Day 22: Iron Maiden, “The Number of the Beast”

When: Released March 22, 1982

Why? This album is consistently ranked among the top heavy-metal albums of all time. To my knowledge, I’ve never heard an Iron Maiden song.

What? Eight songs, 40 minutes. This is the first Iron Maiden album to feature new lead vocalist Bruce Dickinson.

First Impressions: OMG: The melodies! The guitar and (occasionally) vocal harmonies! Add them to the thrashing drums and wide-ranging lyrics—written by bassist Steve Harris and inspired by everything from the Viking raids on Saxon England to suspense movies/TV shows, biblical prophecy, the plight of Native Americans, gangsters, and prostitutes—and you get a wholly enjoyable album that is consistently entertaining.

A quick aside: Iron Maiden was one of the early inspirations for Metallica. (Metallica released their first album, “Kill ’em All,” in 1983.) I consider myself a Metallica fan. But one major drawback (for me) of much of Metallica’s output is their penchant for repetition to the point of boredom/exhaustion, evident on most albums up through 2003’s “St. Anger”—a notable exception being 1991’s “Metallica,” AKA “The Black Album”: If a riff is good enough to be played once, it’s good enough to be repeated, unchanged, a dozen times. Refreshingly, Iron Maiden never falls into that trap here. Their songs are economical. They deliver the goods but always leave you wanting more.

Of the eight songs here, six of them are straight-up winners to me, blending tight guitar harmonies, propulsive drumming, sometimes thrilling vocals from Dickinson, and lyrics that, while not always poetic, avoid clichés while developing evocative imagery. Highlights for me include the title track (easily my favorite here), “Run to the Hills” (with vocal harmonies that would fit perfectly on a late-1970s Styx track), and “Hallowed Be Thy Name,” which follows a criminal’s thoughts as he makes his way to the gallows.

“22 Acacia Avenue,” about a real-life prostitute the band knew and about whom they have written several songs, is less successful. The narrator begins by suggesting his friends visit his acquaintance, Charlotte, at the address of the title if they’re “feeling down, depressed, and lonely.” But then he tells Charlotte herself: “Can’t you get out from all this madness? / Can’t you see it only brings you sadness?” So, he’s sending her business even as he pleads with her to abandon this lifestyle. That seems problematic. After more of this back and forth, the song ends with: “All the men that are constantly drooling / It’s no life for you, stop all that screwing / You’re packing your bags, you’re coming with me.” Given the tone of the song, it’s unclear whether Charlotte is being truly rescued and liberated by the narrator at this point…or just going from serving multiple clients to being the servant of one. Ultimately, the song seems less about Charlotte and more about the will of the narrator. I get the sense that when he and his friends are in Charlotte’s company, her occupation isn’t an issue.

The least successful song, though, is “Gangland,” which, while energetic, just doesn’t seem to hold together as well as the other material. Lyrically and musically, it feels unfocused. (Apparently, songwriter Harris felt so too, saying later that they should have chosen another track, “Total Eclipse,” for the album and relegated “Gangland” to a B-side. Having now listened to “Total Eclipse,” I agree. It’s a much stronger song than “Gangland.”)

So? I really liked this album and will listen again.

Day 21: Roxy Music, “Roxy Music”

When: Released June 16, 1972

Why? I have been seeing Roxy Music album covers in the racks for as long as I’ve been buying albums, but I’ve never heard a single song.

What? Ten songs, 46 minutes, that have been described as art rock, glam rock, prog rock, cosmic rock, “eclectic” and “very peculiar.” This is Roxy Music’s debut album. (Although the song “Virginia Plain” did not appear on the original LP, it has been included on a number of rereleases and was included during this listen.)

First Impressions: This isn’t the kind of album you casually listen to in the background. Synthesized soundscapes, background saxophones and oboes that sound like animals unleashed, drumming of a proficiency rarely heard in pop/rock music these days, and lead singer Bryan Ferry’s over-the-top delivery (and vibrato) combine to deliver songs that flow like prose poems and reward attention—even if you have no idea what they mean.

After one listen, I understand why all of the descriptors above have been used to describe Roxy Music. In fact, there are individual songs here where every single one of them would apply (“The Bob”). Despite the eclecticism and peculiarities—or maybe because of them—I really enjoyed the journey this album presented.

That surprised me a bit because this album shares similarities with King Crimson’s “In the Court of the Crimson King,” which I did not enjoy—particularly, a fondness for extended instrumentals and strange soundscapes. (There is another connection: This album was produced by former King Crimson lyricist Peter Sinfield.) The difference for me was that these experiences were much more focused here, more musical to my ears, and delivered with humor, which—far as I could tell—was completely absent from “Court.” Consider opener “Re-Make/Re-Model.” Not only does Ferry’s exaggerated vibrato suggest that he’s (over)playing a role, but the main chorus hook is a license-plate number. As a song, it seems to have its tongue firmly planted in one cheek. That doesn’t stop with the lyrics. During the extended instrumental outro, we get musical breaks punctuated with quick riffs from familiar songs—for example, a line from The Beatles’ “Day Tripper”—as if Roxy is nodding to some of their heroes. Or maybe just having a laugh.

Despite the knowing humor that glam represents (and without the visual of the band this doesn’t always feel like a glam-rock record to me), the lyrics are grounded and meaningful with only an occasional bit of wordplay or frivolity. (Closer “Bitters End” is a lighthearted pun- and allusion-filled exception.) The musicianship is stellar, with particularly standout performances by Andy Mackay on sax and oboe, Paul Thompson on drums, Brian Eno on synthesizers, and Ferry himself on piano. While not showy, Graham Simpson’s bass work is foundational and tasteful.

Equally important is the stereo mix. There are moments when synthesized chaos is occurring in the right channel while a simple melody is offering counterpoint in the left, with both underscoring what’s happening lyrically.

I don’t think there was a weak track here. Among those I most enjoyed, though, “Sea Breezes” may be my favorite. It’s a beautiful, well-crafted song raised to another level through its inventive production and arrangement.

So? I found something to like in every track here. I will definitely continue to listen to this.

Day 20: Liz Phair, “Exile in Guyville”

When: Released June 22, 1993

Why? Liz Phair is the only artist on this list that I’ve really known prior to listening to this album. I own and thoroughly enjoy both “Liz Phair” (2003) and “Somebody’s Miracle” (2005), albums that have gotten a lot of flak from long-time fans for being too overtly commercial, particularly in light of how Phair’s career began. “Exile in Guyville” is an album that critics have called “an astonishing debut,” “one of the best albums of the Nineties,” and “a masterpiece.” Since it also has a reputation for being markedly different than Phair’s later work, I wanted to give this one a listen.

What? “Exile in Guyville” is an 18-song, 57-minute double album.

Some background: Guyville was a nickname given to Chicago’s indie music scene in the early 1990s when Phair was working to break through there. In other words, it was a guy’s scene; women need not apply. This is Phair’s assessment of and rebuttal to that situation, ostensibly presented to mimic the flow of the Rolling Stones’ “Exile on Main Street” (1972).

First Impressions: In a series of concise, focused songs—many of which eschew traditional verse-chorus structure—Phair explores toxic masculinity and female agency in a variety of scenarios. Some songs are full band performances, others are built on just a piano or a guitar accompanying Phair’s distinctive voice.

From the very beginning, in opener “6'1",” it is clear that Phair has no desire to measure up to men’s expectations for what a woman should be, do, or want. Yet those misogynistic ideals continue to threaten: In “Help Me, Mary,” the narrator says that the men who surround her “make rude remarks about me / They wonder just how wild I would be. / As they egg me on and keep me mad / They play me like a pit bull in the basement…” She closes with the plea, “Weave my disgust into fame / And watch how fast they run to the flame.” To these men, she will always be just an object until she has something they’re desperate for.

There is nothing like a traditional love song here—or, for that matter, a traditional song of any type. On “…Guyville,” love more closely resembles lust, and relationships between the sexes are often abusive, unequal, demoralizing. In song after song, Phair’s voice highlights hypocrisies while fighting back with quiet power and agency. And even though she can be biting in her satire, it never feels bitter or self-pitying. She’s simply a woman who has had enough and believes it’s time for a reckoning.

“If I want to leave, you better let me go,” she sings in “Girls! Girls! Girls!” Why? “Because I take full advantage of every man I meet. / I get away almost every day / With what the girls call…murder.” In the album’s most unabashedly raunchy song, “Flower,” she takes the stereotype of how men think women should think about sex—as submissive, virginal partners or even bashful ones—and explodes it with an inventive and hypnotic vocal arrangement and lyrics that spell out exactly what she wants to do. To the extent that, other than the line “Every time I see your face / I think of things un-pure, unchaste,” there’s almost nothing else in the song I feel comfortable quoting here!

But Phair’s frank sexuality here highlights an interesting point about this album, I think. When male rockers sing about sex, they tend to couch it in the kind of metaphors best delivered with a wink and a nudge. When Phair sings about what she wants sexually, she cuts to the chase. She uses the words. That brings female sexuality into the light and puts it on the same plane as everything else she’s exploring so honestly: divorce, manipulation, fame, desire. I respect that.

The penultimate track, “Stratford-on-Guy,” brings a revelation. As the narrator flies high above Chicago in a plane, she realizes that Guyville, with all its seemingly overwhelming flaws, doesn’t represent the world. Looking down at it from 30,000 feet, it’s insularity shrinks to insignificance. Up in the sky, free of the gossip, the backstabbing, the narrow-mindedness, she gains perspective: “It took an hour / Maybe a day / But once I really listened / The noise just went away.”

So? Like Patti Smith’s “Horses,” this is a tough album for me to evaluate after a single listen. There are layers and themes to the stories in these songs that will only come to light through additional listens. And while I still prefer the more straightforward pop-rock of Phair’s later work at this point, I’ll definitely listen again.

Day 19: The White Stripes, “Elephant”

When: Released April 1, 2002

Why? According to one reference, this is White Stripes’ best-selling album. I chose it specifically because it contains the only WS song I’ve ever heard, “Seven Nation Army,” which I enjoy. Music journalist Jake Kennedy calls this album the White Stripes’ “most dynamic release.”

What? Fourteen songs, 51 minutes, from the once-married duo of Jack White and Meg White. Famously, White Stripes’ songs are built on Meg’s drums, Jack’s guitars, some additional keyboards—and no bass.

First Impressions: I liked this. A lot.

So let’s talk about the “Elephant” in the room.

If there’s a unifying sound to this album, it’s distortion—multiple distinct flavors of distorted guitars, along with occasionally overdriven keyboards, vocals, and perhaps even drums. Spare arrangements mean that there is still a clarity to all of the instruments; each one has a role to play.

Jack White’s lyrics (all songs were written by him, apart from the Hal David/Burt Bacharach cover, “I Just Don’t Know What to Do with Myself”) are generally clear, poetic, fluid, and often tinged with humor. His delivery frequently shifts from singing to singing-speaking to something close to a poetry slam, depending upon the material. And I enjoyed all of it.

I was surprised to learn that Meg White is also a singer. Her vocal performance of “In the Cold, Cold Night” is, pardon the pun, chilling. It’s also a great moment of quiet and vivid storytelling musically. It’s too bad this is her only solo vocal appearance on the album. (She joins Jack and guest vocalist Holly Golightly on the lighthearted round-robin closer, “Well It’s True That We Love One Another.”)

There wasn’t a bad track on the album; I found something I could appreciate in every single song. But highlights include “Seven Nation Army,” “Black Math,” “There’s No Home for You Here,” “I Want to Be the Boy…” (with piano/guitar instrumentation reminiscent of early-70s Elton John), “In the Cold, Cold Night,” “Ball and Biscuit,” and “You’ve Got Her in Your Pocket.”

I want to elaborate a bit about “Ball and Biscuit.” It is over 7 minutes long, but it didn’t feel like it. Like the other songs on “Elephant,” there are multiple short instrumental breaks (often involving a repeated theme) that put breathing space between verses and choruses. I’ve heard albums where such things feel like filler, but that wasn’t the case here. In “Ball and Biscuit,” as in every other track, the short instrumental sections blended melodies, crunching guitars, distortion, and sometimes feedback to introduce changes that always kept me interested and engaged. I was actually surprised when “Ball and Biscuit” started to fade out; I couldn’t believe it had been 7 minutes already.

So? As I said above: I liked this. A lot. After just sitting through a half-dozen albums that, while sometimes enjoyable, didn’t get me excited, this was eye-opening.

Day 18: The Pretenders, “Pretenders”

When: Released January 11, 1980

Why? I’ve only heard a few of the radio hits and just thought they were okay. But the group has been considered highly influential on bands I like, including No Doubt and Garbage, which put iconic female singers/songwriters front and center.

What? Twelve songs, 47 minutes. This is the Pretenders’ debut album.

First Impressions: This is, at various times, punk, New Wave, radio-friendly pop, reggae, and Sixties guitar band. If there’s a unifying presence to the Pretenders’ first album it’s the distinctive voice and lyrics of founder Chrissie Hynde.

Given the veiled, cryptic nature of most of the lyrics, I can’t really begin to decipher them…or, unfortunately, even relate to them. Nearly all of the songs seem to carry weight, though, telling stories or revealing memories that feel grounded in at least some kind of real-life experience (though not necessarily Hynde’s own).

The obvious exception is the instrumental “Space Invader” (by band members James Honeyman-Scott and Pete Farndon). But the cover song “Stop Your Sobbing” (by Ray Davies of the Kinks) is another; instrumentally and lyrically this one seems like the odd one out in this collection, and it was probably my least favorite track on the album. It’s not a bad song. It just doesn’t seem to belong here, particularly with the early Beatles-inspired instrumental break, which looks backward when the rest of the album feels so current and even forward-looking.

The album’s big hit, “Brass in Pocket”—perhaps the biggest hit of the Pretenders’ career—seems oddly “normal” among the sung-spoken poetic free verse that supports most of the songs. In fact, I think this may be the only track here (co-written by Hynde and Honeyman-Scott) that takes a wholly traditional approach to song structure.

So? I’m glad I took the time to listen to this…but I didn’t feel any connection to either the band or the album. At this point, I don’t know if I’d revisit it or not.