"New York," Lou Reed (1989)

The 1980s were a great decade for Lou Reed – to these ears, the only period where he created works of sustained excellence that could be spoken of in the same breath as his seminal work for The Velvet Underground.  1982’s “The Blue Mask,” 1983’s “Legendary Hearts,” and 1984’s “New Sensations” were all outstanding albums, and even 1986’s “Mistrial” isn’t half bad.

But my favorite is “New York,” the album with which he closed out the decade in 1989.  And although the songs are great, what I love most about the record is how it sounds.  It’s very basic – Reed and Mike Rathke on guitars, Rob Wasserman on bass, and Fred Maher on drums (with an assist from VU’s drummer Maureen Tucker on two songs) – and clean.  No embellishments, just a great band featuring two guitarists with the ability to match each other, note for note.

Lou Reed is one of those guys that you either love, or you don’t.  There doesn’t seem to be a lot of middle ground when it comes to Lou.  He doesn’t really “sing” per se, although his vocals are one of the strengths of the album.  In many cases it’s amazing wordplay, in others it’s telling a great story.  And when he’s pissed off, there’s never any doubt about it.  Favorites: “Romeo Had Juliette,” “Halloween Parade,” “The Beginning of a Great Adventure,” “Busload of Faith,” “Hold On,” “Strawman” and “Dime Store Mystery,” which sounds more like a VU song than anything else that Reed has ever recorded.

Christgau: A-. “Protesting, elegizing, carping, waxing sarcastic, forcing jokes, stating facts, garbling what he just read in the Times, free-associating to doomsday, Lou carries on a New York conversation--all that's missing is a disquisition on real estate. I don't always find his politics especially smart--though I have no problem with his grousing about Jesse's Jewish problem, I wish he'd called the man on Hymietown rather than Arafat. But that's not really the point, is it? As usual, the pleasure of the lyrics is mostly tone and delivery--plus the impulse they validate, their affirmation that you can write songs about this stuff. Plus, right, the music. Which is, right, the most Velvets of his entire solo career. And which doesn't, wrong, sound like the Velvets. Not even as much as Galaxie 500. Just bass, drums, and two (simple) guitars.”

"Willy and the Poor Boys," Creedence Clearwater Revival (1969)

“Willie and the Poor Boys” was my birthday present in 1970, when I was in the 4^th grade.

It seemed at the time, and nothing has transpired in the 45-plus years since to make me change my mind, that everyone liked Creedence Clearwater Revival.  All of my friends loved them; my parents loved them; even the teachers let us listen to their records during lunch every now and then.

Every Creedence album had a formula, and “Willy and the Poor Boys” was no different: a couple of massive radio hits (in this instance, “Down on the Corner” and “Fortunate Son”), a couple of John Fogerty-penned classics (“It Came Out of the Sky,” “Don’t Look Now”), a couple of oldies/traditionals performed Creedence-style (“Cotton Fields,” “The Midnight Special”), and a couple of songs that (at the time) I called “the long songs” (“Feelin’ Blue,” “Effigy”).

Thinking about it now it seems like a bit of an odd mix, but have no doubt – Creedence was a great, great band, perhaps the greatest American band of all.  Their flame may have burned for a relatively short time, but during that time it burned incredibly bright.

Christgau: A+. “Somehow I have never bothered to state my almost unqualified admiration for John Fogerty. Creedence's ecumenical achievement is almost unbelievable: this is the only group since the Beatles and the Stones to turn out hit after hit without losing any but the most perverse hip music snobs. With this in mind, Fogerty's subtlety as a political songwriter (have you ever really dug the words of "Fortunate Son"?) comes as no surprise. This is everything a good rock album should be--the best they've done yet, I think.”

"Where Are You?," Frank Sinatra (1958)

This was the first Frank Sinatra album I bought, sometime in the late summer of 1983.  I’d spent a good part of that summer reading the second edition of “The Rolling Stone Record Guide” (one of the Dave Marsh-edited versions, when you could still read a negative review every now and then), and as soon as I read Stephen Holden’s essay on the work of Sinatra, I knew it was only a matter of time before I picked up one of his records.

This was the best of Sinatra’s “dark night of the soul” albums, arranged and conducted by the great Gordon Jenkins.  Holden called it “their one perfect collaboration,” and wrote “Sinatra’s singing exuded a towering angst that bordered on the sepulchral.”  And yes, I do believe I did have to look that last word up.

With the songs, it’s hard to know where to start.  “Where Are You?,” “I Cover the Waterfront,” “Laura,” “Autumn Leaves,” “I’m a Fool to Want You” and “Baby Won’t You Please Come Home” are all classics, but the best of them all is “The Night We Call It a Day.”  At the end of the song, Sinatra does something with his voice that I’ve never heard on any other of his tunes, and it is a thrilling moment.  Not to mention a moment of absolute brilliance.

In the period beginning in the mid-1950s through the mid-Sixties, Sinatra was at the absolute pinnacle of his powers.  Of all his great work, he may never have sung as well as he did on “Where Are You?”

"She's So Unusual," Cyndi Lauper (1983)

The first side of “She’s So Unusual” is one of the great album sides in the history of rock music.  Had Cyndi Lauper been able to sustain that greatness across the entire album, her debut might very well have been considered the best debut album of all time.

The album kicks off with “Money Changes Everything,” written by Tom Gray and originally recorded by The Brains a few years earlier.  It’s an incredible song with incredible lyrics, and Lauper sings it as if the future of her career is resting on her ability to make you believe the story the song tells as if you were living it yourself.

From there we go to the massive hit, “Girls Just Want to Have Fun,” by Robert Hazard.  You’ve probably heard it.  In fact, one way or another you’ve made up your mind about it, so I’ll just say that I think it’s one of the greatest singles of its day, and likely of all time.

And then for good measure, Lauper decides to cover a Prince song, and not just any Prince song – “When You Were Mine,” one of his best.  How good is her effort?  Well, you could do worse than spending the rest of your life trying to decide whether her version is better than his.  It’s that good.

Closing off Side One is “Time After Time,” the first Lauper composition on the record (co-written with Rob Hyman).  Has that song been around long enough to call it an immortal ballad?  I think so.

I’m not even going to say anything about Side Two.  It’s good, but it couldn’t possibly match what preceded it.  And Lauper, notwithstanding a long and successful career, has never matched it.  But that’s OK, because it’s not every day of the week that an artist puts together 20 solid minutes of music like what one hears on Side One of “She’s So Unusual.”

Christgau: A. “Initially, this blue angel won my heart by covering the two most profound pop songs of the past five years, "Money Changes Everything" and "When You Were Mine." Now, with "Girls Just Want to Have Fun" the official pep song of the daughters of Ms. and Pepsi-Cola and "Time After Time" throbbing hearts by the millions, I've softened my strictures about her Betty Boop bimboism--if a kook who's loved, respected, and taken seriously by her sisters fools boys into believing she can be fooled with, more power to her. First side's an eternal classic. The second gets by on the one where she kisses me and the one where she diddles herself.”

"Late for the Sky," Jackson Browne (1974)

“Late for the Sky” is my favorite Jackson Browne album, but it’s not one you want to put on if you’re feeling depressed.  Aside from “The Road and the Sky” and “Walking Slow,” this is pretty heavy stuff, but the songs really seemed to speak to me when I bought it in the Winter of 1977.  Yeah, all those emotional crises one dealt with at 17 could be overwhelming, right?  There are four bona fide Browne classics on the record – the title track, “Fountain of Sorrow,” “Before the Deluge,” and the haunting “For a Dancer.”  All worth taking the time to truly listen closely.

Another thing about the album that needs to be recognized and saluted is David Lindley’s musicianship.  Whether on electric lead guitar, slide guitar or fiddle, Lindley is amazing throughout – adding vibrancy every song.  Jackson lets him take the spotlight on most songs, which is smart – it’s a battle he had no chance of winning.

And a classic cover, no doubt.

Stephen Holden, Rolling Stone review: “Its overriding theme: the exploration of romantic possibility in the shadow of apocalypse.  No contemporary male singer/songwriter has dealt so honestly and deeply with the vulnerability of romantic idealism and the pain of adjustment from youthful narcissism to adult survival as Browne has in this album.”