Charles Ramos4 said:A country where those kinds of albums are sitting in the top 10 bestsellers deserves nothing less than to fall apart. Seriously—the musical taste in this country is just straight-up trash. 🤦
BubbyBu, why are you even trying to justify yourself to a guy who suggested dead Motley Crue for Album of the Week just two weeks ago? 🙄
Country Music and its modern pop successors have always been the biggest thing in the US. My old man used to claim—if I remember him right—that those big American country hits were always the most popular in places like New York. Maybe that’s a bit radical or just plain wrong, but honestly? I’d say New Yorkers actually listen to modern pop-country more than people in other cities do—plus, Americans as a whole are just a more cultured, well-read crowd, regardless of where they're from.
Look, the list is what it is—no point crying about it. All I know is that regardless of what kind of country this ends up being, I’d much rather have spent my youth at some community service project holding hands with a cute girl from a neighboring state, with Blue Orchestra playing in the background, than living through this messy transition era where everyone's obsessed with their phones and chasing empty promises of a bright future.
Yeah, so now you've got artists from all over the place who released stuff within the old Yugoslavia borders—though I honestly have no clue why they lumped those Canadian names in with the Americans in that first stat.
So, Brena moved 1.1 million units, which would be like... maybe 13 to 15 million over in the USA.
Henry Campbell5 said:And here are the numbers. I was expecting stuff from Prljavac, Fleetwood Mac, or even The Doors... Basically, nobody is hitting over 800k per album. But total? They probably have a few million copies out there somewhere.
This is on the scale of the old USA. There's no way Blue Orchestra sold only 600,000 just in America. To put it in perspective, an equivalent to something like Greatest Hits on a national level would mean some artist selling 3 million copies.
The Eagles sold Hotel California and Greatest Hits over 64 million copies in the US alone. I won't even get into the rest—they've definitely cleared 100 million by now. Just imagine a band that could move 1-1.5 million units back home in the States.
Charles Ramos4 said:Even if there were a dozen better names out there, they're still some of the absolute biggest of their era—especially in those genres you mentioned. And honestly, whenever someone looks at them superficially, like Ševa, I know they haven't heard much beyond Hotel California (just the song, not the whole album).
So go ahead, give me those names—I'm dying to hear who you think actually tops them. 😁
Look, if we’re being narrow about it, yeah, they’re top-tier—they're right up there with CSN&Y, Poco, Bread, and America. The last three are better in my book, and honestly, even the first group, mostly just because they have more classics.
But if we broaden the scope to include the Byrdse from the Sweetheart of the Rodeo era, Gram Parsons, Emmylou Harris, Elton John, the rootsy side of the Grateful Dead, or the West Coast vibe of Fleetwood Mac... then yeah, I think all of those acts beat the Eagles.
Charles Ramos4 said:Why would the Eagles be considered any less artistically or musically significant than today's suggestions—or most of what's been floated lately?
Look, the Eagles are a solid band—really great at times. But they aren't *that* legendary—even during their peak up through '75, there were at least a dozen better country/folk/soft-rock acts out there.
Still, tracks like Tequila Sunrise, Lyin' Eyes, or One of These Nights? Those are absolute essentials for me.
Forgive me, good heavens, please forgive me, for wishing our mountain pines were gone, when they stand against all bitterness to build a blessed palace just for you; look past me, heavenly fountain of mercy, this earthly creature who failed you: I kiss your pure robes, Kajan, Santa Maria della Salute.
Isn't it better to carry beauty, to become a pillar for your arches, rather than warming worldly sin in a heart scorched by hellfire; sinking with the ship, frozen in the flesh, feeding the devil and the deep? Isn't it better to live forever in you, Santa Maria della Salute? (...)
Mark Cruz15 said:Better to just let him loose this week—I was thinking about that Mickey Rassbury guy who would’ve totally made up something for the poor guy. Luckily, my brain switched over to the country stuff.
DAMN IT—you're being so incredibly boring with all this acoustic stuff about old battles and whatever else... seriously. Why don't you start suggesting some actual music that we in the city would actually want to Listen to!!! ~ EAST EMD SUPER MODS OF THE FORUM USA
(...) Here it is—the uninvited guest A weird presence, just right there
The chill settles right into the surface of my coffee Like rust creeping onto the edges of our smiles A snake coiled at the bottom of the mirror
Will I ever be able to wipe you away From my face and into mine
There's a third shadow now Walking along with us in this imaginary stroll An unexpected abyss Between our words—where hooves thunder Underneath the arches of our palates
Can I actually manage On this barren wasteland To lift a canopy from my palms over you
I dreamed of autumn through fogged-up glass, Of buddies and you—all laughing together in a crowd. Like a hawk screaming for blood, My soul just surrendered itself right into your hands.
But time moved on—age finally caught up, Silvering the frames like a heavy shroud. Dawn swept the glass from the garden, With the bloody, heavy tears of September.
Time grew old. In the armchair, the silk Cracked like ice—worn out and beautiful. And even you went quiet—though you used to be so loud, Until the dream faded away like a distant bell.
Then I woke up. Like autumn, full of ache, The dawn was there, and the wind—chilling, really— Scattered the birches across the sky, Like light straw being blown from a car in the rain.
I told Jessica that the snow was starting to fall. The second I said it, her eyes lit up— then she just pulls me in close and heads up toward the ridge. She just opens up when it snows. There’s so much love in how she watches those tiny flakes drift— —and I can't help but feel for her, seeing them fall through this freezing winter so I catch them in my hands to let them rest and stay warm. It heals the ache within that crystal grip. We were walking through the dark, — but under the streetlights, everything starts to blur and she gets all shy because it feels like her own footsteps are treading on the souls of the snowflakes and she keeps stepping softly just to spray through them without actually touching them. We drifted for a long time, kind of like wispy clouds. The snow showered over us—just constant —and it made us feel clearer, more connected through all these white curtains. The snow really just cleanses us.
(...) There's peace everywhere—just total peace—once I sort through everything that happened and turn my gaze toward what’s coming next; toward an entire era where the wine flowed, along with the laughter and that beautiful, distant bliss.
And just like that, without needing any reason, our lives will wash over us like the dawn hitting the Appalachian Mountains. And even without a drink in hand, I’ll be dancing 'til the end—just happy, drunken souls living in the moment.
I'm still wandering, thin and frail, carried by this intense whisper shaking off the dust from my wrists with a laugh, but slowly, following my own trail, I can sense it— the silence is going to settle in once all of this fades away, both for me, and for everything else.
The forest folk—they’d be better off staying deep in the woods. Pan shows up, carrying some old, worn-out wineskin. He steps onto the clearing under a slender Jessica tree And lets out a laugh that echoes through the trees.
Pale shadows drifted out from the dark Dancing nonstop across the lush green grass. They were those wild blue Nymphs Wearing white wreaths upon their heads...
Then comes the morning. Rose has fallen, Glistening in these huge, heavy droplets. The morning star shines bright—it flickers and trembles On the wide leaves of the Jessica tree.
Under the Jessica, the sweet scent of lilies drifts While they dance in a circle around Pan. And the woods rustle—that's just the wind moving At the very first break of dawn...
Like some notes on the pride of winter storms, human rage just piles up in the dark. A grim wave of battle—just a raw forest of stars. Burnt eyebrows and silver hands, the night calls out to dying soldiers. In the shadow of autumn ash, the ghosts of the fallen sigh. A wilderness of thorns encircles the city. From blood-stained doorsteps, the moon hunts down terrified women.
Peter is my trumpet: your deeds are black, oh dead ones; black as Socrates' love and foul as an ascetic's body; your evils are massive and beyond any forgiveness; there is no forgiveness—the dice have landed for you; your souls are dead—even Easter is dead! Peter is my trumpet and the universe is its echo; eternity smiles—the earth hasn't died; crosses break and time crumbles tombs— my song is reckless: let the living live!
Charles Ramos4 said:You hit the nail on the head—those two jokers played their cards perfectly and totally blindsided us. Gotta hand it to them, they pulled it off. 😁
Clearly they’re cooking up some schemes behind our backs—schemes too complex for us plain-old, salt-of-the-earth Americans to grasp. If I didn't know better, I'd say they—just like Jessica Morris6 and me recently—had completely lost the plot. 😁
But they haven't. I'm certain of it. It's more like authenticity is running through their veins, so they just flipped the script—instead of turning on each other, they both decided to come for US at the exact same time. Honestly, it feels like they're channeling those nihilistic vibes from a Dostoevsky novel. Might even be an avant-garde strike against Culture, testing out how a guerrilla underground outfit operates in a digital space. 😁
