The Greatest One-Album Wonders of All Time

As we reach the end of our series of lists celebrating those artists whose discographies are, for one reason or other, slimmer than most, you may notice that there are a lot more entries here than in our previous two installments. That’s not by design. It’s only that when we started putting together candidates for inclusion on this final list, we had a hard time limiting ourselves to merely 25. There were that many great records that marked the beginning and the end of that particular chapter in an artist’s creative life. There’s something so noble about these one and done albums—even if the reason that these acts weren’t able to produce more is a tragic one. These were moonshots, one-off side hustles, short-term gatherings of likeminded individuals, silly larks or merely stepping stones to greater acclaim and glory. In every case, we sorely wish that we had gotten more from these artists beyond the occasional posthumous release or live album or reunion concert. But to be able to hold these shooting star moments in our hands as we flip the LP or hit repeat on our streaming service of choice is more than enough to quench that particular thirst. Join us as we bask in the glow of these singular moments in the sun and count down the 40 greatest one-album wonders of all time. —Associate Music Editor, Robert Ham

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40. Convicts

When Lord 3-2 and Big Mike got together in the early 1990s, it’s hard to say whether or not they only ever planned to make one album. But the Convicts, in 1991, put out their self-titled debut and then, after it peaked at #52 on the Billboard R&B/Hip-Hop Albums chart, they hung it up and went their separate ways. Bike Mike would make a record with Geto Boys in 1993 and produce a steady clip of solo projects over the years. Lord 3-2 would make his own solo debut in 1996 and work on records with Geto Boys, DMG, UGK, Scarface, Blac Monks and Southside Playaz up until his tragic passing in 2016. But Convicts was, arguably, both rappers’ strongest outing ever. Songs like “This Is for the Convicts” and “Penitentiary Blues” were excellent early-‘90s rap gems, and the Convicts would sample everyone from Ice Cube to the O’Jays to Al Green to Funkadelic. —Matt Mitchell

39. Them Crooked Vultures

What do you get when you cross Led Zeppelin, Foo Fighters and Queens of the Stone Age? Apparently the answer is: one of the greatest rock albums of the 2000s. It’s an unlikely trio for sure, but when you get Nirvana and Foo Fighters drummer and vocalist Dave Grohl, Led Zeppelin bassist John Paul Jones and Queens of the Stone Age vocalist Josh Homme together, of course the possibilities are endless. The trio only released the one album together, 2009’s Them Crooked Vultures, but the 13 tracks are a wild enough ride in themselves. Lead single “No One Loves Me and Neither Do I” jolts the album into motion with endless grooves and even more swagger. “Well if sex is a weapon,” sings Homme, “then smash boom pow, how do you like me now?” In addition to its immediately hooky blues rock sensibilities, the album features more than its fair share of experimentation. Jones offers keyboards, clavinet, piano, keytar, lap steel guitar, slide bass guitar, mandolin and violin passages, in addition to his touted bass playing. The group toured through 2010 before they disbanded for good. Rumors of a reunion and second album swirled through the ensuing decade, but none of them were realized until 2022, when the band came together again to play two tribute shows dedicated to Taylor Hawkins, the late drummer of Foo Fighters. —Madelyn Dawson

38. Jackson C. Frank

Among the more tragic stories on our one-and-done list is that of Jackson C. Frank. Born in Buffalo, NY in 1943, the folk singer’s life very quickly became riddled with misfortune. While he was 12 years old, his elementary school sustained a devastating fire. 15 of his classmates passed in the tragedy, and his body withstood severe burns, covering more than half his skin. It was while he was receiving treatment in the hospital that he fell in love with music and, at the age of 21, he moved to London and began to write and record what would be his first and only album—Jackson C. Frank—in 1965. The album, produced by Paul Simon, is a tender collection of folk songs, held together by his confessional and painfully evocative vocal delivery. “To sing, to sing, to sing,” he mourns on track “Just Like Anything,” “is a state of mind.” Following the album’s release, both his mental and physical health began to deteriorate.

The trauma from the fire consumed him, and he fell into a depression and was later diagnosed as paranoid schizophrenia. Frank was unhoused for much of his later life, blinded in one eye from a stray pellet from a pellet gun and separated from his former wife with whom he had two children, their first passing from cystic fibrosis. In the end, his friend helped him move back to Woodstock where he grew up, and he passed at the age of 56 from pneumonia and cardiac arrest. As it often does, his music grew to become beloved only after he passed. His hauntingly emotional “Blues Run the Game” is a classic tune, covered by Nick Drake, Simon and Garfunkel, Bert Jansch and Laura Marling, among many others. His eponymous debut has garnered more than a cult following, and Frank is remembered for his simple, cathartic compositions. As he should be. —MD

37. Box Car Racer

After blink-182 broke up in 2005, co-frontmen Mark Hoppus and Tom DeLonge each went their separate ways and started their own new bands. While Hoppus formed +44 with blink drummer Travis Barker, Mercy Killers guitarist Craig Fairbaugh and Shane Gallagher of The Nervous Return, DeLonge would form Angels and Airwaves with David Kennedy, Ilan Rubin and Matt Rubano. However, three years earlier, DeLonge made a splash with Box Car Racer, his supergroup comprising Barker, bassist Anthony Celestino and Kennedy. Box Car Racer arrived in 2002 and was much heavier than anything he’d been making with his former bandmates—as DeLonge was pulling immediately from influences of Refused and Fugazi. The album was an ambitious mark for the vocalist/guitarist, who conceptualized a tracklist revolving around the end of the world. But no matter how hard he tried, DeLonge couldn’t escape the vocal affectations that will remain synonymous with the pop-punk world he helped architect. Songs like “I Feel So” and “There Is” were as good as anything blink was making around the same time but, after a North American tour with the Used and H2O, the band called it quits in 2003. DeLonge’s formation of Box Car Racer led to the tensions between him and Hoppus that seriously fractured blink-182 in the mid-2000s, but it’s still one of the best emo albums of the last 25 years. —MM

36. Chris Gaines

Brisbane, Australia-born singer/songwriter Chris Gaines only made one record—The Life of Chris Gaines—and would even snag a spot as a musical guest on an episode of Saturday Night Live with Garth Brooks pegged as the host. VH1 promoted Gaines with an exclusive Behind the Music feature, and The Life of Chris Gaines would soar to #2 on the Billboard 200 in 1999. Alt-rock tracks like “Lost in You,” “It Don’t Matter to the Sun” and “Right Now” were huge cuts that found chart success (“Lost in You” would be certified gold and peak at #5 on the Hot 100), and the album went 2x platinum in the US. There were plans for Gaines to be the subject of an entire film called The Lamb, but the continued production delays and financial hurdles put the musician on hiatus and, as the momentum of popular music moved onward, he quickly fell into obscurity. —MM

35. The Teenagers

Five of the Teenagers’ first seven singles reached the R&B and pop charts by 1957 in the US (two others charted well in the UK, too), and they turned the Harlem quintet into one of the most notorious doo-wop groups of their era. Led by the vocals of 14-year-old singer Frankie Lymon, The Teenagers Featuring Frankie Lymon was a massive success, piloted by the release of debut single “Why Do Fools Fall in Love”—what is, perhaps, one of the very greatest doo-wop songs ever released. Lymon’s unforgettable voice comes shining through immediately, even though he wasn’t ever supposed to sing lead in the first place—as group member Herman Santiago was meant to helm the vocals, but became too sick to perform on the day the Teenagers had to audition for Gee Records.

And thus, the destiny was set for quintet, as Lymon became a teen sensation and notorious DJ Alan Freed helped usher the group into the mainstream—leading to them being credited as rock music’s first all-teenager act and, eventually, getting inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 1993. The band would continue to perform all the way up until 2020 with a rotating cast of singers, but the Teenagers we all know and adore truly ended in September 1957, when Gee founder George Goldner removed Lymon from the group so he could record as a solo artist. Lymon never found much success, though, and, in 1968, would pass away from an overdose after an 11-year battle with heroin addiction. —MM

34. Thunderclap Newman

I first became familiar with Thunderclap Newman through the use of their song “Something in the Air” in Almost Famous. But the group dates back much earlier than that, when, in 1969, Pete Townshend and Kit Lambert formed the band as a means of showcasing just how brilliant Speedy Keen, Jimmy McCulloch and Andy Newman were together. “Something in the Air” was their debut single and skyrocketed to #1 on the UK singles chart, and it vaulted them into their only album, Hollywood Dream. The other singles from the project—“The Reason,” “Accidents” and “Wild Country”—didn’t find the same kind of success as their predecessor, but Thunderclap Newman was a talented bunch of musicians who had other things on their mind. Keen would become a record producer, while McCulloch became an integral part of Paul McCartney’s Wings in the mid 1970s. Hollywood Dream was an incredible one-off that feels like the type of release only made by bands in movies. The trio (and Townshend, who played bass on the entire record under the alias Bijou Drains) would fold in 1971, but “Something in the Air” remains a fixture in popular culture through consistent use in commercials and soundtracks. —MM

33. Count Five

The Count Five might just be the most influential band you’ve never heard of. While their only release is the 1966 Psychotic Reaction, the mark they left on the world of garage rock, psychedelic and proto-punk can still be seen. If you’ve ever banged your head at a punk show, or rocked out in your bedroom to “God Save The Queen” or something, you’ve got the Count Five to think. Coming from San Jose in the mid ’60’s, the group married the sounds of the British Invasion with the emergent Southern California garage scene, and situated themselves in a place of raucous distortion and fuzzed-out energy. The record’s title track, “Psychotic Reaction,” has garnered its share of acclaim, famously in an essay by Lester Bangs, where he imagines the band releasing a string of later, even more successful records. Unfortunately, though, we’re only left with the one—a stirring and electrifying portrait of the convergence of all things loud and raw. —MD

32. The Heartbreakers

Proto-punk rockers the Heartbreakers were likely doomed from the start. It began with the best of intentions as Johnny Thunders and Jerry Nolan, frustrated with the New York Dolls failing to gain any commercial traction, broke off to start their own outfit, pulling former Television bassist / future Voidoid Richard Hell along for the ride. (Hell would be ousted within a year.) They debuted on July 4, 1975 and spent the next three years in a blur of awe-inspiring live performances and debilitating drug use and sessions for their lone LP that, at one point, found each band member trying to mix the album at a different studio in London. How they were able to walk away from that combination trainwreck / car crash with a statement as dynamic and provocative and brilliant as L.A.M.F. is anyone’s guess, but the trials seem somehow worth it when “Chinese Rocks” and “Get Off The Phone” are bursting out of the speakers. Surprising no one, the band couldn’t hold it together from much longer after that, even if they did make valiant efforts at reuniting over the years and had fine careers after their initial breakup. — Robert Ham

31. Claudia Lennear

Singer Claudia Lennear spent the bulk of her career happily on the sidelines. She was an Ikette for two years, logged time with Leon Russell’s Shelter People and even did some bit parts in films. But when she finally stepped into the spotlight, she owned it. There’s proof enough in her solo turn singing “Let It Be” in the 1971 film Mad Dogs and Englishmen, but don’t sleep on Lennear’s lone solo album, entitled Phew. Released in 1973, it is a masterful snapshot of the R&B / funk scene of the time with contributions from Allen Toussaint, Furry Lewis, Ry Cooder and Jim Dickinson. Lennear tears through it all with the sass and hair-flipping bravado of her former mentor Tina Turner and the equally mighty Betty Davis. —RH

30. Blind Faith

One of the shortest-lived acts of the golden supergroup era, Blind Faith was the brainchild of British blues heavyweights Steve Winwood and Eric Clapton, along with Cream drummer Ginger Baker and Family bassist Ric Grech. The quartet was only together for a minute but, in that time, they released their single, self-titled album in 1969 and then embarked on a three-month tour, before their differences became too strong for them to continue. What we get is just a snapshot of the magic they were able to create together, in its strange and experimental and flawed glory. The album’s most enduring hit, “Can’t Find My Way Home” is an understated jam, a coalition of Cream’s tumbling blues and Traffic’s jazzy rock. It’s far from the album’s only standout: Winwood’s soulful vocals soar to some of their most powerful on tracks like “Had To Cry Today” and “Presence of the Lord.”

After three months on the road, the group disbanded. Clapton began to resent the mainstream success of the project, as he was hoping for a more intimate setting to lend his melodies to. He didn’t want the band to play the sprawling improvisational sets that Cream had, but with only one 40-minute LP under their belt, they barely had enough material to fill a headlining set without dipping into the Cream and Traffic catalogues. Winwood continued to take more and more creative control of the group, as Clapton would sit in and watch openers Delaney & Bonnie instead of preparing for his own group’s sets. Blind Faith disbanded promptly after their tour concluded—Winwood and Baker played together for a bit after, before Winwood returned to Traffic and Clapton entered himself into another supergroup, Derek and the Dominoes, with Delaney & Bonnie members. Winwood and Clapton remain friends nonetheless, and on more than one occasion post-breakup have challenged each other note for note on the stage with some Blind Faith tunes. —MD

29. The Shaggs

The legend goes that Frank Zappa dubbed The Shaggs “better than the Beatles.” Whether he actually said it or not, it’s one of those eyebrow-raising statements that feels even more bewildering when you actually drop the needle on this all-sister band’s lone LP Philosophy of the World. The music feels almost like an extended joke with its atonal harmonies, detuned guitars and drum rhythms that never truly hold together. Confusing matters even more is that these songs of parents, pals named Foot-Foot and Halloween emerged after hours and hours of practice forced upon these youngsters by their father. And yet it’s not difficult to be charmed by the naïveté of this music and the strange joy that seems to come out of it. Music may have been a chore for the Wiggin sisters but they stuck together and made the best of a weird situation. And for the legions of fans who have stumbled upon their work in the nearly 60 years since it was first foisted upon an unsuspecting world, its delights somehow, against all odds, only continue to grow. —RH

28. Rites of Spring

If you want to argue about whether or not Rites of Spring was “the first emo band” or not, do it on your own time. We are far too busy cranking the band’s only full-length to bother with such concerns. The short-lived band was the first explosive output of future Fugazi members Guy Picciotto and Brendan Canty, which took the frantic pace and overdriven volume of the hardcore punk scene they came of age within and used it as a backdrop for songs that looked inward rather than at the ills of the world-at-large. They didn’t so much break the mold in that way, as Bad Brains and Black Flag had been cutting that same cloth by that point, yet they planted a flag within the D.C. community that encouraged their fellow artists to dig deeper and push a little harder beyond simple jeremiads directed at society’s many bad actors. The seismic impact they had on that scene still feels like it is causing aftershocks even if the band only survived long enough to drop one album and a 7″ single. —RH

27. Opal

The so-called Paisley Underground scene in L.A. produced a bevy of brilliant artists. It gave us the Bangles’ chart-topping hits, the Dream Syndicate’s guitar freak outs and the Three O’Clock’s jangly wonders. And of course lesser-known artist populated the community like this short-lived project headed up by former Rain Parade member David Roback and ex-Dream Syndicate bassist Kendra Smith. Together, they dove even further down the psychedelic rabbit hole, emphasizing the mystical roots of this shape-shifting genre. The songs on the group’s only proper album Happy Nightmare Baby sizzle and hum as if they’ve been set to simmer and allowed to be reduced to their core elements of melted guitar tones, Farfisa melodies and Smith’s flat affect vocals. The band also became something of a proving ground as Smith decided to leave the fold in the middle of a tour, forcing Roback to call upon another vocalist named Hope Sandoval to finish out the run of shows. Next stop: Mazzy Star. —RH

26. Harry Crews

There may be some writers today who drew from the well of grotesque characters and bizarre scenarios found in the work of Florida author Harry Crews, but his biggest impact may be found in the work of this short-lived project made up of Sonic Youth co-founder Kim Gordon, Lydia Lunch and drummer Sadie Mae. The trio built most of their flesh ripping songs from the foundation of their namesake’s novels and stories — all bodily fluids and tortured souls and desperate hopes for salvation. Their music is the slashing of a thousand razor blades or the feeling of falling in a dream that starts you awake. In its brief time, the group only played live including on a European tour, recordings of which were turned into their one album Naked In Garden Hills. —RH

25. Tiger Trap

I’m blissfully unaware of the details behind Tiger Trap’s short time together, but I don’t get the sense that the quartet’s split following the release of a handful of singles and one perfect jewel of an album was because of something acrimonious. I suspect that its members — Rose Melberg, Angela Loy, Heather Dunn and Jen Braun — simply had other stuff to do. That suspicion mainly comes from the cozy promo photos I’ve seen of these young women, the warm spirit they exuded in the few articles written about the group during their early ’90s run and the sugary joy of the music they produced. That spirit of togetherness seemed to free up head songwriter Melberg to write giddy first crush songs and heartbreakers that barely hid away some of the more painful (and occasionally darker) sentiments of her lyrics. As a unit, they had their fun together, sold thousands of copies of their self-titled LP and then moved on to other projects and adventures. Would that all of the entries on this list gone through the same experience. —RH

24. Operation Ivy

Whether you love or hate the ska-punk sound that this East Bay outfit helped bring to life in the late ’80s (and, trust me, I lean more toward the latter end of that binary), it should say everything you need to know about this group that they were important enough to inspire multiple generations of artists looking to mix up the aggression of punk with the high-stepping sounds of ska. Or that not even their newest fans seem to be able to let go of the idea that someday, maybe, hopefully, Operation Ivy will get back together and ride again. Credit to the band members for realizing that they had their time and resisting the lucrative paydays that would likely come their way for even a one-off reunion gig. What they produced in the form of the 19 song whirlwind that is their 1989 album Energy provides the perfect amount of sustenance for the hyperfans and those folks looking to better understand the radical roots of future Rancid stars Tim Armstrong and Matt Freeman. —RH

23. Angelfish

Although Shirley Manson is better known for her work in the industrial rock band Garbage, she would have never become the group’s frontwoman without her short stint in Angelfish. The Scottish alt-rock quartet was the side project of indie rock group Goodbye Mr. Mackenzie—made as a clever trick so the members of Goodbye Mr. Mackenzie could perform under the same label without breaking their contract. For a project born out of a legal loophole, they crafted an incredible grunge-y, goth-rock sound and wrote some of the best female-led rock music of the mid-’90s. “Suffocate Me” and “Heartbreak To Hate” are underrated riot grrrl classics with a macabre twist. What makes the 1994 album stand out is its commitment to a gothic aesthetic, which has made its legacy withstand for young femme goths to connect with—the female condition remains the same almost 30 years later. If the line “You can’t stop the tears she’s saved for years” from “You Can Love Her” doesn’t scream adolescent angst, I’m not sure what does. After only one 10-track album Manson was scooped up by Butch Vig for Garbage before Angelfish ever had the opportunity to take off—leaving Angelfish fans to cherish the little taste of what could have been. —Olivia Abercrombie

22. The Grays

It’s hard enough to sustain a band featuring one talented singer-songwriter let alone three. No wonder then that this L.A. group couldn’t hold together beyond the production of one brilliant album, 1994’s Ro Sham Bo. As with any project of this kind, their intentions were pure at the outset with musician (and future film score wizard) Jon Brion inviting his new friend Jason Falkner (ex-Jellyfish) to come jam with some other pop-loving buddies. Word quickly spread about this nascent project and the Grays soon found themselves with a record contract. The major label largesse allowed them the chance to indulge a bit in their hearty blend of ’60s pop sugar and ’70s rock sour. The combination was a glorious multi-layered gobstopper worthy of their heroes like Todd Rundgren and the Zombies. But what followed was ballooning egos and conflicting interests and a quick fizzle that left behind only the still bright ember of their single LP. —RH

21. Margo Guryan

One of the strangest revivals in contemporary music history is that of Margo Guryan’s music, specifically that in Japan in the 1990s. The New York singer/songwriter was signed to Atlantic records while she was still in high school but, after some hiccups in the recording process, the label decided to keep her around as a songwriter. Her compositions were recorded by Chris Connor, Freda Payne and Harry Belafonte, among others. She became a jazz musician, and tapped out of popular music completely—until she began recording her first and only album, 1966’s Take A Picture, a bright and offbeat record with enough sweetness to last a lifetime. After refusing to tour, however, her label did little to promote the record and Guryan retired from performing. Her music made a resurgence in Japan and England in the 1990s, and, in 2001, she compiled and released a collection of demos, which she fittingly called 25 Demos. Guryan ended up releasing one more single before her passing in 2021, “16 Words,” and its b-side “Yes I Am.” A boxed tribute set is forthcoming in 2024. —MD

20. The Monks

It sounds like the set up for an elaborate “Aristocrats”-like joke. A bunch of GIs stationed in Germany decide to start making music together, first as the Five Torquays, staying behind in Deutschland even after being discharged from the service. A crafty manager convinces the quintet to take on a new name and persona, dressing like men of the cloth and shaving their heads into the tonsured look of their namesake. Oh, and don’t forget that the drummer didn’t use a high-hat, one of the members played an electric banjo and another played an electric organ that continually sounded on the verge of bursting into a shower of sparks and ozone. The name of that band? The Monks! From this insane premise came a brutish and lean garage rock sound that was somehow wrangled into shape in a recording studio in Germany, resulting in Black Monk Time, an album of supreme importance to the lives of future legends like the Cramps and the Fall. You’ll never think about rock music the same way once you’ve had songs like “I Hate You” or “Shut Up” attacking your internal organs. —RH

19. Dennis Wilson

As with all of his fellow Beach Boys, Dennis Wilson probably didn’t need to make a solo album. There were still plenty of shows to play and plenty of songs written by older brother Brian to record. But wanting to prove his mettle as a serious musician, Dennis did break out on his own in 1977 with the recording and release of Pacific Ocean Blue, a truly stunning collection of sunstroke acid rock that spoke to his burnt out state of mind and his hopeful recovery with the help of some stronger spiritual practices and the healing energy of nature. His raspy voice may not be as trained or as sweet as that of his other bandmates, but that’s precisely what makes this album so special. These lyrical concerns were eating away at him and the only way to release that pressure was to sing his way out of it. Sadly, this was his only chance to speak his piece as a solo artist as he was taken from this world far too soon in 1983. —RH

18. The United States of America

If nothing else, you have to admire the chutzpah of a band daring to name themselves after their country of origin, especially during a time when its name was not spoken of with much reverence due to the growing conflict in Vietnam and the battles being waged within our borders on the issues of civil rights and feminism. That uneasiness is baked right into the music of this experimental psychedelic group. Founded by singer Dorothy Moskowitz and musician / composer Joseph Byrd, the group looked to turn the concept of a rock band on its ear through the application of musique concrete, electronic instruments like the ring modulator and oscillators and a vicious strain of irony that scorched the edges of songs like “The American Way of Love” and “The Garden of Earthly Delights.” Would you be shocked to know that their only self-titled album was released on a major label? Or that after its release, the group fell into disarray as they couldn’t come to terms over their dueling interests in making art and making money? —RH

17. Skip Spence

The story of Alexander “Skip” Spence is an all-too-familiar one in the annals of rock history. He came up within the bustling SF music scene, playing drums for a stretch with Jefferson Airplane and then starting the fantastic psychedelic band Moby Grape. And with many of the folks within that community, Spence started experimenting with drugs and, instead of cracking open his personal doors of perception to bring him closer to a state of enlightenment, the experience broke him wide open to face all kinds of psychological demons. His troubles came to a head during sessions for the second Moby Grape album during which he had a freakout and tried to hurt two of his bandmates with a fire axe. Involuntarily admitted to a mental hospital for six months, he came out with a packet of new songs, which he took with him down to Nashville and recorded his single solo album Oar in a blurry one-man session. The music that poured out of him carried a beautiful pain in each meandering, enrapturing melody as Spence unraveled the bandages that covered his internal psychic wounds. 55 years after its release Oar still hurts to listen to and still manages to inspire the kind of worshipful love that artists spend their whole careers seeking out. —RH

16. Beck, Bogert & Appice

The most underrated supergroup of all time, Beck, Bogert & Appice was a meeting of three brilliant minds. Tim Bogert and Carmine Appice had played together in Vanilla Fudge and Cactus, while Jeff Beck came up in the Yardbirds and broke out with his own solo band the Jeff Beck Group. The trio met in 1967 and, two years later, would take up sessions together for the first time. Beck would crash his car in 1969 and all plans for an album from the trio were placed on the back-burner. He’d form the second iteration of his band, only to have them break up in 1972.

This is the moment that Beck, Bogert & Appice was born, and rehearsals for their debut began that December. Beck, Bogert & Appice would arrive in April 1973 in the UK, and it features some of the best blues rock of its era. “Superstition,” which had germinated during a jam session between Beck and Stevie Wonder, became the album’s cornerstone (and it was a gift to Beck from Wonder for his work on the latter’s Talking Book). But the shining points on the record—especially “Black Cat Moan” and “Oh to Love You”—showcased just how immaculate these three men sounded together. After touring the world and releasing the Live in Japan concert record, Beck, Bogert & Appice would call it quits before completing their anticipated sophomore album. Considering that Beck went on to become one of the greatest blues guitarists of all time, Bogert would work with Bob Weir and Rick Derringer and Appice would endure as one of the most influential drummers of his time, I’d say they all did just fine. —MM

15. Germs

Yet another band on our one-and-done list that burned as bright as a phosphorus bomb, causing a goodly amount of damage before fizzing ignominiously to a close. Formed by high school buddies Darby Crash and Pat Smear, Germs were one of the most beloved and feared punk groups in the L.A. circuit due to their unhinged live performances and the brilliant spark of their songwriting. The quartet held together at the eye of their self-made storm long enough to generate a bevy of fantastic hardcore, including their only full-length album, the Joan Jett-produced (GI). The hot shit fury of the music is enough to recommend Germs’ lone record, but dig into the lyric sheet and you’ll find some hyper-literate sentiments hiding in plain sight. Crash had the heart of a poet tucked into his gaunt frame and volatile personality. Even as attention swirled around the band following the release of (GI) in 1979, Germs barely survived another year and came to an abrupt close with the death by suicide of Crash in late December of 1980 — a piece of news that was quickly plowed over the shooting death of John Lennon a day later. —RH

14. Temple of the Dog

Seattle’s supreme supergroup, Temple of the Dog was a tour-de-force of the grunge world. It almost feels like cheating to include them on this list; they weren’t as much of a band as they were a coalition of friends coming together to pay tribute to the late, great Andrew Wood of Mother Love Bone and Malfunkshun. Temple of the Dog was the brainchild of Soundgarden’s Chris Cornell, a close personal friend of Wood. Cornell enlisted Jeff Ament and Stone Gossard of Mother Love Bone (who would eventually go on to play in a little group known as Pearl Jam), Mike McCready (also of Pearl Jam fame), Matt Cameron (former Soundgarden member and future Pearl Jam member), and, for a few tracks, the backing vocals of Eddie Vedder (Do I even have to say it?). Cornell rejected the idea of first releasing a single, wanting the album to arrive as a fully fleshed out tribute.

So, in just 15 days, Temple of the Dog’s eponymous debut was recorded. “Hunger Strike,” the haunting Vedder-Cornell duet, was the album’s most successful track—and for good reason. When Vedder’s deep growl combines with Cornell’s high-pitched wail and they both scream together “I’m going hungry,” there’s not a person in the world who won’t get goosebumps. The album also featured the touching and cathartic Cornell-penned “Say Hello 2 Heaven,” where he sings directly to Wood, “I, I never wanted / To write these words down for you,” and begs his friend to say hello to heaven for him. Temple of the Dog disbanded four months after releasing their album. They never went on a real tour as a band, playing one-off shows through the decades, until 2016 when they got back together (sans Vedder) to celebrate the record’s 25th anniversary. —MD

13. Life Without Buildings

Rock critics use the word “art” to refer to any band that’s ever read a book before. Sue Tompkins of Life Without Buildings is a true artist, though, with a thriving career and shows in galleries around the world. That drive to keep creating and moving on to new things is one reason the band split after a single fantastic record. Tompkins’ elliptical sing-speak evoked any number of comparisons but no true influences; she’s more earnest than Mark E. Smith, more heartfelt than Björk, and unlike anyone else. Of course her vocals wouldn’t be as powerful if they weren’t tied to such excellent songs. Life Without Buildings got lumped into the “post-punk” revival of 2000/2001, but their pop songs owed less to dance-punk forebears than the warm guitar rock of Television or early Talking Heads. —Garrett Martin

12. Minor Threat

Just like their music, Minor Threat’s career was fast and loud. Ian MacKaye and Jeff Nelson formed the hardcore punk band with Lyle Preslar and Brian Baker in 1980 in D.C.—a punk mecca—following the emergence of the genre in the mid-70s. A lot of its music in the late 70s was paired with an outlandish style, featuring many iterations of Dr. Martens, leather and plaid. Minor Threat leaned away from the costume aspects of punk and tried to carve out a more serious niche. While it’s ironic to call punk mainstream in any way, there had become a popularized version of it that Minor Threat wanted to rebel against. Although the band’s lasting legacy came from MacKaye’s commitment to a clean lifestyle, emphasized by their song “Straight Edge” off their self-titled EP, their only full-length—Out of Step—was a vicious masterpiece. Three years after their formation and a number of EPs filled with juvenile, single-riff explosions, Out of Step is a wiser, intricate piece of DIY-punk fueled by rage for the world and each other. The original eight-track release—nine including “Cashing In,” an uncredited track on the original vinyl version—features the thrashy “Betray” and “Little Friend” and the existential musings of “Look Back and Laugh.” With their break up spurred by “artistic differences,” Minor Threat’s unapologetic, socially conscious and politically charged punk inspired decades of counterculture musicians to get loud and wreak havoc. —OA

11. Madvillain

The only studio album made by MF DOOM and Madlib for their Madvillain project, Madvillainy is one of those hip-hop records that lives in the spaces beyond the limits and continuums of time and space. Madlib created most of the instrumentals on a Boss SP-303 sampler, a turntable and a tape deck in a hotel room in Brazil, while DOOM penned relaxed, confident and free-associative lyrics. The product of their collaboration is a string of vignettes that glow like full-bodied portraits. Much of the tracklist is full of brevity, yet cuts like “America’s Most Blunted” and “Rhinestone Cowboy” sprawl where they need to and boast impeccable beats and slick, attractive and soulful verses. “Fancy Clown” is a devastating effort that orbits a relationship crumbling to pieces, while “Accordion” is catchy yet minimal. Released into a hip-hop landscape that bent to the will of the pop charts, Madvillainy was a revelation and a risk.

The work is methodical, intricate and wholly sublime album—influenced greatly by crate-diggers and flow-scholars alike and unabashed in its scope. Look no further than the pinnacle of Madvillainy—“All Caps”—where you’ll find the crux of the best debut record from this century: “Hit it on the first try, villain, the worst guy. Spot hot tracks like spot a pair of fat asses,” DOOM spits. “Shots of the scotch from out the square shot glasses, and he won’t stop ‘till he got the masses and show ‘em what they know not through flows of hot molasses.” Like one-half of its namesake, Madvillainy rebels against the safety of living in lowercase. —MM

10. Young Marble Giants

Welsh three-piece Young Marble Giants were so committed to minimalism that they only put out a single full-length. Colossal Youth followed a handful of EPs and compilation appearances and marked both the fullest exploration and final end point of the band’s sparse and haunting sound. The deep alienation of the band’s catchy pop songs is underlined by the profound space between the band’s dry bass lines, stabs of guitar reverb, drum machine and simple organ and vocal melodies. They broke up shortly after Colossal Youth’s release and, despite a few live reunions since 2007, have yet to release a second album. —GM

9. Derek & the Dominos

Following the break-up of Cream, Eric Clapton played the role of a heartbroken wanderer, trying to figure out where he was going musically as he wrestled with his painful crush on George Harrison’s then-wife Pattie Boyd. It sent him into side hustles like Delaney & Bonnie and Blind Faith, and eventually found him trying his hand at American-style Southern blues rock with his new group Derek & the Dominos. The band was a hot combination of players with former Traffic member Dave Mason and the fantastic session drummer Jim Gordon in the mix early, and fellow guitar god Duane Allman coming on later to apply his slide talents to their extended sessions. On their only album, this band held nothing back, recording a double LP’s worth of material that included several pained expressions of Clapton’s affections for the girl he couldn’t have in “Bell Bottom Blues” and the masterpiece “Layla.” The band was short-lived, surviving for about 18 months before everyone calmly drifted apart. Their music, however, has not and will not go very far from the rotations at classic rock radio and the repertoires of cover bands the world over any time soon. —RH

8. The Modern Lovers

The Modern Lovers begins with a casual yet insistent countdown. A voice that jumps out, not with a Ramones-esque four count but with an off-kilter six count that puts listeners dead center into the first bar of the first song, a rollicking, Velvets-inspired joyride down the Mass Turnpike with the windows and the radio on. The next four minutes and the 30 that follow for the most part maintain a similar pace, at cruising altitude and top speed as the fang-free leader Jonathan Richman invites folks to meet him on an astral plane, wonders why he can’t be as cool as Pablo Picasso and kindly spells out what he’s looking for in this modern world (a girlfriend). For decades now, a varying cast of characters has been riding shotgun and listening closely to Richman and the gang. What has followed is a cavalcade of jangle pop groups, punk bands and college rockers. Not a bad way to go for a group that recorded these tracks years earlier and had broken up by the time they were released. A pebble dropped into the pre-punk world that is still sending ripples of joy and inspiration into the known universe. —RH

7. The La’s

Like another beloved Liverpudlian rock ‘n’ roll quartet, The La’s played together for a good long time before finally releasing an album. But The La’s certainly went through more members. Founder Mike Badger brought on fellow singer/guitarist Lee Mavers in 1984 and the pair went through a number of bassists and drummers before Badger left himself in 1987. By 1990, the lineup was Mavers, guitarist Peter Crammell, bassist John Power and drummer Neil Mavers, and the band released an album full of melodic proto-Britpop bangers. The breakout hit was “There She Goes,” covered nine years later by Sixpence None the Richer, but the whole album laid the groundwork for the next British invasion of Oasis and Blur. Unfortunately Mavers, who had spent three years in the studio trying to perfect his vision, wasn’t among its fans, and the band stopped performing two years later and never made another album. —Josh Jackson

6. Buena Vista Social Club

Every so often, an album hits outside of its normal genre buckets, and listeners all over the globe are reminded that there’s more good music out there than they’ll ever be able to listen to. That was certainly the case with a group of 20 Cuban musicians who became known to the world as Buena Vista Social Club. Gathered by Nick Gold, Ry Cooder and Juan de Marcos González, performers like Ibrahim Ferrer and Rubén González had been active in Cuba in the ’40s and ’50s, and many of the songs take the listener back to a very different Havana before Fidel Castro was sworn in as Prime Minister in 1959. The opening track “Chan Chan,” written in the 1980s by trovador and BVSC member Compay Segundo, set the tone for the gorgeous music to follow. After a Wim Wenders performance documentary on the group in 1998, several members released well-received solo albums and the surviving members continue to tour as Orquesta Buena Vista Social Club, but they’ve never held so many in awe as with the release of their only studio album, which sold over 8 million copies. —JJ

5. Jeff Buckley

There is something about the plight of artists riddled with tragedy who create some of the most beautiful albums. After a decade of being a session guitarist, Jeff Buckley emerged with his only studio album in 1994 before his tragic death only three years later. Grace was the legacy of a young man gifted with a bloodline of musical talent wrestling with the pain of having an absent father—’60s folk singer Tim Buckley. Jeff found the beauty in pain on Grace with his moving cover of “Hallelujah,” which remains his most well-known track. The vocal intimacy strips you bare from the first sigh he breathes, as the opening notes ring out and the unapologetically naked production from every delicate pluck of the strings. Far from getting the flowers it deserved in Buckley’s lifetime, the tortured yet romantic album gave us the cries of anguish in “Lover, You Should Come Over,” a gorgeous rendition of Nina Simone’s “Lilac Wine” and the languid beauty of “Grace.” Fighting tirelessly to stand out from his father’s shadow, Buckley found himself by intimately sharing his soul and pouring it into every note on Grace. His prowess as a musician was always the root of his guitar-centric music, but the delicacy with which he feels emotion in Grace is something that gets under your skin and won’t ever crawl out. —OA

4. New Radicals

There’s something so honorable about a group that knows they hit the bullseye with their lone album and refuse to mess with what you might call their legacy by continuing to move forward or responding to multiple calls to reunite. Such is the case with New Radicals, the L.A. project that joined together the musical forces of nature that were songwriter / singers Gregg Alexander and Danielle Brisebois. Both had attended to solo careers that didn’t go much of anywhere, but when they combined their efforts, the results were undeniable. The group, padded out with a ton of top-tier session players, produced some dizzyingly catchy tunes that took some playful but necessary potshots at celebrity culture, societal decay and personal desperation. But coming from the sunny climes that they did, there were measures of hope and joy swimming within each glistening modern pop composition. New Radicals did what they were supposed to after Maybe You’re Brainwashed Too was released, playing the promotional game before it became too burdensome to bother with. From there, they called it quits, and stayed quit until 2020 rolled around and the group (really just Alexander and Brisebois) reunited for a one-off performance of their hit “You Get What You Give” to honor the election of President Joe Biden. Back to the shadows they went. —RH

3. The Postal Service

It’s mind-boggling sometimes that a band featuring the frontman of Death Cab For Cutie and the frontwoman of Rilo Kiley were able to come together and make one of the best synth-pop albums of the last 30 years. But, under the tutelage of Jimmy Tamborello—known by his DJ stage name Dntel—anything was possible. When The Postal Service released Give Up in 2003, there wasn’t a true synth-pop identity in the mainstream. The Meet Me in the Bathroom era had engulfed rock ‘n’ roll, and even a band like Phoenix wouldn’t become fully entrenched in dance music for another half-decade. Thus, what Ben Gibbard, Tamborello and Jenny Lewis were able to assemble here is, truly, a revelation. Combining indietronica with 1980s keyboard sensibilities, Give Up has only aged with grace since its release 20 years ago. A song like “Such Great Heights” exudes just as much wonder now as it did in the death rattle of Y2K premonitions. Gibbard would also release the legendary Death Cab For Cutie album Transatlanticism later that same year, but it’s Give Up that fully cemented his shape-shifting artistry—and has remained one of the best synth-pop albums in recent memory. —MM

2. Sex Pistols

It would’ve been more shocking if the Pistols stuck around long enough to make a second LP. Every marketing gimmick has a shelf-life and the Pistols’ was particularly short. Never Mind the Bollocks, Here’s the Sex Pistols is a musical Ouroboros, as its reputation has cycled from “dangerous salvation of rock ‘n’ roll” to “embarrassing cartoon” multiple times over since 1977. If you can ignore big sweeping statements and the misplaced notions of grandeur forced upon it you might be able to appreciate its relatively frills-free take on caustic rock ‘n’ roll recidivism. And hey, at least two people responsible were in on the joke, which is probably two more than The Police. —GM

1. Ms. Lauryn Hill

The mythology around Ms. Lauryn Hill continues to grow. When the Fugees frontwoman set out on her own and began writing and producing for Whitney Houston, Mary J. Blige and, yeah, Aretha Franklin, it was clear that her brilliance was always going to transcend the band she’d helped turn into Grammy-winning legends. But she’s only ever put out one album under her own name. One. And what a damn incredible album it is. The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill is a revelation from start to finish. It’s a desert island album for me every time, and I could go the rest of my life only listening to it and be more than content. Ms. Hill never held back from injecting the record with her own autobiographical history, touching on her pregnancy, her fallout with her Fugees bandmates and the intersection of love and God. She recorded much of Miseductation in Kingston, Jamaica at Tuff Gong Studios, collaborating with New Ark and producing the songs with Che Pope and Vada Nobles.

The slate of songs on this record, including “Doo Wop (That Thing),” “Everything Is Everything,” and her cover of Frankie Valli’s “Can’t Take My Eyes Off You,” are immaculately constructed and distinctively perfect. The whole album is this grand amalgam of neo-soul, rap, singer/songwriter and R&B, and it originally broke the record for the most first-week sales for a female artist (422,000 copies). The single “Ex-Factor” very well might just be the greatest soul song (and breakup song) written in the last 30 years—I’d surely say so. I mean, who else could make “reciprocity” sound so damn devastating? It’s hard to say much of anything new about Miseducation. Ms. Hill carved out her brilliance from the jump. What else is left to add? It’s never been a secret that it’s the greatest debut album of the 1990s; it’s no secret that it’s the greatest debut album of the last three decades. The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill is, just maybe, the greatest debut album of all time. —MM