The Greatest Debut Albums of the 1980s

Last month, we ranked the 100 greatest debut albums of the 21st century. Now, we’re setting our sights on the rest of modern music. For the remainder of 2023, the Paste music team will be traversing a half-century of history. Each Saturday, we will be ranking the best debut albums from every decade between the 1960s and 1990s—culminating in a full 20th Century list and then, dare I say it, a greatest debut albums of all time ranking that spans from the 1950s until now. Today, we are looking at the greatest debut albums of the 1980s.

Last week, we tackled the 1970s—a list infinitely harder to rank than its predecessor, the 1960s. The music team went back and forth on what to include in our 1980s chapter, and some really great records were, unfortunately, left behind. Given that so many genres found reverence in this decade—from synth-pop to hair metal to post punk to hip-hop—some brilliant projects were always going to be on the outside looking in. But you can’t go wrong with any of the Top 30 that we picked. Don’t miss what happens with the calm before the storm of Y2K next week, when we turn the 1990s into a listicle. Until then, may we present you with our picks for the 40 greatest debut albums of the 1980s—featuring Ozzy Osbourne, Pet Shop Boys, Bad Brains, Madonna, Tracy Chapman and many more. —Matt Mitchell, Paste Music Editor

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On the Outside Looking In: Public Enemy, Yo! Bum Rush the Show; Talk Talk, The Party’s Over; Soft Cell, Non-Stop Erotic Cabaret; Echo and the Bunnymen, Crocodiles; Motley Crüe, Too Fast For Love; Tears For Fears, The Hurting; Heaven 17, Penthouse and Pavement

40. Ozzy Osbourne: Blizzard of Oz (1980)

Blizzard of Oz’s most incredible feat is its ability to be both immediately inviting and eternally haunting. Osbourne’s first post-Black Sabbath record, Blizzard Of Oz is him at his most accessible, if that’s even a possible conception. He weeps on “Goodbye to Romance;” he wails on “Crazy Train”; he possesses on “Mr. Crowley”—all with his signature, droning growl powering itself through even the most intricate and syncopated riffage by the late great Randy Rhoads. For a few short years, the duo ruled rock ‘n’ roll. The King of Darkness kicked off the 70s with some of the best; of course he came into the 80s with the same blazing intensity and heavy brilliance. —Madelyn Dawson

39. U2: Boy (1980)

With their blindsiding debut LP Boy, U2 married post-punk’s stark rhythmic force with grandiose arena-rock majesty. Bono is the beacon of spiritual vigor, propelling anthems like “I Will Follow” and “The Electric Co.” The Edge’s echoing guitar is amplified lightning. But the band’s unsung post-punk nucleus is the rhythm section: Bassist Adam Clayton and drummer Larry Mullen Jr. keep the songs anchored on Earth, as their bandmates gaze into the beyond. —Ryan Reed

38. a-ha: Hunting High and Low (1985)

Oslo new wavers a-ha make this list for the sheer success of “Take On Me” alone. But, in truth, their debut album Hunting High and Low is great beyond that track. “Love Is Reason,” “Train of Thought” and “The Sun Always Shines on T.V.” are perfect synth-pop songs. Led by the lead vocals of bandleader Morten Harket, a-ha achieve larger-than-life status with just how well Magne Furuholmen and Pål Waaktaar fill out the sound. Hunting High and Low was so good and revered that it led to a-ha being the first Norwegian band to ever be nominated for a Grammy Award (Best New Artist). “Take On Me” was a smash hit, topping the Hot 100 and even ending up as a Top 10 single on the year-end chart. “Hunting High and Low” is a particular standout for me, as it pairs the crooning attitude of a lounge singer with the sensibilities of a pop star with sellout bravado. a-ha had the formula figured out, even if Hunting High and Low was the best thing they ever made together. —Matt Mitchell

37. Sugarhill Gang: Sugarhill Gang (1980)

A lot of the albums on this list were influential in one way or another, but none can hold a candle to how The Sugarhill Gang’s self-titled debut changed the world of music. The five-minute radio edit of “Rapper’s Delight” was already a top 40 single (the first rap song to accomplish that) when Sugarhill Gang was released with the full 14-minute version. Wonder Mike, Big Bank Hank and Master Gee introduced themselves one by one over the chunky guitar of Nile Rodgers and the bouncing bass of Bernard Edwards, and in doing so introduced the world to the rap scene taking over New York and other pockets around the country. The six-song album only contained one other hip-hop song, “Rapper’s Reprise,” which added South Carolina female hip-hop trio The Sequence—”We’re from the north! / We’re from the south! / And as a combination we can rock the house.” Jam on. —Josh Jackson

36. The Replacements: Sorry Ma, Forgot to Take Out the Trash (1981)

As if to fulfill some ancient musical prophecy, The Replacements were delivered in a weird twist on the virgin birth: shot naked, motherless and screaming from the defiantly extended middle finger of Johnny Cash and straight into this world, charged with the high-holy task of unconsciously saving rock ’n’ roll from itself and all its bloated high-art pretension. Of course, they didn’t seem like heroes at first. Their speed-punk debut Sorry Ma, Forgot to Take Out the Trash sounds culled from the same lo-fi/high-energy of Hüsker Dü. They were just a bunch of regular-looking drunks from Minneapolis—not perfectly coiffed stadium-rock virtuosos or fashion-obsessed art rockers from some preordained center of cool like L.A. or New York. They were everyday fellas who, together, beat the odds every so often, reaching greatness far beyond their means: underachievers overachieving, real people (who could’ve been me or you or anyone else if we’d had the guts); a band surviving on momentum, spilled beer and underdog charm. —Steve LaBate

35. New Order: Movement (1981)

After Joy Division frontman Ian Curtis passed away in 1980, his remaining bandmates reassembled as New Order, opting to explore the more synth-pop-rooted curiosities that had been rummaging around in their heads. Bernard Sumner, Peter Hook, Gillian Gilbert and Stephen Morris had something special between them, and they ran with it. Of course, Movement is not the polished masterpiece that remains Power, Corruption & Lies, but it’s still an essential and unforgettable post-punk album. The band’s debut single “Ceremony” did not make it on Movement, but the record doesn’t suffer without it. Songs like “Dreams Never End” and “The Him” and “Doubts Even Here” are incomparable benchmarks in New Order’s catalog. It’s hard to say whether or not this is the album Joy Division would have made had Curtis lived, but there’s something unbelievably eerie about how Sumner’s vocals replicate those of his former bandmate’s without making it seem like New Order was just trying to copy what they’d done under a different name in the two years prior. It’s a magnificent album built through the ashes of grief; a talismanic cardinal direction pointing four friends towards immortality in new clothes. —MM

34. Yazoo: Upstairs at Eric’s (1982)

You might know them as simply Yaz, but English duo Yazoo made some of the most primitive electronic music in the early-1980s. Formed by Depeche Mode and Erasure co-founder Vince Clarke and vocalist Alison Moyet, Yazoo—despite only making two albums together—became one of the most important and formative synth-pop bands in the sub-genre’s history. Their debut record, Upstairs at Eric’s, is a brilliant, 11-track collection of accessible, proto-techno gems. Songs like “Don’t Go” and “Only You” are, maybe, the most clear-eyed formulations of experimental pop. Equally as accessible as they are eclectic, Yazoo formed an enigmatic and unparalleled chemistry—and it’s a shame we didn’t get more from them, though Clarke continues to tour with Erasure and Moyet has her own active solo career. Upstairs at Eric’s is a truly sharp, genius effort made at Blackwing, the same studio space where Clarke had made Depeche Mode’s debut album Speak & Spell the year prior. —MM

33. Metallica: Kill ‘Em All (1983)

It’s impossible to overstate the impact of Metallica’s debut. Like a shot heard ’round the world, the response to Kill ’Em All by other musicians was immediate and profound. Metallica’s unprecedented combination of speed, energy and economy turned the album into a Big Bang-type event that gave rise not only to the thrash genre, but to an entire musical universe. But if you took a time machine back to 1983, Metallica must have looked like they had a snowball’s chance in hell of ever making it out of the underground gutter they spawned in. Even after 40 years’ worth of bands pushing the envelope further than what Metallica did here (and the band’s own devolution into a bloated, foot-dragging colossus), the album somehow still holds up. Songs like “Whiplash,” “The Four Horsemen” and “Metal Militia” positively burn with a sense of purpose. And, though this sound was considered about as raw as it gets at the time, the sense of locomotion in the blazing tempos hints at an embryonic sophistication. Not to mention that there are actual songs here, believe it or not. Thrash architect and future Megadeth leader Dave Mustaine was already absent by this time, but frontman James Hetfield’s rhythm guitar work provides plenty of thrills on its own, to say the least. If you appreciate any of the ways that metal has intensified and gotten more heavy since 1983, you owe it to yourself to familiarize (or re-familiarize) yourself with Kill ’Em All. —Saby Reyes-Kulkarni

32. Nine Inch Nails: Pretty Hate Machine (1989)

Who knew that a couple of Cleveland, Ohio guys and London synth-pop and post punk producer Flood could cook up something so incredible? But that first Nine Inch Nails album, Pretty Hate Machine, established one truth: Trent Reznor is among our greatest songwriters. “Industrial dance music” became synonymous with this album, and a song like “Head Like a Hole” confirms that peculiarity. The record is harsh, brash and menacing at times, as Reznor makes good use of employing actual terror into his synthesizers. His approach, however, was something fully original. I mean, the label that released Pretty Hate Machine, TVT Records, had been solely known for putting out novelty songs and television jingles. What the hell did they know about dark electronica? Likely nothing, but they took a chance on Nine Inch Nails and, in the process, helped kick off the career of one of our most important constructionists. On Pretty Hate Machine, Reznor wanted to funnel aggression into electronica, and so he did. He sampled songs by Prince, Jane’s Addiction and Public Enemy and muscled through sonic imperfections with gutsy vocals, melodies of pain and noise washed over pop framework. For an album sequenced on a Macintosh Plus, I’d say Pretty Hate Machine sounds pretty incredible from top to bottom. Songs like “Sin” and “Down in It” confirm that. —MM

31. Cyndi Lauper: She’s So Unusual (1983)

There’s no denying that everything about Cyndi Lauper’s debut, She’s So Unusual, was peak ‘80s—from bubbly pop melodies to the crazy neon outfit she wore on the cover. Through a barrage of covers, the influential queer icon delivered two of her biggest hits: “Girls Just Want To Have Fun” and “Time After Time.” The latter pop ballad is Lauper’s greatest musical triumph, with its simple synth composition and fitting clock-like percussion. Potentially one of the most universally well-known choruses of all time, it’s impossible to restrain from screaming out, “If you’re lost you can look and you will find me / Time after time / If you fall, I will catch you, I’ll be waiting / Time after time.” The soft beauty of “Time After Time” is perfectly paralleled with the feminist anthem “Girls Just Want To Have Fun,” which celebrates the notion that women don’t need men to have fun; they just need each other. —Olivia Abercrombie

30. my bloody valentine: Isn’t Anything (1988)

my bloody valentine’s first album was set up to be overshadowed. All of the Irish shoegazers’ previous work was eclipsed in the minds of many by their 1991 masterpiece of sound and surrounding that was Loveless. Isn’t Anything is more than just the building block upon which Loveless could be constructed. It doesn’t just mark the genesis of a particular style of rock music, that which would come to be known as shoegaze. It marks a shift in the way that we conceptualize what rock music is and what it could be. Thick walls of noise encase the record’s every move, Bilinda Butcher’s vocals soar angelically in proto-dream pop glory. Guitars don’t just whirr with the distortion Kevin Shields puts on them, they thrust and wail and gyrate and squall. The sounds that my bloody valentine jostled into the world on Isn’t Anything is oft emulated, but never recreated. How could it be, when the clangor of a track like “You Never Should” has sent its melancholy resonance through generations, when the album opens with the convulsion of “Soft As Snow (But Warm Inside), eroticism embodied by the agitated, repetitive riffs? Isn’t Anything yearns. It aches through all 12 of its songs, from the most intense to the most delicate moments. It remains the perfect snapshot of a band in motion, both in the act of establishing who they are and what they sound like, and looking ever-forward fervidly towards the next moment of sonic paroxysm. —MD

29. David Sylvian: Brilliant Trees (1984)

Just three years after his five-albums-in-five-years stint with new wave joint Japan—a group he formed in 1974 with his brother and their friends—David Sylvian was back in the game with his sweeping solo debut Brilliant Trees. Sylvian was only 26 at the time of the record’s release, but he brought with him such a noticeable maturity. Just look at “Red Guitar,” his first solo single, and the album’s surprise mainstream hit—at least as mainstream as Sylvian could get in 1984. He sings, “I play my red guitar / It’s the devil in the flesh / It’s the iron in my soul. / If you ask me, I may tell you / It’s been this way for years,” with the wisdom of a sage looking back at a long and storied personal history. A pop album at its core, Brilliant Trees. takes influence from funk and folk and ambient and jazz and synth. Brilliant Trees is Sylvian’s search for meaning in his post-Japan world, replete with references to thinkers like Sartre and Cocteau, musical collaborators including Can’s Holger Czukay and Ryuichi Sakamoto. I think it’s safe to say that he found it, and with it a richly poetic pop prowess that sounds every bit as fresh today as I imagine it did in 1984. The sampling on the record was provided by Czukay via dictaphone, giving an otherworldly and astonishing added volume to a record already stuffed full of cutting-edge risks. —MD

28. Depeche Mode: Speak & Spell (1981)

Essex synth-poppers Depeche Mode would make records greater than their debut outing, but Speak & Spell might just be the single greatest electronic establishing shot of the 1980s altogether. Andy Fletcher, Vince Clarke, Dave Gahan and Martin Gore were meant to make music together (even though this would be the only album Clarke featured on), and you can feel it reverberate across dazzling cuts like “Dreaming of Me,” “New Life” and “Nodisco.” Clarke wrote all but two of the 11 songs on the record, and that makes sense—as the construction and lyricism matches the dashing digital machinery of records he would go on to make as a member of bands like Erasure and Yazoo. Clarke was a kingpin of synth-pop in the 1980s, and his work on Depeche Mode’s debut is what gave them the access to making some of the most experimental and ambitious albums of the decade, like Construction Time Again and Music for the Masses, leading into the triumphant Violator. The key part of Speak & Spell, the brilliant, bubbly “Just Can’t Get Enough,” might just be the greatest synth-pop song ever made. —MM

27. Nirvana: Bleach (1989)

When was the last time you gave thanks to Jason Everman? It’s something music fans should be doing every damn day. There’s a good chance that Nirvana’s debut album would have been released eventually. But were it not for the stake of $606.17 supplied by Everman to pay for the band’s recording session, the tapes might have languished on Reciprocal Recording’s shelves until someone could cobble the cash together to rescue them. Admittedly a hyperbolic thought exercise, but considering the financial struggles Sub Pop were dealing with at the time, not an outlandish scenario. For everything else concerning Bleach, all the credit goes to Kurt Cobain, Krist Novoselic and Chad Channing (with a special dap to Dale Crover for drumming on three songs). Those three young men slathered their love of power pop in layer upon layer of doom metal sludge that supplied the foundation for the next four decades of heavy rock and lo-fi garage bands. The release of Bleach was nowhere close to the watershed moment that would come with the group’s next album. But as folks started circling back on Nirvana’s early work, the fires were further stoked, setting aflame the creative spirit of scores of young musicians. That’s one hell of an ROI. —Robert Ham

26. The Feelies: Crazy Rhythms (1980)

If I had a musical time machine, one of my first stops would be to visit the post-punk scene of New York right around 1980. I’d go see The Feelies at CBGB right after their debut album Crazy Rhythms and watch the crowd of other young musicians react to the melding of driving bass and drums with experimental guitar, a sound that would help inspire some of the best New Wave, gothic rock and jangly college rock to follow. When they sing about “The Boy with the Perpetual Nervousness,” you can feel it in Anton Fier’s drumming and the way every instrument plays around the frantic beat. This was the essential link between The Velvet Underground and R.E.M. —JJ

25. ABC: The Lexicon of Love (1982)

The debut album from English sextet ABC is a project that sees the potential of synth-pop transcend to heights that obliterate the sub-genre altogether. Lead vocalist Martin Fry employs a cabaret singer-like bravado, as he transports listeners in and out of every song like a grand curator of divine grooviness. At many points a prime example of sophisti-pop, The Lexicon of Love takes rich synthesizers and applies them to a full ecosystem of swooning, unforgettable soundscapes. Tap into the album and you’ll be awestruck by how brilliantly it touches every fabric of the DNA that flooded the pop charts at the time. A song like “The Look of Love, Pt. 1” is dazzling and hypnotic. ABC spent all of their magic on the first go, and the result is a masterpiece. —MM

24. Pylon: Gyrate (1980)

When Pylon released their debut album, not many outside of Athens, Ga., took notice. But for the art majors and quirky townies in the Classic City, Pylon was the local embodiment of the post-punk scene, proving you didn’t have to be in London or New York to create something special. Droning bass, buzzing guitar and absolutely punishing drums provided the framework for Vanessa Briscoe to scream her way to the edge of insanity. Live, the singer was a spinning firecracker on stage, personifying the album’s title, Gyrate, exploding through songs like “Feast on My Heart” and “Stop It.” R.E.M. ensured the album wouldn’t be lost to history, when drummer Bill Berry proclaimed Pylon the best band in America.—Josh Jackson

23. Pet Shop Boys: Please (1986)

As a dear lover of ‘80s synth-pop, “West End Girls” stands at the top of a very competitive pile, but when the sizzle of the drum machine starts, you better clear the dance floor. The duo claimed that they chose the album’s name so that when people went to the record store, they had to say, “Can I have the Pet Shop Boys album, Please?” and I’m all for a good bit. Please is the heady collaboration of Neil Tennant and Chris Lowe—who became the Pet Shop Boys through a chance meeting at an electronics shop—with its surprisingly intellectual lyrics wrapped up in cascading synths crafted for club culture. With its squeaky-clean production and topical commentary on sex, crime, and technology in conspiracy of the ‘80s, Please was also unapologetically fluid with sexuality. Amid the AIDS crisis, even a hint of homosexuality was shunned in the media, but with lyrics like “I don’t want another drink or fight, I want a lover tonight” from “I Want A Lover” and “That boy never cast a look in your direction, never tried to hook for your affection / He is the head boy of a school of thought that plays in your intentions, night and day,” in “Later Tonight” the duo wasn’t afraid of a little sexual ambiguity. Sonically, Please is cleaner and simpler than their later work; it is one of, if not the most lyrically poignant. This uber-successful debut was the kick-off point for Tennant and Lowe to create their perfect creative experiments in the future. I, for one, will always love the simplistic nostalgia of the moody thumping bass in “West End Girls.” —OA

22. Dexy’s Midnight Runners: Searching For the Young Soul Rebels (1980)

Before they ruled the charts with “Come on Eileen” in 1983, Dexy’s Midnight Runners were a UK band just trying to make it in the new wave scene. Led by Kevin Rowland, Dexy’s came out of the gate with immediate ambition—pairing punk rock with soul music, creating one of the most original-sounding band templates in English history. Lead single “Geno” hit #1 on the UK singles chart, while “There, There, My Dear” is an angry, dense, horn-centric barnburner being sung by a couple of Birmingham kids dressed like New York dockworkers with a fresh new EMI deal. Album standout “Tell Me When My Light Turns Green” merges saxophone jazz with jangle pop. It’s what Chicago was doing in the states, but better. Even 43 years later, there is something so indescribable about what Rowland and the band were doing. Dexy’s Midnight Runners were just as inspired by Motown as they were 2 Tone Ska and London punk. It was an amalgam that was only going to work once, and Dexy’s seized what was right in front of them. —MM

21. Run-D.M.C.: Run-D.M.C. (1984)

In the world ranking of power trios, the hip-hop titans from Hollis, Queens would most certainly be a top 5 contender. Run-D.M.C. broke copious amounts of new ground on their first album. On “Rock Box,” they set the stage for fellow New Yorkers like Beastie Boys and Public Enemy to blend slashing guitar riffs and street beats. They formalized the diss track on songs like “Sucker M.C.’s” and “Krush Groove,” and touched on social ills on the bangers “It’s Like That” and “Wake Up.” The call-and-response attack of rappers Run and D.M.C. set the template for the many groups that followed in their wake. But more than that, Run-D.M.C. proved hip-hop’s commercial power when it became the first record in the genre to achieve gold status. They helped the world see the potential of this still-nascent art form. —RH

20. Pixies: Surfer Rosa (1988)

It’s more than fair to say that Surfer Rosa changed alternative music forever. Slammed in the middle of a technological revolution in music with synthesizers and drum machines on every hit, the Pixies found a home in raw musicality—slowly becoming a lost art in the ‘80s. They are almost refreshingly dark in a lyrical and sonic sense, because what is a good rock album without gruesome lyrics about violence and incest? Truthfully, most of the album’s oddities were due to producer Steve Albini, who rejected “anything human sounding” in music and even forced the band to record in the studio’s bathroom. While I’m sure this was a pain in the ass for Black Francis, Kim Deal and co., it gave Surfer Rosa the piece that gave it that unique edge, a sense of place. For any alt-rock fan, an integral part of your music journey is going to a dank basement and listening to the local experimental teen band play the most disjointed and distorted sounds you’ve ever heard, and that is the energy the Pixies captured on Surfer Rosa—it could have been played in that same health hazard of a basement. It’s impossible to talk about this album without spotlighting the chilling melody of “Where Is My Mind?”—one of the most prevailing alt-rock songs ever. No matter how many indie films I hear it in, the haunting harmonies and cryptic hook will always send a shiver through my body. Surfer Rosa shows off the iconic push and pull of gender in the Pixies, the musical strangeness and Lynchian lyrics that inspired the likes of Kurt Cobain, David Bowie and Radiohead—a feat in itself. —OA

19. Violent Femmes: Violent Femmes (1983)

The first Violent Femmes album is the clearest, most visceral embodiment of adolescent frustration—perhaps of any piece of music. Even still, for all of its teenage awkwardness, Violent Femmes is a record that is wise beyond its years. Without fail, each time I remember that it was released in 1983, I am surprised. It’s folk punk before anyone would think to put those two words together; college radio-rock four months before R.E.M.’s Murmur. Trashmen-to-Ramones “Surfin’ Bird”-esque vocalizations on “Add It Up” follow the begging: “Why can’t I get just one kiss? / Why can’t I get just one screw?” In the Violent Femmes world, livelihood becomes sex, sex becomes a religion and religion becomes whatever self-martyrdom it takes to get the girl. Still, you hate yourself. Obviously. Gordon Gano sings on “Confessions”: “And I’m so lonely / Feel like I’m gonna crawl away and die. / And I’m so lonely / Feel like I’m gonna hack it apart.” Legend has it that Gano became quickly fed up with comparisons to the Modern Lovers, saying his real goal was to sound like The Dream Syndicate’s Steve Wynn. Either way, the band is touring now, celebrating 40 years of their teen angst, sounding just as energetic as ever, selling shirts that say “This will go down on your permanent record” and frustrating another generation of nose rings and bad haircuts. —MD

18. Daniel Johnston: Songs of Pain (1981)

Though he’s forever associated with the Austin, Texas music scene, when Daniel Johnston began his journey into the dark recesses of his heart and the whimsical parts of his brain, he was still living in his parents’ basement in West Virginia. Even in those heady, younger days, the brilliant singer-songwriter had his vision set, performing brutally honest, touchingly funny and surrealistically poetic tunes on an upright piano and recording them using a cheap tape deck. Heard today, they sound like missives from a far-off universe or a monastery where a tormented monk captures his innermost thoughts late at night. And what is on Daniel Johnston’s mind? Sex, cigarettes, religion and airing out his grievances about the girls that got away and the people in his life that he can’t quite understand—including himself. Especially himself. —RH

17. The Go-Go’s: Beauty and the Beat (1981)

Artists like Best Coast’s Bethany Cosentino, Jenny Lewis and La Sera’s Katy Goodman make the Go-Go’s’ Beauty and the Beat sound surprisingly contemporary. The group’s debut album proved not only that they could make a consistent, perky sound that made room for several hit singles, but that they would leave a lasting impression on girl groups everywhere. “We Got The Beat,” “Our Lips Are Sealed” and “How Much More” deliver on the sunny, infectious hooks that make this group so approachable, while “Lust to Love” and “This Town” hit on intricate harmonies and refreshing arrangement. —Annie Black

16. The Beastie Boys: License to Ill (1986)

‘80s hip-hop was dominated by the likes of Public Enemy, Run DMC and N.W.A., so who would have thought that a group of NYC white boys would have one of the best hip-hop debut albums of the decade? Released after going on tour with Madonna of all people, Licensed to Ill is packed with Led-Zeppelin samples and undertones of their punk beginnings when they played with Bad Brains, Dead Kennedys and the Misfits at the legendary CBGB. Brash and bratty, the hardcore beatbox fusion was a combo that could only be born in the experimental streets of NYC. It’s an album that the assholes you went to high school with would have made in their parent’s basement on the weekends, but that relatable juvenile energy is why Licensed to Ill endures. While we can’t ignore the lyrics riddled with misogyny and violence, these cocky kids created a musical amalgamation that drove kids wild and scared their parents half to death, which is the crux of any successful countercultural group. No matter the Beastie Boys’ legacy, if you put on “Fight For You Right” at any function, you’re bound to stir up the angst of any child of the ‘80s and beyond. Even I can’t help myself when the opening riff of “No Sleep Till Brooklyn” plays. —OA

15. X: Los Angeles (1980)

To lightly mangle a phrase from a song by the former band of Ray Manzarek, the producer of this punk masterwork, in X’s Los Angeles, no one gets out alive. John Doe and Exene Cervenka’s clear-eyed vision of their hometown is brutal, poetic and unrelentingly dark. It’s a city of trash can fires, brutal hangovers, shooting speed and in the horrifying vision of “Johny Hit & Run Paulene,” a nauseating sexual assault. The two vocalists lean into each other like they’re on the nod, kept upright only by the springy drive of Billy Zoom’s rockabilly-inspired guitar work and the solid floor laid down by D.J. Bonebrake’s drums. How Manzarek is able to find his way into this airtight music to add organ swells and synth drones is a testament to his skills and his chutzpah. Punk was supposed to shove the hippies aside yet here was one in the studio, keeping these young upstarts honest. Impressive. —RH

14. Whitney Houston: Whitney Houston (1985)

There isn’t much left to say about Whitney Houston’s singular brilliance. In discussing her debut album, we can try pointing to Clive Davis, the producer that signed Whitney back in 1983 after seeing her perform at a New York night club. We could reminisce on the sales, the smashing success, how it was the first debut album to produce three number one singles—much less the first time a female solo artist completed such a feat. We could talk about these things, celebrate the storm that brought Whitney such profound and immediate grace, but God, what good would that do? Why would we spend our time thinking about anything but the sound. No one will ever sing like Whitney did. Anthemic ballads like “All At Once,” “Saving All My Love For You” and “Greatest Love Of All” bat note for note with soulful dance tracks like “How Will I Know” and “Take Good Care Of My Heart.” Whitney Houston is pure sentiment—and I mean this in the best possible way. Sure, Whitney could sing the digits in a phone book and have made millions happy, but what she does choose to lend her voice to is monumentally affecting and has the everlasting emotional genuineness to never grow old. —MD

13. George Michael: Faith (1987)

A record that boasted four #1 singles on the Hot 100 and spent 12 weeks at #1 one the Billboard 200, George Michael’s Faith might just be the greatest solo debut for a bandleader in the history of modern music. Near the end of his band Wham!, Michael had grown tired of being seen as a “teenybopper” pop group making novel, rudimentary dance tracks. He and longtime best friend and collaborator Andrew Ridgeley split up, and Michael made Faith (and won Album of the Year at the Grammys in 1989). The title track is brilliant, “Father Figure” is a sensual, divine gospel, “One More Try” is one of the greatest ballads to ever top the pop charts. But songs like “Monkey” and “Kissing a Fool” establish Faith as a dangerously wide spectrum of tones—ranging from funk to synth-pop to folk and soul music. My favorite track has always been the three-part “I Want Your Sex,” and it’s where George Michael established himself as a star just as bright as Michael Jackson—perhaps even brighter, Faith sure argues in favor of such a truth. —MM

12. Bad Brains: Bad Brains (1982)

They began life as a fusion jazz group. But one taste of punk rock was all they needed to switch gears, realizing, as bassist Daryl Jenifer put it in a 2020 interview, “The cats couldn’t really play but they had something interesting to say.” The Bad Brains, on the other hand, could seriously play, bringing their redoubtable instrumental skills to bear on the assaultive sound of hardcore. Oh, and they could easily switch gears and play some killer reggae jams when so moved. The band’s debut captured all of that and more, as they recorded the bulk of it live to tape. The experience of listening to this for the first time is trampoline-like—that feeling in your stomach as you hit the apex and the sturdy yet forgiving cushion when you come crashing back down. —RH

11. Eric B. & Rakim: Paid In Full (1987)

The legend goes that DJ / turntablist Eric B. put out a call to find “New York’s top MC” to complement his wizardly work on the decks. Boy, did he get what he asked for. Rakim was the antithesis to the shouty spirit of most New York rappers. His flow was smooth and laid back as if he recorded the entire album while seated in a cozy throne. It would be off putting if Rakim didn’t have the kind of cutting lyricism that commanded respect and sliced down his enemies—perceived or legit—with deceptive ease. Let’s not forget what Eric B. brought to this party. His choices of samples and breakbeats were judicious and thoughtful, minimalist and clean in contrast to the hard-edged assault of what producers like Rick Rubin and the Bomb Squad were up to at the time. The duo didn’t break new ground so much as suggest an alternate path through the hip-hop landscape. One that would allow them to collect their dead presidents by a show of subtle strength instead of brute force. —RH

10. N.W.A.: Straight Outta Compton (1988)

How powerful was the first album by gangsta rap group N.W.A.? It sold hundreds of thousands of copies with little support from mainstream radio and MTV, both of which had deemed the group too hot to handle. Their unabashed hatred of the police and all authority figures landed the on the radar of the FBI whose assistant director sent a letter to the group’s label urging them to think twice about releasing a record with the song “Fuck Tha Police” on it. The group was banned from performing in some cities due to the incendiary tone of their rhetoric and a lot of fear mongering from the press. That’s power. While fully acknowledging this also remains one of the most grossly misogynistic albums ever recorded, we can’t deny the impact of this album on the hip-hop community. It established the West Coast as a prime player in the culture and turned its creators—especially Eazy-E, Ice Cube and Dr. Dre—into instant icons. And if you can’t see how their more politicized messages are still applicable in our modern times, you really haven’t been paying attention. —RH

9. Tracy Chapman: Tracy Chapman (1988)

Standing in for Stevie Wonder—who was dealing with technical difficulties with his equipment and walked out of the stadium—Cleveland singer/songwriter Tracy Chapman took the stage, alone, at Nelson Mandela’s 70th birthday tribute concert at Wembley Stadium and performed a solo set. She played “Fast Car” and “Talkin’ ‘bout a Revolution” for 72,000 people in the arena and to millions across 60 countries watching at home. Prior to the concert, Chapman’s eponymous debut album had sold about 250,000 copies. Afterwards, it sold around 2,000,000—and it’s endured as one of the best-selling albums of all time, clocking in at 20,000,000 copies sold.

The record was a beautiful rendition of folk music that splintered a mainstream that was buoyed by synth-pop and hair metal. Chapman’s presence was a balm, as was her music. She was called a protest singer at Tufts University, and she made a record firmly placing her in the company of the most compassionate and revered songwriters of all time—not just of her era. “Baby Can I Hold You” and “Across the Lines” were great fulcrums of pop and roots, while “Fast Car” is a song that knows nothing about the boundaries of generational lines—it’s a song that will outlive us all, with an instantly recognizable melody and the greatest opening lyric on this list: “You got a fast car, I want a ticket to anywhere. Maybe we make a deal, maybe together we can get somewhere. Any place is better.” —MM

8. The Stone Roses: The Stone Roses (1989)

The only album on this list to be so great that it consequently ruins the band who made it, The Stone Roses is a masterpiece that, sadly, was irreplicable. The Salford quartet—Ian Brown, Mani, Reni and John Squire—broke the mold and then could no longer fit into it. The Stone Roses is one of those records that, with every listen, I still can’t quite understand how it got made. Every guitar lick, every bassline—it all feels futuristic even 34 years after it first came out. The record made the band fixtures of the Madchester scene, while also building on the jangle pop The Smiths had made a hallmark and injecting it with shoegaze-influenced distortion and dream pop psychedelia. Songs like “I Wanna Be Adored” and “Waterfall” and “Fools Gold” are breathtaking and helped etch the blueprint for the next decade’s foray into Britpop. But it’s “She Bangs the Drums,” arguably the most perfect song on any record that’s featured on this list, that turns The Stone Roses into one of the single greatest debuts in the history of modern music. —MM

7. The Jesus and Mary Chain: Psychocandy (1985)

What do you get when you combine The Velvet Underground & Nico, the Shangri-Las and a German industrial band called Einstürzende Neubauten? Well, you get the Jesus and Mary Chain, a Scottish quartet built by brothers Jim and William Reid. After their dad lost is job at a factory, he gave 300 pounds of his redundancy money to the them, and they’d go out and buy a four-track and demo songs like “Upside Down” and “Never Understand.” Little did they know that they were on the brink of building one of the most essential noise pop and post-punk albums of all time (“Upside Down” wouldn’t make the album, but it was the Chain’s debut single). Psychocandy has become the not-so-lost masterpiece of the 1980s. It’s beautiful and perfect, yet largely overshadowed by efforts from the band’s peers—like Depeche Mode and New Order. But let it be known, Psychocandy is worthy of eternal greatness for the brilliance of “Just Like Honey” alone. The Jesus and Mary Chain were ahead of their time, yet they couldn’t have come alive at any other point in history than in 1985. It’s a meta, unbelievable truth. But Psychocandy is still registering 38 years later, and the work of Jim and William Reid is forever etched in stone. —MM

6. Guns N’ Roses: Appetite for Destruction (1987)

What makes a record like Appetite for Destruction so damn important is that, without a doubt, it might just be the greatest debut rock ‘n’ roll album ever released—and not the proto-indie stuff like The Smiths or the jangly alt-pop of Murmur. I’m talking about stone cold rock and hair metal. Los Angeles quintet Guns N’ Roses had put out the Live ?!*@ Like a Suicide EP a year prior, and they’d later get a re-release on GN’R Lies in 1988. But Appetite for Destruction is the album that has defined the masses of a generation—and it’s the seventh best-selling album of all time in the US, which is a bonkers accolade to get with your first-ever album. The classics—“Welcome to the Jungle,” “Sweet Child o’ Mine” and “Paradise City”—are classics for a reason, as they represent crystalline, anthemic benchmarks of hard rock. But non-singles like “Rocket Queen” and “My Michelle” are brilliant and catchy. Other cuts like “Nighttrain” and “Mr. Brownstone” established Axl Rose, Slash, Izzy Stradlin, Duff McKagan and Steven Adler as rock gods then and there. What’s impressive, though, is that GN’R would continue to build on that moment, as the two-part Use Your Illusion release in 1991 would be the perfect end-cap on the greatest four-year run in rock ‘n’ roll history. —MM

5. Sade: Diamond Life (1984)

There’s hardly a more killer opening to a debut than “Smooth Operator,” a song about the “American Psychos” of the world. For the London band Sade—yes, band, not a solo act — their simplistic soul sound stood out against the glitz and glamour of the ‘80s hits caked in heavy production. It’s hard not to appreciate the classic sound that Sade recreated on Diamond Life, with every song meticulously crafted with soul roots that flowed into effortless new school pop. The nine-track album covers everything from longing for a lover to missed opportunities—the type of musings everyone can relate to but made even better with the impeccable tones of Diamond Life. I’m a sucker for a saxophone solo, and “Your Love Is King” captures the energy of a smoky jazz club with Sade’s flawless vocal talents and the big band backing. Sade, while heavily defined by the unique richness of their frontwoman, succeeded because of their all-around talents, creating the silkiest, easy-listening melodies. It’s more than music; it’s a feeling—a dark, sexy feeling. —OA

4. De La Soul: 3 Feet High & Rising (1989)

The conversations around 1980s hip-hop almost certainly always revolve around the larger-than-life heavyweights, like N.W.A., Run-D.M.C., Beastie Boys, LL Cool J and Kurtis Blow—but it’s imperative that we never forget about De La Soul, the trio that, when at their best, outshined all of them. It wasn’t just about the chemistry between Posdnous, Maseo and the late Trugoy the Dove; these three New Yorkers were constructive geniuses. 3 Feet High and Rising came out in March 1989 and it punctuated a decade that saw rap music obliterate the mainstream—and you can point to the workings of De La Soul as a big, enduring piece of that. 3 Feet High and Rising is the greatest hip-hop debut to ever be released, an alpha joint in the echelons with 36 Chambers, Madvillainy and Illmatic. From the impenetrable brilliance of “Eye Know” and its interpolation of samples from Otis Redding and Steely Dan to the Johnny Cash-inspired “The Magic Number,” De La Soul threw this masterpiece of art and jazz rap into the belly of a cultural beast swallowed by the budding excitement around gangsta rap. But 3 Feet High and Rising is surreal and weird and gorgeous and primitive—using boundary-pushing samples, skits and bizarre subject matter (dandruff, gardening and talking animals, just to name a few) to further evolve hip-hop altogether. —MM

3. The Smiths: The Smiths (1984)

Taking a moment to ignore anything Morrissey has said in his post-Smiths life, The Smiths is a masterpiece from start to finish. For a band that only made four albums yet became so legendary, every album has to kick ass—and the Manchester indie pioneers delivered a myriad of poetic musings against traditional masculinity and the blissful riffage of Johnny Marr making a perfect debut. The Smiths isn’t necessarily The Smiths as we know them; it’s grittier with flashes of post-punk that paint a much darker sound in some of the tracks. While Morrissey’s characteristic droney lullabies deliver some of the most painfully honest lyrics in music history, there is an uncharacteristic edge to the melodies—but I think that debut rawness is what drew people in.

There is something I always find funny when bands write lyrics that are so torturous but, then, pair them with the most danceable rhythm. Like on “Pretty Girls Make Graves,” with the chorus being “I’m not the man you think I am / And sorrow’s native son / He will not smile for anyone,” played over Marr’s groovy riffs. “Miserable Lie” proved that this was a band, not just a singer with background musicians. With the beginning of the track keeping the soft rhythm of the aesthetics of many The Smiths songs, Andy Rourke and Mike Joyce burst through with a high-tempo rhythm that is uncharacteristically punk. “This Charming Man” (which was only available on the cassette printing of the record in the UK) is about young Morrissey grappling with his sexuality in overt sexual encounters: “Will nature make a man of me yet? / When in this charming car / This charming man,” he sings about the act of cruising, which was a common yet unspoken activity during the time. That’s the thing I love about The Smiths—the unapologetic expressions of sexuality and asexuality that even endure now with lines like “Does the body rule the mind, or does the mind rule the body? I don’t know.” —OA

2. Madonna: Madonna (1983)

Though sometimes overshadowed by Like a Virgin and Like a Prayer, Madonna’s self-titled debut endures as a steadfast pop masterpiece. At 27 years old, she’d already studied dance with famed choreographer Martha Graham, played drums and sang in a Corona, Queens band called the Breakfast Club and signed with Sire Records after her single “Everybody” blew up in clubs all across NYC. There was no possible way that Madonna’s first LP could fail, and it didn’t—instead becoming a transcendent exercise in post-disco and electro-pop. Singles “Holiday,” “Lucky Star” and “Borderline” were immediate hits that vaulted the singer into the echelons of the zeitgeist in near-insurmountable ways. Few artists are more emblematic of the MTV era, and Madonna’s stranglehold on pop music can be traced back to this very record. Without Madonna, the landscape of dance music suffers greatly. It’s the best debut album of the 1980s by a woman, and, perhaps, one of the greatest debuts of all time. —MM

1. R.E.M.: Murmur (1983)

Athens, Ga., was as unlikely a birthplace for a nationally renowned music scene as Muscle Shoals, Ala., before it. But there’s something about a college town nestled in some small corner of rural America that ignites creativity in kids who grow up and discover that there actually are others out there who share their passion for music, film or art. In 1983, the spotlight was on Athens, thanks to R.E.M.’s full-length debut, Murmur. All four of the band’s members spent part of their lives far from Georgia, but Murmur became indelibly tied to its city of origin because it sounded unlike anything from anywhere else. Peter Buck didn’t invent the jangly Rickenbacker tones he employed so wonderfully on the album, but it had been a long while since The Byrds had taken flight. And the way Buck’s guitar and Mike Mills’ bass busily bounced around otherwise simple choruses created something entirely new.

Michael Stipe put his stamp on this already singular sound, crooning mumbled, enigmatic phrases like, “They called the clip a two-headed cow / Your hate clipped and distant, your luck, pilgrimage,” and it sounded like the most important sentiment uttered on record since Dylan’s Blonde on Blonde. Even the album’s now-iconic cover art, a railroad trestle covered in leafy green kudzu, seemed exotically Southern, though it looked to locals like every other railroad trestle or abandoned shack or shrubbed hillside drowning in the imported Japanese weed. There was nothing mystical about the four musicians who meshed together on Murmur, but their sound emerged so fully formed that it’s still arguably their best. And those albums that might contest the honor—Reckoning and Lifes Rich Pageant—rely so heavily on the Murmur template as to make the argument moot. —JJ