Sheer Heart Attack is probably the band's first mature album, in which they married the Led Zeppelin-influenced crunch of their eponymous debut, and the sonic gimmickry and thematic ambition of its follow-up, Queen II. They then hitched the result to their strongest songwriting to date: the single, "Killer Queen," actually won an Ivor Novello award, and pointed the way forward to subsequent glories. Occasionally their desire to cover every conceivable stylistic base becomes wearying (did ragtime pastiche "Bring Back That Leroy Brown" ever seem like a good idea?), but the ambitious structures and elegant arrangements of tracks like "In the Lap of the Gods" and "Lily of the Valley" attest to a formidable and distinctive musical vision. And when they cut loose and actually rocked out ("Now I'm Here", "Brighton Rock"), few of their peers could match their power-something that many critics, alienated by Mercury's fondness for the grand gesture, nowadays mostly choose to forget. -Andrew McGuire.

"Fell on Black Days", indeed. Seattle sludge slingers Soundgarden made a living out of cathartic, woe-is-me wailing (we're talking the banshee vocals of Chris Cornell and the crypt-creaking guitar of Kim Thayil), but this wallowing in grim depression ironically proved to be the band's most uplifting career effort. When the reclusive Cornell ventures out of his shy-guy shell, it's typically via a primal scream of cathartic emotion-he might camp it up with a sophomoric "Spoon Man", but most of this vicious disc leaps straight for your jugular. Generations in the post-millennial future will one day refer to this record to discover exactly how 1990s rock & roll was done. -Tom Lanham.

Banged out in a hurry for the 1964 Christmas market, Beatles for Sale sometimes sounds it, loaded with ill-conceived covers and some of John Lennon's most self-loathing lyrics. On the other hand, the people doing the banging-out were the Beatles, whose instincts for what worked musically were so strong that they could basically do no wrong-any record that has "Baby's in Black", "I Don't Want to Spoil the Party" and the delectable "Eight Days a Week" on it is only "minor" in the most relative sense. And, though their voices had been frazzled a bit by constant touring, they revved them up for some joyous shouting, and indulged their fondness for American country in subtle, playful ways. -Douglas Wolk.

Radiohead's Hail to the Thief bridges the gulf between OK Computer's epic progressive rock and Kid A's skittering electronic theatrics, borrowing equally from each. Its title implies that this is a collection filled with songs of anger and dissent, but Radiohead no longer howl at the moon like they did on 1995's The Bends. Instead, they use eloquent metaphors and complicated arrangements to express the uncertainty, fear and anger arising from the 2000 US presidential election and a post-9-11 world. There's no doubt about where Thom Yorke and company stand; the prog-rock break on "2 + 2 = 5" and Yorke's terror at the thought of being "put in a box" make that immediately clear. But there's a prevailing sense of powerlessness here. The tinkling piano behind the cold sonic surface of "Backdrifts" and the brief, swooping melody in the middle of "Sail to the Moon" are islands in a sea of confusion. Like the band's best work, Hail to the Thief requires more than a few listens to fully appreciate, but those who stick around will be richly rewarded. -Matthew Cooke.

Overwhelmed by sudden success, Nirvana promised to take a harsher, more abrasive route on their second major-label release. Enlisting Chicago-based noise maven Steve Albini (of Big Black fame), Kurt Cobain and company succeeded in producing a record that was violent, disillusioned, and deeply moving. Every song reads like a commentary on the cost of fame ("Serve the Servants") and the unhealthy relationship between performer and fan ("Milk It"). Of course, they might all simply be about Courtney Love. Gossip aside, there is no denying the sheer power of Cobain's song-writing, his singing, and the band's amazing, visceral power. Cobain even manages a John Lennon-like mantra at the end of the heart-wrenching "All Apologies". "All in all is all we are," he intones repeatedly, only for Cobain that's no consolation. -Percy Keegan.

Nebraska is a cruel landscape of serial killers, shady deals, jobless workers pushed to the edge, brothers who finally just look the other way. Accompanying himself on acoustic guitar and little else, Bruce Springsteen mixes together his own Jersey mythology with bits of Woody Guthrie, the Delmore Brothers and country blues to produce among the most emotionally crippling roots rock ever caught on tape. "What does it mean", Springsteen moans plaintively, "(that) at the end of every hard-earned day people find some reason to believe?" He has no answer but if there's any hope at all here, it's that his characters are still asking the question. -David Cantwell.

Following a string of unsatisfactory replacements (including former Jane's Addiction alum Dave Navarro), Californication-the band's seventh album-saw them reunited with both errant guitarist John Frusciante (hauled out of a long and debilitating heroin addiction) and producer Rick Rubin, whose mixture of commerical nous and sonic smarts helped make 1991's Blood Sugar Sex Magik their breakthrough set. It's a welcome reunion: Frusciante's playing, in particular-tight, yet lyrical-fits these songs like a second skin, lending them a sensual sort of ease that is perfectly in keeping with the reckless hedonism of their lyrics. The songs themselves are much the same mixture of adrenalised swagger and high-tensile funk as ever. And typically, there are two or three fillers here ("Emit Remmus", "Purple Stain") which probably should have been left on the shelf. Ultimately, though, it's their ballads ("Road Trippin'", the moody, desolate "Scar Tissue") which really demonstrate their strengths, both as songwriters and arrangers-and reveal, albeit briefly, the hearts this crew normally take such pains to conceal. -Andrew McGuire.

All the voices in Tom Waits' head come out on this album: the growler (of course), the crooner, the preacher, the screecher, and the Vegas cheese ball. The instrumentation is equally eclectic. (Yep, that's Waits himself playing the "rooster" on the album's best song, "I'll Be Gone". ) More memorable moments: "Innocent When You Dream" (both times), the vocal howling at the end of "Blow Wind Blow", and the lovely coughing fit after "I'll Take New York. " Frank's Wild Years is the musical remains of a theatrical collaboration between Waits and Kathleen Brennan, originally staged in 1986. It contains nuggets of important practical advice, sure-"never drive a car when you're dead" (from "Telephone Call from Istanbul")-but mostly these songs are fantasy freaks. Frank's is big-time dreamer. It's a dreamy album. Sweet dreams. -Dan Leone.

Strangely for a greatest hits compilation, Green Day's International Superhits opens with two new songs recorded in 2001. "Maria" is Green Day playing to their strengths, a burst of rattling skinny tie new wave that has you itching to join the nearest mosh pit, and the cool acoustic pop of "Poprocks and Coke" is worthy of the trio's Nimrod. The implication is clear: the unfortunate diversion undertaken by 2000's Warning (where the band horrifically mutated into The Levellers) is over and now it's business as usual. Thank God for that. Although a host of skate chancers have tried to rewrite the likes of "Basket Case" and "Brain Stew", no one does punk pop better than Billie Joe and the boys. No one does it quite as intelligently either. "Longview" almost sneers at the slacker ennui it seems to embody, "Welcome to Paradise" sneaks in a cheeky steal from Dead Kennedys, and "Redundant" runs on a sublime psyche melody worth of Elliott Smith. All of which proves you don't need a potty mouth and a dull 'tude to be a real rebel-and dreadlocks and dogs on strings are a definite no no. -Ian Watson.

George Orwell's classic tale of totalitarianism, 1984, was the inspiration for a project that David Bowie hoped would further solidify his standing as a rock visionary. Bowie was a natural artist to helm a musical companion to Orwell's allegory, since his own music exhibits an innate alienation. The concept ultimately broke down, but the music didn't. "Rebel Rebel" has become a rock staple, while "Sweet Thing," "Candidate," and the forthright yet experimental title track (Bowie as puppet master) offer additional highlights. Still, despite such benchmarks and its conceptual flaws, Diamond Dogs is best listened to as a thematic collection. -Rob O'Connor.

Disintegration is a pop album realised on an epic scale. Most of its 12 songs are long mood pieces that develop slowly around the listener. Anchored by complex drum patterns, the layered guitars, soaring bass lines and rich keyboards blend to create a lush, evocative soundscape that captures the ear immediately; and for all its length, the album is never boring. The lyrical focus is intensely personal throughout, and, with the exception of "Love Song", the mood is overwhelmingly dark and brooding. Here are songs of remembrance that, through their deep candor, transcend the individual level to explore universal longings and fears. Robert Smith, his vocals plaintive or angry or despairing, unfolds a tapestry of loss. Broken bonds, old lies, missed opportunities, belated realisations. Anyone who has experienced the joy and sorrow-especially the sorrow-of love will find his or her deepest sentiments, noble and petty alike, echoed poetically here. -Al Massa.

The buzz for Nelly Furtado's Loose began before the music was even recorded, with the announcement that legendary hip-hop knob-twirler Timbaland (Missy Elliott, Jay-Z, Justin Timberlake) would act as co-producer. The question on fans' minds: what would it sound like when a hip-hop kingpin collaborated with an artist who culls inspiration not just from pop music, but also her own Portuguese roots? As it turns out, Loose incorporates a number of different styles along its journey, but is-surprisingly-primarily divided between '80s-influenced electronica and latin-infused pop. This disc is very different from Furtado's previous CDs, a fact immediately evident from track one, the new wave-affected "Afraid. " A strong opener, the song is the beginning of a 1-2-3 punch of uptempo, infectious dance floor beats. The second cut, "Maneater," also proves to be incredibly catchy, but the verses and keyboard sound too much like they were plucked from electroclash artist Peaches' tree, and originality is lost. The perfect summer pop song follows, the massive hit "Promiscuous," which features clever interplay between Furtado and Timbaland on their sassy duet. From that point, Loose oscillates between the Miami-affected sounds of R&B, Latino pop, and reggaeton ("Showtime," "Te Busque," and "No Hay Igual" respectively) and the aforementioned '80s vibe ("Glow," "Do It"). Fans will hear Furtado at her vocal best on "Say It Right" and "In God's Hands"-two of the most lyrically compelling tracks on the disc. -Denise Sheppard.

Sometimes overlooked by public and critics alike (though never American radio), this best-of confirms Thin Lizzy as one of rock's greats. Their string of hits, including the wonderful "Dancing in the Moonlight", "The Boys Are Back in Town" and "Jailbreak" remain classic music. The band deserve a place in the pantheon of Irish greats alongside U2, Van Morrison and the Cranberries. Thin Lizzy were very firmly a good-time group, perhaps strange for a bunch that emerged from both sides of Ireland in a troubled time. But with Phil Lynott's excellent vocals over heavy guitar riffs they never failed to give value for money. This is raucous hell-raising music that straddles, in leather star-spangled pants, 70s monster rock and 80s punk. The live versions are a testament to the band's fantastic live power. On stage they were in their element, spitting, fighting, shouting and singing. There's also a tinge of sadness under Thin Lizzy's feelgood, ready-for-a-rumble stomp. This was confirmed when Lynott died from a drugs overdose two years after the band folded. [+]

"Sister Morphine", the heart of guitarist Mick Taylor's first full studio album with the Stones, doesn't get brought up as often as "Brown Sugar" or "Wild Horses". But it's one of the most vivid, horrifying songs about drug abuse ever recorded-as Mick Jagger sings "from my hospital bed," the ringing guitars of Taylor and Keith Richards build to full catharsis behind him. On that and lighter songs like the countryish "Dead Flowers" and the rocker "Bitch", Charlie Watts establishes himself as rock's prototypical drummer. He's creative and propulsive and knows how to swing, but he never overwhelms the song or the other Stones. -Steve Knopper.

As this greatest hits-style collection-unglamourously entitled Singles-serves to prove, Suede were fashionably wasted and seedily sexy wretches years before catwalk pundits had even coined the phrase "heroin chic". Irrefutably the first great British band of the 1990s (they were, somewhat unwisely, dubbed "the new Smiths"), Suede stepped out from the despondent, suffocating shadow of moping American grunge with a head full of Ziggy Stardust and a hedonistic agenda of urban escapism, casual intercourse, recreational chemistry thrills and the sort of shoestring decadence that still makes the likes of "So Young" ("Let's chase the dragon" shrieked Brett Anderson) and "Animal Nitrate" the musical equivalent of promenading in a fur coat purchased from a charity shop. It was almost too good to last. The ironically titled "Stay Together" (why not the full eight minute version?) was more grandiose in design but the mysterious union between Brett Anderson and furry-toned guitar maestro Bernard Butler was on the rocks and their marriage dissolved over the choice of mixer for the classic Dog Man Star, herein represented by the anthemic "We Are the Pigs", "New Generation" and "The Wild Ones". Guitar-slinging Poole Grammar school pupil Richard Oakes stepped into the breach and Suede became even more complicit with the charts via such brazen glam-pop stompers as "Trash" and "Electricity". Lately, though, Brett Anderson sounds more like an observer of rather than a participant in the pharmaceutically-addled underbelly of back-street British suburbia. The two exclusive new songs are slightly underwhelming ("Love the Way You Love" sounds like a Phil Oakey comeback) but every dog has its day and Suede have, with every justification, already earned their place in history. -Kevin Maidment.

The critical and commercial triumphs of Portishead, Tricky and Roni Size have established Bristol as a centre of slow-burning creativity, but it was the staggering impact Massive Attack made with their debut album which first put the West Country town on the musical map and made reluctant superstars of Mushroom, 3-D and Daddy G. Blue Lines provided a blueprint for the sound which would become known as trip-hop, combining the raw soundsystem vibe of the Wild Bunch parties with immaculate production and the distinguished vocal talents of Tricky, Shara Nelson and Horace Andy. From the understated beats and deftly-arranged ensemble rapping of the title track to the smokey paranoia of "Five Man Army" and the unrepeatable melancholic splendour of "Unfinished Sympathy", the album is a modern classic through and through. It won the Mercury Music Prize in 1992 and remains the finest work of a frighteningly talented group. -Ed Potton.