examples in any genre of reinvention and a high bar for sophomore albums. The album wasn’t as successful as the group’s first album upon release, but its esteem grew as time went on. One listen and it’s easy to understand why. Like most albums on this list, Paul’s Boutique sat at a finish line waiting for the rest of the world to catch up. — M. Shorter

68. Frank Ocean – Channel Orange

Before Channel Orange, Frank Ocean was commonly known as one of Odd Future’s most impressive collaborators; although his debut mixtape, Nostalgia, Ultra, was a major introduction to his unique songwriting, he hadn’t yet separated himself from the pack. But when Channel Orange came along, it was difficult to see how this man had been identified as anything other than “superstar.” It’s one thing to examine the nuanced personal details that Frank so eloquently provides, like in the beautifully revealing “Thinkin Bout You,” but it’s another to take in the sheer ambition and incisiveness that characterizes Channel Orange as a whole.

The album is full of stories and characters that battle the contradictions of class, race, and gender dynamics, carefully-worded moments of humor that are thought-provoking and odd, and sonic environments that feel both nostalgic and current. Like Lauryn Hill and D’angelo before him, Frank Ocean used the genre of R&B as a jumping off point that allowed him to exercise his most ambitious artistic ideas, from the 10-minute, multi-part odyssey of “Pyramids” to the profound and existential “Bad Religion.”

At the center of Channel Orange is Frank Ocean’s incredibly poignant songwriting that can capture a complete narrative of emotions in the smallest refrains. As he completes the anthemic bridge of “Thinkin Bout You,” he sings, assuredly, “We’ll go down this road ’til it turns from color to black and white,” before immediately reverting back to his hopeful chorus: “…Or do you not think so far ahead?” It’s an isolated moment that demonstrates the most beautiful parts of Channel Orange. Life is not so simple, so black and white — only when we add color do we begin to see things the way they really are, and the way they could be. — Paolo Ragusa

67. Radiohead – In Rainbows

Ask three different Radiohead fans what their favorite Radiohead album is, and you’ll likely hear three different titles. But one of them will almost certainly be In Rainbows, in part because almost certainly none of them shook the music world quite like that album did. Three years before LimeWire shuttered and four before Spotify became available in the US, Thom Yorke and company self-released their seventh studio album as a pay-what-you-want download to spite their then-label EMI — a first for any major musical act, and unfathomable for an artist of Radiohead’s caliber at the time.

It’s true that virtually no other artist could have profitably self-released a record in 2007, but no other artist could have made In Rainbows. While its predecessor Hail to the Thief saw Radiohead combine their grungy roots with the electro-art-pop of their Kid A and Amnesiac sessions, In Rainbows was a more firm return to rock — but this couldn’t be ordinary rock music.

Though its more straightforward moments like “15 Step” and “Jigsaw Falling into Place” were customary enough to, say, land a needle-drop in the Twilight film franchise, much of the rest of In Rainbows feels like being suspended somewhere in space, like the sick-in-love “Weird Fishes/Arpeggi,” whose constant arpeggio feels endlessly hypnotic, or the funereal “Videotape,” whose hidden syncopation has become one of indie rock’s most hot-button topics.

Not even Radiohead themselves could attempt to make something like it again, and to attempt to do so would be to miss its point entirely. — A.J.

66. Madonna – Like a Prayer

Like a Prayer was where Ms. Ciccone made the leap across the borderline from pop star to artist. Madonna’s previous three albums were multi-platinum, hit-spewing smashes, and she was an MTV icon; still, any substance was overshadowed by the glitz and froth that came with being a Material Girl.

But Madonna came into Like a Prayer with more than just blonde ambition — hell, she even dyed her hair brown for the occasion. As she approached 30 and saw her brief marriage to Sean Penn fail, Madonna opened up her journals and her heart for a surprisingly confessional and, of course, provocative set of songs that called for a reevaluation of her merit on artistic terms.

She dug in for ruminations on the death of her mother (“Promise to Try”); her troubled relationships with her dad (“Oh Father”) and family (“Keep it Together”); the marriage (“‘Till Death Do Us Part”); and, in Like a Prayer’s title track, her conflicted perspective on the Catholicism in which she was raised.

She’d found a grounding from which to purge a lot of demons, but she also made that cathartic exercise sound celebratory with mature and sophisticated songcraft (assisted by longtime collaborators Stephen Bray and Patrick Leonard and, on several songs, Prince) that touched on gospel (“Like a Prayer”), Stax soul (“Express Yourself”), and ‘60s girl-group pop (“Cherish”).

From here on, Madonna would be taken seriously as a songwriter as well as a vanguard for a legion of artists who felt permission to, well, express themselves in the wake of Like a Prayer. — G. Graff

65. Leonard Cohen – Songs of Leonard Cohen

Infinitely imitated and infinitely respected, Songs of Leonard Cohen sounds like an apocalypse when we listen to it today. His mellow, dejected folk mapped out a hollow blueprint for what Jack Black referred to as “sad bastard music” in High Fidelity. Ironically, it was Judy Collins who first cut and recorded the immortal “Suzanne,” the album’s memorable lead track.

Spare and affected, Cohen’s delivery worked all the more because of the late ’60s psychedelia his music eschewed. There’s a certain command that Cohen’s music respects at this point in his career, and that says just as much about Songs of Leonard Cohen as his unassuming guitar lines and his pensively personal lyrics. Like his contemporaries Bob Dylan and Joni Mitchell, Leonard Cohen’s debut clued us in that he was here to stay. — Eric Vilas-Boas (2010)

64. The Cure – Disintegration

What do you do when the world thinks that you’ve gone too pop and you find yourself caught in an existential crisis caused by the realization that you are about to turn 30 years old? You create Disintegration.

Disintegration — The Cure’s best and most ambitious record — was created by Robert Smith in an attempt to distance himself away from the band’s more upbeat and pop-driven earlier numbers. In his psychedelic-fueled haze of depression, Smith wrote Disintegration as a return to the band’s gloomier, darker sound that recalls their fourth LP, Pornography.

The result is an expansive and rich album that reflects the darkness of Smith’s mindset at the time, but still with a romantic core full of yearning about his longtime partner, Mary Poole, ever the subject of his most passionate songs. The record begins with “Plainsong,” an intense, atmospheric number that feels like the fall of a sonic monsoon, followed by “Pictures of You,” a sprawling, eight-minute epic that epitomizes the band’s excellence with sparkling instrumentation accompanied with the passion of Smith’s lyrics.

“Lovesong,” another ode to Poole, is the record’s most upbeat track. On “Closedown,” Smith’s existential crisis at turning 30 seems the most apparent: “I’m running out of time/ I’m out of step and closing down/ And never sleep for wanting hours.” If only we could all churn out a masterpiece like Disintegration whenever we’re faced with the horrors of mortality. — C. Siregar

63. Tom Waits – Rain Dogs

While most albums in this list fit this criterion, in the grand scheme of things, it’s pretty rare to have an entire album that does not contain a single bad track. It’s even rarer to have an album like that when it spans 19 tracks, but that’s exactly what Tom Waits has with Rain Dogs. Some of the songs may be a little too far out there for some listeners, but every song is just as effective as the next.

After years of playing the club scene with just his voice and a piano, Waits shocked everyone when he came out with the jangled and insane Swordfishtrombones in 1983. This shift in his musical style would eventually define his career, even after he moved into new territory once again. While Swordfishtrombones saw him dive off the deep end, it wasn’t until his next album that he perfected his singular new brand of music.

To describe Rain Dogs is useless; it’s something that begs to be experienced. Waits has always had an obsession with the down-and-out deadbeats on the streets, but it was never as obvious as it is on Rain Dogs — the name itself being a reference to these same type of “urban dispossessed,” as Waits describes it.

And while the lyrics often deal with the bizarre side of things (“The captain is a one-armed dwarf/ He’s throwing dice along the wharf”), they’re often as universally affecting as his earlier work (“Tear the promise from my heart, tear my heart today/ You have found another. Oh baby, I must go away”). Waits’ songwriting ability is also put on display on tracks like “Downtown Train,” which eventually became a Top 5 hit when Rod Stewart covered it four years later. There are many essential records in Tom Waits’ long and storied career, but Rain Dogs is the most essential of them all. — Carson O’Shoney (2010)

62. Madvillain – Madvillainy

Mathematically, Madvillainy was destined to be this good. The building blocks of the villainous 22-track album are just too damn solid. Behind the boards, there’s Madlib, one of the most creative, stylistically recognizable producers ever to touch hip-hop. On the mic, it’s the one and only MF DOOM, famed for being “your favorite rapper’s favorite rapper.” Put those two forces together and you get a set of instrumentals so sonically gratifying that they’re worth listening to on their own and rhymes so legendary they might as well be carved into stone.

What’s most amazing about Madvillainy, though, is that the record is even greater than the sum of its parts. The magic of its dusty, cartoonish landscape is almost indescribable. Sure, you could argue that there are songs that top any of those found on Madvillainy in each artist’s discography; it’s not necessarily an album full of bangers, but neither artist reached such sustained creative heights before or since.

Few projects carry such an intensely defined vision, let alone capitalize on it so well. Maybe that’s why there was never a proper sequel; something in the universe knew to leave what’s perfect as perfect. Also, it gave us the “Doritos, Cheetos, and Fritos” bar, so, you know, automatic 10/10. — Jonah Krueger

61. The Rolling Stones – Exile on Main St.

The Rolling Stones’ 10th album came during their most decadent and hedonistic period. With the band settling in France in 1971 to avoid tax troubles in England, the Stones set up shop near Nice, where Keith Richards rented a villa and recorded songs that were written between 1968 and 1972. These legendary sessions defined the adage “sex, drugs, and rock and roll” before it became cliché. From these drug-fueled sessions came some of the best work of the band’s career and the album that defined early ‘70s rock music.

Exile takes the best elements of country, blues, and R&B and makes them the band’s own. This, combined with the warm feeling of having been recorded in Richards’ basement, puts you in a manic frenzy that hits you so hard and fast that you have no choice but to listen. Songs like “Tumbling Dice” and “Happy” remain staples in the band’s live set, while “Shine a Light” and “Soul Survivor” sound as energetic and powerful as they did when recorded 38 years ago.

Notably, Mick Jagger’s charisma and frustration with the band’s legal situation are evident from the get-go when he sings, “I only get my rocks off while I’m sleeping” on the record’s opener. Rolling Stones’ angst and tension within their personal lives during this tumultuous period were channeled musically throughout Exile, which is kinda what makes it so great. — Daniel Kohn (2010)

60. Amy Winehouse – Back to Black

Back to Black is only 35 minutes long, yet it demonstrates the force and clarity of Amy Winehouse’s vulnerable, extraordinary vision. On her second and final album, the British torch singer and songwriter worked with producers Salaam Remi and Mark Ronson, as well as Sharon Jones’ band The Dap-Kings, intricately tangling vintage girl-group pop-soul with the beats of contemporary R&B and an attitude all her own.

The Grammy-winning album produced five all-time-great singles — “Rehab,” “You Know I’m No Good,” “Back to Black,” “Tears Dry on Their Own,” and “Love Is a Losing Game” — and also ushered in the waves of retro-inflected soul that followed. But it’s Winehouse’s particular brilliance that makes Back to Black one for the ages. Her contralto vocals are effortlessly expressive, sophisticated in their rhythms and the nuances they find in the dangerous joys.

For an artist exploring how we fall apart, she is cohesive and committed. Winehouse circles and digs into her enmeshed subjects of addiction and passion and desolation; she cajoles, harangues, and pleads. It’s tempting to characterize Winehouse by the tragedy of her early death and the struggles she endured, but this album is her defining gift. In the end, Winehouse’s songs are in deepest conversation with the endlessly faceted well of herself. — Katie Moulton

59. Nas – Illmatic

Nas — Nasty Nas at the time — didn’t know what he was doing. There he was in a recording studio with DJ Premier, one of the biggest names in hip-hop at the time, and a bunch of other people. The beat for “New York State of Mind” kicked in and he had no idea how to attack it. Premier and everyone else in the studio was nervous. When he says, “I don’t know how to start this…” he’s being completely honest.

But he started his verse, and what came out blew the minds of everyone in attendance and soon, everyone in hip-hop. Illmatic is the perfect album. Not just a perfect debut, or a perfect hip-hop album, but a flawless piece of work for any genre. It hit the earth like a comet in April 1994. Almost immediately, the rap game treated Nas like Jesus riding into Jerusalem. Even now, it’s not hard to see why the 20-year-old rapper received so much praise. At a time when lyricism wasn’t as in vogue as it was in the late ‘80s, Nas resurrected the feeling and set a standard for any rapper who touched down after him.

Illmatic is a 40-minute journey through Queensbridge filled with nihilism and hope, told by someone with the skill of a wartime journalist. Whether it’s writing a letter to an incarcerated friend on “One Love,” daring other rappers to test him on “Halftime,” or painting a picture of a day in his neighborhood on “Represent,” Nas did the one thing every rapper should do on any album they create: Bring listeners into their world rather than conforming to the world of the listener.

And he did it through wordplay, intricate rhyme schemes, multiple poetic devices, and wit. There’s a reason Nas performed this album at the Kennedy Center in Washington, D.C. in 2018 backed by the National Symphony Orchestra. Not bad for a kid who didn’t know what he was doing. — M. Shorter

58. Nina Simone – I Put a Spell on You

At the height of the Civil Rights movement, Nina Simone redirected her political leanings, which she firmly established a year prior on 1964’s “Mississippi Goddam,” to take a deliberate detour into the pop realm with all of the vigor that audiences had come to expect from the soul-stirring singer. Despite the love-bound lyrics and saccharine string arrangements on I Put a Spell on You, Simone never loses sight of her mission to dismantle Jim Crow America and simply shifts tactics to demonstrate pure, undeniable Black Excellence.

Simone casts a hypnotic air from the opening notes of the album’s title track, the definitive take on Screamin’ Jay Hawkins’ “I Put a Spell on You,” with a bite verging on contempt for anyone who attempts to resist. The charm remains unbroken even as she plunges the depths of lost love on her devastating rendition of “Ne me quitte pas” or imparts a weary wisdom on “You’ve Got to Learn.” The big picture comes into full view like clouds finally parting on the revelatory “Feeling Good,” where only “birds flying high” and other beings of the natural world can relate to Simone’s expression of freedom. — B. Kress

57. The Band – Music from Big Pink

The Band never quite fit in with the ‘60s and ‘70s rock scenes. They weren’t political, they constantly switched instruments, and they loved their families. Sure, there were drugs and women, but while other groups made songs out of such decadent behavior, The Band remained firmly rooted in tradition, filtering all of their lyrical subject matter (even the love songs) through a lens of mountainous, archaic Americana, spinning yarns about courageous settlers and the Civil War.

What kept The Band from being corny was their sense of communal musicianship, their chestnut lyrics set ablaze by each member’s skills, and their debut album, Music from Big Pink. The record captured them at the peak of their powers, before all the legal squabbles, back when they were just five fellas playing music in a cavernous house in the Catskills (the namesake of the album).

Listen to Big Pink and you can feel each member in the room. There are no stage hogs; everyone stands out. You remember Garth Hudson’s Captain Nemo organ solo on “Chest Fever” just as well as you remember the stacked harmonies and traded leads of Levon Helm and Rick Danko on “The Weight.”

And let’s not forget the back bayou thump of their rhythm chops, either. Robbie Robertson really cooks on “Caledonia Mission,” and Richard Manuel’s aching pipes drench the entire album in earnest, alcoholic tears, especially on closer “I Shall Be Released,” inevitably performed by some of the surviving members at his funeral in 1986. Behind the tumble and prophecy of Big Pink’s elaborate orchestration was a heart so wonderfully simple in times that were not. — Dan Caffrey (2010)

56. David Bowie – Hunky Dory

Released in 1971, Hunky Dory was David Bowie’s fourth album and the first to feature the lineup that would become The Spiders from Mars. Setting aside the blues-rock and psychedelic angles of his previous release, The Man Who Sold the World, Bowie instead favored a lighter, more acoustic pop approach with Hunky Dory. The themes and ideas scattered throughout the songs’ lyrics and arrangements set the stage for not only The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars, but for much of Bowie’s output in the ’70s.

At times, Bowie wears his influences on his sleeve, as in his obvious titular odes to idols Dylan and Warhol, or a direct sound connection to The Velvet Underground with “Queen Bitch.” Elsewhere, the songs have to be listened to a bit more closely and possibly even deconstructed to notice the heavier occult related themes via Aleister Crowley in songs like “Quicksand.”

Bowie’s desire to approach the album from a more old-time pop, acoustic direction creates a merry-go-round of songs, all a little different but connected by a common grounding. Hunky Dory is not a concept album, but the concepts within would eventually solidify and manifest in the character of Bowie’s spaceman and perhaps even in his personal philosophies. If anything, Hunky Dory is a testament to the grand scope and vision that David Bowie had as a young artist. — Len Comaratta (2010)

55. Sly and the Family Stone – There’s a Riot Goin’ On

You know all that hot fun you had in the summertime with Sly & The Family Stone? Well, watch out, ’cause summer turns cold. Taking a page out of Bitches Brew’s book, Sly came into the ’70s with a new plan, albeit a drug-addled one. Emotions are running high, narcosis seeps and slithers throughout the album, and militant disaffection with the then state of affairs is all but pounded into ears.

The lyrics, “Feel so good/ Don’t wanna move” speak to the continuum connecting the hubris of the late ‘60s and the stasis of Sly and his mind/society in the early ‘70s. Outside of its timely relevance, the origins of hip-hop, funk, R&B, and fusion are present throughout the album. The beat on the beginning of “Africa Talks to You ‘The Asphalt Jungle'” might just be the herald of 808s to come.

Sadly, There’s a Riot Goin’ On also heralds Sly’s descent into addiction. But the best album of Sly and his band’s career came in on a cloudy, groovy haze of sex, drugs, and, yeah, rock and roll, and few albums are as honest and heartbreaking and funky as this. — Nick Freed (2010)

54. Joy Division – Unknown Pleasures

Unknown Pleasures arrived in June 1979, cementing itself as the worst summer album of all time. There’s nothing about Joy Division’s debut that’s sunny, peachy, or even remotely positive. It’s one of the most depressing records in music history, second only to the band’s follow-up, 1980’s Closer. But that’s what makes it so unique. With its stark, iconic album cover — the eerie sound waves that look all too similar to a jagged razor blade — and its rough-yet-precise production by Martin Hannett, you can’t help but feel isolated, alone, and distorted while listening.

Although most of its rhythm is catchy and ironically poppy (see: “Disorder”), the morbid lyrical imagery courtesy of the late Ian Curtis keeps things in perspective. But what makes this all so compelling is that this album is less a collection of music and more of a snapshot of thoughts and feelings. Everyone tears at their own soul here.

You have Curtis’ soul-scraping vocals, Peter Hook’s top-heavy bass lines, Bernard Sumner’s heart-piercing guitar lines, and Stephen Morris’ highly-concentrated beats, all moving together with the same emotion and gravitas. Once you reach the first guitar line on “Disorder,” a mere 18 seconds in, you can’t help but think this was a group of young men who needed the sound more than we did.

Of course, decades and decades later, we now know how dangerous this music was to them — especially Curtis. But, to this day, regardless of its consequences, it stands as one of the most influential records of all time. We should only be so happy that Factory Records’ own Tony Wilson sank all his life savings into it. He didn’t see the returns (possibly ever, really), but rest assured, it paid off. Big time. — M.R. (2010)

53. Dr. Dre – 2001

2001 was born from a need to revitalize and reinvent. In 1999, Dr. Dre’s career was in a precarious place. The seven years since his debut album, The Chronic, had been marred by a series of uninspired releases, and his new label Aftermath was still experiencing growing pains. Wary of his skeptics, and eager to prove himself once more, Dre returned to his gangsta rap roots and innovated once more upon the sound he pioneered.

The new album was less funky, more cinematic, with cleaner production but no less vulgar subject matter. 2001 was a massive success, cementing Dr. Dre’s place in the rap pantheon just in time for the new century. What Dre certainly could not have predicted, however, is that in the next two decades not one but two cuts off 2001 would go onto become era-defining Internet memes.

In the early 2010s, “The Next Episode” was synonymous with the Mountain Dew-chugging, joint-smoking, sunglasses-wearing, MLG 420 meme format. (If those words made any sense to you at all, then the plucky guitar sample, Snoop Dogg’s opening “La da da da dah,” and especially Nate Dogg’s soulful “Smoke weed everyday” have been burned into your memory forever.)

A little later into the decade, the menacing piano chords of “Still D.R.E.” paired with Beethoven’s “Moonlight Sonata” became a ubiquitous sound in the post-Vine era of short-form viral content. In a sense, 2001 has outlived even its own legacy, not only surviving but becoming an integral part of the rapid-fire Internet gauntlet. — Curtis Sun

52. The Strokes – Is This It

In the years that spanned the close of the ’90s and the beginning of the millennium, it seemed as though all music would be electronic in this brave new century. Bands like The Prodigy and The Chemical Brothers were burning up the dance charts, the rock charts, the pop charts — all of the charts, really — with their fledgling new genre, electronica. Guitars and amplifiers would most certainly be a thing of the past in 2001.

Is This It put that school of thought to rest with the first few new notes of its title track. It boasted fuzzy amps, an organically monotone voice, and catchy self-loathing lyrics for those who loved Lou Reed both ironically and sincerely. In just under an hour, Is This It managed to make New York City music cool again and saved rock and roll at one of the most crucial points since the advent of disco. — Christine DiPaolo (2010)

51. Johnny Cash – At Folsom Prison

This live record begins with a simple, “Hello, I’m Johnny Cash,” followed by resounding applause. The catch, of course, is that the cheering audience members are all inmates of California’s Folsom State Prison. The idea of playing a prison show had always appealed to Cash, and with his career floundering in 1968 due in large part to drug abuse, the time seemed opportune for an unlikely comeback. Accompanied by June Carter, Carl Perkins, and the Tennessee Three, Cash rolled out every prison song he knew over two sets at Folsom.

Two elements make this recording so remarkable: The first is Cash’s conviction while singing these songs. When he confesses, “But I shot a man in Reno just to watch him die,” part of the listener believes him, and when he sings about a prisoner who misses his wife and wishes to know his young son on “Give My Love to Rose,” it’s easy to forget that, unlike his audience, Cash gets to go home after the show.

The other element that resonates is Cash’s interaction with the inmates. Not only did he pick a setlist that they could relate to, but he constantly pauses to speak and joke with them. This human touch, coupled with the way he openly carried his own troubles and shortcomings on his sleeve, creates a camaraderie that the listener can’t help but notice. And, as Cash himself admitted, those two shows in prison resurrected his career. — M.M. (2010)

50. Iggy & The Stooges – Raw Power

On their third album, The Stooges changed up their lineup, bringing in new guitarist James Williamson and moving Ron Asheton over to bass. Of course, they were still fronted by one of the greatest live performers of all time: Iggy Pop, the godfather of punk himself. Over 34 minutes, the Detroit rock ‘n’ roll statesman goes straight for the jugular.

Released under the band name Iggy & the Stooges, Raw Power saw the group continuing the proto-punk garage vibe of its first two albums, while offering up a more glam feel on songs like “Search and Destroy” and the title track, thanks in part to David Bowie’s final mix of the album. (Both Bowie’s management and the label had no idea what to do with Raw Power, which was likely the darkest thing they’d ever heard; Bowie exercised his star powers and mixed the record, ultimately saving it.)

The LP would prove to be one of the most influential works in rock history. Without Raw Power, there is no Clash, no Ramones, no Sex Pistols; famously, Steve Jones admitted that he learned to play by taking speed and listening to the LP. It even landed at No. 1 on Kurt Cobain’s personal list of his 50 favorite albums. — S.K.

49. Guns N’ Roses – Appetite for Destruction

Say what you will about modern rock today, but back in 1987, people had every right to turn up their speakers and blast what we consider “oldies” today: “Welcome to the Jungle,” “Paradise City,” and “Sweet Child o’ Mine.” Oh, Guns N’ Roses… the great rock and roll tragedy.

Until the Smashing Pumpkins, there wasn’t a more depressing story in the genre. Five rock stars. The world’s greatest selling debut album. 28 million fans. They had the look, they had the sound, and they had the edge. But they couldn’t hold it together. Instead of marching on, they ran straight into the ground, spoiling just about everything that had made the band so goddamn successful from the start.

Regardless of the lineup changes or the drama that came in the years following its release, Appetite for Destruction remains absolutely flawless. It’s the type of record every rock and roll band should aspire — or at least attempt — to create. Is it timeless? Not as much as it should be, but its crossover appeal is far greater than you’d like to believe.

Think of it this way: Every night (and, no, that’s not an exaggeration), tracks off this record are not only playing on some PA, but literally moving people. Whether it’s at a sports arena; at some teenager’s house party in Oshkosh, Wisconsin; or at a hipster dive bar in Brooklyn… people still can’t get enough of this album. Hell, you’d have to pay Chuck Klosterman $5,001 to never listen to it ever again. Whether or not that’s a compelling argument is up to you. Bottom line: It’s a diamond album, end of story. — M.R. (2010)

48. A Tribe Called Quest – The Low End Theory

The Low End Theory is a landmark achievement. A Tribe Called Quest’s 1991 album truly ushered in the group as we know it today. The jazz samples — most notably on “Jazz (We Got)” — the combination of afrocentric and gritty rhymes, the drums that hit harder than two-day-old grits, the posse cuts, and the camaraderie between Q-Tip and the late great Phife Dawg all start here.

There is no A Tribe Called Quest without this album and, as a result, a lot of your favorite groups, like The Roots and OutKast, wouldn’t exist, either. Q-Tip and Phife’s followup to their first album went for a minimalist approach: The beats are sparse, with mostly bass, drums, and simple loops. The rhymes, while potent, are a little less esoteric than their first album too, which is attributed to Phife’s emergence. Tip’s partner in rhyme didn’t take rap that seriously during their first album, which is why he barely appears. Consider The Low End Theory him making up for time.

Whether it’s on “Butter,” “Check the Rhime,” or “Scenario,” Phife showed his value as a streetwise complement to Q-Tip’s desire to “wake up the dead” with his more conscious lyrics. They were peanut butter and jelly on wax, both needing each other for the group to truly flourish.

Of course, calling what they did on this album “flourishing” is putting it mildly. Nothing sounded like The Low End Theory. An album about the emerging AIDS crisis, date rape, Black love, the record industry, generational trauma, the plight of Black people in the early ‘90s, hopes, dreams, and disses to sucker MCs flows together fluidly. There are no contradictions, no leaps in logic, and, best of all, it’s not preachy or boring. Tip and Phife walk that line better than any group in hip-hop history on this one singular work, and music is much better as a result. — M. Shorter

47. Van Morrison – Astral Weeks

It’s hard to believe that Astral Weeks was only the second album in Van Morrison’s career. Its loose, combustible jazz sound still ranks as one of the most innovative things he’s done. But this display of the singer-songwriter’s early genius was birthed not from meticulous musical planning, but rather circumstances that were dire and stressful.

After a dispute with his record label, founder Bert Berns died of a heart attack, which his wife blamed Morrison for, going as far to try and deport him back to Europe. Morrison avoided this by marrying his then girlfriend (now ex-wife) Janet Minto and moving to Cambridge, Massachusetts with her where he worked on the club circuit, playing with a group of student musicians as his backing band.

Although he would only bring along the bass player for the recording sessions of his next album, it was in Cambridge (and from producer Lewis Merenstein) that Morrison was heavily exposed to jazz, something he was unfamiliar with at that point. The improvisational atmosphere was the perfect musical fit for Morrison’s mindset at the time. He’s stated in interviews that he was broke, tired, and simply did not know what to do. He didn’t want to think about it and he wanted musicians skilled enough to just follow him.

And thus came Astral Weeks, a gorgeous, freewheeling meditation on life and looking forward; a kaleidoscopic, sylvan soundscape focused on images and feelings rather than a coherent narrative. The only constant is the gentle strum of Morrison’s acoustic guitar as the nodding lull of the upright bass, horns, and I-didn’t-know-it-could-actually-be-cool jazz flute swirl around it, always on the verge of floating away, but preferring to stay in place to catch Morrison on his next musical shift.

His vocals are constantly morphing (a practice he would take up in later live performances), sometimes crooning, sometimes clipping the words, and sometimes not even finishing sentences at all. He floats through the optimistic, string-soaked “Madame George,” the whimsical harpsichord of “Cyprus Avenue,” through ferry boats and forests all the way until the baroque Nashville pluck of the closing title track. Morrison may have been high strung at the time, but you would never know it listening to such a dazzling and relaxed album. — D.C. (2010)

46. Nine Inch Nails – The Downward Spiral

Trent Reznor has come a long way since his one-man studio band Nine Inch Nails injected 1994’s The Downward Spiral into mainstream radio. Taking some pop aesthetic from 1989’s dance-oriented Pretty Hate Machine and grinding it up with the legendary middle finger known as the Broken EP, Reznor spat out a suicidal concept record with industrial metal roots (not to mention its ’95 remix companion).

The Downward Spiral spearheaded a wave of industrial pop, nu-metal, mid-’90s alternative, and the like, all alongside a leviathan called grunge rock. While the overall sound and motivation of Nine Inch Nails and its sole creator has taken dramatic shifts post-’99, despite a “fist fuck” here and a marriage there, Trent Reznor will go down in history as Mr. Self Destruct — the man who brought us “closer to God” in so many words. On that note, you know you’re awesome when Johnny Cash makes one of your songs his own personal, unplanned eulogy. — D.B. (2010)

45. Lady Gaga – The Fame Monster

It’s glamorous, it’s Gothic, it’s the runway, it’s a dance floor — The Fame Monster is everything. Lady Gaga was in her early 20s when she dropped this modern pop masterpiece, a confident album with a clear vision. Gaga knew her destination, and knew exactly how she wanted to get there — and she succeeded.

Underneath the pastiche and glitz that defined Lady Gaga of 2009 are moments of vulnerability from our Stefani Germanotta. Throughout the album, she touches on themes around body image, autonomy, and fear, never glamorizing but often dramatizing the harder, darker parts of life. The Fame era overall was especially focused on exactly what the album title suggested — the joys and horrors of modern fame — and Gaga’s flair for the theatrical made her the perfect mouthpiece for the conversation.

Beyond the headline-making moments, though, is a great album that has persisted in relevance in the years since, and an album that laid a certain groundwork for many women in pop to follow. The opening riff to “Bad Romance” has achieved iconic status, “Telephone” saw her join forces with Beyoncé, and “Alejandro” feels as urgent now as it did then. Our Mother Monster is a storyteller, and The Fame Monster is her best tale yet. — M. Siroky

44. Miles Davis – Kind of Blue

For many people, this Miles Davis album is the jazz record. Not just “a cornerstone of any jazz collection” as critic Stephen Thomas Erlewine once wrote, but literally the best-selling jazz record of all time, a genre-defining achievement unlike no other. No wonder it’s become so influential, especially for how it serves as a platonic ideal of modal jazz, a style that Davis had worked with prior to recording Kind of Blue, but perfected here.

Said perfection stems directly from how elegantly this approach allows the improvisation between musicians: The opening track, “So What,” feels like a warm bath before Davis’s trumpet electrifies Bill Evans’ piano work and Jimmy Cobb’s steady drumming, while the four subsequent songs build upon that blending of sound, the journey into this sultry world concluding with the haunting and wistful “Flamenco Sketches.”

What’s magical about revisiting Kind of Blue today is that it still hums with life, each moment playing as organic and vibrant as the day it was recorded over 60 years ago. Davis and his band, in their minute imperfections, feel alive and real as you listen. The genre of jazz comprises multitudes, but this masterpiece remains one of its pinnacles — a perfect album to curl up with on a rainy day, for as long as rain continues to fall from the skies. — L.S.M.

43. Bob Dylan – Blood on the Tracks

Drawing from the dissolution of his marriage to Sara Lownds, Blood on the Tracks is commonly held to be Bob Dylan’s great breakup album, and therefore viewed as the wily bard’s most vulnerable statement. Sure, there’s blood here, but there’s little evidence of a bleeding heart. While Dylan has referenced the album’s “pain,” the album’s success and everlasting influence is not due to raw revelation. Instead, Blood’s power stems from the masterful metabolization of an artist’s experiences into musical stories that feel timeless.

Dylan’s 15th studio album marked his first as sole producer, and the tone is sustained over a surprising range of folk-pop tunes. Recorded in New York in fall 1974, Blood’s release was delayed while Dylan re-recorded five of the tracks over two days in Minneapolis with locally recruited musicians. Released to mixed reviews, Blood ultimately reached No. 1 on the Billboard 200 chart and was viewed as a comeback and a push beyond Dylan’s role as the voice and pariah of the ’60s folk movement. It remains one of his best-selling and most critically acclaimed albums.

Though Dylan denies writing “autobiographical” songs, Blood does channel a personally tumultuous and expansive year for him. Dylan had taken art classes with painter Norman Raeben, whom he credited with renewing his capacity to write songs by teaching him “how to see.” The resulting album reflects this shifted perspective and a sense of “no time” (“You’ve got yesterday, today and tomorrow all in the same room,” he told Mary Travers in a 1975 interview).

Dylan approached songs like paintings, “where you can see the different parts but then you also see the whole of it.” This tapestry effect is illustrated in “Tangled Up in Blue,” an enduring five-and-a-half-minute epic that unfurls tales of searchers, intrigue, and tenderness over a brightly rolling acoustic current. By turns, Blood is accusatory and lamenting, mythical and mystical, rollicking, funny and even sexy. It’s the album modern listeners reach for most readily, because it doesn’t sound like a souvenir from a failed counterculture or obscure outsider Americana — but it does sound like Dylan.

Jakob Dylan has famously described this album as “my parents talking,” but what makes Blood great is how Dylan transformed deep interiority into stories we can enter and return to. — K.M.

42. AC/DC – Back in Black

AC/DC’s return after the death of inimitable frontman Bon Scott is one of the greatest comeback stories in rock history. Coming off the release of their most successful album, 1979’s Highway to Hell, the Australian band admirably trudged forward, enlisting singer Brian Johnson to fill Scott’s seemingly unfillable shoes. With a voice like gravel and swagger to boot, Johnson was a perfect fit. Yet this new iteration of AC/DC still managed to sound distinct while retaining their core identity as world class hard-rock riffers.

Helping in this transition was producer Robert “Mutt” Lange, who helmed Highway to Hell and returned for 1980’s Back in Black. Lange’s penchant for sonic perfection and pop accessibility would keep the wheels moving, as heard on the triumphant title track and lead single. Few recorded riffs have proven catchier, with axeman Angus Young peppering blues runs between massive power chords. You couldn’t have chosen a better song to introduce Brian Johnson. In a gutsy move, the lyrics are eerily self-referential (“I’m let loose/ From the noose/ That’s kept me hanging about”) and Johnson snarls ‘em with intent.

AC/DC would also notch hits with the ominous opener “Hells Bells” and the unabashedly sleazy “You Shook Me All Night Long.” A testament to Back in Black’s lasting legacy, these songs remain ubiquitous across algorithm playlists, dive bar jukeboxes, and FM rock stations. — J.H.

41. JAY-Z – Reasonable Doubt

After failing to find a label and deciding to start his own, JAY-Z — along with his Roc-A-Fella Records partners Kareem “Biggs” Burke and Dame Dash — had plenty to prove with his debut album, Reasonable Doubt. Not only did the trio have to create buzz around the LP on their own, but the rapper had to make a name for himself in a packed East Coast hip-hop scene led by The Notorious B.I.G., Nas, Mobb Deep, and more.

Putting his own spin on the burgeoning subgenre of mafioso rap, Reasonable Doubt finds JAY-Z switching up his flow and upping his lyrical game with complex rhyme schemes, witty punchlines, and vivid storytelling. Throughout the album, the Brooklyn native makes a concerted effort to go beyond the freestyle expertise of “22 Two’s.” In contrast with the effortless cool of tracks like “Can’t Knock the Hustle” and “Dead Presidents II,” he addresses the psychological toll of the streets on “D’Evils” and “Can I Live.” Meanwhile, “Brooklyn’s Finest” sees him matching Biggie rhyme for rhyme — proving in the process that he belongs in the upper echelon of New York MCs.

When paired with production from New York City stalwarts DJ Premier, DJ Clark Kent, and Ski Beatz, Reasonable Doubt was an instant classic. If the plan actually was to put out the record and walk away on top, it was a resounding success. Nearly two decades later, JAY-Z himself ranked it as his best album. — E.F.