Concept albums are… Weird. Concept albums don’t really have a strict definition and while that sounds confusing, that’s the entire point. For a general definition though, concept albums are more focused on the grander narrative of the album instead of a more individualistic track by track album. Usually this is done through narrative, the instrumentals, the overall composition of the album or by the lyrics. Concept albums have a soft spot in my heart. I remember as I started getting into rock music, I went headfirst and found Pink Floyd’s The Wall and I listened to it non-stop. Literally every day for two months, it was the only thing I listened to and to this day, it’s still one of my favorite albums. Albums like The Wall and concept albums in general foster a deep connection with the listener. They create characters to connect to or have stories that listeners can relate to. That’s something I love about them. I like to form a connection with my music and for it to make an impact and obviously, this is nothing against non concept albums, they’ve made huge impacts for me, but today we’re letting them take a backseat. 

The Wall  is a 1979 album by Pink Floyd and as mentioned it’s probably one of my favorite concept albums and one of my favorite albums in general. It’s based on life experiences from Syd Barrett and Roger Waters. It centers on a young boy growing up during World War II and how he grows up and becomes a rock star and how his life changes. This album is by far the most complete thing you can experience. There is not a single song out of place here, you take out a song and it ruins the album. What I like though is that despite the fact that it’s meant to be listened to from start to finish as a complete experience, each song works on its own. The narrative structure is clear cut and has so much nuance to it that gradually reveals itself upon each listen. It’s incredibly well produced and composed and there are very little if any flaws. The biggest stand outs on the album though are the nostalgic and melancholic, Nobody Home, to what starts as a slow lament and devolves into a crashing fit, One Of My Turns, and last but certainly not least, a song with a deceptively happy sound but reveals the artist’s state and how he’s forced to perform, Comfortably Numb. 

Mother Earth’s Plantasia is a 1976 studio album by Mort Garson. The music was composed specifically for plants to listen to, kind of springboarding off the idea that plants will change and grow differently based on what music they’re listening to. This album had a very limited release, only being sold at a plant store called… Mother Earth or those who purchased a Simmons Mattress from Sears. Over the years it’s gained a cult following for its easy and calm listening. This sound was achieved by Garson’s use of a Moog Synthesizer and honestly, I love it. It’s the perfect coffee shop music. Each song is themed after a different plant aside from the titular track which is a sweeping, cinematic sounding introduction to the calming tracks that follow. From the waltzy, trumpet-y Symphony For A Spider Plant, to the upbeat, poppy You Don’t Have To Walk A Begonia and the smooth and steady Baby’s Tears Blues, this album has it all. 

The Zodiac: Cosmic Sounds is a 1967 collaborative album between Paul Beaver, Mort Garson, Jacques Wilson and Cyrus Faryar. This is less of a concept album and more of an experimental album but this is my article so I get to make the rules. The album is twelve tracks long, each track based off of a different sign of the Zodiac. Each song varies from sign to sign with each one having some variation. They are all united in theme and by their composition. There is narration focusing on what each astrological sign is known for, their associated planets, personality types and more. This album isn’t something that you casually listen to and it sure as heck isn’t one that you’d stumble across as a normal music consumer but it still has it’s value. You have the rock based Aries – The Fire Fighter, the airy, sitar and tabla infused Libra – The Flower Child and my personal favorite due to it being my astrological sign, the sweeping, chime filled Pisces – The Peace Piper. 

Everywhere At The End of Time is a 2016 album by The Caretaker (an alias of electronic artist, Leyland Kirby) and it is haunting to put it simply. The Caretaker’s goal was to explore the progression of dementia. The album was initially released in stages every six months from 2016 until the final stage was released in 2019. This is not a light album by any means. Stage One starts with the first signs of memory loss, the songs are minimally modified, they have minor crackles, pitch changes and are otherwise “normal”. It is melancholic, the threat is there but unrecognized and things only grow worse from there. Stage Two, the deterioration worsens, Kirby describes the second stage as when a person “probably tries and remember more than [they] usually would”. Stage Three is the last fragments before things unravel, the songs are barely recognizable and are only distinguishable from a few notes. Things are starting to burn out and the last bits of coherency dwindle as the unnamed patient who is experiencing this starts to enter what is called the “Post Awareness” stages of dementia. Stage Four is when the discomfort starts to really set in. From choppy samples to static amplifying, there are sudden siren-like noises and occasionally it’s just the noise of the wind. Stage Five is a weird combination. Extreme clashes of sound occasionally fade away to calmness and the listener is left disoriented. Things sound familiar but are unable to be deciphered. Stage Six, the final stage is why I call this album haunting. The music is audible but fades in and out as if it were being played from another room. It features constant noise with hissing and crackling. The album comes to a close with Place In The World Fades Away, featuring an organ droning and surprisingly enough, after indecipherable and inaudible music, has a choir although it’s being played from what is clearly a very deteriorated record. After a six hour and thirty minute listening experience, the album ends with a minute of silence that represents the patient’s death. This is not an easy listening experience nor is it one that I would recommend. I listened to specific tracks and segments and still found it deeply unsettling and upsetting. Despite this, I think this is still an incredibly creative and unique experience. As stated in the introduction, concept albums can create a connection with their listeners and this one is definitely no different.

Concept albums are still weird. Weird but have merritt. From rock operas to psychedelic zodiac descriptions to a haunting representation of dementia, concept albums have made their mark on the music world and have made their mark in my life. There are also a million more albums that I didn’t talk about and I would thoroughly recommend seeking out. There’s always something for everyone and if my picks are a bit too strange, there’s always something else. Happy listening!