It was mentioned elsewhere that, just as one blog sets up a discussion of one side of an argument, so another pop up shortly afterwards to present the opposite perspective.
The excellent thread about loving the runts of the litter led me to conversely ponder how many sacred cows I just can’t get on with. It’s not about familiarity breeding contempt, not about hating a band or artist’s work wholesale. It’s about those albums that are supposed to represent the pinnacle of a body of work but which just leave you cold.
I’ll kick us off with Fleetwood Mac’s Rumours. Currently enjoying a canonisation that I’m sure it didn’t quite have 10-15 years ago it now seems to be generally accepted to be the pinnacle of their career, adored by hipsters and the general public alike.
To me it just drones on and on in the middle of the road, only peeking up briefly when the bit from the Grand Prix briefly pops in to give a proustian rush of Sunday afternoons in the 80s before the cocaine whiteout AOR wafts back in to stupefy the listener for another 25 minutes. I’d far rather puzzle through the flawed but charming sprawl of Tusk. Or, if I’m really honest, junk the later stuff and wallow in Live in Boston.
So, which ‘major works’ leave you cold and longing for the quieter corners of a band’s oeuvre?
Here’s a little ditty from the Mac; in which they round on Rumours more concisely than I ever could.