Glam Steel and Dream Pop in Basement Tapes and Sunset Static
Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness by The Smashing Pumpkins 🌙
Recording a giant without losing the band feel 🎛️
Released in October 1995, Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness was The Smashing Pumpkins’ answer to the pressure that followed Siamese Dream. Billy Corgan had gone through a bruising, obsessive recording process on that earlier record, so this time the group brought in Flood and Alan Moulder to change the method. The aim was simple, even if the album was anything but: capture more of the band playing together, rather than building everything piece by piece.
The sessions ran from March to August 1995 across several studios in Chicago and at The Village Recorder in Los Angeles. Corgan still led the writing and the overall vision, but Flood pushed for performances with more air and motion in them. That matters when you hear Jimmy Chamberlin’s drumming, which is thunderous on “Jellybelly” and “Zero”, then subtle and graceful on “Tonight, Tonight”.
Corgan described the album as “The Wall for Generation X”, and the scale fits that ambition. It was planned as a double album from the start, split into Dawn to Dusk and Twilight to Starlight.
Why it sounds unlike almost anything else in mid-90s rock 🎸
What makes Mellon Collie distinctive is its refusal to sit still. One moment you get the serrated rage of “Bullet with Butterfly Wings”, the next the string-swept drama of “Tonight, Tonight”, then the dreamy nostalgia of “1979”. There are acoustic miniatures, heavy riff workouts, gothic moods, shoegaze haze and piano passages that feel nearly cinematic.
That wide reach mattered in 1995. Alternative rock had exploded, grunge was no longer the whole story, and audiences were used to a decade where hip-hop, electronica, Britpop and metal all jostled for space. The Pumpkins answered that chaos with an album that absorbed everything around it and still sounded like itself.
Big sales, mixed awe, and instant cultural weight 📀
The gamble worked. Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness debuted at number one on the Billboard 200, the band’s only album to do so, and later went diamond in the US. It produced a remarkable run of singles, including “Bullet with Butterfly Wings”, “1979”, “Zero”, “Tonight, Tonight” and “Thirty-Three”.
Critics at the time admired its ambition, even when they found it excessive. That slight excess is part of the point. A 28-track double album in the CD era was a stubborn move, almost wilfully anti-neat. It challenged the idea that alternative rock had to be lean, scruffy and emotionally guarded.
The legacy: art-rock scale with indie nerves ✨
Its long-term influence is easy to hear. Later alternative, emo and indie bands borrowed from its mix of grand emotion, layered guitars and willingness to let ugliness and beauty share the same record. Even with Virgin’s money behind it, there was still an indie spirit in the project: loads of material, risky choices, and no attempt to make a tidy mainstream follow-up.
That is why Mellon Collie still matters. It took the raw feeling associated with grunge and stretched it into something huge, theatrical and strangely intimate. Few albums from the 1990s reached for that much, and fewer still landed it.
Re:Created by Placebo 🎛️
Back to the tapes, not back to nostalgia 🔁
Re:Created is a fascinating idea from Placebo. Rather than putting out a polite remaster of their 1996 debut, Brian Molko and Stefan Olsdal went back to the original master tapes and rebuilt the record as a kind of director’s cut. Producer Rob Kirwan joined them for the reconstruction, and Adam Noble handled the new mixes. The result is less a museum piece than a conversation between the band’s younger and older selves.
That choice matters. Placebo could easily have sold a straight anniversary edition, but instead they pulled songs apart, kept key lines and riffs, added fresh overdubs, and re-sang parts with the weight of thirty years behind them. “Bruise Pristine RE:CUT” gave an early taste of that method, familiar in outline but heavier, moodier and more controlled. It turns the album into a piece of self-revision, which is much more interesting than simple commemoration.
A darker, more electronic Placebo 🖤
The original debut had wiry guitars, glam leanings, bratty tension and that unmistakable Molko sneer. Re:Created keeps the bones of those songs but shifts the atmosphere. The guitars are denser, the rhythm section hits with more precision, and there’s a stronger electronic mist around everything, synth textures, ambient detail, treated drums, a more sculpted low end.
That blend gives the album a post-genre feel that suits the 2010s and beyond. It still belongs to alternative rock, but it also brushes against indie electronics and dark pop. In that sense, Placebo are quietly challenging old rock rules. They are saying these songs do not have to remain trapped in “authentic” 90s guitar form. Rock here is fluid, studio-made and open to redesign.
Reception, legacy and the streaming-age angle 📡
Early reactions have been warm, with writers praising the risk involved. The strongest line came from LouderSound, which said that if this arrived as a brand-new record, it would feel like one of the best alt-rock albums of its year. That says a lot about how contemporary the music sounds.
The release strategy also feels very now. There are multiple formats, from vinyl editions to box sets and extras, aimed at collectors, while the updated sound makes the songs easier to place beside current acts on streaming playlists. That dual life matters in the social media era. A legacy band can turn an anniversary into a fresh event, feed discussion online, and send new listeners back to the 1996 original through recommendation algorithms.
Older voices, sharper meanings 🌫️
Placebo’s debut always carried themes of desire, alienation, self-destruction and sexual ambiguity. In the 1990s those songs felt confrontational. Heard through Re:Created, they feel haunted. Molko’s older voice changes the emotional centre. What once sounded reckless now sounds knowingly bruised.
That shift gives the album a political edge without rewriting the lyrics. In a decade shaped by louder conversations around gender, identity and self-definition, these songs land differently. Placebo do not preach, but they do remind you how far ahead of the curve they often were. Re:Created is a rare anniversary project that actually changes the story of the album it revisits.
The Very Very Best of Crowded House by Crowded House 🎸
A label-made farewell, and a smart one too 📀
Released in 2010, The Very Very Best of Crowded House was less a new artistic statement than a carefully chosen career summary. Capitol/EMI put it out as part of the band’s 25th anniversary and, in another twist, it also closed the chapter on Crowded House’s years with that label. The standard edition runs to 19 tracks, while a deluxe digital version stretches to 32 songs and adds a rare live 1987 cover of Hunters & Collectors’ “Throw Your Arms Around Me”.
That matters because this set is really about curation. It pulls from the classic run, Crowded House (1986), Temple of Low Men (1988), Woodface (1991), Together Alone (1993), and then nods to the reunion with Time on Earth (2007) tracks such as “Don’t Stop Now” and “Pour le Monde”. In practice, it updates the earlier compilation Recurring Dream rather than replacing it outright. There was no grand studio story behind this album, but there was a clear purpose, to repackage Crowded House for a new decade.
Why these songs still sound so unmistakable 🎶
What makes Crowded House special is how effortless they can seem while doing quite sophisticated things. Neil Finn writes melodies that feel instantly familiar, then slips in chord changes that give the songs a bittersweet pull. This compilation moves between jangly 80s pop-rock, new-wave crispness, adult alternative warmth and folk-pop tenderness without ever sounding confused.
The guitar work is a big part of that. Finn rarely goes for flashy solos. Instead, he uses clean, chiming tones, clipped rhythm figures and carefully placed textures that keep the songs open and human. Listen to “Something So Strong” or “Mean to Me” for that bright, muscular snap. Then compare them with “Private Universe” or “Distant Sun”, where the guitars become more atmospheric and spacious.
Underneath, Nick Seymour and Paul Hester give the songs their shape. Seymour’s bass lines often move melodically rather than just sitting on root notes, while Hester’s drumming has a light touch that keeps even slower songs quietly moving.
Reception, legacy, and the streaming-age angle 🌍
Critically, this compilation did not rewrite Crowded House’s reputation, it confirmed it. The band already had a reputation for elegant songwriting and emotional directness, and this set reminded listeners why. Some people questioned whether another best-of was needed, but the inclusion of reunion-era material gave it a reason to exist.
Its timing is interesting. In 2010, the idea of a greatest-hits album was starting to overlap with the logic of streaming playlists. The Very Very Best works almost like a label-built “essentials” list, perfect for digital listeners who wanted the big songs in one place. That suits Crowded House because their music has always slipped easily across genre lines and generations.
Politically, the album is not direct, but in a decade marked by uncertainty after the financial crash, songs full of longing, consolation and quiet resilience found fresh meaning. That may be why this collection still lands so well. It is polished, melancholy, tuneful and deeply humane, a very good way into one of the finest song bands of their era.
Exile on Main St. by The Rolling Stones 🎸
Recording in exile, and in chaos 🇫🇷
Released in May 1972, Exile on Main St. came out of one of the messiest periods in the Stones’ career. The band had left Britain as tax exiles, and Keith Richards rented Villa Nellcôte in the South of France. A fair bit of the album was recorded there in a basement, with the Rolling Stones Mobile Studio parked outside and cables run through the house. It sounds romantic until you picture the reality, heat, damp, odd hours, people drifting in and out, and a band trying to finish a double album while life around them was anything but tidy.
Some tracks had earlier roots in the Sticky Fingers era, with work also done at Olympic Studios in London and later completed in Los Angeles at Sunset Sound. That long, broken-up process matters, because Exile really is a collage. It feels less like a neat studio statement and more like a pile of great songs, half-lit by exhaustion and instinct, pulled into shape by producer Jimmy Miller and engineers including Glyn and Andy Johns.
Mud, gospel, country, blues 🎹
What makes Exile special is the way it pulls together American roots music without sounding like a museum piece. There is raw rock and roll in “Rocks Off” and “Rip This Joint”, country weariness in “Sweet Virginia” and “Torn and Frayed”, deep blues in “Shake Your Hips” and “Stop Breaking Down”, and a full gospel lift in “Shine a Light” and “Let It Loose”.
The sound is famously murky. Vocals are often tucked into the mix rather than placed right at the front. Horns, piano and backing vocals crowd the songs instead of sitting in clean, separate lanes. That came partly from the basement acoustics and partly from the limits and character of early 70s recording on mobile 16-track equipment. Rather than scrub away the bleed and grit, the Stones kept it. The result is dense, humid, and alive.
Guitars, groove, and why it rolls so hard 🥁
The album leans on one of the Stones’ great strengths, guitar weave. Keith Richards’ open-G rhythm playing gives songs like “Tumbling Dice” and “All Down the Line” their lurching, loose swagger, while Mick Taylor adds fluid lead lines that bring a touch of elegance to the grime. They do not fight for the spotlight. They knot around each other.
Underneath them, Charlie Watts and Bill Wyman keep everything from collapsing. Watts in particular is a marvel here, steady but never stiff, always pushing the band with a human swing. Add Nicky Hopkins on piano and Bobby Keys on sax, and the record gets that bar-room, late-night soul that defines its character.
From mixed notices to classic status 📻
At first, Exile on Main St. puzzled some reviewers, who heard it as overlong and muddy. The public disagreed enough to send it to number one in both the UK and US, with “Tumbling Dice” becoming a major hit. Over time, the album’s reputation grew massively. It became a favourite in the age of album-oriented rock, when listeners and FM radio treated records as full journeys rather than just homes for singles.
Its roughness also meant a lot to later musicians. Punk bands admired the dirt and lack of polish. Roots rock and Americana artists loved its blend of blues, country, gospel and street-level rock and roll. In a decade that also had prog, glam and heavy rock pulling in different directions, Exile offered something shabbier and more human. That is why it still feels so alive.
Basic by Basic 🎸
A record hiding in plain sight 🕵️
Here’s the awkward truth: Basic by Basic is extremely hard to verify in the usual album histories, discographies and review archives. I couldn’t find a solid trail for a 1990s alternative-rock debut with that exact artist-and-title pairing, which means I can’t honestly pin down a release year, label, studio, producer or chart story without inventing details. For a music blog, that matters. The 1990s left a huge paper trail for even modest indie releases, so when a record barely appears in those sources, it often points to a very small self-release, a local cassette or CD, or a title/artist mix-up that has been repeated over time.
That said, the lack of documentation tells its own story. If Basic really was a debut from a band called Basic in the 1990s alternative world, it likely belonged to the same under-the-radar culture that kept many records alive through flyers, college radio, zines and word of mouth rather than mainstream press.
Where it would fit in the 1990s alternative moment 🌧️
A record like this makes sense in the decade’s crowded middle ground, where grunge had broken open the door, but plenty of bands were refusing to sound like polished major-label rock. The name Basic itself suggests reduction rather than excess, and that lines up neatly with a strain of indie rock that prized blunt guitars, unvarnished vocals and songs built from tension rather than virtuosity.
If it sat anywhere near the alternative explosion, it probably did so from the margins. Think less arena-sized grunge catharsis, more economy: dry guitars, bass pushed forward, drums that feel room-recorded rather than studio-sanded, and lyrics that cut towards boredom, alienation or urban routine. That would place it in conversation with the DIY side of the decade, where rough edges were part of the point.
DIY spirit, if not full documentation 📼
The most believable context for Basic is an indie one. In the 1990s, plenty of debut albums were tracked fast, often on limited budgets, with bands trying to capture live chemistry before they could afford refinement. That method shaped the sound as much as any aesthetic plan did. Leakage between instruments, a vocal left slightly ragged, a guitar tone chosen for bite rather than beauty, all of that became part of alternative rock’s grammar.
That DIY approach also challenged rock convention in a quiet way. Instead of chasing technical perfection, bands often chose immediacy. Instead of heroic solos, they went for repetition, mood and abrasion. In that sense, a record called Basic would almost announce its own refusal of rock grandeur.
Legacy through obscurity ✨
Without firm reviews or sales data, its legacy is hard to map. But obscurity does not mean irrelevance. Some 1990s records mattered because they fed local scenes, gave shape to a band’s later work, or captured a small pocket of the decade’s musical diversity. If Basic exists in that world, its value is likely in its independence: a debut shaped by the era’s anything-goes spirit, where alternative rock could be scrappy, sceptical and proudly incomplete.
If you want, I can take the next step and help identify the exact release by cross-checking possible labels, countries, song titles or cover art.
Pet Sounds by The Beach Boys 🐾
Recording a private world in public pop 🎛️
Released in May 1966, Pet Sounds came from a turning point in Brian Wilson’s life. He had stepped back from touring, partly because of stress, and poured his energy into the studio instead. That change mattered. Rather than writing another set of songs about surfing, cars and teenage fun, he built an album about doubt, tenderness, longing and the odd feeling of being out of step with the world.
Wilson wrote most of the music with lyricist Tony Asher, whose plain, intimate words gave songs like “You Still Believe in Me” and “I Just Wasn’t Made for These Times” their aching honesty. The instrumental tracks were cut in Los Angeles studios such as Western, Gold Star and Sunset Sound, mostly with elite session musicians from the Wrecking Crew. The rest of the Beach Boys then added those famous harmonies on top. One lovely detail is that “Sloop John B” had been recorded earlier and then folded into the album, even though its folk origin makes it feel slightly apart.
Why it sounds unlike anything else in 1966 🎼
What makes Pet Sounds so distinctive is its mix of sophistication and warmth. Wilson borrowed the idea of the album as a unified statement after hearing Rubber Soul by The Beatles, yet the sound he made was his own. These songs move through unusual chords and key changes, but they never lose their pop pull. “Wouldn’t It Be Nice” has the rush of a teenage daydream, while “God Only Knows” feels almost hymn-like.
The arrangements were just as adventurous. Alongside guitars, bass and drums, Wilson used accordions, harpsichord, strings, woodwinds, bicycle bells and the electro-theremin. Even the barking dogs and train sounds at the end of “Caroline, No” add to the mood of fading innocence. He mixed the album in mono, which gave it a compact, emotional force on 1960s radios and record players.
Reception, rivalry and the spirit of the 60s 🇬🇧🌼
In the United States, the album reached No. 10, a respectable result but lower than expected for the band. Some listeners missed the old sunny Beach Boys image. In Britain, the reaction was warmer, and musicians especially heard something new in it. Paul McCartney later spoke with awe about “God Only Knows”, and Pet Sounds fed directly into the Beatles’ own next leap.
That transatlantic exchange is part of the album’s place in the 60s cultural shift. It left behind lightweight pop formulae and treated the LP as serious art, full of introspection and studio imagination. It was not full-blown psychedelic rock, but it opened the door to that world.
The legacy of an album that changed pop forever 🌊
Today, Pet Sounds is widely treated as one of the greatest albums ever made, and with good reason. It helped make the concept album feel possible in pop, influenced records from Sgt. Pepper onwards, and gave later songwriters permission to be emotionally exposed without giving up melody.
That is the album’s lasting magic. The hooks are immediate, the harmonies are gorgeous, and the production wraps everything in a dream-like glow. It is deeply felt music that still sounds inviting, which is a rare combination.
Substance by New Order 🎛️
From Factory filing cabinet to accidental masterpiece 📀
Released in 1987, Substance began as a practical idea and turned into the record many people treat as the definitive New Order album. Factory Records wanted a proper CD-era collection of the band’s singles, and the timing made sense. New Order had spent the first half of the decade making huge standalone 12-inch singles, often stronger than the albums they sat beside, or never sat beside at all.
This was not a lazy trawl through old tapes. The band reworked key songs for the set, with 1987 versions of “Temptation” and “Confusion”, and a later recording of “Ceremony” taking pride of place at the start. They also added “True Faith” and “1963”, two brand new songs that gave the compilation a sense of momentum instead of nostalgia. The UK double LP focused on the A-sides, while the double CD added a superb run of B-sides, which is one reason fans often swear by the longer version.
The sound, machines, and that strange New Order ache 🤖
What makes Substance so distinctive is the way it ties opposites together. These songs are built for clubs, but they carry a hangover from Joy Division’s emotional chill. Peter Hook’s bass often sits high in the mix like a lead guitar, Bernard Sumner sings with a detached, almost conversational tone, and underneath it all are drum machines, sequencers, synth arpeggios, and long 12-inch structures made for dancers.
You can hear the technology changing across the compilation. Early tracks have a sparer post-punk edge, while later songs glow with brighter mid-80s synth-pop production. “Blue Monday” is the giant here, a machine-funk landmark with sequenced bass, programmed drums, and a cool, haunted mood. “Bizarre Love Triangle” turns romantic confusion into pure electronic lift-off. “True Faith”, produced with Stephen Hague, smooths the sound into something sharper and more radio-ready without losing the sadness at its core.
Between the Hacienda and MTV 📺
New Order were in a rare position. They belonged to independent club culture, yet they could slip into the mainstream without sounding like they had cleaned themselves up for it. Their work with Arthur Baker and John Robie on “Confusion” connected them directly to New York electro and post-disco. At the same time, videos for “Bizarre Love Triangle” and especially “True Faith” gave them a strong MTV presence during the visual music boom.
That balance matters. Substance catches a band moving between underground dance floors, art-school sleeve design, and pop television, all without losing its identity.
Reception, legacy, and why it still feels essential 🌟
Commercially, Substance became New Order’s best-selling release, selling over a million copies worldwide. Critics and later writers have often treated it as more than a compilation because the 12-inch versions tell a story of evolution, from austere early experiments to sleek synth-pop confidence.
Its influence runs everywhere through alternative dance, indie electronica, and synth-pop. If you want one record that explains how a post-punk band could absorb machines, club music, pop hooks, and visual style, then turn that mixture into some of the best singles of the 1980s, Substance is it.
Greatest Hits by Def Leppard 🎸
📀 From Vault to a career summary
For Def Leppard in the mid-1990s, a greatest hits set was more than a tidy recap. It was a way of drawing a line under their first 15 years, from the scrappy New Wave of British Heavy Metal days to the glossy arena-pop of their MTV peak. The key release here is Vault: Def Leppard Greatest Hits (1980–1995), issued in October 1995, with 15 major singles and the new track “When Love & Hate Collide”.
That new song matters. It was recorded to give the compilation fresh purpose, and it fit neatly into the band’s late-period style: emotional, radio-friendly, big on melody, less concerned with metal bite than with widescreen feeling. As a collection, Vault was curated rather than newly built, but it still tells a story. You can hear the shift from the leaner attack of High ’n’ Dry and Pyromania into the highly controlled studio world of Hysteria and Adrenalize.
🎚️ The sound, built in layers
What makes Def Leppard distinctive is how carefully engineered their rock music is. These songs are packed with stacked backing vocals, layered guitars, and drums that hit with machine-like accuracy without losing their human pull. Mutt Lange’s production style hangs over much of this material, shaping it into something far more polished than most hard rock of the era.
The guitar work is central. Phil Collen and Steve Clark, and later Vivian Campbell, favoured tight riffs, harmonised leads, and thick rhythm parts rather than loose blues jamming. Songs such as “Photograph”, “Rock of Ages” and “Pour Some Sugar on Me” live or die on memorable guitar figures. Underneath, Rick Savage’s bass keeps everything locked to the kick drum, while Rick Allen’s drumming gives the band a very special pulse. After losing his arm in 1984, Allen adapted with a hybrid acoustic-electronic setup, and that mix of human drive and programmed precision became part of Def Leppard’s identity.
📈 Success in a changed decade
Vault arrived when grunge, Britpop and alternative rock were setting the tone. Against that backdrop, Def Leppard sounded almost defiantly polished. Where much of the decade prized rough edges and indie plain-speaking, this compilation offered huge choruses, studio sheen and songs built for arenas. Yet it sold very well anyway, reaching No. 3 in the UK and No. 15 in the US, with “When Love & Hate Collide” becoming a major UK hit.
That says a lot about the band’s staying power. They did not copy grunge. Instead, they relied on strong hooks and recognisable craft, which helped them outlast many of their pop-metal peers.
🏟️ Why it still matters
As a legacy piece, Vault is the easiest way to understand why Def Leppard were so massive. It captures their gift for mixing metal crunch with pop logic, romance with swagger, and precision with pure singalong pleasure. It also acts as a reminder that 1990s rock was more varied than the usual grunge-only story. Def Leppard’s answer to that decade was simple: write better choruses, keep the guitars huge, and trust that a great hook never goes out of fashion.
The Best of Judas Priest by Judas Priest 🤘
Early metal in a label-made package 📀
Released in 1978, The Best of Judas Priest was not a new studio statement from the band. It was a compilation put together by Gull Records, the label that owned Judas Priest’s earliest recordings after the group had already moved on to CBS and started hitting a heavier stride with albums like Sin After Sin and Stained Class. That backstory matters. This record is really a window into the band’s first phase, drawing from Rocka Rolla from 1974 and Sad Wings of Destiny from 1976.
So the “creation process” happened earlier than the release date suggests. Rocka Rolla was recorded with producer Rodger Bain, who had also worked with Black Sabbath, and you can hear that early 70s studio method all over it. The sound is warm, raw and fairly unvarnished. By the time of Sad Wings of Destiny, Priest had a far clearer idea of who they were. The songs became more dramatic, the riffs tighter, and Rob Halford’s voice took on that fierce, sky-scraping character that would soon become one of metal’s defining sounds.
The sound of a band finding its true shape ⚡
What makes this compilation fascinating is the contrast between hard rock roots and metal ambition. Some of the Rocka Rolla material still carries traces of bluesy 70s rock, but Sad Wings of Destiny is where Judas Priest really starts to sound like Judas Priest. The twin guitars of Glenn Tipton and K.K. Downing bite and soar, often in harmony, and songs such as “Victim of Changes” and “The Ripper” have a theatrical edge that set them apart from most rock records of the period.
The heaviness here is not blunt force for its own sake. It gives emotional weight to the songs. When the riffs turn dark and Halford pushes into those piercing high notes, the drama lands harder. The technical side works the same way. Tempo shifts, long song structures and those intertwined guitar lines help tell the story inside each track.
Where it sat in the 70s 🎸
The 70s were crowded with prog, album-oriented rock, glam and then punk. Judas Priest sat in an interesting spot between them. Their longer, more involved songs fit the album-driven FM era, but their attack was leaner and meaner than a lot of bloated rock around them. When punk arrived, Priest did not copy its simplicity, yet their speed, aggression and no-frills intensity made them feel far less dusty than many older acts.
The recording technology helped too. These tracks were cut to analogue tape, with natural compression, roomy drums and guitar tones built from cranked amps rather than later studio polish. That gives the compilation a live-wire feel. You hear musicians pushing air, not chasing perfection.
Reception, afterlife and why it still matters 🔥
The Best of Judas Priest itself was more a catalogue move than a major event, and it did not define the band’s reputation the way later albums did. Still, the music on it became deeply influential. Sad Wings of Destiny in particular is often treated as one of the records that helped map out traditional heavy metal before the New Wave of British Heavy Metal took over.
So this compilation has lasting value as a snapshot of metal being forged in real time. It catches Judas Priest before the leather-and-steel image was fully set, but with the ideas already roaring into place.
Top Artists (Week 25)
- The Smashing Pumpkins (45 plays)
- Placebo (20 plays)
- Crowded House (19 plays)
- The Rolling Stones (18 plays)
- Basic (14 plays)
- The Beach Boys (13 plays)
- New Order (12 plays)
- Def Leppard (10 plays)
- Judas Priest (10 plays)
Top Albums (Week 25)
- Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness by The Smashing Pumpkins
- Re:Created by Placebo
- The Very Very Best of Crowded House by Crowded House
- Exile on Main St. by The Rolling Stones
- Basic by Basic
- Pet Sounds by The Beach Boys
- Substance by New Order
- Greatest Hits by Def Leppard
- The Best of Judas Priest by Judas Priest