Here's the rundown, my little chickadees: Every night for the next ten nights, I'm going to talk about my favorite albums. Not only will I talk about them, I'll also label them Joey Bear's Official Guide to Albums That He Thinks Are Fairly Neat and Probably Worth a Listen To. (Worth noting is that I have no idea what words I should have in caps in titles, so if something's wrong, let me know.)
Let it be stated ahead of time that this list is not in any particular order, and some of the bands featured aren't even favorites. I just really dig the album as a whole. There's no criteria, no checklist, and no payoffs involved (but if anyone famous is reading this and wants to pay me off, email me, because I will sell-out in a heartbeat), so it's a horribly subjective process. Hell, the list I wrote down all of 10 minutes ago may not even be the list by the end of 10 days.
Now, for a while, my taste in music has been made fun of. Often by Chase, as he tried to put together a decent playlist at a party, or by Ben, who just can't fathom my favorite band. Mr. Awesome once called me a pop-punk kid at heart. I didn't know if it was an insult then and I still don't. I just know it's mostly true. So expect a bit of that. But expect a surprise or two. I won't try to change any minds, but I'm always down to discuss your tastes vs. mine. Besides, if I don't like what you say, I can just delete the comment. So suck it, music snobs. Or don't. Please just keep reading.
Tomorrow night, we'll be going back to a more innocent age of neon shorts and fanny packs: 1994. If you guess the album, you get your choice of a 1995 Ford Bronco, two 30 lb. dumbbells, or my old Gillette Fusion razor.
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