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best-rap-albums-of-all-time-8th Jenn Couples Therapy With Dr. Less immediately catchy than its predecessor, Channel Orange, Blonde is the more ambitious and visionary record. The duo were obscured behind robot heads, and their music got equally playful: cock-rock guitars, vocoders and brilliantly manipulated slivers of records by ELO, Tavares and Eddie Johns condensed into tinny yet heavy filter-house. Scarface is Back. Unfortunately, this formula, in the vast majority of cases, takes itme the individual Best Rap Albums Of All Time 30 soul of a best rap albums of all time 8th, which makes everything sound almost the same typical mainstream and which I find really terrible in music.

Best Rap Album. Best Female Country Vocal Performance. Best Male Country Vocal Performance. Best Country Solo Performance. Best Country Collaboration with Vocals. Best Country Instrumental Performance.

Best Country Song. Best Country Album. Best New Age Album. Best Jazz Fusion Performance. Jazz Perf. Vocal or Instrumental. Best Improvised Jazz Solo Performance. Best Jazz Vocal Album. Best Jazz Vocal Performance, Female. Best Jazz Vocal Performance, Male. Best Instrumental Jazz Album. Best Jazz Performance, Soloist.

Best Large Jazz Ensemble Album. Best Original Jazz Composition. Best Latin Jazz Album. Best Gospel Other: Incl. Best Gospel Performance.

Best Gospel Performance, Contemporary or Inspirational. Best Gospel Performance, Traditional. Best Soul Gospel Performance. Best Gospel Performance, Female. Best Gospel Performance, Male. Best Gospel Song. Best Contemporary Christian Music Song. Best Rock Gospel Album incl. Best Traditional Soul Gospel Album. Best Contemporary Soul Gospel Album. Best Gospel Album. Best Contemporary Christian Music Album. Best Roots Gospel Album. Best Latin Recording. Best Latin Pop Performance. Best Latin Urban Album.

Best Merengue Performance. Best Tejano Album. Best Banda Album. Best Regional Mexican or Tejano Album. Best Tropical Latin Album. Best American Roots Performance. Best American Roots Song.

Best Americana Album. Best Bluegrass Album. Best Blues Album. Best Traditional Folk Album incl. Best Contemporary Folk Album incl. Best Ethnic or Contemporary Folk Recording. Best Folk Album. Best Native American Music Album.

Best Hawaiian Music Album. Best Zydeco or Cajun Music Album. Best Regional Roots Album. Best Reggae Album. Best World Music Album. Best Contemporary World Music Album. Best Polka Album. Best Musical Album For Children. Best Children's Album. Best Comedy Album. Best Spoken Comedy Album. Best Musical Theater Album. Best Instrumental Composition.

Best Instrumental Arrangement. Best Arrangement For Voices. Best Album Package - Incl. Album Cover, Graphic Arts, Photography. Best Recording Package - Boxed. Best Album Notes. Best Historical Album. Best Engineered Recording, Non Classical. Remixer Of The Year. Best Remixed Recording , Non-Classical. Best Immersive Audio Album. Best Classical Engineered Recording. Classical Producer Of The Year.

Best Classical Album. Best Classical Orchestral Performance. Best Opera Recording. Best Classical Performance, Operatic or Choral. Best Choral Performance, Classical. Best Classical Performance-Instrumental Soloist s with orchestra. Best Classical Performance-Instrumental Soloist s without orchestra. Best Performance, Instrumental Soloist s with or without orchestra.

Best Classical Instrumental Solo. Best Chamber Music Performance. Best Classical Vocal Performance. Best Classical Compendium. Best Classical Contemporary Composition. Best Classical Crossover Album. Best Music Video, Short Form. Best Music Video, Long Form. Video of the Year. Best Concept Music Video. Best Performance Music Video. Jump to Year.

Facebook Twitter Email. Future Nostalgia. Hollywood's Bleeding. Black Pumas Deluxe Edition. Everyday Life. Djesse Vol. Women In Music Pt. Golden Hour. Morning Phase. Random Access Memories. The Suburbs. Raising Sand. River: The Joni Letters. Taking The Long Way. Genius Loves Company. Come Away With Me. O Brother, Where Art Thou?

Various Artists. The two big singles are genius: Piece of Me bats back tabloid gossip with a sonic golf club, and Gimme More is her best-ever song, an erotic psychodrama where the purring come-ons of the title also sound like a woman drowning under her ambition. After bulging baroque creations The Age of Adz and The BQE, Stevens pared everything back to soft electronics and fingerpicking for this moving rumination on his stepfather and late mother.

Tiny, lisping and with a high-pitched voice, Grimes weathered plenty of sexism with her breakthrough — but converted even indie snobs with her take on rave, Italo and industrial synthpop. After keeping their heads down for their brilliant debut, letting Spike Jonze videos do the talking, Daft Punk revealed themselves — sort of. The duo were obscured behind robot heads, and their music got equally playful: cock-rock guitars, vocoders and brilliantly manipulated slivers of records by ELO, Tavares and Eddie Johns condensed into tinny yet heavy filter-house.

It has the air of a piece of obsessional outsider art: 3, samples stitched together into a dense tapestry of goofy hip-hop and lounge pop.

Miraculously, it makes a virtue of its maximalism: the title track thick with jasmine and tropical heat, Electricity jumping out of the speakers like a jack in the box. The backstory is almost a parody of a certain kind of earnest dude: retreating to the woods with just a guitar to get over a breakup and sort out his crappy life.

But after listening to the songs he came back down the hill with, the story becomes gilded and mythic: lightly fleshed out with vocal harmonies and drums, they are sensationally beautiful.

MIA frequently showed just how conservative the US is by doing ordinary things — rapping while pregnant, sticking her middle finger up — that nevertheless had people reaching for the smelling salts. It all began with her debut collection of blown-out rap and dancehall, stitched together with samples from a trolley dash down the unregulated internet — a harbinger of our cosmopolitan post-genre age.

The ghosts of London raves gone by are conjured by this ouija board of a record, where garage vocals flit upward past dust-covered breakbeats. The influence of this and his debut cannot be overstated, feeding into the dub songcraft of the xx and James Blake, as well as an entire generation of ambient producers.

Not only did it launch the career of Kanye West, showcasing his soul-sampling productions alongside those of Just Blaze, this album cemented Jay-Z as one of the greatest to ever do it. By blending the frat-boy energy of nu-metal with the goth moods of Nine Inch Nails and Smashing Pumpkins, the northern Californians united rival factions of brooding teenagers with these strangely sexy studies in tension and release. This album is lauded for the three masterpieces Aaliyah made with Timbaland — Try Again, More Than a Woman and We Need a Resolution — that lend a serpentine malevolence to her voice, but there are also strong old-school jams and languorous ballads.

Album not on streaming services. Romy Madley-Croft and Oliver Sim made the most compelling duets of the period: rather than singing to each other, it was as if two people were going through the same thing without the other knowing it — the perfect mood music for the disconnected interconnection of dating apps and social media.

Made after notable incidents of police brutality, Lemonade was charged with real political fervour, while there were numerous sharp jabs at Jay-Z for doing whatever predicated that elevator fight with her sister Solange. As a result, the final call for her ladies to get in formation felt genuinely martial. Released two days before he died , Blackstar saw Bowie pour everything left of him into his best album since his 70s hot streak. And he did. Newsom raised some eyebrows, even giggles, with her debut The Milk Eyed Mender thanks to her scrunched, cartoonishly girly voice.

But on Ys, this unique instrument — alongside her beautiful harp, and orchestrations by Van Dyke Parks — plays out five masterpieces of American poetry to be filed alongside Whitman or the Beats: songs that move with the untamed direction of wind or water. She won her second for her other masterpiece, released 10 years later, in the shadow of the wars that dragged on between them.

There is such anger as she reaches back to the first world war to show how every generation destroys its young in the same way — summed up by the pompous fanfare in The Glorious Land, crushed by a tank of blues-rock.

The songs here are full of the horrible electricity of grief, Win Butler sometimes hollering at the pain, sometimes burned out by it. It is full of energy, Harvey stalking the gutters and subways; it is full of sex, most of it new and dangerously in flux.

Kanye dived into a hell of racism, commerce, relationship strife and his own ego, with beats made alongside a brains trust of experimental producers. It seethes with trauma both personal and social, and the strongest moments consider how black America is sticking its head in the sand — even Kanye himself , fretting about Kim while a sample of lynching lament Strange Fruit plays.

From the spine-tingling four-note downward melody that opens Everything in Its Right Place, it was clear that Radiohead had taken a huge leap into colder, stranger territory.

The electronic influences that had filtered into OK Computer reached maturity — most spectacularly on techno anthem Idioteque — though there are way more guitars than its reputation suggests. By blending the earnestness of ballad singing with cascading waves of electropop, Robyn became the master of heartbreak on the dancefloor. There is another side here, too: chatty, puckish and getting over it all. The anchor of the album — initially released in a trailblazing three parts across — was Dancing on My Own, a breakup song with a wildly transgressive edge: is there a secret erotic thrill behind the pain of going to the club to watch her partner with their new girlfriend?

The blithe stoicism of his flow, seemingly resigned to a violent death at any moment, fills the record with poignancy, and transmutes his words into wisdom. His multitracked harmonies are some of the most beautiful sounds in all of music, and surely at least half of the Americans entering college this year were conceived to Untitled How Does It Feel. The sun-soaked indolence of being young in LA is etched in aquamarine, purple and, yes, orange on this psychedelic-pop landmark.

The melody writing on Forrest Gump, Sweet Life, Thinkin Bout You, Lost and others is joyously accomplished and sturdy, leaving room for minute electro suites, jazz-funk flexing, stoner rap and smoky neo-soul. Less immediately catchy than its predecessor, Channel Orange, Blonde is the more ambitious and visionary record. Resistant to being boxed in any one genre, the percussion retreats, the voice warps, the focus wanders and the emotion deepens as Ocean slips and stumbles through a series of poetic romances.

A magical, impossible-to-imitate record. But the album has endured past its grand entrance thanks to its detailed, impassioned considerations of femininity and marital sexuality.

He may now sing in an ironic mid-Atlantic croon, but Alex Turner started off with the most tangibly south Yorkshire voice in pop since Jarvis Cocker. Over street-fighting indie rock, he told of dirty dancefloors and scummy men, an observer sitting with his faced pressed up against a taxi window on a Saturday night watching humans bounce off one another.

On their second album, they broke through the snark, pondering their identities as New Yorkers, Americans and thirtysomethings — and with a range of potential dance moves, from pogoing to sleek disco shapes. The police-baiting Alright became a civil-rights anthem for the post-Ferguson era — indeed, as a celebration of the richness of black artistry, the whole album was a riposte to bigotry. He would later lose the thread in a very public fashion, but Kanye West pulled every strand of his genius and torment together on his masterpiece: anthemic choruses, psychodrama lyrics and an all-star cast, from Bon Iver to that Nicki Minaj verse.

After Britpop devolved into bedwetter indie and the US was churning out goofy pop-punk, the debut album by the New York quintet showed rock how to be cool again: all droll, drawling observations and guitar lines that steamed into a dive bar to show up the clientele.

Oh, and your boss trying to be trendy by wearing a T-shirt under his blazer at the office on Fridays? Blame these guys. That title sounds horribly prescient in the wake of the substance misuse that would kill her, but Winehouse was incandescently alive — funny, pissed off, in love — on her finest album.

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