Debut albums that were instant classics

Justin Vernon didn't have a lot going on in his life in 2006: some failed relationships, some failed bands, and a bad one-two punch of pneumonia and mononucleosis that developed into a liver infection, leaving him bed-ridden. Venturing out to his dad's cabin near his hometown of Eau Claire, Wisconsin, in a deep depression, Vernon pushed through his demons by drinking, doing some hunting for his own food, and messing around with self-recording. The resulting songs from his multi-month escape from the civilized world (that he later completed in a more traditional studio) became the backbone of "For Emma, Forever Ago", his debut album. Despite no industry connections or any real label support, the story behind these haunting numbers helped get him press notices, which in turn led to him becoming nothing short of a critical sensation. Tracks like the quiet hush of "Re:Stacks" and the yearning "Skinny Love" made him a bloggerati sensation, with many publications later declaring it one of the decade's greatest albums. In 2020, Rolling Stone added it to their list of The 500 Greatest Albums of All Time. Vernon's music has become significantly more abstract since then, but when your quiet self-recorded breakup songs goes platinum, you have a blank check to get as strange as you like.

"Don't Smile at Me", Billie Eilish's debut EP, was a sign that special was about to happen. Building off the buzz of the songs Billie and brother Finneas were posting to SoundCloud, it was clear that this whisper-voiced teenager was on to something with her hushed, gothic brand of dark bedroom pop. Yet "When We All Fall Asleep, Where Do We Go?", her debut full-length, was another beast entirely. Mixing dark and uncomfortable lyrical themes with bubbling synth sounds, drum machines, and curious sonic corners, Eilish's music quickly became generation-defining: progressive, moody, cool, and blindingly popular. The difficult themes of "bad guy" topped the charts and even netted a Justin Bieber remix, while album tracks like the acoustic "come out and play" became word-for-word-singalong fan favorites. Winning all but one of the Grammy awards it was nominated for the year after the record's release, Eilish quickly became a household name. Her songwriting and performance style was nothing short of inimitable. Her debut album became so iconic that even she and Finneas have attempted to move on from it on her sophomore release. The sonic DNA of "Asleep" is often imitated, sometimes parodied, but never bettered.

A paradigm-shifting pop star can come from anywhere, even from "High School Musical: The Musical: The Series". While Olivia Rodrigo was initially a teen actress who happened to have a penchant for music (who doesn't?), her stints at songwriting were enough to get her signed to major labels Interscope and Geffen Records. When her single "Driver's License" started getting buzz at the top of 2021, few realized that her heartbreak ballad would soon become a megaton-sized smash, destroying streaming records and instantly establishing her as a star. With the buzz reaching a fever pitch, Rodrigo's debut album "Sour" soon followed, and the hits never stopped coming.

Ostensibly about the behind-the-scenes romantic drama with her "High School Musical" co-star Joshua Bassett, what made the entirety of "Sour" stand out was its break from previously-established songwriting tropes. Instead of hiding her feelings in metaphor and simile, Rodrigo's lyrics ushered in a new kind of hyperliteralism: every line reads like an unadorned journal entry. "I'm so sick of 17 / Where's my f------ teenage dream?" she muses on opening track, "Brutal", and it's hard not to get sucked into her warts-and-all teenage angst. Working heavily with Dan Nigro of the band As Tall As Lions, "Sour" rocks in a way no Disney star has on their first go, and the record's skyrocketing popularity, multiple Grammy wins, and instantly sold-out tour indicates that in a single year, Rodrigo is already more famous than any of her Disney projects (sorry, "Bizaardvark"). While she has some time to worry about her sophomore effort, there's no pressure: she only became a generational spokesperson on her first try.

While they say an artist has his or her whole life to make a debut album, not everyone comes screaming out of the gate with a stone-cold classic.

After all, no one denies the power of Prince, or Rush or Joni Mitchell, but their debut efforts are compromised at best. So while some debut albums may not get a lot of critical love at the time and only become classics in the years that follow (think Led Zeppelin's first effort, King Crimson's or even Linkin Park's "Hybrid Theory"), others arrive like a lightning strike, announcing themselves to the world in a way that's impossible to ignore. And in some cases those debut albums are never bettered.

Although Alex Chilton had already had success as the teenage heartthrob fronting the chart-toppers The Box Tops, his work with Chris Bell in the band Big Star resulted in the record that, for all intents and purposes, invented power pop as the genre as we know it. From the gorgeous "Feel" to the anthem "In the Street" to the lovely melodic twists of "The Ballad of El Goodo" to the heartrending "Thirteen" — and these are just the first four songs — "stunning" doesn't even begin to cut it.

At times sounding absolutely bare-bones and slipshod with its dry production, such limitations did little to contain the free and rollicking spirit of Patti Smith's striking, instantly loved debut. Was it punk? Was it early New Wave? Was it pop? Whatever it was and however you defined it, Smith proved to a generation of male rock critics that women can rock just as hard as the boys, and with an album as considered as "Horses," she could do it better than most of them.

The Ramones' debut album sure as hell wasn't the first punk album to ever exist — but for millions it was the first punk album they ever heard. Three chords, loud amps and bubblegum-sticky choruses are all these Queens-bred boys needed to deliver rock music in its most immediate, most instantly digestible form. "Blitzkrieg Bop" is the calling card and template for the rest of the set, but by the time drumming style switches up on "53rd & 3rd," you know you're listening to a record that defined a genre and a generation.

Given that punk had just broken in the mid-'70s, talking about an album being "post-punk" is considered somewhat silly. Yet Television's legendary "Marquee Moon," with its noodling, lush guitar forays, oblique lyrics and unquestionably epic title track, proved just how impactful this New York City group's contribution to rock music was. Although a modest commercial success, music critics couldn't get enough, and while it was heralded at the time, its reputation has only grown since then.

The great thing about Elvis Costello's solo debut (following his flirtation with country-rock in the band Flip City) was that it was a mix of so many specific of-the-moment styles, with a little bit of punk, a little bit of pop and a whole lot of classic singer-songwriter chops on display. Produced by pub-rock maestro Nick Lowe, this vibrant, joyous record sported such instant-classic tracks like the ballad "Alison" and the sturdy strut of "(The Angels Wanna Wear My) Red Shoes." Critics absolutely ate it up, with Rolling Stone putting it as its No. 7 album of the year (above The Clash's debut but below Steely Dan's "Aja" for those keeping track).

So technically we're cheating a bit here: If you want to get technical, Janet Jackson put out two albums prior to her Jimmy Jam & Terry Lewis-produced effort, "Control." However, those other records were cookie-cutter fluff that she had almost no hand in and fans and critics have all but dismissed. The Jacksons were a musical empire, and she was a cog in the machine — until "Control." Mature, sophisticated, trendsetting and striking, "Control" is a debut album in the truest of senses, as it announced Jackson's artistic persona with defiant lyrics about her parental handlers and questionable suitors over slamming dance beats. "Control," "Nasty," "The Pleasure Principle," "What Have You Done for Me Lately?" — it's an endless parade of classics that rewrote pop music for an entire generation.

"Appetite for Destruction" is basically custom-made for lists like this, as out of nowhere, in the deep heat of the '80s hair metal movement, an album dropped that absolutely obliterated every other record in sight. Some critics (especially in the U.S.) dismissed the group as another band in a long line of carbon copies, but "Welcome to the Jungle" and the pop licks of "Sweet Child O' Mine" soon dominated radio, pushing the group onto the snobby Village Voice music critic poll Pazz & Jop by year end. While the radio hits are easy to remember, it was hard-edged rockers like "Mr. Brownstone" and the sidewinding guitar tones of "My Michelle" that left an indelible mark on listeners and served as the last, powerful gasp of hair metal as we knew it.

In the early days of hip-hop, songs were comprised of soul, funk and disco samples, while MCs spit simple-but-fun end-rhymed verses (i.e. "I'm the disco cop and I'm here to bop!"). Eric B. and Rakim absolutely rewrote the rules on both of those tropes, with Rakim's agile internal rhymes showing aspiring rappers whole new ways to spit bars, and Eric B.'s innovative production made samples out of everyone from the Beastie Boys to AC/DC to even their own "Eric B. Is President," the debut single. Innovative, important and properly acclaimed.

While there were hints of electronic darkness before in acts like Depeche Mode and New Order, Trend Reznor's debut as Nine Inch Nails felt like something completely new and different. Produced almost entirely by Reznor himself, the harsh (and admittedly dated-sounding by today's standards) synths and drum machines gave gothic themes and imagery a place to sound almost club-ready at times, putting a good beat to dark lyrics. Yet in his heart, Reznor truly is a pop classicist, and "Head Line a Hole," the sweeping "Something I Can Never Have" and the damn-near poppy closer "Ringfinger" were all songs with effective verses and choruses that could easily be covered on acoustic guitar as much as they were played with keyboards. Some critics were unsure of what to think of Reznor's amalgam sound, but by and large people tie this album to the contemporary start of the industrial rock movement.

Following the explosion of gangster and playa-focused rap in 1988 (with everyone from N.W.A. To Big Daddy Kane to Public Enemy to Slick Rick all dropping albums), few would've ever expected a reaction to all that to take the form of something that can only be described as "psychedelic hip-hop." Yet that's exactly what De La Soul did with their instantly legendary debut effort, "3 Feet High & Rising." Producer Prince Paul sampled plastic pop figures in the form of Steely Dan and The Turtles, and MCs Posdnuos, Trugoy and Maseo made clever in-jokes while writing songs about the scourge of dandruff. It was as far removed from gangster rap as possible, widely embraced by critics and fans (it topped the Pazz & Jop critics poll that year) and so successful that even De La Soul themselves rejected the whole aesthetic by the time they put out their sophomore effort. Their reaction did little to diminish the stature of this landmark recording.

To the uninitiated, the "Madchester" scene may seem like an odd thing to classify, but it arrived at a pivotal point in U.K. pop music history when rock began meeting dance and house music to create what was, in essence, the early rave scene. The Happy Mondays repurposed the Rolling Stones' aesthetic for their own four-on-the-floor needs, while The Stone Roses melded psychedelic guitar tones with break kits and self-aggrandizing lyrics to create something unique and distinct all its own. Some critics weren't sure what to make of it at the immediate time of release, but it quickly became evident to everyone that it was the tipping point for a new scene, a new style and a whole new outlook. The first song is called "I Wanna Be Adored," and as it turned out the band got its wish.

While there is a direct correlation that can be made between De La Soul's "3 Feet High & Rising" and A Tribe Called Quests' "People's Instinctive Travels and the Paths of Rhythm," the latter occupied a notably different space than its clear contemporary. Even though Q-Tip and Phife Dawg remain top-of-their-game MCs and had a knack for production that was unrivaled at the time, the group ended up taking Lou Reed's "Walk on the Wild Side" and turned it into "Can I Kick It?," which became a full-bore classic in its own right. Their exploration of jazz themes would only get more obvious in subsequent records, but the joy, humor and profound curiosity of "Instinctive Travels" remain close to unrivaled.

Released less than one month before Nirvana's "Nevermind," Pearl Jam's first full-length effort felt like the perfect antidote to the hairspray-pop excess of the hair metal genre as a whole. With bassist Jeff Ament and guitarist Stone Gossard providing driving, evolving arrangements for Eddie Vedder to lay his gravely wail over, hard rock felt like it was reinvented for a new generation, with the album playing less like a debut and more like a greatest hits compilation. "Even Flow," "Alive," the utterly anthemic "Black," the lusting psych sounds of "Deep" — you can't turn around without running into an iconic radio staple.

When someone once described discovering Pavement as finding one's "own, private Beatles," it rang true. Through creative differences and a hell of a lot of lo-fi production, the band's sprawling sense of sound and curious lyrics made it so that no two songs sounded alike but every record it put out had its own distinct identity. "Slanted & Enchanted" had white noise squalls and falsetto-sung "fa la la la la" backing vocals — often in the same song. It didn't feel "amateur" as much as it felt utterly, sincerely new — like rock music's slacker generation was finally getting a chance to define itself and in the most glorious of terms.

There have been electronic, dance and rave albums before Aphex Twin's debut record — but when Richard D. James' alter ego made its debut, it sounded nothing like anything that came before. The drum-and-bass breaks were there and the synth waves were familiar, but it all sounded utterly new, configured in such a way and featuring such a distinct perspective that it isn't too surprising that almost all of contemporary electronic music cites this record as a blueprint. Even today a quick listen to "Xtal" sounds as fresh and as vital as ever.

At times abrasive and sometimes downright misogynistic, the Wu-Tang Clan's first long-player nonetheless remains touted as one of the most influential rap albums of all times. Was the secret in RZA's obscure sample-based production? The bevy of undeniably strong personalities that traded verses in a giddy, I-can't-believe-we're-doing-this frenzy? The fact that this is the album on which "Protect Ya Neck" comes from? It's hard to narrow down any single factor that makes this record the iconic thing that it is, but in melding old-school styles with then-new-school aesthetics, Wu-Tang Clan secured itself a place in rap history instantly with this beast.

Somewhat jokingly conceived as a song-by-song response to The Rolling Stones' "Exile on Main Street," Liz Phair's quiet-yet-confrontational debut mixed lo-fi indie-rock production with her whip-smart lyrics and knack for a memorable pop hook, resulting in a collection of 16 songs that were unafraid to dive headfirst into taboo subjects. Critics everywhere hailed her as one of the strongest voices to emerge in the '90s rock scene, and even if her underappreciated follow-ups never struck the same fire, it's still hard to disagree with the sentiment. "It's harder to be friends than lovers," she sings on "Divorce Song," "and you shouldn't try to mix the two / 'cos if you do it and you're still unhappy / Then you know that the problem is you." Still stings to this day.

Even 25 years removed from its release, the magic that Nasir Jones captured in "Illmatic" remains one of the rarest gifts to the whole of rap music. On the closing song alone ("It Ain't Hard to Tell"), Michael Jackson samples collide with the hard rock group Mountain, the flow is smooth, and Nas drops so many intelligent insights into single couplets that one can understand why people take their time to study his lyric sheets academically (case in point: "Speak with criminal slang, begin like a violin / End like Leviathan; It's deep? Well, let me try again"). Some say he never bettered what he pulled off in this foundation-shaking debut, but even if he never put out a single song after this, we'd still be talking about him as one of the greatest MCs in history.

No doubt bolstered by the electronic/soul genre-busting laid out by Massive Attack before them, Portishead arrived with a debut album often cited as ground zero for trip-hop as we know it. Taking rap productions' heavy-drum and sample-based aesthetics and applying them to slower, more mid-tempo vocal stylings (handled beautifully by Beth Gibbons), this Bristol-bred trio was immediately hailed as innovators in the field, with tracks like the endlessly referenced "Sour Times" and the sultry "Glory Box" becoming immediate genre calling cards. The band even won the prestigious Mercury Music Prize on the first try, proving just how lasting the staying power of this "Dummy" really was.

Before the U.S. crossover success of "(What's The Story) Morning Glory?," there was "Definitely Maybe," a brash, bold and uncompromising opening salvo by the smarmiest, brattiest boys in British rock music. Designated the torchbearers for the "Britpop" movement (along with acts like Blur and Pulp), "Definitely Maybe" was the sound of a Beatles-worshiping band who wanted to return rock to its rollicking, classic roots. Liam Gallagher's iconic sneer fit perfectly with brother Noel's expert, classicist compositions, resulting in an endless string of timeless gems like "Live Forever," "Supersonic" and "Slide Away." It was less a debut album than it was a full-bore sea change in the airwaves.

With so many rap albums of the early '90s, MCs often felt they had to fit inside a certain aesthetic, whether it be gangster braggadocio or feel-good party hosts. Christopher Wallace absolutely rewrote that rule, unleashing an album that was at times scary, at times gut-bustingly funny and at times unbelievably vulnerable. From the inspirational biography of "Juicy" to the open confessions of "Suicidal Thoughts" to the remarkably playful sexual fantasy role play of "Just Playing (Dreams)," B.I.G. managed a variety of moods with a plethora of striking internal rhymes, resulting in an album that was declared a classic the second it dropped.

Written, produced and performed almost entirely by himself, D'Angelo (born Michael Eugene Archer) helped define the movement of "neo-soul" as it was coming into the fore in the mid-'90s. With drums ripped right from hip-hop tracks and bass lines and vocals that were deeply rooted in '60s and '70s soul, "Brown Sugar" proved to be more than just buttery-smooth bedroom jam music. (But make no mistake: It excelled in that arena as well.) It was an album so deeply rooted in tradition that it felt both classic and contemporary in the same stroke. If you're not seduced by those vocal arrangements at the start of "Me and Those Dreamin' Eyes of Mine," you may not have a pulse.

As hip-hop evolved as a cultural force, more and more power was handed over to the producers, who kept searching for great samples for MCs to rap over. While DJ Shadow wasn't the first person to think of the idea of making beat collages with the intent of having no rapper spit over it, he's nonetheless cited as a figurehead in the crate-digging movement, where his deep vinyl dives lead him to create soundscapes made entirely out of samples that were melded with rap production technique. His debut effort, "Endtroducing....," was alien and familiar at the same time; his moods dark and soulful, wry and ever-evolving. It's the kind of record that you can hear over 100 times and still discover new elements and dusty little corners that you never noticed before. Not a second is wasted in this definitive document that spoke to the powers of what turntablism could do. In fact, no artist has been able to create something even close to the power of "Endtroducing..." — not even DJ Shadow himself.

Hip-hop, especially in the early '90s, was very much a boys club through and through. While MC Lyte, Salt-N-Pepa and Queen Latifah had hits, they were rarely spoken in the same breath as other all-time rappers. (Let's not forget about Monie Love or Bahamadia while we're at it.) Although Foxy Brown and Lil' Kim proved they could be just as aggressive as any other fella, it was Missy Elliott who showed that a female rapper couldn't just hold her own with the boys — she could outinnovate them as well. Paired with Timbaland's utterly boundary-breaking, cutting-edge production, Elliott's debut was at times sultry (the underrated "Friendly Skies" with Ginuwine) and at times absolutely braggadocious ("Hit 'Em Wit Da Hee" with Lil' Kim). Instantly iconic.

Mixing together a variety of styles like descarga, danzón and guajira, this group of Cuban musicians (led by guitarist Ry Cooder) proved to be a cultural zeitgeist. Recorded on 1950's equipment in Cuba over the course of a mere six days, the album (and the documentary that followed in its wake) truly helped bring Cuban music to the English-speaking mainstream, becoming an immediate critical and commercial hit. While compilations and offshoots have followed, this still remains the only true and proper release credited to the group, capturing lightning in a bottle and then teaching it how to samba.

Damon Gough's debut effort under his Badly Drawn Boy moniker might seem unassuming at first, but a quick listen through to "The Hour of Bewilderbeast" shows how someone can make a distinct sonic galaxy from the comfort of his basement. Alternating between folk and indie-rock aesthetics with a bit of jazz and sure-why-not-disco thrown in, "Bewilderbeast" is a layered, weird and gorgeous experience. From the lovely "Camping Next to Water" to the introverted U2-indebted guitar tones of "Cause a Rockslide" to the gorgeous opener, "The Shining," Gough made an album that holds up after multiple relistens. "Bewilderbeast" won the Mercury Music Prize, and although his other albums couldn't quite recapture the magic contained here, he came awfully close with his 2002 score to the film "About a Boy."

Consisting of hundreds of officially licensed samples and mixed with live band instrumentation, the Australian DJs who make up The Avalanches crafted a debut album that sounds like every vinyl in your local record store meeting together for an auditory orgy, resulting in a continuously mixed party that surprises, shocks, makes you laugh and gets you to dance all at the same time. It is a remarkable party where no two listens are ever the same. The production is so densely layered that you will uncover new elements with each and every spin. "Frontier Psychiatrist" is the jokey lead single, but by the time you get to the cut-and-paste orchestral swells at the end of "Extra Kings," you come to realize just how remarkable this journey through the pop stratosphere has been. (They put a horse neigh to a beat, for Pete's sake!) Essential.

Oh, what a headtrip this is. Recorded in what sounds like a cardboard studio with Julian Casablancas' scratchy, blown-out vocals, this scrappy little record proved to be the inciting incident for the early 2000s garage rock revival, as The Strokes' clear love of everything from The Ramones to The Velvet Underground gave gravity to their basement-rock candy confections. "Take It or Leave It" has one of the most underrated pop hooks of the decade, just as how guitarist Albert Hammond Jr.'s noodling is one of the band's secret weapons, elevating its artistry and separating it from its blown-out speaker peers. The band went on to have other hits, but the magic it captured here remains unparalleled.

There's a lot of great debut albums on this list, but the swagger, confidence and power that exudes from the gloriously melodic post-rock machinations of Interpol are damn near unrivaled. From the breathtaking opener "Untitled" to the propulsive alt-rock posturing of "Obstacle 1" to the languid eulogy that is "NYC," the band covers a lot of emotional ground — and those are just the first three songs. The alternative rock movement of the mid-2000s owes a great debt to Interpol's astonishing artistry, and this record proved to be so distinguished that even Interpol itself had a difficult time following it up.

No matter what you think about Kanye West in the present day, there's no denying that when "The College Dropout" landed, it immediately joined the lineage of Jay-Z, Nas and The Notorious B.I.G. as one of the best rap debuts of all time. While Kanye has a knack for a good punchline, he was more a memorable lyricist than he was a gifted one, lacking the dexterity of his idols but making up for it with enough personality to fill a couple of stadiums. On top of that, his work as a producer was expert-level, and "Dropout" ranged from the pointed "Jesus Walks" to the comical "The New Workout Plan" to anthemic opener "We Don't Care," and all of it felt like it belonged in the same artistic universe. Some argue that Kanye went on to make better albums, but even if his legacy was nothing but "Dropout," he'd still be considered a legend.

You know this had to be on here. When this Canadian collective was about to close its deal with Merge Records, the band insisted the label come out to see it live. The Merge folks said, "Why? We're already signing you!" But eventually they relented — and saw exactly what the group was talking about. With furiously strummed guitars, sawing violins, arrangements that switched tempos on a dime and group-shouted lyrics that gave way to immediate catharsis, Arcade Fire's macabre, propulsive debut album felt like every lesson learned from the past two decades of independent rock music had converged into one place, creating an explosion of emotions. Hailed as a classic from the second it dropped, it soon shot the band into the stratosphere — and it hasn't come down since.

You are currently reading a list of albums that were declared instant classics when they dropped — but even the Arctic Monkeys know they were overhyped. With Alex Turner's conversational pub-philosophy lyrics meeting nervy guitar arrangements in the age of the internet, the band debuted amid an absolute wave of media-driven hype. It was to the point that the week that "Whatever People Say I Am, That's What I'm Not" debuted, the infamously overblown NME declared this record one of the top five British albums of all time — below The Smiths and Oasis but above Blur and The Beatles. It was ridiculous, but such machinations distracted from the fact that, yeah, the Arctic Monkeys debut was really, really good. Wiry and wild, the band's enthusiasm pulsated through every song and most of them still hold up today.

As dubstep, brostep and EDM grew in popularity in the 2010s, all it took was for pair of British siblings to rewrite the rules on what could be done in dance music — and all they did was go back to the classic house sounds of the '90s to make it happen. Howard and Guy Lawrence are multi-instrumentalists in their own right, but their adherence to mid-tempo beats stripped to the essence was married to their love of a great guest vocal take when they saw one. And all of it resulted in an album that was deemed legendary when it landed. While the Sam Smith collaboration "Latch" helped launch each other into the mainstream, it was emotional fare like the London Grammar feature "Help Me Lose My Mind" that made people keep coming back to "Settle" time and time again. Your current favorite DJs probably owe more to Disclosure than they realize.

A mere teenager when it was unveiled to the world, Lorde's debut album was a striking, sometimes minimalist pop explosion. With carefully crafted lyrics about listening to Broken Social Scene songs and meeting friends down by the tennis court to talk it up like yeah (yeah), her distinctive vocals merged with Joel Little's striking production choices to create anti-materialism screeds like "Glory and Gore" and the industry-baiting "Royals," which, in turn, became a mega-hit chart-topper. To emerge out of the gate this confident and powerful was a sight to behold, and as her 2017 follow-up, "Melodrama," proved, Lorde's success was no fluke.