What It Was Like to Hear These Iconic Albums for the First Time
susan smith
The 1970s were it for music. This was the decade when everything shifted. Musicians weren’t just playing instruments; they were breaking rules, rewriting history, and flipping the middle finger to convention. Every genre—rock, jazz, pop—was exploding into something new, bold, and dangerous. Listening to these albums back then would’ve been like plugging into a live wire.
This past weekend, I drove to and from Orlando and let these three albums wash over me, start to finish. Every time I hear them, it’s like peeling back another layer, finding something darker, wilder, or more unexpected. Let’s time-travel to when these albums were fresh, raw, and set the world on fire.
Fleetwood Mac - Rumours (1977)
By 1977, the world was disco-glittered and punk-snarled, but Fleetwood Mac dropped Rumours like a bomb in the middle of it all. This wasn’t just an album; it was a battle cry from a band imploding in real-time. Press play for the first time, and you’d be sucked into their chaos—a tornado of heartbreak, betrayal, and defiance, dressed in shimmering melodies and perfect harmonies.
"Go Your Own Way" wasn’t just a song; it was Lindsey Buckingham giving Stevie Nicks the kiss-off of the century. Stevie’s "Dreams" hit back like a spell, ethereal but haunting. And "The Chain"? That bass line felt like the sound of staying tethered to something you know is doomed but refusing to let go.
Driving with Rumours blasting, you can feel every edge of their dysfunction and every ounce of their genius. It’s a beautiful contradiction, as bitter as it is sweet—a soundtrack for anyone who’s ever survived love and lived to tell the tale.
Led Zeppelin - Physical Graffiti (1975)
By 1975, Led Zeppelin was already the band your parents hated and your soul worshipped. Then they dropped Physical Graffiti, a double album that felt like a juggernaut of sound crashing through the culture. Listening to it for the first time would’ve been like walking into a cathedral of noise, only to realize you’re the sacrifice.
"Kashmir" was otherworldly—an anthem of grandeur that made you feel like you were marching through deserts in a fever dream. But Zeppelin didn’t stop there. They flipped between sleazy blues ("Trampled Under Foot"), delicate acoustic escapes ("Bron-Yr-Aur"), and filthy, unapologetic rockers ("Custard Pie") like gods toying with mortals.
On the road with Physical Graffiti, it felt like Zeppelin had captured the pulse of the universe, every riff a heartbeat. It’s not just an album—it’s a planet.
Miles Davis - Bitches Brew (1970)
In 1970, nothing sounded like Bitches Brew. Hell, nothing could sound like Bitches Brew. Jazz was supposed to be cool, refined, buttoned-up—and Miles Davis came along and torched the whole scene. The first time you’d hear this album, you’d think, What the hell is this? And then you’d realize: this isn’t jazz. This is rebellion.
The opening moments hit like chaos organized into beauty. The electric pianos, the frantic drumming, the snarling, spitting trumpet—everything felt like it was about to come unhinged but somehow didn’t. It was a labyrinth of sound, daring you to lose yourself.
Even now, listening to Bitches Brew on the highway, it’s a trip. You can’t just hear this album—you have to surrender to it. Every time I listen, I find a new thread to follow, a new texture that wasn’t there before. This is Miles Davis at his most dangerous, pulling jazz into a future no one could’ve imagined.
The 1970s weren’t just a decade—they were a revolution. These albums weren’t just music; they were manifestos, challenges to the status quo, and full-blown cultural resets. Hearing them for the first time back then must have been like standing on the edge of the world, looking out at the unknown. Even now, they still feel untouchable—timeless, untamed, and alive.