The HoG25: The Best 25 Albums of the Past 25 Years, Part II

If you missed the first installment, feel free to browse it and catch up, and if you don't read the intro, note that NSFW status is being lyrically implied for all clips. This series has been a blast, and we hope you've enjoyed reading.

10. Doggystyle, Snoop Doggy Dogg

bankmeister: I don’t want to sit here and drop pallets full of praise on Snoop Doggy Dogg, which is tough on a cracka’, ‘cause I loves me some Snoop. I really do. The contributions he made to style, flow, rhyme, and beats both independently, and via collaborations were and are immeasurable. I could go in 10 different directions on that, but I must show some initial restrain and acknowledge that, post-Doggystyle, Snoop’s solo career (10 albums) has been one of two things: either the best-kept secret in the history of all the forevers, or absolute crap. I’m of the belief that it’s the latter, but I’m also hopeful and eager that I can be proven wrong with that assertion.

But we’re not here to dogg on the man; we’re here to talk about what an atomic bomb Doggystyle was. November 23, 1993 was when Snoop forever lowered the boom on hip-hop and rap by delivering his debut album. I suppose there might be some in the critics circles that would say that such a selection, or such a genre, must be removed from the broader discussion when it contains (some 25) samples, but I am not part of such a circle, and I prefer to focus on the finished product, which was swift, bold, and striking.

Technically, the album contains 19 tracks, but it’s more like 13 if you cut out the semi-non-sensical skits and interludes. When you get to the content of said 13, however –- and here’s where I show my age –- I posit that no album, since its release has had the track-to-track power of getting a room moving, and singing along. It’s the beats produced by Dr. Dre, coupled with the smooth delivery of Snoop’s raps, that has made the album such a staying force, all the way back to the era –- when MTV still didn’t completely suck –- from whence “Gin and Juice” was born.

“Gin and Juice” gave us an uber-favorable beat, and the table of contents to the pamphlet of synonyms for weed. It also gave us a music video with the then-becoming-common blurred-out images, and an international acceptance for the buzz associated with a hooch-booze combination. Powerful as it was, “The Shiznit” might be the album’s tightest track. The punch delivered by the aggressive beats of track five, along with the melodic flute and high-flying lyrics have perhaps left the number as one of the best sleepers in G-funk history.

“Lodi Dodi” was always fun, a track most folks remember all of the lyrics, too, even if it had some less-than-savory lyrics. If “The Shiznit” doesn’t take the title belt of Doggystyle’s badassery, then “Murder Was the Case” does, no doubt. Not a fan of “Serial Killa.” Never have been. But, the album comes right back strong with the “For All My Niggas & Bitches,” “Ain’t No Fun (If the Homies Can’t Have None)” pair, and “Gz and Hustlas” is also solid late in the mix.

Ultimately, Doggystyle, I don’t imagine, will ever be shelved. Enshrined in the halls of musical awesomeness for eternity, Snoop’s debut will likely never see another contender that legitimately challenges the quality of the entire album.



9. Sublime, Sublime

Old No. 7:



8. (two-way tie)

Master of Puppets, Metallica

Old No. 7:



Ten, Pearl Jam

bankmeister: Taking Ten with my first pick was tough. I went on instinct, thinking that this album was as important in high school for my colleagues as it was for me, so I thought if I didn’t bite right away, it’d be gone. In hindsight, I probably could’ve nabbed it in the seventh or eighth round, and not lost out on Three Feet High & Rising, which Cecil ruthlessly stole from me in the fifth. I may, in fact, go to my grave blowing the robbery whistle, while face-palming myself on that one, which probably sounds like a Special Olympics zerbert. But Pearl Jam.

It seems that, at least once a year, Pearl Jam goes on tour or releases a new album, and the masses go absolutely bonkers. I’m always late to that parade, and that doesn’t bother me, because, on the inside, I’m thinking: Wow. Really? They’re still around?

I know, I know. The Pearl Jam masses just fainted, had heart attacks. I’m not trying to belittle the magnitude of the band, besmirch their history, or any of that stuff. It’s just a reflection of where I’ve been musically since August 27, 1991, when it dropped, and the easiest way to summarize that is to mention where I haven’t been: paying attention to Pearl Jam. The reasons why are simple: I enjoyed Vs., maybe gave Vitalogy two listens (though never owned it), and decided subconsciously that they were either going to either fizzle out, never touch what Ten was ever again, or somewhere in the middle.

I could be a massive nerd and break down each of the tracks on Ten, but I’m not going to. All I can say is this: I had a solid group -– about a dozen -– of buddies in high school. We, as my old man used to say, were thick as thieves, always wanted to know where the next party was, what girls were going to be there, and we always rocked and rolled. This is not to say that every other group of American dudes out there was doing anything different. I just wasn’t hanging out with them.

Now, each of us had our own musical preferences, and that was always some hybrid of a) what you liked individually, and b) what the group liked. This absolutely never, ever failed to come up when together. Whoever’s mom’s house we were at would look something like this: Rock out to something from (b) until someone was drunk, stoned, or both enough to attempt to woo the group with something from (a). And if it wasn’t that it was this: Rock out to something from (a) until some was drunk, stoned, or both enough to insist we put on something from (b). The something from (a) category was, as you might imagine, a nice mix of stuff too boring to get into in the middle of a Pearl Jam write-up.

But the something from (b) category, mixed as it might’ve been, too, was a special kind of bonding agent, and you’d better bet your bottom dollar that Ten was high, if not tops, on that list. If there were $15 million dollars on the line, there’s no way in hell I could accurately recall how many times we blasted that thing, “Once” through “Release.” Not even if you gave me a 25-listen cushion could I tell you. It was, for us, from junior year forward, an anthem for the ages, an album never to be forgotten. None of this is a tribute, per se, to the grunge/Seattle/’90s bit that we’ve all been spoon-fed by VH1, etc. It’s a tribute to that album at that time, and if given the funding and opportunity, I can guarantee you we’d rendezvous, clad in flannel, get smashed on Milwaukee’s Best Light (Editor’s Note: That part right there is a lie, as I promised my colon, some years ago, that I would never again consume the Beast.), swing from the basement rafters until dawn, howl ourselves hoarse, and enjoy every second of it.

I realize, of course, that not walking through each track does the songs and the albums a great injustice, but this release was, I think, that big, that you can likely insert your own synopsis of what “Garden,” etc. meant to you.

Oh, and I just checked: The Recording Industry Association of America has classified it as “diamond,” meaning 10 million units sold. So, yeah: You’ve got your stories.



6. It Takes a Nation of Millions to Hold Us Back, Public Enemy

Old No. 7:



5. Three Feet High & Rising, De la Soul

Cecil:



4. Paul's Boutique, Beastie Boys

Cecil:



3. Appetite for Destruction, Guns N' Roses

Old No. 7:



2. Nevermind, Nirvana

bankmeister: Nevermind was never really on my board, per se, but this was the final round of our 12-part draft, and it had not been taken. Old No. 7 and I agreed it needed to be included, and, seeing as how it was my turn in the rotation to have nine picks, it was agreed upon, and for good measure. I don’t imagine that anyone wants to read a wordy attempt at analyzing what Nirvana meant for music in the ‘90s. We all know their place, that they were important, and that Nevermind was most likely (Note: I’m not talking to you, hard-core Nirvana fan) their best album. It was really, really solid, ground-breaking, and even shocking.

It dropped on September 24, 1991, and was their second release, flanked by 1989’s Bleach, and 1993’s In Utero. Perhaps the reason why I could argue it to be their best is that it was the most accessible, or that music listeners were, at the time, more accessible to this brand of rock. Or maybe, Nevermind made listeners more accessible. I’m not sure. What I do know, though, is that it has sold over 26 million copies worldwide, and that number, my friends, is impressive.

Almost every track on this release has an unharnessable power. Of course you know “Smells Like Teen Spirit,” and if you’ve paid any attention to music in the last 20 years, you probably know “Come As You Are.” Maybe you even know “In Bloom.” What you might not know are tracks like “Polly,” or “Territorial Pissings,” and even “Lithium,” each of which is as jaw-dropping –- all in their own fashion –- as the more popular tracks from the album. I’m not hear to argue that Nevermind is the best thing Nirvana ever did, and I’m not hear to hop on board with the conspiracies that Courtney Love killed Kurt Cobain, and that the music world was forever robbed by her lunacy, or any acts associated with it.

I am, however, hear to say, that in the vacuum of the last two and-a-half decades, Nevermind was huge. Massive. And it was really good, too. To omit it or to replace it with any other Nirvana album would be, to me, a disservice to the rest of these albums’ peers.



And, your number-one album in the past 25 years is...

1. Straight Outta Compton, N.W.A.

Old No. 7:


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The HoG25: The Best 25 Albums of the Past 25 Years

I’ve looked forward to assembling this post for the better part of two years, and if that makes me a massive nerd, that’s a charge I’m willing to accept. When this blog started, it flirted with, later consummated the idea that three brash, opinionated personalities could hunker down like hairy dogs, create seven-course meals of the finest wordsmithing, and make a little bit of unbridled magic. Of course I was biased, but only because the three of us had worked together before, and I knew the magnitude of my colleagues’ talents and abilities, two blessings they both still possess.

It also served as a bit of a personal challenge: Could I, being the minority in a Chiefs-Broncos ménage, compete? Could I be novel and fresh with my words, while trying to keep the animal leashed in some sense? Could I improve my writing skills to a level comparable with theirs?

It could be said that both all and neither of those things were accomplished, but it’s been fun, nonetheless, and the reason why I’ve looked forward to this particular post so much is because the three of us are music lovers, and our affinity for our specific brands is, in some sense, a nice parallel to our personalities in general. On my end, I am, and always have been, a music snob. I view the concept of song through some sort of Coke-bottled kaleidoscope, and I want every man and woman to share in the beauty of what I label as great. This has the plus of being very passionate about said labeling, the negative of limiting my exposure, appreciation.

Cecil is a fascinating animal when it comes to the audio art form. Someone once said to me that, “People who, in this present time, are into punk and punk rock and the genres related to them, are in it because it was anti-establishment, anti-mainstream, and anti-anything at the time they got into it. So, to stray from it now, or at any point since becoming permanently invested in it would diminish the power and notion associated with the initial attachment.”

I use quotes there, but that was a paraphrasing, one crafted to the best of my recall ability. But when I heard those words, I thought of Cecil, which, in true punk style, probably pisses him off to some degree. Here’s the interesting twist, though: He may or may not have invested himself in punk for any or all of the aforementioned notions. He did, however, get into it, at one point in his life, and into it he stayed, but I believe that he got into it because he truly loved it, and because that’s really who he is. I could sit here and try to dice the thing beyond brunoise, but I know that he still loves this music, and that, perhaps, he still loves it because of that idea. It’s not important, really, but it partially defines him, and makes all of our non-punk music debates all the more interesting.

Old No. 7 is not quite, but almost that guy, that, when asked, says, “I like everything.” Here’s the twist on him there, though. He actually does, kinda/sorta, like everything, and not just in some kind of surfacey way, either. If you put his iPod on shuffle, you’d probably get some Metallica, some folk, some hip-hop, some rap, some good-old-fashioned rock, and probably some Tchaikovsky followed by some polka. That is, his taste, you could argue, is broader than mine or Cecil’s, and just when you think it’s maybe a little too broad, he’ll pull out some B-sides and shock your socks off.

None are better than any other, none are less educated, hold lesser value, or pack more punch. They’re simply different. Old No. 7 has mentioned that writing about these kinds of things is difficult because they’re subjective. You can’t dial up innings pitched, or Oscars won, or assess a quarterback rating and compare it to strength of opponents. You can look at sales, I suppose. You could research live-performance attendance numbers. Or, I suppose, you could look at Grammys. None of that is what we want to do here, though. We want to write about what we like, simply because it’s moved us, and just maybe, it’ll move you, too. All of that said, here’s what we came up with, and to be safe, please assume NSFW status regarding lyrics in all clips:

25. Mushroom Jazz, Mark Farina

bankmeister: At last inventory, there were seven installments of Mushroom Jazz out there, and I won’t try to compare one another, or select a best out of the series. To simplify things, I’ll refer to the initial record (1996), but you, beloved reader, may feel free to extend the sentiments conveyed to your personal favorite, or to the series as a whole. Your choice. First, a preface is in order.

In the simplest of terms, and for the sake of understanding the inclusion of Mr. Farina on this list, let’s break music fans into two temporary groups: those that believe spinning records and sampling constitutes “making music,” and those who do not. For those who do not, it may be worth your while to stop reading now, but again –- your choice.

Mark Farina never gets a lot of credit on the inner DJ circles. Maybe it’s because what he does is so different from everyone else and the credit he’s due is supposed to come in some other form. I’m not sure. What I do know, however, is that virtually every album he’s released has been really solid, and musically eye-opening for me, and hopefully others. In essence, Farina takes great cuts from several genres and bleeds them into one another in continuous fashion. Each album is like an all-night dance party without the cover charge, crowded dance floors, and synthetic drugs. And the best part is that he blends in varying beats, impressive sample loops, and a crafty hybrid of lyrics. Mushroom Jazz is like a stripped-down version of hip hop’s greatest hits that gets layered with elements of Latin jazz, and spliced with a dose of house music. Attempting to further explain the basis of what he creates with already-created music might do the end product a disservice, so I invite you to have a listen:



Mark Farina and his Mushroom Jazz compilations were never concerned with reinventing the musical wheel. What they wanted to do was take the best parts of the top-tier wheels in existence, make four superwheels out of them, and put them on an exotic vehicle, which he successfully did. The Mushroom Jazz movement. Make sure you get you some.


24. (two-way tie)

Reign in Blood, Slayer

Cecil:



My War, Black Flag

Cecil:



22. Lost...Presumed Having a Good Time, The Notting Hillbillies

bankmeister: Like my selection of Traveling Wilburys Vol. I, I found it impossible to participate in this draft and not take this album as one of my picks. Taking Vol. I allowed me to include a few artists that I’ve enjoyed for a long time, even if they hadn’t produced a Top 25-qualifying album in the last two and-a-half decades, and make no mistake: That album definitely makes the cut. Missing… falls under the shade of the same tree.

Mark Knopfler has always been an amazing musician. Dire Straits, in my mind, have always been one of the most underrated rock bands in history, especially their earlier stuff. Knopfler’s solo albums are powerful and impressive in their own light, but perhaps not solid enough for placement on the list. Missing…, however, gives me the opportunity to tip a hat to Knopfler’s body of work, and also discuss an incredible album.

I read somewhere that this release had been dubbed a country album. I couldn’t disagree more. It’s not that big of a deal, I just think that’s too narrow a scope under which to view such an eclectic collection of songs. To me, it’s got a healthy mix of blues, folk, some swing/rockabilly, and some kind of calypso/polka hybrid as well, and quite frankly, it’s just packed with soul and emotion. The Hillbillies tackle the notion of work, love, heartbreak, patriotism, pride, and loss, just to name a few, and they do so with such canorous style that it would be a shame to omit it from inclusion.



21. Traveling Wilburys Vol. I, The Traveling Wilburys

bankmeister: I won’t lie and say I didn’t feel a little nerdy drafting this album with my fifth pick, but the nostalgic homebody in me couldn’t resist. Recorded in the spring of 1988 (and released that fall), Vol. I saw “Handle with Care” get some play as a single, and when “Last Night” followed it, I bit and bought the thing, which was not a mistake as there’s not a bad cut on there. Really. Not one.

If you’re unfamiliar with the Wilburys, let me help you out from under that rock: George Harrison handled lead, slide guitars, and sang; Jeff Lynne (Electric Light Orchestra) did some guitar strumming, played some keys, sang; Tom Petty played bass, sang; Roy Orbison played rhythm guitar and sang; and Bob Dylan did his guitar/harmonica/singing thing. They “super group” made plans to produce another album, but were forced to see the project through without the amazing contributions of Orbison, who died before the recording sessions began.

Vol. I, though, also included a touch of horns, some percussion, and your run-of-the-mill drum kit, played by Jim Keltner, which is a pertinent detail for three reasons: 1) Each member used a savory pseudonym in the project, as they were all purported to be sons (with different mothers) of the imagined Charles Truscott Wilbury. Petty, for example, went with Charlie T. Wilbury, Jr. as his moniker. But it was Keltner who took the nicknaming to another level, coining himself Buster Sidebury. 2) Keltner looks like a hybrid of Bill Engvall and Tom Cruise. 3) Buster Sidebury is the name Old No. 7 uses for all of his other blogging projects.

Seriously, though. You might ask how an album that has four guitar players (and a bass player that usually plays guitar) can wind up good, or great, or classic. And you certainly might wonder how such a record can wind up on such a list of prestige. Those would all be fair curiosities, too. And I’d answer by saying that, on the one hand, it was a miracle that each of these massive (Editor’s Note: I may or may not be squeezing you out of the picture for a minute, Mr. Lynne.) musical figures can get together and record music without significant clash of ego, but it happened. On the other hand, what did happen turned out to be a real, genuine, feel-good production, a water-tower-sized jar of sun tea, if you will.

Traveling Wilburys Vol. I is the musical equivalence of laughter among friends, of staying warm by the fireplace mid-winter, of hard-fought accomplishment, and of unbridled joy. From the bellowing vocals of Orbison on “Not Alone Anymore” to the comforting drone of “Congratulations” to the youthful fun of “Tweeter and the Monkey Man” and through the radio smash “End of the Line,” the TW’s first studio effort is one for the vault, one for your kids and your grandparents to enjoy together, and one to sing along with until you’ve darn near strained your diaphragm.



20. It's a Jungle in Here, Medeski Martin & Wood

bankmeister: Although they continue to produce records, I’ve wondered since the first time I heard this trio what the staying power could be for such a peculiar ensemble. The jazz-based root funk of John Medeski, Billy Martin, and Chris Wood now spans 20 years since their 1991 formation, and includes some 18 releases, beginning with Notes from the Underground.

It is It’s a Jungle in Here, however, that lands them on our charts, and that’s impressive, considering the 10 tracks comprise an all-instrumental production. Em-Em-Doubleyou play organ/piano/keyboard, drums, and bass, and they tackle with aggression a number of compositional varieties in what’s been called experimental jazz fusion.

Jungle hit stores in October of 1993, and the delivery it has today is just as strong as it was over 17 years ago. In fact, there’s an oddity about the music of MMW that can’t be said for very many bands. Most outfits record an album, and maybe they have but one or two good tracks on them. Maybe the release is above the norm and the majority of its cuts are top-notch. With Medeski, Martin, and Wood, however, every track that they record and produce can be labeled with the subjective “good” tag, meaning that these are talented individuals creating unique and amazing music that’s often amplified by the inclusion of also-talented guest performers.

Where variance comes in in rating the music, though, is, more often than not, done so on a scale of tolerability. What I mean by that is that MMW has demonstrated a tendency to balance their musical productions on the scales of atonality, or lack of key, which, in my mind, is uncomfortable on the ear. I say “uncomfortable,” though, to convey a sense of discomfort, not dislike, although personally the two often go hand in hand.

Atonal is not something most listeners are used to, but it’s also one of the best mediums for musical experimentation, which is precisely the alley that MMW paved for themselves. They tinkered with this a bit on Notes, and have done so on nearly every other album they’ve released, so much so that, for me, I prefer to listen to a compilation of favorite tracks spanning most of their albums.

Jungle is the lone exception, though. They sat down for a mere three days and crafted (what turned out to be) approximately 55 minutes of beautiful, eloquent, elaborate, and witty free-form jazz that is, all in all, tremendously pleasing to the tonally accustomed ear. I’m far from qualified to discuss the structure, history, and evolution of jazz, and I could say even less about experimental music or so-called fusion, but I know a home run when I hear it, and MMW’s second studio effort was a crisp trot around the base path, one that absorbed the sun, smelled the grass and the hot dogs, made eye contact with a fans along the way. I’m not one of these guys that has lists of must-own albums because musical tastes vary too far, too wide, but I’ll challenge any music fan to sit down to this one and come out afterwards with a downward thumb. Scope some samples here.

19. Songs for the Deaf, Queens of the Stone Age

Old No. 7:



18. The Uplift Mofo Party Plan, The Red Hot Chili Peppers

Cecil:



17. Huevos, Meat Puppets

Cecil:



16. Sex Packets, Digital Underground

Cecil:



15. Elephant, The White Stripes

Old No. 7:



14. (two-way tie)

In the Aeroplane over the Sea, Neutral Milk Hotel

Cecil:



Rift, Phish

bankmeister: In short, being a Phish fan is somewhat of a full-time job. Sure, the band has developed one of the most impressive followings in rock history, and they continue to kill the box office in terms of ticket revenues, but that’s what they’re known for: the live show. They’re also, in my mind, known for massive criticism from the music mainstream that can be attributed largely to the type of fan they attract, as well as their jam-band status, meaning that they have lengthy live numbers that may seem endless and without structure to the common ear. I’m of the opinion, however, that they are the most talented group of musicians to come along in the last 50 years. Yes, they even surpass the Grateful Dead.

This doesn’t mean to imply that they, on individual levels, are better at their craft than your particular favorite, but as a group, what they do as a unit, I would stack against anyone.

The problem to me is that the discussions seem to frequently begin and end with the live performances, and this is precisely why they continue to get crushed by the mainstream. On the inside of the circle, however, you have message boards, podcasts, Tweeters, etc. that continue to analyze highlights and lowlights of live shows, and frankly, the motifs and the vocabulary are occasionally incessant.

On a personal level, Phish has always been about relationships, specifically relationships that I have with each song on each studio album, and how those relationships flourish (or occasionally recess) when seeing the band perform live. And in reality, that’s no different than the relationships I have with songs by other artists, simply because I believe that a listener develops a kinship with a song, exists with it in good times and bad, and hearing a song live is like a release of all of the moments of the relationship.

Therefore, picking albums for this selection was tough. A small part of me wanted to take nothing but Phish albums for all of my selections, but that would’ve been foolish. There were three or four releases that really fought tooth and nail to win the one spot reserved for the band on my board, and in the end, Rift had to be the winner.

It’s been called their sixth release, but to me it will always be their fourth, and it came out February 2, 1993. A little over a year later, I heard it for the first time, and was hooked. I’d like to say that it would still be my lone Phish selection, had I heard another album first, but obviously I cannot make that claim. I do, however, feel that it’s the strongest album (out of 12) they’ve put out to date. There are plenty of other releases beyond the 12, but I’m including only albums that involved studio-recording sessions produced by a noteworthy label.

It’s possible that I’ve listened to Rift more than any album in my collection, so there’s some inherent bias, but the title track with which it kicks off might be the strongest track-one I’ve ever heard. Shared vocals, dueling instrumentation, and a great story line are the primary reasons why. The run of “Fast Enough for You,” “Maze,” “Sparkle,” “Horn,” and “The Wedge” are one of the most compelling runs I’ve ever experienced, and “Weigh” is solid as well. And its closing duo –- “The Horse,” attached to “Silent in the Morning” -– is likely also the strongest studio-album wrap-up ever laid down.

I could write 10,000 words on this album, and still not feel satisfied that I’d done it justice, but we’ll leave it at that.



12. Chronic 2001, Dr. Dre

bankmeister: When I selected Chronic 2001, questions arose as to why this November 16, 1999 release was taken over its seven-year previous predecessor, The Chronic. The answer is simple: The album released near the close of the century is a solid 10 times better. Making such a loaded statement requires some backup, and backup is what I’m prepared to deliver.

Perhaps the most important component in a direct comparison of the two hinges upon importance. The Chronic came out in December of 1992, and is one of the biggest solo-album statements in hip hop history. I say “biggest” because it was the first notable release coming from an artist who had previously been part of collaborations, thus paving the way for many a future rapper. But let’s back up yet another step.

While many artists in the rap, hip hop genres produced records both great and small, I’m of the opinion that N.W.A.’s Straight Outta Compton (August, 1988) took things to a new, unprecedented level. From that group, the world was exposed to MC Ren, DJ Yella, and most importantly, the trio of Eazy-E, Ice Cube, and Dr. Dre, who would all go forth from N.W.A. to have successful solo careers. Eazy’s debut Eazy-Duz-It hit stores one month after Straight Outta Compton and has sold roughly 500,000 fewer copies than Compton, though I posit that E’s solo debut grew in popularity first, only to be matched, and eventually overcome by the N.W.A.’s effort.

My colleagues and I have had conversations regarding the aforementioned trio from N.W.A., namely who was the best, who was the most important. I continue to waver on the details of this debate, but my current stance looks like this: Eazy had the best voice, but Eazy would possibly never have amounted to anything were it not for the intelligence and production of both Cube and Dre. Ice Cube is credited for writing a substantial amount of both solo and group material, while Dre deserves accolades for both rapping contributions and production. Ice Cube, globally speaking, could be the most important figure of the three, but I believe Dre gets a slight edge over Cube in terms of his body of work, style of rap, contributions to the genre.

So, Straight Outta Compton and Eazy-Duz-It were huge, but The Chronic, having its path somewhat paved for it, had a bigger impact and a larger reception (over three million copies sold). All that said, it is not Dre’s best work; the 2001 follow-up is. Chronic is a really stacked production, don’t get me wrong. Most of the tracks have solid beats, excellent sample choices, and profound lyrics. Plus, there is substantial comic relief in the form of interlude, and I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention the solid lineup of guests: Snoop, Daz, Nate Dogg, to name a few. But it doesn’t match the integrity displayed in 2001, which track for track, is crisper, cleaner, and packed with more punch.

2001 has only one thing against in when comparing the two Dre releases: the audacity continuum. When Chronic was release, the audience was still getting used to the bold motif expression of sex, drugs, money, and crime. That is, other artists had done it, none with as much sparkle as those from the N.W.A. family. When Dre dropped Chronic, it had similar themes, but came at you with a larger sense of seriousness, or, hardassery. Any unpolished bits that remained in it as a release, were smoothed in 2001 via experience, dedication -– one month of recording for Dre’s debut; most of two years for the follow-up –- a broader range of emotion, and yes, an even star-studdier lineup of guests: Nate and Snoop back, Eminem, Kurupt, Xzibit, Jay-Z, and the D.O.C. added to the mix.

The main thing, though, is the focus of 2001. The beats, the instrumentation, the obvious upgrade in production, the themes and emotions explored, and, although more isn’t always better, it does have eight more tracks than Chronic. I mean no discredit to Chronic when I say this, but it has its weak points, and frankly, no matter how you slice it, the start-to-finish quality of 2001 is A-grade material.



11. No Depression, Uncle Tupelo

Old No. 7:



That's the first installment. The top 10 up next.
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Wednesday Whatnot: Hockey and TBI

Game Six of the Stanley Cup Final kicks off tonight at 7 p.m. Central on NBC. The contest will take place in Philadelphia, and the home team will look to stay alive as they trail two games to three against Western Conference Champion Chicago. Keys to the game can be found here. Despite the continous adversity the Flyers have faced, some think Philadelphia is primed to take this to a game seven. Others, of course, think the Blackhawks get the championship on the road tonight. The Cup, nevertheless, will of course be on hand for tonight's game.

On a more serious note, however, we were contacted by a health professional, who was interested in writing a bit about some of the seriousness that can follow injuries in the fastest game on Earth. Hop past the leap, and read a bit about brain injuries affiliated with hockey.

Hockey is arguably one of the most physical professional sports. Hockey players are constantly getting body checked, slammed into boards, falling to the ice, slapped by a stick, hit by a dense, speeding puck or getting punched during a fight. If that isn’t bad enough, hockey players take part in one of the longest regular seasons of any sport, effectively taking on harsher pain for a longer amount of time throughout the year.

Risk of injury couldn’t be clearer as you all too commonly see hockey players missing their front two teeth. With all of the injuries that can occur, one of the most dangerous is a traumatic brain injury (TBI). A TBI is a silent injury that can cause harm to the mind and body of an individual. An injury to the head or brain can alter someone’s life and can even require long-term rehabilitation and care from a skilled nursing facility. These injuries are often far too common in the sport of hockey and if not properly treated can permanently leave a hockey player's life challenging than the game they play.

TBI is an injury that Philadelphia Flyers player Ian Laperriere knows all too well. In game 5 of an NHL playoff game with the New Jersey Devils, Laperriere took a slap shot to the face that immediately caused him to bleed excessively from the wound above his eye and lose sight. Laperriere was diagnosed with a brain contusion after having a MRI a few days later. While Laperriere may have originally thought that losing sight in one of his eyes was the worst of the two injuries, in reality the bigger concern could wind up being the long-term effects of the brain injury.

Concussions have been dismissed as minor injuries because the physical nature of most sports causes them to occur regularly, but, frequently occurring or not, they are still head injuries where the brain is forced to move violently within the skull and the way it functions could change permanently. When the brain moves in such a manner, it can bruise, bleed, and even tear, which can cause irreversible damage to the victim. For a sport like hockey, this type of injury is very common and unfortunately at times ignored. Many hockey players don't take into account the possible effects of the injury and because it might not seem like a serious problem exists at first, they keep on skating as if nothing occurred. Their unawareness of the injury makes it so much more dangerous because a mild brain injury can turn into a life threatening injury in a very short period of time without seeking immediate medical treatment.

Studies by the National Academy of Neuropsychology's Sports Concussion Symposium in New York have shown that since 1997, 759 NHL players have been diagnosed with a concussion. Broken down, that averages out to 76 players per season and 31 concussions per 1,000 games of hockey. That is far too frequent of an occurrence for such a serious injury. It's a frightening statistic that should send up a red flag to hockey officials that actions need to be taken to further prevent this type of injury from occurring.

The best, and sometimes only, treatment for TBI is prevention. For the National Hockey League new rules are being considered that preserve the game but also help protect the players. Rule changes concerning blindside hits, rink size (which effects players space from each other and their proximity to walls), and stronger helmet requirements all have been considered to help curb TBI and its effects. This demonstrates that the NHL is aware of the seriousness of the injury and is taking proactive steps to help prevent it from happening.

Hockey is one of the most popular sports in North America and has millions of people participating in it every year. Unfortunately, the sport comes with the risk of a TBI. With the right awareness of the injury and the necessary precautions in place, the game should be able to continue with players excited to lace up their skates and enjoy it.

written by Chelsea Travers

Chelsea Travers is an outreach representative for CareMeridian, a subacute care facility located throughout the Western United States for traumatic brain injury rehabilitation, spinal cord injury or medical complexities, such as neuromuscular or congenital anomalies.

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NHL Playoff Update!!!!!

Actually, not so much.

Just when I want to give hockey the respect it so obviously deserves--the athaletes that play it can not only stand up on those skates but actually skate on them, which, as it turns out, is goddamn hard--something happens. Something to jog the ol' Disrespekternator back to creaky life. Something like the very existence of the Anaheim Ducks, formerly The Mighty Ducks of Anaheim.

Look, I have nothing against ducks. Just last Friday I spent an afternoon drinking Galliano with a small flock of Northern Shovelers. (Don't you judge me.)

But I simply can't take seriously any "major" sports franchise that was named, even for a little while, after an Emilio Estevez film. (Unless it was maybe this one.) Can you imagine that happening anywhere else in this country? Or in any other sport? Of course not. Only the NHL thinks enough of its product to tie civic hopes and dreams to the fate of a fucking Disney movie.

L.A. even already had a hockey team, and no one really knows if Anaheim is even real. (Certainly not this guy.) The team only seemed to exist to be named after the movie; a grand and humiliating cross-promotional exercise. The late attempt at blotting the corporate jizz-stain by dropping the "Mighty" was just that. Too late.

Sorry, hockey. Scrub though you might over the years, you'll never remove the Mouse's stain. It's on you like murder on Ray Lewis, women's clothes on Marv Albert, war crimes on the Bush family. Read more

Your Weekend Correspondence; or, Why Exactly It Is That You're Such a Tool

We try hard to cover a little bit of everything here at the HoG. Cricket, Elephant Polo, Big-Wave Surfing (love how they call Gabrielle's husband "Lard") Random Capitalization and Hockey.

Still, we have our little forts . No. 7 knows the innermost workings of Pro Baseball from minor league onward. Our Administrator is capable of executing a perfect neutral-zone trap against the world's puckless...no, really, no wisecracking. He does that.

I spend a lot of time drinking. This makes me an expert in abso-fucking-lutely everything, but even in my besotted case, specialization becomes an issue. I trend toward the NFL, the NFL Draft, Pro Baseball and the NBA. I'm far and away the biggest supporter of professional American basketball amongst our lil' cadre. The Administrator only likes semi-pro players from one midwestern university and No. 7 is too easily distracted by a dynasty that lives in his backyard.

But to waste even a few more sentences on these playoffs--not happening. Not here. We've all read about Saint Nash's honor in only becoming a semi-flopper, Robert Horry's easy new nickname, The Human Sponsorship Reel leading his team to a place that is...ur, not maybe *promised* but still land, in any case, and a Bulls series loss that somehow failed to dim the yelling of Windy Citizens. And since we all did, no talk about it. None.

(Stay tuned for 4,000 words on The Preakness from the point of view of a parasite in Curlin's intestine.) Read more

The Biggest Bunch Of Bullshit Ever

Steve McNair got hisself arrested again last night. These things happen, especially when you like to roll around wasted and packin'. So you moralists out there might be questioning McNair's judgment for once again climbing behind the wheel of another car while bombed. You may even stupidly extrapolate that argument into a question of whether McNair has the decision-making abilities to play pro quarterback when he can't even call a cab or hand off the keys.

With every athlete/celebrity DUI, I always wonder why these idiots don't just pay a flunkie to drive them around. Well, it turns out that's exactly what McNair did--his brother-in-law was behind the wheel of a car owned by the Ravens QB. Sure, the brother-in-law was trashed as well, but McNair was riding shotgun. Let me repeat: McNair was not driving the car, but it is registered in his name. Yet Air was arrested and charged with some shit called DUI By Consent, which takes the new title of Studpidest Fucking Law Ever Conceived By Man.

What, exactly, did he do wrong? The brother-in-law should not have been driving, and he will be appropriately punished by the law. But what societal need does this fulfill to bust tipsy passengers? If he had taken a cab but the cabbie had a joint would McNair be facing charges. I can't believe how stupid this is.

One more thing: Fuck the Ravens.

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Don Ho's Gifts to the World

Listen to the voice of Ho. Read more