“What really matters is what you like, not what you are like.”
– Nick Hornby, High Fidelity (1995)
Readers who have enjoyed our interviews from time to time know that we typically ask artists to share their five favorite albums of all time at the end of our conversations with them. No matter who the artist is, it’s always fascinating to discover which long players have impacted their personal and professional lives. A few of our interview subjects have even scoffed at the standard five-album limit, rattling off upwards of a dozen or so titles and second-guessing if they’ve made the right choices.
Today, and considering that we’re still in the midst of the year 2020, we’re excited to reveal our writers’ respective lists of their 20 all-time favorite albums. We all reserve the right to change our minds about these choices in the future, but for now, here are the indispensable albums that we can’t live without and the reasons why.
Explore Grant Walters’ 20 favorites below, click the “Next” button at the bottom of the page to browse the lists or return to the main index.
Adele | 21
XL/Columbia (2011)
I’ve been a fan of Adele’s since I first heard “Chasing Pavements” twelve years ago. On her sophomore album, it’s fun to hear her harness the raw intimacy she achieved on her debut, 19 (2008), and stretch wide on tracks like “Rolling in the Deep” and “Someone Like You” that glimmer and soar. “He Won’t Go” is also a triumph with its soulful tangle of piano, rhodes, strings, and bassy drums—all beautifully built scaffolding to support Ms. Adkins’ timeless voice.
Bee Gees | Main Course
RSO (1975)
Yes, this is the second Bee Gees entry in my list, but you must understand how difficult it is to not include three, four, or more albums from a band that has quite literally comprised my life’s soundtrack from the time I was barely old enough to walk. Main Course is broadly considered the Gibbs’ finest record—a perfect intersection of their flair for dramatic melancholy and their undying affection for R&B. “Fanny (Be Tender with My Love)” is probably one of their most overlooked singles, and perhaps one of their most beautiful. They harmonized so seamlessly and with such effortless complexity, and it absolutely breaks my heart when I listen and inevitably remember that they will never be able to create that magnificent sound together again.
Bee Gees | Spirits Having Flown
RSO (1979)
While the Saturday Night Fever soundtrack was obliterating every sales and chart record in its path, the Bee Gees were quietly tucked away at Miami’s Criteria Recording Studios writing and recording their next album. Spirits Having Flown is ambitious and indulgent—a production marvel that was carefully constructed over eight months with virtually no creative stone unturned. From the burning intensity of “Tragedy,” to the lushly ethereal “Too Much Heaven,” to the irresistibly quirky “Living Together,” the entirety of Spirits is nearly note-perfect—I still uncover interesting nuances each time I listen to it. While it’s the Bee Gees’ most commercially successful studio album, the artistic influence it paid forward into the next decade on the craft of rising icons like Michael Jackson, U2, and George Michael is woefully overlooked.
Blue Rodeo | Diamond Mine
Risque Disque (1989)
I’ve spoken volumes about Blue Rodeo’s worth as a quintessential thread in Canada’s music fabric, and there are so many albums in their catalog that could have made my list. However, Diamond Mine is the one I return to most frequently. The atmospheric “House of Dreams” is just one shining example of the synergy between the band’s sheer instrumental talent and Jim Cuddy’s stunning vocal agility. While it’s a shame they never had more success south of the 49th parallel, there’s also something about BR’s inherent Canadianness that makes them all the more special to me.
Tracy Chapman | Tracy Chapman
Elektra (1988)
I wrote about this album in Albumism’s “100 Most Dynamic Debut Albums Ever Made” feature, so I’ll invite you to read that for a fuller analysis. But I’ll reiterate here that Tracy Chapman changed the way I thought about pop music as an art form and as a vehicle for social justice and protest. “Fast Car” is so beautifully sad, and still so relevant to those who are hurting, struggling, fighting, and holding out hope for something better than their current reality.
Dixie Chicks | Home
Monument/Columbia (2002)
Home is a magnificent showcase for the Chicks’ otherworldly gifts as writers, instrumentalists, and vocalists. While the media may have shifted the album’s commercial fortunes, hell bent on silencing the trio for using their artistic platform for political critique of then-President George W. Bush, they failed to extinguish its merit as a pure American classic. As someone enamored with beautiful harmonies, there are simply few others who do it better.
Stan Getz & João Gilberto | Getz/Gilberto
Verve (1964)
Getz/Gilberto is one of my more recent discoveries. The duo’s restrained bossa nova grooves, especially when they feature Astrud Gilberto’s sublime alto on tracks like “The Girl From Ipanema” and “Corcovado (Quiet Nights of Quiet Stars),” are warm and transportative. It’s truly a beautiful jazz record.
Corey Hart | Boy in the Box
Aquarius/EMI America (1985)
If you grew up in Canada in the ‘80s, there’s a very good chance you were entranced by Hart’s impassioned delivery of these big-chorused, melodically dense pop gems. It was the first album I ever bought with my own money, and I spent hours belting out “Never Surrender,” “Eurasian Eyes,” and “Waiting for You” while trying to emulate his spiky coif and signature pout in my bedroom mirror.
I always thought of Corey as our generation’s rebel, but he’s actually one of the kindest and most humble people in the biz who makes music with clear-eyed conviction and a conscience. And maybe that makes him the best kind of radical among his contemporaries. Long live the Boy in the Box.
Don Henley | The End of the Innocence
Geffen (1989)
After years and hundreds of dollars spent on building my library of tapes, Henley’s fourth solo record was the first album I bought on CD—and the novelty of that is probably why I listened to it on repeat for months. Beyond that, I think it’s some of his finest work, Eagles-associated or not. The real gems here in my eyes are “The Heart of the Matter” and “New York Minute,” two resplendent melodies that illustrate Henley’s masterful songwriting.
INXS | Kick
WEA/Atlantic/Mercury (1987)
I originally bought Kick because I wanted to fit in with my junior high classmates after it was gently suggested my taste in music was passé. It’s one of the few times I’ve been glad I caved to peer pressure. Kick is flush with sparkling tracks that could have all stood alone as hit singles, and even the ballads are exciting and energetic thanks to Michael Hutchence’s sheer force-of-nature vocals.
Chris Isaak | San Francisco Days
Reprise (1993)
I spent most of my twenties living on the West Coast, and Chris’ seaside-kissed reflections on this record almost perfectly sum up my best memories of that life chapter. Everyone swooned over his 1989 breakthrough “Wicked Game,” which is brilliant, but I’ve never understood how the smoldering beauty of the album’s debut single “Can’t Do a Thing (To Stop Me)” didn’t ignite in some significant way. The entirety of San Francisco Days is a bountiful showcase for Isaak’s voice and unflinching character—two things I appreciate most about him.
Michael Jackson | Thriller
Epic (1982)
It feels practically redundant to write anything about this set of songs because I assume most people just inherently understand why this album is great—even at the age of six, I knew it was something special whenever I played it. It goes without saying that “Billie Jean” and “Beat It” are genius singles, but I especially love the moonlit whisper of “Human Nature” and the bouncy groove of “P.Y.T. (Pretty Young Thing)” always deserves to be played loud.
Jimmy Eat World | Integrity Blues
RCA (2016)
What I wrote about this record in our “The Best Albums of the 2010s” feature last year still accurately sums up my feelings about it. Fellow Jimmy Eat World fans have chided me for not favoring Clarity (1999) or Damage (2013) over their ninth studio effort, Integrity Blues. From an artistic perspective, they may very well have a point, however, I think it's important to acknowledge that our “best” music sometimes finds us and gives us necessary reflection and comfort. These songs—"You With Me," "It Matters," "Get Right," and the sparse title track—delivered by Jim Adkins' crystalline voice were a tonic that sunk into my skin deeply.
Billy Joel | An Innocent Man
Family Productions/Columbia (1983)
I will fully admit my love for this album might challenge or even stoke frustration in those who’d opt to include The Stranger or Turnstiles on their lists. It’s unabashedly nostalgic and completely contented with being a playful pop record. Not all music from 1983, nor the bygone era to which it gives a nod, feels this fun and fresh to listen to in 2020, but Joel gave it ageless appeal and relevance. Is it kitsch? Sure. Is it well-constructed kitsch? I absolutely think so, and my enjoyment of “Uptown Girl” and “Tell Her About It,” are truly un-backhanded.
Matchbox 20 | Yourself or Someone Like You
Melisma/Lava/Atlantic (1996)
It was hard to escape Yourself or Someone Like You if you were at all as in tune with pop radio as I was in 1996. I had just left home for college, living in Vancouver in a box of a room that felt like it was a million miles away from anything I’d known. So, Rob Thomas’ anxious reflections on life were something to which I could relate, even if abstractly.
Sarah McLachlan | Fumbling Towards Ecstasy
Nettwerk/Arista (1993)
By far my favorite Sarah McLachlan record, with an impressive list of tracks that spin her gossamery voice in so many intriguing directions. While most Americans will better remember Surfacing as her breakout, Fumbling Towards Ecstasy made McLachlan a staple of Canadian pop music. I immediately loved the murkiness of “Possession” when it first got played on the radio and I’ve continued to appreciate how her voice can emote with such versatility.
Simon & Garfunkel | Bridge Over Troubled Water
Columbia (1970)
An album so widely revered as soul-soothing is essentially a song-by-song depiction of Simon & Garfunkel’s personal and creative relationship painfully unraveling. The stirring title track, “The Boxer,” and “Cecilia” are so timelessly flawless that they’ve transcended their first lives as the album’s hit singles and evolved into veritable pop standards that have been embraced by generations. “The Only Living Boy in New York” never fails to evoke an existential lump in my throat during the refrain: “half of the time we’re gone / but we don’t know where.” Indeed.
Toad the Wet Sprocket | Dulcinea
Columbia (1994)
Glen Phillips’ voice has always enchanted me because of its earnestness and accessibility, and I do love that Toad’s songs are often these neat little contradictions of pop jangle and soulful sadness. When I had the good fortune of interviewing Phillips last year, he affirmed that interplay as intentional: “I make a point of writing songs that always have some of the light and some of the dark, because that’s how we are—we contain both. Trying to deny the darkness doesn’t feel real to me. There’s got to be a balance in there.”
The melodic ballad “Crowing” is probably my favorite out of this mix, but the urgency of “Something’s Always Wrong,” and the wistful “Windmills” are also among some of Toad’s best work.
U2 | Achtung Baby
Island (1991)
Most of us didn’t really know what to think of Achtung Baby when it was released, except that it wasn’t The Joshua Tree. But it didn’t take me much time at all to fall in love with the distorted wah-wah on the opening guitar lick of “Mysterious Ways,” and I still love how the almost too-loud bass line buzzes in my earphones. And then there’s the gorgeous “One,” and “Ultraviolet (Light My Way),” and “Even Better Than The Real Thing” —an unrelentingly strong batch of tracks that demonstrate why U2 is one of the greatest bands of my generation.
Weezer | Weezer (a.k.a. The Blue Album)
DGC (1994)
Weezer (a.k.a. The Blue Album) is another one of my late-to-the-party discoveries. There’s a lot I love about this record, but mostly it’s the band’s penchant for melodic memorability fused with rodomontade that’s so obviously vulnerable. I wish eighteen-year-old me had actually listened when the album was first released because it’s likely I would have found respite in Rivers Cuomo’s geeky irreverence at a time when I had little confidence to capitalize on my own.