Recently, many of my friends on Facebook were “given the task to choose ten albums that have influenced my taste in music. One album per day for 10 consecutive days. No explanations, no reviews, just album covers.”

I did my part, because I like to contribute to society and make the world a better place. And while that’s fine for an evening news bite, I’d still like to dive deep on my 10 albums and explain why I chose them. So let’s begin.

Rush – Presto

Presto was my introduction to the Canadian band Rush in 1991. I borrowed a tape from the public library, and I remember thinking that I’d heard of Rush, but thought they were a heavy metal band and I wouldn’t like them. I was surprised to hear a blend of rock, jazz, and funk with incredible musicianship and interesting, philosophical lyrics. This was bold stuff. Where else would I hear crazy bassline hooks like that, or blazing drum fills, or wicked guitar riffs?

I learned to never pre-judge an artist or band without listening and making my own mind up, and this openness to new music informed the rest of my changes in music taste throughout the 90s.

Tori Amos – Under the Pink

My university friend Ryan was obsessed with Bjork and Tori Amos. I introduced him to Sarah McLachlan, who he insisted on referring to as my “precious Sarah.” I picked up Under the Pink on CD, having never heard a single note of Tori Amos’ music before, and was instantly transfixed. I couldn’t believe a pop record could have such sophisticated and daring piano parts. To this day, this is the only album I’ve heard and immediately listened to again, in its entirety.

Michael Jackson – Thriller

I was a kid when Thriller was released, and the video was truly groundbreaking. Looking back now, I believe this was my gateway to listening to pop music consciously. Before Thriller, I would hear random stuff on AM radio, but I couldn’t name any artists. But after Thriller, me and pretty much everyone else knew who Micheal Jackson was.

I didn’t truly appreciate what a pop masterpiece Thriller was until sometime in the 2000s. The songwriting, the arrangements, and the production all stood out as solid gold. Part of this was nostalgia, but having studied music and even wrote my own, I was more ready to appreciate how difficult it is to write catchy melodies with soul and substance.

Genesis – Foxtrot

When I was a kid in the 80s, I heard songs by Phil Collins, Peter Gabriel, and Genesis with Phil Collins on lead vocals. I remember really digging the singles from Invisible Touch, the smash record from 1986. It wasn’t until years later that I found out Peter Gabriel used to be in Genesis and there were songs older than That’s All.

Again, thanks to the Toronto Public Library, I was able to hear early Genesis records. The first time I heard the song Get ‘Em Out by Friday, I thought it was the weirdest thing I ever heard; odd rhythms, odd melodies, odd lyrics – this was beyond anything my musical brain could process. At first, I hated it. I revisited it again and again, almost like it was a challenge to try and understand. Now it’s one of my favourite Genesis songs.

I admit, progressive rock is not for everyone; it’s pretty cerebral stuff. But the musical daring, the experimentation, and the complexity of it has always impressed me.

The Decemberists – The Crane Wife

The Crane Wife was the first Decemberists album I heard. Someone had told me I might like them, so I gave it a go. I was immediately impressed with the musicianship, literacy, and songwriting chops of the band and its primary voice, Colin Meloy. The third song on the album was comprised of three parts, totaling over 11 minutes. It included elements of progressive rock, folk, and ended with a beautifully written and performed ballad. This music had it all.

It was at this point I became more convinced that not all “new music” is vapid and annoying. For me, The Decemberists represented a new generation of songwriters and musicians carving a new sensibility for popular music that was anchored in tradition. In other words, it satisfied my desire to hear something new while also appealing to my growing curmudgeonliness.

Garbage – Garbage

Alternative music station CFNY in Toronto played Queer on repeat when Garbage hit the scene in 1995. I’m not sure if it was because of the incessant airplay or because it truly was something I’d never heard before, but at first I didn’t like it.

At the time, I was in University and my high school musical chum Andre and I were sending each other mix tapes in the mail, with notes about the songs and what we liked about them. Andre started his latest mix tape with the song Vow, and I was hooked. Vow was aggressive, hooky, with a super tight groove and riff. I finally understood what Garbage was trying to do. I bought the CD, and while Queer is still not their strongest song, it’s kinda grown on me.

Soundgarden – Superunknown

As with Garbage, my friend Andre got me hooked on Soundgarden. In high school, we bonded over our love for composition and geeking out over synthesizers. Towards the end of high school, Andre’s Korg Wavestation died, and instead of getting it repaired, he picked up an electric guitar. When we parted ways for university and started sending each other mix tapes, his mixes quickly embraced alternative rock with crunchy guitars.

There’s certainly something to giving music greater attention when it’s suggested by your friends, especially when they send you personalized mix tapes in the mail (with notes). Andre included Spoonman and My Wave on his mix tapes. The complex rhythms and impeccable musicianship appealed to me.

When I finally picked up my copy of Superunknown, I found it hard to listen to from start to finish. This was a long album, with 15 tracks spanning over an hour. I found the drop tunings, the screaming vocals, and dark lyrics relentless and intense. But I was confident that underneath all the noise, there was quality music. It took a while, but I was eventually able to listen to the entire album, and cemented Superunknown as a winner in my books.

Sarah McLachlan – Fumbling Towards Ecstasy

In university, I created a mix tape called Girls, Girls, Girls, which featured female artists and female-fronted bands like Garbage, Tori Amos, The Cardigans, Frente, and Sarah McLachlan. It was a great hit with my classmate’s walkmans (CDs were around, but burning your own mix on a CD was still a ways off).

I heard some Sarah McLachlan songs on the radio, and while she’s not top of the list of my favourite artists, her combination of honesty and sincerity with compelling music is undeniable. At the time, the term “melancholy” wasn’t part of my vocabulary.

The turning moment for me was when I walked into an HMV to buy the CD of Fumbling Towards Ecstasy. It was pretty new and getting lots of radio airplay, but I couldn’t find it on the top charts at the record store. I went to the pop/rock section to find it, but no luck. Finally I asked a staff member, where’s the new Sarah McLachlan album? Oh, that’s in Adult Contemporary, he said. For a fleeting moment, I was horrified – now I’m listening to Adult Contemporary music? This is when I realized that genre is just a label, and for me, there’s good music and there’s bad music, whatever boxes the powers that be want to invent. I happily got my copy of Fumbling and kept it spinning for a long while.

Pink Floyd – The Wall

Many art forms include long format content: films, novels, ballets. Even in music, we have operas, symphonies, and musicals, where a collection of distinct pieces are tied together under a single theme or idea, creating a piece greater than the sum of its parts. In popular music, this is known as the concept album.

The concept album seems to have fallen out of favour in the last 40 years or so. Canadian rock staple Sloan gave us Commonwealth in 2014, but that was more craft than concept.

The most popular of all concept album has to be The Wall by Pink Floyd. Of course I heard Another Brick in the Wall in the schoolyard with its apropos chant of “We don’t need no education” but I never dove deep into the album until many years later as an adult. In a world of mostly three point three minute singles, it was fascinating to hear a story carried through music over 100 minutes. The lesson here for songwriters is to be true to the vision, whatever it is, even if you break the rules in the process.

Mr. Bungle – Mr. Bungle

I used to claim that this is the album to put on at a party when you want everyone to leave. Past all the lewdness, profanity, and multiple personality disordered songs, there’s a strong musicality and attention to detail here that remains unsurpassed. Plus, it’s a lot of fun once you allow its deranged worldview to take hold. One thing’s for sure, though: after you hear Mr. Bungle, nothing is shocking.