A great debut album is a thing of wonder. Many artists can attain a level of greatness as they hone their skills and refine their visions, but to get it right from jump street is an odds-defying miracle.
In the fifty-five plus years that rock ‘n’ roll has prevented our planet from sucking, only few debuts have reached the paramount level of great albums, and only a handful of the albums creators have done so without the subsequent karmic comeuppance.
Certainly, a band comprised of one or more previously successful musicians (Cream, Crosby, Stills & Nash, Led Zeppelin) or a solo artist who has served an apprenticeship with a vaunted group (George Harrison, Morrissey, Stephen Malkmus) have a leg up when it comes to creating an introductory statement under a newly adopted banner, but oddly, it is often the recently post-pubescent neophytes who haven’t spent months in the studio, nor years on the road who have made some of the strongest first impressions.
As in the case of River’s Cuomo (Weezer’s “Say It Ain’t So) or Eddie Vedder (Pearl Jam’s “Black”) a songwriter’s first recordings are invariably more introspective and painfully personal than later attempts, often exposing wounds that have yet to heal or cease to ache. Fledgling musicians, having lived little and traveled less, profit from a microcosmic worldview that is shared by the coveted 16-24 year-old record-buying (now illegally downloading) demographic of which they are members.
While these artists possess the youthful vitality and immediacy that rock ‘n’ roll requires, they are often impeded by still-developing styles and abilities, and limited by beggarly finances.
And while a hugely triumphant debut is a career changing event that no sane artist would willfully shy away from, history hath shown that too much too soon (as the title of the New York Dolls’ second album attested) can resemble the fulfillment of a wish made upon a monkey’s paw. The Libertines’ debut “Up The Bracket” brought the band notoriety, money and readily available opiates that stoked egos, created discord and transformed recreational chemistry into spiraling addiction.
Pressure placed upon artists by labels, band-mates and supporters to replicate, if not surpass, their initiatory creation occasionally results in a prosaically safe rehashing of a suddenly stale formula or a reactionary 180° shift in style that bewilders and alienates the established following.
Ultimately, success being sought after is much less restrictive than success being sustained, and the pressures of the dreaded sophomore slump can turn the second trip to the studio into a harrowing marathon of self-doubt and overindulgence.
With that said, we would like to invite you, our sagacious readers, to check out the list compiled by the Pop ‘stache staff of our 60 favorite debut albums. You are welcome to let us know which inclusions and which omissions completely cheese you off, and your input will be appreciated no matter how casually we may disregard it. —Brian Anderson
