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.
Jeff Beck was in the Yardbirds only briefly, but here he pushed the Brit blues rockers in a more adventurous, psychedelic direction.
Jay-Z's "farewell record" proves once again that he's "pound for pound . . . the best to ever come around." Hova recounts his mythic rise ("From bricks to billboards, from grams to Grammys") and body-slams his enemies in the walloping rap-rock assault "99 Problems."
A stomping live document of the period when Waters' Chicago blues started reaching a wider pop audience. Newport has his classics – "Hoochie Coochie Man," a torrid "Got My Mojo Working" – delivered by a tough, tight band anchored by harp genius James Cotton.
"I'm full of dust and guitars," Pink Floyd's Syd Barrett said. Here's what that sounds like. The band's debut is all playful, psychedelic imagery and acid guitars – both poppy ("See Emily Play") and spaced-out freaky ("Interstellar Overdrive").
Tommy Boy, 1989
At the end of the Eighties, De La declared a "D.A.I.S.Y. Age," which stood for "Da Inner Sound, Y'All." No gold chains, just samples, skits, jokes and beats, biting everyone from P-Funk to Hall and Oates and Johnny Cash.
This soundtrack to Jonathan Demme's 1984 concert film functions as a great band history. It begins with a spare version of "Psycho Killer" and builds to an expansive "Take Me to the River," where the Heads are joined by Parliament great Bernie Worrell. Eighties art funk at its finest.
Reed followed up his breakthrough album, Transformer, with "my version of Hamlet." A bleak song cycle about an abusive, drug-fueled relationship, it's hugely ambitious but also one of the darker records ever made – slow, druggy and heavily orchestrated by producer Bob Ezrin.
Meat Loaf's megaselling, megabombastic mega-album was written by pianist Jim Steinman, who'd intended some of the material for a new Peter Pan. This is one of rock's most theatrical, grandiose records, yet Loaf brings real emotion to "Two Out of Three Ain't Bad" and "Paradise by the Dashboard Light."
For many Depeche Mode fans, Violator is the crowning glory of the boys' black-leather period. In "Sweetest Perfection," "Halo" and "World in My Eyes," they turn teen angst and sexual obsession into grand synth-pop melodrama, and their attempt at guitar rock resulted in a hit with "Personal Jesus."
Play was the techno album that proved a Mac could have a soul. Moby took ancient blues and gospel voices and layered them with dance grooves, on songs such as "Porcelain" and "Natural Blues." This was an album with a strange, haunting beauty – especially for advertisers, who mined Play for countless TV commercials
MCA Records refused to release this, denouncing it as "immoral" and "anti-parent." High praise, but Black Flag lived up to it, defining L.A. hardcore punk with violent guitar and the pissed-off scream of Henry Rollins, especially on "TV Party" and "Rise Above." Punks still listen to Damaged, and parents still hate it.
By the time Waits made his second album, he'd fully developed his talent for growling, jazzy beatnik gutter tales, and had largely dispensed with the love songs. He does it best on "Diamonds on My Windshield" and "The Ghosts of Saturday Night."
These San Francisco acid rockers were the most simpatico band Janis Joplin ever had, especially when its rough racket backs her up on "Piece of My Heart," perhaps her greatest recording.
Tull were hairy prog-rock philosophers who decried organized religion ("Hymn 43") and modern hypocrisy ("Aqualung") while incorporating flute solos. With several FM-radio hits, this record made Tull into a major arena band. The cover painting gave Seventies kids nightmares.
After the pay-what-you-like release hoopla died down, what were fans left with? How 'bout the most intense love songs Thom Yorke has ever sung, and a warm live-percussion feel that gives the whole album the vibe of a hippie jam session. One that's taking place at the end of the world, of course.
They were the Seattle punk scene's headbanging answer to Led Zeppelin II. But they became real songwriters on Superunknown, shaping their angst into grunge anthems like "Black Hole Sun." "[We] realized the importance of melody," said Chris Cornell. "Maybe we've been listening to Bryan Ferry."
An angry young crank in the mode of Elvis Costello, this former gas-station attendant rode the wave of U.K. punk. His fifth album combines bar-band rock with New Wave hooks, and his bitter paranoia shines through on every track.
John Doe and Exene Cervenka harmonize about doomed love over L.A. garage-rock thrash, changing the emotional language of punk. They were the White Stripes of their day, a young couple messing with country and blues in gems such as "Adult Books," "Beyond and Back" and "We're Desperate."
The British folk-rock duo's last album together is a harrowing portrait of a marriage gone bad, made as their marriage collapsed. The catchiest song: "Wall of Death." The scariest: "Walking on a Wire."
The moptops' second movie was a Swinging London goof, but the soundtrack included the classics "You've Got to Hide Your Love Away" and "Ticket to Ride," as well as the lovely "I've Just Seen a Face." Help! didn't break new ground, but it paved the way for the Beatles' next stop: Rubber Soul.
Young made his darkest, most emotionally frayed album as a tribute to two friends who died from drugs, Crazy Horse guitarist Danny Whitten and roadie Bruce Berry. Young sounds like he's on the edge of a breakdown in the mournful ballads "Tired Eyes" and "Speakin' Out," recorded with a world-weary looseness.
A compilation of Mr. Dynamite's singles from '69 to '70, including the endlessly sampled "Funky Drummer" and "Give It Up or Turnit a Loose," where Brown drops the heaviest funk of his – or anyone's – life.
Sonic Youth have had a long, brilliant career making trippy art punk, and this is their triumph. Thurston Moore's and Lee Ranaldo's guitars are like antennae picking up otherworldly signals and channeling them into the scuzzy urban haze of "Teen Age Riot" and "Eric's Trip."
A studio expansion of Phair's homemade Girlysound cassettes, Exile's frank sex talk caused a stir. But it's the lacerating honesty of tracks such as "Divorce Song" that sticks, and "Fuck and Run" is one of the saddest songs ever written about dreaming of romance and settling for less.
According to the kids on South Park, this is the best album ever made. According to many depressive Eighties-minded kids, it's the only album ever made – gloppy eyeliner at its grandest. On "Fascination Street," Robert Smith's voice shakes like milk as he makes adolescent angst sound so wonderfully, wonderfully pretty.
"Slowhand" was the nickname given to Clapton by the Yardbirds' manager. On this quintessential album, he mixes candlelit love songs and guitar-hero riffs; "Cocaine" and "Wonderful Tonight" are the hits, but don't overlook "Next Time You See Her," a gentle melody loaded with a death threat to a lover's suitor.
The Kraut-disco title track is where Bowie proclaims himself the Thin White Duke. Thin he was: Station to Station was recorded in a blizzard of cocaine in Los Angeles. "TVC 15" is New Orleans R&B as robotic funk; "Golden Years" is James Brown from outer space, with Bowie's amazing falsetto.
Here, the previously punkish trio added synth strings and politics, and blew up even further. "Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic" is a pop smart bomb, and "Invisible Sun," about the violence in Northern Ireland, is genuinely moving.
Producer Lenny Waronker called him the King of the Suburban Blues Singers. This is Newman's quiet masterpiece, less rock than fuck-you cabaret. Even now, "Political Science" ("Let's drop the big one/And see what happens") is relevant; either Newman is brilliant or we haven't come a long way, baby.
Drake recorded his last album in a couple of nights, delivered the tapes to Island Records and checked himself into a psychiatric ward. If the music were as dark as the lyrics, it might be unlistenable. But Drake's soothing vocals and unadorned acoustic picking make Moon unfold with supernatural tenderness.
The greatest sequel since The Godfather: Part II. The second half of the one-two punch Radiohead began with Kid A was smoother on the surface yet just as disorienting underneath, bringing more of the rock guitars that its predecessor held back, but in all kinds of mutated forms.
Righteous and seriously in the pocket, this is the last Wailers album with Peter Tosh and Bunny Wailer. Bob Marley's soulful cry is rivaled by the sticky organ riffs and fat-bottom beats, and their original version of "I Shot the Sheriff" is far more desperate than Eric Clapton's hit cover.
Philadelphia International, 1972
After Vietnam and Watergate, soul music slipped into darkness in the early Seventies. The title track of this Philly-soul album was the writing on the wall: funky and paranoid, much like the times.