When we make our way into the afterlife after departing from this mortal coil, the one question that really matters won’t be “Were you a good person?” or “What does your heart weigh in comparison to a feather?” or “Is God really real?” No, at the end of the game of life, the only question worth asking is: what are we bumping on the Heavenly stereo, guys? Here are the ten albums I want to be buried with so I have something to listen to after I’m dead.
‘Folie à Deux’ by Fall Out Boy
Yeah, I know all the words on Fall Out Boy’s breakout album, From Under The Cork Tree, but to be fair, I also know all the words on Folie à Deux as well. Or, I know as many words as Patrick Stump will allow me to know. Anyway, the only thing on my Christmas list in 2008 was this CD, and you better believe I played it to death. It now lives permanently in My Shrine (the CD case I kept in my car throughout high school). There, it enjoys a well-deserved retirement due to being absolutely busted to hell to the point where “I Don’t Care” starts skipping about halfway through and can’t recover. RIP.
‘The Black Parade’ by My Chemical Romance
My Chemical Romance’s seminal 2006 album The Black Parade sustained me through a family vacation to the Grand Canyon, so obviously I need it to ferry me to the afterlife. I can distinctly recall listening to “House of Wolves” while staring out the car window at the seemingly endless Mars-like Arizona landscape and wishing I was doing literally anything else (clearly I didn’t appreciate what I had until later, yadda yadda yadda, all that jazz). Unexpectedly, this past September finally gave me the opportunity to see My Chem live after being a fan for 20 years. And can I just say, hearing songs from 2004 performed in a massive stadium: kind of weird. But overall, still really cool.
‘A Fever You Can’t Sweat Out’ by Panic! at the Disco
Panic! at the Disco’s 2005 debut album A Fever You Can’t Sweat Out was something of a revelation for me. Actually, it’s still a revelation every time I hear it. Say what you want about Ryan Ross’ jumbling of purple prose-like lyrics, the kid knew how to evoke a sense of seedy, sexual energy the likes of which I had never heard before. Their next album, Pretty. Odd., divided the fan base between “More like Pretty. Bad.” and “They should be arrested for this,” but through sheer force of will (and not being that interested in online discourse) I only felt a genuine sense of “Yay! A new album from my favorite band!” That feeling persists for the majority of my favorite bands, because what’s the use of living if you’re not going to enjoy an album just because someone on the internet said it sucks? That’s quitter talk.
‘ys’ by Joanna Newsom
My first introduction to Joanna Newsom was “Monkey & Bear” from the 2006 album Ys, and to be honest, I haven’t given Ms. Newsom’s other work the kind of single-minded attention that I have given Ys. Not for lack of interest. But right now, I’m just taking the time to appreciate Ys in all its perfection (I have been doing this for the past six years). Also, I have to come to terms with the fact that her beautiful, sprawling 2010 album, Have One On Me, could be a two-hour-long love letter to the guy who wrote “Dick In A Box”, and I haven’t quite worked up to that yet.
‘Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron’ Soundtrack by Bryan Adams
Real horse girls know that the Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron soundtrack goes hard for no apparent reason other than Bryan Adams is maybe just like that. The passion and emotion that come from this soundtrack are unmatched by any other album, past or present. And dare I say, future? I was nine years old, sobbing at “This Is Where I Belong” like I personally knew what it was like to be a wild horse unwillingly drafted into the Army. And don’t even mention “Brothers Under The Sun” in my presence. To this day, that album gives me chills, and I’d like to personally thank Bryan Adams for his contribution to horse movie canon.
‘Tranquility Base Hotel and Casino’ by Arctic Monkeys
While ideally I’ll be in the afterlife bumping the Arctic Monkeys’ full discography, if I have to choose one of their albums, I’d probably get the most mileage out of Tranquility Base Hotel and Casino. This 2018 album marked a drastic shift in the band’s sound to something more lounge-like and cinematic. Although if you were a Last Shadow Puppets fan as well, it wasn’t really that drastic. Alex Turner had been experimenting with this sound for a while after all. Still, the fanbase was divided, and divided further by The Car in 2022. However, this is another instance of “Yay! A new album from my favorite band!” for me personally, and I will stand by my love of Tranquility Base. It’s different, sure, but if I’m dead in the ground and all I have is Tranquility Base to remind me why I love Arctic Monkeys in all their forms, it’ll do the job.
‘Tallahassee’ by The Mountain Goats
So, you’re transitioning to the afterlife, but you also want to be melancholy about a toxic fictional couple in a fictional house in a Florida town that haunts their ever-waking moment. The Mountain Goats’ 2002 album Tallahassee fits the bill, obviously. There’s so much from The Mountain Goats that inspires poetic yearning, unsettling perspective shifts, and true, horrible sadness disguised as literally anything else. Really, it’s hard to narrow down their expansive discography. But actually, it’s easy, and it’s Tallahassee. The Sunset Tree is a close second, but when “No Children” comes on, you’ll forget you ever heard “This Year”.
‘Skinwalker’ by Buzzard Buzzard Buzzard
Buzzard Buzzard Buzzard was a recent discovery for me last year, when I stumbled upon their 2024 album Skinwalker. In comparison to their other work, it’s a bit of a departure, mostly considering it’s a solid concept album. It also leans further from straight glam rock and slips into elements of unsettling noise, spoken word, and bouts of metal. But at its core, Skinwalker is a glam rock album, as unusual as it is. The imagery moves through incomprehensible concepts to familiar mental stresses and back again. The instrumentation goes from danceable jams to spiraling out of control from one song to the next. I need to take this album to the afterlife, if only because I think Kurt Cobain would really like it.
‘To Bring You My Love’ by PJ Harvey
I have a soft spot for PJ Harvey, and a further soft spot for To Bring You My Love. And not just because she released it on the very day and year of my birth. This album is the sound that desperation makes. Sometimes PJ Harvey’s vocals feel like having a fishhook behind your belly button. She’s tugging on it to get you to come closer so she can whisper in your ear. Meanwhile, the whole time, you don’t want to get closer, because there’s a look in her eyes that says “bite risk.” This album devours, but it also starves. Showing up to Heaven with To Bring You My Love in my backpack would no doubt get me sent straight to Hell. But that’s cool, actually, because I brought my CD player with me.
‘Licensed To Ill’ by The Beastie Boys
Finally, despite some questionable lyrics, the Beastie Boys’ 1986 album Licensed To Ill cannot, unfortunately, be parted from me. This album is so strong that I often forget it was their debut. While their later work gets more experimental and less adolescent, Licensed To Ill remains an important influence personally. So, of course, it must have its proper place in my death. The first time I heard the Beastie Boys, it was “Brass Monkey” (there’s kind of a monkey theme here, I promise that wasn’t intentional) on my local radio station. From there, Licensed To Ill was a staple. If anyone wants to perform “Rhymin’ & Stealin’” at karaoke, hit me up.
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