The RS 500 was assembled by the editors of Rolling Stone, based on the results of two extensive polls. In 2003, Rolling Stone asked a panel of 271 artists, producers, industry executives and journalists to pick the greatest albums of all time. In 2009, we asked a similar group of 100 experts to pick the best albums of the 2000s. From those results, Rolling Stone created this new list of the greatest albums of all time.
This was the sound of Springsteen's hard-won realism breaking through, chronicling working-class dreams and despair on cuts like "The Promised Land" and "Racing in the Street," his greatest-ever car song.
This debut unveiled Carlos Santana's singular mix of Latin rhythms, rock guitar and lyrical blues. The 22-year-old's guitar work was fueled by psychedelics. "[Drugs] made me aware of splendor and rapture," he said. Santana did the same thing for fans.
On Album Five, Zeppelin got into a groove. "D'yer Mak'er" is their version of reggae, and "The Crunge" is a tribute to James Brown. The band also indulged its cosmic side with "The Rain Song" (featuring one of Robert Plant's most amazing vocals) and the Viking death chant "No Quarter."
The Airplane's heady debut is a hallucinatory distillation of folk-blues vocals, garage-rock guitar and crisp pop songwriting. Grace Slick's vocal showcases, "White Rabbit" and "Somebody to Love," were Summer of Love smash hits, and Marty Balin's spectral "Today" is still the greatest ballad of San Francisco's glory days.
Steely Dan's meticulously crafted sixth album was Walter Becker and Donald Fagen's stab at becoming mainstream jazz-pop superstars. And thanks to sweet, smart, slippery tracks like "Deacon Blues" and "Peg," they did just that – and won a Grammy for Best Engineered album too.
In the Sixties, New Orleans piano player Mac Rebennack moved to L.A., encountered California psychedelia, rechristened himself Dr. John, the Night Tripper, and made this swamp-funk classic. GRIS-Gris blends New Orleans R&B, voodoo chants and chemical inspiration.
The best holiday album in pop-music history. Ronnie Spector melts "Frosty the Snowman" and takes the innocence out of "I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus." And it all comes in a vortex of Spector's exhilarating Wall of Sound production.
Recorded in Chicago in 1964, as a new audience of white rock fans was discovering the blues, Live at the Regal is B.B. King's definitive live set. His guitar sound is precise and powerful, driving emotional versions of some of his most influential songs, including "Every Day I Have the Blues" and "How Blue Can You Get."
New Orleans producer Allen Toussaint built hit records with a taut Morse-code style of rhythm guitar rooted in the marching-band and party beats of the Crescent City. That funky discipline defines this LP; the Meters perfect a balance of funk, rock and Dixie R&B on gems such as "People Say" and "Hey Pocky A-Way."
On the Mats' major-label debut, singer-guitarist Paul Westerberg segues brilliantly from heroic power-chord swagger ("Bastards of Young") to shabby contemplation ("Here Comes a Regular"). No preNirvana band did it better.
This single-disc collection – released during John's creative and commercial peak – includes nearly every Top 10 single he had during that era, from "Your Song" to "Don't Let the Sun Go Down on Me." It documents why the piano man was one of the biggest-selling pop stars of the Seventies.
The quintessential American indie-rock album. The playing is relaxed, the production primitive, the lyrics quirky, the melodies seductive. But the noise-streaked sound is intense, even as Stephen Malkmus displays his love of Seventies-AM pop.
Bad Boy, 1994
B.I.G. (a.k.a. Biggie Smalls) took the gritty life experience of his hard-knock Brooklyn youth and crammed it into Ready to Die, hip-hop's greatest debut. "Big Poppa" is the hit sex jam, "Juicy" made you laugh as you danced, and on "Things Done Changed" and "Everyday Struggle," he relates gangsta tales in a voice as thick as his waistline.
Disco at its megaplatinum apex: The Bee Gees' silvery-helium harmonies melt into creamily syncopated grooves, and the Trammps' hot-funk assault "Disco Inferno" and Tavares' yearning "More Than a Woman" affirm disco's black-R&B roots.
Warner Bros., 1970
Sabbath ruled for bummed-out Seventies kids, and nearly every metal and extreme rock band of the past four decades owes a debt to Tony Iommi's granite-fuzz guitar, the Visigoth rhythm machine of Bill Ward and Geezer Butler, and Ozzy Osbourne's agonized bray in "Paranoid," "Iron Man" and "War Pigs."
Television were the guitar mystics on the CBGB scene, mixing the howl of the Velvet Underground, the epic song lengths of Yes and the double-helix guitar sculpture of Quicksilver Messenger Service. Their debut was as exhilarating in its lyrical ambitions as the Ramones' first album was in its brutal simplicity.
On this New Wave watershed, the avant-punk avatars became polyrhythmic pop magicians. David Byrne and Co. combined the thrust of P-Funk, the kinky grooves of Afropop and the studied adventurousness of producer Brian Eno – and they still had a pop hit with "Once in a Lifetime."
Amid internal strife, the former Next Beatles made their first mature album, a blend of space-flight twang and electric hoedown infused with the glow of 1967 yet cut with realism.