An underrated album can be a popular album that everyone hates but shouldn’t; it can be a mostly forgotten album more people should know about; it can be an album lauded by a select few that should be loved by all. It can even be one of the canonical albums like Skip Spence’s “Oar,” which continue to be referred to as “underrated” no matter how many times they end up on list of underrated albums. Our picks for the 20 most underrated albums of all time:
Pérez Prado, “Voodoo Suite” 1955
Unlike jazz or country or blues, exotica has largely vanished, giving way to various World and Latin genres. As a result, in the U.S. mainstream, at least, Cuban-born Pérez Prado, the King of the Mambo, is thought of (when he’s thought of) as an oddity rather than reverenced as a pioneer like Ellingon or Basie or Hank Williams. But oddity or not, Prado made some fantastic music, as this album with orchestration by Shorty Rogers makes clear. The centerpiece is the 23-minute “Voodoo Suite” (embedded above), but the mambofied jazz chestnuts that make up the rest of the run time may be even better. Squeezing Latin rhythms into “In the Mood” or “Jumping at the Woodside” turns those standards into goofy, knowing, soulful early fusion funk — suggesting that Prado’s influence on the U.S. pop mainstream is perhaps more long-lasting than is generally acknowledged.
Kitty Wells, “Dust on the Bible” 1959
Decades before Emmylou Harris or Alison Krauss mixed bluegrass and country for a female vocalist, Kitty Wells had already arrived at the same formula. Harris and Krauss, though, never sounded quite like this; Wells’ affectless old-timey vocals quaver through one of the sternest chronicles of Bible-fearing sin and salvation on record. Even the Louvin Brothers would be hard-pressed to match the condemnatory cheer of “Dust on the Bible” (which will doom your poor soul) or “I Dreamed I Searched Heaven for You” (because you sinned and now you’re in Hell.) And then there’s “He Will Set Your Fields on Fire,” a bluegrass staple with syncopated background singers reveling in the divine destruction of all one’s neighbors goods. Harsh, beautiful, and almost entirely forgotten, this is perhaps the greatest country album that no one has ever heard of.
5th Dimension, “The Magic Garden” 1967
The Zombies and the Carpenters are both critical darlings now, but somehow this masterpiece of psychedelic soul schmaltz has never been recuperated. A concept album/song cycle almost entirely written by Jimmy Webb, this was a commercial failure when it was first released, and you can see why folks might have found it odd. The strings, California harmonies and occasional sitars billow richly around tales of disconnected melancholy and despair; it’s like Brian Wilson got lost in Motown (and perhaps got mugged by Burt Bacharach on “The Girls’ Song”). The hooks, when they come out of the lush shimmer, are titanic but still end up in tales of claustrophobia (“Carpet Man”) or dementia (“Paper Cup”). Easy-listening is rarely this bleakly sunny, or sunnily bleak.
Doris Duke, “I’m a Loser” 1969
“I’m a Loser” is legendary among classic soul aficionados, but its mainstream profile is virtually nonexistent. For those more familiar with Aretha and Otis, Duke does take some getting used to; her vocals are theatrical rather than direct, and the measured bombast of the arrangements (produced by the legendary Jerry “Swamp Dogg” Williams, Jr.) has little in common with the fire of gospel. Once you get over the initial surprise, though, it’s hard to remember why you wanted to listen to any other soul. “Feet Start Walking,” in which she finds her man with another woman, perfectly captures the sense of oversized banal humiliation, while “I Don’t Care Anymore” is stone country despair, from the strumming acoustic intro to Duke’s throbbing, bitter pause in the line “I married a man who treated me . . . like he’d bought me by the pound.” As much George Jones as Etta James, Duke deserves to be mentioned in the same breath with both of them.
Uriah Heep, “Very ‘Eavy…Very ‘Umble” 1969
Uriah Heep was reputedly the inspiration for the mockumentary “This Is Spinal Tap,” and they’re largely viewed as a prog rock dinosaur joke. Admittedly, it’s hard to listen to “Very ‘Eavy…Very ‘Umble” without giggling — but that hardly lessens the enjoyment. “Gypsy” is bad-ass, strutting proto-metal, with a towering, jagged, head-banging riff and some fantastically preposterous self-mythologizing (“Her father was the leading man/He said you’re not welcome on our land/And then as a foe/he told me to go”). “Bird of Prey” does Queen better on vocal arrangements (“Ooh! Aah! Ooh Aah!) before Queen even existed. There’s nothing remotely subtle about Uriah Heep; the album is bloated overweening ambition, gushy sentiment and bad-assery. Spinal Tap’s self-referential humor can end up looking small and smug in comparison.
Donovan, “HMS Donovan” 1971
If this two-record set of children’s poetry set to song had been recorded by some unknown forgotten troubadour like Gary Higgins or Vashti Bunyan, it would long since have been canonized by retro-folksters as an essential forgotten classic. But instead it’s by Donovan, whose genius remains overlooked, unheralded. Most of the album is devoted to Donovan’s gently mesmerizing acoustic guitar, but there’s also the rocking “Homesickness”; the Childe Ballad “Henry Martin,” on which Donovan’s warbling seems designed to give the kids nightmares; and the off-kilter, “Jabberwocky,” where the multi-tracked vocals gyre and gimble over the violin. The 8-minute song suite “The Walrus and the Carpenter” is fey enough to curdle milk, and the “Pee Song” speaks for itself. “Do you wiggle and watch/does it tiggle and splotch?” Skip Spence only dreamt of being this bizarre.
ZZ Top, “Rio Grande Mud” 1972
Foreign interlopers like the Stones and Clapton are considered gods, but native Texas bluesmen ZZ Top can’t get any respect. Jimi Hendrix knew better; he was a fan of Billy Gibbons’ guitar playing, and you can hear why all over this dirty, swaggering album. Drummer Frank Beard is a wonder as well, propulsively driving monsters like “Francine” and “Just Got Paid.” ZZ Top’s critical standing is so low that nobody has even bothered to put out decent CD reissues; the only versions available are marred with overdubs and excessive reverb. Luckily some kind souls have uploaded most tracks to YouTube — and there’s always vinyl, of course.
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