“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 Rayna Khaitan’s 20 favorites below, click the “Next” button at the bottom of the page to browse the lists or return to the main index.
Adorable | Against Perfection
Creation (1993)
Were it not for the discerning, British-leaning musical sensibilities of LIVE 105, my favorite radio station in high school, this sterling masterpiece may never have blessed my ears. But, one day, a song called “Homeboy” traipsed across the airwaves and I was instantly smitten. I’d soon discover that wondrous single is emblematic of the entire record. From start to finish, Against Perfection remains remarkably fresh, tumbling forward with poetic energy and romantic exuberance. (Piotr, if you happen to see this, please consider a 30th-year anniversary performance. God knows, I’d fly anywhere to see this live but once.)
[Note: Against Perfection is not currently available via streaming platforms]
Auburn Lull | Begin Civil Twilight
Darla (2008)
Hoisting me to empyrean realms, away from quotidian troubles and fears, the otherworldly auralscapes of this criminally obscure Michigan-based band send me a million times aglow. Too often, we run like robots—desensitized and denatured—immured to the conflicts and chaos of the day. Begin Civil Twilight reinvigorates our every vexed neural fiber, reminding us to behold the magnificence of life, even in its smallest moments.
Angelo Badalamenti | Twin Peaks (Soundtrack)
Warner (1990)
This is a newcomer to any all-time favorite music list I’ve ever composed, but after nearly thirty years of unrelenting hunger for the Twin Peaks universe, I’ve realized it’s no fleeting phase. Managing to be jazzy, melodic, dangerous and nostalgic, the music perfectly marries with the film, taking me to secret places in my mind, where I dare to peer before racing back out.
The Cure | Pornography
Fiction (1982)
One of my favorite memories from UCLA was pure embarrassment at the time. Upon hearing “The Hanging Garden,” the sole single from The Cure’s fourth studio album, Pornography, emanating from the arcade in our student union, I giddily ran in and practically screamed, “Is this Pornography?!” The perplexed look on my peer’s face—and the candid exchange—which ensued still make me smile 25 years later.
It turned out, of course, they definitely weren’t playing my beloved band’s darkest work (rather the way-more-accessible singles comp, Standing on a Beach). But, my elated reaction speaks to my enduring affection for this album, which shall forever keep me from succumbing to my own depressive odysseys.
The Cure | The Head on the Door
Fiction (1985)
My nine-year-old mind didn’t know it at the time, but The Head on the Door was the album that would start it all—implanting a deep fascination with The Cure that irrevocably altered my life. “Close to Me” is the first Cure song I remember hearing. Standing outside the closed door of my cousin’s bedroom, I quietly absorbed its magic. Those secret minutes cast a spell that would take maximum effect a few years later when I began amassing my music collection. When I finally bought the full album, I played it on repeat for days, wholly enamored by its cunning songcraft and fanciful imagery.
The Cure | Kiss Me Kiss Me Kiss Me
Fiction (1987)
If Cure albums were planets, Kiss Me Kiss Me Kiss Me would be my Jupiter. Incomprehensibly massive and whirling in abounding mysteries, its diverse songs cover a variety of lyrical terrain and awaken exotic atmosphere. It’s the one Cure album that I can throw on no matter my headspace—allowing me to transmute all versions of reality into a fuzzy, seductive dream.
The Cure | Disintegration
Fiction (1989)
The thousands of hours we’ve spent together edge eternity. No other album could ever come close. Bathing me in ceaseless exquisite moonlight, it’s my go-to on both hopeless days and snow-smitten nights.
The Cure | Wild Mood Swings
Fiction (1996)
Every serious Cure fan wishes they’d discovered the epiphanous band earlier (all the years squandered in ignorance! all the shows missed!), and the same is most certainly true for me. Finally, in 1996, came my chance to make up for lost time. Thanks to The Swing Tour that accompanied the band’s tenth studio album, Wild Mood Swings, all previous wrongs were righted, as I reveled in the iridescent spectacle of The Cure live. While the album elicited mixed reactions, I was absolutely enchanted and believe it’s only grown in brilliance.
Depeche Mode | Songs of Faith and Devotion
Mute (1993)
Rich with religious (and appropriately blasphemous) allusion, this album typifies the spiritual nature of Depeche Mode, transporting me to forgotten gothic structures where I’m granted a thousand shades of absolution. Grand, awe-inspiring and darkly pulsating, the whole of Songs of Faith and Devotion captivates, but the pairing of “Judas” and “In Your Room,” in particular, renders me utterly without defense.
Lights Out Asia | In the Days of Jupiter
n5MD (2010)
At some point in the ‘90s, I discovered a type of music that sent me “cosmically floating,” and I’ve been on the hunt ever since. In this case, the name and artwork immediately drew me in, and really, I have no hope of coming out. Magnificently lush and maybe even a touch terrifying, In the Days of Jupiter is what I play when my mind slips past plane windows, into the vast, delicious world.
Low | I Could Live In Hope
Vernon Yard (1994)
On recommendation from a new friend, I bought Low’s debut one spring afternoon during my freshman year of college. By the time I got to my dorm room, I’d found out that a friend and floormate had committed suicide. I didn’t know what to say or do. I just sat curled up in my chair and let this album wash over me on repeat, feeling the sadness—his, everyone’s, mine. This album speaks with a quiet kind of love.
Peter Murphy | Cascade
Atlantic/Beggars Banquet (1995)
Seeing Bauhaus in 1998 was one of the most transformative nights of my life. Under the spell of Peter Murphy, I was transported to a seductive world where vampiric impulses prevail. A strangeness stirred inside and I knew right then I’d follow this dark spirit for all time. And now, having seen him live for 22 years, I’d say he’s the ultimate conduit, conjuring and releasing energy, fiery in both the absence and presence of light. Cascade shimmers with Murphy at his most luminous. “I’ll Fall with Your Knife” alone is utter proof.
The National | Alligator
Beggars Banquet (2005)
I think that when I grow old, this will be the album that will remind me I was young and fiery once and perhaps even a little wild. Whipping around in my Saturn return, I moved to New York City and coasted its electric currents with Alligator at my side. Erupting with harmless debauchery, this album spins and sparkles in my head.
New Order | Power, Corruption & Lies
Factory (1983)
Oh, sweet, soaring synths, what ever would I do without you? The new wave artists of the 1980s showed us how electronic music, coupled with real instrumentation, can engender an unfathomably vast expanse of emotion. New Order’s sophomore effort, Power, Corruption & Lies, illustrates this grandeur beautifully, delivering a deliciously expressive world that makes for thrilling melancholy on the dance floor.
port-royal | dying in time
n5MD (2009)
I don’t recall how I found out about port-royal or when, but I’m so grateful I did. Electronic, dreamy and deserving of so many occasions, this album creates a force field of focus. When I put it on, running, writing, thinking—everything—feels fluid and alive.
Pulp | Different Class
Island (1995)
For me, Pulp’s fifth studio album, Different Class, epitomizes Britpop perfection, prancing in perpetuity in a class unto itself. Although I was cheerily acquainted with the English band (namely the song “Do You Remember the First Time?” from predecessor His ‘n’ Hers) and the showstopping shenanigans of frontman Jarvis Cocker, it took the danceable-as-hell single “Common People” to really get me hooked. Throughout college, my friends and I consistently binged on this sensational album, letting it soundtrack our sweetest debaucheries—be they by acid-washed daylight or neon-lit night.
Sigur Rós | Takk…
Geffen/EMI (2005)
I’d liked Sigur Rós since discovering “that blue album with the fetus on the cover” years before. But I fell in love with them through Takk. Evoking the gorgeous grandeur and incomprehensible complexity of nature, this stunning opus makes me feel immense and small all at once.
Slowdive | Just for a Day
Creation/SBK (1991)
Swirling in heavenly reverb and bequeathing endless sonic beauty, Just for a Day is the kind of mesmerizing record that pulls you in and never lets you go. Although I picked it up in 1995—four years after its release—I’ve clung to it tightly since, floating into its hazy euphoria whenever my weary heart thirsts for resurrection. If you’ve ever been curious about the shoegaze genre, I highly recommend beginning your exploration here.
The Stone Roses | The Stone Roses
Silvertone (1989)
Walk into any bar in the last 30 years and if this album was playing, you knew you were in for quite a fabulous night. Meshing psychedelic aspects of their British rock roots with of-the-time, jangly Madchester tendencies, The Stone Roses’ self-titled debut is cohesive, flawless and intoxicating—making repeat listens an unequivocal must.
Underworld | Beaucoup Fish
Junior Boy’s Own/V2 (1999)
How many nights started and ended with this album? I could guess, but it’s likely a few of my past neighbors might actually know. This slinky, bewitching outfit serves me well whether I’m hosting friends or hiding out.