Oops! The music section of this weekly ended up getting sort of out of hand, and now this post is way longer than these are really supposed to be. Oh well. Because of this, I’m going to be sparse with my opening thoughts.
For the past few weeks I’ve been spending more time playing Minecraft than I have since I was 12 years old. I’m becoming more and more convinced that it’s a perfect video game. The fundamental gameplay loop of build something, go find stuff you so you can build a cooler thing, build the cooler thing, then go find more stuff to build an even cooler thing, is simple and immaculate. It also opens up the possibility of having multiple projects on the go at one time. It is paced however you want it to be, as you can jump around the near infinite possibilities it offers however you choose.
It’s also a great social game. I’ve been playing on a server with some friends, and the feeling of building up a Minecraft world with your buddies is really, truly special. The little town my friends and I have built has been growing slowly, as each of us put our own touches on it. So much of the way you interact in multiplayer Minecraft is just checking in on somebody else’s building project, seeing what they’re up to, getting your own ideas and inspiration from the things they’re building. My friends and I are sort of working together on our town, but in an asynchronous way, where we’re all doing our own projects, taking cues from each other. It isn’t an experience I’ve really had anywhere else. The only comparison I can even think of is like...an art class?
But of course, Minecraft also lets you go exploring, doing regular video gamey stuff with your friends. That’s a lot of fun too, and it’s enhanced by the exploration having real stakes related to the stuff you and your friends are building together, whether those stakes are needing to find some specific material for your build, or not wanting to die and lose a bunch of your stuff.
Basically, Minecraft is a group art project you do with your friends that also has a survival and exploration game attached to it. That rules!
Should the Blue Jays resign Bo Bichette? I think this is an interesting question, because it gets to one of the fundamental tensions of Baseball fandom: sentimentality and narrative vs. stats and data. I, like probably every other Jays fan, want them to resign Bichette very badly. I want Bichette and Vladdy to win a World Series together, and I want to keep seeing them one after the other in the batting order. Bichette is such a perfect example of the consistency over power (but not without some power) model of hitting that makes the Jays’ offense work so well, and as a result he’s a stable, comforting presence at the plate. You can basically always trust him for a hit or two in a game.
However, and it pains me to say this, I don’t think the team actually really needs him. Consider first the miracle run through the first three rounds of the 2025 playoffs. That defense looked really good with Giménez at shortstop and Clement at second, and the batting lineup was still solid. This on its own would not bring me to my present stance; I called it a miracle run for a reason. Ernie Clement probably isn’t good for a >.400 batting average in the regular season, and as great as Vladdy is, he doesn’t always look like the greatest hitter of all time like he did for a few weeks there.
Now, though, they’ve signed Kazuma Okamoto. As a hitter, Okamoto looks like a perfect fit for the Blue Jays lineup: lots of contact, pretty good power. As a defender, he plays corner infield and the outfield. Now, the Jays have said they plan to use him in a utility role, but with the way the rest of the field looks, that seems like it probably means shuffling between third base and left field. If they resign Bo Bichette, it creates the following problem. Let’s consider Giménez the every day shortstop here like he was during the World Series, because frankly I think if they resign Bichette it should be as a second baseman. When they play Okamoto at third, that puts Barger in left. Then you have to put either Clement or Bichette at second, and, well, don’t you want both those guys in the lineup? So, you put Clement at third and Okamoto in the field, but then, well, don’t you want Barger in the lineup?
Now, this sort of flexibility is actually a huge part of why the 2025 Jays were so good. But I didn’t mention Davis Schneider or Nathan Lukes in the preceding paragraph, both of whom also play left field sometimes. Maybe Okamoto goes to right, so that Springer and Santander can just trade off at DH (by which I of course mean, Springer plays DH most of the time, as the obviously better hitter). So you could do Okamoto right, Barger left, Clement at third, Bichette at second, Springer DH. But then Santander, Schneider, and Lukes are all really valuable players spending a lot of time on the bench.
None of these situations are actually bad. Too many good players is a great problem to have. The thing is, Bichette reportedly wants 300 million dollars, and good for him! Get that bag, king. But if I’m the Blue Jays, the obvious way to field a winning team without breaking the bank is to let Bichette walk and make Clement and Giménez the everyday middle infield duo. Then you get that wonderful grab bag of Barger, Okamoto, Lukes, Schneider, and Santander to play at various matchup and rest based configurations at third base, left field, and right field. It’s a bit of a risk to make up for Bichette’s proven great bat with Okamoto’s relatively unknown one, but the upside is Okamoto being really good, and the downside is he doesn’t make the move to MLB very well and you end up fielding essentially the same lineup that murdered the Yankees last October. Plus, you save 300 million dollars.
So, I think it’s probably the right call for the Jays to let Bichette walk. It would still be good for them to sign him, but they absolutely do not need to and can have a great season without him.
Here’s the catch: I still want them to sign him. I want it so fucking bad. Reportedly, the other teams pursuing him right now are the Yankees, Cubs, Phillies, and Dodgers. If I have to look at Bichette in a Yankees uniform I actually might not be able to watch any games the Yankees play in. If I have to look at Bichette in a Dodgers uniform I will feel palpable heartbreak, if I have to look at him in a Cubs or Phillies uniform I will feel palpable disgust. I struggle to think of a team I would be comfortable seeing him play for other than Toronto. He’s our guy. He’s more our guy than any guy not named Vladimir Guerrero Jr. If they let him walk and then win the 2026 World Series, the 2025 World Series will still feel like a missed opportunity forever, because Vladdy and Bo will not have gotten to do it together.
There is no real way to reconcile the fan and the analyst who live inside of most Baseball people. Some manage to kill one or the other, and they are the lucky ones. The rest of us are trapped in the eternal struggle of yearning for perfect narratives but always knowing better. Baseball is about narrative, but Baseball is also profoundly hostile to narrative. It creates stories through chaos, and they are rarely the stories we want. It is a human drama, but it is also a game. I want my heroes to triumph, but I also want my team to win. The perfect story of the Toronto Blue Jays needs Bo Bichette, but, and this truly pains me to say, the Toronto Blue Jays do not.
In 1971, Don McLean released the song American Pie. In this song, he refers multiple times to “the day the music died,” by which he means February 3rd, 1959, when Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens, and the Big Bopper were killed in a plane crash. There is a tremendous irony in referring so many times to music as having died from the perspective of living in 1971. 1971 may have been the greatest year in the history of popular music. Music has never been more alive than it was in 1971.
Now I realize “1971 may have been the greatest year in the history of popular music” is a bold claim, but it’s the claim I’m here to make. I’ve done some cursory research over the past few days, listening to many albums from that year, and boy oh boy. What a year it was, especially if you like funk music and/or the singer/songwriters of Laurel Canyon.
In order to convince you of my very silly argument, I’m going to present my top 7 albums from 1971 (I could not narrow the list down to five, nor could I expand it out to 10. Many apologies). First, though, I’d like to briefly mention around a dozen other albums, in order to convince you through volume alone that 1971 was special.
To many people, the Rolling Stones’ “Sticky Fingers” is a stone cold classic rock album. I do not like it very much at all, but many people do, so I figured it was worth mentioning. Similarly, the Doors’ “LA Woman” is probably great if you like the Doors. I am Doors agnostic, myself. I think John Lennon was kind of a self serious dope, but Imagine is much beloved. It, too, came out in 1971.
Okay, on to the stuff I actually like. “Led Zeppelin IV” is one of the all time great hard rock albums. Great riffs, some of the best drum sounds ever recorded. Wall to wall bangers. Black Sabbath’s “Master of Reality” is sort of similar, as it kind of walks the line between hard rock and then-new heavy metal. Listening to this album for this project made me almost entirely reconsider my stance on Black Sabbath; a lot of those songs really kick ass. Also, the lyrics were way more Christian than I expected. That’s not a point for or against, it was just a surprise.
“Hunky Dory” is one of David Bowie’s more beloved albums, and for good reason. I love that more piano focused version of his sound. “Changes” is one of the best pop songs ever made. Wonderful album.
Electric Light Orchestra debuted in 1971 (in Britain) with their self titled album (which was called something else in America). It isn’t all that remarkable as an album, but Electric Light Orchestra went on to be great. Nick Drake also released a not quite peak effort, “Bryter Larter”, in 1971. It wasn’t Pink Moon, but it carried the promise of Pink Moon. In both cases we have a pretty good album that is, at least, a harbinger of more exciting things to come. While I’m talking about albums that were a decent time but not astounding, War released All Day Music in 1971. It didn’t knock me off my feet, but a couple individual tracks were great, and it made me want to listen to more War.
Bill Withers’ “Just as I Am” and Kris Kristofferson’s “The Silver Tongued Devil and I” are both albums I listened to and liked very much during my 2022 listening to an album every day stint. I did not re-listen to either for this piece, but they are both very strong evidence in my mind towards 1971 being a uniquely excellent year for popular music.
Finally, before we move to my top 7, no discussion of 1971 in popular music would be complete without a mention of Marvin Gaye’s “What’s Going On.” Rolling Stone called this the greatest album of all time in 2020. The fact that number three on that list (which I will be discussing in a little bit here) was also from 1971 was what set me down the path that ended in this here blog post. I listened to “What’s Going On” only once for this piece, and was sort of blown away by its fluid, interconnecting structure, dense arrangements, and beautiful vocal performances. I now both understand and appreciate Rolling Stone’s affinity for it, but did not yet glean enough of an understanding to discuss it in any depth. I might come back to “What’s Going On” for another of these posts at a later date, to give it the attention it really deserves. For now, consider “What’s Going On” tied for the title of my eighth favourite album of 1971 with “Hunky Dory” and “Led Zeppelin IV” (I guess that kind of does make this a top ten list. Whatever).
Without further ado, my seven favourite albums of 1971, perhaps the greatest year in the history of popular music.
I’ve only listened to this album once at time of writing, which is, frankly, a massive failure on my part. I should’ve listened to this about a hundred times by now. Going 24 years and change without listening to it at all was ridiculous behavior.
This thing blew my dang mind. It had me totally engrossed, which is impressive given how slow and sparse it is. Cohen’s lyricism is just out of this world. I feel unable to provide any deep analysis of it at this time, having listened to this album only once, so broad description will have to suffice. Cohen’s writing and delivery work together perfectly to make you hang on his every word. These songs present stories and ideas intricate enough not to be untangled on a first listen, but immediately compelling and beautiful on the level of the line enough to hit you like a truck even when the actual substance is going over your head. This is the kind of album one could really obsess over.
I also just love the way it sounds. Cohen’s guitar work is excellent. In terms of production and mixing, I love how simple it is. Most of these songs are just Cohen and his guitar, and the production gives it plenty of room to breathe. You feel like you’re alone in a room with Cohen while he tells you stories. At least, until one of the album’s more densely arranged songs shows up and knocks you clean off your feet. This makes for compelling structure: the album has exactly enough high energy moments to keep you on your toes as you press through the somber, bleak atmosphere of most of the songs.
In short: this album is a classic, Cohen was a brilliant writer, and I am a doofus for not having gotten to it sooner.
I haven’t mentioned Robert Christgau yet here. I would be remiss not to, though. Not only did his ancient looking website go a long way towards inspiring this ancient looking website you’re reading right now, but his Consumer Guide reviews for the year 1971 pointed me in a lot of good directions as I was compiling a list of things to listen to for this piece. One of those good directions was “There’s a Riot Goin’ On,” which he gave his highest grade, A+, to. This marks one of the few occasions ever where Robert Christgau and I agree on an A+.
This album is goddamn fascinating, in a way where I almost don’t even want to write about it here, because I want to listen to it about ten more times, read about it a whole lot more, and then write a dedicated post about it. The process by which it came about is fascinating, enough so that I would love talking about it even if the music wasn’t actually good (and it is). This is sort of what I like to call a mad scientist album, in the vein of Pet Sounds, where one person goes through a reclusive spell, makes a whole bunch of music more or less by themselves, and then somehow it ends up being great. Sly Stone made most of this album on his own, overdubbing extensively on tracks laid down with his bandmates. You can literally hear this process on the finished product: many of the songs feature audible tape hiss, the physical medium of recording being worn down by all of the overdubs.
That’s sort of nuts on its own, but one anecdote, and take this with a grain of salt, because Wikipedia sources it from a book I do not have access to to verify, says that Stone used a drum machine on some of these songs, but wanted more meticulous control, so he rearranged the samples on the track to build beats. I wish I could get that book, because I want more detail about this desperately. From Wikipedia’s description, it sounds like he could either be simply programming the drum machine, or actually physically cutting and pasting tape to build drum beats. If it’s the latter, it blows my fucking mind.
Between the extensive overdubbing and the possibility that he may have been actually physically chopping up and gluing together drum samples, it really feels like Sly Stone was anticipating digital production by a couple decades here. This album was made the way a lot of modern music is, by one guy in a room recording over himself again and again, 20-30 years before we had the technology to do that easily. That’s incredible. I can’t imagine the patience it would take to do so much overdubbing on physical tape, and the remarkable thing is you can hear all the meticulous labour in that tape hiss.
And look at that, I’ve gone on for around 400 words without talking about the music. Well, the music is great. I’m being very serious when I say I intend to write a full post about just this album, and I’m going to save most of the actual musical discussion for that, because, to reiterate, I want to listen to this album about ten more times before attempting to break it down. But man oh man, it is great stuff. Incredible vocal hooks and melodies, immaculate grooves. Just listen to “Africa Talks to You” and let yourself really feel that recurring vocal motif. It’s wonderful.
Hey look, I’m talking about “Tapestry” again. It’s just like last week.
This was the third album I thought of, after What’s Going On and an album still forthcoming in this post, as I began to pull this idea together. Actually, it was a deeper investigation into Laurel Canyon spurred by my love for this album that got this project started, in sort of a roundabout way. Anyway, I’m not going to actually write much about this one, because I already did last week. Suffice to say, I like it a whole lot.
Carole King actually released another album in 1971, too. It’s called “Music,” and I have not listened to it.
This album carries the distinction of having one of the many songs that I would call “my favourite song ever.” For me, “favourite song ever” is sort of more of a category than a single song. It’s the grab bag I reach into when asked what my favourite song is. “Can You Get to That” is in that grab bag.
I’ll talk about the rest of the album, but bear with me for a second. For many years, I carried around the opinion that “Rill Rill” by Sleigh Bells was one of my absolute favourite songs. Then a couple years ago I did my basic due diligence, actually listened to the song “Rill Rill” samples, and realized that basically everything I liked about “Rill Rill” was actually stuff I liked about “Can You Get to That” (I mean no disrespect here to Sleigh Bells, who I still like very much).
“Can You Get to That” has maybe the most incredible groove I’ve ever heard. The main guitar lick and the drums slip and slide off of each other with such a bizarre, janky cadence that it creates this incredible feeling of satisfaction every time they line up fully. The song moves in this lurching sort of way where it almost falls apart every bar before picking itself back up in time for the one. Add to that the absolute layer cake of vocal performances: group harmonies, individual voices jumping in and out, a baritone showing up for the chorus and the more sparsely arranged third verse, and the whole song just gives you this feeling that you’re floating on a cloud. And I haven’t even mentioned the dang piano. Why are you still reading this paragraph? Go listen to this song!
The rest of the album is great, too. I probably currently hold the world record for longest time anyone’s ever gone on talking about “Maggot Brain” without discussing the title track and Eddie Hazel’s guitar performance even once. And yeah, Eddie Hazel was a bona fide guitar genius. (I will name my top 10 guitarists later in this piece, because I want people to yell at me). However, the thing about Eddie Hazel’s guitar performance on the “Maggot Brain” title track is that if one more person spends any time praising it, we will be at serious risk of the collective weight of all its praise caving the Earth’s crust in. So, I’m going to talk about Eddie Hazel’s guitar playing on “Super Stupid” instead.
On “Super Stupid,” Funkadelic play at the boundary between funk and hard rock, creating something that is essentially the Red Hot Chili Peppers if they were good, eleven years before the Red Hot Chili Peppers existed. This song is fast, exciting, hard hitting, more energizing than a bowl of ice water to the face. Hazel’s guitar leads push it to a level of transcendence that would be truly remarkable if this song didn’t have the sad fate of sharing space on an album with “Can You Get to That.” I love Hazel’s playing on this track, because it is technically adept and incredibly impressive, but not showoffy. It fits the song perfectly, and carries the same feeling of frantic fun as everything else on this album.
Man, I’m talking myself into moving this up the list as I write. I don’t know, consider this and the next one tied. Yes, that is exactly what I’ll do. This list will have two threes and no four.
There are four songs I haven’t talked about at all yet. “Hit It and Quit It” is a ton of fun. It’s maybe the most forgettable song on the album, but that might just be because it has the misfortune of following “Can You Get to That.” “You And Your Folks, Me And My Folks,” has a more steady, monotonous groove than the rest of the album, and I do not mean that as a bad thing. It’s a little bit trance-like, in a way that makes for a perfect break in pacing at the middle of the album, and a perfect cool down before “Super Stupid,” which as I mentioned before goes absolutely nuts. “Back In Our Minds” is probably tied with “Super Stupid” as my second favourite track on the album, if only because I am absolutely in love with the funny high up percussion sound featured prominently in its groove. Finally, “Wars Of Armageddon” sort of defies explanation. Every stylistic flair established on the rest of the album just explodes into absolute chaos here. It’s a perfect ending, and exactly what you want out of a song called “Wars of Armageddon.”
On the whole, this album is just an absolute blast. It’s danceable, the songs are wonderfully constructed and performed, and the whole thing has this sort of absurdist sense of humour that I love. The title track, being basically just a 10 minute guitar solo, might turn you off, if you aren’t a big guitar freak. But if that’s you, just skip it. I’m being serious. Do not deny yourself “Can You Get to That.”
Sometimes an opinion is really fun to have, and you adopt it mainly for that reason. But then sometimes merely adopting that opinion makes it true, as the fun you're having with the opinion begins to colour your perception of the opinion's subject, turning your joke perspective into your real perspective as time goes on. Then the opinion actually gets more fun, because you can no longer be accused of empty contrarianism.
So anyway, I think “Ram” is better than any Beatles album. I say this as someone who loves the Beatles. I even believe that generally John and Paul were both way worse songwriters on their own than they were together. “Ram” is the exception to that, as I really believe it is a more consistently great batch of songs than any album the Beatles made. Sure, it doesn’t reach the heights of “Back in the USSR” or “I’m So Tired,” but also every song on “Ram” is miles better than “Piggies,” “The Continuing Story of Bungalow Bill,” or “Why Don’t We Do It In the Road.”
“Ram” is both cozy and fun. There’s a warmth to these recordings, and palpable love and friendliness in the interplay between Paul and Linda’s voices. It is also full of the McCartney whimsy, dialed all the way up to 10, which I prefer a great deal over John Lennon’s eternal self-seriousness.
This album presents a perfect mix of straightforward pop rock bangers, light and folksy McCartney kitsch, and bizarre experiments. “Too Many People” is a great, simple rock tune, and the move from it into the plodding, head-bobbing “3 Legs” is classic good album sequencing. “Uncle Albert/Admiral Halsey” is a weird, very silly medley, but when Paul and Linda come in with that soaring vocal in the Admiral Halsey section it gives me chills every time. “Heart of the Country” is a lovely little folksy song, and one of the scant few tracks penned by anybody even tangentially associated with the Beatles that carries my girlfriend’s approval. “Monkberry Moon Delight” is a banner hit for every freak and weirdo out there. “Ram On” and its reprise are nice great little low key tracks that break up the pacing nicely.
Really the only dull spot on the album is “Smile Away,” which I find sort of irritating, but I can’t even hate it all that much because it just seems like Paul is having so much fun.
At its core, the thing that really charms me about this album is that it has sort of an indie ethos. It isn’t that the McCartneys were abandoning convention here, more that they were picking whatever conventions they felt like playing with. I think this is probably why “Ram” was reviewed a little more harshly than its contemporary Beatles solo projects, since John and George stuck with straightforward rock and blues influences, but I also think it’s why “Ram” endures today: it has this spirit of playful experimentation that’s shared by everybody who has ever spent an afternoon dicking around with a guitar, keyboard, or DAW.
This was the album that really got me started on this piece. Basically, “Tapestry” made me want to get more into Laurel Canyon stuff, so I tried listening to some James Taylor. It took only about fifteen minutes of that for me to go “fuck this, I’m just going to listen to Joni Mitchell.” So I revisited “Blue,” for the one millionth time. Then I went on “Blue’s” Wikipedia page while listening to it, as one does, and ended up looking at that Rolling Stone list where “What’s Going On” is the number one album of all time, and “Blue” is number 3. I realized they were both from 1971, and if I made this silly argument I’m currently making, I could claim that Rolling Stone agrees with me, which is funny.
Okay, sidebar: as promised, here are my top ten guitarists of all time. This is a list perfectly calibrated to make people mad at me, but in a way where they also kind of have to give me credit. Alright:
1. Jimi Hendrix, obviously.
2. Joni Mitchell (This is the first curveball).
3. Thurston Moore and Lee Ranaldo (if Spin magazine gets to count them as one guy, so do I).
4. Carrie Brownstein (Sleater-Kinney are responsible for a lot of how I approach the electric guitar).
5. Eddie Hazel
6. Mary Timony (Helium was the best band of the 90s).
7. Jack White
8. John Darnielle
9. Nick Drake (If it isn’t clear by now, I believe that Buckethead should be in prison).
10. J Mascis (Who am I to deny my teenaged self?)
So anyway, “Blue.” Joni Mitchell is one of the most brilliant songwriters who has ever lived, and you could point to any aspect of songwriting to make that case. In line with just having called her the second best guitarist of all time, let me talk about her approach to the guitar.
I’ll start by saying something contentious: Joni Mitchell is underrated. She was doing wizard shit with the guitar, it’s just that it is essentially invisible, because when people talk about “guitar gods” they are treating the guitar as an instrument which can only play one note at a time. They’re talking about solos, about lead parts, about the flashy shit. But listen to me: nobody would care about the guitar even a little bit if it wasn’t such a good instrument for harmony. Chords are where the guitar’s true power lies, and this is what Joni Mitchell understands. She does chords you wouldn’t believe. Her whole thing is taking the fundamentally kind of boring singer songwriter formula and saying: “but what if this was just a little bit jazz?” No Joni Mitchell song sounds like it’s in an alien freak tuning, but many of them are. She made the guitar her own instrument, and the specific ways she voices chords, the specific ways she performs rhythm parts, are unique and unparalleled.
Jimi Hendrix’s guitar playing is more or less the entire foundation of what little spirituality I have, though, so he does take the number one spot.
Something I learned very recently is that Joni Mitchell also produced a lot of her own stuff, including “Blue.” That’s nuts! The album sounds incredible. People talk about singer/songwriter Joni Mitchell; nobody talks about producer Joni Mitchell. Joni Mitchell is underrated, and I am not crazy for saying that.
If you know me and knew that this album came out in 1971 (which I didn't until checking, for whatever reason I could've sworn it was 1970), you knew the number one spot wouldn’t be occupied by anything else. Nilsson Schmilsson is one of the three albums I would unreservedly call my absolute favourite (we can talk about the other two some other time). It is, to my mind, the perfect, platonic ideal of a pop album in how it engages in genre pastiche, taking disparate sounds and influences and synthesizing them into something new.
Nilsson was a gifted composer of melodies, with one of the most beautiful voices ever bestowed upon a human being. However, over the course of his career he was sort of...creatively flighty. His projects tend to lean a little towards inconsistency, stemming from tight adherence to some too-obvious influences in his earlier work, and a tendency towards, for lack of a better description, drunken nonsense in his later stuff. For Nilsson Schmilsson, though, he found the perfect producer in Richard Perry, and totally locked in. Nothing is out of place on this album, it is light, fun, intense, dramatic, silly, and experimental all in perfect measure. It showcases the full breadth of Nilsson’s songwriting and performing abilities. It also sounds immaculate. It’s a perfect example of how great high budget studio recording could be in the 70s.
I’ve already written a few thousand words in this segment, and could write a few thousand more about just this album. I’ll save it for the big elaborate review I’ve been working on on and off for ages now.
Beyond just Nilsson Schmilsson, 1971 was sort of a banner year for Nilsson. It also saw the release of “The Point,” his bizarro animated musical film, the soundtrack for which is one of my favourite things, and “Aerial Pandemonium Ballet,” a mash up of his first two albums that’s kind of an early example of a remix album. Two fascinating experiments to go with his landmark pop art masterpiece. I’m hard pressed to think of an artist who had a single year with a more impressive creative output.
So, to recap: 1971 saw the releases of beloved, classic albums from artists like John Lennon, David Bowie, The Rolling Stones, Carole King, Joni Michell, Led Zeppelin, Black Sabbath, Marvin Gaye, and Paul McCartney, a pair of brilliant funk albums in “There’s a Riot Goin’ On” and “Maggot Brain,” Electric Light Orchestra’s debut, and my personal favourite album ever. And I got all of this from only the most cursory research. Can any other year compete with those numbers? I think not.